CHAPTER 3
That night I lay in bed hovering between sleep and consciousness. I slipped into light slumber a few times, but awoke shortly after with heart thumping and eyes scanning the room.
When morning came a combined total of three hours of rest had been achieved, if that. I dragged myself from between the covers, stumbled over to the upstairs landline and made the call for an appointment with Selena Stephania. The secretary put me down for ten that morning, “with the potential for further appointments pending”. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but was in no state of mind to ask questions and hung up
. With brain still feeling like it was wrapped in a wet blanket from lack of sleep, I tottered over to the bathroom for a shower.
Two hours and about five cups of coffee later I arrived outside the Defence Training offices. It turned out that Selena Stephania operated out of a converted residential house, and it was not in the least bit surprising that the neighbourhood seemed exclusively made up of two and three story mansions. There was not a direction in which I could look that did not present my eyes with green lawns trimmed to perfection, glittering rose bushes that stood smug in the knowledge they had no equal, and decorative water fountains so extravagant they seemed to mock those lowly enough to not be able to afford them.
An automatic security gate, its iron finish all aesthetic swirls, clattered open to allow me onto the Defence Training Office’s property. I traveled for a century up a snaking, pine tree lined driveway, until slipping into a cobblestone parking bay and killing the engine. My car, bless its heart, let out a final belch of choking smoke, just in case anyone had not yet registered I was in an area to which I did not belong.
As I turned to gaze up at the magnificent, green-vine encrusted residence, a formally dressed woman descended the set of marble steps that flanked the building’s entrance. She approached me with a confident stride, the functional but attractive hairstyle and expensive feminine suit leaving no guessing as to the level of professionalism to be expected.
“Jet Clarence?” she enquired, her rolling pronunciation so fitted to the environment that I branded her as a cliché.
“Yes,” I admitted, hoping she would not have security eject me from the premises for not complying with an unspoken “six figure income” rule. “You must be Selena Stephania.”
“No, I’m her assistant. Miss Stephania is waiting for you inside. Please follow me.”
I followed the woman’s lead up the steps and we entered via a pair of gargantuan oak doors. Inside everything was shining silver, polished wood and sparkling chandeliers. We passed through an entrance lobby, between two flights of majestic stone steps and arrived in a waiting area that smelled of leather.
“Have a seat; Miss Stephania will be with you shortly. Coffee?” Although it had been an offer the assistant clicked away on her stylish black shoes before I could answer, leaving me alone.
I gazed around at my surroundings. In one corner sat a display case arranged with glass statuettes, in another was a grandfather clock that appeared so delicately antique I felt terrified looking at it too hard would result in something breaking. As my eyes drifted around the room a feeling of claustrophobia began to set in, despite the fact the area was spacious and roomy.
Claustrophobia? And a ticking clock? Déjà vu. Those practiced in magic enjoyed creating uncomfortable environments, it seemed. I made a conscious effort to resist the effect, and not a moment later a set of double doors swung open and in stepped Selena Stephania.
“Mister Clarence.” A thick Spanish accent dripped from the words. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Well done on resisting my Ambience Tweak in record time.”
Trying to describe the effect her appearance had in terms of first impressions is almost certainly an act in futility, but to say my breath was stolen is at least a start. Black cascading hair, potent brown eyes and skin naturally bronzed to perfection. The figure hugging white blouse managed to pass for formal, and the grey skirt, hem line hovering tantalisingly just below the knee, made a silhouette of her curvy hips.
“Thank you.” I responded, trying to resist my eyes being magnetically drawn to her nylon clad calves and provocative black high heels.
“This way, please.” She stepped back and allowed me entrance through the doors, a scent of flowery perfume and expensive skin cream washing over me as I passed.
The new room was a second assault on my senses. It looked and felt large enough to house an airplane, but stood almost completely bare. Sunlight, partially diffused by long dramatic white curtains, was allowed in via a row of large windows along the far wall. In the centre of the marble floor stood the only two pieces of furniture; a heavily padded leather chair and beside it a low leather couch.
Behind me Selena closed the doors; the sound echoed off the dauntingly high ceiling.
“Take a seat, Mister Clarence. Relax, make yourself comfortable.” She gestured towards the couch and I started towards it. The walk seemed to take an age, but finally I sank into one of the low seats, leather squeaking all around me. I had expected her to occupy the chair, but instead she took a position in front of me and started to speak.
“Mental Fortification is what you are here to learn, Mister Clarence. Any good magic user will tell you that a soundly fortified mind is essential. From this base, all other branches of magic must descend. If you do not have a strong foundation, you will not have a strong structure. This is logical, is it not?”
