Carolyn Baker stepped behind the beverage counter, picking up the phone beside the industrial coffee maker. She dialed in a quick number she’d scribbled onto her order pad, then stood up on her toes to peek at the people at table six. Two rings later her call was received. “Hello? I’m calling from the IHOP off Highway 5 in Springfield, and those two men who were on the news this morning are sitting here in the restaurant eating lunch…”

  <:>:<:>:<:>:<:>:<:>:<:>:<:>:<:>:<:>:<:>:<:>:<:>

  A couple of minutes later their waitress reappeared, this time wearing a fixed smile that looked like it was painted on. “How are you doing over here? Is everything all right?”

  Dusty frowned up at her thoughtfully, chewing on coleslaw, but his attention was on the rest of the restaurant. He frowned, staring around them, trying to figure out what his instincts were telling him. Something was bothering him, but he wasn’t sure what.

  “We’re all fine, love,” Miradon assured her. “Thank you.”

  “Just holler if you need anything,” she kept smiling, aiming it at Miradon and Charis. Then she turned and hurried away.

  Dusty swallowed his food, craning his neck to look after her. He still seemed disturbed. “Guys, I think…” he paused, looking at the rest of the restaurant again as if he were searching for the source of a smell and couldn’t quite figure out what direction it was coming from. “… I think there might be something wrong.”

  “Like what?” Scott snapped to attention, his eyes immediately darting to the parking lot. The sun was finally breaking out from behind the clouds and it looked like it was going to be a nice day. But looks didn’t reassure him; if their Revelations man was feeling skittish, that was as good as a red light and an alarm going off. Dusty had never been wrong.

  “I don’t know. It’s weird…” Dusty frowned, tipping his head to one side. “I’m getting a… well, a vibe.”

  Dave shoveled potatoes into his mouth, watching curiously as Scott and Charis exchanged a meaningful look.

  “What, do you want to just leave?” Charis asked Scott in response to the look on his face. “Dusty isn’t sure of anything.”

  “Does he have to be?” Scott lowered his voice. “Or do you want whatever-it-is to just appear and smash the roof in for him to be sure?”

  “Hmm? What?” Miradon paused in his awesome food-inhalation to blink at the group. “Is something amiss?”

  “I say we just walk out right now,” Scott whispered urgently.

  “Not without settling the bill, Mr. Rothschild.” Miradon tsked.

  Dave tilted his head, hearing something far away, past the gentle rumble of the nearby freeway and the voices of his fellow diners. It sounded almost like a wild party; a roar of voices and laughter, as if a rave were being held on a public street in the middle of the day. Something about the sound was coarse, setting his teeth on edge.

  He knew that sound.

  “Miss! Hello, check please!” Scott was calling out, waving his arm.

  Dave looked over Charis’ head to the window, positive now that the voices were getting closer. It reminded him of the sounds he had heard coming from the bad side of San Francisco in the middle of the night. “I hear far away laughing. Bad laughing. Not good laughing. I think it’s getting closer.”

  “What?” Charis immediately looked at him, her hazel green eyes intense. “What do you hear?”

  He leaned over her to part the mini-blinds, taking a long look at the hotel and the gas station across the parking lot and busy intersection. Above the tops of immature trees, from the direction of downtown Eugene, he could see a red light growing, staining the horizon, flickering as it grew nearer. For once he was completely oblivious to Charis’ perfume and the brush of her silky hair against his arm. “Do you see that?” he pointed down the street toward the light. “Is red light bad?”

  Charis squinted, yanking the mini-blinds further apart to get a good view. “I don’t see anything, Dave. Tell me exactly what you see.”

  “I’m thinking red light and evil laughter is bad. And it’s getting closer fast. Like a… a city fire or something.” He released the blinds and scooted backwards out of the booth. The whooping was getting louder, blending into shrill wailing like something out of a horror movie. “And something is howling. Let’s get the hell out of here. Now.”

  Charis grabbed her purse and scooted across the bench seat in one smooth movement. “Let’s go,” she whispered to the others. “Something is coming right for us and I don’t want to be here when it hits.”

  “Are you sure I can’t get you dessert?” the waitress asked nervously, clutching her hands together as she faced a seriously irritated Scott.

  “No! Check. Now.” Scott dug through his pockets looking for cash or card to pay with, evidentially having forgotten in the heat of the moment that the cops had his wallet.

  Miradon smoothly replaced him, giving him a gentle push toward the front door. “Allow me, my friend. Hello Carolyn,” he smiled, setting his top hat on his silver head and producing a red leather wallet from his pocket. “Let us go and settle the bill, shall we, love?”

  Dave took Charis’ hand, dodging around Miradon and the waitress to follow Scott and Dusty toward the door. “It sounds sort of like demented police sirens,” he said, feeling his left eye begin to twitch. The wailing was getting loud enough to vibrate along his nerves.

