“So,” I said, realizing that was preamble enough, “what’s up?” I asked, as I put on my seat belt.

Nen climbed up next to me and frowned at the door.  He just gestured.  “Drive,” he said.

I arched an eyebrow at him.  “Yes, sir, okay sir, whatever you say, sir,” I muttered.  “Jeeves does as sir says, sir,” I continued the ridiculous monologue for about twenty more seconds, or as long as it took me to take a safe left turn from the parking lot on to the busy street.  (I always drive safely, previous car issues aside.)

The car was another rental, because I still hadn’t chosen a good replacement. I meant to get around to it, but I hated shopping for cars. Maybe it’s unmanly, but I just want something that gets me there.  I’d picked it up just before my trip to lunch with Eve, but it was due to be back at the end of the week.  I didn’t like the way my right knee kept hitting the console, so I wouldn’t be getting one of these, whatever it was.

A flash in the mirror showed Rayya sitting in the back seat.  I don’t know how they do it, but I know their little disappearances have to be related to the other’s presence.  And not just as my bodyguards, or whatever, but I think it was something to do with them, specifically.

“So?” I asked again into the silence.

“You are not being followed,” Rayya said.

“Good?” I mean, I was sure it was, but I gave the inflection the question that suggested maybe I was expecting something more than this particular answer.

“Is it possible that your job was actually related closer to the one regarding the demon?” Nen asked, in one of those casual ways attorneys ready to put the smack down on a court case on television had.

“If I say it sounds like outrageous coincidence, you’ll quote rule number 39, right?” It was an NCIS reference; we’d spent a little time binge-watching it because I had been making some point about magic being an accepted part of modern television.  Crime drama had a lot of it, and not just in getting DNA results.

“Perhaps,” he said.  Because like all of his kind, he liked a little wiggle room.  It meant ‘Yes,’ and I knew it.  I probably shouldn’t just relegate it to their ‘kind’ like they were some homogeneous group, but I did mean the “word abusers” of myth or something.  Not that calling them “word abusers” was any less a violation of the language.  Of course, English was a notorious criminal at that, anyway.

“What did I miss?” I asked. “This sounded like it was very recent, and our suspect, if you will, has been at large for a while.” I decided to treat it more like a role playing game.

“What do vampires want?” Rayya asked from the back seat.

“Food? No, that’s too easy.  Power.  That’s a classic.”  I tried to think it through.  Aurora has all these blinking left turn yellow arrows that I find a lot easier than their traffic circles.  I just don’t understand how you get out of them without going over some lines.  It doesn’t feel right.  “If I want to be basic, all life wants a chance to make more life, right? Which is a terrible biological constraint and we thinking beings should be above it.  Sometimes life just wants to have fun,” I muttered.

“How do vampires make baby vampires?” Nen asked.

“Ugh. Do they really? I thought vampires just make more of themselves by convincing others to take on the deal.  I mean, there’s the classic bite and suck, but that’s the disease metaphor.  Those are like vampire polyps, mystically connected to the original vampire, right? Unless they can prepare the host for another… you know this gets really gross the more I think of it, right?”

“`Skeevy,’ I believe, was the term you used previously.”  Nen made it a statement.

“So… Janet’s a demon?” I asked. “I don’t follow.  Wouldn’t I know?  Or was she becoming a host for the demon parasite or something?”

“What if we suggested that the real difference between vampires and demons were that demons were less likely to take root, and instead spread their taint between multiple souls?”  Rayya asked.

“I’d say that there were too many religious overtones in that sentence for it to make real sense to me,” I quipped. “But is that a real thing?”

“Too many religious overtones or our suggestion?” Nen asked.

“The latter, thanks.” I rolled my eyes. We pulled into the parking lot, and I could see Rayya slip out first, probably to give an ‘all clear’ to Nen.  Such was the life of a celebrity.

Okay, I’m totally not a celebrity, but it was easier to think that than to think I was in any kind of trouble.

“Janet is not a demon,” Nen said.  He walked with me to the door, and waited for me patiently to find my keys. (Why do I always tell myself right hand pocket and end up with them on the left? Human perversity, no doubt.)

“Good to know. She was cute. Maybe a little young for me,” I considered.  “I mean, not terribly so, but she had a feeling of youth, which is supposed to be invigorating, but I don’t want to be on the skeevy side of things.  You don’t even understand what I’m talking about, do you?”

