The street was quiet in the north end of the city, scattered cottonwoods shedding their leaves as a cool wind rushed through the branches. Rusty colors danced in the air, slowly gliding to the ground. Kimo kept his head down as he limped down the sidewalk. He kept his black eyes glued to the pavement to keep the wind from coursing tears down his cheeks. Dark hair brushed over his tan face, deceptively young as he had the features of a teenager but was almost 45. Long life was only one of his gifts. Rollerblades were tied around his neck, wheels bumping against his tattooed chest and shoulders. Black ink traced waving lines across his upper torso, swirling and shading to create a river effect, spiked flowers placed along the winding river. A bulky backpack was strapped behind him with a wooden baseball bat wrapped in barbwire sticking out through the zipper, markings edged into the surface of the wood.
Movement caught the corner of his eye and Kimo watched a small-scaled creature darting along the gutter of the street. A long tail flicked behind it, a pale green body with advanced hind legs that gave it great speed and mobility. He watched the creature scurry down a drain with an irate expression. For the 0.001% of the population that had the ability to see things beyond a single reality, the scaled animals were pests and could be very hard to get rid of. They multiplied fast and were attracted to dark and damp places.
Kimo looked away from the gutter and back to the pavement, watching his boots drag across the ground, a broken ankle keeping him from blading to the hillside communities after an asshole in a BMW ran through a stop sign and smashed him into a streetlight pole. Red scrapes ran down his left cheek and a cut on his forehead was slowly tracing blood down his forehead to his eyebrow. He had a purple bruise forming on his left shoulder, and his left knee was torn and bleeding.
When he made it to the closest bus stop Kimo dropped on the bench and tossed his backpack to the ground, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket. He lit the cigarette with a blue flame that ignited from the tip of his finger and purple smoke swirled through his lips.
Rain began to fall when the bus arrived. It was empty inside, two dozen faded blue seats beneath a line of fluorescent lights. Graffiti covered the surfaces, stains on the ground, windows dull and dirty. He took a seat in the back, leaning his head against the glass, and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he was approaching the hillside and pulled the string above the window.
Kimo walked down a road where streetlamps were scattered at greater distances, buildings rundown, and the evening beginning to coat the sides of the road in a dark blue shadow. When he made it to the end of the road he reached Azure Skies Suites. Moss grew up the walls, balconies with crocked banisters hanging towels, and vining plants. Lights glowed in the windows but most were blocked by shades or screens. He pulled out a key and opened the front door and entered the lobby. There was no light aside from a random lamp in the corner of the room that flickered beside a staircase. Mailboxes on the wall were rusted and covered in dents, mail spilling out from the bent metal. He moved quickly through the lobby, whispers and laughs echoing in the dark. They were mostly harmless, but they could be loud and intrusive when they wanted to be. He rushed to the stairs and tackled the steps where occasional lights were cemented to the thick walls.
When Kimo approached his apartment on the 6th level he paused. The door across from his was cracked open. The resident was one who took her privacy seriously. She unnerved Kimo but she did not scare him. She was not the only strange one at Azure Skies Suites.
"Jumanah? You in here?" Kimo called as he peeked his head into the apartment. The door led to a purple hallway lined with shelves that contained an excessive number of notebooks and thick textbooks stuffed on shelves. He recognized some of the textbooks—The Blackened Tome, Arcane Enchantments, The Abyssal Codex—studies about forbidden knowledge, ancient rituals, and invocations Kimo would not dare practice. The knowledge and notes were accompanied by jars filled with colorful liquids and organs floating in shimmering substances. In the living room was a couch with plump cushions and Picasso-like abstractions covering the walls. A hookah sat among large pillows on the wood floor and shelves against the wall by the window held various crystals of cool colors with a fluctuating glow like little heartbeats. By one of the windows was a worn pillow where an etherial lankatiger was curled up under a ray of depleting light, abnormally long torso curled in a spiral creating an elegant shape with its long and well-groomed fur, altering from white to grey to red.
