…The final installment of the tour blog will come tomorrow. Suffice it to say for now that I am tired, have caught a bad cold, and Manitoba in November is very cold and dry, I wrote the following installment on the plane to Winnipeg on Friday night.
*Warning: Plot twists ahead*
I didn’t want to go back. Really, I fully intended not to. I was firmly resolved to distance myself from him and his sad and stupid cult. I planned to, if I ran into him again, nod and smile and run away. That was the plan, anyway. It didn’t work.
Of course I saw him the next day. Of course I did. And of course I felt sorry for him, so I talked to him as if nothing unusual had happened. So of course, when he suggested that he play the Poulenc for me again, I went along for it, and when he took me out for lunch I didn’t see how I could say no. The same thing happened the next day, and the next. Justin teased me about it -
“Don’t think that I look down on you,” he said, “just because your boyfriend’s older than you,. In a few year’s you’ll have caught up to him anyway. Tell me, what’s it like, dating a vampire?”
I whacked him with my purse when he said it, but I guess it was true. I was sort of dating him. Not that anything happened – not yet – and it was still pretty weird.
After about two weeks he asked me again if I would come to a ritual.
“No, I really can’t,” I said. “I’m sorry, I’m really trying to respect your beliefs, but I don’t believe in magic, and you haven’t shown me anything to make me change my mind. I don’t think I can go back.”
“Gina, please,” he said, looking at me with his blue puppy-dog eyes, “please, give it one more try. If you don’t believe after this, I promise you I won’t bring it up again.”
As if that were true. That’s what Mormons always say – “just read these passages of the Book of Mormon, and if you still don’t believe, we’ll leave you alone”. As if – they’re back the next Saturday with a whole new round of apologetics. But he looked so sad, and I thought, Well, what the hell? The worst that could happen was another embarrassing campfire (embarrassing to THEM, not me) and another lifeless bird statue. No skin off my nose.
It was Friday when he took me there again, a shimmering half-moon low in the sky as we drove west through the city.
“You should really take the subway,” I said sternly.
He smiled. “Why?”
“Don’t you care about the planet?” I said. “Hello, global warming and all that? I would think immortal people would care more than others, since you’ll have to live through all of the consequences.”
He laughed. “I never thought of that,” he said. “Next time you come here, we’ll take the subway, OK? It’s a bit of a walk from the station, though.”
“I don’t care.”
When we pulled up to the house, the older woman, already in her ridiculous robes, was waiting on the doorstep.
“Gina, dear, so nice to see you again!” she cried in fake delight. “What a pleasant surprise. Where’s your friend tonight?”
“She’s here with me,” he said in a low, warning tone.
“Of course she is,” she said. “Well, this time you just sit back and observe, alright, dear? No need for you to go to any extra trouble.”
She smiled at me in a sickly way, and I said, “Sure,” and followed her into the house. This time I noticed more – the candles everywhere, the strange brass bas-reliefs of flying birds on every wall. Why hadn’t I seen them the first time?
“Remember, don’t eat or drink anything,” he said in my ear, then disappeared.
The house and garden were full that night, and there was a party atmosphere. Swirls of laughing chatter came from every room, where people in black and multicoloured robes mingled with ordinarily-dressed middle-aged musicians. I noticed the same cellist I’d seen the first time; plus her, the smooth-haired conductor who was controlling my piano genius’ destiny. Hers eyes met mine for a moment; she sneered, laughed, and turned away, saying something that made the group around her roar with laughter.
I felt like Alice in Wonderland at the Red Queen’s party. No one spoke to me, though I got plenty of strange looks. Why would I want to talk to them, anyway? They were just a bunch of deluded assholes. If it weren’t for him, I would have just walked out and made my way home. Where had he gone? Why had he left me alone like that? Why would he leave me unprotected with these lunatics?
Just as I was starting to wish I’d learned how to drive so I could steal a car and go home (or that I had enough money to take a taxi all the way back downtown and that the odds of finding a taxi in this secluded spot at this time of night were greater than about 1 in 3500), the crowd suddenly melted from the house, and a crackling sound began in the garden.
“Great,” I murmured to myself, “another round of psycho Cumbaya.”
“There you are,” I heard him say.
I turned and saw him coming down the stairs. His lips were stained red and his eyes were bright.
