by James Beach
She knew he was still recovering. But hunger and the embarrassment of relying on charity, sometimes outweighed the need of the body to heal up in a comfortable fashion. Russia wasn’t some lazy fat nation where they could take their time figuring out how to survive. She was working at a coffee shop in the airport, where foreign tourists leered at her, leaving single Ruble tips like they were high rollers. If she had to work, he had better find work too.
She put the packages down on the floor. One of the bags ripped open, and a can rolled out. It rolled straight over to the couch near Aurelian’s foot, as if it were drawn there.
She shut the door. He did not move. She coughed, and still he didn’t stir. “Aurelian!” she said at last. “Wake up!”
Aurelian did so, and got to this feet in a rush - stepping on the can. It rolled to the side and he pitched in the opposite direction. She rushed over and managed to help catch him - he had very nearly brained himself on the couch’s cheap, sharp-cornered wooden armrest.
“What is up with you?” she asked. “I have never seen you so clumsy - are you drunk?”
“I wish. Then I could forget the last few hours.” He doubled over, his stomach hurting.
“What happened?”
There was a soft thud behind them. They turned to see her shopping bag had fallen over, and several more cans rolled over from the bag to beneath his feet.
“I saw a job in light construction. I went to check it out and…” He paused. “This will sound crazy. But a man did something to me, I don’t know what. And ever since then,” he looked at the cans gathered beneath his feet, “It’s like things are trying to kill me.”
She became annoyed. “Don’t be ridic-” she began, and heard a ripping noise from above her head. They looked up to see a section of the cheap plaster ceiling began to separate. He tried to move out of its way but couldn’t find his feet. She pulled him a little further out of the way, and a section of ceiling landed just missed him to bounce off of the couch.
Aurelian clenched his fists and stared upwards at the ceiling. “What is happening? Are there ghosts around?”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t think so.” She closed her eyes for a second, and then shook her head. “Lost souls are not behind this. I would know.”
He shook his head. “I’ve never had this much bad luck in my life!”
“How is your wound?”
“Alright, I guess. It is starting to hurt some more…”
“We are going to have to go back there someday soon, you know,” she said. “To the Ghost Magnet. We can’t leave it like that. Someone else might come across it and start the whole thing up again.”
“I know I know,” he coughed. “This doesn’t seem like the right time for that just yet.”
“So tell me what happened,” she said.
He didn’t want to admit misfortune, let alone have her see him as weak. But what else could he say? “I answered an ad for work down by the docks,” he sighed. “There was another kid who I think came from the same ad and - someone else. I barely saw him. He - it was like he reached his hand in here,” he pointed to his sternum, “and took something from me through my skin.”
She pulled up his shirt and felt his stomach, finding no wound or even a cut. She felt his forehead. He pushed her hand away. “I don’t have a fever! This happened.”
“Alright,” she said.
The little touch of doubt she showed hurt harder than any other pain. “Wouldn’t I invent a better lie? Since then nothing has been the same. You see all the things going wrong for me. Everything!”
“Maybe it’s just…maybe something about today.”
A knock came from the door. Lyita left the couch and opened it, to see one of their hosts.
The man was not happy. “Lyita, what is going on here? I hear things rolling and crashing all over the place. We’re trying to put our kids to bed.”
“I don’t know,” said Lyita. “Aurelian is having a bad day.”
“Not here he isn’t. Not any more. You, you can stay.” He looked over her shoulder, saw Aurelian on the couch and scowled. “You, you can get your things and get out of here. We’ve had enough.”
“Come on,” said Aurelian. “I just started looking for work. It’s only been a week!”
“A week too long. Get moving. If you’re not gone in an hour I’m calling the police.” He nodded in satisfaction, and went back downstairs.
She closed the door, came back to the couch and sat next to him. “Okay,” she admitted. “That’s all a little weird.”
“All I did was go out for a job I saw in the paper, and - I saw someone for a few seconds. He looked like he was about to mug someone, and I didn’t like it. So I approached him. Then I was hurt. Right here.” He pointed at just beneath his sternum. “Like he stabbed me and took something out.”
“Where is the ad?”
“Right here.” He reached over for the newspaper, still on the armrest where he’d left it. He flipped to the classified section.
The advertisement was gone.
Aurelian leaned back and put his hand over his eyes. “It’s like I’m…” he stopped rather than complete the sentence. It was hard enough to admit he’d had trouble. He didn’t want Lyita to lose more faith in him, by suggesting he could be losing his mind.
“Ever see anything like that?” he pointed at the ceiling.
A broom knocked into the floor beneath them. “58 minutes!” came the voice from below.
“This isn’t normal,” said Aurelian. “It’s not anywhere near normal.” He unsteadily got to his feet.
“Where are you going to go?”
“Some university kid got hit by the same thing that hit me. Maybe he knows something. Maybe he’s a part of it.” Aurelian picked up his coat and managed to put it back on.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Like hell you are. I don’t want you getting involved.” His face softened. “I don’t want you to get pulled into – whatever is happening to me.”
