“Well, baby, hate to tell you this, but there’s no money in being a kid these days. I haven’t seen any Help Wanted: Sniper ads, either.”
“Neither did I. ”A jacket of ice squeezed his soul. The scene leaped up in his mind, as bright as the flame. He was signing the papers, nodding as the recruiter reminded him that he couldn’t guarantee he’d get the engineering training, but that there was a good chance of it. No more money to finish college, so what the hell. Such a deal. So he hadn’t ever built a bridge or a road. He’d blown up a few. He’d learned things in the military he’d never have learned anywhere else. And he had been good at them. Damn good. Better than anyone else in his outfit.
He’d gone places no one else would go. Eyes like an owl, nose like a wolf, walking sorter than a spider in the night. He’d been so damn good. And proud of it; they’d all been proud of him. Until he came home.
The high was evaporating. He looked for the pipe, but it was out. He waggled it at Lynda, who took it and began to fill it for him. He watched impatiently as she lit it and drew on the weed to glow. But when she smiled and handed it to him, he just stared down into the bowl. “It’s not here,” he said softly.
“What isn’t, baby?”
“Peace. Love. Freedom. Bullshit. There’s nothing in here but burning leaves.”
“Buds, baby. That makes all the difference.” She took it back from him and sucked the smoke into her lungs. She swayed slightly as she exhaled and gave him a softly unfocused smile.
“Hey, magic man,” she said huskily. He looked at her. “Hey,” she repeated low. “Come here.”
She advanced on him and embraced him. He stood cold within her arms, suddenly wondering why he had been so passive as to allow her into his life this way. He hadn’t been looking for this type of involvement, still didn’t feel ready for it. Didn’t want it, he admitted reluctantly. So why go along with it? Because the lady wasn’t taking a polite no for an answer. She bumped against him and he staggered back a step.
She was not a dainty woman. It was like being nudged by a cow. The edge of the mattress. brushed his ankles. ‘Take me down, magic man,“ she whispered urgently, rubbing against him.
“Not right now.” Games. She was playing a romance game, with him as a prop; he was playing a delaying game. She had fed him and stoned him and wanted her due. But he needed to think carefully right now, not be a toy for someone else’s passion. Couldn’t she see that? Was she so oblivious to his moods?
“Don’t fight it, baby. Go with it. I’ll make you feel good.”
Her wandering hand groped through the robe. His pulse quickened in spite of himself.
“No!” he growled, feeling the sudden high rush of anger.
Strength coursed through him and his frustrations focused on her. He gripped her wrist tightly, putting a turn on it. The pain put a slight twist at the corner of her smile.
“Do it, baby,” she whispered. “Hurt me a little and love me a lot. Show me your claws, magic man. Make me do what you want. Make it wild and new for me.”
“Stop it!” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Stop it now!”
She was the one summoning the demons that could destroy him. The instant he released her, she reached for him again, her mouth wide with laughter. He seized her shoulders and shook her violently, her head snapping on her neck, her long hair whipping with the motion. Self-disgust stopped him. He dropped her onto the mattress. and turned aside from her. She shook the hair from her face and peered up at him. He felt his own nails rake his cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so damn sorry, and always sorry. But it’s always there, right behind me, reaching for the controls. I don’t know what brings it out. But you’re not safe with me. I want you to go. Now.”
Her face was flushed, her mouth wet. She took a gasping breath. “Rough doesn’t have to be bad, baby.” She licked her mouth, “if you’re so sony, prove it.” Reaching up, she caught at his hand and dragged him down. His heart was beating thunderously in his chest and his legs felt rubbery. He couldn’t get the air down to the bottom of his lungs. He sagged onto the mattress. beside her.
“Don’t tell me sony,” she murmured against his chest. “Show me sony.” He closed his eyes to her brushing touch, blacking out the memories.
“I don’t like the man I was,” he tried to explain. “It’s him or me in the gray place. I won’t go back to being him. I don’t have to, and I won’t.
“All right, baby, all right. It doesn’t matter, it’ll be fine now. Lynda’s not angry.” She wasn’t listening to him, any more than he was tuned into her hands and mouth on him. He kept himself divorced from it, holding back the touching and feeling that could unleash the pain. It was a fair trade. If he let himself be reached, she would hurt him, would drive him with agony until he destroyed the source of me pain. No touch of pleasure, no touch of pain. Being numb was the key to it all. He found the balancing point again and felt a certain bitter satisfaction with it. He was safe from her now. She’d get nothing from him. He felt her squirm against him, heard the rustle of clothing as she arranged her body against his. He let her, unwonted. There were other things he could think about, things that were safe to remember.
“IF YOU COULD DO ANYTHING, be anything, what would you do?”
It had been an expansive afternoon, roaming the city with Cassie. He was beginning to get the hang of this new life, starting to realize the possibilities. It was a heady sensation.
She was in a tweed skirt; he wore a corduroy jacket with learner patches at the elbows. They had gone everywhere that eccentric scholars could go, with numerous side trips en route. They had merged unnoticed with a group touring underground Seattle, and had nearly managed to be left behind in the dank dark below the streets. She had shown him a bakery where a kindhearted assistant set out the discarded baked goods on a tin foil tray atop the dumpster to save the street people the trouble of digging for them. They had explored what was left of the old plant at Gas Works Park and sampled five kinds of coffee at Starbucks. Cassie had taken him to the Klondike Gold Rush National Historical Museum on Main, and introduced him to me ranger there as her associate. Eh“. Reynolds. The ranger had shown them films and opened the display cases for them, to let them handle the relics of that remote time. Wizard had promised to return soon, and spend more time talking about the Gold Rush era and how it had affected Seattle.
“Especially on rainy days.” Cassie had offered as soon as they were on the sidewalk again, and they had giggled together like wayward truants.
It had been a very mellow day. No schedules to keep and no assigned tasks. They had turned down every street that had appealed to them, in their conversations as well as in their wandering. He had learned that she loved roses and pansies, but thought orchids a cold flower. She knew that he liked green grapes more than wild blueberries, and commercial blueberries not at all. So now, as they strolled, he asked her the childish question, and waited for her answer. She disappointed him.
“I’d be Cassie, and do what we did today,” she replied blandly.
“Not me!” Wizard had been expansive, risking her displeasure. “I’d be a hero, a saint, or a mystic. When I was small, I always wanted to be a prophet. Sackcloth and thunder. I’d drive violence from Seattle and let peace reign.”
Cassie snorted. “And under your protection, no seagull would peck another, no children would quarrel over marbles, no drunk would bloody another drunk’s nose over a baseball pitcher’s reputation.”
“Not that kind of violence. You know what I mean.”
“No. I don’t. You keep acting like I’m some sort of mystic myself, some seer who knows all. Well, I’m not. I’m just Cassie, and while I know more than some, I don’t know it all.