12:1
History radiated from the brown brick exterior of Stripped. A giant rose window, jewel-toned stained glass glowing against dark stone tracery characteristic of gothic architecture, stared down at the street from above the dark wood doors with their brass decorative hinges recessed into an arched entryway.
A square bell tower stood off to the right. To the left a wing jutted forward, forming an alcove in which a majestic oak stood, its height speaking of anos of growth and the leaves on its stretching limbs casting the stone stairs leading up to the door in dappled shadow.
It had once been a church, a sacred place dedicated to enlightenment. But time had moved on. The vaulted ceilings and marble floors lifted the hearts and souls of parishioners; they also lifted energy costs. Keeping the lights on and the heat circulating became too much of a financial burden in a time when faith communities shrank. The day of the neighborhood church was gone. Now people flocked to mega-churches or the barebones simplicity of strip-mall spaces that once housed grocers and bookstores and were easy to heat with low price tags for monthly upkeep.
The building stood abandoned for anos. Squatters moved in. The guard should have built a satellite location in its basement for how often they were called for disturbances. Petitions were circulated. Developers eyed the building. Riff raff could be cleaned up. Squatters could be driven out. The location in the center of Ourton was too good to ignore.
Gentrification was only a curse to those who clung to history, the argument went. For others it was the way of the future, of safety, and of financial prosperity.
But, before a developer could purchase it and tear down anos of history and architecture that once made the faithful weep, Ben raised the capital to purchase the old church. With the success of Concerted he had more than enough liquid assets and an audience of Magickers clamoring for a venue where they could hear live music.
An old church, with amazing acoustics, was the perfect building for that. No need for electronic speakers when you had high vaulted ceilings and large stone surfaces that allowed sound to linger and kept it from being absorbed. It took a bit of sound engineering to make it all work but Ben had the perfect person to do that tinkering in Al.
He’d thought Al was a gift from fate or God or whatever higher power he kind of didn’t entirely believe in except for the clear proof of providence he’d been blessed with more than once in his life. Of course, now he knew Al was less a gift and more a bomb buried under the floorboards so deep he didn’t hear the ticking until ‘blam’ his friends came back from rescuing the girl, Bria, and told him about Al’s – or should he say Aleric’s – conversation with them.
The ball of heat and acid and rage he thought banished three dias hence when he’d first been told returned with a vengeance, burning deep in his chest. He drew a hard breath through his nostrils and bit down on the outrage clawing up his throat.
Before he could get lost to the feelings of betrayal and anger, Abe’s voice caught his attention. “And I asked Maise if the words are Code and she say yes!”
The young blonde grasped the rail running alongside the worn stone stairs leading up to the front door of Stripped and hauled themselves up to seesaw back and forth in their enthusiasm. Ben did a quick sidestep to avoid being kicked and shook his head.
Had he ever been that young? No. No, he had not. He spared a moment to mourn the opportunity then let it go. He wouldn’t be where he was today if he hadn’t come up as he did. Fate or God or whatever again.
They were all loosely lined up on the stairs, waiting for Ben to pull out the iron key that unlocked the doors. His getting lost for the moment in reflection apparently was time enough for Abe to get caught up in their excitement over their encounter with ARFA.
Dan barely looked up from the book he was writing in. “Mmm Hmm.”
The sound suggested he may have heard this or something very similar in the dias since they’d returned with Bria.
“What’s code?”
Gwen leaned around Dempsey to peer at Abe who immediately snapped their head around to pin Gwen with a stare that was equal parts enthusiasm and an almost religious fervor. Guess Gwen hadn’t been bombarded by Abe in the dias since. Guess only Ben and, pretty obviously, Dan had been the lucky recipients of Abe’s excitement.
“Code is words, in lines of logic, that tell computers how to compute.” Abe spooled their hand on the air, inviting Gwen to understand and possibly be as excited as they were. If that was possible. Ben wasn’t sure it was possible.
“And the words you see and Dan sees are code?”
“Maise says so.”
Ben half-listened, half-tuned out the conversation as he unlocked the door of Stripped.
“Everything is made up of words?”
“Well, I see it as ink which if I zoom out, I guess, are words. Like Dan’s Hope.”
Ben felt a heaviness on his collarbone. He pressed his free hand to it even as he pushed open the door of the old church. “And my Dare.”
He’d had dias to get used to the subtle weight of the Word placed there by Abe. It was just ink. It shouldn’t have any weight, but it did. Perhaps it was because it wasn’t just ink. It was, as Abe insisted, Code. Capital W, Capital C, the way Abe emphasized the words. That which made up the world. Or held it together. Or something. He was still a little sketchy on the actual details but that was the gist of how Abe had explained it. More than once.
“Yes!” Abe shook their head so violently in agreement their hair flopped into their face. They shoved it back with the hand blackened with ink. “But, yes, everything is made up of words if I focus hard enough on it. Well, in The House. Out here,” they waved their hand, “No.”
“You’ve tried?”
“Of course I’ve tried. D’uh!”
“D’uh,” Dan echoed in a dry tone. He shifted his attention from his book to the doorway then looked at Ben. “Going in?”
“No.” Ben moved his hand from his collarbone and leaned back against the door. “Thought I’d stand here like the world’s most amazing doorstop.”
