Something new-- non-Glee writing!
This is game-fic, introducing a new character (mine) into a Dresden Files game. The girl is hubby's character Mattie, and obnoxious carny boy Lj is me. This is a bit different for me... I never use words stronger than darn, and he... Well. You' ll see if you read on. oh, yeah, and his initials are LJ....
Borrowed Voices
“You aren’t wearing that out of this house!”
“I really don’t see how you can stop me!”
Seems just like a regular family argument that any family might eventually have. Teenage Daughter wants to wear something that Male Parent finds inappropriate. Cue fight. Right? Not so simple here, since the daughter in question (me) is only thirteen on a technicality. I’ve been alive since the 1950’s and only this past year was locked into the body of a teenager. Here I am trying to adjust to adolescence again while also having to deal with supernatural threats to the city of Providence in specific and Rhode Island in general. Did I mention that I’m a wizard? Yeah, I have that going for me too.
Complication the second: Male Parent (Gideon Harper) is not my legal guardian. He’s my Father from my first life, and my mentor (not that I need one, for wizarding anyway). He’s been slumming on our couch for the past couple of months just to “observe the situation.” His part in raising me to be a fine young man is over. Did I leave that part out too? I used to be a man. His attempts at asserting authority over me are meeting with resistance he didn’t see the first time through.
Complication the third: Other Male Parent (Aidan Stewart) found out that his daughter was dead and a sixty year old wizard had been living with him since just before he took custody of her. Mommy was bad and crazy. She now lives in my old body, trying to cause trouble for me, and get her next breeding program started (long story, and icky). Daddy doesn’t feel comfortable telling me “no” since he thinks there’s an adult in my skull, but really I just want to be his kid. His daughter. Sixty years old and who’d of thought I’d turn out to be a Daddy’s Girl.
Complication the fourth and fifth: My boobs (just grew ‘em). They aren’t much yet, but they are real and I alternate being proud of them and embarrassed by them. I read a book that said that was natural. So I just go with it.
I was going out to a party at Newport Beach with my friend Susan and some other kids from school. Sort of a mini carnival and there’d be dancing and music and games. I wanted to go and I was wearing a green tank top that clearly showed my new boobs and a pair of tan capris. I was wearing a bra under the shirt so it wasn’t like it was indecent. I usually covered up a bit more, and rarely wore pants, but I was starting to get some curves in other spots too and felt like showing off.
Or getting told not to.
My problem was that the wrong parent was stepping in. I mean, Father was playing my game without meaning too, but I wanted to Daddy to speak up. Say anything one way or another. We didn’t speak all that much anymore and he never hugged me, barely touched me if he could help it. He’d gotten good at going through the motions over the past weeks. He showed for my solo in the school holiday show and applauded. Father had sat grimly next to him, frowning the whole time.
Father disapproves of my choice not to pursue “mommy dearest” and get my old life back. I don’t want it. I won’t use magic to kill her (him, pronouns get confused around me sometimes) and the only other option is to put her in here, which I won’t do. I owe the real Magdelaine Stewart that much at least. And I love my Daddy. It took me some time to come to the realization, but it was time well spent, until I blew it telling him the truth in a moment of ill thought out teenage angst.
I get the whole thirteen year old package, you see, hormone shifts, growing pains, mood swings, periods, everything. Growing up again is proving to be a wild ride for what essentially had amounted to a glorified musician/wizard. So anyway, part of being thirteen is sometimes not being able to think far enough ahead. So I nearly killed our little family and I was trying to fix it.
He’ll realize that the only daughter he’s really known is me eventually and come around.
Or maybe he’ll kick me out and move on, forgetting me if he can.
Where did we start? Oh yeah, the argument. With the wrong parent.
Our kitchen isn’t big, so the dining room table sits in the adjacent room. Daddy was home early for a change, and had some paper spread out, grading them. He teaches physics at Brown University. I’d left him a sandwich and some soup there earlier, but he’d only taken one bite of the sandwich and left the soup untouched.
Father was standing, looking outraged at me for being so “scandalously” dressed. As always, he was wearing a button down white shirt, freshly pressed (I’d done it myself, for him-he’s helpless with an iron) and his dark slacks, with a matching tie and jacket. His gray warden’s cloak and sword were by the door, wrapped in a veil so they wouldn’t be noticed until he needed them.
“Don’t think that I cannot stop you, my child.”
“I don’t think you can’t, I just think you won’t. And I’m not your child, Uncle Gideon.” That was the lie we told to keep everyone from thinking too much about the strange old man living in our house. Everyone thought Father was my Daddy’s older brother.
I chanced a look over at Daddy and he was deep in his books and papers. He didn’t use the laptop when we were both mad, since wizards are tough on technology; it breaks down on us, and around us. Father couldn’t even own a car. Well, he could probably own one, he just couldn’t drive it.
No help there.
“Maybe I should turn you over my knee,” Father muttered darkly.
“Can’t,” I told him gleefully, “that’s child abuse.” Outside I heard a horn beep. My ride was here. I stepped away from Father, purposefully making myself closer to Daddy and said to him, “I’ll try not to be late. Is ten o’clock all right?”
He made a muttering sound that I took for an assent. Still he didn’t look up at me. I dodged around Father and was out the door before I let myself cry. Stupid Thirteen year old hormones.
I dashed down the driveway, blurred through wet and salt and jumped into Susan’s car, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.
“Still not talking, huh?” she tousled my hair because she knew it annoyed me.
Susan is seventeen, blond, blue eyed, pretty, and popular at school. She’s smart (except for history, which I tutor her on) and funny, and fun to be around. I can be a kid with her, and I can be grown up. She takes it all in stride. She was the first person I told my secret to, after she rescued me from “mommy dearest.”
“No.” I tried to sound cool with it, but I wasn’t, and she could tell.
“He will. He’s a good man, and he loves you like a… well, like a daughter. He’s just having a rough patch right now.” She looked me over. “That’s a different look for you.”
“I know. Uncle Gideon disapproved.”
“Uncle Gideon can bite me. You look good. Maybe when we get there I can put your hair up, pigtails or something to fun it up a bit.”
“Sure.” I looked out the window as we left my neighborhood.
I thought sometimes about leaving this city, going back to Edinburgh. I could study all I wanted there. Despite my apparent age, I wasn’t an apprentice. I could just wait there and grow up again, come out and face the world when I was ready. It was what Father wanted me to do. If I wasn’t here, Daddy might come out of this funk. But he might not. I couldn’t let him be hurt. Not anymore. I’d done enough of that myself.
Eventually Susan tired of the silence and risked turning on her radio. We’d learned that for whatever reason, her new-fangled radio worked okay for us if it was tuned to an oldies station. So Susan had become a forced fan of the music of the Beach Boys, Jan and Dean, and the Beatles against her will. I love music, and she knew it. I am a musician, and follow a half bardic tradition in my magic. I pretty it up and make it sound important by calling it “Acoustiomancy” but at the end of the day, I work with sounds and music. I can do other things with my magic also, I’m an accomplished healer, I’ve been known to cast a veil or two in my day; but music and sound is my preferred method.
By the time we got to Newport she’d gotten me mostly out of my funk and I was singing with her and the radio. I’d inherited an okay voice, and I was working with it, it would never be “astounding.” I’d never make money off it, but it was pleasant enough to listen to. I like more modern iterations of rock and classical, I even sometimes could see the purpose in RAP (it had a strength and passion that was hard to miss, even if I disapproved of most of the messages it sent). My big strength was in folk music. I’d spent my childhood (the first time, anyway) in small town in Wales, the son of a piano teacher. My mother embraced the rich musical heritage of our people and taught me the songs of old and new musicians. These styles were the root of what came after. Understanding the basis of these songs gave you the understanding of pretty much all music in Western Culture.
Sorry, kind of a music geek. Scholar. Geek.
In any event, we were singing out “Good Vibrations” as the car pulled into the parking lot. We paid an insane twenty dollars to park and joined the throngs of teenagers and young adults in the flashing lights and music of the beach fair.
On the sandy beach there were tents and games set up in two long lanes with ring tosses and darts and water guns. Over on the concrete there was a small collection of structurally unsound looking rides. Behind the Midway, between the beach and the road out, was a maze of support vehicles; nearly a dozen campers and winnebagos and about fifteen trailer trucks. Over near the long pier was a small stage with a band playing some over bass-ed rendition of a current pop hit about how bad the girl felt when she lost the man she loved. We followed the roped off path around the signs that read “staff only” in various hand painted degrees of proficiency into the carnival.
We wandered through the games and tents, won each other small prizes (a bunny for Susan, a bear for me-it was a thing, I like teddy bears). The boys checked her out, after all, she was smoking hot in her skin tight jeans and white t-shirt that read “Not with Stupid” and had arrows pointing all directions around her. A couple of the younger kids also noticed me. I was still on the fence about that. I’d come to the realization that Mattie was a straight girl, and so was I (pronoun madness again!) a few weeks back when I’d seen a vampire in his boxers, but sex appeal was still an abstract. I mean, how do I get into a relationship when I’m so much older than I look? If I went for an adult, they were going to be labeled pedophiles, if I went for someone my age, I’d feel like one myself. I hoped eventually I’d reach some kind of accord with myself about that.
Most people assume we’re sisters, even though we don’t look at all alike. We’re together all the time and most of what I’ve learned about being a girl came from her. I have another friend, Kayla, who’s also helped with that, but she’s grown up and has a certain distance from kid issues. Oh yeah, I’m totally outside the adult conspiracy these days. Never trust anyone over thirty!
“That’s him!” Susan had to practically shout to be heard over the background noise. She was pointing to a boy (man…) about her age over near one of the game booths. She met up with him a couple of times and hung out at the mall. They’d agreed to meet up here. She wanted to go on the rides and I couldn’t (they looked rickety enough without adding my issues with tech).
“Go ahead! I’m gonna wander a bit more, maybe go down and listen to the band.”
“You be okay? Don’t get attacked by a werewolf or anything!”
“Sure, sure…” I mock punched her in the arm. “Go. Have fun!” I wandered away from the lights towards the band slowly. I was full dark now, and outside the shelter of the tents a cool breeze was coming off the water, reminding us all that winter in New England lasted just as long as it felt like. I found myself wishing I’d brought along a jacket, or at least a hoodie.
