Part 2

[exoscopy]

Still unedited. Still nonsensical. This part lags a bit but I had to slog through it to get to the next part, which is really when things start to pick up. I hope.

----

Once released from her mother’s kitchen, she slunk upstairs with a few mandarins: past her bedroom -
“You better be back for my wedding,” Cordelia was roaring into the microphone, “or else I’ll disown you as my sister!”
 - to the ladder next to the bathroom, where she climbed up.
It’s me, she thought. Thousand’s power uncurled and her hands felt, for a second, like they were running through coarse fur, and she knocked on the wooden trapdoor. It opened.

The attic was tall enough for her to stand up, but she crept carefully over the rafters on all fours, simply because it was easier, until she got to the spots where planks had been laid across to prevent her from going through the plaster ceiling. There was a palely lit form hovering at the far side.
“Hello,” she said. When she spoke her voice was lower than it should normally have been. The form hovered closer, and then slowly gathered itself into the shape of a small, chubby boy, dressed in a boy’s sarong.

She’d been six when she started to hear Pak Air, barely a week after Thousand had first started to speak to her, but her parents had known about him since they had moved in. Not her sisters. Cordelia and Chloe had never had the tendencies, and besides, Thousand had chosen her. But she had heard him, making small tapping noises on her roof, creeping down every once in a while to look through her window and wave.

She’d been eight when she started visiting, when she had still been small enough to be able to sit on the rafters, and back then she had been more frightened of the spiders in the attic than she had been of him. He looked at her now with a little impatience and some annoyance.
“Here,” she said, putting the mandarins down. His lips pulled back to show his sharp, sharp teeth, and then he picked it up and bit into it whole.

When he was done, he gestured for her to hold out her hand. She did. He leaned over and spat; mandarin seeds pattered into her hand, all dry.
“Hey,” she said. He flashed a grin at her, and vanished. Despite herself she smiled a little, and clambered laboriously back down in time for Cordelia to leap out of her bedroom and shout, “Tell Chloe she has to come to my wedding!” while brandishing the phone in her face.
“Hi Chloe,” said Clea, taking the phone. On the other side of the line, she heard Chloe laugh; quietly, exasperatedly.
“Hi, Clea.” Chloe sounded more English with every call. “Do tell Corrie that if she wants me to come, she’ll have to send an invitation. I’ve been trying to say as much, but she does make it rather hard, what with the shouting.”
“But you’ll be coming back for your holidays anyway, won’t you?” said Clea, clutching the phone. Cordelia was good company, but between Cordelia and her mother she was sure to go deaf unless someone was kind enough to rescue her from the house. 
“Oh, yes,” Chloe said. “Certainly. There’s only so much terribly bland cuisine a body can take, after all. Would my room happen to be free?”
“Not since ma bought new furniture.” Clea twirled the phone cord around her finger. “She’s going to sell it or give it away, though, so it might be by the time you get back.”

“Marvelous,” said Chloe, sounding more amused than enthusiastic. “Pass me back to Corrie now, if you wouldn’t mind. I daresay she wants to shout more insults at me for daring to suggest that I might not want to watch her parade down the aisle. If she happens to hang up in indignation, pass my regards to your scoundrel of a spirit guide, would you? I’ll call again this Saturday.”
“He’s not a scoundrel,” said Clea loudly.
“Is she talking about Boris?” Cordelia yelled from around the door.
“No, Boris isn’t a scoundrel.” Chloe sounded like she was trying not to laugh. “Except in business, of course, which is why she’s marrying him. But Thousand is a terrible scoundrel, which is precisely why I like him. I’d hardly trust an honest spirit with my little sister.” 
“Thank you so much for your confidence in my ability as a judge of character,” said Clea, and passed the phone to Cordelia, who leaped upon it with a gleam in her eye.
“What did you call my husband? You have no shame,” Cordelia declared. Clea rolled her eyes and crept off to the balcony for some peace and quiet and to toss mandarin seeds at the birds.

She didn’t realize she had been so tired until she was blinking her eyes open, trying to adjust to the bright clear light. The next thing that she picked up was the sudden stab of cold; she shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Her singlet was woefully inadequate.