“You are,” Patti drawled even as she walked past Ben, “a pretty amazing doorstop.”
Ben dusted off his lapel. “You know it.”
“So, this is Stripped.” The heavy soles of Kim’s boots struck the marble floor of the foyer, the sound amplified by the acoustics. She turned to Gwen who was craning her neck to look up at the ceiling. “Do you have a problem with a church being changed into a nightclub?”
Gwen just shrugged. “People worship in storefronts. It isn’t the building that’s important. It’s the people that really make up a church. Once it’s deconsecrated, it’s just a piece of real estate. A pretty piece of real estate with a beautiful history. I’d rather see it preserved than torn down.”
Once everyone else filed in past Ben he closed the door and locked it before turning to join the others. He tried to see the interior of the space the way they did, with eyes that hadn’t witnessed its beauty hundreds of times. Light from outside filtered through the stained glass of the rose window and painted blocks of diffused color on the black-veined white marble of the vestibule floor.
A wall separated the vestibule from the main area of the building, forming a barrier between the cold of outdoors and the space where parishioners once worshipped and now faithful of another variety congregated, danced, and enjoyed music.
“Come on.” Ben stepped around the group who were doing a visual tour of the space and pushed open one of the doors leading into the main part of the building. The marble of the floor continued here, its spread uninterrupted by the pews that had once taken up the echoing space. It was wide with columns along either side holding up the vaulted ceiling with an aisle running either side of the columns.
Small, high tables with tall chairs filled the aisles that had once funneled parishioners up to the altar. Arched recesses held candles. With the venue closed they remained unlit. Staff would light them just before doors opening. Didn’t make sense to waste wax until then. The standing candelabra, one in front of each column in the space to the inside of the room, held a few lighted candles each. Enough to cut the dim, to an extent.
Empty of people the space seemed very large. Even at capacity it was large. It just seemed very large when empty. At the very far end of the space a choir loft stretched in front of a soaring stained-glass window depicting some scene that Ben, as a non-practicing non-faithful, didn’t know the meaning of. He’d bet Gwen could tell him exactly. What he knew was the two-story glass depiction of a bearded man in a robe leaning on a shepherd’s crook with sheep clustered by his legs always filled him with a measure of awe, whether it was the subject he didn’t understand or whether it was the work of gifted crafters inspiring him didn’t matter much to him. Or at all.
“I’m too messy.” A woman sang on the raised platform beneath the overhand of the loft. Once the altar of the church, it had been stripped bare of mensa, tabernacle, and lectern to be used as the main stage of the venue. Echoes of its past use showed in the stone stairs leading up to the platform, their centers slightly concave with the memory of faithful footfalls.
They were too far back to get many details of the woman’s appearance beyond female, dark-haired, and maybe of less than average height, but that voice instantly filled in the details in Ben’s mind.
Messy. That was the name of the song Lola was singing. It also adequately described her from her nicotine-stained fingertips to her always out of control dark curls and her personal style that was still very much charity shop despite her growing popularity and subsequently growing bank account.
Lola and Ben went back a long way. Longer than he and Ivan even. Her mom worked with his and Ivan’s moms. When Ben heard Lola was gigging he’d booked her at Stripped and hadn’t been sorry for the choice as she went from a local singer with Stripped her only solid gig to touring the country to growing fame and acclaim.
It was nice to see her home and at Stripped again.
She tapered off her singing as Ben’s group filtered into the room. Not because of their approach. They were far enough back that their entrance likely went unnoticed. But, because of the voice that called out from the loft. Al’s voice.
“Can you run that again, Lola?”
“I guess, mate.” She talked in a normal tone; the acoustics of the space did the heavy lifting. “Do you need me to shift at all?”
“Maybe two steps forward and a bit to the left. The loft is absorbing some of the sound.”
The hot ball pulsed in Ben’s chest at the sound of Al’s drawl. He clenched his hands into balls at his sides and strode forward. The soles of his shoes tapped on the marble floor, the sound carrying in the relatively silent space.
“Oy!” The woman raised her hand to shield her eyes. “Closed rehearsal!” It was pretty clear when Ben got close enough for her to see him in the dimly lit space as she lowered her hand. “Ben. Didn’t see you.”
“Lola. You on tonight?”
“I’m here, ain’t I? Can’t come to Ourton and not play Stripped.”
Lola ran her hand over her head, brushing down the wild tangle of her dark hair. The light of the candles in the standing candelabras on either side of the stage highlighted her pale complexion and glinted in her dark irises.
“Hey, Lola.” Ivan stepped up on the stage to give Lola a quick hug which she returned.
“Hey, Ivan.” Lola reared back to look up into Ivan’s face. “Been a mero.”
“It has.”
“Something up?” Lola did a visual scan of the group.
Ben shrugged. “Got a meeting with Al.”
There must have been something in Ben’s voice. Maybe the flatness that even he heard. Whatever it was seemed to trigger Lola’s interest. Her look suggested she wanted to ask more but then she gave a deep shrug and stepped off the stage.
“I’m going to grab some food.” She raised her voice. “Al, you need anything?”
“No, thank you, Lola.”
“Okay. Right. So, I’ll be back before curtain. Don’t miss me too much.”