As I got to the crowd, two girls, about my age (thirteen, not sixty) broke away from the crowd, one looked upset and the other was following after, her expression radiating concern for her friend. The song probably struck a chord. I moved into the crowd, slipping lithely between dancing and swaying teens until I could see the stage.
The band was all girls, one drummer and two guitarists, one of whom was alternating between the instrument and singing. The drummer was wearing cut off jean shorts that might have been illegal if she stood up, and a tank top, her wild, dark hair was slick with perspiration as were her arms as she banged out a primal rhythm. The girl not singing was wearing black spandex pants patterned to look like it had been patched in various, seemingly random colors. Her matching top didn’t quite reach her pants, leaving a patch of skin visible, her navel, and the edge of a tattoo that peeked out of her pants on the left hip. Her hair was also dark and damp, but hers was cut short in a punk style that made her look younger than she probably was.
The singer, was in charge, there was a dynamic that was apparent even from off stage, the others took cues from her, the drummer set the rhythm but she set the tune. Her hair was a wild mane of red flying around her as she belted out her pain and passion. She was slim, with just enough curves to keep from looking boyish. Said curves were covered in jeans that were more tear than fabric, patches of her pale flesh visible through it all over, and an emerald green tank top. Her bra was clearly visible from the sweat soaking her torso.
I stared at her. We could have really been sisters. She was clearly older than me, but how much was not certain at a glance, more mature, physically but not so much that she seemed out of her teens completely, maybe nineteen on the outside. As I stood there she started a new song, this one about a home that wasn’t whole. About a girl who missed her dad, even though he was still there, and how could she reconnect with a ghost that wasn’t dead?
I’m pretty sure I’m the stupidest person, ever. It was a spell. Every girl in the crowd probably saw her differently; saw someone that made them feel a false kinship with her. The song probably wasn’t even the same for each of us. The vulnerable in the crowd, emotionally vulnerable (myself included) fell victim to her attack.
A moment before I realized this, I felt something pass from me to them, something was taken. For that brief moment I could see them. See through them. They weren’t ghosts, but some kind of spirits. Whatever came out of me, passed into the drums, which were looking more like hungry, open mouths to me. Something hollow inside the three of them became slightly fuller, more real with the addition they took from me.
I marshaled my will and broke whatever connection she’d made, pulling myself away. She seemed to sense me in that moment, pulling her eyes towards me, half closed in passion of her song. Her lips quirked at the corners. A light of triumph lit her face. I fled the crowd as fast as I could.
I needed time and space to figure out what I was dealing with. I knew I should call the others. I had friends, Kayla and some others that helped out when magical emergencies came up. But I was supposed to be wizard, not some kid always in need of rescuing. So I decided to try it on my own first.
I was in that dark stretch between the tents and the stage and I stopped. One of the carnies was heading my direction. I could make him out in the flashing lights from the stage as he walked towards them. He was a big guy with his sleeves rolled up over meaty arms that looked about the size of my thighs. I knew he was a carnie from the blue bandanna he wore and the canvas change apron around his waist. He pulled a box cutter out of one of the pouches and snapped the blade open. It wasn’t long but it would do the trick. If he got to use it.
I reached for my power, calling magic to me and started to hum out my command to it. Nothing happened. My power didn’t come and I didn’t make a sound. I opened my mouth to speak my attack spell of choice, a burst of sonic energy that could shatter steel. Nothing. They took my voice! And with my voice went my magic!
I spared a vicious glance back at the stage, but the band had moved on to another song, and I wasn’t worth her attention anymore. When I looked back, the man was almost on me. I did what any self respecting wizard would do, thirteen or otherwise. I ran.
I run a lot. I like it. When I was grown up, I didn’t run that much, and when I did it was usually a short experience that ended with me gasping for breath. Now I had a body that exulted in the very movements of running. Sometimes it felt like I could run forever. End result, I left him in the dust.
I needed to try to lose him in the crowds until I could find Susan to help me.
No, I wasn’t going to be the victim again. This keeps happening to me and I keep taking it. What makes a wizard isn’t magic. The same derivation for wizard also gives us the word wisdom. Theoretically, I was one of the wise. I needed to figure out what the deal was and take care of it. Just as soon as I made sure I wasn’t going to get my throat slit.
LJ
I put out my cigarette and slung my guitar case over my shoulder. Break time over. I could tell by the song they always used to close their set. I left the rickety trailer I shared with another one of the guys, a creepy little con artist who ran one of the games, and whose name I didn’t even know, but who left me alone, anyway, didn’t hit on me like the old perv who ran the sugar shack did when I first hooked up with this crew, at least. I know, coffin nails are bad for my voice, my wind. I know, they’re illegal on fair grounds now. I know, fire hazard, yada yada yada. Know what? don’t care. They keep me from strangling someone.
I’d locked the trailer; he had stuff there, even if I just had a duffle with a couple changes of clothes stuffed inside. Everything of any value lives in my guitar case. My wallet and id (which says I’m 21. No one I know now needs to know different. I’m not driving with it, and I keep my head down, but 16 just makes you vulnerable to being sent back). And my guitar, of course. My guitar is probably the one thing I own that’s worth a damn. It makes me my living. That and fixing whatever breaks down or gives out around here, for the last six weeks, had gotten me a bunk and three squares a day as what they called a "backyard boy," carnival equivalent of a gofer.
Which is why I was pretty pissed when some little tweenie with Pippi Longstocking braids -- bright red in the midway lights --darting through the crowd, plowed right into me, looking back over her shoulder. She had momentum on her side, so she bounced one way, I bounced the other, and I didn’t --quite-- fall when she landed on her butt in the dust. “Watchit,” I growled. (If I’d landed on the guitar, I’d be screwed!) Stupid kid, either playing tag with her friends, or caught up in some girl drama and running away from the ‘rents, which, hey, might be sensible for all I know, or from some little dweeb who wanted something in return for the crappy stuffed bear he’d managed to win off the seriously gaffed joints on the fairway. She was clutching the bear even now.
Still, a mark’s a mark. Ah, cynicism. A lesson learned early. At mother’s knee, really. So, I stuck my hand out to help her up and made myself smile a little. Stop scowling. Charm. Maybe she’d throw a quarter in my hat after the show if she thought I was cute and not a complete jerk. She herself was the kind of cute that could turn major hottie in a couple years, but right now, still just a kid, even with the new curves her tank top was designed to flaunt. Still too much kid, for me, though.
Actually, she was dressed way less trampy than a lot of the twelve-to-fifteens who liked to flock up to the front of the stage when I played and sang and make moony eyes at me. Again, usually good for a little loose change if I played up to them, whatever was left of their allowances. Better in my pocket than going to another crooked game.
/LJ
My fault really, zigged when I should have zagged. The young man (boy, really) was a touch too heavy for me to have just knocked my way past. He looked like a musician (guitar, duh!-- duh? My Kid-fu was strong tonight). He got up more quickly, and more gracefully than I did. I took his hand when he offered it, taking the chance to glance back over my shoulder. Beefy was there, in the crowd, one hand stuffed into his change apron and watching us.
I looked back at the kid, he looked like he might work here, with his guitar (again, duh!). Was he part of the entertainment? Did he work with the “band” down there? He hadn’t let go of my hand yet but it didn’t feel like he was preparing to grip tighter. It was almost... comforting (yeah, like that wasn’t creepy).
I had met enough confidence men in my time to know one when I saw one. He saw me as a likely mark, then. I could use that. One of the best talents a kid (especially a girl) can develop is the ability to cry on command. I wasn’t all that proficient with it, but I was actually scared, so that helped. I let the fear ride me for a second, welling my eyes and felt that quiver hit my lip, then pulled it back, putting my brave face back on. A lot of these young confidence men were also cowboy wannabes, looking to rescue the damsel and play the hero. My only hope was that he might not turn me over to Beefy.
LJ
Aw, geez. Here went the waterworks. (And she’s the one nearly knocked me over, so... what the hell?) Still, the gulls were watching, and I didn’t want people going off thinking I’m a big meanie to little girls. Gag me. Still, better play nice.
Then again, she looked really kinda scared. Redhead pale? Actually, she was gonna-puke-pale. And, much as I would have liked it to be so, it didn’t seem like she found me all that intimidating. I glanced around at the crowd; one of the roughies was giving her the eye... wonder what kind of trouble a kid her age could cause?
Spotting me looking at him-- well, maybe I was glaring a little, it’s sorta my natural setting, though--he kinda did a fade back into the crowd. I looked back at the kid, who was still all wide eyed and teary. “You’re ok,” I said, trying for less gruff. And tried to let go of her hand.
/LJ
Beefy had slunk away, but he was likely just waiting to get me from another angle. I needed a chance to get my head together and figure out what the girls in the band had done to me. This boy didn’t just turn me over, so I guessed he wasn’t in the know about them. Plus, he was giving off that repressed chivalry vibe I’d been hoping for.
I started to say something, then realized I couldn’t. How could I get him to take me someplace I could think? Swoon? No. I wouldn’t be all that good at it anyway. Then it hit me. Keeping my hand in his, I covered my mouth with my other hand and gagged as though vomiting was eminent. Maybe there was a restroom or a trailer he could get me into...
LJ
Fuck...she wasn't letting go, and she was giving me these panicked doe eyes (hey, green. Pretty. And still, too young) like she was afraid something was gonna jump out of the crowd and eat her, for godssakes. And now she was gonna be sick. God. Why me? If she wasn’t gonna let go, I could drag her along, so I started for the ladies'. They were pretty disgusting, but, no way was I dealing with a chick... chicklet? ralphing on my only pair of shoes. "Hold that thought, Red," I warned her. I was gonna be SO late for my set.
/LJ
I don’t know if you’ve ever been inside a carnival toilet before. They have these hollow feeling floors, that always make you feel like you’re about to put your foot all the way through them. The place was probably put together in about five minutes by a trained monkey but right now it was like a palace. My rescuer was outside (I think) while I paced a little. I wanted to splash some water on my face, but all they had was either the chemical toilet (eww) or the hand sanitizer waterless soap (ouch). I had to settle for a little pacing and a chance to pull myself together.