A glance around showed cobbled streets, animated conversation in a language she didn’t understand, and decent fashion. She was alone at an outdoors table, one side to a flowerbed and the other side to a noisily chattering couple. Both human, to her surprise. For all she peered closer she couldn’t see any inhuman glittering or sudden manifestations of limbs, so they were in all likelihood human. She glanced around and huddled closer, shivering, pressing her back to the back of the chair; sharp wool brushed up against her back. She turned around and grabbed the coat and tossed it over herself. When its owner showed up she’d give it back and not before.

Feeling slightly less out of place, she waited for Thousand to show up - as he inevitably would - and took the moment to relax. She hadn’t all day, not really, not after that rude awakening. She’d ask him about it, and he’d probably have an answer. In the meantime she took a look around. And stared. Framed perfectly by the couple next to her was the Eiffel Tower.
“I hate coffee,” someone said, and she turned to see Fox settling down in the only other chair at her table. He didn’t seem to be talking to her, though, staring at the table like it was about to jump up and smash itself over his head. “Hate this place. I wonder how many birds have shit all over this table.” He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm. “I’ll get bird flu. I’ll get measles. Syphilis. Ebola. I hate Ebola. I hate being meat.”
“You probably won’t get bird flu unless you eat the table,” she said gently. He didn’t look at her, or even acknowledge that she was there. Sighing, she settled back in her chair and went back to staring at the street; the possibility that she could be in Paris, fashion central, was enough to distract her from Fox’s fantastically hideous trenchcoat - if the man was so worried about disease, she failed to understand why he was wearing that infestation farm of a coat -and, in fact, Fox’s presence.

The approach of another figure all in black caught her eye, and she turned to see Thousand approaching with a latte and a cappuccino. His face lit up when he saw her.
“Clea!” he said, setting down the latte. “I wasn’t sure if you’d gotten safely home last night. There are all sorts of things that could have gotten you between the dream and the real.”
“Well, they didn’t,” she said, with a satisfied little smile. “What happened last time?”
“As soon as I know, I’ll tell you.” He pushed the cappuccino at Fox. “Here, try it. There’s not much espresso in it. It won’t kill you.”
“I told you, it gives me stomachaches,” Fox said flatly.
“You’re in a dream. It means you’re not corporeal.” Thousand smiled. “If you don’t want it, I’ll drink it.”
“You know that’s not how it works.” Fox eyed it. “You go on and drink it, then. You’ll see what it does to your kidneys.”
“I can assure you, my kidneys have been subjected to much worse than an over-frothed cappuccino.” Thousand gently slid it across the table with the backs of two fingers, to her. “Want it, Clea?”
“Thank you,” she said, and pulled the jacket - his, most likely - around her a little closer before reaching for the coffee. If she buried her face in its collar it smelled like some large, unwashed animal, and she wrinkled her nose and straightened up.

“Last night,” she said. “What happened?”
“Well.” He drew up a chair. “I did need to talk to you about that.” Before anything else, he took a careful sip of coffee. “I’m going to have to leave.”
“Yes, you said.” She raised her cup carefully, one hand under the base and the other on the handle.
“By ‘leave’, I mean, ‘resign as your spirit guide’,” he said, and she spewed coffee into the flowerbed. Fox shoved his chair back sharply and crossed his arms, eyes flicking between the flowers, her, and the cup. It gave her the terrible urge to tip the cup onto the table, just to see what he would do.
“Please don’t take it too badly,” Thousand said gently, holding forward a handkerchief. “I’ve been having some personal issues lately, that’s all. It’s nothing to do with you.” She set the cup down with a clatter.
“But,” she said, gingerly taking the handkerchief from him and lowering her gaze to the table while she mopped at her face. “Resign?”
“If I told you you’d be in a bit of trouble if I stayed, would you still try and stop me?” he said. Despite herself she couldn’t help going a little red, and he laughed to watch her.

