“Lousy Dragon! Get off of my lawn!” I said, really, really loudly… in my head.

I didn’t say it aloud, of course. Even exhausted to the point of punch-drunk, I still had a slight sense of self-preservation. On the other hand, if Dragons could read minds, I was already in trouble.

Marked for death. Marked by the Shadow King. I watched as Peredur coalesced out of smoke and the ever present hint of fire. I realized I hadn’t seen him before so much as knew he was there. I still didn’t see him, exactly. I recognized the feeling of potential trouble and power in the air. It had his feel. There’s just too much to see in a Dragon. Smoke and mirrors, reflections and shadows, illusions, coincidences and elements, these are the things magic works with when it wishes to be subtle. Science likes to bring things into the light, but magic likes to be just around the corner until it eats your face.

Not much can actually read your mind. You’d have to have excellent focus to project more than a jarbled amount of incidental information, and what kind of stuff do we think about? Not where we hid the homeworld, but whether or not we can get the report done on time for Mr. Johnson and why does he wear that tacky hairpiece when he’d look better just biting the bullet and shaving his head, and are we going to use the fish up tonight and I bet Shawn used the last of the beer so I’ll have to pick some up at the store and is Shawn going to go out with Lara tonight and all of these things (with the occasional, “Oooh! Squirrel!”) are halfway simultaneous and peppered with non-sequitors. Maybe we hope we come up on the obsessive type that thinks, “I am going to use my knife to kill Edna on 8th Street,” if you’re a hero or, “I hope no one finds the $100 bill I hid behind the false brick in the fireplace,” if you’re a villain, and repeats it the way we do song lyrics in our head. (“And she’s hotter than reality by far…”) It’s just not likely.

And to kind of prove the point, well, that’s all I was thinking in just a few steps from the car.

“E,” Peredur breathed out a vision-warping exhalation. I was good with, “E,” because if he had done some kind of true name thing it would have creeped me the heck out.

“That’s me,” I suggested. I wanted to say I said it without any insolence, because while my heroes always had snark ready to hand, I’m not as practiced with it as a weapon as I might like to be.

He ignored me, just as I would have predicted. I’m practically the Oracle when it comes to how strange creatures handle my sense of humour. I started out thinking Ivan was well-natured, after all.

“You did not use the stone,” he said.

I frowned. I had taken it along in my pocket. I had considered it when speaking with the Power that had used Sylvia. But Rent-a-Wreck had said this was witch business. It hadn’t felt right, which is when I found the packet of salt under my fingers instead.

“Eh,” I shrugged. “I had it under control. No need to call forth the strike team.” I couldn’t look Peredur in his reddish eyes, and only part of it was the faint smell of woodsmoke that irritated my eyes.

“The King of Small Things might thank you,” he said.

“Is that some kind of warning?” I asked. I hadn’t meant for it to be so blunt, but I was really tired and not just tired of the word games.

“You are attracting influence,” he said, non-perturbed. I was afraid I knew where it was going. Witches build networks, just as I was remembering on the way home. Wizards do very similar things as they apprentice. They have to show they’re capable, and getting a reputation (which is why so many of them are “Balthazar the Bold,” or “Vasilisa the Wise,” or “X the Hypotenuse,” or whatever) was part of their capability. I’m the Portal Doctor, and that was a bit in imitation.

“No, still don’t want to be a wizard.” Just in case I still had free will or choice in the matter. I couldn’t cast spells. I don’t want to collect rat tails and pockets of sunshine and the power of a locomotive or whatever. I liked my DVD collection much better. Peredur was blocking the way to my door.

“Do you still want your fairy, Closer?” I stopped.

“Um, about that. I guess I should have sent a condolences card, but I don’t think she made it out of–” I broke off as the door opened and Doloise stood there.

She was surrounded by the light in my living room, and looked, well, alive. I would have to say she looked awfully good for alive. Still had great legs, which I saw in partial silhouette.

“She’s, I, um.” I stopped there. I wanted to say something to her, like, “Hello,” or “How?” or “Are you really?” but I figured being silent kept me out of trouble until I found the right thing to say.

“Eloquent as always,” Peredur might have cracked a smile. Then the illusion was gone, in a puff of smoke. “You are not done with the Dragon. No Dragon-killer are you.”

“You don’t have to worry,” I said. I looked at where my open door stood, the threshhold empty of anything but light.

“Oh, I am not worried,” he said. “Even though I might have said you are no Dragon-killer, yet.”

“Yet?” I blinked again as he left.

Was being a Dragon-killer better or worse than being a wizard? I weighed them wearily in my head. On the wizard side, there was all the upkeep and trouble. On the Dragon-killer there was, well, Dragons, and death, and well, the actual worry that I’d suddenly have to kill giants and harpies and other mythological things and maybe have to become a tailor or some crazy thing like that to fit the fairytale.

I left the keys on the table next to the door, and only then thought to wonder who had been in the house.

I think it’s a corrolary of the whole, “grass is greener on the other side,” theory that practitioners use when they say they want to be “normal.”