What had happened? What did they do? The band’s music was some kind of spell. They forged a sympathetic link between themselves and their victims. And through that link they took something. For me it was magic, did they take that from everyone? There really aren’t that many people in the state that were in the trade, so that couldn’t be it.
The “building” shook as someone kicked the wall. The soap dispenser fell off the wall and cracked open, spilling its putrid fragrant scent throughout the room. I almost gagged for real.
So it couldn't logically be magic they were after. With me they just happened to get it. What then? I needed to see them again, or where they lair. Maybe I could get Guitar Hero out there to help me more. But how? I couldn’t talk. I didn’t know ASL, and that would also have depended on him knowing it.
He might have been a performer, it stood to reason that he might have been from one of the trailers nearer to them. He was pretty easy on the eyes, blond hair and muscles. If they were like human girls, they’d want him near. I needed to be at the trailers.
I opened the door and hopped out. Feeling better now that I had a plan. I unconsciously rubbed at my throat as I smiled at GH and then scanned the crowd for Beefy. Clear for the moment. I started back the way we came from, looking for the trailer he’d come from. Theirs would be close by, and probably better then the others. Creatures that liked to look like hot girls (or guys, okay, hot humans) were likely to want to live in human comfort and luxury. Or as best they could.
LJ
What the hell was I doing, hanging around outside the women's john? Not like I even knew the kid. She had to have come here with someone! And she was making me late, so late for my set, and I needed every minute onstage, every dime I could wring out of the crowd.
I did not plan to stay with this traveling hot mess forever. There was some bad mojo going on here, I could feel it sometimes. That girl band that seemed to run the place (seriously? they weren't much older than me!) had all the guys wrapped around their little fingers. And no wonder, they seemed starved when it came to the end of the night. And not real choosey. I’d been kicked out of the trailer more than one night. And you could hear ‘em all over the back forty when they came. Like cats. Only loud.
One of them, the drummer, had begun stalking me, following me back to the back lot at night. Predatory in a way that made my skin crawl. I mean, I liked sex, and I definitely sexed it up for the crowd, eye-fucking the older ladies who looked like a little attention from a hot young thing might loosen the purse strings, but... no. Just no. She was too scary.
Dammit. I kicked the trailer, and regretted it. Chucks didn’t really protect your feet if you did stupid-ass shit like that. Plus, something fell over in there. Oh, well.
Red popped out a few minutes later, looking much better. Cheerful, even. Good. Meant I could get to work, since Muscles was nowhere in sight either. She looked for him too. Still nervous, and she should be, those guys could play rough, and would, even if she was a kid. And then, just when I thought I was off the hook...
She headed back towards where Muscles had been chasing her, trotting along like she was looking for something. She was headed into the back lot! They’d mess her up for sure, if she went back there. They’d at least scare her good, anyway. Nobody liked a nosey mark. “Hey!” I yelled. “Hey kid! You can’t just...”
Awwww, crap. I chased after her. There went my set, probably. What the hell, I was ready to 86 this group anyway. They were starting to scare the hell out of me, and I was getting tired of evading drummer chick every night.
/LJ
I slipped along the edge of the crowd, watching for Beefy (no sign of him) but I did see a few others wearing the blue headbands that marked them as staff. They were looking for something, someone. They travelled in pairs, keeping alert for me (I guessed). But one of the advantages of being a kid is that you don’t stand out in a crowd of other kids, especially with the occasionally adult (or nearly adult) in the way. Then I was out of the midway and into the small lot of trailers.
GH was in front of me all of a sudden and slapped me against the trailer. His back was to me and he wasn’t watching where he put his hand...
LJ
Shit! Yeah, there was Muscles again, and he had brought friends. They looked plenty mad, too. And Red was just about to step out in front of him. Whatever the hell she'd done to piss them off must be pretty serious. I threw an arm back to stop her from just trotting right out into them and got a handful of brand-new boob. Ew. Too young, made me feel like a perv, but they were still coming this way, and whatthehell was that, a box cutter? Aaaand behind them, the boss chicks, which they stopped for a minute to talk to. Then they were heading this way and I looked up -- this was the band's trailer.
Fuckin' peachy.
They never look down, no one ever does, I thought in a panic, and shoved the girl down into the dirt as they headed for the corner. "Get under here," I hissed as the trio of men and three scary, scary chicks approached the trailer and I slid under myself, dragging the guitar with me. There was barely room for me if I lay flat. And didn't want to breathe much.
/lJ
He pulled me under the trailer and into the dirt and sand, barely getting his guitar into the shadow under the trailer before the group came around the corner. He had good instincts, and he had protected me. That was thoughtful and brave. GH moved up in my estimation. A rock was digging into my belly and I realized my shirt had pushed up, baring my stomach painfully to the sand(paper) under the trailer.
The six figures stopped in front of the trailer we were under and the girls (things!) were giving marching orders to the men. “Find that girl. We need her. Don’t let her get out of the carnival. Bring her to us.” She spoke in simple terms, like she was giving orders to someone easily confused. That was good to know. Might be why I was able to lose Beefy so easily in the crowds. Her voice was musical, it had a quality that spoke of a trained speaker, singer. Someone that knew how to use even an ordinary voice like a weapon against the easily swayed.
The men gave a set of grunts of ascent. It reminded me chillingly of Daddy, earlier, men without real life or will. Just going through the motions and following the path of least resistance.
The men moved away and the girls entered the trailer. From where we were hiding we could hear them through the floor of the trailer. The voices sounded strange, with a hollow quality, like someone talking through an empty glass. It was clear, but distant sounding. They had taken off whatever disguise they wore now that no one could see them.
“We need her, sisters, she’s something special. Like the boy.” I think this was the lead singer.
“But I haven’t gotten the boy yet, sister,” a second said.
“He’s just a boy. He won’t resist forever. All boys are the same. They don’t think beyond their next rut.”
The third spoke up. “And then we won’t need the shell. We can take whatever. Where ever!” They laughed, it was musical, like tinkling bells for some evil holiday.
I started to slip out from under the trailer. The girls (creatures!) were distracted and the carnies were looking for me out in the midway. Hopefully.
LJ
I’d been just about to get myself out from under the trailer (easier said than done, and crap, I’d ripped my shirt) when the girls started talking.
Listening to them, I felt like something slimy and cold was dripping down my spine. First off, no way they were sisters; they didn’t look at all alike. Besides, sometimes they got all sexy with each other. And drummer chick had been coming after me pretty aggressively, especially since we'd hit Newport, almost like she had some sort of deadline... so, did she mean me when she said "the boy" in that really creepy way? And... if she did, what the hell did she want me for? She could have her pick. And it sounded far creepier than a quick lay anyway.
I shook my head. This was getting too strange, too fast for me.
And then Red was scrambling out from under the trailer. I'd figured, honestly, on staying here until they left again. Because this was totally bat-shit. But so was Red, because here she was haring off again, even though it sounded like they wanted her for something creepier than average, too.
So... Purely because I didn't want to get trapped under the trailer, mind, cause that would be so, so bad, I followed her out. Left the guitar where I could grab it if we had to run, but decided I wasn't gonna carry it into anything hairy just now.
And it felt like things were gonna get hairy.
/LJ
I needed to communicate with GH. I couldn’t make a plan and not get more information. I opened my mouth to try to whisper at him. Nothing. I rubbed at my throat again. Then I tried to mime writing on a piece of paper at him. Then looked to him.
LJ
What, she wanted to write me a note? I blinked at her, trying not to lose my cool and attract the attention of the girls in the trailer; these walls were like paper when it came to noise.
But I had paper in my guitar case (so I wrote music, ok?) and it looked like she might actually be mute or something, so I slid the case out as quietly as I could manage, unsnapped the latches, and rummaged around with a hand until I found the cheap spiral bound steno pad and the stick pen stuck through the wire at the top, and passed it over to her. Once again, I wondered what the hell I was doing, why I wasn’t booking the fuck out of here. Newport was a big enough city to get lost in. I could be gone, unfindable, in ten minutes.
/LJ
The notebook he handed me had music in it, handwritten music. He wrote his own music. I had wanted to do that for a long time. My old shop had contained a half dozen half written songs in it when it burned down.
I shook myself out of the memory and found a blank page. I wrote in it and held the page up to him. Do you know what they are?
It was a risk, he looked like he wanted to bolt. I needed to get what I needed to know from him and get him clear before we were discovered. The boy shouldn’t even be involved in this.
LJ
Do I know what they are? Besides scary beyond all belief? I shook my head. All I knew was at this point, I wanted to get as far away from them as I could. But as much as I hated to admit it, I didn’t want to leave Red, here, behind. Kid was in way over her head, but there was a stubborn set to her jaw I recognized; I’d felt my own jawline harden into that same line plenty of times.
/LJ
They are bad. I need to find out what they are doing. I need a look in that trailer. I took a quick glance at the trailer. Inside I could hear them singing wordlessly, tunelessly. Beautifully. You should go.
LJ
… the hell? No way was she going in there. She was a little kid, and they were... well. They were bad, like she said. I shook my head, and reached to grab her arm. “We’re both going,” I whispered. I just wanted OUT.
/lJ
I pulled away from his grip. No way was I letting them go. They had my power. I needed it back. Without it, I was just a kid.
Just a kid. If I didn’t have my magic we Father might leave. Go home and leave Daddy and me in peace. I might be able to fix things. No more magic. I could be a normal girl. A normal daughter.
Of course, that would mean that I would have to be content with leaving my power in their hands. Who knew what they might do with it. It was really no choice. The creatures would hurt other people. I couldn’t let it go.
NO!! They hurt people. They hurt me. They took my voice. I want it back.
LJ
“We can take whatever. Whenever.” I could still hear the voice that said that, and it sounded... cold. Like it didn’t give a damn. And, somehow I believed Red when she said they had somehow stolen her voice. For one thing, they sounded... different.
Better.
I mean, they’d always sounded good. I’d never been sure, once they’d walked away, why I said no every time one of them came on to me, except that my gut just told me they’d... use me up. A lot of the guys, went into their trailer, had a wild night, and were... different when they came out. Like Muscles. Kinda … flat. A little dumber.
