Shit. Life is full of doors that don’t open when you knock, equally spaced amid those that open when you don’t want them to.
I went back and knocked on the bedroom door, and Flora told me to come in. She was seated before a mirror, applying makeup.
“How’d it go?” she asked.
“Not too well. Totally unsatisfactory, actually.” I summarized the results of my calls.
“So what are you going to do now?” she inquired.
“Get in touch with Random,” I said, “and bring him up to date. I’ve got a feeling he’ll call me back to hear it all. So I wanted to say good-bye, and thanks for helping me. Sorry if I broke up your romance.”
She shrugged, her back still to me, as she studied herself in the mirror. “Don’t worry-“
I did not hear the remainder of her sentence, though she continued talking. My attention was snatched away by what seemed the beginning of a Trump contact. I made myself receptive and waited. The feeling grew stronger but the caller s presence did not become manifest. I turned away from Flora.
“Merle, what is it?” I heard her say then.
I raised one hand to her as the feeling intensified. I seemed to be staring down a long black tunnel with nothing at its farther end.
“I don’t know;’ I said, summoning the Logrus and taking control of one of its limbs. “Ghost? Is that you? Are you ready to talk?” I asked. There was no reply. I felt a chill as I remained receptive, waiting. I had never experienced anything quite like this before. I’d a strong feeling that if I but moved forward I would be transported somewhere. Was this a challenge? A trap? Whatever, I felt that only a fool would accept such an invitation from the unknown. For all I knew, it might deliver me back to the crystal cave.
“If there is something you want,” I said, “you are going to have to make yourself known and ask. I’ve given up on blind dates.”
A sense of presence trickled through, then, but no intimations of identity,
“All right,” I said. “I’m not coming and you have no message. The only other thing I can think of is that you’re asking to come to me. If that’s the case, come ahead.”
I extended both of my apparently empty hands, my invisible strangling cord writhing into position in my left, an unseen Logrus death bolt riding my right. It was one of those times when courtesy demanded professional standards.
A soft laughter seemed to echo within the dark tunnel. It was purely a mental projection, however, cold and genderless.
Your offer is, of course, a trick, came to me then. For you are not a fool. Still, I grant your courage, to address the unknown as you do. You do not know what you face, yet you await it. You even invite it.
“The offer is still good,” I said.
I never thought of you as dangerous.
“What do you want?”
To regard you.
“Why?”
There may come a time when I will face you on different terms.
“What terms?”
I feel that our purposes will be crossed.
“Who are you?”
Again, the laughter.
No. Not now. Not yet. I would merely look upon you, and observe your reactions.
“Well? Have you seen enough?”
Almost.
“If our purposes are crossed, let the conflict be now,” I said. “I’d like to get it out of the way so I can get on with some important business.”
I appreciate arrogance. But when the time comes the choice will not be yours.
“I’m willing to wait,” I said, as I cautiously extended a Logrus limb out along the dark way.
Nothing. My probe encountered nothing. . . .
I admire your performance.
Here!
Something came rushing toward me. My magical extension informed me that it was soft-too soft and loose to do me any real harm-a large, cool mass showing bright colors. . . .
I stood my ground and extended through it-beyond, far, fartherreaching for the source. I encountered something tangible but yielding: a body perhaps, perhaps not; too-too big to snap back in an instant.