The Watcher

21. The Balance

I forced my attention towards the near empty coffee cup in my palms.

"I've never had to describe it before," he started as he crossed his arms across his chest. After a moment of thought he continued. "Imagine that each act has an influence on the balance of the world."

"Like karma?"

"Yes." He agreed with a flash of enthusiasm. "Everyone's capable of light and dark influence, but their alignment dictates what they'd be more predisposed to."

"Alignment?"

"Aura, I suppose? Or like that gene some people have that lets them taste sprouts differently," he chattered with a bright grin, clearly pleased with his own analogy.

"So, people can only do good or bad, like how some people can taste the bitterness in sprouts and others can't?"

"No... maybe the sprouts were a bad example," he finished with a frown, his eyebrows knitting together in thought. Quick as a flash he leapt from the sofa and paced the room. When he finally stopped, he gleamed at me. His hair sticking at wild angles from where his hand had ran through it.

"Forget the sprouts, it's more fluid than that. If we think of it like karma, as you suggested. There are very few people in the world, or in history, who are incapable of doing good things. In the same way there aren't many who have never done anything bad. There have been saints who acted out of hatred and there have been murderers who still kissed their children goodnight." His hands moved as he talked, each point punctuated with a gesture. "Each act influences the world around it, pumping out good or bad karma. Acts on either side will affect the balance."

I let his words slide through my conscious, filtering through the information and slotting it into place. As I did, he flopped on the sofa beside me, sliding his black book from his rear pocket and placing back on the coffee table beside him with a soft thud.

"OK, but where do you come in?"

"We give the balance a nudge now and then."

"A nudge?"

He shifted and cast a glance towards the supple book his carried with him. His brow furrowed in thought, and I wondered if I'd finally asked a question he couldn't answer. Or wouldn't.

With slow measured movements he reached for the book and rested it in his lap. I watched his forefinger tap wildly against the cover with bated breath. I had sensed the book was significant, but the reverent way he held it now had my curiosity begging for answers.

A decisive silence fell on the room as his finger stilled and his eyes held mine. I didn't know what he found staring back at him, but whatever it was had been enough to convince him to answer.

"There are times in history where a certain series of events has the potential to produce great shifts in the energy," he started. "Sometimes it might be a coincidental meeting of two people, or an event in someone's life that inspires them to change their ways." He watched me closely as he talked. "Sometimes those coincidences, those moments of serendipity, aren't as organic as they might seem."

"Are those moments written in there?" I asked pointedly as I looked at the book. "Does that predict the future?"

"No," he said with a quiet smile. "This is just a conduit." In an act that was uncharacteristically nervous, Atticus blew out a shaky breath. "Every Watcher has one of these. It's our lifeline, our link to our world."

On impulse, I reached for the book, but I held myself back when I saw the way his hands clenched around it.

"Can I?" I asked, because I knew if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it.