#fictember2018

“Okay, what about tea leaves?”

“Dunno. Never used tea leaves.”

Harris pulled an expression of shock that I felt was entirely inappropriate for the situation. “Steven. You drink tea all the time. You're drinking tea right now.”

I took a long and calculated slurp of said tea. “Yes, and I made it with a tea bag. If I'm making loose leaf I use an infuser. I don't just leave the leaves in the mug. That's gross and frankly I don't know why anyone ever did it.”

“So what you're saying is, you could actually be really good at reading tea leaves and just not know it because you've never done it.”

“It's possible. But at what cost, Harris? At what cost? You want me to drink tea with a bunch of bits floating in it just so I can read the future?”

Harris rolled her eyes. “So can I take it you’ve never tried reading entrails?”

“Uurgh.”

“Yeah okay. That’s fair.” Harris scrolled down on her phone. “Aichmomancy. Divination using sharp objects.”

“I have never tried or even heard of that one.”

“You know, I’m beginning to suspect that the only reason why you’re so sure card-reading is what you’re best at is because you haven’t even tried any other methods of divination.”

“Not true. I’ve tried other things.”

“Oh yeah?” She cocked a daring eyebrow at me. “Like what?”

“Casting lots. Stars. Melting wax. Birds.”

“Birds?”

“Yeah, sure. You go outside, walk around, see what birds you see. Look, it works for some people.”

“But why birds? I mean, birds are just...birds just show up! How do you ascribe meaning to a bird just deciding that it’s gonna hang out near you that day?”

“Why is that weirder than any of the other ones we’ve been talking about?”

“I don’t know, it just...it just is.” Harris sighed and shook her head. “I don’t think I get this whole divination business.”

“That’s okay. I don’t really get it either and I’m psychic.”

“I’ve heard some people call this wisdom, you know. Wisdom of the ancients. Reading the stars. Divining the future. Seers have been talked up a lot to me and now you’re telling me you don’t even know how it works.”

“Some people will call anything wisdom if you give it a long enough Latin name.” I shrugged. “It’s all just...tools. A way to channel what’s up here.” I tapped the side of my head. “Like...I dunno...art supplies. Paintbrushes, chisels. A paintbrush doesn’t do anything on its on. It’s all about the person using it.”

“So...the difference between you using Tarot cards to divine, and someone else using, I dunno, tea leaves—that’s like, the difference between one person being good at painting, and one person being good at sculpting, and so.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Hmm. Alright.” She looked down at her phone again. “What about a crystal ball? Ever used that?”

“Harris, I just--”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. But there’s a whole Wikipedia article here and now I’m curious. So, what about it?”

I sighed. “I have no idea where I would even get a crystal ball.”

“Hmm. What about...alectormancy?”

“What even is that?”

“Divination with roosters.”

“Oh. No. I don’t think so.”

“Aleuromancy? That’s with flour.”

I stirred my tea and looked down into the mug with exaggerated surprise. “Oh, look! Turns out I can divine with tea. I divine that I will have a headache soon.”

“People like you have no imagination.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was only 9:30 in the morning and I already had a headache bad enough for a whole day. “I have a perfectly fine imagination. It’s not that I can’t imagine these things. I just don’t want to do them.”

“You have psychic powers and you’re not using them for anything. Nothing! That is just a straight up lack of creativity, is what it is.”

“Harris, I am literally using my powers all the time. Constantly. Twenty-four-seven. I cannot turn them off.”

“Nothing interesting, though.”

“Why do I have to do anything interesting with them? That’s like saying you—you have arms so you’re obligated to do interesting things with them--”

I realized too late my mistake there. I was, after all, talking to a woman who had never been known to back down from any kind of physical challenge. Harris was currently working on her fourth weapon proficiency, after learning how to fight with a sword, fire a gun, and throw knives. She had probably done everything interesting it was possible to do with arms, and every other part of her body as well. And from the smug grin on her face, she knew she had me.

“That would be a perfectly salient point if you weren’t—you,” I muttered.

Harris perched herself on the edge of the counter I was sitting behind. “Look, all I’m saying is—one weekend in Vegas and you could be set up for life. You’d never have to come back to work! God knows you complain enough about it.”