That said she gave Ben a nod and then headed for one of the side exits. He followed her progress with his gaze. Only after he heard the door close behind her did he turn to the group and lift his chin towards the right and back of the stage.
“Stairs.”
As a group they trooped over to the door and up the stairs. Ben took the rear, casting a quick glance back over the empty space before heading after the others.
#
A melody drifted down the stairs. Slide guitar. Played well. Played very well. Patti found herself humming the tune as she crested the top stair. It wasn’t something familiar and yet it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. You could argue a lot of the Blues was that way. And yet, nah. It wasn’t just that the song had the twelve-bar structure and chord progression or crying blue notes. It did. But, nah. Just nah. She turned her head to look down at the mouse house hanging off her built.
“Sass?” She whispered the name.
Sass stuck its head out the window of the house. When she had the mouse’s attention Patti whispered, “Magick?”
Sass tilted its head for a mikro then nodded with almost all its body to the point it nearly fell out of the house. Patti laid a gentle finger on the top of Sass’ head to steady the mouse then turned her attention to the man sitting in the chair on a small platform stage to the back of the loft.
He sat in a pool of light cast by an overhead limelight. His head was down, his long hair falling forward to frame and partially obscure his features. His long fingers played over the fretboard of a Martin guitar, coaxing the alternately commanding and haunting melody from the beautiful instrument.
Commanding. The word played through Patti’s mind, drawing a grunt from deep in her chest. The sound shouldn’t have carried. Shouldn’t have been audible above the continuing sound of the guitar. And yet Al lifted his chin slightly, just enough so he could slant a look at Patti from beneath the fall of his dark hair.
“You’re late.”
“Not.”
Ben’s answer came from halfway down the stairs. Patti realized she’d stalled about three steps into the loft, blocking the others’ entry. Keeping her focus on Al she stepped into the space, only about ten more steps, only enough to clear the stairs so the others could join her, but stopping with enough space between them and Al that they’d have maneuverability.
Not that it would matter if he decided to stick their feet to the floor but still. It was the point of it. The point of pretense of control. Truthfully she really felt, deep in her heart and in her Magick, that if he wanted to fuck with them they’d be fucked. Thoroughly. And with no joy in it. No joy at all.
“Can you stop that?”
“Stop what?”
“It would make me feel a butt ton better if you stopped playing the guitar.”
Gwen sidled up next to Patti, gave her a quick questioning look, then crossed her arms and stared at Al, jaw thrust out. “Yeah.”
Kim bracketed Patti on the other side, taking a similar stance to Gwen and narrowing her eyes on Al. “Yeah. Too.”
Al gave a long-suffering sigh and his fingers stilled on the strings. The music lingered for a moment, like it wasn’t really his fingers or the guitar making it. Patti pointedly eyed the guitar. Al gave another sigh then slowly lowered it to the floor. Then he gave Patti a very pointed look.
“Good?”
“No.” Patti stared at the guitar lying there all innocent like then shifted her focus back to Al. “But it’s a start.”
Al slid his attention over the group then jerked his chin in the direction of the tables and chairs clustered around the loft. “Take a seat?”
Patti shifted so her legs were spread apart and crossed her arms. “I’ll stand.”
“Suit yourself.”
Ivan walked over to the closest table, grabbed a chair, and carried it over to place it close to the stage. He sat down, crossed his arms, and leveled Al with a steady stare.
As if that broke the ice, Kim peeled off from beside Patti and set up her own chair near Ivan’s. Prairie, Dempsey, Dan, and Abe quickly followed suit, forming a rough crescent near the stage, until it was just Patti and Gwen holding their line with Siobhan hovering on the landing of the stairs and Ben standing beside her.
Ben stepped slightly to the side of the stair and leaned against the wall. He dug his hands into his trouser pockets and then stared at Al. Daggers. He stared daggers at Al. Yeah, that was what he stared. Maybe axes and other sharp things. But definitely sharp. That stare was sharp. And potentially deadly.
Siobhan looked down at her fingers curled in the strap of her bag. About all Patti could see was her flower crown because her chin was practically on her chest. Then she drew a breath that lifted her chest and shoulders before very slowly moving sideways until she bumped into one of the tables.
She reached out her free hand slowly before curling her fingers into the back of a chair and pulling it out to drop into the seat. Shifting her gaze from the floor to the tabletop, she slowly laid her hands on the table’s surface and went very still. The still of prey under a predator’s gaze.
Patti frowned. She’d come to look to Siobhan for leadership. God knew this group of chuckleheads – and she included herself in that assessment – needed someone to lead them. Sure, Dan was level-headed and Ivan had that air of “I’ve got this” but when it came to strategy and making informed choices, Siobhan was the man. Woman. Person. Siobhan was the person. Only that person seemed to have been left in the street outside the club.
I mean, Patti guessed she didn’t know how she’d respond if faced with someone who’d kidnapped her. Tortured her. Probably she’d be a mess. She definitely would not be cool, calm, and confident. Maybe, probably, she’d be a quivering mess. Especially if she was expected to just be like ‘Hey, cool, no big. Water under the bridge. Let’s work together!’
Driven by this thought she nudged Gwen with her elbow, indicated Siobhan with her chin, then sidled over so she could lean into Siobhan’s shoulder. She did it slowly so Siobhan could see her coming. The other woman still flinched slightly, then looked up with eyes just a little too wide.
