CEDRIC 042: Potence

Looking back, it all felt so obvious. I raged, but more than that I felt humiliated. I had let my guard down, and for what? She’d just been biding her time, all the while planning her escape. None of it had meant anything to her. I fumed with one thought: That I should have known better.

When I left the Magicademy, the sun had long since set. Though its rays were no threat to me, I none-the-less felt safer here in the darkness. A chilled wind disturbs my hair, but I am otherwise unphased. I take one more glance at that creaky old house, noticing lights on in rooms that couldn’t have possibly been occupied. And then, as if on cue, one goes out.

I, too, step into the shadow and fade into mist.

I wouldn’t say I remember every one of my victims. No, far from it. How long had I been doing this? I supposed nearing twenty-seven years. Already the nights and days became months and years slipped through my fingers. No, I could not recall each of their faces but I was certain, with all of my senses, that each of them smelled different, like forests that never gave off the same scent twice.

In the early days, I had sometimes fed from animals. It certainly was an option - Straud bottled the stuff and sold it by the dozen. Vincent, with his effortless mastery of Protean, had shown me that blooddrinkers likewise existed in the animal kingdoms. And I had heard tale that at least one vampire, feeling so accutely the guilt of predating upon humanity, had subsisted for years entirely on the dribbles of vitae to be found in sewer rats.

But I could not bring myself to exist in such a fashion. Yes, I had fed on animals, even allowing myself to drain them in their entirety, safe in the very real fact that no Mortal would think twice about the discovery of a cat’s corpse concealed underneath some leafy underbrush. It was possible to drink from these creatures, and it was easy.

Too easy. I quickly developed an aversion to the practice. In that act, I became consumed with self-loathing and disgust. It was there I truly became a monster.

So I turned my nose up and refused: And I was no worse off. In a city like this, humans seemed to outnumber the other vermin, or at least they alone could travel freely. They were there, everywhere, crawling, scrambling, proliferating - even as all I desired was solitude.

I had once indulged in a feeling one might call guilt. Reluctance. Shame. And sometimes it reared its ugly head and threatened to end my life then and there. I imagined that emotion, conviction - empathy - was what had led Kevin to seek a way out. He had masked it so well back then. Once I had sought to mimic the stillness of his eyes as he bared his fangs and sunk his teeth deep in the neck of the unsuspecting. He had been born into this, I mused, and I had been merely drafted.

Yes, it was all a façade. As he took from the others, he struggled to resist the torrent of emotion. Some of our kind are like that - even as their bodies are hardened as homunculi they merely possess, what remain of their nerves and mind are honed to perceive sensations and injuries the Mortals can only just outline in their grief, passion, and heartbreak. Many of the undead feel in their unlife all the feelings to which they were once inured, as if they had all been delayed, as if they had been waiting for the moment they could be ignored no longer.

But me? I was not like that. The night that I had been resurrected marked a stark transition - where as a young man I had flitted aimlessly through life, never terribly committed to anything, least of all my identity as a mage - I was instantly inducted into something larger than myself. I had a Master, I had a friend. I had been given only a moment to grieve what I had lost and I scarcely needed more than that. I gladly took up the gun.

Finally, surrounded by soldiers, I was never alone. My world would keep expanding, but I hope I am not being too boastful to suggest that I rose to every occasion. In our time of need, Straud became patriarch to the Marscapone family. Kevin and I endured even as the Old Man flirted with disaster, taking in Trelaine’s orphans Avaelle and Mandarc, and soon after creating a number of new fledglings. I have never once lost faith in him, but that is not to imply that I always understood his decisions.

My world was full now, and I had a very real place in it. It is that sense of duty, of obligation, of belonging, that kept me so relentlessly inclined toward the Hunt. I could ingest the fabled fruit, and I would if it suited my fancy, but it did not slake my Thirst. Vitae alone kept me alive, filled me with the will to continue the fight. I oft supposed I was little different than an addict eagerly awaiting his next fix, but I did not dwell too long on the unsavory comparison. Yes, sometimes it all felt wrong and I did not like myself, the way most humans avoid opening the doors of the slaughterhouse. But I sustained myself on the assertion that this was all part of the Cycle. I had a job to do, a job meant for me and me alone, and I could not forsake my goal to get lost in a maze of philosophy.

