Al's kitchen materialized around me moments before my body started being reconstructed around my soul from the records on file with the Collective. I felt as if I'd had my physical clock reset from the last time I'd registered a curse with them. Six months of time melted away from me; six months was nothing in the grand scheme of things, but I could see why being a demon and using the lines to travel would make me immortal. Time would never be a factor to my life expectancy again. I felt the realization fall into place in line with my new resolve with an audible click. So I was going to live forever. The thought was a lonely one, as I remembered that all the people I cared about back in reality would grow old and die before I ever hit my halfway mark. I looked around the cavern of a kitchen with its central fire and books and bottles on shelves to the counter with its heavy stone top and spelling equipment washed and drying to the side in the rack. I smiled to see that Mr. Fish was still alive and swimming in his giant brandy snifter on one of the counters nudged against a wall. Bis came through on a whisper of thought, still wrapped about my neck. I gave him a moment to get acclimated before asking him to let go. He jumped off and found a wall to scramble up, coming finally to rest on the top of a bookcase.
I jangled the bags off my wrist to the floor, feeling pins and needles where they'd cut into the skin uncomfortably. Suddenly, it occurred to me that there was nothing resembling a place to preserve the food that we'd brought back from reality, even as Pierce appeared beside Al and myself to take our shopping bags. Al must have some place to keep them, then. I'd ask when I got the unpleasantness of finally facing Pierce out of the way.
He disappeared with the bags without a word to either of us. I looked at Al and saw his Pierce disguise fall away in a wash of leyline energy. Ah, so Pierce was uncomfortable with the idea of Al wearing his face. It made sense. Perhaps he was jealous that Al had gotten to take me around town, but it was more likely that he was worried about what Al had done to his reputation while he was stuck in the everafter, unable to do anything about it.
"Well, then Professor McDemon, what's first on the syllabus?" I asked him, determined not to let Pierce's silent treatment keep me from my mission to become the biggest badass on both sides of the lines.
Al adjusted the lace cuffs of his familiar nobleman guise, looking for all the world to be happy to be back in his own skin, so to speak.
"First things first, we have a lot of time to make up for. Before I can take you out-and-about to Dalliance and our other usual spots, we need to get you a decent wardrobe together. Let's get stirring."
I thought to offer a protest, to remind him that appearance spells were frivolous, I bit my tongue. There were so many other important things he could be teaching me, but I'd asked him to teach me all about being a demon, and keeping up appearances was a very large part of functioning in demonic society. He held up a hand to the counter to indicate I should go first. I went to stand behind it while he got a leather-bound tome (I sure hoped it was leather) from the shelf, laid it on the countertop, and opened it to a page without looking.
Five minutes later, I was gathering ingredients from the large cabinet beside the sink and placing the herbs and jars beside the medium spell pot on the counter, happy to be back to stirring curses rather than earth magic. It was too bizarre to be real.
Beside the demonic text of spells, laid open on its spine, was the fashion magazine from our excursion to the supermarket. The romance novel had disappeared to places unseen. I didn't want to ask where or why… I just didn't ever want to know.
I read through the instructions again before I touched any of the ingredients, not wanting to make a mistake that would set me back a year in Al's estimation of my abilities. That done, I noted that the curse should be stirred over an open flame about the size of a burner on my stove. Al's fire was too big for it, so I'd have to improvise. I went back to the cabinet and rummaged for a way to fuel my spell fire, selecting from the myriad supplies a bottle of lamp oil and a contraption that looked like a cross between a bunsen burner and an old-fashioned oil lamp with a little stand. Al watched me set it up over the rim of his glasses, withholding comment until I'd kindled the flame with a thought and adjusted the knob on the device.
Finally, as I placed the pot on the stand with a carefully measured amount of water in the bottom, Al spoke. "I suppose Ceri didn't teach you how to float a flame. We'll do that for the second batch."
"Float a flame? She taught me to light candles with my thoughts and conjure light from a ring on a string, but she never tried to teach me that."
