Signal to Noise (30 page)

“I’m ready to go,” she said.

“I
NEED TO
borrow the record,” he said.

“No,” Meche replied.

The subway was crowded and there was no place to sit down. Meche and Sebastian occupied a narrow space between a street vendor carrying a huge bag packed with salted nuts and a mother with a small child. They were barely inches apart, sweating and uncomfortable. Three more stations to go and it seemed like it might take forever.

“Why not?” Sebastian asked.

“Because it’s mine.”

“Are you going to use it to get that asshole to pay attention to you?”

Meche chuckled. She lifted a lofty eyebrow. Her words were pure venom.

“Let me guess: you are going to try to get into that ditzy little thing’s pants?”

“She’s not a ditz.”

“And I’m Madonna.”

“I’m asking, as a favour—”

“And I’m saying no.”

The look she gave him was the exact same look she might use on a grubby beggar asking for a coin. It made his blood boil, to be viewed with such contempt. As though Meche were the queen and he was a serf, a nothing she could jostle around when it pleased her.

“It’s a very shitty thing to say, you realize that?”

“The record is mine.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You wouldn’t be able to use it. You suck as a warlock.”

“Yeah? I’m part of the circle, so whatever—”

“Not for long, I’ll bet.” She shoved him aside, his back colliding with the back of the street vendor. “Don’t stand so close to me. You’re sweaty and disgusting.”

Gingerly, she pulled out her headphones and put them on, switching on her Walkman. Though the subway car was packed to the brim, he felt absolutely alone.

S
EBASTIAN SLAMMED HIS
backpack against the bed. He slammed it again and again until he finally understood the futility of this and tossed it away. He slid onto the bed, seething.

Meche was full of shit. She was a bad friend. Hell, she’d always been a bad friend but he had not really cared until now. Why couldn’t she lend him the record? She thought he wouldn’t be able to use it properly. She was the real witch and he was just a two-bit imitation.

And the way she talked to him! And the way she had looked at him, shoved him away.

Well, he would show her.

He wanted her to know she was not everything to him, that he was more than her tributary.

“H
EY
D
AD,
”
SHE
said.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you doing?”

“I’m great. How are things?”

“Pretty good. I’ve got a place, a little apartment. As soon as I’ve fixed it up you can come and visit.”

Her father’s voice had always soothed Meche. It was rich and vibrant and pleasant. As she pressed the receiver against her ear she felt comforted just by the tone of his voice.

“So then... you won’t be coming back home soon?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“But you still care about mom.”

Meche bit her lip and waited. He sighed and did not speak.

“Meche, your mom and I have a lot of problems.”

“It could get better,” she said.

Now that she had the record it would, for sure.

“I wish it would.”

Meche closed her eyes, picturing them as they had been a few years before, when she was a small child. When they loved each other.

“Dad, could you come by tomorrow? Maybe take me out to dinner?”

“Well... alright,” he said.

“And can I play some music for you?”

“I don’t know, Meche...”

“Please?”

“Alright.”

They talked for a few more minutes. When Meche hung up she felt giddy with excitement. She went to her room, pulled out the record and stroked her fingers across the sleeve, feeling its warmth. This was her secret weapon. This represented her parents’ hearts and they would be back together again, as they should be.

Magic could fix anything.

Meche thought about Sebastian. That thought made her curl her fingers and sigh, all the mirth vanishing. She’d been mean to him. Lately she did not know any other way to deal with him. She wanted to be nice. She really did. But things always went wrong and she was just so angry... and he made her want to scream some times. He was so difficult.

She shouldn’t have said that about the circle, but she really felt it was going to end soon. He was going to call it quits. He wanted to spend his time chasing after Isadora. Daniela and Meche would be left to their own devices.

Meche tried to picture the world without Sebastian. She erased him and pictured a vast, white expanse which seemed to her like snow.

Meche lay back on her bed and pressed the record against her face, closing her eyes.

