The Mirror

The Mirror pt. 3

Tom’s workroom wasn’t what Jayden had been expecting. To be totally honest, he didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t a cellar. Tom had earlier lamented that they wouldn’t be able to use his lab at the university due to the nature of the experiment, but was adamant that the cellar he had rented had everything they needed. Jayden was sceptical. Sure, the desk in the corner of the room was littered with electronics he would never understand, things that would no doubt monitor the experiment, but what they really needed was somewhere not spooky. It was the best thing when practising necromancy. It kept you firmly grounded and prevented unnecessary panic, which was essential. You had to keep your head around the dead, or they would relieve you of it. It was… difficult to explain.
Ghosts acted, in a way, like small children. They had to do what you said, but they also didn’t have to do what you said. Not without a binding. The trick was preventing them from realising it.
If you kept the right air of authority and a firm, commanding voice, disobedience rarely occurred to them. Sometimes though, especially with the greater dead, they would cause trouble when you slipped up. Potentially fatal trouble. With powerful spirits, often before even that.
He could still remember his last major mistake, when he had bound the spirit of a certain Jennie Anderson. It had nearly cost him his life. He tried not to think about it, which was his usual solution. Instead, Jayden distracted himself with the riveting question of whether the three metal pipes running from ceiling to ground were poles, or pillars.
He’d always imagined pillars to be thicker, and made of something other than metal. However, he also maintained that poles had circular rims, not ones that resembled squares with the corners smoothed down. It was a pickle.
Tom was busy at the desk, setting up his equipment to his liking beneath the lights, which hung from the ceiling along with a smoke alarm, rusted sprinklers and what looked to be crumpled paper long since dried in ugly clumps. He muttered as he moved wires and adjusted monitors.
Jayden knew better than to try and help. He’d already learned that lesson long ago.
The mirror was set on the floor, still covered, and beside it sat a knife. Soon enough he’d be using them both, trapping the spirit of a man well deceased. He went back to thinking about the pillars/poles.
“Did you have to wear your ghost-busters shirt?” Tom asked, for the second time.
“Yes. Yes I did,” Jayden said.
“It’s not ghost-busting we’re doing, it’s a scientific experiment. You do realise that?”
“I realise that ‘if there’s something strange, in the neighbourhood-‘“
“I repeat: scientific experiment. Do those words mean nothing to you?”
“’Who you gonna call?’”
“Oh, do shut up. I’m nearly done here,” Tom announced, adjusting one of the cameras he had managed to procure so that it pointed at the mirror.
“All right, all right,” Jayden said, resting his spiky hair against the cold concrete wall. He really needed to psyche himself up. There could be no show of weakness once he called the ghost (why was he getting the image of Casper in a phone booth?). He had no clue how strong it would be, but he couldn’t afford to take risks on something like that.
Think positive thoughts, he told himself.
“I’ve got a joke,” he said to Tom, grinning like a maniac, as was his custom.
“Huh.”
“Where do ghosts buy their food?”
“I didn’t know they needed food.”
Jayden rolled his eyes. “They don’t, just play along.”
“Okay then,” he said, “what’s the answer?”
“From the ghost-ery store! Get it? Get it?”
“Ah yes, ha ha. Now have you set up all you need? I think my part’s done,” he replied eagerly. He wasn’t even trying with the fake laughter, Jayden thought, which was disappointing. Most people at least humoured him, helped him to distract himself. He supposed Tom was simply too excited, which his current manner would support. He was taut with anticipation, and had a hungry gleam in his eyes.
“There’s not much setting up for me to do,” he said, although he stooped by the mirror to pull the wrapping away. “There, done. Now, I have another joke. I think you’ll like it, it’s a good one.”
“Let’s save it for after,” Tom said. “Do you remember the man’s name?”
“Of course - it’s Jim Bancman. Have a little more faith in me, oh doubtful one. Names I can remember, they’re easy.”
“And you know where he… his corpse is?”
“Berlin, you said. Hellersdorf.”
“Right… and you have his knife… so… I suppose we should begin.”
It was no good stalling for time. He’d done the stupid thing by volunteering, and now he was going to have to go through with it.
“Okay,” he said, with as much false cheer as he could muster. “I think it would be a good idea if you stayed over by the wall. Don’t say anything, don’t do anything, don’t even move. We’re talking Olympic-worthy living statue here. That’s important. If you can’t manage that, then you’ll have to go outside, because I’m not taking any silly risks.”
Tom nodded, agreeing that it was a sensible notion. Jayden only hoped he could trust him to do as he was told. Tom wasn’t someone used to doing what other people said, but hopefully he would pay heed to logic. He waited until Tom had retreated before preparing himself.
Right… right. He began to hum, but stopped after he caught sight of the glare he received. Tom had no appreciation for the likes of ‘Staying Alive’.
