* * *
The process of driving to the doctor with an injured shoulder was the single most treacherous journey I have ever made in my life. I think I may have claimed the same thing about my drive to Selena’s after over-extending my spirit. Well, I lied about that one. This was the single most treacherous journey of my life.
Since changing gears and steering were both now the job of my right arm, and taking into account that the gear lever is on my left hand side, and taking into consideration that my car veers instantly to the left when you release the steering wheel, I leave it in your hands to imagine the delightful jaunt that was my twenty minute drive to the nearest clinic.
In my eagerness to get as far away from the Defence Training Offices as possible, I didn’t even stop to assess the level of my injury, but I assumed that, at the very least, there was some kind fracture.
Elite Medical Centre, named ever so shrewdly for its claim to supply medical attention that was above-average, (and failing bitterly to deliver on that claim,) was my only real choice. It was the kind of place that attempted to blow your mind with the dazzling greenness of its pot plants, hoping in desperation you would not notice the floor was suspiciously absent half of its tiles.
When I entered the reception area I was, much to expectation, greeted by the mournful faces of the half dozen people in the waiting room. By my personal judgement it was a good day for the Elite Medical Centre, since none of the people were yet dangerously close to dying before having the privilege of coming face to face with a doctor.
I approached the reception desk, gave my name and proceeded to fill out the necessary forms. My groans of pain fell on deaf ears since, of course, a medical based institute had better things to do than acknowledge pain inducing injuries.
Finally as I settled into a waiting chair that had recently filed its “bucket list” under “things to be done ASAP”, I took a moment to reflect on recent developments.
Firstly, it had become clear to me that my gambling escapades were something about which I had to give serious reconsideration. Yes, I was now fairly confident in my ability to cheat effectively at gambling. Yes, I needed the money now more than ever, being recently unemployed. And yes, I really did like the idea of becoming a millionaire overnight. But no, I had absolutely, one hundred percent zero desire to face Selena when she was, for lack of a better term, really pissed-off. In fact, the idea of a Magical Detention Centre seemed appealing by comparison.
Although, and I must say that this was a rather profound revelation, seeing Selena’s past had left me with a rather curious feeling of deep affection for the scary woman. Not a feeling that I wanted to get her horizontal ASAP, that had come from the very first moment I met her. This was more a feeling of… I couldn’t quiet put my finger on it. I guess it was a feeling of privilege. I had been allowed, intentionally or not, to see her deepest, most personal secrets. And I was stunned to see that beneath all that intimidation Selena was as human as the next person. She was as fragile and delicate as anyone I had ever met. She was as fragile and delicate as me. She was indeed as fragile and delicate as the glass ballerina figurine I had seen in her waiting room, but perhaps not as “perfect” in nature. And I am ashamed to admit this was the most deeply acquainted I had ever been with a woman.
I had been with more than a few women in my life. Four of those in college, and all four grossly intoxicated at the time. But I had never been so deeply and intimately connected to a woman in this particular way. It was something new and profound.
These were ridiculous feelings, of course. Something akin to forcefully raping a woman’s life story out of her and then claiming you felt close. But the feelings were what they were.
As I mulled this over I let my eyes drift up to one of the framed prints on the wall. It was the kind of abstract picture that was chosen for the calming effect it had on the human psyche. A fact, I was certain, all the people bleeding to death while the nurse ignored them were grateful for.
I immersed myself in the picture’s splashes of colour and thought about my second immediate dilemma. I needed Benny and Brent to call off the gambling con.
This was certainly not to get into the good books of a woman I now had misguided affection for. On the contrary, it was to prevent the woman I now had misguided affection for from shattering my skull.
After about an hour of avoiding awkward eye contact with the other patients, I finally went in to see the doctor. It turned out that my shoulder was only “severely sprained”, but this did not mean that the doctor could not find a perfectly good reason for peddling legal drugs. By the time I left my wallet was five ounces lighter and my potential for developing an addiction to medication at least 50% higher. One step closer to complete poverty.
I popped two pills and headed home. Halfway through the journey my world slipped into a relaxed dreamy euphoria. The kind of euphoria that can only be achieved with a lighter wallet and risk to drug addiction.
By the time I got home news of a zombie outbreak wouldn’t have stirred me, and I decided to head up to bed, despite the fact the sun was still a long way from setting.
Before slipping between the covers I paused to gaze out the window, dimly aware that this was the first moment since the word “demon” had entered my life that I felt truly relaxed. It seemed the pain killers simply left no room in my head for anything but drug induced ecstasy, meaning that my blue faced friend, as persistent as he was, had no space to occupy. Bless modern pharmaceutical companies.
Sleep was dreamless, which was more than I could have asked for.
When I awoke next morning there was only one agenda that demanded my attention; training with Benny and Brent.
I fished the folded piece of paper, given to me by Brent, from my top pocket and read the mysteriously cryptic message; “153 Bowler Avenue. 9am”. The address didn’t sound familiar, but I was willing to bet I would soon have a contender for seediest hotel ever constructed by humans and inhabited by rats.
