The Edifice

28. Otysses

OTIS

Levi Noble's house is covered in more warding and protective enchantments than most government buildings I've visited. Whoever this mysterious man may be, he's certainly gifted with spell work. Every window is lined with engravings against magical means of entry, every wall barricaded against outside spells.

It takes me thirty seconds to break inside.

To Lee's credit, it's thirty seconds I never usually spend trying to enter somewhere.

When you're as immaterial as I am, any wall that hasn't been layered with iron may as well be an open door. I drag a hand through the air, raking a downpour into existence, fire a blast of magic through it until the moisture boils with heat.

I was never much good at remembering the textbook spells and rituals of academic magic, but this magic comes easily to me. Transmutation and some instinctual release of my own untapped energy.

The boiling water melts the wax covering Lee's protective engravings, warps the wood of his downstairs window just enough to twist a single symbol out of alignment. I breath out, feel the constructed flesh of my body unravel... and step through the glass.

Sometimes there are perks to being a freak. This is one of them.

Levi's house is a cozy affair. I rebuild my body on the couch, marveling at the feeling of the fabric beneath my skin. Breathe in the smell of cooking and incense and bare skin and someone's whole life worked into the fabric.

Humans.

Such fascinating people. The way they can occupy a space so wholly, shape it and mark it so permanently into something that is theirs. I can feel Levi's life in everything I touch, the warmth of his handprints still lingers on the fifth plane of vision, his touch on every inch of surface here.

Cooler echoes of life mark Olvia's fleeting presence through here. Finger prints on the kitchen sink. Traces of fear and love and sadness streaked along her discarded jacket like colored paint.

I can hear their heartbeats from upstairs, feel the warmth radiating down between the floorboards. Were I only a little more of a creep, I'd be tempted to peek into their dreams but instead I leave them be.

As it is, I close my eyes and just enjoy the feeling of human presence. Revel in the fantasy of belonging, physically and wholly, even if it's just for a moment. I run my hands along the spines of Lee's books, retrace the nervous patterns Olivia once traced along the bench. Before I even know what I'm doing, I've picked up the chopping board and paring knife from the counter, trapped in the natural rhythm of the kitchen.

-

This feeling of domesticity is foreign to me.

I spent the first two years of my life in laboratory, after all. The only occasions I'd had to experience the plush carpets and high ceilings of my parent's home were when I was taken out for photoshoots. Academic journalists and trashy tabloid press alike invading the living room to grab their pictures and run their tests on me.

All the while Lucia and Thorus Creed looked on and fed me their scripts. The magic words to show to the press.

"Just look at him. He's extraordinary in all the ways he's supposed to be. Normal in all the ways he's not! Everything was a success!"

Zagan once admitted that he had no memories of early infancy, while I remember every exploitative second of it. It worries me.

If only he could, then maybe he wouldn't have learned to envy me. Maybe, then, he would understand how wrong it all was. Maybe then I'd have a brother.