Winter Tide Page 24

  “He doesn’t know we were inside ourselves,” I said. “And is working hard to maintain his ignorance.”

  “Thank you,” said Trumbull. She seemed calmer. “I’m slightly reassured if they’re acting incompetent to cover for an actual attempt at learning—even if the results are obnoxious.” She wove her fingers together. “Still best to go to Hall today, I think. Staying on campus would only result in useless irritation. But perhaps the right words in a few ears—no need to mention how close your witness was, but a rumor about their motivations could make their work considerably more difficult. Perhaps even drive them off, eventually.”

  “I can do that,” said Audrey. “They seem awfully determined, but I’ll give it my best shot. How soon are we leaving?”

  “Spector wanted to make some phone calls,” said Trumbull. “Perhaps some good will come of that as well. I expect him here within the hour.”

  “All right.” Audrey stood and stretched. “Let me fix up my face, and then I’ll just slip out and find someone to talk to. I finally got permission for library access, and I was so disappointed to find it closed. But you’ll never guess what I heard…”

  I looked after her, a little envious. “I have no idea how she does that.”

  Neko shrugged. “The same way you put on your—” She sat straighter in her chair, folded her arms in front of her in a passable imitation of me trying to look dignified and stern. “Everyone’s got their faces. I think hers are more what normal girls pick up.” There was a trace of wistfulness in her voice as well.

  “Females of this period aren’t usually so aware of what they’re doing,” said Trumbull. She pursed her lips. “Though more aware than the males think they are. I suppose she falls within the normal distribution.”

  Audrey returned with her hair neat and her lips and eyes darkened; she waved cheerfully and slipped out the door. Half an hour later she was back, looking pleased with herself, and trailing Spector and Charlie and Caleb behind her. They seemed less pleased, but eager to quit Miskatonic for the day.

  * * *

  Audrey slipped off when we reached Hall—to make her excuses, or find out what excuses were needed. The rest of us went to the library. It was open, bustling with students, unnoticed by the outside world.

  The reference librarian who’d pointed us at Upton had the desk, and smiled when she saw us. “I wondered if you’d be back. I’ll get your room ready.”

  In short order we had a table full of Kirill’s notes, along with the relevant texts and a smattering of other Aeonist material that she thought we’d be interested in. Hall’s collection came nowhere close to Miskatonic’s, but the difference in attitude made up for it. Especially on a day like today, when I sought refuge as much as information.

  I followed the librarian back into the main room. “Thank you for all your help. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name last time?”

  “Birch. Edith Birch. And I’m glad to help.”

  I realized that everything I wanted to tell her—that we had visited Upton, and why—would still be no kindnesses. But more immediate events might well affect her. “There was a break-in at Crowther last night. Government agents have shut everything down.”

  She sucked in a breath. “That hasn’t happened for a while. It’s always trouble, when someone’s that eager to get into their collections.”

  “We’re more concerned about the agents.” Here, away from Miskatonic’s politics, I worried I might sound a little ridiculous, but said anyway: “We think they may have set off the alarm deliberately, to gain access to books they’d been forbidden. Knowing even a little of what they’re after, it’s possible they might come here as well.”

  To her credit, she took me seriously. In some ways we’d made a tacit agreement last time, to trust one another’s absurd claims. “Oh dear. I’ll warn the rest of the staff. But Miskatonic’s trouble rarely makes it to Kingsport.” Her lips quirked. “They don’t consider us troublesome.”

  “Their mistake?” I asked.

  She smiled. “We have our ways.” The smile turned thoughtful. “If whatever you’re looking for is in those notebooks, I’m sure you’ll find it. But I also know you’ve been exploring the Miskatonic collections. If there’s some specific topic you’re researching, it’s possible we have material here that you don’t know about, especially if it’s something they might have overlooked.”

  It was my turn to consider—it was a generous offer, but I had reason to be cautious about taking her up on it. And Spector might not be pleased. Still … ultimately, we’d have trouble find anything of use without aid. “You mentioned that Asenath could … you said hypnotize people. Make them feel as if they’d changed identity, in some fashion. We’re looking for books that claim to know something about that—but more than that, we’re interested in people like Mr. Barinov, who might have written commentary on such books.”

