* * *
Ten minutes later I was heading back out of my room, only to find Clinton halfway up the stairs, obviously having plucked up the courage to come and speak to me. He opened his mouth but I held up a silencing hand and descended the steps past him. As I reached the bottom a thought occurred to me and I turned back.
“She’s in your mind, isn’t she?”
A slide-show of expressions passed over his face; first shock, then realisation, and finally deep shame. He nodded.
“We’ll talk later, Clinton,” I said, trying to keep my voice level, “If I were you I’d think about getting out of here.” This last part was said as I grabbed my keys and exited the front door.
When I arrived at The Sushi Palace three decisions had been made.
The first was that I would leave the moment I found myself feeling disorientated, dreamy or, for that matter, overly happy. The second was that I would give my mother a chance to explain herself. The third, a choice I quietly admitted to myself with some level of concern, was that I would try not to get over excited and start shooting holes in the walls.
For about five minutes I sat in my car and prepared myself, idly watching the trickle of customers that entered and exited the restaurant’s enormous, Japanese style entrance way.
“See the magic just below the surface…”
Previously I would not have noticed, but now that I was looking for it, I spotted a very unusual pattern. Persons exiting the establishment were decidedly more upbeat than those entering. And, furthermore, there was a noticeable growing level of anticipation in those who approached. It was as if the building held an aura of ecstasy. I knew why, and it blew my mind.
Without knowing for a certainty which rules in specific, I was confident that my mother was grossly violating the established regulations of magic use. As I understood it, a person could not use Mental Manipulation and Influence to artificially boost the nature of a business in covert ways. It was legal to affect the morale and mood of employees, but this was allowed only under explicit agreement from those affected. Most companies organised teambuilding exercises, day events, or any occasion, really, where magic users whipped crowds up into a delighted, worker-bee frenzy. So powerful was the effect when implemented in this way that entire corporations saw productivity boosted for months. Even this though, was under direct consent of the employees influenced.
My next thought was how my mother was getting away with it. Such a horrifically bold violation was certainly noticed by the Enforcer assigned to monitor her. Last I had heard was that a registered magic user was investigated once every two months, and if even a sniff of unregulated magic was detected there was all kinds of hell to pay.
I took a deep breath, climbed out my car and headed for the entrance arch, passing a couple on the way that had a mesmerized pair of expressions on their faces. They were the kind of expressions you would expect to see on people who had just witnessed something mind boggling, or perhaps had just been told a particularly difficult to understand concept.
I entered into the restaurant and the buzzing fired up in my head, screaming out a clear message; “Beware!”
I paused; waiting for a wave of what I assumed would be overwhelming euphoria. No such feeling occurred. Even as I strode across the main hall, glancing at the tables and busy restaurant staff, no unusual sensations made themselves clear, other than the buzzing which persisted relentlessly.
Finally as I took a seat at my table on the outside deck and left the sounds of activity muffled in the interior, I started to wonder if I was under a spell and could not detect it.
I closed my eyes and focused inward, trying to untie the knot in my gut and spot signs of unusual mental activity. I found none and relaxed a fraction, feeling in control. Apparently I was resisting the spell, or maybe just not being targeted by it. In response to this the buzzing faded and settled for being a faint background vibration, noticeable but not annoying.
“Hi, Jet!”
My eyes popped open and I found Linda blinding me with a thousand megawatt smile, her eyes so delighted she would surely be in some kind of asylum if seen by people in medical authority. For the first time, however, I found myself feeling a deep sympathy for the girl. The reasons for the manic love of her job were becoming very clear.
“Hello, Linda,” I replied, forcing myself to return the smile and achieving something that manifested as a grimace, “How are you today?”
“Great!” She squeaked the word. “How are you?! It’s so good to see you! I was just saying to your mom not a few hours ago, I hope Jet stops in, I’d love to see him!”
As I watched her pronouncing the words, scanning for signs of what must be full blown mental domination; I started to spot tell-tale symptoms that had gone unseen by me for years. Dilated pupils, a slight glisten of sweat on her forehead, dark shadows under her eyes she had attempted to cover with makeup. But, most obvious to anyone with a logical mind, her manic, strained smile.
