《Psychic Curse》


 CH 1: Choosing to Live

    I think some people are cursed. Not through any fault of their own, but because a greater plan requires them gone. Maybe the world will carry on better without them. And maybe I¡¯m one of those people, getting in their way without ever finding my own.


    My name is Martin. I¡¯m seventeen years old, and I should have died last week. I couldn¡¯t breathe, my heart on fire, my lungs frozen ice, my throat contracting to a pinhole. If I was sleeping in my own bed, then there would have been no breath to scream. No chance for help. My father would have found me dead in the morning. He would blame himself, but part of him would be relieved. I don¡¯t know this is true, but I suspect it. How could he not want to rid himself of an endless anchor like me, dragging us both down?


    If you have a sick sense of humor, you can call it luck that saved me. Luck at already being in the hospital when the attack happened. I couldn¡¯t scream, but there was a red alarm button which summoned a nurse in time to help. I remember how young she looked, barely older than me, eyes wild with panic. I thought she was beautiful at the time, although I don¡¯t know if I could pick her out of a crowd now.


    I might have been the first person she saw dying. I would have liked to be her first death. Then she would have remembered me forever. I never told her, of course. I lost consciousness, and when I came back she was gone. It was just my father, anxiously pacing and muttering to himself.


    I have a genetic disease, some type of Familial Periodic Paralysis. I¡¯ve always been weak for my age, but it started getting worse around puberty. My muscles would lock and strain at the lightest resistance, cramping painfully without being able to unclench them. Then the attacks started, full body spasms which lasted up to a minute. I had an attack of paralysis last month which affected my lungs, and I couldn¡¯t breathe. I¡¯ve been in and out of hospitals since. I miss only being weak. I miss school. I miss all the things which never happened to me and never will, like the lost treasure of someone else¡¯s memories.


    The years have only taken and never given to me. I don¡¯t care what name the Doctor finally decides on for the disease I have. I¡¯m living with a curse, or I¡¯m dying from it.


    Doctor Warmal, a frail elderly man who looked like he was racing me to the end, told me as much without the words. He asked how I was feeling, but didn¡¯t really listen, like it wouldn¡¯t matter soon anyway. He hummed and hawed, and asked whether I believed in God, before eventually telling me I would be all right, ¡®in the end.¡¯


    I asked him when the end will be, and whether I would be walking again by the fall semester to go back to school.


    Doctor Warmal looked at the IV machine, at the clock, at his clipboard, and everywhere else besides me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about school. You¡¯ll be good again. In the end. You know. After all this goes away.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean? I don¡¯t think you make the big doctor bucks to make sure I¡¯m okay after I¡¯m dead.¡±


    He smiled tightly as though doing me a favor. I didn¡¯t ask any more questions.


    I think he was more afraid of saying I was dying then I was of hearing it. I might have even laughed, my mood so fickle of late. I think I¡¯ve hurt as much as I can, and I only want to laugh for as long as I have left now. I guess it¡¯s some kind of defensive mechanism or something, but damn, if you don¡¯t use all the defense you can when you¡¯re fighting for your life, when is the right time?


    My father was more honest with me. He told me the disease would continue to progress, impairing the ion channels in my cells until they ceased to function. My life would be choked from me sooner or later, with only agony to expect until my last gasping breath.


    ¡°It will get worse, and then you¡¯ll die. If Doctor Warmal doesn¡¯t change your treatment,¡± my father finished. His voice didn¡¯t shake, but his hands were white from the strain of clasping the strap of his backpack.


    I don¡¯t know if it was because I¡¯m physically weak, but I¡¯ve always thought of my father as an indomitable titan. He didn¡¯t look that way now. Thin shoulders hunched and drawn, he seemed small enough to hide behind his mustache.


    "Thanks Dad. You really lit up the room. Maybe call the Doctor back in and ask him to get me something else then?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing else they will give you. Nothing legal.¡±


    ¡°Well damn, give me the illegal stuff then.¡± I thought I was joking. He thought I was joking. Neither of us laughed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about party drugs, idiot,¡± my father scolded me. Harsh, but fair. He strode over to the door to the hallway, closing it for privacy. He peered through the windows, then drew the shades. Then staggering across the room, he collapsed from weariness into a narrow hospital chair beside my bed. There was a black backpack on his lap. His knuckles were white and bloodless, trembling from clutching so tight. Exhausted past the point of breaking. I tried not to see how much I was hurting him.


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    ¡°Something from your lab,¡± I guessed, trying to get a glimpse past his hands as he fiddled with a combination lock on the zipper.


    My father¡¯s grin peaked around his mustache. ¡°Something like that. Of course it comes with risks, but at the point you¡¯ve reached¡­¡±


    ¡°Nope. Not happening. Drive me out to the farm and pull and ol¡¯ yeller on me. I¡¯m not taking anything from that madhouse.¡± Again I was joking, but also not really. ¡°I don¡¯t get most of the research you do over there, but I am not signing up for genetic mutations.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s called gene therapy,¡± father says, eyes narrowed dangerously.


    ¡°Oh right, like my genes are going on a vacation, with a little massage at the end.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the only shot you¡¯ve got left.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still human. I¡¯m not letting that go.¡±


    ¡°Stop screwing around!¡± my father shouted. His mustache bristled like a porcupine, his eyes glancing nervously to the door, before back to me.


    ¡°Do you want to live, or don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I crossed my arms stubbornly, the motion cut short by the length of the IV tube attached to my left forearm. ¡°Do you want me to live, or are you ready to be done with me?¡± I knew the question was a mistake as soon as the words left my lips. But I was angry at the world, and didn¡¯t care who was angry back.


    My father took a deep breath. In, and out, his fingers flexing to relinquish their grip on his backpack.


    ¡°You¡¯re probably right, you know,¡± he said at last. ¡°There¡¯s no way to know what the long term implications of changing the genetic sequence leading to your ion gate proteins. You are right, and the lab director is right, and the hospital governing board, and the senators, and the food and drug administration, and everyone else. They¡¯re all right. And if any of them found out what I was doing, then I would lose my job, if not be sent to prison. You¡¯re all right, and I¡¯m wrong. So I¡¯m just going to leave this here and go for a walk. If you decide for yourself you¡¯d rather live than be right, then a 100 ml injection should be all you need.¡±


    My father stood. He looked me in the eye as he dropped the backpack into the chair, deliberate, with purpose. He started to leave the room, but hesitated briefly as though the gravity of the backpack pulled on him. The contents seemed precious to him, the culmination of years of his life. Then he looked back at me, and I felt the weight of the years he invested into me as well pulling on him. More than years ¡ª it was his life he was leaving when he broke free and closed the door.


    I waited until I was sure he was gone. Fumbling with the zipper, I soon had the backpack open and the small white cardboard box on my lap. I wasn¡¯t even thinking about taking it. I just wanted to hold something in my hand that had the power of life and death. It felt like holding a gun.


    I opened the box. There was a filled syringe inside, the liquid pale blue and almost glowing the way the light passed through it. I almost punctured myself by accident straight away, my hands shaking so badly.


    Shaking, why?


    Was I afraid? Or excited?


    Like picturing my own death, it must be both, longing and fearing release.


    I knew more about my father¡¯s work than I let on. His laboratory consumed him for as long as I can remember. He¡¯s always been on the edge of this or that breakthrough, but I¡¯ve never read about any of them in the papers. This was just the last of a long line of failed experiments, myself being the final experiment.


    The door was still closed. I expected him to cool off in the hall and come back, but he was really gone. Never before had he delivered his product with such severity and dread. Of course, there were many treatments along the way which must have been shelved or discarded because of the danger. It was clear now to everyone that I was running out of time, and that danger was better than death.


    ¡®You can be right, or you can live,¡¯ he¡¯d said.