These things that troubled me tonight: Makoa’s betrayal, AVAEL’s departure, and even still, despite the passage of time, Svetlana’s death - they could be ameliorated in the ecstasy of the Hunt. And yet, I knew that was not fully true. Feasting would only provide temporary respite from the discomfort. When my hunger was sated, my friends would still be gone. But I had no desire to resist temptation right now. I felt ragged, angry, resentful. These emotions bubbled and frothed within me, threatening to overflow. But I held strong and insisted: Not tonight.

There is one streetlamp here that has a faulty wire and emits no light. It is here that I lean, centering myself and becoming again aware of who and what I am. Though I can move my diaphragm, I can also keep it completely still, creating no perturbations in the air around me. My heart, my veins, these things have never left my body, but they too have ceased the rhythm that propelled each and every Mortal forward through Time’s river. This is what I had now: the Stillness, the Darkness, and the Blood.

I remain completely motionless as a young woman approaches. Basking in the bountiful heat of youth, she wears entirely too little clothing for the month of December, but who was I to begrudge her choices? No parka created by Man was going to stop me from taking what was mine.

Trotting gaily at her ankle is a small dog. Thinking her pet well-trained, she has allowed it to walk without a leash. That was illegal here, and her flagrant disregard for the law entices me, intensifying my conviction.

She walks past me without looking up. And even if she had chanced to, her senses would have lied to her. Though she could not see me, I was there, watching, waiting. Even her precious pooch was none-the-wiser; his nose would never find my hiding spot. Vincent had taught me that.

Allowing the Beast to take control, my instinct seizes on an opportunity my mind has scarcely gleaned. I impossibly flash through spacetime to find myself with one hand around her waist and the other pushing her taut neck into my fangs.

The sensation is magnificent. That is one of the secret joys of drinking blood - each time is just as fulfilling as the first. Unlike the Mortal’s drugs and libations, there was no building tolerance. Each indulgence was as vivid as the one before. Tonight is likewise as satisfying. Her blood warms my lips, a feeling that is particularly pleasurable as it was one of the only times my vampiric form experienced this nerve feedback. Though I am not then thinking of my sight, my entire consciousness is colored in a red that fades into auburn. It is the hue of freshly fallen leaves, of fragrant embers in a fireplace, of the sunset–

Her dog barks angrily at me, but I take no heed. I am entirely consumed by the rapture that is our joined bodies. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP–

Her heart beats in protest but it serves only to bring more of the sweet vitae into my throat. Even as I lose myself, I am filled with sensory impressions of who this woman is. I do not know her name but it does not matter. I can taste merlot hanging like spice over her blood. And were those other things… sugar cookies? I do not flinch as I laugh silently to myself. Tis the season.

There is something cloying on the upswing, though. It threatens to ruin what was otherwise an exquisite diversion. I try to focus on the rest of the profile, but this… This was something with which I was becoming intimately familiar. I could only guess it was the leavings of various pharmaceuticals. The blood of animals, for all its flaws, rarely had this particular sort of aftertaste…

And yet, I cannot pull myself away. My ecstasy, like a mirror, had been shattered, and yet the vitae still called to me. My fangs were still lodged in her artery, the resultant wounds still surrendered red lifeforce into my person. Just one moment more, I reasoned, and remembered one of the many laws that had been imposed upon my conduct… But I couldn’t tear myself away just yet, not yet, no, I had just barely begun to drink… I was still parched - THUMP, THUMP, THUMP - let me remain here for just one moment more–

And it was there and then I evacuated my body and surrendered my mind to the Haunt. I was taken to a scene long estranged - there I was, I was inexplicably me, but a good deal more tender. Barely a year of age, brown hair and all, in the middle of the night I stood, confined to my crib, wailing, crying out for her, desperate, inconsolable. I cried and cried and cried, and I could feel my face hot and contorted in the anguish. I could not think or reason, not yet. I cried out for her - I was afraid of the dark.

Why won’t she come to me, I must have asked in the era before words. Why, why doesn’t she come? Where is she?

…Mother.

And then in my nightmare, clarvoyance was forced upon me. I saw her, as I could not have in the flesh then, and the tragic truth was revealed to me.