"She must not have found it important, since you have your own gas stove at home. That little piece of tech," he said, indicating my burner setup, "has been obsolete for a millennia. I only keep it around for familiars, since the curse to float a flame is demon magic. You've got the ability to kindle it, so I can teach you."
"Great," I said, and meant it. I wanted to learn it all. "I'll just get this ready to simmer and we'll start on that."
Al gave little to no instruction as I prepped the base of the curse. I was chopping and stirring to my heart's content, not needing any. I had been doing my own spelling, and this part, the earth magic part, was a lot like what I'd been practicing the whole time I'd been charmed invisible to the Collective. A spoonful of powdered asphodel here, a thumbnail of mustard seed there, a spindle of cobweb to make the curse hold together, and a myriad of other things went into the pot. Finally satisfied that I put it all in, I gave it six clockwise stirs, followed by one counter-clockwise turn, repeated the sequence six more times and then lowered the flame. The brew would simmer for a half an hour before it was ready to use, then it would need to cool for ten minutes before it could be invoked, or so the instructions said.
Al gestured me over to the comfy chair while he took his customary stool in front of it. That still baffled me, but it was nearly a routine by that point. He scooted up close, our knees almost touching, as he bent forward as if to whisper some delectable secret. I felt goosebumps prick as I leaned forward in the excitement of what he was about to show me. Gone, for the moment, was my angst about loved ones leaving me unintentionally, my worry about Ku'Sox, my fear of myself (and by extension, Al). All that mattered was that I was going to learn to do something incredible.
He held his palms about an inch apart over his lap, dismissing his gloves in a wash of everafter. I forced myself to pay attention to what he was doing, rather than get lost in inspecting his deeply lined palms. "Are you connected to a line?" he asked me. I was. I hadn't let it go since we arrived, so I simply nodded. "Good," he responded. "Now I will tell you what you're to do as I do it. Fill your chi with the energy of the line, spindle it, and let it equalize. Don't let go of the line. Concentrate the chi into your palms, until your hands become warm."
I started mirroring his actions in my mind and was surprised to note that my hands had gotten quite itchy. I rubbed them against my jean-clad legs and was startled to note that tiny sparks were flying up from the friction. Al gave me a long-suffering look. "Just watch for now, Itchy Witch. We'll get to the implementation in a moment." I let the chi in my hands rejoin the rest in my head with chagrin.
Satisfied, he continued showing me. "Fire needs three things in order to exist: a spark to start it, fuel to feed it, and air so it can breathe. The chi in your hands will serve as the spark, and your connection to the line as the fuel. The air in the room will provide the last, but you must ensure there is a steady current. This is where things get a little difficult. You must provide the earth magic of the curse from your own body and the ley energy from your own thoughts, but in order to make a flame you don't have to concentrate on so you can do other things with it, you must create an environment and a set of conditions where none existed before and provide the stream of energy to maintain them without thinking about it. Also, you must be able to contain the fire so that it does not get away from you. Fortunately, a circle will fit the bill for all of these."
"But you said 'float' a flame. Not circle one."
"I'll get to that. First let's work on getting one started, shall we?"
It took all of the rest of the half hour allotted to the task. The curse had a stiff learning curve. Too much energy and the flame blazed and winked out. Too little and the flame sputtered and was extinguished. Too much air and the flame guttered, providing uneven heat, and too little made it suffocate. This was all very exciting, even as it was frustrating to find the right mix between fuel and air through trial-and error, and I know that my dry account of it here doesn't do justice to the heady feeling of experimenting with energy and thought. Creating something out of thin air and chi was amazing. I'd explain all the details of the method to the madness, but I'd be brought up on charges of uncommon stupidity if I ever published it. This account was never meant to be an instruction booklet for demon magic, in any case.
We hadn't even gotten to the part where I circled it, freeing my mental energy for actually using it, but the spell in the pot needed to be taken off the flame to cool and the ingredients in it were of limited supply.
