Chapter 7
Seven
-GRAYSON-
It’s Monday morning and I have the ‘start of the week’ blues. Milo contacted me yesterday, but I didn’t text or ring him. I’m not exactly sure where I stand because I have competition.
There’s another woman in this relationship. A bitchy third party who can give Milo what he craves. Followers!
I turn on the shower and feel for hot water. The droplets drum the tiles below. As the temperature rises, I turn on the cold tap, wipe my hand on a towel, and remove my boxers.
I feel I’m being cleansed of the weird weekend I just had. I close my eyes and let the spray wash my face, letting go of my confused, or bitter, or whatever these emotions are. Plus, it’s hard to sneeze with all this steam rising.
There’s a melodic chime. I’ve heard it before. “Penelope? Is that you?” I’m tense now, even though I’ve warmed to her. Can she do another of her relaxation spells?
“Oh. Sorry.” She’s walked in and she’s covering her eyes. And I’m covering my dick. “Although, you measure up quite nicely to my second husband.” Penelope grins and walks out.
It’s hard to tell by such a brief encounter, but I don’t think she’s inebriated. There was no cocktail in her hand.
Regardless, she’s still dressed to impress. There was a Bowie-inspired lightning bolt emblazoned on her loose white top. The design had many colours, which she coordinated with bright red corduroy pants and white sneakers.
“Penelope, I’ll be out soon. But it’s a workday. I have to head out to the office soon.”
I lather myself with lime and coconut soap, wash, then dry myself in my bedroom before I put on my clothes.
As I check myself in the mirror, something seems off. I look around. The bed Penelope conjured is still magnificent. Everything is made from the material it should be. And I don’t have a snout.
But there’s no ticking. The wind-up novelty alarm clock which the IT guy gave me as a Secret Santa gift has stopped. I check my phone. That can’t be the right time as it shows the same time as the clock. I wind it but it doesn’t start up again. I put it down.
“Grayson,” Penelope calls. “Bring your wand out here.”
My heart sinks. Am I really in the mood for this? What shit will happen this time?
“I’ve got to go to work,” I yell out. “Not today, Penelope.”
“I’ve taken care of work.”
“How?” I rush into the living room. “Did you get me fired?”
“No. I’ve stopped time.”
My feet are glued to the spot.
“Don’t worry, Grayson. You’ll get to work. But there’s something we need to do. Now, get your wand.”
Okay. I should do what she says. It’s not like I have a choice in this matter.
“Well, you do,” she says. “But you’ll like what we’re doing today.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“Thinking? You were blathering, Grayson. ‘I should do what she says. It’s not like I have a choice’.”
It’s official. I’ve lost my mind. I go and fetch the wand because I’m really not sure what my options are. When I come back, she tells me to extend it.
“What spell am I about to screw up?” My indigestion just kicked in.
“Trust in yourself, Grayson. We’re going to the magic realm.”
“The magic realm? Doesn’t it have a fancier name? Like Magicville.” I’m clearly waffling.
“No, Grayson. It’s not Magicville, or The Witch’s Lair, or Spelltown, or The Wish Dimension. It’s just known as the magic realm.”
Her smile comes off more like a smirk because I think she’s picking up on my stress. I glance at the Valium container. Should I? Or perhaps she can do that relaxation spell on me again.
“No, Grayson. No Valium today. And I’m not going to make this easier with a relaxation spell.”
“I verbalised my thoughts again?”
“Yes, you verbalised your thoughts again.” She points to my wand so I extend it. “Now, it doesn’t matter what level of skill you’re at, every magic person can conjure the door to the magic realm.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. Now wave that wand and point it where you think the entrance should be.”
I hesitate.
“Grayson, do it.”
“Um...er...”
“Grayson!”
I follow her instruction, aiming the wand at my own front door.
Copious coloured sparks flash like an indoor fireworks display.
They sizzle and hiss as I avert my eyes.
When the lightshow dies, I’m bemused by this unusual entrance.
A fancy revolving door which stylish hotels use has replaced the front door to my apartment.
I slip the wand into the front pocket of my jeans as I’m drawn to the door, like it’s a magnet for enchanted folk. In fact, I’m inching forward, step by step.
“Now, are you ready for this?” Penelope asks.
“Why do you ask?” I’m a few steps from the entrance. “It’s the reason you’re here.”
I stop and look back. There’s a reserve about her, different to how she’s been on her other visits. It’s as if, without alcohol, she questions herself. And now, staring at these slowly spinning glass doors, I think she’s changed her mind about going.
