Magic Awakening: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Spirit War Chronicles Book 1)

by Stephen Allan

  I elbowed Brady in the side, but he didn’t react at all.

  “It’s hell, I know,” DJ said.

  Do you know? Do you really know? Did you see what I saw?

  “But with that said, I don’t suppose something lighter would hurt.”

  I had stood up to get some ham and cheese, but I sat right back down as soon as I heard that.

  “You both know a good, relaxing high won’t hurt,” DJ said. “Agreed, no Devil’s Eye. But something very light, something that just makes you feel good—I think it would be good.”

  Neither of us said a word. I tried to figure out if we even could—we might be able to squeeze it in. And if we chose the absolute lightest strand, I didn’t think anything awful would come of it. Maybe it would be nice to have an enjoyable experience with the Amsterdam specialty.

  As long as it doesn’t put me back in the spiritual realm at a disadvantage. I’m not getting drawn back into that unless I’m completely sober and armed.

  Though the way things go, I may not have a choice if the demons come.

  But a funny thought came to mind. The initial bit of Devil’s Eye had blown my mind and destroyed my senses. But once I’d come to the spiritual realm, I had complete control of my body and my mind. Maybe that drug wasn’t actually a drug like marijuana which relaxed me. Maybe it was a literal gateway drug, passing you to the spiritual realm without affecting your body in the long run.

  If I wanted to go back to the spiritual realm for whatever reason, maybe I always had to take Devil’s Eye. Carsis had shown magic could do it, but until I’d somehow learned to harness a power I previously thought was pure fiction, maybe I had to go back to the drug that struck fear in everyone.

  Right now, though, I didn’t want a fight. I wanted to laugh and play silly tourist.

  “I’ll tell you what, DJ,” I said. “There’s no way I’m going back to Devil’s Eye. That shit was more scary than it was fun. But if you want to do something lighter, something more casual, I think it would be a good way to enhance the experience at the Van Gogh Museum.”

  “No way,” Brady said. “Count me out.”

  DJ nodded and gave the “what the hell” smile he had in spades.

  “As long as we ain’t touching Satan’s grass, I’ll go with whatever.”

  Brady looked at the two of us, rolled his eyes, and shrugged in his defeatist state.

  “If you can get the Brits to do it, then I’ll—”

  “Smoke the reefer, yes?” Richard’s voice said as he approached from the bar. “Nicholas and I promised ourselves we’d do whatever we wanted today. We slept like newborn babies last night. So count us in.”

  Brady wanted to protest. His eyes were arched, his shoulders back, and his mouth open to speak.

  But he quickly calculated that he was outnumbered four to one. As much as he didn’t like DJ, he disliked being the party spoiler even more, so he shrugged and slumped in his chair. I paid him no mind—the weed would perk him up by the time we got to the Van Gogh Museum.

  “Smoke the reefer, we shall,” DJ said.

  “Yes!” Nicholas said with his usual goofy excitement. “Holy hell, DJ, you look awful.”

  “You know me, I like to go without makeup sometimes,” he said, drawing a laugh from all but one person at the table. “I’m sorry I cannot be as naturally beautiful as Sonya, but I’ll remember next time to put my mascara on.”

  I tried to kick DJ under the table, a reminder that there was a stop sign he consistently ignored, but instead Richard suddenly crunched in pain. I just shot him an apologetic look. I didn’t want DJ getting the satisfaction of admitting my mistake.

  “Brady, did you hear the news about the Jets backup quarterback, Smith I think?”

  And there was my excuse to finish my food and get up.

  I hurriedly grabbed two slices of ham with cheese and a glass of milk and consumed them in less than two minutes. When I finished the last of my milk, I slammed the glass down, interrupting the boys talking about fantasy football implications.

  “The more time we spend here talking about how many touchdowns your quarterbacks score, the less time we have at the museum,” I said, though I was glad that Brady had gotten some of his step back.

  “But love, it’s a critical week—”

  “Even I know that’s not true, it’s September,” I said, smirking. “Nice try. But hurry up. Take your food to go so we can get a move on.”

