“Oh, no, she said…” she shrugged. “You dated for a while, and it didn’t work out, but you were good at what you did.”

“Thanks.” I hadn’t actually expected a real answer, but I appreciated it. I hadn’t realized, nor would I have guessed, but it actually felt good to know. I guess I kind of had it in the back of my head to wonder what Rohana thought, but not so much that it impacted things.  “Um,” I continued, “You’re okay, right? No one’s making you have sex to recharge or something…? Wow. That sounds so skeevy out loud I even feel weird saying it.”

She chuckled uncomfortably. “Yeah, when you actually say it, it’s weird. But if you’re a charismatic older guy who is used to dealing with troubled, isolated teens, and you’re convinced it’s natural… it can make sense.” She shook her head. “Tell me there’s no truth to it.”

“I don’t know that I can. Maybe it’s a real thing.” I shook my head. “But sometimes I’m disgusted with my gender.  On the other hand, I’m sure there’s someone out there saying the same thing about women or, heck, fish.” I shrugged. “So painting with the big brush, no, that’s not something I’ve really heard a lot about… maybe some kind of tantric thing…?” I spread my hands out in an extended shrug.  “Skeevy,” I repeated.

She grinned. “She might have been trying to set me up a little.  The last guy, well,” she gave a significant look to the portfolio. “And I am kind of into guys, unlike most of her friends.” She shrugged a little.  “So I’m sorry for making it weird. It was just in my head.”

“If I could apologize for the weirdoes, I would, but I’m sure I’ve got a couple of weird things about myself, too.”  I tried to waggle my eyebrows, but broke off, laughing. She laughed, too.

“Okay, so I’m paying you some cash for helping me out,” she said, as we recovered. “And not exchanging it for weird sex magic.  And then I’ll wander out and we’ll be like strangers again in the cold, dark world.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said.

“Unless,” she paused.

“Unless?” I asked.  I mean, the way she said “cold, dark world” actually gave me shivers.

“I get you. I mean, you’re fast. You’re thinking six or seven things really quickly at a time, and you’re a big geek, I can tell. So maybe we talk some other time?”

“I like that,” I nodded. “As long as you understand I’m warning you in advance that I’m probably my own kind of pervert, which doesn’t excuse me from any lack of tact but, you know, like a caution label.”

“Warning, use at my own risk?” she kind of hid her smile and it was pretty cute.

“Um, ‘use’ is kind of strong, but sure. I’m in.” I didn’t bother to hide my smile.

She opened her portfolio and pulled out a business card, then wrapped up a couple of twenties next to it.  “That’s my personal number,” she said.  It was a nice looking card, just her name and a phone number.  “Contact cards were Victorian, right?” she asked.

“Uh, would have to check with Wikipedia or something.”

She let her hand linger slightly against mine, and then grinned.  “Okay.  Talk to you again later,” she said.

She walked out into the cold, dark night. It seemed less cold and dark for a moment.

“Witches,” Nen said, standing next to me.  I didn’t jump.  Really.  Good thing I’d already spilled my drink.

“Have a cake pop.  You sucrosevores will like it.”  I pushed them idly towards him.

“Sucrosevore?” he asked.

“Sugar addicts? Guess that makes me your pixie stick pusher or something.  Um, no pixies were ground up for this example.”

“Ah. I see.”  He looked at the door where I was still staring a little.  “What happened?” he asked.

I broke off and looked at him. “What do you mean?  I closed a door, we flirted, I got cake pops. You got cake pops. Everyone wins.  Oh, and gas money, maybe something cheap on Steam or a video or something.”

“We sensed the danger to you too late,” he said, and he was very serious, an expression that I was almost completely unfamiliar with on his face. “We were able to negate enough of it that I believe the King will not have our collective heads, but it was close.”

“I was in danger?” I am glad I was so relaxed, so that my voice didn’t go up at the end.  No one even turned towards me, even though I probably looked a little stressed.

“This is not the place to speak of it.”  He shrugged, and that was weird, too.

“But you are speaking to me?” I asked.

He looked at me with a face I clearly read as, “What are you even talking about?” which made me feel a little better.