An archway to the right led to an unkept kitchen where Jumanah was at work among her rotting dishes and extravagant plants Kimo had read about in his underworld herbaceous poisons class. In front of her was a black cauldron, a pointed brown hat atop her dark dreadlocks that reached down her hips. She was even skinnier than Kimo, honey-colored arms like sticks covered in thin white scars. There was a beauty mark on either side of her face underneath her eyes, one gold, the other dark and near black. There were geometric tattoos on her shoulders and chest and the low-cut neck of her tattered dress revealed a bony ribcage and an atlas moth tattoo on her chest.
Her arms were stretched over the cauldron and her fingers were bent at odd angles while her hands were pitch black. There was a dark cloud hovering along the ceiling, the room darkening until she noticed Kimo. She pulled her hands to her sides, the blackness draining from her skin, the cloud quickly evaporating.
"The hell are you in here for?" she asked in an irate tone.
"The door was cracked open," said Kimo.
"What?"
"…The door was open."
Jumanah quickly moved around the kitchen counter, ignoring Kimo, and rushed to a closet in the living room to check on a caged creature. Kimo felt a wave of fear hit him when he saw it. It looked like a white puff ball with long black legs, 2 black holes in the center that served as eyes. The thing made a small ticking sound when the closet door opened.
"Where the hell did you get an alba vidvac?" Kimo said. The creature's dangers were held in their veins, blood so acidic it could eat through the outer crust of the earth. They had very mild mental abilities that could pull doors open or move small objects; an advancement that they could use in swift manners to escape capture. Beneath the fluffs of white fur was a very crafty mind, but despite their intelligence, they were often devalued due to their physical components that restricted their ability beyond simple movements of the legs.
"Oh, someone's been studying," Jumanah smirked. "You must know then that their venom is very valuable and their blood is sold at a high price."
"Whatever. Just don't let it get out," Kimo said as he left the apartment, closing the door completely behind him.
Kimo's apartment was cool and gloomy. He despised the heat and the Azure Skies Suites tended to run hot when all residents were users of various skills. Dark arts generate lots of power, which made the apartments run 20 to 30 degrees warmer than the outside. Because of that, soon after Kimo moved in, he purchased a Glacial Whisperer AC unit, made by a small establishment that few knew of. The device was crafted by users with a keen understanding of elemental magic that, instead of merely circulating air, was able to channel the essence of winter itself. At its core was a crystalline matrix infused with potent ice magic, emanating a palpable chill that permeated the air. Kimo took a deep breath and relaxation quickly entered his lungs, the sharply cold air relieving his tense muscles.
After dropping his bag on the floor, Kimo tossed his rollerblades aside and dropped onto the couch in the living room. He had never been in Jumanah's apartment before and barely knew the other residents, but he knew each space had a different layout. His living room and kitchen were connected and he had a single bedroom and bathroom.
In front of the couch in the living room was a small flatscreen TV hooked up to an Xbox he hardly used. He had no wall hangings, leaving the peeling wallpaper visible, and he did nothing to repair the cracks on the kitchen counters from when he was testing gravity manipulation and accidentally increased the density of a pineapple too suddenly that broke the counter. Never knowing any family, Kimo's apartment was bare of personal photos or cherished belongings from childhood, and his minimalist attitude left the space mostly vacant. He had a desk against one wall with a large computer monitor and his only clutter came from the extravagant number of novels and textbooks that circled the perimeter of the living room on unmatching shelves. The bedroom had thick shades pulled over the windows and a stack of mattresses. In a corner of the bedroom was a 20-gallon tank containing silver/blue fish that circled the water, electrolytes running across the scales that created sparks and flashes of energy in the water. There was a set of wires taped to the inside of the tank, trailing out of the water where they plugged into circuits in the wall. Azure Skies Suites was lacking many things, including electricity, so residents had to come up with their own ideas if they wanted power. Voltfin fish were a simple solution as they didn't need to be fed much and their constant motion meant they could provide consistent power. However, despite the fish's small size (they got no bigger than 4 inches), they needed a large amount of space to move, so the tank took up a large portion of the bedroom.
Loud shouting came from next door and Kimo shouted back in protest, grabbing his bat from his backpack and hitting the wall with a powerful thud. Forceful banging and shouting were the only thing that shut his neighbor Henry up. He was a red-skin from a realm where plants were made of flames and rivers flowed with tar.
