Archive for the ‘ Chapter 10 – Opener ’ Category

(213) The Care and Feeding of E

In her presence, one never is told to do things.  One does what one is expected to do. One fulfills their purpose. One handles contingencies.  One answers questions unasked.  One kneels and one waits for the subtle signals.  The sculptor was better at this than the storm.

“He is well.”

Silence.

“He is rarely beset.”

Silence. That meant it was my turn to speak as my sister sliced words too thin.

“The bird that broke the nets sends magic to seek his enemies. Of these, only the shadow of battles past has engaged.”

My sister bestirs herself to speak once more. “Small hunters and entropic diversions. We have suspicions.”

“The forgotten gods,” I pick up, “have not forgotten him, but the war of witcheries is not fully woven.”

A signal. Silence, then words.  We listen.

“He is lonely.”  My sister’s words. So finely cut to describe the experience.

Another song is sung.

“We cannot believe so,” I said. I could feel my sister’s discomfort, but the silver caller held a silver collar more than once.

One word becomes two.  We assent in silence, because there is little else one can do.

I look at my sister as we are removed from the presence.

“Tommelise?” she asks.

“The barleycorn girls and the blodeuwedds are not for him.  Eilonwy?”

“He would not breathe the breath of life for another until the thorn is pulled from the scaled paw.”

“Best an houri.”

“Never could,” I laughed.

“He has influenced you.” Disapproval.

“He has strengthened us.”

“He suspects?”

I shake my head in a human motion. “He theorizes. He predicts. He promotes. He rarely commits.”

“Sooth to soothe.”

I rest a hand on her arm. “We are not Pucks, nor Jacks, nor Thomases.  We are Idris Gawr.”

“Heimdall’s Grigori,” she laughed.

“Dokkaebi Archons.”

“Urshu Djinn.”

I inclined my head to her, showing that she had won. “They are not wise women, the witches.” I suggested. I removed my hand from her arm.

“The healer saw too little of the thorn embedded in him,” she scoffed.

“We need to give him room to breathe,” I counseled. “Room to move.”

“He will only injure himself within the cage, however soft the walls we give him.” She looked at me. “And he will see the walls.”

“I do not think of him as dense,” I argued.

“As dense as a neutron star.”

“But far brighter,” I argued.  She bowed her head to me. We were even.

The conversation was invigorating, like that of laughter, but it drew us no closer to the completion of our conundrum.

“Love-in-idleness?” she suggested.

“The risk of love made sport is not for him.” I sighed, another human trait, but an apt one. “But we can cast the net.”

“And draw in closer the interest,” she agreed.

“Weave the web of witchery?” I asked, testing.

“Why skimp on the familiar?” she played with the words.

I inclined my head. “We must be specific, and yet flexible.”

“I will not call silver if I can get gold.”

“Ambition,” I accused her.

“I prefer platinum,” she tossed her head. “And emeralds.  But he needs the warmth of the earth, and the touch of the sun.”

“You shape the snare, and I will empower it.”

“Of course,” she said.  “And we will give him…privacy.”

“Illusion,” I said.

“Of course,” she repeated.

“He’ll look for his own trouble.”

“That is why he amuses us, brother.” She touched my arm briefly. I saw the sign her fingers made.

“Our oath is to guard.”

“Our duty is to watch,” she said, and she looked away.

“We will be free one day,” I told her.  “We will find the doorway home.”

“Or he will open it for us.”

We looked at each other and then away, and said nothing.  We knew the stakes.

(214) Chopping Shopping

I didn’t know anything about how to find someone. Vasil Greyn. I had only the slightest idea how to spell the name, so I tried some Google.  There was a lovely recipe for Pumpkin Spice Crunch Cake, but honestly, unless it was a subtle code for how to make  souls writhe in delicious cinnamon pain, it didn’t lead me anywhere.  Where was a wizard detective when I needed one?

Oh yeah, Chicago.

Nen and Rayya were unusually quiet when I returned.  They gave each other glances, but otherwise let me be. Rayya had fixed something for food, not something either of them did much, and it was rich with flavours. It wasn’t a dish I was familiar with, but they promised no sentient creatures had died for it and that it wasn’t poisonous, and besides, it was delicious.  I think I had two or three bowls of the goulash of foods, mostly orange.  I have realized that I eat a lot of orange foods. As long as I don’t turn that color, it should be okay, but I should add dark green leafy vegetables for my health.  I am not too fond of kale, but I guess spinach is alright.

Yes, I was procrastinating. I was also trying to figure things out.  White pages? So last decade.  I didn’t even know if the guy was still local or if he’d skipped town, or if he had even skipped Realities. That was an unpleasant if ironically amusing thought. I fretted. I tried to beat one of Zach’s ridiculous social media game scores.

“You are obsessed with a puzzle?” Rayya asked, finally.

“Well, I wouldn’t say, obsessed. I mean, I’m trying to figure it out, but it’s hard when you don’t even know where to start.”

“Start at the beginning,” she said, shrugging.

“Well, yes, of course, I mean, I could have quoted that, but the problem is I don’t know the beginning. It’s an equation with only one variable and a set of solutions, and I’m not that great at math.”

“I am. Try me,” she said.

“Uh,” I grasped.  “Um, it was kind of a metaphor.”

“Write it down,” she said.

I opened up a tab to write in, and looked at my options.

Find Vasil Greyn.

Vasil Greyn is, for purposes of explanation, possessed.

The solutions are:

1) open him back up and make sure the right home is inhabited by the right family, or

2) destroy what is inside and hope what was lost comes home.

“That is not math. That’s an ingredients list,” Rayya looked disgusted.

“I’m a portal doctor, not a mathematician, Jim!”  Okay, I didn’t say it aloud, but I considered it in my head.  Instead I sighed. “How would you go find someone if you had no idea how to find people?”

“Hire a private detective,” Nen said, looking up from the table where he was picking up the bowls.

“You don’t have any kind of fey super senses you can use to sniff out the suspect?”

Rayya sniffed. “We’re not dogs.  Not of the white hounds, nor the Hunt.  The Small Court does not have that particular…” she glances at Nen, “protocol.”

“Well, maybe not like follow a trail, but maybe some kind of magical compass?” I was grasping at straws.  What point to having supernatural bodyguard roommates if they couldn’t help you.

“Blood to drive a pendulum, that sort of spell?” Nen asked from the kitchen.

“I know witches who can do it,” I admitted.

“Witcheries,” Rayya said, as if wiping her hands of it.

“Powerful witches have woven their roots into this one, sister,” Nen said, coming back into the room. “You knew that when we took on the contract.”

Rayya glared at Nen. “He slays Dragons, he rubs shoulders with puissant wizards, and he turns down the Seven King.  It is not fitting that he also consorts with witches.  How has he not learned this? Who has not taught him that they are his bane?”

