These are short pieces of fiction about off-camera events that introduce new plots into the games.
The bar could have been any other bar in the United States, dark and dank, filled with the musk of smoke, mildew and spilled beer. It was significant only because of the small group of men and women huddled around a large round table in the back corner. They were the only occupants of the pub save for the wait staff who walked about bemusedly, taking orders and serving drinks with expressions of not quite remembering something that should surprise them, if only they could remember what it was.
From a distance, the meeting did not look portentous. In fact, even from the middle of the pub, the occupants looked rather like a group of pensioners out for a quick drink before a rousing game of bridge, or possibly an early bedtime. Sitting with his back to the door, an elderly Japanese man placidly nursed a steaming mug of what might have been coffee or might have been hot rum. He was chatting quietly with the white-haired woman to his right, a roly-poly grandmotherly sort who was knitting what was either a scarf or a very badly designed hat. At her elbow, a 50-ish businessman with salt-and-pepper hair and skin the color of groundsel tree bark sat talking somberly with a statuesque blonde woman who looked no more than 25 and a tiny aged Chinese woman with piercing eyes sunken deeply into a leathery, dried-apple-like face. Finishing the group, to the left of the Japanese man, was another strange trio – a grey-haired woman with ruddy cheeks dressed absurdly in what almost looked like wizard's robes, laughing boisterously with a white-haired, pipe-smoking man in a worn corduroy jacket and a youthful black man in a well-cut pinstripe suit. Four seats still sat noticeably vacant.
Only the statuesque blonde woman looked up when the front door slammed open and a stocky, sodden figured stomped in, closing the door loudly behind him.
"Ah, Falstaff, so good of you to make it," she inclined her head toward one of the empty chairs. "We've been waiting on you."
"Hell's doorknobs, Shiro, what rat-hole have you dragged us all out to this time?" Ernest Falstaff, a portly middle-aged man with graying hair and a large, bushy and currently wet and unkempt mustache, shook his umbrella out briskly and stalked over to the seat furthest from the draft of the door.
"It's not a rat-hole, it's a pub," Mototsugi Shiro replied, tilting his head back to drain the last drops from his mug. "Have a drink, you'll feel better." He waved to the waitress, who walked over absentmindedly to take his order and then wandered away again, her eyes slightly glazed.
The British man harrumphed, shaking his fingers and muttering a few words. As he finished mumbling, he snapped his fingers, his rumpled Brooks Brothers suit drying and unwrinkling instantly. "Nonsense, Shiro. I'll feel better when and only when you tell me how your grandson just happened to be in the exact place and time to fill Eldrich's shoes. It's a plot, I tell you, and I'll have none of it –" here pointing at Shiro accusatorily – "None of it!"
"Falstaff, stop being pedantic and have a drink," The youthful woman spoke up a second time, her voice edged with undisguised ire and a hint of condescension. Anneke Tischenko had a notoriously short temper, a fact Falstaff no doubt was recalling as he let his hand drop quietly down to the table. When the waitress moved over to his side, he quietly ordered a sherry on the rocks.
"For the record, the decision of location was mine, not Moto's." The blonde Ukrainian looked at her watch, then over at the rest of the table's occupants. "Would anyone else like to criticize my choice?"
"Nonsense, Annie, it's a fine bar, and they serve a very nice port, and Charles here has been very helpful in blocking their memories so we can meet in peace." Lillian Vervain looked up from her needles, smiling mildly over at Tischenko. " Now that Ernest has arrived, we might as well get on to business, don't you think? Not that I don't enjoy the pleasant conversation, but things left unattended do tend to… unravel." The Freedom City mage tugged gently at one end of her hat-scarf amalgam and it collapsed into a pile of yarn. With a brief sparkling puff of glitter, it quickly knitted itself back together.
"I'm glad you think highly enough of me to wait, Lily, but it does seem like there are a few missing faces who ought to be here," Falstaff said, glancing apprehensively over at Tischenko, who raised an eyebrow at him with a deceptively demure smirk.
The aging businessman who had been talking with Tischenko cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Gurrangatch sends his regards, but politely declines to attend," he smiled, shaking his head and suddenly looking much less like Abe Johnson, inner-city Chicago bookstore owner and social activist, and more like Cathexis, North America's most powerful chaos magician. "He says that experience or death are always the solutions to the problems of youth, and that the rainbow serpent has nothing to fear from this or any world mage." He settled back in his seat again, sipping at his beer. "He also adds that in any case, the rock he is sunning on is far too comfortable to leave."
The robed woman to Shiro's left laughed. "That sounds like Old Scaly all right." Red Molly Mulligan, known to some as the witch-woman of Ulster, had a deep throaty cackle that sounded about 30 years younger than the rest of her looked. "Thiego couldn't make it either. He's been hunting down a group of blood cabalists outside of Manaus, and can't afford to lose track of them. Said he's sure we'll make the right choice."
Wong Mei-Lin, the tiny Chinese woman sitting between Falstaff and Tischenko sat up straight. "Has anyone heard from the Hierophant?" She spoke in a heavy Cantonese accent, one that had been out of common use for two or three centuries. "We were supposed to meet up in Port Said last month, but he never showed." The Asian ritualist pursed her lips into a scowl. "I'd hoped to see him here… Given the recent upheavals we are here to discuss, I fear the worst has befallen him."