S
EBASTIAN DID NOT
know how this was supposed to work. He had only cast a spell on his own once, and that had been an unexpected event. He did not know if he could manage it again. But he wanted to try. At the very least, he would give Meche a good scare.

Sebastian knocked and Meche’s grandmother opened the door, smiling at him.

“Meche’s not in, Sebastian,” she said. “She’s out doing the grocery shopping with her mom.”

Sebastian already knew this. Sunday morning was always grocery day for Meche and her mom. Sebastian feigned surprise.

“She was going to lend me some records.”

This was not an unusual occurrence and Meche’s grandmother nodded.

“Do you want to look for them?”

“Sure,” Sebastian said with a smile.

As soon as he was in Meche’s room he began pulling at drawers, rifling through her shelves. He found A Whiter Shade of Pale fast enough, resting in a box filled with old toys. He also found the Duncan Dhu record right next to it.

Sebastian frowned. He had not planned on taking Meche’s object of power but now that he had it in his hands he thought it might not be a bad idea. If Meche got mad at him, he could tell her to cool it or he would scratch the damn thing. Well... at least he’d let her think he would scratch it.

Satisfied, Sebastian grabbed the records, thanked her grandmother and hurried downstairs.

Isadora was waiting for him next to the motorcycle. She smiled when he came out.

“I’m ready now,” he said. “Let’s go.”

H
E PARKED THE
motorcycle in the alley behind the factory and sneaked in first before helping Isadora through. She looked at the abandoned building skeptically, her eyes darting across the dusty floors.

“It’s over here,” he said, grabbing her hand and guiding her up the stairs.

He unlocked the door and ushered her in with a sweeping motion. Isadora walked in slowly and her mouth curved into a smile as she saw the posters, the images of singers from magazines, the little coffee table with the candles on it.

“You did this?”

“My friends did,” he said, not wanting to take all the credit. “We come here to listen to music. Do you... would you mind if I play some records?”

“Sure,” Isadora said, as she sat on the couch.

M
ECHE DRAGGED THE
bag full of vegetables into the kitchen, humming as she shoved the tomatoes into the refrigerator.

“Meche, your friend came looking for you,” her grandmother said.

“Who came?”

“Sebastian.”

Sebastian was supposed to take her to the movies that afternoon, but not until three. Meche frowned, her spine tingling with an unpleasant hunch.

“What did he want?”

“He came to borrow a few records. I told him to bring them back when he’s done with them.”

Meche’s hands stilled. She slammed the refrigerator drawer shut and hurried to her room. She pulled the cardboard box from inside her closet and immediately saw which records were missing.

“Asshole!” she yelled, giving the box a good kick.

She curled her right hand into a fist.

She should have been more careful. She should have suspected this. Fortunately, Meche had a good idea of where he might be.

S
EBASTIAN HAD PLAYED
a couple of songs by Mecano and one by Simple Minds before his fingers grazed the Procol Harum record. He swallowed, not knowing what to do.

“Maybe you could put on something to dance to?” Isadora suggested.

“What kind of music?” he said, raising his head and looking at her.

“Your pick.”

A spectral light filtered through the old window panes, filling the room with an odd glow. He grabbed the record, set it down and lifted the needle. There was a tiny little hiccup as the needle slid across the vinyl surface and then the song began.

“It’s slow music,” he muttered. “We don’t have to dance to it. I can put something el—”

“It sounds nice.”

Isadora stood up. Despite his greater height, he felt very small as he took her hand, trying not to shake. Such moments did not happen in reality. They were reserved for movies and books. Any minute now he would wake up; it would turn out he was daydreaming again.

Sebastian placed his hands against Isadora’s waist, carefully moving his feet to the rhythm of the music. Twice he looked down to make sure he was taking the right steps, but then he began to relax, and even smiled broadly at Isadora as he pulled her closer to him.

“What?’ she asked, smiling back.

“I think I’d like to kiss you,” he admitted.