“Well, how do you mean `consort’…” I started to try to defend myself.  Nen gave me a brief shake of his head.

“I will not take the blame, sister, nor the responsibility.  He is a maturing adult, and by our laws able to speak for himself in Court, to provide support for a partner or child, request protection for fealty, and be sworn to his word.”

I notice he didn’t say “mature adult.” I decided not to pursue the point. Which, I felt, was very mature of me.

“Pah!  Ibtaʿada,” she exclaimed. “He is a baby. An infant. A blind crawling worm when it comes to the ways of women and witches.”

“So are all men,” Nen suggested, but he was smiling.  I tried not to chuckle.

She stopped at this, considering it.  She just stopped moving and went quiet.  I watched her and then shrugged.

“I think I need to think about this a different way,” I said, and I went back to my conundrum.  “There’s something here…”

“Narrow your scope,” Nen said, coming up to my elbow.

“As in?” I wasn’t sure what he meant.

“Presume smaller, then add pieces.” He shrugged.

I scratched my head. “I thought we should start without presumptions.”

“Too open a book, too white the page,” he shrugged. “Hard to decide what to write, or what to draw, without some kind of presumption, correct?  So let us start with something useful and then move from there.”

“Huh,” I grunted. “Okay…let’s presume he has to be nearby.”

“Is that much of a presumption?” Nen asked.

“I thought you wanted me to come up with a good starting place,” I complained.

“You have to test the presumption to see if it works, right?” he asked.

“Can’t I do that later?” I frowned.  “Actually, it’s not that bad a presumption.  We have three ‘door workers’ for lack of a better term in the area, although there may be more. If we believe that a corollary of ‘like calls to like’ is ‘talent is called to need,’ then there must be a reason for it, besides our 300 annual days of wonderful Colorado sunshine. ”  I shrugged.  “Also, there may be some kind of sympathetic connection between the afflicted and the person who worked the spell; there was still remnants of some kind of ick down there, so I think that’s possible.”

Nen processed that for a moment, and then shrugged.  “So, if he’s nearby, then how do you find him?”

“That may be jumping a bit,” I said. “On the other hand, let’s push that thought a little.  The Things from Beyond require sustenance. However, that could be anything from boxes of Captain Crunch to the blood of virgins under the age of twenty who like to crochet on Sunday evenings. Maybe not that specific,” I amended. “So that’s not a way to track them. I guess the next presumption should be the state of mind the Thing is in… is it social? I mean, is it scared and trying to get back home? Kind of like a teenager at a party that’s gone on too long, or is it happily adapting to life on this side of things? Can it have a job? Do I really have to search on that link site?”  I was mumbling to myself as I turned back to the computer.  Rayya moved in the corner of my vision, startling me enough that I had to grab the soda I’d almost knocked off.

“No,” she said.  “It is not inherent to be male and to be ignorant of the ways of women and witches.”

“Glad we got that straightened out, although it’s real close to `Not all men.'”  I said, wiping down the table with a cloth I kept near for the purpose.  “Okay, back to what I was thinking.  There’s another easy, but thus suspect conclusion, but I don’t know if you guys are the exception or the rule.”  I turned back towards the Spriggan Sibs.

Nen glanced at Rayya, then shrugged. “Hit me.”

I grinned.  He ducked, wincing. I shook my head. “Too easy.  Let me ask it this way, I guess.  Why are we not overwhelmed with the evidence of the Beyond?  I mean, minotaurs in the streets, fey hucksters at every corner, vampires in high places…” I trailed off meaningfully.

“You aren’t?” Nen asked.  He jumped up to sit on the arm of the couch.

“Are we?” I threw the question right back to him.

He grinned. “No. You want to know why.”

I nodded.  “Especially if it has to do with some kind of secret society.”

“Like witches,” Rayya scoffed.  She had moved to the couch and was re-reading Kay’s “The Summer Tree,” something I did myself like once a year.

“Like witches,” I agreed.

Nen sighed.  He rested his arm against the back of the couch, a very human gesture as he took a breath.  “I think you’re on the right track.  There are realms that are very like to what you know, what you’ve been bred for, what you are used to breathing. The transition between those and your natural one is fairly easy, and thus it becomes woven together, a pastiche of worlds that strengthens itself through the hybrid mechanism.”

“So I was right, my third grade English teacher really was a half-elf,” I said, grinning.

He shrugged. “It means nothing in the tapestry.” He glanced at the book Rayya was reading with a grin.  “Elf or human, mutant or human, it’s nothing unless it’s placed at a threshold.”

“Like some kind of event or initiation that brings out the Other?” I asked.

He shrugs. “You’re making it sound a whole lot more mystical than it is.  For most people it’s nothing more than an occasional run of luck, or a certain charisma, or being able to tell when someone else is thinking about them.  It’s like when the computer crashes for absolutely no reason; you reboot and everything’s back to normal.  Happens all the time, it’s a one-off occurrence, and it means just as little. No training, no development, and the language of it is,” he gestured towards my wall, “all soaked in syrupy presumptions.”

“You’re really bumming me out.  Here I was hoping I was the lost prince who would come back to his kingdom to be celebrated.  I’d make a great fantasy ruler,” I said, still grinning.

“You’d be terrible, and you know it.  Sorry to pop your bubble.  So, those are the things that live next door.  Things who come from a world where there is no sunshine have to cloak themselves against the sun, usually by borrowing bodies.  They continue to draw from the world they left, the legacies and laws… are you familiar with the Gnostics? ”

I blinked. “Um, passing familiarity with the idea. Couldn’t spot one in a line-up, but if they’re in a parade with a big sign, I could point.”

He smiled. “There’s a bad labelling going on when we talk about the supernatural. Your true wizard or god is supernatural, but a vampire would be supranatural.  Those just outside the weave are preternatural.” He shrugs. “There are things that could float between the definitions; if I enter this place through one door I leave much of my source behind, but if I have another entrance I may relate differently to the laws.”

“That,” I stopped thinking about it. “That’s putting a lot of pressure on the people who maintain the doors.”

He just looked at me.

“I’m small fish. Lots of doors open and close all the time.  We’re the Grand Central of realities, right?”

He just shrugged, a faint smile on his face.

“Thanks,” I said, sighing. “So, the answer is, if the thing inside this guy came through the back door he’s probably looking for a source of energy to connect to, but if he came through the front door with fanfare and trumpets he’s walking tall, doing whatever it is his kind does.  Which, all we know, is icky.”

“Can you cast a net for this… ‘icky’?” he asked.

“That’s my next thought.  I can’t…but I might know a witch who can.”

 

 

(217) Between the Couch Cushions

“Roberto,” I said, tasting the name again.

Nen looked up at me, anticipating something more.

“To track a demon, a demon hunter seems like a good start.  Even if I don’t believe in demons, really.”