“You okay?” Patti whispered.
Siobhan looked down at the table then raised her gaze to meet Patti’s eyes. “Yes.”
She said it in a very small voice. Patti decided not to press. Instead she just squeezed Siobhan’s shoulder and then plopped down in the other chair at the small table. Leaning back, she folded her hands over her midriff and focused on Al.
Gwen shifted her attention between Patti and Siobhan. Then she nodded, like she’d come to some conclusion or probably likely had done a quick woo-woo probe of Siobhan’s emotions. She tilted her head and mouthed, “Okay?” to which Siobhan gave a jerk of a nod and murmured, “Fine,” like Gwen could hear.
Only after that did Gwen grab a chair and plunk it down behind where Ivan and Dempsey sat next to each other.
Al skimmed his loose hair back from his face and did some kind of complicated hand movement that secured it into a knot on the back of his head. No pins. Like some kind of damned magic trick. Then he ran his gaze over the group before nodding.
“Thank you for coming to see me. And,” he smiled, “not immediately beating me into the ground.”
“It was discussed.” Patti fought to not shudder at the cold dripping from Ben’s tone. “I was overruled. To be clear.”
Al didn’t flinch. His tone remained even. In fact there was more than a touch of humor to his, “Heard.” He leaned forward, planted his elbows on his knees, and linked his fingers together. “So, as I believe you are aware I’m Aleric.” He said it like A-Lyric. “But you can call me Al.”
Patti’s brain stuttered for a mikro. She blinked. Did he just quote—She narrowed her eyes and really studied Aleric. Or ‘call him Al’. His expression was all business, his gaze projected calm disinterest, but the corner of his mouth kicked up.
Oh, yeah, he totally quoted that song. Bastard. Now Patti had to kinda like him. A little. Because that shit was funny.
Still. No, she had to be strong. Be strong, Patti! Do not be charmed by this man. He’s the enemy, regardless of what he suggested by approaching them. The Enemy!
She tapped her fingers on the table in no particular rhythm. Just tapped them. Aleric turned his attention on her, a ‘yes?’ in his eyes.
“So,” she ventured, putting extra emphasis in her tapping to remind him of his tippy-tapping toe Magick the last time they’d met. “Are you going to whammy us?”
“Whammy?” Why, no ma’am, butter will not melt in my mouth. Uh huh.
“Stick our feet to the ground? Stop our hearts?”
“I couldn’t.” Al paused, looked down for a moment, then back up to meet Patti’s gaze. “Well, the feet, sure, but hearts? Not my thing.”
With that he moved back to his seat and plopped down.
“Tell us to stop breathing?” Patti pressed.
Al sat back and eyeballed Patti. “You’ve thought about this.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“No.” Al shrugged. “I would. But, no, stopping your breathing isn’t on my to-do list today.”
“Fantastic. Today.” Sass peeped. Patti read the sound as agreement of her assessment of his character.
“So,” Ben said. “We’re here. Start talking.”
Al tilted his head and gave Ben an assessing look. “Was there a time limit on the not gutter-stomping me?”
Patti followed their back and forth like it was a tennis game. Or maybe ping-pong. Who was she kidding with the tennis reference? She really only knew ping-pong and these guys were very much doing some kind of visual pinging and ponging with their looks and their words.
“No. That was tabled too.”
“Irritating.”
“Very.” Ben’s look said he was really considering some gutter-stomping.
“You have the right to be angry with me.” Al had given up any pretense of speaking to anyone except Ben.
“Glad you are giving me permission.”
“I’d be too. Just know that our friendship? That wasn’t something I was ordered to develop.”
“Great.”
“So,” Ivan interjected, “you were ordered to…” He left it open for Al to finish the statement.
Al didn’t turn to Ivan. Just kept looking at Ben. “I was ordered to get close. Get information.”
Ben frowned. “You’ve worked for me for anos.”
“Have I?”
Oh, that was so an allusion to mind wiping. How many of these Originals could do that? That was some scary ass stuff, having the ability to wipe memories, heck, to point blank reset people which is what Rapunzel had basically said had been done multiple times to Patti’s group.
If possible Ben’s voice became more arctic. “Reminding me of your abilities doesn’t exactly make me feel any more positively to you.”
“Didn’t expect it would.” Al settled back in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankle. “Look, there’s a lot I can’t say to you. I have major constraints. Ones I think you can help me with.”
“How?”
Al turned his head at Ivan’s question.
“How much do you know about Mary’s abilities?”
“She’s a necromancer. She raised the dead to fight for her. Killed kids and stitched their parts together then resurrected them. Am I missing anything?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Ivan left a long, pregnant pause. When Al didn’t say anymore, he added, “Expand?”
“Most necromancers can’t resurrect the dead.” He turned to look at Prairie. “right, Necro—Prairie?”
Prairie studied his face a moment then gave a very short nod. “Most people with death abilities can do what would be considered parlor tricks. Channeling. Maybe some can walk in Spiritus but not many. And only a small subset can animate the dead. Animate. Those that can resurrect someone?” She shook her head in the negative. “To the point of independent movement and even thought? I’ve never heard of it.”
“You could.”
“Hear of it?”
“Do it.”
Prairie blinked. Twice. “I’m sorry?”
