This is Episode 6-10 of a serial urban fantasy & paranormal story.

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Part 6-10: Linger

I came to where it lay, fingers of my right hand dancing, scratching around in the air, ready to blast out my weapons at the drop of a pin. Eden pushed itself up onto its elbows.

“This power, is in, the intimacy,” it said. “You will become, them. Your target. Be them, borrow them.”

“Oh, oh no, holy no,” I said. This was the Willy trick. They were going to teach me to be a body-snatcher.

“Yes, Alena. In this way, you will be escape. From, problem.”

“I do not like this. I do not.”

“Well,” said Fergus, “It wasn’t like he was gonna teach you to roll a perfect strike or do cartwheels, yeah?”

“Shut up,” I said, through a snort. “How does this work then? Smell’s involved, obviously. Stunk coming in this time.”

“Yes,” said Eden. “Easiest if you have shared, memory. Easier if they, willing.”

“And when you’ve none of those?”

The ghost lay back down, maybe by way of answering.

“If you’ve none of those requirements,” said The Minder. “Then you’ll need to get creative.”

“First time, chaotic. Then, it gets, easier. Every time. Better still, for you. You will, see.”

“What makes me so special?” It was a question about the larger problem I’d been meaning to ask of these demons for a while now. I supposed I’d forgotten to bring it up on account of always being on the brink of pandemonium.

“Same world, you and them, the targets,” said Eden, voice fading. “Same heads. Same hearts.”

“So, when I’m… in someone, what do they feel? What happens to them?”

“Maybe dreams?” I could hardly hear it now. The blue form on the steps stilled. I let myself indulge in the tiny fantasy that Eden had croaked.

“That’s it, huh? That’s the lesson?” I looked sidelong at The Minder, unwilling to turn too speedily away from the glowing menace before me.

“It’s the instruction, the blueprint, if you’ll allow,” he said. “The actual learning shall be hands-on, per usual. In the short term, The Collector and I won’t be much help, but I do intend to make good on our bargain. Get yourself out of your bind, and we can skip the ‘test’ portion of this cycle.”

“Meaning we won’t have to fight all y’all or save people from suicide, this time?” asked Fergus.

“We will not interfere with you between now and the next book.”

“Oh, but afterwards it’s back on?” I said.

“Afterwards we talk again.”

“Did we just become political? I think we just became political,” said Fergus.

“We’ll see how diplomatic those feds feel when we get back,” I grumbled. “Speaking of, I’m tempted to blow off reality for a little bit and maybe see what a nap in Fort Ticktock is like…”

“Ooh, brilliant. Minder-bro, can we crash for a spell?” said Fergus.

“Sorry?” said our host.

“We’d like to rest. Any tips on how to conjure up a sofa or the like?”

“I’d wager you already have the aptitude,” he said. “It’s a shade of the very first lesson.”

A memory flickered in my head, of when Fergus and I first went to see Persi the Ghost. She’d made a bed appear in the middle of an empty room—had willed it there.

“Right then,” I said, and beckoned to Fergus. He came over and took my hand, and I warped us to the top of The Jailer’s tower. I let my eyes and mind relax, loosely eying a spot on the floor beside the empty weapon rack. The stonework fuzzed and swam, seeming to bob in and out of focus. The checkerboard pattern waited, alive with potential, like a kind of magnetic sand, ready to leap into action when pressed upon. A king sized four poster was what I wanted—one fit for a castle. I slid my mental image of one through the film of magic on the ground and up it rose, wobbling only a little.

“I’d like a pinball machine next,” said Fergus, blinking. “It’s been like a year since I played pinball.”

“Let’s save the world first. Well, right after a nap.”

“Good enough of a plan,” he said. “We wanna take shifts?”

“I’d thought about it. Something seems unwise about both of us drifting off here.”

“You rest first then.”

“Thank you.”

I clambered up onto the giant, soft rectangle. The material was a creamy rose colour, and it came with weird blocky pillows that were so fat, they bordered on being cubes. I fluffed one, and discovered that it had the give of a loofah.

“I guess I need to practice my conjuring,” I said, lobbing the weird, airy block at Fergus.

He let it hit him in the chest and poked at it. “I dunno, maybe you discovered a whole new kind of pillow trend.”

I smiled and laid down, letting my head sink deep into my imperfect creations. The canopy blocked the view of the fake stars overhead. For a moment I was disappointed, but then I remembered The Minder’s little tale about the princess from across the veil, or whatever it had been. She was a fairy tale within a fairy tale, surely, but as sleep’s tendrils coaxed themselves into the creases of my brain, I decided I was glad for the imaginary fabric shield above, lest her gaze linger too long on the pair of intruders below.

 

 

Continued in Part 6-11

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