“I haven’t gone anywhere,” I said. “What were you doing?”
“I’ll tell you later,” he said, not looking me in the eye. “Let’s go out back. I have to be part of the ceremony tonight.”
Everything else was just as before – the stupid-looking robes, the bonfire, the idiotic business with the branch and the vases – except instead of me holding the bird, it was him. When the Margaret Atwood type called out for him, he stepped forward into the light of the flames, a grim excitement on his face.
“Do you accept?” she said to him.
“I accept,” he said. She hadn’t said anything like that to me.
“Do you have the will to knowledge?”
“Knowledge is my light and desire,” he answered.
“Do you undertake the consequences?”
“I have already consumed them,” was his reply.
“Hold out your hands,” she said, and he did. She closed her hands over his, and together they murmured something I couldn’t quite catch. There was a flash of light – I was so keyed up that I jumped and cried out – and a strange sound filled the air. It was like a human voice, but colder, more powerful; an alien song from another world. It made me feel warm and drowsy. The half moon trembled, and the stars started to spin. I fell to the ground and knew no more.
*
I was lying on a beach, white light on pale sand, the surf breaking in lazy waves somewhere beyond my reach. It was heavenly. I lay on the soft sand and allowed the warm breezes to play over my body. A deep feeling of peace and relaxation engulfed me,
“This is an absolute, unqualified disaster,” a sharp voice said.
“What happened?” I heard him say, and tried to open my eyes.
“They told me you were the one,” the first voice said. I was strugglng, the waves now breaking over my head, pushing me down.
“They told me the same, too,” he said.
“I trusted you. I let you be made the keeper of the keys. I believed in you. How do you explain this?”
“She’s waking up,” he said. “Gina? Gina? Can you hear me?”
Finally I was awake, looking up into his deep blue eyes.
“Hey there,” he said, and smiled. “How are you feeling? Say something.”
I swallowed. “I am going to fucking kill you,” I whispered, my mouth dry. “I was having the best dream ever.”
“Well, it sounds like she hasn’t changed a bit,” an acid voice said from the foot of the bed. I looked over. It was my old friend, Margaret Atwood. I sat up.
“So,” I said, “what’s going on?”
She opened her mouth, looking murderous. He started to speak before she could.
“Gina,” he said, “did you notice something different about the ritual tonight?”
“Yes,” I said. “She asked you some questions, and you answered.”
“We were doing a slightly different ritual tonight,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“It was supposed,” Margaret Atwood said between clenched teeth, “to tap into the central power source and restore the potion. That’s why we needed him.”
“There’s something special about me,” he said sheepishly. “I’m the keeper of the keys.”
“Whatever,” I said, and started to get out of bed. “Listen, I’m really sorry your ritual didn’t work or whatever, but I should really be getting home. I have a lot of schoolwork to do this weekend -”
“You’re not going anywhere,” she said. “There was an unexpected side effect.”
My head was aching. “Oh? What was that?”
“I was made the keeper of the keys,” he said, “because they thought I was something I’m not.”
“There’s a legend in the old books,” she said, “about one who would bring the order together and lead us to greater heights. One who would lead us from the shadows into the light and bring us to our rightful place as the natural leaders of the world. We thought it was him. We were wrong.”
“Gina, it’s you,” he said gently.
“What?”
“It’s you,” she said sharply. “You’re the one we’ve been waiting for.”
I tried to stand up, but the pain in my head made me fall back. “I am not going to play along with your stupid Anne Rice pastiche,” I said. “I am not – NOT – anyone’s Messiah. I’m going home.”
“During the ritual, you jumped and cried out,” he said.
“Yes, I did. It was the flash of light from the magic trick you did, it startled me.”
“No, it was the light from the inflammation of the bird entering you,” he said.
“Are you crazy?”
“Then you fell down unconscious. I felt the keys leave my body, and when I ran over to you, you were bleeding from the left side of your neck.”
“I must have scratched myself on a twig.”
“Feel your neck, just under your left ear.”
I did. It was tender and sore, and I could feel a slight bump. “It’s probably nothing,” I said. “A scratch or a bug bite or something.”
“No, it’s the key, you stupid child,” she said.
“Hey!” he stood up and turned at her. “Have some respect. Gina,” he said, turning to me, “that’s one of the keys.”
“Where’s the other one?”
