by Ramsey Isler
If I was going to fly, I’d need to figure out a flight path. I messed around with the map and some on-screen drawing tools to figure out the best way to do this. In a few minutes, I saw that a straight line from the southwest corner of the Museum Tower at the Museum of Modern Art would take me straight to Philadelphia. I memorized the directions and left the library. It was ten in the evening now, and magic was in the air. I just had to figure out how to get myself up into that air. The vial of crisscross danced in my pocket as I walked. I took it out, opened it, and downed it all in a single gulp. While I waited for it to take effect, I headed to the darkest and quietest area I could find — a construction site for what looked like a new condo building. I dipped into the Rift and wallowed in the vast lake of mysterious darkness, drawing power to myself with reckless abandon. At this point I didn’t really care if another nightcrafter noticed me. If they did, I might even luck out and be able to somehow get the flying spell out of them.
I saw a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye. I turned, and found a bird sitting on a lamp post. It was a crow. I stared at it for a long while and watched it preen. I watched its glossy black feathers shine in the dim streetlight glow. My whole world became that crow. I watched it like it was the most fascinating thing in the universe. I started to feel a little funny, and realized the crisscross was starting to take effect. Then my vision shifted and the grid appeared. It was fuzzier this time, and comprised of barely visible lines instead of bold prismatic edges.
The crow took flight, and it was like I was watching it happen in slow motion. Its wings unfurled, feathers outstretched. The wings arced upwards then swung down, sending vortexes of air swirling all around. I’m not sure how exactly I was able to see the air being pushed by the bird’s wings, but I could, and it was fascinating. I was reminded of Newton’s crazy gadgets inspired by bird flight. I’d altered spells to make those winged gadgets fly, but maybe there was another way.
It never occurred to me to just make wings out of the Rift material.
I spread my arms straight out and imagined the crow’s feathers. I could taste their blackness like bitter red wine. I could smell their soft yet firm texture; a sharp sensation of nail polish remover. I let all the sensations flow into each other, and then I looked at my right arm. The muted lines of the grid covered my jacket in a regular pattern. I focused on the intersections of those lines, the vertexes where the magic really happened. Fat droplets of inky blackness formed on my arms like beads of rain on a metal railing. As my mind pulled the droplets down, they began to shift form. They curved and spiked and flexed. In short order, one bulging inky drop became a huge ebony feather three feet long. Then another appeared, and another. My arm became a long wing. I marveled at its beauty. The feathers flexed and rippled in an ethereal wind blowing through the Rift. I swung the wing downwards and felt an incredible push of wind throw me upwards and backwards. I smiled.
I thrust my other arm out and almost immediately it also sprouted feathers born out of the Rift and my imagination. Soon I had a matching pair of man-sized crow wings. They were invisible to earthly eyes but magnificent to those who could sense the Rift. I flapped my new wings with all the strength I could muster and the wind sent me skyward. I flexed my arms backwards and forwards, gaining height with every downswing. The New York skyscrapers gradually shrunk away from me, and I was in the air. I tilted my wings, and I was flying.
The tricky part was using my abdominal muscles to raise my legs and keep my body in a straight horizontal line. Hang gliders have body harnesses to keep themselves horizontal and birds are just built for flying. I didn’t have the benefit of either, and my abs were certainly not strong enough to keep my body in a straight line for the whole trip. Fortunately the Rift was my plaything now, and just a moment of focus created a gentle upwards force on my legs.
I tilted my wings a bit to the left and I banked hard like a fighter jet. With some practice I was able to master quick turns. I felt confident that I wouldn’t kill myself now, so I banked right to take me to the museum.
New York City was far below me now. The orange glow of headlights and streetlamps illuminated the city’s grid of streets. For a moment it reminded me of the grid I now saw overlaid on the whole world. It was all so orderly, so sensible. Life in this city is often chaotic and frantic, but from up here it all seemed like a perfectly planned machine.
