The Thaumaturge Ch 08

"You're being kinda weird, dude -- do you always just like, sit in silence for a few minutes after you finish eating lunch?"

The voice from behind me was so unexpected that I leapt to my feet and had my hands up before I realized what I was doing.

But it was just Samantha, still in sweats and a baggy t-shirt, looking a little bleary-eyed.

"Jesus

fucking

Christ, Samantha, you're like a ninja. I thought nobody else was home." I lowered my hands and took a few deep breaths, trying to lower my heart rate, too.

"Damn, you're jumpy, Matt." She frowned at the empty seat next to me, Viv's sandwich wrapper still on the table. "Your friend left already?"

"I, uh...yeah...I thought you had stuff to do today, how long have you..." I flushed, realizing that she had possibly overheard quite a lot. I tried to remember what we'd talked about exactly -- the lions, their totem, magical stuff -- and then I thought about the

sounds

Viv and I had probably made over the last few minutes. Shit. I winced.

But she waved her hand. "Relax, I was napping, I think I probably woke up when I heard someone saying goodbye and then the door closing. That your new girlfriend?" Her expression at the word

girlfriend

wasn't teasing -- just dour, like she didn't really approve of girlfriends.

I shook my head, ruefully. "I...dunno. I thought maybe? But now, I'm...not sure."

"Hmm." The sound was also disapproving, and her mouth formed a thin line. Apparently she didn't approve of

not-girlfriends

, either. "Are you

okay

? Alyssa was giving you the third degree this morning but you definitely seem...

off

, lately."

I ran a hand through my hair. "I...yeah, I'm okay. The last couple days have just been...complicated."

She looked thoughtful. "Because of the girls you're seeing?"

"...Yeah."

Let's go with that

.

"Well, if you wanna talk about it, let me know. I won't judge or give you a hard time about it." She didn't smile, but she looked...well, as close to sympathetic as Sam ever did. She moved to the kitchen, started making herself a bowl of cereal.

"Thanks, Sam. I gotta get going, though."

I pulled myself together and went to visit Lauren at the Library, as I'd promised.

---

Lauren was at the special collections desk, looking bored. As she'd promised, it was a slow day -- there were a smattering of students browsing or studying, but not nearly as busy as it would be during the fall or spring semesters -- and she looked pleased to see me. "Hi!"

I gave her a smile. "Hey. Thanks again for the artifact. It's already helped me feel a bit safer in a few situations that otherwise would've been...harrowing."

I started to relay the encounter with the Brooke this morning to her, but she interrupted. "Yeah, Viv texted me about it."

Well, that was embarrassing.

What had Viv said? Hey, FYI, Matt was telling me that all the lions know he's a quick cummer now too, and they're making fun of him?

She must've been able to see my embarrassment, because Lauren gave me a sympathetic look. "She's right, you know. They're just...really good at finding ways to make sure you feel beneath them."

"Yeah?" My voice was glum.

"Yeah..." she hesitated, and then said, "the first time I met Clint, he called me a wet-behind-the-ears witch cub. He said that I'd been driving for three times as long as I'd been using magic, and he'd seen how I drove around campus, so he hoped I wouldn't be casting any spells for a good long time. Said I was still on my magical learner's permit and shouldn't be allowed to use magic without supervision."

She was blushing, obviously embarrassed by the memory.

She must be a little insecure about her driving. It did make me feel a little better. I cracked a grin. "And now here you are, making lions cower in fear."

She brightened, smiling at me. "That

did

work even better than I had hoped. Anyway, c'mon, I want to show you something."

She led me behind the desk into the stacks. "So, the special collections comprise a bunch of different stuff...but there's a special

magical

collection that has one thing in particular that might interest you."

We wandered deep into the stacks, took a side hallway, and then she unlocked and opened a door into a small room. The placard next to it said

Regalia of the Teutonic Knights and Associated Orders.

I glanced at it quizzically. "What is this?"

She shrugged. "It's just a useful cover, to hide the coven's collection in plain sight. This collection isn't listed in the library's catalogue, you can't request to see it, and it's intended to be boring and uninteresting...all so nobody ever tries to come in here."

She flicked the lights on, and we both went into the room. She closed and locked the door behind us.

