by Ira Robinson
Yet he had been involved with ideas far beyond what she ever suspected, apparently for years. At any time, he could have told her, could have said she might be on the right track or that he believed her, but he always chose to stab her. He made her feel like crap for even thinking it was a possibility.
Why? Out of some pretense of protecting her? Or just out of spite?
Magic and monsters. All the things she thought, as a young girl, could be real, and now she was caught up in a web of deceit and lies about them.
Magic and monsters, yet where was her knight in shining armor to save her from the dragons her life had become consumed by?
When Bart finally did move, it was to take off the hat. He stared into it, tracing the outline of it as his fingers worked along the brim. The softening around his eyes surprised her, as the mustache above his mouth moved with the quiet pursing of his lips.
A moment later, he broke the silence of the room, and she jolted a little at the sound.
"This was dad's, you know?" His voice, already a basso tone, seemed deeper as his throat choked with emotion. "I started wearing it after I joined the Society, wanting so much to be like him."
Vague memories of his younger self donning it, fitting perfectly on his head despite his age, flooded her at his words, but she said nothing.
He sighed, glancing up at her for only a moment before settling his eyes again on the hat.
"I knew they were in the Society, but never what Mort said tonight. I always suspected there was a lot more to what happened to dad, but..."
He drifted off, leaving Sam to wonder if she needed to prompt him to keep going. Her own memories were so different from his own, experiences that he had she could never imagine.
Memories of a father she never knew.
Now, if everything was to be believed, she had to deal with the knowledge the father she always wanted in her life was a monster wanting to destroy her.
Though it weighed next to nothing and she rarely felt it when she wore it, the necklace around her neck seemed so heavy, almost choking her with its presence.
Sam traced the lines of the rose, the outline as familiar as her own skin.
After hearing everything her family had been connected with, however, it was a foreign object to her, a chameleon against her body disguising what should have been beautiful.
What had her mother done?
Her fingers came to rest on the spot the creature put his own hand into. There was no trace on her skin it happened, but the wave of nausea when she touched it, the memory of the darkness she was forced to face, confirmed it had all been real.
Could that thing really have been her father? Could her mother have created a freak like it? Heather was an amazing force of nature, someone who would never have any truck with evil things.
But was that the truth? Or was there much more to her mom than Sam ever thought of before?
What disturbed her the most, though, was the impression of something inside of her, a spark of darkness centered on the place the creature touched her.
It was buried deep.
She had not noticed it at first, but as the hours passed, what was once a small twinge seemed to become more. Solid, twisting around within herself.
Was it just a matter of freaking herself out, though? Was she making herself feel it in some psychosomatic way? It could be a reaction to the whole mess.
Possibly. But in her heart she did not really believe that.
She was scared, deep in her soul, that the thing, her father, left a piece of itself - himself - within her. Some kind of reminder that she belonged to him.
That fear alone kept her mouth glued shut.
Bart broke the reverie, her eyes alighting on him as he caressed the hat, turning it over and over as he spoke.
"Dad always had this on. He wore it everywhere, and, when I was a kid, I could not figure out why. I mean, it's nice, but you'd see him wearing it from the minute he got up until he went to bed."
He finally met her eyes, but only for a moment before drooping his own down again.
"When he died, I kept it for myself, but I didn't want to put it on. It was his, always his." He ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. "Still is, really.
"But the thing is," he continued, "I realized quickly why he wore it so much. It's magic, you see?" He threw her a thin smile at her raised eyebrows. "It's true. Any time there's something powerful going on nearby, a person casting a spell or doing a ritual, whoever is wearing this will know where it is coming from. A compass for the extraordinary, I guess."
She narrowed her gaze and shifted on the bed. "Is that how you knew where to find me this morning?"
He nodded. "When I wear it, it's like someone taking my hand and pulling me toward wherever it is happening. It's not easy to explain, but it works."
Bart put the hat back on, completing the picture she always had in her mind of him, but he stayed in the chair, deep in his thoughts.
"What's going to happen to Odessa?" Sam asked, when it became apparent he was not volunteering more.
He scratched his arm a few times before answering. "We have an... arrangement with the funeral home." His hands settled together, fingers intertwined. "Whenever something like this happens, they help us keep it quiet. They'll put on the funeral, give her a really nice one, and there will be a story in the paper and radio, of course, but they're probably going to call it a heart attack or old age."
He saw the glare she was giving him and continued, "Don't look at me like that. We can't say she was killed by some creature from hell, can we?" He shook his head. "It's not the worst that has happened here. We are here to protect them" - he said, as he waved his hand in the direction town might be - "even when they don't know they need it."
