‘magic’ for such things to be fascinating. You don’t need mystical forces to want to understand. There’s no need to make up—”
Brynner shot to his feet, then winced and held his arm across his chest. “Get the hell out.”
I should have left. Swallowed my pride and walked away. But after so many years of listening to crosses, crucifixes, ditch witches, and crap, I’d had it. “People look up to you. When you say things like ‘spell,’ you perpetuate myths.” I looked to the director, making my case straight to her. “Have you ever seen a spell performed?”
She shook her head.
“You know anyone who has?”
I didn’t think she was going to answer. I’d already gathered a handout with the pictures and a transcript of the event, ready to leave, when she spoke. She looked at Brynner, and her eyes glistened. “There have been reliable witnesses.”
And his gaze, full of anger moments before, now fell. He closed his eyes and sat down, still holding his arm across his chest.
To quell my frustration, I nearly ran from the conference room, pacing the halls until I found a kitchenette where I could curse in peace. Why did I have to challenge the director? I needed this job. Needed the steady pay, the reliable hours. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut, black diamond or not.
“You did well in there.” Dr. Thomas walked in after me and poured himself a cup of coffee so stale it smelled like burnt paper. “I’m sure Portland misses your services.”
“That was well? I challenged the director and pissed off the BSI golden boy and whoever cancer man is.”
“That would be Dale Hogman. Field team commander for all of BSI, and the only one allowed to give direction to Mr. Carson.”
Great. I clutched my printout until the paper crinkled. “You said a lot of nice things before the meeting, but I could have used backup in there.”
Dr. Thomas nodded. “You chose to argue existence, not nature. In that battle, you are on your own. Debate the driving force behind a corpse organism, and I’ll back you up. Discuss space folds and gravity distortion, and again, I will be your ally.”
“So you are saying there are such things as spells? Magic?”
“I’m saying, Ms. Roberts, that many phenomena were labeled magic before being understood. The proper role of a skeptic is to probe for the truth. Given a credible witness and evidence that some form of event occurred, I don’t waste time on ‘if.’ I do spend a great deal of thought on ‘how.’”
All this talk of spells and spirits had me ready to spend time alone with the hieroglyphics. I let the fight drain out of my voice. “I have a report due in a few hours and a lot of work to do.” Was it possible that magic existed? Yes. There also might be a man in a red suit delivering gifts at Christmas and a giant rabbit crapping chocolate eggs at Easter.
Dr. Thomas nodded and waved for me to follow him to a beige broom closet with barely enough room for a computer, and a white board the size of a pizza platter. “I trust you can make yourself at home here. Perhaps we could have lunch later. I’ll be in the labs this morning, once you are done with your presentation.”
He wandered off without waiting for an answer. My BSI login worked, giving me access to Thule’s Encyclopedia Hieroglyphica, the definitive guide to both human- and co-org- influenced hieroglyphics, and my own notes, developed over years of learning what combinations of glyphs might indicate different concepts.
And with that, I forced my mind to work on the text. More important, away from Brynner Carson, and the spell he seemed to cast on me without even trying.
BRYNNER
Once that infernal woman left, the tension in the room dropped a thousand percent. I’d grown up around Director Bismuth. Heard Mom and Dad call her “Maggie.” Even tried it myself. Once. Still, I didn’t want to have the discussion I knew was coming. “Mr. Carson. Brynner.” She waited for me to look at her.
“What did it want?”
“I can’t be sure.” I floated my best lie. One that was part true, because with the meat-skin once again dead, I couldn’t question it about which particular heart it wanted.
“Hazard a guess.”
She’d known me too long to be fooled. I probably read like an open playboy to her. “The heart.”
“I grasp that. Ms. Roberts’s translation makes that clear.