The room was windowless, and cramped -- maybe it had been an office or small conference room or something, at one point. A desk sat, forgotten in the corner, with various things laid out atop it. A few glass display cases lined one wall, and bookshelves lined two others.

"I made you a key, too." She held out a small, nondescript key. "Every coven member has one, and while you aren't technically a coven member, there might come a day when you need something quickly, to help one of us or to protect yourself. I don't want you to have to count on me or Viv to get in here."

I was glad I'd stopped by; Lauren was already doing wonders for helping me feel like I wasn't just getting used. I accepted the key.

"Now. Rules." Lauren said. "First,

nothing leaves this room unless it's an emergency.

If you take it out of this room because it's an emergency and you need it, you bring it back to the room once the emergency is resolved. None of this stuff is

our

stuff. It's the coven's stuff. We're just stewards of it. I'm trusting you with this, Matt."

I nodded my understanding.

"Second,

you only touch things if you know what they do

. If you don't know what it does, you don't touch it. Even if it seems like it might be helpful, or you don't think it's magical. It just isn't safe; it's as likely to backfire on you and create a serious problem as it is to actually help you."

I nodded again, looking around the room at the odd hodgepodge of objects with concern.

"Third,

anything with a lock on it, has a lock for a reason

. That includes the locked drawers on the desk, locked display cases, even books that have cover locks.

Do not open locks

. Ever."

I nodded a third time.

"Okay, good. Now. We do know what a lot of this stuff does, fortunately; I'll show you stuff over time. But what I wanted to show you right now is this." She walked over to one of the bookshelves and pulled out an old book.

"What...what does it do?" I looked at it, warily, not taking it from her.

"Nothing. It's a book, Matt. For reading, y'know? It's not magical."

"Oh." I reached out my hand and took it from her, carefully. The pages were yellowed and old. The cover was newer leather, and blank -- clearly a replacement. "What is it?" I gave her a questioning look.

"This is a thaumaturge's journal. Well, a translation of a thaumaturge's journal. The original was ancient Greek; this translation was written by a British scholar during the late 18th century. The original author's name is unknown and as far as we know, this is one of the only remaining translations. As you might expect, there aren't many firsthand, written accounts from thaumaturges. I thought you might like to read it."

I suddenly felt a sense of reverence, like I was holding the holy grail in my hands. This was a journal written by someone else like me? I opened to the first page and started reading.

Many qualities of a man cannot be truly known except in relation to others. They become the still pool, by which you might see the features of your reflection; the crucible in which the qualities of a metal are revealed; the peak's summit, well above the treeline, that lets one assess the surrounding terrain.

Thus it was for me, when I met my first witch. It was two years past my eighteenth birthday, in the fifth month Apollonios, when...

I looked up from the book to Lauren. She smiled at the confused expression on my face. "Yeah, it's an 18th-century translation of ancient Greek, the prose gets a little...confusing, sometimes. But I thought you might find it interesting. Maybe there'll be some insights in there you couldn't get from someone who isn't a thaumaturge. I've gotta get back to the desk. You can stay here and read; come get me if you need anything, just remember to lock the room behind you."

"Thanks, Lauren. This is great."

I furrowed my brow and dug back into the book.

---

An hour and a half later, I realized I'd be late to the reception at the art gallery if I didn't get home and changed.

The book was slow going. The author -- who never referred to himself by name -- was a big fan of metaphors, and the translator had done his best to represent that stylistic quirk. The result wasn't

unintelligible

, but it was often confusing.

I had been half-tempted to skim the book, looking for passages that would be noteworthy.

But I was focused on the idea that I might learn something about myself and my powers from reading this, and the prose was hard to parse. So I committed to make my way through it page-by-page, letting it unfold as the author's life had. I had made it far enough in the book to understand that the author was a man who lived in Thessaly. I didn't know enough about ancient Greece to know what that meant or its significance. I had just gotten through a relatively unremarkable description of his upbringing, to the description of a sexual encounter with a witch (it included a metaphor about Aphrodite and the foam of the sea that seemed like a reference to orgasm, but I wasn't sure) and his subsequent decision to leave his hometown and travel with the witch in question...before I realized the time.

