Love and Magick, A Short Story Double Feature Read Free Page A

my own head.”
    But a whole me…a new body, right here and
perfect. I thought about it. If this could happen, if this Spell of
Duality could actually bring her to me, what else could it
do? I remembered the initial casting with Arcadian. I had left my
body, quite clearly. So, I could do it again and…but how?
    I had no idea how.
    I covered her, feeling that to be the only
decent thing to do and tried a few more times with a few more
gentler techniques to wake her, but there was no doing it. I sat
down in the chair by the window and watched her, my fascination
endless.
    In time, as the night aged, I felt my eyes
grow heavy. My head dipped and I was startled awake, the way one is
when she realizes she's been falling asleep behind the wheel.
    I can't fall asleep , I thought. When she wakes we’ll find out what this is all about.
    The night ticked on and before I could catch
myself, my eyes drooped and dreams encroached.
    ***
    When I woke my leg kicked. Only it was the
leg that wasn’t there anymore, a phantom-kick. The gray of dawn
poured through the windows, flooding the cold room. I had been
sleeping for hours. At once, my eyes locked on the bed. It was
empty!
    “Oh no!” I forced my tired mind and body to
rouse. I burst into the living room and found her. "You're still
here," I breathed. "Good. I didn't want you to go."
    She was standing by the window, her back to
me. She was naked and her hair was wet. I could smell the dewy
perfume of a recent shower lingering through the small
bungalow.
    “I have clothes you can wear,” I said,
swallowing with a dry throat. She did not respond. “Did you hear
me?”
    As I approached her I felt my absent leg. It
ached and I knew I needed more sleep; it always ached when I was
poorly rested.
    When I reached my double I was stricken with
the undeniable truth that her eyes were closed and she was asleep
right where she stood. A sleep-walker? She still dripped from her
shower. I hardly believed it, but as I stood beside her, she slept
as soundly as she had when in my bed. I touched her shoulders and
felt her soft, warm skin.
    “Why are you here?” I whispered, tears
stinging my eyes. “Why?” I laughed and then for reasons I can't
explain, sobbed. The emotion overwhelmed.
    I cried over her shoulder, embracing this
double of mine. I had never felt so close to anyone.
    The day went on and my double did not wake.
I laid her down on the couch, finding her body malleable to my
direction. I covered her with a blanket. I sat down across from her
and thought about what it meant. I was worried that she wouldn't
eat or drink, that she might be sick or somehow unwell. I even took
her temperature.
    If it were really meant that I should switch
bodies with this new one, whole without so much as a pierced ear, I
wanted to make sure it was a healthy body inside. How was I
supposed to do that if it only slept? Any examination, medical or
otherwise, would clearly show that habitual sleeping is not
healthy.
    Could I leave a note with directions to a
doctor?
    I sat there all day long foregoing food and
drink and, despite the throbbing ache in my stump, sleep. I usually
napped when I felt the pain. It was the only cure. Pain killers
couldn't touch it.
    Hour after hour, until, late in the
afternoon, I sat there, waiting and silently challenging her to
wake.
    Then, quite despite myself, I began to drift
off.
    There is a time right before sleep, when
dreams and reality blur, when the mind does not recognize the
difference. In that moment, my doppelganger sat up.
    ***
    The next days were a haze. When I woke, she
slept. When I slept, she woke. I know because I would find her
about the house in various places and positions, in the kitchen, in
the bathroom. She ate too. I found the dirty dishes and the
leftovers. She ate what I ate.
    But when I got up, she was always asleep.
Nothing I did could wake her when I was also awake. I left notes
for her, but she never replied.
    I can only speculate that perhaps she