Sorcerer's Luck (24 page)

Brittany lived in San Francisco because she got free rent in return for helping her
grandmother, who owned a place out in the Sunset District just off Nineteenth Avenue.
Her Grandma Wilson lived in the bottom floor flat while Brittany had the
top unit of a building designed to fit in with the Victorian optique—big bay
windows, a fancy double-door entrance with stained glass—but in the style of
the 1930s. Stucco, gray, drab, in short. Sorcerer's luck gave us a parking
place right in front of it.

Tor and I got out, and I opened the back door. Tor reached in and hauled Roman out,
helped him stand, brushed some dirt off his sweatshirt. Roman stood still like
a little boy and let him.

“Okay,” Roman said. “You were in the military. Right?”

“Norwegian army, yeah,” Tor said.

“With the Coalition, huh? Iraq or Afghanistan?”

“I don't much like to talk about it.”

“I can accept that.” Roman took a deep breath. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome. Look, you've got to tell Brittany what happened. I don't just mean me
and Maya fetching you. I mean what happened. Maybe not all of it. For sure not
the details. But you've got to tell her.”

Under the olive color of his skin the blood left Roman's face. “You're right,” he said. “Shit.”

I hurried into the entranceway to ring Brittany's doorbell, but I heard her coming
downstairs. She'd been watching out the window, she told me when she opened the
door.

“Oh god, thank you, Maya!” she said. “And Tor, thank him, too. Or I mean, do you guys want to
come in? I'm all to pieces.”

“No, you and Ro need to talk without us there. Brit! You've fallen in love with my
rotten brother, haven't you?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged and twisted her face into a sour expression. “I am so stupid some
times! I always loved the dogs I rescued, too, but this is different. I don't
want to give Roman away to a good home.”

Despite everything we managed to laugh. Roman walked up to us, looked at the steps by
Brittany's feet, and mumbled, “Sorry.” Brittany grabbed him by the arm and guided him
firmly inside. I shut the door behind them and went back to the car. Tor had
already gotten into the driver's seat. I got in and buckled on my seat belt
while he watched me.

“Brittany says thank you,” I said.

“She's welcome, yeah.” He smiled briefly. “That was close there, when your brother
asked me about the military.”

“I was getting ready to jump in and lie for you.”

Tor smiled again, then let it fade.

“What I wonder,” I said, “is how you knew all that, about his dead friend, and the
woman with the baby. Sorcery?”

“No, I was just guessing. Too many women died in Iraq. Every soldier loses a friend.
Someone lost me. If he's still alive, he must be ninety by now, but I bet he
never forgot the guy I was back then. You don't.”

My eyes filled with tears again. I wiped them off on my sleeve.

 “You know,” Tor went on, “it's easier to lay aside what we suffered in the war than what we
did. I don't have to go through what Roman's going through because I was shot
and killed. That made it even. Paid in full. He got out of there alive.”

Tor's statements were always logical, that is, if you could believe his premises,
like this one:
I died, but I remember it all anyway.
I could think of
nothing to say. He sighed once and started the car.

 Tor drove in his usual fast but careful way out of the city and back to the Bay
Bridge. Once we'd crossed, I called Cynthia and told her that we'd found Roman and
returned him to Brittany. She thanked me, because she'd been worrying—just as I
knew she would.

“Do you think he'll do this again?” Cynthia said.

“I don't know. I hope not. But I think we'd better be ready for it. Brittany warned us
it's a long process, pulling someone back.”

“So she did. Well, take care. I'd better go. Jim's grumbling.”

When Tor and I got home, he turned on both lamps in the living room. The bright colored
glow through the Tiffany shades comforted me. I flopped into an armchair and
stretched my aching legs out in front of me.

“You need chi,” Tor said. “Then I'll fix something for dinner. I'm really hungry.”

Tor turned off the air conditioner and opened the east window. The night air, scented with
the neighbor's honeysuckle, swept over me. Tor pulled élan from the night air
and sent it flowing over me. I opened my mouth and gulped it in, swallowed and
savored it, as if I drank down some beautiful liquor. I could see its color in
my mind, a deep ruby red, and feel the warmth as it spread through my body.

“I like watching you feed,” Tor said. “You look so happy.”

“I am happy. You're wonderful.”

He grinned and went into the kitchen. I lay back in the chair and looked out the east
window. The bloated moon, too close to full, had just risen over the distant
hills.
Moon in Virgo
, I thought. By then the month had changed over to
September.

Thanks to his TV phobia, I'd been thinking of Tor as a luddite, but he had no trouble
buying and installing the nanny cam. When he figured out how to route it over
his wireless connection to his laptop, I realized that he had to be serious
about hating television in particular, not technology in general.

“It really scrambles your brain waves,” he told me when I asked. “I'm not kidding. It
changes the entire pattern of how you think. From what I've read, the digital
monitors are better than the CRTs. It's the pattern of lines that carry the
signal on a CRT that does the brain wave damage. It's like hypnosis. But the
shows aren't any better no matter what you bring them in on.”