Her hands crept up and wrapped around his neck.

“You think?”

“I’m sure.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I’m not sure if it’s the right moment.”

“It’s right,” she whispered as she pulled him down.

When their lips touched it was as though a circuit had been closed and the power which surged in him when he cast spells now manifested once more, except it was different this time. It did not flow out of him, but seemed to flow through him and he was all of a sudden giddy, intoxicated, brimming and drowning in a sea of pleasure.

It lasted for a small eternity and then he lazily opened his eyes only to see Meche standing at the door.

A
S SHE HURRIED
up the factory’s stairs, she heard it. First faintly, then growing stronger as she climbed. The door was not locked and she pushed it a little way open, looking through the crack.

Sebastian was dancing with Isadora. They were very close together, her arms wrapped around his neck as they swayed to the melody of A Whiter Shade of Pale, the lovely, haunting organ pipes echoing through the room.

Sebastian’s hands were resting on the girl’s waist and he was moving very slowly.

When the singer sang “and although my eyes were open,” Isadora reached up and pulled him down for a kiss.

Sebastian closed his eyes, his fingers fluttering up and molding around the beautiful girl’s face.

Meche felt her heart grinding to a slow halt, like a broken clock. She smiled, though it was the grimace of despair.

Sebastian raised his head and opened his eyes just in that instant, locking with her own gaze.

Meche stepped back as he opened his mouth. Perhaps he intended to speak, but whether it was to Isadora or to her, she did not know.

Meche, who had prepared an abundance of insults for this occasion, suddenly found herself without a voice. Every syllable stuck to the roof of her mouth. She could not produce a single sound. Even worse, she felt tears gathering in her eyes.

She would not cry; not in front of him. She’d rather die than let him see her tears.

Meche closed the door, very gently, very quietly and hurried down the steps.

Once she was outside she surveyed the sky, trying to blink the tears away and managing only to sniffle. She wiped her nose with the back of her jacket.

A couple of hours later she returned to the factory. They were gone by then.

A Whiter Shade of Pale had been left on the turntable, like the remnant of a shipwreck upon the sand. Meche touched the record, but it felt cold. There was no warmth in it. She played it and heard only ordinary music. There was no magic in the recording. She looked at the sleeve, looked inside it, shook it, desperate to find a crumb of power but the power was gone. Her father was coming over in an hour and the record was useless.

Desperate, she looked for her object of power, thinking perhaps it might fix the problem. It might furnish the useless record with new magic. But Sebastian had taken the Duncan Dhu record with him.

Meche unpinned the photographs taken inside the photo booth and stomped on them.

S
EBASTIAN WAITED FOR
Meche, knowing she’d show up that night. She had to. He read for an hour, then shifted to the couch and watched some television, zipping through the channels.

He felt nervous. Like maybe he had overdone it. He’d wanted to best Meche, but as the minute hand dragged itself around the face of the clock, he felt he’d made a mistake.

He remembered dancing with Isadora, the kiss. He smiled. But then he also remembered the look on Meche’s face. He’d only seen it for a couple of seconds, but her eyes had seemed so pained.

He should apologize. Make it up to her.

Then he frowned, thinking about all her little cruel comments, her coldness when he’d needed her, the indifference which sometimes punctuated their exchanges.

Let her be angry. At least for a little while.

At nine o’clock the knocks came. Three in a row.

He smiled when he opened the door, feeling smug and content, savouring the acid expression on her face, the ways her eyes lit up with righteous fury.

“Hey,” he said. “How you doing?”

He expected Meche to launch into a long, angry tirade. To stomp and yell and use barbed words which would sting, lacerate the soul. He was not prepared for the cold, long stare she gave him and the very hard slap that followed.

Sebastian blinked, aghast, and rubbed his cheek, too stunned by this greeting to even speak. She had punched him in the arm before, in jest, but never this.

Meche shoved him away and marched into his apartment.