“Yer misunderstandin’, Dieter. Look at this tree. Above her trunk stretch a thousand branches. Below her trunk sleep a thousand roots. It’s her form that matters; she’s analogous ta the flow of time. Do you understand what I mean?”
“Maybe…” I tried to parse her words. “Are you saying that the here-and-now is derived from one of many possible pasts, that the present is only possible because certain criteria where met, and so the future, our particular future, will form based on the same principles? In other words, our future will be one possible future out of many many thousands?”
Jules smiled. “Keep chuggin’,” she urged.
“Okay…if you follow that theory to its conclusion, in some respects we are bound by fate, because fate limits our choices to the ones at hand; but in other respects, we have tremendous free will, because each and every day we make countless choices which will impact on our future.”
“Fabulous. Right ya are, Dieter. That’s exactly what I meant. Now let’s hold on ta that train of thought and look at this here tombstone. ‘Capt. Richard R. Crawford, died Battle of Gettysburg, 1863.’ Let’s play suppose for a moment.”
“Okay,” I said, leaning back on my elbows.
“Suppose that on one morning in July of 1863, instead of wakin’ up, shavin’, donnin’ his uniform, and walkin’ out onto the battlefield, a certain confederate rifleman gets ill and starts pukin’ his guts out.”
“Supposing that, then maybe Captain Crawford doesn’t get a bullet between the eyes. Maybe he lives a long and healthy life, mows the lawn, has some kids. The future is altered.”
“That it is, but in the grand-ole-scheme a things, it’s altered only slightly. Now suppose a certain Yankee politician becomes ill during a particularly contentious national election.”
“Lincoln?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Supposing that, then maybe the South doesn’t secede, maybe slavery continues for a few more decades, maybe Capt. Crawford lives a long and healthy life, mows the lawn, has some kids.”
“Same condition—one man becomes ill—but a major difference in its impact.” Jules gestured to the red leaved oak. “Thick branch versus thin branch. For centuries, my family has made their livin’ picking thick branches from between the thin. That’s the deal with scrying. There’s nothin’ more to it.”
Scrying…I had heard about the technique. Some students in Alpha focused on it. You stared into a pool of water; the ripples told you stuff. Scrying was like the derivatives market of the magical world.
“Sounds cool…can you do me?”
Jules chuckled. She took of her spectacles and buffed them on her shirt. “Dieter, my entire life feels like one big inside joke too. I was born barren.”
I gulped—Jules had referenced her lady parts—that was unexpected.
She caught my expression and rolled her eyes. “Not like that, ya moron. Thank ya very much, but me uterus be workin’ just fine. What I cannot do is scry. The gift plain passed me by.” Her jaw tensed. “I spent my entire childhood preparin’ for a future that didn’t exist…and yes, Dieter, I be quite aware of irony, so please don’t make another one of yer—”
“I’m so sorry.” How could I work with someone day in day out, and not know such an important thing about them? “Maybe the future needed you elsewhere,” I offered. Lame, yes, but what the hell was I supposed to say?
“That’s obvious ta me now. Obviously, my destiny be ta keep ya from destroyin’ the world.”
I laughed.
Jules rubbed her brow. “It’s funny, but that’s the first time I’ve mentioned scryin’ since comin’ here.” Jules leaned her head back and rested it against the oak. To want something for so long and not get it, I could understand that. Maybe that’s why she had told me.
“Let me give this scrying a try,” I said placing my debit card on my forehead. I screwed my eyes up in mock strain. “I sense a new pair of shoes in your future.”
“You’re doing it wrong,” Jules said, placing her own card on her forehead. “I sense three pairs of shoes in my future.”
I smiled. “Shall we get to it?”
“There be money ta be wasted, Dieter.” Jules hopped up and dusted off the red leaves. “Let me show ya how ta do it proper.”
+
Jules was a pro. Chapel Street didn’t know what hit it. Two pairs of dress pants, five button downs, three pairs of jeans, and ten t-shirts later, I still had $300 bucks to spend. Now she was leading me down Church Street at a fair clip.
