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You are a three dimensional creature. All life around you is. Our bodies exist on three axises. A two dimensional creature, then, would exist on two axises, like on a piece of paper. They could only move forward and backwards, left or right, or any combination of those. But if you were to draw a box around them, they’d be trapped. To use three-ders, it would be hard to understand why the twosie on the paper would allow themselves to be jailed by a simple box. Why not step over the boundaries?
Look at the walls around you, three-der. Why are you constrained by the walls? Why do you allow doors to only open to the space next to the one you currently occupy? Why not simply go where you want to go?
Magic isn’t a force of our dimension. Not really. Dimensions are the cage that magic does not understand. Why exist in the cage when you can be, like, not? Just don’t be in the cage.
Z tried to explain this to Elliot, but Elliot caught on pretty quickly when the door to the boring house on Beacon Hill opened to a mansion on Vashon Island. She was suddenly a five dimensional creature (a five-em if you must know) making a fool of the laws of physics.
It was better than the air screaming at her.
Z ushered her into the house. “Hey guys, we’re here!” She took off her coat and wandered into the kitchen, draping her coat over a kitchen chair. “Are you hungry at all? I bet Gimble has a batch of cookies around here somewhere.”
“I’m okay,” Elliot said softly. She looked around the house. Wood floors and pristine walls, nice furniture to go with with everything. Elliot didn’t have the words for how nice things were, and frankly it kind of pissed her off. But it was nice. Quiet, but Elliot figured there was magic involved in that.
Elliot looked outside, over a nice vegetable garden and a beautiful lawn. She could make out a fire pit and some standing stones.
“That’s our ritual space,” Z said, following Elliot’s gaze. “When we need to get our magical shit right, that’s where we go.”
“Are they, like, sexy rituals?” Elliot asked softly.
“As sexy as you want them to be,” Z said, putting a little smarm on her voice.
“Is zero an option?”
“Zero is always an option,” Z said.
Elliot nodded. She didn’t know what to say.
Z patted her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go upstairs. Gimble has a nice library and a fantastic record collection.” She took Elliot’s hand and led her up some goddamn nice steps to just a fucking perfect media room. There were comfy looking seats everywhere, even the classiest beanbag chairs Elliot had ever seen. She fell into their gravity. Z smiled and joined her, closer than for just being friendly. Elliot didn’t care at that moment. She just wanted to calm down.
“Bi-locating,” Z finally said.
“What?”
“That’s what the nerd was doing. Magic.”
Elliot’s ears perked. “You think so?”
Z nodded. Elliot could feel her head close to hers. “It’s really hard to do without it, unless you have a twin. I don’t think he does.”
“So he’s a witch?” Elliot asked.
Z was quiet for a moment. “No, I think he’s something else.”
Elliot sat up in her chair. “You mean that there’s more than just witches??”
“I hadn’t thought so. Maybe he’s a warlock, but… this is going to sound crazy, but that didn’t feel like witchcraft.”
Elliot lay back down, staring up at the ceiling. “I guess you can tell, huh?”
“What did it feel like to you?” Z asked.
Elliot closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and thought about being back there. She thought about how the space felt different when she knew he was there. And when she saw the twin, how things felt even stranger.
“It feels like the marker board in my fifth grade class.”
“YEAH,” Z said. “Like… structure.”
“Like a lot of structure,” Elliot agreed.
Z thought a moment. “What does my magic feel like?”
Elliot groaned. “Do you flirt with everyone in your group?”
Z let out a little laugh. “Yeah. But it’s because I love them.”
Elliot nodded. “That’s… nice. I guess.” There was another question that lingered. Elliot put it away — she didn’t want to deal with it now, nor did she care. Not that much. She let her eyes wander to the records that lined the walls. Gimble really did have an impressive collection.
“Want to listen to anything?” Z asked. When Elliot didn’t answer, Z said, as if to the room, “How about some Miles Davis?”
