Signal to Noise(73)

“Stop it!” Isadora yelled.

She had followed them. Sebastian felt even worse now, knowing she was witnessing the whole spectacle. There was nothing like a good beating with a side of humiliation.

“Please, stop! No more!”

Nobody listened to her. The boys laughed and continued kicking him. Sebastian raised his hands trying to shield his face. He swallowed blood.

The boys paused and Sebastian was able to stand up. He did not know if they were done with him or if they had just paused for a breather. He was not about to find out. Sebastian limped away.

He heard them when he turned the corner, coming his way. Ready for more fun.

A street musician was playing the guitar nearby. Sebastian concentrated on the melody, his eyes fixed on the hands plucking the strings and he changed his face, his shape. Glamour—just like they’d been practising.

When the boys ran by they saw a stooped, old man resting next to a wall and ignored him. A few seconds later, Sebastian sighed and the tattered illusion he had constructed shattered.

He slid down to the ground, curled up on the sidewalk. People who walked by him took him for a drunk or a street kid.

A couple of hours later, Sebastian opened his eyes, got unsteadily to his feet and began walking home.





MECHE SAT WITH her grandmother, sorting scraps of yarn into balls. Her grandmother did not believe in wasting anything and the collected little bits of yarn would be used for new projects.

The needles clicked and Meche set the balls from largest to smallest, then arranged them by colour. She’d done this since she was a child and it was kind of fun, especially if she could play some good music in the background and get her grandmother to tell stories.

“Some witches can cut their chests with sharp blades and will not bleed. Others can summon invisible spirits. And then there are those who can fascinate animals with their gaze.”

“I’d prefer to fascinate people with my gaze,” Meche replied.

“You might be able to do that too,” her grandmother said.

Meche placed the balls of yarn in a big bowl and set it down on the floor.

“Grandma, did you ever cast a spell?”

“You keep asking that.”

“I want to know.”

“I might have tried, once or twice.”

“Did it work?”

“It was such a long time ago.”

“What did you try?”

“I tried to be invisible.”

“How did you do it?”

“That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

“Please.”

“Alright. I knitted a blanket, dark as night, and wore it around me. It made me... disappear. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to do that anymore.” She paused to look at the cover she was knitting. “My eyes are not what they used to be. Anyway, magic is for the young.”

“Maybe you could try again,” Meche said. “I could help you.”

“You don’t like to knit.”

“I would knit a magic blanket.”

“The only problem is I don’t stitch spells anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I hurt people, once.”

“Did they deserve to be hurt?”

Grandmother touched Meche’s chin. “Don’t they always, when you’re a girl?”

Meche thought some people deserved a taste of their own medicine and she didn’t see why anyone would stop using spells when they could be so much fun. Why let go of the power? She sure as hell wouldn’t.

“Oh, come on. Show me one spell.”

Her grandmother smiled and set her needles down. “I’m tired, Meche.”

She stood up, stumbling. Meche helped steady her.

“Are you alright, grandma?”

“I’m tired,” she said, patting Meche’s shoulder. “I’m just tired.”





SEBASTIAN STUMBLED INTO his apartment. His body ached something awful and the coppery taste of blood lingered in his mouth.

The door to his bedroom was closed. By the noises filtering out, his brother was with a girl. He wanted to get out of the dirty, stained clothes he was wearing. Sebastian knocked, pressing his forehead against the door.

“Go away,” came Romualdo’s reply.

“I need to come in.”

“Go the f*ck away.”

Something snapped in Sebastian. Furious, he kicked the door and it slammed open. A naked girl he didn’t know squealed, pulling the covers over herself. Romualdo glared at him.

“What the hell?! What are you doing, barging in...”

Sebastian pulled a duffel bag from under his bed and dumped some clothes in it. When Romualdo stalked towards him, Sebastian stretched up his whole length—which was considerable—and looked his brother in the eye. Romualdo took two steps back and Sebastian returned to the duffel bag, tossing in two books and zipping it closed.

He stopped to look at himself in the bathroom mirror. His left eye was very bruised. It would be purple, swollen, awful in the morning. Caked blood dirtied his collar. He opened the faucet and drank from it, spitting out blood. He washed his face and his hands, took off the soiled clothes and looked at the bruises on his chest.

He changed into dark jeans and a dark shirt, put on a clean jacket and hurried out the door. He strapped the bag to the motorcycle and went to the corner, tossing a couple of coins into the payphone.