Sylvie Asleton and the Shrike's Curse by James T Callum

Author:James T Callum [Callum, James T]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-09-23T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

By the time Sylvie had gotten to Central Park the sun had already begun its final descent behind the city’s skyline. The subway was more crowded than she had figured and the afternoon rush had held her up at every turn.

She hurried through the crowds of people and wondered how odd she might have looked if she’d taken a duffel bag or backpack as she thought she would before she saw the break-in. She caught a few people with heavy burdens but they weren’t going towards the Pond as she was. She briefly tried to match their faces with those she’d seen in the exam but turned up nothing. The lush greenery of the trees to either side of the wide road lined with benches filled her with a sense of calm.

The only thing of value she had on her was her father’s key. Her phone wasn’t really worth that much. It was a few years old which made it worth more as a paperweight than anything to be sold. As if the thought brought it to her mind the duct tape around her thigh started to come undone. The oppressive sweat-inducing air was working its magic.

She could feel it stick, unstick, and then stick again. It was decidedly unpleasant but there was an odd sense of relief when it unstuck. She noticed a few guys walking by with the same awkward gait as her own. She stifled a giggle as she realized why. She finally understood what it was like to be a guy on a steamy hot New York day.

Despite everything that had happened she still felt a thrill of excitement. She was going to learn Magic. She could scarcely believe it was real and that she wasn’t delusional. All her life she had felt like the walls were closing in on her. As if every choice she made, every effort she took to better herself ended only in failure and an increasingly coffin-like life of poverty, pain, and mental illness.

Ever since her parents’ death she had spiraled into deepening depression. She feared she’d be lost in the dark recesses of the world where all the forgotten things eventually wound up. She’d dreamt of horrible places, dark and dreadful, that had creatures thought long-lost.

They haunted her dreams still.

The medication helped her to remember that those were just dreams and not reality. But did little for her depression. When she took them she felt as if they reinforced a sort of bulwark around her fragile mind. It was like she could better endure the dark depths of despair and climb her way back out. When she had to go without them she feared she’d never be able to see the light again. It had gotten worse over the last year. So much so that she made it her top priority to always have her medication. Often at the cost of other needs.

She was living the American dream all right.

Even recalling the dark paths she’d trod did not diminish the electric excitement buzzing in her.

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