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Out of boredom, I start experimenting with the patches of light. Curious to see if I can manipulate them. Trying to get them to pulse. I don’t want to open a window. I just want to see if I have the power here.
For a long time I make no progress. But eventually I find a way. I have to think about a specific spot in the Demonata’s universe, somewhere I’ve been. That gets the lights pulsing, though it takes hours of concentration. Once they’re going, if I think of another place or person, other patches pulse, but slowly, in small numbers. I’m sure I could get more of them to pulse if I pushed myself, and gradually build a window. If I wanted to. Which I don’t. Why would I ever return to that universe of vicious, magical insanity?
A dark, wet day. Mom and Dad are out at work. They were awake most of last night, crying and talking. I hate seeing them unhappy. I’ve tried everything I can to cheer them up and make it easier. Told jokes, avoided mention of demons, worked hard at my studies, kept up a smile whenever they’re around.
But nothing works. They were delighted when I first returned, but that quickly gave way to a confused sadness, and they’re getting sadder every day. They don’t know how to deal with me or this new life they’ve found themselves part of. It’s too complicated.
They’re starting to resent me. I can see it in their eyes, just a flash, every so often, when they think I won’t notice. A look that says they wish I’d never come back. That look strikes at my heart every time I catch it. Makes me want to break into tears and throw myself at them for a hug. But I hold my smile. Pretend not to notice. Act like everything’s fine. And only cry when they’re not around.
The clouds part shortly after midday, for a few minutes. Then they roll back together and rain comes down more heavily than before.
Thinking about the universe of the Demonata. I hated it there, but I
didn’t feel out of place. I had a purpose, a function. I was the equal of Sharmila, Dervish, Raz, Shark, Nadia. No good at fighting, but I had other talents. They respected me. Even Beranabus was impressed.
I remember what he said. “Home isn’t always where you expect it to be. You know where to find me.”
Crazy. As if I’d ever want to go back there, face demons again, live like Nadia, a slave of the magician. Adrift in a universe of horrors, where you can’t even depend on time. Nothing in this world could be as bad as that. Mom and Dad will accept me eventually. I’ll make friends. Grow up normally. We’ll laugh about this one day.
I’m sitting on the floor in the small living room of the apartment that we’re renting. I rise and walk to the bathroom. Take the marbles out of my pocket, the orange marbles that I’ve carried ever since Art was stolen. I look down at them, then hold them up, standing before the mirror. Place them in front of my eyes. Watch them twinkle. I try directing magic into them. Take my fingers away, telling them to hover in the air.
They fall. Roll away. I hurry after them before they disappear down one of the holes in the old floorboards.
Back to the living room, remembering how magical I was in that other place, the things I could do, the power I had. Sitting on the couch, I study the marbles again, and recall what Sharmila said to me in the field before we parted. I think I know now what she was hinting, the secret she suspected. It’s an impossible, wild and crazy theory. I’m sure it can’t be right. But if it is...
Trying not to worry too much about what that might mean, I put the marbles away. As I stand, I notice some of the lights around me pulsing slowly. I stare at them numbly. It’s like they’re calling me, trying to suck me back into that realm of madness.
I turn my back on them and stride around the tiny apartment, looking for something to distract me. End up in Mom and Dad’s bedroom. Not much bigger than mine. A bed they can only just fit into. I let my eyes drift. It’s untidy, clothes thrown around the place, dirty socks and underwear. The rooms were never like this in our previous homes. Mom was house proud. Dad too. Always cleaning and tidying up. But not anymore.
The mess upsets me. I turn to leave but spot the corner of something sticking out from under a pillow on the bed. I edge over and slide it all the way out. It’s a photograph of me and Art. I haven’t seen it before. Mom must have taken it when we weren’t looking. In the photo we’re near a tire hanging on a rope from a tree. I’m holding Art over my head. He’s laughing. I think I’m laughing too. But it’s difficult to tell. Because Mom has scrawled all over my face with a pen. Line after line of black ink, obliterating my features, scratching me out of existence.
I put the photo back in its place. Cover it entirely. Return to the living room, my stomach hard and cold. The lights are pulsing around me, lots of them, faster than before, like they used to in the Demonata’s universe. I think about Beranabus, what Sharmila said, the bitter looks I sometimes get from Mom and Dad, the photo.
As a single tear trickles down my cheek, I reach out like a robot and start slotting the patches of pulsing lights together.
KAH-GASH
BERANABUS is waiting in a surprisingly scenic spot, lying on a pile of deep green grass next to a waterfall, beneath the shelter of a leafy tree. The only hint that this is another universe — blood, not water, flows from the waterfall.
“I thought you might come looking for me,” he says, sounding more sad than smug. “I decided to rest here a while.” He looks around. “I come here often. My mother liked this place. I feel close to her here.”
“Was your mother a magician?” I ask.
“Not as such.” He stares at the waterfall, stroking the petals of a fresh flower that he’s pinned to his jacket. “She died not long after I was born. I used magic to find out about her later — that’s how I learned about this spot — but I never knew her when I was a child. As for my father...”
He snorts, then says with unusual softness, “I know what it’s like to be lonely. To have no family. To feel out of place in the world. I hate myself for what I did to Nadia, and for what I’m asking of you. I know how wretched her life was, and what you’re suffering now, because I’ve felt that way myself. I’d have spared you both if I could. But the universe demands sacrifice and pain of its champions. When there’s no other way... when the fate of billions hangs in the balance... what choice do we have?”
I stare at the ancient magician, not sure how to answer. Before I can think of something to say, he barks a laugh, pushes himself to his feet and smiles, more like his old, cynical self. “Come to be my assistant, have you? Couldn’t fit in with the folks at home? Normal life not for you anymore?”
“You knew I’d return, didn’t you?” I accuse him.
“I’ve lived and seen enough to know how difficult it is to settle for a small life when you’re destined for greatness. The universe created you for a reason, Kernel Fleck, and it wasn’t to waste your time in an ordinary job, among everyday people. Destiny is a determined opponent. Not many get the better of it.”
“So what now?” I ask. “Do we go after Cadaver?”
“I don’t think so.” Beranabus frowns. “I’m angling more towards the idea of retracing the route he followed when he was on his way to Lord Loss’s. Maybe we’ll find something on one of the worlds he visited, or on a world we bypassed when you opened the window directly to him.”
“Or maybe.. .” I stop, not wanting to say it. The window behind me has faded, but I could easily build another if I wanted. Find my parents. Try again. It’s not too late to change my mind. But if I tell Beranabus of my suspicions, I can never return. I’ll be his — the universe’s — for life.