When the noise stopped, Kimo dropped his bat and went to the fridge. There was an apple, a jar of peanut butter, and a container of leftover lasagna. His ability to conjure the unseen also allowed a smaller intake of fuel to keep his body running, and he continually stretched those limits and ate things only in small quantities. He grabbed the apple from the fridge and took a few bites before putting it back. He then went over to the desk and grabbed one of the textbooks from a shelf beside the TV. He sat down and turned on the monitor, casually searching the internet while he glanced at the text beside him.
Kimo was going over his notes for his theurgy practice when a knock came at his door. Without waiting for a response the door opened and a young man with curly blonde hair entered the room. A large red birthmark cracked along his left cheek and his large eyes were a tinted violet color.
"Henry tried to talk to me again," he said as he strolled into Kimo's apartment.
Kimo rolled his eyes. "Don't complain to me. I told you not to be friendly. You know he's got a thing for younger boys."
Jonathan cringed. "Ugh. Makes my skin crawl. And you need more food," he said, looking into the fridge.
"What are you doing here?" asked Kimo, eyes on the book and monitor in front of him. "I thought you had work tonight."
"I called off. What are you working on?" Jonathan asked, looking over Kimo's shoulder. When he saw the textbook he sighed. "I don't know why you bother with that institution stuff. It's a waste of time and patience."
"I rather enjoy it, believe it or not."
"Think you're special because you think you understand things? The more you dive into the details of the unexplainable the more lost you will get."
Kimo looked down at the papers, depictions, and descriptions of divine beings and the practices that it took to invoke and communicate with them. Beings that possessed power and knowledge and could grant it in some cases. There were rules to the rituals, and practices that must be followed in order to safely extract what was desired.
Jonathan lingered in Kimo's apartment, gently brushing his fingers across the walls and furniture in the room. His eyes were open wide, chaos crossing his pupils as the man's cursed eyes brought in sights even Kimo could not see. Visions from other worlds where strange things lurked and merged with his reality. He touched things to remind himself what plane of existence he was in, and he had told Kimo before that he liked his apartment because the space was more peaceful. Kimo knew he didn't understand how Jonathan felt, but whatever cursed things he could see, few of them accompanied Kimo. He did not know why the visions were not attracted to Kimo like most users, but it granted Jonathan a small breath of peace when in the man's company.
"We should go to The Exspiravit tonight," Jonathan said suddenly, hand wrapped in one of the blinds at the window.
"Why?" asked Kimo. "Last time you were there you came out and didn't talk for two days. You still won't tell me what happened."
"I have questions that need answering. If you come with me maybe you'll find out what happened this time."
Kimo dressed in a tobacco-colored jacket and put on thick-soled shoes to keep the nails and broken glass from puncturing his feet, he and Jonathan leaving a little before 11:00 pm. The Exspiravit did not exist before 10:08 pm and disappeared at 4:14 am. Anyone inside after that time disappeared with the building and never reappeared.
The Exspiravit was a ghost of a building located in the northernmost district of the city, located on a corner street where buildings were abandoned and homeless people lurked. The building had once been a luxurious restaurant with 2 floors and an elegant glass chandelier and comfortable booths aligned to project privacy for customers who did not want to be noticed. Rumors were that many soulless people wandered into the place, where heinous deals were struck and plans were made that would ruin lives. Gangsters, smugglers, murderers, assassins—all passed through the private meeting place at one point or another. The building burnt down 36 years ago, a bizarre event where a fire was started someplace on the second floor (the cause still a mystery), and all the doors were locked from the outside, leaving 68 people to perish from the flames. Many suspected it was a hit on one of the customers, the assassin heartless enough to kill dozens of other innocent lives in the process.
Four days after the restaurant burnt down, it reappeared with fresh glass windows glowing with light and bricks charred and black and held together by shimmering mortar. Users were the only ones who could see and enter the building, the inside transformed into a place of neon lights and lots of liquor. There was an enchanting glow to the building that pulled users to it like it had pulled criminals behind its walls when it stood as a restaurant. Drugs could be found behind counters where black silhouettes served customers whatever they desired—whatever could keep them there longer.