I glanced around the little store. It was currently empty save for the two of us, the shop parrot Moriarty, and our boss puttering around somewhere in the back. We didn’t exactly have a heavy customer turnout, on account of being a magical store that moved around the world and never stayed anywhere for more than a few days. But, somehow, enough people found us to consistently make my life annoying.

“I don’t hate working here,” I said defensively. It was true. Alright, working in what was basically a magical thrift store could cause some interesting problems, but there were certainly much worse jobs. “I—I just hate...people. Things. Life in general.”

“So, make yourself a millionaire, buy a big mansion on a hill somewhere, and become a recluse. Shouldn’t be hard. You’re halfway there already.”

It was a tempting thought, honestly. To live far away from people and all their noisy thoughts, constantly pushing and blaring at me. To not have to put on gloves whenever I went out of the house, or fret about dodging eye contact all the time. To not constantly be the subject of weird glances and laughs and rumors and muttered comments because of the various strange mannerisms I could never fully suppress.

It’d be nice. And lonely.

“Look, okay, there’s three problems with that. One, it’s unethical--”

“Oh, to win a lot of money from a casino? Those rich pricks can stand to lose for once. They’ll be fine.”

I sighed. “Two, I’m pretty sure they don’t just let you come in and start winning a whole bunch of money without getting real suspicious.”

“So do it carefully. Win a little here, a little there. Strategize. I’m sure you could make it work.”

“And three—Harris, I can barely make it through a Wal-Mart. You want me to go to Las Vegas? All those people? I’d never make it. I’d pass out before I ever got into any casino.”

Harris sighed and drummed her fingers on the counter. “Have you tried?”

“Have I—no, I have not tried going to Vegas. And I am not going to try going to Vegas.”

She folded her arms and looked away. Harris was not the kind of person to accept limitations easily, and I was a person with a lot of limitations. She tried, but she didn’t always fully understand that I really couldn’t do some things. It could put a strain on our relationship.

“I just think you could do more than you’re letting yourself do in life,” she said after a few awkward minutes. “I mean, you just—you’re grumpy all the time, and you don’t seem like you enjoy anything, and, and—and what’s the point of going through life like that? If you have to have these powers anyway, why not put them to good use instead of just letting them ruin your life?”

“I think life is just going to be like that for me,” I said quietly.

“But it shouldn’t have to be!”

“Maybe not, but it is.” I shrugged uncomfortably. “And...hey, if I lived on some mansion on a hill somewhere, when would I get to see you?”

Harris looked at me for a moment before a grin slowly spread across her face. “Are you saying you’d miss me?”

“Well--”

“Steven, you—you sap! I knew it! I knew you cared! Deep down in that heart of yours you do have feelings!”

“Yes, well, don’t let it get out,” I said. “My reputation would never recover.”

“I’m going to remember this. Every time you fuss at me, I’ll know, I’ll know you really care--”

I sighed and stood up. “I’m going to get more tea.”

“You can’t escape, you know!” she called after me. “Hey, when you get back, let’s talk robbing banks--”

“No!”

“Yes! They don’t need all that money--”

“I’m not listening!”

“Come on, Steven! Eat the rich!”

“That’s not how it works, and also, can’t hear you.” I shut the door to the break room behind me as loudly as possible. It didn’t help. I could still hear her yelling about capitalism.

“Never?”

“Never.”

“But...but...” Mal looked like he was in physical pain. “How?”

“It was remarkably easy,” Siobhan said dryly.

“But...you...not even one? You have to have seen at least one of them.”

“I've seen clips.”

“Clips.”

“Sure. I mean, I think I've got the gist of the plot. It's a bit hard to not have heard about it. But I've never sat down and watched any of them.”

Mal dragged a hand down his face. “You're telling me. You're telling me that you, my partner, my friend, you have never, in fact, seen a single Star Wars movie.”

“That's right.”

“I...I can't deal with this.” Mal threw his hands in the air. “What else haven't you seen?”

“A lot, I think,” Siobhan said. “Look, we haven't all had two and a half centuries to consume pop culture.”

“You don't need two and a half centuries to watch Star Wars at least once!”

Siobhan shrugged. “Sorry.”

Mal huffed out a purely theatrical breath. “Alright. I've heard enough. This ends now. Come on.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. Tonight. It's still early, if we start soon we can—wait, no.”

