Jimmy

After he talked with the boss, Robert Skeffield said I should sleep in the house.

I didn't want to tell him no, since I was supposed to be inside searching anyway.  But I got a panicky feeling at the thought of being trapped inside a building.

But I wouldn't be trapped.  I wouldn't.

I had to search for that magic stuff before the boss would be satisfied with my work.  I was his best agent; we both knew it.  I can ferret out things nobody else can.  I can get in anywhere and I have a knack for finding hidden things.

I have to try.

So, after spending some time with Marcus, talking to the other mechanicalized men a while and learning all I could, I finally gave in and went inside that huge old house.  It's way too fancy for the likes of me.  I was not happy — even though there was good food and I got a big share at supper with the Jenkinses.

Louie, he was pretty nice to me, very caring and polite, and kind of not intimidating at all, even though he was clearly a lot richer than I'll ever be. 

He showed me to a really nice room, and said if I needed anything, anything at all, I should make sure to let him know.

He's gentle.  He seems to ooze it out of his pores, like he cares about people without trying.

I wanted to go and thank the magician who got me away from that bastard — I know he used magic, I could feel the prickly heat of it on my skin where it fought that bastard's icy waves — but he was off being taken care of, kept away.

I ate a lot of food, climbed into the big soft bed, and tried to catch a few hours' sleep.  I would obviously get up in the middle of the night to search the house thoroughly, and that tends to cut down on your beauty sleep.

I needed a lot, after that choking I got.  Half killed me, that bastard.

I had a few dreams, all bad.

When I woke up, twitching and crying out in my sleep, the house was dark — so dark.  Dark enough to press against my eyeballs, like a breathing thing, waiting.

I tried to shake off the feeling and force myself to get up.  Feet touched the cold floor, and I shuddered something fierce.

This house...this house...

Maybe it's just because I never feel at home in a house, not really, especially such a fancy one, but I felt like I was being watched as I padded around.  I lit a candle and shielded it carefully, and it took me a long time to work my way through room after room. 

There were so many, it was all I could do not to get myself lost or forget one, even though I mapped it all out in my head, just from the outside.

All the while I was looking, my heart pounded something fierce, and I felt like I was getting closer and closer to something that made me want to run screaming.

But I couldn't turn back.  I promised the boss.  I promised, and I love him more than anyone but Marcus.  He saved my life in so many ways, and he's the only completely true man in the world.  Even Marcus sometimes lies to make me feel better; he tells me I'm beautiful.  But I kind of don't mind that lie...

Thinking about Marcus, I was distracted.  I jumped to beat the band, when something brushed against me.

Except...nothing touched me.

But something did brush me.  Where?  I shone the light all around, but there was nothing.

There it was again, brushing.  The feeling was in my head, like a prickle of magic.

I can help you, said something whispering in my head, a crazy voice that scared me even though it sounded like hot chocolate: smooth and sweet and dark and perfect.

What? I said inside my head.  Regretful to say it, but I'm not a pure stranger to talking to myself.  When I was in the hospital and almost died, there was a lot of that.  And when I have to talk myself into or out of something.

There was a feeling of goldenness, and I sucked in a breath, expecting to taste dandelion sweetness and summer hum in the air.  It was all just the same; the golden brightness was in my head.  I closed my eyes, because it started to hurt.  It hurt a lot.

"What do you want?" I said aloud, through clenched teeth.  I endured the pain.

"The question is, what do you want?"  The presence moved around me, smiling in a not very nice way.  "Let me free, and I can give it to you.  Power.  Wealth.  Freedom."  The voice was silky and perfect, but I was shivering and very cold now.

"Who — who are you?"  I somehow knew you shouldn't ask more than one question at a time, so I waited to ask "Where are you, and how do I release you — and why are you trapped?"

It's like a fairytale, I thought.  He's a bad genie, and I can't let him out or he'll find some way to kill me while giving me everything I wish for.

Then I thought: I can't let him know I know.

Is this what the boss sent me to find?  My own death?

"Don't be afraid," said the silky voice, and I felt something brush my cheek — was it real this time?  I couldn't tell — and the voice had gone honeyed.  "I won't hurt you."

I would have liked to believe that.  But I didn't.  I was trembling harder than ever.  I wanted to scream for help, for Marcus to come and save me, but I couldn't open my mouth.  If I could, I was somehow sure I would make no sound anyone else in the world could hear.

"Wh-what do you want me to do?"  Perhaps if I could drag it out a little, I could find some way to get away from him.  Though I was no longer sure I was in the real world at all, or real myself in any way.  I thought I was still holding a candle, but the world had frozen for me in a strange way, and I wasn't even sure about that.

"I just need you to say a few words for me."

"I don't know magic," I protested.

