Chapter 2: Chapter 2 – Strange Magic

“Sorry, can we back this up a minute?” I finally manage to say. I realize I’m literally backing away.

“Back up to what?” says the disconcertingly intense woman who is rapidly leaving my mental category of potential employer.

“To the part where reading the sign means I’m not human? And, like, what are the other options? Last I checked, our yellow sun doesn’t give me super strength.”

“Ah fuck!” she says expressively and sighs.

I have no idea where this conversation is going next, and I’m torn between texting my location to my roommate in case this turns into a murder basement situation or just waiting it out to see where things go out of morbid curiosity.

“Lemme try this again. I’m Sam and I’ve made some unwise assumptions,” says Sam and holds out her hand. I shake it tentatively.

“I can give you a choice right now,” she says. “I can apologize for making things weird, tell you there’s been a mistake, and you go do whatever you were doing before you walked in here. Or, you wait here while I make a phone call and then we have a very interesting conversation. You can have a beer while you wait. Heck, I’ll even give you a beer if you go now. You’re twenty-one, right?”

“Twenty-seven, but I have a bit of a baby face.”

“Eh, when you’re my age, it’s hard to tell.” That seems like a weird comment, since if I had to guess, she’s no older than fifty, but even for me the kids are starting to seem younger every year, so who knows.

“I guess I’ll take the red pill,” I say after a few moments of thought. “Rabbit hole, et cetera. And yes please to the beer as long as it’s not an IPA.” It’s not like I have any obligations tonight and I really am curious. My stomach rumbles, though, reminding me I haven’t had supper yet. I ignore it.

“Aren’t you a little young for that to be a hip and now sort of reference?” says Sam as she opens the mini fridge set on top of the bar. “Sorry our selection is limited. This is for the workers. Still working on getting the liquor license sorted out. Grain Belt okay?”

“Grain Belt is great, thank you. I had a friend in college who was really into The Matrix. Weird kid…I wonder what happened to him?”

“I’ll go make that phone call now, should be just a minute.” Sam hands me the can of beer and disappears through a door behind the bar. I can hear her voice. She’s very animated, but I can’t make out the words. I settle onto a stool and crack open the Friendly Beer.

Sam comes back out shortly and grabs a beer of her own and sits back down on the stool by her computer.

“I needed to call the guy who did the sign for me for two reasons. First is just that while he knows his stuff, he’s also got ADHD and gets sloppy sometimes. But he assures me that you couldn’t have read the sign if you’re entirely human. Second, he knows his stuff and can probably help you figure things out better than I can, so he’s coming over. His shop is a few blocks over so he won’t be long, but at least I can give you the background while we wait.”

“Okaaaay,” I say dubiously. At least I’m getting a beer out of the situation.

“Right. So you asked earlier what the options other than human are. I’ve seen enough of what can broadly be termed ‘weird shit’ that I won’t rule out Son of Krypton, but mostly we’re talking, well, supernatural. If it’s in an urban fantasy book with a hot chick looking over her shoulder and holding something stabby on the cover, it’s a possibility.”

“Vampires and werewolves?” I ask.

“Yep.”

“Faerie? Demons?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Bigfoot and chupacabra?”

“Yes, but not in the city for Bigfoot. I know there’s a few up north. And I genuinely have no idea about chupacabra.”

“Okay, so I know how this goes. There’s a parallel society of supernatural creatures existing alongside humanity, but they hide themselves because humanity would fear them and hunt them down and/or don’t want the local food supply to panic. Right?”

“More or less,” says Sam. “More of the hiding so we don’t get hunted down, less of the trying not to panic the food supply. You’re taking this very calmly.”

“I mean, it’s not like it’s an unfamiliar scenario to wrap my brain around. I am a nerd. Also,” I concede, “I don’t actually believe you.”

“Mmm. We’ll see about that.”

This is getting ridiculous and I want supper. I should leave before Sam’s friend gets here, but I can’t help myself. “So what are you?”

“Werewolf.”

“Show me?”

“You’re not afraid that I’ll go berserk and tear you to bloody pieces?”