Siobhan stopped halfway through being dragged down the street by Mal. “No?”

“No, we need—we need—we need snacks. Right? You need snacks to watch a movie. Popcorn, at least. I have no snacks. Therefore, we need to buy snacks. Grocery store first. Come on!”

He set off at an urgent pace again. Siobhan hastened after him. Her legs were a lot longer than Mal's, but he was also supernaturally fast, so it evened out. “Um. Didn't we have some paperwork to do tonight?”

“Paperwork? Paperwork? Paperwork can wait. Paperwork can be done later. This is urgent. I cannot in good conscience let this travesty go on any longer.”

Siobhan shook her head fondly. Mal on a mission was difficult to dissuade.

It had been a long time since she'd felt that much enthusiasm over anything, let alone a movie. But it was...nice, to at least be in the splash radius of Mal's excitement. It was almost contagious.

“Do you have a microwave?” she asked.

“A microwave? What do I need a microwave for?”

“For the popcorn. You put instant popcorn in the microwave.”

“Then I will buy a microwave,” Mal declared. “We're doing this thing properly.”

“Please. I'm not going to hurt you--”

“And how can I trust you, after what you did? What kind of monster are you?”

He froze.

He'd thought the words to himself, many times. The first time he'd felt his jaw twist around newly grown fangs, the first time he'd felt the hunger for blood grip him down to his bones, the first time he had looked down at the still moonlit waters of the creek where he hunted and saw no reflection: monster, unholy, unclean.

He knew he was a monster. But hearing it from someone else hurt worse than he would have thought.

“I'm not--” he began, and then stopped. Could he really argue?

He'd only wanted to come into town for a little while. Just to see some other people. He'd been living—no, not living, existing—alone in the woods for so long. He was desperate. He should have known better.

“What did you do to that cow?” The man was shaking, the gun in his hands wavering dangerously. He didn't know if the gun could hurt him anymore, but he'd already died to a musket ball once, and he didn't really want to go through that again if he could help it. “What kind of man would--”

He'd thought he would be safe. He'd walked such a long way to get to town, he'd been so hungry, and he couldn't go around people when he was like that. The barn was dark, the farmer and his family all in bed at this hour, surely. He wasn't going to kill anything. He would only take a little.

But the cow had not agreed with this. The cow had made a fuss. A very loud and violent fuss. And now there was blood everywhere, all over his face and down his tattered shirt, and, very tellingly, all over the cow. He wasn't even entirely sure how things had gone so monumentally wrong, but they had, and the farmer had come running, and now he was trapped at the end of the barn and the blood was black in the flickering lantern light and--

“Please, I just--” He swallowed hard, an old nervous reflex left over from life. He could smell the blood thick in the air. “I didn't mean to—I just—if you just let me go, I'll never, you'll never see me again--”

“Let you go? After what you did to poor old Sally there? You must be mad.”

Sally mooed piteously. Privately, he thought poor old Sally was doing a lot better than he was at the moment.

“Come on out of there,” the farmer commanded. “Come out where I can see you better.”

He couldn't he couldn't he couldn't, he didn't want to ever leave the safety of the shadows, but looking at that gun made him feel the gunshot through his throat all over again and he was so scared and he didn't know what else to do--

He stepped forward.

The gun clanged to the floor.

“What are you?” the farmer whispered.

The path to the door was open. He ran. The panicked whimpering of the farmer, the haunted look in his eyes, followed him all the way back to the safety of the woods, which was no safety against the thing that he had become. He didn’t know what the farmer had seen. He couldn’t see himself anymore.

Amy sighed and sat down on a bit of collapsed wall, pulling her now quite filthy jacket closer around her. “Wow. I just. uh. Wow. Is it over?”

“Most likely,” said the tall man.

He was sitting on the grass nearby, leaning against another bit of wall with one long leg held a bit awkwardly where he’d injured it during all the chaos. He looked very tired.

She didn’t know where the tall man had come from; she’d never seen him around before. But he had been there, shortly after the things started appearing, shortly after everything went very wrong. He’d seemed to know what to do. He’d fought the things off with grim determination and no fear. He’d saved them all. He’d saved her.

