Zero Sum (10 page)

I traced the path to the very center of the cemetery, Jules trailing lazily behind me. The tombstones were older here. They looked like droopy ice cream cones melting in the sun. One particular tree caught my eye. “Wow,” I said pointing, “let’s sit under that one.” The leaves on the tree were fire engine red. Its huge arms reached out over the rows of tombstones like a mother cradling her children. I had never seen a tree like it. (Granted, my tree knowledge was rather limited.)

Taking a spot on the grass, we took in the scene.
 

“I can’t get over seeing real people again.”

Jules pushed a wayward lock behind her ear. It shimmered like gold in the late morning rays. “You mean the Imperiti?”
 

I nodded. “Not that I don’t enjoy your company.”

“Dieter…what’s it like ta be one of ‘em?”

“What do you mean?”

“I grew up amongst practitioners. The Imperiti have always been a ‘they’ ta me.”

“Wait, let me get this straight, you want to know what it’s like to be normal?”

She nodded, and her eyes carried an uneasiness with which I couldn’t quite relate.

I leaned back against the tree’s massive trunk to think. Jules might have only been a year older than me, but she was my teacher. She was the taskmaster waiting outside after class. The little blond terror that ordered me about. The person who set my goalposts and reproached my mistakes. She was Jules Nelson, Adept Magus, the youngest student granted that title in a generation. It had never occurred to me that
she
might have questions. But everything felt different today. The way she dressed. The way she talked. Most importantly, the way she carried herself…Jules wasn’t a mage today.

I mussed my hair in frustration. “Gosh, Jules, I don’t think I can give you a good comparison. Besides, I don’t think my childhood was what you would call normal.”

A warm smile stretched across her rosy cheeks. “That’s fine, Dieter. Tell me anyway.”

And I wanted to.
 

“My life was real simple. It was one big fat bundle of fear. Fear that my dad would drink himself to death. Fear that I wouldn’t have enough money to pay the bills. Fear that I would end up in a fight or get jumped after school. Fear that I would fail a test. Fear that I wouldn’t get into college. The whole thing was fear. I had one selfish dream—and a million ways to lose it. I spent so much time worrying that I didn’t have time for anything else.” I shook my head. “And now everything I worked for is totally irrelevant. I spend my nights in the forest meditating on black spheres. My learning objective for the week is to stick a rose back together. I set people on fire for extra credit. Not a single person has asked me what I got on my SATs. Not a single person cares that I was valedictorian. It’s like—”

“Yer entire life feels like one big, fat, inside joke,” Jules finished.

I raised an eyebrow. “Yea.”

Jules arched her back and looked up at the tree. “Dieter, do ya know what kind of tree this is?”

“Not cactus.”

Jules ran a hand through her curls.

“In yer tongue it’s called a great oak, in mine, it’s called a Daur.”

“Daur?”

“Aye. Daur means the ‘door ta the other side.’ For us Dru, the great oak represents the gateway ta the places beyond. For centuries, my kin, my blood, has probed into the Daur ta pierce beyond the present.”

I scratched my head. I had always considered Jules a bright girl, but this was crazy talk. I tried to put it as gently as I could. “With respect, Jules, that’s impossible. I can accept that magic exists, but we’re still bound by the flow of time.”

“Yer misunderstandin’, Dieter. Look at this tree. Above her trunk stretch a thousand branches. Below her trunk sleep a thousand roots. It’s her form that matters; she’s analogous ta the flow of time. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Maybe…” I tried to parse her words. “Are you saying that the here-and-now is derived from one of many possible pasts, that the present is only possible because certain criteria where met, and so the future, our particular future, will form based on the same principles? In other words, our future will be one possible future out of many many thousands?”

Jules smiled. “Keep chuggin’,” she urged.

“Okay…if you follow that theory to its conclusion, in some respects we are bound by fate, because fate limits our choices to the ones at hand; but in other respects, we have tremendous free will, because each and every day we make countless choices which will impact on our future.”

“Fabulous. Right ya are, Dieter. That’s exactly what I meant. Now let’s hold on ta that train of thought and look at this here tombstone. ‘Capt. Richard R. Crawford, died Battle of Gettysburg, 1863.’ Let’s play suppose for a moment.”

“Okay,” I said, leaning back on my elbows.