No more stalling. Best to get it over with.
He knelt by the mirror and picked up the knife, weighing it carefully in his palm before biting his lip and making a careful cut to his wrist. He squeezed it, and the blood welled up, running in a hot, wet trail down his arm, splattering the grey concrete.
A noise of revulsion came from across the basement and he looked up to see Tom covering his mouth. “Do you have to do that?”
“For a summoning without a body? Yes. Not squeamish are you?”
Tom shook his head slowly, though he didn’t seem able to take his eyes off the dark splodges that marred the pale floor.
“Okay then, keep quiet, or go outside,” Jayden said, practising his authoritative tone.
The other man lowered his hand and kept his lips pursed, which he interpreted as an agreement to silence.
Turning back to his work he took a moment to sort his words, to be sure he would speak them smoothly and without a costly stumble. He held the knife firmly in this hand and intoned, “I, the necromancer Jayden Emil Ward, call to the spirit who was once Jim Bancman, with the power that is mine and bid you to come to me.”
He sent his resolve coursing through the words, willing it across the many miles until it could find the thread that would link the spirit to the body, guided by the dagger. He caught at that thread, reeling it in with sheer determination and the force of certainty to the waiting blood.
He could feel the basement dropping in temperature, a beautiful cold that thrilled him like it always did, making him positively buzz with energy. It was a cold only those attuned to it would feel. He knew Tom would be oblivious, and in a way, he preferred it like that. This feeling was all his, this wonderful icy chill that ran right to his bones.
As the spirit was pulled in everything seemed to burn with fresh clarity. Tom’s life was brighter than ever, and he ached to put it out so that he could drown in more of this wonderful cold. But he wouldn’t. He was prepared to resist, and even as the last of Jim Bancman flooded the space, he furiously ignored the only living thing in the whole room aside from himself. He put out of his mind all petty human desires and feelings. Instead he focused on the spirit, taking in the great sense of emptiness it brought with it, the huge gulf where life had once burned.
He didn’t need to command the spirit to show itself, it heaved itself together without a word, swirling into the near solid form of a man. Solid wasn’t quite accurate, which would have been evident if he’d poked it with a stick, but it looked solid. Smoke still seemed to drift off the dead man’s shape, as if he were something made of dry ice, but he was opaque, at least.
The spirit did not appear tall, perhaps an inch shorter than Jayden himself, but he had the frightful stare of a predator, and the necromancer was quite aware that he was not dealing with some scatterbrained remnant. This spirit was a genuine threat. He had half a mind to dismiss it then and there, but he was too caught up in the joy of his art. He had forgotten how good it felt, how powerful it made him seem. He’d forgotten the ecstatic cold. Jayden forced such things from his mind as best he could, and dwelt on the job at hand. Professionalism was important.
He stood up slowly, straightening his back and looking right into the ghostly grey eyes of the thing he had called.
“Are you the spirit of the once living Jim Bancman?” he asked with a voice of steel, to be sure. Normally summonings worked, but occasionally a different spirit would get caught by mistake. He refused to flinch under the shrewd glaze of the spirit, maintaining his carefully forged calm. No weakness could be gleamed by the enemy, none at all.
“I am,” the ghost confirmed, looking him up and down. The spirit looked like some grey-scale accountant, dressed in an old fashioned suit and polished shoes. An accountant that enjoyed killing people slowly. “What do you want, necromancer?”
“You are to do my bidding,” Jayden replied, exerting his will through the statement. The dead man said nothing, simply watched him with his cold, cold eyes. Then he turned his head to look at where Tom stood by the wall, treating Jayden to a lovely view of the bullet exit wound in the side of it. “Who’s he?”
“He is irrelevant. Ignore him. I command you to do as I say,” he said, refusing to show alarm at the spirit’s wandering attention. As a rule, they tended to pay no heed to people unless they were necromancers or seers, normal people just couldn’t perceive them well enough for it to be any fun. He was fairly sure the dead man’s only intention was to shake his confidence, to worry him, and he wouldn’t let that happen. He needed to be perfectly controlled, as he always did when at work.
The spirit switched its attention back to the necromancer, a crooked smile on its face. “You have my knife.”
“You are dead, it is your knife no longer. I command you to obey me.”
Still the spirit would not reply. They glared at one another; a strength of wills, and pitted against this ghost, Jayden was filled with the sickening knowledge that he might not be the victor. It made his insides twist, and he remembered that last big mistake, when the bitter sharp hands had reach in and squeezed at his heart, no longer the welcome cold but a new agony of ice. But to back down would be to invite attack. Ghosts knew weakness when they saw it, and they knew very well to exploit it. They were not willing servants, and if they could bite back, they would.
He refused to be afraid. He refused to let human weakness touch him.
Their staring match continued. The spirit took a step, bringing the cold with him. Jayden moved not an inch, not even allowing himself the luxury of a blink.
