37: Imperfect Recall, part II
“Man, you’re one creepy lady,”
Theseus was pushing around a wheelbarrow filled with bricks as part of his weekend job helping renovate and restore run-down houses. He stopped by an incomplete wall and began sloshing wet concrete over the exposed bricks.
“So you haven’t noticed anything then?” asked Phantasia, preparing herself for disappointment.
“Sure I have,” he said, fixing some new bricks into place, “Ain’t much going on round these parts you can’t call ‘weird’. Don’t think I’ve seen much weirder than that time you stopped Kaori and Shelley offing themselves by shouting at thin air, mind. Even that whole Godhand crap was tame by comparison!”
He was still busy arranging the bricks as he spoke, as if he were telling some everyday anecdote rather than recalling events he wasn’t supposed to remember. Phantasia focused on his aura, shifting her vision from one plane to the next to get the clearest image possible. There was no sign of confusion, no residue from the magic, nothing to suggest he’d ever been affected.
“People keep forgetting that stuff happened,” she said.
“Yeah, I noticed,” said Theseus, “I did too ’til Amanda set me right. One good thing ’bout her following those Godhand freaks about is that they’ve taught her stuff to prevent crap like that memory loss happening. She passed that on to me and now I’m pretty much immune. Said I had natural immunity this sorta thing anyway, but you know I ain’t big on that sorta talk,”
Theseus had been immune to the power of the leansídhe, something Phantasia had always put down to his disbelief and cynicism rather than some inner strength. This was certainly an eye-opening revelation.
“But I thought you didn’t believe anything like that?” she said, making sure not to sound like she was teasing him.
“Who said I did?” he retorted, “Sure, I don’t believe in a lot of that shit Phoenie sprouts about ghosts and demons and magic, but there ain’t nothing wrong with believing in your own internal energy. You know, chi? I’m a nidan, martial arts are all about that stuff.”
He finished laying his bricks and rolled his wheelbarrow over to collect some more. “Look, I ain’t saying anything about this shit to anyone else yet ’cause I don’t want them thinking I’m paranoid – or worse Phoenie getting it into her head that she’s turned me around! It don’t matter if its demons or mutants, or magic or technology, if those guys keep messing around with that crap then they’re gonna get hurt.” He dropped the handles on the wheelbarrow and flexed his muscles. “Why else d’ya think I got these for? Someone’s gotta take this shit seriously,”
***
Phantasia stood outside the front door of the Rogan household, pondering the best course of action. If she’d had another year to study human customs perhaps she would’ve been able to learn these things. Maybe it was time to use the logical reasoning she’d grown up around: her friends had let themselves into her church several times now, so that meant it must be okay to let yourself in and then announce your presence!
Or maybe not as, no sooner had she closed the door behind her, a brute of a man wielding a knife crashed out of a door to confront her. Over six feet tall, with cropped blonde hair and tanned skin dotted with battle scars, he looked nothing like she’d expected from Phoenie’s father. If it wasn’t for the familiar aura coming from above, Phantasia might have questioned whether she was even in the right house!
“Who the fuck are you?” demanded the man, spitting each word with a permanent sneer on his lips.
