Date: Fri, 27 Jun 2003 16:18:04 -0700 (PDT) From: Cillian Mayfair Subject: Magnus part 5 And then Bianca came. Her shadow preceded her as she stepped from brighter hallways into darker rooms, melting away as it met with its elder brethren, infecting her with the blackness that surrounded us all. She walked slowly and each delicately crafted step echoed on the wooden floor, challenging the ticking of the seconds to slow down to her pace and meet her. It was a battle she won effortlessly as most things she did seemed to be. As the echoes of her arrival drew closer, I noticed strangely enough that she had not spoken my name, not called aloud to see if I was even home. She was silent, and the echoes spoke for her. They were deliberate and uncompromising, determined and resolute. It was a peculiar thought to have, her omission of announcement, considering the scale of the events at hand. I do not know where it came from, but it hung, pendulous somewhere in my mind, refusing to go away. I did not realise the paralysis that had set upon me till I felt him move. He moved away from me, to my side and sat up, reminding me once more that I had done nothing of the sort. The instinct of hiding that which had become so suddenly obvious did not occur to me. I lay as I had lain beneath him, waiting. She wore flowing white; out of place in the dim confines of my little theatre of complications. It was dazzlingly simple, the contrast reminding me of a spider's web I had once held white paper behind to be better able to appreciate the miracle of weaving that it was. It spoke volumes of how clear eyed Athena was dead and gone, but Arachne lived still, having fulfilled her boast and thus defied the gods. But now that this dead goddess had come back to life, she appeared placid, calm and unruffled. She stood for a while in the doorway, hovering between light and darkness, perhaps hesitating or perhaps merely observing the scene before her. She then took her step into the room, the white of her dress reflecting what little light streamed in through the window, making the chamber brighter than it was before. Her hair blew backwards revealing the contours of her face, and the evolution of a smile I could not decipher. She headed for a chair and once enthroned thus turned her head in our direction. She did not speak for a while, maintaining a regal silence. And then her voice reached me as if from far away. "How are you Vincent?" She said. Her voice was strange to me, dark, yet affectionate, a delicious mix of night and moonlight. I still could not understand why she smiled so. Why she had no reaction to Magnus, why she seemed calm. I could do nothing to comprehend her motives, thus I chose simply to answer her question. "I am better now." "No doubt." She said, her gaze resting on the shadows that surrounded him and me. There was a pause once more, and I saw Magnus look away from her, unable to meet her eye any longer perhaps. It made me wonder what she was thinking, what she had somehow communicated to him without words that had made him turn away. "What do you see Bianca?" I asked, unable to resist the temptation to know her mind. "Blood, alcohol and a broken glass; never a good combination." She replied, her tone unchanging from the serene whisper it had started out as. It struck me how different she looked from that person I had once helped carry her luggage, from the person whom I had driven home one night after my parents fell in love with her. She did not look like any of those things. She was a ghost now, but a potent one, in white. "What else do you see?" I asked. "I see you have company." She said. Magnus turned to face her now. From my position it was not possible for me to perceive the glance they exchanged, but I could feel it was a powerful one; of formidable potential foes looking one another in the eye, trying to gauge the other's conviction. "How are you Magnus?" She asked. He smiled, a beautiful smile that matched her own. "I am as well as you are." Her smile faded for a second as her eyes grew more intensely green. It was as if she had come to a realisation that brushed aside all doubts. It was as if she saw something mirrored in his words to her that far exceeded their literal meaning. But this lasted for a moment only and she regained her smile quickly enough for it to have made negligible difference. "I do not know much of you Magnus that does not come from Vincent himself, but paints a vivid portrait of you. I am saddened by the fact that we have not spent much time together, you and me. It is something I hope to remedy." "By all means ma chère. It would be a pleasure to sacrifice my relationship with the library for one as fair as you." At this she laughed, throwing her head back, exposing a delicate ivory throat that synchronised itself with the ebb and flow of her