Question Metro-verse Anthology

First Post!

Because people have politely pointed out that it might be nice to have a place for the standalone vignettes/short stories/etc.

He was awake. Awake and hungry. But he just didn't want to be. Hungry. Awake. Here. Him anymore. There. That was it. He didn't want to be him anymore. No more Kiddy Skool classes. No more Tea Parties with the other little kids. No more worrying if the one of the Big Kids were going to be a bully or a killer (he'd heard stories). No more wondering if his parents missed him. He just wanted to go to sleep and stay there.

If asked the right questions, she might admit to 'overhearing' someone grumping about how immature Rookie Boy could be. She'd also have to have been dumb as a box of rocks to have missed how he and his little brother got on. Some ways the goof was a lot like her big sister. It was kind of funny how he nearly beaned himself when she decided to wake him up. Something to file for later paybacks.

---

"So... you say Taz just let you borrow his family pictures?"

"He wouldn't get out of bed to stop me, and Cait always said 'possession is nine-tenths of the law'"

"Heh. Ten-tenths if you pick the right judges."

"Duly noted. Louis says you're being a bad influence on impressionable minors."

"Tell Plushie Cthulhu I wuv him too."

*snicker*

"Let me paw through my gear. Meet you topside in five, nah, make it ten. I keep forgetting foundation is more of a pain these days."

"Why would you need foundation?"

"Gotta have something to build on!"

---

'Owowow. Someone doesn't play nice at all. Or fair.'

'No. No he doesn't. He did warn you about working on your shields.'

'I bet no one's done that to him!'

'My dear, I wish you could win that bet.'

---

He vaguely remembered trying to resist being made to get up. For a brief moment he hoped he hadn't bit or hurt Mrs. Cantrel. She was nice most of the time. But maybe they'd leave him alone then. That would suit him.

Then again, if it was Mrs Cantrel or Caitlin, he wouldn't be feeling all boy now either. A faint tickle in the back of his head gave away Miranda's poking. There was something else but he couldn't place it. Maybe if he stayed really quiet and still they'd all just leave him alone and he could just sink back into the darkness.

"Nice try, bucko. I can see that you're awake, and your sympathetic shifting should be picking up on this morning's coffee in 3, 2, 1 ..."

'Fuck!'

No getting out of it. He tried hard to just open his eyes enough to see who was bothering him in his (They promised!) room. There was no getting past the sight of a teenaged version of what he would have looked like if it weren't for the mutation thing that destroyed his life and sent him away from everyone and everything he'd ever known.

"Na, na, na. Is that any way to be greeting a person?"

"Who ARE you?"

"Well, just for today, let's just say I'm yer older brother Matt."

"I don't have an older brother!"

"That doesn't mean you don't need one from time to time, now does it?"

That made a peculiar sort of sense.

It sure felt like a day he could need an older brother. Or a younger brother. Or anybody who even loved him at all. Even a fake would be better than everything he was missing surrounded by girls (who were fun, but he didn't want to be a girl all the time!) And, and ...

He eventually noticed that the phantom hadn't disappeared and he was being held in two warm arms for the first time in forever. Lucky it was a flannel shirt that wouldn't show how much of a baby he was being. No one let babies get this lonely he'd bet.

"There, there. S'okay. Whenever you feel ready, we can get you cleaned up and get some breakfast. Just me and you, okay?"

"Won' matter."

"Why is that?"

"As soon as we go out there'll be other kids ev'rywhere and I'll change and you'll have to go back wherever."

"Time out, Taz."

'Oh crap. The weirdo in the tank downstairs was one of the only kids who used that nickname. Him and Jimmy T and both of them could look like *anyone*'

"None of that, now. I mean it. Take your time and we are going to get some food in you so you don't get sick. I'll admit I can't shut down your shifting. But stick with me, and I think you won't mind it so much."

"Says you."

"Says me. And I'm nova-hot with trick-the-eye mojo when I want to be. Check your mirror."

"Right."

"Afraid to look?"

"Hell, No! See? That's ... me?"

"Close enough. Everyone changes day to day, you just do it a lot more. But today I think we can make sure no one really notices, and just sees you. There's a downside to that: you're... not very intimidating as a fourth-grader without the teeth and fangs."

"I can handle that."

"We'll see." 'Matt' tossed a towel at Morgan. "Go get showered up, stinky."

He was still a little creeped out that 'Matt' was still there when he got back. No easy escape. Then he remembered something the other kids said.

"Wait! No way I'm taking off this towel with you in here!"

"Morgan, I showered and got dressed with lots of other boys at the Academy. You don't have anything I haven't seen a million times before until the newbies figured out how to change without flashing everybody."

"Really?"

"Really, really. You can't go around with boy parts and use your towel like the girls. Unless you want to be very embarrassed. Okay, very, very embarrassed."

There had to be a story behind that, especially if he liked guys... oh!

---

Breakfast turned out to be not that bad when everyone around wasn't rushing about. Matt even let him get an extra cinnamon roll from the last bits that would have been tossed out! The guy played a strange game or two of solitaire while they ate and talked about nothing much. As the cafeteria cleared he felt a bit sad. Even if Matt wasn't his real brother, he didn't want to see him go off to class. Now that he wasn't hungry his traitor stomach wasn't as keen on going back to bed and hiding till they disappeared. Maybe it took more than a couple of sick days for people to stop poking in. That just sucked more.

"Aren't you going to class?"

"Nope. You're thinking of someone else."

"Yeah. The someone else whose ID card you're using."

"Sucks to be him then, doesn't it? What's it to be then? Fishing? Hiking? Leaving nearly perfectly clear, low-reflectance marbles and jacks at the Melville entrances? On an overcast fall day like this, those could be really hard to see."

"Then your classes."

"Let's see..."

Morgan rolled his eyes.

"... if I were sixteen, and I am, it might be that my classes would be in Dunwich, not here."

"I think I'd rather go fishing. Something normal."

"School's pretty normal."

"Not like that."

"Then you're in luck. I just happen to know someone who owns a fishing pole and tackle she doesn't get to use!"

"You just happen to know someone, huh?"

"It's in the Big Brothers Manual that big brothers need to know people who know things."

"Whose stuff we stealing?"

"Borrowing."

"Whatever."

"Tennyo's."

They were going to die. Morgan realized he wouldn't ever get to eat another big birthday cake or even figure out if he liked girls or not, because they were going to die. The fishing pole and tackle box were even where 'Matt' said he'd find them.

---

After a couple of unseasonably warm hours of fishing, Matt showed Morgan how to cheat at fishing. At least they didn't have to worry about being 'too sweaty' (the girls always complained about stupid stuff like that) when they dropped off the equipment with Tennyo's scary roommate, Generator. She looked entirely too happy for an eleven-year-old girl to be getting a cooler with the uneaten fish (they might have had a puncture mark or two) on ice. Morgan resolved not to put ice in his drinks for the next couple of days. Not that fish tasted bad on the tongue, but ick! with other things.

It was almost too unreal when Matt snuck Morgan onto an afternoon bus headed into Dunwich. This was really skipping school and playing hooky!

Some church was sponsoring a hokey "Novemberfest Carnival". He was pretty sure that it had to do with Octoberfest, whatever that was, but as long as he didn't have to spend time in the spooky old church he was fine with whatever they called it.

He was also fine with cotton candy, and giggling at Matt having trouble figuring out change. You'd've thought he never handled real money before!

For safety reasons, he decided that Matt could ride next to him on the carousel, in case it got stopped and Matt got scared of the heights. Because that could happen, according to the other kids at school.

Of course, some of the local kids figured it was okay to pick on the stranger's kids they didn't recognize. That's when he realized that being seen turning into a scratching, bitey, kicking ball of fury was more impressive than just being another fourth-grader. Lucky for the other brats, the moment the insults escalated to a shove, Matt was right there to break it all up.

It did seem odd that Matt physically kept Morgan in front of them as the next booth they went to was one of those crooked "shoot the targets for a prize" booths. The first couple of shots went wide, but after that it was like watching the Grunts out at the Ranges! Some of the nearby crowd thinned out after that.

---

"You boys might want to be cashing in those tickets you just won. It's getting a might bit late."

Crap. That was a Sheriff's Deputy! Since when did they hire one-eyed deputies? Maybe it was a rural thing?

"You might be right about that officer. A little bird, or two, say that the carnival was shutting down early?"

"Very funny, son. I don't suppose you'd care to identify the other little birds in the flock?"

"I could, but they all went home to roost for some reason."

"I see."

"Yeah. Funny how that works out. Morgan, why don't you cash these out while we wait here where we can see you."

"Sure Matt!"

There were enough tickets for a couple of big candy bars and large sodas!

Then they had to walk out with the deputy, cause of course the school had to call the police on them. Sure, they didn't look exactly like the kids in the pictures, and he said they weren't in trouble, he was only offering a courtesy ride but still...

When Matt went to get in the back seat with Morgan, the deputy grabbed the boy's arm. "No. I still remember that night a few months back. No matter what you think of me, no one gets used to that."

Weird.

But Mads could be weird too. Morgan really missed seeing 'Matt' when the other boy dropped the illusions in front of Schuster Hall. Being escorted in to see Mrs. Carson meant they really were in trouble after all!

---

"Of all the irresponsible things I've had to deal with lately, THIS takes the cake!"

Oh boy were they in trouble!

"Mister Jensen. Do you have ANY idea how dangerous running around off this campus could be?"

"Other than the--"

"That was a rhetorical question young man."

"Miz Carson," the deputy drawled, "I suspect this young cub knows better than most how dangerous it can be. Then again, seeing as how I'm the one who had to cart him the last way here with a knife in his gut, I could be biased."

Morgan felt a little sick, and not from the sugar, realizing where he'd just been sitting during the ride back.

"Be that as it may, both of these young men skipped a full day of classes to do God knows what before ending up off-campus out in public at a carnival."

"We went fishing?"

Mrs. Carson did not look pleased at all to hear that, even if it sounded innocuous to him.

Deputy Wednesday smiled, "His half-brother did warn me about that habit."

If law enforcement could be given detention, that looked like it would have done the job.

"Either way, as the only time that Morgan was outside my supervision was in the shower or the head, ALL responsibility up until the point that the Deputy here stepped in to give us a courtesy ride logically rests with me."

"This isn't about logic, it's about following rules put in place for your well-being, including how far off your meal plan you logically must have gone!"

"That would be something to discuss with my medical teams, both allopathic and psychiatric."

"As I recall, someone gave her word to me that these boys weren't in trouble. Was that not what was said?" Somehow the deputy looked a bit older and meaner than he had.

"That is true. I see that I should be more careful with my discussions with lawgivers."

"That is a wise course." The deputy stood up. He really was kind of tall. "Seeing that both are safe, well, and where they should be, I think I should be going back on patrol."

"Er. Officer?"

"Yes?"

"Stay safe. I think I can say that. Val's... He's going to need time."

"I hope he can get that time." On that note, the deputy left, leaving the condemned to their fate.

Val? Oh. Valravn. Morgan wondered how he'd know the cop, but Dunwich was a small place.

"Boys. My hands may be tied this time, but don't think you can just up and take off whenever you feel like it!"

"Ma'am, that almost sounds like a challenge."

"Would either of your mothers agree?"

"Let's... not test that just now."

"Very well. I believe you can see your way out."

---

Outside, walking back to Hawthorne, it was all code names and stuff. That was usually cool, but not so much this time.

"Metro?"

"Yeah?"

"How did the sheriff's deputy find us? No one else saw through your illusions all day."

"I sent a text to dispatch when it looked like our 'welcoming party' decided to up the aggro."

"Oookay."

"Look, Shifty. Morgan. Whether it's for a day or for a lifetime, no one, ever threatens my little brother. That includes me putting him in danger by screwing up the threat estimate."

Oh.

"C'mon, let's get ready for dinner. I want to see what Generator comes up with! I just hope she doesn't waste the fresh fish."

Right. Maybe Tennyo won't kill them after all.

Maybe.

Because for the first time in a while that didn't feel so tempting.

Must've been all the cotton candy.