I carefully placed the book back and locked the room up, then went to find Lauren at the special collections desk, who looked up at me as I approached, raising one eyebrow. "Interesting reading?"

I nodded. "It's kind of tough to understand, but I can tell I'm going to learn some things. And it's nice just to read about someone who went through what I'm going through. So thanks."

She smiled. "Want to grab dinner? I'm done here in ten minutes. We could find some food, then head back to my place...maybe...discuss another trade?" She looked at me, hopefully.

It always came back to what I could do for them.

I felt torn about the resentment that washed through me. I knew what she was looking for: more power. But Lauren had always been freer, with both information and actual help, than Viv had. She'd protected me from the werelions. Showed me this book. She seemed to care about me.

But maybe that was just because she took protecting her magical battery seriously.

I pushed the thought away, smiled, and shook my head. "Sorry. I've got plans. Soon, though. I feel a lot safer than I did before you, y'know, gave me this." I waved my phone at her. "Thanks again, Lauren."

"Okay." She was disappointed. "Be safe, Matt."

---

The trip home across campus, getting changed, and the walk to the art gallery were all unremarkable.

The art gallery was in one of the newer, fancier developments -- not far from the nice apartment complex that Lauren and Viv lived in.

It prompted a thought that hadn't occurred until now: I had to imagine they used magic to make money, somehow.

I

could probably use my thaumaturgy to make money -- if not from Viv and Lauren and Diana, then from other people, somewhere.

I filed that away for later, thinking of my student loans.

I wondered if the thaumaturge in the journal had done the same thing.

---

I arrived at the art gallery right on time. It was brightly lit outside, with some plants and greenery in front; a large sign proclaimed it to be

The Long View

, with smaller lettering below that noting that it was

a creative event and gallery space showcasing the fine arts, from artists both living and deceased

.

I walked in through big floor-to-ceiling glass doors, and I was greeted by a reception desk, from behind which two older women looked at me skeptically. "Yes?" one asked, politely.

I was suddenly uncomfortable, acutely aware that even in my blazer and slacks, I must appear out of place. This was not a venue that catered to the student crowd. "I'm, uh, here for the reception? I'm a student of Professor Callis."

Their expressions eased immediately when I produced a ticket. "Oh, lovely!" one of them enthused. "Do you sculpt like she does? I love her work!"

I laughed, a little relieved. "No one sculpts like she does! But I'm trying, yes."

The woman laughed as well, nodding agreeably. "Wonderful, dear, just wonderful. Take the elevator up to the second floor. Enjoy!"

As I exited the elevator, I could immediately see why the two women had reacted the way that they did.

I was probably the youngest person here by two decades, and I must beat the average age by three or four decades. There were two- or three-dozen people in the second-floor balcony space, most of them in their 60s and 70s, men in suits and women in cocktail dresses, conversing quietly in small groups. I could see Elana holding court at the opposite end of the room; she hadn't noticed me.

The idea of going to talk to her in front of a dozen people hanging off her every word was intimidating, so I got in line at the bar instead.

The gallery space was minimalist, almost museum-like, probably in an effort to let the art on display shine. As a result I was still mostly looking around at the people when a voice from one side startled me.

"What are

you

doing here?"

Well, apparently I didn't have

everyone

beat by two decades. I turned to see

Diana

, of all people. She was staring at me, a look of confusion on her face.

I was similarly confused by her presence. We stared at each other for a moment before she spoke again. "Seriously, what're you doing here? Are you a wealthy art connoisseur?"

"Uh, no. I'm a student of Elana Callis, the featured artist. I'm taking her sculpting class this summer."

She paused for a moment, blinking as she digested that. "Oh. Still..."

"Why are

you

here, Diana? Are you secretly a patron of the arts?"

"I mean, not really. But I know the owner of a local tattoo shop pretty well; as you might imagine, I'm kind of a regular there." She gestured at herself. "And she

is

a big supporter of the arts. She gets me a ticket to this sort of thing every now and then, and they're always...interesting."

My eyes followed her gesture. Diana was wearing a black cocktail dress and heels. The dress was sleeveless, and not quite back

less

, but the fabric of the dress dropped low enough to show off her lean, muscular, tattooed upper back.

