Chapter Three The Nova
Chapter Three
The Nova
The cord snaked around the banister corners, rubbed against the edges of doorframes, and finally went out the back door before it disappeared into the clover, soon resurfacing beside me on the iron garden table.
“Did you see Monty?” Even through the static of the receiver piece cupped on my ear, I could still hear the stress in Dorian’s voice.
“Who?” I looked up at the sky, buildings crowding the view. Old, new, newer, and older. Astraea was a living time capsule in that way, surrounded by the past and present all at once.
A frustrated puff sounded in my ear. “The calico. The one with the white face.”
“Ah,” I muttered. “Not yet, but I’m sure she’ll show.”
“No,” he said firmly, “I need you to go find her. Please, Lucia. What if she is injured? Hungry? The nights may start to get cold.”
“It is mid-Laxamentum.”
“But—”
“Dorian,” I said firmly, “she will show. Strays wander.”
“I know,” he muttered.
“Is this stress coming from elsewhere?”
“Instinct or superstition.”
“Banish it, then.”
“Will you pull a card for me? To ease a worried man’s mind?”
“Everie won’t help you here, sir. The cards tell you what you already know,” I joked, leaning back in my chair as I watched the tiny yard.
As with many townhomes, the backyard was a bonus, but they were usually unremarkable.
I did what I could to make it more natural.
Clover lawn for softness on the feet, the bees bumbling around the small white buds across the entire patch, with the exception of a few stepping stones weighing down the fluffy greens.
Holes in the tall brick surrounding the haven to house birds, if willing.
Herbs and cat-friendly flowers to attract strays, and even more flowering vines to hide the unsightly brick.
A row of brass bowls by the back door for easy feedings.
One small box in the corner to give the creatures shelter.
The goal was to make it completely green and full of color, though it might take some more time and quite a few more plants.
Dorian loved cats, but if I let him keep all of them inside, we would never be able to step without it being on a tail. We’d settled with a cat door and making the backyard accommodating to them. Luckily, they kept the rats away.
“Has the house fallen to disarray in my absence?” A quiet joke.
“Of course, an absolute wreck without you.” I smiled to myself, twirling the wire around my finger. “Ready for the interview tomorrow?”
“As ever. We will see.”
“You doubt yourself too often.”
“It happens when your wife is always moving on to much more interesting things without you.”
“Psssht!” I clicked my tongue at him. “No more of that. Take some alone time to decompress. You can tell me all about it when you’re home. Right?”
“Will you wait up for me if it’s late?”
“Always,” I said, smiling. “I’m hanging up the phone.”
“With all my love, I’ll see you soon.”
“Come back with news, soldier,” I teased.
There was a soft chuckle on the other line, then a click.
I hung the receiver on the small stand, sighing as I took another sip of coffee.
It wasn’t often we were apart, not since he’d been drafted.
Sure, he was my husband, but above all, he was my closest friend.
No one tells you what it’s like to take closeness for granted.
Though sometimes absence was necessary. Just a little distance for something exciting would be good for him.
The glass of the camera stared like a market fish. Still, round, my reflection all too obvious and hard to escape.
A slow, mechanical hissing.
Snap.
The shutter was less than impressive sounding, considering the anticipation of the shot and the size of the camera.
My shoulders slumped and the breath I held released heavily. I hopped off my stool and gathered my skirts, removing the tin sheet from the camera.
The table in front of the window had a few tubs, a couple of fluke tests discarded on the surface. The tin sheets shimmered. Film strips dried, wedged between the muntins to keep them up against the glass. Shadowy negatives of myself stared back, waiting to be inspected as the water evaporated.
I dropped the latest tin sheet in the metal bin, doused it with water, and let it soak to halt development. I gripped the edge of the table, leaning over my project as the image stabilized and became clear.
Just like last time.
Pneuma-types were special. They came in shades of gray scale, then the aura they captured would be in color. The film was only gray due to the sensitivity of the pneuma wave. Isolating the light wave intended for capture.
I thought I had the process down solid. Test after test, consistent results. But, like the universe, chemicals were no different—they acted on chaos. The technique was just about using freak reactions to your advantage, selectively.
The portrait was fine. Each curl of my hair was crisp, the lens was in full focus, enough to see the new spots on my face that my dear husband so lovingly liked to point out.
The white balance was correct, the values were fairly even, the aura was prominent.
I could see the texture of my silk tie around my neck, the shimmer of the heirloom necklace hanging loosely.
The contrast of the dark navy dress, now a rich charcoal.
Before, the aura was a sort of blue color. Just for a moment, as swift as a blink.
Then it faded to black.
I dragged my nails through my hair, steadily pushing out a controlled breath as the collection of botched pneuma-types stared back at me. Every time, a black blotch.
Luckily, my previous tests had been consistent, and I could chalk the failure up to expired chemicals with a decent conscience. I had enough samples to show for my work for now. I could fix things before the proper demonstration.
With luck, my will would be done.
My first invention had been a prepacked wet plate for cameras.
No studio necessary for mixing and coating your own plates, just open the camera and stick it in.
Simple, convenient—yet no one had thought to do it yet.
I almost didn’t get the patent, since they weren’t keen on accepting submissions from women.
One ritual was all it took; they listened and heard me. The patent was mine.
I doubted it would have happened if I hadn’t harvested luck. Women might be smarter, quicker, more intelligent—yet a man would always have the upper hand.
A bit of luck never hurt anyone. I wouldn’t feel guilty for it.
A cool sensation against my ankle, along with a light purr. Absinthe was at my feet, the shadowy cloud sticking to my skin every time it bumped against me.
“Is my frustration that palpable?” I reached down, running my fingers through the oil-like creature. A couple of drops floated away from the main mass before zipping back into place. “Is it giving you an appetite?”
I sat down on the stool, and my Peculiar climbed up to my lap, pressing firmly against my chest. One would assume that indistinct shadowy creatures would be hard to tell apart, but it was easier than you’d think.
Absinthe had more static, and it formed spikes that sharpened and softened just from speaking to it.
Tonic was rounder, more uniform. Rarely did I see a stray droplet from that one.
My fingers disappeared as I touched the creature, chilling sensations overcoming my limb, enough to extinguish whatever irritation remained.
There were many ways to farm luck from the Otherside.
The easiest was to be intimate with the Peculiar.
Intimate is subjective, but the more personal and vulnerable you are, the more luck you gain.
The energy fed them. Most days, I talked to them.
I vented, cried, and raged. They listened, they fed, and everyone walked away with something.
It wasn’t usually enough for any miracles, but enough to have one good day with very little inconvenience.
If you were looking for miracles, you needed a ritual.
Big risk, deep vulnerability, required a larger vessel.
Using sexuality was the quickest way for me to exert such an intense emotional response if I didn’t have time to dig deep for wounds of the soul.
Sex worked especially well since larger Peculiars suffered from a rather intense gulosity from their isolation and inability to cross over to our world.
Rituals were the only way I could reach these entities, which I had become quite good at during years of practice. As long as I conducted a controlled release in a strict environment, the process was foolproof.
With that in mind, it was time to prepare.