"I still cannot get used to Dad as Jerk-face's adopted son. Wait, did they just?"

"Yep. Hela Odhinnsdottir, kind of has a ring to it."

"I know where you sleep. Excuse me? There is no way that Mjolnir can shatter like that. Boys, don't even think about trying. Again, if I know you delinquents."

---

"No. That? Just, no."

"I think she loves the headdress."

"I think you better sleep with one eye open."

"The paranoid git does that anyway."

"Do I even want to know where all the cutlery is coming from?"

"Limited-duration manifestation, capped with a bit of siderokinesis through a centered area of effect ... but not hard to mimic with ectoplasm and a touch of suggestion."

"Translation: not really, no."

---

"Valkyrie, huh? Why couldn't WE have had valkyior like that?"

"You've done worse for daughters-in-law to bring home."

"Mother? I didn't need to know that."

"You gotta admit that she is nova-hot with the chain guns and all."

"Lars, dear, you can always hire the munitions without sleeping with the control systems."

---

"Stupid? Dog?"

*snerk*

---

"Toe to toe with the Hulk. Who da Big Dogg now?"

---

"Okay. Dad really would screw over the entire plane for Asgard and his favorite nephew, right before running into a Bigger Fricking Spaceship With Guns."

This piece picks up from "Rudolph the Danish Drill Sarge" .

---

November 2007, various locations, Whateley Academy

[TO: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.
Miss Walcutt, I have a simple job that I've been assured is well within the capabilities of yourself and your talent pool. Enclosed is a short description of the task and expected initial outlay. If there is sufficient interest, let us meet at ... ]

[TO: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.
< In case you think no one's noticed where and when you've pointed those Zeiss optics, you are mistaken. Attached is a set of specifications. Whatever matching stock you have should be forwarded to the enclosed depot URL. Further details to follow. > ]

[TO: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.
Miss Mouser, I have a simple job that I've been assured is well within the capabilities of yourself and your associates. Enclosed is a short description of the task and the expected initial outlay. If there is sufficient interest, let us meet at ... ]

[TO: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.
< Please rotate your public keys more often. Yes, I do understand what the word means. furrfu! Check your supposedly-empty video archive for stills and clips that match the attached specs. There's cash for quality, so include an escrow account with your hits. > ]

"There. I have cast mine bread upon the waters. Let us see which chummers come to feed upon the bounty."

"Finally found someone you couldn't surveil your own damned self?"

"Yeah. Life sucks and then it spits up."

"That was a mental image I didn't need."

"Greasy, Greasy, Greasy. I'm torn between congratulating you on your timeliness and expertise, and ripping your lungs out over the complete disregard for the privacy rights of legal minors and their property rights regarding likenesses. Any preferences?"

"I haven't done anything wrong!"

"..."

"This term!"

"..."

"Since September anyway..."

"Three words: model. release. permission."

"But these were for personal use!"

"And now they are not. But today's a lucky day for ye of negotiable virtue."

"Emily, if you're going to 'borrow' design ideas from Techno-Devil, I'd recommend at least disabling his steganographic signing code."

"That sneaky little..."

"Riiight. If I know you, you're just going to go back to your workbench and implement the same damn thing into your next generation of projects."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Well enough for what it was intended. But I was thinking: wouldn't more complex encrypted signature implemented more subtly throughout the entire frame might be useful for other purposes."

"Talk. What does it do and what's it going to cost me?"


A discrete dining location, beneath Whateley Academy


The meeting stirred up mixed feelings and associations from the start. The location chosen pointed to involvement with She-Beast, Phase, or both. The timing couldn't have been better chosen to preclude bringing in any other club members for a better display of their talent pool, but being greeted by Jade - of all people - firmly tilted the balance toward Phase's involvement. Tansy chalked up the discomfort to more ongoing penance. Considering what she'd done last year, it was nearly a miracle that Hawthorn residents didn't make the sign of the cross as she walked by.

Nonetheless, her host stood up to welcome her to the table. Perhaps not wearing his usual illusions made enough of a point for him? "Miss Walcutt, I'm glad you could make it. I believe that you and Miss Mouser are acquainted?"

"Yes, we are. And Mister Jensen, please, call me Tansy. If I'd known in advance that you were seeking competing bids, I would have asked the club advisor to come along as well. I think he would have enjoyed the opportunity."

The young man gestured to himself, "Mads. As to bringing in backup, that should hardly be necessary. Teri and I have already placed our drink orders but our server should be back soon to prepare tea. Please, do make yourself comfortable. If that should require additional representation be present, I'm prepared to take that into account."

"Hm. Would you mind if I take advantage of the time to freshen up?"

"To your left, back, and then to the right."

"Thank you."

"Mads, I think I'd like to do the same. If you'll excuse us?"

"Of course."

"First there was one, now there are none? If it were anyone else, I'd say that sempai is losing his touch!"

Mads smiled at Jade's observation, "It's a talent, or so I'm told."

"You're letting them call in back-up."

"A cousin of mine once told me it's best to let someone else make the first mistake."

"How'd that turn out?"

"At first? ...Fewer casualties than I would have thought. Overall? Neither of us are certain how else events could have unfolded."

From behind Metro, an amused soprano voice spoke out, "It sounds like there is a story to be told behind that." He spared Jade an I'll get you back for that look before replying, "Merely the sins of my youth, and no charges came of the affair."

Tansy considered how much of the statement was probably a lie. "A pity. Sometimes the court drama is the best part of those stories."

Teri tagged in, "Jadis would have enjoyed that. You don't mind, do you? She said she'd only need a few minutes to get here."

"Something about how she'd love to see how you and Ayla had fixed the place up for this meeting." Tansy said, before taking a sip of the mineral water that had been set at her place at the table. So far, there were no surprises to be tasted, but there so many chemicals even an exemplar tongue might miss.

Turning back to Jade, who'd stepped out of arm's reach, Metro announced, "I believe that we'll be seating four, then." She bowed and headed toward the kitchen area. That settled, Metro handed menus to the two young women present. As to be expected, no prices were noted, only the dishes available for this evening. That left one of the usual targets out of range for prime sniping, had either woman been inclined.

After noting a couple of selections from the menu that might be of interest, Tansy reopened the conversation with "I must admit surprise that you'd gone with a Japanese theme. Not that I mind, it's just that," she paused to see who would charge into the gap.

Mads merely raised his eyebrows in query as to what she wanted to say. But 'Good cop, bad cop, with Jadis to round up the strays' would be closer to what he was thinking at the moment.

"... some might find it a bit cliché."

Teri opined, "If this were an anime, I'd almost expect a couple of Yakuza enforcers hiding behind the screen behind your chair."

"I try not to make a habit of interfering with men, or women, of chivalry."

"Um. Me neither."

Mads smiled at a private joke, "I had considered requesting a reproduction of Popeye's, but for some reason our caterer turned a peculiar shade of green at the thought."

Tansy murmured, "I'm sorry that I missed that."

"Would you believe that you're the sixth person, so far, to say that?"

Tansy said "Even in his youth Ayla had a discriminating palate," slightly emphasizing the pronoun.

"Ah. His loss, as far as I can tell."

Tansy: 'The pronoun shift didn't faze him at all. Interesting.'

"So why the Japanese theme, and why does it seem so familiar?" Teri asked, curious as to both.

"The backdrop scenery and menu are based on a rather famous Kyoto restaurant, one similar in many ways to one that I enjoyed eating at some time ago. Given your interest in Japanese popular culture, and Tansy being as much from Hawaii as anywhere else, the choice seemed to be a happy medium."

"Mads, why would you think that I was 'as much from Hawaii as anywhere else', if I may ask?"

"I believe that the answer to that must perchance wait until later, as our final guest is arriving and I am sure that Jade is waiting for us to adjourn to the next room."

Mads stood up to greet Jadis Diabliku, chosen by the other two to be his opposite number, nearly as expected.

As the food and beverages had been arranged by Ayla Goodkind with the assistance of an off-duty Whateley chef or two, among others, even Mads' taste for sashimi was appeased. Judging by a couple of cues that Jade and Jadis let slip, it seemed that Ayla and Tansy's feud had cooled to 'budget-breaking one-upmanship', down from 'my seconds will meet yours in the alleyway'.

Eventually, over a very good pot of green tea, their host allowed his guests to broach the business aspects of the matters at hand. Or rather, he chosen then to blindside them.

"Jadis, I take it you've had sufficient time to review what I'm asking for?"

"I have. First, though, I think that an apology is called for."

"How so?"

"As much as I hate to admit it we were both wrong about Tansy."

"Ah. Yes. That."

"What?" It had been such a pleasant meal, and Tansy had thought that she and Jadis had begun to put the worst parts of their past behind them. The disappointment tasted like ashes in her mouth. "I know my reputation is dirt around here, but I had hoped it wouldn't be held against the club I'm representing!"

"It isn't," Mads said. "It was my reputation that is working against your club's prospects. Or, rather, my quote-unquote powers."

Jadis turned to speak to her former friend, "Metro constantly produces a pheromone that badly provokes most air-breathing species to the point that it carries over to the avatars of those species. Some students, Aquerna and Miasma for example, cannot stand to be in the same part of the cafeteria with him."

"And the two of you thought I'd? You actually thought that I'd have so little self-control that I'd run away or attack based on the reactions of a couple of low-level avatars?"

"I wouldn't exactly call Pejuta or Kodiak 'low-level avatars'. Tatanka hates me. As to Kodiak, well, I've heard that Wildman has recovered the ability to count to ten. Your reputation is that you probably could maintain control... but to be perfectly clear about it, you haven't had any more trouble doing that tonight than Bloodwolf does."

Tansy could hear Sukawakan's snickering at the stupidity of present company explode into outright laughter.

Figuring her spirit was taking the piss just as much as the two magic users here, Tansy sighed to herself and looked around the low table. The black trousers of Metro's school uniform didn't give much away. The floor and cushions they were in contact with ... oh, no, that's not embarrassing at all!

"Mads, why are your pants wet?"

"Hunh? Oh! Right. It seems these days that whenever I suppress my glamour - which tends to also drive people away - for any length of time, I end up tracking in water or snow. Or something. It's one of the reasons I wear boots with the school uniform whenever I can: no matter what I do the hems always end up wet."

Technically he was telling A truth.

Jadis got it, and somewhat wished she didn't.

Teri kept her mouth shut, just in case she was right.

"Carrying on, then. Should I take it that the lower figures reflect Lifeline, Pejuta, Fey, and Loophole sitting out the sessions?"

"If Lifeline's there, I won't be. Non-negotiable. Nikki and I get along well enough, but the school prefers that Valravn and I not rub shoulders too much with the Sidhe students."

Tansy: "Loophole's one of our best photographers, and Freeze Frame isn't always available."

Jadis: "However, with Chemtrail involved, Greasy might be willing to work on the project, and Adam's one of Ethereal Beauties' preferred photographers." Tansy nodded, confirming She-Beast's deduction.

"Does that mean that you won't be needing any of our other talent?" Teri asked. She hoped that the GSD client didn't have a thing against her more exotic models. Pot? Kettle's on the line. Something about being black?

"No. I need 'back at school' as well as staged shots, both in and out of illusion. We can't afford to blow the school's cover, but if everyone but me looks as though they could safely pose in front of H1, or walk down a Milan runway, that will not go over very well. Also, I'd like to give Jello a chance to work on her photography portfolio: she's enough of a shapeshifter to work a wide variety of camera angles without changing her equipment setup. If she follows through afterward, the chances are good that Ethereal Beauties would be able to represent her hard work."

Tansy mused, "Gwen might be happy to hear that."

Mads smiled. "She's the one who told me about her friend's candid shots. I'm buying the rights on some of the Parents Day photos on my own behalf. Any further questions for me, or Jadis, since it looks like she'll be legaling the agreements for you?"


late November 2007, Whateley Academy

The plans for today's outing had started as well as could be expected. Doctor Bellows had approved of her plans in general, before warning Tansy that Metro had a lingering unease if not fear of 'human-appearing' women and been given suggestions as to what to watch out for if he began to dissociate. Teri had jumped at the chance for a joint location shoot. How and why she'd finagled Tisiphone to agree, on the other hand, was both a mystery and a shrewd choice for helping to get their camera-shy client to relax. Par for the course, the day had dawned cloudy, overcast, and misty. Maybe half an hour before everyone was to meet at the stables, the yellow flag went up - as if an observer wouldn't need their own powers to get a clear view of a GSD student out on the campus. Tink? Not a chance.

