Except now he understood, that wasn't right. Not right at all. That was not, to be exact, what had happened. If only he hadn't been so afraid those other times, if he had just forced himself to a standstill, allowed himself to remember.
He remembered a crystal ball with an electrical lead running into it.
He remembered tarot cards with pencil marked edges.
Angel cards in a gypsy caravan.
A priest in a musty office.
A pastor in their living room.
A plainly dressed man with a computer and a microphone.
These card readers and shamans and occultists had tried to speak to him or, more often, pretended to speak to or for him. They had said words he hadn't, words like "He wants you to know how much he loves you, that he always watches over you" and that was not true because he fled from them, he committed his entire being to forgetting them. But despite those people's lies, there had been some power to call him, to keep him, and he wondered if the power was in the people, these hoodoos and voodoos and how-do-you-do's, or in these rooms of meeting and summoning (though he had become reasonably sure that the room he was now in was not so much a room as a large box on wheels) or if the power was in his girls, in their need, or if it was all of these things together, like essential numbers in a combination lock.
He had been there but those people had not spoken for him and he wondered if this was because they had no real power to hear him or if, perhaps...
Well, just perhaps, I've never given them anything to say.
Or...
Or because all I've ever said is "just let me go".
It seemed quite simple really when one stopped panicking and scratching at the walls and thought about it. There was no output without input.
Madam K was massaging her forehead, clearly deciding that this was not the easiest 25 pounds she had ever earned while Sophie's friends performed that beautiful alchemical gift of youth and friendship and managed in a short amount of time with almost no words that any adult could understand to distract her from her fugue. They were talking about something to do with some website or mobile phone application that based on what he could understand he didn't think his daughter or any of these children should be looking at. Somewhat more reassuringly, while this conversation flowed, Maisie leaned in closer to his daughter, and said softly...
"Sorry Soph, we shouldn't have dragged you in here. I forgot all about your Mum and all that. I'm such an idiot."
"That's alright, Mais. I could have said no but it's Halloween after all. I didn't want to be a downer and anyway," she said, lowering her voice even further and flashing a smile that brought her back to the age she should be, "Tommy was keen so..."
He deduced Tommy was the boy with a devil on his head by the way both girls proceeded to look over at him side-eyed and titter. Tommy for his part was as oblivious to all of this as he had been to Sophie's looks earlier or, perhaps, was so used to being looked at that he had outgrown the need to acknowledge it. Nobody noticed the half-heartbroken, half-philosophical look on Wolf Boy's face as he watched his love waste her affections on such an undeserving devil.
"Your Mum doesn't still...?" Maisie asked quietly while Thank U, Next and Wolf Boy animatedly explained to Tommy which settings to adjust on his phone in order to avoid his parents tracking his usage of said item (and he was grateful his Sophie wasn't listening to that) and Madam Kondazian looked around the table as if she was unsure of just how she had ended up here and he supposed she was. Children had that effect on you.
"No, she finally gave up all of this crap last year. She's still not great but at least she's not wasting her time and money on this rubbish. Sorry, I should have kept my mouth shut in here, I just still get angry. Hope I haven't spoiled it," Sophie said.
"Nonsense, best entertainment I've had all night," her friend whispered back, giving Sophie's hand an extra hard squeeze and he decided he liked this Maisie immensely.
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