Philadelphia, Earth
Agatha nodded as though she had expected his answer. “All right, Jamie. I’ll leave Scottie with you. You won’t be alone. If anyone should come while I am gone, there are some things you must not say. Don’t tell them you are from anywhere but here. Let them think you have no memory. Do not mention The Family…”
“Who are the Family?
“Just listen,” she interrupted. “Do not mention The Family. You do not want to be associated with them. Don’t mention me either. Just ask for help.”
Agatha pulled a black jacket, gloves and a hat from one of the duffle bags. “I am going to hide these bags in the stove. If anyone comes, do not let them find them. Do you understand?”
“I’ll do my best,” he groaned. How was he supposed to prevent anyone from doing anything?
He watched her place a sandwich, some cookies and a tin cup of water beside him. He knew the sandwich was ham by the pink meat hanging over the edge of the bread. Its scent was sweet, like Easter dinner left out. The smell of the bread and his burned flesh coalesced unpleasantly. He didn’t ask her to take them away. If he did get hungry while she was gone, there’d be no way for him to get to the duffle bags.
“Ok. Try to eat this quickly,” she told him. “Things from your world don’t stay as they are for long. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Concentrate on being well.”
After she left, Scottie nibbled at the edge of the ham and then curled up beside him. The weight of the cat’s body made the covers rub against his skin, but Jamie welcomed the contact. He’d never felt so alone in his life.
And in truth, he’d never been alone before. Elisabeth had always been with him. Now, he had no idea where his sister was.
If only he could call her, find out if she was all right. At least he knew she was alive. It was a twin thing. He couldn’t read her mind or anything crazy like that, but sometimes he could tell when things were wrong.
It started shortly after their mom left for her third tour. He’d been stuck at soccer practice and his sister had walked home alone. At eleven, she was athletic and could definitely hold her own on the court. The boys that founded her were bigger though.
She told him about it later. The sidewalk was empty and the street deserted. She hadn’t seen them hiding. They caught her from behind and shoved her down. The bigger one held her while the other tried to rip her shirt. She’d screamed, but there was no way Jamie could have heard her.
He’d been mid-play, his friends yelling for the ball. Somehow, he’d known she needed him. Running from the field, he’d gone straight to where she was and fought the boys off her. With his sister’s help, they’d given one a fat lip and a broken nose. The bigger kid ended up in the ER with a broken arm.
He wished his sister was with him now.
In a bit, he decided, he’d try and sit up. He could almost smell the water. Agatha had said to concentrate on getting better, but what did that even mean?
He’d seen those shows where some people cured themselves of some random disease or cancer. They never actually told the audience how they did it, implying it was the power of the mind or whatever. The self-help shows on TV didn’t give any real advice either. They were usually about hypnotizing yourself into believing you could do it.
His wounds ached when he was thinking about them.
Ugh! he thought. Laying here doing nothing was the worst. He couldn’t just sit here, he needed to do something!
The thought of moving twisted his stomach.
Hypnotism, then. Why not.
Closing his eyes, Jamie tried for calm. He was breathing erratically, unconsciously avoiding stretching his back. Pushing the pain away, he worked at evening his breaths. A slow inhale followed by a slower exhale. It took him awhile, thoughts of his sister and Agatha interrupting his efforts.
He was worried for his sister. Elisabeth was far too trusting. He tried to sense her, but felt nothing. He supposed that was good news. If she were dead, he would know.
Jamie decided he wasn’t doing so well at this healing thing. Annoyed with himself, he tried again. Working to pace his breaths, he imagined a night sea. He saw a sky with endless blackness. He built walls against his thoughts, but the walls crumbled with each errant thought.
Lying there thinking about not thinking was counterproductive. In his mind, he covered himself with a white sheet. It was like a house around him, but contour-less.
He could see nothing but a blanket canvas. Holding that image, he finally managed to calm down, his breath the steady draw of deep sleep.
Jamie tried to visualize his body. He was beneath the blanket of white, his vague shape solidifying. The contour of his skin looked like grilled steak.
Beginning with his legs, he remembered the fine, blue tendrils of the net sinking into his flesh. Holding that image, he followed its trail over his back, stomach and arms. His body was a patch work of charred black lines.