Al steepled his fingers over his abdomen and leaned further back into his chair. “Based on your ability to possess Mary and almost force her from her body? I think you could resurrect the dead.”
“How?” While Prairie’s tone held incredulity, the look she gave Al was more curious.
“So, obviously second-hand information but I’ve come to understand resurrection, the way Mary does it, involves forcing a portion of someone’s soul from them and replacing it with hers.”
Dan shifted. “Interesting.”
The tightening of Al’s jaw suggested he didn’t find it so. “I guess.”
“That’s what happened to you,” Prairie said in a very quiet voice. She’d shifted forward to peer intently at Al with eyes that didn’t quite focus. “That’s the discoloration on your soul.” She blinked several times then focused her gaze on Al. “Mary’s soul?”
Al cocked his head. “You can see that?”
“I can.”
“Cool. Cool.” Al smoothed his goatee between two fingers then leaned towards Prairie, giving her his full attention. “Makes it easier to explain all this. I died.”
He gestured with his long fingers, a conductor directing the flow of attention as he spoke. Patti wasn’t sure if it was compulsion or just basic fascination, but she found herself following the movement of those fingers as he expanded.
“Back on our world. Mary grabbed my soul and shoved it back into my body before, I guess, I could truly die. Or, maybe I did.” Al shrugged. “I don’t know the logistics. I just know that when she did it she took a portion, maybe a sliver, of my soul and replaced it with some of hers.” He pressed his hand to his sternum, just below his collarbone. “I felt it. Still do.”
“A little more than a sliver,” Prairie said. She lifted her attention from his hand to meet his eyes. “Oh, sorry. I interrupted.”
Al waved his hand, languid on the air. “Not much more to tell. Beyond with that soul exchange Mary has a level of control over me. My actions. What I can talk about. What I can say no to.” Bitterness coated his words. “Mary seemed to really enjoy explaining all that to me.”
Gwen drew a hard breath. Her expression softened a little as she looked at Al. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Al grimaced. “Me too. Trust me.” He turned back to Prairie. “I stopped being a convert a long time ago.” Then he shifted his gaze to slowly sweep the entire group. His tone reeked of sincerity; his expression reflected it. “A very long time ago. But I can’t be anything else with Mary a part of me and her having that part of my soul.”
“What do you want from us?”
Al shifted to look at Ivan. “To get my soul fragment back.”
“Not to fix you?”
“I don’t know.” Al lifted his brows. The look he leveled Ivan with was pointed. “Can you?”
Prairie was the one to answer, though the question was directed at ivan. “I don’t know. It feels like you feel like we can,” she pressed a hand to her chest, “that I can or why would you be talking to us?”
Al turned and gave Prairie a sad smile. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”
“I never realized the extent of what someone like me could do.”
“I’m not sure anyone else can. Exactly. Mary is the font of necromancy, after all. Any necromancer on your world, and that includes you, is a watered-down version of her. I mean, of her skill. I wouldn’t want anyone to even be a variation of her. Shudder,” where what he said was probably meant to sound sardonic the shudder that went subtly down his arms said otherwise. “You come close though. To her skill.”
He nodded a few times at Prairie. “As I said, impressive. Seeing it gave me hope that you might be able to get me free of her. It told me it was worth the risk to speak with you. Reveal what I can. Won’t say even exchange because I’m not sure I place as much value on anything as I do on my freedom. But,” he shrugged, “an exchange so you don’t think I’m just asking for a favor. I know,” he slanted a quick look at Siobhan and Kim before turning his focus back to Prairie, “I’ve been involved in some unforgivable things. Enough I don’t think I can ask you out of the goodness of your hearts, big as they might be, to help me.”
Prairie offered him a sound smile. “I think I’d help anyway. What was done to you is–”
“Grotesque,” Gwen pressed her hand to her abdomen with a grimace.. “Assault. No one should have their free will taken from them.”
Patti shifted. “Mmm. Interesting how that works.”
Al turned to look at Patti and made a big show of flinching. “Ouch.”
Was she supposed to feel bad? I mean she guessed to an extent she felt bad. Gwen was right about free will but it kinda felt like the universe or God or whatever teaching him a big old life lesson. She thought the term was ‘hoisted on his own petard’ or something which amounted to ‘do not dick over someone else lest you be dicked equally as hard in the same way’. He had, she had zero freaking doubt being as their entire group had felt the unsubtle hand of his Magick, definitely dicked over others. A lot.
“If we were able to,” Prairie paused, then shook her head, “If I was able to recover the part of your soul and return it to you would you die?”
“I don’t know. But at this point? I’m down to try.”
That pretty much shut everyone up, or down, for a moment. How much did you have to suffer before you decided death was better than going on as you had been?
Patti was glad she’d never been faced with such a dilemma. She’d like to think she’d make the choice Al seemed to be making. To be free and not a slave. Even if you were living was it a real life or just the shadow of one, held under someone else’s thumb?
The thought hit her right in the sternum, driving out her breath for a moment.
Dan made a show of opening a book and hovering a pencil over the page. “Information.”
“Question?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Al leaned back again. “As I said I have limitations on what I can tell you. So it may just be better for you to ask and if I can answer I will.”
“How much time do we have?” Ivan asked.