“I’m very sorry,” he said, and sounded like he meant it. “I won’t be around for the exorcism, but Fox will take good care of you.” She whipped around to stare at him, and opposite her Fox did the same.
“He will?” she said, sounding horrified despite her best efforts, just as Fox said flatly, “What?” It didn’t give her any sense of relief to note that he sounded just as revolted at the idea as she did.
“Don’t worry, you two will be fine,” Thousand said breezily. “I know you’re not happy with the idea now, but you’ll come to realize just how useful both of you can be to each other.”
“You didn’t tell me this was going to involve working on the human plane,” Fox said coldly. “With it.”
“Her, Fox,” Thousand said. “And her name is Clea.”
“No, wait,” she said, pushing her coffee cup carefully to one side so she wouldn’t spill it. “How do you resign from being my spirit guide?”
“It’s not exactly a resignation, I suppose.” Thousand sighed. “It’s difficult. In effect, it means this is a termination of our contract, until such time as we are able to renew it.” His eyes glinted. “I’m afraid we probably won’t. Circumstances won’t allow for it. But I have faith in your ability to create a new bond, hopefully a lifetime one this time.”

“This is crazy,” she said, burying her face in her hands. “I thought all bonds were until death.” She was beginning to hope that, for once, he was wrong.
“It’s the turn of the millennium,” he said. It sounded too vague to be an explanation, or even an excuse. Maybe he was wrong. She desperately wanted him to be wrong.
“Are you bringing up that chronology bullshit again?” Fox said, rounding on him, jabbing a finger against Thousand’s chest. “You know that’s not how it works. Nigel, it’s a human construct-”
“Time is a valid power,” said Thousand, raising his hands. “Don’t tell me it’s not. You know it works on us.”
“But not this turn-of-the-millennium thing. They made that up; they had to define everything and then they had to figure out ways to break the definitions so they could access the useless powers they had-”
“And you want to leave me with him?” Clea said. To save herself from beating her forehead against the table, she looked away.

“It’s fine, Clea,” Thousand said, very clearly. “It’s only temporary. You’ll hopefully find your own spirit quite soon. Until then, he’s there in case anything unpleasant happens.”
“I’ll get captured and forced into some godawful bottle for a few hundred years,” Fox said. “Or I’ll end up discorporated. Do you want me to end up back in-”
“Not as long as you stay near to her,” Thousand said, shrugging. “I told you I’d find a way to sort it out.”
“Your way involves leaving me in the human world by myself for a very long time.” Fox sounded thin and strained, like he was trying not to scream. She agreed with the sentiment. “A lot of very bad things can happen. I believe I’ve mentioned the discorporation. There’s also a high probability of a future filled with eternal torment.”
“To me,” Clea murmured.

“Sometimes I think my words go in one ear and out the other.” Thousand leaned back in his chair, smiling a dry, exasperated little smile. “Nothing is going to happen as long as you two stay together.” The thought was the furthest thing from her mind, despite all of Thousand’s good intentions. She was fairly sure that if she spent enough time around Fox she would reach the spirit world a lot more quickly, and it would be a permanent destination.
“What happens if we don’t?” Clea said. Thousand sighed.
“Nothing will happen anyway,” he said firmly. “I’ll be making sure.”
“You can’t have eyes everywhere,” Fox said.
“You think everyone else does,” Thousand said, still smiling. “Why can’t I?”

“Thousand.” Clea’s voice sounded desperate. She pulled his coat tighter around her. “Please don’t leave. What about until after the exorcism?”
“There’ll always be exorcisms,” he said gently. “You’re more than capable of taking care of it yourself.”
“But these are people wanted to raise a toyol.” She raised her voice a little. “They’re talking about bringing the dead back to life.”
“That doesn’t mean they’ll do anything to you.” Thousand sighed. “Reserve judgment. And I could give the same advice to you!” He whirled to brandish an accusing finger at Fox, who leaned away, totally expressionless. “She will be a lot easier to work with than I am.”
“She could give me away,” said Fox. “Or I’ll be found while I’m trapped in this useless meat cage.”
“I really don’t want to have to argue about this any more than we already have.” Thousand sighed. “My coffee has gone cold. See what all this arguing does?”
“Then don’t drink it,” Fox said. “It’ll give you cramps.”

