Becoming Forgotten Again

I couldn’t help but bite my tongue. This wasn’t the first time, either. The more I talked with my boss, the more I wanted to kill something. It was that kind of frustrating. The kind of irritation that could drive a sane man to madness. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what he was talking about. He was the best in the city, by a mile and change. He’d gotten the position by almost effortlessly outperforming Marcy, who was arguably the best in America, until he came around. He just also knew he was the best around. And that knowledge made him unbearably smug and stuck up all of the time. “That sounds right, sir,” I said slowly, through gritted teeth, “I’ll get right on that.”

“See that you do,” he replied, not even looking over to make eyecontact. He was lost in his own, selfimportant thoughts.

I had to remind myself that stabbing him would cause problems. It would have to wait until after I’d learned everything he had to offer. I turned on my heel and walked out of his office and down the stairs. As I reached the bottom, his apprentice, Olive, gave me a look of commiseration and understanding. “Did your meeting go well?” she asked, “Please tell me he’s in a good mood.”

I smiled. At least I only had to deal with him when I chose to, and in political matters. “Not sure Aleksander has good moods,” I retorted, “But I only wanted to stab him three times in the whole halfhour, so that’s a plus.”

Olive grabbed her notepad, scribbled something down, then flipped through it. “That’s almost a new record. Barely lost to once when you only wanted to stab him eleven times in a two hour meeting.” Then she furrowed her brow. “So, let me guess: he’s in a gazing mood.”

“Yep,” I replied with a half smile, “Have fun learning anything today.” I turned to leave.

She flicked me off. “You can go fuck yourself, Ev,” she said, reinforcing the gesture that she’d probably thought I’d missed.

I turned back towards Olive, though I continued to walk backwards to the door. With a gleeful smirk, I replied, “Nah, I do that on Thursdays.”

We both chuckled as I turned and walked out of the temple and into the library. It was so much easier to keep our comings and goings hidden when libraries were filled with people. Now, it was mostly kids and old people. A couple of parents wandering around. But I was the only twentysomething in the place who wasn’t working there. At least, not for the county. Keeping my head down as I walked down the stairs and into the parking garage, I suspected no one would take note. The lack of new adults in the place meant we generally ahd to drive to and from the place, rather than walk. People don’t generally take note of people driving by them, especially to the library. They assume it is one of the aforementioned old people or parents of young ones. I walked through the garage, all the way down to the bottom floor where I parked, and hopped into my sedan.

It was massive. The benefits of working for an organization with such great wealth and reach was that the company cars were killer. Many in the organization used Phantoms, a sort of joke in their minds, but I have a keen distrust for British carmakers. That, combined with my desire to save the planet, made me a proud lessee of our organization’s second most popular car: The Tesla Model-S. Electric, Spacious, and sexy, I really couldn’t have asked for a better car. I slowly drove out from the garage and into the world. I ahd an errand to run. Had to talk to a snake and make a deal with the devil. But first, I needed to get a bargaining chip. Careful not to attract attention, I drove across the bridge to the set of townhouses where I knew the enemy of my adversary lived. Unfortunately, this was not really a situation where the enemy of my enemy applies, as our organization prefers to be a myth. There are few who know about us, and many of those are not by our choice. I parked the car across the street and entered the café on the corner.

First, I quietly ordered myself a small black coffee. I didn’t necessarily need it, but it would help for looking inconspicuous while I robbed the house across the street. Sitting in a seat by the window with my back to the townhouse, I took a sip of the coffee. Putting it down and pulling out a laptop, I bit my inner lip. Hard. The laptop came to life and I opened up my half complete story. It was never intended to be completed, it was just another bit of theatre for any who might notice me. I could feel the blood from my lip trickle down onto my tongue. Letting it pool on the tip of my tongue for just a moment, I slowly traced the sign of the spirit on my teeth. As I finished it, I could feel my body slump slightly, hands on the keyboard as though lost in thought. But I wasn’t in my body anymore. I was behind it.

Turning towards the townhouse I was about to rob, I walked confidently. I passed through the walls which could hold my body back. I walked right into the house, past the gaurds, guns ready for any other type of infiltration, but grossly unprepared for me. Walking up to the mob accountant’s office, on the fourth floor, I was careful not to touch anyone. Not yet. I needed to locate the materials, to avoid any unnecessary complications. It wasn’t hard to make it inside. After all, these wanabe mafiosos probably didn’t even believe what I was doing was possible. I couldn’t help but smile, though I held back any smug laughter. Just because they couldn’t hear me didn’t mean that they couldn’t hear me if I made any noise. My skills were pretty great, but thehy were still insuffiecient for certain aspects of the game. Before I enterd the office, I ran through the house quickly once. The accountant wasn’t accounted for. Too bad, I thought, as that would have made it easier.

In the office, I found my prize. Poking my head into the accountant’s safe, I could see the original documents. Making sure no one was listening, I tried plan A. I’d only ever managed to do this once before, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. Slowly, I whispered an old incantation, an traced with ghostly fingers an ancient sigil upon the documents. The sigil sparked with energy, but didn’t do anything more. Muttering a curse in Sumerian, I moved on to plan C.