  “I see why you’d be interested in Miskatonic’s esoterica. But I’ll look.”

  I settled in with one of the texts—Skinner had claimed Dawson for the day to help deal with his professors’ complaints, so our ability to search Kirill’s notes was limited. Neko started paging through them systematically, noting down English marginalia, volumes, and pages (which he had numbered intermittently for his own use). After a couple of hours Audrey appeared.

  “No problem,” she said in response to my query. “Sally and Jesse are still sitting with Leroy. I got reprimanded for staying out overnight without a note, but it was pretty pro forma. Of course, now I’d better spend tonight in the dorm to calm everyone down—I’ll take the bus over first thing in the morning.” She seemed disinclined to give more details, and I suspected that Hall’s guardians had put more effort into trying to bind her than she let on.

  After a while, she put down her book, and I realized that I’d misunderstood her distress. “Mr. Spector, my friends have been arrested, and I haven’t entirely avoided trouble myself. I know that Barlow and his gang are FBI, and I know you are too. I think there’s more going on than I’ve been told, and I think the reason Miss Marsh hasn’t told me is because it’s yours to tell. Want to let me know why you’re so interested in Kirill’s books? Or shall I guess?”

  Spector looked at her and put his head in his hands.

  “I’ll fill out the paperwork,” I told him.

  He lifted his head slightly. “And what will you list as ‘reason for disclosure?’”

  I shrugged. “Magically bound blood sister to several people who already know?”

  “I’ll fill out the paperwork.” He sighed and raised himself back up. “My apologies, Miss Winslow. It’s been a long week. There’s some concern that the Russians may be interested in the art of body switching for purposes of espionage. They might have researched the topic at Miskatonic—which is widely believed to hold the best esoterica collection in the world. Kirill Barinov is a Russian who had access to that collection. We have no concrete reason to suspect him.”

  She leaned back. “That’s good, because Kirill knew about as much about body swaps as I know about pig farming. He once claimed to have accomplished astral travel but—actually, I’m not going to tell you how he thought he did it, because it wasn’t entirely legal, but it was illegal in an entirely boring way. If you’re looking for magical insight in those notebooks, you’re looking in the wrong place.”

  “That may well be the case,” said Spector. “But it’s a lead, and at the moment it’s the only lead we have access to. And even if Mr. Barinov wasn’t sent by the Kremlin, they could have pressured him later.”

  “That’s possible. He sure wasn’t happy to go back.” She reached for a notebook from the stack. “And he didn’t even try to bring these. Anything else I should know?”

  “Not that you’re missing, as far as I’m aware. I’m afraid there’s not much to know. We found very little before Barlow and his—team—showed up. I was trying to persuade the Miskatonic special collections librarian to let me look at access records, but tha
t won’t be possible until Barlow calms down.” He gave me a sideways look, from which I gleaned—or chose to glean—that he wasn’t trying to hide our visit to Upton, but thought that piece of mixed Hall and Innsmouth history mine to tell. And so I would, I decided, when we had a moment less surrounded.

  Spector went on: “There’s nothing unusually suspicious about Kirill Barinov, so far—there are foreign students at every major university, just trying to learn. But the things we look for are high enough stakes that it’s worth checking out every possible lead. False trails are ninety percent of the job.”

  I nodded and took a notebook, and did not say: the stakes were already high, but we may have raised them too far just by looking.

  * * *

  We ate dinner at a Polish place in Kingsport—good, solid food, kielbasa and potatoes and soups warm against the winter night. Trumbull returned to Arkham immediately afterward, but Spector we persuaded to wait in the car while I gave the others a short lesson. I delivered Audrey to her dorm just before curfew, hoping that I appeared a reasonable facsimile of a chaperone.

  It was late when we got back to campus, but Neko and Caleb tarried long on Trumbull’s porch. I half woke, later, as Neko came in. “Is all well?”