The chandelier still hung from the ceiling, but the glass glittered with a red tint, and there was no base or strings visible which gave the illusion that the glass was floating below the ceiling. The booths on the ground floor were gone, the space open and poorly lit where people danced atop splintered wood and massive speakers blasted music from every corner of the floor. The second floor still had booths, but each was covered with a black mosquito net that made it impossible to see who sat behind it. Masked faces lined the walls of the second floor and a balcony opened to the dance floor below.
Tonight The Exspiravit was especially crowded, hordes of people stomping and dancing across the floor. A heavy bass vibrated from the walls and smoke curled in the air among the neon glow. The bar on the ground floor had smaller groups gathered around it and Kimo and Jonathan approached the counter where the faceless bartender poured the drinks they desired before they even spoke. The shadow opened a hand to offer a small tray of shimmering white powder, but both boys turned a head and took only the drinks.
"So…what are we waiting for?" Kimo asked when they took a seat at one of the couches by the bar.
"Patience, my friend," said Jonathan as he took a sip of his rum and coke.
Kimo looked out onto the dancing floor, the low light and smoke making it difficult to tell where one person ended and another began. Before he took a drink of his gin and tonic, he could already feel the effects of The Exspiravit as it dulled his senses and tried to keep him from leaving.
Kimo looked back at Jonathan and saw him staring across the room. Kimo tried to follow his eyeline, eyes squinting in the dark. Suddenly, he saw a green flash among the smoke and bodies, blinking a few times, and then it disappeared.
Jonathan jumped to his feet, dropping the drink to the floor. Kimo followed him as they pushed through the crowd, taking no care to be careful or courteous. Kimo even knocked a few people off their feet as he rushed to keep up with Jonathan.
At the other end of the crowd, Kimo saw they were approaching a small door by the wall. It was something Kimo had never noticed before, the door short in height with a small gold halo given by the lights on the other side. There was a purple rope strung in front and Kimo wondered why no one paid any attention to it.
"What is that?" Kimo asked when he caught up with Jonathan at the rope. "Why have I not seen it before?"
"It's not always here," said Jonathan, pulling a switchblade from his pocket.
Kimo was going to ask what that was for but stopped when he saw Jonathan run it across the palm of his hand. Blood magic was risky and difficult to practice correctly. When his palm was coated in blood, Jonathan pressed his hand on the rope and for a moment and gripped it tightly. When he pulled his hand away Kimo watched as the blood stain disappeared, soaking into the fabric. Then he walked through the rope like it was made of water. Kimo wanted to say something but Jonathan only looked back at him for a moment, smiling as he pushed the door open and ducked into a corridor.
Kimo always carried a blade with him and pulled out his jackknife and copied Jonathan. His heart began to race as he put it on the rope. If he was rejected, things could go badly. But he felt nothing when he touched the rope and watched as his blood seeped into the surface. His heartrate elevated again as he walked through the rope like Jonathan had done, and ducked as he opened the door.
He was excited as he descended downward to another door that opened to a spacious lounge. Black furniture was scattered over a perfect red carpet, small orange lights on the walls that revealed the dense layer of smoke circulating in the air.
It hit Kimo like a truck and he fell to his knees, the intense level of toxins in the air enough to kill any ordinary human and many users if they did not pass the marks required.
Few looked Kimo's way as he tried to take hold of his breathing. He focused on the air entering his lungs, pushing his body to absorb and adapt to the surroundings. He had learned some techniques in a mind sculpt course last year at the Night School, causing him to engage in practice meditation that forces control over the unconscious mechanisms of the body, changing its chemistry and reactions to stimulants. It took a few minutes before he could push himself to his feet, eyes focusing on the red carpet that looked like waves of blood.
Raising his head, Kimo saw Jonathan at the other end of the room sitting in a booth. He was speaking to a man with brown skin and long black hair, a large hat atop his head with a red feather protruding from the side. Though there was flesh on his face his folded hands were nothing but bones, his shirt buttoned low to reveal a white ribcage. When Jonathan saw Kimo looking his way he shot Kimo a look that told him to leave them alone, so he walked towards the bar counter, working hard to move his legs as he looked at the small bunches of people sitting in comfortable lounge chairs and booths.