I shake my head. “Not even a bit.”

“Well, as it is, it’s a moot point. New moon tonight. If I try really hard, I might need to shave.”

“Yeah, I need to shave without even trying, so maybe I have some werewolf in me after all.” I stand up. “And I need to get food in me before I go berserk. Good luck with your vampire bar.”

Sam grabs my arm. It’s a not a tight grip, but I also feel like getting her to let go would be a challenge. “Please stay just a few minutes.” She sounds very earnest, but lets go of my arm.

I sigh. “Okay, but I wasn’t kidding about needing to eat.”

“Best I can do right now is a day-old donut,” Sam says apologetically, going back around the bar to pull a bakery box from underneath. She flips it open and the selection is limited, so I grab a chocolate frosted donut. It’s pretty mediocre.

“Thanks,” I say and chew silently for a minute. I shrug off my bass bag and set it carefully on top of the bar.

The door to the sidewalk opens and a remarkably disheveled man enters. He’s wearing very well broken in jeans and a stained grey sweatshirt with burn marks on the right sleeve. Slung over his shoulder is a large canvas bag that may have been olive once upon a time. He has what my Matrix-loving computer science major friend called a “Unix beard”. It’s greying and makes it incredibly difficult to tell the man’s age.

“Hey, Sam!” says the guy in a voice about 15 decibels louder than I feel is necessary. “This the individual in question?”

“Yep,” says Sam. “I’ve given him the basic rundown but he doesn’t believe me. Wrong time of month for a demo.”

“All right, kid,” says the mystery man, “I’m Rob and I’m a wizard.”

Not much to do but smile and nod. “Of course you are,” I say neutrally.

“Now I enchanted that sign for Sam and I’m very confident that if you were exclusively human with no magical training, you’d not be able to read it. I can’t read it without a cantrip. I’ve got some suspicions, but let’s do a quick checklist first. Everyone thinks their unique personal experience is normal, so you’d be amazed at how many people aren’t human and don’t realize it because they think everyone can hold their breath for fifteen minutes or see in the dark.”

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“Sure, why not,” I say. The donut is helping, but I’m not sure how much more of this nonsense I’ll tolerate. I sneak a quick look at my phone. Not quite 7:30.

“Can you hold your breath for longer than two minutes? Can you see in the dark or in light levels that other people consider very low? Have you ever felt like an animal is speaking to you, either with words or feelings? Any cravings for human flesh?”

“No, no, I do have a close emotional bond with my cat, and what the fuck?”

Rob continues in this vein for a while, covering dietary habits to sleep patterns to my medical history to my feelings about a number of different animals. Based on his lack of reaction to my answers, I assume that I continue to be a very boring example of humanity.

“Well, your responses indicate that you have had a life remarkably free of supernatural events and influences, so your skepticism is understandable.”

“So, I’m human after all?”

“Actually, it potentially confirms my initial suspicions. There are some things you either have or you don’t, like vampirism or lycanthropy, both of which are essentially magical diseases. Sometimes, there may be a portion of your bloodline that’s supernatural, like a friend of mine who is half fae. The fae are a very interesting case because it’s most likely that they share a common ancestor with humans, only their evolution was influenced by, broadly speaking, magic. And then there are situations where the supernatural heritage comes from quite outside our usual frame of reference and exists in parallel with your human bloodline, but it may remain dormant, getting passed on, or not, without ever manifesting. That’s what I think is going on with you.”

“For example?” I prompt.

“Primarily angelic and demonic heritage,” Rob answers.

“Huh. My dad always said my little brother was a hellion, so I guess that proves your theory.” I feel like if I don’t roll my eyes soon, they’re going to break loose in their sockets.

“Fortunately,” Rob continues, ignoring my sarcasm, “this is a relatively easy theory to test. If you give me ten minutes, I can prepare a ritual that will activate, or awaken, if you prefer a more magical sounding term, the most common extra-planar heritages.”

I glance back and forth between Rob and Sam. Rob is treating this whole thing as an interesting intellectual exercise, but Sam seems invested and gives me a hopeful look.