It wasn’t his imagination that his wounds were slowly oozing blood.
Blossoms of red stained the white blanket, spreading outward as it colored the fabric.
NO, it’s all white. Just pure white nothing, he thought furiously.
He followed his breathing back down into the calm winter. He felt his body relax beneath the sheet. The low moan of the wind and the creaking and complaining of the wooden planks did not bother him.
In his half sleep, Jamie’s mind traced the razor-thin lines on his body. He could feel where each individual wire had struck. Each imprint, although only inches from the others, remained distinct.
The slashes that covered his back were the most raw, as though when the net closed on him, it had gained strength and power. The cuts were thicker and he could feel them oozing. Holding that thought, Jamie tried to imagine his gashes closing, the pieces of his skin pulling together and joining.
Concentrating, he watched his skin draw together, his body knitting the frayed pieces. The ends of his burnt flesh stretched closer, the new growth sealing the old. Tiny tendrils of pink skin crept and tugged the edges of the wound, like puckered mouths slowly closing.
He knew his body was feeling pain, but in his trance, Jamie felt it only as a muffled ache. His eyes were tightly closed as he watched the new skin and old harden into thick ropes of scar tissue. The surface of his neck, back and legs were a chessboard of unmarked skin and raised cords of scar tissue.
Bearing down, he pushed this thoughts. Visualizing the scar tissue, he pressed down on it, trying to shrink it to nothing. The image did not change.
Scottie shifted against him and Jamie’s raw skin rubbed against the comforter. He opened his eyes and realized it was dusk. He must have been asleep. Awkwardly, he rolled onto his side. Hot pain swept up his body as his wounds pressed into the blanket. Drawing his arm tenderly from under the comforter, he looked at his hand.
In the half-light, his unblemished palm and four fingers looked almost alien. Blackened ribbons of skin crisscrossed their way down from his shoulder, across his forearm to end at his smallest finger. The fibers of his old pajamas were seared into his skin, the bluish strings of fabric melted into his body, part of him forever.
The trance had done nothing. His wounds were still open, weeping blood. As he watched, a small drop of red formed on the back of his hand and rolled off onto the blanket. He had deadened the pain for a time, but that was it.
Jamie put his palm on the cold floorboards. Biting his lip, he pushed himself up on an elbow. He supposed he must have burns over that part of his body, but the pain didn’t increase. Quickly, he took the cup of water and drank. The liquid was ice-cold and delicious.
Looking at the rest of his spread, Jamie used his fingertips to push the sandwich out of range. Even the idea of eating meat made him sick. Scottie had no such reservations. The cat glanced at him once, yellow eyes curious, and then sauntered over to the plate, delicately pulling the meat from the bread. Jamie turned his face away.
But he was hungry. Using his thumb and forefinger, he grabbed a cookie, ate, and wondered what to do. He didn’t know what time Agatha left, but it had to have been hours ago. He didn’t feel refreshed. His body was still sore and his mind was tired. Carefully, he lay back on his stomach and closed his eyes. There was nothing to do but wait.
Waiting turned to thinking. Jamie tried to keep his mind away from his injuries, but his wounds burned. The ruined tissue cried for attention. He wanted to fall asleep, but he kept working over everything that happened. He pictured the attack, wondering if there was something he should have done differently, some way he could have known, anything he could have done to protect himself. Over and over again, it replayed in his mind, a wheel spinning in place, forever. After several hours, he gave up trying.
So far, the only positive thing had been the trance. At least he managed to deaden the pain for a while. Concentrating to make his mind blank, Jamie began focusing on the whiteness. Imagining a snow-covered landscape, he worked to bury his thoughts. In his mind he shoveled powder over everything, wanting to see nothing.
The wheel wouldn’t stop spinning. He saw Agatha’s net speeding towards his face, the blue mesh exploding across his vision. Sighing, he regrouped, shoveling more snow on the image. It refused to be concealed.
Agatha was his only hope. He was trapped here, powerless, and unable to protect himself. He was at her mercy. His fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides. Where was she?
All he could do was hope that she’d bring something or someone to help him. Round and round his mind went, the same useless thoughts funneled over and over. How could such a strange woman be Bekka’s grandmother?