Across the table from her, Charles Trelawney thumped his pipe out on the table and shook his head. "He's not dead." The German mentalist ran his fingers through his white hair, accidentally disturbing the comb-over hiding the growing bald spot on his crown. "I'd have noticed the vortex left behind in his absence. That sort of thing is hard to miss."
"The way you noticed when Eldrich left?" Falstaff scoffed. "You're good, Charles, but you're not that good."
The young black man next to Trelawney sat up, making a gesture for peace with his hands. "That's an unseemly accusation, Falstaff. With all the cacophony Malodor was creating - not to mention the birth of a new world - Adrian's death was practically impossible for any of us to discern." Unlike Tischenko, Khairi Lowassa actually was 25, and not simply hiding the years well with magic and glamour. But although he was definitely the youngest of the group, the Tanzanian magician's strength of will and power had commanded him a seat at this meeting.
The table grew pensively quiet for a moment as the waitress returned with the next round of drinks. When she left, Lowassa spoke again, this time to Wong. "I agree, the Hierophant's absence is cause for concern, but we are here tonight to discuss other matters. Once we are done, I would be happy to help you look for him further." She nodded briefly at him, the scowl relaxing slightly.
Falstaff swung his attention back to the man sitting across from him. "Which brings me back to my point, Shiro! What kind of scheming did you do to make Eldrich turn over things to some – some boy barely out of his Uppers!"
Shiro looked calmly back at him. "I did nothing, Falstaff. The choice was entirely Eldrich's."
"Nonsense! I can smell your hand all over it. I –" he broke off suddenly at the click-click-clicking of Tischenko drumming her fingers on the table irritably.
"Man's got a point, Annie," Johnson said politely, then turned to Shiro. "How did your grandson end up involved in the first place? Thought he was supposed to be at that academy in Freedom City, not halfway across the world in Tibet?"
Shiro sighed. "He was… searching for me. Something had come up, I needed to leave suddenly, without notice, and without detection, so I went to the demi-Earth. His instructor wanted him to go to Tibet to look for a new supernatural entity that had emerged there, and he wanted my advice. So he went to my house and found one of my portals."
Falstaff snorted. "A bit convenient a coincidence, if you ask me."
Johnson shrugged. "There's no such thing as coincidence, Ernest, just a question of which butterfly set the events into motion."
"Some people are born for greater things than others, Falstaff. My grandson's destiny is beyond your – or my – machinations." The British mage bristled and opened his mouth to speak, but Shiro held up a hand for silence. "Vincent was there because he was supposed to be there, because he had been there at the demi-Earth's creation, even though it hadn't happened yet. It wasn't until the ritual was about to begin that Eldrich even realized that he was fated to become the guiding spirit of the new realm."
Mei-Lin cocked her head. "But it is true that your grandson could have become the earth spirit in Eldrich's place."
The Japanese man look down for a minute solemnly. "Possibly, although one might quibble about the changeability of predestination when events that have both not yet happened and already happened are concerned. But the decision in the end was Eldrich's – both to become the guiding hand for the new Earth and to choose Vincent to succeed him."
Trelawney looked quizzically at Shiro. "Moto, do you mind?" He stared intently at him for a few moments, then his features relaxed. "He's not lying. He did know that his grandson's fate was tied with that of the shadow earth, but he didn't scheme to get Eldrich killed and the boy installed in his place."
Mulligan rummaged in her purse for a moment, pulling out a piece of taffy, which she unwrapped and popped into her mouth. Piling a small mound of candies in front of her on the table, she dropped the purse neatly down onto the floor again. "But why him? I mean, yes, the boy's got a lot of potential, but he's so... young. Surely Adrian didn't think he'd be able to fill his shoes immediately."
Lowassa looked piercingly over at her, drumming his fingers lightly on the table's battered surface. "Do not mistake youth for inexperience, Molly." He smiled. "It is my understanding that the boy is the reason we are all still here today. Surely that argues strongly in his favor."
"True, but he was not exactly acting alone," Mei-Lin interjected. "If I recall correctly, he had not only that superhero group he was allied with but also the entire Liberty League, and Adrian Eldrich, and Mototsugi himself there to guide him."
With a withering glance at Falstaff, who had opened his mouth to speak, Tischenko sat up sharply. "So he is smart enough to know when he should call on the assistance of others – something I might remind you that our Adrian was not exactly good at, or have you all forgotten the Lemurians and Brussels? This to me speaks highly of the young Shiro's wisdom."
"But there's an order to these things, Annie." The Irish witch waved to the waitress and ordered another stout, then turned her attention back to the Ukrainian. "He may have good judgment, but experience and age teach lessons that judgment alone cannot provide. He has raw talent, but he needs seasoning. If you want my advice–"
"So advise him, then, Molly," Johnson's bass voice rumbled out, smothering her next words. "I swear, age brings with it experience, but also senility." The Celtic witch flushed at the insinuation and looked down, studying the inside of her glass, as he continued. "Why are we arguing about this? We trusted Eldrich enough when he was with us. I think the Lizard had the right idea – let's just keep tabs on the boy to see if he needs help. Otherwise, one of us will have to take the position, and I for one can think of far more pleasurable ways to spend my time."
"Yes, but –" Falstaff tried to seize the floor -- a mistake in judgment, as the chaos magician was clearly just warming up.
"Are you saying you want the job, Falstaff?" All heads turned to look at the rotund British mage.