“Okay,” I answer. “But then I’m really going.”

“Very well,” says Rob. “Where do you want me to do this, Sam?”

Sam looks…relieved? Satisfied?

“Up on the stage,” she says. “They’ve only boxed it in. No hardwood flooring there yet.”

Sure enough, at the far end of the room is a small stage. Rather than a proper floor, it’s still just particle board.

“Perfect,” Rob says as he jogs over and starts rummaging in his bag.

I grab another donut which, disappointingly, turns out to be Boston Creme and stale. I figure I might as well watch what Rob is doing, so I drop my phone on top of my bass and wander over. He starts with a measuring tape and a piece of sidewalk chalk, roughing in a circle on the stage. Then he draws a bunch of symbols around the circle with different colors of chalk. Runes, maybe?

“Do the colors have mystical significance?” I ask.

“The colors are irrelevant, but it helps me keep track of what I’m doing. And it looks cool.” Rob grins. His bag disgorges a number of stones and crystals, as well as a package of tea lights from Target. These are placed next to certain symbols. Rob produces a container of store brand salt and carefully lays a trail of salt all around the inside of the chalk circle. Finally, he lights the tea lights with a Zippo.

“Oh, almost forgot!” Rob smacks his forehead, leaving a pinkish chalk handprint, and runs to the wall and grabs a chair. He puts it in the middle of the circle, stands on it, and chalks a single rune on a support beam. Then, very carefully so as not to disturb his preparations on the floor, he places the chair in five places around the perimeter of the circle, climbs on it, and chalks four runes on the underside of the floor of the level above us and a single rune in Sharpie on a duct.

“Probably overkill, but better safe than sorry.” Rob shrugs.

“My insurance premiums thank you,” Sam says drily from the bar where she’s watching everything.

“Please step carefully over the chalk and salt and stand in the middle of the circle.”

I can’t help myself, but there’s a tiny flutter of anticipation in my belly. I have absolutely no reason to believe in anything supernatural aside from my parent’s very lackadaisical approach to church attendance on the theory that it was good for kids to get some religion, but not too much. Nevertheless, I immersed myself from a young age in fantastical fictional worlds and have spent plenty of time daydreaming of living in such a world myself.

I step inside the circle and immediately feel ridiculous. I’m in an unfinished basement bar bathed in harsh fluorescent light from the ceiling fixtures, standing inside a “magic” circle on a particle board floor.

Then Rob mutters something under his breath and I swear the salt circle pulses with light. At the same time, there’s a gentle pressure wave from all around me that ruffles the hair on my forehead.

“What the—“ I whisper, but Rob is chanting now. I think I catch a couple Latin words in there, but I don’t think it’s all Latin. There’s pressure building in my ears. I swallow, but it doesn’t help. The runes around me are undeniably glowing, even in the light from the overhead fixtures, which flicker, but remain on.

The pressure continues to mount and I start to feel dizzy, like I stood up too quickly. Black dots flit about the edges of my vision and then start to fill in. My vision blacks out completely. I don’t know which way is up, but I feel my knees buckle and I hit the floor.

I open my eyes and the first thing to swim into focus is Rob’s sneaker, only sideways. Something smells distinctly burnt.

“Good. You were only out for a few minutes, so that’s normal,” he says. “How do you feel?”

“Nnnnn,” I answer.

Rob scuffs a gap in the salt circle in front of my face with his shoe.

I close my eyes and try to take stock. I’m lying on my side. I may or may not have a splinter in my cheek. I feel like my spine is weirdly aligned for how I’m lying and there’s distinct pressure around my hips.

I open my eyes once more and see Sam looking down at me with a satisfied expression.

“Told you so!” she says and offers me her hand.

I reach up to take it. Why does my arm look weird?

As Sam pulls me up into a sitting position, the pressure on my hips turns into pain, like my jeans and belt are way too tight. My t-shirt pulls uncomfortably across my chest, which also just feels…off.

I look down to try to adjust my clothes.

“What the fuck!” says an unfamiliar voice.

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