“Are you sure you have to go away?” Clea said weakly.
“Certain. We’ll still see each other, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He patted her on the hand. It was the first time he had ever touched her; she shivered at the feel of his hands, so much heavier than a human’s should be and palms as rough as an animal’s paws. It wasn’t what she was worried about, but she felt a little better for it.
“I’ll miss you,” she said. “Will I see you soon?”
“Why not?” he said. “You’d better wake up, now. It might take you a while to get used to it.” The sky went purple. All the colours inverted and then Paris faded sharply away like water running down an oiled surface, a much more normal awakening. As she got her last look at the Eiffel Tower, Thousand turned to Fox in the corner of her vision and started to gesture animatedly with one hand.

“Get used to what?” she mumbled, blinking awake. It was already dark. The mosquito net was the only reason she wasn’t a mass of angry red swelling. Swaying a little, she staggered inside and downstairs. Her mother had left dinner on the table with large hand-written instructions on how to operate the microwave for maximum flavour.

None of her family would wake her any more, not until the time waking her up from her nap had caused a five-hour long blackout across their block. Blackouts in themselves were hardly uncommon, but there hadn’t been a storm at the time. ‘Power line failure’, the power people had said. But she’d remembered the howling as she was jerked out of her dream and the sudden loud snap shut of canine teeth - and then the lights had died.

Chicken stewed in herbs for dinner. Her mother had added, in language that somehow managed to communicate volume without capital letters, that she should take an extra large helping of the vegetables because they were designed to give energy and she didn’t look very energetic lately. She obeyed. She ate her dinner alone and tried not to think of Thousand or Fox. Inevitably, she did - think of Fox, think of the fact that if she was in trouble she’d have to call him instead of Thousand. Then she thought about what she’d have to tell her mother. How did she start a conversation like that anyway? ‘Ma, Thousand left me for another bomoh’? Hi, ma, my spirit guide left because of ‘personal reasons’, he said. She made a small distressed noise and nearly choked on a mouthful of rice.

Instead of sleeping she curled up on the sofa and read one of Cordelia’s innumerable, well-thumbed paperback romances to cheer herself up. Come morning she was feeling much better, well enough that she only trembled a little bit at the thought of talking to her mother. In the end she didn’t even have to raise the subject.
“Why you so quiet?” said her mother over the morning porridge. “Are you sick? I tell you to sleep properly! Did you take the vegetables? Never mind, I have herbal medicine from China, will cure everything. You take it and then you sleep! You make sure you sleep!”
“No, ma,” she said quickly, because that stuff tasted like tar. “I’m not sick.”
“Sure?” Cordelia said. Of course she hadn’t counted on Cordelia’s presence, which made everything a little more difficult to communicate. She wasn’t very good at communicating at high volume. “You look sick. Are you okay? Is it that dog?”
“It’s not the dog,” she sighed automatically, and realized that yes, it was the dog. “It is the dog.”

“What?” Her mother rounded on her.
“He quit,” she said involuntarily. It sort of slipped out of her mouth. Seeing Cordelia and her mother’s faces, stranded somewhere between shocked and angry, she scrambled to explain. “In last night’s dream he said he had to leave being my spirit guide. I don’t know why. He said I had to go find a new one.”
“How can he quit like that?” Cordelia shouted. “He’s been leading you on!”
“What is this, ‘leading you on’,” their mother said suspiciously.
“It means - you know, when you have a boyfriend, ma,” Cordelia said.
“I never had boyfriend,” sniffed their mother. “Only now girls have boyfriend. I had husband!”
“Yes, but you know when a boy is being nice to you,” Cordelia said doggedly, “and then he says he just wants to be friends.” 
“How else?” their mother demanded. “Is this why you not yet give me grandchildren?” Clea wondered if they were distracted enough that she could slip off without them noticing. Usually, ‘grandchildren’ triggered a storm of yelling that could have been heard all the way in China.

It still didn’t solve the problem she was left with, though: no spirit guide, no way of finding a new spirit guide, and her education only half-finished.
“Ma,” she said loudly, over Cordelia’s spirited declaration of, “Boris is foreign, okay, ma, he wants us to get married only when we’re ready to handle it-”
“Old enough? So old!” their mother said. “Already I get back pain, have no grandchildren to help me with cooking, how?”
“You never let anyone help you with cooking!” Cordelia waved her arms. “I try and help and you never let me!”
“Ma!” Clea said. Her mother sighed.
“Okay, okay.” Her mother pinched the bridge of her nose and made a shooing motion. “You go, I talk to your sister. You go.”