I was hypnotised by her accent, every syllable teasing my ears.
“Yes,” I responded. I would have answered “yes” to just about anything at that point.
“The magical fields are as follows,” she continued, “Spirit Defence, my personal specialty. Illusion, Influence and Manipulation; you have already met Benny Kingston, he is more than competent. Then comes Reality Manipulation, this creates the “flame from fingertips” alteration that is very popular. Under Spirit Defence are the following; Mental Fortification, Illusion Identification and Counter Measures…”
Her words faded till they came from the end of a tunnel.
The soft sunlight, emanating from the windows to my left, was hitting her body and creating an extraordinary effect of highlights and shadows. My eyes fixed on her lips, taking in every detail; the subtle shade of golden brown lipstick, the tiny mole that sat just below the left corner of her mouth. But as if taking on a will of their own my eyes then began to travel lazily down the length of her body. They lingered around the shapes of breasts visible below the fabric of the blouse, then drifted on over her stomach, hips and thighs. Finally they settled eagerly on the sensual calves.
In a moment I was experiencing the most vivid daydream of my life. My hands were rolling the nylon stocking down her leg, exposing ever more of the luscious skin below.
“Mister Clarence!” Her voice was a sharp chirp, snapping me rudely back to reality. “Were you listening to me? Or were you imagining rolling the stocking down my leg?”
“I… I’m sorry.” My face blushed so hard I could feel heat rising off my cheeks.
“I must say, I’m a little disappointed. You have a mind made of putty. Mister Kingston spoke highly of your performance in his office, and just a moment ago you resisted my Ambience Tweak with ease, but now you have failed to resist even the most basic of attacks.” Her stern tone made me feel pathetically small. Comparisons to a principal’s office are just too obvious to mention. “Women are all masters of their own basic magic, Mister Clarence. Silver necklaces drawing attention to cleavage, hair held up to reveal an inviting neck, and hemlines that allow wondering eyes to a steal glimpses of nylon and leg. If you cannot resist a magic so primal and simple, how exactly do you expect to defend against a demon?”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled miserably, “I wasn’t thinking…”
“Correct, you were not thinking. And so you left your mind as an open wound, begging to be infected with every bacteria and parasite that wished entrance.”
She let the words hang
in the air, reverberating like a ping-pong ball between walls, ceiling and floor. I shrank ever further into my seat.
“Now, Mister Clarence,” she proceeded, lowering her voice and starting a slow pacing movement before me. My head turned to follow her as she clicked across the floor, first one way, then the other. “Do you know what is referred to when one speaks of an Achilles Heel?”
“Yes,” I said quickly, eager to move beyond my previous shame, “A weakness.”
“Correct. It is a weakness or a flaw in an otherwise perfect entity. It may be used to describe a man’s soft spot for a woman, but in this case I will use it to describe a flaw or scar in your mental structure. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. In order for you to identify your own Achilles Heel, or Achilles Heel’s, should there be more than one, you will need to know yourself. This takes time, and this takes honesty. It can be a both difficult and rewarding experience; it all just depends on how you approach it. Upon locating your Achilles Heel we will likewise locate your demon’s place of birth. Are you prepared to be honest with yourself, Mister Clarence?”
I nodded. “Yes. Yes, ma’am.”
She halted in her pacing and frowned. “No need to be so formal, Mister Clarence.”
“Okay.”
Finally she approached the chair and sat facing me, legs crossed and fingers laced on knee, but back straight and posture perfect. “Now, what do you know about Spirit?”
“Not much. It’s the source of magic?”
“Indeed. Everyone has a base amount of Spirit, which means that magic is ever present in the world around us, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not. Spells are cast and people are affected, often in such subtle ways that most barely even register it. Small details, tiny arrangements of an artificial world, it is all magic, even if the most simple kind. However, some may see through this magic from time to time, like glimpsing a secret, mysterious world just below the surface. Do you see that world of magic, Mister Clarence?”
I was unsure what she meant at first, but then thought of my observations concerning the layout of The Whisperer offices, how the desks were arranged to avoid employees verbally communicating. Things suddenly made a bit more sense. “Yes.”
“Good. Observation is the key to resistance in all cases.” Her voice was softer now, but I did not have to strain to hear the words. “Spirit enters your body in three ways. Breathing, eating and, for those who are of a higher level, through the soles of the feet. What, Mister Clarence, gives some a naturally higher level of Spirit than others?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure…” My eyes were locked on hers, around us the room seemed to be getting darker. Her voice on the other hand seemed to be getting ever more focused and clear. I made a mental decision to not resist the effect, sensing that this was not the objective of whatever it was she was doing.