Greasy was there early, checking out his camera gear. Now that it wasn't getting destroyed every other day, what he had on-hand was rather impressive. Knowing better than to try to get a conversation out of her boyfriend while he was with his equipment, Prue took the time to discuss the Venus Inc. side of the afternoon's plans with Tansy.

Tansy was somewhat surprised to see that the next to arrive was Tisiphone, wrapped in a voluminous hooded cloak. Given that Alexis - no, Tissy - was from South Carolina and that her wings weren't feathered, that was a smart move, yellow flag or none.

Bringing up the rear were Metro and Tink. Or rather, Metro with Tink, as she was currently perched on one of the boy's antlers. The sight was incongruous enough that Tansy barely noticed Tissy walking up beside her.

"In case you were wondering why I hurried to get here? Teri fancies herself a gymnast." That wasn't an image Tansy really needed so soon after lunch. Not that Teri was bad-looking in any way. It was just...

Tissy continued, "Metro isn't running, so they must have missed Pucelle."

"Does anyone miss that bitch?"

Tissy started to respond with something caustic but caught herself. Her shoulders slumped. "I wouldn't wish what happened to me even on Phase, but that girl..."

Tansy let a smirk cross her face, "So the answer is a resounding 'No'."


The day hadn't given up all of its surprises. It wasn't until Tango was lead out that Metro finally ventured more than a couple of feet into the barn. Then, the way he ran up to him nearly spooked the horse, but it was what went on after that that spooked the people present. At first, Metro started talking to the horse in a language that hardly anyone understood.

Mustang to Tansy:
Sure enough, the freshman boy switched to an even more foreign-sounding language, though one that seemed comprehensible to those around him. Perhaps it was just his intent coming through?

< Right. I am called Little Whiskey Horse. > The horse whickered in response. < Among other things, yeah. Makwa thought it was hilarious too. What I'd like to do is start with your foreleg as it is hurt, but I'll need to check out your spine and the shoulder and leg joints. Yeah, yeah. You can tell your human that you aren't favoring the leg, but I'm not having that. Do I have your consent to continue? >

The horse nodded, as she'd known humans do when agreeing.

Tisiphone asked Tansy, "What's he doing?" Anywhere but Whateley it might have been strange to see a young woman who appeared to be a red-skinned and -scaled, winged demoness asking out of concern for the horse's safety and her own peace of mind.

"Tango was injured ... in an accident, a few weeks ago. I'm surprised that he noticed it right off."

"Then I hope he can do something to help. The poor girl must hate not being able to run like she used to."

Tisiphone would know about that, wouldn't she?

"We used to play competition polo, so yes, it would be like an athlete being benched wouldn't it?"

Both winced as Mads walked behind the horse, barely keeping one hand on her tail bone. However, Tango chose not to kick him through the nearest wall, knowing by touch and other senses where the magician was and what he was doing as he softly explained it. Finally, he stepped up to whisper a few things for Tango alone to here. He also just happened to palm a sweet piece of carrot over to her to eat.

The boy walked over to Tansy, the waiting models and company.

"She'll be feeling much better in a few weeks. You may be able to trust the stable hands to walk her sufficiently, but come January she'll be needing more activity," he explained. "I'll drop by when I can, but I'm not as familiar with equine muscles and bone as human."

"Thank you. Tango is as close, if not closer than, family to me."

Mads shrugged, and smiled a bit goofily, "It goes with being a horse. She'd be happy to walk a bit and pose for some pictures. Just, try not to catch her eyes with the flash when she's looking your way, Greasy. She doesn't like that."

Adam gulped nervously, suddenly aware that he was in the presence of a young woman who'd nearly killed him once, another who - if he upset her at all - there'd be no 'nearly' about it, a third who was friendly but certifiably insane, and a freshman mage who'd managed to crawl on to the Ultra-Violent list before attending his first classes at Whateley. "Got it."

Juvenile jokes about 'scaring the horses' aside, after being saddled up Tango even let Tisiphone ride out to a few places that looked promising. Between the lead-gray clouds and the mix of dark green conifers and bare, water-darkened softwoods, nature was providing near-perfect framing for photos of the two more heavily-GSD students.

"Um, Tisiphone, can you spread your wings under the cloak, just a bit? Good! I just wish we had more contrast here."

Mads asked Adam, "What color do you have in mind? I think a muted green might work on a day like this."

"That's contrast?"

"Bear with me." The young man walked over to the horse and rider. He brushed his hand across a corner of Tisiphone's cloak, which suddenly changed color. "How about this?"

"That ... Okay, we can go with that. Why didn't you say you could do that?"

"No one asked. I could make it a permanent change, if Tissy likes it."

"What?"

"Comes with the wiz job."


Whether it was a signal that Metro was starting to relax around the others, aside from the horse, or the day had warmed up, eventually he did take off his jacket and even roll up his sleeves. At first glance, Tansy and Tissy both had to work at not commenting, even if he could cover up the idiosyncrasies with illusion: suspenders? A second glance revealed that he was wearing a vertical shoulder holster with an off-side tie-down. AND suspenders. If he ditched the holster, he would have been one broad-brimmed hat short of a stereotype. A couple of shots taken during one break, with Mads leaning back, eyes closed, against Tango's neck and shoulder turned out adorable.

Apparently the boy also forgot about cell phone cameras in the hands of three professional and one semi-professional model while he and Adam where going over a campus map looking for the next couple of places to try out. Within a few weeks, "Rudolph the Helpful Field Guide" would become almost as popular as "Rudolph the Danish Drill Sarge".


Several costume changes later, someone remembered, "We don't have any shots of Mads riding Tango."

Mads took a small shuffle-step back. "I, um, that's okay."

"What's the matter? I think we've established that Tango isn't going to hurt you."

"Errr. The truth is I've never ridden in a saddle."

Tango blew through her lips as if to say 'What an idiot.'

"Fine. We'll take it off and you can ride her bareback back to the barn."

"But..."

"But nothing, nearly any one of us can carry the saddle without breaking a sweat. Speaking of which..."

"Huh? Horses are supposed to smell like horses!"

"She's not the only one!"

"Hmph!"


Quietly, Tansy said to Adam, "Be sure to get the audio as well as the video. I have a hunch about this."

Somehow, Metro had little trouble getting onto Tango's back. Once settled, he leaned forward and it looked like he might be explaining the remaining plans for the afternoon. At least that seemed to be the plan, until the wind picked up and something broke the mage's concentration. When he straightened up, he looked as if he were wearing a leather jerkin, trousers, boots, and gloves, all in a dark pattern that should have been antique and should have faded into the woodland background, but managed not to. He was soon back to his 'normal' clothes, but Tansy resolved to run the clip past one or two of the mystic arts teachers before turning that in for review and edit. That was what they were there for, wasn't it?


December 2007, various locations, Whateley Academy

Adam Lambert trudged back into his room after one of the more grueling finals he'd lived through. It felt as if some of the Engineering departments were taking up a rivalry with the Phys. Ed. department in some subjects. Still, his life now was a lot better than it had been at the start of the term, or the hell that was last year altogether.

He was still pulling his class notes together for the next two finals up when one of the freshmen knocked and poked his head into the room.

"Greasy! Your middle name's really 'Winfred'?"

"It's a family name! What about it?"

The boy took that as an invite to walk in and hand Adam a book-sized package. One with a lot of stamps! "This came for you in the mail. Thuban's already had it checked for explosives and toxins, since, well, you don't get a lot of mail."

"Um, thanks, I guess?"

Who could be sending a package from... Denmark? Oh, crap. If this is some prank from Hamper and Damper, no wonder Thuban had it checked out.

He was getting paid?

He was getting paid!

Adam risked some of his own spending money on an overseas call to prove to himself that this wasn't a prank after all.

Three telephone calls later, including a very embarrassing "What do you mean you didn't know?" or two (including one "I am going to wring that boy's neck when he gets here!"), and a very scary "How are you with children?" the young inventor and (now, apparently) professional photographer allowed himself time for a good, old-fashioned faint.

Emily Anne Quenton, "Kew" to most people, smiled at the increment to her accounts and went back to working on her latest drone project. Maybe she could afford to incorporate a miniaturized steady-cam in some of her designs after all?


4. Januar 2008, Trondheim Airport, Værnes

"Hej, Kris! You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"I wouldn't know, Mads, having never seen one myself."

"What's this? A joke?"

"It's your fault anyway."

"What have I done now? Just in case I need to testify later."

"Someone came up to me and asked me to sign her magazine."

"Got to be careful signing those strange magazines. 9mm or larger-calibre?"

"Tabloid."

"Okay?"

"There was a picture of the two of us, at school, with a caption along the lines of 'Lunch at school never looked so good'! It was bad enough with Reach's stalker friends..."

"Heh. Funny you should mention that."

"What?"

"If it's the one I'm thinking of, that was Kew's work."

"WHAT?!"

"Cool your jets! That's what you get for laughing about 'Sergeant Rudolf' and me having to pose for pictures."

"This is different!"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? Are you daft? I've pretty much given up asking about your sanity..."

"Hardly. You're an exemplar. I'm not. Which of us do YOU think the ladies are paying attention to?"

"If you're referring to the ladies over there, I distinctly overheard 'greven' and 'tryllekunstner'."

"Would you look at the time! Let's go find our departing gate!"


4. Januar 2008, somewhere over the North Sea, en route to Amsterdam

"I still can't believe you went and impersonated my mother!"

"Kris, if we left you to your own devices, you wouldn't have gotten out of that airport without a marriage date. Consider it a favor."

"You two didn't have to make it sound like I was dating Elle's brother! Does she even have a brother?"

"Interested? You could just ask her."

"That is not what I meant, Mads, and you know it."

"Kris, we've got to get you more comfortable talking with pretty girls. Luckily for you, I have a cunning plan."



January 18, 2008, Venus Inc. Club House, Dunn Hall, Whateley Academy

"I would like to welcome everyone back from the winter break, and trust that everyone is ready for a busy Winter and Spring Term! The first order of business is to let you all know that Venus Inc. not only has picked up some new clients, but we will also be working with and representing some new portfolios as well: some of which may come as a surprise."

Tansy looked across the meeting table, pleased to see genuine smiles from Heartbreaker and Chemtrail. They may have been tinged with a little bit of vindictive glee, as her own, but she'd learned from Poise that the nature of the business called for a little schadenfreude from time to time.

"The first among those surprises is that we will have two new photographers working with us from time to time. As much as we love Elaine and Naomi, their schedules haven't been getting any lighter. So, for the rest of the year, and hopefully until their own graduations in 2009 and 2010, Venus Inc. will be also representing Jello and Greasy."

One of this year's newer members spoke up, "I'm sorry, but for a minute there I thought you said 'Greasy'."

Chemtrail purred, "Adam has much more potential than most people realize."

Fey had to chuckle a little at that, but then added "He does have a flair for action shots."

Taking advantage of the shock most of the models seemed to be feeling, Tansy pressed on. "As a matter of fact, I-, the club actually, had to pull strings to get him, as his work with Ethereal Beauties is also quite popular. Jello is less well known," 'But not for long, in certain lucrative circles.' "... but the candid shots she submitted for one of our clients last semester were also well-received. It doesn't hurt that she can vary her height, but her eye for character shots was what really came through." Tansy nodded discretely to Heartbreaker, both knowing that Jello's sponsors were very happy with the girl's developing portfolio of skills, including surveillance photography.

"Second, a few of you may know that Mrs. Ryan is advising a student with a certain flair for clothing. Expect to hear some complaints from the Gearheads that we're poaching another of their prized mechanics on those assignments which call for Ribbon's talents."

"Ribbon. Isn't that that goth brat in Poe?"

