The Gift

by A. F. Henley

  He took a long, hard look at Doren's reflected self, lifting his fingers off the keyboard. I wonder, Dawson thought, if there’s a corner Doren needs someone to peek around. Their eyes caught—his shining black ones, Doren's lively blue ones—and the flashes came immediately.

  Around a corner Dawson's mind flew and there was Anton and some woman Dawson had never met before. He caught the evil in her eyes before he shifted—another corner—and saw the concert. Floodlights filled his vision, the crowd screamed below him. A corner, spinning, and his mind's eye was on the crowd below, but no ordinary people these … they rolled and pulsed like angry demons.

  Dawson's mind tried to dash the image away but Doren's eyes did not release contact.

  There again, a corner, and Dawson almost toppled he spun around it so quickly. A darkness that he didn't understand, didn't know. He tried to find his way around it but before he was able to he was shoved around another corner and saw a light—radiance, brilliance—and it was August. He didn't know why the light was August, only that it was. Then he was thrown around still yet another and there … a vision he did not want to see. An image of Doren on his knees. With Anton above him. And a knife in hand, slick with blood.

  Dawson realized the rush of the scream had been only in his mind when he tore his gaze away from Doren's. He stared down at his shaking hands and stilled his breath. He had to get control of himself before everyone around him decided that he was losing his mind. He'd never taken a journey that dramatic before—had never flipped around the corners of reality in such a dizzy, sickening way. And what was that final vision? Was Doren destined to fall at Anton's hands? Is that what they were hiding from?

  He looked up and found Doren staring again, worry furrowing Doren's flawless brow. Was that the problem he needed a solution for? And if so, was the man insane? That was nothing Dawson could pull off. He was just a simple man from a simple Southern town. He was no hero.

  "You underestimate yourself, Daws." Doren's eyes had left the mirror and now burned straight into his own. "Always underestimating."

  Doren turned to the rest of the guys, nodding, pushing the concern out of his face and trying to replace it with a smile. "So, are we ready to try this out now or what?"

  August

  "I don't understand," August said, grasping for Doren's meaning. "What do you mean, 'everyone has something?'"

  Doren shrugged and continued to play with August's hair, winding the ends of August's curls around his fingers. As childish as it was, August loved the way it felt. Doren could make the simplest acts seem more erotic than an entire monitor of Corbin Fischer teasers. "I mean every one of them, the band. You know, like you and me. The first time I spoke with Curtis I got this overwhelming sense of protection, this fierceness. He's like a father lion pacing around his cubs. And Geoff has this unbelievable physical strength, I couldn't explain it if tried. You'd have to see it to believe me."

  He tugged a strand of August's hair until he pulled a growl from August and grinned at it. "And it may surprise you that our simple little Cooper is an extremely powerful reader."

  August grabbed Doren's fingers, frowning far more at what he was hearing than what Doren was doing.

  "I know, I know! It's hard to believe. But Auggie, honestly? I think he could even put Anton to shame. He hears everything. That's why he does what he does, the rock music and weed, to drown it all out. He's never learned how to filter it or tune it."

  Doren's hands went right back to August's hair, spinning, spinning, spinning, twisting tight curls from loose ones as he thought. "Daws is a little harder to explain. I'm not even sure I understand it myself. He's some kind of a problem solver. When I listened to him, the idea that floated through his music was that he could 'see around corners.' And he did, Aug. He saw all the way to the end. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't a song I would sing to you, that's for damn sure."

  His fingers wandered over August's scalp, tightening, twisting, rolling, and all the while August couldn't stop thinking how an entire group—a gathering of six souls with unimaginable, unheard of abilities—had found themselves brought together. That was no simple act of happenstance.

  "Doren," August asked, a sudden thought grabbing him, "who hired the musicians?"

  Doren frowned. "Diana, of course. The same lady who called you in."

  August recalled his dream, the undertones of the phone conversation when he'd been hired and the night of the gala … Diana knew more than she was saying.

  *~*~*

  He'd slept too long earlier in the day. And even though he and Doren had spent over an hour on the floor, long after everyone else had drifted off, stealing from each other every bit of sensation they could find, August still couldn't find sleep.

  Doren, on the other hand, slept like an infant; swaddled in the thin blanket, his hair over his forehead, he was the very image of peace. Too nervous to stare lest he wake Doren by presence alone, August pulled away and got up to pace. That in itself proved daunting in the limited space. Besides, it was a total waste of time. August knew what was nagging at him and until he finally got the nerve to do it, sleep wasn't going to come.

  Well, Diana, August thought acquiring his cell phone and slipping out the door to the patio. You said to call any time I needed to. I now have great need. A whole fuck-ton, in fact.

  He dragged the plastic deckchair away from the open door and dialed Diana's number. It rang the requisite six rings before switching over to voicemail, but August wasn't about to let that stop him. He dialed again. It only took a four count for a sleepy voice to pick up on the other end.

  "Diana." August firmed his voice. "It's August. I'm sorry to wake you."