She could not come to my call because she, unlike me, was deep in the throes of slumber. A peaceful slumber from which no Prince could rouse her. Yes, she would eventually wake, but this dreamless sleep would call her again and again into its gentle embrace with the promise of just a touch of the divine.

I continue to scream as the needle falls to the floor.

And as if hearing the steel clatter against itself, I see a flash of white light and I clamour back into consciousness. I am aware of my mouth. Here, I am a Vampire.

THUMP… THUMP… TH–

I pull my fangs forcibly from her neck and the connection is severed.

THUMP… TH…

The pulse is weak. I’ve drained too much. If I don’t do something…

The dog keeps barking. I refuse to panic.

I tear a cellphone from her pocket and make the call.

As I disappear into the night, the dog remains at her side and continues to yap.

DISPATCHER

911, WHAT’S YOUR EMERGENCY?

911, WHAT’S YOUR EMERGENCY?

HELLO?

CAN YOU HEAR ME?

I never liked changing my form to mimic that of other animals. Yes, I recognized that it was one of the hallmarks of the Vampire, and certainly I could not hide from it with Vincent as my Master but I still did not like it. I suppose every metamorphosis brought me back to when the Elder Marscapone had forced me into a shapechange and removed me from that grubby apartment I had lived in upstate. I know he only did it out of necessity, I later reasoned, but every subsequent time I took the shape of an animal, I felt again that utter vulnerability and stupification. Vincent would never again force a form upon me as he had done in that desperation, but he still tried to teach it to me as if trying to round out my supernatural playbook. His favorite form was - of course - a bat. Of course a damn bat. Was I starring in some old-timey monster flick? I rebelled against the very suggestion that it would ever be necessary to parade about as an animal. Kevin would outdo me here, easily imitating his father’s bat, and Vincent tried to encourage me by displaying his ability to change into a wolf, a bear, and other fearsome supernatural creatures beyond the words of mortal men.

I would think myself above such a trivial task when I easily mastered the ability to slip into mist and shadow. Yes, I impressed my Master by dissolving my form into the earth and even he had to admit that it would serve me well. But he still maintained that I could not shun that inside me which was not human.

His teachings were unfinished when he died. I then went on in my own way, fluent in a number of the classic vampiric disciplines, but not that one. It was simply a continuation of my education as a mage - though the spell “Polymorph Self” was rumored to exist, I had never inside the walls of the Magicademy seen it worked. For all I knew, it could be the stuff of true fantasy. And yet, even if Myrtle could not do it, I had mused, that did not mean no mage was capable.

After taking the blood of the dog-walker, I fell into mist, touching ever so gently the realm of the void and nothingness. Even my mind ceased to be in that dissolution and all that was left was formless instinct and will. I simply reappeared wherever I wanted, needed, to be. This time, propelled not by wind but only pure and simple volition, I found myself sitting far up on a spire of the Triborough Bridge. The lights of the city seemed to shine only for me as I sat alone high above the bustling cars.

Why had I seen that image in the Haunt? I thought I had buried those thoughts long ago. What purpose did they serve me now in this life? I had run away very intentionally, yes, even in my mortal life I had yearned for escape. What good did the recollection serve me?

She wouldn’t even recognize me anymore, I mused. How old would she be now? Arithmetic never my strong suit, I estimated around seventy. Eighty at the most. No, I retracted. She couldn’t be that old. Not yet.

Then I felt shame for allowing her any of my headspace. She was probably dead now, I reasoned, and I was a fool to even entertain imagining otherwise. Mortals died every day, and at the very least, I had decided long ago that it didn’t matter; she was dead to me.

Perched up there above the world, touching the sky yet invisible to all below, I could not be moved by the incomprehensible beauty of the vista. I knew how seldom Man would ever be privy to such majesty and yet there I was, placid and unimpressed. The lights formed an image on my retina that seemed to approach the divine and yet I remained apathetic.

Even if I were able to save them, save them all, would they ever give me a scrap of gratitude? Slap me on the back and call me their buddy?

No, that would never happen. None of them would ever know my story, my struggles, my name.

