Mysfits Page 6

  "I don't think I'll ever get used to that," he said.

  "You'd be amazed at what you can get used to."

  "One thing I'll never get used to is Stimson on my back. If only he weren't so much bigger than me."

  Belle nodded. "We can work on that, too."

  "What--make me bigger?"

  "Not exactly."

  "Make him smaller?"

  She shook her head. "Spells with a quick pay-off use perception, not reality. It's easier to make you look bigger than it is to increase your mass." She squinted at him. "But that's another choice you'll have to make."

  "Then, do it. I'm tired of looking like a geek."

  ~*~

  Lunchtime at the mall: a two-hour period during which the Food Court traded all pretense of order for unrestrained bedlam. Pinckney sat two tables away from Bitsy and Mary Ann, wishing he had the courage to ask the redhead out. Maybe I will--once I make myself look bigger. He strained to hear them.

  "I've been doing it for a couple years," Mary Ann said. "It's a great way to make extra money."

  Bitsy said something he couldn't make out.

  Mary Ann nodded. "You're right. Most people would never think of doing it."

  Pinckney's heart beat a little faster. He abandoned the rest of his Filet o' Fish.

  "Just a couple nights a week. Stripping's not hard work, but I don't want to burn out, either."

  Oh, God, he thought, It's true!

  "I was hesitant the first time," she said, "but the customer never complained, so I guess I did it right. Now, it's easy!"

  How could you? Pinckney stood and backed away from the table. Mary Ann noticed him and waved. Rattled, he nodded, unable to speak. Bitsy stared him down.

  Pinckney fled.

  ~*~

  He'd only worked on the spell for two days when he saw results. Stimson came to work with a huge pimple on his forehead. It was Pinckney's proudest moment.

  The sore grew. On his lunch hour, Stimson tried to hide it with a Band-Aid, but the blister was too tender. By midday, its size had doubled, and Stimson was painfully self-conscious about it.

  "Wow, Charlie, nice zit," Pinckney said. "World class!"

  Stimson glowered at him.

  "And it's getting bigger!" Pinckney moved his chair away. "It won't explode, will it?" C'mon, squirm, you bastard.

  "Get lost," Stimson said.

  "I don't get off for another hour," Pinckney said. He lowered his voice. "Y'know, Charlie, it looks kinda phallic."

  Stimson frowned. "'Phallic?'"

  "Penis-like."

  Stimson lurched to his feet, threw open the middle drawer of his desk and ransacked it until he found a small mirror. He used it to examine the sore.

  Pinckney smiled. "You know how cruel people can be. Imagine the names they'll use to describe that!"

  Stimson stormed out, leaving Nevins in charge.

  Pinckney chuckled as Nevins sat at Stimson's cluttered desk. "What's so funny?"

  "Revenge," Pinckney said, leaning back in his chair.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "That king-size zit on Stimson's forehead."

  "What about it?"

  Pinckney tapped his chest. "I put it there."

  Nevins scowled. "Yeah, right."

  "It's true," Pinckney said. "Remember that next time you guys mess with me."

  At the end of his shift, Nevins called Stimson at home.

  ~*~

  The cuffs on Pinckney's new slacks dragged on the floor and the tips of his fingers were the only things visible at the end of his sleeves. "What's gives, Belle? I'm shrinking!"

  "Side effect," she said.

  "'Side effect'? How long does it last?"

  "That depends."

  "Can't you ever answer a question straight out?"

  She blinked large blue eyes. Using bottled water in the basin brought her image through in color. Her hair was a glossy black, her lips a soft, warm red.

  "Sorry," she said. "I forget you're still new at this, 'cause you're learning so fast."

  "I try."

  She smiled. "You've got image-casting down perfectly. It almost fools me. You look bigger than the day I first saw you. But we need to work on your confidence, especially with females."

  He stared at the floor. How are you supposed to react when you find out the girl you love is a fallen woman? He focused on his soiled cuffs, and then changed the subject. "What about these side effects?"

  "Magic requires energy--lots of it, especially when you're just learning. Until you can channel it from nature, The Art converts your body mass to energy."

  "How long does that go on?"

  "Until you learn how to avoid it."