After a couple of minutes I reached the MoMA Museum Tower — a thousand feet of glass and steel. I aimed my head right at the point of the southwest corner of the building. Philadelphia was 84 miles straight in that direction. I flapped my wings a few times, and I was on my way.
Soon after, on the ground far below, New York’s orderly street grid gave way to the relative disorder of New Jersey. But I still had my own grid due to the optical illusion the crisscross created. I could see exactly where I had to go. All I had to do was fly along a straight line. One powerful stroke of my wings shot me forward in the right direction.
But my flight, as amazing as it was, was too slow. The world beneath me scrolled past at a decent pace but I was in a hurry. I needed more thrust. I wasn’t really sure how to accomplish that until I thought about it for a minute. Unlike birds, I didn’t have to rely on the wind alone. I could feel the wind flowing around my body, but I could also feel the Rift flowing around me too. It was almost like flying through water; an odd combination of swimming and gliding. Up until this point I had just used my wings to move air, but these were special wings made of the dark. They could move Rift material too.
It was very dark way up here in the sky, and perfect for nightcrafting. There was Rift material all around me. I could sense it very clearly with my eyes, my ears, and the vibrations through my body. All I had to do was tap into the Rift and pull more material out of it, surrounding myself with it like a fog. Then, when I flexed my wings they pushed that magical stuff backwards at unearthly velocity, launching me forward. I did it again and again, going faster each time until the wind was hitting me so fast my hair was plastered to my head and my cheeks flapped in the wind and pulled my lips back into a smile. But I was grinning like an idiot anyway, so it really didn’t matter.
There’s nothing more magical than flying.
* * *
My arms hurt like hell.
Only twenty minutes had passed but I’d traveled almost the whole distance to Philadelphia already. Far ahead of me, on the horizon, I could see a black void snaking through the city lights on ground level. It was the Delaware River. Soon I would be outside of the Rift’s influence, and I didn’t want to be hundreds of feet in the air when that happened. Flight time was over.
I tilted my aching arms forward and descended to the ground rapidly. My eyes searched for a likely spot to land, but there weren’t any places that looked remote enough and dark enough where I could guarantee the city lights wouldn’t reveal my presence or dissolve my magical wings. So I decided to end my flight the same way I began it. I wrapped my ethereal wings around me, and pointed my head straight down at what looked like an empty parking lot. I hurtled downwards, wind whistling past my ears as gravity welcomed me back into its clutches. But before I was even halfway down, I cast the phasing spell and went through the Rift.
The last time I’d gone through the Rift during free fall was when Kellar and Madison showed up at the Empire State Building and had to save us all from that gun-toting drone. That was different though. I was barely aware of what was happening back then. This time I was in control.
Philadelphia’s glowing nighttime cityscape disappeared. The darkness beyond the Rift was complete for just a second, and then my Rift senses came alive, showing me the creatures here in exquisite detail. A flock of inkwells rocketed right past me, their tentacles flowing in a dazzling dance like streamers from kites.
Sadly, I didn’t have time to spectate. I was still dropping like a rock and would eventually hit something that would break my body apart. I unfurled my wings and opened my arms wide, capturing win
d and Rift material beneath me. A rush of force slowed my descent. When I felt I was near the ground, I phased out of the Rift. A cloudy night sky appeared above me, and gray asphalt about three feet below me. I let the magic fade away and fell the rest of the way to the ground, landing with ease. I looked around. There were no witnesses, and even if there had been there wouldn’t have been much to see.
The street signs at the nearest intersection helped me get my bearings. I was right where I needed to be, maybe a mile out from the edge of the Rift. From here I’d need to travel by more conventional means.