And what would it even matter? I wasn’t sure I wanted some kind of thank you or a pardon for all those years of drinking their blood - no - that wouldn’t mean much in the end. I had never wanted to be on the stage, or at least, not dead center spotlight.

For all the bravado I wore day after day, I supposed I was a coward. Afraid of getting stuck as an animal, afraid of botching any effort at thaumaturgy, afraid…

Of losing my friends.

I had let myself get close to AVAEL. I remembered, like daggers, when she had said she didn’t love me. I consoled myself, thinking she had meant only romantic love, that kind of love she wanted but didn’t have, but maybe I was only trying to keep hope alive that she hadn’t meant the rest of it too.

Because I did love her. And I still burned for her. I could not forget all the nights we had spent together. I felt shame imagining the things she had probably felt but never said: jealousy at a drop of maiden’s blood upon my cheek, quiet rage at my presentation of Straud’s plasma packs, bitterness that the rest of the coterie could vibrate their vocal cords and throw their heads back in laughter. Yes, all those memories felt tainted now that I realized I’d been oblivious to the clues she had laid along the way.

Yes, it had hurt me when she said she didn’t love me. Because I, in all my weaknesses and foibles, had loved her. And I thought - I think - it had been a well-rounded, full love. When I was with her, I could take off the mask. I didn’t need to scare anyone off, or protect anyone. I could just… be.

But the rising shame was the realization that she hadn’t felt the same way. I had taken off my mask under the impression that she had done the same, but she had never given me her all. She had always wanted to be somewhere else.

I am still sitting on the bridge, scraping the stars, when my feelings start to harden into shapes I can hold and sort. I do not think I can cry anymore - at the very least it hadn’t happened in over twenty-seven years - but I can feel stress well up inside me and threaten to wrest control from the helm. But I see the coup before it happens.

Let her go, I concluded. Let her pursue her dreams of love and companionship. Passion, the drive to find togetherness and belonging… Most never felt another feeling as strong as these needs. If she could not live with this hole in her heart, I was not about to condemn her to death.

I will open the door, I reasoned.

Because we are friends.

MANDARC//

Hey Cedric. You at the magic school?

CEDRIC//

No, I'm out. What's up?

MANDARC//

I just got here. You care if I go in the house?

CEDRIC//

You've got a key. Go ahead.

MANDARC//

...

She's not here.

CEDRIC//

I was afraid that might be the case.

MANDARC//

How is she going to get around? What if someone sees her? Shouldn't we go after her? If somebody comes upon a woman in a cybernetic suit, she could be in real trouble.

CEDRIC//

There's nothing we can do.

MANDARC//

Of course there are things we can do. We could put out an APB. I've got Dexx with me, he's a smart cookie. He could follow her trail--

CEDRIC//

There's nothing we should do. She's able to take care of herself.

MANDARC//

...Is she though? Are any of us?

CEDRIC//

Yeah, well. We have to give her the benefit of the doubt.

MANDARC//

What if we never see her again? Or, worse yet, what if we do see her again and she's... against us?

CEDRIC//

That's a very real possibility.

MANDARC//

I... I don't know if I could do that.

CEDRIC//

You did it with Perkins.

MANDARC//

Yeah well Friday was different.

CEDRIC//

How so?

MANDARC//

She took my dog!

CEDRIC//

Ha. Fair enough.

MANDARC//

I just... can't believe it had to end like this. I should have been there for her. I hadn't been talking to her enough. I hadn't made enough time for her. For a while, we were really close, and then, without me realizing it, we'd drifted apart.

CEDRIC//

You and me both. Except we were in the house together. And then I left to study thaumaturgy. And I didn't do a damn thing. I never should have done that.

MANDARC//

Maybe this whole thing with Yuki was a mistake.

CEDRIC//

I thought things with her were going well.

MANDARC//

They were... just...

CEDRIC//

She's Mortal?

MANDARC//

Aw, that's not the issue. I don't know, I might actually like that about her.

CEDRIC//

The fact that if you fuck up you could snap her in half like a toothpick?

MANDARC//

No! Just, when I'm with her, I can just forget. I can forget about this war, forget about Trelaine, forget about--

CEDRIC//

Being a vampire?

MANDARC//

... You always have to cast things in the worst possible light.

CEDRIC//

You're welcome.

