a lesson learned
Cassandra is having a drink.
Alone.
She likes that.
There is whiskey, a quiet bar and
absolutely nobody requiring anything
from her.
A promising evening.
Then he sits down.
I know him.
Cassandra doesn't.
Yet.
He is charming.
In the way certain people are charming
when they have already decided they're
going to annoy you.
And he has taken an interest in
Cassandra.
Rather quickly, actually.
She hasn't invited this.
He doesn't appear troubled by that.
Cassandra has no idea what he wants.
This will not prevent her from having
very strong opinions about him.
Naturally.
He'll ask questions he has no business
asking.
He'll say things she doesn't want to
hear.
And at some point Cassandra will
realise that leaving would probably be
the sensible thing to do.
She won't.
You know her well enough by now.
As for him - you may recognise him
before she does.
Or perhaps you'll simply think he's an
idiot.
Both are reasonable interpretations.
I won't interfere.
Although I am rather looking forward
to this one.
A lesson learned
I sat at the bar, drinking a glass of
whiskey and listening to the music in
the background.
It had been a long day. I only wanted
one drink in peace before I returned to
my hotel room and went to bed early.
Then I felt eyes on me.
When I looked across the room, I saw a
man staring at me.
He had a confident gaze and was
elegantly dressed in a dark suit -
understated, but expensive.
He gave me a small smile, stood up,
and began walking towards me.
Finance or Tech, I assumed.
From the way he walked. From the way
he looked around the room as if he
owned it.
I looked away. But he did not stop.
He sat down right beside me and said,
“I was looking forward to meeting you.”
He said it as if he really meant it.
I looked at him.
Surprised, but not affected.
“Did you?” I asked, looking directly into
his eyes.
Normally, this worked. Most men lost
some of their overconfidence and left.
But this one did not even flinch.
He leaned back in his chair, gave me a
perfectly polite smile, and said, “I am
not interested in flirting with you.”
That caught me a little off guard.
Okay. Business.
As I thought. Finance or Tech guy.
I leaned back as well and returned his
polite smile.
“Glad that you see it this way. So
business, I assume?”
He smiled again.
This time, more like a predator trying to
keep his teeth hidden.
“Some would say so.”
He ordered the same whiskey, then
placed his phone on the bar between
us.
“How is your business running?”
He asked the question as if he already
knew exactly what I was doing.
“Good,” I murmured.
I knew this one needed to be fought
with fire.
“Yours?” I added, as if it were the least
interesting thing in the world.
“Thriving. Great results.”
He watched me while he said it.
I took another sip of my whiskey and
looked directly into his eyes.
“What can I do for you?”
In cases like this, direct questions were
often the best strategy.
He smiled again.
“I am here to teach you a lesson.”
There was no joke in his voice.
I stared at him and stood up.
Before I could leave, he grabbed my
wrist.
His fingers were cool. The grip was firm,
but not painful. Soft, somehow.
“Don’t go,” he said.
His voice sounded like my father’s
voice.
When I looked down at my wrist, I saw
the colour of his suit change for a
second. Dark grey became light grey.
Then it returned to black.
“Sit.”
He paused.
“Please.”
He gestured towards the chair.
Only then did I realise I had been
holding my breath.
Slowly, I exhaled.
This was not a mortal.
I could sense it.
What he was, I had no idea.
Slowly, I sat down again and looked
at him.
Black hair. Dark blue eyes. A handsome
face. Modern clothes. A modern
haircut.
That was why I had not sensed it
before.
He looked like he belonged here.
I did not ask him what or who he was.
He did not seem like someone who
gave answers.
More like someone who asked
questions.
“Precisely,” he said to the question in
my mind.
Before I could say anything, he
murmured, “Your thoughts are so loud,
I would hear them even if I were on
another continent.”
I looked at him again
and could not say a word.
This was unsettling.
Deeply unsettling.
And I did not like him.
“You do not need to like me,” he said.
“Yout need to listen.”
He took a sip from his glass.
“Perfect,” he murmured.
Then he held the glass under my nose.
The smell was overwhelming.