Nen sat on the edge of the table. “I believe in terrible things that will gladly eat your face.”

“My face in particular or do they just have an occasional craving for faces?”

“A rumbly only faces can satisfy?”

“Well, there’s one thing wrong with them, anyway.” I frowned, and not just because fey quoting internet memes was a thing.

Rayya showed me some sympathy. “There are many beings whose desires border on malevolence as we experience it. A blatant addiction to cruelty perhaps. If something required the pain of others, a foul succubus of sadism. We call it angelic when the same need is in altruism, do we not? But they are still parasites.”

“Not how I really thought about angels. Messengers, yes, but not like the things within vampires.  It sounds pretty cynical,” I said, thinking about it.

“It is the demon within your mythology who makes the contract, and yet the Covenant and other forms of agreement are found on the so-called opposing side.” Rayya made a face I recognized as something she didn’t particularly appreciate.

“So-called?” I asked, appreciating the diversion.

“It is the same source, is it not? Just divided over ideology,” she said, a little hesitant.

I thought about asking her more specifics, but Nen beat me to it. “Some readings differ, as Gilgamesh sees the screech owl that was banished to the wastelands. Metaphors woven, stories made to explain competing tales of humanity’s celebrated children.  And yet do the two who invite speak different tales, such cacophony of myths that it took a Great Star to diffuse the voices into a symphony of reality.  Sound and fury, the shouting of ‘I am,’ similar between gods and mortals.” He shrugged. “A chemical reaction, an accident of life, all desires to understand the taming of chaos.”

“Which is thought to be the source of magic,” Rayya added.

“I’m feeling the cynicism,” I retorted.

“Recognition,” Nen corrected.

“Recognition? Of what?” I asked.

“Of the struggle akin in all realms: to tame chaos to one’s own advantage. A unifying theory of sorts.”

“Magic is physics?” I asked, scoffingly.

Nen shrugged. “And yet you say humanity would be content without interaction in the realms.”

“For which you disagree?” I wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know if it is a lack or an excess of imagination,” Rayya said softly.  I couldn’t tell if she was describing me or humanity, or heck, both.

I shook my head. “And this relates to demons?”

“No, malevolency. If chaos is the source of malevolency, demons are the forms of chaos to balance the forces of that which tames it,” Nen suggested.  “Chaos’ paladins, spreading the word of the anarchy in design.”

“Do anarchists have designs? I mean, the first sounds a little too ‘Chronicles of Amber’ for me,” I made a wry smile.

“Everything wrought can be undone,” Rayya shrugged.

“I’ve no horseshoe nails, if you’re about to ask.” I said. “Sounds too much of cold iron, anyway.”

“And in there is an anchor to the myth.”

“Also made of cold iron?”

“What would the temperature really have to do with it?” Rayya asked, but I was beginning to recognize the signs of her having me on, at least a little.

I flattered her with a look that kind of said that, and was rewarded with a smile.  She looked away after a moment.

I sighed. “I should do it.”

“Speak to your kin?” Nen asked.

“Am I that transparent?” I grinned.

“The speech of your movements brings you back to a younger time, and the marks of those years are upon you. Perhaps it is the same with mine.” He looked at Rayya.

She didn’t need to look at him. I recognized that, too.

I sighed and leaned over for my phone.

“Is that Numancy-fancy boy still dancing to your tune?” I asked when she picked up.

“I haven’t gotten bored of him…yet,” she replied. “And how are you?”

“Failing. I have 100 problems, and 99 of them aren’t demons.”

“I’ve always been better than you at math, but that’s implying an imaginary number. I know how you feel on the subject.” That was her saying that I’d made it quite clear.

“You’ve been better than me at just about everything,” I said, and I guessed it was the sentimental influence of the spriggan sibs, or I would never had said it.

She chuckled. “You’re going to ask me a favor, aren’t you?”

“Oh, indubitably.” She gave me the out.

“You need one of Robert’s patented full body massages?”

“Patented?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s an entirely new technique that no one else has ever used before, but it involves anatomy and consent I don’t think you have.”

“I don’t…”

“…need to hear any more.” She laughed. “Okay, so instead of his physical skills you want something more … esoteric?”

“Good way of putting it.”

“Huh.” She was quiet for a moment. “Well, it’s going to cost you.”

“I won’t beg, I won’t do arson, and murder’s completely out.”

“Think cheaper.”

“Mom?” I tried not to whine.

“No, are you crazy? Don’t go there. She’s having one of her …”

“One of her…?” I let it trail off.

“Look, she wants grandkids, and unless you’ve made the awful decision to get back with Magdalen P. U., you should be nowhere near her.”

“No, no, no.” I literally pushed back on my chair, as if I could increase the physical distance between myself and that whole thought. “So what is it? I know it isn’t money.  It isn’t money, right?”

“Hah. I don’t need the change between your cushions.  Besides, you have a futon.”

“You don’t say.  So what is it?”

“I’m in.”

“You’re in what?”

“Can I trust you with my boyfriend?”

“Um… his virtue? You were all but throwing him at me a moment ago.”

“No, I want to go with you, wherever you go.”

“You having one of your feelings?”

“Yeah.  Big time.”

“And that’s it?”

“Oh, I’m going to think of something else.  Let me get him on the phone.  Lunch?”

“Usual place?”

“Of course.”

(218) Demons, Demons, Everywhere

The usual place was our favourite Indian buffet off of Parker. It was the kind of Indian food meant for white folk like my sister and I; pretty generic, just enough spice to make you feel like you’re being outrageous, and yet the people who came in with the lovely accents acted like it was comfort food.  I’d been to a few others – one gave me food poisoning (I still don’t trust a watery vindaloo) and the other had too many bell peppers. I mean, seriously, there might even have been green peppers in their cream of wheat-alike.  For the price, the Star was pretty awesome for us food-naive.

She and Roberto were busy eating all of the naan while I came in.  I saw that she had already ordered us all chai, and gotten me a bowl of the rice pudding with a spoonful of mango custard on top.  I gestured to the buffet bar, and she scooted Roberto out so we could all meet up in line.

Nen and Rayya had flipped for the responsibility, using my nickel. A literal nickel, that is. It’s what I had in my change cup. Rayya won, which meant she was going to stay “around,” a semi-invisibility glamour. Unlike Nen, she didn’t like to be part of the conversation on my outings.

I caught her reflection in the sneeze guard, but then lost her.  I turned, almost running into Eve, who was busy filling up her plate with hefty spoonfuls. “Meatballs…” she said, with the kind of slow regard that insinuated simulated lust. I raised an eyebrow, and she cut me off. “Don’t say it, E. I’ll win and make you blush.”

I just rolled my eyes. My sister went after me, explaining to Roberto all the things he would like and the things he should try anyway.  I grabbed an extra spoon for the pudding and sat down, picking up my chai to warm up my hands.