Wizards are messed up, yo.

They want to be normal. They don’t want to know what they know, do what they do, or sow what they reap. Just like normal people want to be wizards. They want magic in their lives, but when even the least talented of them get a taste of it they generally run screaming the other way. Same thing happens to the practitioners who lose their powers or make vows against using them or whatever. It’s like losing a limb. They’d rather wander off to elfland or whatever insanity draws them near to never return.

They don’t want to be responsible. To hear the call, the needs, and have to live up to it.

I harp on about responsibility because I am constantly second-guessing a lot of the choices I make. How do you ever choose not to help someone if you have what it takes? (Some people have this dysfunction engraved even deeper in their heads – they’ll find someway to help someone… even if that person doesn’t need help. Even if that person doesn’t want their help. Usually it starts out with the best of intentions, a kind of, “No, I don’t know how to fix their alternator, but they’re on the side of the road so maybe if I go over and stare at their engine with them, I’m at least providing… um… company?” So you make rules to keep you out of this particular spiral, or you stop what you’re doing and where you’re going to help people no matter what, and, well, maybe there is a karma that will come back and assist you in your hour of need. That’s not how karma actually works, but it’s a Witch Rule that what you put out into the universe will be harvested in return.)

I can’t help everyone. In fact, I don’t know that I accomplished anything by being here tonight. I’ll stop beating myself up over it, because I did, in some part, save Sylvia, and I prevented any immediate damage from spilling onto her housemates, I think. I didn’t stop the Shadow King from starting trouble, but I think he might have been invited into it by the Messenger. A kind of push and pull situation ending up sending the metaphorical boats in the same general direction at any rate. Um, the chicken and the egg kind of metaphor, not something about paddling.

Innuendo. I am still soaked in it.

I walked away and nursed my aches (the newly swollen jaw) with only a bit of a limp and a sigh. Ed caught up with me.

“That’s not cool, man,” he said.

“What, I couldn’t hit back. That’s not right.”

“No, no, you threw the first punch. I’ve known Magda almost as long as you have, and if there’s anything that woman really loves, it’s power.”

I kicked at a pebble. Luckily, it hit the tire and not the rental car. I went around the rental with a careful look, but it was dark and I might have missed a scratch. I promised to bill Magda if there were questions.

“Yeah,” I finally mentioned. “And?”

“This was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen and I still want to say, ‘Yet,’ because, bro, this ain’t the end. And that’s cool. What’s not is that you still have a thing for her.”

“What?” I knew better than to just protest.

“You’re all mushy when she comes around, and look, I and your conscious brain know better. You don’t need me to be your Jiminy Cricket. Dump the,” he named her unflatteringly, but heck, it rhymed with ‘witch,’ “and get over it. Sylvia’s cute. Too young for you in a whole lot of ways, but she’s a good rebound.”

“Thanks,” I said, wryly.

“I said I’m here for you.” He stretched and yawned. “I’m headed home. I think I can sleep, finally, without weird dreams.” He held out his hand.

I grasped his arm and we did the shake. “Alright, man,” I said, finally. “I’m off to bed, too.”

“You going to make it off East?” he looked concerned.

“I’m not crashing at your mom’s house again. Last time we teetered in I swear she put some moves on me.”

“She thinks you’re a doctor,” Ed grimaced.

“Anyway, the party’s still going on strong inside. Maybe they can power wash the innuendo off the exterior.”

“You need sleep, man. That comment made no sense.” He looked up at me as if he could, purely by the power of his stare, determine if I was safe to drive. It’s probably a specialized talent, but Ed ain’t got it.

“Kind of talking to myself. OK. I’m off.”

“I’m calling in today, so if you need anything, go ahead and buzz.” He waved, I nodded.

The car started up, which was almost a surprise, but it seemed to run fine as I made it back down the curvy road. There was light towards the East, and I sang along with the radio for a while, trying to let it all soak in until I could make some sense out of it. That’s not soaking in, it’s more like defrosting, right? I am just no good at metaphors.

A Witch war. Witches have webs of influence and prerequisite and promises all around them, depending on how long they’ve been around. I tried to remember all the things Maggie had said about it.

“Apprenticing and covening are almost required because their type of magic kind of needs to be shared. One witch can’t hold it all, and why it’s generally considered divine power, without losing a great deal of it, so the coven focuses it, and then they have a primary (usually called a ‘Priestess’) that is the fulcrum, no, the who sorts out the different levels of energy into something more… like a refraction, maybe a lens,” I was talking to myself in the car, “yeah, a lens. But they’re using the seed from the original tumbleweed, which is why all Witches are related in some fashion, and it takes a war to kill off the full net. Web. Whatever.”

I was still muttering to myself when I drove up to my place. I hadn’t remembered leaving the lights on, which made me hesitate.

Then Peredur was there, and I made hesitation into a full stop.