    I thought about calling the nurse to inject it for me. But of course it wasn¡¯t allowed. She would take it away, and my father would lose his credentials, and my lungs would be paralyzed. It was a serious consideration though, risking everything just to avoid my own hand pushing on the needle.


    I hated the blue liquid. I hated the idea of breaking my own skin. I hated the idea of self destruction, a revulsion so deep it ran to the core of human nature, and beyond to the first spark of life. And in that hatred of death, I knew I would accept anything that fought death back for another hour.


    Clenched teeth. Trembling fingers. The terrible sting.


    My breath froze. My blood turned to ice.


    I almost thought I was paralyzed again. But no, quite the opposite¡ªI was flying. I remained dimly aware of my body, clenched and suffering, and left behind. But I was something else, my vision blurring down the halls of the hospital. Faces whisked by me on either side, with clear vision of the rooms around me that I should have no knowledge of. Then out into the night sky, a star among equals, looking down at the earth from a staggering height. It was so quiet I could hear my heart thundering, a frenzied pace too great for its fragile shell. But the thunder was the speed by which I soared the sky, and I only wanted more.


    The sting in my arm was completely gone. My arm was gone. The silence gone, broken and replaced by a chorus of thoughts which were not my own. I felt a woman worrying about her car, and then some children and their unknown distress, then an old man¡¯s nostalgia for a town by the sea which I had never seen before.


    I was assaulted by a deafening cacophony, each thought and feeling climbing over the others, mounting in intensity to be heard above the din. Then I was falling, no longer a star in the sky, but a cursed thing once more, hurled from the Heavens to my ruin upon the earth.


    Frantic Heart. Gasping breath. I was back in my hospital bed.


    The boy chose to live.


    I heard my father¡¯s voice. Clearly into both ears, as though I was wearing headphones.


    The syringe was gone. The nurse was standing over me again¡ªsoft brown eyes, more beautiful for their concern than the fear which filled them last.


    He¡¯s a fighter. Doctor Warmal is wrong, he¡¯ll pull through.


    Her lips didn¡¯t move. Her thoughts were in my head, filled with more kindness than my own thoughts of me had ever been.


    Then came the whispers, half formed thoughts tugging at my attention, the chorus of murmured voices. I could hear everyone around me in the hospital, THINKING in the back of my head.


    I could have endured any pain without making a sound.


    But I started screaming now.

 CH 2: Testing my Power

    "You have to tell me if there are side effects."


    "Then what will happen?" I asked my father.


    I already knew the answer. Guessing first, and then hearing it confirmed as a muffled echo in the back of my thoughts. It was disorienting listening to someone speak, and feeling their thoughts at the same time. I tried not to listen to what I didn''t want to hear. What I had no right to hear.


    I was back home again, sprawling to take more than my fair share of the couch. My father and I lived in a two bedroom apartment that looked too small for two people, and felt half the size. The hospital cleared me within forty-eight hours of taking my father''s miraculous injection. I wasn''t having trouble breathing anymore, and I''ve had more energy than I can remember.


    "If there are side effects, then we''ll stop at once." His severe stare, his expression inscrutable and stoic behind his mustache. I am quite sure he grew it simply to hide behind. "Are you having symptoms, Martin?"


    "Nothing worse than being dead. Nothing that will stop me going back to school now."


    "What are you feeling exactly? Describe the sensations in your muscles, using specific language such as burning, tearing, stinging, as well as an energy indicator compared to benchmarks of last week, last month, one year ago..."


    I should have been a better liar. I owed him more than words could say, but I could not afford the truth. I knew his medication targeted the ion gate channels in my muscles, without any intended neurological effect. My father would take me off the medication, or lower my dose, and somehow I felt embarrassed by how badly I wanted to live now. I knew what being stronger felt like, now that I wasn''t just lying to myself, clinging to the mirage of hope in the desert of death. Now I felt myself become a feral animal, desperate in my will to protect this fragile life.


    I wanted to live so badly, that anything which jeopardized my recovery was a threat and an enemy. So it was, staring at my father standing over me on the couch. The man I owed everything, the only one who could take it away. I loved and feared my father, not one at a time, but both at once and always. My mother long gone, I''ve always depended on him. My dependency felt too great to bear now.


    "I have no other symptoms," I lied.


    A calculating silence. My guilty mind probed the emptiness for relief. I couldn''t help but distinguish my father¡¯s thoughts:


    Martin is lying to me.


    His thoughts in my head.


    "Thank you for being honest with me,¡± father said instead. ¡°I know it is personal information."


    I swallowed hard. He didn''t need to read my thoughts to know what that meant. Defensive, I tried to turn it back on him:


    "You sound disappointed. I wasn''t a guinea pig to test anything else, was I?"


    My father stared. No thoughts at all that I could hear. The mustache smiled.


    "We should be celebrating. This cure is the best news we''ve had in years. I think we may have really reached a turning point in your disease."


    My disease, he calls it. My cure. Had my cure become a new disease? But surely I wasn''t really hearing thoughts. It was my own mind playing tricks on me. Maybe it had nothing to do with the medication at all. Maybe I just went a little crazy from all the stress. I think I handled everything pretty well, but I also buried and internalized a lot of pain and fear that must leak out into madness from time to time. There was nothing wrong with being a little mad. Some people even take medication to get there on purpose.


    Besides, I really was excited about how healthy and strong I felt.


    I¡¯ll be back in school next Monday. A new school, where no one will know how weak I used to be. But I will know them, hearing their most secret thoughts, their guilty desires. I will know what the girls want, whatever that¡¯s worth. I¡¯ll know the answers to the tests. My heart raced with exhilaration, a frantic and unsustainable pace. I started taking deep breaths to calm myself, always conscious of my father¡¯s eyes studying me like one of his specimens.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got so much more energy now. I¡¯m going for a walk.¡± Bolting from the couch, flying to the door, the air around me blurring, my heart threatening to leap from my chest. I could feel my face flushing, and hoped my father didn¡¯t see.


    ¡°Don¡¯t test yourself too much. You still need to rest.¡±


    And I was gone. The door of the apartment to my back, heaving breath. Test myself ¡ª that¡¯s exactly what I needed to do. I needed to test whether I was hallucinating these voices, this presence, or whether I had tapped into something new. I hurried down the gray hallway before my father could follow me. I hadn¡¯t gone a dozen steps before the dull intentions behind closed apartment doors began leaking out to me.


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    I paused in front of number 241. I knew the boy inside. Al Weezey, I think. A year younger than me, always playing video games. I could feel his presence now, his agitation. He must be losing.


    Go left go left go left ¡ª not that far! His thoughts wailed.


    ¡°Better luck next time,¡± I shouted through the door, only realizing after how crazy that must appear. I didn¡¯t wait for him to come. I bolted down the stairs and into the night, outrunning everyone¡¯s thoughts but my own.


    Standing outside on the curb, I couldn¡¯t hear Weezey anymore. Not a hint of my father.


    There was a range that I could detect thoughts. Sometimes it was an emotion, like an empathetic link, sometimes it was words. There were rules to how this worked. I had to learn them, practice them. Master them before they mastered me, the flushed heat still burning my face in the cool night.


    I didn¡¯t find my peace though. There was some kind of art fair happening on the street tonight. The ends of the road were blocked off to traffic, and stalls were being setup along the sidewalk. The street lamps were just coming on, and I could tell it was going to get busy soon. A young crowd: men in collared shirts, slick hair, eager grins. Women in tight dresses, clip clopping along the sidewalk in their heels like parading horses. I felt their presence in my mind as they approached, and then passed me by. I must seem out of place in my pajama pants and baggy T-shirt, but I was used to being the odd one out.


    The first rule: I had to be within about ten feet to hear someone¡¯s thoughts.


    The second rule: the less people there were around, the clearer their thoughts were.