Cordelia left with a clatter of plates, stiff-spined and huffing like a steam engine. Clea made a mental note not to go near their room for the rest of the afternoon.
“I knew was too good to be true,” her mother said, patting her gravely on the knee. “Six years old, too young. Normally only this old then find spirit.”
“I know,” Clea said. “What did you do?”
“Go on journey.” Her mother waved a hand vaguely. “When I was young had more jungle, they send us into jungle to talk to spirits. Now, you have to take long journey.” Her mother sighed. “Doesn’t matter. You have to go anyway, find many teacher to teach you.” 
“Okay,” Clea said. “I don’t know what it means. Can I still use my powers if Thousand isn’t here any more?” And she couldn’t summon him. It suddenly made her realize what being normal felt like: so naked and helpless, no huge three-headed dog available at a thought to jump out and eat anything that was threatening her. Not that it had always been that easy, but Thousand had always been there.
“Don’t know,” her mother said. “What powers you have? Talk to ghosts, be good doctor, give good luck and good health. All come from head, not from spirit.”
“Okay,” Clea repeated. “I don’t think I should do the exorcism.”
“No,” her mother said. “Don’t do. Is bad. Call them, tell them cancel. How much they pay you?”

Clea told her.
“Wah,” her mother said.
“I know.” She sighed. “Bad luck to give up this much money.”
“Is not ‘give up’. They not yet pay you.” That was about as much comfort as she would get from her mother on the matter. It still didn’t ease the pain of seeing six hundred ringgit vanish before her eyes.
“I get car ready for you,” her mother added. She nodded, and then processed what her mother was saying and jerked upright.
“What?” she stammered. “You mean - leave now?”
“Your school not yet start, is good time,” her mother said. “Why you want to wait? Have to do now!”
“What if I don’t find my spirit by the time university starts?” she said.
“Why you worry?” Her mother sniffed. “You think you cannot do?” She really didn’t want to answer that in front of her mother, so she just nodded and mumbled something that sounded like ‘okay, ma’.

At the urging of her mother, she got packed. Cordelia paused her sulking for long enough to help her stuff two bags with essentials, and then went back to loudly complaining on the phone to Chloe.
“Soon she’ll tell you to marry-” Cordelia said loudly, and then: “What do you mean you want to be a nun!”

Later that day she climbed the ladder to the attic, knocked on the door, said, “It’s me.” There was no feeling of fur under her hands, no sudden sensation of her skin glowing. The trapdoor didn’t open for her. She pushed it up and swung herself awkwardly onto the rafters, shuffling across the wooden beams. And waited.

She waited five minutes, and then ten. Pak Air refused to appear, even when she tapped gingerly on the pipes, a tactic that worked even when the boy was at his most cantankerous.
“Hello?” she said, her voice slightly high-pitched with panic. The ghost was refusing to talk to her, or she couldn’t see it any more. Fifteen minutes. She tossed the mandarin she was carrying up and down. The last time she had done it he had snatched it out of her hands and spat seeds at her head, but getting attacked by mandarin pips was preferable to no response at all.

Twenty minutes. Maybe the ghost had moved out. Maybe she couldn’t talk to ghosts any more. Either way, it was time to panic.
“Okay,” she said aloud to the empty attic, her voice rising. “Okay. I can’t - I can’t talk to the dead any more.” She buried her face in her hands and her breathing sped up until she could hear her heart hammering in her chest; she let out a high-pitched squeak and grabbed a handful of her hair. “Oh my god. How am I going to do an exorcism if I can’t talk to ghosts? Oh my god.”

“Stay calm,” she wailed to herself a moment later, “Thousand will know what to - oh my god, Thousand’s not here any more. I’m going to lose six hundred ringgit.” Her eyes widened. “I’m going to have no tax-free income for the rest of my life!”