And they’d do ANYTHING for those girls. I’d overheard one of the girls ask a guy to grab her a rock from the fire pit just last week. Figured it was just him being macho; he didn’t seem to feel it while she was looking at him, smiling at him, telling him to just put it back... then she’d looked away and he’d screamed. And screamed. One of the other guys had taken him to the hospital. But the next day, he’d been right back, ready to do whatever they told him. Why the hell hadn’t I cleared out then?
Because it was easy, coasting along with them the last six weeks. And I was basically selfish.
But now... now that I was sure that there was something weird going on, something like one of those stupid supernatural movies... I couldn’t let them keep on doing it. And I couldn’t let Red do it alone, hell, she couldn’t even yell for help if she needed it. “Fuck,” I whispered. “Ok, what do we do?”
/LJ
We.... Could I get this... kid... involved? I didn’t have a choice. We need to get into that--
I didn’t get to finish my writing. We had been sitting right outside the evil bad guy lair (such as it was) and assuming we were invisible. Stupid, stupid kids. This wasn’t an episode of Scooby Doo.
Beefy backhanded me to the ground, and turned on GH... I didn’t even know this kid’s name. And a struggle here was bound to attract attention. But he hopped up and got into it with Beefy. The man was probably twice his size, and moved like he knew what he was doing. But so did GH.
I was sitting again, on the sand, his notebook just out side my reach. I’d managed to hold onto the pen however. I wouldn’t have much time, so I started writing in quick, sure strokes on the palm of my right hand.
LJ
It was a short, mean fight, but once we started trading punches, I knew I had him. He was bigger, and shit, did he fight dirty, and I had to keep an eye out for that box cutter. But I was just a hair faster, and he couldn’t land anything that counted. And I guess for all his muscles, I was just enough stronger. Or younger, or meaner, ‘cause dirty is just my style when someone is trying to rip my head off. Or maybe I was just madder. He’d hit the kid, and that made me see red, ok? No pun intended. Geez.
But his heart clearly wasn’t in it. He was clumsy, and I had him on the ropes, but then reinforcements showed up. I mean, I can handle any one guy, you know? Three? That just wasn’t fuckin’ fair.
Two more guys, and the girls came bubbling out of the trailer to watch the excitement. And drummer chick might have wanted me (she was licking her lips, looking at me like I was a prime rib dinner. Still makes me want a shower, thinking of that look in her eyes), but she clearly didn’t care if I got a little tenderized first. I mean, they were trying to put me out without too much damage, and I was pretty sure whatever she really had in mind for me might well go down tonight, so I had no plans to make it any easier than I had to for them.
I was just hoping that Red had had enough and had booked it. Maybe to get the cops, even. Yeah, right about now, I’d even have welcomed the Blues.
But, no. As I ducked a punch from Thing One, and kicked Thing Two, below the belt, just a tiny bit... I could see Red, standing on the sidelines, one hand raised like she was a crossing guard looking to make traffic stop. Yeah, that’s gonna work, sweetheart. ”Get gone, kid!” I yelled, but the tiny loss of focus was a problem, because Thing One connected this time, and that was gonna leave a mark on my manly jawline come morning.
What happened next was a bit of a blur, and I don’t think it was all because Thing One had rung my bell. Something seriously fuckin’ weird happened.
The Two Things had grabbed me, one on each arm, and they were carrying/dragging me towards the girls. Muscles had shaken off the punch that had knocked him for six and was heading for Red, and I really couldn’t do anything about it, since my Two Things looked like Four right now, and I wasn’t sure which ones to hit. Well, and some of them were holding my arms.
And I was getting all too close to the scary chicks, and one of them was holding a big conch shell like in a Hawaiian movie and they were all waaaay too gleeful. This felt like it was gonna be bad...
/LJ
Working with quick and dirty magic, Evocation as we call it in the trade, has its advantages. Lack of prep time needed, usually very few tools involved (I have my conductor’s wand for that stuff), but it burns through your reserves like crazy and tuckers you out quick.
Thaumaturgy, what most people think of when they think of magic. Its all circles and magic words, and tools and stuff. Really all that stuff is just visualization aids to help draw in power, letting the universe bear the brunt of your work. That isn’t to say that it isn’t tiring, or dangerous (it is). With all the help you can get in ritual work, its pretty easy to let your reach exceed your grasp and wind up still overextending yourself. If you’re inexperienced.
I’d drawn a spell on my hand. I hadn’t had much time to put a lot of umph behind it, normally I like to have at least a half hour for ritual work, but this wasn’t really a lot of heavy lifting. Beefy was heading right for me and I let him take ahold of me and drag me forward. I didn’t resist at all. It didn’t take him long to manage one little kid that couldn’t do what GH did to him.
I looked over to him, held pretty fast in the grips of the Beefy two and Beefy three, trying to hint that he should be ready with my eyes. One eye, the one I was smacked in was starting to swell, so I had to hope he got it.
“Pretty-pretty,” said the singer, one hand stroked at my hair. “We’ll take it.” She still looked like she could be my sister, in a sick and demented bizarro world, but there was nothing even remotely human in those eyes. The girl who had been playing the drums held the conch towards me, almost as though offering it. “It’s okay,” sis said, “It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t love you anymore. That’s all over now. Let us make it all go away.”
I nodded, meekly and she smiled like a good sister might (I assume anyway). She drew me close into a tight hug, out of Beefy’s grip.
I’d been ready for them this time. They were using some kind of super empathy on steroids to find holes in people’s defenses. I was trained in shielding techniques by one of the finest wizards of the last two centuries. They saw what I let them see. Enough truth was in it to make them believe I was theirs. But they didn’t have me.
I released the spell in my right palm. It held some heat, and it burned like crazy, if I could have screamed out loud I might have deafened the whole carnival. Mostly it was light though. A dazzling flare in about a thousand strobing colors. The men were dazzled by the light, staggering back from it. The girls were mostly just surprised.
LJ
And holy shit, looked like Red had a plan. Watching her, I went kinda limp, like all the fight had gone outta me. Suckers.
When the flash-bang came (and seriously, how the hell?) they relaxed their grip. I tore loose and did the first thing I could think of. If that damned shell was important to them, I sure as hell didn’t want them to have it anymore, so I grabbed it and smashed it with both hands against the metal towing bar at the front of the trailer.
It shattered into a swarm of tiny lights like something out of a Disney movie (I mean, really? Big bad mojo, and it turns into Tinkerbelle lights?) They went zooming off in all directions, a mad swarm of fireflies, and I had time to see some of them arch way up over the trees, since I was flat on my back, somehow ten feet away from where I’d been standing. And one of them hit Red right in the chest.
/LJ
The little light from the burst vessel shot right into me. It felt right at home (which it was) and suddenly all the frustration of the past two months boiled up in me. And I wanted to scream. So I did.
The girls, well, they didn’t look much like girls anymore, more like whisps of not-quite-person-shaped smoke and something akin to ectoplasm (a residue that ghosts leave behind. Really. Look it up.). The stolen power in the shell had left them. They were revealed as the creatures they had started out as, some kind of spiritual echo or enlightened bit of nightmare out of the NeverNever.
My scream hit them like a tornado, tearing them asunder as my restored magic pumped the volume up to something like a billion rock concerts from the front row. The trailer was torn and rent, and finally fell over sideways as I screamed and cried until my breath was gone.
And so were they.
The next thing I knew I was on my knees in the sand, wretching and dry heaving with a burning pain in my throat.
LJ
For a long moment, there was nothing but sound and light, screaming all around me, and I curled onto one side and clamped my hands over my ears, not wanting to be deaf forever. My eyes slammed shut and stayed that way until the screaming passed, too. When I opened them, the three carnies were staggering to their feet, the girls were just... gone... and a crowd was gathering.
A girl was hovering over Red, one arm around her shoulders. Yay, reinforcements. Meant I could disappear into the sunset. Grabbed my guitar (thank god it had survived), glanced back once to make sure, and made tracks. I could get my duffle from the trailer and be gone before the cops showed to figure out what was going on. Before Thing One, Thing Two, and Muscles remembered who’d rearranged some of their bits and given them such pretty bruises.
Besides, Newport was calling my name.
/LJ
Someone, Susan, got me to my feet. My ears were ringing and I couldn’t quite hear what she was saying but she was somewhere between scared to death and mad as hell. She lead me away before anyone else could approach. I started to be able to make out tone, even if I couldn’t hear words, and she trying to get me to talk to her, tell her what had happened. I held my throat with one hand and her with the other and cried (not sure if it was sad tears or relieved tears) as she got me to her car. I didn’t even get a chance to thank GH. Or find out his name...
Epilogue 1:
When Susan dropped me off I was thoroughly chastised by her for not coming to get her immediately when trouble started. She wouldn’t believe my squeaky assertions that I’d had the whole thing under control the whole time. I wonder why.
The house was lit, they were still up. Well, it was earlier than the ten o’clock I’d promised Daddy. Doubtless he’d still be grading papers.
I breezed past Father, ignoring his questions about my eye, and the burns on my hand, not to mention the blood on my shirt. He followed to the edge of the dining room and I stopped him with a glare. I was on a roll tonight I guess. Another night he might have pushed the issue.
I stopped next to Daddy and waited a moment. The tilt of his head changed, letting me know in his (now) customary body language that he was aware of me.
“Stop, please,” my voice was harsh still from the scream. I put my burned hand on top of his. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. “I have something to say. Please look at me.” He did, but he obviously wanted to look anywhere else. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“I’m trying so hard, I know I’m not her, but I want to honor her. And you. And this family. But I can’t keep doing this if there’s no hope. I need you to tell me if there is. I love being here with you so much. You helped me, even though you didn’t realize it. Without you, your steady hand, I would have fallen so many times.
“Now I’m shut out. I guess I deserve that. I lied to you, to everyone. But what else was I supposed to do? I’m hollow inside, like you are. I want you to get better. I want me to get better. How do we do that? If you can’t look at me, can’t see me, can’t be around me without hurting then all we’re doing is festering wounds. Tell me to go. Tell me to stay. Tell me anything.” My throat hurt, my hand hurt. My eye was just barely swollen enough to impact my vision. I was crying and the salt stung something fierce in my blackened eye. “I’ll do whatever you want. But you have to forgive me, or tell me goodbye.”
He looked at me, his face was full of an unreadable emotion. He opened his mouth to speak....