  "Yes," Diana said smoothly. "Hello, August. Is there something wrong?"

  "Only everything," August snapped. He thought to pull the anger out of his voice and then thought again. If Diana had answers then he was going to get them. And if that meant playing hardball, then it was time to put on his glove and take his stance. "And you're going to need to help me understand what's going on here. You need to help us get out of it." The line was as silent as the night around him. "Come on, Diana. Don't play with me. I know you know something. And I'm damn sick of getting left blind here."

  "August, go back to bed." Diana's voice was calm and soothing. "Go to the show. Everything will be fine."

  "Enough!" August's voice came out louder than he expected and he cast a quick glance at the door. Quieter, he began again. "Enough of the crap. You expect me to believe that you just happened to come across him? That you just happened to follow him through school? That you just happened to help get him hired at the studio? Don't play me for a fool, Diana. You didn't hire me because I was stupid."

  "No," Diana agreed. "I did not."

  "And the boys in the band, I know about them too. I know what they're capable of. And I know about Doren and what I can do and what we can do together. So stop playing goddamn games and tell me what we're up against here."

  For the first time since August had known her, August heard Diana's voice get heavy. "I really don't know, August. I swear. If I had the answer I'd give it to you."

  August gritted his teeth. No way was she getting off that easy. "Then tell me what you do know. Because there's no way you would have made sure that Doren had his own personal army unless you knew he was heading into a battle."

  He heard the rustle of sheets and the sounds of movement as Diana pulled herself from bed. They were getting somewhere. Finally.

  "All right, August. I'll do my best." There was a click of something mechanical, the sound of flame, and the draw of air through a cigarette. "You say you know what Doren can do, that you believe he has a great power. You would be correct on that. He can manipulate the power of sound. And through him, he can transform and send back that power to everyone around him. The problem is that power can be manipulated as well. It was one of the first things I noticed when I realized he had the gift in him because it was especially apparent when he was a
child. If he was having a good day, with love and light and joy, the power was also full of light. But if it was a bad day, if he was being pressured with emotion from the dark side, then he too could respond with darkness. So you can imagine, August, now that his power has grown, now that he has recognized it and is learning how to use it, you can imagine how wonderful a gift like that could be to our world? What a beautiful beacon it would be to send out light and love and wash those around him in it, yes?"

  Diana paused, waiting for August to reply. When he didn't, Diana continued. "But I have no doubt you can see how it could just as easily be used for evil with the wrong person in control, feeding him darkness, poisoning his gift into something cold and wicked. You had a vision of demons; that might not be far off, no? Let's face it, we've all heard of men, groups, teams inciting riots, riveting great audiences in the throes of violence and chaos? One need only consider history to know what the power of one great man can do to bring down masses of people."

  "So what you're saying is we need save him from himself?"

  "Not exactly," Diana corrected. "We need to save him from being led along the wrong path. If Anton gets his hands on him, on his power, we are in for a long haul of misery."

  "But if it's not Anton then it will be someone else." August put a hand to his forehead, suddenly overwhelmed. "And then someone else after that, and after that."

  "No, I don't believe that. Doren grows more aware, stronger every time. Just like the music on the CD, August."

  August frowned. How had she known about that?

  "Once Doren knew it was there, once he knew what they had done … well, they won't be able to do it again. His mind knows to watch for it. What it all comes down to, August, is that Doren has a choice to make, and he needs to make it with awareness and for all the right reasons."

  "He needs to choose his path," August mumbled, more to himself than to Diana.

  "Exactly. And to say it in a stronger way, he needs to forge his destiny. Will he use love to bring light to the world? Or will he fall to darkness and use his gift to destroy it? At this point the pivot could fall either way."

  August stared into the night, the phone still at his ear. "Diana? I think he might be in serious danger."

  "August honey, I know he's in danger."

  "Diana," August chewed viciously on the inside of his cheek, "how do you know Doren?"

  The line was quiet for a long time. "I'm sorry, August, that's not a conversation I can have with you right now."

  Frustration got the better of him. "Damn it, Diana, stop holding out on me! I know you've known him since he was an infant. I know you've been there the whole way through. Why? How? Why did you follow him? Why would you look out for him like that? What are you hiding?"

  "August, allow me to rephrase my answer then. That's not a conversation that I'm willing to have with you right now." The line went dead. August stared at his phone in shocked silence.

  Doren's voice pulled August back. He stood in the doorway, sleepy and concerned. "Is everything all right? What's wrong?"

  He looked into Doren's blue eyes. What color had Diana's been? Could he even remember? He looked at Doren's thick dark hair. Diana had been a brunette too, hadn't she? Had it been natural or bottle enhanced? Jesus and all that was holy, was it possible that Diana was Doren's mother? And if she was, why was she hiding it? Worse, why would she send her son to fight a battle that could quite possibly result in his demise? Surely a mother's love would run deeper than that? But if it didn't; if the very course of nature itself—the protection owed a child by its own mother—had failed them, then that meant the only one Doren really had was him.

