Discovering Magic, page 9
part #2 of Anaïs Blue Series
They had made their journey swiftly. She wasn’t certain how far they had travelled but it seemed to have been a great distance. They had only made one stop at a fuelling station. Not to provide the car with any nourishment; the librarian had needed sustenance. The rumbling of her stomach had become so acute it had threatened to drown out the noise of the engine.
Surprisingly the Morris Minor was in need of nothing. Its fuel gauge had not moved for the entire trip. During their stop Anaïs had taken a careful look at it. The hand on the dial was nestled hard up against the top position. It was slightly bent as if trying to force its way beyond the full position. Whatever magical fumes the car ran on must have been extremely powerful.
The Morris Minor had sat idling impatiently in the parking lot whilst the librarian went to get some food. She had barely received her order when it had begun tooting its horn, insisting she return. Clearly the car was on a mission to get them to their destination as quickly as possible. The librarian had come running back and demanded to know what all the noise was about. Anaïs had shrugged and explained that the car was in charge and not her. This had set off another altercation between them. The car had attempted to silence them by revving its engine. When this proved fruitless it had engaged its gear and started to trundle to the exit of the parking lot and back to the highway. Apparently the Morris Minor was not only on a tight schedule but also had an aversion to bickering.
The librarian had been forced to run after the vehicle. Clacking wonkily along on her high heels, with a mountain of food in her arms, she had caught up with the car as it started to accelerate. She had thrown herself through the open door into the front seat. The librarian had yelled and cursed at the vehicle. It had slammed the driver’s door shut, narrowly avoiding slicing off her leg which had been hanging out of the car. She pulled in the trailing limb just in time. The door shut on the shoulder of her coat. The Morris Minor engaged the locks and refused to open its door. Immi had been forced to sit with one ear pressed to the driver’s side window. She had smouldered in silence for the remainder of the journey.
Anaïs began to take a shine to the car. It seemed to be the only thing that could successfully quell the librarian’s insipid comments. She knew, however, that the vehicle would not take sides. She also needed to be wary of what she said to it. Nevertheless, she liked its style.
The Morris Minor left the arterial roads and entered the streets of Barcelona proper. It wound its way through small streets and then onto long, dead-straight boulevards. Anaïs watched the blocks of buildings flash by. They gradually changed from an austere style to something more ornate. The architecture seemed to be taking them back in time. It was then she saw the strangest thing sticking out above the buildings. It was enormous. A set of church spires unlike any she had seen before. Almost like trees in a small forest, they towered above their surroundings. They were honeycombed and, rather than topped with crosses, they were decorated with what looked like flowers. There was something entirely organic about the structure.
Anaïs’s jaw dropped. The librarian saw it as well, and the snarl which had been fixed on her face for most of the trip was replaced with a look of astonishment. The Morris Minor slowed and rounded a final corner, revealing the entire building before them. It parked across the road from what appeared to be the main entrance, although this was difficult to ascertain. Sections of it were lit up and, when the late afternoon sun dipped behind a cloud and more artificial light appeared, the church seemed to be in a state of transformation.
Anaïs climbed out of the car and looked up at the huge building before her. ‘What kind of magic is this?’
‘Very human magic,’ said the nanny, now standing beside the little witch. ‘I’ve seen this before, many years ago, but then it was so different. There was not so much of it. They have been busy. Anaïs, this is one of the wonders of the real world. This is La Sagrada Familia.’
THE ARCHITECT
‘Permís! Excuse me. You’re in my way.’
The man behind Anaïs sat on the fence with a writing block on his lap. He waved her to move. His brow was furrowed. He looked irritated, even through his camouflage.
He persisted, not looking directly at her but over her shoulder. He waved his hand in the air. ‘I can’t see.’
Anaïs stepped to one side. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
The shade did not look at her but from his sketch pad to the enormous building in front of him. He cocked his head to one side and compared the images. His eyes flicked from pad to building and back again.