    Here on the busy street, I could barely distinguish one word from another, even as the people passed right by me. I tried to concentrate on them individually, but it was no use. Hunger, lust, grief, excitement, all leaking from their minds without their knowledge. Pouring into me, filling me, overflowing me. I felt my heart racing again. It was too much. I felt like I had overdosed, drunk on their emotion. I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing. It was no use ¡ª a dozen breaths inhaled with me, the sensation of their breath exiting with mine.


    ¡°Out of the way, man!¡±


    I froze. I thought the words were in my head at first. I reacted too slow. Large hands grabbed me by the shirt and hauled me to the edge of the sidewalk. Two big men in white collared shirts, maybe brothers, born from the same ox. The rough one had a diamond earing.


    ¡°Look at the idiot! What¡¯s he doing? Put him back where you found him, or he¡¯ll never find his way home!¡± the second man taunted. Both laughed.


    The big hairy face of the one who grabbed me lurched forward, swaying drunkenly. He was only inches from me, and I could feel his buzz lifting me and mixing through my thoughts.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± the big lips slurred and sprayed.


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s wrong with me,¡± I said, pressing myself back against the apartment wall. ¡°You¡¯re the one getting drunk to forget getting dumped. But it¡¯s not working. She¡¯s all you can think about, isn¡¯t she?¡±


    I could only read his thoughts, not see the future. I didn¡¯t see his fist until he slammed me up against the wall.


    ¡°What did you just say to me?¡± His bristled beard was close enough to scrape my face. The stench of alcohol and cheap cologne was nothing compared to the weight of his rage. I felt like a bull seeing red, ready to put him in the ground. I wanted to hurt him in a way that made everyone know not to mess with me. I wanted him broken and weak, so I would feel powerful. And I knew I didn¡¯t really want that at all, but was feeling all that overflowed from the man who held me.


    I scrambled away under his meaty arm and ran. My feet churning under me, bellowing laughter behind me, my heart rebelling against its nature. Winds whipping past my ears, tears wicked away by the wind of my speed. It took me about fifteen seconds to understand what was happening to my body, my legs as alien and miraculous as any other new symptom. I was running! One fluid motion, one foot in front of the other, finding its place without direction.


    The strain on my heart mounted as I went, but I couldn¡¯t slow down. The exhilaration of freedom was too great. Down the street, past the stalls, colorful art and jewelry and trinkets flying by. A thousand thoughts snatching at me, but none loud enough to be heard over my own joyous spring. I knew I shouldn¡¯t push myself so far. The muscle of my heart protested, but the will within it demanded more. I ran from the busy street and the maddening thoughts pounding at my brain. I ran from my crippled body, ran from who I was, ran from my old world, out the familiar street and into the woods beyond. I ran until I could hear no thoughts but my own, and hear no sounds except the thunder of my blood. And then without quite knowing why, I took all the air remaining in me and let it pour out as a wild animal howl at the trees.


    Ten ¡ª fifteen seconds, one continued note. A challenge, a welcome, a grateful prayer, I howled at the rising moon. I only understood why I had the impulse when I heard the howls answering me in return. It hadn¡¯t been my idea to howl into the dark forest. The howls which returned were close enough to send the hairs of my arms on end. I only felt the urge to howl because the wolves around me wanted to howl, and now they must know where I was too.


    There weren¡¯t wolves in these woods though. Never that I¡¯ve heard about, not for a hundred years since the suburbs came. But there the sound came again, long and satisfied, and there the unearthly chorus rose to bless the moon.


    The beast drifted through the trees toward me as gentle as the morning mist. Its thick fur coat swirled around it; strange distortions in its fur, which was in constant motion like moonlight playing through the water. It stalked towards me with perfect dexterity, each balanced step ready to launch the predator forward at a moment¡¯s notice. It rose about as high as my waist, and if we stretched out, it would be longer than me. And if it ran, those powerful legs in effortless motion, those jaws and yellowed fangs, inevitably finding satisfaction in my skin.


    More padded footsteps behind me. From the howls, there were at least three of them in the woods around me. I could not turn my head to look after seeing the first though. I was transfixed, mesmerized by those wild golden eyes which stared into my soul.


    ¡°I would feel it if you were hungry,¡± I said softly. ¡°You want to tell me something, don¡¯t you?¡±


    At the mercy of nature¡¯s grace, I did not feel the same fear I did when at the mercy of Doctor Warmal. I felt at peace with it, and knew it was the feeling the wolf and I shared. When the wolf rose its throat to howl at the moon, I followed its motion, and let forth such a cry as to wake the moon from its sleep.


    I felt no words from the wolf, but was beginning to understand the message it had to tell.

 CH 3: The Hunger

    The wolves kept me company for as long as I stayed in the woods. I wasn¡¯t worried for my safety though. They moved through the trees ¡ª not between, but through, incorporeal as mist which scattered and reformed again on the other side. I was quick to realize they were not real, or at least, not of the world I had grown accustomed. I believe they were real in their own world, which must overlap with our own, and would still be hidden if not for the strange transformation in me.


    Ghostly shapes in the moonlight, never close enough to touch, but always touching me through the emphatic link we shared. I felt the primal urge of the hunt rising up in my own will. The feeling frightened me. If I went back too soon, perhaps I would act on it in a way beyond my control. I¡¯d been afraid for my life for so long, but this was a new kind of fear.


    ¡°Okay so let¡¯s say you ARE real,¡± I said to the wolf. Its eyes looked like little holes in reality: burning emptiness in space, draining and pooling the surrounding mist. ¡°Let¡¯s say you exist in some energy world that I wasn¡¯t sensitive to. Then my gene therapy started making a new kind of protein that was able to sense¡­ whatever you¡¯re made of.¡±


    The wolf listened to me, cocking its head to the side. Its head was much larger than my own. Ghostly as it was, I still tried not to look at the fangs.


    ¡°So I¡¯ve been hearing thoughts. They must be sensed with the same kind of energy too, passing unnoticed through the air. But I notice now. Let¡¯s say all of that really is true.¡±


    The wolf lay down on the ground, resting its magnificent mane of swirling mist on its front paws.


    ¡°Then why is it that you see me?¡±


    The wolf looked over its shoulder into the woods. It turned from me as it rose into a crouch, hairs raising along its back, mist flowing upward and dissipating into the night.


    ¡°And if you can see me¡­¡±


    A low growl rose in its throat. It would have been bad enough to be the target of that evil sound, but to me it was worse knowing the wolf too was afraid.


    ¡°Then what else out there can see me too?¡±


    The wolf only stared into the forest. Nothing revealed itself from this world or the other. But I could feel the presence of something deeper within the tangled woods. Just as the emotions of people overflowed into me, just as I could feel the wolf¡¯s will to hunt, there in the woods rose a throbbing hunger in the back of my brain. A hunger that could eat and eat and never be filled. First a subtle suggestion, then swiftly blooming to infest my mind, consuming my thoughts. There was no part of me which did not feel its pull. I was the hunger in the night.


    The wolf before me bolted away from the thing. I hesitated, frozen. I needed to see what approached. I needed to not see it, lest this feeling grow so overwhelming that I sank my teeth into my own arm. Absurd, I would never ¡ª yet the emptiness ripped me into a hundred pieces, demanding satisfaction. If it got any closer, I would be gone, whether or not my body remained. I would be gone, and only the hunger would remain. It took all my concentration to discover my feet below me once more. I sprang from the leafy ground, hurling myself into the rhythm of a run.


    Gradually my thoughts returned to me as I escaped the unseen devourer. It took what felt like several minutes before I realized I could not feel the thing in my mind. I was so occupied by my own raw emotions that I hardly realized I was alone. It was my own fear which consumed me, my own panic driving me faster than I knew possible for my body to bear. I didn¡¯t stop until I made it back home.


