I smile. Who can resist a secret? Even after all these years, the unraveling of mysteries is my driving passion. But like all passions, it changes over time. When I was young, a mystery was a thing you slit open to twist its steaming entrails into the light of day and check their color. These days, unraveling a mystery is more like rolling summerwine over my tongue, eyes closed, head tilted. Savoring.
"Secrets are important to me, Alice. You might say they're even part of what I do. Keep secrets for the world that others would try to tell." She has sidled in close, and is looking up at me. I lower my voice to a murmur, and hold up a finger, as though about to press it to lips for silence. "A secret known by one is sometimes merely a burden. Your head cluttered up with words you can never speak. Things you can't admit you feel."
My other hand fishes in my belt pouch for a moment, sorting through paper, coin, and stone by touch until I find the one I want. When I raise it level with her eyes, I open my fist as though releasing a butterfly. Inside my palm is a stone the size of the first joint of my thumb. It is a fire opal, and when I tilt my palm to catch the light, the smoky red comes alive with flickerings of a pale and ghostly green.
I hold it up between thumb and forefinger so that she can see the stone fully; it is only half-cut, the other half as smooth and flat and grey as riverrock. "A secret can cut you into two."
I take her hand and gently close her slender fingers over the stone. "A secret known by two is a bond of trust. And power, for them both."
"I want you to do a little work for me around town, when I need it," I say. "And other times, I want you to listen to my secrets."
And keep them, I say with my eyes. I have any number of shiny baubles, but it is secrets that are the currency of the furtive heart.
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Date: 2012-01-26 01:37 am (UTC)"Secrets are important to me, Alice. You might say they're even part of what I do. Keep secrets for the world that others would try to tell." She has sidled in close, and is looking up at me. I lower my voice to a murmur, and hold up a finger, as though about to press it to lips for silence. "A secret known by one is sometimes merely a burden. Your head cluttered up with words you can never speak. Things you can't admit you feel."
My other hand fishes in my belt pouch for a moment, sorting through paper, coin, and stone by touch until I find the one I want. When I raise it level with her eyes, I open my fist as though releasing a butterfly. Inside my palm is a stone the size of the first joint of my thumb. It is a fire opal, and when I tilt my palm to catch the light, the smoky red comes alive with flickerings of a pale and ghostly green.
I hold it up between thumb and forefinger so that she can see the stone fully; it is only half-cut, the other half as smooth and flat and grey as riverrock. "A secret can cut you into two."
I take her hand and gently close her slender fingers over the stone. "A secret known by two is a bond of trust. And power, for them both."
"I want you to do a little work for me around town, when I need it," I say. "And other times, I want you to listen to my secrets."
And keep them, I say with my eyes. I have any number of shiny baubles, but it is secrets that are the currency of the furtive heart.