I stared in complete non-understanding. I had heard something about the changes to brain
waves somewhere, I realized, but I'd never thought twice about it.

“Whatever,” I said. “I wanted to ask you something. What are we going to do about the élan
I need? When the bjarki's dominant, I mean. Last time I ran really low and hurt
all over.”

“I can feed you right before you lock me in, feed you as much as you can absorb.”

“That'll help.” I thought back to the other time he'd made the transformation. “I was
low to begin with, that first time. Besides, I didn't know what to expect. I
still don't, really. I've only been here for one change.” I ran the timeline in
my mind. “I've only known you for six weeks, haven't I?”

“You've known me a hell of a lot longer than six weeks.”

I rolled my eyes. “I mean now. Here. In this life.”

“It's all one life. It's just hard to remember the earlier parts. The memories turn into
pictures, and then pieces of pictures, and after a while they're gone.”

“After a while? After a couple of lives, I suppose you mean.”

“Yeah. Talking about this frosts you, doesn't it?”

I shrugged and realized why I felt like sulking. “I'm sorry,” I said. “I'm just plain
nervous, I guess, about what's going to happen tomorrow.”

“You and me both.”

“Are you sure you want me to use the nanny cam?”

“Oh yeah. It's always better to know than wonder.” He looked at me and smiled in a
particularly smug way. “About all kinds of things. Like what's behind those
shutters. Remember them?”

I turned and walked off before I said something nasty. He followed me into my bedroom
and stopped by the writing desk. I was going to refuse to look at it, but
curiosity won. On the lid two figures were fighting with swords, a black man
with the sun for his head, and a white woman with the moon for hers. Tiny red
lions formed the circle around them, a sign that they were releasing a lot of
power.

“What does that mean?” I said.

“They're trying to achieve a balance between them. They're doing it wrong.”

“Like we are?” I heard my voice snarl.

“That's not what I meant!” Tor crossed his arms over his chest.

I realized that we stood on the edge of our first fight. Not now, I thought. Totally wrong
time!

“I'm sorry,” I said. “Look, you need to rest up for tomorrow.”

“You're right. I'm sorry, too.” He hesitated, then laughed, but the throaty sound
merged into a growl. “Ever hear that old expression? Irritable as a bear with a
sore paw?”

“Yeah.” I managed to smile at him. “I have. Come lie down, and I'll rub your back.”

“Thanks. That'll help.” He glanced at the bed and winced. “But not in here.”

On the carved headboard of the bed, the moon lacked only a sliver before it would turn
full.

Somewhere in the night, when we were both asleep, the transformation moved into its first
stage. I woke in the gray dawn to find myself about to fall out of bed, because
Tor had edged me way over and curled up in the middle of it. He'd curved his
back and folded somehow at the waist, drawn up and tucked in his long legs, and
bent his head so that his chin nearly touched his knees. I surrendered to the
pull of gravity and got out of bed. His eyes opened. He stared unmoving at me
as if he'd forgotten who I was, then sat up with a strange sound, not really a
growl, more of a snort, but animal all the same. I took a couple of big steps back,
but he came to himself and smiled at me. He uncurled, stretched, swore at how
stiff he was, and slid over to his side of the bed.

“Might as well get up,” he said. “I'm glad I went to the store yesterday.”

I dressed, but he put on only a pair of jeans. He padded barefoot into the bathroom, then
went to the kitchen. When I followed, I found him rummaging through the
refrigerator—him, the man who never ate breakfast. He pulled out a flat package
of sausages.

“I guess I should cook these,” he said. “Before I eat them, I mean.”

“Yes, you should. They're pork.”

He got out the frying pan, set it onto the stove, then turned to me.

“I'd better feed you first.”

With a toss of his head he indicated we were to go to the living room. In front of the east
window, where sunlight fell in a long stripe across the rug, he gathered élan
and let it pour over me. I absorbed all I could, swallowed in big gulps while
Tor stood with his arms raised and gathered more of what we both wanted so
badly. He tipped his head back in order to soak up the élan he needed for
himself, but I could see how tightly he'd set his jaw, how his eyes had gone
wide with fear. I gulped a last few shreds until I could take not one slurp or
smidgen more, and watched him finish feeding.

He lowered his arms and leaned forward from the waist at an odd angle. “Come lock me in.”
His voice had coarsened, turned low and grating. “Right now.”

He bolted for the master suite. It took me a moment to find the keys. By the time I
remembered to look on the mantel, where I'd put them the day before, my pulse
was pounding in my throat. My hands shook so badly that I had trouble getting
the key into the lock. I made myself stop and breathe, just breathe for a long
couple of moments. I could hear Tor pacing back and forth inside. Finally I
managed the key, shot the deadbolt, and put on the safety chain. On the other
side of the door he moaned, a long drawn-out moan that rose to a growl, then
fell back into misery.

“Tor!” I called out. “Remember who you are!”

