Untitled

“You’re not a sorcerer,” Marla said bluntly. “You don’t hold yourself like someone who
uses power. I can see that. Maybe you’ve heard some things, seen some things, maybe
you’re a third-rate seer, even, but you can’t be any help to me, and you’re not a threat to
me, either. I’m incredibly busy. I have to go. I’d suggest you stay away from me, no
matter what your dreams say. The last thing I need is the additional complication of
your presence. I am simply too busy to be interested in you. Come on, Rondeau.” She
walked away.
“Sorry, man,” Rondeau said behind her. “She’s a woman with a mission. I love your
work, really.”
Rondeau caught up with her farther down the block. “Bitch,” he said amiably.
“Starfucker,” she replied.
“I wonder if that psychic streak is what ruined his movie career?” Rondeau said.
“Probably. Poor bastard. Neither one thing nor the other. At least you and me, we’re up
to our foreheads in magic, it’s our element, we can breathe in it. He’s probably been
having dreams and seeing shit his whole life, but not strongly enough for any sorcerer to
bother seeking him out to mentor him, so he’s not part of our world, but he’s too weird
for the ordinaries, too.”
“Pretty eyes, though,” Rondeau said.
Marla laughed.
After Marla left, B seriously considered taking a train back to the East Bay and going
about the regular business of his life: reading history and mythology books, sleeping as
much as possible, sifting through his dreams. What difference did it make to him what
happened to Marla? But he knew his life was tangled up in hers for the next few days,
that causes already past had led to effects that were as yet unnoticed. She didn’t want to
acknowledge that, didn’t believe it—fair enough. Things would become clear to her
later. He just wanted to get through these next days, and see Marla get through them.
Because if she didn’t, San Francisco would suffer a disaster that would make the 1906
earthquake and fire seem trivial. After all, those nested catastrophes had only destroyed
a third of the city. Things were likely to be a lot worse this time, and these days there
was a lot more city to be destroyed. B had no great affection for San Francisco, but that
was mostly because it was the center of his old life, when he’d worked in the movies
and lived with his lover, H. Now he lived across the bay, in Oakland, where H had died,
where the ghost that B was most responsible for resided. Even so, he’d had one of those
dreams, and he knew from past experience there was no getting out of it—even if he
tried to run away, events would conspire to draw him in.
He had the feeling Marla could be difficult to find if she wanted to be, and B wasn’t
much good at tracking people down. Fortunately, he had other methods. It was never
very difficult to find an oracle, or a minor spirit, or a cryptophyte that could provide him
with information. After wandering through various alleys, he noticed a huge metal trash