Chapter 13: Advice to a Straw Man

  

  Amacus folded her wings behind herself. She walked down the steps,

  each dull thud somehow telling Craft he was in trouble — even though

  he’d done nothing of the sort.

  He snapped out of it and stood up to greet her, but he paused. How

  should he approach her? They knew each other, but they were

  acquaintances, not friends. On the one hand, he had the impression she

  was a business-like person, so it might be a safe bet to act along those lines.

  He extended his hand. “Amacus,” he greeted.

  “Mr. Bowen,” she greeted back. She continued walking, however, not

  extending her hand — and her shoulder went right through his. He stepped

  aside, dodging on instinct the moment the temperature fluctuated, but

  there hadn’t been any force. It was just like the passing sweep of an

  air conditioner. “I’m only here with a spiritual body today,” she

  said.

  Something like an astral projection? Craft thought. Even if

  the mechanism might be different, he was familiar with it. “I’m a little

  surprised.” His jaw hung loosely, but he shook his head. Her visit had

  been too sudden. “What gives?”

  “I had only wanted to see how you were doing, Mr. Bowen.” She fixed

  her gaze on Nightshade, then looked back at him, a halo-like shine in

  her eyes appraising him. “But it seems you’ve been doing more thinking

  than doing.” She tilted her head towards Nightshade, and only then did

  Craft realize she was still passed out on the floor.

  He jogged over to her side, checking her pulse. It was only in the

  middle of doing it that he realized it was unnecessary; true death here

  was hard to come by. Regardless, he did it for his own peace of

  mind.

  He held her wrist and felt her neck, feeling rhythmic bumps against

  his fingertips. “Well, she’s alive.”

  “Of course she is,” Amacus said. “If she weren’t, she’d have

  respawned by now.”

  He pulled away. “It’s still weird how that works.”

  “And strange that you haven’t befriended her yet.”

  Craft looked up at Amacus, furrowing his brows. A part of him knew

  what she was talking about, but the other part required confirmation. He

  rarely acted without it.

  “You’re making it sound like I haven’t.”

  “Because you haven’t.” She held his gaze on him, piercing right

  through him. The swiftness and directness with which she’d answered was

  enough for him to fill in the rest of the blanks, intuiting that she

  wanted to move the conversation in a particular direction, but that

  needed to wait. Nightshade was still on the floor, and he’d feel bad for

  her neck once she’d woken up — that, and he wasn’t ready.

  He carefully scooped her up. “She said something about a guest room a

  while ago. Let’s get her settled in first.”

  Amacus said nothing. He took that as a go-ahead and took his first

  steps out of the room. Nightshade was lighter than he’d expected, but

  holding her like this and with Amacus’ words hanging at the back of his

  mind, he began to wonder why he wanted the “perfect distance” between

  himself and Nightshade in the first place.

  It was a reason he recalled easily: he just wasn’t ready. It wasn’t

  as if he intended to divorce himself from the possibility of any

  friendship. Rather, wasn’t taking things one step at a time the obvious

  and sane thing to do?

  He came out to a long hallway, at the end of which was an arch-shaped

  exit. He could see grasses and branches swaying with the wind and set

  aglow by the sun of the outside world, but that wasn’t where he wanted

  to go for now.

  Stopping by a door halfway down, he bumped into it with his back,

  proving it was shut closed. With his hands preoccupied, he considered

  kicking it open, but the building manager in his hands wouldn’t

  appreciate day-one damage to public property.

  Just like in a horror movie, the doorknob turned on its own, and the

  door swung open. It gave him visions of near-death, and he took a quick

  step back, expecting an axe to come out swinging.

  “I can still open doors for you,” Amacus said. Craft spun around to

  find her putting her hand down, a small cloud of magic around it

  dissipating into the air. She gestured towards the door. “Walking

  through them, however, is your prerogative.”

  He took a moment to calm down. “Right. Appreciate it,” he said, and

  he carried Nightshade inside.

  He set her on a bed beneath a window, kneeling down to pull a blanket

  over her. They were in a simple but generous room with the bed in the

  corner, a wardrobe set against the foot of the bed, and a circular

  dining table for four offset from the middle. There was an odd amount of

  extra space, probably for another bed that’s been tucked away in

  storage.

  “I’m surprised,” Amacus said. He turned around to find her leaning on

  the wall beside the door, arms crossed.

  He furrowed his brows and got on his feet. “What’s surprising?”

  “You treat her so carefully. Don’t you actually have a favorable view

  of her?”

  “Well, I don’t hate her.”

  “So you do?”

  “That’s” —

  “Be definitive, Mr. Bowen, or you won’t know how to act around her in

  the future.”

  He furrowed his brows. She was being unexpectedly pushy. Just what

  was she doing?

  “Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “Is it possible that you’re aiming for

  the ‘perfect distance’ ?”

  His brows shot up. It was like she’d pulled the words straight out of

  his brain.