  Nicholas and Richard looked at each other, with Nicholas mentioning, “We’ll smoke sooner if we do this.” Richard quickly agreed, and the boys swallowed their orange juice in a single gulp. We all stood and walked out of Durty Nelly’s, heading back toward Greenhouse Effect. The same people as the day before rested on the chairs and benches outside—the people who were smart enough not to smoke Devil’s Eye or knew how to handle it. Inside, the same braided, blonde-haired, petite woman as yesterday greeted us.

  “How’d you like the Devil’s Eye?” she asked me in her noticeable Danish accent, ignoring the four guys who walked with me.

  “It was an interesting experience,” I said, noticing that her eye was flickering colors. Demon? Keep your hands near your hips. “Certainly among the stronger things that I’ve had.”

  “Come back for round two?”

  “No way,” Brady said.

  Goddamnit, Brady.

  “Hey, I can speak for myself, thank you.”

  “I—”

  But DJ interrupted him by pushing past both of us to the counter, and I couldn’t help but smile that my brother was getting put in his place by my assumed current interest. Which DJ was not.

  No. Nope. No way.

  “To answer what I would like, just give me a space cake.”

  “All right, and for you all?” the woman said, losing interest as soon as we requested the same thing, lamely shuffling one of the brownies to me. I paid the five euros for the food, unwrapped it, and waited for everyone else to finish. Everyone followed my lead—except for Nicholas, who got a blunt of something. Don’t you dare tell me—

  “Jamaican Jam,” he said, nodding to it. Thank God. Yevon, whatever.

  What if there are multiple gods? Oh, the way that would turn the world upside down.

  “Strong, but certainly not Devil’s Eye.”

  “Good,” I said, holding up my brownie as if in toast. “To a fun, safe, enjoyable outing for Room 115 at Durty Nelly’s hostel.”

  We all “clinked” our brownies together and then ate them faster than we probably should have, with Nicholas taking several puffs of his blunt. When we all finished, we giggled at each other. It was probably the placebo effect at this point, but damn it felt good eating marijuana-laced chocolate.

  We passed a massive square with a large mall inside a building that looked like a castle from the outside, adorned with the usual street performers in any major city. Darth Vader, break dancers, magicians, musicians, Woody and Buzz Lightyear—it felt like being back in Times Square. Some things, it turned out, were more universal than local.

  We continued to the metro stop and awaited the No. 12 tram. It arrived, we paid the 2.75 euros for a one-way ticket, and piled in to the back, all of us standing as the tram lurched forward.

  Then Nicholas just started giggling, and I knew we’d made the correct choice to get stoned.

  “Love, we don’t got nothing like this back in Manchester,” he said to me.

  He said it so hilariously slowly and with such a shit-eating grin that I didn’t even bother to give him crap for calling me love. He was becoming smart enough sober to just call me Sonya. It also helped when he called everyone else on the tram love, drawing more laughs. I was sure none of us were high yet, but we didn’t need to be high to laugh like school kids. Multiple people at the front briefly gazed at us, giving us the judgmental stares all locals reserve for tourists. Whatever. Let’s buy them all space cakes. We can turn it into the laugh tram!

  When we reached the entrance about fifteen minutes late
r to the Van Gogh Museum, I still didn’t feel anything. I knew edibles took some time, but damnit, we were here, and this museum was going to be a lot less interesting if we weren’t feeling a certain way. Sure hope Devil’s Eye didn’t dull my senses to weaker drugs.

  We took an escalator down to the lobby before veering to the left and looking at the first floor of a three-and-a-half story exhibit. I walked up to the first painting, a self-portrait of Van Gogh, and was struck by the tormented expression the painter had. I walked past about a dozen more self-portraits, none of them showing a happy man, all of them showing someone with a certain type of mental demon that he could not get rid of.

  I looked at DJ, still hovering near the first painting, and found myself wondering about him. Why did he connect to Van Gogh so much? Was it because he was a successful artist? Or was there something deeper to it? Something more… sinister, miserable about the hot man in Room 115 at Durty Nelly’s?

