Chapter 11: The Fires Within

August 1 was a day heavy with overcast. It was hot and humid. At noon the skies darkened, and I saw the reflection of lightning from the drugstore's window. But the rain didn't come.

The oppressive heat was subsiding slightly as I drove home. I checked my phone after getting out of the car. There was a message I must have received during the short commute. It was from Pamela, and it said only "call me." I told myself that the terse message was typical for mobile texts, but I had to consciously relax my hand lest I damage the flimsy phone. Of course I called Pamela immediately.

She answered on the first ring. "Cathy has relapsed. Please come."

I felt numb as I left a message for my parents. Normally, when I drive to familiar places, which now included the Gilmans, I tune out the route, often finding myself at the destination without clear recollection of driving. This time was precisely the opposite. I felt like I saw every pebble on the road. The movement of my foot from the brake to the accelerator and back seemed ponderous. I had to force my arms to rotate the steering wheel. Driving, which has become almost automatic, became a laborious process, just like the first days in driving school. Even turning my head to look before changing lanes was a physical effort. It wasn't hard, it just required a conscious control over everything.

I couldn't decide if I was impatient to get to my destination so that I could hold my girlfriends in my arms and comfort them, or dreading arriving there and removing all possible doubt from the dire news. At the end, I felt completely powerless. The red lights took forever to change, but when they finally turned green the bus behind me pushed me to move, like a man breathing down my neck.

When I finally parked outside the Gilman home, I looked at my watch. It had been the longest fifteen-minute drive I could recall. Now I decided I dreaded coming here, but I really could not sit in the car hoping things would change in the outside world.

Cathy herself opened the door. "Come in. Everybody's in the kitchen." There were no tears in her eyes, but the flat almost indifferent manner was so different from the normal Cathy that it was like a slap. If I wasn't already scared, Cathy's face would have made me shiver.

Pamela and her parents were sitting around the large breakfast table. There was a cordless phone in Mr. Gilman's hand, but he wasn't talking or dialing. He lifted his head to me and said "Hi, Martin. Pull up a chair." He looked lost. I was reminded of poor Nathan in the dump, when I first came upon him.

"I guess Pamela told you the news. I just talked to the head of Oncology at the hospital. There is nothing they can do except pain relief."

"I am not hurting. Yet." Cathy added listlessly.

My memory of that evening was cloudy and overcast, like the skies. After a conversation in the kitchen filled with heavy silences, the girls and I retreated to Cathy's bedroom. We spent hours hugging each other and mumbling of love. At one time or another all of us had moisture in our eyes, but nobody cried.

I woke up around eleven in the evening, sandwiched tightly between two girls. We were all clothed and lying on top of the coverlet. Somebody dragged a light blanket on top of us. I didn't know if it was one of the girls or one of the parents. It didn't really matter.

I extricated myself, waking the girls. I kissed Pamela then Cathy. "I have to go back". I stood up.

Cathy said, "Could you pick me up tomorrow after work?"

"Of course. Where do you want to go?"

"To your place." She looked apologetically at Pamela. "Before I start getting weak, I want to..."

Pamela nodded. "Do you want me there, or do you want to be alone with Martin?"

"Uh, alone, the first time. Do you mind?"

Pamela gave a short bark of laughter and hugged Cathy. "No, I don't mind. I decided I wouldn't mind even if you were perfectly healthy. Now..."

The conversation was like that, full of interrupted sentences and melancholy pauses.

Cathy was back to her cheerful self. I could see the fear in her eyes, but she made a remarkable, and largely successful, effort to contain it.

"I have less time than I hoped. I still don't intend to spend however much time I have in fear."

She didn't beat around the bush. Taking my hand, she led me to my own bedroom.

"Do your parents know?"

"That I am planning to deflower a fourteen-year-old girl?"

"Come off it. I will be fifteen next week. I am less than two years younger than you.

"Do they know about my relapse?"

"Yeah. I told them. But they don't know of our relationship; I've been keeping the story that Pamela is my girlfriend, and you are her younger sister of whom I am very fond."

"Rats. So they may be a problem if they come early."

"We have more than three hours. And I have stocked up on condoms at the drugstore."

"Yech. I was hoping not to have rubber between us. After all, it probably won't matter."

I was still flabbergasted by Cathy's matter-of-fact treatment of her disease.