The softest aroma of whiskey I had ever
inhaled. Nothing like the one I had in
my hand.
“One of my talents,” he said, wearing
that dangerous smile again.
“A lesson,” he stated. “One you seem to
have forgotten. And I am here to
remind you.”
He looked at me.
“Again.”
The disapproval was clearly visible in
his face.
And I could feel something rising inside
me.
“You want to lecture me,” I said sharply.
“Fine. Illuminate me with your wisdom.”
I leaned closer.
“But one thing: you handle me with
respect, or this little chat is over. I do
not care what other lecture the
universe has waiting somewhere. I do
not care who you are or what you want.
Understood?”
My face gave nothing away.
But my tone was sharp.
“Ah,” he murmured. “Pride.”
He smiled. It was annoying.
“Good. Very good. Better than this
nothing bothers me bullshit you have
been trying for years now.”
He took another sip.
“Pride is pure energy. Not to be
mistaken for arrogance.” His eyes
rested on me. “I hate arrogance.”
I gave him a dry laugh.
“Well, you seem pretty arrogant to me.”
“Maybe.” He looked amused. “I wanted
to see how you would react. And I saw
it.”
He leaned back again.
“You are not intimidated. Not flustered.
And you are not attracted to it.”
His smile sharpened.
“Makes it easier.”
I did not ask what he meant.
I did not want to give him that
satisfaction.
Instead, I sat there with my shoulders
straight and looked at him.
The unspoken challenge was clearly
visible in my eyes.
“We will not fight,” he said. “Even though
it would be fun.”
He glanced around the bar.
“But it will not happen. You would tear
this place down just to win.”
I looked at him.
“I would.”
Then I added, “And burn everything to
the ground.”
I meant it.
“You still have that fire,” he said. “And
the anger.”
His face became almost thoughtful.
Almost.
“I was wondering where it had been
hiding during the last years. Wondering
if it was gone.”
He watched me carefully.
“You convinced everyone that you are
softer now. But I push the right button,
and there she is.”
He smiled.
“Why did you not let her out?”
I looked him straight in the eye.
“Because she will consume me and
everything I worked for. And that will
not happen.n Especially not for a little
annoying chat with you.”
“Control,” he murmured.
He looked almost pleased.
“You finally learned to control your
emotions. Excellent.”
Then he chuckled quietly and took
another sip from his glass.
“Still single?”
There was a tiny mockery in his voice.
“Fuck you,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Every Sunday,” he replied, as if we were
discussing the weather.
That unsettling smile appeared again.
“You are still scarred from that
douchebag who had the audacity to
betray you and lie to you - and then
died, so you could not even confront
him.”
His eyes held mine.
“Where does all that anger, rage and
grief live now? I am just wondering.”
He leaned closer.
“Let it out.”
My cheeks burned.
My hands began to tremble.
I was furious.
“You…”
I breathed in.
“You have the audacity to ask me this.”
My voice was low at first.
Then it rose.
“To you, it may be a game. It was not a
game. It was brutal.”
I looked at him.
“I slayed every thing in my way.
A bloodbath.”
I tapped my chest.
“Do you really think you know how dark
it can be in here?” I laughed dry. „You
have no idea.“
The music kept playing around us.
Nobody looked at us.
Nobody seemed to notice that the air
between us had changed.
“But let me tell you one thing,” I
continued. “After the dark, it did not
feel better.”
My hands were still shaking.
But my voice was calm again.
“And I did the unthinkable.”
He watched me closely.
“I let it go.”
The words hurt less than I expected.
“Peacefully. It is done.”
I took a breath.
“I built worlds with this.
In reality and in fiction.
My own worlds.”
I looked at him.
“So fuck you. And fuck being single.”
He stared at me for a moment.
Then the corner of his mouth moved.
“I knew you would.”
He raised his glass.
“That fire,” he said. “Magnificent.”
I breathed in slowly.
“Since your first word, you have tried to
tempt me. Almost as if you want me to
give in to my darkest impulses.”
He looked at me.
“They are not impulses. They are
powerful, if you can manage and
control them“
His voice had changed.
