Bad Magic Ch. 05

I was standing against the far wall on the second floor hallway holding an open beer. I don't remember who had handed it to me nor had I yet taken a drink.

I had no idea who any of these people were, and there a lot of them, spilling into every room and hallway. They'd arrived like an plague, slithering in through the front door. I remember someone mentioning something about a band, a tour and a party.

It wasn't important, I didn't care, my only thought was, where was Jake, where was my Master?

I scanned the crowd, looking for him - nothing, just strange pockets filled with strange people. I saw piercings, dyed hair, torn clothing. I doubted any of them were students.

"Nice get-up."

My concentration was broken as I realized the voice was directed at me. I turned to see a pair of crocked teeth paired with uneven eyes on a face as pale as a ghost staring at me. He smiled. I felt my skin crawl.

"I'm sorry, what?" I replied.

He moved in closer and I pressed myself further into the wall.

"The cheerleader outfit with the BDSM. It's pretty rad."

What is he talking about? I looked down. Oh right, my skimpy cheerleader outfit. I'd almost forgotten I was still wearing it, and what an outfit it was. It hugged every curve, showcasing all my natural splendor. Had he been staring at my breasts? They were poking out, propped up and on display by the clever mechanics of the sports bra I wore. I could see my slender bare legs sticking out, barely covered by my short skirt.

I was still shackled, the golden bands wrapped tightly around my wrists and ankles. I felt the collar pinching my neck.

"Right ...ah ... thanks," I said, trying to find an angle to quickly slip away through.

I scanned the room again. Where was Jake? When had I last seen him?

"Oh ... fuck, don't look now, but there they are."

"What?" I asked, as I was dragged back into the awkward conversation.

"Not what, who, them ... the them, All Things Slimey. The band, if not the greatest band of all f'n time"

Three figures as stiff as boards slowly floated past us towards the stairs. They're skin was as pale as an uncooked fish. They wore loose ragged leather coats that hung off of their thin wiry bodies like rotten tree bark. Their hands, no ... claws, were like a department store sales rack for cheap jewelry.

"That's Toad, the lead singer," he whispered as he continued to invade my space. "I've seen him around, after the shows. He never speaks, only croaks. It's so impressive. Dude never breaks character, even during interviews. No matter what they ask, it's just croak."

I looked back at the slow moving procession. Toad was the tallest of the three. He wore a tall black hat that looked like the chimney from an old cast iron stove.

"I like the hat," I said.

"Yea, it's like that the dead President dude, you know, the famous one, whatever his name is."

I knew, but I didn't bother to say.

They passed by us and walked down the stairs, descending like the damned entering the pits of the underworld. A fourth person scurried after them, hunched over, hiding something from our view. My unsavory conversationalist, drew his attention back towards me.

"That was a hell of a show right? I still can't believe they threw snakes into the crowd. Do you think they were like, real?"

"What? No ... yes, maybe? ... here, hold this," I said and handed him the beer bottle. I'd spotted a shirt sleeve similar to the one Jake wore disappear into the crowd. I pushed past him, followed it, weaving through the swarm of people and headed for the stairs.

The stairwell was uncomfortably cramped with people mingling ... and where was the music coming from? It thundered off the walls like a barrage of cannonballs.

I snaked down to the bottom floor, looked up and through the thick glass window in the door, and saw a beaten-up old van parked at a crooked angle on the driveway. I turned, the room to my left was still closed. That seemed to have some significance, but I couldn't quite place it.

The unruly mob in the living room was packed tight, visibility was low. There were smokers amongst their ranks, the sickly gray tendrils rising up and fading like spirits above their heads.

In another life I might have cared, but not tonight.

I spotted Jake in the kitchen, his back was turned to me. Who was he talking too, who was that girl?

I pushed through the crowd, slipping through the fissures as they appeared between the dozen or so different conversations that were all happening at once. I almost tripped over a discarded beer bottle which squawked loudly as it scurried off under the coach.

I walked into the kitchen, the harsh fluorescent lighting blanketed everything in a thin soapy film. Three of the kitchen cabinets were open, the boxed contents raided. The small table strained under the weight of a tower of beer cases stacked on top of it.

