Greywalker - Kat Richardson [37]
“Slipping?”
She nodded. “Moving in and out of a magical field, rather sideways, without meaning to. I used to know a young fella at home who did it all the time when he was thirteen. Disconcerting, seeing him popping about. People made up all sorts of explanations for themselves, claiming he was just so quiet you’d not hear him sneak up on you, or he was so quick, you’d not see him go. But they didn’t like it.”
“He was a Greywalker?”
She laughed, an unexpected whoop of laughter. “My, no! He was just a witch like me.”
I leaned forward, bemused. “But he stopped slipping eventually, didn’t he?”
Her face blanked and she looked down. “Yeah. He slipped in front of a lorry on the N59.” She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed. “So. You see why I’d not like you to keep on slipping.”
Slipping away from a car, slipping into the path of a truck—all the same thing as far as the Grey was concerned.
I nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“All right then. Shall we try that exercise again? Albert and I will be here to help you.”
I bridled. “Albert?”
She grinned. “Of course. You see him and he can go into the Grey, just like you. He’ll be your spotter, so to speak.”
I started to object. “But—”
“You’ll see. We’ll not let anything harm you.” She tilted her head, raising her brows. “Give it a go?”
Self-conscious, I sat back into the couch and closed my eyes, breathing carefully until I relaxed and felt quiet.
“Open your eyes,” Mara murmured.
I lifted my eyelids. A man in a plain, dark suit stood on the table. His hair was parted in the center, slicked back on each side around his long, angular face, and a pair of small wire-rimmed spectacles teetered on his nose. I could almost see through him. A snowfall of Grey hung around him and spread as I stared.
“Close your eyes. Push it back, and come back here.”
And that’s what I did.
Mara was grinning at me when I opened my eyes again. “That was grand!”
Albert was still standing in the table. I shuddered. “That’s disturbing.”
“Is it?”
“Albert looks like he’s been cut off at the knee and is standing on the table on stumps. You can’t see that?”
“No. He’s quite a bit less corporeal to me. I imagine you see him better than almost anyone. When you’re in better touch with the Grey, ghosts and some of the other things may look quite normal and solid to you. You’ll be seeing them both here and there at the same time. Two partial images superimposed. The farther you are from the Grey, the thinner they’ll look. Try it again, but keep your eyes open as you get near this time.”
I felt a little dizzy and tired, but I tried.
As I slid closer to the familiar cold queasiness of the Grey, Albert looked more and more present. The details of his face and clothing grew surreally clear as the hungry pall of cloud-stuff around him expanded. I cringed from it. The Danzigers’ living room shifted and faded to pale smears of gold and sage in the thick, desert-cold haze. A sharp whiff of alcohol and organic rot bloomed in the air.
Distantly, I heard Mara. “You’ve slipped. You’d better come back now.”
Albert moved and I jerked to watch him. My head spun from the motion in the directionless roil of the Grey. I flailed out a hand to catch my balance. I didn’t recall standing up. My fingers dug through Albert, a shock bolting up my arm to ring my skull with a stench of raw chemicals. I pulled my arm back against my chest, appalled.
Albert blinked at his arm, then knitted puzzled brows at me. He mouthed a word and patted the mist between us. I could no longer hear Mara. I stared at Albert, my eyes wide and too afraid to blink.
The word was “sit.” He made it again and again, until my ears caught the faint sound in the roar of my fear. I sat. He motioned me to be quiet and close my eyes. Cold electricity tapped my shoulder. My stomach lurched.