“By the gods, Jules,” I said gasping, “you’re some sort of shopping demon. The clerk at the last store looked like she was gonna cry.”
Jules shrugged her shoulders. “So what? It’s not my fault her clothing was mispriced.”
I struggled to keep up while carrying all the bags. Jules was setting a brutal pace. “One question. Why are we wearing these t-shirts inside out? People are staring.”
“It’s a new style. Now hurry, we’re almost out of time.”
“Time?” Jules was a pretty bad liar, but she swung into a vintage clothing store before I could follow-up. Like she had been doing all morning, she beehived to one particular rack like she’d sniffed out the sale from a mile away. I caught up to her as she dove in headfirst and began to root about.
“A-ha!” She announced from deep within the cottony mass.
“Jules,” I whispered, “you’re not supposed to cackle. Cackling is a dead giveaway.”
“Oh shush, Dieter. Take these,” she said, tossing back one jacket after another.
I was about to protest, when I took a look at them. The women’s jacket was made of hardened white leather, the high-end type designed for riding motorcycles. The leather was soft to the touch but thick enough to take a beating. I used to drool over this stuff at the dirt bike store. It must have been worth something like eight hundred bucks. And the other? It was a badass beat-down copy of those jackets pilots wore during World War I.
I sighed. We only had a few hundred bucks left. There was no way we could swing—“Most sacred of craps, Jules!” I exclaimed. “This white one’s only two hundred dollars—and the brown one’s only one fifty!” I looked around for sales clerk. “There’s gotta be some sort of—”
“Shh!” Jules hissed. “Just give me yer card and shut yer pie hole.”
Not wanting to anger the Apostle of cheap, I handed over my card. “But, Jules, shouldn’t we try them on?” I asked, as she rushed us to the counter.
“No need, silly.”
The woman at the register did a double take as she rang the jackets up. After a judgmental stare, she walked over to her manager.
Jules laughed. “Yes! Yes, I know!” she said to herself.
“Um, Jules?” I felt like I was missing out on the joke. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something fishy going on.
I’d started to warm up my Sight, when Jules elbowed me in the kidney. “Mind your biz,” she hissed liked a viper.
I coddled my thrice-wounded organ. “Why does it always have to be the kidney?”
“Oh yea of little faith,” she said, wagging her finger at me.
The manager checked the computer, shook his head, and shrugged.
The cashier looked crestfallen. “I could have sworn I stocked these,” she moaned. She looked at the motorcycle jacket with forlorn eyes. “Man, this white one is totally awesome. If I had known the price, I would have bought it myself…Hey, why are you two wearing your t-shirts inside out?”
“New style,” we said in unison.
The deal struck, Jules exited the store in a hurry. “Move your ‘arse, Dieter. We need ta find a pastry shop pronto.”
I brightened. “Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Did you know it’s already one o’clock? I need some sugar, and I need it bad.”
“It’s not for you, ya dodo.” Jules broke into a jog, asking for directions as she went. Spotting a viable coffee shop, she burst in and scoured their selection of
pastries. “I’ll take one cinnamon roll, two Danishes, and a large frap please…Wait what?…Oh, sure…Extra butter and honey, please.”
Still huffing, I said, “Jeeze, Jules, you might be teeny, but your arteries need some love too.”
“They’re not for me,” she said slapping down a twenty. “Get me a toasted bagel and meet me over in that alley.”
“Whaaa?” I asked.
Hands full of death-pastries, Jules rushed out of the coffee shop, crossed the street, and darted into said alley. Trying to take my colleague’s mental collapse in stride, I ordered an espresso and two plain bagels with cream cheese.
Ringing up my order, the girl behind the counter gave me a sad smile. “I used to be the same way. Just try and support her through it. She’s only gonna get help when she realizes she needs it. When she does, don’t judge, just be there for her, okay?”
“Thanks for the advice,” I said, my cheeks flushing. “I’ve got a feeling the spell’s gonna wear off pretty soon.”
The check out girl nodded knowingly.