A few minutes later, given more naan and a glass of water, the silence was broken only by the other people in the restaurant and the sounds of our forks hitting the plates, plus the assorted smacking and such that drives misophoniacs bugnuts. I used my napkin and sighed, leaning against the back of the booth with the satisfaction of the first plate.

Roberto matched me, and dropped his napkin on his plate. “Your sister, she says you need my expertise?”

“Reluctantly,” I said with a wry smile.

“It is hard to be nice to you,” he said.

“You know, I’ve always suspected that, but no one has ever actually said that to my face, I think,” I realized aloud. I twirled a spoon around, absently.  “It’s probably true,” I decided.

“Definitely,” my sister muttered.  She was still working on some of the spicy chicken. Tandoori, I thought I remembered. Drumstick, kind of red outer coating. I resolved to maybe actually look at the labels on the buffet next time I went up so that I wasn’t remaining ignorant of what I was eating outside of, “The green stuff with the cheese I think? Oh, and I really like the meatballs.”

I sighed, putting the spoon down.  “I just don’t believe in demons.”

Roberto chuckled. “You ran into one?” he guessed.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s probably a parasite. You know, like vampires. Lost in this world, inhabiting someone else’s body, doing what it thinks is natural.” I was starting to pick up the spoon again when Roberto put his hand on mine.

It was uncomfortable, a violation of my personal space, but while I know I tensed up, I tried not to pull my hand back immediately.

“Stop,” he said. “I believe you are a good man, E.  You know there is evil in this world.”

I know I frowned. He let my hand go.

“You can try to rationalize it, but you know it to be true. There are things that are unnatural, things that do not belong because they are against all that is good and true.”

I kept frowning, but while I touched my spoon I didn’t pick it up. “I think there’s a lot of leeway in those terms. Relatively speaking, I don’t know that deciding what’s good or bad is really something at my pay grade.”

“Nonsense,” Roberto said. “It is everyone’s responsibility. It is not to say…” he looked for the words, “It is not to say that you cannot be incorrect. But you must make that decision. You must hold that line. You,” he glanced at Eve.

“It’s okay,” she said. “He’s woke.”

Not the terminology I would have used, but I tried to appreciate it with a forced grin.

He turned his attention back to me. “Your talent especially.  If you do not know what is good, and what is evil, how can you keep the door shut against that which wants in?”

I caught myself turning the spoon around again before I answered. “Generally I figure nothing gets in, and nothing stays unless it belongs here.”

He did a kind of one-armed shrug. “So you have made your decision. You found a path that works for you, but then,” he half-smiled, “so did Darth Vader.”

I took a moment to contemplate the role of Jedi in a universe of gateways to other places, but then realized it was a rabbit hole I’d have to explore later.  “Hey, Vader had the coolest theme song,” I tried, but I knew it was weak.

He shook his head. “Clarity. Focus. You have to have these things in order to hunt demons. They prey on insecurities, turn your head with temptation, and take every advantage you offer, deliberate or not.” He took a deep breath. “If you have truly met one, you would know. It would be a stain on your very soul, a palpable sense of evil.”

“Very theatrical,” I said.

Eve rolled her eyes. “You wanted an expert.”

“Oh, no, I mean, it’s great, it’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever heard the word palpable spoken aloud,” I clarified. “Are you of the opinion then that the greatest evil ever perpetrated was to make the Devil a myth?”

“There is truth in it,” he gave another of those half-shrugs. “That there are few demons required centuries of hard labor to make it happen, tempered in that few open the way anymore.  They don’t like the light.”

“Physical and metaphysical, I suppose?” I asked.

“Indeed,” he nodded.  “And the old texts are just that – old, and worn. They are pathways that are well travelled and well patrolled.  You can call, but the numbers… they are disconnected.” He seemed proud of the metaphor.

I humoured him with a nod. “Is there some way you can see this stain?”

Eve stopped him from responding. “More mango custard. Now.”

He smiled a little smile at her and left the table. She cleared her throat and looked at me.

(219) Custard-y Battle

“What is it?” I asked.

“Do you know what the biggest problem with hunting demons is?” Eve responded with a question.

“Um, no pay? Hard to put on a resume? People think you’re crazy? Give me a hint,” I said. Probably not too different than being any kind of full-time practitioner.

“They wear human bodies,” she answered.

“Oh.” It made sense, but it wasn’t what I was expecting. That… made things awkward.  “Can you chase them out? What about the red skin and horns?”

“If you see a demon without its meat suit, you’re either using enhanced observation techniques, or you’re about to die. When it’s much easier to take a body, why would you risk something of your own? You have to have power, but more importantly, you need reason. ” she asked.

“How do you know they’re really demons?” I asked. I didn’t really mean for it to sound so antagonistic, but it was a bit aggressive.

“My question, too,” she said. She looked frustrated. “At least I believe in them, which helps.”

“Otherwise he sounds like some kind of serial killer,” I said, realizing her point.

“Yeah,” she said.  She let Roberto come back into the booth with some new bowls of pudding.

“So, some kind of magic to detect this stain? And what do you use, spiritual Clorox or something?” I asked.

Roberto shook his head. “There’s prayers,” he said.

“Spells,” Eve corrected.

“Prayer,” Roberto said. “Though,” he said after a minute, “it is possible that miracles look to be magic.”

“Or vice versa,” Eve and I said it at the same time. Yep, siblings.

“Or…” he shrugged again. “You must realize, there is…” he got that distracted look again, “much of being a demon hunter that is wrapped up with the Church.”

“The Church?” I asked. As far as I can tell, one refers to all the myriad collection of splintered Christian faiths as ‘the Church’ but sometimes they specifically mean the Holy Roman Catholic, and this seemed a time to specify. I mean, maybe he meant the Denver dance club.  That would be funny and weird.

He gave me a suspicious look, but then Eve chuckled. “What did you expect, Bob? True faith?”

He sighed, and shook his head, looking down at the table. “It is strange to me, because we took that magic was a specific gift… and responsibility. Given for specific tasks, and yet there are so many differing opinions, and it’s like…” he smiles a little, looking back up at me, “Denver Comic Con.”

I leaned back. “Oh, go on,” I said, trying not to smile indulgently.

“It was a real eye-opener for him,” Eve tried to hide her own smile. “Not just the cosplayers.”

“Hey, don’t objectify,” I reminded.

“Not even a little,” she sighed, but the smile crept back. “But it doesn’t hurt that it was the same weekend as Pride, and there was quite a variety of eye candy.”

“Not for you,” I wagged my finger at her. Roberto looked like he wanted to do the same thing.

She grinned.  “I know.”

Roberto shook his head. “There are so many opinions. Everyone read,” he made an motion of an arc with his hands, “a group of comics. Or the whole…?”

“Run,” Eve supplied.

