'Oh. Well, now that you've laid it out for me, that explains everything.'
'It's the same for every hero's journey. You're only told as much as you're ready to accept.'
'And what couldn't I accept?' King poured himself a glass of water, tilting the pitcher to Merle who waved off the offer.
'That magic is real. That mystery has power and truth.'
'Uh huh.'
'This would be you still being not quite ready.' Merle rolled over, a mad light in his eyes. Clearing the countertop that doubled as a table, he spread a few coasters along it. 'The city, like many places, is swathed by ley lines, what some might call fairy chains. Think of them as lines of force that connect places of power.'
'This better not be some Satanic shit.'
'No, no. This is older than that. Think of the magic that I describe as energy.' Merle traced a line from one coaster to the next. 'A natural energy that runs along power lines.'
'These ley lines…'
'Exactly. And they connect places of power.'
'Like power stations.'
'Some people, or elementals, can naturally harness that energy better.'
'Like you?'
'Me? I'm an old man in a tinfoil hat. Barely capable of a glamour here or there, though I've got a few tricks left in me.'
'I'm having a hard time getting my mind around this.'
'We live in precarious times. No room for magic. Or dragons. For the line of the serpent to continue, it must adapt to the age. For now I have it on good authority that we need to wait.'
'On whose authority?'
'Sir Rupert's, of course.'
'Great.' King stared at his empty glass he didn't remember draining and refilled it. It was going to be a long evening.
• • •
A couple of nights a week, volunteers from Outreach Inc. did what they called a street night. Patrolling the streets, they searched for teens who might be at risk in order to inform them about Outreach's services. Tonight, Wayne and a female volunteer wore the vests emblazoned with the Outreach logo and toted the flashlights that doubled as batons if they got into a scrape. As her case manager, he wanted an excuse to check up on Lady G. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was in trouble.
There was a perception that the poor want to live the way they did, victims of their laziness or poor life choices. As was usually the case, the truth was a little more complex, the stark shades of such black and white judgment tempered by the reality of a system that often erected walls against folks when it didn't abandon them outright, and allowed them to fall through the cracks. To fall into that other world of shadow and societal malice, the forgotten places in the shadow of downtown. The survivors — and truly they survived more than lived — made use of any abandoned space to stay warm and carve out the semblance of an existence. It hadn't been so long since Wayne transitioned out of the streets. Other family members pitched in, one, because when they saw someone working so hard to make it they had to help when they could; and two, his charitable spirit put them to shame. Once he graduated from college, he strove to help as many over the wall as he could.
They made a strange pair, Wayne and the volunteer: he with his broad, muscular frame and unforgiving face, a scar on the back of his neck and a tattoo of a pentacle on the front. She, a head and a half shorter than him, with her bookish glasses and chin stud. A study in contradictions. Wayne thought she was the type who had to try out the streets for a minute, long enough to make herself feel better about her place in the greater scheme of things. Young, pretty, and privileged, a typical white girl, ready to get back into her daddy-bought BMW or something parked around the corner. At least she didn't drop her 'g' s and put on a slang affectation. That level of condescension would have just pissed him off.
A scree of rocks led up to the railroad tracks used to get to the black-tarped rooftops of the abandoned warehouses. Each measured step tested for soft spots, with Wayne treading first, though in an anxious sweat about whether the roof would support his, much less their combined, weight. Dubbed the Hispanic railroad because of the high Hispanic population typically found there, rotted cherry tomatoes, discarded beer cans, and free floating trash mined the rooftop. Moldy sleeping bags, rugs, and crocheted blankets doubled as doors to block the biting wind, from the smashed-in roof compartments squatters now called home.
A group of Hispanic men sang along to Tom Petty's 'Free Falling,' their accents delighting in the chorus as they held what they called a 'dance contest'. The contest amounted to them smoking while drinking beer, bouncing as the music blared from a duct-taped radio. They accepted Wayne's offer of water, but one man fixated on the female volunteer and began proclaiming how 'I hate me some Jesus.' A couple of the man's friends pulled him away, chastising him for saying such things. Wayne fixed his hard stare on the man, putting himself between her and the homeless man, allowing her to make her way back to the tracks before he backed away.
They next went to West Street and Kentucky Avenue to what was known as 'The Tubes'. The buildings across from the water station had been tagged. ESG. Treize. MerkyWater. HeadCase. ICU (the letters written within a circle). Torn-up quarry remains littered a field that led from a sanitation workstation to a path down the bank of the White River. Concrete tubes normally used in sewer work had sheets of plastic draped across their ends. A man with dirty blond hair and a week's worth of facial growth sat in front of a small fire. His USA sweatshirt and blue jeans looked nearly new, but he had neither shoes nor socks.
'How you doing, sir?' Wayne asked after having announced that Outreach had arrived with food and water. With a head nod, he sent the volunteer back to the van to grab a few pairs of socks.
'Good, good.' The man studied the small dancing flames, his hands absently scouring for more brush.
'How long you been out here?'
'A couple weeks. I'm in the Army and I'm due to be shipped out in a few days. Then me and my wife will be straight.' A feminine mumble asking who was there was met with harsh whispers about Outreach and water. The volunteer returned with some socks.
'Have you seen any teenagers around?' She handed the man the socks. 'We're especially on the lookout for teenage girls.'
'I hear there's some under the bridge. A group of them. We came up here to have some quiet.'
'Thank you.' Wayne left the man an additional bottle of water and a few snacks.
Downtown was the medium of rats and lies. A parade of headlights scurried to nowhere, slowed by the occasional horse-drawn carriage, a quaint throwback to an earlier age's gentility. The steam from the downtown grates, shallow graves for the beasts that lived within the bowels of the city. The Bridge meant either the McCarty Street bridge or the Washington Street and they got lucky on their first try with the Washington Street bridge. Not too far from one of the downtown strolls, the tresses under the bridge were used as small apartments: quiet places where folks could stay warm. Not so quiet if Rhianna had her voice raised.
Wayne hated navigating the steep incline, especially at night. Concrete slabs jutted out at irregular intervals forming a make-shift stairwell down the embankment. The thick growth of trees hindered easy movement. He stayed at the top shining his flashlight so that the volunteer could go first then he proceeded down largely in the dark. Funny, he always felt stronger at mid-day; now his movements seemed clumsy. The tall bonfire by the riverside, surrounded on all sides by trees: the scene looked picturesque.
'Nine o'clock in the morning ain't no booty call,' Rhianna's rasp strained.
'I ain't gonna trip,' Lady G retorted. 'Believe what you want to believe. Don't matter what time of day it is, some fool call and all he has is sex on the mind, it's a booty call.'
'You just jealous cause Prez don't call you,' Rhianna said behind her G-funk nose and slightly bucked teeth. She nursed the pus pocket on her finger from where she got stabbed. They could've stayed with Rhianna's people, but this close to rent day, tensions boiled over, toilet paper sheets counted, and food carefully guarded. Sometimes the drama just wasn't worth it. She'd been couch-surfing with friends who lived over in the Phoenix when she met Trevant. But it was Prez who stepped to her.
Lady G clucked under her breath. 'Girl… boo. You stand by yourself, you stay by yourself.'
'I'm glad to hear you say that, G,' Wayne interrupted.
'What you doing down here?' Lady G gave Wayne a hug.
