“Perhaps.” I felt sick—I’d already thought about what disasters an enemy might provoke, clothed in the bodies of those in power. I’d somehow managed to avoid considering what Spector’s own allies and colleagues could do with the same tool. The next world war would be equally deadly regardless of who started it—and perhaps worse for my own people if the state that still hosted them took the lead.
I really ought to speak with Spector before sharing his concerns with one of Kirill’s old friends. That I trusted Audrey—for the most part—didn’t mean that her friends were trustworthy, as I had cause to know. Still, while the specifics of what Spector had found weren’t mine to divulge, she deserved to know the generalities. “They might be interested in magic for switching bodies. Trumbull’s people do that, usually temporarily, but a few humans have also learned how—most often to steal younger bodies for their own immortality.”
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You were talking about that the other night. Sounds like the Yith do the same thing.”
“Yes. But when humans do it, by all the laws of the Aeonist faith it’s a capital crime. Normally it’s mad old magicians—the sort who’re mad before they start their studies, not the sort driven mad by them. If the state starts using this spell as a tool of war, it will go badly for everyone.”
“Huh. Why isn’t it a capital crime for the Yith?”
I sighed. “Everything that will survive of Earth, survives because of their work. And there’s the practical difficulty of trying to execute them, but that hardly matters—humans have chosen to honor the Yith’s work, and to believe its cost worthwhile. If any of this world’s other species think differently—and there are some who’d have cause—the Archives don’t record it.”
Audrey hummed softly to herself. “I wish I knew that song she remembers.”
I nodded, imagining the symbionts Trumbull had described, their melodies of light and color. In my people’s deep cities there were creatures that might be able to sing such a song: bioluminescent squid, and fish that once fluoresced only to attract prey, now bred to decorate sunken streets.
Audrey shook herself. “The spooks are less interesting to think about, but we probably should. Is it illegal, if they don’t want to switch permanently?”
“I don’t know.” I thought about it. “That’s not usually how humans do it—most wouldn’t learn how to switch bodies at all, because the assumption is that you’d misuse it.”
She laughed. “Lots of ways to misuse body swapping without stealing anyone’s youth. Or to use it perfectly nicely. I think your body thieves must not have much imagination. Aren’t you curious what it’s like to have a different body? To be a man, or to be an Olympic athlete? Or just to be taller?” Audrey looked up at me. “If you gave the body back afterward, or if you were switching with someone who wanted to try out your body, that shouldn’t be any sort of crime.”
“Probably not, but I’ve never heard of anyone doing that—in all the cases I know about, the thief murdered their victim once they had them stuck in the older body.”
Audrey shuddered. “Not enough imagination, that’s the problem.”
I lowered my voice as we passed closer to a herd of students. “I don’t think that’s what Barlow’s group wants, though. They may not care for immortality. But political authority, or military sabotage—we may not have imagined it before, but we don’t want to encourage it either.”
“That’s for sure. I don’t want anyone doing that, even our side.” She looked at me sidelong. “Didn’t you say that magic wasn’t for power?”
I closed my eyes a moment, filtered the world through touch and sound and scent. I imagined what I might be able to do differently with a taller or stronger body, and what would not change. “It’s not supposed to be. Listen—when a posse goes after someone who’s stolen a body, they bring guns and knives to take them down. And if Barlow’s people steal bodies for power, that power won’t come from magic. Someone put the power there, manipulated or forced themselves into a position to have that much control, do that much harm.”
“Aphra, you’re a cynic.”
I shrugged. “I was a prisoner for a long time, for fear of my supposed power.”
“And what if you’d known how to take the body of someone who had a key?”
Probably they would have recognized the change, and shot me. Probably if we’d run, they would have come after us with their guns—rounded us up again, or just shot us all to be safe. But if they hadn’t …
I was quiet the rest of the way back.
*
When we returned we found Spector away on some manner of errand, Trumbull retreated to her study—and Dawson sitting with Caleb and Neko and Charlie in the living room.
“She wants to join our confluence,” said Caleb without preamble.
“Does she?” I asked, surprised.
Dawson stiffened. “You don’t approve?”
“If you want to learn, you’re welcome,” I said. A sidelong glance at Audrey drew no complaints. “But…”
“My sister thinks you don’t like her,” Caleb explained to Dawson.
“I think,” she told me, “you maybe overestimate how much time I’ve been thinking about you.”
If I had other concerns, I’d best leave them lie. I’d told Caleb to reveal himself to her, and if I hadn’t predicted what intimacy she might demand as a result, I’d no right to complain that I hadn’t chosen it. Still, my chest felt tight. If my breath shortened, I hoped she didn’t notice. I ducked my head. “My apologies.”
“As far as Spector is concerned,” continued Caleb, “she’s brushing up on her Enochian.”
“I will be, too,” Dawson said. “It’s a good idea around here. And I may as well start in on R’lyehn, too. They’re close enough related that I’ll only get confused if I try to learn them separately.”
“Two languages at once?” Charlie sounded doubtful—he’d been doing the same, but struggling, and most of his vocabulary was memorized ritual rather than conversation.
Dawson tossed her head. “I didn’t get this job for just my looks.”
“Deedee’s good with languages.” Caleb’s voice held equal parts pride and envy.
She patted his arm. “You’ll catch up, boy.” He swatted back, and I could see a little of what they had between them.
“Did you already ask why she wants to learn?” I asked him.
He nodded. She didn’t volunteer to repeat her answer, and I didn’t demand it. The tradition’s purpose was to ensure the student knew, not the teacher.
Lacking a private space for ritual, I instead shared what was becoming my standard introduction to Aeonism and the study of magic. Recalling Trumbull’s disgust with repetitive instruction, I amused myself imagining this lecture as a class in one of Miskatonic’s grand halls, well-dressed young men furiously scribbling notes on the order of Earth’s dominant species. The image was both wildly unlikely and as disturbing as it was funny. Confident young men with easy lives might memorize the Litany, but could hardly do more than glaze over what it said about their place in the universe.