by John Levitt
But after a few moments I dismissed that idea. People were excited, but not scared. Whatever it was, there didn’t seem to be danger involved. I moved down the sloping path, past various enclosures of deer and antelope, until I came upon the scene I’d been looking for.
Several zookeepers were gathered around a bench, and underneath was a medium-sized brown animal about the size of a small golden retriever. The keepers all held long sticks, trying to keep it at bay until someone could get a net or a tranquilizer gun, or whatever they were going to use to recapture it. Another keeper was trying to push the people back who were trying to get a look at what was going on. He saw me, glanced down at Lou, and said, “You can’t have that dog in here, you know.” Talk about misplaced priorities.
“Not my dog,” I said, falling back on my default excuse to avoid confrontation.
Lou wandered away as if he’d never seen me before in his life. The keeper was distracted by a young Asian couple with a camera trying to get closer and forgot about me.
The animal under the bench snapped at one of the keepers that had gotten too close and I got a good look at it. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. It was an otter, probably a sea otter from its size.
It poked its head out from under the bench and focused at something it saw across the path. When I followed its gaze, I saw it was looking at Lou. Then it snapped its attention back to me, staring up with a quiet intensity. I could see its eyes, and they didn’t look like the eyes of an animal, even as clever a one as an otter. Another thing odd about it—it had ears, floppy ears like Lou’s. I’m not an otter expert, but I’ve seen plenty of pictures and nature films. Otters have tiny ears, not ones that flop over like a beagle’s.
It stuck its head out farther and barked at me, sounding very much like Lou asking for help before ducking farther back to the relative safety under the bench. Which was fine—I was sure by now this was no ordinary otter, and I had no desire to leave it in the hands of zookeepers who were bound to notice before long that it wasn’t an otter at all. But how to go about abducting it out of there?
An aversion-type spell would help, but wasn’t sufficient. All it does is make the eye disinclined to rest on an object, to glide over it. That wouldn’t deter the keepers who already knew there was an otter under the bench and were focused on it.
But the two keepers on either side of the bench offered something I could use. The two of them quite resembled each other, much like brothers, and wore identical uniforms as well. I used that similarity to craft a spell. Their identical appearance provided a template where I could create an illusionary twin for the otter.
If I threw an aversion spell over the original creature and at the same time created an identical-looking illusion and sent it charging off, the real one might then slip off unnoticed in the ensuing chaos. The only problem was the timing; I’d have to set the two spells in motion simultaneously, like playing two separate lines on the guitar at the same time. I might not be able to pull it off on the guitar, but I thought I could do it here.
I sent the spells flying in, one on top of the other, and for just a moment there were two otters there, but with both of them huddled close it was hard to tell that. When the two spells kicked in, every eye avoided the real otter and focused on the illusion. I sent the illusion running out in a mad dash for freedom, ignoring the keepers’ sticks. One of the keepers poked his stick right through it, but since that obviously wasn’t possible his mind told him he’d simply missed.
It was across the path and heading away from us in seconds, heading for a large bush, keepers in hot pursuit, not noticing there was another figure still under the bench, protected by the aversion spell. As soon as the copy of the otter dived into the nearby bush, I’d release the illusion and for all intents and purposes it would vanish. The keepers would be sorely puzzled about where it had gone, but at least they wouldn’t have the physical evidence of a lop-eared otter to examine.
The otter cautiously stretched its head out again and I gestured to it urgently. If I’d read things right, it would come bounding out. If not, and it was nothing more than an unusual animal after all, it would ignore me and hunker down in place.
No worries there. It was out of its temporary lair and moving toward me in less than a second. I turned and ran toward the front gate, otter close behind and Lou on its heels ready to nip if it changed its mind.
I glanced back to make sure it was following me, noting that it wasn’t running with the normal otter gait, bouncing and somewhat goofy. Its long body stretched out and it moved with ease, almost like a large cat. People looked at me curiously as I ran by, and even the aversion spell couldn’t keep them from noticing a large furry creature bounding along right behind me. But they wouldn’t be able to describe it if anyone were to ask them later.
I didn’t have a plan, apart from getting the otter out of the immediate area. Maybe I could convince it to get into the van, though what I would do after that wasn’t so clear. I couldn’t very well take it home; my landlord was back in town. Victor wouldn’t take kindly to the idea of having a super intelligent otter as a permanent houseguest, though I’d bet Eli would be thrilled at the prospect.
The otter solved that problem as soon as we exited through the gate. It stopped, pulled itself erect like Lou searching for a scent, and faced Ocean Beach. Two seconds later, without a backward glance, it bounded down the sidewalk and across the Great Highway, the road that runs along the edge of the ocean. I could hear the screech of brakes as drivers tried to avoid it. Then it was gone. I looked at Lou.
“It could have at least said thank you, don’t you think?”