Less teasing now.
“I am trying to find out how you
handle it.”
He paused.
“And so far, I would say: poorly.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You are slow.”
His words sounded like a brutal
judgement.
“Slow?” I echoed. “That is something I
have never been called.”
“You are slow,” he repeated.
Then he raised his glass again.
“And still single.”
“You somehow seem to be obsessed
with my single status.” My tone was
amused, but underneath it was
something else. “What? Are you
magically bringing me the right man?
A Prince Charming on a white horse?”
His laugh was dry and sarcastic.
“No. For sure not. You would eat him
alive.“
He grabbed my wrist again.
“You are stuck.”
His fingers were cool against my skin.
“Afraid to repeat the mistakes of the
past. Afraid to do something different.
Nothing comes from being stuck.”
I tried to observe his face, to see what
he was really after.
But he only looked at me with that
damn mocking smile.
“Might be,” I grunted.
“At least I am not that idiot again,
listening to all the things he told me
while he was doing whatever he was
doing.”
I looked down at my glass.
“It took a while. But I tried, you know.”
The last sentence was pressed through
my lips.
“Bullshit.”
His voice was sharp.
“You did not.”
I looked at him. Angry.
“You retreated like it was a lost battle.”
He had pushed another button.
“I do not disturb people who do not
want me in their life and make that very
clear,” I said sharply.
“And you should not.”
He paused.
“Maybe it was that. Maybe it was not.”
he said and held my gaze.
“But you retreated because you did not
trust yourself. You did not trust your
power, your fire, your control.”
His voice was quieter now.
“As I said, you are slow. It is all there.
You just need to use it.”
He stood up.
“Creation is the same for all things,” he
said.
He picked up his phone.
“No matter if it is businesses, words,
thoughts or connections.”
Then he counted on his fingers.
“Imagination. Power. Direction. Trust.”
He looked at me.
“And most importantly: move.”
He paused.
“And move even more. Faster.”
He tapped my forehead. which irritated
me more than i showed.
“Untie the knot.”
For a second, his suit changed colour
again.
Lighter now.
Almost silver.
“I will come back if you do not,” he said.
“Next time, it will be with more force.”
His eyes darkened.
„Is this a threat?“ I asked him
“A bonus“
That smile returned to the corner of his
mouth.
“Talented, but slow,” he murmured.
Then he left the bar.
I looked at the place where he had
stood.
Then I emptied my glass.
“No one ever called me slow,” I said to
myself.
And caught myself smiling.
CREATION
I — The Magician
There you are.
The Magician.
Not the Devil.
Some of you were thinking it.
Charming stranger.
Whiskey.
Temptation.
Knows things he shouldn't.
Understandable.
The Magician will be delighted by the confusion.
The Devil may be less so.
I wouldn't mention it when you meet him.
This force has worn grander names.
Hermes.
Mercury.
Thoth.
Messengers.
Tricksters.
Masters of words and knowledge.
Humans have given them many things
to carry.
Creation is like that.
It takes what is already there
and makes something happen with it.
Cassandra, inconveniently, already has
everything she needs.
Imagination.
Power.
Direction.
Trust.
Fire.
Quite a lot of fire, actually.
The difficulty appears to be getting her
to move.
Apparently, irritation works.
I shall remember that.
Eventually she tells him to fuck off.
He seems pleased.
Of course he does.
I was particularly impressed by:
Every Sunday.
One must appreciate commitment to a
joke.
And that's really the irritating thing
about Creation.
It doesn't always need more.
Sometimes it simply needs you to use
what's already there.
Cassandra knows this now.
Which leaves her with the considerably
less philosophical problem of actually
doing it.
Untie the knot.
He says he'll return if she doesn't.
With more force.
I'd take him seriously.
Not because he's dangerous.
He simply seems rather committed to
being a nuisance.
Every Sunday, apparently.
We've had rather a lot of birds lately.
Knowing him, I wouldn't be surprised if
next time he changed into a raven.
Purely to provoke her.
He would.
Fortunately, Cassandra has had
enough of those.