The girl Jake was talking too had climbed up onto the oven and was using it's burners as a seat cushion. Her hair was dyed bright blue. She wore a faded tank top. The pockets of her torn jean shorts were peeking out from below the frayed hems. There were tears in her fishnet stockings. Her heels were the color of chewed bubblegum. She was leaning forward, perched like a grinning goth gargoyle. I didn't like her. I didn't know her, but I already knew I didn't like her.

I started to tune into their conversation as I breached their orbit.

"Yea, I've never heard of that town, it totally sounds made up," she said, her voice crackling like a downed power line.

"Well, let me assure you it is. I ... "

I dove in between them, my back to the bothersome nuisance of a girl.

"Master," I said cheerfully.

He looked down at me, surprised to see me.

"Did she just call you ... Master?" the bothersome girl sneered.

"What? no! ... Mas ... Ma ... Mathew. She said my name. My name is ... Mathew."

"You're names not Mathew, Master it's ..."

He grabbed me by the hand and pulled us both free from the conversation.

"Ring me if you're looking for a third," the bothersome girl howled, laughing.

We escaped into the living room and found a small unoccupied corner.

"Ok, new rule, don't call me Master," he said harshly above a whisper.

"Is that what you command?" I asked.

"Yes, yes, that is my command."

"Shall I call you Mathew?" I asked.

"What? no, just call me Jake."

I tried it out.

"Jake," I said, slowly.

"Perfect. Well, did you find it?" he asked.

"Find it, find what? Mas ... Ma ... Jake."

He scanned the room.

"The book," he whispered.

I looked around, only vaguely aware of what he was talking about.

"Book, what book?"

"The book," he hissed. "The one that got us into this mess. It's gone, stolen. You really don't remember do you?"

I shrugged. What was so important about a book?

"It's why we split up. Really, none of this sounds familiar?"

Well, that at least explained why I was upstairs, I thought. Had I seen anyone reading? No. No books, plenty of beer bottles, no books.

"Someone grabbed it. We need to find them before they leave the party. Ok lets ..."

"Who's my favorite fav!" Someone belted out as they stumbled into our conversation. A girl leapt at Jake, hooked her arm around his neck and used him to prop herself up while she waved a half empty bottle around with her other free hand.

She was a grab bag of all the sights and smells I'd already logged that night; band paraphernalia, cheap plastic jewelry and heavy make-up.

"Hi Jen. I thought you were heading home for the weekend," Jake said and let her ooze off of his body. She fell back, her hand falling to her waist for support.

"Yea, I guess I was, wasn't I? Funny story about that, I was about to get on the train and what did I see on the marquee across the street above the Beast Pit? All Things Slimey, one night only. One night only! can you believe that?"

She didn't wait for a reply.

"Well, I wasn't going to miss out on an opportunity of a life time now was I? So I ditched the train, and checked out the show. And what a show it was, rocking, absolutely rocking! Afterwards, I snuck backstage locked in one of the best interviews I've ever done - you're welcome university student news paper, and invited the entire band and a couple of their groupies over for a few drinks."

A couple of groupies, I thought as I looked around at the swarming mass of people bursting from every seam of the house.

Jen reached into her pocket and pulled out an unused ticket stub.

"These are good for twenty four hours right?"

"Ah ... well, I ..." Jake replied, but she had already switched gears.

"So where's our other roommate at? Holed up in his room?"

Jake glanced over at me, then away.

"Maybe, I haven't seen him all day."

"I'm not surprised. He's missing out on a great party. I should drag him out here. He could use some good medicine for all his academic blues. Always mopping around, nose in a book, that one. I'm Jen by the way, and you are?"

She turned and looked at me.

"Amber," I replied.

Her watery eyes started to roll, eventually settling on my shimmering golden shackles. She lit up with a ghoulish smile. She looked back at Jake.

"By the way, sorry I burst in on you like that. So, what were you two kids up too? A little roll playing? ... I ah ... I ... don't see any dice."

"Just hanging out," Jake said sharply. "You wouldn't happen to have seen anyone wandering around carrying an old book, would you have?" he asked.

"A book," Jen said, the small tip of her brain still floating above the alcohol fighting to compute the information.

"Well, I saw the bassist reciting poetry from a phone book ..."

"Where?"

"I don't know, last I saw he was headed for the band's van ..."

... and like that, Jake was gone, sprinting like a rocket for the front door. I found myself alone in his wake, staring at Jen.