Al and I stood paging through the fashion mag while the potion sat off to the side to cool down enough to be measured out in its separate doses. I could invoke the whole batch at once, but then I'd have three doses of the same appearance instead of three different 'costume changes,' as Al liked to call them.
Where an earth amulet would provide an entire change of being and a leyline charm would provide a surface appearance, but not fool the other senses like touch or sound (I'm thinking of the beading on my Mesopotamian headdress clinking as I moved during my fateful first night at Dalliance), this curse would provide the solidity of an earth charm coupled with the versatility of a leyline charm. And while most of the other two types of charms were stored in a potion or an amulet, to be worn or consumed when the charm was to be used, the curse would be stored in me, dormant, until I was ready to invoke it, and in time, I'd learn to be able to lend the curse to another, without having them consume it, first.
We bickered over which of the outfits contained in the magazine would serve me best. I wanted to stick with black leather and lace, but Al insisted that I step outside my comfort zone. The whole point was to change into a costume, not provide more of the same stuff I always wore. He kept insisting that I'd need to expand my wardrobe's horizons if I was ever going to keep up with the changes at Dalliance.
In the end, we agreed on a black businesslike suit with pinstripes and a pencil skirt slit up the side for better movement, nude nylon stockings and a pair of peekaboo-toed black pumps. Al figured the harsher angles and directional patterns would be easier for me to keep in my mind's eye as I invoked the curse. I studied the image for a long while, replacing the model's face, skin tone, and hair color with my own. Our body types were similar enough, and I was looking forward to having my hair behave and become silky for once, so I let the hairstyle remain the same in my mind's eye. Once I had the image firmly fixed, I added details to it like how the fabric would feel, what sound it would make as it moved, and just how much stretch the fabric had. Before my mind could wander too far, I pricked my finger and added the three drops of blood to the phial Al held out to me. He corked the bottle and we started the process all over again, with more bickering and finally, compromising on the next outfit.
Before too long, I was staring at three corked curses in a line on the countertop. Once I ingested them, I'd have them stored in my body for later use. My first three stored curses were waiting to be imbibed. With a sigh, I uncorked the first and muttered, "Down the hatch," and swallowed it all in one go. It tasted awful, like I'd just licked polyester and washed down the taste with stagnant water, but before I could lose my nerve, the other two went the same way.
Al watched without comment, then handed me one of the bottled waters. I took it gratefully and had it half-empty in three strong pulls. Then and only then did I allow the all-over shudder to wrack my body. "Jeez, that was foul," I told him.
He grinned. "I know. Part and parcel, love."
"Should I test them?"
"One aught to do for now. No use in wasting the whole nights work in one go."
"What's the invocation?" I wondered aloud, paging back through the recipe. "Ah," I said, finding it. "So I say the magic word, while concentrating on the outfit I want to wear. Simple. Ok, here goes." I took a breath, focusing on the satiny green dress with the mandarin collar and a gold embroidered Chinese dragon curled from top to bottom. "Similis Facio."
The familiar wash of ever-after started at my scalp and ended at my toes. My hair gathered at the back of my head, flowing silkily into a tight bun, held with lacquered chopsticks. I felt the cool satin of the dress hug my spare curves like a lover's embrace. Tiny soft slippers encased my feet in warm welcome. Though tight in all the right places, it was infinitely more comfortable and provided freedom of movement to my legs and arms, which was the most important thing to me.
Al showed one of his rare, real smiles. "It'll do," he said simply. He really needed to work on his positive reinforcement, but I smiled back.
My stomach chose that moment to give forth a loud rumble. I hadn't put anything on it but coffee and nasty potion for hours. Al rolled his eyes in mock-exasperation, but then his grumbled in response and I couldn't hold back a laugh. He smirked in good humor. "I suppose that means it's time for dinner. Good thing we're dressed for it. Pierce!"
