Chapter 10
Caspar stared at Anthony’s number on the phone.
He’d memorized it years ago when he had to call from his jail cell while awaiting trial.
Was the number still good? It was to Anthony’s cell, so maybe his switch from his father’s firm to one across town wouldn’t matter.
But maybe Anthony wouldn’t answer on the weekends.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
What did Malek say about maybes? Weren’t useful for wishes, something like that. Caspar sighed. He shouldn’t be trying to call Anthony anyway. He wasn’t one of the programmed numbers in his phone, and if he really wanted to, he could send him a message through Malek.
Except what would I say? Don’t worry, I’m fine now?
Wish you were here? Nothing made sense. Caspar had woken up twenty minutes ago with a stiff neck and a bad case of dry mouth.
He’d turned over and tried to go back to sleep, but when he hit the coffee table, he sprung awake.
He held his hands up, ready for a fight, and nearly lost what little death perception he had left.
When the white couch and the spacious living area came back into view, he nearly cried out.
His dream—him covered in blood, fighting a demon in his parents’ living room—was just that: a dream.
He wasn’t in danger. He hadn’t even made it to the bed last night to sleep on his first night of freedom.
When he saw the butts of the Breeze cigarettes in one of the dishes, a tingle of desire ran through him like a live wire.
Last night had come back to him in a mix of drumbeats and synaesthesia visions.
So had the embarrassment of being rejected by Malek. God, had he really tried to make out with his djinn? Fuck.
He picked himself up off the ground and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away from Anthony’s number. Rush from one rejection to the other, right? Pathetic. Caspar went to push the hang-up button on the phone—only to accidentally dial the number.
His curiosity piqued, he held the phone against his ear and waited until someone picked up.
“Hello?”
Anthony’s voice. Traffic in the background. Caspar thought he heard music too, but he wasn’t sure.
“All??” Anthony spoke again with a hinted French accent. “Alo?s? C’est toi?”
Caspar hung up the phone. He didn’t need to hear Anthony talk to his new boyfriend or business partner in broken French. Caspar’s heart tore in two, but like always, he was getting used to not focusing on the pain of his past. He went to get a glass of water instead.
It took him several tries before he found the right cupboard for glasses. He drank back one entire glass before filling it up again and sipping it.
I can have all the water I want. I can have all the food I want, too.
Soon enough, he was eating the leftovers from their dinner the night before.
He didn’t even warm them up, but ate right from the Tupperware.
All of this was his. He was free. That was enough to forget about Anthony for a while, but not enough to ease the embarrassment over Malek.
Really, was kissing Malek so bad? He was an attractive man.
Tall, tattooed, and pretty funny, actually.
Good taste in music. He was even gay, which was something that Caspar was not used to having on his side for the men he liked.
So what if he was his djinn? Maybe he’d rejected the advance because of some kind of ethical quandary.
Malek had been nice about it, which had been better than Anthony rejecting his advances in high school.
From what Caspar could recall of the night before, he’d been the one who acted poorly.
After eating another meal of curry, Caspar had convinced himself that last night wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it was.
Once he pushed past the thoughts of being an utter failure in bed, he could focus on…
what, exactly? He was free. He’d probably need to get a job soon, but from the letter that Jocasta left him with a credit card, he knew that he had a bank account with some funds.
Nothing much, but it was in his new name, Leonard Caspar Sherif, and he was instructed to start using the credit card, paying it off regularly, as soon as possible to establish a line of credit.
Lessons from his economics classes came back to him in a rush.
As he reached the end of the letter, he wasn’t as excited as he thought he’d be. A line of credit. Big deal.
He had much, much bigger things to worry about. He picked up the cell phone and typed in Jocasta’s number from the end of the letter. Her name came up as already saved and safe to call. She answered by the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi. It’s Caspar. Or am I not allowed to say that?”
“You can still be Caspar. It’s your new middle name. But you already know that, or else you wouldn’t have my number. So what can I do you for?”
“I need to ask you some questions.”
“That is what Malek is there for. He’s your djinn—but he’s also your tour guide for the next little while.”
“I’m not a tourist. I know what Toronto looks like.”
“Do you? It’s been almost eight years. A lot changed in that time.”
Caspar fought back the urge to swear. Jocasta was right. Not even the skyline looked the same, save for the garish First Bank Building and the CN Tower. “I asked Malek this already, but he couldn’t really help me.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“Why am I free?”
“Existentially, no one is free,” Jocasta said, her voice light. “We are all chained here to our bitter existence until we shuffle off this mortal coil. At least, that’s what the philosophers tell me. But you’re not in prison anymore because you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But how do you know? No one else has believed me so far, so why has my story changed?”
“We gathered enough evidence to believe that you needed to be let go.”
“The blood test?”
Nothing.
“Did you guys take my eye?”
“No,” Jocasta’s voice was soft. “I can assure you we did not do that. We did not act fast enough to get you out.”
“And you obviously don’t have enough to get me a real retrial, right? Or else we would have done this the approved way.”
“That’s true. The legal system is still crooked, but it’s getting better for people like us.”
“Like us?” Caspar asked, but he didn’t give her much time to answer. “I know you hired a PI to investigate me. The vampire. Chaz.”
“Yes. We did.”
“I’d like to see what he found. Can I talk to him?
