Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls - Jane Lindskold [37]
Abalone taps a few codes in what I recognize now as a search sequence. Finally, she shakes her head.
“There is nothing I can find quickly, but there’s a lot of garbage in here, programming I’m not set to read. Let me have a day to clean things up.”
“Fine. I’ll do some research. I know what empathy and memory are, but this magical thinking bears further investigation.”
I prop myself up on the sofa. “They also serve who only stand and wait.”
“Or take a long nap,” Professor Isabella says, pushing me back and drawing the covers over me and my dragons.
By the next evening, Professor Isabella has finished her research and Abalone has brought the Ivy Green files into a readable form. I have spent the day nervously house-cleaning and every surface glistens. The air is heavy with the scent of polish.
“Who wants to start?” Abalone asks, propping her computer on her knees and leaning comfortably against a wall.
“Let me,” Professor Isabella requests. “I’ve been reading since yesterday and have come up with some rather interesting information.”
“About this magical thinking?”
“Yes.”
Drumming the floor with my heels, I suggest, “Make haste, the better foot before.”
“Briefly, then,” Professor Isabella says, “magical thinking is a concept referring to the irrational tendency of people to associate the qualities of the animate with the inanimate. In earlier days, this took the form of imagining that spirits dwelt in items or places. The practice is common. The Japanese Shinto is centered around spirits or ‘kami,’ for example. The ancient Greeks imagined natural spirits—naiads, sylphs, dryads, which inhabited water, air, and trees.”
She pauses to check her notes. “The temptation to lecture further is overwhelming, but let me move closer to my point. Even though people no longer formally acknowledge their belief in spirits for the inanimate, the practice remains. Athletes are particularly conspicuous for their belief that a certain ‘lucky’ item—shoe, shirt, bat—affects their play. Children insist that a certain treasured toy is ‘real’—not a thing of cloth or plastic. Even otherwise balanced, rational individuals will attribute traits of life to an unliving object.”
I nod. This makes perfect sense to me—so much so that I wonder at the need for a lengthy explanation. Abalone looks skeptical.
“You mean, like superstition?”
“Yes, but more.” Professor Isabella raises a finger. “Imagine if you can someone, an actual person if possible, whom you truly hate.”
The expression that flickers across Abalone’s face is so ugly and intense that there is no doubt that she has fastened on someone quite specific.
“Now think of someone you like and trust—Head Wolf, for example.”
Abalone nods.
Professor Isabella smiles. “Now imagine I have two identical shirts here and I tell you that one was worn by Head Wolf and one by the other person. Which would you choose to wear?”
“Why, Head Wolf’s!”
“Even if I told you that both shirts had been laundered several times since being worn?”
Abalone grins. “Yep, even if.”
“And if I gave you the wrong shirt by accident and you learned that you were wearing this other shirt?”
Abalone shakes as if to rid herself of an uncomfortable feeling.
“I wouldn’t like it very much—I’d feel sick.”
“Magical thinking.” Professor Isabella gestures, palms outward. “No reason to it, just a human quirk. Or is it?”
“Go on,” Abalone prompts. “How does this tie into Sarah?”
“I suspect that she…Well, pull your files, dear. I don’t just want to toss out guesses.”
“Okay.” Abalone works for a moment. “There’s a series of these Brain Scan test charts. My guess from the dates is that they are the results of tests done at different times.”
“Yes, that makes sense.”
“Then there are these charts.” Abalone angles the screen so that we can see. “They’re comparing three sets of results. The colors stand for different people. Most often, Dylan, Sarah, and Eleanora. Sometimes