16 — Changes
I rushed through the halls of the museum, to the office area.
Everything felt bigger.
No, that wasn't right. I just felt
smaller
.
It was a disconcerting sensation. This entire time he and I had been the same
height
. I had always made sure of that. Something about the transformation had shrunk me down, unintentionally — subconsciously.
I was smaller, but I
felt
the
right
size —
me
sized.
Before, in that other body, as him, I had always felt too big; too broad and top heavy — too heavy in general. My hands had been too far from my eyes. I hadn’t really noticed it until the feeling was gone.
It was disconcerting, and
incredible
. I feared I'd get used to it. I didn't
want
to.
I passed through my office, and went into Daelus' office, and then stopped myself with my own line of thinking. My office?
His
office? It was just me now; they were
both
my office.
I mimed pulling my thoughts out of my head and into the room, and
focused
.
I was here for the artifact — worth killing for, I was assuming — which was in the desk. It would be in the top drawer, where I had thankfully safely secured it rather than having Daelus bring it home with him.
This meant that the drawer was, of course, locked. The key was where I had left it, in a dish by the door, at my estate, which was probably still haunted by enemy entourage.
I considered my options. As my eyes scanned around the space for a tool that could help, I couldn't help but notice how little of
him
there really was here.
We had made a show of having different modes of working and different tastes in our surroundings. There was a knick-knack at the corner of the desk that I had once picked up from a corner shop; a wooden carving of a theater performer who I had pretended to like. There were also his uncrossed sevens and zeds in the records keeping, which pained me to do, but I felt details like that had helped in the charade.
It was now glaringly obvious that everything that was meant to be him was a superficial trifle. The rest was all
me
. The tastes, the interests, the
personality
— it had all always been
me
.
I had lost focus again, and I was also procrastinating. I
really
didn't want to damage the desk. The artifact may have been worth enough to them to kill me over, but I
liked
that desk. I wasn't sure I could pick the lock without damaging it. I wasn't even sure I could pick the lock at
all
.
I needed a plan. Johnathan undoubtedly knew someone who could open that lock delicately, but inviting him here, inviting
anyone
here, would run the risk of drawing attention to the museum office. I knew the place well enough to move through it blindfolded. No lights on, nobody home. The locksmith would need a lamp and I didn't want to put Johnathan or anyone else in more danger.
My home would easily take another hours or so to ransack before they decided the artifact wasn't there and—
Shit
. They’d find the desk key. I
had
to get the artifact out of that desk
now
. I couldn't risk leaving here without it.
I stared at the drawer, and thought — w
hat if.
An idea hit me that sent shivers through me and raised goosebumps. Could I—?
As quickly as the thought came to me, my mind raced, and I had an
answer
.
Another
me
was standing beside me. I was instantly overwhelmed by the sight. It felt—
No, I had to
focus
. The point was, I could
still
do it; I still had the ability to project an entourage. My mind spun with the implications but I didn't have time to lose myself into my own head — or hers. I had an
idea
.
She vanished. I had heard of other delegates — I guessed I was still one — using their ability to project
hands
into the world. I had never tried it myself, but also…
I turned my eyes to the drawer. I could feel a hand —
my
hand — projected inside of it. It was cramped. The artifact and journal were both there. I felt for any trace of an internal locking mechanism.
I could feel my own body taking a backseat. I
was
the hand. I
felt
, and I found what I was looking for; the interior surfaces of a mechanism. I had never really paid too close attention to it, but now I needed to understand how it worked. I fiddled. I fumbled. I felt something I could move. Outside the drawer I grasped the handle and tugged.
Nothing.
I knew that I could do this. My work in architecture came with a basic understanding of doors and locks. It was theoretical — I had never designed a lock myself — but I knew the principals.
I willed the hand smaller, smaller, and smaller
still
. It fit into the mechanism entirely. Millimeters at a time I mapped out its surfaces by touch. I
pushed
. Something moved. It clicked. My body outside tugged.
It
opened
.
I was back inside my own head, eyes open. I saw the artifact, the journal, and my precious, tiny, third hand.
With a thought I returned it to a proper size. I lifted it gently by the fingers and kissed it, said, “thanks, babe,” with spontaneous mirth, and vanished it away.
I realized that everything I had just done was child's play compared to the shit I was used to doing on a daily basis.
More importantly, the treasure was now secure. My next move would be to—
Oh, right. I was
dead
. Daelus Thresh was dead, and Johnathan and I never had
the Conversation.
Johnathan either already knew of Daelus’s fate, or would know before I could get to him. It was his business to know things, and quickly.
He'd hold it together until he had time to grieve, but he was such an emotional creature — all bottled up. He still loved Daelus very much. I wasn’t sure he thought of this version of me as anything more than the
help
, if he thought of me at all. I was someone who made coffee, organized the building, got things opened on time, and told him if Daelus was in or out. I was an assistant. I
tidied
.
The sight of me not emotionally distraught in the slightest, in fact
vibrating
with excitement, trying to tell him something personal, would not go over well. On the other hand, I wasn't in the mood to keep this a secret from him any longer.
I knew how it would go. He’d say it wasn't supposed to be possible to do this with the entourage power. I’d say no one had ever thought to
try
it. Still, he was the sort to dream up wild possibilities, so I believed he'd accept it once his head cleared.
Shit
.
He was going to have a meltdown.
He was going to
faint
.
There was nothing to do but get that over with. After that, we’d get the artifact somewhere safe, and then work out what the fuck was going on.
It wasn’t just my own transformation. Everything had changed. Someone, a
delegate
, had decided Daelus Thresh needed to die.
I was sure that thanking them would be
very
confusing.