He threw himself against the door and roared, scratched and scrabbled at the wood.
If
I turned into an actual bear, I could pull that door right off its hinges.
He'd
told me that. I wanted to scream. Instead I made my voice as gentle as I could.

“I love you, Tor. I'll be right here when you come back.”

He fell quiet for perhaps a minute and a half. The moaning started again. I walked
away.

I put the sausages back into the refrigerator. The thought of eating anything nauseated
me, although I knew I'd have to have food eventually. I had to keep my strength
up. I—no, we, both of us—had long days and nights ahead of us. I'd grown so
used to being fed whenever I wanted that the thought of being on my own
panicked me. Panic only drained élan, I reminded myself.
Breathe deeply,
imagine flowers, a field of beautiful yellow flowers
—my heart returned at
last to its normal rhythm.

 I went to the living room, where Tor's laptop sat on the coffee table. He'd plugged it
via a transformer into a wall socket so it wouldn't run out of power—even if I
did. I giggled at the thought, a sick little stupid sound. I made myself stop.
I could hear Tor whining, moaning, at the door just down the hall. Any time, at
any moment, I could boot up the laptop, access the cam, and see what was
tormenting him, see him in his strangely transformed condition, see at last the
creature he became.

It took me three hours to work up the courage.

The entire time, Tor moaned and growled. Occasionally he scratched on the door.

Finally, close to noon, after I'd made myself eat, I sat down on the couch and faced the
laptop. Even then, I had to take a good many deep, soothing breaths before I
could boot up. Even after that, it took me a couple of minutes to access the
camera images. I hit sat back on the couch, and forced myself to open my eyes
and watch.

Tor crouched in the middle of the unmade bed. He'd stripped off the jeans; they lay
on the floor nearby. His body was still human, no pelt, no bear's face, no
claws, but his posture, the way he hunched over, the way he swung his head from
side to side—pure animal. He tipped back his head and roared with a snap of his
jaws. Drool spattered and ran. He rolled over to the edge of the bed and jumped
down. On hands and knees he crawled over to the bedroom door, then sat back on
his haunches. His hands grabbed at the door knob—both of them, fingers held
together, as he tried to grasp it between what he must have seen as paws. The
door trembled but stayed shut.

He moaned, whined, swung his head back and forth, then clambered to his feet. He rammed a
shoulder against the door, fell back, and moaned so piteously at what must have
been the pain that my eyes filled with tears. I broke—leaned forward, stopped
the record, closed down the app, turned off the laptop. I'd promised him that
I'd record at intervals during the bjarki's domination. I'd done all I could
stand of the first session.

I felt like crawling myself, but I walked over to the open window and the patch of sunlight
and sat down in it. Maybe some of the élan would filter into my body on its own
if I was lucky. The warmth soothed me, no matter what the mysterious life force
was doing. I fell asleep right there on the floor. When I woke, the sun had
moved on to the other side of the flat. I heard Tor roaring and growling down the
hall in the master suite.

I got up and went into my bedroom. On the writing desk a new figure had appeared: a
hairy, filthy man naked except for a wrap of rags around his loins. He crouched
on a strip of grass and gnawed on a bone. In a circle around him flew tiny
vultures. I wanted to throw a towel over the desk so I wouldn't have to see its
images, but I was afraid of offending it. At some point I might need its
advice.

At twilight, when the silver glow of the rising moon hovered over the eastern hills,
I forced myself to boot up the laptop and camera again. We'd set the system up
to record to a three gig thumb drive, so computer memory presented no problems.
My own memory was a different matter. I knew that no matter what happened, no
matter how many times Tor had to suffer the bjarki's domination or how few, I
would never be able to forget what I'd seen.

With the moon shining full and strong, he hurt. His pain was obvious even in the images
onscreen. He moaned and whimpered as he crawled on all fours, back and forth,
shuffling across the bedroom floor. Now and then he stopped and lay down,
stretched out, then curled up, over and over, moaning in agony the entire time.
I wept. I could not stop myself. He writhed and rolled, got back to hands and
knees, began shuffling toward the window, then turned and shuffled back again.
He stopped, lay down, and curled into a fetal ball. He began to lick his right
arm as if he were trying to soothe the pain.

I moaned with him and turned off the screen and the speakers, but I let the laptop
continue to record direct from the camera. This moonrise phase was important, I
figured, and he'd want the data when he came back to himself. I could still
hear him, of course, through the door. He'd put the bag of earplugs in my bedroom.
I was just about to fetch them when Cynthia called me. I took my phone all the
way down the hall past my bedroom to make sure she couldn't hear Tor's moans
and roars.

“Say,” Cynthia said. “Did you guys want to go to a movie tonight? Jim's actually feeling
sociable.”

“We can't,” I said. “Tor's sick.”

“God, that's too bad! What's he got?”

I considered lying. I was going to say “food poisoning.” I was too aware that
this same curse would fall upon us every month, every damned lunar month,
thirteen times a year.

“It's the full moon,” I said. “He's under the domination of the bear. The bjarki.”