Play Dead (32 page)
“Nothing. Just an expression.”
I thought about how I’d felt pain and that odd dislocation just before the appearance of the otter in the zoo. And how I’d felt something similar when I’d run into the pseudo pigeons. Not to mention the corporate gig we’d played. And the headaches we’d all been experiencing.
“You got a phone?” I asked.
“My cell.”
“Let me borrow it a sec.” He looked at me warily, obviously not wanting to.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Don’t push me, Malcolm. You’ve caused me enough grief already.” He stepped back, a bit unsure of himself but still defiant.
“Don’t push you? What are you going to do? Your spells can’t affect me. What—you’re going to have Lou bite me?”
What an excellent idea.
“Bite him, Lou,” I said.
Before the words were out of my mouth, Lou had him by the meaty part of the calf and was shaking his leg like it was an unfortunate rat.
Malcolm howled in surprise and reached down to get hold of Lou. As he bent over, I pulled out the stun gun Victor had given me, jammed it into his neck right below the ear, and flipped the switch.
He forgot all about Lou, doubling over and screaming in a high-pitched voice. I lifted the stun gun and he crumpled to the floor, more in shock than anything else, I suspect.
“Lou!” I said. “Enough.”
Lou gave the leg one last shake and backed off, looking satisfied. He seldom got an opportunity to bite anyone, and I think it pleased the dog part of his nature no end. I waited a moment and then held out my hand.
“Phone, please,” I said.
Malcolm reached shakily into his pocket and handed the cell to me. He tried to glare, but all that did was make him look like he was about to cry. I punched in a familiar number.
“Victor? I got a question for you. Did you feel anything weird about a half hour ago? Like one of those headaches, but different?”
He was silent for a long moment, which usually means I’ve hit on something, and he was considering the implications.
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
“Was this the first time you felt something like that?”
“No, the same thing happened yesterday, but this one was stronger.”
“Figures. Is Eli there?”
“No, but Sherwood is. Just a moment.” I heard him asking questions and then he was back on the line.
“Timothy didn’t feel a thing, but Sherwood did. A twinge, and a feeling like something slipping.”
“That’s what I thought, and I think I know what’s been causing it. I’ll call you later when I know more,” I said.
I hung up before he could ask any more questions and handed the cell back to Malcolm. He took it sullenly.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.
“Maybe not, but I did. And I want to know what’s going on. Why are we all getting headaches every time something odd turns up? What’s the connection? I mean, I see the connection, but why? And don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“How would I know—” He broke off as I lifted the stun gun suggestively. “All right. It doesn’t matter anyway—there’s not much you can do about it. Richter developed a method for creating complex singularities; that much you know. And some of those same principles also allowed him to rip open the fabric of the world and access other worlds, other dimensions.
“But he focused on singularities and didn’t bother to pursue that other aspect of things, because his methods, though effective in bridging dimensions, created an unfortunate side effect. A psychic wave that ripples out from the point where worlds intersect, and that wave affects practitioners in a painful fashion. The stronger the practitioner, the worse the effect. The closer you are, the more it resonates, and the larger the rift, the more powerful the wave.”
“Interesting, if true,” I said. “But how would you know all this?”
“It’s all in his book, the first one, but it’s presented as theory. The second one describes the science behind it, the actual process and methods.”
“Like the energy pool,” I said.
“No, that’s different. That energy pool was constructed in an entirely different way. It’s like a door that connects rooms. It can be opened and closed, with no effect on anything else except for what might come through. What’s happening now is more like taking a sledgehammer and busting a hole in a wall. It’s violent, and the hole stays open permanently. And it weakens the wall, as well.”
I’d gotten some answers out of Malcolm and they sounded plausible, but there was no way for me to tell if it was really true. He was afraid of me, which was the only reason he was talking, but that also meant he could be inventing it all out of whole cloth. The idea that Jackie was experimenting with the book, and that every time she made a breakthrough the rest of us could feel it, rang true, though.
“So Jackie’s been taking little baby steps,” I said. “She makes a little tear in the fabric, things slip through, and we all get these headaches. What happens if she goes all out, trying to create her new world?”
“Well, that’s a moot point. You saw the singularity Richter helped create—it took him years, with many additions by many people. And yet it’s still a pale shadow of the real world. Jackie thinks she can create something a thousand times more complex in a single day, but of course she can’t.”
“So what happens when she fails?”
“That depends. The most likely thing, if she can find a source with enough power, is that by trying she rips apart the world fabric on a scale that’s never been seen before.”
“That doesn’t sound good. God knows what might pour through.”
“No, it’s not good, not for you. But don’t worry—you won’t be around to witness the aftermath and neither will any of your friends. It will kick off a wave so strong that every practitioner within a fifty-mile radius will stroke out—if she figures out a way to harness enough power, it could take down every practitioner in the world, theoretically. That’s why Richter went to so much trouble to hide the book, although he would have been better off destroying it. I guess he couldn’t bear to throw away his life’s work.”
“So we all just keel over? Sorry; I don’t buy it.”
Malcolm shrugged. “Oh, I doubt it will kill everyone, or at least I don’t think so. But those who survive will find every trace of talent they ever possessed has vanished. There won’t be any more practitioners, dead or alive. None at all. And good riddance, if you’ll pardon a personal opinion.” He smiled, with a great inner satisfaction. “But talent won’t be lost to the world entirely. Because I’ll have it, even if nobody else does. I’ll use my knowledge and the book to get it. And I might even let a few select others have some as well. It’s going to be a different world, a very different world.”