    Three days later, I started the fall semester of my junior year in high school. Much to my relief, and a little disappointment, the intensity of my symptoms faded in the days following my injection. By the time my father dropped me off for my first day of class (I knew how to drive, but didn¡¯t have a car), I couldn¡¯t even make out the words of his thoughts while he sat right next to me. All I felt was an uneasiness and suspicion, which I only made worse with my moody silence.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got everything you need? Books? Pens? Something to eat?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the first day, Dad. The teachers know better than to expect high schoolers to come prepared.¡±


    ¡°And your breathing is normal? When is the last time you measured your oxygen levels?¡±


    ¡°Let me at least pretend to be normal this year.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll take more than gene therapy to do that.¡±


    His eyes smiled. I felt his laughter which never made a sound. I hoped he could feel my silent gratitude, because I didn¡¯t want to say it. Every time we were together, I could feel him suspecting that I experienced more symptoms than I admitted. I was relieved to jump out of the car, almost before we rolled to a stop beside the curb.


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    ¡°I¡¯m going to be normal this year,¡± I told him resolutely through the window.


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit, Martin! I¡¯m so proud of what you¡¯ve endured.¡±


    The spirit, I thought. Too much of that already.


    ¡°Thanks dad. For everything.¡±


    I was going to be normal this year. I repeated it while I fumbled with my backpack, looking for a schedule of classes. I¡¯m going to be normal, as I blended into the sea of unfamiliar faces in the great concrete building. A glance, a smile, a cold glare ¡ª and with it the whispers of their thoughts in the back of my mind. No one is going to know me as the kid with problems. My first class was chemistry, something I should definitely know more about, considering the things I¡¯ve been putting into my body. Second floor, I climbed the stair with the crowd, no less human than the rest.


    I¡¯m not going into the woods again. It was all I could think about, sitting in the back row. The teacher wasn¡¯t here yet, and some of the other students were striking up conversations and cracking jokes. There were two boys ahead of me talking about a movie I saw last week about a pirate demon hunter. I was about to join in, but I was struck by the sudden fear that I would accidentally reply to something they thought instead of what they said. That¡¯s all it would take on the first day to never be normal ever again.


    I bit my tongue and stared at the desk. It was going to get easier. The symptoms were going to fade with time. If I could just make it through the first few days without drawing any attention myself, then I wouldn¡¯t make a dumb mistake like that and end up being an outcast.


    ¡°Do you know about him?¡± A soft voice from the small asian girl I hadn¡¯t noticed sit down on my left. She was the only one wearing a uniform ¡ª a formal jacket and a red tie.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know anything.¡± Quick. Defensive. What had I let slip already?


    ¡°About the teacher,¡± she said patiently.


    I shook my head, mute. I felt the tug of her thoughts, curious and probing blindly into my mind. I didn¡¯t want to feel them. I didn¡¯t want them in my head.


    ¡°My name is Lei.¡±


    ¡°Martin.¡± I stared at the desk in front of me. I know that must seem weird, but it was all I could do to focus.


    ¡°Well¡­ Martin.¡± She spoke slower now. Great, she thinks I¡¯m a dimwit. I couldn¡¯t help but be embarrassed to even look at her though, knowing I heard more than she ever said. ¡°I¡¯m only asking because there was a last minute substitution. You know how Dr. Chancler is listed on the schedule?¡±


    ¡°Uh.¡±


    ¡°Well it doesn¡¯t matter, because he¡¯s going to be teaching physics this year instead.¡±


    ¡°Uh huh.¡±


    ¡°So I was just wondering if you knew ¡ª¡°


    ¡°Nuh uh.¡±


    ¡°The new teacher Doctor Warmal.¡±


    ¡°So nice to see you¡¯re feeling better, Martin,¡± came my doctor¡¯s familiar voice.


    I was staring so intently at the desk that I hadn¡¯t even noticed him enter the room. But he found me straight away ¡ª almost like he knew to look for me.


    ¡°You¡¯re not my teacher,¡± I said bluntly, in shock. I didn¡¯t try to stop myself from feeling his thoughts. I had to understand why he was here. But I felt nothing. No whisper of thoughts, no emotion, no sensation. Doctor Warmal must be over seventy years old, his graying hair in full retreat. When he grinned at me, I felt like I was staring at grade school bully, looming over me and basking in his own power. So why couldn¡¯t I feel his gloat in my mind?


    ¡°I often teach classes at the university, actually,¡± Doctor Warmal said. He straightened his blue jacket and leaned back. His feet were firmly planted in front of my desk though. There was no uprooting him.


    ¡°Not high school.¡±


    ¡°Why not? Did you ever ask?¡± I didn¡¯t need to read his thoughts to know he was enjoying this game.


    I was conscious now of the eyes of the entire class on me. So much for going unnoticed for the first few days. I was getting agitated, nervous. I tried to stop it. Tried to focus on my desk again.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t think I would teach this class just to keep an eye on you, did you?¡± He chuckled out loud this time. What was his problem? Didn¡¯t he know what he was doing to me?


    I could feel the whispers all around now. A girl in the front row giggled, followed by a hushed murmur. Then more giggles. As my awareness shifted around the room, a flood of thoughts began to assault me from every side. None of them were clear on their own, but together they formed a wave of emotion and scrutiny which crashed down, threatening to drown me.


    I needed air. I needed space. What were they all staring at? How long HAD it been since I checked my oxygen levels? My heart was going faster. I didn¡¯t know if it was the medication, or the situation, but I needed out.


    ¡°The little fibber pretended not to know you,¡± Lei said from my other side, bemused inflection to her voice.


    ¡°Martin? Are you alright?¡± Doctor Warmal asked. He was closer now, leaning over my desk. His face only inches from mine, but I still couldn¡¯t feel a thing going on inside his head.


    My mind was searching, delving, desperate for answers. And there, somewhere in the empty pit in front of me, I felt the warmth of his hidden flame. I immediately recognized the hunger, snarling, wild, insatiable. And yet it was concealed as well, hidden beneath layers of protective thought, so deep the Doctor himself might not know it was part of him. For a moment I was back in the woods, the chill of the night wind on my skin, the growling of the wolf at my side. I was cowering beneath the raw emotion which leaked the dungeons deep within Doctor Warmal. Although in that moment I doubted whether he was a man, for only a beast could contain that endless hunger.


    I must have had another fit ¡ª my first once since my father¡¯s medication. The strain of the moment locked my muscles, my vision blurred, my breath frozen within my chest. The class was gone, the doctor gone, the lights out. All that remained was the hunger. It must have only been a few seconds, but I heard myself screaming as though from the bottom of a stone well, a long way away. And then in the back of my thoughts, whether mine or from elsewhere I do not know ¡ª I felt the growl. I felt the howling of the wolf. The sound brought clarity, somehow chasing the hunger from my mind.


    Next I was aware, I was standing, heaving for breath. My wooden desk was overturned and pushed away. Doctor Warmal had retreated half a dozen steps, a curious smile on his face. Everyone was staring. I was a wild animal when I raced from the room, doing all I could to suppress the howl building from deep within my chest. I had to get away from the hunger. I had to get away from that doctor, that class. I had to disappear, or hurl the rest of the world into a pit so that I may live on without them.


    How could I ever return to school now? Racing down the hallway, leaping down the stairs four at a time, I didn¡¯t intend to.


    So much for being normal this year.

 CH 4: A Second Dose

    I stood outside the concrete prison where I went to school. I¡¯d looked forward to it for so long when I didn¡¯t know whether I could go. Now that I was here, I already didn¡¯t want to go back. I paced the parking lot in agitation, trying to laugh it off. I should go back and say I had another attack, which was true enough. I¡¯d say the pain caused me to scream, and I left to¡­ to get my medication. That was it. No one could fault me for urgently needing medication. Better to be the sick kid than the crazy one.