“Whatever is happening, it’s affecting me now anyway,” Lyita pointed out. She yelled down to the floor. “We’re going! And screw yourselves!”
He gripped the rail tightly as they walked down the stairs. They exited onto the street.
“I don’t want to jinx you too. I really wish you’d stay back.” He tried to cajole her. “It’s warm back there too.”
“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “Also you are wounded and I am with you.”
“I love you for this.” They both paused for a second, for the step he just had taken. This was the first time either of them had mentioned love.
“Buy me flowers later then,” she told him with a smile.
They walked back to where he had parted ways with that Eric kid. It was a three story apartment building, sort of a Victorian row house as it was called. It had started as a tenement for ship builders and their families, then probably housing for mid-level Communist party members. Now it was on its way to becoming classic because it had been too worthless to replace in the intervening years.
Aurelian knocked on the door. A splinter stuck in his hand. “Seriously?” he said out loud as he pulled it out. He wrapped his jacket sleeve around his hand and pounded on the door. “Open up you punk! If you know what’s good for you!”
There was no answer. He considered the building type. There should be two apartments per floor and a winding interior staircase between them. Even in a city like St. Petersburg, sometimes people left their second story windows unlocked.
If he could get in through the first apartment to his right, he could reach the stairwell. His left shoulder would hurt, but he should be able to favor his right shoulder enough to handle a single story.
He started to climb over the front steps’ railing, to reach the lower story window ledge.
“What are you doing?” hissed Lyita.
“Shh! I told you. I might have to break in.”
“Come down from there before…”
J
ust as she started speaking, a police car started down the street. He hopped off the other side of the railing and hid behind some trash barrels. Lyita took out a cigarette, to pretend she was outside to have a smoke.
The police car shined a light on her briefly, then passed around the corner.
“Are you okay?” she asked him.
“Almost twisted my ankle,” he sighed. He walked back to the steps.
“You really can’t take risks like that right now,” said Lyita. “You know the police are still looking for you.”
“Then what should I do?” asked Aurelian.
“I don’t know!” said Lyita. “But you have to be careful.”
Aurelian had a thought, that he couldn’t really explain with words. “Could you try knocking on the door?”
Lyita looked at him curiously, but did so. They were rewarded with a muffled groan that came through the door. “Who is it?” asked a younger male voice. “Go ‘way, I’m trying to sleep.”
“That’s him,” said Aurelian. “Come to the door Eric! We have to talk. I know what’s happened to you, it’s the same thing that happened to me.”
There was a short silence, and then the sounds of doors unlocking and footsteps in the hallway. The outer door opened, and the kid appeared. His face looked haunted.
“What happened to us?” the kid asked.
“I don’t really know,” Aurelian confessed. “I’m hoping we can find out.”
Eric sighed and let them in.
As Magda luxuriated in the luck energy channeling into her, she admired a painting of the torture of a saint. She felt many missed the true lesson of such a saint’s example. A man who would sacrifice himself for others deserved torture, for being such a fool.
The power from the weak would always accrue to people like her. Through tools of magic like the tattoo like her mother gave her, and her mother before. Surviving when others died, and now taking power from others so they would either die or serve her.
As Magda turned to see another painting, she felt a sudden lessening of luck.
She called up Oleg.“What is happening? Where is the luck going?”
“I just felt it change too. I don’t know! It’s like both of their luck is changing.”
She snarled. “Handle it. These two had better keep giving us what we need. Or your luck will definitely change.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She hung up the cellphone.
“Nice apartment,” said Aurelian.
“Thanks,” Eric said woodenly. “Really, it’s my parent’s apartment, while I go to engineering school.”
“Fascinating,” said Lyita. “Now what in hell is going on?”
“I don’t know,” said Eric miserably. “I feel like crap and it’s like I can’t do anything right. Do you mind if I sit?” He led them to the living room, and fell on his own couch. They each took a nearby chair. Aurelian sat in his with great care, making sure to not go near the coffee table which currently held a laptop. He looked up at the ceiling. It didn’t seem to show any cracks.
He looked over at Eric, and noted the kid still wasn’t too weary to be sneaking eyefuls of Lyita. He didn’t really blame him. A beautiful woman can have that effect on anyone.
“Same here,” Aurelian agreed. “It’s like everything is going wrong. It’s like I’m trying just as hard or even harder, and every possible thing is going against me. It’s like a damn gypsy curse.”
Lyita shook her head, and then looked thoughtful. “Those aren’t real. But that does remind me…”
“What?”
“You know my parents pretended to be gypsy fortunetellers, before…” Aurelian saw her stop. She never talked of how her parents had died. “Sometimes they would come along someone who had a black cloud over their fortune.”
“But I thought that your parents’ fortunetelling was a con.”
