Just Couldn't Help Myself

“You need to relax.” Deacon said from the couch, where he was sprawled out, playing with a wire puzzle he’d found in the drawer of the side table. “The first thing you need to do is to figure out where your threshold is.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it means that there’s a point in every Traveller where relaxation becomes a window.” he sat up and looked at me. “Your brain functions at a certain frequency depending on what it’s doing. The less it’s doing, the lower the frequency.”

“Is that scientific?” I asked him.

“No, it’s just an easy way of explaining it.” he said. “Every Traveller’s frequency is different. If you and I were to slip simultaneously, we’d slip in different frequencies. You need to find yours. All frequencies that Travellers use are low, though, so it’s best to learn to relax.”

I sighed and closed my eyes. How the hell was I supposed to relax? I thought of every relaxing thing I could think of; nothing worked.

“Stop squirming.” Deacon said, and I opened my eyed to glare at him.

“How did you learn?”

He chuckled. “Motown.”

“What?”

He set the puzzle aside; it was finished, which annoyed me. I’d never figured that stupid thing out. “I saw The Temptations play in… I think it was 1969. That song they do, ‘Wish It Would Rain’?” he smiled. “To this day, when I slip, I can hear it in my head.”

“You were alive in 1969?” I asked him.

“No.” he looked at me, his eyes glittering. “I’m not even really alive yet. I won’t be born until 2013.”

I gaped at him. “You’re… that’s bullshit.”

He shook his head. “Honest truth. But that’s not really the point. You need to concentrate on relaxing.”

“I can’t.” I said, and he sighed. “I’m sorry, but this is just…” I shifted. “I’m uncomfortable.”

“Okay.” he stood up. “Let’s find a place where you’re comfortable. Stand up.” I did. “Bedroom?”

“What?”

He pointed at the hallway. “Try laying in bed.”

I went into the bedroom, and he followed me. I laid down awkwardly on the bed and closed my eyes, and a moment later I felt his weight on the other side. “Now, it’s dark in here.” he said quietly. “So that might help. Think of things that make you feel good, and mix in stuff that makes you feel tired.”

“Like sleeping in sunspots in the middle of winter.” Lonnie offered, and I chuckled. “And drinking wine.”

“Alcohol does help.” Deacon agreed. “If you can’t get this sober, we might have to liquor you up.”

“Great.” I muttered. “Okay, let’s see…” I tried to come up with good things, and tiring things that weren’t stressful, and this time it was a little easier. I thought about how tired I felt after hiking, and really good quality coffee, and laying in bed after sex, which was sort of both. Eventually, I wasn’t really thinking at all; my brain felt almost empty, my entire body loose and slightly tingly. I couldn’t hear anything, but that didn’t really bother me. My eyelids felt way too heavy while the rest of me felt way too light.

And then there it was; that clear, wooden wind chime sound. I focused on that, focused on trying to find where it was. It got louder, clearer, more tempting, and it felt like if I just reached a little father-

“Easy, tiger.” Deacon said, his voice painfully loud, and I opened my eyes. He was leaning over my, his hand on my shoulder. “You did very good, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

I felt… almost surreal. “What happened?”

“You went fuzzy.” Lonnie said. “Not really there. It was quick. I didn’t expect you to learn that fast.”

“Me either.” Deacon said, still way too close to me. “But blind slipping is a good way to get yourself killed.”

“Can I sit up now?” I asked, and he leaned away so I could do that. I rubbed my head. “I feel weird.”

“Of course you feel weird.” Deacon patted my arm. “Hungry?”

“No, I just-” I stopped, frowning. I was starving. “But I just ate.”

He nodded. “Slipping’s a little confusing for your body.” he said. “Your heart rate and brain activity drop to almost nothing, but your body burns off energy so fast that if you stay in that half state too long, you can starve to death.”

“That’s scary.” I muttered.

He stood up. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

I was locking my apartment door when Murphy came up the stairs. He looked startled, even scared, for a moment, before greeting me and giving Deacon a curious look.

I pointed at the black haired man. “You remember Deacon.” I said, and Murphy nodded slowly.

“Oh, I remember him.” Murphy said quietly. “Where are you going?”

“Lunch.” Deacon said. “Afraid I overworked Johnny.” he chuckled and patted me on the shoulder again. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

I waited until he was gone before looking back to Murphy, who had an unreadable look on his face. “What?” I asked him.