Jumanah was among them, relaxing on a floor pillow with a hookah hose in hand, her eyes bloodshot and glistening as she sat in a dazed slump, the strange tobacco in her system making it feel like gravity was gently increasing and softening her limbs. When she saw Kimo she smiled, and he approached her after grabbing a glass of whisky from the shadowed bartender at the counter. The alcohol snapped some of his attention back to the present.
"You seem to have adjusted quickly," Jumanah said, remaining in her awkward position. "Most people vomit their first time down here."
"How long has this room been here?" Kimo asked, sitting on a cushion beside her.
"Not sure. It doesn't show up every evening. Like most things, there is not much rhyme or reason."
"Do you know who Jonathan is talking to?"
"Death."
"Is that a joke?"
"Nope. He comes here sometimes."
"What is Jonathan talking to him for?"
"Not sure. They've had numerous conversations over the past week. I'm jealous. I never get to talk to him. He usually keeps to himself."
"Why can we see him?" Kimo knew that most gods masked themselves from users. They were not fond of a human subspecies tapping into their networks of power when they showed themselves.
"It just happens when he's high. The first time only Jonathan could see him since he was not smoking."
Kimo spent the rest of the night watching Jonathan, wishing he could read his lips, but the dense smoke dulled his senses and created a constant high that kept pushing him from reality. His vision was blurry, and at times he had an overwhelming urge to gag, a feeling that dark bile clogging up his system. Jumanah spent her time laughing at him as he kept trying to adjust to the atmosphere, mostly because that was all she could do. She eventually lost the ability to even raise her hand, overtaken from the euphoric sensation of gravity crushing her body. Kimo stayed away from her hookah, knowing celestiglaze tobacco was a splendid high for very few.
His mind began to drift more and he looked around the lounge with a rush of amazement. The ceiling looked so far above him, particles of dust dancing in the air like glowing bugs. He scanned the couches and cushions and began to focus on a man across the room. Blackness swallowed his eyes and Kimo could not tell if the dark eye sockets was a hallucination, the size of his eyes amplified by the thick-lensed glasses perched on his nose. There was a tattoo of an eye on his forehead and numerous chains and necklaces hung around his neck. He stared at the tattoo; almost certain it was moving but not trusting his sight. It was difficult where the man was looking, giving away nothing with the blackness in his skull, but Kimo could feel when the man's gaze was on him, which was followed with a voice in his head that was not his.
What are you looking at?
Kimo flushed crimson. He had never met a telepath before. For a moment his mind was blank.
I asked you a question, came the voice again and Kimo was about to jump off the pillow from the bizarre sensation of someone else inside his head and fought to reply.
Uhh…sorry. Did not mean to stare.
He saw the man's shoulders shake gently from laughter, and Kimo looked away with a red face that made Jumanah laugh too. He looked around the lounge at the strange faces, most lounging alone and looking as though they wanted to be isolated or were too high to socialize. Kimo continued to watch the lights in the air, almost forcing himself to stay in an euphoric mood. Sometimes, with enough occult drugs, a high can become a terrible state if your mind drifted too much into dark emotions and memories. You can trap yourself in your head, cycling through fears and anxieties that can inflict trauma on the mind if intense enough. But if you could keep your thoughts on a efficacious track, it could turn into a rapturous experience.
When Jonathan had finished his conversation with Death, Kimo was nearing unconsciousness and the young man helped his friend up the stairs. Kimo watched the dancing horde and lights with amazement and terror. Everything was so loud and bright and he felt he could notice every detail in the room. He saw the dandruff on shoulders, the folds of clothing across sweaty bodies, the smacking of lips on dirty glasses.
Once outside, Kimo felt a weight lift off his chest and breath began to come easier to him. He was about to say he was ok when the urge to vomit overtook him and he spent a few minutes spilling out what was left in his stomach. When he was finished he sat down beside Jonathan, who was smoking on the curb. His skin looked pale and clammy under the moonlight.
"How can you stand it in there?" Kimo asked. "I know who you were talking to. What's going on?"
"I had some questions."
"Questions about what?"
"We should get you home."
"No what—" Kimo threw up again before he could finish.
Kimo did not remember the rest of the night very well but was able to recall stumbling into his apartment with his arm around his friend, who tossed him onto his mattress. Next thing he knew it was morning.