  “Maybe we should take a back way out of here,” Dusty said.

  “Screw it, let’s just move,” Scott threw open the front door, but hadn’t taken two steps before a squad car pulled into the parking lot and a real police siren split the air.

  WHOOOoooo!

  “Aw shit.” Charis growled.

  Dusty backpedaled, looking toward the rear of the building, but evidently he could see through it to the other side. “They’ve got us surrounded.”

  “Thank you, love. Have a good day,” Miradon said from the cash register, tipping his tophat to the pale-faced Carolyn and then turning with a swirl of his cloak to join them. There were already three cop cars out front.

  “Grab hold, I’ll zap us past them,” Charis grabbed the back of Dusty’s white tank top.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Do you have enough juice left for that?” Scott demanded.

  “Wait!” Dusty said, his eyes glowing eerily. His irises and pupils had disappeared leaving his eyes a uniform white to Dave’s vision. “Everyone, hold still and act shocked. Stare like a stupid tourist, okay? Dave and Cyn, you’re a couple. Scott you’re the dad. Just trust me.” He grabbed hold of Miradon’s cloak, tugging on it like a kid as he followed the much taller man out into the sunlight. “Neat, Granpa, look!”

  “Are you crazy?” Dave whispered loudly at his back.

  “Do what he says,” Charis muttered out of the side of her mouth, then plastered a surprised expression over her face as she tugged Dave outside. “Oh wow! What’s going on?” she asked loudly.

  It didn’t take much acting for Dave to look stupid and stare. He was honestly baffled.

  “Oh my goodness, look at that!” Scott said in a stupid, exaggerated voice. Boy, was he a bad actor.

  The cops got out of their car cautiously, talking on their radio. Two more squad cars pulled in before they decided to risk storming the IHOP.

  “Excuse me folks, could you all move out of the way? Right over here.” He ordered them toward the other cops and out into the parking lot.

  Dave shuffled behind all of the others, trying to look shorter.

  “What’s going on here?” Scott demanded loudly of the cops, as if he was a disgruntled dad of a family. He didn’t have to do much acting for that.

  The cops decided to move into the IHOP and shoved them all out of the way. As troopers swarmed past, another cop took Charis’s arm and insisted that the group get away from the restaurant. They obeyed and were brought out to the parking lot among the cop cars.

  Dave grabbed Charis’s arm firmly, determined not to let the cops separate them. She clutched at his arm in return in feigned drama.

  “Excuse me, have you seen these men?” An officer shoved a picture of Dave and Scott into their faces.

  Dave stared at his own portrait, stunned.

  Scott shook his head. “No, sir. Don’t know them.”

  “Did you see them in the restaurant?” The officer hinted.

  “I – I think, maybe,” Charis offered hesitantly, “at the corner table, weren’t there these two guys sitting by themselves…?”

  Dave couldn’t pay attention to the cop. His gaze was drawn upward by enormous bat-like creatures that had begun circling the parking lot at high speed, shrieking and chittering. They were responsible for some of the eerie laughter.

  Dusty leaned over and whispered to him, “Stop looking, man. Pretend they aren’t there. Like, act like you’re a Normal and can’t see them.”

  Scott scowled at his own mug shot. “Now that you mention it, yah, there were these two guys at that corner table that might have been them…”

  “Did you see them leave?” the cop asked sharply.

  Dave clung to Charis, wondering why the cop couldn’t recognize him. Something about illusions… magic… whatever. Hey, play along and maybe they’d get out of this. He kept his grip on Charis’s arm, hoping he wasn’t hurting her. “We… um… have to go. The, um, excitement isn’t good for the baby. Right, honey?”

  Suddenly Dusty broke off from the group, shouting “Coooool!” like a six year old kid and tried to climb inside an open cop car. He was acting just like a hyperactive child, which he was almost short enough to be.

  “Hey! Kid! Get out of there!”

  The officer ran back to intercept the skater dude, who promptly stuck out his tongue at the cop and dodged back to hide behind Charis and Dave. He clung to their clothes like a child and kept asking, “mommy, can I see the cop car? Pleeeeease? Do they have handcuffs? Can I have some?”

  Charis and Scott played along perfectly, opening up empty wallets and empty purses and showing cops illusory ID’s and other things which weren’t actually there. Dave guessed that somehow Dusty was making the cops see what they wanted to see.

  It wasn’t long before the officers who had stayed outside the restaurant grew tired of the ‘little family’ and let them go, after warning them not to approach the wanted men if they happened to see them. They were told to go stand with the other patrons who had left the restaurant and were now staring at the flashing lights and all the fuss.

  When they finally managed to sneak away through the parked cars, Dusty was snickering. “Did you see his face when I tried to get in the car? Dude. That was funny.”

  Dave kept glancing warily up at the enormous bats, who were glaring at their group and circling very low.