I skulked around the neighborhood, letting my nearly numb arms rest a bit while I scouted for a vehicle I could easily steal. It didn’t take long to find one. I laid eyes on a sky blue Ford Escort parked on the street. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d seen one of these. It was an old car, and not even worth much when it was new. There was a high school bumper sticker plastered on the rear fender and a few scattered notebooks in the back seat. It was clearly a student’s car; cheap, temporary, disposable. I used to drive a piece of shit like this when I was in high school. Even though it was a turd on wheels, it was mine. And it was about more than metal and the rubber. It was about freedom, and the idea of taking that away from some poor kid made my guts churn. As I cast a spell to open the simple lock, I decided I’d make my best effort to return the car in one piece.
I drove at a reasonable speed and tried my best to present the external image of a calm driver just out on a normal drive, but inside I was having a small panic attack. I just wanted to be there already, and after flying through the night sky at high speed, this drive at 35 miles per hour was killing me.
It didn’t help that the crisscross was still in my system and every sound the car made elicited a tingling sourness on my tongue that tasted a little like saltwater taffy.
By the time I got to the address, I was a complete wreck. I was sweating so much my hands kept slipping on the steering wheel. My chest felt tight, like some invisible python was slowly trying to crush me to death. It didn’t help that I’d left the Rift zone behind fifteen minutes ago and my options would be limited if things went bad. But when I saw the house was in one piece, and the lights were on, the pressure eased up a little.
I parked about half a block away and sat in the car for a bit. I watched to see if anything was amiss, but I felt half blind and deaf here. It had been so long since I’d been out of the Rift zone that I’d forgotten what it was like. But I couldn’t turn back now.
My plan was simple: I’d go up to the house, show the agents my ID, and explain that Cecil had sent me to move my parents out of there. The agents would surely already know who I was, so that would buy me credibility and hopefully keep them confused long enough for me to escape with my parents. After that I’d drive back to the Rift zone and get my parents someplace safe. I admit it wasn’t a brilliant plan, but it was all I could come up with on short notice. And things were different now. My magic had evolved in ways that would allow me to defend my parents against anyone, even Kellar.
The crisscross was making me see the letter S in purple on the license plate of every car I passed while I walked to the house as casually as I could manage. The place was big — an impressive colonial home with a wide green lawn and a black iron gate surrounding the whole property. It had tall windows, all of them partially covered by translucent curtains that made it difficult to see inside. But it was clear that the lights were on in almost every room. The house was a glowing beacon in the night.
I approached the house carefully and tried the gate door. Locked. I stood out in front of the gate and waved my arms.
“Hello? Anybody there?”
There was no answer, and no movement from inside the house. The relief I had felt when I saw the lights were on quickly faded. That boa constrictor around my torso went right back to squeezing.
I decided I’d need to get in there. The gate looked sturdy, but not too tall. I could probably climb over it without dying or embarrassing myself. I grabbed hold of the cool metal bars, took a deep breath, and pulled myself to the top of the gate. I got stuck, with half my body on one side and the other half hanging stupidly over the sidewalk.
Then I fell right over onto the lawn.
I yelped in surprise, pain, and frustration when I hit the ground. Then I froze, hugging the ground and waiting for a gaggle of angry agents to come rushing at me with guns raised.
But nothing happened. There was no sign of any activity at all from the house. That’s when I really got worried.
Without magic I had to rely on my brief NATO training. I peered at the other houses on the street for any indication that I’d alarmed anyone. But it was totally dead out here. Once I was reasonably sure the neighbors weren’t spying on me, I swung around to the back door as casually as I could manage.
At the back door I looked for any signs of forced entry. There weren’t any. All the windows were closed too. I tried the doorknob and it didn’t budge. I knocked. No answer.
I had to know what was in that house, so I wasn’t going to be deterred. I went to the window next to the back door, and lifted it a bit just to test it. It opened a crack, and I stopped. No alarms. Nobody shot hot hollow-points at me. The lights were on, but nobody was home.