Pierce popped in with a tray of my bagged sandwiches. It was an odd sort of thing to eat for dinner, but I'd made them and so I was happy they weren't going to waste. The three of us sat down with a baggie and a bottle of water around Al's kitchen counter on tall stools Al had Pierce drag out from who knew where. Bis perched close beside me, between me and Al on the table and got a sandwich all his own. It was different from how we usually ate, standing around in our various corners of the room. It seemed more homey.
Pierce kept trying to catch my eye as we ate. I pointedly fixated on my food, not wanting to get into it at the moment with him. Al smirked to himself as he polished off one sandwich. As he reached for his second, Pierce finally gave up trying to will my attention to him and spoke.
"I daresay, Mistress Witch, that these are the best things I've eaten in an age. I'm powerfully grateful for your forethought in making them."
"Shut up, Pierce," Al growled, fixing his glare on Pierce.
"Land sakes, can't a body even pay a complement, and give thanks for a much-needed meal?"
Al kept glowering, but said nothing. I took a moment to really look at the man who had saved me and damned me in turns. He was looking thinner than last I saw him, his already aquiline features looking gaunt rather than spare. Al must not have been feeding him much.
"You're welcome," I murmured. "Thanks for the complement." He smiled warmly and continued eating quickly, but fastidiously, refusing to lose his excellent table manners, no matter how he must have been starving.
I started in on my second sandwich as Al reached for a third. From the way he was putting the things away, I knew he shared Pierce's sentiment, or perhaps they just appreciated a meal that didn't taste like the everafter, as had been my hope when I'd made them. Suddenly, Al sneezed. With a look of sheer annoyance, he placed his sandwich, still wrapped, back on the countertop before him. "Excuse me," he muttered darkly, "I have to take this call." He sneezed again as he rose from the table and made quick strides to the calling glyph etched on the mirror on the far wall.
He slapped his hand onto the surface, and spoke. "Yes, what is it? I was sitting down to dinner."
I didn't catch much of the following conversation, because Pierce placed a hand on mine and took the opportunity of Al being preoccupied to speak to me in hushed tones. "Are you well, Mistress Witch? Did he harm you or do anything… distasteful in retribution for pretending to make a die of it?"
"No. I'm fine. He took me shopping, is all," I shrugged.
"He was powerful upset for a long while. He may be lulling you into a false sense of security before he exacts his revenge," he warned. "I would not trust him."
"Thanks for the warning, Pierce, but I've got this."
"Why, of course she's here," Al's voice carried over to me, giving me the excuse I needed to pay attention to him rather than Pierce. I was the only 'she' he could be talking about. My ears pretty much perked up at the mention of me.
"No, she's perfectly fine… that's not necessary. Look, I give you my word! No, don't… all right. Fine. See you in a moment, then." Al ended the contact by stepping away from the mirror and turning back to us. "That was Newt," he remarked. "She's paying a visit. Pierce, make yourself scarce."
"I opine that might not be such a good idea," Pierce protested.
"Pierce, get out of here. I can handle myself," I told him. "Between me and Al, she's not going to do anything to me, but I can't guarantee your safety."
"Quickly, now," Al shooed him. "Run along like a good little familiar before I have to rough you up in front of Rachel. She won't like it much, but Newt doesn't have the fondness in her for you that I do, and she'd do much worse."
Pierce regarded me, ignoring Al, with a soft, worried look in his eyes. "If you're sure…"
"Go on. I'll be fine. Take Bis with you, too."
"Ms Morgan?" He sounded confused, and also worried for me.
"Really, you'll be safer that way. It's me she wants to see."
"All right," he frowned, flying off the counter to land on Pierce's shoulder. They were gone in an instant, and not a moment too soon because Newt appeared beside Al's fire between one blink and the next. She looked much the same as always: bald, robed, and wearing her strange hat. She turned from the fire, her robes swirling around her ankles and swishing softly. She stared at me for a good long time, taking in all of me in various ways. Finally, she smiled, and seemed almost to be relieved.