"No, but –"
"Then you do trust Eldrich's opinion?" Johnson – not a small man at all himself – half-stood from his seat, leaning across the table to stare at Falstaff.
"Well, of course, but –"
"So what you are saying is you called me here tonight –" he pointed a large, muscular hand at Falstaff, punctuating each of his next words with a poke as his voice got more and more agitated, "to – waste – my – time?!"
Falstaff stood up and pounded on the table, sparks crackling when his fist met the knotty wood. "Now, just a minute, Johnson! Let me finish my sentence or so help me –"
"Will you both sit down and stop bickering. You're ignoring the real problem here," Vervain said in the solid tone of a grandmother scolding two unruly children. "Yes, Eldrich's absence is upsetting, we all miss him, and Vincent Shiro is awfully young for such responsibility – no offense meant, Khairi – but he'll manage, especially with all of your excellent advice and assistance – and you will all make yourselves available to aid him, will you not, even you, Abraham?"
The burly Chicago probability master rolled his eyes. "Of course, Lillian."
She reached over and patted his arm amiably. "See? We're all decided then." Which they weren't, clearly, but it was hard to come up with solid objections to her reasonableness at that exact moment, not while she was looking around at them with the obvious expectation that they should be behaving like adults.
"What we all should be worrying about is the state Shambala Vale is in," she continued. "Without the Enlightened Masters, who's going to oversee the passages between the worlds? Without their protection, any number of things could happen – like the remaining forces in Agharti deciding to invade one of the other dimensions and take it over."
Shiro nodded. "Currently, the demi-Earth British have claimed the Vale and set up a peacekeeping military base there." He paused to allow the waitress to refill his mug while that information rippled around the group. "It seems their move to stop the Kage's invading forces had an additional, secondary motive."
"Oh, well, that's all right then," Falstaff said. "It's in friendly hands. If they could stop the Kage, I'm sure they can handle anything else that comes up. Now, about the young Shiro –"
Mei-Lin leaned forward and squinted at the British mage. "Easy for you to say, Ernest. You're British, after all. I'm sure her majesty's influence extends on both sides of the gate. But what if I wanted to pass through? I doubt my presence would be as welcome."
Falstaff waved her concerns off airily. "A minor problem at best, easy to work out."
Lowassa cleared his throat. "Politics is the least of it. We're talking about the ebb and flow of magic between the dimensions. The Enlightened Masters had six thousand years to learn how to manage it wisely, and they were all powerful magicians in their own right beforehand. Ninety percent of those British forces probably have no idea of what they are guarding or how to manage it – and the 10 percent who do are the ones we ought to worry about."
Trelawney nodded, glancing over at Shiro. "The Kage invasion – that was Lady Hare's doing, wasn't it, stopping it in the Vale? She does nothing unless it will give her some sort of personal advantage. If she's involved, then we should do everything in our power to make sure she does not retain control of the situation, regardless of who officially is in charge."
"Why do we have to do anything?" Johnson asked. "It's not like Pangaea doesn't have its own magical entities capable of opposing the British."
Vervain looked over at him with a disappointed frown. "This goes far beyond Pangaea, Abraham. It involves, or should involve, all the dimensions linked into it."
He shrugged. "So? Why are we discussing it then, and not them?" The chaos magician stood up and began pulling on a batter brown trench coat. "This has been a stimulating discussion, but I think my part in it is finished. Shiro, your grandson may call on me if he needs assistance – but if he cries wolf too many times, I reserve the right not to answer. Lillian, I think you overestimate how much control even the British can wield – they couldn't even control their own colonies, let alone entire dimensions. But if you get the British to agree to any sort of negotiations, and if you get our colleagues from the other dimensions to agree to attend, let me know, and I'll see if there's room in my schedule. As to the rest of you – good evening." Then he nodded, and vanished from the room.
Mei-Lin shook her head. "That man – always a show-off." She slid her chair a little to the left, to give herself more room. "The Vale cannot remain in any one government's hands, or any one organization's hands, that much is clear. The potential for abuse is too great."
Trelawney groaned. "I agree. Can you imagine an immortal Lady Hare?"
Across from her, the young Tanzanian nodded in agreement. "But as individuals we will have very little sway in any form of negotiations – should they even agree to listen to our petitions. We would need to be wielding significantly more political power if we want them to take us seriously, and not some newly formed coalition. We'd need the weight and power of history behind us."
Red Molly Mulligan, who had been staring broodingly into her cup of ale since the topic turned to the Vale, suddenly looked up, becoming animated once more. "The Invisible College."
At once she commanded the entire table's attention.
"That hasn't met in half a century, Molly," Tischenko said archly. "Not since 1952."
"So?" the witch shrugged. "It was never dissolved. It has just never been invoked."
Lowassa glanced at the Ukrainian, noting the rancor in her tone, then looked back over at Molly. "I thought the College ended when the Eastern Bloc pulled out."
The Irish witch smiled, enjoying the attention. "Many think the same way, dearie. But even though that was very messy, there was no formal dissolution of the entity. Therefore, it still exists. And therefore, there's no reason why we can't call it back into being."
Mei-Lin looked thoughtful. "Most of us were members then, too-"
"– although not all of us were welcome," Tischenko interrupted.
Mulligan smiled. "Times change, Annie. There was a time Ernest and I couldn't have sat down to drink with you and Moto – let alone Charles – and yet here we are."
Trelawney laughed, strong and broadly, slapping the table with delight. "So you all are, Molly! So you all are. I'll drink to that." He raised his ale in a toast. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer – to us!"