I had the sense of him walking around me, examining me.  Perhaps my imagination, perhaps not. 

"You've been touched by it," he said.  "I can feel it deep inside you.  A broken thing."  He touched again, and I felt it in my chest now.  It didn't hurt, exactly, but it scared me enough that I screamed and could move again. 

My candle clattered to the floor and went out, and I had never done such a ridiculous thing in all my years of thieving and then spying.  I wouldn't have done such a clumsy thing when I was six years old, no, not even if a ghost had waved to me and said hello.  I was smart enough then to remember you can't eat if you can't be clever and quiet and fast.  You could die if you dropped a candle.

But this time, the movement stood me in good stead.  The hand withdrew from my chest, as if surprised or a bit insulted.  "That's all very well," he began, his voice more substantial than ever, and I think, perhaps I am hearing him out loud.  Maybe it's all real and not...just in my head.  That's slightly less scary, but not much.

I moved with quick steps toward the door, clenching my teeth, trying not to scream or shout, trying to stop shaking.

"I'll be here," he called after me.  "Waiting..."

I moved out into the hall and shut the door firmly behind me.  I leaned against it, closing my eyes for a second, re-orienting myself in the dark mansion.  It felt as if I was trapped in there for months, as bad as being trapped in a hospital bed recovering from war wounds.  I knew it couldn't have been more than a moment.

In the hall, a clock ticked.  Tick, tick, tick.  I used the sound to ground myself, put a mental pin on the mental map of the house, and move off.  This was where...something lived.  And I was not sure I'd ever be brave enough to go back.

But I can tell the boss.

Making a mental note never, ever to take on a job where I can't sleep safely in Marcus's arms every night, I went quickly and quietly through the rest of the house.  But I was just going through the motions. 

I'd found something.  I just wished I hadn't.  It would be better to fail the boss than...face that.

Nothing can put its creepy fingers into my chest when Marcus holds me.  That I'm sure of.  I would never be able to sleep again if I didn't believe it.

#

I didn't get any more sleep that night, even when I went to Marcus.  He kept telling me how cold I was.  Couldn't seem to stop shivering.  He held onto me, kept me safe, and in the morning, I drank a lot of coffee. 

I kissed Marcus goodbye, went to town, and got on the train.

It seemed to take forever to reach the boss.  I couldn't get warm, no matter how I wrapped my arms around myself.  I wished I knew what to do.

As soon as I got there, the warmth of the house enveloped me and I began to feel better. 

There was Jason, with his big metal arm.  He can be scary, but today his presence seemed comforting, safe.  He took one look at me, and said, "I'll bring food.  Go see the boss."

"Wait," said Jess, waving a hand quickly.  He's a pretty man with kind eyes, usually very quiet.  He works with Jason, and they move like two halves of one person.  They work together without having to think about it. 

They also love each other dearly, and I'm glad for Jason that he found someone.

Jess pressed a mug of hot cocoa into my hands, and gave me a wink.  "Take that with you."  I was off.  The boss was busy, but he took one look at me in the doorway and said, "Perhaps we can finish this later, Jacob."

The other man rose and left, and the boss motioned for me to take a chair.  He doesn't get up.  His joints hurt him a lot these days.  Too much.

I took a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut.  In the seat, I felt more grounded, but still not right. 

Will I feel right ever again after being touched inside my chest by...whatever that was?  A genie, a ghost — or even something worse?

"You found something," he said.

"I found something.  I'm pretty sure it's bad.  I don't want to ever go back to that house."

He looked startled.  "No artifact?"

I shook my head and began to explain.  He looked really startled, even alarmed.  When I finished, he reached for his telephone.  "You were right to come, Jimmy.  I need you to draw me a map of the house, and which room this presence is in.  I need to consult my contact at the magical ministry.  Go have something to eat — and don't go back there.  I'll arrange for Marcus to join you here as soon as possible."

I let out a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.  I'd been so afraid he'd make me go back.

I don't know why.  The boss has always been good to me.

I spent the afternoon wandering the house, trying to get warm, trying to stop feeling so restless.  Even though I don't like being indoors generally, I didn't go out.  I didn't want to.

A man from the ministry got there.  I could tell from his badge, and something subtle about the way he carried himself.  You saw men like that during the war.  Women, too, because that was one part of the war they didn't think women should be protected from, long as they had magic.

It was men like that what blew up the enemies.  Like bombs, they were.  The other side had 'em too, and they'd blow us up.  I shuddered when I thought of them blowing each other up, and the rest of us too.  Wonder anybody survived that war.

I think I'll be having nightmares tonight, if I ever do get to sleep.  I'm so tired, but I don't feel like I'll ever be able to rest again.

