Free Perennial by Ryan Potter Page A

hand for a high five across the table, which I gladly give
her.
    “When
will I meet him?”
    “Vagabond?”
she says. “That’s up to him. Right now, though, I want you to take my hand and
hold it.” She lays her strong right arm on the table. I stare at it before
glancing around the coffeehouse. Nobody is watching us. “It’s okay, Alix,” she
says, sensing my nervousness. “You can trust me, and you know it. Hold my hand
and tell me what you see.”
    She
wears a shiny but simple silver ring on her right ring finger. I sense there’s
something special about it, so I make a point of pressing my palm against it as
I wrap my right hand around hers and rest it in the center of the table. We
stare at each other, London’s gaze intense now. At first I can’t get a reading,
just strange warmth from the ring and incredible strength in her elegant hand.
She works a lot with her hands, I realize, but I don’t know what kind of work
she does.
    Moments
later the mental flashbulb fills my head with brilliant white light. Seconds
after that, images, footage, and words about the life of London Steel overload
my brain. It’s the strongest reading yet, which is exactly why she gave me her
hand. The power is greater with physical contact. I experienced that with Aruna
as well. I tell myself to harness the power and understand it.
    Don’t
run from it. Embrace it and think of yourself as a messenger of good .
    The
reading on London is amazing but terrifying. Sometimes I see what amount to
short video clips of a past or future event, always sharp and clear, often
violent, never more than a few seconds in length. Sometimes a series of vivid
but bizarre battle images shoot through my mind like a high-speed slide show.
Other times I see what I begin calling “word clouds,” like I did with her name
and Aruna’s, the words always slightly blurry and printed in bold black against
a white background.
    I’m
crying. I feel warm tears rolling gently down the sides of my face. What I’m
seeing is a violent fantasy world of fire and light, a world of fabulous human
warriors and hideous, grotesque shape-shifting demons, the two sides engaged in
an epic struggle to defeat each other.
    “It’s
okay,” London whispers. “It’s hard. I know. Just take it all in and observe.
Don’t react. Observe. It’s all real, and you’re becoming part of it.”
    The
vision ends, but fear keeps me holding her hand. I wipe tears away with my free
hand as words begin flowing out of me almost automatically, like a
well-rehearsed script.
    “London
Steel is your real name,” I say, trying to regain my composure. “You’re
nineteen and from Canada.” I scrunch my nose. “Canada. Eww. Sorry about that.”
    “Ha!”
she says. “London, Ontario, believe it or not. Anyway, nice one. Keep going.”
    I
squeeze harder. She does the same.
    “You’re
very into genealogy,” I continue. “Your family history in the US dates back to
the so-called lost colony of Roanoke in what is today North Carolina. Before
that, West Africa and Europe. The ugly institution of American slavery had a
huge impact on your family.”
    “Excellent,”
she says. “What else?”
    “The
silver ring on your hand.”
    “Damn,
you are good.” She smiles. “What about my ring?”
    “I’m
not sure exactly,” I say, telling the truth. “It’s powerful. Other members of
your family have worn it in the past, but not everybody. It’s like you have to
qualify for it somehow. But it’s not always a good thing. Sometimes you hate
the ring, but most of the time you can’t imagine life without it. Other
families have rings too, but not many. I’ll never have one, and I’m glad.” I
pause and fight off more tears. “The ring allows access to another world.
You’ve done horrible things, London, but only because you’ve had to. You’re
some sort of warrior,” I say, shaking my head slowly. “Nobody would ever guess
it by looking at you, but you’ve killed before. Many