Fuming, I stormed across the street. Jules was crouching at the back of the alley. The casual passerby probably saw just another dumpster diver fishing for recyclables. Me, I saw it for what it was: payment. Fairies. They were in last week’s Elliot Bulletin under “Things not to Dabble With.” So that was why Jules asked the waitress at Patricia’s for those saltine crackers…
“Un-freaking-believable,” I muttered to myself.
Jules stepped backwards to stand beside me. With the faintest of rustles, a pair of tiny wings fluttered to the ground. The little person attached to them skipped over to the cinnamon roll clapping his hands and giggling with glee. Perhaps it was rude, but I flat-out stared. The creature had pointy ears and clothes that sparkled like morning dew. It was like Walt Disney’s brain had spilled out across the street. It dove head first into the buttery mound. My hand shaking, I downed the espresso and wiped the sweat forming on my brow.
“So…” I said uneasily. “They’re real too.”
“Shhh,” Jules whispered. “No talkin’ ta the fae. They’re sneaky and you’re stupid. You still have the crackers in yer pocket, dontcha?”
I nodded.
Satisfied, Jules turned to face her tiny opponent. “Is the contract fulfilled?”
Head covered in icing, the live doll bowed slightly and fluttered its wings like a deck of cards.
“Then pinky swear it,” Jules said firmly. There was a power in her voice, like when Rei had demanded that coffee on the train. She extended her right pinky, slipped it into her mouth, and flicked it out to the side. The fae tilted its head to the side and snickered. After a moment of hesitation, it mirrored Jules’ motions.
I really didn’t like it when that thing giggled—it stroked up and down my spine.
“Come on, Dieter. Let’s go,” Jules urged.
“‘Kay.” I turned to leave…but couldn’t quite manage it. I mean, the small thingy had freakin’ wings attached to its torso. They were a multicolored dance of paints stirred into water. I couldn’t help but stare.
The fae looked back at me with interest. Holding the sweet roll like a bag of laundry, it examined my shoes, sneered at my inverted t-shirt, and then took a gander at my unruly hair. That’s when the creature’s easy expression faltered. A quiver shot through its body, and the tiny fae dropped the sweet roll to the ground.
Oh, fuck.
I took a step backward.
The fae took a step forward.
I swallowed.
It fluttered into the air.
Not fair, I thought. I hadn’t said a word.
The fae didn’t come straight for my neck, but instead came to roost atop of the frappuccino, straddling it like a foamy bathtub. “Are ya her childe, then?” it asked in a sweet, fluty voice.
“Her?” My knees felt weak. “Her, who?”
“But what a strange stink ya bear, little one. Whom be yer sire?”
My mother? Had this strange little thing just mentioned my mother? How did it know? I wanted to kneel down and talk to it. I needed to. Maybe the fae could tell me something…something about my mom…something about my past. But I wasn’t moving forward. I was moving backward. Jules had me by the collar. Her feet dug into the asphalt, she was dragging me away with all her might. Out of the alley. Back onto the sidewalk. Beyond the little beastie’s line of sight.
“Whoa, Dieter,” Jules said, panting. “I thought you were near immune ta that kinda shite. The little bastard had ya twangled up good, didn’t he?”
“Hold the phone,” I said. “First, he? Seriously? And why did you drag me out? The fae said something about my mother. I need to ask him if—”
“No, Dieter, the fae said what you wanted ta hear, nothin’ more.”
“But, Jules…” I stifled a shiver. It was sunny out. Why was I was shivering?
“It’s what they do, Dieter. Capital-A-assholes, they are.” She gently pried the crumpled coffee cup from my hand. “Come on now, I’ll explain.”
I nodded, but I still wasn’t right side up. I had to take Jules shoulder for support. It felt like I’d been squeezed like a lime. Jules helped me over to a park bench and promptly tore into her bagel. My own appetite had vanished.
“What did you have that little guy doing for you?”
“Personal shopper,” Jules said, still chomping.
I glared at her. “Let me get this straight. You used a freaking fairy to bargain hunt? Jules, I’ve read the Brothers Grimm. Aren’t the fae supposed to be super freaking dangerous?”
“Seriously, Dieter, you really need ta take History of Magic and Bestiary. The Brothers Grimm had ta purify their tales ta get them past the Church’s censors.”