  Charis hit his arm and whispered, “Stop looking. They will figure out that you can see them.”

  “Well the bats can sure see us, even if your mojo tricked the cops,” Dave sulked.

  “Maybe they can, maybe they can’t,” Scott said airily as they quickly crossed the street at the intersection and started heading at a fast pace toward the street with the hotel.

  “I don’t think they can,” Dusty smiled confidently, his thumbs hooked into his pockets and one arm around his board. “I wove a pretty good Seeming there. That was one of my best ones. Did you see the ID’s? Those were good.”

  Dave shot one last scowl back toward the overrun IHOP. “What was that, mass hypnosis?”

  “He’s a Revelations major,” Charis explained with a roll of her eyes. “He’s into Truths and Discernment. That makes him real good at making sure other people can’t do either.”

  “Excuse me? English please?”

  “It’s complicated,” Miradon assured him. “Basically, being a Truth major, he can lie like nobody’s business. Illusions, my boy. Illusions.”

  Dave scowled at Dusty. “Yah, that sounds like a real great good guy power.”

  Dusty grinned. “It’s all for the cause, man, all for the cause.”

  “So you do magic,” Dave said flatly.

  “No,” Charis denied vehemently. “Absolutely not. Magic is disgusting and immoral. We are Elogians.”

  “Its just physics,” Dusty told him. “If you bend light, it looks different. If you bend light, you change the colors. Even demons have to look at you using physical light. Simple.”

  Miradon chimed in, “a hologram, really.”

  “And I don’t see Tom Cruise when I look at Scott, why?” Dave demanded.

  “Because,” Miradon chimed, “first, you have an extremely powerful mantle that allows you to see the true world. Behind the scenes, remember? Second, you already know what Scott looks like, and you expect him to look like Scott. But look again… focus. Concentrate. Attempt to see ONLY the physical light. Don’t look at what you know, look at him like you have never seen him before in your life.”

  “That won’t be easy,” Dave grumbled.

  Charis huffed. “Just try it. Look at me, then.”

  He looked at her, striding along in her purple velveteen running suit. Noticed that the jacket was unzipped about halfway, and her tight little tank top had a very low neckline. Dave grinned.

  “Try me,” Dusty told him.

  The group stopped. Dave stared at Dusty, seeing the white-haired teenager with old man’s eyes. Eyes that glowed slightly. And pointed ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and then squinted at the skater. Okay, hazel eyes not glowing and regular ears. He still looked like a sixteen year old skater but he still also looked like Dusty.

  Dave shook his head and tried Miradon. Tall, skinny, silver hair, red eyes… or wait, a skinny old guy who looked like a local hick with stained dirty jeans and a tank top…? No. Red cloak…

  “You’re getting it,” Dusty encouraged him.

  “Hey, Dust, you have the juice to keep this up?” Scott asked warily.

  “Sure, man. I’m not human. I hold a bigger charge than you wimpy humans do. I can keep this up for a while.”

  Dave kept squinting, turning his head to look at people out of the corners of his eyes, and finally he got the trick. He unfocused his eyes a little and let his mind go blank, seeing the scene before him passively. Like a camera, nonjudgmental, passionless.

  Miradon looked like a tall skinny elderly balding hermit in blue overalls and a tank top with a greasy pencil-thin mustache. Dusty was a nine year old boy with holes in his jeans and a filthy stained monster truck t-shirt. Himself and Charis looked like rumpled, dour hicks with badly cut hair and that worn, depressed look people got who had lived for decades without enough of anything. Scott was a potbellied generic ‘dad’ type. Dave had to smirk at the potbelly.

  Then his vision faded back to normal. His friends, if he dared call them that, were all smiling at him.

  “Right,” Miradon congratulated him, “There, you see? It’s all about perception.” The group kept walking. “Everything is a matter of perception. You see what you expect to see, what you want to see, what you WILL to see. Remember that it is the mind, not the eyes, which does the seeing. Your eyes merely transmit light to the brain, but it is your brain which puts all the bits of light together into images.

  “Remember as a child when you saw more than you do now. You told your parents the strange things that you had glimpsed. What was their response? ‘That’s not real,’ they said. So your brain was taught to throw out those images, because they aren’t real. Or are they? They’ve done scientific experiments where they taught someone not to see a red ball when he walked into a room. After he was trained, no matter what, he just couldn’t see the red ball. Even though it was sitting there physically in front of him.”

  “So there really was a six armed monster under my bed when I was a kid?” Dave shivered. “I could have done without knowing that.”

  Charis put a hand on his arm in consolation. “I had a skeletal centipede that wore white gloves.”

  He put his arm around her, sharing the horror.

  Miradon chirped cheerfully, “I had a mangy fanged teddy bear that hunted me round about the house!”

  Dave glared at him. “You would.”