“Hold on, let me get more of these, and a slice of lemon cake, and we can go.”

He nodded, solemn, and took up a stance that seemed more alert than just standing there.  I didn’t know much about them, but I’d seen more than a few bad kung fu movies.

I grabbed my bag of confectionery treasures and turned to go.  Nen was speaking in low tones to Rayya, and she turned towards me.  Her eyes looked haunted with something.  She made a sharp nod, and then a cake pop from the table disappeared into her robes.  Nen picked up the rest.

Some kind of magic was being done, as I found myself drawn to look at him, and away from Rayya.  I was pretty sure it was the Spriggan sibs doing it, so I tried not to show my annoyance as we would Talk as soon as we got away from the crowd.  I noticed someone in the shop look at us, and then narrow his eyes, but then we were out the door.

“I was with you on the dry pants and chocolate sundae, but where did your mother come into this? Am I supposed to be psychoanalyzing you?” Janet asked.

“You know, they talk about the donkey inside the term ‘assume’ but they never talk about the ‘anal’ in analyze,” I said. “But…” I let it stretch out until she rolled her eyes.

“Skipping the butt stuff for a moment, I see what you’re saying. Are we really that blasé about the breaking of divine rules?” She brought her leg up on the tall chair, leaning over her knee, considering.

“Depends on the divine, I suppose. Pretty much if you like it, someone says it isn’t allowed.  Then if you don’t like it, someone says it’s mandatory.  Oh, and don’t forget, if it feels good, you should definitely feel guilty.” I hoped she saw the wry portion of my smile.

“Sounds pretty Puritan to me.  Or is it Victorian?  Strait-laced, anti-crime, or work-until-you’re-dead, and then feel like a slacker?”

“I don’t remember the Puritans being necromancers,” I said, musing.  “Isn’t Steampunk all Victoriana?  Strait-laced corsets, umbrellas, goggles around top hats, and watches on chains?”

“You forgot the gears hot-glued to everything.”

“So basically it’s glitter for grown-ups?” I asked.

“I don’t think you find gears in wrinkles years later, but you might be right.”

“Wrinkles?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Don’t ask.”

“Too late,” I pointed out. “But I’ll drop it and just leave it to my imagination.”

“That sounds a lot worse than the truth.  Had a niece obsessed with unicorns, thought she could do a glitter tattoo with glue on her arm and a lot of mess,” she answered. “And by ‘her arm’ I meant, ‘her babysitting aunt,'” she sighed.

“What does glitter have to do with unicorns?” I asked.

“Congratulations, you passed the guy test.”  She rolled her eyes.  “I don’t actually mean unicorns, either. That’s a Victorian obsession with purity, right?”

“I thought unicorns were all about blood?”

“That’s a virginity test, I think.”

“That’s gross,” I said. “Why would little girls…?”

She shrugged, leaning back. “Society is messed up when you look at it. But not everyone is hopeless. There was someone,” she dropped her leg and looked around, “who made sure you weren’t seizing or anything.  Don’t know where she went, I was going to buy her a cake pop or something.  Not here anymore; you can’t miss a white headscarf in this day and age.”

Rayya? I guessed. Just playing invisible or something now. I resolved to get her a cake pop, whatever those were.  I guessed if I just ordered one confidently, the person behind the counter could guess at it.  It was at least more specific than “that book I heard about on NPR with a wizard kid?” which is how I found Harry Potter.

“Found Harry Potter,” sounded like finding some religion.  I guess Mr. Potter did go through a resurrection cycle, and a lot of people wore his particular lightning bolt stigmata, but…

“You went away again,” she said.

“Sorry, I was thinking about Harry Potter, our lord and savior.”

She pushed away the long hair from the side of her face. “Headscarves to Harry Potter?” she asked. “Interesting train ride, I bet.”

“It’s the journey, not the destination,” I grinned. “I’m sorry. I’ve been told a couple times that women like it when you pay attention to them, and maybe it’s obvious that I’m single.” I cringed. “Um, did I say that out loud?”

“Yep,” she grinned back at me. “And yep.  So, besides some helpful advice on how not to flirt, what do I owe you?”