    I turned back toward the double glass doors, resolved to try again. I stared into the great amber eyes of the white wolf. He sat on the concrete steps, blocking my way. Translucent and insubstantial, the mist which formed his body was barely visible in the harsh daylight. The eyes seemed to float almost unsupported in the air.


    ¡°You¡¯re fading, like my other symptoms.¡± Even hating the curse I carried, I still felt disappointed. ¡°That¡¯s twice I¡¯ve felt the hunger while I was with you.¡±


    I looked around to make sure I didn¡¯t get a reputation for talking to myself too. Everyone else was in class though. If Doctor Warmal really was here to keep an eye on me, then he wasn¡¯t doing a very good job of it.


    ¡°The hunger isn¡¯t coming from you though, is it? Next to you, everything feels¡­ manageable. In control.¡±


    The wolf lay down in front of the door. It was blocking my path, but I bet I could walk straight through and only feel the peace of its presence.


    ¡°So if you¡¯re not the hunger, maybe you¡¯re hunting it. Are you here because of Doctor Warmal?¡±


    The wolf only stared. Those eyes could watch a forest grow and wither. I grew frustrated.


    ¡°Move aside then. I have to go back to class.¡±


    The wolf didn¡¯t move. I took a step toward it, and the aura of peace that it brought intensified and quenched my anger. Nothing evil could bring such comfort to such uncertain times.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want me to go back to class.¡±


    Raising its head, the wolf cocked it to the side. Its long ears remaining rigid in their tilt.


    ¡°It is Doctor Warmal, isn¡¯t it? What¡¯s he doing here? Does he know something about the medication I took?¡±


    A strong breeze swirled what was left of the wolf¡¯s incorporeal body. A flurry of patterns and eddies in the wind, and he dissipated. I didn¡¯t know what to do. I trusted the wolf without quite knowing why. I didn¡¯t want him to go. I didn¡¯t want the hungry thing to see me when I couldn¡¯t see it back. And as much as I fought it, I didn¡¯t want the thoughts and feelings I felt from others to leave my mind.


    Throughout my sickness, I have been extremely isolated at times. Feeling the intimate connection of another¡¯s thoughts was a kind of intoxication I couldn¡¯t let go. I couldn¡¯t go back to seeing people look at me without knowing what they really felt. Left to only wondering whether they thought me weak and broken.


    I pulled my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans and called my father.


    ¡°I had another attack. I need to go home,¡± I said.


    ¡°Are you alright? I¡¯ll be there in fifteen minutes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m okay, but I won¡¯t be if this keeps happening. I need more of the medication. It was working, but I need another dose.¡±


    ¡°We need to make sure you aren¡¯t having any other side effects first. You know how unpredictable genetic engineering can be.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care. There aren¡¯t any other symptoms. Just bring me another syringe from your lab.¡±


    ¡°I only prepare it immediately before injection. I¡¯ll have another one ready by tonight. But we¡¯re going to need to run some more tests after that to make sure it isn¡¯t affecting your kidney or liver. Do you still want me to pick you up, or are you going back to class?¡±


    I looked back at the empty steps where the wolf sat. Then across the nondescript windows, searching for the one that might conceal Doctor Warmal¡¯s classroom. Next time I met the hunger, I was going to be ready. A fresh shot of psychic juice in my veins, I would look into him and see what he was hiding from me.


    ¡°Take me home, please,¡± I said weakly. ¡°I¡¯ll go back tomorrow after my second dose. Now we know I need it every five days, and I¡¯ll be okay from now on.¡±


    ¡°Unless the tests reveal any other effect. Very well, I¡¯ll be there soon.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    I hung up the phone. I thought about whether I should tell him Doctor Warmal is teaching my chemistry class. If he really did know about the medication I took, then my father could be in trouble. But at the same time, the hunger within Doctor Warmal made me think he was here for another reason.


    I picked up a stone and hurled it across the street while I waited to be picked up. I watched it roll onto the other side and rest, indifferent to its new home. I was in two worlds now. Doctor Warmal and his hunger must belong to the second one, the psychic one. I didn¡¯t want my father involved in that world. I didn¡¯t want him to know about my symptoms and take me off the medication. I wanted to live. And more, I wanted this new power. Why would I want to be normal, when I could be so much more?


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    I might have to be a witch now. Well, whatever the male version of that is; a warlock I suppose. What I mean is, I decided there was no use trying to hide the fact that I was strange. You don¡¯t get to scream and hurl your desk on the first day, and return on the second as though nothing happened. From that day on, I was going to be strange whatever I did. I might as well roll with it.


    That evening I took the second dose. My father was concerned, but it was night and day how much stronger I was now. I think he was proud of his work, and encouraged by the results. He gave me the syringe without prompting. The pale blue liquid sent shivers of dread and anticipation through me.


    ¡°Do you need help with the injection?¡± my father asked.


    ¡°I know what I¡¯m doing now.¡±


    I should know what to expect, but the first experience was so surreal that I could hardly remember it. The mental battle with the needle was still daunting, but my eagerness supported me better than my fear had before. I looked forward to the hurricane rush through my veins. I lay down in bed first, turning off the lights in case they became too overwhelming. Deep breath. Deep breath. Then I got up again and opened the window, letting in some fresh air and a little light in case I became dizzy or sick. Then lying down once more, breathing, I was ready.


    The psychic symptoms had all but faded by now, but I could still feel my father hovering in the hall outside my closed bedroom door. The ceiling fan whirred. A car honked outside on the street. The needle was in. I gasped, and I was no more.


    I was the whir of the fan, the air of the room, the afternoon light. And then I was through the window altogether, drifting above the street to look down as I flew. I was more aware this time, more in control of my body and its direction. It was too loud in the city with its uproar of leaking thoughts and feelings. I soared higher, trying to get away, soon lost to the exhilaration of my flight.


    I see the woods, and I remember myself. I don¡¯t know how much longer this out of body experience will last, but I might as well make use of it. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m really flying, so nothing can hurt me, right? I might as well try to find out what¡¯s inside the woods. I was so sensitive in this heightened state that I could feel the thoughts of people half a mile below me on the ground. I felt the hunger gnawing at the edge of my mind before I even saw the first trees.


    It¡¯s just a vision. There¡¯s nothing to fear. I was sleeping in my bed while I dove towards the woods. I felt the torrent of wind against my face, and imagined myself as a bird. Immediately the wind changed, sleekly gliding past me, catching my wings and lifting me. I pulled my wings into my body naturally and without thought, adjusting their angle to glide low and graceful over the trees. The hunger was growing more powerful, but I couldn¡¯t see beneath the tangled branches of the corkscrew willows which grew here.


    I perched atop a twig and told myself I was a squirrel. And so it was, my little feet racing down the trunk to peer into the dark woods.


    Somewhere I heard my father knocking on my door. There were muffled words, but I couldn''t hear them.


    "I''m alright." I heard my own voice call from far away. I never said those words, but they were said with my voice. How could I, when I was a squirrel several miles away?


    Here in the fading light beneath the canopy of leaves I could feel the hunger so much more powerfully. The hunger of the trees, their roots gripping greedily at the earth to blight the soul. The hunger of the animals, mad and reckless in their pursuit. And my hunger as well, devouring my shattered mind and leaving me feral.


    I must have forgotten that I used to be a boy. I only knew that hunger, that bottomless abyss. I kept going and let it grow, knowing in my entire body that it would be useless to try and satisfy. When I thought I could take no more and would tear into my own skin, I remembered the horror of harming myself with a needle. I remembered who I was, and that the most acute affects of the medication would soon wear off.