"Are you on the pill?"

"No, I stopped. With all the drugs I've been getting my oncologist didn't want more interactions. I am probably not fertile, anyway."

I hugged her. "Sweetheart, the last thing I want is to cause you more complications. Who knows how long you have – let's not take unnecessary chances."

She didn't argue any more.

I spent a long time licking and sucking. Despite Cathy's bravery, she was tense, and it took her some time to relax and start lubricating.

"Sweetheart, I can feel you are tense. Are you really in the mood for this? We can just cuddle for a while."

"I want to do it. I love you, Martin, and I want to have this between us. And I know it sounds trite, but I don't want to die a virgin. I feel fine, physically, but who knows how long that will last. Please go ahead."

I went ahead, and Cathy had two small orgasms before she pulled me upwards. Without words, she told me it was time. I managed to extract a condom and put it on without getting out of bed or sitting up – not easy.

The lovemaking was long and tender. She didn't have a hymen, but she was very tight, and I took a long time to fully immerse myself. The first time, I came before her, but she took it in stride. After cleaning me off with a towel, she applied her wonderfully warm and gentle mouth to revive me in what seemed like seconds.

The second time took much longer, and she shuddered and squeezed my cock several times before I came. I finished the way I started – by eating her now widened and slightly red vulva. Cathy didn't shave, but her hair was sparse and soft, and now matted. I enjoyed giving her more orgasms, until she finally pulled away.

I pulled forward to wrap her in my arms. "Sleep. I will wake you before my parents get here."

I wanted to wait until she was asleep before trying my healing spell. The most useful healing spell promoted the body's own healing. I was taught that it would in fact accelerate the cancer, not cure it.

I remembered and practiced a different healing spell. It was supposed to be effective against evil spirits. From what I recalled, the "evil spirits" described in the spell were probably infectious organisms; bacteria or viruses or perhaps parasites. I didn't know if it would affect cancer cells – they were attacking the regular tissues, so in that respect they were "evil spirits". Unfortunately they were also extremely similar to normal cells, and so may count as the body to be protected and not as the enemy.

I dropped into trance quickly. If Cathy woke up before I came out she would just see me asleep, breathing deeply, with my arms around her.

The Waking Dream accepted me as an old friend. The magic was easy to gather. By now it was second nature to cast my will all around, like a net. I had to be gentle but steady to gather a large amount of magic close enough to shape the healing. The spell itself was complicated but did not require all that much strength.

Even in the calming trance, I knew that I failed. The spell was incanted correctly. The magic was shaped properly. The spell passed Cathy with too little resistance. No doubt it killed some bacteria and viruses, but I could feel from the feedback that it did not engage fully. It must not have recognized the cancer cells as 'evil spirits'.

I felt Cathy waking up and quickly finished my dismissal of the trance. Stretching, I said, "Let's clean up."

She stretched too, arching her back and causing me to firm up. "Huh, want more already? Sorry, I feel a bit sore down there. Do you want me to suck you?"

"No, no! I don't need to get off every time I get hard. I just enjoy looking at you."

"Thanks! I like looking, and touching you!" She demonstrated by rubbing my sides and my ass.

"By the way, just as I was waking up I felt an electric jolt. Made my hair stand up. I don't think I dreamed it. Do you have something here that generates static electricity?"

I was amazed. Did Cathy feel the spell? If so, she was one of the rare individuals who could learn sorcery. I would make a bad instructor, being only a very junior sorcerer myself. Still, I had seen nobody in this age of wonders who knew, or could teach, sorcery. I'd love to try teaching Cathy, if only to share my joy and fear of magic. But she wouldn't have enough time to learn anything! I wanted to cry, not just in sorrow but in frustration.

I failed with my healing spell. I now had to seriously consider whether I wanted to try the most risky spell of all. It required the caster to take the disease into himself. I was willing to risk my life, but it could kill the patient as well.

I decided to ask Cathy herself if she wanted to take that chance. In the meantime, I had to prepare. Today's spell wasn't exhausting, but I had to be in top form to perform the Spell of Drawing.

I stopped preparing for the courses and the exams. My free time during the day was spent with Cathy and Pamela. Cathy was increasingly at the doctors, and Pamela needed loving and cuddling. During the night I repeated the steps in the Spell of Drawing.