“Are cake pops any good?” I asked.

“Caaaaaaaaaake,” she said, making it sound like a happy zombie.  “How can anything with ‘cake’ be bad?”

“Urinal cakes,” I said immediately.

“Oops. Okay.  I take it back.  Hold on a second.”  She hopped down off the chair, while I finished cleaning up the mess.  I took a look at the picture again, frowning.  It looked like something familiar.  I had a shiver and closed the portfolio, snapping it back into place.

Janet came back with some kind of frosted things on lollipop sticks.  Cake pops.  I got it.

“Chocolate?” she asked me, passing me over one.

“Not even a question,” I answered.  “Unless they had butter pecan.”

“I don’t think so.” She bit right in, so it didn’t look like it had some kind of teeth-destroying crust or anything.  I followed suit.  Yep, I was getting some to go for the Spriggan Scouts. Provided they were still talking to me.  If not, more cake pops for me.

“But seriously, will $40 cover it? I don’t know what the going rate is for preventing a demon apocalypse I accidentally started with some blood ink.”

“Blood ink?” I blurted out.

“Oh.  Yeah.  Empowering it.” She paused. “It’s not like, menstrual blood, if you were worried.  I know guys get turned to salt if they accidentally touch that.”

I managed not to drop my cake pop.  “No, I… I’m a guy, but I have had girlfriends,” I said. “I’ve bought tampons before, if that helps pull me out of that hole. It just made sense. I know a lot of sigil witches just use the symbology, so the additional power had to come from somewhere.  And sure, I will take your money if you insist, but really, isn’t saving the world reward enough?”

“I don’t know where it counts on the sexual favor scale… if you get a kiss for a small dragon, a demon’s got to be worth something, but I think the rates have actually decreased since medieval times.”  She had a little pink in her cheeks as she said it.

I turned back to the cake pop to prevent similar pink, I think.  “Um, that’s… weird?”

“Yeah, it is.” She seemed relieved. “I know some people need to recharge after a working, and if you didn’t want money…”

“Um.  This is really uncomfortable for both of us. I don’t think I’ve ever traded sex for magic, and I sure hope Rohana didn’t make you think I was… that kind of guy,” I ended lamely.

I had really meant to say, “I’m fine,” but it’s hard to do that when your head decides to make a quick physical connection with the table below it. At least the sketchbook broke the fall, right? Not the pillow I would have chosen. I mean, honestly, I was rethinking my position on memory foam pillows, and well, I wanted to try a buckwheat type one sometime. I heard they were cooler in summer than the usual pillows. I couldn’t actually tell you what was in my pillows. I had a really old feather one at one point, but it started losing fluff.  I guess just that weird wispy “pillow stuff” they sold in big plastic bags at the craft stores.  (They really are witchcraft stores, religious nature aside.  Need seed beads for your who-do? You do? Then try a ‘craft’ store. Um.  I may not have been as coherent as I liked, if I was thinking like this.)

I opened my eyes. “How long?” I asked. Everything looks pretty normal when you’re perpendicular. I guess real change has to wait for when you’ve chosen a new horizon.   That sounded far more like a grand philosophy in my head.  Which hurt.  My eyes hurt.  I was experiencing pain.  And a wetness on my right thigh that turned out to be a cup that I had overturned.

“Those are the words of someone who has done this a lot,” Janet said.  I couldn’t tell if it was as disapproving as I thought it was. “You just went out.  I was about to call for medical assistance, or rather, the enthusiastic employee over there was, but then you started muttering something about fluff.”

“Did I?” I closed my eyes to move, and my neck added another source of pain to the score.  I held onto the table in order to settle myself. “Pillow fluff or some other kind of fluff?”

“Does it matter?” she asked, and maybe there was a little annoyance in it.

“Well, it changes the joke from whether or not I’m down for it to something about marshmallows. But really, ‘How long’ made the most sense of the questions I could ask. I know who I am, I know where I am, and I’m pretty sure I passed out so I know what happened.  ‘How’ is a medical question, so ‘when’ was the most obvious thing you could answer immediately.”