The man himself didn't seem mean or like he wanted to hurt me, though.  The boss introduced him as Jocelyn Powers.  He shook my hand, and was clearly friends with the boss, and asked to hear my story again in person.  I told him, and the boss listened too. 

The boss showed him my map.  He made a few notes, and asked a few more questions — did the entity identify itself by name or anything else?  Did the room feel colder?  What did I think it had meant about being touched by magic?

His cool eyes were assessing, but not judging me.  I looked at the boss, wondering if I should tell.  Graeham gave me a short nod that said, "Go ahead."

I looked at Powers again.  "The war.  When I ended up almost dead — that was a magical explosion.  I almost died, would've if the boss hadn't found me somewhere quiet to recuperate, and looked after me really well for a long time.  I ain't magic — I don't know magic, don't do magic — but I can feel it when it's close enough, bad enough.  Because of that explosion."  I tried to think of how to put it into words.  "It echoes in my bones."

He nodded again, made another note.  "You're not the only man to emerge thus marked," he said.  "If it's any comfort to you, that mark of magic — or scarring, or whatever you wish to call it — is unlikely to affect your daily life in any meaningful way.  I would be willing to arrange it so you can see one of our medical specialists if you would like.  I am not an expert, but I suspect it is just scarring, that you are not in any way leaking or absorbing or drawing magic to you.  You simply have scars from the war, as do many, and they leave you more sensitive to certain things."

I nodded, and he continued.  I had no intention of going to see a magic doctor, that's for sure.  I could be bleeding out of my eyes and I'd still hesitate.  I'm not real fond of magic.

"I would suggest, however, that you contact Graeham if at any time you sense more magic of this sort, or any sort that really bothers you.  He can pass the word along, and we can investigate it.  You are sensitive for a reason — you survived — but if you feel something that's a danger to others, I really do think it's your duty to pass the word along so that it can be dealt with."

I looked at the boss.  He nodded.  "I would agree, Jimmy."

"Do you really think I can sense dangerous magic?  Or does it all scare me?"

The ministry man smiled, and held out his hand, palm up.  It looked like he was offering me a coin or something.  I looked.  Tiny, soundless fireworks burst over his palm in the air: they were colorful, bright little flashes, more like a celebration more than a bombing.

I thought of the men in the trenches, dying.  I thought of how a spell would go off overhead and men would be able to taste colors for days, retching at the sight of yellow — those it didn't kill outright.  I thought of the sudden illnesses, instant plagues, lost minds: the terrible cost magic had added to an already terrible price of war.  I shuddered. 

But the magic in his hand didn't really frighten me; it felt like a little flicker of flame, warm but not harmful.  Magic itself was a bit like fire, I realized.  And I had mostly seen and felt it used to hurt, to burn down houses. 

"Does that feel the same to you?  Frightening?"  He watched my face, his expression sort of friendly and interested.

"No.  It reminds me of how bad magic can be, though."  I looked up at him, and then reached forward and closed his hand, shutting off the spell.  He let me, watching my face.

I had something to say.  "Don't forget, okay?  You use it every day, and maybe you do good things with it, but a lot of men died every day in that war, because of magic.  They died horrible deaths, and when you treat it like a toy, or use it lightly as a weapon..."  I shuddered, not wanting to think about it more, not wanting to go back to those feelings ever again.

"Your point is well taken," said Powers, and he smiled politely to me and the boss as he rose.  "And now I had better go and deal with our...issue, or at least see if it can be dealt with.  The fact that it called to you rather than anyone else is telling, but I'm not sure exactly what it tells us.  At any rate, it is on my shoulders now and need worry you no longer." 

He reached over and shook the boss's hand — very, very gently — and I think he did something else with magic, because I felt a sort of warm glow, and after that the boss sat up a little straighter and smiled, like his body didn't hurt as much now.

That was nice of him.

"Jimmy," said the man, now standing.  I stood, too, and he was a lot taller than me.  Most people were, though.  He held out a hand, and waited to see if I'd take it.

I hesitated.  Then I took it. 

"I will remember what you said," he said.  "For what it's worth, I agree with you.  Magic is not a light thing, or a toy.  But we must remember it can be used for good, otherwise the burden becomes far too heavy.  I'm afraid we lost quite a few good men and women afterwards because of that."

I looked at him, not understanding.  And then I did.  Oh.  He meant some of those war magicians, they'd survived all of that, all of the magic they'd thrown and been hit with, and then in the peacetime, they'd killed themselves. 

Broken.  They'd been broken...

And this man had served then, too.  I didn't ask him what he'd been through or done.  I didn't want to know.  He had survived, though, and he was trying to serve his country still, and do right with his magic, not evil. 

I could respect that, and I shook his hand meaning it. 