Bekka was normal. She was prettier than most, shier. How could she be related to Agatha, a witch from another world? It was all so crazy.
And Agatha? Why was she helping him?
She’d almost blasted his face off with her blue fire. She could have left him.
Maybe she wanted something from him?
He couldn’t quite get behind the idea that she was doing all this because she felt bad. His best guess was that she needed help to get her granddaughter back.
That couldn’t be it though. If she had such powerful magic, why would she need him? He was wounded. Baggage.
He had so many questions. Would she be able to find help here? She had to know people, even if she’d been away for awhile. If Agatha could transport them to this empty shell of a home, why couldn’t she just take them to someone she knew?
Maybe she’d done something bad to them, too, he thought.
Agatha had told him that there were unimaginable dangers in Eganene, that some kind of creature, a Creeling, had attacked her. Not that he’d much time to look, but he hadn’t seen any monsters in that apartment. Who or what was after her to make her try to kill someone she couldn’t even see? These “Family” people?
When I’m healthy he thought, I should lose her and go it on my own. She’d warned him not to mention the Family. Maybe it would be better if no one thought he was with her. What had she done to make them her enemy?
Probably shoot them with blue fire, he thought.
Jamie grimaced. He had no idea how to navigate this world. Things in Eganene looked a lot like home, but his guess was that there were no abandoned cottages in Earth’s Blue Bell. And once he found his sister, who was going to take them back?
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Yawning, Jamie realized that he was at it again. Why was not thinking so difficult?
He took some calming breaths and then began the trance again. Several times, he found himself following the same thoughts about Agatha and pushed them away. Eventually, he was able to blank his mind. With all his strength, he worked to accurately imagine his body and to see his wounds closing. He lost the thread a few times, but always, he tried again.
Oblivious to the deepening night and the dropping temperature, Jamie pushed himself to see it right. Finally, with Scottie’s warm body curled between his head and his shoulder, he fell into a true sleep.
That was where he remained until Agatha returned. He woke to the quiet stirrings of two women as they traversed the debris strew floor. “Careful, now,” Agatha said.
Jamie opened his eyes. The old woman was leaning on one of the walls, trying to remove her shoes without tripping over her excited cat. She looked exhausted, but there was a weary triumph in her eyes. A smaller woman stood beside her, dressed in brown pants and a heavy coat.
She was the strangest creature Jamie had ever seen. Instead of skin, a fine, short, hazel fur, like the down of rabbit, covered her body. The hair on the back of her head was black and long. She was younger than Agatha by many years, but she carried herself like someone much wiser.
It wasn’t just the fur that was strange. The woman’s eyes were yellow with dark slits and her nose was tiny like a cat’s. She was pretty in a strange way, Jamie thought. He didn’t look away as she changed her shoes and sat.
She’d put on moccasins, the top of the tanned hide was a pale brown, soft and supple. From inside a large bag, the woman took a basket. Placing it beside her, she pulled away his blanket.
“Jamie, this is Selinda. The granddaughter of a friend I once had here,” Agatha said, in way of introduction. She’d pulled up his shirt and was examining his wounds. “She’s skilled in herb-lore and healing majics. Try thinking of her as an old-fashioned mid-wife.”
Startled, Jamie looked at Agatha. “She’s a witch-doctor?”
The woman didn’t stop peering at him, but Agatha smiled, “And what do you think I am?”
What was he supposed to say to that? He’d seen her majic, felt the pain. I the strange cabin, it all seemed to come down on him at once. To hear Agatha admit it, to hear her call herself a witch, made it real.
The strange woman was humming tunelessly to herself, her long, warm fingers prodding and testing his skin. His heart began to race, his body tensing each time she touched him. The pressure of her fingertips was a low electric shock, reminding him that he was nowhere he knew. He tried to identify what she was doing, but realized he couldn’t actually feel her skin, or her fur, touch his body.
She spoke, her voice soft, soothing and somehow utterly unfamiliar. The words she said weren’t strange. Nor did she have an accent. The only thing that he could identify was that her inflection was wrong. “Calm,” Selinda began, “be calm. I will not hurt you. I look to see the damage that was done.”
