Christian Parker Week 2 Part 4

Alan woke up feeling great. That may have been a bad sign, given that his last memory was Laurel’s plan to perform brain surgery.

Laurel’s face came into view. She was grinning, still in her bathrobe, and the bathrobe had some blood spatter on it. Not a lot, but some.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Laurel smiled at Alan. “Who’s the president?”

“Donald Trump,” Alan muttered.

Laurel laughed. “No, seriously. I should’ve asked a question that didn’t change while I was out. How many Star Wars movies are there?”

“That also changed.” Alan laughed. “Um, the capital’s still Washington, DC. George Washington was the first president. Forty-two is the meaning of life.”

“Okay, I declare you fine,” Laurel smirked. “I mean, obviously you were fine, since nobody showed up to repair brain damage, but it’s good to have confirmation.” She pointed at the table of dead hermit crabs. “Try something.”

Alan considered the vague instruction. Lacking a better idea, he glared at the table.

The table caught on fire.

“Nice!” Laurel pumped her fist in the air. She ignored the destruction of the hermit crabs who she had prepared for the lesson.

“What happened?” Christian had woken up at the noise.

“Alan’s balls dropped!” Laurel shouted. “Fuck yeah, this just got way less creepy.”

“What?” Alan glanced at Laurel, then looked away so he wouldn’t accidentally set her on fire.

“Um, nothing.” Laurel blushed. “Anyway, Christian Parker, try something magical.”

Christian disappeared.

“Not again...” Laurel muttered.

Christian popped back into view. “Sorry. That’s my replacement Thelema spell. Um, I think I copy transformations?” She shook her head. “Anyway, something new.”

The table continued to burn happily. Christian’s hair started whipping around her as if in a hard wind.

“Oh, that’s a good one.” Laurel circled Christian thoughtfully.

“Wasn’t this supposed to be necromancy?” Alan asked.

“Hair’s dead, so it’s absolutely necromancy.” Laurel sounded thoughtful. “Well, technically it’s the Black Craft of the Signal, the same art as your burst of pyromancy. Mom called it necromancy and pyromancy, but my grandparents had books on ancient Signal-craft.”

“Ancient?” Christian sounded intrigued.

“Yeah. This is like beating rocks together compared to Harem Hotel, but it’s what we can do without the help of the Audience.” Laurel gave Christian an awkward hug.

“Well, it doesn’t seem very practical,” Alan admitted.

“Fire is extremely practical.” Laurel folded her arms and glared with mock seriousness. “Cooking, heating a house, pottery, clearing a forest, escaping from a wilderness reform camp, hunting, getting a bus full of cheerleaders to follow you into a mysterious cave, and making ash for paint are all valid uses of the power to start fires with your mind. Christian’s trick needs some work, but remove the hair, work it into a sling or a lasso, and you’ve got a few useful tools.”

“Alright.” Alan nodded. “You’re right. This is great. I was just worried I’d set fires by accident.”

“You’re learning on Harem Hotel, Alan. You aren’t going to break anything that won’t be fixed.” Laurel sounded wistful. “It’s pretty hard to have accidents, anyway. I never got hurt when I learned to conjure fire. Grandma J said it was because I was inviting someone to help me when I used Signal-craft. Mom had accidents, but that was because Jack was a dick when he gave her sex magic and made sure she’d have accidents with it.”

“What? Why would he do that?” Alan frowned.

“He’s a fucking cunt,” Laurel snapped. “Let’s talk about the cool magic, not my evil father.”

“What exactly is the Black Craft, if that’s what it’s called?” Christian asked.

“This is what I understand, so don’t trust it completely. According to Grandma J, who turned herself into a boat, it’s the soil where the tree will grow. You draw energy from what I’m going to call the Signal. It’s not esoteric crystals or anything. We’re talking heat, motion, electricity. Draw it out, and it’ll decay into waste heat, like everything else. The Black Craft is simple. The way I control it is by asking nicely.”

“You just ask?” Alan considered the idea.

“You need to know what to ask for.” Laurel sat down. “The Signal’s not a mean genie who takes you literally. According to the grandmother who turned herself into a boat, it’s a gift from heaven, or God, or the machine elves. I call it ‘the Signal’ because that’s the least stupid name for it. There are a lot of details, but it’s best to learn them by playing with it for a while.”

“Well, you’re the expert.” Alan smiled and looked out at the beach. More fire started, but it sputtered out quickly.

“How does this turn into skeletons that walk on their own?” Christian asked.

Laurel paused. “Just a minute.” She looked at the burning table. “Okay, I just cremated the lesson plan.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out another dead hermit crab. “I got excited and forgot the plan. I’m sorry, but I’m so glad you two showed kinetic powers right away. Asking the Signal to start fires is a bad starting point. We should be asking the Signal to help us build a minion, not to do things directly.”

“Okay.” Christian looked at the hermit crab. “So, how do we start?”

“I think the little girl needs a name.” Laurel petted the shell delicately. “Names are how it always starts, right?”

Christian looked haunted. Alan almost spoke up, but he remembered that being haunted was the point of the lesson.