"The one that knows Detroit steel like the back of her hand? Yeah, that's Alyss." Loophole was already set to complain of the poaching. "Among other things, she's a manifestor. Her manifested cloth only lasts for 24 hours, but it's hella strong while it lasts."

Tansy stepped back in as if that were a cue. "Alyss will be dividing her time between us and E.B. Let's use it wisely. For set designs, we may be able to pry Thorn loose from the Theater Dept."

Dead silence.

As much as she'd worked on being a better person, one-upping entire groups of The Beautiful People was still fun.

"When he's not engaged in prank wars with Beltane, Generator, or Absinthe - yes, that Thorn - Robert Rose is still a talented and powerful manifestor. It's not a question of what props he can whip up out of nothing, but what can't he come up with. Also, Security and Administration are at wit's end trying to keep him occupied otherwise. We also may be inviting Metro,"

"That's the ratbag that runs around pretending he's with Security?"

*ahem*

'Fey knows better? Tansy wondered to herself. 'He did say they got along, but there has got to be a story behind that!'

"Technically speaking, he is a Security Auxiliary." Fey turned to the club president, "I take it that he'll be asked to help with functional, ah, 'alterations'?"

'There is definitely a story there, and Fey's dying to tell someone. Some days I love this job!' Tansy thought.

"Yes. Another heads-up: for the prom season shoots, while I'm still counting on Nikki to persuade Lancer to model, I will also be trying to get Metro involved in front of the camera."

"What on earth for? If you want some unknown guy, go for whoever it was that Gwen was dancing with at the holiday formal. At least he knew the dance steps."

Heartbreaker broke out one of her 'fuck you and the bitch-ass horse you rode in on' smiles, "I'd call dibs on that action," and paused for the other boot to fall.

Tansy picked up the ball and set it rolling downhill.

"As I recall, that was originally for the press portfolio nearly everyone bailed out on. In Clue terms, ladies, that was Metro, on the dance floor, with his own tuxedo. His boyfriend also aced Ballroom Dancing, by the way."

Nikki gleefully hammered the point home. "The way Billie put it, they aced their dance class."

"Who's Billy?"

"Just my friend Tennyo. She was also at the holiday formal, and Valravn was the flier who was keeping up with her. At least, he was up until Jericho had his green-eyed meltdown. But if you ladies aren't interested, I guess that Gwen and I will just have to carry on without you. Just be sure to bring extra shoes if Hank isn't available for the shoots."

Tansy let the implications sink in before moving on, "Let's table further discussion until after our other officers report. I believe we still have some old business as well."

After Powers Lab, some September morning, Arena 77

"Valravn! Is there any chance I can get you away from your - what is it called? - 'ball and chain' for a while this weekend?"

"What for? Not that I necessarily mind leaving him to his own devices."

"Well, the Powers Testing experts are sure that I can use my powers for flight, but..."

"But what goes up must come down?"

"Yes. The problem is that I can't afford to get hurt doing it."

"You might get a few bruises, but that shouldn't be too bad."

"No. You don't understand. I, my body, it, it doesn't heal like most folks."

"From what I've seen, most mutants heal better. Most."

"Except for the ones who don't? You've seen it happen then."

"Back at the Crazy Bin"

"I thought the term was Loony Bin?"

"I'm Canadian. No complaining about the loonies."

"I'm going to have to look that up, aren't I?"

"Worth the effort. Anyhow, Murphy's living next door to me. Thanks to some ... human garbage ... whenever she's hurt she heals back up looking different."

"In my case, I don't just look different. Damaged muscle or tendon regrows as bone. It's not as bad as before I manifested, but the risk is still there. If you can recall, I didn't have these arm-blades when I arrived here."

"Ah. So you need a flyer to spot you as you practice."

"I think so."

"Can't hurt to try, I guess. Meet me after lunch Saturday, and we'll go find a place. Sound good?"

"Yes. I do hope so."


Saturday afternoon, between Poe and Hawthorne Cottages, Whateley Academy

After a few minutes walk south from the Crystal Hall, Valravn led Elve to an open grassy area.

"Not too many of the more popular kids like to even be seen in this part of campus, and we'll be staying low to start with, so that should reduce the risk of being seen by others."

"You haven't put much thought into this since class, have you?" Elve asked, teasingly.

"Metro likes to ride a hoverboard. Not exactly a red flag-compatible activity."

"Doesn't he reside in Hawthorne Cottage? He could be watching us."

"No, he's working a double shift today and hoping his doctor doesn't find out."

"Does that work?"

"Not really."

"I see. How do you think we should go about this? I assume it took a lot of practice for you to learn flying."

"Not as much as you'd think. It comes natural to me. Less natural to Mads though."

"Do you think you can help me?"

"Let's give it a shot. How well does accelerated walking go for you? I've seen that in class, but didn't get a good explanation."

"It's still difficult, as I have to take short jaunts and aim partly up. It's like I'm jumping on one foot, landing on the other, and then repeating it from that foot. To turn, I had to learn to aim myself to one side or the other."

Thomas smiled and began to quote:
-- Laurie Anderson, "Walking and falling"

"That's how it feels! Where did you come up with that?"

"From an avid music snob who hates all the 'old pop stuff' put out. The artist is someone named 'Laurie Anderson', if that helps. I think I'd like to start with you stepping forward and landing, and gradually shift to more up than down. Are you with me so far?"

Elve took a few minutes to visualize that the boy had described, "I think I'd end up bouncing in place. How does that help?"

"Once you are used to that, you can try 'bouncing' back up before you hit the ground. Just like flapping your wings."

"Bouncing up and down in the air, until the wind blows me into a tree."

"Huh. I hadn't thought of that. We'll have to practice staying in one place with a crosswind. That's trickier than it looks."

"Really."

"How many baby birds have you seen pull that off the first dozen times? Especially chickens. They're a little stupid, and clumsy."

"I'm certain I'm going to break an ankle doing this."

"Nah. If you're worried I can borrow some mats from the basement. You should practice falling so you don't hurt yourself anyway. Humans do that a lot."

"... That won't get you in trouble, will it?"

"Not unless I pull it out from under someone."

"That's not a very comforting thought."

"Welcome to my world."


Another Saturday afternoon, between Poe and Hawthorne Cottages, Whateley Academy

After a few more sessions, this afternoon it looked like Elve was bringing someone new to the practice. Thomas wasn't sure he could keep track of two fledglings; he hoped the other wouldn't be too disappointed.

"Elve! Glad you could make it! Who's this?"

"Valravn, meet Smithy, my roommate."

"Smithy? You don't have first period Chem I do you?"

"Oh, yes. I'm partnered with this Danish guy - I think it's more to do with having the same advisor - lives in Hawthorne over there. Smart guy, quiet, but I always have the feeling he's taking the class so he can learn how to make explosives. Oh! Call me Abelyn or Abbie, either one."

"You can call me Thomas. By the way, I pronounce my last name 'Jensen', not 'Yensen'"

"You know the guy?"

"You could say that. Right! So are you here to practice flying?"

"Goodness, no. That's what airplanes are for!"

"You can have them, too. "

"Beg pardon?"

"Nothing! I'm just not fond of mechanized flight."

"Okay. You might want to talk to a professional about that. Anyway, I just need to get out and feel a little sunlight before the weather turns cold."

"There's benches and tables there and there." Thomas pointed out Fey's least favor lawn furnishings. "Unless you prefer grass."

Abbie smirked at the comment, "Moo!"

"Fine! Off with you! No live stock on the landing strip!"

"How about dead stock?"

"Only if they're really, really dead. And barbecued. Someone got me hooked on Kansas City style a while back."

Elve said, "I'm surprised your other half isn't watching today."

"He's pouting. He'll get over it though."

That was less than convincing, but the young woman was willing to let it ride for now.

"What's on the docket then?"

"Let's start with slowly going up to a hover altitude. Then we'll work on maneuverability. I've flagged a number of trees around her as a course..."

---

"... what was that?"

"What? Just now? It's one of the moves taught in Survival that's used for changing course in free running."

"Ooookay. Give me a minute to think about that, while you practice hovering in place."

- - -

"How about you show me some of these moves. I'm wondering if we can't work that into your maneuvering."

"Why? With my power it shouldn't be needed, right?"

"In that case, I shouldn't need ... these!"

Elve fell nearly the full three hundred feet, surprised at the sudden appearance of Valravn's wings. That was probably Abbie screaming, but that could wait. He dropped into a stoop to catch up with her and then powered his flight further to pull out above the ground and not in it. The girl was further shocked by her first direct exposure to NASCAR qualifying speeds without a car.

"Remember what Rule 1 was?"

"Always remember: keep on flying."

"Because the alternative can be painful. Let's land so you can catch your breath and think about this."

"You have wings? I thought you were a magician, not a shifter?"

"Who says I can't be a bit of both? This is one of the forms I can do."

"Why the wings if you can fly without them?"

"Gliding. Catching thermals. They make maneuvering much easier. Also, I'm told they feel nice and soft, although the commenter is notably biased."

"Oh, really?"

Thomas rolled his eyes. "He sleeps on a bed of rocks. Not a very high standard for comparison."


A Sunday afternoon in November, Perimeter Road, Whateley Academy

"Alright. So. I've tagged a line through the woods off to the side here, back to the road, around past Holbrook and then cutting back across campus. That gives us tight obstacles, some open sky, and a little bit more getting back. Ready to walk it?"

"You sure you're good with all of it?"

"I've been practicing while you were wherever you were that you chuckleheads won't talk about."

"Practicing English as well!"

"Kristian's roommate is a tin-plated jerk. Someone had to rescue the puppy. Come on: less talking, more doing!"


Saturday afternoon, mid-November, Crystal Hall, Whateley Academy

Thomas looked up at the approaching (very odd) trio, and asked Abbie and Elve "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Abelyn scowled. "That is definitely his 'This is going to land me in the hospital!' face."

"Hej, guys! Me and Thrasher are taking Murphy out to teach her how to ride! Wanna come with? Kris and Jo are hiding, again."

"Why don't you ask Vamp? I hear she's been bored lately."

"Awesome!"


Alex didn't speak to Thomas again for a full week.


Sunday afternoon, late November, Outcast Corner table, Crystal Hall, Whateley Academy

This time, it was Metro and Smithy looking far too pleased with themselves and with something looking disturbingly like the unholy union of a Goblin Glider crossed against a longboard and a hexarotor drone.

"Guys? Could we borrow Murphy? We need a test pilot who can skate, and teleport out of trouble, and high regen might come in handy."

Razorback signed 'Only if you promise to bring her back before 10. It's a school night.'

Murphy saluted his school night with both hands.

Jericho cleared his throat for attention, "I don't suppose you have any sort of adult supervision, do you?"

"Nah. We're just going to tag in on Valravn and Vaapat Taivas' flight line. They won't mind, much."

"Go with god my children!"

Sandra finished not-choking on her lunch to remind her friend and partner-in-crime, "You do know she knows where you sleep, right?"


Sunday evening, Crystal Hall, Whateley Academy

"What happened to the green deathmobile you guys had earlier?"

"Let's just say the last we heard from Murphy was the word *Mine!* and some mad cackling." "It was all good."

"Was this before or after Pucelle was almost run over by a low-flying UFO?"

"We can neither confirm nor deny the possibility."

Afternoon, October 11, 2007, Hawthorne Cottage, Whateley Academy

Away from few students gathered in the Common Room it was quiet. Perhaps a bit too quiet.

"Louis, dear, are you free?"

"No. It is with great sadness I report that I'm still confined to my accustomed tank, below."

Mrs. Cantrel chuckled at the joke, and soldiered on.

"At least one of us is where they were thought to be. Some of the other mischief-makers? Not so much."

"I do know that some of the more, erm, weather-resistant Kimbas are visiting. I'd rather not dwell on what weather would have to prevail to stop Phase, Tennyo, or Generator in their tracks."

"Let's start with Generator's location."