“I know you talk a lot,” Rayya said, briskly, coming in through the door after us.

“The concept of consent is a magical one, yes,” Nen said, “but not as definite as you’d like to believe.  You would likely find many of our interpretations skeevy.”

“You like the word?” I grinned, turning on the lights from my chair.  Rayya locked the door behind us.

“There’s a satisfaction to it, given that it seems a little less puissant than ‘squicky,’ and it seems to fill a part of that particular spectrum with better finesse.” Nen said.

“The internet is a wonderful thing.  So what about Janet? If she’s not a demon, what is she?”

“She is a … familiar,” Nen decided.

“Oh, no, she said…” she shrugged. “You dated for a while, and it didn’t work out, but you were good at what you did.”

“Thanks.” I hadn’t actually expected a real answer, but I appreciated it. I hadn’t realized, nor would I have guessed, but it actually felt good to know. I guess I kind of had it in the back of my head to wonder what Rohana thought, but not so much that it impacted things.  “Um,” I continued, “You’re okay, right? No one’s making you have sex to recharge or something…? Wow. That sounds so skeevy out loud I even feel weird saying it.”

She chuckled uncomfortably. “Yeah, when you actually say it, it’s weird. But if you’re a charismatic older guy who is used to dealing with troubled, isolated teens, and you’re convinced it’s natural… it can make sense.” She shook her head. “Tell me there’s no truth to it.”

“I don’t know that I can. Maybe it’s a real thing.” I shook my head. “But sometimes I’m disgusted with my gender.  On the other hand, I’m sure there’s someone out there saying the same thing about women or, heck, fish.” I shrugged. “So painting with the big brush, no, that’s not something I’ve really heard a lot about… maybe some kind of tantric thing…?” I spread my hands out in an extended shrug.  “Skeevy,” I repeated.

She grinned. “She might have been trying to set me up a little.  The last guy, well,” she gave a significant look to the portfolio. “And I am kind of into guys, unlike most of her friends.” She shrugged a little.  “So I’m sorry for making it weird. It was just in my head.”

“If I could apologize for the weirdoes, I would, but I’m sure I’ve got a couple of weird things about myself, too.”  I tried to waggle my eyebrows, but broke off, laughing. She laughed, too.

“Okay, so I’m paying you some cash for helping me out,” she said, as we recovered. “And not exchanging it for weird sex magic.  And then I’ll wander out and we’ll be like strangers again in the cold, dark world.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said.

“Unless,” she paused.

“Unless?” I asked.  I mean, the way she said “cold, dark world” actually gave me shivers.

“I get you. I mean, you’re fast. You’re thinking six or seven things really quickly at a time, and you’re a big geek, I can tell. So maybe we talk some other time?”

“I like that,” I nodded. “As long as you understand I’m warning you in advance that I’m probably my own kind of pervert, which doesn’t excuse me from any lack of tact but, you know, like a caution label.”

“Warning, use at my own risk?” she kind of hid her smile and it was pretty cute.

“Um, ‘use’ is kind of strong, but sure. I’m in.” I didn’t bother to hide my smile.

She opened her portfolio and pulled out a business card, then wrapped up a couple of twenties next to it.  “That’s my personal number,” she said.  It was a nice looking card, just her name and a phone number.  “Contact cards were Victorian, right?” she asked.

“Uh, would have to check with Wikipedia or something.”

She let her hand linger slightly against mine, and then grinned.  “Okay.  Talk to you again later,” she said.

She walked out into the cold, dark night. It seemed less cold and dark for a moment.

“Witches,” Nen said, standing next to me.  I didn’t jump.  Really.  Good thing I’d already spilled my drink.

“Have a cake pop.  You sucrosevores will like it.”  I pushed them idly towards him.

“Sucrosevore?” he asked.

“Sugar addicts? Guess that makes me your pixie stick pusher or something.  Um, no pixies were ground up for this example.”

“Ah. I see.”  He looked at the door where I was still staring a little.  “What happened?” he asked.

I broke off and looked at him. “What do you mean?  I closed a door, we flirted, I got cake pops. You got cake pops. Everyone wins.  Oh, and gas money, maybe something cheap on Steam or a video or something.”

