placid flow,
“Nammu, send depth of thought,
“Undines of the water, grant concentration.”
This time Rhian kept a firm grip on reality when she felt the tingling in her fingers and toes. She forced off fatigue and kept her eyes wide open, but, even so, she seemed to see two realities simultaneously. Around her was a normal office, empty except for Frankie and herself. Overlaying it, a wild grey-green sea phased in and out. Huge white-topped waves swept over her head and then dropped away beneath her. Frothy faces formed in the in the surf. Watery fingers beckoned to her, but she resolutely ignored them, concentrating on reality. She dug her fingernails into her hands until they hurt. Pain was good. Pain was a friend. Pain was absolution.
Rhian checked her watch every few moments, and the illusion of time speeding by happened again. She was beginning to suspect that Frankie added some pretty powerful dank to her herbal mix.
Frankie’s voice faded into silence, and the seascape dimmed until it disappeared. Frankie hung her head as if she were exhausted. It was some time before she spoke.
“Will you rearrange the furniture, Rhian, while I rest for a bit? We must give the punters their money’s worth by showing them what they expect to see.”
Her voice was thick, like she had the first symptoms of a head cold.
“Sure, Frankie.”
Rhian pushed and pulled various objects around into artistic curves and patterns while Frankie watched.
“You’re a lot stronger than you look, aren’t you?” said Frankie. “You know, that went really rather well. I thought that this might be a difficult one, but it all worked first time. Do you notice any change in the office?”
Rhian considered. “Yes, it feels airy and light, and my headache’s gone.”
“There is nothing better than air and water magic for sick building syndrome,” said Frankie complacently.
It was Rhian’s night off, as Gary had another barmaid on the shift. Frankie prepared a potato salad, then she and Rhian shared a bottle of Californian rosé in the garden, watching the play of light as the day changed imperceptibly into twilight.
“Thank you for being so welcoming, but you don’t have to look after me,” Rhian said. “I am used to living on my own.”
“To be honest, it’s rather nice to have someone around,” Frankie said. “What with my work and Pete, my partner, I never really made civilian friends.”
“Civilians?” Rhian asked. “Were you in the army?”
“Good Lord, no,” Frankie said. “I worked for a close-knit organization, and civilians are what we called outsiders, silly really. How about you? What brought you to our fair neighborhood?”
“I just needed a fresh start.” Rhian shrugged.
“Boy trouble,” said Frankie, raising an eyebrow.
“There was someone, but it didn’t work out, so I left.” Her tone was designed to discourage further questions.
It was a moment Rhian relived over and over in her dreams. The heavy iron bar smashed James’ head, with the sound like you get from crushing a beer can. His skull pulped. Blood and dark brain matter spurted from the wound. The bar swung back for a second hit, trailing a fan of red droplets that glittered in the streetlights.
Frankie took the hint. She got up and, wandering to the curtains, peered around them. “The Moon’s up. Would you like to see my moon garden?”
“Moon garden?” Rhian asked.
Frankie was just full of strange surprises, as mad as a March hatter. Hang on, that wasn’t right. Frankie started talking again, interrupting Rhian’s thought process.
“Night flowers, Rhian. I have a witch’s herb garden, and one corner is devoted to night flowers. Come on. Switch the lights off because you just have to see it in the moonlight.”
Rhian was intrigued, it sounded wonderfully exotic. Outside, Frankie steered Rhian to the right area, knelt down, and pointed to some round white flowers that were about three inches across.
“This patch is
“Nammu, send depth of thought,
“Undines of the water, grant concentration.”
This time Rhian kept a firm grip on reality when she felt the tingling in her fingers and toes. She forced off fatigue and kept her eyes wide open, but, even so, she seemed to see two realities simultaneously. Around her was a normal office, empty except for Frankie and herself. Overlaying it, a wild grey-green sea phased in and out. Huge white-topped waves swept over her head and then dropped away beneath her. Frothy faces formed in the in the surf. Watery fingers beckoned to her, but she resolutely ignored them, concentrating on reality. She dug her fingernails into her hands until they hurt. Pain was good. Pain was a friend. Pain was absolution.
Rhian checked her watch every few moments, and the illusion of time speeding by happened again. She was beginning to suspect that Frankie added some pretty powerful dank to her herbal mix.
Frankie’s voice faded into silence, and the seascape dimmed until it disappeared. Frankie hung her head as if she were exhausted. It was some time before she spoke.
“Will you rearrange the furniture, Rhian, while I rest for a bit? We must give the punters their money’s worth by showing them what they expect to see.”
Her voice was thick, like she had the first symptoms of a head cold.
“Sure, Frankie.”
Rhian pushed and pulled various objects around into artistic curves and patterns while Frankie watched.
“You’re a lot stronger than you look, aren’t you?” said Frankie. “You know, that went really rather well. I thought that this might be a difficult one, but it all worked first time. Do you notice any change in the office?”
Rhian considered. “Yes, it feels airy and light, and my headache’s gone.”
“There is nothing better than air and water magic for sick building syndrome,” said Frankie complacently.
It was Rhian’s night off, as Gary had another barmaid on the shift. Frankie prepared a potato salad, then she and Rhian shared a bottle of Californian rosé in the garden, watching the play of light as the day changed imperceptibly into twilight.
“Thank you for being so welcoming, but you don’t have to look after me,” Rhian said. “I am used to living on my own.”
“To be honest, it’s rather nice to have someone around,” Frankie said. “What with my work and Pete, my partner, I never really made civilian friends.”
“Civilians?” Rhian asked. “Were you in the army?”
“Good Lord, no,” Frankie said. “I worked for a close-knit organization, and civilians are what we called outsiders, silly really. How about you? What brought you to our fair neighborhood?”
“I just needed a fresh start.” Rhian shrugged.
“Boy trouble,” said Frankie, raising an eyebrow.
“There was someone, but it didn’t work out, so I left.” Her tone was designed to discourage further questions.
It was a moment Rhian relived over and over in her dreams. The heavy iron bar smashed James’ head, with the sound like you get from crushing a beer can. His skull pulped. Blood and dark brain matter spurted from the wound. The bar swung back for a second hit, trailing a fan of red droplets that glittered in the streetlights.
Frankie took the hint. She got up and, wandering to the curtains, peered around them. “The Moon’s up. Would you like to see my moon garden?”
“Moon garden?” Rhian asked.
Frankie was just full of strange surprises, as mad as a March hatter. Hang on, that wasn’t right. Frankie started talking again, interrupting Rhian’s thought process.
“Night flowers, Rhian. I have a witch’s herb garden, and one corner is devoted to night flowers. Come on. Switch the lights off because you just have to see it in the moonlight.”
Rhian was intrigued, it sounded wonderfully exotic. Outside, Frankie steered Rhian to the right area, knelt down, and pointed to some round white flowers that were about three inches across.
“This patch is
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