Reflections on Boundaries

It's been a quiet week, thank the Hungry Dark. I haven't seen anybody following me, or watching the store, or even just being around more than usual. If the Elders have learned anything new, they haven't seen fit to let me know. It's possible... not likely, but possible... that the snake cult didn't have any idea what their man was doing, and doesn't know what happened to him.

He died, by the way. Mbata told me. Concussion and cerebral hemorrhage from striking his head against the pavement; basically, he bled out inside his skull. Other injuries were mainly bruises, and consistent with being in a fist fight. As far as the medical authorities were concerned, the death was unfortunate and unusual, but these things sometimes happen. Mbata didn't see any indication that the twins had done anything occult, but he said he couldn't rule it out, either. It had taken him too long to locate and examine the body, and there were too many effects that would have faded beyond recognition by then. I took his word for that; he wouldn't lie to me unless the Elders told him to, and in that case I'm better off to go along with it anyway.

Claire and I talked about the fight, too. She'd seen the guy in the pub, but apparently she hadn't noticed him in the store. She was a little frightened (it's not every day you see somebody taken down like that), but she doesn't seem to think it was anything do with us.

She's going to meet my father and his current wife on Friday; we're all going out to dinner. The rest of the family would love to meet her, too, but they'll have to wait. A little at a time is probably best - and like I said, I'd feel really stupid if I managed to blow my cover by introducing her to my family.

In other news, I think Claire had the dream again. Last Thursday I woke up in the middle of the night; I don't know why. I rolled over and looked at her, and there was a sort of silvery, shimmering mist around her face. I started to reach for her, but the palm of my hand started tingling when it got too close. So I pulled it back and waited. After a while the mist faded, and then she rolled over and her breathing changed. I don't think she ever woke up.

I, on the other hand, had the Devil's own time getting back to sleep.

I asked her about her dreams the next morning, but she said she didn't remember them. I left it alone; it was another situation, like the fight, where too many questions would call attention to things I'd rather not have her thinking about. Claire is anything but stupid, and the best protection for both of us is to keep her thinking that everything is normal.

That may be trickier than it sounds, though. We'll see.

The usual disclaimer, for anyone who missed it: Reflections of a Deranged Cultist is a work of fiction. Despite the rumors, I do not actually worship dark and alien gods, perform human or animal sacrifices, deal with inimical alien species, or play with ancient artifacts which are better left alone.