“Run,” he repeated, “and would remember different things and come out with their own stories, separate from story that was told.”

“Ah, Star Wars,” I said.

“Well, yes, and X-men, and,” I cut him off.

“No, it’s something I remind people when they talk about Star Wars is that everyone has their own.  For some people it’s a love story, some people it’s a story about the subjugation of droids, for others it’s a story of revolution, and for some it’s just the arc of Anakin and his redemption, but everyone calls it the same thing.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“I even call the phenomenon ‘Star Wars,'” I said, unnecessarily.  “But I understand. I didn’t think it really qualified for magic, but yeah, it makes sense.  I stopped going to ‘witchy’ events, and not because I have anything against the lace and black clothing movement, like, at all, speaking of objectifying,” I cleared my throat, “but they didn’t see the Force the same way as I did.”

“Haha,” my sister said.  Not laughed: said.

“Exactly,” Roberto said. He didn’t crack a smile though, meaning that my attempt at humour was exactly as good as my sister’s not-laugh implied. “I have not had a great deal of experience, but I am slowly being exposed to different viewpoints.”

I could just hear the giggle my sister suppressed.

“Intuition is a fantastic ride, itself. A rollercoaster that doesn’t ever improve.” I sigh. “But the point is that apparently being around a demon leaves some kind of slime trail and we can follow it somehow. Better than my plan to start hanging around morgues like some kind of television detective, because I don’t even think they let me in the door without some sad story, and I’m not ready to–”

“You’re rambling,” my sister interrupted.

“Yeah. I do that,” I mumbled.  “So, you in?”

Roberto put up a hand. “What demon do we seek?”

“We weren’t exactly introduced,” I start saying, “but do you mean a unique name? The fellow who was possessed has something odd as a name. Vasil. Kind of like a corrupted herb.”

“Let me start again,” Roberto said, sounding less exasperated than he probably had a right to be. “What know we of this demon? Why do you seek it? Has it done something terrible?  What information do you have for us to start?”

“And how much do you pay?” Eve asked.

“Well, I’ll pick up lunch. What do you mean pay?”

“Demon hunting doesn’t exactly pay the bills,” she said.

I was at a loss until I saw the wink. “Yes, yes, you get to come along. That was the deal, right?”

“No!” Roberto said. “She should not. She’s already being sought–”

“You know about that?” I asked.  It had all but escaped my mind, like everything Magda said.

“Of course I know about it. I made sure it happened,” she said.

I think Roberto and I both groaned.

(220) D-EVE-ious

“Back up, try again, begin from the beginning,” I commanded.  “You did what?”

“There’s a war going on, E,” she said. “Did you think for a moment I wouldn’t attempt to subvert the propaganda?”

I didn’t even have to think about it.  I knew my sister.  “There’s a bit of difference between that and ordering your own hit squad… on your head.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Says the fellow who disappeared for an entire year to chase some fairy tail.”  She emphasized the last word so I got the homonym.

“Ha ha,” I didn’t laugh. “Go ahead, push it harder into the kidneys before you twist.”

“While you were gone there was a war, E.” She shook her head. “A war.  With casualties.  Take some stats: how many unexplained heart attacks? Accidents? How much cancer is because of magic misuse?”

She must have seen my confused-skeptical look because she sighed.

“Teacher mode on,” she said. “Most witches are connected from initiation or study.  That’s where the majority of the power comes from; tapping some source, usually an old god, or a place of power, some kind of sacrifice, or there are various vows and stuff to bind a battery.”

“`Vows and stuff.’ Very teacher, much technical,” I teased. “I kind of know all that. I mean, I did date Maggie and she told me a little about it.”  Yeah, our love for talking shop did not help the relationship one bit.

“Shut up.”  She rolled her eyes. “Pollute the source, or add noise to the network, and that entropy can manifest in all sorts of physical ailments.  The disability rate in older witches is disturbingly high.”

“Correlation?” I offered.  “People looking for magical ways to solve their issues?”

“I thought that, too, but no, turns out most witches are more practical than that.  For one thing, pulling that kind of transformation energy from a source can also pollute it or give you feedback errors.  For another, finding the cure from the disease is like that infinite engine thing, isn’t it?”

“Improbability drive?” I asked.

“She means the perpetual motion machine, I think,” Roberto suggested.

“Yeah. That.” she picked it up.

“You said most witches?” I prompted.

“So, a lot of eclectics are self-taught, but they still end up connecting on shoddy can-and-string calls to the same sources because they think the same way as the more traditional ones.  Some, though, are founders of their own sources, or they work on different principles.  Rare, but I thought science was a better source than, say, Aphrodite.”

“Although,” Robert started.

She poked his shoulder with her finger.  “Shush, you.”

They grinned at each other in this comfortable, familiar way.  I thought for a moment that Roberto had stayed with my sister (or more accurately, vice versa) much longer than any of the others.  I gave her a significant expression, hoping she’d catch it, but I think she just figured it was brotherly disappointment of personal displays of affection.  I went back to the conversation.

“Science? Isn’t that a little like using GLaDOS as some kind of god form?” I was teasing.

“The pudding isn’t a lie,” she said.  “Bob?” she asked, plaintively.

Roberto got up and got more pudding for her.

I waited.

“He worries about me.” She shrugs. “Oh, and I know there are much better quotes from the series, but everyone references the cake.”

“Yeah, someday we’ll remember this and laugh. And laugh,” I responded.

“Look at me still talking when there’s science to do,” she sighed.

“Someone booted up the wrong side of the BIOS this morning?” I offered.  I wasn’t as sure of the LEGO Dimensions quotes.

She looked iffy, moving directly in front of me.  “Anyway, before Mr. New-to-mancy, as opposed to Newtonmancy gets back, I’ve got it covered. Yes, I’ve got some ties from Grandma, but they’re carefully vetted.  I’m not attached to any of the local hubs, and the only reason I appear to be targeted is to blend in… because if I don’t sound like I’m being gunned for, everyone assumes I have the guns.”

I made a motion as if to show off my arm muscles, and she rolled her eyes, scooting back a little to let Roberto back in with a careful mix of rice pudding with just a perfect dollop of the mango custard.  No, really, it tastes good together.  He handed her the spoon with a flourish.

“So, now that she has revealed to you her secret plan,” Roberto said, “have you reconsidered demons?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting my sister to be…” I trailed off.

“No. She is purely an angel,” he said.

She stuck out her tongue at him. “Anyway, I haven’t told him my secret plan.  It wouldn’t be a secret anymore.”

He nodded. “Sage and true.  So, we find this demon of yours and we take your sister as attractive but unreasonable bait?” he pointed his thumb at her while she was busy with a spoon of pudding and couldn’t hit him on the shoulder again.  Well, at least for a moment.

“Well, except for the bit about Eve, sure, that’s the…erm, plan.  Not a secret.  You will reveal to me your ancient methods for finding them, and I will, um… direct things.  And make the hard decisions.”