MANDARC//

What's wrong with Yuki, anyway?

CEDRIC//

You can't be yourself with her. You have to pretend to be someone, something, you're not.

MANDARC//

But it's not all the time. She listens to me nerd out. She's impressed by my math skills. I don't have to hide my tics and bad habits--

CEDRIC//

Except for the whole I-drink-blood thing.

And the hey-I'll-never-get-old-and-die thing.

And you-know-my-boss-well-don't-make-him-mad-or-he'll-turn-into-Nosferatu thing.

MANDARC//

You are absolutely insufferable.

CEDRIC//

... Hi, I'm Cedric, have we met?

MANDARC//

Anyway--

CEDRIC//

So yeah I guess if you want to waste your time with Yuki--

Let me rephrase that. It's her life you're wasting.

MANDARC//

I'm glad we could have this conversation.

CEDRIC//

Anytime.

MANDARC//

So you coming back here at some point?

CEDRIC//

I don't know. I'm busy. What's it to you?

MANDARC//

The apartment is just... empty.

CEDRIC//

It's not like no one is there. Kevin and Vincent and Myr--

MANDARC//

I don't think she's there.

CEDRIC//

She can suppress her signature.

MANDARC//

Yeah, I know. And I still don't think she's there.

CEDRIC//

She doesn't sleep much these days.

MANDARC//

Still probably isn't a good idea for her to be wandering around in the middle of the night.

CEDRIC//

You're a hell of a lot closer than I am right now. Why don't you stop in and say hello?

MANDARC//

... Maybe I will.

Svetlana had been a shapechanger too. Or, at least, that is what I had been told. I’m not sure I ever saw her do it. Here, I think my memories were unreliable. I am not sure of what I saw in reality versus what I might have seen in the Dream. She had been sick and unable to share her inner self with anyone anymore.

I had an image in my mind’s eye of her roaming the taiga of Muskovy as an enormous snow leopard. She would have feared no man. I’m not sure where the thought came from, but I liked it all the same. It did not matter too much if it were real or not, this was how I wanted to remember her.

We had spent so much time on the ‘net together. We had probably spent more total hours doing that than being together in meatspace. It wasn’t so much that I regretted it - too much - I think in that place the symptoms of her illness were much more tolerable - but it made for few vivid touchstones for me to continue to hold after her death. I couldn’t remember that time she finally got the phat lewt or topped the damage meters. It had meant so much to us then but it now faded from my mind and threatened to completely slip away. And I had found it painful to visit those places after she had gone - it had felt wrong to be there without her and I eventually took to avoiding them altogether.

Yes, I was a coward. Not a terribly uncommon trait in Man, but then, I wasn’t one of them anymore, was I? I was something else now and with that change came a new set of standards. Sitting tonight at the top of the Triborough Bridge, no, that didn’t frighten me here and now but there were a hundred other things that did. Perhaps I could not tackle all of them at once, as much as I wanted to pretend such a thing were possible, but many of them were things I could make change in if I stopped being avoidant. And just because my hair would never turn grey did not mean I had forever.

I stand up and spread my arms and take a step. I fall from the pinnacle, surrendering myself completely to gravity. It pulls me down, down, down, and I can feel the breeze sweeping over the water.

I close my eyes and reach for memories buried deep inside. With no time to over-think it, I grab hold of what remains of my instinct and trust that I know what I’m doing.

Only the fish see the shadow of a small creature for which they have no name flap its leathery wings impossibly fast over the river’s surface. The beating of wings disturbs the water ever so slightly but otherwise they hear no sound. It disappears from their vision in an instant, bound for the brightest of the irrepressible city lights.

MANDARC//

Well I stopped into the Magicademy.

CEDRIC//

How did it go?

MANDARC//

Kevin was asleep.

CEDRIC//

Yeah - it's late.

MANDARC//

I don't know, I guess I kinda forgot.

CEDRIC//

Did you wake him?

MANDARC//

No, I spoke to Vincent.

CEDRIC//

How did that go?

MANDARC//

He thanked me for being concerned but he said he knew exactly where Myrtle was and I didn't need to worry.

CEDRIC//

That's good.

MANDARC//

... I should have woke up Kevin.

CEDRIC//

Why?