Ed ran up and was the first to come into the house from the outside. He was grinning in a way that made the whole, “ear to ear” phrase make sense. He kind of ignored Sylvia for a moment, and just grabbed my arm and shook my hand.

“That,” he said.

I knew what he meant.

He struggled for a moment. “That was the most… I mean, I don’t… I have… What just…” He nodded a few moments. “That,” he said again. I squeezed his hand and we let go.

“What happened?” Sylvie asked again.

He turned towards her. “It was… Do you…? I am…”

“This wordy fellow is Ed,” I said. “He’s a friend of mine. A good friend,” I emphasized.

“Brevity is the soul of wit,” she said. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“I thought you liked me because I was funny,” I mock-complained.

She pointed at me. “Funny and witty aren’t the same thing. Right now I’m not laughing. I’m confused. Drop the code and tell me what’s gone horribly wrong?”

“It was amazing,” Ed said.

“You’re in danger,” Maggie said, coming in then. “All of us are,” she amended.

Matana, followed, smiling. “Not all of us,” she corrected.

I looked confused. “Who is in danger and does that group of not in danger include me?” I asked. “Not to sound self-serving, except totally.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “What’s my first principle, E?”

“What, you have principles now?” I asked.

She punched me lightly in the shoulder. I deserved it, but I made a noise anyway. And then a yawn.

It had been a long night, and adrenaline can only pump you up so many times before it gets kind of soft, I guess. Um. The innuendo was fading, but I had had a decent dose of it.

“Oh,” I said aloud. “Don’t get involved.”

Mags rolled her eyes. “Close enough,” she explained. “I don’t take sides. I don’t do politics. I don’t join clubs or secret societies.”

“You had a membership to Blockbuster,” I countered.

“That was back when it was practical,” she sighed.

“So, someone inducting you into some hall of infamy?” I asked.

“Wait, wait, I can play!” Ed said. “She has to start a girl band to defeat the evil queen of hair metal.”

“She and her uncanny team of superheroes have to protect humanity from a threat from beyond the stars,” I offered.

“Ooh, good one,” Ed said, nodding. Sylvia just kind of stared, her mouth slightly open in dismay. “Okaay,” he let the word drag out for a moment, and then offered, “She and her pack of alpha witches have to bring down the hunt of a lifetime.”

Maggie cleared her throat. “Are you calling me a–”

I broke into, “Her cohort of companions have to protect a cabal of the occult. She has to cozen a dozen men of coveting her coven?”

“That’s word play. I don’t know if it counts. She has to flock to a cluster of fatuous poppycock at the bait of a master clock?”

“Clever,” I gave him the point. “Her posse of…”

“Not funny,” the Magster interrupted. “Now that you’ve had your fun, can we be serious for a moment?”

“I was still having my fun. I’ve had too much serious. Something about a witch war, I presume?”

“You and your fondness for alliteration,” she sighed.

“Aptitude. Aptitude for alliteration.”

I deserved the slap, I guess. I was a little surprised, but it woke me up a little. It was interesting watching Ed and Sylvie bristle, choosing sides, and Matana just watch us, cool and neutral like Switzerland.

“Oh, E, I’m so…” Maggie actually looked away as if there were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, I’m probably incapable of seeing what boundaries I’m pushing right now. Call us both tired. What’s going on?” I sounded, I don’t know, kind of gentle, really. I was tired, true.

“You didn’t hear the challenge?”

“I…” I tried to remember. “No, I guess not. Can’t you just ignore it? You’re not some kind of honour society type.”

“This is why you’re not a wizard, dear.” She still wouldn’t look at me.

“Why do people keep bringing that up? It’s the last thing any sane man would want. Too many secrets, too many favours,” I said. That patronizing, “dear” at the end kind of got me riled, too.

“There is a balance owed,” Matana explained. “A witch is apprenticed, and owes her teachers.”

“What, the magic has some kind of self-destruct sequence built into it?” I asked. Ed was trying to keep up with us, but he was looking a lot more tired than I had been. He had a job – I started thinking I needed to get him home.

Matana nodded after a moment, like it needed to be translated and she was sure of the answer. “You are correct that it is no gift,” she said, simply. I felt a faint hint of cold over the hairs of my arm.

“Does it have anything to do with whatever deal Lady Light and King Dark struck?” Ed asked, yawning.

“You think they struck a deal?” Maggie rounded on him.

“Yeah, or why wouldn’t they still be duking it out or something in the yard?” he asked. I kept my opinions to myself, but he had come to the same conclusion I had.

“That’s…not good,” Maggie said. She gnashed her teeth for a moment.

“Which one gave the challenge?” I asked, trying to sound supportive. “And was it just against you or?”

“The coven as a whole. Sylvie, you were named. Matana’s not invested so she’s free and clear.” Maggie gave Sylvia a very clear, “We’re talking later when E’s not around,” look. I ignored it.

“I bound myself by word of oath to obey appropriately,” Matana shook her head. “I could claim exemption for many reasons, but I believe the spirit is more appropriate than the letter of the law in this case.”