“Some are born with it. This is not uncommon. Others, often referred to as late bloomers, acquire higher Spirit as life progresses via emotional and personal changes, or what I refer to as an Achilles Heel. Unfortunately this process also often creates a demon. They are not powerful enough to impose their will at first, but as the Spirit Level increases, so too do the demons that have been born grow stronger. Eventually, they grow strong enough to interact.”
Now the shadows seemed to be darkening, and I realised Selena’s voice was no longer echoing. She gestured with a hand to her right. I looked, and my blood turned to ice. Standing twenty meters away near the door through which we had entered was a demon. It appeared vague at first, but as my mind registered what I was seeing it became clearer, seeming to emerge from the surroundings like an optical illusion. It was as if it had always been there, and only now was I aware. The door handle became a clenched hand, the door frame solidified and became the outline of a long fur coat, the decorative pattern on the door’s oak surface was now a belt. At last there stood a tall, thin creature, its face obscured and out of focus, but body clearly visible dressed in fine clothing. The luxurious fur coat hung draped from its shoulders and brushed the marble floor. Beneath the coat was an evening gown that glittered with decorative sequins, held at the waist by a stylish belt.
“Do not be alarmed, it cannot harm you. It is my own demon,” Selena said, her voice calm and soothing, “hence its identity is not known to you. Should you one day learn its name, the face will become clear.”
“What does it want?” I whispered, unable to tear my eyes from the horrific figure.
At this Selena’s voice took on a sombre tone. “I must be honest, Mister Clarence. And I expect that you too will be honest with me, at all times.” She took a deep breath. “The demons, both mine and yours, wish to feed on Spirit. Unchecked your demon will do so, eventually. And when it does, not only will you be in danger of physical injury, but you will also experience a most severe horror. This will only get worse until soon, no matter how strong you might be; the experience will drive you to insanity. Most likely suicide.”
I recalled Benny saying a similar thing, though I still did not understand what the term ‘feed on your Spirit’ meant. “How quickly will this happen?”
“Sometimes sooner sometimes later. I hope now you understand the severity of your situation. The attacks have already increased in intensity, correct?”
I nodded, thinking of the two cat corpses in my back garden. “I’ve noticed something,” I muttered diffidently, “when I wake up from a demon attack it seems objects in my room have moved of their own accord.”
“Not of their own accord, Mister Clarence, by your will. Your bottled Spirit is seeking a release. Do not be alarmed, you will learn to control it in time.”
“Okay.”
The figure to our right began to walk towards us, its bearing reflecting the alluring movements of a catwalk model. As it moved the sunlight bounced and glittered off the sequined evening gown, creating a dazzling effect that would have been attractive in other circumstances.
“It’s coming this way.” I gasped. The mere thought of the thing being anywhere near me had the hairs on my arms standing at attention. A voice found my ears, it did not seem to be coming from the direction of the demon, but I had no doubt that it was the source. Feminine and beautiful; the kind of voice you would expect to read the news or perhaps sell an overpriced brand of shampoo in a glitzy commercial.
“Perfection…” the voice crooned. “Perfection…”
Selena waved her hand at the creature, a quick gesture as though swatting at a fly. “Be gone.”
Instantly a pressure released from the air and light returned where it had been absent, allowing the room to expand back to a previous size. I was not aware there had been a contraction to begin with, but the effect suggested this had happened without my noticing. We were sitting as before. The demon was gone, fading back into the background.
“Tell me of your demon, Mister Clarence.” The echo had returned to her voice.
“It’s blue and it wears a tuxedo. In the second dream it was a penguin.”
“I see, very amusing.” Her expression indicated no such amusement.
“How so?”
“Your demon does not yet have the strength to hold its own image and has been altered by your perception. I assume you associate tuxedos with penguins?” I nodded. “And so it took on that form. In time it will gain strength and be capable of generating its own appearance.”
“It will be a menacing penguin?”
“It’s real appearance, Mister Clarence.” She paused. “When you are ready, you will face my demon and practice asserting control. This will be an important step to controlling your own demon. Shall we begin?”
I swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Then return tomorrow. And we shall find your demon.”
“Tomorrow…?”
“Sí. When you return, answer me this; what makes you angriest?”
“What makes me angriest?”
“Sí. Anger is a most common outlet of Spirit. Whe
n we discover where you are spending your Spirit, we will surely discover where your demon was born. Now go.” She unceremoniously gestured towards the door.