“Read it out loud, man.”
“I wish to live.”
“There you go.” He smiles.
“But … Dr. X was supposed to give me the cure. …”
“There is no cure for this life.” The wizard takes a seat on the folding chair for a minute. He stretches his long legs out in front of him, removes the sword from its scabbard, and polishes it with the edge of his shirt. “You live it to the best of your ability.”
“This is bullshit! I was supposed to get my wish!” I can’t help it. I’m crying.
The Wizard of Reckoning keeps polishing. “Sort of.”
“Huh?”
He makes a sound in his throat, a cross between a grunt and a sigh. He’s tiring of me. “So. Right. To review,” he says, putting the weapon down and lacing his fingers together, resting them on the back of his head. My head. His head. Shit, I don’t know anymore. “Did you live these past two weeks?”
“I live every week!” I argue.
“No. You exist. The question is, did you live?”
For a second, I stop fighting and think about what he’s asking me. Did I live? I made a best friend. Lost another. Cried. Laughed. Lost my virginity. Gained a piece of magic, gave it away. Possibly changed a man’s destiny. Drank beer. Slept in cheap motels. Got pissed off. Laughed some more. Escaped from the police and bounty hunters. Watched the sun set over the ocean. Had a soda with my sister. Saw my mom and dad as they are. Understood music. Had sex again, and it was pretty mind-blowing. Not that I’m keeping score. Okay, I’m keeping score. Played the bass. Went to a concert. Wandered around New Orleans. Freed the snow globes. Saved the universe.
“Well?” the wizard asks.
Dulcie, my mind answers.
“So you’re saying none of this is real?” I ask.
He checks his reflection in the cool steel of his blade. “I’m not saying that at all. Reality is what you make of it.”
Dulcie.
“Then I make it that,” I say, pointing to Dulcie.
“That?” The wizard flicks his finger at Dulcie’s glass prison and I want to punch him. “That’s a snow globe, Cameron.”
“No,” I say, swiping at the tears. “I don’t believe that. I won’t. She’s real.”
He holds out his hand. “Join me, Cameron.”
I start to laugh. The Wizard of Reckoning tries to smirk, but I can tell he’s confused.
“Hold up,” I say. “I know this bit. You’re Star Fighter-ing me. You’re going to tell me to become one with you and the universe and then fold in on yourself.”
He nods appreciatively. “Not going for it, huh?”
I cross my arms. “No.”
He shrugs. “Okay. Plan B.” His sword comes down swift and hard as justice. It leaves a bloody cut on my arm, and I gasp in pain.
“Holy crap!” I fall down and scramble away from him. The blood leaves spots on the pristine white floor, like stars in a forming universe.
“Oooh, dude. That looks nasty. You might want Glory to take a look at that.”
I’m on my knees on the white floor, holding my hand over my bleeding arm. “Glory’s back at the hospital.”
“Yeah? Where the hell do you think you are?”
“What the hell are you talking about, freak face? I’m at Disney World!” God, my arm hurts.
The wizard advances in little dance steps, swinging his sword and catching it like a partner. “No, man. You never left St. Jude’s.”
The edges of the scene buckle. The room wavers and blurs till we’re back in the hospital. Nurses and doctors bustle about. Glory walks past, a cup of coffee in her hand.
“Glory?” I blink twice, but there she is in her pink scrubs, her angel pins clinking.
I glare at the wizard, who’s got a smug little smile. “This isn’t happening. You’re making it up.”
The hospital fades as the Wizard of Reckoning shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He swings the sword and slices at my other arm.
“Aaah!” I wince. I raise my Ultimate Peace Weapon and whack at him. It collapses in on itself.
“Dude. That’s a toy. I’m carrying the real deal.”
His blade comes down again, narrowly missing me. I’ve got to get away from this guy. He’s too much for me.
“Those prions should be ripping you apart right about now, buddy, destroying what’s left of your tenuous grasp on reality.”
My E-ticket meter has gone to empty. In its place is my hospital ID bracelet. SMITH, CAMERON JOHN.