“I’m still confused about what happened. Lady Light? King Dark? Challenges?” Sylvia shook her head. “And Mrs. Nurmbie shouldn’t be up so late. She’ll never get any sleep. I need to look after my roommates,” she said. “The other world can wait.” She got up and went to speak with her neighbors.

“You still have a choice,” I said to Maggie. “You could give up the magic.”

I don’t think I deserved that.

“Go, bid the huntsmen
wake them with their horns.”

There’s this really funny remake of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” done by S. P. Somtow called, “Ill Met By Moonlight” which I wandered into a number of years ago when it was playing a couple special shows in Denver, part of one of the science fiction conventions. In the movie (which takes its liberties) they say that line and then there are actual car horns ringing out through the valley.

That was what I thought of as the cavalry came through – all the car horns.

One of the girls opened the door, cautiously, holding her broomstick as a baton the whole time. I could see it from my stance in the common room, and I moved around the blissfully sleeping (or maybe unconscious) Sylvie, as the Shadow King froze in an inhuman pause. Whatever hold he had on the residents was not one that completely took away their decision-making capabilities, apparently. Good to know.

They had to have at least a dozen cars shining headlights towards the front of the house, and all the ruckus of the horns, as if they’d let a couple of kindergartners in front and encouraged them to beeping. They brought light – chemical lights, spotlights, flashlights, laser lights from those pointers everyone just uses as cat toys, and I might have smelled some flash paper on the wind. Yeah, I’ve got friends who would do that, don’t you?

I almost started to laugh, but it might have come through as a hysterical giggle, and the man known as the Portal Doctor would not giggle. He would laugh a hearty guffaw, perhaps.

“She is coming,” the Shadow King said.

I whipped around from where I had been taking steps towards the door. “Who?” I was about to ask, but the word literally died on my lips with a faint exhalation of air. I could almost see it growing little wings, cartoon-style, and ascending towards the heavens.

The messenger stood at the door, somehow taller, with what I recognized as superheroine proportions. I mean that whole size thing that comic book artists do, where they make the heroes a head or two taller perspective-wise than normal people. It was like she expanded in all dimensions.

Oh.

Um, yeah, literally. She was bigger than the doorway, but she was a few steps away from the threshhold. That strange, crinkling, plastic-wrap kind of envelope had been probably blasted away, as her stance showed her in her glowing aura of gold glory, too much to take in, too much to exist except simultaneously in this reality and outside of it. I could hear in my teeth rather than my ears the buzzing static bass of a door opened.

She was nude, not naked. Naked implies a lack of power – she was armed and not just with two lovely lengths bounded by shoulders and wrists. With nothing in her hand, she still held enough presence to kill should She (and the capital came so easily) decide to direct it. I looked up at Her face. She looked like Doloise. Like Binah. Like Magdalene. Like all the girls I knew, and some I didn’t, and all of them were angry, and giggly, and horny, and maudlin, and my emotion swelled in that little thing that happens in your chest and throat that’s like a dry silent squeak. I was overwhelmed enough to fall to my knees, woozy. I could barely see and I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry or scream in ecstasy or fear.

I kept silent because I could. It took a lot out of me. In the edge of my blurring vision, I saw movement. I wiped the moisture away with the back of my hand. The others in the house came out, curious. They looked at Her as if She were an interesting statue, a piece of art they thought should have more impact. Not jaded, I remembered. Merely immune without the need for Will.

I took a deep breath, drawing the meager amount of Will I could call to me as a person in the Know, but the Shadow King reacted faster.

He shed something of me like dropping a shadow, and for a moment he was as he was in the fey realm. A tall barrow wight, made of shadows where She was made of gold. Around Her, the creatures that had painted the house in uncomfortable couples (pun intended) flew into the night, losing form and cohesion as the sound and light gathered more strength.

The Shadow King brought what was of darkness and cold with him. The quiet patience of the grave. The forever home – where She made one desire the surcease of pain, he brought it in eternal quantities. If they were saying anything, it was nothing I could stand to hear, but the din of light and sound beyond seemed to fade against some kind of communication the Powers had together.

Light and darkness squared off for a moment, and then they touched as if coming to some kind of agreement. There was a swelling of something, some kind of moment of reality twisting, bending, like all the air had been sucked out, not of my lungs, but from my diaphragm, and then in the seeming silence of the moment, I heard a voice.

“E?”

Sylvie! My trance was broken, as was the wavering line of those holding lights or behind horns, and there was a roar of people surging forward. I stood up, my feet unsteady underneath me.

In a burst of sound like an explosion, shockwave included, She and the Shadow King disappeared. I was caught by the wave and nearly tripped on top of where Sylvie sat, nursing a sore neck with the rub of her right hand. “What’s happening? Why are you here?”

We were knocked sideways as there was a popping, crunching sound, and reality asserted itself in an unsubtle fashion, the house returning to where it should be. I managed to miss a chair, but a lamp on the table cracked in the fall.