“Someone has to,” he said, and I suddenly rued my wording.

He looked at my expression and chuckled. “You are responsible, you know.”

“Responsible for what?” I said, possibly a bit defensively.

“No, just, you insist on taking responsibility for things.”  He made a circular gesture with his spoon as if to take in the world around.  “You care about putting things right.”

“Well, doesn’t everybody?” it seemed a weird observation.  “I mean, sure, I’m lazy sometimes and I’m not one of those people who totally needs to give to charities for tragedies half a world away.  Really, I’m a pretty awful person if you start making judgments on such things. I don’t even tithe to the lottery.”

“You may be guilty, but you are also responsible. There is a difference.”  He sighed. “Demons just love responsible people.”

 

 

 

(221) The Demons In Our Heads

“So the devil is in the details?” I joked.

He nodded, looking serious. “Heroes are quick to sacrifice themselves for others. So when the demon looks into you and says, `You will make a deal with me, or we shall make your sister’s skin do terrible things?’ Responsible people do the responsible things.”

“Yeah, the lone hero conundrum. ‘I can’t make connections with people that can be used as hostages against me, so I need to be so chill and cold that no one will be my weakness.’  I do read comics, you know.”  And not just Spider-Man.

“But what about the strength such connections provide?” Eve asked. “I am stronger with my friends.  I am more capable with my friends.  I am their fury, I am their patience.”

“Who let you in the conversation?” I teased her.

“No, it is important,” Roberto responded. “The implication is that your friends are somehow less capable than you. The proper answer may be, ‘Try. My sister will make you suffer in ways I can not even imagine.’  But then it gets more difficult.  It is your friend’s child, or an innocent, and this time they do not ask, they take.  And it is one life, and a second, and you are paralyzed because you are responsible. Is the person the demon has taken innocent? Did they take on the demon as you must to save someone in their life? Is there another choice?  Will killing the host kill the parasite?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I put my hands up “No one is talking about killing people. That’s… murder.  And I’m not even involved in this discussion because I’m not an accomplice or an accessory.”

Roberto just looked at me. “That is why we have you.”

“To kill people? What? Just because some people used to call me Doc does not make me an evil assassinating supervillain.  I mean, I know the rules of naming but that’s just a nickname.  You’ve got the wrong person.”

“No, you are the missing ingredient. You and all of the other guardians of the gates. You control what comes through, and you can send it back.”

I paused. “I guess the -cubi are generally considered demons.” I shook my head. “But this one’s different.”

“How? Demon is thing that wants to come in, you send it kicking back. Host gets life back, if with a lot of therapy,” Eve said, as if washing her hands of it.

“Not so simple.  First, we don’t know about the host. That therapy stuff isn’t kidding. How much is keeping them alive contributing to their pain? I mean…” I fumbled for a moment, “It’s awful. It’s violating. The -cubi want fun for a night, and they leave so much assault in their path… but survivors are a thing… I don’t know. It’s not something I can quickly rock a quip off and pass over.  If Roberto here says what demons do are worse, I can’t imagine living like that.”

Eve looked at me seriously for a moment. “You lost a year of your life.”

“I can’t even tell you how angry that makes me,” I said, after a moment. “I can’t even confront it. It’s … so many little things.  Little changes in slang, cultural touchstones, movies and shows I missed, political events… ” I shook my head. “But while yes, my place here was stolen, my… integrity was maintained.  I wasn’t molested or abused, my body wasn’t made to hurt anyone. I had agency. Yes, any theft is awful, but I can get acclimated pretty quickly with the internet.  I can’t say there are no support groups for the possessed, but I kind of doubt it.”

Roberto offered a tidbit.  “There are now over 50 exorcists in the United States, up from about a dozen.  At least, in the Catholic Church. I don’t know the numbers for other faiths, but I expect they’re increasing as well.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re fun at parties,” I teased. “No, maybe it’s not just trivia.  The… person in my line of work who gave me this task suggested there was a reason the three of us I know here had congregated in the area.”

“Gave you or geas’d you?” Eve asked.

“Gave. At least, I don’t feel compelled.  Except to do what is right,” I admitted, “I mean, that sounds really dumb to say it aloud.”

“You were always a gamer,” she sighed. “Yeah, it sounds dumb and noble and white knight-ish.  You sure it isn’t because she’s a girl?”

“Um,” I considered it. “No. I wasn’t really attracted to her. It was weird with Zach at first, but…”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Not like that. Nevermind, just, it’s a magic thing.  I’m still cishet and okay with it.  My white male guilt switch is on, and I regret the word dumb, and while I’ve seen some sexy ice skaters, I’m just not interested in other penises.  Penii?  Penipodes?”

“Stop.  Just stop there,” Eve shook her head.  She looked at Roberto who very carefully had stayed quiet and out of the conversation, then nodded and continued. “So you’re doing it because…”

“Because I felt it. And it was evil,” I said. “Is that even worse to say out loud? I kind of…” I shrugged. “I need to do it. I can.  I have the power and the responsibility.”

“I always took issue with that phrase,” Eve said. “I mean if Absolute Knowledge is Absolute Power, knowledge is evil, and that goes back to biblically epic amounts of anti-science, if I may say so.”

“You speak of science with similar worship, though,” Roberto said in that tone that I recognized as a fellow man who has relationships.  It was that, “I know this is going to cause an argument but as much as I tried I can’t let it go,” tone.  I backed up out of spoon range.  “The scientific method is flawed when it comes to the immeasurable.”

“Like when your computer stops working for absolutely no reason, or when your IT person walks into the room the thing you’ve been trying a thousand times suddenly works the thousand-and-first,” I tried, helpfully.

(222) Blinded By Science

“Science is a pair of glasses with which I perceive the world, and there are flaws, yes.  The scientific method doesn’t leave a lot of room for eureka moments,” she took a brief pause to enjoy the phrasing, then continued. “I don’t think it’s too much to ask for potential replication in my results, given my methodology. That’s the only way one can share a spell, is like if it is a recipe,” Eve said. “Shared cultural resonances are their own faith, yes, but what if you could test it? I wear a hematite ring. If it suddenly splits, is that a flaw in the stone, or did it reflect a negativity aimed my way? When that computer fails, there are so many measurements that can be taken – temperature, moisture, electrical fluctuations, maybe even baby spiders on the motherboard.” She shrugged. “But I honestly believe the only thing keeping magic from being science is having the right tools to measure it.”

“So we’ll get a magic-o-meter, and suddenly every scientist’s a wizard?” I asked. It probably sounded a lot more sarcastic than I meant it, and she frowned.

“Maybe,” she gave a half-shrug. “I’m full,” she said, pulling at Roberto’s sleeve and not looking at me.

“No more pudding,” he told her. He called over the waiter for the bill.

