Gloaming: 2

2.

Adrian pulled the hood of the snowsuit up again. “Do you like hot chocolate?”
        “Look, I never said you had to believe me,” I snapped.
        He stood up, shoving the scarf into a pocket. “I do.”
        “Just like that? I saw a groundhog that didn’t have a shadow!”
        “I know you did.”
        I stood as well. He didn’t fall back, this time. “What?” My voice was almost as quiet as his normally was. My mom does that, when she’s really angry: she just gets quiet and cold, and I’d never thought I had it in me to do the same before now.
        Adrian sighed, not moving. “Can we talk about this somewhere else, inside?”
        “There’s a coffee shop on the corner of Six and Eight,” I said, still quiet, “and you are going to talk. Got it?”
        “Yes.”
        I marched towards the coffee shop, then had to stop and wait for him to catch up.
        “Thank you,” he said. “It’s hard to walk in large shoes.”
        I said nothing and we reached the coffee shop in silence.
        The Coffee Place was your average downscale hole in the wall; all the drinks were in mugs or takeaway, the coffee was just listed as coffee, and even called itself small, medium, and large instead of other sizes that impressed no one. They didn’t even serve tea, believing it was a way of ripping people off. They did make awesome hot chocolate though.
        I got two hot chocolates while he claimed the chairs by the fire and peeled off the snowsuit and a sweater. I walked back as he was putting his shoes back on.
        “Three pairs of socks?” I said as he finished putting the second boot back on.
        “Yes.” He wrapped his hands around the coffee mug and inhaled the aroma of the hot chocolate for a few moments before looking up at me. “I couldn’t ask until today.”
        “About what I saw?”
        Adrian licked his lips. “Would you have been back tomorrow?”
        His gaze was just a gaze this time, but even so: “Yes,” I said. “I don’t know why.”
        “It is dangerous.”
        “Coming back to the field, or not knowing why?”
        That won the hint of a smile. “Both.”
        “You saw the - the groundhog too?”
        He shook his head. “Not then. I saw where its shadow went., when I saw you. But you want answers, and the groundhog can’t give them.”
        “Because it’s a groundhog, maybe?” I said.
        “That, and you have his shadow.”
        “I stole the groundhog’s shadow.” Adrian nodded, then took a sip of his hot chocolate. “That makes no goddamned sense!”
        “The groundhog you saw did not have a shadow,” he said. “The shadow has to be somewhere, correct?”
        “Don’t shit with me,” I snapped, grabbing his arm when he reached for his coffee again. “You don’t try to pull logic out of your - your ass after telling me I stole a shadow!”
        Adrian stared at me, then his arm, then said: “Could you let go? You’re hurting my arm.”
        I blinked, then let go as he rubbed it with his other arm, looking paler than he had earlier.
        “I --.”
        “Don’t. I’m sorry.” He picked up the mug again, wincing a little and trying to hide that. “I told you I had a medical condition, right?”
        “You look kind of thin,” I said.
        He shook his head. “I’m not -- strong, if that’s what you mean. But that’s just me, not other things. I see things that as they are.”
        I waited, he said nothing else. “That’s a medical condition?”
        “Most people don’t. They see what they want to, or have been conditioned to, or --.” He frowned, thinking. “If one person says they saw a ghost, the chances are that others will follow suit. Mass hallucination. People see what they want to, not what is actually present.”
        “Including, what, captive shadows?” I tried, but the sarcasm was utterly wasted.
        “Yes.”
        “So it involves being sorry how, exactly?”
        “I’ve never had to explain it; I don’t think I’m doing a good job.” Adrian set his empty cup down on the table and looked at it.
        “You buy the second one,” I said.
        Adrian looked up at that. “I guess telling isn’t enough,” he said a few moments later, picking up the mug. Steam came out of it.
        I stopped him before he could drink from it, not caring how it looked to the staff.
        “It’s only half full,” he said, showing it to me. “And not as good. Magic is a lot of things, but it’s no longer a way into Eden by the back door.”
        I stared, then watched as my mug was suddenly almost half full as well. Adrian set his own down quickly, but I caught the slight tremble to the cup before he did.
        “It’s not easy then?”
        “Not in the normal world, and definitely not doing things on the fly like that.” He picked the mug up again with both hands. “The gloaming is gathering around you, because of what you saw and refused to unsee. Magic, in other words, from where magic went to die.”
        I took a drink of the hot chocolate, trying to gather my thoughts. It was a little watery. I took a drink of it, feeling a little better, and said the words all parents hate to hear: “Why me?”
        He gave a half shrug,. “I don’t know.” He looked up from his drink “It wasn’t an accident though. Somehow the groundhog’s shadow entered your own before you saw the groundhog. You did it, or she did, or something else.”
        “I like accidents,” I said, quoting Duncan. “They’re good for blaming other people.”
        Adrian shook his head, taking another sip of his drink. “When it comes to magic, there aren’t any accidents. There is the gloaming proper, magic, fate, destiny, the influence of gods and powers, dreams and wishes, us and our potentials ... a lot of things.”
        “Even the stars?” I said.
        “What?”
        “I had a really good horoscope today.”
        Adrian stared at me for a long moment. “No.”
        “So, astrology --?”
        “Just because magic is real don’t mean some things aren’t bunk,” he said tightly.
        “So,” I said, “what about chakras?” Adrian just stared at me. “Okay, then. I sort of feel better, actually. How much is ‘bunk’?”
        Adrian shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure. People can become aware of the gloaming on small levels, and see it through their own beliefs. It could manifest as chakras, for that, responding to need and desire.”
        “But the map isn’t the territory,” I said.
        Adrian smiled slightly for a moment. “Definitely not. And some of the stuff that isn’t real about magic is deliberate, like auras.”
        “My mom has seen auras,” I said.
        “Then she saw what she wanted. They’re actually a myth invented by magicians. Put out word auras exist, and those who ‘see’ them aren’t suitable candidates for real magic.”
        “But auras have been reported for longer than magicians would make made this myth, right? I’ve had enough lectures from my mom on Saint Hildegard and the like.”
        “Migraine aura art. You have a migraine, you translate it into art. Normal headaches probably work to, but it’s where magicians got the idea from. I think the whole holy auras for people and such is just what it seems to be, artistic licence. And how people translate what they see in their heads, making it bearable, normal. Making the wondrous mundane.”
        “Which would be why everyone knows about auras,” I said slowly, putting down my empty mug. “They are mundane now, at a certain level.”
        “Yes. At least, that’s my understanding of it.” Adrian finished his drink and started putting his snowsuit back on.
        “You never said why you really had to come outside and bug me,” I said.
        “You’re attracting the gloaming to you,” he said, wiggling his right arm into the snowsuit. I fought the urge to giggle and helped him instead.
        “Thank you,” he said once we were done.
        “Spill.”
        “Magic is dying. But it dies slowly,” he said as I opened the door, following me outside. “Like gods, long and slow. And it doesn’t want to die, so when people become aware that things aren’t kosher, it latches onto that sometimes. Puts more magic into the world, uses your confusion as desire. Things will begin to happen around you, the magic tough other people. They might find it normal, or not. And eventually ...”
        “Eventually what?”
        “I don’t know. I imagine the result is different for everyone. I thought someone should warn you, in case -- before -- it started to happen to you. That was it. I should get home now.”
        I nodded to him, thanked him, and went to catch up on lost sleep.
        And sometimes, hearing is like sight. We hear what we want to, or don’t hear what is really said. I’m not sure what would have happened, if I’d known what he meant then. Maybe it would have turned out differently. I don’t know. And even if I could know, I think it would hurt too much to know.