She placed her fingertips gently on his ruined flesh and began to trace the lines of his injuries. The pain was intense, as though she was dragging a line of fire up his spine. He refused to call out. To Agatha, Selinda said, “You say you did this?”
“Yes.”
“How did he not die?”
Jamie could almost see Agatha shrug, her face wrinkled and sad.
The witch doctor continued outlining his wound, saying, “He should have died. But he is here. Days later it would seem. You had no healers? You did not try?”
“I have no Talent in Healing,” Agatha said. “There was no one where we were.”
“But he is not dead,” Selinda replied. “I can see that the fissures are closing. Look here.” Jamie could feel her fingers at the base of his spine and wanted to throw her touch from his skin.
“I can’t tell. Are you…” Agatha began.
Jamie could stand it no more. Using his palms to shoved himself up, he felt the women’s hands fall from his skin. “I’m right here!” he hissed, a black cloud swimming at the edge of his vision. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!”
“Jamie…” Agatha tried.
“No! You listen to me. I’m right here, so don’t you two talk about me like I’m your sick puppy. You did this. And I am not going to die.” Letting himself fall to the ground, he tried not to throw-up. The world wavered in his sight, the pain thrilling over his skin in waves.
The women said nothing. Jamie did not dare open his eyes. Eventually, he felt Selinda’s hands on his skin again, “Apologies for not speaking to you. I did not know you.”
“That wasn’t directed at you…”
“But it is I who should apologize. My name is Selinda. I am a healer. But there is not much I can do for you.”
“What do you mean?” Worry welled in the pit of his stomach, his insides twisting, knotting. If she couldn’t help him, then...
“Do not fear death,” Selinda continued. “This day will not be your last. Your skin is knitting itself. I am unsure how. Only those of Rynald’s line could…but I am told that you are not from here.”
“What?” Jamie managed.
Selinda waved his question away, “Never mind, it is an impossibility. Unless, of course, your kind has Talent that you know not of.”
Jamie could see Agatha frown, “They do not, Selinda. Mind your task.”
The woman’s cat ears twitched, “Of course.”
“You say the boy is healing himself?” Agatha asked into the quiet. The wind moaned outside the cottage and the cold felt good sliding over his exposed skin. He didn’t know what Rynald’s line meant, but if Selinda thought he was healing himself, then maybe he had a chance after all.
The cat woman was speaking, “Yes. You will see it too, if you look close.”
“Will it be enough?” Agatha asked.
“In time, he would heal himself, but…it will take weeks.”
Jamie let out a long sigh, relief sweeping through him. He turned his head to look at the witch doctor, surprised to see lines of concentration wrinkling her oval face. “I’ll live?”
She nodded, but he could see she was still frowning. Jamie didn’t understand. Five minutes ago, he thought he was going to die in this place. This was great news.
Selinda looked at him, her yellow eyes sympathetic. “I am told that you will be leaving as soon as you are well. That will be best for us all. I am going to help you speed along what you are doing yourself. Agatha will assist me.”
The woman held Jamie’s hand lightly. To Agatha, she said, “Bring me the wood from that chair. He will need something to bite upon.”
“Why?” Jamie managed, pulling his hand from her grasp. Agony spiked along his back, but he ignored it. He was hyper-focused. There was so much pain already, what could she possibly do to him that he would need a bite bar?
Selinda opened her basket and began taking out small vials of liquid and herbs. Jamie watched, waiting for a response. Finding what she wanted, she replied, “What I do will cause you pain. On your skin, I’ll place a salve. Do you know salve?”
“A cream?” Jamie asked, inhaling. He wanted to tell her to stop, that he didn’t want her touching him, but he knew it wasn’t true. She had to help him so he could get well, so he could find his sister and get out of this strange world.
The witch doctor nodded, her expression thoughtful. “This cream will help your wounds. Agatha will lend me her power and I will speed your healing. This is the part that will hurt. To close your wounds, your skin must grow anew. When done slowly, your body feels a small itch. When done quickly, it is much different.”
Agatha asked, “And I must give you my power for this?”
“Of, course,” Selinda replied. Her pink nose seemed to twitch in irritation. “You think this is done easily? What was done with such power must be undone with even more. You will help me or you will sit for days and days and days until he has done it himself. Do you not agree, then?”