“It’s a long story,” I started. “I’m afraid we’ll have to cancel our dinner date.”

I am not sure exactly at what point I should have backed away and called in the Big Guns. It was definitely well before this whole scene, with a Power’s source-witch knocked out on the floor, a demigod doppleganger, a handful of college chicks and senior citizens ready to fight anything that came through the door, and me missing my dinner reservation at a nice restaurant. Maybe when I realized it was the Shadow King who had marked me – that would have been a great opportunity to regroup and maybe find some back-up and moved it over to the real power players and made them handle it.

I don’t think of Pride being one of my personal sins. I thought of myself as the type to too readily change my mind to really be caught up in questions of credit and blame and hubris. I would rather run away and live to scurry yet another day, if you know what I mean. This whole “Dragon-Killer” epithet was sitting very poorly on me, like a crown where mine was the uneasy head.

But, I also believe in responsibility. Great responsibility, if necessary. The Shadow King wears something very close to my face, and while no one with (I want to say, “taste,” here, but that’s vanity, which is a version of Pride) experience of me, shall we say, would confuse the two of us, he kind of made himself my problem. I did kick the -cubi out, and while Maggie should probably take some of the dubious credit there, too, it still falls in my lap. Metaphorically speaking, and, um, free from most of the innuendo. (The place was carpeted in wall-to-wall innuendo, after all. Well, carpeted isn’t quite right – it’s not wallpaper if it’s on the outside, so it’s just painted innuendo. Which probably went against the HOA guidelines, but I wasn’t going to worry about that.) 

I also owed a responsibility to the people here because, well, I’m human.  That’s what humans do for each other, and if you disagree, check to see if you’ve grown a lizard tail or something.  Too often I hear, “Well, I’m not a hero,” or, “I’m not going to get involved,” and you know what?  That’s just fine.  Don’t be a hero.  No matter what, never be a hero.  Ladies, don’t let your kids grow up to be heroes.  While you might manage to get some endorsements, you’d be better off with a real degree and experience. 

I was often caught between Spider-Man and Batman as a kid.  Both of them were supposed to be terribly smart, sometimes too smart for their own good.  I think I vascillated towards Spider-Man, though, because he was also a nice guy.  I think it was really telling what they did when they weren’t “on duty,” as it were.  Bruce Wayne worked hard when he decided to put in an appearance (although part of that usually seemed to be when he wanted something from the shop) but when he was busy being a playboy, he was driven.  He was an obsessed playboy, deep in his role of girls and glamour.  Spider-Man had to juggle a job, school, a girlfriend, ailing family, and an ethical standard, not even counting his superhero secrets.   They were both interesting perspectives on the American Dream, especially considered against the staid Superman.   (And I always felt sorry for Aquaman and his counterparts.  I came up with some ideas as a kid about extending his powers to the atmosphere kind of like the bit in Swamp Thing when he stood on trial in Gotham and explained about just what kind of plant life he was able to control, but, um, that’s a really geeky sidenote.)

I hadn’t thought to ask what kind of heroes Deloise had had.  Probably Flower from that Meerkat show she watched.  I wonder who the Dragons want to grow up to be.  Themselves?

So, was it Pride that motivated me and then discarded me once it was done getting me into this situation?   Did I subconsciously want to be a hero?  I don’t believe in that, “Not getting involved,” portion.  I do believe that if I can’t help to stay out of the way, but I think there’s a difference.  If I see someone having trouble, I want to see if I can help, because I know there are times I need help, and there have been times I would have cried for the relief of someone asking me if I could use a hand.

There is no charge for awesomeness.    That’s where the Shadow King was wrong.  Life isn’t a series of owing favors, at least, not if you’re human.  Sure, you can make deals.  You can get yourself on the wrong side of the ledger balance.  You can spend more than you should and pay the price.  I’ve heard it called a rule of magic, and dude, it’s a stupid rule.  You still do things for your friends and never count the cost.  And you still do things for an ex-girlfriend, some random college chicks and senior citizens, and, heck, even yourself.

“Back away from her,” I said to the Shadow King.

“Choosing sides already?” he asked me, with just a faint mocking lilt to the question.

“If it’s choosing to see your backside as you get out of here, sure.”  I said.

“I am the only thing that prevents a countless number of creatures from breaking in and stealing away your friends,” he said.

“Oh, good point,” I said.  Then I rolled my eyes.  “Except I was born a little before yesterday, even speaking in the way of a Power’s memories.  You see, you’re here to call challenge. You’re using these folks as bait for your witch war.  Ingredients for some sort of spell.  I don’t even want to know.  I need to speak to my potential girlfriend without godlings listening, and I want you to stop playing with toys to which you don’t have any claim.”

It was then, of course, that the cavalry arrived.

I said a word appropriate to the situation, and which used to be considered “unprintable.” Standards may be slipping: today it’s merely a punctuation mark, but I said it with feeling and emphasis, and given the demons of lust outside the door, unintentional irony.

Amateur astronomers do not have my problems.

