We made it three-quarters of the way through the ritual without any sign of the fanfare or effects that had accompanied Rose and my mystic awakenings.
Of course we did. The world surrounding me was already touched by craziness. We had an audience of psychic echoes.
Then I, _____, by the old rules, invite you into the world of man and mortal, I read.
“Then I, Blake Thorburn, by the old rules, invite you back into the world of man and mortal,” I improvised. “Let this be the port and gate by which you enter, the destination and arrival, passing through the border…”
I briefly wondered if I could really invite Evan into the world of man and mortal if I wasn’t really there.
“…Now, or when we arrive there,” I added, just in case.
I drew a circle on the floor in soap, retrieved from the dispenser above the sink. Surrounding Evan, and the body. He stood within, I stood without. As icons of civilization went, hand soap was… it was something. At least it was distinct enough in the gloom, with the lights catching it. All we’d really needed was a circle.
“As the willing guest, I… Evan Matthieu, accept your hospitality,” Evan said. “By… by our compact, I agree to share of my power and share in yours.”
“By that same compact,” I said, “I agree to shelter you, whatever form of shelter you might require, my home and hearth are yours to share, in the brick and mortar, the demesne and the spiritual.”
“I accept the offered shelter, and I agree to guard that territory as if it were my own.”
The walls were falling away. Not fading, not collapsing… they were already hard to make out, dark in a room lit only by the glimmers of ghosts. Light snow fell on Evan’s side, rain and wind on mine. Shadows congealed into trees behind him, dark, barely lit by the moon. Leaves were falling along with the snow. They landed in darkness, settling on a surface that was well beyond the walls of the morgue.
I glanced over my shoulder.
The city, under rainfall, lit by flickering, dim streetlamps. Each time a streetlamp flickered out, it resumed flickering somewhere else, as if the city were changing in the moments it was dark.
Some of the ghosts fell away, as if they were actors playing a role on this stage we’d set.
Angrier ghosts, I suspected. Ones who’d died in pain.
They occupied the landscape, which intersected at some vague point I couldn’t define, where it was unclear where I was looking at wet leaves and snow lit by flickering streetlights or wet city streets lit by the moon. They were shadowy bystanders in my world, monsters in his.
This… wasn’t really what I’d wanted or hoped for.
But it was a common ground, I supposed. Evan seemed to take it in stride.
“I offer you sustenance,” I said. “Whatever form of nourishment you might need.”
“I accept your sustenance, and I agree to lend you the strength I gain in return.”
I remembered a whole section in the book that had gone into detail about that one exchange. It went both ways. It could mean I fed Evan my personal power in exchange for his muscle or talents. Sustenance for a powerful being, conversesly, could be attention, or praise, while the being supplied strength in the form of personal power.
“I give you reprieve from the forces that hold you, as the old laws permit.”
“By the compact, I guard you against those…”
“Selfsame,” Rose mumured.
“-selfsame forces.
“I give you asylum from the forces that follow you, as the old laws permit.”
Death, the usual ‘force’ this line referred to, wouldn’t claim Evan’s soul for the time being.
“By the compact, I follow you.”
The connection between him and his body flickered, moving until he and I were connected. It looked thin. Insubstantial. That was a little worrisome.
Duncan had noticed what was going on.
That was concerning. I could understand him noticing me even with the amount of myself I’d bled away. I was asserting myself here. But he shouldn’t have that kind of power at his disposal. I’d won. I’d turned his promise into a lie, and that came at a cost.
“Blake,” Rose said. Stirring me back to the matter at hand.
I read the book.
“I give you this with no expectation of secret knowledge or revelations,” I said.
“I- I-” Evan stuttered.
I glanced over. There were two options, common answers for the Familiar.
His eyes scanned the words, trying to make sense of them, reading backwards. He’d done remarkably well so far, stumbling only on some oddly constructed and very long words.
He looked to Rose
“I can’t tell you what answer to give,” Rose murmured.
Duncan was approaching, making his way down the hallway. I crossed the room, forging my way through the insubstantial images, found the door there, a little more real than anything else, a little more out of place, double doors in the midst of my background. I barred the handles.
“Then, um. By the compact, I share what I have, regard- regardless,” Evan said, behind me.
I nodded, smiling as I turned around. He wasn’t an Other with knowledge he had to safeguard. It made sense.
There were options and suggestions here. This part was more freehand, more personal. I didn’t really have to dwell. I definitely wasn’t giving Evan my body. I wasn’t serving as his mortal hand for a quest. There were no big terms to stipulate here.
“I, Blake Thorburn, give my friendship to Evan Matthieu. I offer from a place of shared history, and I give it willingly, with no expectations. I give my mind and spirit, my body and power, and agree to defeat evils, so I might give him a satisfaction he might carry beyond.”
Evan stared at the book. He’d proven good at improvising and problem solving while on the run. Could he do alright here? Especially as a ghost-ish soul or a soul-ish ghost, who might suffer a bit in the imagination department?
“I, Evan Matthieu, give… my protection? You asked me to show you to safety, and I’ll try. You asked me to find things, and I’ll try. I’m… I’ll do my best.”
He looked like he might say more, but the door banged. Duncan was on the other side.
“I’ll take your watchful eyes, Evan Matthieu,” I said. “I accept your company as scout and guardian, as companion, and I offer you a mortal body, as our mutual power allows.”
A pause. When I glanced at him, he was looking to Rose. She nodded.
“I accept,” Evan said.
He ceased to be a ghost. He became something else, a form no larger than my fist, shrouded in the gloom.
The double doors were decaying. An offensive use of time magic, apparently. Paint peeled with accelerated speed, cracks formed in the fiberglass, and the little glass windows began to crack, warping slightly as the door distorted around them.
“Then I, Blake Thorburn, bind myself to my words and I swear to give that which I have promised to give,” I said, glancing away from the door to check the book. “Take what you will, Evan Matthieu.”
Evan’s tiny form hopped over to get closer to the lid of the drawer, to Rose’s reflection.
When he spoke, it was with the same voice. “I, Evan Matthieu, will take, and I give in return. I accept, and I likewise swear.”
The connection between us went from insubstantial to solid, dim to bright. It was like a breaker had been thrown, and the dark backgrounds surrounding us were cast away. The room returned to what it had been. Not quite normal, but a ways there.