Leo Chin held the door open for a woman and her daughter while he collapsed his umbrella into a refined black walking stick and entered the Great Court of the British Museum.
As curator of Egyptian Rare Book Archives, he could have gone into the complex closer to his office, but he never tired of passing through the museum, breathing the air of ancient things. The current exhibit in the Reading Room’s enormous rotunda featured the Book of the Dead, instructions for an ancient Egyptian’s afterlife.
He was in front of the papyrus that contained a spell for help in the weighing of the heart when Arthur Nightingale, assistant curator of Roman and Egyptian Antiquities, came to stand beside him.
“What do you think, Professor Chin?”
“Superb as usual. The museum has outdone itself once again.”
“I meant the Egyptian’s view of death,” Arthur said. “They were lucky to have such potent spells to protect them in their night journey.”
“Knowledge is a powerful thing,” Professor Chin replied.
“A little magic doesn’t hurt either, does it?” quipped Arthur. He patted the breast and side pockets of his jacket, looking for something. “Do you suppose they’d work for an Englishman?”
The corners of Professor Chin’s mouth stretched into a smile. He was glad Arthur thought of him as an Englishman. “If you had enough money. Only the rich can afford to die properly, even now.”
“Yes, well…” Arthur’s cell phone vibrated with an incoming call. “That’s Croner. I have a meeting. Best be off. Good day Professor.
“Good day to you.”
Professor Chin wound his way through the Museum’s labyrinthine corridors to his department. Just as he got to his office which, was little more than a cubicle, his assistant, Oliver, approached him.
“I made your flight reservations, Professor. You’ll be leaving on the ninth, a day ahead of the conference, with the layover in Greece as you requested.”
“Very good. Thank you, Oliver.”
He entered a tiny but well-ordered world. Piles of books were everywhere, but he knew the exact location of each one. He hung his umbrella and coat and removed his fedora. On the desk was yesterday’s unsorted mail. It was the usual—catalogues, book review and trade journals—but when he picked up the stack, a postcard fell to the floor.
Professor Chin froze. The picture side was splashed with the gaudy colors of the Romanian flag and two dancing gypsies. He picked it up and looked on the other side. It had been forwarded twice.
“Leo, why don’t you write? We never hear from you and wonder if you died. Your poor mother is rolling over in her grave, worried sick about what’s become of you. Serves her right for marrying that horrible Gaje. You are full-blooded. Never forget!
Have you gotten married yet? Please, everyone here is dying of curiosty.”
It was no surprise his illiterate aunt had misspelled curiosity. Why couldn’t she leave him alone? His stomach knotted and he dropped into his chair.
"You’ve come a long way,” said a voice from an unlit corner of the room.
“You’re still here?” asked Professor Chin.
“Of course,” said the voice.
“Why?”
“You still need me.”
“Most people leave their imaginary friends at home when they grow up.”
“You’re not ‘most people’. And I’m not imaginary. I was your only true friend when you had none; when you were tormented by your own family and the outsiders; when your father beat you for trying to protect your mother. You needed me then and you need me now.”
Professor Chin sighed and surrendered to his lifelong companion. There was no use fighting it. He would never be a true Gaje, a non-gypsy, but he would certainly never return to ‘his people’. He had no family, no home, no country.
But he still had dreams, and there were others like him. Together, he hoped, they would create a world of their own.
“If you want your dreams to be real,” the Whisperer said, “you will need more powerful magic. Your fortune telling mother was right. You have the Gift. But you need more than herbs, runes and rituals to accomplish your dreams.”
Chapter 4: Stray cats and castles
Next to the dumpster behind a gas station, Marco found food. Hardly the tuna or crunchy nuggets he was used to, but he was in no position to complain. Gas fumes mixed with the rancid odor of rotting garbage, but his belly had been rumbling for days and he gobbled up the meager pickings. It made him even hungrier.
The smell of meat drew him to search at the back of the trash bin. His head was caught in a tight space when he heard someone behind him.
“Punk! Did I say you could eat here?”
Marco involuntarily jerked his head up, but he only succeeded in getting more stuck.
“What a cretin,” said the voice. Another voice chimed in, and Marco learned a few words he’d never read in books. He was so humiliated, he considered staying stuck, in hopes they might give up and go away. He tried crawling farther in, but to his dismay he was suddenly free.
Free to face the cats who had been cursing him behind his back. They were practically in his face and he was trapped by the dumpster and a brick wall.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Uh… no.”
“Uh… right. You sound like a smart guy. Where you from, stranger?”
Marco had the feeling that whatever he said was going to be the wrong answer. Besides, he didn’t know where he was from anymore.
“I’m from…” Marco looked off vaguely in the direction of his old neighborhood.
“He looks lost, like a pet. Don’t you think?”
“I’m not…”
“Then you gots to be a stray. Like us!” said the smallest one.
What a horrifying thought. Was he a stray? Was this what his future looked like?
“This is our turf, runt. And there’s barely enough food for us. So scram.”
Marco was only too glad to leave the ragtag cats to their smelly dumpster and he took the opportunity to bolt.
“What a wuss. You’re not gonna last long out here! Pet!” the cats called out behind him.
Marco trotted along deserted sun-baked sidewalks, glad to have escaped the street cats, but the heat was searing his tender toe pads. Life on the outside was harsh. He was always hungry and thirsty, and he had no training in the hunt. Now he discovered he had enemies he didn’t even know existed. Some hero he was turning out to be. He couldn’t even defend himself against a few alley cats.
He longed for a place to rest, but he was surrounded by dry scrub and empty lots. Something made him lift his head, though, and look farther in the distance. As if by magic, the promise of relief appeared. He quickened his pace until he reached the cool shade of buildings and green leafy trees that seemed to grow out of the sidewalks.
His spirits raised, he explored the streets and found a puddle of water to quench his thirst. A girl patted him on his head before she disappeared through one of the shop doors.
At the end of one street was a stone building nestled in a grove of trees. A dome sprouted from the roof, and the rounded turrets at both corners reminded him of a castle, like ones he’d seen in books.
On one side was a good climbing tree, which beckoned him to climb into its cool arms. It held him like an old friend and he curled up on a wide branch that fit comfortably. It was the perfect napping place. He fell asleep the moment he closed his eyes.
How could such an ideal napping spot bring on such a terrifying dream?
Marco was surrounded by complete darkness, the lack of light so dense it had substance, like an invisible creature. Had he been eaten by a predator? He panicked, thrashing out in all directions, but it was impossible to fight an enemy he couldn't see.
Somehow the realization came… who this enemy was. He understood that it was fear, his own fear.
A force welled up inside him, moving up into his throat and out of his mouth. He bellowed… like a lion, shattering chains he didn't know were there. He would not go down like this! Before he sprang, he recoiled and roared again; something terrible and savage in a voice he did not recognize as his own.