  “Yeah,” she said. She sounded a bit—not sad, exactly, but not happy either. I opened my eyes to see her sitting on her bed, one shoe off and looking out the window in lieu of removing the other.

  “Are you certain?”

  She offered a little smile. “Just confirmed that neither of us actually wants to pick up where we left off, that’s all.”

  I pulled myself out of the luxuriously empty bed, hugged her, and didn’t try to say anything on a topic about which I knew little.

  Half asleep again, I woke when she said, “You should talk with him about what you want, too.”

  “I know,” I said. “We should all talk.”

  * * *

  “The library is still barred,” reported Trumbull at breakfast. She ate her egg and stale pierogi mechanically.

  “I expect it’ll be closed for a while,” said Spector. “Once George has something he wants, he’s not likely to let go until he’s done regardless of inconvenience to everyone else.”

  “They’re still questioning faculty and students as well,” she added, an afterthought.

  Spector grimaced and stood. “I’d better go commandeer a phone. If I can get a few people at headquarters to see sense, we might be able to sort this out. You can do without me today?”

  “I need to stay on campus,” said Trumbull. “I have the geometry students again—I hope Peters has lost interest. I don’t much like paperwork.”

  I would have preferred to go back to Hall rather than remain in Barlow’s web, but nodded and assured them that we had plenty to do. We had much study to fit in, and much planning.

  Audrey appeared about the time Trumbull left, and it occurred to me that we could all take the bus over if we wanted to. But Audrey was clearly pleased to get away. Caleb went in search of Dawson, and returned a few minutes later with her in tow.

  “I don’t think Dean Skinner’s as pleased with Barlow as he was a few days ago,” she reported. “Little enough he can do about it now, more’s the pity.”

  In Trumbull’s office, the stacks of notes had grown, and the strange machine gained a few gears of doubtful function.

  “Can you read this stuff?” Audrey asked me.

  I looked at the top sheet, careful not to touch anything. “About as well as I could read one of Dr. Einstein’s papers. The language is no problem. The words, on the other hand…” Atop another pile I caught a glimpse of my own name, and Caleb’s. That one, I did not examine too closely.

  This time, as we rode our braided streams, we tried deliberately to reach beyond mere shared sensation. People are more than bodies—else the Yith could not travel between them, nor ordinary magicians traverse dreams. But it’s also true that emotions are heart and breath and heat.

  We were all of a piece, twined together in ritual. But beneath that, as I tried to push through without pushing away, I could sense a particular flavor to each of the people around me. Caleb was full of wonder and fear, still edged with anger. Dawson felt much the same, with brittle suspicion caging the whole. Charlie at his core was all yearning. Audrey remained full of a deep confidence that welled up under her frustration, strengthening it even while constraining its depth.

  What did they see in me?

  In what was not truly the corner of my eye, I started to glimpse the world outside the office. There was Neko, focused on the surface and vibrating with nervous energy within. And beyond—I pulled back, but not before brushing against the miasma of frustrated prideful joyous anger that was the campus.

  I retreated to my own body, singed and abraded and caressed. I wanted a warm bath, or to wash clean amid cold waves, but I also wanted to immerse again in the fascination and comfort of my companions’ not-quite-unfamiliar selves.

  Charlie rubbed his arms, and Audrey stretched so nonchalantly that it surely masked some other urge. Dawson wrapped her arms around herself, pupils wide. Caleb touched her back, tentatively, and after a moment she relaxed her grip.

  “So,” she said to me. “Is this all going to be ever more intense get-to-know-you sessions?”

  “After a fashion,” I admitted. “Magic is about knowing yourself. But sometimes the best way to know yourself is by knowing others, or the world beyond.”

  “I suppose that makes sense. Is it always this terrifying?” She tried to sound flip. Odd how automatic masks are, even with those who’ve seen beneath them. Or perhaps not odd at all.