“We sensed the danger to you too late,” he said, and he was very serious, an expression that I was almost completely unfamiliar with on his face. “We were able to negate enough of it that I believe the King will not have our collective heads, but it was close.”

“I was in danger?” I am glad I was so relaxed, so that my voice didn’t go up at the end.  No one even turned towards me, even though I probably looked a little stressed.

“This is not the place to speak of it.”  He shrugged, and that was weird, too.

“But you are speaking to me?” I asked.

He looked at me with a face I clearly read as, “What are you even talking about?” which made me feel a little better.

“Hold on, let me get more of these, and a slice of lemon cake, and we can go.”

He nodded, solemn, and took up a stance that seemed more alert than just standing there.  I didn’t know much about them, but I’d seen more than a few bad kung fu movies.

I grabbed my bag of confectionery treasures and turned to go.  Nen was speaking in low tones to Rayya, and she turned towards me.  Her eyes looked haunted with something.  She made a sharp nod, and then a cake pop from the table disappeared into her robes.  Nen picked up the rest.

Some kind of magic was being done, as I found myself drawn to look at him, and away from Rayya.  I was pretty sure it was the Spriggan sibs doing it, so I tried not to show my annoyance as we would Talk as soon as we got away from the crowd.  I noticed someone in the shop look at us, and then narrow his eyes, but then we were out the door.

“I was with you on the dry pants and chocolate sundae, but where did your mother come into this? Am I supposed to be psychoanalyzing you?” Janet asked.

“You know, they talk about the donkey inside the term ‘assume’ but they never talk about the ‘anal’ in analyze,” I said. “But…” I let it stretch out until she rolled her eyes.

“Skipping the butt stuff for a moment, I see what you’re saying. Are we really that blasé about the breaking of divine rules?” She brought her leg up on the tall chair, leaning over her knee, considering.

“Depends on the divine, I suppose. Pretty much if you like it, someone says it isn’t allowed.  Then if you don’t like it, someone says it’s mandatory.  Oh, and don’t forget, if it feels good, you should definitely feel guilty.” I hoped she saw the wry portion of my smile.

“Sounds pretty Puritan to me.  Or is it Victorian?  Strait-laced, anti-crime, or work-until-you’re-dead, and then feel like a slacker?”

“I don’t remember the Puritans being necromancers,” I said, musing.  “Isn’t Steampunk all Victoriana?  Strait-laced corsets, umbrellas, goggles around top hats, and watches on chains?”

“You forgot the gears hot-glued to everything.”

“So basically it’s glitter for grown-ups?” I asked.

“I don’t think you find gears in wrinkles years later, but you might be right.”

“Wrinkles?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Don’t ask.”

“Too late,” I pointed out. “But I’ll drop it and just leave it to my imagination.”

“That sounds a lot worse than the truth.  Had a niece obsessed with unicorns, thought she could do a glitter tattoo with glue on her arm and a lot of mess,” she answered. “And by ‘her arm’ I meant, ‘her babysitting aunt,'” she sighed.

“What does glitter have to do with unicorns?” I asked.

“Congratulations, you passed the guy test.”  She rolled her eyes.  “I don’t actually mean unicorns, either. That’s a Victorian obsession with purity, right?”

“I thought unicorns were all about blood?”

“That’s a virginity test, I think.”

“That’s gross,” I said. “Why would little girls…?”

She shrugged, leaning back. “Society is messed up when you look at it. But not everyone is hopeless. There was someone,” she dropped her leg and looked around, “who made sure you weren’t seizing or anything.  Don’t know where she went, I was going to buy her a cake pop or something.  Not here anymore; you can’t miss a white headscarf in this day and age.”

Rayya? I guessed. Just playing invisible or something now. I resolved to get her a cake pop, whatever those were.  I guessed if I just ordered one confidently, the person behind the counter could guess at it.  It was at least more specific than “that book I heard about on NPR with a wizard kid?” which is how I found Harry Potter.

“Found Harry Potter,” sounded like finding some religion.  I guess Mr. Potter did go through a resurrection cycle, and a lot of people wore his particular lightning bolt stigmata, but…

“You went away again,” she said.

“Sorry, I was thinking about Harry Potter, our lord and savior.”

