“Sounds good, I’ll see you then.”
We say our goodbyes and hang up. Wolf comes and hops onto the couch, it gives me the fright of my life. I’d been lost in my own head for a minute. Lost in worry. Wolf sits down, resting his head on my lap. I don’t know what to do for a minute, and I’m scared that if I move or try to get up that he’ll start growling. So instead I make myself relax, and stroke a hand over his silky black and gold fur. He makes a contented humming sound, and eventually I’m completely calm with him. I hadn’t noticed it before, but there’s something meditative about Finn’s dog, especially when you get lost in petting him and he does the dog version of purring.
I stay there for more than an hour, just sorting through my thoughts and letting the massive dog sleep on my lap. Lunch time comes around quickly and I go into the kitchen to see what there is to eat. I make a mushroom omelette. Wolf has followed me in and watches my every move, perhaps he’s hungry too. I take the big bag of dog biscuits out of the cupboard and pour some into his feeding bowl, he seems happy with this and goes over to munch on them. I sit down at the table with my omelette, and just as I’m about to tuck in, something odd occurs.
My hand hovers in the air above the fork, and the fork begins to hum and vibrate. It’s as though there is some kind of electrical charge coming from my body. I quickly put my hand down on my lap and immediately the fork goes still. What the hell? Slowly I raise my hand up again, hold it over the
fork, and this time it floats up off the table. I keep lifting my hand higher and higher, and quite amazingly, the fork follows.
Wolf leaves his food and hops up onto one of the chairs, resting his big paws on the surface of the table and watching as the fork levitates in mid-air. Then he looks at me, with wise eyes that are almost human, and tilts his head to the side, as though trying to figure me out. I make a swift pushing motion with my hand and the fork flies across the room.
Shock and surprise consume me. Had I really just made the fork move without so much as touching it? The image of my mother casting her spell on me when I was only a baby fills my head. She had used such powerful magic at the time. Did some of it contaminate me as a result, or do I have a talent for spells just like my mother had? A frustrated sigh escapes my lips. Why do things I don’t understand have to keep happening to me?
It’s this God damned city, nothing even remotely out of the ordinary occurred while I’d been in Manchester. I never should have agreed to come back. I need to do something about this, because unconsciously causing a fork to levitate is definitely not normal. Then I know what I have to do. I’m going to have to pay Rita a visit.
Later that I evening I tug my long coat tight around me, buttoning it all the way up to the top as I walk alone through the festive city streets. It’s so very cold out, and people rush by this way and that, laden down with shopping bags in a hurry to have all of their gifts purchased before Christmas. I haven’t bought anything yet, last year I received no presents at all. Then again, I did spend the day in bed eating, watching old movies and mourning home at intervals. I make a mental note to get something nice for both Nicky and my dad, I really hope I find him soon.
I’m on my way to the Blackfield monument where I’m supposed to be meeting Ethan. It’s this huge stone statue of some general from the 1800’s. I wonder if Ethan ever met him, since he’s been alive for the best part of the last three hundred years. The historian in me is hungry to know Ethan’s story, to discover all the things that have happened to him during his long life. Perhaps some day soon he’ll be willing to tell me about it.
What happened to me at lunch time is still taking up most of my brain space. I’m going to go to Rita’s house tomorrow after I’ve had lunch with Nicky. See if she can shed some light on the mystery of the levitating fork. I try to convince myself that there’s some kind of logical explanation for it, like electrical waves or something complicated and technical that I don’t understand. I laugh at the idea that this is some new and unusual ability, that I’ll end up touring the world, making things float in the air for intrigued audiences. Just like Uri Gellar and his bending spoons.
The Blackfield monument is on the South side of the river, so I have to cross over a bridge to get to it. The foreboding stone statue sits high atop a number of steep steps, it’s always been a favourite meeting point in Tribane. People come and sit on the steps, some just to hang out, others to wait for their friends to show up. Just beyond it you can see the board walk that looks out onto the Hawthorne.
It’s just gone eight o’clock and the steps of the monument are packed with people, talking, laughing, arguing, waiting. As I get near I see Ethan’s tall frame, standing amid a sea of unsuspecting humans. His eyes seek me out as I walk toward him. When I get to him he takes my hand into his, turns it over to expose the wrist, and presses his lips to my sensitive skin. I shiver. He grins. I pull my hand back quickly and stare at him for a minute, he’s wearing his usual casual attire, and every section of fabric clings to him exquisitely. Despite the fact that I have a purpose for spending time with Ethan, I can’t help getting lost in him every time he’s close to me.
“You look beautiful as always,” he tells me, holding out his arm to me. Reluctantly I take it, wondering what kind of plans he has for me tonight.
“It’s strange seeing you without your car,” I say, as I link my arm through his and he begins to lead me away from the monument, toward the board walk.
“I once knew a woman who spoke to me of using old-fashioned methods of transportation, such as walking. I decided I should give it a try for a change.”
I can’t help smiling at this. “And how are you finding it so far?”
Ethan looks down at me. “You forget Tegan, that I was alive long before the invention of the motor car.”
“That’s true, would you care to tell me about those days?” I ask, seeing this as a good opportunity to get him to tell me about his history.
“So inquisitive,” Ethan replies. “Another time perhaps, I don’t wish to speak about myself tonight.” Then he stops in front of an Asian fast food stall and orders two boxes of noodles. We wait for the food in silence, all the while he just keeps watching me with his intense dark eyes. I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking about. What he’s planning. Ethan pays for our food, pops the brown paper bag over his forearm, and we continue our walk.
“Where are we going?” I ask, and he glances at me in amusement. We’re almost at the end of the board walk when Ethan stops walking. I look out to the river and find a small white motor boat floating idly in the water. Ethan takes my arm and helps me up onto its flat surface. Then he sits down and begins opening the noodles, handing me a box and some chop sticks.
“Isn’t it a little cold to be dining outdoors?” I say, hesitant to begin eating.
“I enjoy the chill,” says Ethan. “Especially at this time of year, it’s invigorating.”
“If you say so,” I reply, before swallowing down a mouthful of warm, spicy noodles.
I try to wait a while before asking Ethan if he’s found anything out about my dad, but I can’t seem to help myself. I scoot over to sit a little closer to him, and it seems to please him. I can see the corner of his mouth turn up in a half smile.
“Did you ask around about my dad yet?” I say, past another mouthful of noodles.
Ethan eats silently for a moment before answering, “I did.” But then he doesn’t say anything more.
“And…” I prompt him to continue.
He frowns and faces me. “It seems you are quite eager to get to the point.”
“What do you mean?”