"She and Tennyo, along with Smithy, are keeping Compiler, Eldritch, Fire Forge, Metro, Pahelee, and Roulette from blowing up the building in the process of refurbishing the old boiler system to use a closed-loop for the working fluid, and ducting the heat exchanger and final-stage condenser to the forced-air systems. I'd be remiss to omit the capability of a boiler to use a number of different feedstocks."

"Why do I get the impression that some of the heat will be diverted to distillation?"

"That was the primary consideration."

"Louis?"

"The original topic was that it was a shame that all the rain and snow collected by the roof is just dumped into the storm drains. Then it was observed that melting the snow required heat, and there had to be much more efficient ways to melt the snow than using steam that is no longer being supplied."

"Louis. What are the kids using for fuel?"

"Let's just say that this is an efficient way to keep one of our charges from heading into the Grove with a, quote: honking big tank of defoliant, unquote, while also dealing with the logical consequences of not allowing prescribed burns."

"How much wood is that?"

"Whatever it takes to keep our miscegenated psychotic half-breed happy?"

"..."

"I'm told there's more snow accumulating than even the Grove can handle. Come summer we'll be dealing with wildfires throughout the area from downed trees and limbs."

"And where's the feedwater coming from? Even with the new wings, the roof intercepts maybe a tenth of the volume of your tank in a year. Or is this something else I don't want to know about?"

"Caitlin might have said something about humping a water elemental."

"I am going to pretend I didn't hear you say that."

"Technically, you didn't."

"Fine. Be that way. Where is it all being stored?"

"The raw influx goes to our miscegenated half-breed's backup reservoir..."

"I didn't know he had one."

"Neither did anybody else."

"..."

"The distilled, deionized, de-aerated, and essence-depleted output goes to my backup reservoir. If necessary, we can pump excess from there into the school's potable water system, or refilter it for Ricou's sterile saline supply."

"Who's hauling the wood?"

"Jimmy and Valravn for now. There aren't many students who can work outside in these temperatures for any length of time and be willing to be seen near the Freak House without detention involved."

"What about Tennyo?"

"The Grove likes to lead Billie and Mads through as much poison oak as it can find. Hence the honking big tank of defoliant comment."

Hall of Aesthetic Contemplation, Emerald Palace of the Revived Western Court


Her steps echoed a regal tattoo on fine green-seamed marble paving a hall wainscoted with planks of the rarest of greenwoods and hung with a nation's ransom of art. Some days, she was of a mind to remember the nation ransomed. Others, even she marvelled that the gilt frames didn't run red with blood yet unpaid.

Alone - for who would dare molest her here, in her place of power? - the Queen Regnant continued on to her private offices. Secure behind diamant windows cut from single-crystal slabs she could look out toward a coast by miles closer than it had been in her youth, if she chose. She didn't. No point in dwelling on the physical, emotional, or political gulfs between her and her former cousin. The Emerald Isles would make their own way, forever apart from the Western Court and its paramount Queen.


“So, are you guys, like, going to Whateley Academy?”

She turned swiftly, ready to confront anyone so craven as to intrude on her thoughts. But it was only a dark-skinned teenaged girl - one graced with amber eyes, a "killer bod", and an infectious devil-may-care attitude. How bright her candle had burned! It had been a joy to see her whenever she stopped by after graduation. But the visits became less frequent. They'd both assumed that friendship and time would go on forever, when only time could.


“Me Too! Kewl! My name’s Toni Chandler! And you are?”
“Hank. Hank Declan.”

Gods... Hank. His had been the calm, steady hand on the wheel of Team Kimba's ship through good times and through bad times. The Queen to Come had been responsible for too many of those bad times. Before they'd really, truly recognized that it really could happen to them, a pair of flag-draped coffins had served notice that it was too late to apologize to either him or Lily.


“My story isn’t as action packed as Hank’s or Nikki’s story.  But here we go anyway. I was born Trevor James Goodkind...”

Of course.

By the time the grouchy financier was finished, the world would know AJG Consolidated as the money behind the Nalley monopole drive, Bio-Regenetics' early forays into transgenic engineering, Earth's orbital ring, Phobos Station... Goodkinds fix things - including his family's greatest mistakes - and he would have loved to have seen Gaea's children inheriting the stars because of his efforts. Keeping the name and legacy going had been the least they could do for him and his younger sister after his remains had been interred in ARC's deepest, blackest hole.


“My cabbit!”

Nikki wondered if Billie had ever found a measure of peace out among the stars after the series of dreadful events which had made her little sister, Jade, whole for a short time before her life had run out. Probably not. By now the Scourge of the Isokist was safely entombed somewhere out in the galaxy - with little care for the fragile soul that had come to accompany it.


“Hi, Nikki! My name’s Bunny Cormick. I’m from Las Vegas.”

Dear sweet Bugs. Nikki had never deserved the inventor's love and attention. Had she looked beyond her own needs and plans maybe they could have made things work? Maybe not. Maybe it was just another case of not recognizing the good things in life until she'd pushed them away?


“Hi, I’m Sara. Sara Waite.”

For the Sidhe and for Others, blood truly could be thicker than water. Maybe the better metaphor was that they still mixed like oil and vinegar, right up until the day that the reviving planetary magicks made it too difficult to safely reach across the Veil to the Kellith. Nikki idly wondered how many times Sara had evolved and redefined her self, while she herself only grew into an unchanging destiny.


“Hey, what are friends for?”
“Welcome to Whateley, Chou.”

How many times had Chou looked out for her friends, even when she was ready to collapse under the strain of being Handmaiden of the Tao? How had that been reciprocated? Nikki searched her long memory and could not remember hearing about her (Or him? Had they ever managed to return to being Alexander Farshine?) slipping away from notice as quietly as they had appeared at Whateley Academy one autumn day.


"Now that I have your attention, I suppose you're all wondering why I called you here today"

In theory, an Artificer can live indefinitely, even forever. In practice, the volatile, irreverent, acerbic, cantankerous former U.S. Marine, could never do that. Her adopted family had gone, one by one, until only she was left. To just carry on, for the sake of carrying on? As if. Some still say that one's status in Hell is measured by the honor guard you take down with you. Caitlin would know whether that was true.


“Hey! Why are you crying?”
“Umm, because I’m dead?”

Dear, sweet, indispensable, Bree. In many ways she had been a sister to Nikki and Sara, bridging the gaps between them. Their last discussion, talk, argument, had been about a novel technology being brought on-line that could allow uploading of a person's brain to digital storage and simulation. She'd been dismissive of the idea, practically forbidding her sister to even think of it. It was all she thought of for days when they found a reverse-engineered prototype in Bree's home, and a letter addressed to her. She'd never known that the woman's nanite systems were failing - a lingering consequence of the shadow wars against the likes of the Palm and other enemies of humanity.


Programmed lighting came on to interrupt the unaging Sidhe Queen's reverie. It was getting late, and evening drew close.

"Hey, Nikster, ready to go?"

That wasn't a memory, though the voice belonged in the past.

Nichole Susanne Reilly, née Nicholas Reilly, Jr. (also called 'Nikki', 'Fey', and an entire litany of more pompous or foul terms, depending on the history being written), composed herself. It wouldn't do to show a weakness at this late date! She stood up to greet her uninvited guest. His body looked as young as when they'd met, but his red-green eyes were old. His suit was a thousand years out of date if it were a day. Nonetheless, the icy lavender cravate and red poppy lapel flower went well with the black tuxedo tailcoat and gloves.

In keeping with the past hours, she addressed him in the pre-Swarm English of their youth: "Count."

"Na, na. Don't be starting up with that at this late date!" He chided her as if he were the elder here. How long ago had it been since the sea had swept København away? Even the return of the World Trees and replanting of the great forests had been insufficient to undo the damage wrought in the 20th and 21st centuries.

"Then tell me, what are you here for?"

"It's more like like 'who am I here for'. I think you know the answer to that."

"But you... Why?"

The blond kid shrugged at that.

"You could say my luck ran out in the Second Battle for the Eris Gate, so I'm working one of my backup gigs. Shall we? I believe that your friends have been waiting to see you."

February 3, 2008,
Kane Hall, Whateley Academy

One would think that after a career with the U.S. Navy SEALs, being bonded with an experimental hive of nanites as the result of industrial espionage, having his body rebuilt to an identical copy of his deceased daughter, and working a year in Whateley Academy's Security Department, Samantha Everheart would be used to the various problems dropped at her desk. So much for a normal retirement.

Sitting across from her was the latest such offering: someone had managed to drive a clunker of a van - one for which even Melvin Donner wouldn't hold out much hope - directly onto campus. A Second Platoon patrol had intercepted her arrival and managed to convince her that a night in detention would be better for all concerned than one spent in a parking lot in February. The van's driver turned out to be a young woman who appeared only a couple of years older than Sam's apparent age and had a strong predilection for stars and stripes in red, white, and blue. Where Sam was physically lithe and blonde, this America Chavez was a tall, rather statuesque brunette - one with a chip on her shoulder large enough to compete with the star-spangled banner theme. Then again, Sam had been young, dumb, nigh indestructable, and ready for the world to fall at his feet at that age too.


"... So. Let me be sure I have this correct. You punched your way into this dimension?"

"Close enough. Being a Starling, I create a star-shaped interdimensional portal. The last step is to breach the remaining wall between here and there. It just works better when I punch or kick that last piece out. Or run it over with something."

"In this case with your van: I'm reminded of a few of our more enthusiastic drivers. Luckily for all of us, that does sound more secure than opening a portal that large and wide open at both ends during the transit."

"Madre de Dios! Do you know what could be out there waiting between realities to get in with a free pass like that?"

"Fortunately I don't."

Seeing the young woman's eyebrows scrunch up in annoyance, Sam decided to clarify that last.

"We know that there are things, entities?, that can break the human mind on sight. If you end up staying here for your field work, you'll be briefed on what we've learned about such hazards..."

"MY mind's not that easily broken, linda."

"If you say so." She omitted 'Princess' from the line. "Next, how did you choose to come to this place?"

Sam raised a cooling mug of coffee - NOT that board-etching and de-scaling brew served down in the Devisor Tunnels - to drink. If the girl in front of her needed time to gather her thoughts and explain, she'd know she had it.

"When creating the star portal to here I demanded the universe take me to a parallel in which Loki..."

Hive had to interrupt several nerve impulses on Sam's behalf to avoid her choking on the coffee. At least the girl wasn't actively searching for Coyote or Sun Wukong or Raven or The Puck.

"... and the revolutionary energies he possesses are active... "

Even with all the cognitive augmentations granted by Hive's advanced nanotech, it was difficult to reconcile that name with that word. Revolutionary?

"... but are as far separated from each other as possible. Are you all right Ms. Everheart?"

"I'm fine! It's not necessary that you encounter Loki himself, is it?"

"Only if I'm the one punching ese culo."

"I see."

"So, like I said earlier, that's how I come to be here for the internship that my advisor Prof. Douglas, arranged as part of the Intergalactic Revolutionaries curriculum."

Intergalactic what?

"As headmistress of the school, the final decision would be up to Mrs. Carson. However, I can say that it would have been helpful if Security had been informed."

"That wouldn't be very revolutionary, now would it?"

Before dawn, Wednesday, October 10th, 2007,

near Whateley Academy (kind of, technically)

Two hikers nearly stumbled over a deer, frozen stiff where it had fallen. In the world they were familiar with this, would have been somewhere between a vernal entity known as The Grove and Whateley Academy. Both locations posed their own risks, but Thomas 'Valravn' Jensen preferred this approach. Since he was leading the way– his partner's own skills at this type of travel being highly suspect– this was the inbound route they took.

"Any chance third time's the charm?" Mads 'Metro' Jensen asked.

"No. The manastorm seems to be centered on our destination. We're lucky to get this close, because expending essence at or in it just makes it worse. Pick up any radio chatter?"

"Some commercial transmissions, satnav. Nothing close. How bad do you think it is there?"

"Fimbulvetr..."

"That's not too bad with fur."

"... unless it's a visit from Ithaqua."

"And that's not funny."

"We'd lose our gear for sure."

"We could cache everything in a secure location."

"How do you expect to get in afterward, past locked doors, without opposable thumbs?"

