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."

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