“Reasoned well,” she gave me a slight bit of approval.

“Thanks. Sure you don’t want a silly pillow reference?”

“Nah, I can’t afford the down payment.”

It took me a moment, but I grinned.  “Um, sorry,” I said, passing the portfolio over to her. “I don’t actually usually, like,” I shrugged.  She knew what had happened. “First time for everything.”

“I hope so,” she said, and that sounded like flirting.

I looked back up at her eyes.  They were pretty eyes.  I mean, sure, I like legs, but eyes are a good start.  Not that I’m prejudiced for eyes. If you were blind, and/or didn’t have eyes it wouldn’t mean I couldn’t like you. Just that I appreciate body parts.  Wait, that’s serial-killer weird.  I appreciate body parts attached to the proper places on a living being.  No, somehow that doesn’t make it any better.  I liked the colour. Her eyes were a lovely liquid brown.  Brown is a hard colour to dignify with a description, especially since you’ve got mud and tree bark and, well, the brown colour of eyes is something more soulful.  And just as there are so many shades of blue, her brown was dark, very dark, the threat of landslides and the loam of the earth.

Oops, there I went a-comparin’ again.

“You’re staring,” she said, after a moment.

“I may still be bewildered. Presuming one can be wildered in the first place.  One can be mused, assuming a muse attaches to a person. Can you be awildered?”

She tapped something on her phone, letting me consider the words. “William Morris, Earthly Paradise.  He got there before you.” She put a hand to my forehead, and then laughed. “I don’t know why I did that. You knocked your head, not had a fever.  Befevered, maybe?” She had a nice laugh, too.

“Hold on, you’re coming too close to my world. You might not want to step inside. Your feet can get dirty,” I said.  I started to get up for a stack of napkins, but Janet was already there, and gave me a handful.

“Oh, I’m wearing boots,” she said.  She sat back down.  “So it’s good? Not… weird anymore?”

At least what spilled wasn’t right in my lap. That would have looked and been very awkward.  I pat at it less reassuringly and more hoping it wouldn’t stain.  I wasn’t going to cry over spilt chocolate milk or anything, but I was going to hope it didn’t look too damp against my black pants.

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s pretty weird.” I looked up and shot her a grin so she knew I wasn’t serious.  “What do you think was different this time?”

She pursed her lips in thought, frowning slightly.  “I was really mad.  That creep…” she shook her head. “I hope he felt it.”

“I’ve no doubt.” Dry, no, but I’d taste like chocolate for a little bit.  Maybe my mind was in the wrong gutter or something.  “Seriously,” I backed it up.  “If he even felt a part of that… You tapped into something pretty primal with rage.  Not a place I’d like to go, for certain!”

Her frown turned more into a wry smile. “I just conjured up imagery from old movies, I think.  Something about a place where demons could pull you to their world for your crimes.”

I had a shiver.  “Uh, demons, yeah.  Of course, we all hope that’s the other guy they pull in, because his crimes have got to be more than our petty commandment-breaking opportunities, right?”

“Petty commandment-breaking?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I covet a pair of dry pants and a chocolate sundae right now,” I said, wistfully. “Let’s not even talk about how I honour my mother.”

I turned around to the cashier.  Yes, standing there in a worn denim vest and blue jeans that had holes in the knees was a woman with an art portfolio.  Her hair was shaved on half her scalp, and what was long was this mermaid-like blue-green colour.  She had an eyebrow piercing with a curved barbell and wore just a bit of make-up.  She looked around for a place to sit.

I had taken a big armchair with some kind of faux leather finish, and across from the tiny table was a tall wooden chair. I figured the size of the armchair gave equal psychological weight for the height difference. “Hey,” I said, weakly, waving my hand.  I made sure to raise up my creamy rose drink so she could see the stylized ‘E’ on the cup.

She came over quickly, looking relieved. “Hi.  Um.  I’m Janet.  I realised I might not have told you.  You’re E?  You look…”

I waited for it, gauging quickly the words that might follow in a quick bullet point list in my head:

 Most Unlikely:

• suave
• debonair
• dashing

Strangest:

• fizarneek
• purple
• edible

Most Likely:

• as expected
• human
• less wizardly than made out to be

She smiled and completed the sentence, “Normal.”