Plan C needed a person. I took a deep breath and approached the lone guard outside the office door. This time, rather than avoiding touching him, I walked right into his helpless body. It was over in a second. It took more effort to possess a rat. Some people are just very weakwilled. Taking the guard’s body completely under my control, I walked into the office and over to the desk. Rather than take the time and effort to break into the small lockbox, I had the man cut his finger on a nail nearby. It would be painful, but not too problematic. Hopefully he wouldn’t contract any horrific diseases. Using that bloody finger and his rough voice, I traced the same sigil as before around the box and said the incantation. After a firey crackling, the blood was gone, and along with it, the box. I would find that in my car. Next, I had the guard suck a bit of blood out of the finger, and spit it in an outine on the ground, about where the box had been. As he finished his fun spitting session, he said another phrase in a long forgotten language, and the box reapeard. Or, a simulacrum of it, stolen from the past. It was a tangible illusion, but one that should last for at least a week, perhaps more, depending on how powerful this random mook’s blood was. Standing him back up and walking him back outside the office, I had him slouch against the door. He’d suppose he’d just taken a quick nap. Pulling myself out of him, I walked out the nearest wall, and fell down onto the street. I could have flown, but hthat was too tiring for my tastes, and so I only did that when I absolutely needed to.

Happily, I walked back into my own body, and took a drink of coffee, washing away the bloody symbol on the back of my teeth. The person next to me was trying to talk with me. Turning to face him, I looked confused. “Sorry,” I said, “I didn’t catch that. Igot lost in thought.”

“Oh, don’t’ worry,” he replied with a smile, “I just saw you were writing a book, and I thought that was cool. Wanna grab a coffee and talk about it?”

I shook my head, stood up, and closed my laptop in one fluid movement. “Honestly, dude,” I said, shooting him an obviously forced smile, “Not in a million years.” Grabbing my bag, I added, “Does that ever actually work?”

He chuckled. “Once or twice. Normally I need to be working, too, though.”

I nodded. “I gotta try that some day.” I walked out without looking back at him. Getting into my car, I checked the back seat. Indeed, right there on the embroidered ancor, was the small box. I began to drive and said to my car, “Call Doucheface.”

In a calm monotone, the car responded, “Calling. Doosh-face.” The phone began to ring.

After three rings, I braced myself as Aleksander picked up. “Yes, Minister Ev?” He’d waited just to irritate me, I’m sure.

“It took me more effort than anticipated to acquire the leverage. I formally request you send another to discuss the plan with Drake.” Aleksander was a dick, but he knew better than fucking with our plans.

“I’ve warned you against doing incantations through possessions. How many?”

I chuclekd. “Only two,” I answered, “But one might have been a simulacrum of a complicated and intricate nature.”

Aleksander sighed. “Fine. But that means you will have to take over the teaching of the old texts to Aprentice Olive on the morrow.”

I shrugged, then realizing it was a phone call, said aloud, “Understood. Many thanks, Grandmaestro Aleksander.” With that, I pressed the button and hung up before he could respond. He’d take that as a sign of respect, not the slight it was intended as, but I didn’t much care.

It took another ten minutes to drive down to the small diner where my contact had set up the meeting. I got out of my car and noted that one fo the motorcycles parked nearby wasn’t a production model. Interesting, but irrelevant. Entering the diner, I approached the designated table and sat down across from the lovely lady. Smiling, I said, “I hear the birds on the reflecting pool are lovely this time of year.”

“Too bad it’s a bit cold outside to enjoy it,” she replied, in the set response. With a head nod she added, “Agent Nikki Pastor.”

“Nice to meet you, Nikki,” I said with a wry grin crawling onto my face, “You can call me Ev.” I could feel another set of eyes watching me. Slowly I traced an eyelike sigil in my glass of water. “Have you ordered yet?” I asked.

“Not yet, no. I was waiting for you,” she answered. Far too formal for my tastes, but to each their own.

My glass frosted over slightly, and in the frost I could see the face of a man, watching me and my contact. “Am I interrupting your date or something?” I asked.

“What?” she replied, honestly surprised. She looked about, confused, then her eyes settled on a man, glaring at him. She sighed. “I apologize for him, he’s another contact of mine, and is irritatingly guardian-angel-like at itmes.” She waved him over.

The man walked confidently to the table, a half-flirtatious smirk on his angular face. “And who might this fine lady be, dear?” he joked, “Are you seeing other spies on me?”

“They are my contact. You are unwanted. Leave.” Nikki’s voice was strong and harsh.

The guy nodded. “I apologize, friend. I meant no offence calling you a lady.”

I looked up at him, my eyes cold and confident, more confident even than his stare. “None taken. If you don’t leave this building now, I will. I doubt you or her would like that.”

He raised his hands in defeat. “I apologize. I would hate to cause trouble for my frineds.” And turning on his heel, he walked equally confidently out to that motorcycle I’d noticed and rode off.

The agent shook her head. “I apologize. My friend said you’d have something to help me?”

I pulled out the box I’d stolen. “She told me that you could facilitate in a convenient forgetfulness of our existence?”

She nodded. “I can. Is this what I think it is?”

“It’s the original books of a certain bookkeeper you were interested in looking up. Shouldn’t be missed for about a week.” I smiled as I pushed the box across the table.

She smiled. “Marcy was right about you,” she said. She picked up the box and sent a text message from her phone. “And now your file has been sent to the incinerator. A foolish technical glitch that ought to be fixed.” Putting away the box and putting out her hand, she added, “Your ‘coven’ no longer exists.”

I cringed. “Please, don’t call it that to me. I hate that word.” Then, sighing, I shook her hand. “Hopefully, we can see each other again?” I asked.

She smirked as we stood up. “Professionally or personally?”

With a smirk breaking out on my face as well, I simply shrugged and walked out to my car. I could hear her laughing behind me as she followed to her own. Hopping into my car, I drove back to my apartment. Today had been a mostly successful day. I hadn’t even had to meet with the slimy beasties.

#fantasy #InTheKNight #firstperson #nsfw #story #urbanfantasy