All around them, what had once been a normal, peaceful little neighborhood now looked like something out of a war zone. Some of the houses had been completely destroyed, now little more than piles of collapsed rubble, while the ones still standing showed holes and scorched sides and various battle wounds. The street was covered in grime and debris and scattered possessions. People milled about, searching through the wreckage or just standing and staring at what had once been their homes.

For a while Amy and the tall man sat there, looking at the scene. Amy was shivering; she wasn’t sure if it was because of the cool evening air setting in or simply shock.

“What do you think’s going to happen?” she said at last.

“Steven, can I tell you something?”

I set the box of assorted magic jewelry down on the table—carefully. Didn’t want a repeat of last Wednesday. “Yeah, course.”

Without looking around, I could hear Harris, on the other side of the room, thump her head down onto the counter. “I...have the world’s worst crush.”

“I know you do.”

“Right. Of course. Of course you knew. You know everything. Why do I even bother? Why even tell you anything when you can just read my mind?”

I sighed. Usually Harris was less despairing of my abilities than she was likely to burst into a room at random and yell, “Steven, guess what number I’m thinking of!” But she was clearly in a bad mood today.

“Harris, you’ve been staring out the window and sighing under your breath and doodling hearts on your hands all morning,” I said patiently. “It did not take mind reading to figure this out. You’re just the least subtle person ever born.”

Harris’s only response was a loud groan.

I started taking bracelets out of the box and arranging them by price on the racks spread out across the table. I didn’t bother saying anything else. I knew I didn’t need to.

About forty-five seconds later, Harris said, “It’s just...she’s really something, Steven. I mean, I know you don’t...but she’s...she’s incredible.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“She rides a motorcycle.”

“Gosh.”

“A motorcycle, Steven. I drive a station wagon! I’ve got no chance.”

“You love that station wagon.” I carefully consulted my notes to see how much we’d decided the hearts-and-stars bracelet was worth before hanging it on the rack. “Just the other day you were telling me how many zombies it could take out in the event of an undead apocalypse.”

“Which you insisted wouldn’t ever happen in the first place.”

“It wouldn’t, but that’s beside the point.”

Harris drummed her fingers on the counter. Then, in one big rush, she blurted, “She said she’d be there tomorrow, too.”

I glanced over at her. “That’s good, right?”

“I think so! I mean, was that...is that a date? Or was she just saying she would be there? Maybe she was just answering my question. Just making small talk. I mean, how do I know?”

“You are asking the wrong person about this. For multiple reasons.”

Harris sighed heavily.

“Look,” I said. “If you’re not sure if it’s a date or not, why not prepare for a date, but if you go and it seems like she’s not expecting that, you can back off and pretend like you just happened to be there too.”

“Steven.” Her voice was muffled from where her face was pressed into the counter. “You’re a genius.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but okay.”

Harris jerked her head up. “I should bring her something. What do girls like?”

I turned away from my work long enough to give her a long, withering look. “Harris. I need you to think very carefully here about which of us is more equipped to answer that question.”

“Alright, alright, it’s just...” Harris wrung her hands. I’d seen her face down vampires, werewolves, curses, unscrupulous artifact dealers, vindictive fae, and tantrum-throwing customers without being anywhere near this rattled. “She’s...I mean...I’m...I’m not...she’s pretty, Steven!”

“You’re pretty.”

“Steven.” Her voice was fond but no-nonsense. “I appreciate the effort but I know you don’t actually know that.”

“Okay, so maybe I don’t know pretty. But there’s nothing wrong with you, Harris.” I fished the last few bracelets out of the bottom of the box. “If she doesn’t like you for who you are, what’s the point of dating her in the first place?”

“I don’t know! I’m just...I mean, you’re right. I’m just nervous.”

I picked up the last bracelet. It was in the lowest price range; the enchantment on it was only a very minor good luck charm. But it was very pretty, made from shimmering rainbow beads on a leather cord. I considered it for a moment.

“Hey Harris. Catch.”

Harris caught the bracelet in one hand and slowly opened her fingers. “Oooh. What’s this?”

“That’s your gift. It’s pretty, yeah?”

“It is...” She turned the beads over in her hand, feeling the smooth polish with her thumb. “But I can’t. I’ve already used my freebie for the month, remember?”

We were each allowed to take one item of merchandise home a month, as perks. Within reason. We weren’t expected to run off with anything too expensive or volatile. Harris had opted for a jacket that she’d fallen in love with a couple of weeks ago, but I hadn’t taken anything yet.