“I will seal with you,” Agatha sighed, her voice soft.
Jamie thought she sounded upset and wondered what “sealing” meant. He would have asked her but Selinda began undressing him, her furry fingers brushing against his waist. Jamie fought his modesty. If he had to be naked for her to help him, then he was going to be naked.
Still, it was hard not to panic. He didn’t know what the woman intended to do to him and he wasn’t sure that he wanted more majic anywhere close.
“So, I’m just supposed to bite a stick while you do your thing to me?” he ground out, teeth clenched.
Selinda shook her head and looked at him with compassion. To Agatha she asked, “You have your locket?”
“I do. I will use it, but we will have to stay here this night.”
The cat-like witch looked at Jamie, her pupils dilated to tight slits. “You will be in no condition to move when this is over. You will stay here one night and then go. For your pain to end quickly, you must help us. You will do that?”
“Help you? How am I supposed to help you? I don’t even know what’s going on.”
Selinda did not respond to his anger. Taking a white cloth and metal canister from her bag, she slowly poured water over her hands and then rubbed them vigorously with the cloth. Handing both to Agatha, she replied to Jamie, “You have been healing yourself. Whatever you were doing has saved your life thus far. When we begin you must find that strength and guide us.”
Selinda began to slowly rub her palms together. It looked like she was warming her hands over a fire. She said, “Think of your body like spans of canyons. If I were to walk through the canyon for years, I would not find both ends. But you know this canyon. You were born there. You know each crack, each fissure, each tree and each pool of water. You live at both ends.”
To Jamie her voice had taken on an echo. It was as if he were hearing her from two distinct places. His eyelids became heavy and he closed them. Dipping her fingers into the salve, she used the soft fur of her fingertips to apply the lotion to his back, arms, legs and fingers.
Gently, she traced the cream, wound by wound, saying, “Your canyon is immense. The dirt is the red-brown of eons. Its walls rise high, the layers of rock and time pressed upon each other, hundreds of hues and textures. Water flows into your canyon and the liquid is life. The streams are many, some small trickles, others, thunderous in their passage. Each feeds into the other, their paths continuous, always finding others, always changing direction.”
The pain was intense, but there must have been some kind of numbing agent in the salve. No sooner did he feel a spike of pain then it faded to a heated numbness.
Selinda continued speaking softly, “But cracks and fissures run through your canyons, their openings allowing the crystal water to abandon your home. Those faults need to be closed. The life of your canyon depends on it.
I need your eyes to be my guide. Though our power will be the fuel for your body, it is you who will direct our ministrations. Can you do this?”
Jamie struggled to answer, his tongue felt thick in his mouth, as though he had been sleeping. Slowly, his thoughts began to solidify...
“Are you kidding?” he finally managed. To Agatha, he said, “When you were gone, I tried.” He took a few deep breaths to center himself. “I tried to concentrate on healing. I imagined, visualized myself and my wounds closing. But they didn’t do anything.” Jamie raised a palm in surrender, “I don’t know how to do what she wants!”
Agatha sat beside him and pulled her necklace from beneath her sweater. He could see it was silver, a diamond-shaped pendant with a large green stone set at its center. In her other hand, she held a leg from the chair.
“Jamie. You can’t see what you have done. I had trouble seeing it, too. But you have done something. I can feel it about you. It is as though you are stronger now. Your wounds do not weep blood like they did. You are healing yourself.
Whatever you were doing while I was gone, you must do again. Selinda can speed your healing. It will be over and we can find your sister. Do you not want that? Be brave, Jamie. I have faith in you.”
Agatha poured water from the canister onto the stick and then used her sweater to wipe the dirt from the wood. Sitting beside his head, she used one hand to lift his chin and the other to place the wood gently into his mouth.
Closing his eyes, he felt his heart hammering. The wood tasted unfamiliar and dirty. His tongue was covered with dust. His wounds burned, but he ignored them. The floor beneath his blankets was freezing, the cold seeming to creep out from beneath him to chill the air. He wondered why his breath wasn’t misting. Or maybe he was hot. Drops of moisture had beaded on his forehead. Agatha wiped his head with her cloth.