Let me explain that. See, first of all, there’s the term “amateur astronomer,” which is disingenuous to start. The person who barely sets up his telescope is an amateur astronomer, as is the person who spends nights ticking off extended math equations of degrees and counts that only entertain themselves making sure some ancient scientist was correct in their values, nevermind that they’re doing much of the same work as “professionals.” While the nomenclature may be broken down in real astronomer circles, I don’t own a telescope. I know about the Queen of Air and Darkness, after all, and the voids between the stars give me the heebie-jeebies.

I felt like an amateur astronomer being told that because I knew about other galaxies, I was responsible for this one, nevermind that I barely know how to focus my (as noted – nonexistent) telescope.

With great power and all that, yeah. But I have itsy-bitsy power and, alas, no enormous cosmic living space to turn the quote around, except on a philosophical level. After all, I could have been bound to a nut’s shell, were it not for my nightmares. It’s only luck that we met Nellie in such a humanocentric place – she could have been simultaneously existing in a realm of fire or somesuch and that would have really burnt my hide, so, to, um, speak. Chapped? Hides are chapped. Whiskers are burnt? Oh, nevermind.

I digress.

So, the Shadow King wanted to start up a supernova, did he? And here I’d been trying to change my orbit to meet this new girl only to find out what I thought was a moon was actually a gas giant.

Alright, E, drop the metaphors and back up slowly and no one gets hurt.

The Shadow King grinned at the unintentional portion and then turned to face Sylvie.

If I’d been a martial artist or had a gun or fire blasts or something, it would have been a great time to try to get the drop on the Lord of (wheel)Barrows or whatever titles he claimed. Alas, I had me, my puny fists, my telephone, and…

…hmmm.

“I’m sorry, E,” Sylvia said.

“I thought it was noteworthy that you brought two -cubi over, using only the lusts of a few college coeds and some seniors,” I said.

“You might be surprised,” she smiled sadly.

“So, who are you betraying?” I asked, just shrugging.

“I was going to go on a date with you,” she said, a little defensively.

“She didn’t deal with me,” the Shadow King jumped in, as if also defending himself. Because, you know, I’m so scary and all.

She smiled at him. It was a cold smile, one older than she could possibly be. “You are not the only Power involved. E, do you remember a girl named Binah?”

I blinked. “Um, yeah.”

“Did you know she was a witch?” she turned that same smile to me, and I shivered. Literally. It was maybe 9 at night, and it’d been hot out during the day, but I had the whole, “caught naked in cold water,” feeling.

“Binah?” I repeated, as if this was someone else using the same name. “Maybe I didn’t know her,” I suggested.

“Funny,” Sylvia said. “I wonder if Magda ever guessed whose spell she unraveled the night she met you.” She started taking steps closer to the Shadow King and I, and I noticed how both of us instinctively moved a little more away.

My mind raced. I knew the name referred to something kabbalistic, but it’s a perfectly good girl’s name. Rationality, but also secrets. Comprehension to come with interpretation, which I found amusing at the time since there was only one (okay, two things) I wanted to interpret with her, if you know what I mean. She liked loud music, was part of the honors program, wore great pithy t-shirts, usually in black.

I was doomed. Women called me “cute,” but I could only date witches, presuming the whole feminine portion of the race weren’t practitioners. I added it to my mental character sheet.

“You’re not even twenty-five,” I protested.

“Are you sure?” she flashed that smile again at me.

“Sylvie, you’re not Sylvie,” I said. I could hear it, then, that little touch of metal-touching-metal, a little “ding” like a triangle, the call of a very subtle door: a possession.

“But who?” the Shadow King breathed out, fascinated like a bird was fascinated with a snake, at least in the story of my favorite mongoose.

“Try me,” she said. It was the same voice that greeted us the night of the -cubi. That husky whisper, golden like the sun over hayfields, the same voice as the -cubi messenger that only teased us.

I repeated the word I used earlier, but only in my head.

“Nuh-uh,” I said, shaking my head. “Doesn’t work that way.” I put my hand in my pocket, reaching for a packet of salt. I opened it one-handed (that’s a trick that takes practice and is a skill worth learning) and tossed it out between us.

“Salt,” the Shadow King smiled. “No batteries?” he asked me.

“That’s always been a stupid joke,” I muttered.

“Salt,” the thing that was Sylvie muttered. “Salt won’t stop me. Salt won’t bind me.”

But it does give her pause, which is all I need. Luckily, the Shadow King is on the same “wavelength” as I am. While she is sniffing at the salt, he drops her. It looks painful as she falls to the ground, but I sense that it is just her body that is felled by his Word, and not the being inside her that opened the door.

Closing doors is my specialty, but this one gives me pause.

“Pleasure and pain have similar linkages in the soul. That taste, the nectar of divinity, burns as ambrosia or as ichor. It is not only the sensations of the mortal body that the seductors would entice, but those of the immortal,” the Shadow King said, turning around to me. “There are seductions of pain, of despair, of wrath, of greed, all those you note as sins.”