“It’s on me,” I said.

“Steven, I can’t--”

“Yeah you can. You can repay me by not setting yourself up to fail on this date, okay? Just go and be you.”

Harris was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “Can I hug you?”

“Yeah, alright, go on.”

She vaulted over the counter and positively stampeded across the room to grab me in the sort of bone-crushing embrace only Harris could give. “You’re a real good friend, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’m amazing. Let go of me.”

Thankfully, she did. “Oh, geez. What should I wear?”

“Oh no. My work here is done.” I straightened out my jacket and picked up the empty box. “But let me know how it goes.”

Harris smiled and slipped the bracelet into her pocket. “Will do.”

The next day I woke up from a nap to the sound of my phone buzzing somewhere near my face. It was raining outside and both of my cats were tucked in-between my knees. I fumbled groggily around for the offending piece of technology and squinted at it.

It was a text message from Harris:

IT WAS A DATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“No worries, we still have time.”

“I'm on fire, Harris.”

“And are you dead yet? No. So stop panicking and let's deal with this.”

“I'm not panicking, I'm just saying--”

“Solutions, Steven! We need solutions, not criticisms.”

I ground my teeth, but managed to restrain myself from saying anything. She was right. I really felt like the situation merited a bit more active concern, but dammit, she was right. Panicking wouldn't get us anywhere.

The magical fire wasn't hot. It was, in fact, cold—almost pleasantly so at first, like an air conditioning draft on a hot day, and it burned a strangely beautiful purple color as it wound over my hands and up my arms. But the longer it stayed, the colder it got. I couldn't stop shivering now, and according to Harris my lips were going blue. I really didn't want to die of hypothermia in July. I didn't have much expectation for going out in a grand way, but I had really been hoping for something a bit less ridiculous than that.

We had tried water, and smothering it, and had attempted to try a fire extinguisher before realizing that there was no fire extinguisher anywhere in the shop—a definite safety oversight that we'd both agreed to take up with our boss at some later point when I wasn't on fire anymore. Nothing had worked. That wasn't real surprising, since it was magical fire after all, but we figured it had been worth a shot.

“You've got frost forming on your fingers,” Harris pointed out helpfully.

“Thank you,” I muttered, batting desperately at my hands. This did nothing. “I'm so tired of people leaving their c-cursed shit in the donations b-box.”

Harris prodded at the offending artifact with a pair of tongs. It looked like an ordinary matchstick, just another bit of the usual detritus we got at the bottom of the box, because some people didn't know the difference between a donations box and a trashcan. Loose change, assorted dust, small rocks and other such things turned up in it with annoying regularity. “You're sure you can't read anything else from it?”

I shook my head. The matchstick was too cold to actually touch for long enough to do a proper psychic reading and figure out how its curse worked. “All I know is it s-sets things on fire.”

“Hmmm.” Harris frowned and rubbed her chin with one hand. “Wait! I have an idea.”

“What?” I watched dubiously as she fished around in her pockets and pulled out a lighter. “Harris. What are you doing.”

“Just—hang on a sec.” She grabbed the notebook I had been using to jot down the day's donations and tore an empty sheet out from the back, then held it up to the lighter.

“Harris I really—Harris--oh god.” I watched the sheet go up in flame. “Harris I really don't think more fire is the solution to this problem!”

“Shh. Just let me try this.” She held the burning paper next to the fire licking at my hands. I watched it very nervously.

To my surprise, the flames closest to the paper slowly lowered and died.

“What the hell,” I said.

Harris pumped her fist in satisfaction. “Fire beats ice, Steven! That's basic Pokemon logic.”

“But that—you--that doesn't--”

She waved the paper up and down my arm, slowly extinguishing the purple flame. “Hey, it's magic. Just be glad it's working.”

I dropped the subject. Arguing with how magic worked usually didn't get you very far, and besides, I was glad it was working.

It took a few minutes, and another sheet of paper, but we eventually got all the fire out. I slumped in relief as the last of it died away. “Th-thanks.”

“I can't let you burn-freeze to death. Who would groan at all my bad jokes then? Come on, let's get you some tea, warm you back up.” She ushered me towards the break room. “Maybe we can find a blanket or something around here.”