LJ
(Epilogue 2)
Newport? kicks ass. Never lived by the water, grew up in flatville, midwest. Never ever want to live away from the ocean again. Gotta learn to surf. After I learn to swim.
/LJ
Finis
Borrowed Voices
“You aren’t wearing that out of this house!”
“I really don’t see how you can stop me!”
Seems just like a regular family argument that any family might eventually have. Teenage Daughter wants to wear something that Male Parent finds inappropriate. Cue fight. Right? Not so simple here, since the daughter in question (me) is only thirteen on a technicality. I’ve been alive since the 1950’s and only this past year was locked into the body of a teenager. Here I am trying to adjust to adolescence again while also having to deal with supernatural threats to the city of Providence in specific and Rhode Island in general. Did I mention that I’m a wizard? Yeah, I have that going for me too.
Complication the second: Male Parent (Gideon Harper) is not my legal guardian. He’s my Father from my first life, and my mentor (not that I need one, for wizarding anyway). He’s been slumming on our couch for the past couple of months just to “observe the situation.” His part in raising me to be a fine young man is over. Did I leave that part out too? I used to be a man. His attempts at asserting authority over me are meeting with resistance he didn’t see the first time through.
Complication the third: Other Male Parent (Aidan Stewart) found out that his daughter was dead and a sixty year old wizard had been living with him since just before he took custody of her. Mommy was bad and crazy. She now lives in my old body, trying to cause trouble for me, and get her next breeding program started (long story, and icky). Daddy doesn’t feel comfortable telling me “no” since he thinks there’s an adult in my skull, but really I just want to be his kid. His daughter. Sixty years old and who’d of thought I’d turn out to be a Daddy’s Girl.
Complication the fourth and fifth: My boobs (just grew ‘em). They aren’t much yet, but they are real and I alternate being proud of them and embarrassed by them. I read a book that said that was natural. So I just go with it.
I was going out to a party at Newport Beach with my friend Susan and some other kids from school. Sort of a mini carnival and there’d be dancing and music and games. I wanted to go and I was wearing a green tank top that clearly showed my new boobs and a pair of tan capris. I was wearing a bra under the shirt so it wasn’t like it was indecent. I usually covered up a bit more, and rarely wore pants, but I was starting to get some curves in other spots too and felt like showing off.
Or getting told not to.
My problem was that the wrong parent was stepping in. I mean, Father was playing my game without meaning too, but I wanted to Daddy to speak up. Say anything one way or another. We didn’t speak all that much anymore and he never hugged me, barely touched me if he could help it. He’d gotten good at going through the motions over the past weeks. He showed for my solo in the school holiday show and applauded. Father had sat grimly next to him, frowning the whole time.
Father disapproves of my choice not to pursue “mommy dearest” and get my old life back. I don’t want it. I won’t use magic to kill her (him, pronouns get confused around me sometimes) and the only other option is to put her in here, which I won’t do. I owe the real Magdelaine Stewart that much at least. And I love my Daddy. It took me some time to come to the realization, but it was time well spent, until I blew it telling him the truth in a moment of ill thought out teenage angst.
I get the whole thirteen year old package, you see, hormone shifts, growing pains, mood swings, periods, everything. Growing up again is proving to be a wild ride for what essentially had amounted to a glorified musician/wizard. So anyway, part of being thirteen is sometimes not being able to think far enough ahead. So I nearly killed our little family and I was trying to fix it.
He’ll realize that the only daughter he’s really known is me eventually and come around.
Or maybe he’ll kick me out and move on, forgetting me if he can.
Where did we start? Oh yeah, the argument. With the wrong parent.
Our kitchen isn’t big, so the dining room table sits in the adjacent room. Daddy was home early for a change, and had some paper spread out, grading them. He teaches physics at Brown University. I’d left him a sandwich and some soup there earlier, but he’d only taken one bite of the sandwich and left the soup untouched.
Father was standing, looking outraged at me for being so “scandalously” dressed. As always, he was wearing a button down white shirt, freshly pressed (I’d done it myself, for him-he’s helpless with an iron) and his dark slacks, with a matching tie and jacket. His gray warden’s cloak and sword were by the door, wrapped in a veil so they wouldn’t be noticed until he needed them.
“Don’t think that I cannot stop you, my child.”
“I don’t think you can’t, I just think you won’t. And I’m not your child, Uncle Gideon.” That was the lie we told to keep everyone from thinking too much about the strange old man living in our house. Everyone thought Father was my Daddy’s older brother.
I chanced a look over at Daddy and he was deep in his books and papers. He didn’t use the laptop when we were both mad, since wizards are tough on technology; it breaks down on us, and around us. Father couldn’t even own a car. Well, he could probably own one, he just couldn’t drive it.
No help there.
“Maybe I should turn you over my knee,” Father muttered darkly.
“Can’t,” I told him gleefully, “that’s child abuse.” Outside I heard a horn beep. My ride was here. I stepped away from Father, purposefully making myself closer to Daddy and said to him, “I’ll try not to be late. Is ten o’clock all right?”
He made a muttering sound that I took for an assent. Still he didn’t look up at me. I dodged around Father and was out the door before I let myself cry. Stupid Thirteen year old hormones.
I dashed down the driveway, blurred through wet and salt and jumped into Susan’s car, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.
“Still not talking, huh?” she tousled my hair because she knew it annoyed me.
Susan is seventeen, blond, blue eyed, pretty, and popular at school. She’s smart (except for history, which I tutor her on) and funny, and fun to be around. I can be a kid with her, and I can be grown up. She takes it all in stride. She was the first person I told my secret to, after she rescued me from “mommy dearest.”
“No.” I tried to sound cool with it, but I wasn’t, and she could tell.
“He will. He’s a good man, and he loves you like a… well, like a daughter. He’s just having a rough patch right now.” She looked me over. “That’s a different look for you.”
“I know. Uncle Gideon disapproved.”
“Uncle Gideon can bite me. You look good. Maybe when we get there I can put your hair up, pigtails or something to fun it up a bit.”
“Sure.” I looked out the window as we left my neighborhood.
I thought sometimes about leaving this city, going back to Edinburgh. I could study all I wanted there. Despite my apparent age, I wasn’t an apprentice. I could just wait there and grow up again, come out and face the world when I was ready. It was what Father wanted me to do. If I wasn’t here, Daddy might come out of this funk. But he might not. I couldn’t let him be hurt. Not anymore. I’d done enough of that myself.
Eventually Susan tired of the silence and risked turning on her radio. We’d learned that for whatever reason, her new-fangled radio worked okay for us if it was tuned to an oldies station. So Susan had become a forced fan of the music of the Beach Boys, Jan and Dean, and the Beatles against her will. I love music, and she knew it. I am a musician, and follow a half bardic tradition in my magic. I pretty it up and make it sound important by calling it “Acoustiomancy” but at the end of the day, I work with sounds and music. I can do other things with my magic also, I’m an accomplished healer, I’ve been known to cast a veil or two in my day; but music and sound is my preferred method.
By the time we got to Newport she’d gotten me mostly out of my funk and I was singing with her and the radio. I’d inherited an okay voice, and I was working with it, it would never be “astounding.” I’d never make money off it, but it was pleasant enough to listen to. I like more modern iterations of rock and classical, I even sometimes could see the purpose in RAP (it had a strength and passion that was hard to miss, even if I disapproved of most of the messages it sent). My big strength was in folk music. I’d spent my childhood (the first time, anyway) in small town in Wales, the son of a piano teacher. My mother embraced the rich musical heritage of our people and taught me the songs of old and new musicians. These styles were the root of what came after. Understanding the basis of these songs gave you the understanding of pretty much all music in Western Culture.
Sorry, kind of a music geek. Scholar. Geek.
In any event, we were singing out “Good Vibrations” as the car pulled into the parking lot. We paid an insane twenty dollars to park and joined the throngs of teenagers and young adults in the flashing lights and music of the beach fair.
On the sandy beach there were tents and games set up in two long lanes with ring tosses and darts and water guns. Over on the concrete there was a small collection of structurally unsound looking rides. Behind the Midway, between the beach and the road out, was a maze of support vehicles; nearly a dozen campers and winnebagos and about fifteen trailer trucks. Over near the long pier was a small stage with a band playing some over bass-ed rendition of a current pop hit about how bad the girl felt when she lost the man she loved. We followed the roped off path around the signs that read “staff only” in various hand painted degrees of proficiency into the carnival.
We wandered through the games and tents, won each other small prizes (a bunny for Susan, a bear for me-it was a thing, I like teddy bears). The boys checked her out, after all, she was smoking hot in her skin tight jeans and white t-shirt that read “Not with Stupid” and had arrows pointing all directions around her. A couple of the younger kids also noticed me. I was still on the fence about that. I’d come to the realization that Mattie was a straight girl, and so was I (pronoun madness again!) a few weeks back when I’d seen a vampire in his boxers, but sex appeal was still an abstract. I mean, how do I get into a relationship when I’m so much older than I look? If I went for an adult, they were going to be labeled pedophiles, if I went for someone my age, I’d feel like one myself. I hoped eventually I’d reach some kind of accord with myself about that.
Most people assume we’re sisters, even though we don’t look at all alike. We’re together all the time and most of what I’ve learned about being a girl came from her. I have another friend, Kayla, who’s also helped with that, but she’s grown up and has a certain distance from kid issues. Oh yeah, I’m totally outside the adult conspiracy these days. Never trust anyone over thirty!
“That’s him!” Susan had to practically shout to be heard over the background noise. She was pointing to a boy (man…) about her age over near one of the game booths. She met up with him a couple of times and hung out at the mall. They’d agreed to meet up here. She wanted to go on the rides and I couldn’t (they looked rickety enough without adding my issues with tech).
“Go ahead! I’m gonna wander a bit more, maybe go down and listen to the band.”
“You be okay? Don’t get attacked by a werewolf or anything!”
“Sure, sure…” I mock punched her in the arm. “Go. Have fun!” I wandered away from the lights towards the band slowly. I was full dark now, and outside the shelter of the tents a cool breeze was coming off the water, reminding us all that winter in New England lasted just as long as it felt like. I found myself wishing I’d brought along a jacket, or at least a hoodie.