Anaïs was irritated herself. The guy was rude. ‘I said I’m sorry,’ she repeated forcefully.
‘Sí, sí, gràcies.’ He brushed her off and buried his head in his work.
She wondered what he would have done if a natural had stood in his line of sight. He would not be able to tell one of them to move. Here was another shade who had picked her out of the crowd. He knew she was a witch. This was becoming all too commonplace. It bothered her and she felt exposed. She looked around to see if anyone else was looking at them. Nobody was.
They were across the road and far enough down the street not to be caught in the crowd of tourists. Packs of them milled around in front of the basilica. Couples on their honeymoons and families with teenage children took turns taking snapshots of one another. Anaïs’s attention was drawn to a particularly handsome teenage boy. He was to die for. Spanish boys were dreamy. There was something about their dark looks that did it for her. He was putting on an act of being overly-cool. She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows. He saw the look and it threw him. He blushed and then looked confused, registering her apparent age. He regained his composure and turned his back on her.
Anaïs turned red, realising her place. Her teenage hormones were going haywire and it took all her concentration to get a handle on them. She had to find a way to curb her desires. She had to make an effort to act her physical age or it would get her in trouble.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts and turned back to the shade. That was where her focus should be. The man was balanced precariously on the thin top rung of the metal fence. He almost floated there, his feet not touching the ground. He rocked backwards and forwards as he sketched. She watched him work.
His hand glided effortlessly over the page. Black ink began to fill the empty white slate. At first he moved slowly and then he sped up. He worked furiously on his artwork, pausing every now and then to assess the building in front of him before diving back into his drawing. His hand eventually began moving so fast she could barely see it. The image on the page miraculously appeared by itself. It was beautiful and the detail was incredible.
This is no ordinary street artist, thought Anaïs.
He spat and cursed to himself. ‘Renoi! They have it wrong again. Why can’t they just stick to the plans?’
He ripped the page out of the pad and scrunched it up into a ball. Anaïs was mystified. How was it he could influence a physical object? He threw the ball of paper with all his might and nearly lost his balance, almost toppling backwards off the fence. The paper ball flew in a long arc towards the crowd of tourists across the street. Before it hit one of them it vanished.
So the writing materials were not real. Or, at least, they were not part of his camouflage. They were part of what lay beneath. Perhaps her powers of perception were increasing. Could it be that as she grew, she would start to see less and less of a shade’s camouflage?
This could present a problem. If she could no longer see what the normal world saw, how would she know how to react to people? With her previous shade experience, she had been able to explain to the shade’s daughter that what she saw before her was not really her father. She had been able to pass him off as just some old man. If this changed, if she didn’t know what a shade looked like in disguise, how would she know what to say?
She turned her attention back to the shade in hand. He had jumped down from the fence and was stuffing his sketchbook into his jacket. He went to leave and she moved to stop him.
‘Excuse me, sir?’
He stopped and looked at her. ‘Sí? Can I help you?’
‘Maybe.’ She paused to consider him. He looked like a beggar. His suit was shabby and white beard unkempt. She wondered if she was seeing a disguise at all. The way his eyes twinkled seemed far too real. Perhaps this was the real him.
‘Just a moment please,’ she said.
She fumbled around in her beret and found what she was looking for. She pulled out her sunglasses and slipped them on. She was startled to see no discernible change in his appearance.
‘Do you know who you are?’ she enquired.
He puffed out his chest and knotted his brow as if insulted. ‘Of course! Why should I not know that?’
Anaïs was not sure what he really knew and said gently, ‘You do know you’re dead?’
‘Sí, sí.’ He chewed on his bottom lip, played with his beard and nodded his head gravely. ‘I know. It is a curse but it is, how you say it, the way things are?’ He brightened and smiled. ‘It is good. I am happy. I can continue my work. I take it as a blessing.’
‘But who are you?’
He held out his hand. ‘Antoni, Antoni Gaudí. And your name is?’