"We could pray for help."

Thomas started looking up and around nervously as he backed away from the blasphemer.

"What?"

"I don't want to be standing next to you when the lightning strikes."

"You're immune to electricity."

"No one's immune to that kind of divine retribution."

"Besides, usually the answer is just 'no'."

"A category which includes the 'Fuck you and the horse you rode in on: NO!' answers, typically accompanied by lightning, brimstone, and lots and lots of salt."

"We could check the library first, if there is one here. Would that would make you feel better?"

From what buildings remained, one could determine that something like the school had once existed before being ransacked and torched. An occasional doubled crunching underfoot suggested that snow wasn't the only thing left lying on the grounds they crossed.

Like the rest of the place, the library had been badly damaged by fire, smoke, and years of neglect, barely standing as a mute witness to an attack. The two young men took note of a failed barricade that had been brushed aside, but gave it enough berth to avoid molesting whatever remained behind and under the scorched cabinets. They explored deeper into the building. If things were sufficiently similar to what they were used to, and for all the owners' sins, the special collections were likely to have remained intact.



Morning, October 10th, 2007,

The Endless Graveyard Of The Astral Realm

The old bone-field quieted once the sorceress Grimes departed, taking with her her personal fabric of symbols. Fear of death yields in its turn to grief and resignation. Foreboding tendrils of fog froze into hoarfrost. Stars wheeled and the moon shrank to a reddish disk limned only on one edge. A human figure approached the corvid apparition by foot over pavement of cinder and ash; its plumage - black cloth over pale skin in lieu of feathers or fur - was broken only by a lavender cravate and a single calla lily tinted in shades of murder pinned to a lapel. A bird circled overhead. Whether it guarded the intruder or hoped to guard against it remained to be seen.

The newcomer stopped at a gravestone close by the Grimes stone perch. He leaned back against it, facing away from Raven. However long it had been since Harbinger and Attendant last met, the elder spirit could still bide his time. Graveyards have no shortage of stolen time.

"You'll no doubt be pleased to hear that your student returned safely."

"Is that disappointment I hear, or jealousy?"

"...surprise."

"She's wearing her big girl panties."

A soft chuckle. "Fair enough."

"I prefer my protégés respect their own limits over barriers put in place or ignored by others."

The youth raised up a tumbler of amber fluid in a skeletal grip before saying, "Neither snow nor rain nor essence engine in the night..." taking a full swallow of the drink.

The spirit snapped its beak in laughter. "Going postal?"

The drink must have burned as much coming up as it had going down. The misfortunate spluttered, his eyes watering, "Have a little faith in me!" He scowled back at the treasonous brew. He tapped a bony finger against the glass, as if he were noticing something odd for the first time. The smaller raven landed on his shoulder, looked down at the glass, and then pecked the idiot on the side of his head.

"Ow! What did I do?"

It may have been a mistake to ask a loud bird perched next to one's ear such an open-ended question. Raven listened closely and was sorely tempted to give a translation. He did keep a few choice phrases in mind for the next poker night with the mutt.

"Mead was bought for gallows meat."

The youth stared long into the poisonous glass, pointedly avoiding the pair of black eyes to one side and the blue eyes to the other. His voice was rough as he said, "He, I, (We? Does it even matter?) never meant for those things to happen. Any of it."

"That is a matter better left to your own mentor."

"Spring 2008, then. What I see is people unknowingly drawing lots and not all the red in the air is dye. Afterward, the student population becomes less than it is now, and will have always been so."

Raven bobbed his head and ruffled the feathers over his shoulders as if he were shrugging, "The Enemy of Life has agents in or about that place. There are opposing forces, and there are forces that work to thwart those."

"Not counting the opportunists and scavengers."

*ahem*

"And if the designated heroes don't work out?"

"You do have an earned reputation for mayhem."

The young man raised his glass in a mock salute to the Raven before chugging the remainder of its contents. The smaller raven that had accompanied him took startled flight.

"Well then, let's not keep the hanged man waiting. Adieu, et bon matin."

'It would be poor form to watch the two leave', thought Raven. He instead watched the tumbler left behind by the magician. Remnant fumes began to etch the inside from bottom to top. The outside, where the grass had been held first cracked from the strain of condensing a fine dry ice, then flared incandescent momentarily. In moments, only vitreous rivulets remained on the headstone.

Saturday, June 14, 2008,
Biffen Nordkraft movie theater, Aalborg


"What a difference a year makes." thought Kristian Holm. School was out again, at least it was for Whateley Academy. And once again, his parents had required him to bring his little sister along with him to see a movie when he'd hoped to spend time with friends. Most of his long-time friends from before he manifested were busy with finals or had other plans to take their minds off finals. It hurt to think that maybe they had only been Emilie's friends and that Kristian was no longer anything like her or them. Only a couple of jerks had been rude about the mutation, and they had been jerks before that. However, thanks to a quirk of genetics he knew that most of the rest who would speak to him were uncomfortable around him and didn't seem to know what to say. Ten months in the States had not been enough for him to pick up the casual way that North Americans would strike up a conversation with complete strangers. Even if it came off as 'fake' friendliness here (not that it wasn't usually just that), even a tenuous connection to others might be better than the disconnectedness he felt.

Mads Jensen (who Kristian knew from the academy), with his mother and his younger brother had come to visit today. Not that he didn't appreciate the gesture, he did, but it was also a sure sign that his parents had noticed his not-moping-at-all, given the time and expense of rail tickets from Sjælland. It was some comfort that Mads had had to bring his brother along to the movie as well, so the parents could compare notes or whatever parents did when they talked behind their progeny's backs.

"So... I'm not sure what they're showing tonight, but the Pussykat Club on Vesterbro sounds like fun."

"Bror, I don't think Kris wants to take his sister there. Aalborg Teater is close to the place; you could drop Frida and me off there."

I'm missing something here.

"What's playing?"

"Spring Awakening."

That doesn't sound bad. Something cultural based on Copeland?

Frida was being suspiciously too quietly amused, and the Pussykat Club sounded familiar for some reason. Hadn't Thomas said something about not letting Mads pick the club or the entertainment? Kris looked up the club first. Oh, no. What about the play? "Spring Awakening" was not exactly "Appalachian Spring" either.

"No."

"What?"

"No. The only girls on film that we are going to watch are the kind who are paid to act."

"That IS acting. You did know that, right?"

If I don't ask, maybe I won't have to find out how he knows such things.

"Frida is too young. No. Forget I said that. WE are all too young."

"Did bror ever tell you about the Players Ball in Detroit?"

That does not sound good.

"How did you hear about that?"

No denial, whatsoever.

"The news. Explosions, improvised lethal weapons, general chaos and panic, and I've met some of the people you used to run with."

"Aaaand on that note, whatever that is or was, we are not having that conversation in front of my sister either!"

There were days when Kristian was thankful he didn't know much more about the hell-hole that had spawned Mads and Lars than he'd been briefed on. This might be one of them.

At the theater box office, Kristian was glad to see no interest in "The Happening". How could anyone have thought a movie about pollen-driven suicides was a good idea? Among the rest, including a war story and a spy flick, the new Spielberg film looked like the most child-friendly of the lot. Kristian made sure to have Frida sit next to him, just in case it got scary. Seating Mads on his other side, and Lars at Frida's, everything was suitably managed. If only it could stay managed. Just this once? Some time close to the library scene, Kristian realized that taking an action junky with limited self-preservation instincts and his devil-may-care little brother to see "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" - and sitting between them - might not have been the brightest idea an empath could have come up with.

...for there were others who had this knowledge, some of them would always be better than he was, and some of them had not sworn Solomon's Oath to take on the burden of the magical forbearance to 'do no harm.'

-- "To Seal Our Happiness (Part 1)"



Breakfast, Friday, October 12, 2007,
Crystal Hall, Whateley Academy

Wyatt 'Kodiak' Cody's head was still reeling with the world that had been opened up to him in the early morning hours. He was grateful that his instructors hadn't decided to give him a lecture on the spot as to which traditions favored lighting magical wells just after the cusp of the New Moon and why. Not that such knowledge couldn't be useful, but it was sufficient that the magical core of his self burned with an arcane fire he couldn't have imagined even twenty-four hours past. Not that Wyatt would have minded getting more sleep, but he was feeling a good kind of tiredness, similar to the cool-down after a workout that had finally hit an important group of muscles. A large helping of breakfast meats and delicacies on his tray promised to be just what the doctor (should have) ordered.

Wyatt asked his spirit, "Hey, Baloo. What was it like back when you were a neophyte?"

"You mean back when rocks were soft and cubs respected their elders?"

"I don't think even the Tao remembers that far back!"

"It was different for myself and Grizzly. Magic was always a functional part of us for as long as there has been an us to speak of. The Sundering came and changed, then changed again," The Kodiak projected a shrug of his shoulders into the young man's mind. "All I can do is work with what I have, to guide you into your own power. Without making too many fatal mistakes."

"Such as?"

"Forgetting that the mutant power ratings you've been taught here barely begins to address the power that Sidhe mages, terrestrial gods and their paladins, and others can bring to bear if they choose to. The coming battles with The Bastard have drawn the attention of numerous vested interests."

"If you're referring to the deal we struck with Rev. Englund, I haven't forgotten how useful Fey's power could be, nor how much we all lose if she falls." Wyatt punctuated his points by spearing a few savory slices of bacon.

"I was thinking about someone else."

"Who?"

"Try looking up from your food from time to time."

"Huh?"

Wyatt looked up into Metro's grinning face. Just great. Instead of enjoying a major achievement in his studies and a good meal, he was going to have to start the day by reminding some stupid freshman of his place. He chewed what food he'd already put into his mouth, giving the other time to say:

"My congratulations. . . and condolences too, I suppose."

Not the usual reason for a freshman to invade Alpha turf.

"I hope you have a good reason for interrupting me to offer them, you being?"

"Mads Jensen. We have met, in a roundabout way..."

'The tissue sample we were asked to analyze? Notice any similarities, cub?'

"... but yeah, I'm speaking about 1 am-ish, early this morning, basement of Kirby Hall, three women, one guy, sound familiar? - you lucky, lucky bear."

This was too early in the morning for that kind of lear, on a kid that young.

"If you're going to suggest that I was involved in anything inappropriate I'd recommend contacting Security. Maybe your therapist as well, considering it must have been in your dreams."

The boy ticked his replies. One finger up, not that one, "I work for Security." A second finger "It's therapists, plural." A third finger joined the others, though neither young man was a Boy Scout. "And there's no mistaking a ritual that the school insists on teaching. Even with Circe's shield work, I could tell that one of the three women was Miss Grimes. What I am saying to you is: welcome to the finger-wigglers' union, ya dork."

His mission completed, Metro shook his head in amusement and turned to walk away.

"Most people would've settled for a handshake."

Metro stopped for a long moment, then answered over his shoulder.

"Yeah. You'll get used to that."




Friday, October 12, 2007,
Independent Study, Kirby Hall, Whateley Academy


Circe sat patiently through her student's recounting of the morning's odd event. Wyatt Cody was surprised that she smiled when he repeated what the youngster had said about her shielding (skipping over the 'lucky, lucky bear' commentary). He was surprised again at what seemed to be regret? sadness? crossing her face regarding the bit about handshakes.

The sorceress spoke. "You need to understand that very few people, mutant or baseline, will knowingly allow direct physical contact with a magician. Those that do so tend to be signalling trust in, lack of concern for, or an ignorance of your intentions and abilities."

"Not disrespect?"

"After four years of being treated in the same manner? Not likely, no."

"What about the comment about your shielding?"

"He may, given enough time and blood loss, learn not to poke things that don't belong to him. I trust that you will prove a quicker study. "

Afternoon,
The Quad, Whateley Academy


The Fabulous and Sexy Imp noticed the two blond-haired boys when the one pointed at her, followed predictably by two young male voices arguing. One might think they'd been taking stealth lessons from the Secret Squirrels. God she hoped not.

"Seriously. You want to interrupt a teacher to tell her she's fragging up?"

"If it were me, I'd want to know!"