  Even so, what about it? He had a fresh start, and no one here knew

  about his past. Until the day he found someone he could trust with his

  full story, wasn’t it reasonable to feel out his next step before taking

  it?

  “I’m just taking things slowly,” he replied. “Maybe one day she’ll

  show up to my barbecues, but for now, I’m just confused as hell” —

  “And I’m telling you now, that is a mistake.” She pointed at

  him, lining up her eye, a knuckle, her fingernail — putting Craft at the

  end of it. “Are you afraid of proving that no one can understand you,

  Mr. Bowen? Have you come to believe that you are somehow special and set

  apart from everyone else?”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The finger she used to point at him, she brought closer — and pointed

  to herself. “The proof isn’t far. Thinking yourself out of confusion is

  a trap.”

  ‘Don’t think; just do’ — was it? It wasn’t the first time

  he’d heard this kind of thing. It was generally good advice, but he

  wasn’t the type to just take it. “Don’t think; just do” only really

  worked for people whose knowledge exceeded their practice. He wasn’t

  such a person. He knew approximations, but not the things themselves,

  making him a person who knew nearly nothing.

  Because this was the first time he’d ever encountered such thoughts,

  he had to think about it first, or else every inevitable

  mistake he’d make would have consequences he wouldn’t be able to

  comprehend.

  A mistake he couldn’t learn from was a mistake best left avoided.

  He opened his mouth to reply, but what came out was a pained groan. A

  twisting knot of hurt had shot through his brain, and he clutched the

  side of his head. How many times has it been today?

  Amacus’ expression loosened. “Are you alright?”

  The headache subsided. “No, I’m okay.” He shook his head. “I’m

  okay.”

  “How many times?”

  He looked at her. “What?”

  “How many times have you had that headache?”

  “I” — he shook his head — “this is the second time, I think?”

  Amacus cupped her mouth, looking at the ground for a moment, then

  back at him again, lowering her hand. “Have you had any

  hallucinations?”

  Hallucinations? His encounter with the impostor came to

  mind, but was that really a hallucination?

  “I’ll take that silence as a yes,” Amacus continued.

  He shook his head. “There was something. It felt so real, though. I’m

  sure it was real.”

  “Post-summons hallucinations are very common, Mr. Bowen, and they all

  say the same things. If you don’t believe me, then answer this: did it

  have anything to do with your insecurities? Anything to do with how you

  would fit in this world?”

  “That’s… That’s right.” He nodded. Had it all just been his fears

  taking hold of him, after all? No, that can’t be. When it came

  to illusions, he had been subjected to lifetimes of them. It was always

  difficult to tell, certainly, but a better-than-a-coinflip chance of

  distinguishing between illusions and reality was something no one else

  had accomplished, and to be capable of that in the first place, he had

  to trust himself more than he trusted anything he heard or saw — more

  than he would even an ally.

  Amacus lazily extended an open hand. “Give me your hand,” she said,

  curling her fingers to beckon him.

  He looked at her hand, then at her. “What for?”

  “Three days. If the hallucinations don’t stop after three days,

  contact me, and I’ll do something about it. I’m giving you a channel to

  do so.”

  He approached her. As soon as he was close, Amacus took his arm and

  took out a stamp, pressing it against the back of his hand. It left a

  simple pentagram in purple ink.

  “I think I just instantly got transported back to grade school,” he

  muttered.

  “Touch this star and say my name. Use it like the ‘phones’ of your

  former world.”

  Making light of a bad situation was also a survival tactic. He

  chuckled. “I’m glad user experience is designed into the magic

  here.”

  He’d chuckled, but Amacus didn’t. Her expression turned somber. “I

  had only wanted to check on you, Mr. Bowen, but the moment I saw you

  pick up that child, I witnessed the moment a soldier chose to be a

  warrior.” She chuckled to herself. “Seeing ghosts of yourself from a

  long time ago — you know how that feels, don’t you?”

  He couldn’t say he did. He’d only watched his life play on a silver

  screen once, but that was nothing like what she’d described. And he and

  she being the same once upon a time? Well…wasn’t that just silly?

  She glanced over his shoulder. “You are still a burdened man,

  Mr. Bowen, and it is frankly impossible for you to work through it

  alone. Although that child isn’t a sage of wisdom, among everyone in

  this town, she is the most willing to open up to anyone about anything,

  and she will not take offense to your history, believe it or not — and

  you know I know your history.”

  Her gaze flittered to him. “Go your own way as much as you like. Make

  your own mistakes and discoveries; just like the ghost, I’m certain

  you’ll learn the ropes the end of it. Befriend that girl, however, and

  you won’t have to head down that ghost’s millenium-old path.”

  She had it hard too, huh? But it’s exactly because of that

  that he found her words hard to believe. She may have been experienced

  and wise in the ways of problem-solving, but she had overlooked one

  crucial point: they weren’t the same people, and they weren’t facing

  the same problems.