It was the only thought that really bothered her as she was starting the car, dull-eyed, the next morning. Cordelia had come to help her double-check her packing and make sure she’d eaten breakfast while her mother was hosting mahjongg.
“Toothbrush?” Cordelia said critically. “You should take more. Your trip might take so long.”
“I’ve got money,” Clea said. She did. She had enough from all the previous work she’d done to help her live comfortably for the next year or so, even if her mother had assured her it wouldn’t take that long. She hoped it wouldn’t take that long - university started in four months and deferring for a semester would mean she would miss out on the best part, the social part. And if she went for longer than a year, she’d be running out of money.
“You make sure you don’t miss my wedding,” Cordelia said. “Come back for it, okay?”
“Okay,” Clea said.
“Make sure,” Cordelia said. Then she gave her a hug, and an umbrella.
“Ma told me to make sure you take it,” she said. “It’s a good one, don’t lose it.” It looked solid, and big enough for two. Which reminded her of Fox, and she had to suppress a shudder.
“I won’t,” she said. “Any advice?”
“Don’t talk to strangers,” said Cordelia, flicking off on her fingers. “Always brush your teeth. Don’t stop for hitchhikers. If beggars ask you for money don’t give it to them and always keep your purse nearby. If you get robbed call me or ma and we’ll come and get you. If you break anything call me, don’t call ma, and I’ll get you a replacement.”

“Thanks,” Clea said. Cordelia shrugged.
“Don’t get sick,” she added, sticking her head into the wound-down window. “If you feel yourself getting sick drink water and sleep, understand?”
“Yes,” Clea said, and started the car. Half a tank. She would need to fill up.
“Don’t forget to fill up,” Cordelia added, and leaned back out of the car. “Call us, okay?”
“Yes,” Clea said. She pressed the accelerator and couldn’t help thinking you never mentioned ‘don’t miss us too much’ as she reversed onto the street, and gave the house one last goodbye-wave. Despite herself she couldn’t help glancing at the attic window; with a lurch, she realized that there was no small hand waving to her, no sharp-toothed smile, and she sped down the road before she started crying.

She managed to get to a gas station before her vision went blurry and she abruptly burst into tears halfway into the parking space. Bawling hysterically, she pushed the car forward, almost overshot the pump, and nearly ran Fox over while reversing.

“Are you sick?” were the first things she heard from him as she rolled down the window.
“I’m not sick,” she sobbed. “I’m homesick!”
“I think you’re sick,” he said warily.
“Go away.” She blew her nose noisily and he leapt back, furiously brushing down the front of his ugly, ugly trenchcoat, which he was still wearing in humid tropical weather.
“No,” he said. “If I stay close to you they probably can’t get me.
“Alright. Fine.” She inhaled noisily. “Get in the car.” With that, she staggered off to the bathrooms, still crying.

She came back after crying copiously into the sink and paying for petrol to find him still standing where she’d left him, staring at the car. When she reached for the petrol hose behind him he jerked out of the way and slunk around to the other side of the car slightly hunched over and with his collar pulled up, like he was trying to keep someone from recognizing him.
“You look like you’re in a bad spy movie,” she said, sniffling. He ignored her until he tried to open the car and it proved to be locked. It was a small bit of comfort to warm her while she filled up the car and tried not to think about home, or losing her ability to talk to the dead, or never having an undeclared source of income for the rest of her life.

“How many kilometers has this car done?” Fox said, eyeing it.
“Twenty thousand.” She shrugged her purse into the car and replaced the hose.
“How often do you service it?” he said. “Does it have enough air in the tyres? Have you checked the brakes recently? What about the water? Do you have enough water?”
“Yes, yes and yes,” she said. “I made sure.”
“I’m sure you’ll find out how wrong you were when we’re engulfed in flames by your backfiring motor,” he said dourly. The thought cheered her up more than the thought of dying in a burning car really should have.
“Catch a bus,” she said brightly, beaming. He shuddered.
“Poorly-ventilated deathtraps on wheels,” he said. “The music will make your heart stop. It’s at the right frequency to interfere with the natural rhythm of your heartbeat. Just like in elevators.”
“My sister told me not to pick up hitchhikers,” she said.
“I’m not a hitchhiker,” he retorted. “You’re my driver.”

Word count so far: 9366!