Even Falstaff and Wong raised their glasses.
Trelawney thumped his empty glass back down on the table. "Now, let's get down to business."
The Shadow Avenger crossed Geary Boulevard and continued down Larkin. It was no good patrolling there – everyone would see his cape and think him a poorly dressed transvestite hooker. It had happened before. Black lycra was standard for superheroes, but also for other professions.
Walking downhill toward the financial district, the Shadow Avenger ruminated on his disastrous fifth date with Alison. He'd explained his secret identity, and she'd laughed out loud. He'd really liked her, too, but a guy couldn't date a girl who didn't take his superheroing seriously. "It sounds like you avenge the shadows!" she'd chortled.
Well, who needs a girl from the Marina anyway? he thought. His buddies had warned him against Marina chicks – too skinny, too obsessed with working out and having the right shade of hair and the latest fashions. Of course, that's what had attracted him to Alison in the first place. He took good care of his body, and he liked girls who did, too. He couldn't very well be a superhero without being in top condition. When people asked him what his superpower was, he had to tell them something.
He was about thirteen when he realized that he had no smell. While all the other boys were playing touch football and sweating like mad, the Shadow Avenger didn't smell at all. He knew it was a real power. So far, it hadn't been a great asset in crime fighting, but he had worked on walking really, really quietly and had learned judo. He figured the lack of smell would come in handy someday, in the right situation. Perhaps someday he'd face some kind of dog monster or a werewolf, and they wouldn't be able to smell him coming.
As the Shadow Avenger passed beneath the streetlights, regular little moons of light on the ground, he admired how his cape swirled around him. He knew he cut a handsome figure, doubly so if he wasn't wearing the mask.
Suddenly, he heard a crash and a curse from a nearby alley. A cat? A villain? Keeping in the shadows, he carefully tiptoed up to the corner of the alley. Hearing whimpering, he peered in.
Before him were two men on their hands and knees on the ground. They looked dirty, maybe homeless? They were angled toward him but looking at something in between them, something which blocked his view and yet seemed translucent at the same time. Even with the streetlight behind him the thing was hard to see, other than that he was looking at something's massive, muddled back. Something that both glowed pale blue and sucked all the light from the alley.
"Stop!" he yelled at the thing. He couldn't think of what else to say. It didn't move, seeming to be a shifting mass of shadows and spiky bits. "The Shadow Avenger commands you!"
And then it turned to face him.
"Oh dear God," he thought.
The form didn't so much turn around as it coalesced into something recognizable. Huge, ragged, black bat wings spread out from behind its back. Glowing pale arms, far too thin and long to be human, reached for him. And the face – God, the face – it was a woman's face, but long and narrow, like a ghoul or a harpy, with long black hair that merged into some kind of indistinct body or dress. The eyes weren't eyes at all, but pale blue shining orbs, like faraway stars. The creature was all blue-tinged black and white, like an old photograph gone bad. Then the wings stretched out to him as well. As he inadvertently dropped his gaze to the ground, he realized with a shock that it didn't have feet at all, but was floating off the ground. When he forced himself to look up at the thing again, it was smiling at him, a terrifying smile with dark red lips and a mouth with too many narrow teeth.
"AGHHH!" He yelled, and stumbled back. The Shadow Avenger had never seen anything so terrifying in his life. Before it could do something horrible to him, he turned and ran. Lack of scent would not help him against that monster, but his regular cardio training gave him a good start. He thought he heard, like a cold breath on his cheek, a faint "waaaaaiiit," but that only made him run harder.
By the time he'd reached the Embarcadero, the Shadow Avenger was panting, and ashamed. He should have fought it. He should have beaten it. But then he remembered the teeth and the harpy's wings, and shuddered.
A real man knows his limits, he consoled himself. He was good at taking down muggers, but a creature from the Abyss – that would have to wait.
2006: Freedom City
I like this club, the girl decided. She was in the back corner, sitting alone on a bar stool, some kind of drink in hand. The bass washed over her: a dance remix of Blue Monday. I like the music, she thought aloud. And then she stifled a laugh at that.
She thought, I like the drinks, even though they're non-alcoholic, just before draining hers, and as she set the glass down, a corseted, fishnet-wearing member of the wait staff ankled by, smiled, and brought her another one. I like the staff, she thought, smiling as her server walked away but seemed unable to look away, unable to stop smiling at her, until the server nearly collided with a tall, gaunt shoe-gazer. The girl covered her mouth with the back of her hand and shifted her gaze to her drink.
Then she looked around her at all the beautiful, black-clad Goths, watched them as they drank and danced and flirted, and she smiled as though she were a queen, looking with pride upon her subjects. I really like this club.
And then someone new entered the club, and the girl's attention was drawn to her like a moth to a candle's flame. Clad in a PVC corset, thigh-high boots, and opera gloves, she would have cut a dramatic figure had she not been so short. But that didn't matter to the girl, who wasn't much taller anyway. There was something about her. Something important, and the girl knew she had to meet her.
And then her friend eased into the other stool at the table. Beautiful. Chestnut haired. Tall. Curvaceous. Her best friend, who said, "I brought you another – Oh, you have one." Disappointment flattened her friend's words, and with a glance, it became clear to the girl that her best friend had noticed the focus of the girl's attention, and that it displeased her. So the girl put her slender, pale hand on her friend's, interknit their fingers, and said, "I think she's beautiful, Carmen. But she's not as lovely as you."