I didn’t know whether or not to feel insulted.  “Were you expecting googly eyes?” I asked.  “Maybe a hunchback?”

She laughed, sitting down. “I guess I didn’t know what to expect.  Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“None taken,” I said, magnanimously.  “`Normal’ doesn’t sound like I’m some kind of ambushing grotesque, so we’ll go with it as a positive.”  I grinned to take away any sting.

She gave a little grin in return. “You didn’t have a beard. Somehow I thought you would have a beard.”

“Give me a couple weeks, I can try to scrape up some fuzz,” I said. “Or we can beard the lion in its den right now.” I waggled my eyebrows to emphasize the pun.  “Want to show me your little problem?”

She scoffed. “Little.” There was more fear in her eyes again.  “Here.”  She pulled up her portfolio, popped the two snaps, and I heard the screaming in my head before I even had to look at the page.

I forced myself to look at it.  “You said,” I pulled up the memory under the assault with great difficulty, “that you were discouraging someone from stalking your sister?”

By itself one might say it was just an abstract ink drawing. I saw somewhat more, being of the magical persuasion (if reluctant to be magically persuaded, no matter how magically delicious.)  I saw pain, and familiarity, and a broken promise. I smelled a faint hint of gunpowder, a drop of blood, some coffee, and a whiff of sweat.  I heard the gate, whistled open, screaming its inability to close.

“Yeah,” she said.  She wasn’t looking at it, but at me, carefully.  I realized I had been gripping my own hands together, and the knuckles were turning white.  I was surprised that I hadn’t been trying to plug my ears but knowing it was a psychic scream, it was nothing my ears would handle on their own.  I relaxed them consciously, stretching them out.

“You knew him?” I asked. I tried not to make it sound accusatory, but all sound in the coffee shop, the clinks of mugs against the tables, the tapping of laptop keys, the low murmurs of conversation, the misophonically discordant sipping of the drinks, all were like grating pain in my ears against the knowledge that this page held a gate to something unpleasant.  Something that danced and blurred as I tried to hold it.

“Close the book, and it will stop,” something told me.  I don’t know whose voice it was, but that wouldn’t be enough.  It would still be there.  It needed closing.   I needed to know why the anguish remained.

“Yes,” Janet admitted.  Her voice was a clarion, a harmony of clarity against the riot mere inches away from my hand.  I thought for a moment of pouring my cup into that hole, or sticking in a finger into the maelstrom.  “We dated for, well, I guess you can’t call it dating.  We had a couple interludes and then I called it quits.”

It was truth. I could tell against the edges of the wrongness that there were words. They drifted together, a secret tide along the fjords of the storm.  Words said in anger, words accusatory, I saw them dance along the lines like they would dance across her lips.  I saw fire in her eyes.  She wanted him to hurt.  She wanted him to taste a little punishment.

Whatever hellish landscape she held within herself, she had tapped it slightly.  I could see that this was personal, that this was an artifact of her pain and protective feeling towards her sister.

“Can you close it?” she asked.

“Yes.” I didn’t even have to think about it.  “Do you have a pen?” I reached out for it.

I knew before looking that it would be a brush pen, a fine black tool.  She took the cap off before handing it to me.  I found myself humming as I placed the ink against the paper. I felt a reluctance, a strange pulling, and I realized Janet hadn’t actually let go, and she was humming with me.

Was it a song? I didn’t ask. I caught one or two glances, but it wasn’t weird enough to really stand out among the rest of what was so important to each person’s personal space. I just filled in the picture. Drew the resolution, drew the unfortunate apology, the remaining anger, the closure of the door, closing the feelings away.

I felt her begin to flag as what I thought of as my power began to rise. Strands of her own ability braided the ends, focusing my new design.  I heard the sounds of the shop begin to recede, to become normal. I felt the anger leave me, and it left me exhausted.

And then there it was, just some lines on a page, just a closed circuit.

“E?” Janet asked, as things began to go black at the edges of my vision.

“I’m…” then suddenly darkness.