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized how little I knew about DJ. He was an author. He was from Australia. He was rich enough to travel. And… that was about it. What was his childhood like? Did he have a good life at home, or did he travel to escape it?

  Wait, why was I thinking so much about him?

  Because maybe you might actually like him enough to do something with him.

  I laughed to myself, a bit louder than I meant to, and quickly shut up, but the thoughts didn’t disappear. If anything, they escalated.

  DJ was still by the first painting. The other boys were looking at other self-portraits. I walked past my brother and the Brits and stood next to DJ, pretending to be as enthralled by the light-blue background, miserable expression, and well-crafted beard as he was.

  “So you say you take after this guy, huh? I hope not too much so.”

  DJ turned to me, gave a wink, and placed his arm around me, pulling me in.

  “Dude,” I said, but I didn’t exactly resist.

  “We’ve all got our demons, Sonya. But mine aren’t quite as bad as this guy.”

  Oh, I don’t think you have any idea what we’ve got, DJ. And you don’t want to know.

  Behind us, the other three members of our group went up the stairs. I wasn’t sure if Brady had seen—no, it didn’t matter. If I wanted DJ to hug me a bit, I wouldn’t mind.

  Still, the display of affection here left me a bit uncomfortable, so I pulled away from his arms, giving myself some space. I also didn’t like getting separated as a group, so I motioned with my head to the second floor.

  “I’ve already seen this, but are you sure you want to rush this?” DJ asked.

  “I wouldn’t ask for something if I wasn’t sure that I wanted it,” I said.

  “Should’ve known. You’re too certain for your own good in most matters.”

  I thought about asking him what that meant but didn’t want to get into an argument over semantics in the middle of an art museum. So behind the stoned Nicholas and the soon-to-be-baked Richard and Brady, we climbed to the second floor, where some of Van Gogh’s better, historical paintings sat. I saw several paintings involving farmers, lower-class citizens, boats, the ocean, and land.

  In looking at these paintings, I felt a strange callback to my childhood. Though we didn’t live on a farm or during the 19th century, the visible hardship on the subjects’ faces reminded me of the past Brady and I had struggled to survive. Days with little food, days when the future seemed impossible to reach, days when ending it seemed…

  Just glad Brady was there.

  “You should see Brady and I,” I said to DJ, trying to get the dark thoughts away. “Even though we’re two entirely different people and our arguments don’t always end well, we’re extremely close and protective of each other.”

  “You don’t say,” DJ said sardonically. “Truth be told, I am a bit jealous of what you have. I have no sister or no brother. I have no siblings here. But… I always wondered how different things would be if I had… if I had a sister.”

  “What do you mean?”

  DJ shrugged nonchalantly.

  “You’ll find out eventually. I don’t know if I can trust you yet.”

  “Trust?” I said. I just wanted to know what he meant about having a sibling. “You don’t trust me?”

  DJ just chuckled, but unlike his many laughs, this one seemed more resigned than usual.

  “I am a fun man to be around for a short period of time. Beyond that, and you dive into things that most people would not want to be around, let alone a beautiful woman like yourself. You would be wise to take me for what I am.”

  I was so confused. This was a totally different than the DJ who flirted with me at the rooftop of SkyLounge. It definitely didn’t seem like a game to try and make me fall for him. He genuinely seemed interested in pushing me away. What had changed?

  The only thing I could think of was that the paintings had triggered some sort of memory and reaction. But what?

  Before I could ask what had happened, though, he turned his attention to one of the paintings without people, commenting on one of the special painting techniques that Van Gogh had used. He seemed visibly more upbeat talking about art like that. I briefly gazed at the painting, looked away to try and locate the other boys, then looked back.

  Something caught my eye. In the painting, four sailboats of different colors were docked near the beach. And I swore on my life that they were facing a different angle than they were before. Before, the starboard had faced toward the ocean. But now…

  I turned away, then turned back. Now the boats were moving on the water!

  What the fuck was going on?