And Carmen smiled, but the expression was without real warmth. "And you want to meet her?" she asked.
The girl answered in dulcet tones, though she knew she would get her way, even without being nice about it. "Yes. But it's not because I like her better or because she's pretty. She's important. I can tell she's important, sweetie. So we're going to have to be friends with her." And even Carmen's cold smile faltered at that notion, so the girl continued, "She's not going to replace you. And when I've understood why she's important, I promise, we can have some fun with her."
Carmen brightened at this and drank from her drink, and so the girl knew she was ready, she said, "OK, I'm going to make her come over here now."
* * *
When she went to the Midnight Hour for the first time, when she looked around, a feeling washed over her. It was like walking into an ionized cloud. Her hair felt like it was standing on end with the thrill of it. She didn't understand: It was an all-ages club - not that exciting, prima facie. But clearly, something momentous was about to happen. She tugged up her opera gloves, looked around again, and saw the girl, revealed suddenly by one of the dance-floor spots that had at that very moment apparently broken. She was small, pale, and clad in black lace. And beautiful. Heartbreakingly, ethereally beautiful. And so sophisticated, so elegant and worldly. And so she immediately crossed the floor to the back of the club to meet the girl.
* * *
"I'm S—I'm Yvette," the PVC-clad woman said, extending her hand.
The girl took it, her perfect red lips describing a perfect red smile. "I'm Rebecca," she answered. "And this is Carmen." She stepped back, to let the taller Carmen shake hands with Yvette. Carmen clearly thought their new acquaintance was, at the very least, easy on the eyes. That would assuage her jealousy.
Upon touching her, the girl realized that Yvette was not the one she needed to meet, after all. But she had the searing conviction that Yvette could take her to that one, in time. And then she stepped close again, slipping her arms around the delightfully narrow waists of Carmen and Yvette, and said, "My friends call me Becky. And I have a feeling we're going to be friends."
These are pieces of fiction involving RP that happens in the middle of game plotlines, during downtime off-screen.
"So, what did you bring me this time?" Kostas peered over his jeweler's glasses at her. He didn't stop digging at a black and green amulet in the shape of scarab. Though Kostas wasn't an old man, he had many lines around his eyes and mouth. After a moment, he returned to staring at the scarab under a brightly lit magnifying glass
Ginny moved the store sign from Open to Closed, and pulled the drape on the door. "Just a couple items." She described each artifact as she pulled it out of her large backpack. "These are opera glasses that allow you to see and hear far away. Here's a patch of cloth with the symbol of the Cult of the Yellow Sign. And…" Ginny fumbled in her pack a little bit. "That's it."
"You've been gone for what, half a year? Miss Hare, what haven't you brought me?"
"Oh, plenty of things, but they were mostly from AltEarth. It'd be like bringing you snowballs. They just melt away. There was a helmet, a broach of damaging force, oh, all kinds of neat things. None of them lasted long enough, though. I hadn't realized how few artifacts of substance I'd found." Ginny pulled off her trench coat and draped it over a chair.
"What's that?" Kostas pointed at something glimmering in the bag.
"Oh, that's mine. The Queen of Faerie gave me a necklace."
"I see, you brought me stories as well. Sit down." Kostas wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, getting dust on his face.
"It'll be in my report, but I'll tell you more. Is Danae around?" Ginny scooted back in her chair and put her shoes up on the table. She'd missed visiting the Makris family.
"Boots off the table," he said.
"Is Danae here?"
"Boots off the table!"
"Oh, but you know you love these boots!" Ginny said. She pulled her feet toward her, unlaced the boots, dropped them on the floor, and put her feet on the table.
"Feets off the table."
"Okay, fine."
"Danae is here any minute. You can start with me. And I love the boots, but not so much."
"I thought they were mine, now, anyway."
"Someone else might need them someday."
"Fair enough."
Kostas returned to his cleaning and grunted. "So, in, what, half a year, you have been to AltEarth and Arcadia. All this keeping an eye on the Shiro boy?"
"He's been very busy. He has a destiny, you know."
"Yes."
"He's a good kid, Kostas. He's got good instincts in a lot of areas and is amazingly powerful, if a little full of himself."
"I expect nothing less of a World Mage."
"He'll be all right if people help him."
"That's why we said, you stay with him, Ginny."
"I know, I know."
"Did you sleep with him?" Danae asked, entering the room. Slightly younger than Ginny, Danae was a tall, slender Greek, with thin lips, blue eyes, and straight black hair that fell past her shoulders.
"Dani!" Ginny jumped up to hug her friend.
"Ginny, how long has it been? No postcards, no calls! I'm sure father's been scolding you." Danae hugged the slightly shorter woman back.
"He hasn't, actually."
"He should have been." Danae mock-glared at her father. "We've been worried. We knew you'd left Earth."
"I was okay."
"You know, you should call George. Or at least Rupert, if not your parents. They hate having to ask your financial advisor and lawyer if you're still alive."
"They'll be okay. They're busy doing their -- their British lord activities." Ginny looked uncomfortable.
"If you say so," Danae said. "Last I heard, George was engaged."
"Bollocks!" Ginny said, looking delighted. "I promise I'll call them, now please, Dani, sit down."
"She comes with stories, but is few with the artifacts this time," said Kostas. He pushed Ginny's clutter to the side, making more room for his daughter at the table as the women sat down.