“Linda, let me ask you something,” I said, already dreading the answer, “How many hours do you work?”
“Why, as many as I can, Jet, I must confess, I love it here! Don’t you?!”
“Okay. So, how many a day?”
“I don’t really count! Why do you ask?!” Her brilliant smile remained, even as her brow furrowed.
“I’m just curious.”
“I’ll tell you a little secret!”
“Yes?”
“I hate being away! Whenever I get time off and go home, I feel really sad! Like, I’m missing out on the stuff that’s happening here! Isn’t that silly?!”
“Real silly.”
“So, I guess I just prefer to be here whenever I can! This place is my home! I already think of your mom as if she’s my mom! I love her so!” She paused, the smile faltered and frown deepened. “Do you mind if I say that?!”
“Sure.”
“Great!” The smile returned to its previous brilliance. “That kind of makes us like brother and sister, doesn’t it?!”
This was the person my mother wanted me to date? This mindless robot? How long had she been this way? How long had my mother had her under this spell, a spell so deep it seemed to have become the very basis of the poor creature’s personality.
“Linda, listen to me!” I said, sharper than I had intended. She flinched. “How long have you been working right now?”
“I just worked a double! Twelve or so hours!? What’s wrong, Jet? You seem upset about something?!”
“When last were you at home?”
She paused to think and her eyes glazed and fixed on a space above my head. I watched her; morbidly curious to see what would develop.
The moment drew on. After what must have been at least a full minute, she blinked, looked at me, and beamed.
“Hi, Jet! How are you?!”
I reeled in horror. “Linda. Listen to me. My mother has you under a spell. She’s manipulating your mind, do you understand me?”
“What?!”
“You need to get the hell out of here, Linda! She’s in your head,” I lowered my voice, afraid of what might happen if I was overheard by other staff members, “Please, just get the hell out of here.”
“What are you talking about, Jet?!” But I could see something happening behind her eyes. She was staring at me as if trying to recognise an unfamiliar object, reaching for that fluttering thought. The one that knew what I was saying was true.
“Jet.” That was my mother. Approaching through the sliding door behind Linda with a little smile on her face. “Is Linda being helpful?”
Linda turned and her face lit up. “Hi, Mrs Clarence!”
“You know you can call me Liza.”
“I know Mrs Clarence…Liza,” Linda looked bashful, as if she was in the presence of a celebrity, “But it just doesn’t feel right!”
My mother chuckled, “You silly girl. Has Jet ordered something?”
“No, Mrs Clarence! He was just about to!”
&n
bsp; I hesitated, wondering if Linda remembered a single word of what I’d said.
“Coffee. Two sugars.”
“Coming right up!” She scurried off leaving me alone with my mother.
I waited for a sensation of mental invasion, rigidly prepared to fight it off.
“She won’t listen, you know,” my mother said, casual and friendly, as if discussing the weather, “She chooses not to.”
“Why? Why are you doing it? This place is…” I struggled for the right words, “a house of horrors.”
At this my mother threw back her head and laughed, then stepped forward and took the seat across from me. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Jet. Every person in here is the happiest they’ve been in probably most their lives.”
“Because you’re in their minds, screwing with their thoughts,” I fought to keep my voice level.
“And?” She left the question floating, watching me with good natured curiosity.
“And it’s wrong,” I declared firmly. “You have a staff of zombies, slaving their asses off for you.”
“Oh my goodness.” she laughed again, a tinkling chuckle that would have been at home in a formal garden party. “Getting your dialogue from movies, son? Don’t be ridiculous, Jet. Everyone is slaving their asses off. What exactly are you doing at your job, if I may ask? Dancing in the tulips and loving every second of your life? Or is it just maybe possible that the employees here actually enjoy their jobs?”
“But they don’t enjoy it, you make them enjoy it!”
“And they know the difference? Slaving is a part of life, and I make that bearable. We have one of the most pleasant restaurants in town and a staff that genuinely love their jobs. They’re not underpaid, Jet. On the contrary, they’re paid very well. And they’re paid very well because they work so hard. Where is the crime, if I may ask?”
“But…” It made absolute sense. I blinked, still making every effort to detect manipulation and finding none. “It’s against the law.”
She smiled. “If you would like to, you can take Linda aside and break the spell. It won’t be hard, not at all, especially not for you.”