  He looked over his shoulder, half to look away from Amacus’ judgment,

  and half to see if Nightshade was okay. He found nothing wrong about the

  witch, but if he turned his inquiries inwards, he found everything wrong

  about himself.

  He believed relationships should be equal, yet he had nothing to

  offer Nightshade; the only end he could see was one where only he reaped

  any benefits. Certainly, he hated nothing about her. In fact, a future

  where he confided in her seemed almost magical, like a pot of gold at

  the end of a rainbow. Life, however, had taught him that looking for the

  ends of rainbows was a fool’s errand: rainbows were infinite, and by

  thinking he’d find happiness at the end of one, he would doom himself to

  working hard for no good end — even getting himself killed.

  This wasn’t just about himself, but also about someone else.

  “I’ll be happy once I befriend her” ? He knew that to be wrong.

  Depending on someone else for his own happiness didn’t sit right with

  him. Burdening other people with a load that he couldn’t even begin to

  weigh…was wrong.

  That was why, he thought, a superficial relationship would be enough;

  working slowly would be enough; a low-stakes, small-talk-only

  acquaintanceship would be enough.

  But one-sidedly closing doors was also wrong, which was why until the

  day he figured it all out, it should be enough for everyone around him

  to know that he didn’t hate them at all.

  …Save for this angel, but hate was too strong of a word.

  Displeasure, annoyance, off-putness — whatever it was — he didn’t

  appreciate how she thought she knew him, and if this went on, she’d just

  keep doing this. He had to draw a line.

  “You said I should be definitive.” He faced Amacus again. “Yeah, I’ve

  got my definition. What you’re asking me to do” — he frowned and shook

  his head. “You don’t even know me that well. Only Enty’s taken a peek in

  this thing” — he poked the side of his head — “so it bothers me you’re

  so confident in saying the lady behind me’s ought to be my first good

  step. Deciding what’s best for me isn’t something you can just do with a

  few glances. Draw your cards and prophesize the weather all you want,

  but if you aren’t looking at me, then it’s not me you’re giving advice

  to. You and I both know that.

  “I don’t even know myself that well yet, and you’re telling me to

  tell her about myself. ‘One plus one equals three’ just isn’t something

  I can do. So I won’t. This speed is just enough for me.”

  Amacus narrowed her eyes. For a moment, he was afraid he’d angered

  her somehow — but then he didn’t care. He believed his own words, and

  there was very little anyone could tell him to prove him otherwise.

  “You’ve given me…a lot of work, Mr. Bowen,” Amacus continued. “Very

  well. Go your own way, but remember, I’m not your enemy. If you find

  there’s too much on your plate” — she began to sink backwards through

  the wall — “call me, and I will be there.”

  She had gone, leaving him alone facing a blank wall. I can’t

  believe I said that, he thought, and she took that so

  well. He could probably stare at the wall for a while longer,

  thinking to himself just what he could’ve said better, comforting

  himself that he could’ve done worse.

  He looked at the star on the back of his hand. Amacus had given it to

  him if the ‘hallucinations’ didn’t stop. The impostor’s real,

  he assured himself. If he assumed they weren’t, then he’d only feel

  regret if the impostor went back on their word and dragged Nightshade

  into a fresh mess.

  Of course, the possibility of the mess could have ceased to exist if

  Amacus had just believed him, but that would just be too convenient.

  She’d made hallucinations out to be like the common cold around here,

  and there wasn’t any reason for her to think it was anything else. In

  her place, he would have made the same judgment.

  On the bright side, should the impostor show up again, he’d be able

  to call for Amacus’ help — but damn it, he was the one who’d

  rejected her, and now here he was thinking ‘how convenient she’s here’ ?

  The balance was off. No matter how much her approach upset him,

  it didn’t change the fact that he felt real gratitude and deference to

  her and Enthusia for having given him the time he’d needed.

  He owed everyone around him more than what he could pay back. How

  could he possibly ask for even more?

  The bedsheets ruffled, and he turned to find Nightshade getting up

  and rubbing her eyes.

  “Hey,” he called. At least he didn’t owe this one that much. He

  approached her and pulled a chair along with him, flipping it around and

  sitting down, resting his arms on the chair’s backrest to talk to her.

  He forced a polite smile. Regardless of how near or far he’d be from

  her, he wouldn’t act like a stranger.

  “W-what happened to the Law?” she muttered.

  A couple of things clicked for him, and he knocked on the side of his

  head. Screwing up twice in a row wasn’t that unusual, at least.

  He resigned himself to the outcome. “She — er — she left.” He

  sighed.

  Nightshade glanced at him. She had a slight frown. Craft frowned,

  too. What did I do?

  “Did… Did you mean it?” She looked at him, and his eyes widened as he

  realized why she’d said that. “I-I’m sorry,” she continued. “I’ve been

  awake for a while…”