"Well then ... Amethyst was it?" she asked, looking down at her half empty bottle.

"Amber," I replied.

"Right, right. Well, it looks like the tank is almost empty, time for refill. Cya around sports fan ... Oh and one last thing, next time you too are deep in a ... campaign, leave a note on the door," she said, turned and was gone.

I stood there, chewing on a smaller crumb from our conversation. Who was the mysterious roommate, and why did it feel significant? Had he actually been in there when I'd passed by his closed door? who was he?

It didn't matter, he didn't matter, only Jake mattered ... and where was Jake?

I looked around and spotted him cutting through the crowd towards the front door. I followed.

I stepped out into the cool night air and found him standing at the base of the front door's concrete stairway. The driveway was empty, accept for the band's van, it's side door was open, a ghostly green light bleeding out of it.

The van looked like it had involuntarily performed a dozen or so somersaults. The original paint had been scratched off and every surface had become an open canvas, filled with graffiti and lewd drawings. "All Things Slimey" had been slathered across the front hood in green paint.

The silence was odd, like the gap between two songs. I heard insects chirping from some dark place in shrubbery and the low thundering roar of the music seeping through the tears in the house.

My eye caught something, a faint flicker of purple fluttering through the empty nights sky. I followed it as it darted back and forth. As it got closer, I saw it's shape ... It was a butterfly, a purple butterfly. It landed on the steel railing beside me and remained there, it's wings gently opening and closing.

Suddenly, there was a high pitched scream. My head snapped back up and I saw a girl fall out of the side door and hit the asphalt. She sprang up, her face twisted into a nightmarish mask, and ran past us, arms flailing, crying incoherently.

"Stay there," Jake commanded.

I obeyed and watched as he slowly crept up to the open van door.

He inched closer and peered in, his eyes widening in horror.

"What the f ..." he almost managed to yell as a dark blob rocketed out from the van, sailed through the air and flopped down in front of him. He leapt forward and tried to grab it, but it avoided him and changed direction, heading straight towards me.

"Grab it," Jake yelled. "Don't let it get away!"

I spread my hands wide like a net, preparing to catch it while my brain tried to piece together what it was I was actually looking at. It was a toad, a very large toad, larger than any toad I had ever seen before. It's putrid skin was the color of decaying leaves, it's huge legs like rusted pistons. It flopped down in front of me and stared up at me with black eyes the size of a grapefruit. I stared down at it, and it stared right back up at me.

"Shoo," I said. Shoo? Was that really the best thing I could come up with? It wasn't a cat. It looked like it could eat a cat, quite a few cats in fact, but a cat it was not. Surprisingly, it seemed to actually work.

It looked at me annoyed, spun around and headed back towards the van. It stopped in front of the side door, wound back like a spring, then leapt into the van.

I stepped forward, stood beside Jake and peered in. The interior was unremarkable. All of the original seating had been torn out. A heavy carpet that looked like it had once been a domestic treasure, was cut up and shoved into the confusing shape of the misshapen metal floor. Bits of spare equipment and thick cords, were scattered about. There was a semi circle of pillows arranged around a cluster of half lit candles, their melting wax forming a puddle below them. The magical book was open on the floor.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary accept for the four large toads sitting comfortably on the pillows. A pile of leathery clothing littered the floor. An old tall black hat lay on it's side. It's the dead President dude's hat, I thought.

"Do you think that's because of the ..."

"Yes," Jake said, cutting me off. He leaned in, grabbed the book and slammed the door shut, sealing the horror within. He turned to face me.

"Ok, first we fix you, then we fix ... that," he said.

Fix me? I thought, what was wrong with me that needed to be fixed?

"Follow me," Jake said, turned and walked back into the house. I obeyed and followed him in. There was no sign of the girl who had run past us screaming. She'd been absorbed back into the party.

We headed up the stairs, through a current of wobbling party goers to the second floor landing. Conditions had deteriorated since I'd left. The floor was a soaked in beer and muddied by random footprints.

"My rooms to the right," Jake said.

I turned to look, there was an old country concert poster hung up on the door. The color had bleed out, the grinning bearded band proudly holding up their guitars and fiddles were as pale as ghosts.