Katja, maybe? I remember her interviewing me, but it wasn’t about my crime.
It was, like, my biography or something.
I thought she was like one of those kids who wrote a dissertation on me.
Wasn’t I going to be in that big encyclopedia on monsters?
Oh, God. Am I in the Monster Mythology already? ”
Caspar was sure he heard a smile in Jocasta’s voice. “Of course you are. People are mourning your death, too.”
“Can I just talk to Chaz or Katja about my case?”
“No. They are on assignment.”
“So you have nothing and no one who can tell me a damn thing about why I’m free? Nothing at all? After all the bullshit I’ve gone through—”
“You’ve been through a lot, I know. Malek told me about the house. The night it all happened.”
“You know?” Caspar laughed and shook his head. “Of course you know. Everyone always knows everything about me. I’m nothing but a science experiment, aren’t I?”
“No. I assure you, you can be whoever you want now. We’re not trying to keep you for our own gain.
But Malek sent me the report this morning and I’ve looked it over.
I was convinced of your innocence before, but now I’m beyond sure.
I can assure you that there will be no more problems for you regarding your parents’ murder. ”
“That’s great. Awesome. But it still doesn’t solve anything.”
“Your parents’ death, you mean?”
“Yes!” Caspar wanted to tear his hair out. His chest hurt. How hard was this to understand? His parents were dead, and if he didn’t do it, then who the fuck did?
Caspar was sure he’d dreamt of his parents the night before.
He closed his eyes and saw it. After he’d fallen asleep and buried his face in the carpet, he remembered being very, very young—five years old, maybe—and falling asleep as his father did his morning prayers.
He’d buried his face into his prayer rug then, and had woken up in his own bed after his father had carried him there.
Caspar wished more than anything that he’d woken up in bed like that this morning—that he was five years old again, that he could do it all over and stop the bad stuff from happening.
But he was almost twenty-nine years old, and he’d lost eight years of his life.
He’d lost his parents. He’d lost everything, and now, even his freedom left a sour taste in his mouth.
“The ammonia is interesting,” Jocasta said as if they were still talking about something trivial, like baseball.
“It’s something I’ve only seen in a few other cases.
Malek will ask you more about the ammonia later, so don’t hesitate to pass on anything else you may know.
For now, I’ve sent Malek’s report to Katja and Chaz, along with Sully’s report. ”
“Yeah. Okay,” Caspar said, not even surprised that Sully had a report. He’d all but admitted it. “So what do I do now? And will there be more interviews and report cards I need to worry about?”
“Not if you don’t want to. Like I said, you are clear. But there will be an investigation into your parents’ death done by our crew. Even if we find someone, they won’t be prosecuted in the typical legal system.”
“Only street justice?”
Again, Caspar heard the smile in Jocasta’s voice. “We don’t like to call it that, but yes, I suppose our intention is justice. And intention is part of magic.”
“And am I intended to be in the loop?”
A pause. When Jocasta spoke, she seemed very, very tired.
“I will do my best. Malek will do his best. But please understand that this organization is more than just your story. You are a part of it, for sure, and we’ve taken responsibility for you.
But all our investigations must be conducted under the radar and with a certain amount of discretion, and that means telling as few people as possible. ”
“You have supernaturals. Surely you can turn invisible? Maintain discretion that way and still let me know what’s going on.”
“We are sometimes an organization full of ghosts, that’s true. But for this case—if it is what I think it is—we must be careful. Tread lightly. And it’s best for you not to be involved.”
“Not be involved? They’re my parents, they’re—”
“I’m sorry. Have a good day, Caspar. Go and see some sights. Maybe visit the CN Tower and see if you can climb all those stairs.”
When Jocasta hung up the phone, Caspar stared at it blankly.
Go and see the CN tower? That was ridiculous, that was…
Ugh. He threw the phone across the room, only to watch it bounce off the couch and land safely on the plush carpet.
He wanted to know what happened to his parents.
He deserved as much, and yet, he was being pushed out of the investigation.
His chest and head ached. He’d not thought about this for so long it felt as if the memories were tearing him in two.
Caspar paced. When that didn’t work to calm him down, he had a shower.
The warm water was a dream, along with the soft towels.
He debated shaving, but decided against it.
He missed the feel of scruff, and he wanted to wait and savour the luxury of shaving unobserved later on, when he wasn’t so stressed.
He paced again, towel over his hips, and thought over his options.
When he knew he had the perfect request, he got dressed. He sat in the middle of the white couch and rubbed his finger over the ring.
Nothing happened.
He rubbed again, fully taking off the ring and sliding it back on several times.
Nothing. No smoke and mirrors, no cloud of blue air. A big fat nothing—until a knock sounded on the apartment door.
Caspar sprang to his feet. He spotted Malek through the peep hole, wearing a red hoodie and baggy jeans.
“Hey,” Malek said when Caspar opened the door. He panted as if slightly out of breath.
“Did you run here?”
“From the first floor, yeah.”
“Oh. I thought it’d be more cinematic than that.”
“I need to save my magical energy, especially if you have a wish. You do have one, right? I really hope I didn’t climb up those stairs for nothing.”
“Yes, I have one,” Caspar said, focusing again. “I wish to stand face to face with the man who murdered my parents.”