"Yes, you were talking about Shiro's grandson." Danae looked at Ginny expectantly.
"No, I did not sleep with Vincent, Dani. Dear lord, he's a teenager. What do you think me?"
"That wouldn't have stopped you before."
"That wouldn't have stopped me when I was twenty-two, Dani, I'm twenty-nine now."
"I hear he's quite good looking."
"He is that."
"What, do you think the World Mage's virginity is meant for some higher purpose?"
"Danae, Ginny has stories of substance to tell us." Kostas said sharply. He flipped over the scarab and started picking the dirt out of the ridges on its belly with his delicate pick.
Ginny proceeded to tell the two Greeks almost everything. She started with her first trip down the Shiro well and ended with the team's destruction of the succubus in hell, freeing Arcadia and humanity. She left out certain details the Unnaturals wouldn't want known, but left in enough to keep the story moving along. She provided the information the Makris pair would be most interested in -- the enemies and potential allies of AltEarth and Arcadia, any artifacts she saw along the way, the metaphysical state of all the worlds. During the telling, Kostas' expression was bland as he focused on the amulet. Danae was attentive, excited, and appalled, depending on the part of the story. They both often interrupted to ask questions.
"What about Sallah?"
"Oh, give it UP, Danae."
"What about Sallah."
"He's not gay but he's got an arranged marriage in the works. Probably has had it by now."
"And?"
"I would like to be welcome in the Eldritch house again, Danae. It's hard to do that if the wife of the butler suspects you of being a past fling."
"That's right, no complications." Danae nodded, feigning sagacity.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "I know you won't stop bugging me, Danae. The only person I slept with in the past six months was a very handsome elf in Arcadia two nights ago -- well, two nights ago subjective time. And he was handsome the next day, thank you very much. You know, Titania saved my life twice, but I think I'm most grateful to her because she steered me clear of another fae before I met that one."
"Was he anyone I've heard of?"
"No, I don't think so. Robin Goodfellow is hopelessly smitten with Titania, and Oberon is her husband. Not good choices, either of them."
"GIRLS. Please save this talk for when I not in the room."
"Fine, dad. I wasn't going to tell Ginny anything until after we'd got away from you, anyway."
"Tell us more about this double, this... Virginia Hare." Kostas demanded.
Ginny proceeded to tell them all she knew about AltEarth's Virginia Hare, as well as what that meant the British government of AltEarth was probably up to. "In short, if I show up here and don't know how to use my aleithiometer, run away."
"You mean, kill you?" Danae asked.
"No, I mean, run away." Ginny looked at Danae with a bland expression but her voice was pinched. "Run. Away. As in, Flee. Say you're getting tea and slip out the back door, turn invisible, and bugger off like rabbits. Like frightened rabbits, I mean. I'm serious. She's very dangerous and thinks nothing of killing people. You can escape if you do it quickly. Use whatever you have in house to help you."
"Ginny, you have been busy." Kostas broke in, and started polishing the amulet with a rag and some kind of paste. "The Order will be happy with you. All your debts will be repaid, and more. Even without bringing us the artifacts."
"I should think so. Knowledge in, knowledge out." It was a catch-phrase of a certain branch of the Order, a branch of which Ginny was particularly fond.
"In fact, I think: It is time you took the next level of initiation."
"I was thinking the same thing, Kostas."
"Right. I will contact Leonara. Stay with us tonight, drink retsina, tomorrow meet her in Prague."
"There's just one thing, Kostas. I have brought you something else." Kostas and Danae looked at Ginny expectantly, saying nothing. "Vincent's sister. She and I left Arcadia together. I brought her here. She's sight-seeing at the Acropolis right now, but she's to meet me at a taverna in Monastiraki at 8 o'clock. She's -- she's accustomed to using magic very casually. She didn't pay for anything when we were in Tokyo."
"I can understand that," said Danae, and Ginny suspected that the lanky woman most certainly could. "I mean, it's so much easier," the girl added, and then trailed off, eyes shifting away from Ginny's. "How can we help?" she asked, with sudden focus.
"She needs to be with good people for a while, but people who won't be too self-righteous. People who've already walked a dark path and know how to come back." Ginny looked steadily at Danae and Kostas. "She doesn't need to be in Vincent's shadow, not after eighteen years of hating him. And she's more worldly than he is. She wouldn't be content to stay in some school. She needs someone who'll show her a more ethical way to be, without preaching."
"Sounds like she needs a big sister. Or maybe a friend. I can handle it. I've learned a lot since you've been away," said Danae.
"I'm not sure," Ginny said, glancing at Kostas. "She's very, very powerful -- she hurt Malador, remember? And she has focused on mind magic. She'd think nothing of erasing your memory or making you do something if it was more convenient for her. I've been lucky -- I haven't traveled with her very long, and she probably didn't dare do anything with Vincent around."
"Hum. She probably is well more powerful than me, then." Danae looked at her father. "Dad would lend me a little something, wouldn't you?"
"We just got this one. It is for the Order." Kostas's tone was suddenly curt, and he looked away from his daughter.
"Oh, come on, Dad. I'm an Initiate too. I'm sure they'd find it reasonable for me to borrow this so I can protect myself while I travel the world being a good influence on the twin sister of the World Mage, right?"
"That does sound reasonable, Kostas."
"And if not, I don't mind going into debt with them for a little while."