As I got to the crowd, two girls, about my age (thirteen, not sixty) broke away from the crowd, one looked upset and the other was following after, her expression radiating concern for her friend. The song probably struck a chord. I moved into the crowd, slipping lithely between dancing and swaying teens until I could see the stage.
The band was all girls, one drummer and two guitarists, one of whom was alternating between the instrument and singing. The drummer was wearing cut off jean shorts that might have been illegal if she stood up, and a tank top, her wild, dark hair was slick with perspiration as were her arms as she banged out a primal rhythm. The girl not singing was wearing black spandex pants patterned to look like it had been patched in various, seemingly random colors. Her matching top didn’t quite reach her pants, leaving a patch of skin visible, her navel, and the edge of a tattoo that peeked out of her pants on the left hip. Her hair was also dark and damp, but hers was cut short in a punk style that made her look younger than she probably was.
The singer, was in charge, there was a dynamic that was apparent even from off stage, the others took cues from her, the drummer set the rhythm but she set the tune. Her hair was a wild mane of red flying around her as she belted out her pain and passion. She was slim, with just enough curves to keep from looking boyish. Said curves were covered in jeans that were more tear than fabric, patches of her pale flesh visible through it all over, and an emerald green tank top. Her bra was clearly visible from the sweat soaking her torso.
I stared at her. We could have really been sisters. She was clearly older than me, but how much was not certain at a glance, more mature, physically but not so much that she seemed out of her teens completely, maybe nineteen on the outside. As I stood there she started a new song, this one about a home that wasn’t whole. About a girl who missed her dad, even though he was still there, and how could she reconnect with a ghost that wasn’t dead?
I’m pretty sure I’m the stupidest person, ever. It was a spell. Every girl in the crowd probably saw her differently; saw someone that made them feel a false kinship with her. The song probably wasn’t even the same for each of us. The vulnerable in the crowd, emotionally vulnerable (myself included) fell victim to her attack.
A moment before I realized this, I felt something pass from me to them, something was taken. For that brief moment I could see them. See through them. They weren’t ghosts, but some kind of spirits. Whatever came out of me, passed into the drums, which were looking more like hungry, open mouths to me. Something hollow inside the three of them became slightly fuller, more real with the addition they took from me.
I marshaled my will and broke whatever connection she’d made, pulling myself away. She seemed to sense me in that moment, pulling her eyes towards me, half closed in passion of her song. Her lips quirked at the corners. A light of triumph lit her face. I fled the crowd as fast as I could.
I needed time and space to figure out what I was dealing with. I knew I should call the others. I had friends, Kayla and some others that helped out when magical emergencies came up. But I was supposed to be wizard, not some kid always in need of rescuing. So I decided to try it on my own first.
I was in that dark stretch between the tents and the stage and I stopped. One of the carnies was heading my direction. I could make him out in the flashing lights from the stage as he walked towards them. He was a big guy with his sleeves rolled up over meaty arms that looked about the size of my thighs. I knew he was a carnie from the blue bandanna he wore and the canvas change apron around his waist. He pulled a box cutter out of one of the pouches and snapped the blade open. It wasn’t long but it would do the trick. If he got to use it.
I reached for my power, calling magic to me and started to hum out my command to it. Nothing happened. My power didn’t come and I didn’t make a sound. I opened my mouth to speak my attack spell of choice, a burst of sonic energy that could shatter steel. Nothing. They took my voice! And with my voice went my magic!
I spared a vicious glance back at the stage, but the band had moved on to another song, and I wasn’t worth her attention anymore. When I looked back, the man was almost on me. I did what any self respecting wizard would do, thirteen or otherwise. I ran.
I run a lot. I like it. When I was grown up, I didn’t run that much, and when I did it was usually a short experience that ended with me gasping for breath. Now I had a body that exulted in the very movements of running. Sometimes it felt like I could run forever. End result, I left him in the dust.
I needed to try to lose him in the crowds until I could find Susan to help me.
No, I wasn’t going to be the victim again. This keeps happening to me and I keep taking it. What makes a wizard isn’t magic. The same derivation for wizard also gives us the word wisdom. Theoretically, I was one of the wise. I needed to figure out what the deal was and take care of it. Just as soon as I made sure I wasn’t going to get my throat slit.
LJ
I put out my cigarette and slung my guitar case over my shoulder. Break time over. I could tell by the song they always used to close their set. I left the rickety trailer I shared with another one of the guys, a creepy little con artist who ran one of the games, and whose name I didn’t even know, but who left me alone, anyway, didn’t hit on me like the old perv who ran the sugar shack did when I first hooked up with this crew, at least. I know, coffin nails are bad for my voice, my wind. I know, they’re illegal on fair grounds now. I know, fire hazard, yada yada yada. Know what? don’t care. They keep me from strangling someone.
I’d locked the trailer; he had stuff there, even if I just had a duffle with a couple changes of clothes stuffed inside. Everything of any value lives in my guitar case. My wallet and id (which says I’m 21. No one I know now needs to know different. I’m not driving with it, and I keep my head down, but 16 just makes you vulnerable to being sent back). And my guitar, of course. My guitar is probably the one thing I own that’s worth a damn. It makes me my living. That and fixing whatever breaks down or gives out around here, for the last six weeks, had gotten me a bunk and three squares a day as what they called a "backyard boy," carnival equivalent of a gofer.
Which is why I was pretty pissed when some little tweenie with Pippi Longstocking braids -- bright red in the midway lights --darting through the crowd, plowed right into me, looking back over her shoulder. She had momentum on her side, so she bounced one way, I bounced the other, and I didn’t --quite-- fall when she landed on her butt in the dust. “Watchit,” I growled. (If I’d landed on the guitar, I’d be screwed!) Stupid kid, either playing tag with her friends, or caught up in some girl drama and running away from the ‘rents, which, hey, might be sensible for all I know, or from some little dweeb who wanted something in return for the crappy stuffed bear he’d managed to win off the seriously gaffed joints on the fairway. She was clutching the bear even now.
Still, a mark’s a mark. Ah, cynicism. A lesson learned early. At mother’s knee, really. So, I stuck my hand out to help her up and made myself smile a little. Stop scowling. Charm. Maybe she’d throw a quarter in my hat after the show if she thought I was cute and not a complete jerk. She herself was the kind of cute that could turn major hottie in a couple years, but right now, still just a kid, even with the new curves her tank top was designed to flaunt. Still too much kid, for me, though.
Actually, she was dressed way less trampy than a lot of the twelve-to-fifteens who liked to flock up to the front of the stage when I played and sang and make moony eyes at me. Again, usually good for a little loose change if I played up to them, whatever was left of their allowances. Better in my pocket than going to another crooked game.
/LJ
My fault really, zigged when I should have zagged. The young man (boy, really) was a touch too heavy for me to have just knocked my way past. He looked like a musician (guitar, duh!-- duh? My Kid-fu was strong tonight). He got up more quickly, and more gracefully than I did. I took his hand when he offered it, taking the chance to glance back over my shoulder. Beefy was there, in the crowd, one hand stuffed into his change apron and watching us.
I looked back at the kid, he looked like he might work here, with his guitar (again, duh!). Was he part of the entertainment? Did he work with the “band” down there? He hadn’t let go of my hand yet but it didn’t feel like he was preparing to grip tighter. It was almost... comforting (yeah, like that wasn’t creepy).
I had met enough confidence men in my time to know one when I saw one. He saw me as a likely mark, then. I could use that. One of the best talents a kid (especially a girl) can develop is the ability to cry on command. I wasn’t all that proficient with it, but I was actually scared, so that helped. I let the fear ride me for a second, welling my eyes and felt that quiver hit my lip, then pulled it back, putting my brave face back on. A lot of these young confidence men were also cowboy wannabes, looking to rescue the damsel and play the hero. My only hope was that he might not turn me over to Beefy.
LJ
Aw, geez. Here went the waterworks. (And she’s the one nearly knocked me over, so... what the hell?) Still, the gulls were watching, and I didn’t want people going off thinking I’m a big meanie to little girls. Gag me. Still, better play nice.
Then again, she looked really kinda scared. Redhead pale? Actually, she was gonna-puke-pale. And, much as I would have liked it to be so, it didn’t seem like she found me all that intimidating. I glanced around at the crowd; one of the roughies was giving her the eye... wonder what kind of trouble a kid her age could cause?
Spotting me looking at him-- well, maybe I was glaring a little, it’s sorta my natural setting, though--he kinda did a fade back into the crowd. I looked back at the kid, who was still all wide eyed and teary. “You’re ok,” I said, trying for less gruff. And tried to let go of her hand.
/LJ
Beefy had slunk away, but he was likely just waiting to get me from another angle. I needed a chance to get my head together and figure out what the girls in the band had done to me. This boy didn’t just turn me over, so I guessed he wasn’t in the know about them. Plus, he was giving off that repressed chivalry vibe I’d been hoping for.
I started to say something, then realized I couldn’t. How could I get him to take me someplace I could think? Swoon? No. I wouldn’t be all that good at it anyway. Then it hit me. Keeping my hand in his, I covered my mouth with my other hand and gagged as though vomiting was eminent. Maybe there was a restroom or a trailer he could get me into...
LJ
Fuck...she wasn't letting go, and she was giving me these panicked doe eyes (hey, green. Pretty. And still, too young) like she was afraid something was gonna jump out of the crowd and eat her, for godssakes. And now she was gonna be sick. God. Why me? If she wasn’t gonna let go, I could drag her along, so I started for the ladies'. They were pretty disgusting, but, no way was I dealing with a chick... chicklet? ralphing on my only pair of shoes. "Hold that thought, Red," I warned her. I was gonna be SO late for my set.
/LJ
I don’t know if you’ve ever been inside a carnival toilet before. They have these hollow feeling floors, that always make you feel like you’re about to put your foot all the way through them. The place was probably put together in about five minutes by a trained monkey but right now it was like a palace. My rescuer was outside (I think) while I paced a little. I wanted to splash some water on my face, but all they had was either the chemical toilet (eww) or the hand sanitizer waterless soap (ouch). I had to settle for a little pacing and a chance to pull myself together.
What had happened? What did they do? The band’s music was some kind of spell. They forged a sympathetic link between themselves and their victims. And through that link they took something. For me it was magic, did they take that from everyone? There really aren’t that many people in the state that were in the trade, so that couldn’t be it.