“Interesting question. Do you mean in the grand scheme of Mary’s schemes or do you mean in the immediate sense?”
“Last time you acted like you had limited time. In the immediate sense.”
“I did. But that was because I was supposed to be,” he made air-quotes, “slowing you down so Geppetto could get away with Mary. They had an expectation of my return and when Mary woke up she pulled my leash.”
“Will she pull it again?”
“In the future? Sure. Unless you get me free of her, which I’m hoping for. Right now?” Al shrugged and waved a hand. “I’m at work. Where I’m supposed to be. As long as she doesn’t know all of you are here, which could seem suspicious, I think we are fine.”
Kim spoke up for the first time since entering the loft. “If we get you free of her, what then?”
Al studied her for a moment. “I’m not sure. My immediate response is I disappear. As much as I can. It’s a big world. Easy for one guy to get lost in.”
“Immediate response?”
“As soon as I started answering I questioned it. I’m not sure I can disappear. If doing so would piss Mary off enough to track me down. And kill me for real.”
“She’d do that?” Abe asked.
“Yeah.” Al rolled his eyes. “She’s a vindictive bitch. I might gamble on her keeping to her goal to–” his words stuttered to a stop. He pressed a hand to his throat then heaved a hearty sigh. “Well, that’s a no. Anyhow,” he lowered his hand and shook his head, “I have to calculate her wish to fulfill her goal,” he lifted his brows, “cool, I can say that. Anyhow, I have to calculate that against the possibility of her wish to punish me. She does like to punish people.” His voice tapered off and he looked down for a moment before returning his attention to Abe. “Long answer short. Yes. Likely.”
“That stinks.”
“It does.”
“So, you might stay with her.”
“Might not. Unknown. Depends on how she responds to me recovering my soul. If she thinks I did it or if it just happened accidentally. But, that’s for me to figure out. Pretty fluid. I’ll have to play it by ear when it happens.”
“Not if?” Ivan asked.
Al raised his brows. “I’m gambling on you succeeding.”
“So, first question.” Dempsey cut to the heart of the matter before the conversation could meander more. “What are you—Mary?” At Al’s nod he continued, “What is Mary doing with the items you are using with the people you’ve kidnapped?”
“Mary and Geppetto.”
“Okay. Mary and Geppetto. And you. What are they doing with them?”
“Magick.”
“Okay,” Dempsey crossed his arms over his chest and leveled Al with a penetrating stare. “More?”
“Magick.” Al gave Dempsey a droll look. “But, seriously, what do you think they are doing?”
“I think you are awakening Magick in Nulls,” Dan answered the question directed at Dempsey.
Al shot finger guns at Dan and made a click sound with his tongue.
“Why?” Ivan asked.
Al turned to Ivan, “To–” He stopped. Grunted. Frowned. “Damn it.”
“You are collecting Magick in the items,” Dempsey offered, “From the people. After you awaken their Magick.”
“Yes.”
“But most of them are still Nulls. Diana. Mal.”
“Because–” Again Al came to a choking stop. He swallowed, then continued with a frown, “Well, fuck. Let’s try me asking a question instead of giving an answer. Which ones aren’t?”
“Grace.” Dan answered then looked to Kim. “You speak with them. Anyone else?”
“Bria. Definitely Bria.” Kim’s mouth twisted to the side and her eyes searched the ceiling for a moment before focusing on Dan again. “I think that’s it. I haven’t seen any of the others show signs of Magick. And no one has mentioned it. Which I’m pretty sure they would.”
“And what’s different about those two?” Al paused to grin. “Wow, I was able to ask that. Think the questions not answers works. Fantastic. Okay. What was different about them?”
Silence settled over the loft. Patti considered the question but, yeah, she had no clue. Wasn’t even sure where to start asking questions. It wasn’t just that she didn’t know the people who’d been taken as well as Siobhan and Kim or Gwen who’d made a point of keeping communication open with the rescued group. Mostly it was just that she had no base of knowledge to start speculating.
Looking around she saw everyone else seemed to be working ideas through their head. Eventually Dempsey broke the silence.
“I don’t know.”
Al gave Dempsey a pointed look. “Something to think about then.”
Ivan leaned forward. “How did you use the items to change them?”
“We–” Al grunted and grit his teeth, closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them to focus on Ivan. “What do you think?”
Abe answered instead of Ivan. “I think—I think it’s important it’s being done in The House.”
Al smiled. “Smart kid.”
Abe’s sigh made comment at the kid reference. Then they pinned Al with an intent look. “I think it has to happen in The House. In ARFA.”
Al nodded.
Kim turned to look at Abe. “Why?”
Abe shrugged really big. “I’m not—code!”
This drew a grunt from Gwen. “You aren’t code?”
Abe remained quiet for a moment then started in a tentative tone, “I think it has something to do with code. With the words that define the world. And us.”
Al spooled his hand on the air in a drawing out motion while giving Abe all his focus.
Abe lifted their right hand, the one blackened with what they called ink, and stared at it like it held the secrets of the universe. Which thinking on what they’d been talking about as they approached Stripped, maybe it did. At least for Abe.
“I think ARFA is rewriting the code that defines the people who are taken. Rewriting them as Magick instead of Null.”
Al sat back, grinned, and then golf clapped in Abe’s direction.