She stiffened herself against the chill and shook his hand. ‘Anaïs, my name is Anaïs.’
He released his grip and spread his arms wide. ‘Preciós! Beautiful! You have a beautiful name.’
Anaïs turned a shade of red again. ‘Thank you.’
‘This is my beauty.’ He spun and swung his arm towards the basilica. ‘One day she will be finished. And then people will see how beautiful she truly is.’
Anaïs looked up at the forest of spires towering above them. The building was already spectacular, even in its unfinished state.
‘This is why I am here. This is more important than life or death. Because of her I can never forget. She is with me every day. She reminds me who I am. She reminds me why I am here.’
‘Then you have something very special,’ said Anaïs. ‘Not everyone is as lucky as you.’
He grabbed the witch passionately by the shoulders. He flashed his bright blue eyes at her. She fought the urge to shiver.
‘I will stay with her until she is finished,’ he said with determination. ‘I will complete her, no matter how long it takes.’
He released his hold on the little witch and shook his fist at the basilica. ‘Now! If only those gilipolles can get it right!’
A movement across the street caught Anaïs’s eye. It was the oddest thing she had ever seen. Even stranger than the bombastic La Sagrada Familia itself.
A TICKING CLOCK
How long do we have? The living definitely have a limited shelf life, but what about shades? And what about witches, for that matter?
Witches can live for centuries, but at some point their earthly shells also perish. Then, what do they become? Do they also enter the shade world? If they do, how long do they spend on that plane of existence? Do they also have an exclusive pass there? Are they exempt from all the usual shade idiosyncrasies?
I’m sorry I brought this up. I’m afraid I don’t have all the answers. At the very beginning I warned you about this. I am no witch and, honestly, I’m not sure witches even know what happens to them in the hereafter. Nobody really knows. One thing is certain— somewhere in the cosmos, there is a clock ticking, and it ticks for all of us.
I don’t want to depress you but those are the facts of life. Or perhaps life is the wrong word. Shall we just call it: existence. We don’t want to exclude any entities from this discussion.
However, delving into and considering the option of immortality presents problems. It is a major conundrum. Thinking about it too much will only give you a headache. There are just too many permutations. Our cerebrums have enough to do as it is.
The brain is a powerful organ but at some stage it will exhaust itself and self-destruct. It has a finite existence. Whether you live forever, or die forever for that matter, at some point it will be enough. Your noggin will have absorbed all it can possibly take and drown in information overload.
Aside from the possibility of immortality, is there really a purpose to gaining knowledge? The general tendency for the human race is to want to know it all. Their appetite for knowledge is insatiable. But there has to be a limit. Eventually you will have learnt everything of interest and done all there is to do. Either you will become bored or suffocate under the massive weight of your own knowledge. That is, unless you have another reason for sticking around.
Maybe you don’t have a thirst for knowledge. Maybe you have learned enough. Perhaps you are satisfied with what you already have. Perhaps you want to do something useful with that knowledge.
What we had here on the streets of Barcelona was an oddity. A shade who wanted to be a shade. He was quite content with his existence. At least this one had something useful to do. He had purpose.
But the mere idea of enjoying your death, how weird is that? It’s positively morbid. Who in their right mind would find hanging between here and there appealing? Clearly Mr Gaudi had other things on his mind. He wasn’t concerned with his own existence. He had another obsession. He had found his gift and was exercising it. There is nothing wrong with that. His problem had been solved. He knew what his one true purpose was.
This meant Anaïs wasn’t required. She didn’t need to offer any assistance. Mr Gaudi was doing fine on his own. He was in his element. He was doing something useful. Or, at least, he was under the impression that what he was doing was valuable. Unfortunately, nobody knew he was still around and working on his creation. This was not a problem in itself.