“Obey me,” he said again with no hint of anger, no hint of anxiety and certainly no hint of fear. Cool and strong, a voice to command armies.
The dead man’s lips peeled back in a vicious smile. “Why should I?”
“I am the necromancer Jayden Emil Ward. If you do not obey me, you will suffer the consequences.” It was mostly just bravado, but he liked to think that he could put up some fight if things turned nasty. He had two spirits bound to him, and they would not hesitate to obey. They had no choice.
The spirit continued to grin, and he had little doubt that this thing had once been a killer, and probably intended to pick up where it had left off. He took another step.
Jayden remained firm. “Obey me.”
Hesitantly, the spirit lowered his smoking form in a mocking bow. “Very well.”
He very nearly released a sigh of relief but withheld it at the last moment; he was not in the clear yet. He would have liked to take a look at Tom to see how he was holding up, but he didn’t want to draw the dead man’s attention to his friend, not if he could avoid it. It would be a silly and irrational thing to do.
He put the knife carefully down on the ground without breaking the spirits gaze and laid one hand upon the cool surface of the mirror. He worried the cut in his arm, teasing more blood to hit the pane. “Stay where you are, spirit of once living Jim Bancman. Do nothing, make no move to help or harm, remain as you are.”
The ghost inclined its head in a tiny nod, apparently content to smirk. The sooner he had the thing bound to the mirror and destroyed, the better. The ghost unnerved him, and somehow he had felt certain it had wrought much evil. There was no sense of guilt or pain in this thing, only hunger. It was a killer or something; a being with so little a conscious that only a summoning would keep it in the living world. It had no tragic end or internal suffering, nothing that would naturally leave it trapped. He wished Tom had picked someone else, even the pitiful shades he normally encountered would be preferable.
Concentrating, he reached out with his dead hands, feeling with his mind for the thread that connected the spirit to its body, the bond that allowed it to exist in the world. Only when he was sure he had a good hold of it did he bother with the customary words.
“Jim Bancman, shade of the once living man, I cut your ties to this world, and in turn bind you instead to what I choose.”
Now we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way, he thought, watching the spirit for any sign of resistance. There was none he could ascertain.
He honed his will to a fine blade and without further ceremony hacked at the thread, cutting it quickly. Still the spirit waited. He was halfway through now, and he could feel the thing fraying beneath his harsh mental strokes.
And the spirit lunged.
Jayden had been expecting it, at least, and it was probably this that allowed him to leap back and avoid the grip of the dead man.
Unfortunately for Jim Bancman, he had left the thing a little too late. In less than a second the necromancer had summoned his two bound spirits to him and they wrestled the enemy down in a writhing mass of icy smoke.
Jayden stretched his arm forward toward the blissful cold of the three spirits, resting it once more on the mirror. The sensation of so much death threatened to overwhelm him, but he put it out of his mind, intent on his goal. With little more than a thought he severed the weakened thread of the angry spirit, clasping its end firmly in his dead hands. It wriggled like a live fish, eager to slip free, but he had no intention of allowing that to happen. Body snatching dead were bad enough, but making a body snatcher of Jim Bancman would be a crime even worse.
He drew it in with his will, just as he had reeled in the spirit himself, and clenched his teeth in concentration as he tied it to the mirror, sealing it with what power he had left. The murderous spirit flailed about, threatening to break the fresh knot, but he was held fast in place. Satisfied the deed was done, Jayden pushed the thing into the mirror with his two bound servants.
He gripped the frame with numb fingers, staring down at the snarling, spitting face of the spirit. He looked even less human than before, flesh shrunken against his skull, teeth blackened and broken, rot developing in ugly patches all over. A hideous, withered thing, complete with claws and a bad attitude.
“Stay in there,” Jayden ordered in a voice of stone, sharpening his will with his gaze until the spirit bowed beneath it. With shaking hands he set the mirror down, dismissing his bound spirits and stepping back.
The room was silent, and he felt a sudden wave of exhaustion fighting his exhilaration. He closed his eyes and listened to the ringing of his ears. He had done it. It seemed unreal, just as always. He already missed the strange euphoria he experienced. He could still feel cold emanating from the mirror. He could still feel the life and death in the room. But there was to be no more necromancy that night. It was all too easy to become a slave to the joy and the adrenaline, and he couldn’t allow it. He would pace himself, like always, just a little when he really needed it.
It hurt though. It hurt that it was over, leaving him desperate for more. It felt like a wave of depression, ready to drown him. He wanted to kill, to get back to work. He fought it, floundering for footing, floundering for his normal control.
“Wow… I mean, wow. You’ve done it? It’s in there?” Tom asked.
For a moment he couldn’t reply, locked in a battle against himself.
Then, he won.