  "Belle, you're doing it again!"

  She flinched. "How am I supposed to answer that? You might as well ask me how much a fish weighs."

  "Okay," he said, "at my present learning rate, how long will it take?"

  "It depends on the choices you make."

  "Belle!"

  "I'm serious. The more magic you use, the faster you'll shrink, and the less time you'll have to learn to avoid it."

  "What if I eat a lot, and exercise?"

  "And not cast any spells?"

  Pinckney considered it. "Maybe just some image-casting--"

  She looked away.

  "C'mon, Belle, I thought we were friends. How long will it take to learn what I need to know?"

  "On your own, picking it up as you go?"

  "Yeah."

  She cleared her throat. "A couple years, at least."

  Oh, swell. He scratched his chin. "What if you helped me--showed me what to work on?"

  She closed her eyes. "A few months. Four, maybe."

  "So, what's the problem?"

  "You..." She cleared her throat again. "It's...."

  "Just say it!"

  "You don't have four months."

  "What?" He stared at the face in the water. "Why not?"

  "I told you. It's the side effects. Every time you use The Art, it uses a little bit of you. It's not limited to spells. It applies to everything magic-related, even talking to me."

  "Even looking at the catalog?"

  "That, too."

  "Impossible!"

  Belle nodded. "Why do you think it's called magic?"

  "If you knew all along, why didn't you warn me?"

  Belle's eyes were downcast. "It's not allowed."

  "Some friend you are."

  "I don't make the rules! I can't follow some and break the others. It doesn't work that way."

  "But--"

  "Only you can make the choices. And you never chose to ask what the price would be."

  "Yes, but--"

  "I'm sorry," she said, "I wish it could be different."

  Pinckney was fighting off the shock and trying to be rational. "Is there anything else you haven't told me?"

  "Probably."

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  "It means you've got to be more specific."

  "You can't talk about anything I haven't specifically asked about?"

  She nodded.

  He folded his arms. "Then I'll just stop, completely. How 'bout that?"

  "There will still be some residual side effects, but once they've run their course it won't cost you any more energy."

  "So, if I stop now I won't shrink anymore?"

  "Not after the residual effects are over."

  Pinckney paced in front of the basin, trying to think of everything he needed to know. If he had to abandon magic, he'd get no more answers. "How much more will I shrink?"

  "The active effect is still in progress," Belle said, "the residual effects haven't started. By this time next month you'll be about half the size you were before."

  Pinckney stood in front of the basin, stunned. He'd always been smaller than most people. As a child it was the reason other kids picked on him. As an adult it cost him respect.

  And now I'll be half my normal size?

/>   "That's marvelous," he said, "just fucking marvelous." He slammed his fist on the kitchen counter. "What else is there? Will I grow an extra head or something? Turn into a giant garden slug? No, wait, not a giant slug, I won't have enough energy for that--I'll be the regular, turd-sized slug, right?"

  "No," Belle said. "There's only one other side effect."

  Pinckney whirled to face her. "There is?"

  She nodded. "Pigmentation."

  "Please, don't keep me in suspense. Are we shooting for any particular shade or will it change to suit the season?"

  "It's constant."

  "That's a relief, it'll make wardrobe selection so much easier." Stepping to the kitchen window, Pinckney held his bare arm to the light. The pink and purple of the tattoo were vivid, but he couldn't detect any change in his skin. "Well, do I have to guess, or should I just wait and let it be a surprise?"

  "Green," she said.

  He thought for a moment. "Dark or light? I'm rather partial to Kelly green, and forest green would be okay. But not chartreuse. You know--"

  "Like the catalog," Belle said.

  Pinckney's sarcasm fled as the realization sank in. "The cover, it's...."

  She nodded.

  "I need some time to think about this," he said.

  "You don't--"

  "Yeah. You told me."

  ~*~

  He had to find a new job. He'd soon be too small to push the carts. He could use magic, of course, as he did to maintain his image, but that would have to stop soon, too. He went to get his last check. After ten years, the only person I'll miss is Mary Ann.

  Nevins cornered him in the stock room. "Hey, Pinko, grab that stationery, will ya? Charlie's sick and we're way behind."