Construction was continuing on his epos. His life’s work, his magnum opus, was being built. The architects and engineers working on the basilica had his original plans and sketches. They were painstakingly adhering to his vision. He was not aware of this, but that was not important. He could amuse himself with an afterlife of doodling and not disturb anyone.
Eventually the building would be completed and then he would find peace, or perhaps not. I cannot predict the future and nor can witches. At any rate, his core ideas would find a physical form. There should be some kind of satisfaction in that fact.
Men like Mr Gaudi are very rarely satisfied. His perfectionism knew no end—no bounds. He would continue until the end of time with his preoccupation. With respect to perfectionism, time is immaterial. It is likely Mr Gaudi would remain standing across the street from his basilica for eternity. Perhaps that is immortality, following a joyful preoccupation until the end of time. Happiness to the power of infinity.
If he had no purpose it would be different. Without a purpose he could possibly be dangerous. His obsession could drive him to influence the physical world. Thankfully he was unaware of this and was content to exercise his passion with his creation.
This probably goes some way to explaining why entities such as the Inquisitor existed in the first place. Somebody needs to keep it all in check. If at least one of these alternative thinkers existed, there would have to be more. If word spread that being a shade was good there could be problems. If the planet was filled with shades who all decided they liked their lot, eventually there would be no room for the living.
DEAD SEXY
The shade had an aura around it stronger than any other Anaïs had ever experienced. If it had been alive it probably would have stopped traffic. Even in death it wasn’t going unnoticed. It caught the eye of the naturals around it, although they self-consciously averted their eyes as it walked by. It exuded something very special.
Anaïs felt something deep. She was moved emotionally. It was the strangest thing. She watched the shade walk along the other side of the street. It had emerged out of the crowd gathered in front of the basilica. She could have sworn the naturals had parted to let it through. Its hips swayed hypnotically. It oozed sex. Anaïs felt her heart flutter. She swooned. There was a moment of enchantment, of desire, almost like love at first sight, and then it was gone. It took her breath away. She pulled herself together.
On the surface, physically, there was something extremely peculiar about the shade. Foremost was its appearance. Its camouflage was amazing. It was smartly dressed in a pinstriped business suit. Neat, crisp creases ran along the sleeves and down the front of the trousers. The thinnest of ties fitted snugly in a chokehold around its neck. Everything about it was immaculate. It appeared to have spent hours in front of the mirror perfecting its look.
Its hair was slicked back and adhered to its skull, encasing it in a tight-fitting helmet. A layer of powdered make-up created a gleaming, white porcelain sheen on its face. Jet-black eyebrows were finely pencilled across its forehead, terminating in sharp points on its temples. Bright, red lipstick sliced across its mouth, making their lips stand out and almost spring off its face. It wore the highest heels Anaïs had ever seen but carried itself as if floating on air. Most bewildering of all, it had a refined and neatly trimmed beard.
The librarian’s jaw dropped. ‘Wow!’ she exclaimed.
Anaïs grinned up at her. ‘You see it too?’
The librarian nodded slowly, not taking her eyes off the odd apparition across the street.
Anaïs moved in close to her and gave her a nudge. ‘It’s a shade.’
‘Oh?’ The librarian studied the shade. ‘Is it male or female?’
Anaïs ran her eyes up and down the shade. ‘That’s debatable. It looks like a bit of both. I’m not sure what lies underneath the disguise, but on the outside it’s the best-dressed drag queen I’ve ever seen. Or should that be drag king?’
Immi raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to one side. ‘What do you want to do?’
‘Follow it,’ said Anaïs.
She threw one last look at the little architect. He had returned to his perch on the fence and was now kneading a piece of clay between his fingers. He appeared to be sculpting an animal of some description. He worked fast. She watched the clay in his hands begin to form a contorted mix between a bird and an elephant. He was so engrossed in his creation, he failed to acknowledge the little witch, even when she waved a hand in front of his eyes. Anaïs left him to his preoccupation. He was harmless. The spectre, or rather spectacle, across the road was another thing altogether.