She pushed away the long hair from the side of her face. “Headscarves to Harry Potter?” she asked. “Interesting train ride, I bet.”

“It’s the journey, not the destination,” I grinned. “I’m sorry. I’ve been told a couple times that women like it when you pay attention to them, and maybe it’s obvious that I’m single.” I cringed. “Um, did I say that out loud?”

“Yep,” she grinned back at me. “And yep.  So, besides some helpful advice on how not to flirt, what do I owe you?”

“Are cake pops any good?” I asked.

“Caaaaaaaaaake,” she said, making it sound like a happy zombie.  “How can anything with ‘cake’ be bad?”

“Urinal cakes,” I said immediately.

“Oops. Okay.  I take it back.  Hold on a second.”  She hopped down off the chair, while I finished cleaning up the mess.  I took a look at the picture again, frowning.  It looked like something familiar.  I had a shiver and closed the portfolio, snapping it back into place.

Janet came back with some kind of frosted things on lollipop sticks.  Cake pops.  I got it.

“Chocolate?” she asked me, passing me over one.

“Not even a question,” I answered.  “Unless they had butter pecan.”

“I don’t think so.” She bit right in, so it didn’t look like it had some kind of teeth-destroying crust or anything.  I followed suit.  Yep, I was getting some to go for the Spriggan Scouts. Provided they were still talking to me.  If not, more cake pops for me.

“But seriously, will $40 cover it? I don’t know what the going rate is for preventing a demon apocalypse I accidentally started with some blood ink.”

“Blood ink?” I blurted out.

“Oh.  Yeah.  Empowering it.” She paused. “It’s not like, menstrual blood, if you were worried.  I know guys get turned to salt if they accidentally touch that.”

I managed not to drop my cake pop.  “No, I… I’m a guy, but I have had girlfriends,” I said. “I’ve bought tampons before, if that helps pull me out of that hole. It just made sense. I know a lot of sigil witches just use the symbology, so the additional power had to come from somewhere.  And sure, I will take your money if you insist, but really, isn’t saving the world reward enough?”

“I don’t know where it counts on the sexual favor scale… if you get a kiss for a small dragon, a demon’s got to be worth something, but I think the rates have actually decreased since medieval times.”  She had a little pink in her cheeks as she said it.

I turned back to the cake pop to prevent similar pink, I think.  “Um, that’s… weird?”

“Yeah, it is.” She seemed relieved. “I know some people need to recharge after a working, and if you didn’t want money…”

“Um.  This is really uncomfortable for both of us. I don’t think I’ve ever traded sex for magic, and I sure hope Rohana didn’t make you think I was… that kind of guy,” I ended lamely.

I had really meant to say, “I’m fine,” but it’s hard to do that when your head decides to make a quick physical connection with the table below it. At least the sketchbook broke the fall, right? Not the pillow I would have chosen. I mean, honestly, I was rethinking my position on memory foam pillows, and well, I wanted to try a buckwheat type one sometime. I heard they were cooler in summer than the usual pillows. I couldn’t actually tell you what was in my pillows. I had a really old feather one at one point, but it started losing fluff.  I guess just that weird wispy “pillow stuff” they sold in big plastic bags at the craft stores.  (They really are witchcraft stores, religious nature aside.  Need seed beads for your who-do? You do? Then try a ‘craft’ store. Um.  I may not have been as coherent as I liked, if I was thinking like this.)

I opened my eyes. “How long?” I asked. Everything looks pretty normal when you’re perpendicular. I guess real change has to wait for when you’ve chosen a new horizon.   That sounded far more like a grand philosophy in my head.  Which hurt.  My eyes hurt.  I was experiencing pain.  And a wetness on my right thigh that turned out to be a cup that I had overturned.

“Those are the words of someone who has done this a lot,” Janet said.  I couldn’t tell if it was as disapproving as I thought it was. “You just went out.  I was about to call for medical assistance, or rather, the enthusiastic employee over there was, but then you started muttering something about fluff.”

“Did I?” I closed my eyes to move, and my neck added another source of pain to the score.  I held onto the table in order to settle myself. “Pillow fluff or some other kind of fluff?”

“Does it matter?” she asked, and maybe there was a little annoyance in it.

