Wild Thing (7 page)

'Yes, Sara.'

She reached over for it.

'No, Sara. 
After
lunch you may open it.'

She looked at him. 
Maybe if I just grab it…?

His smile disappeared and he looked very big all of a sudden.  And mean.  She shivered and sat down.  She didn't want to look at him as she ate, and kept her eyes on her food – though whenever he wasn't watching she sneaked a look at the gift.  It was wrapped in gay paper which molded over a tantalizingly curved shape.  Fairytale castles crouched amidst bright green rolling hills and darker forests, under vivid blue skies with cotton-wool clouds.

She didn't get many presents.  Even at, even at…?  She struggled to remember.  Oh, yeah.  At the orphanage.  Maybe uncles gave lots of presents?  That'd be nice.

But she'd rather have hugs.

She tried again to guess what was inside from its shape.  Her fingers twitched, desperate to open it.  She checked him again.

Rats.

She stared down at her cereal, deciding what to do.  All right.  But if he was going to be a meanie and stop her opening it straight away, she wouldn't talk to him at all.

It was silent then, apart from the clink of her spoon and the quiet crunching as she chewed her muesli.  While she ate, she looked up at him from time to time through her fringe.  He had a stupid expression like he was laughing at her but thinking she couldn't tell.  Annoyed, she concentrated on the bowl in front of her.

At last she finished her cereal.

'You may open it now, little one.'

Huh.  He couldn't tell
her
what to do.  Instead, she poured herself another helping.

'Another bowl of muesli, Sara?'

'I'm hungry.'

'It seems you have a good appetite.'

'That's cause
I
do stuff.'

Silence again, then.  She didn't speak, and he didn't, either.  She wouldn't even look at the gift.  Finally, though, she finished the second bowl.

Cross with him, she nevertheless pulled the parcel toward herself and carefully started to open it, mentally daring him to try to go back on his promise.  She looked up, and he had this really annoying look on his face, like
“Oh, yes,
now
you have my permission”
and stuff, but suddenly, a squeal somehow escaped despite herself when she saw what it was.  She tore into the paper.

Ohhh.  '
A bow and arrow!'

She ripped the last piece of paper off and pulled it all out – bow, arrows, even a quiver.  And a large, folded-up piece of paper.  There was a string, too, with loops already made at each end.  She slipped one end on and tried looping the other over the notch at the other end of the bow, but it sprang straight out of her hands, jabbing her between the eyes.

'Ow!'

She tried again, and
this
time the bow twisted and stabbed into her shoulder!  Biting down on a cry, she tried again.

'Would you like me to do that for you, little one?  I don't think you're strong enough, yet.'

'I am too!' 
Does he think I'm a baby?
She didn't need
his
help!  She'd do it by herself even if it took days.

In the end, it took five minutes plus getting cross with it for the last bit.

She then turned her attention to the arrows.

At the end where the plastic feathers fitted, each arrow had a slot for the bowstring.  That made sense.  But a flexible black cup was attached to the other end where the point should be.  She poked her tongue thoughtfully into her cheek, trying to puzzle it out.  Tried to twist the rubber cap off, only to find she couldn't.

Finally, she flung herself back in her chair and stared crossly at her uncle, waving the dumb arrow at him.  'What are these bits for?'

'They make the arrows stick when they hit a smooth surface,' he explained, picking one up and stamping it down on the table where it stood, quivering.  He bent it over and let it spring back upright.  'You see.'

She just stared at him.  Was he serious?  'What good is that?  Animals don't
have
smooth bits.'

He looked at her oddly, and for a moment she thought he might be doing some more magic – but nothing happened.  Then he leaned forward, his voice lowering.  'Nor does the thing that you can use these arrows on.'

Ohhh.

She leaned forward.

Chapter 5 

'Still, the arrows will work,' he added.

He had been observing her carefully, a lightly-cast mindmeld feathering against her thoughts, pleased at her responses so far.  Now to begin preparing her.  Hopefully, it would suffice to set her own imagination to work for his purposes, assisting him.