Kostas looked grumpy. "All right. I will register it first, though."
"Let's do it now," said Ginny. "If you aren't going to guide her, Kostas, I think it'd be safest if you didn't meet her. You know too much. That means I won't be staying with you all tonight," Ginny looked thoughtful. "Dani and I will have dinner with Aja. I think she'll find you very interesting, Dani, especially if you tell her about yourself. I'll stay in Athens for a couple days, and then go to Prague, if that's all right, Kostas. By that time, if what I know about you both is correct, Aja will probably prefer Dani's company to mine. Eventually she'll want to return to Japan to meet her parents, and she may not want you to join her -- you'll have to play that by ear. In the meantime, here's some cash. Show her Athens, show her Delphi, show her whatever she wants that you can afford. Try to teach her what a budget is, as a game or something at first, I don't know. However you were taught."
"I think we can figure it all out, Ginny." Danae looked patient. She'd seen Ginny plan things out before.
"Don't lie to her, ever. Don't manipulate her. I think she's had enough of that."
"I think I can guess what she needs right now."
"Yes, better than I can," Ginny looked relieved. "I was most worried about this. I didn't want her to wander the worlds alone while I initiated."
"Actually, Ginny," Danae looked carefully at Ginny, as if she'd just seen something out of the corner of her eye. She touched Ginny on the center of her forehead with her finger, and her eyes widened slightly. "I think there's something else you should be worried about."
These are stories about the genesis of the characters in The Unnaturals, about the events leading them to become the people that they are.
November 2004
"Done!" the shopkeep exclaimed. "Let's have tea, the special kind."
The negotiation for the plain clay disk had taken approximately two hours, not counting the half an hour it took Ginny to convince the shopkeeper that she knew what she was doing. Sweetened mint tea was an integral part of the discussion, but this new kind was rare, a blend from India.
Ginny's hair was covered by her hijab, but her blue eyes, fair skin, and accent had revealed her to be a Western woman early on in the conversation. This was the shop her aleithiometer had led her to in a small oasis town north of Habarut on the Yemeni-Oman border. Given the political situation in Yemen, it was never entirely safe for anyone – let alone a British woman – to travel so far from the capital, San'a. However, the aleithiometer had never led her astray, and it was amazing what knowledge, a little money, and the right attitude (not too confident, not too ingratiating) could get you. Oh, and a little magic, as well. As a result, Ginny found her trip free of would-be-kidnappers. The local bandits would have to find other tourists to capture as bargaining chips with the central government.
This tiny store had the only antiquities in town. It was clear from the clutter that Naseem did more of his business in rugs, clothes, and imported CDs than ancient relics, but he also collected strange items that stragglers from the desert brought in. The blank clay disk was only being kept as a curiosity. Only the tiny etchings along the edge revealed it to be anything other than an old piece of practice pottery. Upon sensing Ginny's interest, Naseem claimed the finder had discovered it in the lost city of Ubar. Ginny knew better, but didn't disabuse Naseem of the notion. The final price seemed a fair one – about what an ugly relic from a lost city would cost to a foreigner, although an astounding profit above whatever Naseem had paid for the thing. In truth, Ginny knew the piece to be worth whatever money a person could imagine.
Their tea done, Ginny thanked Naseem profusely and bowed, sure to keep her hair covered and her eyes lowered. After this kind of conquest, Ginny would normally have had a drink of something a great deal stronger than tea, but that would have to wait. In fact, given the proliferation of sweet tea over the past two hours, Ginny found herself hunting for a restaurant with a bathroom. She ordered some dinner and considered her next move.
Trying to wash her hands in cramped space of the minimal restroom, her knapsack began to vibrate. Oh oh. Her aleithiometer rarely ever started spinning without her asking it a question, and here it was, going mad. It could only mean trouble. And in fact, when she checked it, it was switching urgently between three symbols. Given the order and deeper meanings, they could only mean Flee, Death, and (Ride) north.
Um, okay. Ginny returned to her table and asked if she could get her kebab "to go on the road."
"Storms are coming, lady," the child who was helping her mother said.
"Let Allah's will come," Ginny responded. "And four liters of water," she added, as a second thought.
Ginny had arrived in a landrover, and in the landrover she would flee north. Walking to her car, she tried to surreptitiously look for whatever her aleithiometer was having a fit over. Half-wild dogs, trash on the streets, lovely wide-eyed children, women carrying water. Some men standing in the shade, chewing qat. Nothing out of the ordinary. As she passed Naseem's shop to her car, she heard voices, low, but some instinct told her to keep walking quickly, head down. Her car must be safe or the aleithiometer wouldn't have told her to ride. What could it be?
If storms were coming, that would mean sandstorms, which were deadly. Ginny needed a little time to prepare. Using one of the two main roads through the town, she drove to a more secluded spot. She only needed a couple minutes. Ginny reached into her bag for some items – a few grains of sand, a feather, a shed claw from a cat – and concentrated very hard, drawing arcane symbols on the seat beside her. Two spells which would normally take her a couple hours had to be performed very, very quickly. One for covering all tracks to be set off when she wanted, and another against sandstorms. Anything else would have to wait, or would have to be something she could handle with her artifacts. It was tiring, but Ginny pushed through. She wasn't done yet.