“But why?” Abe dropped their hand to stare at Al. “I mean, why change people from Null to Magickal? And why are some still Magickal while others are Null?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know!” Abe threw their hands up. “That’s why I’m asking!”
Al chuckled. “Calm down, kid. I can’t tell you but the question you are asking is going in the right direction. So, try to figure out the Why.”
Abe’s lips pursed and their gaze went out of focus momentarily. After a mikro it cleared and they nodded at Al, all slow and solemn like.
Dempsey shifted in his seat. Crossed his arms over his massive chest. Pinned Al with a stare. “Why are some items empty and others have Magick?”
“Because–” Al stopped. Rolled his lips. “Why do you think?”
“Because some were emptied.”
Al smiled and pointed at Dempsey.
“But you can’t say why and you can’t say how.”
Al pointed again. Dempsey went quiet.
Ivan leaned over so he could look down the crescent of chairs at Dempsey. “Which ones have Magick?”
“The cloak, the crown, and the emerald.”
Ivan nodded. “The ones from Roanne, Bria, and Grace’s stories?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. So two out of three of the people who were in a story associated with those items have Magick now. Anyone know if Roanne does?”
He looked pointedly at Kim but also shifted his gaze to Siobhan who remained quiet and staring at her hands folded neatly on the table in front of she and Patti.
Kim shifted a glance to Siobhan. Her gaze tracked over her friend’s lowered head and clenched hands. One mikro ran into the next as she considered Siobhan. Then she wet her lips and ventured, “I don’t know. But I can find out.”
“Okay.” Ivan sat back. “So, until we know we can guess but maybe we shouldn’t until we have confirmation.”
Dempsey nodded. “Makes sense.”
Patti felt Gwen’s gaze move across her and settle on Siobhan. Just as Kim had Gwen took a long moment to study her friend. Then she turned to Al.
“So, maybe the empty items had Magick but that Magick was removed.”
“Makes sense.” Dan’s pencil flew over the page of his book as he took notes.
“And obviously that was emptied for a reason. Which we don’t know.”
Al nodded at Gwen.
“Bria and Grace have Magick and their objects have Magick.”
“Do they?” Al framed his goatee, his fingers lingering.
Dempsey grunted. “Yes.”
“A lot?” Al pressed.
Dempsey’s expression closed down as he pinned Al with a narrowed gaze. “What?”
Al leaned back and made a show of crossing his left leg over his right at the ankle. “Just asking.”
Dempsey’s frown deepened. He twisted his hand, palm up. “How am I supposed to know that?”
“It was just a question.”
Kim narrowed her eyes on Al. “I feel like any question from you isn’t just a question.”
“Huh.”
That’s all he said, though he nodded like he was thinking on it. He wasn’t thinking on it. Uh uh.
“Is there a way to determine how much Magick an item can hold?” Dempsey muttered under his breath. Patti was guessing that was a question to himself because sure as shit she didn’t think anyone else in the room – barring Al – was equipped to answer. And, of course, Al could not answer.
Al shifted and tilted his head to give Dempsey an assessing look. “I don’t know. Is there?”
Dempsey looked up under lowered brows and glowered at Al. Al lifted his hand and made a big deal of zipping his lips which only made Dempsey scowl deeper.
“So,” Al asked. “Any other questions I probably can’t answer?”
Only like a hundred though of course Patti couldn’t pin any of the ideas floating through her mind down hard enough to actually formulate questions around them. Siobhan shifted. She pulled her hands back towards herself. The motion caught Patti’s attention, largely because of how still the other woman had been since sitting down.
Then Siobhan lifted her head and looked at Al. Or looked near Al. Patti followed the line of Siobhan’s sight and it was pretty damned clear she was focusing on a space to the left and above Al’s head.
In a quiet voice at least a decibel higher than her standard, and slower too, she asked, “We covered the items. And possibly what is being done with them.”
Al made an affirmative ‘Mhm,” but otherwise didn’t speak.
Siobhan wet her lips then lowered her gaze back to her hands. It was to her clenched fingers that she asked, “How do you pick your targets?” Her voice was barely above a whisper but the collective silence as everyone focused on her made it easy to hear when she asked, “Why us?”
Al was silent a moment then he said, “We–”
Well, he started to say. Then he stopped, frowned, and threw a look at the vaulted ceiling. “Really? That’s ‘classified’,” he made air quotes, “too? Freaking bitch!” He shifted his gaze to Siobhan. “Let’s see what I can say. You and,” he looked at Kim then back to Siobhan, “you were special cases. Freaking Mary.” He stopped. Cocked his head. “Wow, I could say Freaking Mary. Huh.” He shook his head then continued, “Anyhow, you were special.”
Kim snorted, crossed her arms, and glared at the ceiling before shifting that glare to Al. “So special.”
Siobhan just looked drawn.
“The others,” Al started then stopped to look over the group. “You’ve read the stories?”
Kim answered for the group. “Yes.”
“And? Any thoughts?”
Dan stopped his writing, pausing with his pencil tip pressed to the page. “You are picking people whose lives are similar to the lives of the characters in the fairy tales. That is clear. What isn’t is how?”
“How?”
“How do you know whose life is like a story? How do you pick your targets?”
“Magick.”