“Yep,” Jayden offered by way of reply, opening his eyes to smile back with unnerving cheer as his friend approached. “I’m better than the ghost-busters… although I guess they have uniforms. And there’s a group of them. But if I got together a team, and we had uniforms, and a base with a fireman pole and vacuum cleaner things to suck up spirits and everything, then I would be better than the ghost-busters. But we’d need our own theme song. And team meetings every Wednesday.”
“Well… that’s really something. Good job.”
“Yep,” he said again, before another thought surfaced. “We need to destroy the mirror.”
Tom looked down at the thing, frowning. “What, right now?”
“Yes,” he said with sudden urgency. “I don’t know how you got that name, but it was a bad choice. The spirit’s a danger, it needs to be destroyed. Really, really destroyed, not just bound. Oh, and we’d need a logo too.”
“Are you sure? Couldn’t we just leave it until we’ve gone over some data?”
“No, and no really does mean no this time.”
Tom nodded. “I see. There’s a hammer on the desk.”
“Good, good. Smashing things always relaxes me.” He walked over to the desk, scanning the incoherent mess that covered it, searching in amongst various electronics for a simple tool for a simple job. What was it with all these science-y gadgets anyway? He never knew what they did, or even why they did it. If it wasn’t a TV, games console or audio player, and it wouldn’t cook food, then it was something he deemed unnecessary. The hammer remained stubbornly hidden, and he thought it really should have been red, because red is a wonderfully friendly colour that just leaps out and yells hello. “I don’t see it.”
“It’s there somewhere, keep looking.”
He persevered, shifting the least fragile of the electronics. Maybe he should just use his foot? He was fairly sure a mirror would shatter satisfactorily if given a good kicking, or even tossed to the ground. He was about to share his thoughts with Tom, but he never got the opportunity. He was prevented by the small device pressed against the back of his neck or, more correctly, the resulting overload of volts that ran through his frame.
It was a long time since he’d been electrocuted. He would have had a good laugh about how it ‘shocked’ him, but it’s hard to laugh as your body is ransacked by electricity. The pain was entirely familiar, the same sharp agony, and it took only a few seconds before his legs gave way and he collapsed. He should have been angry. He should have been surprised. He just didn’t have the capacity for it. His brain wasn’t interested in coherent thought (he might have joked about how it normally wasn’t anyway, were it not for the whole electrocution thing again), it was busy spasming along with the rest of him. He was sickeningly helpless, incapable of even raising a hand to fight back while his muscles screamed and shook. The device followed him to the ground, and by the time it clicked off, lights were flickering before his eyes. He was too stunned to even feel relief.
Stunned. Yes. That was what he felt. Even the pain failed to lift the fog clouding his mind. Jayden offered no resistance as he was dragged across the floor, limp and lost. His thoughts reeled for footing, but he could only vaguely identify his surroundings, and ideas evaded his clumsy snatches with ease.
The pole was cold and straight against his back, propping him up. He could feel it pressing into his spine, and this minor discomfort brought a moment of clarity. His hands were being cuffed, linked about the pole. It was Tom. It had to be. There was no one else there. The betrayal stung, and he struggled to raise his head, looking up with wounded eyes.
“I’m sorry,” his friend said, and pushed the taser to his shoulder.
He almost lost himself the second time. It crumpled up any semblance of recovery and spat on it, cruel and seemingly relentless. The device clicked off and he was stupefied once more.
Tom had finished the circle when Jayden’s mind wheezed back into life. He was almost impressed that Tom remembered about the salt. He’d only ever mentioned it briefly.
The man tossed what was left of the bag at him. Mercifully it missed his eyes.
“Why?” Jayden asked, after a moment to compile the question.
Tom picked up the knife from where it rested beside the mirror and wiped it clean before slipping it into his pocket. He seemed reluctant to answer.
“I had to,” was all he said.
Jayden watched as he wrapped the mirror up in its brown paper once more and collected a flashdrive from the table laden with instruments.
“You need to destroy the mirror,” he told him, finding solidity in the statement. He repeated it, delighted by how the words worked.
“I can’t, not yet,” Tom said apologetically. “I need it, I need to study it. That’s why… listen, it won’t be for long. I’ll be back in a few hours to let you out. You’ll understand. It’s easier to ask forgiveness… if you would have just seen reason, there would be no need for this.”
“No,” Jayden said. He wanted to say more. He had to get Tom to understand. He had to tell him that a binding was not the same as a trap. Had to let him know that the spirit’s obedience was only temporary, and that Jim Bancman was not someon- something that was safe to leave in the world. He recognised evil and danger when he saw it. At any minute the dead man could rear his ugly head, and when he did, the question would not be ‘would he kill?’ but ‘how many’?
He was still trying to get the words together when the door locked, and he was left alone in the cellar, staring at the clumps of paper stuck to the ceiling.