“Well, it changes the joke from whether or not I’m down for it to something about marshmallows. But really, ‘How long’ made the most sense of the questions I could ask. I know who I am, I know where I am, and I’m pretty sure I passed out so I know what happened.  ‘How’ is a medical question, so ‘when’ was the most obvious thing you could answer immediately.”

“Reasoned well,” she gave me a slight bit of approval.

“Thanks. Sure you don’t want a silly pillow reference?”

“Nah, I can’t afford the down payment.”

It took me a moment, but I grinned.  “Um, sorry,” I said, passing the portfolio over to her. “I don’t actually usually, like,” I shrugged.  She knew what had happened. “First time for everything.”

“I hope so,” she said, and that sounded like flirting.

I looked back up at her eyes.  They were pretty eyes.  I mean, sure, I like legs, but eyes are a good start.  Not that I’m prejudiced for eyes. If you were blind, and/or didn’t have eyes it wouldn’t mean I couldn’t like you. Just that I appreciate body parts.  Wait, that’s serial-killer weird.  I appreciate body parts attached to the proper places on a living being.  No, somehow that doesn’t make it any better.  I liked the colour. Her eyes were a lovely liquid brown.  Brown is a hard colour to dignify with a description, especially since you’ve got mud and tree bark and, well, the brown colour of eyes is something more soulful.  And just as there are so many shades of blue, her brown was dark, very dark, the threat of landslides and the loam of the earth.

Oops, there I went a-comparin’ again.

“You’re staring,” she said, after a moment.

“I may still be bewildered. Presuming one can be wildered in the first place.  One can be mused, assuming a muse attaches to a person. Can you be awildered?”

She tapped something on her phone, letting me consider the words. “William Morris, Earthly Paradise.  He got there before you.” She put a hand to my forehead, and then laughed. “I don’t know why I did that. You knocked your head, not had a fever.  Befevered, maybe?” She had a nice laugh, too.

“Hold on, you’re coming too close to my world. You might not want to step inside. Your feet can get dirty,” I said.  I started to get up for a stack of napkins, but Janet was already there, and gave me a handful.

“Oh, I’m wearing boots,” she said.  She sat back down.  “So it’s good? Not… weird anymore?”

At least what spilled wasn’t right in my lap. That would have looked and been very awkward.  I pat at it less reassuringly and more hoping it wouldn’t stain.  I wasn’t going to cry over spilt chocolate milk or anything, but I was going to hope it didn’t look too damp against my black pants.

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s pretty weird.” I looked up and shot her a grin so she knew I wasn’t serious.  “What do you think was different this time?”

She pursed her lips in thought, frowning slightly.  “I was really mad.  That creep…” she shook her head. “I hope he felt it.”

“I’ve no doubt.” Dry, no, but I’d taste like chocolate for a little bit.  Maybe my mind was in the wrong gutter or something.  “Seriously,” I backed it up.  “If he even felt a part of that… You tapped into something pretty primal with rage.  Not a place I’d like to go, for certain!”

Her frown turned more into a wry smile. “I just conjured up imagery from old movies, I think.  Something about a place where demons could pull you to their world for your crimes.”

I had a shiver.  “Uh, demons, yeah.  Of course, we all hope that’s the other guy they pull in, because his crimes have got to be more than our petty commandment-breaking opportunities, right?”

“Petty commandment-breaking?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I covet a pair of dry pants and a chocolate sundae right now,” I said, wistfully. “Let’s not even talk about how I honour my mother.”

I turned around to the cashier.  Yes, standing there in a worn denim vest and blue jeans that had holes in the knees was a woman with an art portfolio.  Her hair was shaved on half her scalp, and what was long was this mermaid-like blue-green colour.  She had an eyebrow piercing with a curved barbell and wore just a bit of make-up.  She looked around for a place to sit.

I had taken a big armchair with some kind of faux leather finish, and across from the tiny table was a tall wooden chair. I figured the size of the armchair gave equal psychological weight for the height difference. “Hey,” I said, weakly, waving my hand.  I made sure to raise up my creamy rose drink so she could see the stylized ‘E’ on the cup.