“It was! And yet they still couldn’t even get a good reading. The cards would be impossibly against them. My mother would try her best to cheat with the cards to get a happy reading for a tip, and the cards wouldn’t even allow it.”
Aurelian frowned. “Was this in St. Petersburg?”
“At the edge.”
“That’s impossible,” Eric insisted. Aurelian saw that he was offended by the very idea. “I’m an engineering student. I know these things.”
Aurelian shook his head. “I’ve seen some things that are supposed to be impossible.”
Eric sputtered, “No! Tarot readings aren’t real. They’re just probability and random chance, and people wanting to see what they want to see.”
“Most of the time,” said Lyita. “But not these times. I’ve seen it myself.”
“But there’s no such thing as – as things that can’t be explained!” Eric persisted.
Aurelian threw up his hands, and nearly knocked over the lamp next to him on the table. It was only barely caught by Lyita.
Aurelian snapped his fingers. “I’ve got an idea. Eric, do you have any change?”
The kid frowned, and dug a 5-ruble coin out of his pocket. “Like this?”
“Sure. It’s normal, right?”
Eric turned it over in his hands carefully, and hefted it in his hand. “Yes. Why?”
“Pick the number or statue.” The number was generally considered the front side of the coin, and the statue was the back.
“Statue,” said Eric.
“Now flip it. Carefully, so it doesn’t knock one of our eyes out.”
Eric flipped the coin into the air and trapped it on the back of his hand.
The number side was up. “That’s just 50% every time,” the kid protested.
“Actually no,” said Aurelian. “I read about it. In normal circumstances, for reasons no one understands, it’s slightly more often the same side that was facing up when it was flipped. 51 out of 100 or something.”
“Where did you hear that?” asked Lyita.
“Some American adventure novel. Anyways, call it again.”
“Fine. The statue.” Eric flipped it. It landed with the number facing up. “The number then,” he said, and flipped it. This time it was the statue.
The kid stared at the coin in his own hand for a second, as if it had betrayed him. “It’s just not possible to control probability like that!” he protested.
“I have stayed alive by recognizing reality the way it is,” Aurelian asserted. “Reality doesn’t care if we understand it. It happens regardless.” He pointed at the coin in Eric’s hand. “You try it as long as you like. Just call it before you flip it.”
The kid kept trying. After 20 tries he stopped. It had not come out as he called it once. “So, what are you saying that means?” he asked.
“Someone took something from us, and without it what we want turns against us. Whatever it is, we might even need it just to live. I’m feeling worse and worse, and so are you.”
“So, what can we do?” Eric asked, sitting back in his chair and looking at him for guidance, as if he was now Eric’s trusted older brother.
“I don’t know,” Aurelian confessed.
Magda felt the situation change further. She cursed. The event would start in a matter of hours, the culmination of years of work. Yet she had to put all that aside to fix a mess that shouldn’t even be an issue.
She dialed Oleg, her fingers stabbing at the phone in anger.
Oleg answered before she could speak. “I don’t know what’s going on, I can feel it too!”
She put her hand to her forehead. “They must be starting to understand their luck, you idiot!” said Magda. “That gives them a chance to change their fortune!”
“I’m trying to find them. It’s getting harder to follow the drain.”
She grit her teeth, and closed her eyes. With her own greater experience in this magic, she should be able to narrow it down. “They are due north of you, about 500 meters. Once you get within 100, you should be able to feel them and get it done.” She opened her eyes. “Now get moving
and get it done. If you handle it in time you can share in my success. If you don’t, you’d better start running.” She clicked off.
That should do it. He just needed the proper motivation.
She sat on a bench set in front of another priceless painting, and closed her eyes to visualized her moment of triumph. She would ascend the marble steps to the room in the museum known only to a few. Around her, other people of knowledge and power also gathered, and took their places along the patterns carved into the marble floor. All would be dressed in fine clothes that befit the occasion and as was tradition.
She would walk in, a smooth tower of confident power, and the rest of the room would pause and come to silence from sheer awe. They would drift out of her way like prey avoiding the path of a lioness.
She take her place, and the ritual would start. The sky and stars would align with the time and place of the desires of all gathered. Then Roths, that most recent sanctimonious bastard who had stood in her way for several years now, would know he was spending his last few minutes drawing breath. He would have no choice but to swallow with trepidation and begin.
The ceiling would open, and the milk light of the moon would drift forth and settle on her. She would take Roths place as the new arbitrator, for all the hidden powers of St. Petersburg. A head to manage their occult affairs. A power she could use to bring all into her sway, and bring the old rules down.
Spells cast ages ago would become undone, and she would recast their games of spirit and even death to her great benefit. All because she had striven to learn what so few understood. They had no idea how much the selection process of an arbiter was based on…simple luck.
“It feels like I’m - I feel better suddenly,” said Eric.
“Me too!” Aurelian realized.
“Just like that?” Lyita frowned. “It seems too easy.”
Aurelian laughed suddenly. “I would get a drink, but the bottle could still crack in my hand.”