“Look, I am not going to say anything foolish like, ‘I’ve got to do this thing alone,'” I said. “Trust me, I’m not going anywhere near something like this without a team.”

“You have one of those?” Eve asked.

“Yep.  It’s you and me, kid, and Roberto here, and who knows, maybe I can talk some other foolish mortals into it.” I didn’t need to gesture towards Rayya, but I was aware of her. “Or immortals,” I added, with a chuckle.

“Good,” she said, seriously.  “just don’t forget to put up the bat signal when you need it.”

“Bat signal?” I asked, pulling out my wallet to pay for lunch.

“My digits.  Flare your aura my way. Send a courier. I don’t care how you do it, just make sure you don’t get distracted or kidnapped and forget us.”

I signed the slip and sighed. “If I say anything now, I’ve jinxed it,” I pointed out.

She chuckled. “I guess there’s that.”  She gave me a fist bump, and then she and Roberto checked out.

I dawdled a little, letting Rayya join up with me. “So, what do you think?” I asked, once we were in the car.

“It is not my place to opine,” she said.  I think she heard her my internal aggravation, because she continued.  “Much was said. What in particular would you know?”

I shrugged. “In general?”

“What you call science is a key, as is magic.  The problem is, as you keep unlocking the doors, when do you learn more than you can handle?”

“You’re a beacon of light and hope, or at least you’re on the same road I’m on. You don’t have to open every lock, and you don’t have to press every button.”

She was quiet.

“Is silence disagreement?” I asked, grinning.

“In this case, yes. I think so,” she said after a moment. “I think we are meant to develop in this world. Man, fey, even Dragon,” she shrugged. “Different means to an end, but lessons nevertheless.”

“Buddhism?” I asked.

“Something like, maybe.”

“Have I asked you before what the fey believe in?”

She smiled. “It’s a silly question. What do humans believe in?”

“Point, yes. Just you and your brother, whatever you guys are,” I said.

“Your bodyguards,” she responded. “We are supposed to believe in keeping you safe.”

“From demons?” I asked, and yeah, it was a little petulant.

“Do you have free will? Agency? Can we keep you from a foolish path?” She scoffed a little, I think.

“Well,” I said, and I didn’t really have much to add.  I considered a few responses, but I think she scored another point. I made a note to myself that I needed to be less tired from dealing with my sister when verbally jousting with professionals.  I knew I would forget, but it was good to try remembering that than my failure.

I tried to parse the information Roberto and Eve had given me, much of which was just hanging out. I still felt Roberto was a little intense, but I enjoyed a little talking shop.  I still had a lot of questions for Eve, but I liked the idea at least as a philosophy of science witches. I put a pointy hat, a white lab coat, and a set of safety glasses on her mentally, and then giggled. To myself, because Rayya was still beside me as I walked in the door and she would have had questions about my mental stability.

Okay, that made me laugh out loud.  But, as inscrutable fey go, she just raised an eyebrow and let my laughter happen without comment. After all, I was one of those weird mortals. We probably did lots of things that made no sense.  Or made fey go blind, science notwithstanding.  I mean, someone had to grow hair on their palms.  Or, rather, no one has to, I guess, but we could test for it.  Because science.

I may have lived with the two of them, and shared many a meal and a weird laugh together, but I didn’t feel comfortable asking either of them about their masturbatory habits. Some things were better left to the– I cut the thought off. Maybe not left to the imagination.  I didn’t think of them as sexual beings.  I never even wondered what Rayya looked like under the white robes she wore.

She did laundry, I mean, although she didn’t seem like the kind of elf who fixed shoes. We all did laundry. We had a little chart as to who did the folding, too.  They both did the same trick Doloise did, in weaving glamours based off of existing items to clothe themselves.  Nen did once show me that they could craft outfits out of creatures, in this case a Miller moth. I will have nightmares about that for years.

(223) E-ffective

The only thing that could have made the night better was a visit from a Dragon.  I opened the door, expecting Peredur on my doorstep.

There was nothing but a few dried leaves scraping across the concrete in the wind. I sniffed, checking for the faint woodsmoke smell that I associated with him. Nothing. I narrowed my eyes and squinted, as if I could see things unseen.  After a moment, I closed the door.

Nen chuckled.

“I thought it was requisite, narratively,” I explained with a shrug.

“We would know if His Majesty decided to pay you a visit,” Rayya pat my arm in a way more sympathetic than condescending.

“His Majesty?” I asked.  “I don’t recall you naming him that before.  Has there been some kind of update I didn’t get notified of? Peredur two point oh? Patch notes?” I asked, spinning my desk chair to attend to my roommates.  “Do I have to reboot the reality now or will it do it when I’m in the middle of something?”

Neither answered, but that at least I expected.

I swung back around to the computer. I had done a few Google Alerts that came up with interesting information that led me down the rabbit hole of the internet for a while.  When I came up for sanity, I made myself some tea and stared at the television for a minute or two.  I read the closed captioning for a bit, and tried to figure out exactly what was chirping, then realized it was my phone.

It was a local number. “Yeah?” I asked. I know, you’re not supposed to pick up the phone for people you don’t know.

“I’m sorry, is this… um, Doctor …E?” it was a woman’s voice.  You know, it’s still better than Windy Frostymist, or Cherry Bloodsucker, or… I don’t know. I’m not good with a lot of “magickal choice names.” Heck, I don’t even know if that’s what it’s called.

But I digress. “Yeah,” I responded in a different tone of voice that hopefully encouraged the woman to elaborate. Okay, I was presuming it was a woman. My bad for gendering based on stereotypes.

“I got your number from Rohana. She said you could help me.”

It wasn’t like I advertised in the Yellow Pages.  After all, I just threw them into the recycle bin when they were forced upon me.  No online presence, no web pages, just one twitter account, and even that was mostly irregular updates of little consequence.  So word of mouth was important. I just didn’t expect Rohana to make recommendations.

“Maybe,” I said. After all, I could cook a decent omelette, but if she was looking for that, I’m not the one you would call. Didn’t want to raise her hopes up without being sure as to what it was. “What do you need done?”

“I… I’m a sigilist. She said you would understand.”

I was really tempted to make a really geeky gaming reference about the City of Sigil and Planescape, but I managed to resist. Unless, of course, Rohana had expected me to do it. I tried to guess if she was waiting to be resigned, or what, but it’s hard to read silence, especially over a cellphone.

“You utilize magic through symbols and/or runes, embuing them with will and power,” I said.

“Yes,” she sounded relieved. Rohana had probably warned her about the Torment she could have gone through. “I do minor charms as well, but mostly personal sigils.  Healing, protection from entropy, that kind of stuff.  Nothing big.  Except…”

Ah, there it was. The magic of ‘except’ or ‘but’ or all those other words that nullify the sentence before them. “Except?” I prompted.

