Chapter Thirty Two: Cleaning up
We examined the location before going back to the car. That one had been a dud, there was nothing there but spawns and crates. I opened the trunk again, stashed the weapon, wrapping them in a large square of oilskin to prevent the blood from leaking out. From a sports bag I took out a clean shirt and some sweat pants, tossing them to James' dad.
"Do you do these things often?" He hesitantly asked as he unbuttoned his shirt. "It sounds like you've been at it for a long time..."
I looked up and considered his question. "Since I was fifteen. That's when I began my initiation." I swallowed my saliva, trying to not dwell on the past too much. "I still remember the first time I took a life. It still make my hands shake."
"Sorcerers aren't scholars, we're warriors. I didn't go to Hogwarts to learn my craft, I lived in the streets, my mentor taught me the way the world work, the way of Samsara and of the realization of the Atman. Part of it is to know and understand death.
One day, we went on a field trip in a house in the mountain, it's only when he parked the car that he told me why we were here; Inside the house there was man, Joseph Alexander Moore. The fucker was a child molester, he had three kids locked down in his basement. We bashed the door down and he was on his couch watching TV.
He looked so shocked when John pulled a gun on him, he kicked him down to the floor and held him there. He gave the pistol to me and I put it to the guy's mouth. He begged for mercy but I pulled the trigger regardless." I admit, closing the trunk and sitting on it.
"Was it hard?" He asked, probably wondering if I felt like he did.
"I started crying, I couldn't bear what I'd just done. I didn't want to be a sorcerer anymore... But then John showed me the flip side of the coin. One of those kids in the basement wasn't breathing, he had tried to escape and the fucker had beaten him, it was fresh only two hours... John took him in his arm and instilled the Ojas of the guy I'd just killed into him. He started breathing again, his wounds closed. He fucking lived, mate." I continued, my eyes getting teary.
"And that's how you learned magic, by killing people?"
I chuckled at the question. "No, but death is part of it, what we do, is simple. We simply create connections or destroy them. Maybe you saw it earlier, when I ruined their guns, you could say I messed probabilities, I bound the threads of fate into new patterns, making jamming the only possibility of what could happen.
The first thing a sorcerer ever unbinds is himself, it's only once you've done it that you have the necessary knowledge or gnosis to do magic like I do; without all those tomes and rituals."
He nodded and there was a moment of silence between us. "And could I learn how to do those things?" I stared at him in disbelief for a moment and only then understood he was serious. "I would do anything to protect my son." He explained.
"No offense but we don't generally take volunteers, those we seek are the outcasts, the weirdos and those who live on the edge of society. It's not an easy life, and certainly not one people who hold a job and a normal life can live."
"What else can I do else then?"
"Unless you're feeling like selling your soul, there isn't much you can..." I declared. He swore under his breath and I continued. "Alright, maybe once this whole mess is over I can show you a thing or two. No promise though."
He looked rather grateful and I asked him a question. "Alright then. Why don't you tell me who Pendragon is?"
He looked oddly at me and just asked. "The father of king Arthur?"
"You studied about it in college didn't you?"
"How did you know?" He asked, wide-eyed.
"There's an angel on my shoulder that tipped me." I cryptically answered before pushing him to talk. "Tell me about him."