Sliding Scale

“Do that again, and I’ll drive this car into a telephone pole,” Erica snapped.

“Is that a warning or a threat?” John asked, genuinely uncertain.

“Only one way to find out,” Erica said. Earnest irritation on her face mixed with cat-like deviousness as she pulled the car into a nearby lot and found a quiet place to park. It used to be a gas station, five years ago or so. Everything had since been demolished, excavated, and paved over, leaving only a patch of asphalt that nothing but weeds seemed interested in. The lights clicked off as Erica killed the engine.

“Pass,” John said. “And I’m sorry. I just realized all of the sudden and, uh, you know.” John gestured vaguely in an attempt to convey what he could not find the words for.

“Don’t sweat it,” Erica said. “I’m mostly annoyed that they couldn’t be arsed to explain it to you themselves. Left the poor sod who was supposed to pick you up to do it. I appreciate the Brightons, I really do, but sometimes they’re too far up on their lofty perches to remember what it’s like to be small.”

It was a surprising condemnation of the Order, coming from her. It had become clear that Erica wasn’t an ordinary member. She certainly believed in the Lady, but not to the point of worship, and, while she commanded and respected authority amidst the Order’s hierarchy, her place in it was poorly defined. He’d known Erica to make a few soft jabs at the way they did things here and there, or express discontent with its bureaucratic elements, but she’d never blatantly criticized them like that.

“They probably have a lot on their minds,” John said. His brow immediately furrowed in consternation. Why was he defending them? From the look Erica was giving him, she was wondering the very same. “But I wouldn’t call that an excuse,” he added.

“It happens,” Erica said with a sigh. “Whenever someone gets strong enough, they… disconnect from normal people. You know what I mean. Fame, wealth, power, they all change your point of view. it's even worse for Abyssals like us. That includes you, now you've dipped your toes in. Magic changes everything, even things you thought were impossible.” Erica’s words came slowly and deliberately while she stared at the dark road beside them. “Truthfully, we could do a lot worse than the Order. A lot worse.”

That had John curious.

“On a scale from one to ten, how grounded would you say they are?” he asked. Erica took a moment to consider it, closing her eyes and letting herself slouch in her seat.

“Seven,” she answered. “A soft seven. Ask me on another day and I might say four.”

“Four?” John asked. He was initially glad to hear the Order get a decently high score, but a conditional drop to four was a steep downgrade. She answered with a sigh.

“It depends on if you think monsters are people, or if people are monsters,” she said.

A weighty moment passed in silence. Was she being overly dramatic, or was she being serious? John didn’t really know if he was in the right frame of mind to consider Erica’s words. What he did know was that he certainly didn’t have the energy for it.

“No, John,” he said to himself, putting on a bombastically severe voice, “ you are the monsters!”

Erica socked John in the shoulder, but she couldn’t help but let out an earnest chuckle while she shook her head dismissively. He didn’t mind the punch, it wasn’t a serious hit. Even if it were, it’d have been worth it to replace Erica’s dour expression with the small smile he caught on her face.

“Sorry,” John said, waving it off with a smirk, “I couldn’t help myself. Also, I’m not actually all that sorry. Sorry about that.”

“Apology accepted,” Erica said. “But not really.” Her face had softened as the mood lightened and they shared a laugh. John felt that they both understood it was a silent agreement to leave that conversation where it was. That left him with his original concern.

“So, about my mom?” he asked. His worry was still there, but he felt more optimistic about it.

“Yeah,” Erica said, nodding. “I’d say your mom is fine, but that might depend on if you consider having her brain messed with to be ‘fine.’”

“I’ll withhold judgment until I hear more,” John said. The frown on his face suggested that he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

“Try to relax,” Erica said. “No one set out to hurt her. I don’t know exactly what they did, but if they followed protocol, then the Order paid her a visit under some benign pretense, sat down for some tea, and reminded your mother of why she already knew you wouldn’t be home.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” John said. “Where does the brain thing come in?”

“The tea,” Erica said. “It affects the mind. It would have put her in a state where they could shape her recollection of events.”

“The Order roofied my mom?” John shouted, nonplussed.

“Not exactly,” Erica replied, remaining calm and collected. It helped temper John’s own emotions. “It made her pliable, but not outright controllable. It enables someone to suggest an alternative explanation for how things are. If it’s within the realm of possibility, memories realign themselves to fit the new narrative.”

“So they couldn’t hand her a gun and tell her she was about to go kill the neighbors?” John asked, still less than placated.

