K. Marvin Bruce

  “I thought you said she was safe from Wednesday here!” Terah was frantic. “I said probably,” Calum sighed.   “There’s something afoot.   That much is clear.” “How do we find her?” Calum turned to face the younger man.   “I’m not sure that we can.” Real panic hit Terah now.   Having been with Lindsey so long he couldn’t face this homeless life without her.   He simply couldn’t imagine it.   “Why not?   What about your library?” “You’ve got to understand.   The supernatural is beyond human control.   I’ve got books on all kinds of supernatural subjects, including missing persons and remote viewing.   Missing persons are seldom found—some of them may have been taken elsewhere.   Remote viewing only works when an adept has a target, a place.   If your psychic connection with her is strong enough, you might be able to reach her somehow.   Otherwise we’ve got an entire world—perhaps even universe—in which to look.   ...

  The eerie feeling of that night in Boston for the American Academy of Religion meeting settled over the library.   The mystery of possibility hung like an invisible fog in the room.   Parker Yaffle had been one of the most respected Harvard scholars ever, right up there with William James.   This uncredentialed, independently wealthy man had a private academic arrangement with Yaffle, earning the equivalent of a doctorate from him.   Terah had often spied Yaffle at a distance at the Academy conference.   He was always surrounded by the big names in the field and it was impossible to get close enough to introduce yourself.   Terah had been snubbed by lesser academics who thought highly of themselves, and once, when the meeting was held in a rainy Chicago, he was standing outside the McCormick center for a moment when Yaffle had come out without a gaggle of followers.   He’d held out a hand to introduce himself, but the academic lackeys quickly ap...

  “Library!” Terah ejaculated as Calum showed him in.   “I’ve never seen so many books in a private collection.   And I was once invited to a book review editor’s house.” “Wait’ll you get a look at the titles,” Lindsey said.   “I think you’ll begin to see how it all fits.” Calum added, “You’re free to read anything while you’re here.   I wouldn’t presume to teach someone with a Ph.D. in religious studies, but you’re welcome to join Lindsey is the continuation of her training.   Now that she’s here, it’s time to advance her tutorials.   Especially since all my other seminars are on hiatus.” Terah was still in shock from the euphoria that books standing together brings, but he’d always been suspicious of those who didn’t hold advanced degrees who’d set themselves up as teachers.   He had known more than his share of inadequate professors too, however.   The process of earning a doctorate changed forever the way you thought, if it was done right...

  Terah couldn’t see Wednesday.   He was beginning to wonder if Lindsey was stable at all.   Long ago he’d realized that what people recognize as sanity is really a degree of functionality rather than a clean bill of mental health.   No one was rational all the time.   Even Vulcans had to deal with pon farr.   And they were fictional.   Terah had known people who’d believed in aliens.   Otherwise sane, sensible, individuals.   Was believing in demons and ghosts and sprites so different?   He must’ve been thinking aloud. “In high school they told us people evolved to survive, not to reason out the universe,” Lindsey said.   “Science says evolution disproves religion, but doesn’t that challenge science too?   I mean, evolution’s based on rational observation, and that observation tells us reason’s a survival technique, not an end in itself.   Logic’s just a tool.   Even scientists fall in love.” That word in her mouth m...

  Heading due west, using the sun as his source of information, Terah could tell Lindsey was so full of secrets that he’d never really know her.   He was envious of the guys at Dickinsheet—how were they doing now?   Were they still expecting them back with provisions?—they’d met her when she was willing to talk.   Almost as if she could read his mind she said, “The guys will be fine.   They have rules about stuff like this.” “You mean provisioners not returning?” “Once you’ve lived this life long enough you’ll realize there are no guarantees.   Every plan’s provisional.   You ever notice how some people seem to be magnets for misfortune?   Society doesn’t wanna hear about ‘em.   Nobody wants to think that they might end up jobless, homeless, or abused.   But it’s daily life for lots of people.” “So they won’t mind?” “Mind?   You think they’re sittin’ around mopin’ that we’re not there?   Hey, if we can ever help ‘em, we will. ...

  Nobody questioned why Terah didn’t show up again until the next gathering.   As unlikely as it seemed, life soon fell into a routine.   Terah’s leg healed.   He shared the tasks around Dickinsheet, and was elected the official chaplain.   It was odd.   He’d grown up with Bible-believing parents and had gone to college so he could become a minister.   His experience with Wendy wasn’t an obstacle in that regard since Methodist clergy married. Many people didn’t realize that Boston University School of Theology was the oldest component of the university—it had been founded to train clergy.   Even more didn’t know that it was a United Methodist seminary.   Terah had driven back to Boston, alone.   Wounds from Wendy still bleeding, he poured himself into his studies.   Graduated with high honors, but without ordination.   He was going to work on a doctorate.   His faculty advisors all saw the potential.   He’d never been...