The “building” shook as someone kicked the wall. The soap dispenser fell off the wall and cracked open, spilling its putrid fragrant scent throughout the room. I almost gagged for real.
So it couldn't logically be magic they were after. With me they just happened to get it. What then? I needed to see them again, or where they lair. Maybe I could get Guitar Hero out there to help me more. But how? I couldn’t talk. I didn’t know ASL, and that would also have depended on him knowing it.
He might have been a performer, it stood to reason that he might have been from one of the trailers nearer to them. He was pretty easy on the eyes, blond hair and muscles. If they were like human girls, they’d want him near. I needed to be at the trailers.
I opened the door and hopped out. Feeling better now that I had a plan. I unconsciously rubbed at my throat as I smiled at GH and then scanned the crowd for Beefy. Clear for the moment. I started back the way we came from, looking for the trailer he’d come from. Theirs would be close by, and probably better then the others. Creatures that liked to look like hot girls (or guys, okay, hot humans) were likely to want to live in human comfort and luxury. Or as best they could.
LJ
What the hell was I doing, hanging around outside the women's john? Not like I even knew the kid. She had to have come here with someone! And she was making me late, so late for my set, and I needed every minute onstage, every dime I could wring out of the crowd.
I did not plan to stay with this traveling hot mess forever. There was some bad mojo going on here, I could feel it sometimes. That girl band that seemed to run the place (seriously? they weren't much older than me!) had all the guys wrapped around their little fingers. And no wonder, they seemed starved when it came to the end of the night. And not real choosey. I’d been kicked out of the trailer more than one night. And you could hear ‘em all over the back forty when they came. Like cats. Only loud.
One of them, the drummer, had begun stalking me, following me back to the back lot at night. Predatory in a way that made my skin crawl. I mean, I liked sex, and I definitely sexed it up for the crowd, eye-fucking the older ladies who looked like a little attention from a hot young thing might loosen the purse strings, but... no. Just no. She was too scary.
Dammit. I kicked the trailer, and regretted it. Chucks didn’t really protect your feet if you did stupid-ass shit like that. Plus, something fell over in there. Oh, well.
Red popped out a few minutes later, looking much better. Cheerful, even. Good. Meant I could get to work, since Muscles was nowhere in sight either. She looked for him too. Still nervous, and she should be, those guys could play rough, and would, even if she was a kid. And then, just when I thought I was off the hook...
She headed back towards where Muscles had been chasing her, trotting along like she was looking for something. She was headed into the back lot! They’d mess her up for sure, if she went back there. They’d at least scare her good, anyway. Nobody liked a nosey mark. “Hey!” I yelled. “Hey kid! You can’t just...”
Awwww, crap. I chased after her. There went my set, probably. What the hell, I was ready to 86 this group anyway. They were starting to scare the hell out of me, and I was getting tired of evading drummer chick every night.
/LJ
I slipped along the edge of the crowd, watching for Beefy (no sign of him) but I did see a few others wearing the blue headbands that marked them as staff. They were looking for something, someone. They travelled in pairs, keeping alert for me (I guessed). But one of the advantages of being a kid is that you don’t stand out in a crowd of other kids, especially with the occasionally adult (or nearly adult) in the way. Then I was out of the midway and into the small lot of trailers.
GH was in front of me all of a sudden and slapped me against the trailer. His back was to me and he wasn’t watching where he put his hand...
LJ
Shit! Yeah, there was Muscles again, and he had brought friends. They looked plenty mad, too. And Red was just about to step out in front of him. Whatever the hell she'd done to piss them off must be pretty serious. I threw an arm back to stop her from just trotting right out into them and got a handful of brand-new boob. Ew. Too young, made me feel like a perv, but they were still coming this way, and whatthehell was that, a box cutter? Aaaand behind them, the boss chicks, which they stopped for a minute to talk to. Then they were heading this way and I looked up -- this was the band's trailer.
Fuckin' peachy.
They never look down, no one ever does, I thought in a panic, and shoved the girl down into the dirt as they headed for the corner. "Get under here," I hissed as the trio of men and three scary, scary chicks approached the trailer and I slid under myself, dragging the guitar with me. There was barely room for me if I lay flat. And didn't want to breathe much.
/lJ
He pulled me under the trailer and into the dirt and sand, barely getting his guitar into the shadow under the trailer before the group came around the corner. He had good instincts, and he had protected me. That was thoughtful and brave. GH moved up in my estimation. A rock was digging into my belly and I realized my shirt had pushed up, baring my stomach painfully to the sand(paper) under the trailer.
The six figures stopped in front of the trailer we were under and the girls (things!) were giving marching orders to the men. “Find that girl. We need her. Don’t let her get out of the carnival. Bring her to us.” She spoke in simple terms, like she was giving orders to someone easily confused. That was good to know. Might be why I was able to lose Beefy so easily in the crowds. Her voice was musical, it had a quality that spoke of a trained speaker, singer. Someone that knew how to use even an ordinary voice like a weapon against the easily swayed.
The men gave a set of grunts of ascent. It reminded me chillingly of Daddy, earlier, men without real life or will. Just going through the motions and following the path of least resistance.
The men moved away and the girls entered the trailer. From where we were hiding we could hear them through the floor of the trailer. The voices sounded strange, with a hollow quality, like someone talking through an empty glass. It was clear, but distant sounding. They had taken off whatever disguise they wore now that no one could see them.
“We need her, sisters, she’s something special. Like the boy.” I think this was the lead singer.
“But I haven’t gotten the boy yet, sister,” a second said.
“He’s just a boy. He won’t resist forever. All boys are the same. They don’t think beyond their next rut.”
The third spoke up. “And then we won’t need the shell. We can take whatever. Where ever!” They laughed, it was musical, like tinkling bells for some evil holiday.
I started to slip out from under the trailer. The girls (creatures!) were distracted and the carnies were looking for me out in the midway. Hopefully.
LJ
I’d been just about to get myself out from under the trailer (easier said than done, and crap, I’d ripped my shirt) when the girls started talking.
Listening to them, I felt like something slimy and cold was dripping down my spine. First off, no way they were sisters; they didn’t look at all alike. Besides, sometimes they got all sexy with each other. And drummer chick had been coming after me pretty aggressively, especially since we'd hit Newport, almost like she had some sort of deadline... so, did she mean me when she said "the boy" in that really creepy way? And... if she did, what the hell did she want me for? She could have her pick. And it sounded far creepier than a quick lay anyway.
I shook my head. This was getting too strange, too fast for me.
And then Red was scrambling out from under the trailer. I'd figured, honestly, on staying here until they left again. Because this was totally bat-shit. But so was Red, because here she was haring off again, even though it sounded like they wanted her for something creepier than average, too.
So... Purely because I didn't want to get trapped under the trailer, mind, cause that would be so, so bad, I followed her out. Left the guitar where I could grab it if we had to run, but decided I wasn't gonna carry it into anything hairy just now.
And it felt like things were gonna get hairy.
/LJ
I needed to communicate with GH. I couldn’t make a plan and not get more information. I opened my mouth to try to whisper at him. Nothing. I rubbed at my throat again. Then I tried to mime writing on a piece of paper at him. Then looked to him.
LJ
What, she wanted to write me a note? I blinked at her, trying not to lose my cool and attract the attention of the girls in the trailer; these walls were like paper when it came to noise.
But I had paper in my guitar case (so I wrote music, ok?) and it looked like she might actually be mute or something, so I slid the case out as quietly as I could manage, unsnapped the latches, and rummaged around with a hand until I found the cheap spiral bound steno pad and the stick pen stuck through the wire at the top, and passed it over to her. Once again, I wondered what the hell I was doing, why I wasn’t booking the fuck out of here. Newport was a big enough city to get lost in. I could be gone, unfindable, in ten minutes.
/LJ
The notebook he handed me had music in it, handwritten music. He wrote his own music. I had wanted to do that for a long time. My old shop had contained a half dozen half written songs in it when it burned down.
I shook myself out of the memory and found a blank page. I wrote in it and held the page up to him. Do you know what they are?
It was a risk, he looked like he wanted to bolt. I needed to get what I needed to know from him and get him clear before we were discovered. The boy shouldn’t even be involved in this.
LJ
Do I know what they are? Besides scary beyond all belief? I shook my head. All I knew was at this point, I wanted to get as far away from them as I could. But as much as I hated to admit it, I didn’t want to leave Red, here, behind. Kid was in way over her head, but there was a stubborn set to her jaw I recognized; I’d felt my own jawline harden into that same line plenty of times.
/LJ
They are bad. I need to find out what they are doing. I need a look in that trailer. I took a quick glance at the trailer. Inside I could hear them singing wordlessly, tunelessly. Beautifully. You should go.
LJ
… the hell? No way was she going in there. She was a little kid, and they were... well. They were bad, like she said. I shook my head, and reached to grab her arm. “We’re both going,” I whispered. I just wanted OUT.
/lJ
I pulled away from his grip. No way was I letting them go. They had my power. I needed it back. Without it, I was just a kid.
Just a kid. If I didn’t have my magic we Father might leave. Go home and leave Daddy and me in peace. I might be able to fix things. No more magic. I could be a normal girl. A normal daughter.
Of course, that would mean that I would have to be content with leaving my power in their hands. Who knew what they might do with it. It was really no choice. The creatures would hurt other people. I couldn’t let it go.
NO!! They hurt people. They hurt me. They took my voice. I want it back.
LJ
“We can take whatever. Whenever.” I could still hear the voice that said that, and it sounded... cold. Like it didn’t give a damn. And, somehow I believed Red when she said they had somehow stolen her voice. For one thing, they sounded... different.
Better.
I mean, they’d always sounded good. I’d never been sure, once they’d walked away, why I said no every time one of them came on to me, except that my gut just told me they’d... use me up. A lot of the guys, went into their trailer, had a wild night, and were... different when they came out. Like Muscles. Kinda … flat. A little dumber.
And they’d do ANYTHING for those girls. I’d overheard one of the girls ask a guy to grab her a rock from the fire pit just last week. Figured it was just him being macho; he didn’t seem to feel it while she was looking at him, smiling at him, telling him to just put it back... then she’d looked away and he’d screamed. And screamed. One of the other guys had taken him to the hospital. But the next day, he’d been right back, ready to do whatever they told him. Why the hell hadn’t I cleared out then?