Selinda spoke again, “Whatever you feel, will be a thousand thousandths of what your body will be feeling. The trance, the place you go, is very important. You have been there before. You must stay there. Understand?”
The two women took his hands. Pulling the air in and out of his lungs, he willed away his panic. Agatha began to hum softly. It was a song that he did not know, but one that rolled and dipped like the gypsy music. The witch doctor began humming too, her voice lighter than Agatha’s. Her song was different, but it seemed to fill the missing pieces of the song. To Jamie, it sounded like Selinda carried the melody, and Agatha, the harmony. But that wasn’t quite right either, sometimes they changed and Agatha held the melody, her voice richer than cat-woman’s.
Jamie concentrated on the song, feeling the strange pulse. Slowly, his terror gave way and his breath rose and fell to the song. His swift heartbeat was a steady rhythm, its cadence filling him. Its pounding was something to follow, its beat soothing in its consistency. The women’s voices grew softer and softer until Jamie was straining to hear.
Without their guidance, he let the song play in his head, the strange sounds so different. Soon he was still, his breathing even and mind at peace with what he was about to do. Letting the music fade, he saw a blank canvas.
The women were gone, the cottage was gone. There was nothing but the brilliant white light. Slowly, he visualized the contours of his body pushing up from beneath a white sheet. The fabric slid off his naked back and he was lying face down upon it.
At first, his skin was blank. Then, Jamie began to see his wounds, the thin, blackened lines appearing on the unbroken flesh. They elongated and intertwined, wrapping themselves in their crisscrossing pattern over his body. He watched as undamaged skin puckered and then separated to expose the warm red within. Moments later, his arms, legs, back and sides were covered by the checkerboard gashes.
Jamie held his image and felt each cut throbbing. The pain was remote, like a radio broadcast that was experiencing transmission interference. Oblivious to everything but his thoughts, he did not hear the women chanting. He did not see the sweat on their brows. Instead, he began to see his body healing.
It originated at his ruined pinky fingers, the flayed skin pulling together, the threaded pieces drawing closer. His injuries hadn’t been caused by the clean cuts of a blade. He’d been burned. And what had been charred, could not be healed. Jamie’s skin began to regrow itself over the opening.
Slivers of pain shot through his image. Jamie held on desperately. Press, he thought to himself.
Pushing at the flesh, it seemed as though he saw it growing faster. The scar tissue drew together, its surface coarse and lighter than his skin. As the ends met, the tissue raised, leaving cord-like, bluish ropes that navigated the length of his body. Their course was an almost continuous trail of sharp turns, emphasizing the recognizable checkered markings of the net that should have killed him.
On his legs, the puckered scar tissue was a deeper blue. The fibers of his ruined pajamas were being combined with his flesh to grow a new skin. The color seemed to bleed, leaving the cords of blue scars anywhere his body had been covered by clothing. Only on his smallest fingers, his forearms and his feet, the scars were a pale white. The rest of his body was covered in bluish lines.
Jamie could feel the pain again. The soft cadence of his breath had become faster and more disjointed. He did not know whether to inhale or exhale. The landscape of his body was foreign, the consistency of the image dissolving. He was losing the picture and the belief that what he was imagining was actually true.
And with that sliver of doubt, the entire picture shredded.
Fast as thought, Jamie screamed, his body ignited as a living torch. The wood bite-bar fell from his open mouth as he howled, the hard wood showing the deep imprints of teeth.
For some time he lay screaming, but when it was over, Selinda and Agatha gently rolled him on to his back and helped him to sit up. That it was amazing he could do this did not occur to him. He took the metal cup they offered and drank without thinking. It was some unrecognizable tea.
The women helped him back onto the blankets and dressed him in clothes from Selinda’s bag. They were exhausted, talking in low tones, but he could not concentrate well enough to determine their words.
Both looked haggard, Agatha’s face blanched white and Selinda’s yellow eyes wide. Her pupils were huge, black slits that almost eclipsed the gold. The tips of her pointed ears quivered. She sat hunched over, her cloak wrapped tightly about her body. Jamie didn’t care. He closed his eyes gently and seconds later was in the deepest sleep of his life.