King of the world. A modest ambition. This was getting too heavy for me. I needed Victor, and especially Eli’s expertise. They might be able to separate fact from fiction; Lord knows I couldn’t.
“Okay, stand up,” I said. “It’s time for us to go.”
“Go where?” he asked, regaining some of his former belligerence.
“You’re going to help us, whether you want to or not.” A slight smile appeared on his lips.
“Really? Are you positive about that? Because I’m pretty sure Jackie’s going to be trying another little experiment anytime now.”
I never got a chance to answer. I started to feel strange, and my head began to ache in that familiar way. But this time it wasn’t a brief, transient pain. It grew until I could barely stand upright, and I staggered when I tried to take a step. Soundless cannons were going off in my head, and the color leached out of the room, then the light, as everything grew dim. I vaguely heard Lou whine as he realized something was wrong with me, and then my legs gave way and I toppled to the floor. My vision narrowed until I could only see directly in front of me, like I was staring down a tunnel. Then all vision faded and the world vanished.
EIGHTEEN
SOMETHING KEPT BATTING AT MY FACE, BOTHERING me. I tried to push it away, but it kept up, raking my cheek and almost drawing blood. Finally I opened my eyes, but they wouldn’t focus. There was something there, though, insistent and annoying. Then I came to, just enough to realize it was Lou, pawing at me, scratching me with his long nails, trying to wake me up.
“Enough,” I said, and closed my eyes again.
The pawing stopped, only to be replaced by high-pitched barks right next to my ear, slicing through the haze and making the violent headache I had even worse. I opened my eyes again, and this time tried to sit up.
I succeeded on the third try, feeling an immense sense of accomplishment. After resting awhile, I managed to make it all the way to my feet. I stood there, propped against the wall for support, until I felt well enough to walk. Which was a whole other experience.
Malcolm was gone, of course. If I’d been a movie hero, I could have quickly shaken off the effects, figured out where he’d gone, and tracked him down, but real life is a little different. I could barely walk, and I was having trouble remembering where I’d parked the van, much less figuring out where Malcolm might be.
I tottered outside, walking like a very old man. My head felt too heavy for my body, which felt fragile enough so that a good sneeze would break bones. Jackie must have tried a more powerful incantation from the book, and that must have made a significant rupture in the world’s fabric. God knows what might have slipped through this time.
I looked up at the sky, wincing from the light. Gulls swooped and circled overhead. I watched one that was riding a current with enough skill to keep it stationary, like a hawk scanning a field for an unwary ground squirrel. It dipped and hovered, making constant subtle alterations as the wind ebbed and surged. It looked as normal as could be.
Halfway back to the van, I remembered the other part of Malcolm’s explanation. Those who were not killed might well lose their talent. If true, that would be a change of epic proportions, and I wasn’t sure how well we’d all handle it. Victor would be hit the hardest. In his own mind, being chief enforcer of the magical community, unofficial though it might be, defined him. But maybe not. He was rich, after all, and had many talents, one of which is facing reality unflinchingly. Maybe he’d just shrug and start a new life and career, as a captain of industry or something.
Eli would care the least. He loved teaching, he loved academia, and his only real regret would be that of having an interesting area of knowledge closed off, as if an earthquake had destroyed a priceless archaeological dig.
Sherwood? I didn’t know. In many ways I didn’t really understand her, which says a lot about me since we’d been together for almost a year before it fizzled out.
And myself? A sick feeling came over me. I’ve always liked to think of myself as a musician, first and foremost, with my magical talent a sideline. A wonderful thing, to be sure, but not intrinsic to who I am, not the thing that defines me.
But my gut told me that was a lie. The thought of living out my life devoid of talent was unthinkable, horrendous. As many times as I’ve denied that to myself, it is who I am, as much as any of the others if not more so. And what about Lou? Ifrits find practitioners, and only practitioners. If my abilities vanished, was I still a practitioner? Would he stick around or would he slip away forever?
When I reached my van I leaned up against it for a few minutes trying to gather myself enough to try a spell. My head was still muzzy, but I was beginning to be able to think again. I thought at first about a simple illusion to test if I still had my talent, but that wouldn’t tell me enough. Illusions take little skill and even less energy, and I wanted to try something more complex, to see if I still had all my power.
Overhead, the gulls were still circling, riding the wind. I focused on one that was surfing in place, took the energy of the wind and the bird, and transferred it down to the sidewalk next to my van. I poured energy into one square, and waited. So far, so good; at least it felt right.
A young couple, deep in conversation, passed by the van. As they entered the square I’d prepared, their forms wavered momentarily. Their legs kept moving but they no longer made any progress; instead, they remained in the same place like the gull overhead. For them the sidewalk had become a giant treadmill.
They walked along, oblivious, but they were bound to notice sooner or later. I diverted the power and they passed by me, still talking. “I’m just going to wait him out,” said one. “After all, time is on my hands.” It looked like their conversation wasn’t going anywhere, either.
At least I still had my talent. I climbed into the van, thankful to finally be sitting down, and drove slowly and carefully down the Great Highway until I reached Victor’s house.
He greeted me at the door, looking terrible, one eye bloodshot with half the white turned red from a burst blood vessel.
“You too?” I said. He nodded.
“Passed right out. Sherwood, too. Eli fared better—for some reason, whatever it was didn’t affect him as much.”
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