I wanted to tell him that of course I was familiar with pop gaming culture, but dropping the name Gaiman to a god was one of those lose-lose situations. Either he knew him and I was stating the obvious, or he didn’t know him and all of my illusions were shattered.

“I see from your expression that you have some kind of way of noting the obviousness of this. There are seductions in humility, chastity, and altruism, those virtues, too. Sacrifice is perhaps the sweetest temptation of heroes.”

I nodded. I may not have actually known this, but it made a kind of sense.

“You think of will as a power, do you not?”

I shrugged. I mean, duh. It’s right up with the manipulation of coincidence and the laws of similarity.

“It is a common conceit of wizards that what they desire is always within their grasps. If only the power was there, the wanting strong enough, the conjunction right, the prayer heard.” He was suddenly next to me – I hadn’t seen him really move, but it was like he took some sort of shortcut between the window and where I sat. “Perhaps you’d like a more familiar creed, that if only I worked harder, exercised more, did what it took… and what does it deliver?”

“Materialism?” I asked, a tad sarcastically.

“Power, control, is it not the same thing?” He waved it away. “What cannot be seduced is hard to control.”

“Which makes it dangerous in potential,” I said, slowly. I think I was understanding. “A threat. Who seduces the seductors?” I asked, wryly. Hadn’t Matana suggested something about controllers? Maybe she meant it more literally than that. Where were the Overseers?

“There are shifting currents that have been manipulated.”

“By witches?” I played a hunch.

He smiled. “There are deep games and shallow ones, Closer. How often do you go in over your head?”

“I prefer to call in the troops,” I admitted.

“There’s a price, isn’t there?” he asked. “The big favors you owe, big things will call them in, won’t they?”

I didn’t agree. “Why are you here?”

“You’re happy being a little fish in the big pond, but as smart and aware as you are, it doesn’t stop you from being very tasty. Your guardian and guide is gone, isn’t she?”

I didn’t say anything. He just smiled a little wider. On my features, it looked disturbing. No wonder I didn’t have a steady girlfriend if I ever smiled like that at them.

“She had a patron.”

“Peredur.” The word burned my lips and tongue. I wanted to stop listening.

“You dealt in Dragons. Your fate blew wide open,” he said. “Should have stuck to closing doors.”

“You’re like the salesman who pushes a foot in, aren’t you?” I almost smiled.

“What do they want to make you?” he asked.

“A wizard.” I spat out the word. “What’s your offer?” I asked him. I didn’t dare look at the Shadow King.

“I thought that was your line.” He hung out right in my face, way too much in my personal space. “I bring conflict. I am a wraith, a lord of the barrows, a Shadow King. Why would I offer you a gift? Did I arrange this all for your benefit?”

“I had a question pending,” I reminded him.

“I am not a trickster spirit. I am a creator of chaos, not a opportunist.” He leaned back. I hadn’t been able to smell his breath – maybe he didn’t breathe.

“You don’t care who wins, as long as there’s battle?”

“I need my name shouted in the heat of battle. I need to feed on the rent flesh of war. I want to open the gates and let loose carnage and her sisters.”

“You need the seductors of wrath?”

“Oh, any of them will do. Avarice, wrath, lust – I am not moved by those. But I do not want seduction.”

“Liar.” I didn’t believe the word had popped out of my mouth. “You’re a Shadow King. A Power, but not one that exists in full. Seduction is an illusion, a shadow. If you took control, you’d be opening more trouble for yourself when bigger Powers suddenly wanted a piece of you and your scheme.”

“I have maybe changed my mind. I may not like that you are smart,” he decided.

“So you’re creating a witch war. Dude, that’s none of my business.” I stood up and got some distance between us, holding my hands out in front of me. “I mean, I’m kind of curious now to see if you dropped my name in someone’s ear, but I only date the witches, I’m not one.” I shook my head. “I don’t get involved in supernatural politics. I really am happy as a little fish.”

“Little fish come out to try the bait, too. It’s up to the fisherman to be honest and throw them back.”

“I’m a one trick hack, mister. You have the wrong fish. I’m like spackled trout and never in season. Doesn’t something come along to check the licenses of you folk?” I may have sounded a little desperate.

“I thought you didn’t do politics,” he pointed out.

“You squatted on the Gillikins lawn just long enough for something bigger to pass you by, didn’t you?” I accused.

“Ignorance is bliss, little fish.” He moved a step closer.

“Was it the Dragon?” I didn’t want to repeat the name.

“Which one?” he mocked. “There are so many.”

“Stay away from my witches,” I said. “All of them. The -cubi wouldn’t have cared if you hadn’t rigged this group up as bait. I think you’re after someone in particular.”

“You’re right, E. He’s after me,” Sylvia entered the conversation. “He suspects I’ve made a deal.” She walked through the room. “And unfortunately, he’s right.”

“Hey!”
“Wait!”
“Ow!”
“Hey!”
“Ow!”
“Wait!”