Light was creeping out through a crack along the frame, the door was open. Jake stepped forward, and reached for the door knob.

He looked back at me. "Everything better still be in there, or there will be ... well, I don't know, but it better all be in there."

He twisted the door knob, and slowly opened the door. I peered over his shoulder, straining to see into the dimly lit room. It was occupied, and I recognized the occupant, it was the bothersome girl with the blue hair from the kitchen.

She was on Jake's bed, on her knees. She was wearing one of his football jerseys. It was to large for her, the neck line was stretched, hanging off her naked shoulder. She clenched the bottom in her fist, and had hiked it up revealing her string black bikini panties and thin garter belt anchored to her torn fishnet stockings. She stared at Jake, her eyes a simmering cauldron of filthy thoughts.

"Offers still on the table all-star. How about it?"

I felt my stomach knot. I turned and looked at Jake, and tried to read him.

"Offer?" he asked, "What offer?"

She fell down onto all fours and crept forward towards him, her plastic pale breasts peeking out through the loose jersey.

"Do I have to spell it out for you? We're at a party, so lets party."

"I ahhh," Jake stammered.

"What's the matter farm boy, cow got your tongue?"

"How did you know my family has cows?" he asked.

She exploded in laughter and almost fell off the bed, recovered and sat back up on her knees.

"So is that how they talk dirty in hick? how feral."

"I think you mean rural. Look ..."

She cut him off and turned her attention towards me, and caught me toying nervously with my collar.

"And what about you Blondie. What's your kink? You gotta' leash for that collar? How about I get cha' down on all fours, lead you around the room, and teach you how to beg for a treat. Your boy friend can watch. I bet he'd like that."

Boyfriend? I looked back at Jake, well aware that if he commanded it, I'd be powerless to refuse him.

"Ah, thanks, but I think we'll pass," Jake said.

"You think ... you think!" she howled, her face curling up into a bitter sneer.

"Typical college brat," she snarled, and leapt off the bed. She started to pull the jersey off. Jake lowered his eyes, looking down at the book

"Here, take it. It smells like a rat crawled into it and died."

She threw it at him as she stormed past us. His reflexes kicked in and he caught it.

"Nice catch," I whispered and turned to watch her scurry out of the room. She grabbed her disheveled clothes off the floor and vanished back into the crowd.

"Close the door," Jake said. "I don't want any more surprises."

I obeyed, closed the door and turned back. The room was small, smaller than any of the other rooms. The bed was pressed against the far wall under a single open window. The nightstand was a crude three legged stool, the dresser an antique. He had several framed photographs, of what I assumed were his immediate and extended family.

Jake stood, flipping through the book.

"You can have a seat on the bed if you like," he said.

I had no preference, so I sat down on the bed.

"I lost my bookmark, just give me a moment."

I looked around the room, my hands digging into the hand crafted quilted blanket at the foot of the bed.

Jake sat down beside me, still flipping through the pages.

"I know it's here ... somewhere. Wait ... no, no, that's not it."

He looked up at the ceiling, frustrated.

"Why ... why, does everything have to be so complicated?"

"Complicated?" I asked.

He looked over at me.

"Yea, complicated. Do you know what's infuriating, what's really infuriating?"

I looked up at him, sympathetically, but didn't have an answer.

"Every one here treats me like I'm just another dumb country hick who's never seen a traffic light before. Well, I have, we have several."

He turned, and stared at the blank wall.

"Back home, every one looks out for each other. Get a flat tire, and the first truck you see will stop and help you out. Here ... forget it. They'll swerve around you, give you the finger and write an angry email to the city complaining that you're obstructing traffic."

I reached out and touched his arm.

"I'd stop," I said softly.

He looked back at me and smiled. There was a vulnerability there in the calm ocean blue of his eyes that drew me in. I wanted to get lost, be cast adrift, and float endlessly towards no fixed horizon.

"What?" I asked, as I was pulled back into reality.

"I said, are you ready?"

"Ready, ready for what?" I asked.

Jake was standing in front of me with the open book.

"I think I found the right page. Are you ready?"

I nodded, unaware of what I was ready for, but still willing.

"Ok, sit tight, here we go."

He started to read, chewing on every word. It reminded me of a song, rising and falling in slow waves. It built slowly, one verse at a time before reaching an apex and then slowly faded away.