He shook his head, not meeting my eyes.

I sighed. “Can I see you tonight?” I asked.

“I’ve got plans.” he said, and looked up at me. “Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Okay.” I watched him go upstairs, then went down myself.

Deacon was sitting on his motorcycle. “Um, no fucking way.” I told him flatly.

“What? Why?” he asked. “They’re safe as houses.” he held out the helmet at me.

“No.”

He sighed. “Johnny, just get on the fucking bike.”

Eventually I made myself get on the fucking bike.

Twenty minutes later, feeling like I was going to either puke or have a heart attack, Deacon rocked the bike onto it’s stand and let me climb off. “Oh, fuck that.” I muttered, yanking the helmet off and glaring at Deacon as he dismounted. “How can you do that all the damn time?”

“It’s fun.” he said with a shrug. “Come on.”

“What’s this?” I asked, looking up at the building. It looked like a house.

“My favorite place to eat.” he said with a little smile, before leading me up the stairs. He went inside without knocking, and I followed him. It was a house; a cluttered house, full of furniture and books and candles, bottles and trinkets and boxes everywhere. “Stella!” he shouted into the house. “You home?”

“She’s at the store!” a girl’s voice called, a moment later a short, chubby girl with bubblegum colored hair walking into the room. “Deacon!” she chimed happily, and hugged him.

“Hey, Nanette.” he pointed at me. “This is Johnny.”

She nodded and said hello. “Food?” she asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Come on.”

We followed her into the kitchen, which was cheerful and clean and bright yellow. “Sit.” she said, pointing at the table. I followed Deacon’s lead and sat at the table, and a split second later Nanette set glasses and a pitcher full of tea on the table. “Stella made stuffed grape leaves this morning, or there’s fixings for muffaletta.”

“Sandwiches.” Deacon explained, obviously catching my confusion. “They’re great.”

Nanette bounced around the kitchen as she made the sandwich, which she used an entire loaf of bread for. She sliced it into fingers and served it on one big plate, handing us each smaller plates. I took a slice and very timidly bit into it. It was fantastic; a little oily, the olive in it giving it a wonderful bite, the meats fresh.

“Goddamn.” I muttered through my mouthful.

“Glad you like it.” Nanette said, smiling. “So what can I do for you two today?”

Deacon stood a drink of his tea and pointed at me. “Johnny here has himself quite an interesting house pet.” he said, and I choked.

“Oh really?” Nanette grinned. “What kind of house pet?”

“Deacon-”

“A talking cat.”

I wanted to reach over and punch him in the face.

Nanette’s eyes went wide. “Seriously? Is it really a cat or does it just look like a cat?” she asked.

“What?”

She shrugged. “Well, if it’s a for real talking cat, then Stella would definitely enjoy meeting it. If it’s a human that was transformed into a cat, then maybe she can help.” I stared at her, completely at a loss for words. She stared back, confused. Then she laughed. “What, you’ve never met a witch before?”

“Stella’s not a witch.” Deacon said. “Nanette’s a witch. Stella’s a.. well, no one’s really sure what Stella is.”

I set my sandwich down, feeling sick all over again. “Explain.” I said shortly.

“Stella’s a Traveller.” Deacon told me. “And she’s… well, she practices all kinds of magic.”

“She specializes in hoodoo, but she practices Vodoun arts regularly as well.” I gave her a confused look. “Ah, Vodoun’s sometimes called Santeria, or voodoo. They’re different, hoodoo and voodoo.”

“Okay.” I said stupidly. I looked at Deacon. “You brought me here to see if this Stella woman can fix Lonnie.”

“Yes.” Deacon nodded. “I think it would help everyone if Lonnie the cat was Lonnie the human.”

“I’m a real boy.” Nanette said in a falsetto singsong voice, and Deacon snickered.

I sighed. “Look, Deacon, I know you mean well, but this is all a little fast for me, and I think-”

“How old is Lonnie?” Deacon asked. I shrugged. “Look, he’s been like that for too long, okay? I’m just giving you the option. Whether you choose to take it or not is up to you.”

“I don’t like how much you know about me without me telling you.” I grumbled.

“You did tell me.” he said, and I glared at him. “You just haven’t yet.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” I told him.

“It will.” he said, and smiled at me before taking another big bite of his sandwich.