“Suppose that on one morning in July of 1863, instead of wakin’ up, shavin’, donnin’ his uniform, and walkin’ out onto the battlefield, a certain confederate rifleman gets ill and starts pukin’ his guts out.”

“Supposing that, then maybe Captain Crawford doesn’t get a bullet between the eyes. Maybe he lives a long and healthy life, mows the lawn, has some kids. The future is altered.”

“That it is, but in the grand-ole-scheme a things, it’s altered only slightly. Now suppose a certain Yankee politician becomes ill during a particularly contentious national election.”

“Lincoln?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Supposing that, then maybe the South doesn’t secede, maybe slavery continues for a few more decades, maybe Capt. Crawford lives a long and healthy life, mows the lawn, has some kids.”

“Same condition—one man becomes ill—but a major difference in its impact.” Jules gestured to the red leaved oak. “Thick branch versus thin branch. For centuries, my family has made their livin’ picking thick branches from between the thin. That’s the deal with scrying. There’s nothin’ more to it.”
 

Scrying…I had heard about the technique. Some students in Alpha focused on it. You stared into a pool of water; the ripples told you stuff. Scrying was like the derivatives market of the magical world.

“Sounds cool…can you do me?”

Jules chuckled. She took of her spectacles and buffed them on her shirt. “Dieter, my entire life feels like one big inside joke too. I was born barren.”
 

I gulped—Jules had referenced her lady parts—that was unexpected.
 

She caught my expression and rolled her eyes. “Not like that, ya moron. Thank ya very much, but me uterus be workin’ just fine. What I cannot do is scry. The gift plain passed me by.” Her jaw tensed. “I spent my entire childhood preparin’ for a future that didn’t exist…and yes, Dieter, I be quite aware of irony, so please don’t make another one of yer—”
 

“I’m so sorry.” How could I work with someone day in day out, and not know such an important thing about them? “Maybe the future needed you elsewhere,” I offered. Lame, yes, but what the hell was I supposed to say?
 

“That’s obvious ta me now. Obviously, my destiny be ta keep ya from destroyin’ the world.”

I laughed.

Jules rubbed her brow. “It’s funny, but that’s the first time I’ve mentioned scryin’ since comin’ here.” Jules leaned her head back and rested it against the oak. To want something for so long and not get it, I could understand that. Maybe that’s why she had told me.

“Let me give this scrying a try,” I said placing my debit card on my forehead. I screwed my eyes up in mock strain. “I sense a new pair of shoes in your future.”

“You’re doing it wrong,” Jules said, placing her own card on her forehead. “I sense
three
pairs of shoes in my future.”

I smiled. “Shall we get to it?”

“There be money ta be wasted, Dieter.” Jules hopped up and dusted off the red leaves. “Let me show ya how ta do it proper.”

+

Jules was a pro. Chapel Street didn’t know what hit it. Two pairs of dress pants, five button downs, three pairs of jeans, and ten t-shirts later, I still had $300 bucks to spend. Now she was leading me down Church Street at a fair clip.

“By the gods, Jules,” I said gasping, “you’re some sort of shopping demon. The clerk at the last store looked like she was gonna cry.”

Jules shrugged her shoulders. “So what? It’s not
my
fault her clothing was mispriced.”

I struggled to keep up while carrying all the bags. Jules was setting a brutal pace. “One question. Why are we wearing these t-shirts inside out? People are staring.”

“It’s a new style. Now hurry, we’re almost out of time.”

“Time?” Jules was a pretty bad liar, but she swung into a vintage clothing store before I could follow-up. Like she had been doing all morning, she beehived to one particular rack like she’d sniffed out the sale from a mile away. I caught up to her as she dove in headfirst and began to root about.

“A-ha!” She announced from deep within the cottony mass.

“Jules,” I whispered, “you’re not supposed to cackle. Cackling is a dead giveaway.”

“Oh shush, Dieter. Take these,” she said, tossing back one jacket after another.
 

I was about to protest, when I took a look at them. The women’s jacket was made of hardened white leather, the high-end type designed for riding motorcycles. The leather was soft to the touch but thick enough to take a beating. I used to drool over this stuff at the dirt bike store. It must have been worth something like eight hundred bucks. And the other? It was a badass beat-down copy of those jackets pilots wore during World War I.