  "What's wrong with Charlie?"

  "I dunno. Some kinda infection." Nevins flipped through a stack of routing slips.

  But I canceled the spell! "I'm not feelin' too good myself," Pinckney said. Besides, stationery weighs a ton.

  "And here I thought you'd like a chance to spend some time with 'Little Miss Bump 'n Grind.'"

  "Mary Ann doesn't work in stationery."

  "She does now. There's gonna be a big sale in a few days, and they had to shift some of the sales people around."

  "You're sure?"

  "Of course," Nevins said. "Why? You suddenly feelin' better now?"

  "I dunno. But maybe I can work through it."

  When Nevins left, Pinckney dispersed the image he'd been projecting to save energy.

  He pushed on the freight hamper, but it barely moved. He leaned against it, flexed his knees, and shoved. Once moving, he could keep it going without too much strain. When he neared his destination, he projected a normal-sized image of himself.

  Bitsy Eshenbach was waiting. "Ah, the wunderkind. Late again. Couldn't they find someone reliable? Or big enough to deliver the cart on time?" She stared at her watch.

  He was too tired for intimidation. "Where's Mary Ann?"

  Bitsy didn't respond. Her watch had stopped. She tapped the crystal, then shook her wrist, sending shock waves through the cellulite on her arms.

  "I thought Mary Ann was working here today," he said.

  Holding her watch to her ear, Bitsy continued to look away. "What difference does it make? She's not interested in little boys--" she tapped her watch again, "--like you."

  Oh? He needed only a little extra concentration to project an image of himself that would have impressed Goliath.

  Bitsy looked up from her watch and stared straight into the chest of an eight-foot tall Pinckney. She tilted her head up, paled, and back-pedaled.

  He pitched his voice low. "Where's Mary Ann?"

  Bitsy's eyes expanded. "I don't-- I'll go get her."

  When she turned away, Pinckney ended the projection. Bitsy had barely cleared the corner when he heard Mary Ann. He shoved hard against the cart and managed to roll it into the main aisle.

  Bitsy looked as if she'd just been goosed, but Mary Ann didn't notice. She was too shaken. "I can't believe what I just heard," she said.

  "Believe what?" Pinckney asked from behind the cart. Bitsy squinted at him, then wandered away, muttering.

  "About Charlie Stimson."

  Pinckney frowned. "He called in sick."

  Mary Ann shook her head. "He's dead."

  "What? How?"

  "An infection. They say it went right to his brain."

  The carbuncle. Oh, my God!

  "I know you worked together." She put a hand on his arm. "Were you close?"

  "Uh, well--"

  She started to pull her hand away.

  "--yeah."

  She put her hand back. "Then you must know his family. He had, what--two kids? Three?"

  Charlie had children? "I don't know," Pinckney said, "he didn't talk much about his family."

  "It's a shame." She squeezed his arm. "I have to run. Just thought you'd want to know." She turned and walked away, the swing of her hips even and rhythmic.

  An image came, unbidden, into Pinckney's mind. While watching the departing redhead, he envisioned her on stage, naked, writhing to a tribal beat.

  My God, I've just killed a man, and all I can think about is Mary Ann Winston taking her clothes off?

  Pinckney ended his last day at Lemhoffer's prematurely.

  ~*~

  "I thought you were going to quit using magic." Belle's surprised face radiated from the dark surface of the water.

  "I was," Pinckney said, "but, things have changed. I-- I think I've killed someone."

  "The carbuncle, right?"

  He nodded. "The infection spread to his brain. Damn it, Belle, he had a family!" Pinckney had brooded about it all the way home. "We've gotta do something."

  "Like what--bring him back?" Belle shook her head. "It's been done, but it takes a Master."

  Pinckney stared hard at the image in the water, not quite willing to believe what he'd heard. "What'd you say?"

  "It takes a Master to bring someone back from the dead."

  "You mean it can be done?"

  "If you start soon enough, but it isn't easy."

  Pinckney straightened as hope flooded through him. "Let's do it!"

  "Ridiculous," Belle said. "Even if I knew how, there's no way you'd have the skill."