My shoulder still hurt badly. But considering what the medication had done the night before, I decided to avoid taking any unless it was desperately needed.
On the way downstairs voices could be heard from the kitchen; my mother and Clinton. It was obvious there was soon to be more drama in that department, but that would have to wait till later.
I managed the trip to 153 Bowler Avenue in half an hour. My shoulder started getting bad after the first fifteen minutes, but I braved it, deciding to use it as a reminder of why I would have to convince Brent and Benny that the whole plot was a bad idea.
Upon seeing the building in which we were to meet I had to double check the paper, just in case I had accidentally arrived at the wrong place.
Ruining all my hopes for another delightful jaunt in a scummy movie cliché, before me sat a little café called “La Tasse de Café Parfaite”, which undoubtedly translated to “It Costs More Because we Say So”. It was the kind of place that demanded its waiters wear white gloves.
I climbed out my car, glanced around in case the expected shitty hotel was hiding behind a tree, and headed for the café.
As I drew nearer Benny and Brent waved from an outside table and I moved to join them.
“Nice place, huh?” Brent said, gesturing for me to take a seat.
“I suppose so,” I replied, not wanting to admit that any cup of coffee not explicitly called “coffee” on the menu was beyond my price range. I grabbed a seat and glanced around at a few of the other café patrons. As suspected of the four other busy tables, two were occupied by men who drank with their little finger extended.
“My choice,” Benny said, managing to seem cheerfully comfortable in any environment, “Perfect for getting a little hands-on practice with a few volunteers.”
“Volunteers?”
“Sure. Choose a volunteer and let’s see what we can see.”
“That’s a little bold, isn’t it?”
“Bold?” Benny chuckled, “People in this place try so ha
rd to avoid being social you could dunk your nuts in their coffee and they’d just blame the waiter.”
“Right.” I took a deep breath and decided to get straight to the issue. “We can’t do this.” I declared bluntly, “Selena Stephania is onto me.”
There was a break as the two brothers absorbed the information, then Brent buried his face in both hands and groaned.
“What makes you so sure?” Benny asked, his brow furrowing.
“Well…” I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore the pain still present in my shoulder. My mind attempted to concoct a story that did not involve me spilling the beans after taking a beating from a woman that weighed half what I did. “She must have a spy or something,” I muttered.
Benny paused and studied me for a second. I felt no intrusion into my mind, but he spoke with complete confidence. “You told her, didn’t you?”
“Yes so I told her!” I snorted, doing my best to be indignant.
Benny and Brent adopted dramatic expressions of horrified shock, including bulging eyes, grimaces and even assorted gasps.
“I didn’t tell names,” I added quickly, grasping at the remaining straws of my dignity.
There was another breather. Finally, Benny sighed and leaned back in his chair. He regarded me with raised eyebrows, then grinned and shook his head.
“She just let you walk out the door?” he asked. I nodded. “Well, you must have really made an impression, stallion.”
“What do you mean?”
“Selena Stephania letting a confessed criminal walk out the door? Be still my heart. You obviously don’t know what she was called when she still wore the blue blazer.”
“Blue blazer?”
“She used to be an Enforcer, Jet. One of the best. In fact, it was of common opinion that she was too good. They used to call her “The Witch”.”
“Selena was an Enforcer?”
“That’s what I said. And to put it bluntly, she didn’t take any shit.”
I thought about this. It was obvious. “She let me walk out the door,” I muttered, more to myself than Benny.
“Exactly. Not really in her characteristics. She was heavy handed, even by Enforcer standards.”
My mind chugged, trying to get a grip on the situation. “Maybe she’s setting us up?”
Benny nodded. “Wouldn’t put it past her.”
“What do we do?”
“First things first, I guess we have to call off our gambling plan. For now at least.”
“Of course,” I agreed with a deep sigh. Unemployed, nearly broke, no plan.
“We can’t do that,” Brent spoke-up, his face a mask of tired annoyance. All eyes turned to him.
“Any particular reason?” Benny asked, his tone prepared in advance for what he sensed would be good reason to get angry.
“We have the little matter of expectant loan investors to deal with.”
“We’ll give the money back.”
“Give it back?” Brent barked a humourless laugh, “These people are loan sharks, Benny, who don’t lend money unless they expect some kind of profit. It’s called interest.”
“You borrowed the money with interest?”
“Of course I did. You think they throw money at any asshole that walks through the door without interest attached?”
Benny stopped to rub his eyes, attempting to control his temper. “You did not consult me.”
“I did what I had to do. We needed money and I got it. How else was I supposed to come up with that kind of capital?”
“You did not consult me!” Benny’s voice jumped up two notches. The sound drew a nearby waiter, a man whose nose seemed to permanently point towards the sky.
“Is there a problem, monsieur?” The waiter drawled. (I was certain the French accent was faked, but he did deliver it with commitment.)