'Work on what?  What thing?  How?'

He looked around, as if checking for observers.  'I was waiting before I told you this.  Before I warned you.'  He leaned toward her and lowered his voice further.  She scooted closer still in her chair.  'In here, we are safe: but outside, something dangerous hunts in the grounds.'

Her eyes grew round.  'What is it?'

'No one knows.  No one has seen it.  Some say it is invisible, and moves in the wind.'

'Wow.  What does it do?'

His voice sank.  'It sinks claws inside the mind, and changes people.  Sends them mad.'

'Oh!  Did it make the
wrong
people here?'

'Yes,' he lied, though mildly surprised she had remembered his mention of the inmates.

He had his own suspicions as to what – or rather, who – was warping their patients.

'And you want me to help you investigate it?  We can be a team!'  She chewed her lip.  'What's it called?'

His voice lowered further.  'It is nameless.  If it had a name, speaking it would attract it.  Even talking about it as we are now is dangerous: could bring it sniffing around the magical Wards around the Institute.'

'Ohhh!'  she breathed, eyes alight.  He had to hide a smile.  'But I can hunt it with the bow, can't I?  You put magic on it.'

Hmm.  He'd expected more fear.  He
needed
her under stress.  Still, if she had enough imagination for that, she should have enough to imagine her own extra dangers, too.  'Yes.  But while my magic will let you hurt it, I have no spells to protect
you
.  You will have to do that yourself: if you can.'

'But if it's unvisible, how will I know where to shoot?'

'
In
visible.  You will have to sharpen your other senses.  Train them.'

She nodded, wide-eyed.

'Now, knowing all that – do you still want to venture outside?'

'Yeah!'

'Very well – let's go.'

Outside, together, they worked out how to fire the arrow.

'Do you think
it's
nearby?'  she whispered, standing close beside him, her voice lowered.

He frowned, then pretended to look around nervously.  'That's not a safe topic.  Don't even think about it.'

For a few seconds, she looked annoyed, before a sudden rustle of leaves caught her attention. 
«He said it hunts in the wind»
he heard her think, before she moved quietly off into the trees in the direction of the sound, not looking back.

He left her stalking cautiously through the gardens, hunting a figment of her imagination.

If his theory was correct, stress and pain were essential for anyone to unfold magically.  So this way he could use her own mind – and a little judicious magic – to apply some of the necessary pressure.  He walked back inside, well satisfied.

Standing at a third-floor window of one of the unused offices, he watched her stalk through the woods. 
Now to cement its reality in her mind.

He cast the telekinesis spell and began very subtly helping her imagination along.  She immediately noticed the unusual movements of the branches, the slight disturbances of the fallen leaves.  Expecting her to fire at the twitching foliage, instead she merely stilled, then crept closer.

He spent five minutes – far longer than he had intended – leading her a merry chase through the edges of the woodlands that surrounded the main building.  It was surprisingly difficult to induce her to shoot, he discovered, unless he provided
sets
of movements.  To do so he himself had to imagine a suitable creature moving through the vegetation, and telekinese multiple objects at the same time.  The concentration required was very like juggling.  It was with considerable relief that he sent her deeper into the trees and out of his sight, forcing him to drop his spell.

Back downstairs, in the now-empty cafeteria, he unfolded the colorful circles of the shiny target that had come with the toy bow – and which she had completely ignored.  He tossed it into the recycler with a smile.

-

Later that afternoon, with his new young ward reluctantly in tow, he knocked on the Director's door.  At the jovial 'Enter!' he opened it and ushered Sara inside ahead of him.

'Ah, Dr Harmon, come in!'  The Director gestured them inside.  'And this young lady must be Sara, yes?  Please, come in, have a seat.  I have cookies.'

Harmon turned, catching the way her shoulders hunched defensively, and wished Sanders had chosen a different phrase.  'Sara, you are not in trouble.'  He turned back to the older man.  'I gather the nuns referred to Sara as “young lady” when they disciplined her, Professor.'