I frowned at her, trying to determine if she was genuine.
“I will make no attempt to stop you, Jet. Go right ahead. But,” she leaned forward over the table, “I want you to consider very carefully whether you think that girl will thank you.”
I considered at length, letting my eyes drift off to the pond which was sparkling magically as it reflected mid-morning sun.
“I say let her have happiness. At least she can live a life of enjoyment, if only we could all be so lucky.”
“She never had a choice,” I said finally, returning my gaze to my mother’s placid face.
“She chose the job, this job. Of her own free will. And she enjoys it. Why would you take that away from her? I won’t stop you. But I promise you this; that girl will be broken and she will hate you for it.”
A hand gestured towards the sliding door, Linda was stepping through with my coffee.
“Here’s your coffee, Jet!” She set it down in front of me.
“Linda,” my mother said, “Jet has something he’d like to discuss with you.”
Linda looked at me, glowing with unchained delight and boundless enthusiasm. “What is it, Jet?!”
I hesitated. This was not the kind of decision I felt qualified to make. It was someone else’s job, not mine, to call judgement on such insane situations. The law was absolutely clear about it. But I felt a conflict that could not be ignored. One clear fact was that if I could be truly, genuinely happy working at The Whisperer, I may just choose to do so.
It was obvious that this was not a solid answer to a much more complex issue, but there was no time to think deeper on the subject. Linda was staring at me expectantly. As was my mother’s intention.
“Good job, Linda,” I muttered, my voice reflecting zero commitment. She beamed in response.
“Thank you, Jet! I really appreciate you saying so!”
The two women shared a glance of syrupy delight, confirming a private joke that was apparently an area of much joy for them. To the naked eye it would have appeared to be a little gesture of female companionship, shared between a pair of close peers and equals. Boss and employee, yes, but oh how close they were.
When you knew that the reality was more that of an owner fondly petting a favourite dog, the effect was not so much heart-warming as stomach churning. The hidden magic just below the surface.
Linda turned and disappeared back inside, my mother watching her go with a wistful look of maternal fondness. I registered it as her conscious attempt to prove to me there was a real bond between them. I was not convinced.
“What about me?” I asked.
My mother’s head snapped back in my direction and eyes locked on my face. I felt her studying me, digging for clues.
“I want you to understand something, Jet,” the words were slow and measured, “I would never, ever make you do something against your will. You’re my son, and I love you. Do you understand that?”
I stared back, wondering if I dare believe this. “Are you in here right now?” I asked, touching an index finger to my temple. It was as much a question to her as myself.
“I can’t get in there,” she responded. “Not anymore. I don’t think you’re fully aware of what’s awakened inside you. We always knew it would happen.”
“We?”
“Your grandmother and I.”
The memory returned to me again in a quick slide-show of images; me lying under the table, safe in my solitude. Voices above me spoke animatedly.
“How do you do it?” I said, a little surprised to hear myself asking, even more surprised to realise how badly I wanted to know.
My mother registered the words with smug satisfaction. “You can do it too.”
“How? And how are you not getting caught? How could anyone be missing what is going on this place? Don’t you have an Enforcer?”
“Do you forgive me?”
“Forgive you?”
“For before. Do you?”
My mouth gaped. “Forgive you…?”
She nodded.
I couldn’t get my mind around any of it. Forgive her? I couldn’t even recognise her. My mother was gone. She had vanished and been replaced by this alternate personality.
“I’m late to see Selena,” I said shortly, downing my coffee and standing.
I stepped towards the door but was restrained as a hand grasped my wrist; every muscle in my body tensed and the buzzing in my head flared up. I prepared to make a run for the exit, calculating my chances of escape if every member of the restaurant staff were to attack at once.
“Jet.”
I looked down at her and was dumbstruck. Where previously there had been only level expressions of calm and control was now a mask of pleading. Hey eyes were glassy mirrors of fear, bottom lip on the verge of trembling.
“You won’t tell, will you?”
“Tell who?”
“The Enforcers….”
“I…” Words escaped me.
“Don’t tell, Jet. Please.”
I pulled my hand from her grasp and headed for the exit. Three minutes later I was on my way to see Selena.