I sighed. We only had a few hundred bucks left. There was no way we could swing—“Most sacred of craps, Jules!” I exclaimed. “This white one’s only two hundred dollars—and the brown one’s only one fifty!” I looked around for sales clerk. “There’s gotta be some sort of—”

“Shh!” Jules hissed. “Just give me yer card and shut yer pie hole.”
 

Not wanting to anger the Apostle of cheap, I handed over my card. “But, Jules, shouldn’t we try them on?” I asked, as she rushed us to the counter.

“No need, silly.”

The woman at the register did a double take as she rang the jackets up. After a judgmental stare, she walked over to her manager.

Jules laughed. “Yes! Yes, I know!” she said to herself.

“Um, Jules?” I felt like I was missing out on the joke. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something fishy going on.
 

I’d started to warm up my Sight, when Jules elbowed me in the kidney. “Mind your biz,” she hissed liked a viper.

I coddled my thrice-wounded organ. “Why does it always have to be the kidney?”

“Oh yea of little faith,” she said, wagging her finger at me.

The manager checked the computer, shook his head, and shrugged.

The cashier looked crestfallen. “I could have sworn I stocked these,” she moaned. She looked at the motorcycle jacket with forlorn eyes. “Man, this white one is totally awesome. If I had known the price, I would have bought it myself…Hey, why are you two wearing your t-shirts inside out?”

“New style,” we said in unison.

The deal struck, Jules exited the store in a hurry. “Move your ‘arse, Dieter. We need ta find a pastry shop pronto.”

I brightened. “Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Did you know it’s already one o’clock? I need some sugar, and I need it bad.”

“It’s not for you, ya dodo.” Jules broke into a jog, asking for directions as she went. Spotting a viable coffee shop, she burst in and scoured their selection of pastries. “I’ll take one cinnamon roll, two Danishes, and a large frap please…Wait what?…Oh, sure…Extra butter and honey, please.”

Still huffing, I said, “Jeeze, Jules, you might be teeny, but your arteries need some love too.”

“They’re not for me,” she said slapping down a twenty. “Get me a toasted bagel and meet me over in that alley.”

“Whaaa?” I asked.

Hands full of death-pastries, Jules rushed out of the coffee shop, crossed the street, and darted into said alley. Trying to take my colleague’s mental collapse in stride, I ordered an espresso and two plain bagels with cream cheese.
 

Ringing up my order, the girl behind the counter gave me a sad smile. “I used to be the same way. Just try and support her through it. She’s only gonna get help when
she
realizes she needs it. When she does, don’t judge, just be there for her, okay?”

“Thanks for the advice,” I said, my cheeks flushing. “I’ve got a feeling the spell’s gonna wear off pretty soon.”

The check out girl nodded knowingly.

Fuming, I stormed across the street. Jules was crouching at the back of the alley. The casual passerby probably saw just another dumpster diver fishing for recyclables. Me, I saw it for what it was: payment. Fairies. They were in last week’s
Elliot Bulletin
under “Things not to Dabble With.” So
that
was why Jules asked the waitress at Patricia’s for those saltine crackers…

“Un-freaking-believable,” I muttered to myself.

Jules stepped backwards to stand beside me. With the faintest of rustles, a pair of tiny wings fluttered to the ground. The little person attached to them skipped over to the cinnamon roll clapping his hands and giggling with glee. Perhaps it was rude, but I flat-out stared. The creature had pointy ears and clothes that sparkled like morning dew. It was like Walt Disney’s brain had spilled out across the street. It dove head first into the buttery mound. My hand shaking, I downed the espresso and wiped the sweat forming on my brow.
 

“So…” I said uneasily. “They’re real too.”

“Shhh,” Jules whispered. “No talkin’ ta the fae. They’re sneaky and you’re stupid. You still have the crackers in yer pocket, dontcha?”

I nodded.

Satisfied, Jules turned to face her tiny opponent. “Is the contract fulfilled?”

Head covered in icing, the live doll bowed slightly and fluttered its wings like a deck of cards.

“Then pinky swear it,” Jules said firmly. There was a power in her voice, like when Rei had demanded that coffee on the train. She extended her right pinky, slipped it into her mouth, and flicked it out to the side. The fae tilted its head to the side and snickered. After a moment of hesitation, it mirrored Jules’ motions.