“I know, I know, I’m a horribly miss-informed ex-Imperiti. So explain this shit, oh in-the-know-magus. Birth light into my hazy eyes.”
“Well, basically I made a deal,” Jules said, dusting off her bagel.
“With a fae? For shoes?”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds, Dieter. As long as you fulfill the parameters of the agreement, ya don’t have ta worry about a thing.”
“But aren’t they devious?”
“Oh, they most certainly are. They’ll steal both kidneys right out from under yer ribs if ya let ‘em. But nowadays we have Polimag, Dieter. We’ve out litigated them.”
“Out…” I started massaging my throbbing temples. “Huh?”
Jules pulled out a small pocket reference guide:
Professor Alfred Simons’ Fae Contracts for Dummies
For entertainment purposes only
My eyes widened. “Isn’t it dangerous walking around with a book like that? What if it like fell into Imperiti hands or something?”
“Honestly, Dieter, do ya think any of the Imperiti would take it seriously?” She giggled. “Professor Simons—Awen claim his soul—made a tidy sum sellin’ these things all across the States. Gag shops love ‘em.”
“Hidden in plain sight…you guys seem to love that. So, what was that fae doing for you exactly?”
“Us. Doin’ for us. He’s a minor Unseelie fae. There are two general types of fae. The Seelie and the Unseelie. The Seelie are bearable, but the Unseelie are the dredges. They adore disorder. The more harm they cause, the more it shakes their rocks. So I exploited his Unseelie nature, Dieter. I asked him ta find the most egregiously mislabeled merchandise on Chapel Street. He got ta enjoy the frustration of all those shopkeepers; we found the bargains. Still, I had ta be careful. I gifted him snacks so he couldn’t boomerang it.”
“Huh?”
“The Unseelie are a sneaky lot. Sure, they won’t quit till they fulfill an agreement, but it’s in their nature ta exploit any loopholes in a bargain. When dealin’ with the Unseelie, the best defense is always good offense. Give ‘em somethin’ more important ta worry about. Then they’ll usually leave ya be.”
“A frappuccino?” I asked, outraged.
“Yup. They love fresh-n-sugary sna
cks. You know, the usual stuff: warm baked goods, cream, butter, babies. Also, ya want ta keep them from touchin’ yer person. They hate anything stale. They also don’t like clothes worn inside out. Both are like fae kryptonite.” Jules undid the top two buttons of her blouse to reveal a large iron locket. “So is iron.”
“Um, I can’t see that too well, could you—”
Blushing, Jules leaned forward and smacked me upside the head. “Wanker,” she growled.
“Honestly, you complain about me being reckless, but contracts with the fae? Don’t they have a reputation of enslaving talented, handsome, young men like myself? You risked your charge, Julesy.”
“Well then, Mr. Cautious, I’ll just return this authentic WWI flight jacket—”
“It’s real?” Visions of the Red Baron danced through my head. I clutched back my prize greedily. “Fine, you’re forgiven.”
Jules started cackling again. (Frankly, she did it a little too well.)
I checked my watch. Our fae-driven high-speed shopping session had saved a ton of time. “Hey Jules, I’ve got about one-fifty left on my card. I still need to pick up PJ’s and undies, but we have till 11PM, right? What do you say we grab dinner and a movie with the rest? I owe you big time, after all.”
Jules beamed.
“Hey, Dieter, boxer or briefs?”
“Quiet, wench, that’s a trade secret.”
Laughing, we went looking for a department store.
+
“Are you serious,” I asked.
“Yeppers!”
I kicked my shoe into the ground a few more times, sighed, and went up to the ticket counter. “Two for Harry Potter, please.”
The pimpled teenager behind the counter squinted at me. “Are you sure, sir? It is rated PG-13.”
I had just enough mana to…“Ha-ha-ha. Good one. It’s for my little sister over there. She’s not all that well in the head.” I leaned forward and whispered, “She thinks she’s a witch.”
The attendant passed me the two tickets. “Sorry, man,” he managed.
Zero Sum (Zero Sight Series, Book 2) Page 8