Sanders looked distressed, which stretched the deep laughter lines of his face in odd directions.  'Dear me, young- uh, my dear girl, quite right, I meant it in a purely complimentary way.  Come, sit down, have a cookie.  The oatmeal and raisin are particularly good – my niece makes them.'

He held the plate out, and Sara took one before sitting down.  After a moment, still watching the older man uncertainly, especially his explosively unruly white hair, she carefully bit into it and began nibbling.  Harmon watched her watching Sanders, wishing he could use the mindmeld spell but knowing he probably should not do so in front of the other mage, weak though his talents were.

'I must say, Alex, I was most surprised when I heard you'd applied to adopt a young girl.  Most surprised.  You've never expressed any desire to raise children before.'

'I realized I was becoming too insular.  That it would be good for me to have to care for someone other than myself.  And Sara is eight years old – hardly an infant, Director.'

He glanced at Sara, who was following the conversation so intently she'd stopped eating.  Indeed, she appeared quite tense, though clearly she had appreciated his recognition of her mature age.

'But is the Institute really a suitable place to raise a child?' the Director asked.  'Have you fully considered the risks?'

'Professor Sanders, with all due respect, Sara was being raised in an environment designed to foster an outmoded belief system and
twentieth century
patterns of behavior; was being raised in a part of New Francisco rife with gangs and drug abuse.  She will be much safer here, where I will certainly not be filling her head with religious nonsense.'

'But what of the demands on your own time?  Wasn't there a line of research you wished to start-'

Sara jumped up from her seat and clung to her uncle's arm.  'Why do you want to make me go away?  Uncle and me are a team.  He's got papers, ’n you can't split us up!  Why are you tryin’a split us up?  I don't like you!'

Tossing her half-eaten cookie back onto the plate she ran from the room.

Harmon stood.  'Ah, I think I had best go and care for my young ward, Director.  You know how easily children can take things the wrong way.  If you'll excuse me…?'

That went rather well,
he thought as he left the room and caught her up.  She turned toward him, tears on her face, and he felt a strange internal tug.

She clutched his arm.  'You won't let him split us up, will you, Uncle?'

She stared up at him, alert to his smallest expression.  He was once again surprised by the protectiveness her trust awoke.  The fervor with which she'd allied herself with him against the Director was satisfying, too.  He smiled down at her.

'No, Sara. I won't let the Director split us up.  Don’t worry.  I won't let anyone take you away from me.  Not anyone.’

'Not even the Director?'

'Not even the Director.  I'll let you in on a secret: I'm better at magic than he is.'

'But isn't he your boss?'

'Only up to a point.  He can't split us up.'

'Even if… even if I’m bad?'

'Even then.  I may have to punish you, but I will never abandon you.'

'Promise?'

'I promise.  Other people may not understand you, Sara, or appreciate you, yet I assure you that I do.  You are important to me.  Very important.'

She smiled, shyly, still a little doubtful.  He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb, surprised by the feeling of intimacy that flowed from her innocent acceptance of the gesture.  'We are a team, Sara.  The whole world won't be enough to split us up, I promise.'

She smiled, and for a moment he almost felt like hugging her.

'Come, no doubt you'd like dinner?'

'Yeah!' she agreed, tugging at his arm now to hurry him up, her fears forgotten.

The encounter with Sanders had definitely improved their slightly rocky relationship, he mused.  Really, Sanders couldn't have chosen a more helpful line of questioning if he'd tried.

At the end of the day, he entered her room to find her sitting up in her bed, frowning.  'How come I don't have any network?'  she said.  'How am I s’posed to do my lessons?'

He looked surprised.  'That's a good point.  I'd better get you access.  What are you accustomed to?'

'Huh?'

'What apps are you used to?'

'Dumb ones. 
Lots
of Scripture ones, and we weren't allowed out into the proper net.  Even the games were dumb.  Who wants to stack spinning blocks?'

'Well, I'm sure I can arrange better apps, although I don't approve of netgames.  They shrink children rather than grow them.  But you needn't worry about all that superstition they've been filling your head with.  No.  I think I'll have you forget all that, too.'