Jim Hines - Codex Born

“Isaac Vainio.”

“What’s the date?” She was firing questions faster now, and I found myself responding in kind.

“August fourth. Unless I was out longer than I thought?”

She ignored me. “What’s my name?”

“Nidhi Shah.” I shook my head before she could continue. “It’s me. Just me.” I closed my eyes, listening for the whispers that were the first sign of possession, but my mind was my own. Whatever other damage I might have done, I hadn’t ripped Asimov’s story open that badly. Not that I could blame Nidhi for her fears. She had seen libriomantic possession close-up, as well as the damage that kind of madness could cause. “Where’s Lena?”

“With the werewolves. I wasn’t sure what was going on in your head.”

“So you sent her away. Smart.” I sagged back into the pillow. Lena’s personality adjusted to the desires of her lover. Or lovers, as we had discovered earlier this year. The process wasn’t supposed to be immediate, but who knew what it would do to her if any fictional characters moved into my brain?

An orange glow pulled my attention to Smudge, who climbed down the wall and stopped on the metal frame of the cot. The tips of the hairs along his back glowed like embers, and from the way he was watching me, I was the one who had spooked him. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a box of Red Hot candies. I shook one into my left hand and held it out.

The allure of hard cinnamon candy was enough to overcome his nerves. The burning glow had dimmed, but his feet were uncomfortably hot as he crept forward onto my fingers. He hesitated, then snatched the candy. His body cooled as he ate.

“That can’t be healthy for him,” Nidhi said.

“I pulled him out of a sword and sorcery novel. Who knows what fictional spiders are supposed to eat? He seems healthy enough to me.” I waited as Smudge climbed up my arm and settled onto my shoulder. “You were using him to keep an eye on me. A warning system?”

“Isn’t that what you use him for?”

“That’s not fair. I also use him to repel mosquitoes.” I stretched my arms, grimacing at the tension in my back and shoulders. My jaw ached, too. I must have been clenching it in my sleep. “How long?”

“You’ve been asleep five hours.”

The good news was that I had successfully cast a spell I would have thought was impossible only a few months ago. The bad news was that it had kicked my ass. “Gutenberg tosses magic like that around all the time.”

“Gutenberg has been practicing for more than five hundred years. You’ve had what, a decade?”

“Exactly. I’m young and spry and energetic.” I winced and rubbed my neck. “Young and energetic, at least.”

“You seem to have survived the experience with your mind intact. Which means you should be able to tell me what the hell you were thinking out there!”

I could think of a few things more surprising than Nidhi Shah losing her temper and shouting at me. Smudge spontaneously breaking into a tap-dancing routine, for example. Gutenberg giving up magic and devoting himself to competitive macramé.

I couldn’t even remember the last time Nidhi had raised her voice, let alone yelled at anyone. “I was trying to find out who killed that wendigo.”

“By experimenting with magic you couldn’t control?” She started to say more, but caught herself before she could speak. She clasped her hands tightly together, and took three deep breaths. Her body visibly relaxed. “I’m not your therapist anymore, Isaac. I’m your…I’m trying to be your friend.”

“I know that.” Friend was as good a word as any. The closest term I had come across for “my girlfriend’s other lover” was “metamour,” but the word suggested an uncomfortable level of intimacy between Nidhi and me.

Her lips pursed. “As your friend, I will call your therapist and have you yanked off this investigation if I think you’re endangering yourself or the people around you.”

Every Porter was required to see a therapist on a regular basis. It seemed a wise precaution for people who routinely rewrote the laws of existence to suit their whims. “We just saw a man who might be a libriomancer help slaughter a wendigo. I don’t think I’m the one we should be worrying about right now.”

Nidhi didn’t even blink. “The closest Porter therapist would be Doctor Karim. I assume Pallas assigned you to her when I was removed from your case?”

My silence was confirmation enough.

“I’ve got her on speed dial. I consulted on one of her cases last year, a bakeneko with bipolar disorder who was living as a barn cat in Ohio. In her manic phase, she liked to reanimate dead mice and chase them through the house.”

“Wait, how do you treat a shapeshifting cat for bipolar disorder?”

“Stress management techniques, a light box for winter, lithium when she’s in her human form, and diet control. Particularly the catnip tea. Don’t change the subject. I’ve lost Porters before because they didn’t respect their magic. They didn’t understand the risks. I’m not going to lose you.” Her gaze slipped away. “I won’t let Lena lose you.”

I tightened my fist. “I understand the risks.”

“You understand the dangers,” she said. “You don’t believe in the risks. Not to you. You think you’re too clever, just like every other Porter who ended up destroying themselves.”

“Three vampires tried to kill me in my own library earlier this summer. Then a possessed Porter sent an automaton after me. If that wasn’t enough, I ended up ripping open a book that almost consumed Lena and me both.” I stared at the wall, remembering the charred pages of that damaged book ripping free like a dam crumbling from the weight of its magic. Unformed power trying to escape, followed by a presence Gutenberg had described as Hell itself, ripping me into nothingness, devouring my very core.

“And every time, you survived. You reinforced your own deluded belief that you’re immortal, exempt from the dangers. I’ve seen it before. The things you can do are amazing, but with great power comes great responsibility.”

“You did not just quote Spider-Man at me.”

She leaned closer, both her words and her demeanor softening. “What’s going on, Isaac? Ever since Detroit, you’ve been on edge. Angry.” She looked me up and down. “You’ve lost what, five pounds? Ten?”

“No.” It was twelve, according to my last weigh-in at Doctor Karim’s office. Magic burned a lot of calories, and overuse sent the sympathetic nervous system into overdrive, effectively destroying your appetite. In the beginning, magic sounded like the ultimate diet plan, up until you ended up hospitalized for dehydration and malnutrition.

“Lena’s noticed it, too,” she said gently. “You’ve spent more and more time locked up with your books. Does this have anything to do with your discomfort about the three of us? Anger and confusion are normal reactions to a kind of relationship you never expected.”

“I’m not mad,” I said, a little too quickly. “Yeah, it’s a little weird, but I’m getting used to it.”

Her response simmered with skepticism. “If that’s true, then what’s driving you, Isaac?”

“Gutenberg.”

“Ah.” She nodded.

“He chose to hide magic from the world. I can understand that.” I understood, but I didn’t always agree. How many diseases could we have eliminated through the open use of magic? How many tragedies could have been averted? Not to mention the potential exploration. Magic could create livable habitats in the deepest crevasses of the ocean, in the hearts of active volcanoes, not to mention outer space. So what if NASA had never given us the moon base we wanted. Science fiction had provided all the tools we needed to build one ourselves.