“Not unless she was inclined to do that in the first place, no,” Erica answered. “It’s not strong enough to change someone, only nudge their memories in a believable direction.”

“I gotta be honest, Erica,” John began, tapping an unexpectedly very anxious foot on the car’s floor, “that’s still terrifying.”

“I’m not going to say you’re wrong, but I don’t have an alternative for you either,” Erica said, frowning. “This is the least invasive way to cover up Abyssal inconsistencies that I know of. It spared your mom a few days of mental and emotional anguish. Whether or not that justifies using it, I can’t tell you.”

“You have a point and I don’t like it,” John said, folding his arms and leaning back into his seat with a huff. “The Order can walk up and change memories whenever they feel like it? Now I know why you said they might be a four. That really doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Worse people use more powerful memory magic than that every single day,” Erica said, stern despite the empathetic concern on her face. ”For some, wiping months of memories away is as easy as ripping a page out of a book.”

“I take back my earlier statement,” John said, gulping. “That’s terrifying.”

“Yeah, it is,” Erica agreed, once again looking out into the dark expanse in front of them. John turned his head to join her, waiting to see if she’d elaborate further. She didn’t. The implications of what Erica had shared festered inside, rapidly fermenting into a tangible fear that nipped at the back of his brain.

“How am I supposed to deal with that?” he asked, eventually. “How am I supposed to know that everything I’ve done since becoming a mage isn’t some fabricated history?”

“Because you’re a mage,” she answered. “Even novice mages have way more resistance to this kind of magic than your typical, mundane human. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but it’s not going to happen out of nowhere. And there’ll be signs. It doesn’t matter how good you are, there are always signs.”

“Huh.” It was all John could say as he processed the conversation so far. “I guess that averts my oncoming existential crisis, but I still feel bad for ordinary people.”

“You’re going to be saying that a lot in the next few months,” Erica said as she turned back to offer John a faint, but sympathetic smile.

“I get the feeling you’re right.” John sighed. “But where does that put us? What am I supposed to do, knowing that everyone I care about that isn’t magical is completely helpless?”

“That’s up to you,” Erica said. She fixed her posture and turned the ignition. The car returned to life with less of a rumble and more of a purr.

“I don’t know,” John said. Unlike Erica, he remained slumped in his seat, arms slack in his lap. “It all seems pretty hopeless to me. Wentworth once told me that mages use mundane people to do work for them all the time. It sounds like everyone without magic is just a pawn in a game they don’t even know they’re a part of.” John’s lips tightened with anger. At another time it might have threatened to boil over, but he simply didn’t have enough left in the tank to feel any sort of outrage. “That sucks. It really fucking sucks, you know? And what sucks more is that I can’t even do anything about it.”

Erica shifted out of park before responding, giving John time to stew a little while she pulled out of the lot. She only elected to say anything when they caught a red light at the nearest intersection.

“John,” she said, without taking her eyes off the road.

“Mm?” he hummed, suddenly not really in the mood to put much effort into talking. Erica didn’t seem to mind.

“What do you think the Order does?” she asked.

“What?” John asked back, caught off guard by the unexpected question. He **** his sluggish mind to mull over the question Erica had presented. She gave him time.

John didn’t know the answer. A week ago he’d probably have said all they did was act important and sometimes kill monsters. Now, though? After all the people he’d met, after spending so much time with Moira? That didn’t feel right. Still, he wasn’t about to sing their praises either. As far as he was aware, there was still no progress on June’s case, and the only monster slaying he’d seen first hand was in self defense. Too many things still didn’t make sense, and the only person he felt he could ask was the one posing the question. Erica wasn’t officially a part of the Order. It seemed like she had every opportunity to join properly, but for some reason, she refused to sign up. If she believed in them, why wouldn’t she? And yet, at the same time, she lived on the estate, training and fighting with the rest of the real members. She relied on them to get by. Who else would know more about the Order without actually being in it? That was why he trusted Erica to give him an honest answer. He considered turning the question back on her, but then how would he know what she was trying to get at?

“Oh.” John blinked and sat up. He realized he already knew. “So, a seven, huh?”

“Yeah,” Erica said. The light turned green.

“But also a four,” he said.

“Yeah,” Erica repeated, nodding. She pulled the car into a left turn.

“Huh,” John uttered. He crossed his arms to think, but ultimately gave up trying to pin down exactly how he felt. Instead, he let himself tip sideways, until he hit the cold window with a low tunk.