"So he did not lie. It is good to see you again, Rachel Mariana Morgan. I felt you register a curse, as did all of the collective. The uproar was… deafening." Her eyes slid closed, as if hearing it anew. She opened them once more and looked around the room absently. "I told them I would come lay eyes on you myself, so here I am. Did you remember the tape measure I asked for this time?"
"Uh, yeah. We brought you one." I rummaged about in the bag of non-consumables and brought it forth. She took it from my hand and frowned down at it.
"I suppose I will be very busy with this for a time."
"So your visit is to be brief, I take it," Al put forth hopefully. He made no bones about how much he disliked Newt. She made a humming sound in the back of her throat, her mind completely elsewhere. She didn't bother to take offense at Al's rudeness.
"Here," I said, trying to make up for whatever worry or sadness my death may have caused her in the meantime. "Take a sandwich with you. I made it myself in my kitchen back home."
She took the sandwich inside its bag and held it to her breast with the tape measure. "That's very kind of you. I haven't eaten anything from there in a long time. I'll be off, then. I have some bets to settle and measurements to take." She gave Al a stern look. "You remember what I told you, Gally. If you sleep with her, I will neuter you."
"Umm…" I cleared my throat. "Thanks for… looking out for my virtue, or whatever, but I so don't understand why you care."
She turned back to me and gave me another one of her thousand-yard stares. "You're his student," she said simply. "I won't have him abusing that position of power. We girls need to stick together. Sleep with his familiar all you like, though, I do ask you to use protection until you're ready to learn how to have a child. If you try now, without getting instruction, it just might kill you. It may kill you any way, there's no way of knowing. For now, just don't try. You have no idea how many work orders Al has stacking up for you to fill. Can't do that if you're growing a baby inside you, and you definitely can't if you're dead."
"Ah, that's… umm. Thanks for the warning. I didn't really plan on letting either of them into my pants, but I'll keep it in mind."
"Any time. Enjoy the rest of your night, Rachel. By the way, I love the dress."
"Thanks," I replied. She winked and was gone. "She seems much saner," I remarked to Al, who was very pointedly studying a book he'd grabbed off the shelf.
"Today was one of her good days." He closed the book with a snap. "Now! We're fed and the night is growing to a close. Let's finish up showing you how to float that flame before I send you back with your homework."
I finally managed to create a circle in midair by concentration alone. It was much harder when I had nothing to anchor it to. Making a flame with my hands, breath, and thoughts seemed like child's play in comparison. I was exhausted mentally, after so many hours spent concentrating my will. Once I'd successfully done it several times in a row, Al called a stop. He thrust the book he'd been holding at my chest and I took it, curious.
"Latin? This is my homework?"
"You syntax sucks," he shrugged. The modern phrase sounded funny with his British accent. "Why, did you have something else in mind?"
"Yeah. A book about how the lines work."
"I don't own that text. It's in the demonic library."
"Well, check it out for me."
"It's restricted."
"I need to be able to fix what I did to the everafter. To the lines," I reminded him. "Preferably before any one else finds out what I did."
"Very well, then. I'll look into acquiring a copy. I must admit, I'm curious as to what you'd make of it. It's written in Latin."
I sighed and clutched the book he handed me tighter. "All right, I get it. I'll study this until I can translate on my own."
"You'll want to pick up a Latin dictionary, too. That book only has vocabulary fit for a seventh grade reading level. The text you want is way past college-level."
"Fine. I'm ready to go home, now," I said, meaning it beyond what I ever meant anything before.
Al called Bis and Pierce back into the kitchen without further comment at seeing how tired I was. I wobbled on my feet. Pierce steadied me with a hand on my shoulder that I didn't have the energy to push off. The tiny slip of line equalizing between us might have been innocent, but it felt like he was making a pass at me, and my skin crawled. I shored up my resolve and stood firmly so that he had no excuse to keep touching me. Bis took up residence around my neck and I felt for the line. Not mentioning that Bis was all the escort I needed, I murmured, "There's no place like home," and let the flow of the line take me.