“Not at all,” Benny replied, his voice returning to quirky cheerfulness, “But I think it would be best…” he paused, concentrating on the waiter’s face, “…if you never saw us here.”
“Tout à fait, monsieur,” the waiter agreed, then turned and marched off, looking as if he had heard a puzzling riddle.
Benny turned back to Brent, leaning towards him with a sneer. “Take the money back and explain the situation to them. There is no deal. It’s as easy as that.”
“What are you kidding me? It doesn’t work like that, Benny,” Brent retorted sourly.
“Make it work like that!” Benny snapped, forcing himself to keep the volume down. “You are not screwing me over on this one, brother. Not this time. I am sick of cleaning up your shit. Sick to death. The risks I take for your stupidity end now.”
“I am telling you it does not work like that! These are not the kind of people to which you return a gift!”
In a blur Benny’s hand shot out and grabbed Brent by the shirt, pulling him closer till the brothers’ noses nearly touched. Brent did not resist, sensing he had reached the limit of safe challenge.
The moment was nearing flash point. I watched in silence.
“Fix it,” Benny snarled into his brother’s face.
For a moment Brent did not respond and I feared physical violence, wondering if Benny could make everyone in the entire café “forget what they had seen”. But Brent nodded and Benny released him.
A scowl of humiliated defeated on his face, Brent fixed his shirt, stood, and stalked off.
Benny shook his head and turned back to me.
“I swear that boy will drive me to drink,” he muttered.
“I know the feeling,” I said, thinking of Clinton.
“Now tell me exactly what happened,” Benny continued, his face hardening, “What we do not need is an annoyed ex-Enforcer hunting us down. Because, believe me Jet, if Selena The Witch decides she wants a piece of us I do not exaggerate when I say we are in some deep shit.”
“I don’t think she’ll come after us,” I responded carefully.
“Just tell me what happened.”
“Somehow I landed up inside the mind of Selena’s demon, looking at events in her life. It was all a bit confusing. But in any case, it tipped her off that we had been doing this training. You didn’t tell me the spell had this kind of potential, Benny. A person could do a lot of damage with this kind of power.”
Benny squinted at me. “Correct, the spell does have a lot of potential. It’s the base of much more dangerous versions of itself.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“Because I didn’t expect you to have the ability to take it further than its basic level.”
“Well I did.”
“So you’ve said.” All good humour was now absent from his expression. “What did you do, Jet?”
I hesitated; terrified he would be able to pick the events with Claudia right out of my head. “I didn’t do anything,” But lying had never been my strongest point.
“You sure?”
“I manipulated a girl in my office. But nothing happened; I didn’t go through with it.”
“I see.” He leaned back, his eyes never leaving my face. “I think it’s fair to tell you that I really did make a man eat his own liver once, Jet. Do you know why?”
“No.”
“Because he abused the exact same spell we’re talking about. Influence and Manipulation; it can be an ugly thing. Don’t make me regret teaching you.”
I stared back, guilt flushing into my cheeks. “You don’t have to worry about me. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”
“Good. I believe you.” There was a beat and the menace drained from his eyes. “So, you went into a demon’s mind? You saw Selena’s life?”
“That’s what I said, yes.”
He paused and tapped an index finger on his chin. “That’s very unusual.”
“It did not strike me as ordinary.”
“No, I mean, that’s really unusual, Jet. There are magic users who study their entire lives and are not able to do that spell. Many have trouble with just basic manipu
lation.”
I shrugged. “It just kind of happened. I wasn’t really trying.”
“Uh huh,” He continued to study me, then reached into a jacket pocket and drew out the recognisable pouch of tobacco. The ritual of sorting and rolling a cigarette proceeded. “What did she do? After you told her?”
“She said some stuff about regretting that she didn’t guide me, then asked if she let me walk out the door I would disappoint her. I said I wasn’t sure, she let me go.”
“That’s all? Huh. Bizarre.” He finished the cigarette, repeated the finger pinching spell and lit it, then took a long drag and blew a cloud of smoke across the table.
Spotting the violation the waiter approached in a hurried shuffle.
“Please, monsieur, there is no smoking here.”
Benny looked up and made eye contact. “I’m not smoking.”
“Oui, monsieur.” The waiter turned on his heel and scurried off.
I watched the occurrence with bemused confusion. Benny’s idea of what qualified as “abuse” of a spell was very flexible.
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” Benny said to me, “I think The Witch may have taken a liking to you.”
“At what point during her thrashing did she decide that, I wonder.”
“A word of warning though,” he added, “Be careful. I’m not one hundred percent sure what’s going on with you, Jet, but just start being a little cautious about where you spend your Spirit. Okay?”
“Sure I’ll do that. What do we do now?”
He shrugged, dropped his cigarette on the floor and crushed it under a heel, “Nothing. We wait and see. If we’re lucky all this will blow over. If we’re not lucky you’ll have Enforcers up your ass and you’ll know all about it. We’ll deal with it when it happens.”
“Great.”
He grinned at me, “Hey, cheer up. Want some coffee?”