I think I ended up repeating that particular selection of words somewhere between five and fifteen times while I was pulled and pushed and rolled around the floor and beaten with various broom handles (wielded inexpertly), a heavy plumbing wrench (hurt but was too heavy for the person holding on to it to do any real damage), a dustpan (what?), and finally the heel of a shoe (I think it was from a pair of galoshes), and my hair pulled and my arms bruised before they decided I was either harmless or not the droid for which they were watching.

Yeah, not ending the sentence with a preposition kind of makes it lose its impact as a quote. My inner grammarian may have been quelled, but my geek flag was only partially unfurled.

Um, metaphorically speaking, of course. This was not a moment for words like “turgid,” after all.

“Now, now, that’s not very nice,” said a familiar voice. I slowly moved my arm from where it had been protecting my face. It made me let out another particularly manly grunt that didn’t in the slightest sound like a squeak or moan of pain.

The Shadow King kneeled next to me, looking me over carefully. “I’m sorry, they thought you were me.”

Since he looked like my evil twin, I grunted again at this. Not because I’d had the breath knocked out of me by, from looking, a few senior citizens, and a couple sorority girls.

Not Sylvia.

“You’re about to say that you couldn’t possibly imagine how that happened,” he pointed out. He was looking me over as if to assess the damage. I don’t know what he decided – if it was more or less to his liking.

“No, I think I kind of guessed,” I managed. You know, when the breath is knocked out of you it isn’t just as easy as opening your mouth and letting the air back in again or anything.

“That’s why I like you. You’re smart.” He hauled me to my feet in guise of offering me a hand.

I refrained from pointing out that that’s often been said about my rear. Because it has. And the rest of me ain’t dumb, either.

He grinned, whether it was because of my thoughts or just a general jovially conniving nature.

That’s probably too many adverbs, and not enough paranoia.

The Shadow King waved away the others, imperiously. “He is not the enemy,” he said. “Not the droid we’re looking for.” He didn’t care about grammar, either. “Stay vigilant. We have the bait.” He gestured towards a closed door.

“And it works,” he said to me, as the galoshes-wielding gentleman passed us. “Doesn’t it?”

“I can’t let you.” I reached for the words. I couldn’t let him use Sylvia as bait? I couldn’t let him do what he was doing to these people? I couldn’t let him steal my face, my life? I wasn’t quite sure where I was going with it, but he understood.

Of course.

“Come into my parlour,” he smiled. He waved at a sort of lounge-like area inside near the shared kitchen. The common room, darkened from the pull of shades and tables up against the windows.

I shook my head.

“Fly away little bird?” he offered, pointing to the door.

I sighed and adjusted my stance. If he knew my lines so well, he would have to know my body language.

“They’re immune. They’re irresistable for being immune to those irresistable,” he said, as if it explained everything.

“Now you’re not making sense.” That was a bit of a lie. I had a bad feeling I knew what he was saying. Since it was ridiculous to lie to something that’s shared a bit of your head, I didn’t consider it a real falsehood.

“Something’s been done to them,” he waved in the direction of the household’s residents as they took up their various positions. “They’re immune to the…” he chose a word, “… seductors. Probably also immune to a number of beasts who rely on that particular technique. I eavesdropped enough to know you’ve spoken with one of the more predatorial.”

“A vampire?” I guessed.

“That’s your word for it,” he agreed. “They make these… seductors uncomfortable.”

“Crowding their niche?” I suggested.

He grinned again. “Probably.” He stretched a little and leaned against the doorway. “Your witch did this to the one upstairs, too.”

“She’s not my witch,” I said, almost automatically.

“Neither is the one upstairs, I think.” He smiled. “She gave me a warm welcome,” he insinuated with the quirk of an eyebrow. “But she’s too suspicious.”

I smiled this time. “She’s got wards, doesn’t she?”

His smile faded. It didn’t turn into an angry look, but it was definitely unpleased. “They are of no real concern. Do you know anything of the factions of the creatures who have swarmed this place?” He changed the subject, which was a particularly human thing to do. I noted it because I didn’t think it fit the, I don’t know, characterization, maybe? of a Power. A Force. A demi-divinity.

“No,” I said. I’ve mentioned it before – sometimes admitting to not knowing something gets you learned. Um, in all the ways that might be interpreted.

“Pity. I should leave you in ignorance.” He moved towards the window and pulled the shade back to look outside.

I decided to take the route of pretending to have patience. Sylvia wouldn’t be distressed, but not in any real danger. I needed more information. Of course, the Shadow King outwaited the fey. Given that pixies were more hyper than ferrets on double espressos (what can you say with a diet of mostly sugar?) that may not be as much of a concern as it seemed, but it did suggest that he had no pressing business.

Well and good. I found a chair to sit down in, and sat. I think twiddling your thumbs is when you do that roundabout thing where you move them back and forth against each other, but I’ve never been to twiddling school or anything. I lost most of the thumb wars I was in – my little sister was a cheat, I think. I waited.

Time passed.