“My sister… she’s got this guy who has been stalking her, so I thought I’d do a… look, could we meet somewhere? A coffee shop or some place? I’d feel better if you could see what I mean.”

“You could take a picture?” I suggested. I mean, we were talking with the technology.

“Doesn’t show up in total. I already tried. Public place and all that. I’m not a mask–mass murderer.”

I wondered at the slip.  I decided a “masc. murderer” was kind of the more male version of a “femme fatale.”  But I had bodyguards who had to worry about that, right? I was perfectly safe. I didn’t say it aloud – even if I didn’t believe in jinxes, it was just asking for it, and when you ask the universe might just answer.

“Good. Neither am I.” Despite being alternately reviled and lauded for having killed a dragon, it was the insects of the world that mostly needed to fear my murderous nature. “Where are you at?”

We spent a couple of minutes triangulating a good place to meet, arranging for secret codewords, and then agreed to be there in about an hour.

Nen looked up expectantly from where he sprawled on the couch.  He had gotten a lot better about the spines of my paperbacks after a little talk I had had with him.

Sometimes you’d think my life would make for a good sitcom. If I were any more interested in men, we could call it “Two and a Half Fairies.” I decided against suggesting it.  A lot of times my life with them was…normal. We did chores. We ate. We hung out and binge-watched Netflix together.

It was the little things.  The things you didn’t expect.  How weird silences would meet what seemed to be reasonable questions.  The strangeness of…well, they never looked in the laundry and found only one sock.

So, yes, that’s a real first world problem, but from the perspective of the first world, it’s really strange. How do you even interact with someone who does not have the essential understanding of a world where washers and dryers took single socks in sacrifice?  It completely resets your world view. What do you really have in common with them? What else do you take for granted for which they share no correspondence?  It really made some things odd.

On the other hand, I always got a pair of socks back when they did the laundry, so maybe I shouldn’t complain.

(224) Coff-E

I shrugged at Nen. “I’ve got work. Work work, but not like, work work,” I said, realizing belatedly that it was ridiculous to try and make the differentiation.  “Like, a magical job, not a standard 9-to-5 kind of thing.”

He just watched me with those eyes of his that occasionally contained more of a luminous nature than expected. “With whom?” he asked gently.

I cursed.  Fifteen minutes on the phone and I didn’t get a name. “Um, a friend… maybe… of Rohana’s?” I answered. “Anyway, she’ll be wearing a blue vest and jeans and will order a chocolate milk with whipped cream.”

“So a date,” he said.

“Um?” I’m pretty sure my eyes narrowed at him. “I’m helping her out with what’s probably a sigil that didn’t discharge correctly.  Not having coffee with a stranger off the internet, or whatever kids do these days.”

“You’re having coffee with a stranger from a phone call,” Rayya said, resting against the arm of the futon. “The difference may be too subtle for my brother to discern.”

“Well, neither of us are having coffee, if that helps,” I said, letting my tone be so sardonic it could be a polished example of chalcedony.

“No,” Nen said, brightly. “We’ll be circumspect.”

“We? Both of you?” I asked.

“Rayya has a feeling.” Nen shrugged. Sometimes I thought there was some kind of difference to their shrugs, but it was subtle enough that I guess I didn’t catch it. I don’t know that they always mean the same thing with a shrug that I might, but it filled in the other silences of their body language so that I just took it for mortar.

“A feeling,” I said. “Can I know more about this feeling? Does Rayya often have feelings? Do these feelings mean anything or should I just not hurt them?”

Rayya gave me a very human look of being done with my querulous nature.

I took the hint. “Well, I should at least freshen up. You guys do…whatever it is you do.”

Neither of them moved as I went past them into my sanctuary, I mean, my bedroom.  I could see that Nen had returned my trade paperback of the first volume of Rat Queens.  He at least used the right piles – Rayya was more likely to straighten a pile and reorganize everything.

“Which shirt, which shirt…” I decided to pick at random as otherwise it really was too much like preparing for a date. Which it wasn’t. You can meet a random woman (she self-identified) without it being a date. This was work-related. Business, not pleasure, literally.

Yeah, I shaved and put on extra deodorant.  No harm in that.  Probably time for a haircut, too.  I looked at my reflection in the mirror for a brief glance, then put the tiniest bit of product in my hair. Purely professional.  I would have put on a suit if that was the kind of job I was being hired for… and I didn’t know that there was any money in this. Most of the magical economy was favor-based, and I didn’t grow up in Bartertown.

“Hey Master & Blaster, you two ready?” I called out.

“Do you refer to my brother and I?” Rayya asked, appearing in the doorway of my room. She had chosen to replace her white hijab with one that was almost identical if you were not as much a keen observer as myself. This one was made of a finer material, looking softer.  I looked carefully and guessed she’d done her weaving of glamour from my very soft bathrobe. (You should always have a soft bathrobe. It’s the difference in winter between the necessity of a shower versus the indulgence.  Plus, it isn’t like having to immediately wear pants.)

“You’re more Chip & Dale,” I decided.

“If so, my brother is the one with the red nose.”

“Dale, I think,” I said.  “Which, out of context, makes me think of the Riders of Rohan.”

“Your synapses are powered by pop culture memes and the occasional nerdy reference,” she said, solemnly.  I looked at her after drying my face in the blue towel that was a staple in my bathroom.  “And what are little spriggans made of?” I asked. “Sugar and knives and everything spice?”

She looked at me with suspicion and then the sudden expression one makes when all the blood drains from their face.  She took a step back.

“What did I say?” I asked, concerned.

She shook her head and then turned, disappearing. Not just going around the corner, but pulling the whole eerie folding-into-space disappearing. The kind cats do, naturally, before you find them on the couch licking themselves.

“Nen?” I asked, maybe sounding a little plaintive.

There was no response.  I turned out the light and left the bathroom, looking around the living room. “Nen?  Rayya? Did I say one of those words that chases you guys off like church bells?”

It was quiet.  It was empty.

It was twenty minutes to the coffee shop, and I didn’t have time to spare.  I picked up my keys from the little octopus cup and looked around again. Nothing.  “Guys?”  Nothing.  “I’m leaving.”

Nothing.

Rayya wasn’t the only one with feelings. I felt very weird, very vulnerable. I checked to make sure I was wearing pants about three times.  I checked my pockets for my wallet twice, and I even checked to make sure I wasn’t wearing glasses. I found my keys in my hand at least once.

The coffee shop was one of those generic ones that would open up in your linen closet if you gave them a good rate. It was pretty busy for what I would have thought pretty late at night, but I guess the caffeine keeps people awake.

I ordered my special drink.  It was pink and foamy.  My rabies-in-a-plastic-cup was sweet, though, and they decorated the giant ‘E’ I had them write on my cup.

“Chocolate milk. No ice, but, um, whipped cream please?”