Lou ignored me. He was back on his hind legs, sniffing the air. I looked around to see if the otter had returned for some reason, but that wasn’t it. When he gave a short bark of triumph, I got it. Malcolm had returned to the area, and Lou hadn’t forgotten about him. When I opened the door of the van, instead of jumping in, he passed it by and set off across Sloat Boulevard, which meant Malcolm was close by, close enough so that tracking him down would be easier on foot.
We hadn’t gone more than a block when Lou stopped in front of a small, ratty-looking house painted a nauseating pink and sat down. I thought about what to do, and finally decided on simply knocking on the front door. Steps approached from inside, and after a slight hesitation the door swung open and Malcolm stood there in front of me. He didn’t seem surprised to see me.
“I figured you’d show up eventually,” he said in a tone of resignation. “You might as well come in.”
SEVENTEEN
“GOOD TO SEE YOU LOOKING SO WELL,” I SAID. “Having been dead seems to agree with you.”
“I wasn’t dead,” he said.
“Obviously. How did you pull that trick off?”
“It wasn’t a trick. It’s the tattoos. I included a healing provision in the template; I can survive most any injury unless it’s really severe. What I didn’t count on was that it didn’t work in the singularity—but it kicked in the moment we got back here, where it was originally implemented. It took a while for me to recover, since I was inches from death. A close call—I guess I’ve got you to thank for bringing me back. I freaked out when I woke up and there was dirt thrown over my head, though. I thought you’d buried me in a deep grave, and that’s just where I’d stay.”
“Maybe I should have,” I said. “Your convenient death gave you the opportunity to freelance, didn’t it? Like tracking down Jackie on your own? What were you doing down by Mission Street, anyway?”
“So you did see me there, then. I was afraid of that.”
“And?”
“I was there to meet Jackie, of course. Your untimely arrival prevented that, so I came home.”
“How did you know where she was?”
“No big mystery there. She called me. Since she’s the one who powered up the tattoos, she knew I wasn’t dead, despite what you told her. She’s been having trouble implementing any of the spel
ls in the book on her own—every time she tries one, it goes wrong. She discovered she still needed my expertise, and I still need the book, of course, so we decided to re-form our alliance.”
“And when you help her, more little rips in our world’s fabric takes place, and things leak through.”
I told him about the otter I’d just seen at the zoo, and the pigeons as well.
“Exactly,” he said. “You’ve got it. And it’s not just a temporary glitch in the fabric. It’s all cumulative; every opening stays open and each opening reinforces the others.”
“And that doesn’t worry you?”
“Not in the slightest. It won’t affect me much, personally.”
“Maybe not, but it will hardly help you. Why are you so interested in helping Jackie?”
“Well, I’m not anxious to help you; that’s for sure. When Jackie’s done with the book it’ll be my turn, and I’ll have it. You certainly wouldn’t ever let me have the book, would you, now? What if I were successful in using it to gain talent? If I were, then anyone could be a practitioner—anyone with my scientific background, at least. You guys would never let that happen.”
“Probably not.” He laughed, bitterly.
“There’s no probably about it. Because then you guys wouldn’t be so special anymore, would you, now? No, if you ever get your hands on the book, that’s the last I’ll ever see of it.”
“I see,” I said. “Be that as it may, it’s too dangerous to let Jackie run around trying out things from that book. It’s already causing trouble, and it could get much worse.”
“You have no idea. But that doesn’t affect me at all—my head’s as clear as a bell.”
“What does that mean?” An expression of annoyance flitted across Malcolm’s face, as if he’d let something slip.
“Nothing. Just an expression.”
I thought about how I’d felt pain and that odd dislocation just before the appearance of the otter in the zoo. And how I’d felt something similar when I’d run into the pseudo pigeons. Not to mention the corporate gig we’d played. And the headaches we’d all been experiencing.
“You got a phone?” I asked.
“My cell.”
“Let me borrow it a sec.” He looked at me warily, obviously not wanting to.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Don’t push me, Malcolm. You’ve caused me enough grief already.” He stepped back, a bit unsure of himself but still defiant.
“Don’t push you? What are you going to do? Your spells can’t affect me. What—you’re going to have Lou bite me?”
What an excellent idea.
“Bite him, Lou,” I said.
Before the words were out of my mouth, Lou had him by the meaty part of the calf and was shaking his leg like it was an unfortunate rat.
Malcolm howled in surprise and reached down to get hold of Lou. As he bent over, I pulled out the stun gun Victor had given me, jammed it into his neck right below the ear, and flipped the switch.
He forgot all about Lou, doubling over and screaming in a high-pitched voice. I lifted the stun gun and he crumpled to the floor, more in shock than anything else, I suspect.
“Lou!” I said. “Enough.”
Lou gave the leg one last shake and backed off, looking satisfied. He seldom got an opportunity to bite anyone, and I think it pleased the dog part of his nature no end. I waited a moment and then held out my hand.
“Phone, please,” I said.
Malcolm reached shakily into his pocket and handed the cell to me. He tried to glare, but all that did was make him look like he was about to cry. I punched in a familiar number.