She came over quickly, looking relieved. “Hi.  Um.  I’m Janet.  I realised I might not have told you.  You’re E?  You look…”

I waited for it, gauging quickly the words that might follow in a quick bullet point list in my head:

 Most Unlikely:

• suave
• debonair
• dashing

Strangest:

• fizarneek
• purple
• edible

Most Likely:

• as expected
• human
• less wizardly than made out to be

She smiled and completed the sentence, “Normal.”

I didn’t know whether or not to feel insulted.  “Were you expecting googly eyes?” I asked.  “Maybe a hunchback?”

She laughed, sitting down. “I guess I didn’t know what to expect.  Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“None taken,” I said, magnanimously.  “`Normal’ doesn’t sound like I’m some kind of ambushing grotesque, so we’ll go with it as a positive.”  I grinned to take away any sting.

She gave a little grin in return. “You didn’t have a beard. Somehow I thought you would have a beard.”

“Give me a couple weeks, I can try to scrape up some fuzz,” I said. “Or we can beard the lion in its den right now.” I waggled my eyebrows to emphasize the pun.  “Want to show me your little problem?”

She scoffed. “Little.” There was more fear in her eyes again.  “Here.”  She pulled up her portfolio, popped the two snaps, and I heard the screaming in my head before I even had to look at the page.

I forced myself to look at it.  “You said,” I pulled up the memory under the assault with great difficulty, “that you were discouraging someone from stalking your sister?”

By itself one might say it was just an abstract ink drawing. I saw somewhat more, being of the magical persuasion (if reluctant to be magically persuaded, no matter how magically delicious.)  I saw pain, and familiarity, and a broken promise. I smelled a faint hint of gunpowder, a drop of blood, some coffee, and a whiff of sweat.  I heard the gate, whistled open, screaming its inability to close.

“Yeah,” she said.  She wasn’t looking at it, but at me, carefully.  I realized I had been gripping my own hands together, and the knuckles were turning white.  I was surprised that I hadn’t been trying to plug my ears but knowing it was a psychic scream, it was nothing my ears would handle on their own.  I relaxed them consciously, stretching them out.

“You knew him?” I asked. I tried not to make it sound accusatory, but all sound in the coffee shop, the clinks of mugs against the tables, the tapping of laptop keys, the low murmurs of conversation, the misophonically discordant sipping of the drinks, all were like grating pain in my ears against the knowledge that this page held a gate to something unpleasant.  Something that danced and blurred as I tried to hold it.

“Close the book, and it will stop,” something told me.  I don’t know whose voice it was, but that wouldn’t be enough.  It would still be there.  It needed closing.   I needed to know why the anguish remained.

“Yes,” Janet admitted.  Her voice was a clarion, a harmony of clarity against the riot mere inches away from my hand.  I thought for a moment of pouring my cup into that hole, or sticking in a finger into the maelstrom.  “We dated for, well, I guess you can’t call it dating.  We had a couple interludes and then I called it quits.”

It was truth. I could tell against the edges of the wrongness that there were words. They drifted together, a secret tide along the fjords of the storm.  Words said in anger, words accusatory, I saw them dance along the lines like they would dance across her lips.  I saw fire in her eyes.  She wanted him to hurt.  She wanted him to taste a little punishment.

Whatever hellish landscape she held within herself, she had tapped it slightly.  I could see that this was personal, that this was an artifact of her pain and protective feeling towards her sister.

“Can you close it?” she asked.

“Yes.” I didn’t even have to think about it.  “Do you have a pen?” I reached out for it.

I knew before looking that it would be a brush pen, a fine black tool.  She took the cap off before handing it to me.  I found myself humming as I placed the ink against the paper. I felt a reluctance, a strange pulling, and I realized Janet hadn’t actually let go, and she was humming with me.

Was it a song? I didn’t ask. I caught one or two glances, but it wasn’t weird enough to really stand out among the rest of what was so important to each person’s personal space. I just filled in the picture. Drew the resolution, drew the unfortunate apology, the remaining anger, the closure of the door, closing the feelings away.

I felt her begin to flag as what I thought of as my power began to rise. Strands of her own ability braided the ends, focusing my new design.  I heard the sounds of the shop begin to recede, to become normal. I felt the anger leave me, and it left me exhausted.

And then there it was, just some lines on a page, just a closed circuit.

“E?” Janet asked, as things began to go black at the edges of my vision.

“I’m…” then suddenly darkness.

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?”

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.

“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.

“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.

“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.”