After she'd completed her spells with the right words, Ginny took a deep swig of water and looked at her map. She figured out the farthest she could go, round trip, on her full tank. Now was the hardest part. She drove back around past Naseem's shop, landrover careening wildly as she went in and out of potholes, and blared her a tape of British pop for good measure. And then she gunned the engine, heading on the road north. She knew the road would go for a good 40 miles, but then it would curve sharply west. Nothing was further north but the deadly Empty Quarter and a sandstorm coming.
When she reached the curve in the road, Ginny stopped and took out her binoculars. They were very good, top-of-line, and more than paid for themselves when she saw what was coming. A black landrover full of – what was it, four men? Perhaps as many as six could fit in there. She didn't recognize the car from the town. There were rifles sticking out of the windows, pointing up and out. She couldn't see any symbols on the side of the car, but that would have been stupid of them, anyway. She wouldn't have been hard to track across Yemen, but who were they? Why were they after her? She suspected they weren't just looking for a rich tourist or a European woman. If they were following her into the desert, they must want her in particular, unless they figured they could bag her and return before the storm hit.
This time, a pearl and an eye from a stuffed animal were the necessary components. Ginny slapped her binoculars and looked again. Now she could hear them, understand them, and see into the vehicle.
"Are you sure she went this way?" the plump driver asked. She recognized none of the five men. In fact, none were speaking Arabic, and they looked East Asian. Asians, in Yemen? What were they speaking, Mandarin? The hell?
"Yes, the child said the fool Englishwoman went straight into the desert," said the man sitting next to him. He had some kind of accent, but Ginny couldn't place it, given the limitations of the spell.
"That seems crazy, with a sandstorm coming. Why do we always get sent after the crazy ones?" whined the driver.
"I still don't know why the Boss would have sent so many of us to catch a woman," This doubter was sitting in the back, in the middle.
"The Master knows her capabilities better than you do, Shin Dai-Gui." The man riding shotgun said sharply.
"Do you know what tipped her off?" mumbled the driver. "Maybe someone told her she was being followed?"
"Who would have?" asked another one from the back, this one with a very long face. "We know she never talked to the shopkeep again." With that, a few of the men chuckled.
"It doesn't matter," said the one with the accent sitting next to the driver. He must be in charge, Ginny thought. "Our orders are clear. Kill the woman. Retrieve the item. Speed is of the utmost importance. You know what will happen if we fail."
Ginny refocused her binoculars to continue to capture them as they got closer, and then put them down. She wanted to know so much – what they wanted, what would happen if they failed, the name of their leader, but realized that watching them get closer would be a new depth of stupidity for her. Ginny dropped the spell and drove off the barely paved road. She barreled over dunes for an hour, longer, looking at the sky. Finally she saw the yellow smudge on the horizon, coming closer. The wind picked up.
Ginny kept driving into the desert toward the coming storm. She waited a moment on the top of a dune until she was sure the other landrover was following her and saw her, and then she went down. She could imagine them pointing and shouting, perhaps arguing about their own safety. Maybe fifteen minutes until the storm hit, okay, now. Ginny set off the spell that allowed her to pass unseen and without trace, and tore as fast as she could down the narrow valley between dunes. The wind started throwing sand against her windows. Ginny couldn't see anyone behind her but couldn't be sure. Almost, almost – just before the thick mass of sand hit her car, Ginny set off the other spell and stopped the car, throwing on her parking break. And then she waited.
For over five hours Ginny sat in her car, fully able to breathe. She knew she'd be able to unbury her car fairly easily when the storm ended as part of the protection spell, but she was concerned that she wouldn't have enough energy to recast the untrackable spell. It hit her that she was pretty tired, but before she could relax she asked her aleithiometer if she was safe. Safe, sunshine. It said. Good. Ginny ate her cold kebab and then napped a little. Waking, she could hear that the howling was slowly starting to fade. It was dark inside her car. Ginny brought out the blank clay disk and said three words in ancient Egyptian. It started to glow with a warm light from the now visible Eye of Ra in the center. "Wow," Ginny said, fingers reading the hieroglyphs on the back of the disk. "I don't think I'll be parting with you anytime soon, if you'll have me."
The storm eventually stopped and Ginny was able to return to the sand-covered road without a trace of her own passing. On the way, she passed within a couple of kilometers of an overturned, mostly buried black landrover. In their haste to reach her, they hadn't taken even the simplest precautions against the storm. Their windows had been down – probably so they could shoot out of them – and the wind had blown the vehicle off the top of a dune. Through her binoculars, Ginny couldn't see anyone moving. In fact, the only bit of human she saw was a single arm sticking out of the sand, unmoving in the permanent act of reaching out. On the forearm was a distinctive tattoo of two Chinese characters. Ginny wrote them down. She wondered if any had survived, if they had any water, and whether the theoretical lucky few could survive the sixty mile walk back to the town. Ginny lowered her binoculars and drove back into town.
It would have been nice, or perhaps dangerous, to say that the tale of the Englishwoman who survived a sandstorm in the Empty Desert went far and wide. However, the residents of the small town near the border of Oman had seen stranger things, and most didn't notice when she came back through, picking up more fuel and water. Most of the gossip was angry: The day before a group of Asian men had killed Naseem, a popular shopkeeper, but fortunately none had returned from the desert, praised be Allah. But no, it was corrected; one of the men had stayed in town after the murder. As soon as the sandstorm had finished beating the town, he had left for the Yemeni capital, San'a, taking the west road. Ginny thought it prudent to see if she could get a flight out of Oman, and drove in that direction. Her aleithiometer concurred.