breaths. "A charmer to the end, eh Cajun?" "I try." He smiled back. "Of that I have no doubt. But you look tired Magnus; perhaps you have tried enough for one night. I think you should save your charms rather than exhaust them all upon me. I have a few friends who are dying to meet you." "Ah, so you come as Cupid do you? And here I thought I would die a bachelor." "I come as myself Magnus, and I shall do my best to see that your fear of being single is resolved, though I cannot promise you will survive the process if you do not get some rest first." "Perhaps you are right, but tell me, are your friends that bad, that they would bring about my death?" She laughed once more, and her voice lifted the darkness for a moment. "People die of many things Magnus, pain, hatred, suffering, betrayal, hope, and yes, even love. But I have high hopes for you. You seem strong enough to bear them all. But come now; let me call you a cab. You must rest. It is late, and I must tend to Vincent's hand. His mother would never forgive me if a scar were to form upon her perfect son." "I think I'll walk Bianca." "It's not safe to walk alone at this hour Magnus, and besides you are both very drunk. I will call you cab. Meet me tomorrow for lunch. I know Vincent has a class then, so we shall be spared his company," she said jestingly. "As you wish, your majesty." He said, matching her tone. She stood for the chair in a gesture of such sublime grace as I doubt I have ever seen before. The echo of her walk rang through the air once more as she moved towards the telephone. Slender fingers with tapered nails of polished silver grasped the receiver as she dialled, the very tone of the buttons transformed under her hands to a delicious lullaby. Then she spoke in equally silver tones, and the tinkle of her voice made me forget her words. I felt tired, fatigued and shattered all at once. Though I had been lying still, the ache of parting mingles with the joy of reunion created a curious sensation that left me drained. I remember not what happened after, but before he left, he knelt over me one last time, and I felt the warm brush of his lips against my forehead. They lingered there, perhaps a little longer than they should have but I was grateful for the liquid they marked me with. She watched on, smiling as before, infuriating yet beguiling simultaneously. A dead goddess risen to reclaim the forest that had once been hers. Out of place then, but confident she would restore it to its past grandeur. I watched them both without being able to move, to reciprocate his actions or meet her gaze. I lay just as I was, thinking perhaps that this was what it must feel like to die. To finally watch events concerning my own life unfold before me without the power to give them shape. Yes, this must be death, or something similar. He moved towards the door which she held open for him, letting in unwelcome light that was sacred to her. It pierced my eyes like a thousand needles, and I had to fight to keep them alive long enough to watch the departure. As he stepped out into her domain, the lighted hallway, my blood glistening on his shirt like Indian vermillion, she grasped his arm and drew him towards herself into an embrace that both shocked and relieved me. I realised that this might be the happiest moment of my life. To watch my beloved duo thus entwined, almost one, almost perfect apart, and flawless together. But then they parted, and the world was as it was once more, real, imperfect and flawed. As I heard the closing of the door announce his departure, she walked towards me, towering over where I lay for ages before seating herself next to me. A scent of jasmine, delicate and fragile, brushed my senses a prelude to her hand, which did the same to my face. Her nails then delicately trailed down to my hand, where the wound lay open, awaiting attention. "What do I see Vincent?" She whispered. "Blood, alcohol and something broken?" I slurred in reply. "Yes, something broken. There is not much blood anymore, and the bottle is empty, but yes, I see something broken." As she disinfected my hand with a moist cotton ball, a searing pain shot up my arm. It did not go away as she wrapped my hand in bandages, soothing whispers all but useless to contain the pain that had travelled now into my chest and was making it hard to breathe. There was nothing to do but cry I suppose, and so I did without knowing it at first, and only realising when I felt the wetness travel down the sides of my face. Once acknowledged however, it turned into a river, free and un-dammed that brought with it the vocal affirmation of choked sobs. She held me to her with my face buried in the darkness of her hair, a temporary release from the light of her world, and there we lay till Remy finally took me away from sobs to the dreams of simpler days.