Glimmering

Leonard crashed to the floor. Jack heard the crack of his friend’s skull against wood and felt his heart start joyously, as though a lover had called his name.

“What the fuck?” Leonard flung his arms across his face, the bottle rolling toward the wall. “WHAT THE—”

Jack ignored him. He walked over to where the vial had come to rest against the leg of his father’s old desk. He picked up the bottle and eyed it warily.

FUSARIUM APERIAX SPOROTRICHELLIA

FUSAX 687

He pondered the indecipherable Japanese characters above the Latin name. But of course they had nothing to tell him, good old dependable Jackie-boy. Mysterious doctors never shared their secrets with him, and the only demon Jack had ever known sprawled on the floor, moaning and cursing.

“…fucking nuts, Jackie, you know that? Fucking…”

Jack continued to stare at the vial, giving it this last chance to redeem itself. At last he turned, facing the window with its rippling carnival light, and with all his strength hurled the bottle from him.

“JACKIE! NO—”

He had expected it to shatter against the pane. Instead the vial shot right through the glass, leaving a surprisingly small neat opening, like a bullet hole. Jack walked over and examined it.

“Wow.” He crouched down and eyeballed it, shaking his head in wonderment at a hole the size of an old-fashioned silver dollar. There was no radius of cracks, no broken glass. Just that perfect bull’s-eye. “I was sure it would break.”

Behind him Leonard stumbled to his feet and limped to the window. Jack flinched, but the other man seemed not even to notice him. Leonard put his hands upon the glass and pressed his face close, his breath fogging the pane as he peered at the lawn below. A bruise was already darkening his left cheek. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Me neither.” Jack glanced at him warily, but his friend only stared outside. His dark eyes were filled with tears.

“Oh, shit.” Jack’s bravado melted into remorse. He’d only seen Leonard cry once before, at Rachel Gardino’s funeral. “Leonard, I’m—oh, Jeez, Leonard…”

“I can’t believe it. I was only trying to—trying to—”

Jack shook his head. “You’d better go,” he said. His knuckles throbbed from where he’d struck Leonard. He felt like he was going to burst into tears himself. “Okay? I just think you’d better go.”

Leonard turned.

“I know why you did that.” He rubbed his bruised face almost lovingly. “Jackie. You really need to get over it. You’d be a lot better off if you learned how to deal with your feelings for me, you know that? All that rage? It’ll kill you, Jackie-boy. But this—”

He gazed out the window, to where the lawn shimmered beneath the golden sky. “—this,” he repeated, his voice starting to shake. “You may really have fucked up this time, Jackie.”

Jack stared. Was Leonard threatening him? But then Leonard laid his hand upon Jack’s shoulder.

“I have to leave now,” he said. “And I’ll be gone for a while. I’ll call you when I get back.”

Leonard’s grip tightened, his fingers digging through Jack’s robe until they fastened on a cord of muscle. Jack writhed and let out a small moan.

“ Ow—”

“You better ‘Ow.’” The placebit in his front tooth sent out a ruby flare. “Pissing off Padmasambhava like that.”

With a smile he let go of his friend. Jack fell back against the bed. Leonard picked up his bags, then headed for the door. In the hallway he stopped.

“I’m not angry, you know, Jackie.” He hoisted a bag over his shoulder, bones and mirrors clattering. “Believe it or not. I really do understand—”

He cast Jack a sly look, then, grinning, began to recite.

Prince, when I took your goblet tall
And smashed it with inebriate care,
I knew not how from Rome and Gaul
You gained it; I was unaware
It stood by Charlemagne’s guest chair,
And served St. Peter at High Mass.
I’m sorry if the thing was rare;
I like the noise of breaking glass.

He grinned wolfishly. “Watch your back, Jackie-boy—”

And with a soft clatter upon the stairs he was gone.