  August moved towards him and forehead to forehead pulled a deep breath of the scent of Doren's still sleep-warmed skin. "Nothing, babe," he said. "Everything is just fine."

  The Grand

  Illusion

  Anton

  "There will be no mistakes this time. I will forgive no shortfalls. I want that boy brought back here after the show and I want that damn assistant detained in any way that we need to. Does everyone understand their jobs? Does anyone need any further clarification?"

  He looked from eye to eye at the cast of men and women in front of him: ushers, vendors, ticketers, and drivers alike. "Trust my words," he continued, "if anyone screws this up tonight they will pay dearly."

  He stopped his pacing in front of Morana and looked at her directly. "And I mean everyone."

  She raised an eyebrow at him but didn't speak a word. Good thing for her too. He was in no mood to play. Tonight, Doren, and all his power, would become his—one way or another. He would make sure of it. He was tense though. Extremely tense. For some odd reason he'd been having difficulty finding them the last few days. Just when he thought he had caught them, found their trains of thought, something had come in and opened wings above them, blocking them from him. Something, or someone, was protecting them. Had August learned a new trick? Another reader, perhaps? But where would Doren have found another reader? And at such a convenient time, no less. For that matter, how would Doren have known that's what he needed to block Anton out? Who had told him? Anton had seen no moment of revelation, read no sudden realization in either of them.

  He shifted his stance to stare out the window and glare at unseen forces. There was more brewing that he knew and it drove him crazy that he couldn't figure out what it was. It wasn't just the improbable arrival of a reader either; he sensed a great gathering around Doren, and a mass of protection that was stronger than anything he'd come across before. The future kept shifting, kept resetting itself, as though someone had been watching it and changing it in ways so subtle that one didn't realize a change had been made until it was already too late.

  "Anton," Morana stepped up behind him, trying to soothe him with a palm against tense shoulder muscles, "do not be so troubled. Perhaps you need a distraction? There is nothing you can do now until after the show. Come with me, let me help take your mind off it." Her hand snaked down his chest and fingertips wandered along his belt.

  He slapped it away, not bothering to voice the growl in his mind. "I don't have time for your games, old woman. We have a job to do. Spend more time figuring out how we're going to accomplish it and less time thinking about your hole. You are supposed to be a powerful witch, not a common whore."

  He saw the anger flash across Morana's face. He saw her fists clench with rage. Come on then, he thought, bring it. He didn't need her anymore anyway. Soon he would have Doren. And if he played his cards right, if Morana's plan actually worked this time, he would have August too. With their joint abilities, Morana became nothing more than a body to play with. And bodies were a dime a dozen.

  "Why do you stand here still?" he hissed, all fear of Morana gone. "Get to the show. And bring me back that little prick."

  He sat down and fingered a glass of wine as Morana stalked past him, chin in the air. "Oh, and Morana," he said, lifting the glass to the light, peering through the liquid for any impurity. "Be sure when you do he's docile and willing to assist. Otherwise, there is no need to bring him at all."

  She smiled at him coldly, turning to close the double doors behind her, "As you wish …"

  Morana

  " … Master." She finished the sentence with the word hissed at the closed door. Who did that impudent child think he was? How dare he speak to her in such a fashion? He thought he was so smart, he thought he was so clever. Ha! She was no fool, no apprentice to be used and tossed away. She knew what Anton was thinking. He intended to replace her talents with August, perhaps even physically if she understood his game. The slut did love something new and different to play with, oh, he certainly did. Not that she could blame him. August was small and young. Strangely hard and soft at the same time, effeminate and yet enticingly male. Interesting and different. She would do the same if she were in Anton's position.

  She smiled at the closed door. As a matter of fact, she decided, that was exactly what she intended to do.
/>
  Curtis

  The buzzing in Curtis' ears hadn't gone away all morning. His senses were running full tilt and he had no idea why. It had started when they'd all climbed out of bed and Doren decided to leave for ice. And the minute Curtis could no longer see Doren, the very second Doren had passed the threshold and began the trip down the hallway, Curtis' mind had shifted into red alert. It got so bad Curtis had to go and catch up with Doren down by the ice machine. For some reason it calmed the gnawing in his brain somewhat to know that Doren was within eyesight. More bizarre still, Curtis couldn't stop himself from keeping an eye on Doren the entire time Doren got ready; leaning against the bed to get the right angle on the mirror so that he could watch Doren's reflected image shower, towel off, shave, and dress. That was all kinds of fucked up. There he was watching some dude shower and dress for Christ's sake. But if his senses were telling him that he needed to watch out, then watching out was exactly what Curtis intended to do.

  He picked up his drumsticks and began to tap lightly on the bed, mentally rehearsing the beat of the new song.

  Cooper

  He took a tug on the tiny rolled paper between his fingers and inhaled deep. The last couple of days had been a nightmare. So much coming at him, so many voices at once, and it was like once he'd let them, he couldn't get them to stop. He shivered at the pressing tendrils of nothing—and yet so very much something—that kept trying to circle into the room.