The New Magic - The Revelation of Jonah McAllister, Landon Wark [10 best novels of all time .TXT] 📗

song. It seemed strange to him that people would enjoy jumping around and wriggling their bodies. He began to wonder what would happen if they knew the things he knew.

If they could have seen the wall in his apartment explode would they keep dancing? If they knew the source of the money that had bought the drink in his hand would they stop drinking theirs, or would they take to them with new zeal?

You're not supposed to be thinking about these things, he thought.

Suddenly the music was too loud, and the people were passing far too close. He did not want to be alone, but this place was pressing in on him uncomfortably. Judging by the frost on the sliding glass door to the balcony outside he knew the air would be freezing, but he was more attracted to the openness of the outside than he was adverse to the cold.

He crossed the floor, largely ignored by the dancing bodies that inhabited it, brushed past the guests at the tables and carefully slid the door open, stepping through with a healthy respect for the ice that had gathered on the cement floor.

As expected, the air was freezing and he was not as alone as he had hoped. Nearly half a dozen others, cigarettes frozen to their lips were already there, hugging their arms to their chests in between sucking on the glowing tubes. One nudged past him, quickly closing the door again as he disappeared inside.

Jonah worked his way over to the railing separating the balcony from the open sky beyond. He rested his arms on the railing and stared out into the night at the buildings surrounding the hotel.

He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be back home leafing through the contents of that cursed notebook. But it was too dangerous. He needed help. He needed someone to trust. With a glance over his shoulder Jonah wondered exactly how it was possible for them. What made it so easy for them to be around other people?

“Can I ask you for a light?”

He turned and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Standing behind him, cigarette clutched in her trembling fingers, was a small brunette that he recognized from the lab down the hall. The slight breeze whipped the hem of her dress against her legs and she staggered a little with her heels on the snow and ice. On any ordinary occasion his heart might have hammered away at his chest, but his mind was nearing exhaustion and he would really rather she didn't see it.

“Uh, I don’t smoke,” he replied, waiting for her to leave. Then he added, “Just wanted some fresh air.”

She looked around at the others, shuddering on the balcony. “Not much of that out here,” she replied.

“You don’t have a lighter?” he asked. “Seems like something you might want to have with you.”

Inside he was frowning. He had never considered himself charismatic and was pretty sure no one else did either, but his lack of tact surprised even him. There was an instant chastising somewhere in the back of his mind.

She pulled a plastic bic out the purse she was pawing through and shook it. “Empty.”

“Oh,” he muttered. “Sorry.”

She was about to turn away when he was struck by an idea. Startled at both the quickness and the brazenness with which it came, for a moment he was unable to speak, but finally-

“Let me see that.” He motioned to the cigarette she still had clamped between her index and middle fingers.

She shrugged and handed it to him. He held it as if it were a stick of dynamite, closing both hands around it so that no part of it was visible. Before he could think of the ten thousands reasons not to do it he held his mouth close to his hands and hissed a fraction of the nonsense that had ignited the magazine days earlier in the department store. He was certain she couldn’t hear, but she leaned in as if attempting to. Instantly he pulled his face away, struck by the disgusting sweet smell of nicotine. His hand came away almost as fast at the feeling of heat and the certainty that he had blistered his palm. But the hand was untouched and the paper tube glowed red as he handed it back to her. She raised an eyebrow but accepted it anyway.

“So are you like a magician or something?” she asked in a long exhale.

He could see now that she was older than he was, perhaps by as much as a few years.

He harrumphed at the cheap, tawdry word. “Yeah, I’m performing at the bar mitzvah down the hall.”

“Hmmm. A sarcastic magician, repeat business mustn’t be an issue for you then.”

He sighed. "I don't mean to be. Sarcastic that is."

“I’ve seen you around the building,” she muttered. “But you’re never at any of the seminars or grad association meetings.”

“I’m an undergrad,” he winced. What a stupid thing to be ashamed of. But nonetheless her mood suddenly shifted and she seemed all too eager to slip away.

“Oh…” her voice trailed off. “Anyway, thanks for the light.”

He was glad for her departure, at least for the moment. His need for solitude waned for a moment, half because of the knowledge that his mind was running in circles, going over the same thoughts again and again and half because of some unknown reason, something at which he could only guess.

"I need help," he said, half to the empty space off the terrace.

She paused for an instant. "I'm not great with help."

"Advice then." His brain spun. Where exactly was his mouth going with this? Was he going to tell her everything? "There's..." He hedged at the last moment. "Something I'm working on and... I don't know if I can keep doing it."

"Oh yeah?