Because it was easy, coasting along with them the last six weeks. And I was basically selfish.
But now... now that I was sure that there was something weird going on, something like one of those stupid supernatural movies... I couldn’t let them keep on doing it. And I couldn’t let Red do it alone, hell, she couldn’t even yell for help if she needed it. “Fuck,” I whispered. “Ok, what do we do?”
/LJ
We.... Could I get this... kid... involved? I didn’t have a choice. We need to get into that--
I didn’t get to finish my writing. We had been sitting right outside the evil bad guy lair (such as it was) and assuming we were invisible. Stupid, stupid kids. This wasn’t an episode of Scooby Doo.
Beefy backhanded me to the ground, and turned on GH... I didn’t even know this kid’s name. And a struggle here was bound to attract attention. But he hopped up and got into it with Beefy. The man was probably twice his size, and moved like he knew what he was doing. But so did GH.
I was sitting again, on the sand, his notebook just out side my reach. I’d managed to hold onto the pen however. I wouldn’t have much time, so I started writing in quick, sure strokes on the palm of my right hand.
LJ
It was a short, mean fight, but once we started trading punches, I knew I had him. He was bigger, and shit, did he fight dirty, and I had to keep an eye out for that box cutter. But I was just a hair faster, and he couldn’t land anything that counted. And I guess for all his muscles, I was just enough stronger. Or younger, or meaner, ‘cause dirty is just my style when someone is trying to rip my head off. Or maybe I was just madder. He’d hit the kid, and that made me see red, ok? No pun intended. Geez.
But his heart clearly wasn’t in it. He was clumsy, and I had him on the ropes, but then reinforcements showed up. I mean, I can handle any one guy, you know? Three? That just wasn’t fuckin’ fair.
Two more guys, and the girls came bubbling out of the trailer to watch the excitement. And drummer chick might have wanted me (she was licking her lips, looking at me like I was a prime rib dinner. Still makes me want a shower, thinking of that look in her eyes), but she clearly didn’t care if I got a little tenderized first. I mean, they were trying to put me out without too much damage, and I was pretty sure whatever she really had in mind for me might well go down tonight, so I had no plans to make it any easier than I had to for them.
I was just hoping that Red had had enough and had booked it. Maybe to get the cops, even. Yeah, right about now, I’d even have welcomed the Blues.
But, no. As I ducked a punch from Thing One, and kicked Thing Two, below the belt, just a tiny bit... I could see Red, standing on the sidelines, one hand raised like she was a crossing guard looking to make traffic stop. Yeah, that’s gonna work, sweetheart. ”Get gone, kid!” I yelled, but the tiny loss of focus was a problem, because Thing One connected this time, and that was gonna leave a mark on my manly jawline come morning.
What happened next was a bit of a blur, and I don’t think it was all because Thing One had rung my bell. Something seriously fuckin’ weird happened.
The Two Things had grabbed me, one on each arm, and they were carrying/dragging me towards the girls. Muscles had shaken off the punch that had knocked him for six and was heading for Red, and I really couldn’t do anything about it, since my Two Things looked like Four right now, and I wasn’t sure which ones to hit. Well, and some of them were holding my arms.
And I was getting all too close to the scary chicks, and one of them was holding a big conch shell like in a Hawaiian movie and they were all waaaay too gleeful. This felt like it was gonna be bad...
/LJ
Working with quick and dirty magic, Evocation as we call it in the trade, has its advantages. Lack of prep time needed, usually very few tools involved (I have my conductor’s wand for that stuff), but it burns through your reserves like crazy and tuckers you out quick.
Thaumaturgy, what most people think of when they think of magic. Its all circles and magic words, and tools and stuff. Really all that stuff is just visualization aids to help draw in power, letting the universe bear the brunt of your work. That isn’t to say that it isn’t tiring, or dangerous (it is). With all the help you can get in ritual work, its pretty easy to let your reach exceed your grasp and wind up still overextending yourself. If you’re inexperienced.
I’d drawn a spell on my hand. I hadn’t had much time to put a lot of umph behind it, normally I like to have at least a half hour for ritual work, but this wasn’t really a lot of heavy lifting. Beefy was heading right for me and I let him take ahold of me and drag me forward. I didn’t resist at all. It didn’t take him long to manage one little kid that couldn’t do what GH did to him.
I looked over to him, held pretty fast in the grips of the Beefy two and Beefy three, trying to hint that he should be ready with my eyes. One eye, the one I was smacked in was starting to swell, so I had to hope he got it.
“Pretty-pretty,” said the singer, one hand stroked at my hair. “We’ll take it.” She still looked like she could be my sister, in a sick and demented bizarro world, but there was nothing even remotely human in those eyes. The girl who had been playing the drums held the conch towards me, almost as though offering it. “It’s okay,” sis said, “It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t love you anymore. That’s all over now. Let us make it all go away.”
I nodded, meekly and she smiled like a good sister might (I assume anyway). She drew me close into a tight hug, out of Beefy’s grip.
I’d been ready for them this time. They were using some kind of super empathy on steroids to find holes in people’s defenses. I was trained in shielding techniques by one of the finest wizards of the last two centuries. They saw what I let them see. Enough truth was in it to make them believe I was theirs. But they didn’t have me.
I released the spell in my right palm. It held some heat, and it burned like crazy, if I could have screamed out loud I might have deafened the whole carnival. Mostly it was light though. A dazzling flare in about a thousand strobing colors. The men were dazzled by the light, staggering back from it. The girls were mostly just surprised.
LJ
And holy shit, looked like Red had a plan. Watching her, I went kinda limp, like all the fight had gone outta me. Suckers.
When the flash-bang came (and seriously, how the hell?) they relaxed their grip. I tore loose and did the first thing I could think of. If that damned shell was important to them, I sure as hell didn’t want them to have it anymore, so I grabbed it and smashed it with both hands against the metal towing bar at the front of the trailer.
It shattered into a swarm of tiny lights like something out of a Disney movie (I mean, really? Big bad mojo, and it turns into Tinkerbelle lights?) They went zooming off in all directions, a mad swarm of fireflies, and I had time to see some of them arch way up over the trees, since I was flat on my back, somehow ten feet away from where I’d been standing. And one of them hit Red right in the chest.
/LJ
The little light from the burst vessel shot right into me. It felt right at home (which it was) and suddenly all the frustration of the past two months boiled up in me. And I wanted to scream. So I did.
The girls, well, they didn’t look much like girls anymore, more like whisps of not-quite-person-shaped smoke and something akin to ectoplasm (a residue that ghosts leave behind. Really. Look it up.). The stolen power in the shell had left them. They were revealed as the creatures they had started out as, some kind of spiritual echo or enlightened bit of nightmare out of the NeverNever.
My scream hit them like a tornado, tearing them asunder as my restored magic pumped the volume up to something like a billion rock concerts from the front row. The trailer was torn and rent, and finally fell over sideways as I screamed and cried until my breath was gone.
And so were they.
The next thing I knew I was on my knees in the sand, wretching and dry heaving with a burning pain in my throat.
LJ
For a long moment, there was nothing but sound and light, screaming all around me, and I curled onto one side and clamped my hands over my ears, not wanting to be deaf forever. My eyes slammed shut and stayed that way until the screaming passed, too. When I opened them, the three carnies were staggering to their feet, the girls were just... gone... and a crowd was gathering.
A girl was hovering over Red, one arm around her shoulders. Yay, reinforcements. Meant I could disappear into the sunset. Grabbed my guitar (thank god it had survived), glanced back once to make sure, and made tracks. I could get my duffle from the trailer and be gone before the cops showed to figure out what was going on. Before Thing One, Thing Two, and Muscles remembered who’d rearranged some of their bits and given them such pretty bruises.
Besides, Newport was calling my name.
/LJ
Someone, Susan, got me to my feet. My ears were ringing and I couldn’t quite hear what she was saying but she was somewhere between scared to death and mad as hell. She lead me away before anyone else could approach. I started to be able to make out tone, even if I couldn’t hear words, and she trying to get me to talk to her, tell her what had happened. I held my throat with one hand and her with the other and cried (not sure if it was sad tears or relieved tears) as she got me to her car. I didn’t even get a chance to thank GH. Or find out his name...
Epilogue 1:
When Susan dropped me off I was thoroughly chastised by her for not coming to get her immediately when trouble started. She wouldn’t believe my squeaky assertions that I’d had the whole thing under control the whole time. I wonder why.
The house was lit, they were still up. Well, it was earlier than the ten o’clock I’d promised Daddy. Doubtless he’d still be grading papers.
I breezed past Father, ignoring his questions about my eye, and the burns on my hand, not to mention the blood on my shirt. He followed to the edge of the dining room and I stopped him with a glare. I was on a roll tonight I guess. Another night he might have pushed the issue.
I stopped next to Daddy and waited a moment. The tilt of his head changed, letting me know in his (now) customary body language that he was aware of me.
“Stop, please,” my voice was harsh still from the scream. I put my burned hand on top of his. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. “I have something to say. Please look at me.” He did, but he obviously wanted to look anywhere else. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“I’m trying so hard, I know I’m not her, but I want to honor her. And you. And this family. But I can’t keep doing this if there’s no hope. I need you to tell me if there is. I love being here with you so much. You helped me, even though you didn’t realize it. Without you, your steady hand, I would have fallen so many times.
“Now I’m shut out. I guess I deserve that. I lied to you, to everyone. But what else was I supposed to do? I’m hollow inside, like you are. I want you to get better. I want me to get better. How do we do that? If you can’t look at me, can’t see me, can’t be around me without hurting then all we’re doing is festering wounds. Tell me to go. Tell me to stay. Tell me anything.” My throat hurt, my hand hurt. My eye was just barely swollen enough to impact my vision. I was crying and the salt stung something fierce in my blackened eye. “I’ll do whatever you want. But you have to forgive me, or tell me goodbye.”
He looked at me, his face was full of an unreadable emotion. He opened his mouth to speak....
LJ
(Epilogue 2)
Newport? kicks ass. Never lived by the water, grew up in flatville, midwest. Never ever want to live away from the ocean again. Gotta learn to surf. After I learn to swim.
/LJ
Finis