"Why not tell them?" she asked, though she suspected the answer already. Still, she had to ask; it was in her nature. "Why not warn them about the dangers?"
"You know people, Sam." He leaned back in the chair, his hands balled together in his lap. "There'd be too much panic. The town wouldn't exist anymore."
She supposed he had a point, but the thought grated her sensibilities. Had she understood there was the chance for an entity to become attached to her, attacking her over and over, she would have liked to have warning.
If she had known, though, would she have remained living there?
Maybe, but she doubted it.
Sam did not like that he was right about it, so she changed the subject.
"What's going to happen with me? Mortimer said I'd be protected, but what exactly does that mean?"
Bart shrugged his shoulders. "Could be anything, really. There is a lot at our disposal."
He stood and stretched, his hands reaching the ceiling easily. As he brought his arms back down, he said, "Listen, I want you to stay here tonight. Let us have time to figure out what the next steps are going to be, alright?"
She did not like the idea of things being out of her control.
"I know, but there's nowhere you'll be safer than here."
He left the room before she had a chance to say no, closing the door behind him as he went.
She checked the latch after it closed and found it was locked once again. She thought about taking her frustrations out on it, like earlier, but what good would it do?
She would just waste her energy on a useless venture and probably leave herself with nothing more than pain and exhaustion for her efforts.
Sam returned to the bed and laid down on it, her back stretched out against the sheets that smelled as old as the place itself.
Her hand propped on her chest, crossing over the same place the shadow pushed himself into, tracing the outline of the aching that remained.
Her eyes drifted closed, cutting off the light from above as she imagined the darkness left behind inside of her.
Was it only in her imagination?
Chapter 24
Sam's eyes fluttered, brightness from above filtering through her sleep-befuddled len
ses.
She forced them closed and held them tight for a few moments while her mind tried to catch up.
A tapping interrupted her again. The light came into her once more as her lids opened, swinging her legs beneath her over the edge of the bed.
How long had she been asleep? It could not have been much time. An hour? Three?
However much it was, it had done crap. Her movements were slow and her brain was a mushy sludge poured in during the night.
Was it still night? Without windows, she had no way of knowing. The passage of minutes in this place was, for her, untraceable, especially with everything she had been told. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as her head hit the dingy pillow; she was out before she could have a chance to pull the blanket over herself.
The tapping again, more insistent. Sam glared at the door, unsure of what was to come.
"Yeah?" she managed to get out of her dry throat, but it was not as loud as she intended it to be.
Still, the knob turned and the wood swung wide, letting a bit more light into the room. Sam did not squint against it, though; her eyes were getting used to the sensation of being awake again.
The girl was taller than she had seemed to be when she saw her leaving the conference. Maybe Sam had not been paying close enough attention to get a real gauge, or the fact she sat for most of the time she was there could have made Sam misperceive.
Tamara drifted in, looking haggard. The lines across her features could have been from lack of sleep or something else entirely. Despite her earlier estimations, Sam realized Tamara could be no older than her late teens.
"Hi, Sam," she said, offering her hand toward the chair Bart left in the room with a gesture.
Sam nodded and Tamara slid into the seat, gangling arms and legs twitching as she tried to be comfortable on the hard wood.
As tired as she seemed, she still exuded a pent-up energy of some kind. Perhaps it was her eyes, or just a product of youth.
When the girl noticed Sam's own weary gaze, she stopped moving. "I didn't wake you, did I?" Her face immediately narrowed with concern.
"S'okay," Sam said, stirring her hair around to stimulate her awareness. "What do you want?"
"Oh." Her dark locks drifted across her eyes as she bent her head down; to Sam, it was almost a supplicating gesture. She kept it tilted as she said, "I'm sorry, I just don't sleep very much, and I thought you might be awake, too."
"I am now. It's alright." A sardonic smile came to her face. "I haven't been getting much lately, either."
One eye peeked out from behind Tamara's hair. "It's been that way for me as long as I can remember."
Although Sam originally considered the girl rude when she met her in the conference earlier in the evening, she began to wonder if it was something in the girl's nature to be shy, or more of an observer of people, rather than someone who interacted with others. She seemed hesitant with every move, much different than those Sam normally dealt with.
"I've been doing a lot of thinking about what's going on with you," she continued, her voice not far above a whisper. "Bart told me about some of the things that happened at the farm, and I was able to put together what the woman... Odessa?" Sam nodded. "Odessa. I was able to put together the ritual she was trying to do. She was on the right track, but I am not sure what she did that went wrong."