“In your left ventricle.”
“There’s something in my heart?” I cried. “Jesus Christ. I’m going to the hospital and getting an X-ray. I have to see this.”
“The keys are made of a crystalline energy matrix,” he said, “it’s transparent to X-rays.”
“How convenient,” I said. “Listen, this has been an unusual but entertaining evening. I think I really should go. I must have hit my head on a rock or something. I have an awful headache.”
“It’s from the key,” he said. “I had awful headaches, too, for the first few days. It’ll go away.”
“No doubt,” I said, “once I’m in my own bed with a hot chocolate. Will you give me a ride home?”
The two of them looked at each other.
“You should stay here for a few days,” he said gently, “just until your body is accustomed to the keys. We need to keep an eye on you.”
“I do not believe in the existence of invisible keys,” I said, “I don’t believe they entered my body because you did some magic tricks with a clay bird and some miniature flares. This is ludicrous, and I am leaving right now. Will you drive me home? Or call me a cab? I’m willing to walk, but I’m not staying here a minute longer.”
“If you think we’re letting you go,” Margaret Atwood said spitefully, “you’ve got another thing coming. You’re staying right here whether you like it or not. I’ll bring you some food.”
“You can’t keep me prisoner!” I said. “It’s a crime. I’ll call the police. I’ll get out and I’ll bring them back and they’ll arrest you.”
“No one is going to believe you if you do,” she said. “Sit tight. You’ll see soon enough.”
*
I sat in the room fuming impotently for a while. The window was barred and I assume the door was locked. I didn’t try it because every time I stood up I got dizzy and nearly fainted. I must have fallen asleep eventually, because the next thing I knew the sun was streaming in the window and a new voice was booming from the foot of the bed.
“I knew you were wrong,” it was saying.
I looked up. An old man, my genius, and the young conductor were standing there, looking at me.
“Ah, she’s awake,” the old man said, advancing towards me. “Welcome, my dear, welcome. I’m so glad to finally meet you.”
She made a derisive sound. “This is ridiculous,” she said. “It was him. All the signs pointed to him. I did the divining ritual and it was him.”
“You did it wrong,” he said wearily. “I told you so at the time. Here is the one. I can tell.” He turned to me and looked deeply into my eyes. His eyes were a cold blue, not like my genius’; they made me feel tired and alone. “I’ve been waiting for you for a very long time,” he said to me.
“Oh,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”
“I understand you’re something of a skeptic,” he said.
“I don’t believe in magic,” I said.
“Neither did she,” he said, gesturing back at the woman. “Neither did he, she tells me. None of us did to begin with.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“It was so long ago,” he said a little sadly, “I don’t remember.”
I remembered suddenly the passage I read in the old book, about the apprentice who was made not forever young but forever old by the potion.
“Gina,” my genius said suddenly, “this is the head of our order. He’s here to tell you what you need to know, and decide what the next step should be.”
“Oh, there’s no need for a second step,” the old man said. His cold eyes sparked with a brief twinkle.
“Don’t we need to change her?” the other woman said.
“It’s happened already,” he said. “So you see she must be the one.”
“What do you mean, it’s happened already?” I cried, alarmed.
“Can I get you something to eat?” he said.
“What? No, no thanks,” I said. “I’m not hungry. Tell me what you mean.”
“You’re sure you’re not hungry?” he asked. “Not even a little bit?”
“No, not at all,” I said. “Why won’t you tell me what you mean?”
“Do you know what day it is?” he asked me.”
“It’s Saturday morning, right?”
“No, dear,” he said, “it’s Sunday afternoon. You haven’t eaten since Friday, I presume, and you’re not hungry. What do you think that means?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” I said faintly.
He leaned forward and patted my hand. “You’re one of us now,” he said.
*
“This is too embarrassing,” I moaned, and put my head down on the table,
“Oh – my- god,” Justin said. “You’re their Messiah!”
“I am NOT a Messiah!” I said loudly enough for people at the next table to look at me oddly.
“Don’t be so modest,” Justin said, flagging down a passing waitress. “We need two more Cosmos. And quickly, she’s a VIP,” he added in a whisper. She rolled her eyes and disappeared. “How did you get out of there?”
“I pretended to go along with everything and told them I’d go back next Friday for the ritual.”
“And they just let you go?”