Elliot watched a record album slide out from the wall, the record separate from the sleeve, and drop onto a turntable. The tone arm swung out and dropped on the record, and music started playing.
“Cute,” Elliot said. “How long did it take you to remember where the record was?”
“That wasn’t me,” Z said.
Something moved in the corner of Elliot’s vision. Before she knew it, she was standing at the ritual circle, doubled over, panting.
A moment later Z bounded out of the house, running up to Elliot. “Hey!”
Elliot stumbled back. “What’s in there?”
“It’s okay,” Z said, reaching out for her.
“WHAT’S IN THERE?” She swatted Z’s hand away and fell backwards, stumbling over a rock.
“Let me explain, please,” Z said. “I should have warned you.” She held out a hand for Elliot. Elliot stared at her, trying to catch her breath once again. She carefully took Z’s hand.
Back in the house, Z led Elliot up the steps to the media room. The record still played. Elliot clung to Z’s hand, trying to will her shaking away.
“Morgan?” Z said. In front of them, a shape materialized. She was fox, wearing some beaten up jeans and a t-shirt over a longer shirt. She had chin-length headfur that she covered with a beanie, and a crooked smile to really bring everything together.
“Hi,” she said sheepishly.
“This is Morgan,” Z said, motioning to the woman in front of them. “Morgan is a ghost.”
“Ah.” Elliot said.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to scare you.”
“Ah.” Elliot said.
“Ethan?” Z called. “Could you come here please?”
Another figure appeared next to Morgan. He was shorter than her, a cat in a hoodie that was too big for him and another pair of worse for wear jeans. His headfur was long, and fell in front of his eyes.
“Are you Elliot?”
“Ah.” Elliot said.
“These are the resident ghosts,” Z said. “The ONLY ghosts here. They’re very sweet and they like to help whenever they can.”
“Anything you need,” Morgan said. “If we’re around we’re happy to help.”
“Gimble allows us to stay in exchange for some chores being done,” Ethan said. “Dishes, vacuuming-”
“Warding off hexes and other maladies,” Morgan finished.
“Sorry we scared you,” Ethan said again.
Elliot nodded, holding her jaw shut tight.
“If it helps, we can be visible when you’re here,” Morgan said. “It’s no problem.”
“Please,” Elliot said, just above a whisper.
Morgan smiled. “Absolutely!”
“Uhm…” Ethan said. He tugged on Morgan’s sleeve. “It’d probably be best if we stuck to our room for a bit.”
Morgan nodded. “I think so. Bye, Elliot. We’re glad you’re here!”
“It was nice to meet you!” And the ghosts left the room.
Elliot stood rigid. Z looked at her with concern, her ears flat on her head.
“You poor thing,” she said softly. “What happened to you?”
Elliot gave her a sidelong stare but didn’t say anything.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” Z said. She tugged on Elliot’s hand.
Elliot could feel her jaw start to tremble. She found one of the beanbag chairs and sank into it, tears flowing freely now. Z followed, sitting too close again, but Elliot didn’t mind. Z watched with concern, holding Elliot by the shoulders. Elliot fell into Z’s arms, and began to sob on her shoulder.
“Oh no, hey,” Z said. She hugged her close. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay.”
“Too much is happening,” Elliot said. “It’s too much.”
“You’re okay,” Z said again. “You’re safe here.”
Elliot nodded. Z pulled her closer and Elliot closed her eyes, letting Z hold her.
“You don’t have to tell me, but one day I’d like to know what happened,” Z said. “I don’t want you to go through this again.”
Elliot nodded again. She took a few deep breaths and then said, “You’re getting your snuggles, though, huh?”
“I can stop if you want.”
“I didn’t say that,” Elliot said.
Z stroked Elliot’s ears back. “We got you,” she said.
“Just don’t get used to this,” Elliot said.
Z laughed. “We should all be so lucky to have an Elliot to snuggle with.”
“Hush.”
The last song on the record finished. The tone arm drifted to the middle of the turntable, lifted up and clicked back to its home.
[g]