*sigh* "Fine."


The two changed the direction they were walking, to blatantly intercept Imp's path. This routine was getting tiring, but she did have a reputation to uphold. The taller one was clearly an exemplar; his body language hadn't caught up to his apparent age. The shorter one's body language read as older, though some of that could be military bearing. He was also packing small artillery. Their discussion was still in progress.


"... her Ms. Imp."

"Ms?"

"It's the very early twenty-first century. By now she's sure to have had a failed marriage or three."

"Mads, western civilization is not that dysfunctional!"

"Ah, innocence."

"Yes. It's something you've obviously been working on for quite some time. You should try it some day."


That was more interesting than the usual theft and larceny accusations, she'd give them that much. With that much early-onset cynicism, maybe it wasn't so surprising that the shortstop was packing heat.


"Ms. Imp?"

"Yes?"

"Er, you would not have seen the school flag recently, would you?"

"Of course! I even replaced it with a good-quality replica. Why do you ask?"

She'd almost missed the shorter kid signaling roll with it, but you don't get to be the Fabulous Imp by ignoring things like Syndicate hand-signs.

The taller one soldiered on, "The last I checked, today is a red flag day, and well..." He looked over at his friend and got a 'This is your fiasco. I'm just here for the entertainment.' look back in non-solidarity. "That is, er, are you sure that showing horns and a tail is consistent with that?"

Imp was 99.7% sure that the amulet that allowed her to "pass" was activated and working. However, this was Whateley Academy and anything could break down. Roll with it?

"Sad to say, the school does frown upon open display of powers and other fabulousness on red flag days. In my case, it's no secret that I've retired from my former life of crime to teach art here at Whateley Academy. That gives us faculty members some room to hang ourselves. Now, trade. Speaking of secrets, who are you guys?"

"Kris, I mean, er," the kid almost caught his friend's eye-roll. "I'm Rorsmand and this is Metro."

"You're just using this excuse to get introduced to the world of fine art, aren't you?" Got to drum up business somehow!

Kris actually thought about it, but looked over again at Metro's smirk and panicked.

"No! We, that is, I, was just concerned, about? My apologies for the interruption!"

"Have a good day, gentlemen."


As the two students beat a hasty retreat, it was amusing to hear their argument continue.

"Kris. Look. If I'd ever boosted or redeveloped an art museum, don't you think I would have mentioned it?"

"Hell no."

"Damn straight."

"You haven't, have you?"

"Nope."

"Why is that not a comforting denial?"



Evening,
Flying Blue Squirrel


As either luck or precognition would have it, one of the people Imp could trust with (some of) her fabulous secrets (A working girl needs to hang on to whatever mystique she has, right?) was seated at an open table. Practically an invitation! Picking up her Cowkiller Sunrise, she walked over to where Circe was sitting.

"Mind if I join you?"

Circe smiled. "Not at all. Please do. I was wondering when the next karaoke night was going to happen, myself."

A fair opening. "Second Friday after Halloween. We can't let anything interfere with candy, costumes, pranks, and more candy! I'd have gone for the 2nd, but I've heard that that's too close to the main event."

"As the third day of Allhallowtide, it lends itself to solemn observances. More importantly, it would also be the first night that Security and my department have a break from a week of double shifts."

"The pranks are that good?"

"Oh, yes. However, I get the feeling that you had something else to ask me?"

"I know it amounts to extra homework to grade, but would you mind checking something out for me? I have this amulet-"

"The one you use to disguise your more unique features?"

"Right in one! Don Pardo, tell us what our lucky contestant has won!"

"You're worried that it's failing. Can you tell me which student saw through the enchantment?"

"Some kid going by Roar-man. His friend Metro was busy trying to shut him up."

Circe smiled. "There's nothing wrong with your amulet, Christine."

"You've baited the hook. I'll bite."

"Rorsmand," It sounded different when Circe said the name, but she probably knew the kid's native language, "somehow has been gifted with da-shealladh, and so tends to see most of the living and some of the dead as they are." Her smile broadened, "Imagine the surprise when one of the psychic students walked through the mystic arts entrance looking for his Esper 1 class: not because he'd seen through the wards on the entrance but because he couldn't even perceive the enchantment in the first place."

"Not the best spellcaster candidate, I take it?"

"We'd have better luck teaching Roland."


From there, the two did move on to less work-related discussion, until Circe was called away to her newly-waiting table in the cafe next door. Imp took the cue to head back to her apartment and some take-out that was begging to be gobbled up. Along the way, something about one stray comment refused to go away.

What if Barney could be taught a magic trick or two?

12th century BCE,
March of Dreams, Near present-day Uppsala


The spirit cast his own memory back to an age passed. In his mind's eye he could see two broken and bloodied black birds had been placed upon the ground before the ancient cairn he'd been summoned to. Raven was surprised the red-headed Asgardian had stayed. He recognized the two. He'd been promised they'd be cared for. He'd promised them that they'd be cared for. He . . .

He hopped down to inspect the damage.

Little Huginn's right wing had been crushed then left unattended some days before his death. His body had the look of one who had died of thirst and hunger. The blow that had snapped his neck must have felt like a merciful end to the cruel pain.

His throat dry, Raven asked, "What happened?"

"He was sent to steal a mouthful of water from Mimir's Well. Mimir, he was too swift: he caught Huginn by the wing and crushed it, leaving Huginn to walk the entire way back."

"So he swallowed the draught and that enraged his master?"

"No. He was days in returning, but through signs and gestures he convinced a server to bring him to where he could spit it out into a proper vessel. It was at a great feast, and so he was punished for the insolence of discharging his duties so."

"Muninn?"

"His protest was deemed unseemly. It was decreed that if he imagined himself the equal of eagles he should have an eagle's wings."

Raven knew of the custom, as he knew many things he chose not to remember. He bridled his anger for the moment.

"What would you have of me?"

"Fix them. Replace them. It matters not to me or my brother."

"I will give your petition the consideration it deserves."

Raven bundled the juveniles up in the cloth they'd been carried in and flew elsewhere. He returned by a different route, with two juveniles of the common species. Out of morbid curiosity, he asked the Asgardian what they would be named.

"Huginn and Muninn. It wouldn't do to let slaves and commoners think any of us mortal," the being replied.

With that settled, Loki gathered up Huginn and Muninn, and went his merry way.


Raven spat on the jötunn trickster's tracks, "The day shall come when you and your brother look upon your own dead children as I have today and see the end of your day approach. How loudly will you laugh then?"




Fimbulwinter, 536 CE
March of Dreams


Sigyn slapped the Totem hard enough to leave welts on his beak:

Her eyes slitted in fury she spat, "You KNEW Odin's blood-oath was to Loki, never to any of his children. Our CHILDREN!"

Said "victorious girl-friend" could also throw a mean punch or two.

Objectively, her presence away from a certain coastal cave in the Arctic meant two things to the darkling spirit beyond her rage. Her children were long dead and her husband was now free to cash in all his favors owed. It was likely he'd margin more on top of them.

"Your husband and his brother deserved to know how that feels, the impotence, the anger, and oh yes, the sorrow and regret, having killed two children I'd trusted to them."

"You had NO RIGHT to do that!"

"I had every right."

"It was the same two souls murdered, you stupid feckin' corbie!"

Raven thought on his next statement. What would Coyote say? Probably something that would piss off the patron of high-rise fires even more.

"Sigyn, they didn't die in battle,"

Were her eyes glowing that shade of red before?

"Something I am very, VERY well aware of, having BEEN there, and knowing the ways of sword and shield myself. Perhaps I should demonstrate."

"Have a care, dirge-singer! What I'm saying is that they should be reborn after spending some period in Hela's care."

"They. Were. Destroyed. By those bastards. Nothing to return from."

"Hm."

"There's naught left to hang their stories on. If any sagas survive the Foreigner's rhymers' retelling, who in all the Creation will be pressed into their service? You don't know, do you?"

"I have my suspicions."

"Keep them. Though it prove our doom I and mine shall have our vengeance."

“I wonder why nobody has ever asked me to chaperone one of these trips,” I mused to myself with a smirk. My tail, hidden by both the masking charm and my coat, swished back and forth behind me, unseen.

Wednesday Afternoon, January 2, 2008,
Office of the Headmistress, Schuster Hall, Whateley Academy


Each new term, Whateley Academy students and staff managed to come up with some new and unusual set of problems to complicate or delay their arrival. The sub-orbital, jet-propelled pickup truck was a recent high-water mark that Elizabeth Carson had no desire to see surpassed. Yet, she had summoned one of her more capricious and flamboyant instructors to see a group of students safely back to the school.


"Christine. Under other circumstances, I would call in a more senior staff member to chaperone this group of students."

"Preferably one with a more boring background as well?"

"You'd be surprised how many times I've relied on Lillian's ability to keep unruly teens and adults in line. Unfortunately, she isn't welcome in Boston, and I'd rather not send her to Bedford."

"Hmmm...A man doesn't get in a situation like this every day."

"Not in Bedford Falls, anyway, but in Bedford? I've got a student who's been the subject of multiple attacks this past week, and a not-so-innocent bystander flying MAC to Hanscom Air Force Base very early tomorrow morning. Two others are on a red-eye flight to Boston, inbound from Heathrow."

"I've heard about things like this, but I've never..."

"Am I going to have to tell your fiancée on you?"

"What about security?"

"We're shorthanded thanks to other holiday misadventures, but one of the students you'll pick up in Boston has completed the DD100 course. I have an envelope of papers to hand off to him, once you've left the airport. You can pick up some xanax in the infirmary before you leave."

"Will either one self-destruct at the end of this message?"

"All I can say at this point is to be very careful what you ask for."



Thursday Afternoon, January 3, 2008,
Office of the Headmistress, Schuster Hall, Whateley Academy

Mrs. Elizabeth Carson, Lady Astarte, Headmistress of Whateley Academy, etc. had been waiting for this next appointment for hours - starting maybe with the second frantic phone call she'd received on her office's secured line. Christine was trying her best to look chipper and unconcerned, but like a cat's, Christine's tail moved differently in synch with her moods. An offer of coffee was accepted without comment.

Carson said, "You'll no doubt be pleased to know that the Haggets Pond Conservation Area fires are under control."

"That wasn't exactly our fault."

"According to the released videos the Lamplighter was ... overly enthusiastic. Interstate 495 was tied up for hours behind you."

"Obviously what they really needed was a Boy Scout."

"That's similar to the Air Force's opinion regarding earlier in the morning. Something along the lines of it being a military base, not a Jamboree."

"Rorsmand's the one who did the knot tying. That guy who showed up to stop us? I'm pretty sure he didn't pee himself until Metro started whispering in his ear."

Carson rubbed her eyes. The more she knew, the worse it got. "If they ask, I'll try to forget I heard that. Getting back to your return trip: the Massachusetts State Police has already dropped the kidnapping charges based on a lack of substantive evidence."

"Who got kidnapped?"

"There remain a number of competing theories regarding that."

"The more the merrier!"

"However, not one of them accounts for the decision made to head to Innsmouth."

"By the time we got out from under the KoP boys, it was clear that we were being tracked. On the strong chance that scrying was in use, Mads suggested we lose that tail by passing through one of the towns on the Mysty Arts off-limits list. Something along the lines of Let the looky loos perv on that drek for a while?"

"As you may have noticed by now, that boy's idea of the best way to evade a bear chasing him usually involves a detour through the den of something bigger and meaner."

"Also that the best defensive driving is a good offense."

"You know what? I don't even want to know unless criminal charges are involved."

"Probably for the best. I almost forgot: that xanax did come in handy. The 'batter' we picked up stopped screaming real quick once that hit his bloodstream."

"Why was he screaming?"

"We let Metro drive again once he regained consciousness."

"Why would that cause ... what part of the vehicle was he duct-taped to?"

"Funny you should ask that. The hood. And just so you know, we stayed five mph under the speed limit. The streets in Innsmouth are a little bumpy, and they only get worse at the beach. Have you ever tried getting a slimy, unidentifiable marine organism away from a cranky teen? That was an adventure, but the KoP guy didn't want back inside after that. So... When do I get to do this chaperone thing again?"