    I was running out of time to find out what the hunger was coming from. I ran now, sprinting along the branches as though highways. Wild leaps through the air, not worrying whether I would fall, as I knew my body was safe at home. I raced into the depths of the gnawing void, and the trees gave way. Hidden here in the forest was an old loghouse, with an old brick chimney crumbling away. Crumbling, or devouring itself to dust, so powerful was the aura here. I made it all the way to the front door, immaculately preserved with clean white paint. It stood in stark contrast to the rotting old house. In fact, I recognized the brass knob. It was the door to my bedroom.


    I reached to open it, surprised to see my human hand taking the knob. Then turning, I looked into the hallway of my home where my father stood anxiously.


    "How are you feeling?" he asked. "You were in there for a long time. Are you experiencing any other symptoms?"


    I shook my head, numb. I looked over my shoulder, half expecting to see tangled trees. My bedroom was just as it always was, with only the open window to remind me where my soul was swept.


    "I''m fine. Starving, actually. What''s for dinner?"


    "Hamburgers. But you''ll have to wait, because I''m putting another one on for your guest."


    "Guest?"


    I was shocked to see Lei, the girl sitting next to me in class. She smiled brightly and waved, enthusiastic enough to be posing for a photo.


    "Your classmate was kind enough to drop off your homework from the first day of class. I invited her to stay for dinner when I saw that she wasn''t leaving."


    Lei giggled. "Sorry, it smelled so good!"


    "Um, fine, thanks. You didn''t have to do that."


    "I felt bad for what happened, and wanted to make sure you were okay."


    And so she did. The wave of genuine empathy from her was warm and comforting. It seemed to rebound and double as it passed between us, until it seemed impossible to me a stranger could contain such a feeling.


    "Why? Did Doctor Warmal send you?" I asked suspiciously. Oops. I forgot I wasn''t going to mention him. My father was in the kitchen by the fridge while Lei and I sat in the living area. Father must have heard, but he made no sign.


    Lei shook her head. "I saw you from the window in the parking lot afterward."


    "I''m not mental. And I''m not slow either. I''ve just been sick."


    I felt defensive. I tried to close myself off from her thoughts, but part of me couldn''t resist. I couldn''t believe what I was feeling, because no suspicion or doubt clouded her mind. How could she not think me a freak?


    "I know. Because I saw the wolf you were talking to. Did he help you feel better?"


    My mouth must have dropped open. Lei giggled again, the sound light and airy like popping bubbles. I cast a nervous glance at my father who stood at the stove. He was pretending to ignore us, but I could feel the sharp awareness in his mind.


    "There was no wolf. That''s a bad joke, nobody gets it."


    I felt her understand immediately, and I was flooded by relief. She glanced over at my father as well, and smiled patiently.


    "The big bad wolf is just a story," she said. "I don''t know the American stories well. I would like you to tell it to me tomorrow."


    "Who is ready to eat?" my father announced. "School, homework, friends -- here''s to a normal year this time around."

 CH 5: What Lei Sees

    Lei sat next opposite my father, next to me, at the small square table. I wasn''t looking at her. I looked at my plate, or at my father. Hamburgers take a lot of attention, so I don''t think that was rude. I didn''t have to look at Lei to feel her grinning in my mind, so wide I thought my head would split open. I was definitely more aware of the psychic flow right after my treatment. With her so close, there was nothing she could hide from me.


    Her thoughts were in my head:


    Martin must be dying with questions. How did I see the wolf? What does it mean? Is Lei some kind of superhero?


    I made an effort to keep a straight face.


    Lei thought:


    Martin can''t do a thing about it though, because he''s afraid of his father! All he can think about is how mysterious and interesting I am. How fun to be mysterious.


    "I''m surprised you are getting homework on your first day," my father said. His face inscrutable, but to me his unspoken question revealed:


    Why is Doctor Warmal at the school?


    So my father did overhear. Their thoughts were so loud in me, I could scarcely hear my own, or know where I ended and they began.


    "Mountain High is known for that," Lei said amiably. "My mother said they have the highest college approval rates in the state."


    I tuned out her words. I tried to listen to the thoughts underneath. The wolf, why did she see the wolf? I dove underneath the current of her mind swam through her memory. I tested to see what I could feel, and felt her mind feeling me in return.


    I saw a flash of Lei sitting in meditation. She was kneeling on a cushion, on the ground of a beautiful garden. She was in the nook of a little stream, fitting perfectly in the small curve in the water which looped around her. An old man stood behind her, combing her dark hair with a white bone brush. They were both wearing ceremonial oriental dress, she in white with gold patterns, he in red.


    "Yes, that''s why I''m sending Martin to that school as well," my father said, distant, distorted, like an old radio. "And how are your classes? Any surprises so far?"


    I was looking into the water now. No longer merely at the scene in Lei¡¯s memory, but within her mind, looking out from her eyes. I saw a creature in the mist. It looked like a badger. It was so insubstantial, swirling so fast, that I could not tell for sure. But the creature was surely made of the same stuff that the wolf was. Lei was seeing into the psychic world on her own.


    The old man spoke behind me. I recognized it now as Japanese. I couldn''t understand a word, but Lei could. Through her I felt the meaning as a whole without knowing the meaning of the parts.


    "Do you see them now, child?" the old man asked.


    "They''re getting stronger every day," I replied. Or she replied, I couldn''t tell. I was focused on the shapes of light and shadow, the current which runs between worlds.


    "Can they see you?"


    "They''re ignoring me if they are," we said.


    "When they see you, then you will be ready."


    "There were no surprises," Lei replied cheerfully from another world. "These hamburgers are so good, thank you! My mother doesn''t let me eat meat very often."


    Then turning to me, she asked: "Did you have any surprises on your first day?" Lei smirked, clearly enjoying the shared secret.


    I was shaken from the vision. It was disorienting to be looking right at the girl whose eyes I was looking out from a moment ago.


    I felt my father''s thoughts clearly again:


    If the boy lies to me about Doctor Warmal, then I''ll know he''s hiding something else too.


    I took my time swallowing a bite of hamburger. Then a long drink of water while they both looked at me. I had to make sure who I was, which world I was in, and that I chose my own words.


    "Doctor Warmal is teaching my chemistry class. He says he teaches classes fairly often. He was happy to see me doing so well."


    "So your attack must have been later," my father said, wiping his mustache. He was finished eating. So was Lei.


    "I feel much better. I''ll be fine by tomorrow," I said, evading. "Thanks again for dropping off my homework, Lei. It was nice to meet you."


    Lei was quick to understand my hint, and soon stood by the door. She bowed low, both hands clasped before her. "Thank you for inviting me to eat. I brought my own car, and will go now."


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    "Yeah, right, see you in class."


    "You''ll walk me to my car though, right Martin? It''s pretty late..."


    I heard my father loudly clash two plates together at the sink.


    "Okay, sure. Where did you park?"


    I breathed a little easier when I closed the apartment door behind me. One mind less to deal with. I steeled myself for the barrage of questions Lei no doubt prepared for detonation. I could feel her excitement building and overflowing all through dinner. But she was quiet now, walking slightly behind me as I descended the apartment stairs.


    "Thank you," I said.


    "It was on my way."


    "Do you know what they are? The spirit things."


    "Grandfather calls them the Old Ones," Lei said. "Although actually, I''m not sure that translates quite right."


    "It''s okay. I understand."


    And I did, to a level she couldn''t guess at. I felt the meaning of the ''Old Ones'', deep beyond words. I felt the sea of energy which settled over the world. I felt the mind of the sea, watching as the first life began to take shape. I felt the Old Ones mimicking what they saw, taking the form of animals, and then of men. Always watching, never touching, a world together but apart.


    We were outside the apartment now. It was still warm. Lei held her school jacket under an arm without putting it on. I watched it drop to the concrete sidewalk, falling from her limp fingers. I felt her fear, and her wonder, and then I saw what she was looking at.