“Victor? I got a question for you. Did you feel anything weird about a half hour ago? Like one of those headaches, but different?”
He was silent for a long moment, which usually means I’ve hit on something, and he was considering the implications.
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
“Was this the first time you felt something like that?”
“No, the same thing happened yesterday, but this one was stronger.”
“Figures. Is Eli there?”
“No, but Sherwood is. Just a moment.” I heard him asking questions and then he was back on the line.
“Timothy didn’t feel a thing, but Sherwood did. A twinge, and a feeling like something slipping.”
“That’s what I thought, and I think I know what’s been causing it. I’ll call you later when I know more,” I said.
I hung up before he could ask any more questions and handed the cell back to Malcolm. He took it sullenly.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.
“Maybe not, but I did. And I want to know what’s going on. Why are we all getting headaches every time something odd turns up? What’s the connection? I mean, I see the connection, but why? And don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“How would I know—” He broke off as I lifted the stun gun suggestively. “All right. It doesn’t matter anyway—there’s not much you can do about it. Richter developed a method for creating complex singularities; that much you know. And some of those same principles also allowed him to rip open the fabric of the world and access other worlds, other dimensions.
“But he focused on singularities and didn’t bother to pursue that other aspect of things, because his methods, though effective in bridging dimensions, created an unfortunate side effect. A psychic wave that ripples out from the point where worlds intersect, and that wave affects practitioners in a painful fashion. The stronger the practitioner, the worse the effect. The closer you are, the more it resonates, and the larger the rift, the more powerful the wave.”
“Interesting, if true,” I said. “But how would you know all this?”
“It’s all in his book, the first one, but it’s presented as theory. The second one describes the science behind it, the actual process and methods.”
“Like the energy pool,” I said.
“No, that’s different. That energy pool was constructed in an entirely different way. It’s like a door that connects rooms. It can be opened and closed, with no effect on anything else except for what might come through. What’s happening now is more like taking a sledgehammer and busting a hole in a wall. It’s violent, and the hole stays open permanently. And it weakens the wall, as well.”
I’d gotten some answers out of Malcolm and they sounded plausible, but there was no way for me to tell if it was really true. He was afraid of me, which was the only reason he was talking, but that also meant he could be inventing it all out of whole cloth. The idea that Jackie was experimenting with the book, and that every time she made a breakthrough the rest of us could feel it, rang true, though.
“So Jackie’s been taking little baby steps,” I said. “She makes a little tear in the fabric, things slip through, and we all get these headaches. What happens if she goes all out, trying to create her new world?”
“Well, that’s a moot point. You saw the singularity Richter helped create—it took him years, with many additions by many people. And yet it’s still a pale shadow of the real world. Jackie thinks she can create something a thousand times more complex in a single day, but of course she can’t.”
“So what happens when she fails?”
“That depends. The most likely thing, if she can find a source with enough power, is that by trying she rips apart the world fabric on a scale that’s never been seen before.”
“That doesn’t sound good. God knows what might pour through.”
“No, it’s not good, not for you. But don’t worry—you won’t be around to witness the aftermath and neither will any of your friends. It will kick off a wave so strong that every practitioner within a fifty-mile radius will stroke out—if she figures out a way to harness enough power, it could take down every practitioner in the world, theoretically. That’s why Richter went to so much trouble to hide the book, although he would have been better off destroying it. I
guess he couldn’t bear to throw away his life’s work.”
“So we all just keel over? Sorry; I don’t buy it.”
Malcolm shrugged. “Oh, I doubt it will kill everyone, or at least I don’t think so. But those who survive will find every trace of talent they ever possessed has vanished. There won’t be any more practitioners, dead or alive. None at all. And good riddance, if you’ll pardon a personal opinion.” He smiled, with a great inner satisfaction. “But talent won’t be lost to the world entirely. Because I’ll have it, even if nobody else does. I’ll use my knowledge and the book to get it. And I might even let a few select others have some as well. It’s going to be a different world, a very different world.”
King of the world. A modest ambition. This was getting too heavy for me. I needed Victor, and especially Eli’s expertise. They might be able to separate fact from fiction; Lord knows I couldn’t.
“Okay, stand up,” I said. “It’s time for us to go.”
“Go where?” he asked, regaining some of his former belligerence.
“You’re going to help us, whether you want to or not.” A slight smile appeared on his lips.
“Really? Are you positive about that? Because I’m pretty sure Jackie’s going to be trying another little experiment anytime now.”
I never got a chance to answer. I started to feel strange, and my head began to ache in that familiar way. But this time it wasn’t a brief, transient pain. It grew until I could barely stand upright, and I staggered when I tried to take a step. Soundless cannons were going off in my head, and the color leached out of the room, then the light, as everything grew dim. I vaguely heard Lou whine as he realized something was wrong with me, and then my legs gave way and I toppled to the floor. My vision narrowed until I could only see directly in front of me, like I was staring down a tunnel. Then all vision faded and the world vanished.
