Page 73 of Dead Rockstar

“You'll what, Mr. Deville?” The screen door opened, and Lydia's now-familiar, white, frizzy head poked out. “I expected you'd come back.”

“This is as far as we go,” Phillip said in an angry voice, clutching my arm tight. “I need some answers, and I need them now. But if you try to bind us, or send your goon-”

“I won't be doing anything to you, boy,” she said from behind the door in a gesture of defiance. I rankled at her calling him boy. The nerve, the disrespect. She held up a shaking but firm hand as though she’d heard me, as if to say be quiet, girl. “But I won't be answering any questions out on my front stoop, either.”

“You will unless you want a police report filed for kidnapping and assault against my girlfriend.”

“Who was kidnapped?” she said smoothly. “I’m not aware of any kidnapping. You’re both here, fresh as life. I've not so much as touched anyone.”

“But your son did,” I said, raising my chin in defiance. “We both know you did some spell to bind us, and as for the kidnapping and assault, Lee and his friend Shank did both.”

“Shank.” Her face was a picture of disgust. “I never did like him. No brains at all. I always told Guthrie the man was an absolute boar.”

“Enough,” Phillip said, his face twisted in fury. “Tell us why your son has been following us since Jekyll Island. Why you bound me here and let them kidnap Stormy. Why they're so eager to get her alone. Why you claim you haven’t seen or spoken to your husband in a decade when we both know that’s bullshit.”

“I won't answer anything on the front stoop,” she said again, but her voice betrayed her nerves. “I have very nosy neighbors.”

“Lydia,” I said in a wavering voice. “Did you know your son came to see me in the hospital? After all he's already put me through, he had the gall...” I trailed off when Phillip gave me a sharp look. I hadn't told him that. “He’ll be on the security footage...”

She sighed. “Fine,” she said. “I'll have to bring out my oxygen tank. And can you pull up a few chairs from the table in the yard? I can't stand for long periods.”

Phillip did as he was asked, though his face was still murderous, grabbing three chairs from the side yard and lugging them up onto the stoop where he placed two across from one, none too gently. Lydia made her way out onto the stoop, taking her sweet time, shuffling along with her oxygen tank pulling behind her, dressed in a cyan housecoat that had little centaurs on it. She looked even older and more weathered than the last time I'd seen her; she seemed very tired. As I sat across from her, trying my best not to look too closely at her because she unnerved me, I could feel her exhaustion, almost taste it. It was like an aura emanating from her, pale-blue and wispy, as though she were turning to a ghost in front of my eyes.

She situated herself in a chair and immediately lit one of her long, skinny cigarettes.

“Should you be smoking with that thing?” I asked her, gesturing to the tank.

“Don't feign concern for me, Fee,” she said, reverting to the nickname she'd given me last time. “I'm an old woman and I'll do what I want. It isn't as though I have anything left to live for, anyway.”

If she was expecting sympathy, she got none from Phillip. “I want answers,” he repeated, crossing his legs impatiently. They were so long he had to tuck them to the side to avoid kicking her. “I want to know why Stormy's being followed, why your son is so obsessed with her, why she was hurt, and why you lied about Guthrie.”

“That's a lot of 'why's,” she said. “With which one should I begin?”

“At the beginning,” he said impatiently.

“First, let's talk about magic,” she said maddeningly, taking a long puff on her cigarette. That's what she'd said last time, too. She held back a cough; I watched her mouth and chest constrict with the effort. “Obviously Fee here has no idea about the magic she possesses or how much she has or how much is out in the world, ready to be tapped into.”

“Nor do I want to,” I said, though I was beginning to wonder if that was wholly true.

Lydia looked at me, one eyebrow cocked. She winked at Phillip. “Imagine – your first spell is necromancy, bringing someone back from the dead and then to say, 'oh, I'm done...'” She cackled, smoke emitting from her dry lips in a ring.

“I didn't mean to do the spell,” I said defiantly. “I was a non-believer. I just thought it was a joke. I was drunk and in a bad place and I had no idea it would actually take root-”

“Don’t you tire of hearing yourself tell that story?” she asked with a curious look at me. “It’s a lie. And even if it wasn’t, you've reaped the benefits.”

“What benefits?” I demanded. “Being followed around, run off the road, beaten and kidnapped?”

“You've fallen in love,” she said simply, and I fell silent. Phillip's hand found my own and clasped it tightly. His skin was warm and clammy.

She continued. “Magic has to go somewhere. It's energy just like anything else – it needs a conduit. A place to go and a medium by which to go through. Whether or not you called it, or it found you, doesn't matter. You're the conduit, and you've used those powers to reanimate dead flesh.” I shuddered and she smiled. “Oh, don't carry on. It isn't as though you're Victor Frankenstein, robbing graves. It's not so morbid as all that. You've breathed life into a vessel that was lifeless. It's a miracle, really. True magic; Mary Shelley herself would’ve given her eyeteeth for such a chance.”

“Black magic,” I whispered, feeling dread.

“That again.” She snorted. “Yes, there are rules...and you’ve broken some. But your intention was pure, which is why you haven't seen the whole host of things you could be seeing. Had things gone differently, you might already be dead for your errors. However, what you did was done in pure ignorance, and with an innocent, loving heart.” She nodded, as if affirming her own words. “It is my belief that you'll be forgiven for your transgressions, and even be allowed to continue using your powers, should you decide to.”

“I won't,” I said firmly, but even as I said it, I felt an odd, electric tickle of desire course through me. Phillip must have felt it too, because he dropped my hand and cut his eyes to me with a startled look.

“You have the power to reconcile life and death,” she said. “Given to you from the goddess herself. That isn't to be taken lightly. Why would you denounce it?” My cheeks burned, but whether it was from shame or desire, I wasn’t sure. What goddess, I wondered. I vowed to find out more about that one day.

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