The store was dark and quiet when Casey pulled into the parking lot an hour after closing that evening. He let himself in through the basement door and took a moment to check on the Book. It was motionless in a corner of the storage cage, though not in the same spot he’d left it.
Shana was right. Sometimes it moved. He’d seen it slide across the desk and flop open, which was objectively creepy and likely would have freaked him out if his Gift hadn’t reacted with a complete lack of concern. The Book could be very dangerous if they used it, though it wasn’t a threat simply sitting on a table. He’d made a point to avert his eyes, not read the words it printed, and had quickly backed away.
Simon grew pensive whenever the subject of future conversations with the Book came up. Casey didn’t quite understand what caused those quiet, downward glances and moments of silence, but he also didn’t want to force Simon to talk by asking questions. Simon would tell him if he thought Casey should know. The man’s determination to have his voice heard when it was important, in the face of actual pain, impressed Casey more and more. Simon was never shy about sharing his opinions.
Casey checked the lock on the cage, then the exterior basement doors, and did a quick walkthrough of the store. Everything was as it should be.
Three floors up in his apartment, he found Simon seated at the kitchen table, a Chromebook open before him. Casey had advanced Simon his first paycheck on a prepaid debit card. Simon had immediately purchased a few toiletries, an inexpensive used computer, and a pocket knife, then had saved the rest.
“Whatcha studying?" Casey asked casually as he took his shoes off and deposited them in the basket by the door.
Simon looked up, turned bright pink, and winced.
Casey hid his laugh with a cough. Simon wasn’t making eye contact and had quickly shut the laptop. He said swiftly, “Don’t answer that if you don’t want—"
“Fiction," Simon said, voice unusually tight. "After we watched that science fiction movie yesterday, I wanted to know about how movies are made. The science is fascinating. I googled the title, but wasn’t sure what keywords to use beyond that. Something I entered took me to a repository of large amounts of fiction.”
"Fiction...?” Then Casey grinned fully as he figured it out. "Ah. You found the fanfic?”
"I would have sworn all the male characters were straight. The fans disagree. And the men do seem to fit well together... uh, I’m not sure if that’s a pun in your language, but it is in mine, and it was not intended!” Simon blushed from his hairline down to his collar, but his eyes were also sparkling with real amusement and crinkling up at the corners. If Casey had to guess, this was the closest Simon had come so far to laughing out loud, and it was at himself.
Casey snickered. "You found the slash. There’s a rule, you know, that anything you can conceive of probably has porn of it somewhere on the internet.”
Simon shook his head. "Lewd materials are a universal constant... I was, however, surprised by the quantity of it, and the degree to which same-sex relations are portrayed. There are such books in my world, but they are against Temple Law to own or read."
“It can be seen as a little embarrassing if you’re caught reading x-rated fanfic, depending on the situation, but it’s hardly a scandal. It’s 2024 — freedom of speech is protected by law. Read what you want.” He took mercy on Simon, who was looking everywhere but at Casey, and changed the subject. “So... I was going to practice levitating shit. I gotta get it right so we can move on to more things. If you’re at a good stopping point on that story, want to help me out?”
The last comment, delivered with a teasing grin, probably wasn’t necessary, but seeing Simon’s reaction was worth it. Simon fidgeted, then looked up at the ceiling, where there was a large splat of red wax. His cheeks were nearly the same color. Casey hadn’t been able to get the wax off the textured plaster on the ceiling after yesterday’s session had gone especially badly.
Given his expression, Simon’s voice was remarkably level when he leaped at the change of subject and said quickly, "It’s unfortunate that you were never taught as a child; like language, core magical skills are far easier to learn when you are young."
“You’re worried about me.”
Simon looked up at him, then nodded. His gaze shifted to the window, where vehicle headlights had flashed across the window. Somebody was probably using the shop’s parking lot to turn around. He said simply, “Yes. I am.”
Casey frowned. “I understand. I just... I want to figure out what I can do with this power.”
"Well, you’ve already mastered the art of blowing things up. That can be useful." Simon said this with one corner of his mouth tugging sideways into the subtlest of smiles.
“Yeah. I have a bright future in demolition." Casey matched Simon’s expression, then realized it was the first time Simon had teased him about anything. His smirk turned into a bright smile. It was so good to hear Simon’s confidence grow.
Simon ducked his head again, a hint of color touching his cheeks. “In my world, there are also many military applications for purely destructive power. However, because you show signs of so many different abilities, I suspect you’re destined for more than simply creating large explosions.”
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Casey adopted a mock-whining tone. “But blowing up things would be fun!”
“Well, yes, and an argument could be made that, once you have a minimum of control, deliberately causing destruction would be good practice.” Simon’s eyes crinkled up again.
With a grin on his face, Casey padded to the fridge in his stocking feet and found a wax-covered Babybel snack cheese in the dairy drawer. He peeled the cheese out of its red jacket, popped the little wheel of gouda in his mouth, and rolled the sticky wax around in his hands until it was a near-perfect globe.