“And Kim and Siobhan were special?”
“Outliers.” Al went quiet a moment, his gaze searching the air. Then he cocked his head and shrugged. “So, how much more can I say? The two of you,” he shifted his gaze between Siobhan and Kim, “were–”
His words stopped abruptly. He pursed his lips. “Yeah. Didn’t think so.” Turning his focus on Dan he repeated, “Outliers.”
Dan nodded like maybe that made sense. It meant shit and all to Patti but, hey, maybe it made sense to Dan. Or maybe he was just doing that thing where he was processing. Who actually knew?
Dan pointed his pencil at Al. “How many stories do you have unlived?”
“Smart. Good question. I can’t answer.” Al shrugged, his expression surprisingly unrepentant. Really, he looked more amused than anything else. But then that was the impression he gave about sixty percent of the time so—Yeah. “I do want to answer your questions. I want to help you stop Mary’s plan. And to be very clear it’s Mary’s plan.” He pulled a comical face. “And apparently I can say that. Huh.” Then he focused, all amusement leaving his face and his voice. “Once you help me I will do everything I can to help you.”
“You say she has a part of your soul?” Prairie tipped her head to the side and contemplated Al.
“She does.”
“Where?”
Al started to speak and then instantly stopped. He drew a deep breath and gave Prairie a meaningful look.
Prairie met the look with a soft smile. “Yes. I realize that was not a good question. Is there a way to detect your soul?”
“I’m not a necromancer. Is there?”
There was a small pause as Prairie searched Al’s face and Al searched Prairie’s. Then Prairie sighed. “I’m not sure. There’s a lot I’m not sure about. More so after you explained what Mary did. It is beyond my understanding, as it stands, but I can work on it. Think about it. Ask some questions.”
After another long look into Prairie’s eyes, Al nodded. “That’s the best I think I can ask for. I’ll do what I can to help you. Not with the questions.” He grimaced. “But in the search. Keep your eyes open to possibilities.” He tapered off, then his grimace morphed into something closer to pain. He pressed his hand to his sternum. “Damn it.”
Prairie’s gaze went instantly to the place he touched. She frowned then rose to her feet and slowly approached Al with a hand out. “May I?”
He tracked her approach with wary eyes. Then the line of his mouth firmed. “Can’t hurt. More. Can’t hurt more.”
With a very slow step, Prairie climbed up onto the platform and walked the short distance to Al, approaching him like a hurt animal that was likely to snap on her. At her approach he pulled his hand from his chest with a grimace and sat back, dropping his arms to either side to appear, Patti assumed, as non-threatening as possible.
Prairie took a breath that raised her shoulders and shifted her ribs then lay her hand against Al’s sternum. For a moment they both stiffened then Prairie’s spine snapped erect while Al relaxed into the chair until he almost melted out of the seat. Prairie placed her free hand on Al’s shoulder. When Al’s arms rose and he closed them around Prairie’s waist, Ivan leaped to his feet and lunged across the space between his chair and the platform. Prairie turned her head at the movement and shook it slightly at Ivan.
“It’s okay,” she said in a far-away voice. Then she ran her hand from Al’s shoulder to his elbow and gave it a squeeze. “You can let go now,” she said in a near whisper. Al’s arms didn’t loosen. In fact they looked like his grip tightened. And then he slumped. Into the chair and into Prairie so his chin ended up resting on her shoulder. From where she sat Patti could see his eyes were closed.
“Thank you.” His whisper carried with the weight of the words, potentially picking up a little of his Magick. At least that’s the way the words felt as they brushed up against Patti then seeped into her.
Al’s head fell to the side and Prairie braced her legs to hold him upright. She shifted her attention to Ivan once more.
“Help me?”
Ivan stepped up onto the platform and moved to stand next to Prairie, staring down at her upturned face.
“He’s asleep. He needed it. Desperately. Can you help me move him to somewhere more comfortable?”
Without any hesitation, Ivan slid his arm between Al’s back and the chair. Prairie stepped back but didn’t break her contact with her hand to Al’s chest. When Ivan lifted she went on tiptoe to keep the contact. Seeing this Ivan bent his knees and kind of duckwalked towards the back of the platform where he laid Al’s sleeping form on the floor.
He cast a look back at the group, his expression filled with question. By general consensus everyone rose to their feet and headed for the stairs. Ivan rose to his feet and joined them, while Prairie remained next to Al. Very slowly she lifted her hand from his chest, moving it to brush back several loose strands of hair that had fallen across his face.
“Sleep well. May angels guard your dreams,” she whispered, then rose and joined the others with a look of such tranquil peace on her features Patti almost started crying.
Prairie gave Patti a soft smile. “We should go to Leo’s. I don’t feel like going home yet and we haven’t been there since Ben’s incident.”
“We’re calling it an incident now?” Ben whispered in an aside.
“Sure?” The soft calm didn’t leave Prairie’s face and the gentle sound of her voice flowed over Patti, an intoxicant that softened her own edges.
“So, what now?” Ivan whispered as he hovered a few feet from Prairie, doing what was probably his best attempt to look like he wasn’t hovering.
He wasn’t fooling Patti. She wasn’t sure he was fooling anyone.
“We go to Leo’s. And we keep our eyes open for possibilities.”
Enter The Woods 