The outfit was such a dramatic contrast to what I'd seen her wearing to this point -- a jiu jitsu gi, gym shorts and a tank top -- that I realized I was just full-on ogling her body. I pulled my eyes back up.

She gave me that half-smile. She was wearing

makeup

, too, I realized -- dark lipstick, a smoky cat's eye. "Y'know, the last time you were

this

speechless it had nothing to do with what I was

wearing

..."

I went red. The swell of her ass was obvious in that tight dress.

I was, fortunately, rescued from having to respond to that by reaching the front of the line for the bar. I got myself and her a beer, and we moved off to one side.

With a moment to think, something occurred to me. "What tattoo shop do you go to?"

"

Dream Ink

. It's just off campus." She sipped her beer.

I blinked. It wasn't a surprise; it was basically the only tattoo parlor right off campus. But it was quite a coincidence. "My roommate actually apprentices for one of the tattoo artists there. Alyssa? Short, sarcastic, red hair, lots of tattoos?"

She considered for a moment. "I think I've seen her there, yeah, but don't think she's done any of my work. The owner, Iris, probably knows her." She lowered her voice. "You've gotta be careful with Iris though. She...

shit.

She's coming over here. I shouldn't have said her name. Okay, look, just

don't make any bargains with her

. No trades, no deals, nothing like that."

I was confused. "What...?"

"She's..." but Diana trailed off.

"Diana,

darling

-- are you making friends? But you hate socializing at these things. You seem to hate socializing everywhere, really."

The voice had an aristocratic lilt to it. I turned to look at the willowy woman that had come up behind me. Unlike Diana and I, she looked perfectly in place in an art gallery. Tall, with Asian features. Long dark hair and pale skin contrasted with the red dress she was wearing.

The woman gave me a bright smile. "Well hello there. Who're you? Shall we exchange names?"

I responded automatically. "Sure, I'm---"

Diana cut in, emphatically. "

No

, Iris, he doesn't want to trade names with you. Matt, this is Iris. Iris, this is Matt, a friend of mine."

The woman pouted. "Diana, you're always spoiling my fun. Fine, no name trade. It's nice to meet you, Matt. Are you really Diana's friend or is she just saying that?"

I felt completely lost and like speaking would only put me on thin ice. I just nodded, uncertainly.

The woman laughed. It had a tinkling, musical quality, like wind chimes. Her smile got bigger, toothier. "Well, good. Diana needs a social circle. Ever since that unpleasant business with her coven, I don't think she has nearly enough friends..."

Diana frowned. "Matt, Iris is a

sidhe

." She saw the blank look on my face and added, "Fae. A fairy."

I didn't know the first word she'd used. Or the second. And frankly, 'fairy' just conjured up images of Tinkerbell, to me. It was completely at odds with the aristocratic woman in front of me. "Oh. Um, nice to meet you, Iris. I've, uh...never met a fairy, before."

The woman's smile was delighted. "I know, darling. I can tell. The innocence practically radiates off of you in waves. What a privilege to be your

first

." The way she said it, the word was full of implied, suggestive meaning, like she was claiming my virginity. "Now, I'm going to keep making the rounds. I just wanted to say hi, Diana dear. Matt, you just let me know if there's ever something you need. I love a good bargain with a mortal."

She walked off. I stared after her. I was glad I had very specifically

not

mentioned knowing Alyssa. "She's...a fairy? She's not...what I would've expected."

Diana nodded. "Yeah, because in pop culture, they've all got beautiful gossamer butterfly wings and they grant wishes or whatever. But the old myths about them got it right. Stealing children, replacing them with changeling babies, making deals that always screw over the person on the other end of it, that sort of thing."

I paused, mentally reviewing the conversation. "Wait...she...would've traded

names

with me?"

Diana shrugged. "Probably not. I think she likes the name Iris. But she's sometimes...whimsical, so maybe, yeah. I mean, Iris is by no means her first name -- and how do you think she got it? So you never know. Anyway, just be careful about how you word things around her. Fairies and demons are the same; they always try to trip you up with the fine print."

The mention of demons prompted another thought. "Are there any other supernaturals here?"

Diana's smile reappeared. "Why,

Matt

. Are you asking me to do some magic on your behalf? Unfortunately, I'm a little low on power, and I'd need some energy to do that."