    The white wolf was back. Glorious and powerful, it looked almost solid now. You could hardly tell it wasn¡¯t of this world, except for the swirling patterns within its fur, or the mist trickling upward to dissipate above.


    "We both see it," I confirmed. ¡°It¡¯s been following me.¡±


    "Should we go back inside?"


    "I don''t think walls would prove much of a barrier. It''s had several opportunities to attack me, but that isn¡¯t what it wants."


    "It''s looking right at you." Lei was in awe. There was envy there too. She couldn''t sense it as powerfully as I could, but she could see the fixed golden eyes. I could not break contact with them. Those eyes bound my soul to them. I felt nothing but peace looking at the predator.


    "There''s more," I said. My voice hushed and low, although of course there was no hiding. My tone was was more from the reverence of the presence of something so far beyond my understanding.


    There were two more wolves at the end of the block. They were looking our way. On the electrical lines above were rows of blackbirds. Only they weren''t, because they were made of smoke which bled from their wings and smoldered in the air.


    The closest wolf took a step toward me, and then turned. It looked at me over its shoulder, and then started to walk away. The other wolves departed with it. In the same instant, the entire row of birds which were not birds took flight. They moved as one, as though they were each a feather in the same wing. They soared in perfect unison over the top of my apartment building to disappear over the other side.


    "The wolf wants us to follow him," I said. "Into the woods, I think. What does it mean when they see you?"


    "It means you''re ready." Lei''s eyes were strained into the darkness.


    I could have asked her what that meant, but no words between us could give me what I needed. I was in her mind, looking for answers she did not give. What had her grandfather told her? What had he been training her for? But I couldn''t find what wasn''t there. Lei didn''t know what I was ready for, because she herself was not ready.


    Her innocent eyes searched my face. She had no idea she was already apart of me.


    "Should we walk, or take my car?" she asked.


    I shook my head vigorously, waking myself from the living dream. "What? No, we aren''t going to follow. There''s something in the woods that we don''t want to meet. Something hungry. And I''m not going to be the one to fill it up. What else did your grandfather tell you?"


    "The Old Ones are the stuff thoughts are made of. I don''t know what that means, but it''s not easy getting answers out of grandfather. He''s always sending me on these silly chores, or having me sit and do nothing but be bored. But then about a year ago, I started to see things which my mind was not looking for. Then I knew to trust grandfather, and have been practicing every day. Why can you see them?"


    I hesitated, but saw no reason to lie. It seemed especially wrong to lie to someone after I had already run freely through their own secrets. But I wouldn''t tell her about the telepathy. That felt like confessing to a crime, somehow.


    "It started with my medication," I told her.


    We watched the wolves disappear around the block. They didn''t look back to see if I followed.


    "They''re getting away. Are you alright with that?"


    I nodded. "They''ll always find me. Before I face the hunger again, I want to meet your grandfather."


    And talk to Doctor Warmal again, I thought quietly. I will be ready to face him this time.


    Lei nodded. "That''s a good idea. We''ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?"


    "Thank you," I said again. "I thought I was going mad there for a bit. But if there''s just one other person in the world who sees what I do, I can''t be fully mad, can I?"


    "Unless we both are."


    "Still beats being mad alone."


    I watched Lei get in the car, then drive away. She turned in the same direction as the wolves went. I don''t know if that was a coincidence, or whether she intended to follow them on her own. If her vision of the badger was any guide though, she would have trouble tracking them for long. She thought she wanted the power I have, but she doesn''t know what it''s like. I was glad the Old Ones didn''t notice her.


    All these years watching us, but never seen. No wonder they were surprised to see me looking back.


    I walked inside, up the stairs. Then back inside my home, I closed the door and rested my back against it. I didn''t realize how weary I was.


    "Lei was nice," my father said. The harsh kitchen light caught his glasses and concealed his eyes behind the glare.


    "Did you tell Doctor Warmal about the injection I gave you?" he asked.


    I shook my head. "Maybe that''s why he''s at school. He was just so shocked by my recovery that he had to see it."


    "Don''t tell Lei either," my father said. "Remember, I could get in a lot of trouble."


    "Of course dad. I''m tired. I need to go to bed early."


    "Of course. Oh, and one other thing. Don''t take anything else that Doctor Warmal gives you. I''ll need to make sure it won''t have an unintended interactions with your other medication. We''ll get your blood work done tomorrow."


    His words were flat and colorless like usual. I could feel the real fear he hid behind them though. He wasn''t just afraid of an interaction. He didn''t trust Doctor Warmal either.


    "Okay dad. Goodnight."


    I needed to sleep, but it took a long time. I lay awake in bed for hours. I stared at the ceiling, rolling back and forth, restless energy begging release. It was too hot in here. After a few failed charges toward sleep, I got up to open the window. I lifted the shades to see one of the blackbirds of smoke sitting there. It was looking right at me. I think it was watching me, even while the shade was down.


    The Old Ones weren''t going to let me go. I hoped I was ready for school tomorrow.

 CH 6: A shot and a Prayer

    Emma was ready for battle. She carried the hunting rifle like a club in both hands. The safety was on, but the daemons didn''t know that. Her daemon egg was safely stowed in her backpack, in the guest room, where no one would find it. After losing the other daemons, she was terrified of leaving it behind. But eggs have a reputation for not liking dangerous adventures. Emma was determined to have the opposite reputation.


    Charlie wasn¡¯t as carefree and innocent anymore. He bore a haunted expression, his gaze frantic and uncertain. He kept looking over his shoulder, or peering around corners into shadows. Emma hurried along the sidewalk toward the fire in the distance. It was about the size of a campfire. Maybe the daemons weren¡¯t the cause, but it was the best clue they had for now.


    "Can I use my flashlight?" Charlie asked, long strides keeping up.


    "No lights. It''s bad enough all the city lights must be driving them mad, poor things."


    "We should call the police."


    "Out of the question." Emma didn''t turn to look at him while she hustled. All she could see was the fire. All she could feel: the strain on her heart.


    "Whose side are you on, anyway? The innocent people with their business on fire, or the daemons?"


    "It¡¯s not about sides. It''s illegal to have daemons," Emma lied. "Straight to jail, you and me both. We have to handle this ourselves. What college would want you, seeing you were arrested for arson, and conspiracy with daemons? That¡¯s worse than failing your final exam!"


    "I''m starting to think you''re making this up. Do you really have a contract with them, so nobody can talk about the daemons? I didn¡¯t break it or say a word, but they''re still in trouble."


    Emma strategically ignored this question and hurried a little faster.


    "Anyway, assuming you really do have a contract," Charlie continued, "why didn''t the contract say they weren''t allowed to start fires or escape? That¡¯s the first thing I would put down."


    The flames were clearer now. It hadn¡¯t spread yet from where it burned on the roof. What were the daemons doing? It wasn''t that late, but the street was deserted. Why wasn''t someone helping? Emma felt herself beginning to panic.


    "Okay. Fine. I don''t have a contract. I made it up," Emma confessed. "But I definitely plan to make them sign one as soon as I catch them."


    "Are you sure you want to keep the daemons? Maybe you''re better off not being involved."


    "Unacceptable," Emma snapped. "They are not just my daemons, they are my grandmother. Everything that¡¯s left of her. They are my spirit; my soul which has drifted out of my body. They are a magic oasis in the desert, and I am dying for thirst. They are me, they are mine, and I want them back."


    There was no dissuading her from her path. They soon arrive at the parking lot, empty now. The lights were off inside the restaurant. There were plastic sheets over the windows, and a big sticker which read ''Dim Sum Palace: Closed for renovations.''


    "Closed." Charlie panted. He stopped beside her, both short of breath. "That''s good. Nobody hurt."


    "Hey! Chickens!" Emma called cautiously upward, craning her neck. "I forbid you to cause trouble, chickens!"