"Well, obviously something did," Sam said, "or I wouldn't be here." Speaking about what happened with the old woman hurt; if it were not for Sam, she would still be alive.
Sam did not want to deal with the guilt of it, but no matter how much she wanted to deny it, it had become a part of her. Not one bit of it could be taken back.
She would have to live with it for the rest of her life. However long that might be.
"What exactly did she use in the ritual?"
Sam explained what she brought to Odessa's for the spell, and Tamara nodded at each.
"I think the dirt is where she went off track. Whatever it was, it did not contain the revenant. It was toying with you."
Tamara swiped her hair back as Sam asked, "How do you know about all this stuff?"
Sam saw her smile, the first she had really done. It lit her face up and let the youthfulness of her shine through.
"I was born into it, I guess," she said, her voice raising in volume with renewed confidence. "I've been here a long while. I don't remember my parents; by the time I was five, they had already tossed me away. I couldn't control myself then, you see?"
Sam could not fully understand what she meant, signaling her to continue.
"Someone in the Society found me and brought me here, recognizing my talents, and they've taken care of me since."
"So what are these 'talents,'" she asked, shifting on the bed a little to relieve an ache in her leg.
The girl shrugged. "Besides an impeccable sense of style?" She grinned as Sam broke out into a smirk. "I guess you could say I have a proclivity toward magic. It's not that common, and I have it pretty strong. Mortimer thinks it could be because I can see the patterns going on in people's lives, especially if I touch a belonging."
"I heard you guys saying that before, but what exactly does that mean?" Sam just could not grasp the idea. She crossed her arms as she put her back against the wall.
"Well," Tamara said after a moment, "it's not something easy for me to explain, especially to those not familiar with how it works." Her hand came to her mouth and she bit at her thumbnail as she thought.
"Magic is potent, but there are dangers that come with using it. Every time someone handles it, they draw energy not just from themselves, but everything around them. And if it's powerful enough, even from other worlds."
"Wait, other worlds?" Sam perked up.
Tamara nodded. "This is not the only one, you know. Others exist outside of here, and most connect to each other in some kind of way." She waved her hand. "This place has many connections, most of them to realities you would not even want to think about, let alone visit."
Sam's eyes widened. "This building?"
"This town," Tamara replied. Then her orbs narrowed into Sam's. "I probably should not have said all of this, but it's important for you to know what you're facing."
Sam was not sure how to take any of it, but was grateful for the thought. She seemed sincere, more so than even Bart had earlier that night.
Or for a very long time.
"Whenever that magic is used, the person doing it loses a bit of their own energy," Tamara continued. "A little of their life force is drained away, and the more potent the power they are trying to tap into, the worse that effect becomes." She leaned back in the chair and folded her hands across her lap. "Thankfully, what I can do with the patterns is more inherent in me than magic, so it does not take anything out of me to let it happen."
"That's good," Sam said, though it all seemed so strange. Yet, at the same time, there was a familiarity to the idea of it, and the more the girl spoke, the more that feeling grew, something unlocking within.
"So," Tamara went on, "basically when I think about someone in particular, what they have been through, the experiences they have had, all those little moments leading them down the pathway they are on, those things are laid out before me like a deck of cards. Or maybe a spider's web would be a better analogy."
She made a circle with her fingers. "The pattern of life leads us to fill a hole in the universe, something that was missing before that soul came along. Bricks built into a wall one by one. Take away one of those, things can fall apart. Add one out of place, the building can crumble." She let her hands drop again. "This web, this set of bricks, can be seen by people like me. Instead of seeing things like the normals do, with the inability to get close and see everything in fine detail, we get right up to that web and pick out each strand if we want."
"So how do you see what's going on with me, then?" Sam was trying to grasp it, but most of what she said went over her head.
"It's hard to find the words, when what happens
with it is more feeling than idea." Tamara fell silent for a few minutes, while Sam shifted her legs again to bring her knees up to her chest.
When Tamara spoke again, she did it more slowly. "The universe is like one big web, right? A giant web, with each strand of it being a person's life. Everything is connected together into a whole, and without this string or that, the structure is weaker and will fall apart." She stared at Sam. "Got it?"
Sam nodded.
"Normally, people do not comprehend each string. They imagine it as a totality, if they envision any of it at all."
Sam interrupted her with her hand raised. "Like when you're walking through the woods, and there's a web between two trees? It's all dew covered and one big structure?"