MANDARC//

Because I made a fool of myself in front of his father! I looked like a real schmuck.

CEDRIC//

You worry too much.

MANDARC//

I worry adequately!

...I was shaking like a leaf.

CEDRIC//

I bet he didn't even notice.

MANDARC//

Yeah, okay, says the son of the prince of darkness.

CEDRIC//

... I... uh - don't think that means what you think it means.

MANDARC//

Whatever. I looked stupid.

CEDRIC//

You're not afraid of Vlad. What's the difference?

MANDARC//

I don't know. It just is.

As I walk the streets of the city that never sleeps, I can feel that the sun had passed the nadir and had begun its march back toward my position. It had been a long night but I was still far from done.

In Midtown, the sidewalks still buzzed with activity. Despite plentiful prey, it was a dangerous place for a lone creature of the night. If the curtain were drawn back, there were few lanes of escape. Vlad didn’t like it and discouraged using the area as hunting grounds, especially as he had made a truce with Tomas. But I was emboldened by my victory over the river. If I played my cards right, no one would ever know.

I can read only a few of the signs that clutter the buildings in K-town. But I don’t need mastery of the language to identify exactly where I am going by smell. And this place stinks. The cloying odor of burnt sugar and charred meat dominates - the sheer number of carcasses shipped in every day is enough to ruin the appetite of any man with a shred of empathy. And if that weren’t enough to turn his stomach, I could share with him the next sensation that fills my nostrils. It is the strange, artificial bouquet of perfumes emitted by the beauty shops. As a human, the plastic and foil seals would keep each balm neatly contained. But I can smell them. All of them.

But I do not need any of that. What I need does leak into the street, but primarily by way of sound. I suppose to them, the violence of the subwoofer was like the beating of the heart. As if in the womb, they were bathed in rhythm.

This late at night, no one was outside. They were all inside. There were no lines to enter. It had been a long time since I had been here, but it didn’t seem like anything had changed. Maybe the prices. Here, cash was king.

The stairs are illuminated but I do not need any of that. For a moment, I am alone. but it does not last long; soon I am aware, even painfully so, of the scent I have been seeking. For twenty-seven years I have been immune to the simple pleasure of sugar but here, it all comes rushing back to me. It is the sweet, syrupy scent of many drunken bodies pressed against each other, sweating, salivating, suffering. That is not to say there wasn’t joy in that place - as I enter the room, a hundred observers are enraptured by the show on the stage. The microphones magnify was is an otherwise amateur performance. I always thought it made the onlookers all the more excited, eager to cheer on one of their own.

I’m a sucker for karaoke.

Effortlessly, I blend into the crowd and slip among them as if I’ve been there all night. Each of them is dotted with boozy perspiration and it’s a challenge to keep my focus as the promise of conquest is just within my grasp.

I keep steady.

Many of them have a drink in hand, but me? I don’t need it. I stay on the move and then, finally, I am satisfied with my vantage point. I am surrounded by the faceless masses but I am not afraid. When I am in this place, for a moment, I am one of them.

The song finishes and the next performer approaches the dais. The LCD goes blank for a moment and then fills with words in white.

There’s a reason I like this place. Here, with my smooth face and bright eyes, they take me as the fledgling. They trust their prejudice and pat me on the head, taking refuge in what they think they know about me.

And I let them.

The woman next to me is holding one of those single-serv bottles of champagne. Our eyes meet and time seems to stop, tarrying to watch us for several seconds. We are locked on to each other until she forgets her fingers and the bottle falls from her grasp.

Hidden by the strobing light, I catch the glass before it shatters upon the unseen floor.

Unsure, embarrassed, she takes the bottle from me. I do not think she’s aware that not a single drop has been spilled.

She tries to take a drink and the foam wells up and gives her a moustache.

Making no sound, we laugh together.

At this point, many around us have turned their cellphones to “flashlight” and they hold them aloft in their hands, swaying back and forth to the music. This was the way of things now, and I counted my blessings, thinking it a boon to those among the night vulnerable to Rötschreck.

My companion, if I dared to call her that, fishes around in her purse as the tempo of the song quickens. She pulls out a lighter, engages the trigger, and joins the crowd in their show of solidarity.