I felt ready by mid-August. I had prepared everything, including the few physical objects I needed. I asked Cathy if she'd spend a couple of hours with me in the afternoon. She agreed eagerly.

The drive home was awkward. Cathy was upbeat, asking me about my studies, the courses I was taking, and the college admission tests I was scheduling. But in return, I didn't know what to ask. Her classes? She may end up never going to school. Her plans for the future – survive as long as she could? What painkillers she was taking? No wonder Cathy carried most of the conversation.

I took Cathy into my room. She sat on my rotating chair while I went around the room closing the curtains tightly and locking and blocking the door. She didn't pay attention to me, just continuing to chatter as she did in the car. When I was finished, I knelt and took her hands.

"Cathy, I need to ask you some questions. They are about your cancer."

He face broke, and she almost jumped at me. "Oh, Martin! I am so afraid! I've always been brave, but now I am just faking it. I don't want Mom and Dad and Pamela to deal with my hysterics, but I don't know how long I can keep it up. My joints started to ache and we were discussing painkillers, the doctor suggested a hospice!" She sobbed quietly. My heart was breaking, and I was more determined than ever to try my spell. If she agreed, of course.

"Is there nothing they can try?"

"He tried the last treatment, the one that worked like a miracle in June and July. It doesn't work any more. My white blood cell counts are dropping, so I am on antibiotics. If I started the Pill again it wouldn't work, probably. Not that it's going to matter one way or another. My platelet counts are still good, but the doctor says they are getting deformed, so soon I will be bleeding all over the place." She swallowed and said in a quiet very young voice, "I don't want to die. I thought I was ready to accept it, but I find I am still a coward at heart."

It took me a few minutes to find my own voice. I spent it hugging her and stroking her back.

"That's what I wanted to ask you, love. I wanted to try something, and I'd like your word that you will not tell anybody about that."

"What is it? Of course I will promise, but what could it possibly be?"

"Actually, I am very sensitive about what I'll be discussing, so I'd like a kind of oath from you."

"Oath? Like the oath of allegiance?"

"Same principle, but this is more like an oath of silence. I need to perform a ritual, and you need to participate in it. The oath will actually prevent you from speaking of the secrets, even inadvertently."

"You sound very weird, Martin. What happens if I don't agree?"

"I've actually considered it. I will tell you the secret anyway, because there is a chance it may help you. I cannot withhold it from you; but I would prefer that you take this oath first."

"No problem, Martin. What do I have to do?"

I pulled out my preparations. I put down two old sheets and invited Cathy to sit down. I had two old towels with me – I unwrapped one and took out the thorny branch that I had collected yesterday. The towel I wrapped loosely around her neck. I left the other towel wrapped around its contents – no purpose in scaring Cathy so early. The time for that would come later.

"Sorry, I need to puncture your lips with these thorns. Just enough to break the skin."

"Yeech! Is this some sort of a blood sacrifice?"

"Do you trust me, Cathy?"

"With my life, what's left of it."

"Then close your lips, and don't move when I stick you. Try to bleed only on this towel." She looked at me in disgust, but kept silent, pushing her lips out in a parody of puckering up for a kiss.

I carefully pushed the thorns through her skin, wincing when she did. I didn't want to hurt Cathy, but these were sharp thorns, dry and washed in alcohol. They should be only a quick sting. I repeated with her lower lip, and said "all done. No, don't rub them – let it bleed. It has almost stopped."

"You know, a couple of years ago, I would have screamed at the sight of those thorns, trust or no trust. Now, I've been punctured so many times that it's just another needle – so what. You are lucky that you are doing this now. Another week, and my bleeding wouldn't have stopped. Or I suppose I am lucky. Was I supposed to be silent for the ritual, by the way?"

Cathy was distracted by this new development, and chattering instead of crying. I was glad, but we needed to get on.

"No, you didn't have to be silent, but I need to complete the Spell of Silence, so give me a minute."

"A spell?!" Cathy sat with her eyes wide. Rather than answering her, I started the silent chant. Here, sitting in my room, on the floor, with everything locked, was my most familiar casting environment. It took only a few seconds to start dissolving the walls between myself and the world of spirits. My practice over the last weeks paid off – I shaped the spell in what seemed like seconds, and had it permeate Cathy. Symbolically, her lips were sealed by the thorn and the blood, although the spell was more flexible and more complex than simple silence.