“Yeah,” Erica said, one last time, as if John had said something of any significance. He glanced in her direction to see her eyes still fixed forward. Despite her focus, John could see the quietest of smiles on her face. He couldn’t call it a happy smile, nor a sad one, or anything else for the matter. Whatever it was, seeing it put a matching smile on his face.

The rest of the ride passed quietly, with only the car’s GPS navigation occasionally piping up to give directions. Both Erica and John understood that there simply wasn’t anything left to say. It wasn’t long before they reached the front of John’s house, a sight for sore eyes if there ever was one. The lights were on downstairs, illuminating the Newman’s small lawn with a warm glow. With his mom’s car in the driveway, it was safe to say she was home. After exchanging goodbyes, John clambered out of the car. He hit his head on the way out.

Man, they really do not make these luxury coups with tall people in mind.

It was his last, fleeting distraction from the final trial of the day: navigating the conversation with his mother without falling to pieces. John longed for nothing more than to sleep for a week in his warm, comfy bed, but it would have to wait. With a last wave to his mentor, John fished out his keys and unlocked the front door.

“Hey Mom, I’m home,” he called out. He relaxed and inhaled, grateful beyond words for the familiar aroma of the place he called home.

“Welcome back, Johnny!” his mother shouted from the other side of the wall, in the den. “How was Liam’s?”

“That answers that question,” John mumbled to himself. Apparently, the cover the Order had come up with was that he’d spent the weekend with the Suffields. It made sense. Putting on a more confident air, he approached the archway and called back, “We got absolutely nothing done. It was awesome.”

The room came into view and there she was, cozy on the couch, with a book in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. She’d already dressed down for the night, wearing pajama pants, one of her husband’s old t-shirts, and a pair of fluffy blue slippers. John couldn’t help but grin at the sight of her. She was rolling her eyes, but smiled back.

“I’ll never understand how you two have so much fun without leaving one room, much less going outside,” she said, sighing in amused resignation. “But if it makes you happy, I’m not going to complain. Now, come here and give your poor mother a hug. She’s been all alone these last few days, you know!”

John kicked off his shoes and eagerly did so, crossing the room a little faster than he intended. Brenda barely had the time to set down her coffee before he bent down and wrapped her in a long, squeezing hug. Earlier, when he’d left Lord Brighton’s office, he felt like he was no longer in danger. Now, however, he finally felt safe.

“Oof!” his mom huffed in surprise. Nevertheless, she squeezed him back. “When did my big guy get so strong?”

John pulled back and smiled again.

“Guess I missed you too, Mom,” he said. Truthfully, he kind of wanted to crawl on the couch, cling to her, and cry his stress out. Embarrassment aside, that would only lead to questions he couldn’t answer, so he held fast to putting on a strong front.

“Evidently!” It was Brenda’s turn to grin. “Coffee should still be hot in the pot if you want some. Did you eat? I can heat something up for you in time for Jeopardy if you want.”

“I’ll take care of it, thanks.” John held out his hands, as if to prevent her from getting off the couch. “You relax, I’ll just see what’s in the fridge.”

“You can have anything but the penne,” Brenda said, almost childishly. “I went out with some friends yesterday and I paid for it, so it’s mine. It was too good to share.”

“Mom, you pay for everything,” John said, retreating into the kitchen. “By those rules, I can’t eat anything in the house.”

“Which goes to show you how wonderful and generous I am, I should think!” she teased back.

“Yeah, yeah,” John grumbled. He fished through the fridge for leftovers and quickly settled on a few slices of pizza he was pretty sure had been there before his impromptu departure. He was ravenous enough to consider wolfing them down cold, but he resisted. “Anything exciting happen while I was at Liam’s?”

It was normal smalltalk, but John was still probing for any details about his cover story that he might not know. He realized the Order had probably hit the Suffields as well, so he’d have to get in touch with Liam and figure that out too. He was pretty sure Liam wouldn’t be thrilled to hear that some secret order of magic knights had messed with his memory, but there’s no way John would hide it from him.

Wait…

Liam. Erica said the tea didn’t work on mages. If the Order never found out that Liam was a mage, what the hell was he going through? The realization hit John hard enough that he didn’t even hear his mother’s dismissive response to his earlier question. John whipped out his phone and stared at his notifications. Suddenly, the four million plus messages from his friend made a lot more sense. He didn’t have time to read them, he had to reach Liam as fast as possible.

-

[John N.] Uh
[John N.] Hey

[Liam S.] YO WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!? ٩(╬ʘ益ʘ╬)۶