I tended to keep a BIC in my right pocket, but I’m not feeling so confident I can so easily follow her lead. I slip my hand in my pocket. Indeed, my lighter is there, but… it’s light.

I bring it into my vision. It’s black number one, and I feel satisfied with it, until–

The damn thing refuses to light. My lady-friend turns her attention to me, but only for a moment, and returns her gaze to the stage.

It’s out of butane. Figures - right when I needed it.

Thinking I’ll give it one more chance, I wrap my palm around the top in an effort to still the disturbed air.

Still nothing. And I refuse to resort to using my cellphone.

I draw from a font of power deep within myself, removing myself from this time, this place, this noise. Inside that place, there are no words, only raw emotion and desire. It is dark and still and silent, and yet, everything is known to me.

Be brave.

Be tough.

Be you.

The wellspring bubbles over, propelling my will into reality.

And in an instant, without fanfare, a flame of pure violet-blue appears at the mouth of the lighter.

I barely had the chance to stretch my arm up when the woman to my left looks over at me again.

She screams at me, because in the din she cannot hear anything. She thinks I can’t hear her, but she couldn’t be more mistaken.

BRUNETTE

NICE LIGHTER YOU’VE GOT THERE.

I humor her.

CEDRIC

WHAT?

BRUNETTE

NICE LIGHTER YOU HAVE THERE!

WHERE’D YOU GET IT?

CEDRIC

OH, A FRIEND.

A FRIEND GAVE IT TO ME.

BRUNETTE

THAT’S COOL…

She disengages her fire and restores it to her pocket.

BRUNETTE

HEY, LISTEN, MY FRIENDS AND I HAVE A RESERVATION FOR A PRIVATE ROOM COMING UP IN ABOUT…

She glances at her watch.

BRUNETTE

TEN MINUTES GIVE OR TAKE.

YOU WANNA JOIN US?

I, too, lower my lighter. I watch the tiny flame sputter and snuff out and I feel satisfied.

CEDRIC

YEAH, THAT SOUNDS LIKE FUN.

The next performer is ready to begin. He’s gonna do Queen. I hate Queen.

But my friend cannot fail to improve my mood. When I suggest we get off the floor, she obliges, ready to follow me wherever I go.

When the crowd is behind us and the lights are low, she can finally, really, hear me.

BRUNETTE

HAS ANYONE EVER TOLD YOU THAT YOU LOOK JUST LIKE BILLY IDOL?

I cannot help but smile.

CEDRIC

…

…ONCE OR TWICE.

Her friends pale against her brilliance, but I never-the-less share with them a moment shining against an inky backdrop. In those all-too-brief hours, warmed by the camaraderie of fast friendship, we find meaning underneath lyrics, between memorized words. Mortal or Immortal, we all grasp at the transcendent, and each of us, in our own way, finds it.

By the time the sun threatens to rise, the table is decorated with a litany of half-savored cups. The room has slipped into the realm of Dream. It is a scene of peace and I savor it. I try to carve a sculpture to keep with me for always. I can’t know if I will be successful, but I still try.

I remove a handful of bills from my wallet and secure them underneath one of the glasses. Placing my hand in my right pocket, I find that my lighter is still there. Still no butane.

With the hints of dawn streaking across the sky, I fade again back into the streets.

When I get back to Astoria, the sky is fully illuminated. It is still a little early for the commuting crowd and the few people on the move are serving the numerous bakeries and food carts. The city may never truly cease motion but there were times its usual frenetic pace was replaced with the laconic haze of a morning come too soon.

I mused on the divine cycle and observed this very real microcosm. Maybe I was a singular cog in a sea of sameness, but maybe, just maybe, I was the linchpin that kept us all hurtling toward Progress. At the very least, I did not know for certain anything beyond my periphery, so I resolved to keep going in the only way I knew how.

Nestled in a transit desert in the northern reaches of Queens is a mouldering old building that few pay much attention to. And yet she is the beloved alma mater of a hundred mages now scattered throughout the globe. Despite my wanderings, it is here I always return. It is here that is my home.

Opening the door, I am greeted by the smell of coffee and a spot of milk. He has not had this habit for long, but for my part, I like it.

KEVIN

WELCOME BACK.