I relate to her in this state. No quirky chaos. Just a bit of hesitation. That’s me most days.
As I return my gaze to the hotel door, nothing is holding me back. And she has no choice but to follow.
“Hold on.” She snaps her fingers.
A smoky haze immerses me, and when it clears, I’m wearing the vest she made for me. I still can’t get over how nice it looks.
“Keep walking,” she says.
We enter the realm.
The bright pink sky fills me with wonder. Dark triangular hills dot the landscape, and a man in a chair is on top of the furthest one. I see his silhouette.
“Pull out your wand and wave it gently.” Penelope clutches her hands with excitement, all her reluctance gone. “The guy on the mount needs to check you in.”
“Huh?”
“Piers, the watcher, keeps an eye on all that happens here. And you are visiting for the first time. Waving your wand is like showing your passport as you enter a country. He will feel its vibrations and know you have a reason to be here.”
I extend the wand and before I get a chance to wave it, the simple act of raising it creates a melodic chime. There’s a white mist full of weird silver trinkets—like aeroplanes, chickens, and clocks—making its way toward Piers.
I’m starting to like this wizard stuff. It comes with pyrotechnics and props.
The watcher gets off his seat and breathes in the mist. He gives a thumbs up. Apparently, we are allowed to venture further.
“Why was there a chicken in my mist?” I ask. “And a plane and a clock?”
“The plane tells Piers it’s your first visit here. The clock tells him that time has been paused in the mortal realm.”
“And the chicken?”
“Don’t be offended,” she tells me. “But perhaps you need a little courage.”
It’s true. I do. That’s why I try to freefall in life, see where fate takes me. It’s what I had to do when I was seventeen, after an incident caused my circumstances to change.
I shudder. It’s not a comfortable memory.
“Let’s keep walking,” says Penelope.
There’s a chequered path beneath our feet, with squares large enough for those oversized chess pieces people often play with in parks.
A line of large trees, all with windows and a front door, are on either side.
Lace curtains let in light for their inhabitants, but their complex patterns make it hard for nosey neighbours to peer in.
“Who lives in these trees?” I touch one. Its branch pushes me aside. I gasp. She chuckles.
“The trees don’t let you near if they’ve never met you.” Penelope points ahead. “But you’ll get to go inside one soon. My friend lives in that one, way over there.”
“Who? Petra?”
She sighs, as if she’s not looking forward to this visit. “I’m taking you to meet Maude. She’s going to induct you as a warlock of the magic realm.”
“But I’m still learning.”
“Her blessing will pass on knowledge, Grayson. You won’t know everything straight away. It’s like a seed will be planted and when you’re ready, you will know things without learning them.”
Wisdom without schooling. I like the sound of that.
As she steps forward, I stop her and ask, “Why are you wary of Maude?”
She gives me a faraway gaze, so I take her hand. She leads.
We pass a lake of multiple colours, as if paint has replaced water and the hues never mix. They simply weave around each other so each glossy tint can be admired. I have no reserve, just an overwhelming sense of awe. I’m a traveller in a mystical world.
A sculpture of a bust with its head open has a planet slowly spinning where its brain should be. This isn’t Earth, nor is it any recognisable sphere from our solar system. Clouds hover above the figure. One rains on its forehead. We approach.
It winks. I stumble backward.
“Don’t fret,” Penelope assures me. “This is Stellan. Stellan, meet Grayson.”
The raincloud dissipates and Stellan licks the last of its droplets as they dribble down to his mouth.
Then he peers at me, like his beady eyes have pierced my soul.
“You hide. A lot.” Stellan’s voice is deep.
“The world is waiting for you, Grayson. You’re waiting for you, Grayson.
Don’t stand in your own way. One day you’ll know yourself, but you have to risk your beliefs to do so. ”
“Stellan is the resident fortune teller.” Penelope sits in front of the sculpture. Her legs are crossed and I’m surprised such a fashion-conscious person would risk getting her red jeans and white sneakers dirty. “What’s my future?”
“You’ve met your match, Penelope.”
She’s processing. But the gentle turn of her head and her crooked smile make it clear she’s just as confused about her fortune as I am with mine.
Penelope leans toward Stellan and gives him a kiss. His lips are far bigger than hers. “It’s how we thank Stellan for our reading,” she says.
I lean in and do the same, tasting stone.
Stellan hums as we leave, and there’s the sound of violin accompanying his tune. But when I turn to see who’s playing, there is no musician.
Well, it is the magic realm after all.