As I did, I felt a little warmth creeping up my arm, as well.  If he'd sent a touch of healing magic into the boss, what was he sending in to me?  It felt nice: warm, and that yammering part of me that was still terrified of the creature from the mansion, well, it began to ease.  The panic began to calm.  My heart felt more normal.

I wasn't sure what that meant; but I felt like he'd neutralized that touch, whatever chill it had given me, whatever mark it had made.  I stood up a little taller, and smiled.

He said, "Good day, gentlemen.  I trust we won't need to speak again soon, so I'll wish you a good life!"

I walked out with him because I was heading to the kitchen anyway, for more food.  I always eat when I'm upset.  Or any other reason at all.

He hesitated at the door, as if he wanted to say something more.  I hesitated, too, before shoving a muffin into my mouth.

"Here's my card," he said.  "In case you need to contact me directly."

He handed over the slim white rectangle, and a jolt when through me as I recognized his look and realized what it meant.

He thought the boss didn't have all that much longer to live.  Or at any rate, where he'd be well enough for being a full-on manager of all the projects he took care of now.  He might not always be here to act as my go-between. 

The thought shook me, and I accepted the card with a mumbled thanks, looking down at the floor and wishing I could disappear.  The boss couldn't die.  He couldn't.  I needed him.

By the time Marcus got there, I had eaten so much food I wasn't sure I could eat any more.  They were being far too nice to me, not even scolding me for taking extras.  No one did: not even the twins.  That was a little scary.  They must have thought I was really in a bad way...

Then Marcus was there — finally — wrapping me in his arms.  It felt so good, like I could breathe again, like I was whole.  Without him, I felt off-balance. 

Sometimes I wondered if I relied on him too much.  But I had never claimed to be a healthy person: I had never been whole or normal, or even adequate, except at a few skills.  Spying, sneaking, stealing, and escaping.  I didn't steal anymore; and when I grew up a little, I added more skills: good with horses, and good at being a loving boyfriend.  I hadn't known I had any of those things in me, before the boss showed me I could be trusted.

I didn't say anything to Marcus, but he comforted me like he understood, like he didn't need to hear the words to know what I felt.  I appreciated that about him; it was amazing.  So often, I didn't have any words at all for what I felt.  I was just a boy still running from the master chimney sweep, then running from the war, and then from myself.  I hadn't even realized how lost I was till someone found me, grounded me, loved me despite everything, and made me want to stay somewhere instead of running.

Now Marcus held me so close, so warm, and for so long.  I didn't care who saw.  I just held onto him; it was the only thing I needed now, the entirety of my necessity.

"It's all right," he promised.  "I'm not going anywhere."

"You'd better not," I mumbled.  My eyes felt kind of damp; I sniffed.  "And we're not going back there."  I wasn't built for country living.  Clearly — or that magician wouldn't have caught me with his strangle-tentacles and his hands. 

I needed rooftops.  I needed cramped spaces to hide and run and escape.  In the country, I had been too noticeable: a fox in the open field, a tuft of red fur that was too easy to pick off.

"Of course we're not," he said, rubbing my back gently with one of his big, calm hands.  "We're going home, to the cat and the horses and the motorcar.  We're going back where we belong.  We won't ever go back there again."

"Do you think I'm a coward?" I mumbled.

"No.  Why would you even ask that?  I think you're very brave."

I rubbed my face against this shirt, as if I could rub some of his sweetness, intoxicating loveliness, and safety off on my face.  "I should face my fears, shouldn't I?"

I drew back.  Part of me reluctantly still felt I should go back to that room.  They might need me for something.  What if no one else could talk to...it...and they needed to?  But a larger part of me just wanted to run screaming from the very idea.  It wasn't...right. 

That thing was...not right.  Whatever it was, it wasn't human.  Not even a ghostie.  I could handle a ghost, I think.

"That's what the professionals are for.  When there's something you can do and do well, you don't suggest they send in someone who will bumble around with no training to deal with it, do you?"  He kissed me on the nose.  "Of course you don't, you goose.  And you don't have any training in magic, nor are you likely to get any."

"Good."  I felt contented with his answer.  I reached up to squeeze his arms, smiling at him, feeling refreshed and more like myself.  I said, "Let's get you something to eat, and then go home."

I would be glad to see the cat. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed her.

She was my crotchety, sweet, one-eyed tabby cat.  She kept the barn mouse-free, and stalked around as if she owned the place.  She certainly owned my heart.  And sometimes, when she slipped into the room where we slept, she settled over it, purring, weighing down my chest with a welcome, fluffy weight.  She was another being who never made me feel trapped.

"You and food," said Marcus, shaking his head.  But he was smiling, not mocking.  "I ate on the train, so we can leave now.  Got your things?"

I shook my head, and smiled back helplessly.  "I don't need anything."

I was going home.