  I looked at another painting, a portrait of a family of four with two young children. Everyone had the rugged, farm-worn look on their face, with dust covering their cheeks and fingers and eyes drooping low. I briefly looked back at DJ, who was still looking at the same painting, and when I looked back, they had switched places!

  How…

  Ohhhhh.

  I’m high. The safe kind of high.

  Unlike yesterday, which brought nothing but danger, frightening new realities, and a realm of demons and monsters, today I just saw the current world from a new perspective, as if I had unlocked angles of the universe with my mind. I couldn’t imagine that Brady enjoyed me entering this state one day after Devil’s Eye, but this was so much more relaxing it felt like going from spying on ISIS to relaxing on a nude beach in Hawaii.

  I drifted past several more paintings, trying not to laugh as the paintings came to life, coming out of the pictures or moving as if blown by the wind. I found Brady and Richard giggling hysterically next to a painting of a corn field, and I just started laughing with them. They’d reached the same place I had.

  “Isn’t this the greatest?” I said, putting my arms around both of them. “And you were worried about me, Brady.”

  “I’m always worried about you, Sonya. Except now. Because now, you’re here, you’re funny. And you’re awesome.”

  “Brady,” I said, but I left the word trail. I didn’t have anything more to say. I just felt good! What more needed to be said! We were all good. All of us. Myself, DJ, Brady, and Richard.

  All of us.

  All…

  Uh. I may be stoned, but…

  “Richard, where’s your brother? Is he being silly?” I asked, more amused than concerned.

  “The lad said he was going to the bathroom. Guy’s been gone for about fifteen minutes now—I don’t know what that Devil’s Eye did to him, but it sure seemed to have given him some sort of digestive trouble.”

  “Oh man, guy can’t hand—wait… what?”

  Richard chuckled as he spoke, trying not to laugh too loudly in such a public place, but I was beginning to hit panic mode. I had to fight off this feeling right now. I could not encounter demons—or whatever Nicholas ran into—while high.

  “Yeah, can you believe him? I told him he was crazy. But maybe we’re crazy. What if crazy is just the new normal?”
>
  I checked my hips. I still had Ebony and Ivory, though touching them made my hands warm and my hips feel especially good. My sense of touch… it just felt so strong. My rational mind hated how strong my sense of touch was, but my body…

  Focus. Sonya. Focus.

  “Richard, will you take me to where Nicholas last was? Hang on guys, I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait, you’re going to the men’s room?” Richard asked. “Are you, like, making a statement that all rooms are equal? Cuz that’s cool, Son. That’s cool.”

  “Richard, bloke, man, I like you, but never call me Son again please,” I said, drifting between complete focus and a “who cares” sensation.

  Richard led me to the bathroom, all the while doing his best not to giggle. I’ll admit I found the situation funny—we talked about how awful Devil’s Eye was, and then Nicholas went and did it anyways! I didn’t even question Richard when he said it! We didn’t even care Nicholas had lied to us! How ridiculous was all of this?

  Sonya!

  Focus, damnit!

  I had Richard walk in first. He confirmed it was clear, just one bathroom with one stall and one urinal. I looked behind me, making sure I would not be followed—at least I had a good excuse if I got caught—and I ducked inside, trusting Richard to watch the door and not let any creeps in. Which was hilariously silly. He was high! He’d probably start talking to a fly and ask it about the meaning of insanity.

  Inside, the place was completely bare. The sink was wet, but not running. The urinal looked clean. The stall door was open.

  But when I looked inside, I noticed something askance on the ground. One of the stones had a tiny symbol, a symbol that could’ve easily been overlooked if someone wasn’t paying attention.

  But I saw it. And the more I looked at it, the larger it got, the more it swirled, and the more obvious it was that this was a gate

  It was the same symbol tattooed on my shoulder.

  Chapter 8

  The longer I stared at the symbol, and the larger it grew, the more control of my senses I gained. I felt a burning on my shoulder as if someone had pressed a smoldering iron against my skin and slowly dialed up the temperature. I had never experienced this before, but I didn’t have to ask what it was or what was going on.