  “Yes,” I admitted. Audrey and Charlie nodded confirmation. Seeking the steadier ground of didacticism, I continued: “Sensing emotion can be used for good or ill. With a little work, one can learn to calm others’ fear, share joy, or ease suspicion. For those who aren’t Trumbull that usually requires ritual preparation. Weather control, to the degree that it’s possible, is much the same thing—it just connects the mind with patterns of cloud and wind rather than an actual body. They’re surprisingly similar. And as with emotion, if you push too hard you just end up stumbling.” Charlie smiled at the reminder.

  “Hmm.” Audrey closed her eyes, and the ritual connection—dimmed but not yet ended—swelled around me. When I felt Audrey gently pushing I gave way—not as one who falls, but as one who allows her partner to lead their waltz. A strange enthusiasm bloomed in my mind. I would have said “alien,” but suspected it was merely that the untrammeled anticipation that came easily to my blood sister had long been foreign to me. Slowly, as if it might break, I offered that same emotion to Dawson. Then, tentative, I thought of how I felt during the best moments of prayer, the awe and wonder and fear at the scope of the cosmos. I shaped that feeling and took the lead with Audrey.

  Luminous and strange, emotions passed among us in splashes of impossible color.

  Wind thrummed against the window, and in this state it seemed another sort of body, another emotion. I touched it gently, felt it move with the rhythms we built between us, felt it whirl up to break apart the winter clouds and let the distant stars light our work. And beyond those stars—or through them—I felt other things, moving to their own rhythms. I breathed slowly, with the wind, trying not to disturb them. But in the clarity of the ritual, it seemed natural to explore this larger pattern of which we were a part. Worlds that once birthed gods, music to guide inhuman dances, intelligences scarcely recognizable as life, all lay just out of focus. At any moment, the draft from our movement might push aside the veil, allowing us to see—

  The clouds parted further, and something brushed against me. For a moment, all I felt was cold: beyond the winter ice outside, beyond childhood stories of benthic depths and blackest space, cold too absolute for breath or blood or thought. I recoiled, shocked to discover I could, and realized with further shock how I’d let the ritual lull me.

  Outside the haven of our workspace, in our o
wn ordinary world, it was full daylight, and no beach far from the prying eyes of the public. I could still feel the rhythm of our shared emotions feeding the break in the clouds, but further veils lay once more shut and invisible. I pulled away from the wind, gently as I could, and with mingled relief and reluctance felt the whole synchronized spell of mind and nature collapse back within the boundaries of the everyday. I stood and checked the window. Whatever strangeness we’d worked had vanished.

  “Lost track, did you?” Dawson asked as I returned to my companions. She looked more thoughtful now, less folded in on herself. Whatever I’d felt, there at the end, hadn’t come close enough for the others to share my perceptions. For that I was grateful. The sense of what had frightened me was already fading, as if only the ritual had let me come close to understanding or even sensing it. Such things, our books warned us, lurk always at the edges of perception, and it isn’t wise to try and know more of them.

  “A little,” I said ruefully, and let the disturbing half-memory slide away in favor of my more immediate connection with the confluence.

  Dawson looked around. “Funny-looking family, but you could get used to it.”

  Audrey nodded, but Charlie ducked his head. “What happens after this? These sessions have been … this is a bigger, better family than I’ve had in a long time, but I’m settled in California. Miss Koto, too, I think. Aphra…” He trailed off. His eyes flicked to me, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  “I don’t know,” I said. I wanted to call Neko to join us, but feared breaking the bubble of honesty. “Having an Aeonist community around”—I broke off, realizing that Charlie and I might be the only people in the confluence who worshipped—“or something close, has been amazing. And I don’t want to lose any of you. But I’m not ready to leave the Kotos. I love them too, and I love San Francisco. Out here, I’m reminded of everything that’s broken. And I want desperately to rebuild, but California has been healing me, and I need that too.”

  “I’m staying,” said Caleb firmly. “And rebuilding. I’d like all the help I can get. But I also think that we can’t be as closed off as we were before. Having connections outside of our spawning grounds could make the difference between extinction and survival, next time someone comes after us.” He looked at Dawson. “And having other people in town who don’t fit elsewhere—in different ways—that could be a good thing too.”