War Bird

8. Promise of a Thrill

I stare at Miss Ever. Any minute now she’s going to tell me what’s really up. The real truth, not this crazy science fiction. She gazes back at me, eyebrows raised. I clear my throat.

"This has to be a joke," I say, barely above a whisper. "You're having me on."

"Do I look like the sort of lady who has the time or the inclination to joke about something like this?" She purses her lips and folds her hands under her chin. 

I fall back against my seat, head reeling. I think about the funny uniforms of the patrol men who found me, their tin hats and strange looking guns. I look at Miss Ever’s neatly curled hair, a style I’ve only ever seen in those Sunday lunchtime black-and-white films. What she’s telling me is actually impossible. But then one look at her calm face and I know that this is all too real. I lick my lips.

"You’re telling me I’ve travelled back in time?" Even the words sound mad.

"It would appear so," she says. "It is February first, 1944."

"But how? I mean... that’s not even... how?"

"Well, you tell me," she says, lips twitching. Man, she totally knows how I got here, she just ain't saying. Fine, I’ll tell her. See how she explains the crazy stuff that happened just moments ago. I bet she can’t.

“We were on the estate. Bridget- my neighbour’s daughter - was upset with us. Well, Ed, mainly, he upset her Dad. She said she wanted us to see what her father saw and that we were unclean souls or something.” I stop and wait for Miss Ever’s response. She just rests her chin on her hand, blank-faced. "She made the air go cloudy and smelly, and she lifted up in the air!” Still no reaction. “I mean, she levitated! That’s a real thing! And then she said all these long words that made no sense.”

"Probably Latin." Miss Ever sounds bored.

"If you say so." I think harder. "Wait, the last words she said before it went dark, what were they... 'Lectiones Incipiunt' I think? Yeah, that's it."

Miss Ever presses her lips together. "Hmm," she says. "Sounds like a Lectiones Anima spell."

"A what?"

"Lectiones Anima," she repeats. "Lessons of the Soul."

"And that's a spell?" I say. "As in, magic?"

"Yes, dear." Miss Ever smiles. "You must have crossed have a very powerful Sorceror."

“Sorceror?”

“Your kind might refer to us as Witches. Wizards perhaps, if you’re particularly stupid.”

"Bridget? You’re saying that that stuck-up cow is a Sorcerer?" I laugh. "Right, Okay, good one."

"Excuse me?" Miss Ever is not amused. 

“Well, Sorcerers don’t exist.” I fold my arms. “For a start.”

“We do,” Miss Ever says. “Believe me.”

“Oh, so you’re a Sorcerer?”

“I am.”

"And my elderly neighbour's old daughter is also a Sorcerer?”

“I would wager your elderly neighbour is one also.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” I say. “You’re actually saying that a Sorcerer sent me back to 1940’s France to teach me a lesson?” I lean forward. "This is insane. You're insane."

"Am I?" Miss Ever spreads her hands wide, gestures around her. "Then how do you explain this? Being here?"

"There is an explanation for this," I say. "One that doesn't involve magic. Because magic doesn't even exist."