“Well, I’m supposed to meet with him every other day to learn about stuff.”
“Magic lessons?”
“Justin, don’t make fun of me, OK?” I said. “This has truly been an awful weekend.”
“But you don’t believe any of it, right?”
“Justin,” I said, “can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
“Today’s Monday, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“I haven’t had anything to eat since before I went to the ritual.”
“Omigod, you must be starving,” he said. “Why didn’t you eat anything? Let’s order you some food.”
“No, don’t bother,” I said, “because I’m not hungry.”
“You must be,” he said. “You haven’t eaten in three days. How can you not be hungry?”
“I’m just not,” I said. “They said it’s because I’ve – changed.”
“You didn’t drink the potion, did you?”
“No, it’s supposed to be the keys or something.”
“Wow,” he said. “So you’re immortal now.”
I shrugged. “Maybe,” I said. “I guess I won’t find out for a while.”
We sat in silence for a minute, sipping our drinks.
“But you can drink,” Justin said.
“I suppose I could eat, too,” I said. “I haven’t tried yet.”
“Well, that’s something,” he said.
*
Life is so unfair. Gina, who doesn’t believe in anything, gets to be immortal – gets to be the long-awaited saviour of an immortal cult of musicians – and what do I get? I’ve never even been abducted by aliens. This sucks.
I went to see him, that stupid long-haired piano prodigy. I wanted an explanation.
“What have you been doing to Gina?” I demanded.
He looked guilty for a minute, then said, “What do you mean?”
“I was at the ritual, right? I read the books and saw the rose shrivel up. What’s this about Gina being your Messiah or something?”
“Justin,” he said quietly, “I don’t think you should be prying into this.”
“Gina’s my best friend,” I said. “If something weird is happening to her, I should know about it.”
“I don’t know much myself,” he said. “Whatever Gina’s told you is probably as much as I know.”
“She told me she’s immortal now, the keeper of the keys and some kind of mystical long-hoped for leader. And she no longer needs to eat. She doesn’t know what to think about it, and it’s really upsetting her.”
“I’m doing my best to make it easy for her,” he said. “I convinced the others to let her come home and stay in school and do everything she normally does. I’m teaching her myself everything she needs to know. If the old man had had his way, she would still be at the house, a prisoner, under his tutelage twenty-four hours a day. What more can I do?”
“Why did you have to tell her at all?” I said. “Why couldn’t you let her go and not say anything about it? You don’t understand Gina as well as you think you do,” I said. “She talks really tough and she can be a pain, but underneath it she’s a simple person. All she really wants to do is sing. She’s a massive nerd, and singing is the thing she’s nerdy about. She doesn’t believe in angels or psychics or vampires because they don’t matter to her – they don’t enter into the one thing she really ever wants to do. Then you come along and this happens. It’s tearing her in half. Why couldn’t you leave her alone?”
“Believe me, if I could have left her out of it, I would have,” he said. “I wish I’d never taken her to the house. But there are others like us, and one of them would have found her eventually, and it might not have gone so well for her. I’m doing my best to protect her. You have to believe that I have her best interests at heart.”
Yeah, like I would believe that. As if. He probably changed her on purpose. He probably engineered this whole thing so that they could be together forever.
I went and found Gina. She was practicing downstairs.
“You sound good,” I said.
“Justin, what if my voice never matures?” she said desparately.
“What?”
“If I’m going to be twenty-one forever, will my voice be stuck where it is forever?”
“So you believe in the immortality thing?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know what to believe.”
“Have you gotten hungry yet?”
“No.”
“Well, have you tried eating?”
“No, I haven’t yet,” she said. “There doesn’t seem to be much of a point.”
“Maybe if you start eating it’ll make you mortal again,” I said. It seemed like a valid enouh idea.
She looked at me. “Why?”
I shrugged. “Why not? It’s worth a try.”
So I took her to an Indian restaurant for the all-you-can-eat buffet.
“Hungry yet?”
“No,” she said.
“En mangeant l’appetit vient,” I said, “or whatever it is. Eating makes you more hungry. Go for it.”
So she ate about a ton of Tandoori chicken and naan and everything else she could lay her hands on.
“I’m still not hungry,” she said, “but it’s still fun to eat.”
“I wonder if immortals can put on weight,” I wondered aloud.
“I guess I’ll find out,” she said.
