The Mirror

The Mirror pt. 4

Salt is a powerful thing. It’s underrated, if truth be told. To most people it’s great on food. To those who know, it’s a charm, to ward off the mysterious and keep spirits at bay. It was one of only two things Jayden knew which could render his skill redundant. It would have been too much to ask for Tom to get a source of running water down in the cellar as well.

He slumped against the metal pillar and tested the strength of his cuffs despondently. He already knew he would never have the strength to break them; they were the real deal, nothing like the cheap plastic ones he remembered from his childhood when cops and robbers was the greatest thing.

His body felt worn, near fraying at the edges. It was to be expected. Necromancy was taxing enough, without being followed up by electrocution and an ungainly fall onto the unforgiving concrete. He imagined that would leave bruises. The cut on his arm stung fiercely, encouraged by the salt.

Luck did not seem to be on his side. The necromancer imagined it standing at a distance, making faces at him. It was enough to extract a mad chuckle.

What he really needed to do was come up with some wonderfully elaborate escape plan, and save the day in the nick of time. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see any way of getting past the fact that he was handcuffed to a pole. Ah… no. It was a post! Like a lamppost, that was what it was. A metal post running from floor to ceiling. Not a pillar, not a pole, a post! Why did they all begin with ‘P’? Was it intentional, or a coincidence? It had to be a coincidence, because it seemed remarkably silly to have people getting together and discussing such things before they set a name.

Damn. His mind was wandering again. He didn’t have time for insanity, he had to focus and work out a way of getting loose from the…post. Why had he never learned to pick locks?

If it wasn’t for the salt, he could have made the spirits at his command snap them. He’d already tried to scuff the salt away with his shoes, but Tom had made a large circle. Even when he lay down and stretched out, be could only just brush the rim. Blowing at it was also doomed to failure. It was a half-hearted idea, but he was feeling desperate.

Well, first things first, he supposed. Even his addled brain could see the logic in that. So… what did he have? He had his clothes, his shoes, a packet of gum and a lighter.

It seemed a good idea to get the lighter out of his pocket, since it was unlikely to do any good there by itself. It was trickier than it sounded, but after a good deal of wriggling, he managed to persuade it to drop from his pocket. He shuffled around the post and pressed his back firmly against it so he could stretch his cuffed hands out, groping blindly for the lighter. Once found, it settled naturally into his left hand. He flicked it on and off as he thought.

Step one complete. What next? There was no way the tiny flame could melt the metal cuffs, not even if he held it there all day, which would have taken more patience than he had anyway. Perhaps he should just set fire to his shoes to pass the time? Perhaps they would spontaneously combust themselves out of sheer boredom. Perhaps he would follow suit. It could be a whole act; pyromancy in the cellar. The audience of deceased arachnids could roast marshmallows over his flaming corpse. No, his mind was wandering again.

Jayden stared at the ceiling vacantly, fiddling with the lighter. It wasn’t much of a view. The novelty of the paper splats had worn off, the rusted sprinklers were hardly fascinating, and the lights were giving him a blind spot.

Nevertheless, as he stared, a plan began to form. He checked and, yes, there was a drain. As plans went, it was far from grand, but it could work. Maybe. Just. Enough for him to give it a go, as crazy as it first seemed. After all, he had nothing else to do.