  "There's got to be a way! I didn't mean for Charlie to die--you know that. Belle, please, you've got to help me."

  "Why are you so upset? Didn't you say he was a jerk?"

  "I did, and he was, but that's not a hanging offense." Pinckney stood in front of the basin, head bowed. "He's got kids."

  "Where's the body?" Belle asked.

  "I dunno--at the hospital maybe, or the morgue."

  "It may be too late." She shook her head again. "When did he die? Any autopsy?"

  "I don't know."

  She closed her eyes. "How do you expect to bring him back if you don't know where the body is or what shape it's in?"

  "Twenty seconds ago I didn't even know it could be done!"

  "Okay, okay," Belle said. "But this is too big for me. I'll need help."

  "Fine. Do whatever you have to do."

  "That's your choice?"

  Pinckney nodded, then looked down at the tattoo on his arm. His skin had developed a greenish tint.

  "You're sure?" she asked. "The amount of energy required for this is, well..." She swallowed. "...total."

  Pinckney exhaled. "Yeah," he said. "It's just--"

  "What?"

  "I never did get to have lunch with Mary Ann."

  Belle smiled gently. "I'm sorry."

  Pinckney nodded.

  "We'd better get busy," she said. "Get the catalog and the vial. I'll have to pull you in and turn you over to my boss. He's a Master, and he owes me a favor."

  "Thanks."

  He retrieved the catalog and the vial and stood before the oddly shaped basin. Belle directed him to remove his shoes and socks and step in. "Put the catalog between your feet," she said.

  His
feet took up nearly all the space in the basin and water slopped over the sides. What remained in the basin was inky dark. Pinckney's legs appeared to end at the ankle.

  Though he couldn't see her face, Belle's voice still came through clear. "This is your last step. We'll do the rest from here. Now, open the vial and pour whatever's left on your head."

  "Will it hurt?"

  "No," Belle said, "you won't feel a thing."

  He poured, then waited for a moment.

  That's not true--it tingles.

  Then everything went away.

  ~*~

  In the crowded food court, Nevins and Stimson shared a cramped table. Bitsy and Mary Ann sat nearby. The women were examining a magazine about furniture restoration.

  "That's it!" Mary Ann pointed to an ad. "I wouldn't think of stripping with anything else. It's fast, easy to use, and cheap. Why don't you bring your chair over tomorrow night? I'll pop it in the tank and have it down to bare wood in no time."

  A few yards away, Stimson gazed longingly at Mary Ann. "What a babe."

  "Yeah," said Nevins. "No wonder that geek had a crush on her. By the way, did he ever come back to work?"

  Stimson shook his head. "No one's heard from him since the day you told Mary Ann I was dead."

  "That was a mistake."

  "Why?"

  "Because she hasn't spoken to me since I told her it was a joke." Nevins laughed. "I wonder if she's mad because we tricked Pinko or because you're still alive?"

  "Cute," Stimson said. "Now somebody's playin' tricks on me."

  Nevins quit laughing. "Oh?"

  "Yeah. I got this weird brochure in the mail the other day. Looks like it's made outta green skin."

  "No shit?"

  "That's not all. There's a tattoo on it." He swallowed. "It looks like the flower we had tattooed on Pinko's arm."

  "Oh, Lord," Nevins muttered.

  "Except," Stimson added, "this one had thorns."

  ~*~

  "Belle? Is that you?"

  "Yes. I'm glad to see you're awake."

  Pinckney sat up and looked around the cavernous room. Huge books with ancient bindings littered the wooden surface beneath him. Shelf-lined walls bulged with materials he remembered from the endless lists in the brochure.

  "Where am I?"

  Belle smiled. "With me."

  "But, I thought--"

  "Yeah. Me, too." She explained Stimson's last practical joke. "Since we didn't revivify him, we had a good bit of you left. Not enough to return you to your world, but enough to keep you going." She winked at him. "Guys like you are hard to find."

  Pinckney glanced at his arm, which had turned a rich, deep green. The tattoo, however, was gone. He stood and walked to the nearest book, a leather-bound tome with no title. He tried to raise the cover, but it felt like lifting an oak table. He dropped it and scratched his head. "Everything's so big!"