I opened the window further, careful to make as little noise as possible. Once the window was open a couple of feet, I wormed my way inside. The house was warm, bright, and cozy. I was in the den, and it was nicely decorated with dark wood furniture and leather chairs. It was a classic style my dad loved. I imagined him spending many hours in here during this whole ordeal.
I could hear noise a little bit away. It sounded like the local news, so I knew the TV was on. Peeking through doors cautiously, I proceeded through the rest of the house slowly and quietly. The living room was nicely appointed, and the TV was a large new model. There was half-eaten ramen in takeout containers on the coffee table. Upstairs, the two bedrooms were neat and tidy. Nothing really seemed amiss except for the fact nobody was here, and the growing red haze in my peripheral vision. I dismissed the haze at first. The crisscross was still flowing through me and making my senses pulse with vivid information. I was seeing and tasting a lot of things that weren’t real. But then I started feeling a physical sensation on top of that crushing nervousness around my chest. My skin started to burn. It felt like I’d been lightly splashed with some sort of harsh chemical. At first I thought there must have been something I was allergic to in the house. But this sensation wasn’t really physical. It was just like that invisible python; only in my head.
Something was wrong here. But what as it? I couldn’t put my finger on it. I stopped, closed my eyes, and took deep, soothing breaths. That’s when I finally realized what had set my subconscious alarms off. It was a faint, but instantly recognizable odor once I’d taken the time to focus on it.
I smelled gas.
The second I figured it out, a burst of adrenaline mixed with the crisscross in my blood. I saw, felt, heard, tasted all kinds of shit and none of it was good. But another useful effect was that my perception of time seemed to slow down. I had plenty of time to think about what was happening, and figure out the quickest way to get as far away from this place as possible. The back door wasn’t a good option, so the front door it would be. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. The lawn, the gate, even the street outside the house were all a blur. I didn’t stop until I was four houses down and panting like crazy.
It was then that I wondered, what exactly was I so afraid of?
The house was still there, just fine. Maybe the agents in charge of watching my parents noticed the leak and evacuated immediately. If that was true, it would stand to reason that a utility team or something would be around shortly to address the issue. Maybe if I stuck around for a little while everyone would come back, and I’d be able to use the situation to get my parents out of here.
I had just taken a few steps back towards the house when it exploded.
The house simply disappeared, and in its place was an orange and red fireball that lit up the night like a sudden sunrise. Heat licked at my face and a shock wave threw me to the ground. A plume of smoke billowed up into the sky, and pieces of debris rained down into the street. Lights were coming on in neighboring houses. People were screaming. The whole scene had shifted from serenity to chaos in an instant. For a moment I was so stunned all I could do was lie there and observe the terrible majesty of the blossoming heat and light. Then, as the flames subsided and smoke obscured the scene, all I could do was wonder if that gas leak had been an accident, or something more devious.
CHAPTER 11
I got back in the old Ford Escort and drove away as fast as I could. There was no point in staying. The house was empty and completely destroyed. I had a strong suspicion Madison or Kellar had something to do with that. But, before I could deal with that, I needed to figure out where the hell my parents had been moved to. There was only one person I could contact to figure that out.
I had Cecil’s phone number memorized, which was easy since it used to be Dominique’s. As I drove, I searched for a payphone. I knew I wouldn’t have any luck in the residential areas so I raced downtown to see if I’d have better luck there. All I needed was a phone, any phone. I found myself wondering how people even lived in the days before cellphones without constantly feeling disconnected and isolated.
Just as I was thinking about finding a cellphone to steal, I lucked out and found a dusty old payphone outside of a gas station. The Escort had a pile of coins in the ashtray. I grabbed a couple, ran to the phone, and jabbed out Cecil’s number in a hurry. Each ring of the phone tasted like almonds. The crisscross was still going strong.
The line clicked. “Hello?” Cecil said. His voice was steady and stoic even though he clearly didn’t know who was calling him.
“Cecil, we have a problem,” I said. “The safe house isn’t safe anymore.”