Still chewing, he sat down at the table, wiped his hands on his jeans, then held the ball between thumb and forefinger and reached for the ley magic that ran through the hills around them. Every time he did this, finding the magic was a little easier. It came to his call, swirling towards him in a wild rush and surrounding him in a sudden vortex of power so strong that an unseen wind rustled through the apartment. Simon’s hair fanned up from his head.
Oops. Too much.
Simon hastily backed away, ducking towards the bedroom door, even as he said, “Not so much!”
Casey struggled to release some of the magic. It didn’t want to go. It felt as if he’d created a void that the power was rushing to fill, like water into a vacuum, and it was far too much, far too fast. Yesterday, this same effect had caused the summoning of power to go awry.
Make the vacuum smaller, he thought, since simply pushing the power back was like putting his hand in front of a waterfall. He visualized the ‘space’ for the power shrinking with real effort. It worked. He squeezed some of the magic out and back to the earth it had come from until only an apple-sized orb of energy surrounded his hand and the pea of wax. He could see the magic now, rainbow colors in the form of a lopsided globe. Where the sphere bulged unevenly, the power grew brighter and the swirling movements became more energetic.
From the doorway, safety squints firmly in place, Simon said, “Make it smaller.”
He focused, first pushing the bumpy bits inwards so that the orb was closer to a perfect circle, then contracting the sides until it was the size of a brilliantly glowing marble centered around the smaller bit of wax.
Simon sounded pleased. “You are getting better.”
While chewing on his lower lip in concentration, he controlled the power to press against the wax from all sides and released the ball between his fingers. With barely a ripple, he was able to remove his thumb and forefinger from the sphere. The wax bobbed in the center of the magic, held there by a balanced force pushing at it from every direction.
He’d done it. Casey cupped both hands below the ball of magical, glowing light and the tiny pea of red wax within it. For the first time, he had successfully balanced everything. He could feel the trickle of power like a warm current up through his feet, through the nerves of his arms, and out through his fingertips to feed the thing he’d made. The energy it used to maintain itself was perfectly balanced with what he was pulling from the leys. It felt right.
How had he never known he could do this? It was as if the Book had flipped a switch in his head when it had shown him the power all around him.
Simon said softly, “Good job, Casey.”
Something struck the glass of his third-floor kitchen window.
Startled, he jerked his head around and lost focus. The power lashed through him, more energy than the tiny sphere could handle. The entire thing detonated with a loud crack and a flash of brilliant light and heat. The pea of wax smacked him in the cheek hard enough to hurt.
Simon said mildly, “You must learn to maintain control even when startled. That came rather close to your eye.”
He gingerly probed his cheekbone. It felt bruised. “What was that?”
“Bird?” Simon suggested. It was after dark. His green eyes narrowed with skepticism at his own suggestion.
“YO!” a voice shouted from outside. “Jockwad!”
“I wish it was a bird.” Casey rolled his eyes, recognizing the voice instantly.
“What’s a ‘Jockwad’?” Simon asked. “Not sure that translates to anything in my language.”
“Trust me, it’s nonsense in English too. Uh. Do you have the word ‘dickwad’? And jock? He’s combining them into a new word. Mark’s got a mean nickname for everyone he knows.”
“... ah. It is a portmanteau that doesn’t translate?”
“Something like that.” Explanation of the insult finished, Casey walked to the window, just in time for a second rock to strike it. Mark wasn’t pitching pebbles. He flinched, was somewhat surprised the window hadn’t broken, and yanked it open. “What the fuck, Mark?”
“I need t’ talk to you.”
“And you couldn’t call?” He demanded, loud enough for his voice to carry to the man standing in the parking lot, three stories below. “I know you’ve got my number.” Mark sent him obnoxious memes regularly. The last few had featured a certain ugly cartoon frog.
As much as Casey was frustrated by the man, the Gift seemed to think they needed a line of communication. So, rather than blocking Mark, he just deleted the man’s texts without comment. The lack of response from Casey didn’t deter him.
“My phone got shut off.”
“Go to the library and use their wifi?”
“I’m banned from the library, the fuckers.”
Casey didn’t want to know what Mark had done. It was probably stupid. “Borrow somebody else’s phone?”
“You know I don’t got nobody who’d loan me their phone.”
That was probably true. Casey certainly would not have trusted Mark with his; the last time he’d done so was in high school over a decade ago. Mark had promptly photographed a drawing of an anthropomorphic dick he’d sketched in the margin of his math textbook and sent it to Casey’s mother.
Casey sighed. As much as he’d prefer to slam the window down and call the cops to have the man removed from his parking lot, he should find out what he wanted.
“Do you want to come with me or stay here?” he asked Simon.
Simon was already shoving his feet into his boots. Completely deadpan, he said, “Mark is safer to be around than your magic.”
“Ow. The truth hurts!” Casey said with mock outrage.
Simon ducked his head and smiled, clearly very pleased that his joke had landed well. “Any idea what he wants?”
Casey contemplated the question. “Guess we’ll find out. Thanks for coming with me, at least it’ll be two against one.”
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