    "How are we going to get on the roof?" Emma carefully circled the building, inspecting it from all sides. Plain concrete walls. Nothing to hold onto. The green tiles on top sloped sharply, and would be difficult to walk on. They might call themselves the Dim Sum Palace, but that''s only because the Dim Sum Dump wouldn''t sell. Maybe it wouldn''t be the end of the world if it burned. Although, surely it would be the end of someone''s world.


    Emma stood back a way to see the fire burning on the roof. Black scales crept along the edge of the light. Yellow eyes leered over the edge of the roof, then scampered away into shadow.


    "The chickens!" Emma howled with excitement. Charlie would have preferred her being a little less gleeful. "Come down chickens! Good chickens!"


    "I thought they hated the light. Then why start a fire?"


    "The more you hate the light, the more you need its warmth," Emma said in a hushed tone. She repeated something she''d heard grandmother say once, although she didn''t quite know what it meant.


    Emma coughed, consciously readjusting her voice. She didn''t want to sound shrill like her mother. She wanted her voice to be a low, almost seductive, growl: a panther playing with her food. She wanted to sound like grandmother Orwell. Then maybe the daemons would listen.


    "I said come down this instant, daemons!" Emma repeated sternly, dropping the evasion of calling them chickens. That did nothing but assuage her own fear. Emma decided she would not be afraid anymore. Not because there wasn¡¯t anything to be scared of, because there was. But because grandmother wasn¡¯t afraid, and she was with her. "You might not have a contract with grandmother anymore, but you can have a new one with me. That''s what you need to bind you to this world, isn¡¯t it, daemons?¡±


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    Five yellow eyes peered over the edge this time. Emma wished they came in pairs. Then they were gone again.


    Emma looked around frantically. Her eyes landing on a dumpster against the wall. Hope never smelled so foul.


    "I¡¯m going on the roof."


    "What? No. How?"


    "If we both get on the dumpster."


    "You still wont reach."


    They talked over each other, but Emma had made up her mind, and decided it was a steamroller.


    "Once we¡¯re both there, you lift me up."


    "You''re not that tall!"


    "Quiet, you silly boy. I know exactly what I can climb, how tall I am, and how tall you are. You are tall enough to lift me, but not so tall that you can talk back and not do what i say!"


    Charlie sighed and suffered under her glare. He soon surrendered as well. It wasn¡¯t just that the girl had a rifle either, since she had to leave that with him if she hoped to climb. Charlie had always been afraid of Mrs. Orwell though, and he saw the old woman when Emma scolded him. So too he felt that dead witch watching them still. and would be terribly upset with him, if he did not help her granddaughter.


    The task proved easier than expected. There were some old shelves in the dumpster they could stand on, and they soon had these on top of the dumpster and leaning against the wall.


    "I¡¯ll go first," Emma said.


    "I¡¯ll hold the gun."


    "Fine, but you¡¯ll hand it up to me as soon as I¡¯m on top."


    Charlie agreed. He helped Emma balance on the shelves, holding her legs when she reached the top. Then she was hoisting herself up, a monkey with a purpose. Charlie held the gun to his chest, cradling it like a fragile thing. He remembered more than one night being woken by a gunshot across the fence. Grandmother had this gun for a reason. Protecting the chickens from the coyotes, she always said. But those chickens didn¡¯t need protecting. The gun was protection against them.


    Emma was fully on the roof now. She kneels and reached down, gesturing for Charlie to pass the rifle up. She didn¡¯t see daemons slither and bound in from either side.


    "Emma, look out!"


    Too late! Hands of shadow, claws of ice, breath of fire, the daemons swarmed her. Five of them seizing hold of whatever piece of cloth or hair they could. They dragged her farther up the roof, disappearing from Charlie''s view. Emma let out a bloody scream.


    "I''m coming, Mrs. Orwell!" Charlie knew exactly who he was talking to.


    He stuffed the rifle down the back of his shirt the best he could. Then climbing with both hands, he leaps up the bookshelf and pulls himself onto the roof.


    The source of the flame revealed: a tin trash can stuffed with burning sticks. But filled no longer, one daemon reaches into the flame with clawed mockeries of hands. It flings the burning sticks wildly, but they land perfectly, the start of one touching the end of the next. Swiftly a smoldering circle was forming around Emma.


    The daemons glimmer. Their misshapen bodies shift and change even without the dancing firelight. Yellow eyes haphazardly scatter like grapeshot through strange and twisted shapes. Charlie had never seen them in such strong light before. He wished he never had. He couldn¡¯t imagine why Emma would want them for pets.


    "Let go of her!" he yelled.


    "Grandmother Orwell is not happy!" Emma shouted at them. Struggling for show, but not so much to rip her clothes, or feel the point of those razor claws.


    The daemons didn¡¯t care. They howled with laughter, an unearthly chittering sound. The circle was almost complete. Charlie''s rifle flew out from his shirt. He pointed at the daemons holding Emma. Too risky. Then at the one building the ring of fire.


    "Charlie, don¡¯t!" Emma shouted.


    Something was happening with the burning sticks around Emma. Their flame was growing brighter and bursting upwards to breathe in the night. An unseen fuel nourished the fire, and great plumes of smoke crowded out the sky. Worse still, Charlie could see monstrous forms and ghostly shapes manifesting in the dark clouds. They were growing more real and solid by the moment.


    Charlie didn¡¯t know a lot about daemons. But he did know they were always trying to get into the world. He knew any moment of weakness could be enough to let them in. This could only be a summoning, he decided at once, his instincts roaring loud. Those monsters might look like they¡¯re made of smoke now, but as soon as that summoning circle was done... it was real claws which pinned Emma now. Whatever came through that smoke would bring hell with it.


    Why did they have Emma? Charlie could think of only one reason: a sacrifice for their infernal spell.


    The daemon flinging sticks was alone. A clean shot. Charlie slid the safety switch, cocked the bullet into the chamber.


    "Charlie!"


    He flinched. He pointed the gun into the air instead, and fired.


    The daemons froze. The sound was enough to shatter the night. The flash of the muzzle was painful to them. But so too they seemed to recognize that particular gun, knowing where it came from, and what it could do.


    The daemons scattered. They dove from the roof in every direction. Emma fell spinning to the roof, where she spread out to get her grip. Charlie nearly toppled over backward on the angled tiles. He swayed dangerously before catching himself and crouching low.


    Emma collapsed onto her back, laying spread eagle, staring up at the sky.


    "Are you alright?" Charlie asked, picking his way up the roof toward her.


    "Charlie charlie charlie... now look what you''ve done."


    "I saved you from the daemons, that''s what." Charlie stomped on the last smoking embers on the tiles. The burning trash can was subdued. The flames really must have been part of a spell, because they lost all their vitality without the daemons.


    "What if they never come back?"


    "So much the better."


    "They were trying to tell me their secret," Emma growled. "They wanted to show me something in the smoke, only you ruined it. Now they wont ever trust me again!"


    "Are you sure? How do you know?" Charlie asked sheepishly.


    Emma stood up to snatch the rifle back. Charlie was quick to get the safety back on before passing it back.


    "I don¡¯t know, because you ruined it!" Emma snapped, frost and venom. She really was starting to sound like the old witch. "I didn¡¯t understand their language. It¡¯s just like those odd books in their own alphabet that grandmother has in the library. I think I need to find her real contracts, and figure out what they really say."


    "I¡¯m sorry. I was only trying to help."


    The stillness of the night returned only briefly before being ruined once more. The hunting wail of a police siren. Flashing lights at the end of the block. Grandmother might be able to fire a gun, but she wasn¡¯t here anymore.


    "We have to get away," Emma declared. "Quick, climb back down before they catch us! It may not be illegal to own a daemon, but we certainly don¡¯t have a license to hunt them in the city!"