Winter Term 2008, Administrative email system, Whateley Academy

"One of the students had a neuron or two function long enough generate a useful idea. Let me know what you think. --A.H."

"I take it that Part C was your own innovation? -- E.C."

"Never Again Volunteer Yourself --A.H."


Spring Term 2010, Whateley Academy


Asa 'Percusor' Hernandez was quite pleased with himself, in that he'd managed (if not succeeded) where numerous predecessors had failed. The Whateley Academy Neopagan Knowledge, Education, and Research Society had a charter and a (somewhat unwilling) faculty sponsor. With that academic and bureaucratic support in hand, it was time for the logical next steps to be carried out.

He was only too well acquainted with the standing ban on any installations or dedicated spaces devoted to the worship or congress with any non-Christian (the Dillon Chapel remaining firmly ensconced in the academy's grounds, much to the resentment of the handful of atheists among the student body) Powers or Principalities represented through attending students. There were a couple of reasons for that acquaintance. Among them were his two-week detention served in various humiliating jobs and the recognition that it really was moronic to want a worship space dedicated to One who was already there. Did Jesus' followers go looking for a church or a corruptible temple, or did they walk with the one who had come to save them?

Thus, the charter was carefully crafted to focus on those entities of cultural significance who were not so readily knowable. It also included something of a post-graduation grace period because by all accounts Zeus and Hera were still Grade A Prime jerks after all these years. There was also no way Asa was going to admit to the rest of the club that Feral had offered to redecorate the Quad with the remnants of his testicles if he so much as encouraged the campus' former power couple. One strike, no matter how painful, was not yet an out!

It was with this confidence that Asa strode into Schuster Hall's administrative offices to request a copy of the elusive form F-0055 "Request for Permission to Maintain Public Sacred Spaces". He smiled back at Mrs. Claire's knowing smile, thanking her for the help before learning the requirements.

Back at their clubhouse/library room:

"What do we have to do, sacrifice a black cock at a crossroads at midnight?" asked Gladys 'Damiana' Mann.

Asa grimaced at the sarcasm, not that she was far off the mark. "Something even more of a commitment, actually."

"What could that be?"

"Part A requires a parent or legal guardian's signature for each of the club officers."

"Not chilling the discourse much, is it, guys," grumbled Kaylee 'Mara' Byers. On the other hand, if only one signature was needed, her mother would sign nearly anything sure to piss off her father.

Elija 'Orrery' Coombs shook his head. "Something like that pops up here and there in the Handbook, to discourage frivolous requests for things that will have to be removed at some expense later. Hey, my roommate's Jewish, that's how I knew that temporary shelters like a sukkah aren't covered under the prohibition. Besides, if Moshiach happened to enroll here, I think there'd be bigger problems ahead of us."

Gladys doubted the school cared even that much about outside minorities. Exemplars pretty much ruled the roost here. "If there's a Part A, there must be a Part B. Out with it, Ace."

"We need signed permission from recognized figures representing each Entity or Deity to be involved."

"No heresies, no problem. What about those who don't have formal cults?" There had to be a catch somewhere.

"As far as I can tell, their personal Mark would be accepted, or a 'signature obtained' statement vouched for by an instructor in the Mystic Arts faculty."

"So what is the catch? Our parents sign for us, Their parents sign for Them..."

"Close Damiana, so very close. Part C. Fricking Part damned C."

"How bad can it be?"

"Part B was religious figures. Part C is where their families have a 90-day period in which to file their objections."

Kaylee wondered out loud, "There's got to be someone somewhere who doesn't hate and isn't hated by their family, right?"

"Time to hit the books, then!"


Three months later

Asa opened 'Old Business' with "Damiana, who do we have so far?"

"Of the Greek deities, we may have gotten a sign-off on Nyx."

One of the general members asked, "Is that Stevie Nicks or some other Nyx?"

"That's why it's tentative. No one wants to upset the Lady of Night, least of all Imp-, er, Zeus. After all, the annual New York event is Night of a Thousand Stevies, not Night of a Thousand Pedos, so the Bad Boy of Olympus might not want to mess with Stevie either. I get the feeling that the Discordians would sign off on either one, with the majority in favor of the singer."

"What about the Norse? Personally, I'd love to get something going with Thor."

"... I'll just have to keep that in mind. The Freya who graduated from here had no connection to the historical one. Hela is a few weeks away from a court injunction or worse if she doesn't pick a new code name."

"Why is that?"

"Because the Mistress of Hel thinks she's an embarrassing little prat."

"Um, right. What about the others?"

"We have three direct male descendants of Odin on campus. One of them has called 'dibs' on desecrating anything erected to honor Odin or Loki. The other two want us to remember that they know where we sleep."

"Do they?"

"Ever hear of something called the Campus Directory?"

"Oh, yeah."

Sunday, February 3, 2008,
Office of the Headmistress, Schuster Hall, Whateley Academy

If anything, Sam Everheart had been reactionary, uptight, and still more efficient than America had expected, even managing a morning meeting with the Headmistress. The morning air was cool, only a couple of degrees below freezing, and clear. From the Kane Hall entrance America could see a couple of institutional style buildings south of a grassy area her escort called The Quad, the Beck Library to the east of it, and their destination Schuster Hall. Those buildings of note that weren't examples of poured-concrete Modern Soul Crushing were of the Early-Pretentious New England Style. Maybe the point of her assignment was to help the students liberate themselves from Patriarchal conformity?

Maybe it was just the job title, 'headmistress', that skewed America's expectations. Or, it may have been the marble tiled floor and dark wainscoting in the outer office. Either way, she didn't expect to be greeted by a woman who could have stepped right out of one of Steve Rogers' pinup calendars, dressed comfortably in a flannel shirt and jeans. Even the coffee from the woman's thermos bottle was good.

Elizabeth Carson took a slow drink of her coffee. Canela would be in her fifties by now if she'd stayed put, but she'd taken a chance on going where she could see histories being made. Now, one of the fruits of that journey sat across from her, bearing a recommendation for an internship. Was this a gesture of trust that her teaching skills had improved, or payback for her critiques on the young history student's term papers?

Setting her cup down, Carson lead back in with "Ms. Chavez, what has your professor told you about our school and this plane in general?"

"Not very much. There were growing concerns regarding mutants and mutation away from some arbitrary human norm when she left this parallel. She probably wanted to teach me to rely less on my powers, you know? The first time I met her I had walked straight into a simulator running with powers and magic neutralized 'to rely on ancestral knowledge and not just brute force.'"

"Walked in late, did you?"

"In one. How'd you know?"

"Canela Douglas was one of my students back when I was working on my doctorate in English Literature."

America's brows furrowed as she tried to do the math. "..."

"The last I checked, I was still seventy-six years old. Do you need to see my MID?"

"No! I mean, it looks good on you."

"I'm also in a relationship."

"I didn't mean it that way!"

"I have been around the block a few times. However, too many of our students come from very conservative backgrounds or are survivors of abuse. As an intern, you may be shielded from some of the acting out if you chose to be open about your life, but likely not all of it. That brings us back to the most important thing about Whateley Academy: we are here to keep our students safe, and to teach them how to survive in a world that is largely hostile to their existence."

"It's going to be harder than it sounds, isn't it?"

"Here I am, sitting in my office on a Sunday morning instead of spending time with my daughter."

"I didn't mean to get in the way of that! ¡Dios mío! I'd give just about anything to spend one more morning with my mothers."

"It's not your fault. One of our many high-spirited students... Let's say that I do thank God, or whoever's listening, that I'm not breaking bad news to his mother this morning."

"Is getting hurt while playing hero a common thing?"

"We do have some of those, but the neutrality agreements that keep some of the wolves from the gates require us to
favor neither heroes nor villains. In practice, that means that someone like Doctor Diabolik can rest assured that I, we, will do everything in our power to keep his children safe here and free to get the same quality of education as the children of any of Star League's members."

"If you ask me, that sounded un poquito too specific."

"This position has introduced me to sinners, saints, and monsters, on all sides of the law."

"As long as I'm not stuck with Loki ever again, I think I'll be able to manage."

"Remember what I said about neutrality, Ms. Chavez? Family members are allowed to visit, unimpeded and unmolested, so long as they behave themselves."

"Relatives? Him? Or her?"

"It's complicated. However the perimeter wards recognized one of his sons as close kin to at least one enrolled student."

A light flashed on the intercom. Good timing. "Obviously I haven't yet decided on placement for you. So, if you don't have any pressing questions for me, I believe your tour guide is in the outer office waiting for you."

"Pester her with the boring stuff?"

"Be my guest."

Mrs. Carson stood up, and stepped around her desk. Shaking hands with America Chavez she said, "Welcome to Whateley Academy," before escorting her out the door.

To: Gunnison, L., Cdt 3c
Fm: Gunnison, M.

Hey chummer, thanks for dropping by before heading out for school! Wish I could have been out of isolation to shake your hand, but if wishes were fishes, right? Same for wishing you success because I know you will do just fine. By the way, if Simpson gives you too much static, wait till he's screaming mad (bad habit!) and ask him if he needs to be reintroduced to "Pollywog Creek". What? I can lip-read a bit.

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L., Cdt 3c

Mads, what in seven hells did you DO? Or what did YOU TWO do?

Really, I do need to know, because I informed him that you hadn't told me YET, but you would if it came to that. I talked to your doctor briefly. She said one always makes promises instead of mucking around with threats. I'm not sure how to take that from from a surgeon.

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L., Cdt 3c

Thanks bror. Really. Mail call is right after lunch and I did not need that much detail.

---

To: Gunnison, L., Cdt 3c
Fm: Gunnison, M.

Never ask a question if you don't want to hear the answer. Thanksgiving?

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L., Cdt 3c

I am never looking at turkey the same way again, but yes. Travel arrangements SEPCOR.

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L., Cdt 2c

Bror, please. If you get this msg, please at least find shelter when you can? The weather's turning cold, and I worry.

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L., Cdt 2c

Godammit bror, it's NOT SAFE. People DIE that way. See you at Tday break, if you live that long.

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L., Cdt 2c

Very f-ing funny, asshole. I am glad you've found shelter and are attending school (On the south side of Hell by most accounts!)

But, No. Just, No. The corps-provided sniper on a rooftop doesn't count as "having someone looking out for you".
Yes, Winter Break, if one of your so-called "classmates" doesn't shank you first. Word is, that there's been an up-tick in gang-related violence in that area. Surprise, fragging surprise.

P.S. That so-called high school makes the "Seattle Underground High" hyperreal vids look like Princeton. Did you know that someone got burned to death in that school recently?

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L.

For the record, I had to cash a couple of favors to get this account, just to read your last msg. WTF,K? Why on earth would anyone need this level of encryption? Atkins, the guy who helped me with it, first was going to help me spoof the credentials to bypass the classification checks (Scary, right?), but my own worked, first time. He's refused to talk to me since. Would there just happen to be a reason for this?

At least you aren't living on the street anymore. I know, I know, you didn't sleep through Survival class. Who could? But you had me worried out of my mind. Can't someone get you into a better school?

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L.

Bror, thank you for the comm link. I can tell *someone* spent a lot of time on it. What was it originally? I need to know in case I get hauled into the Commandant's office again for even having something like that.

Of course I have money riding on the answer.

BTW, who's Proxie, and what did he mean by "that old firewall couldn't stand up to a matchstick"?

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L.

Happy New Year and all that, Mads. I'm glad, for certain values of shocked and appalled, to hear you have a job, but no one hires a 9th grader as an office intern with your academic record. No one. Seriously, bror, have you been seeing Dr. Owens like you're supposed to?

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L.

Owens was FIVE therapists ago?

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L.

At least you aren't in Lansing. One of the guys whose mother works in one of the enforcement groups says he overheard that some routine "gun and run" turned out to be tied to that war down in Amazonia. First, drug wars in Detroit, now this.

I think I get the part about you torquing off two very hawt elves. How drunk do you have to get an elf to manage that without someone dying of liver failure?

I still am having trouble believing that you're working as an intern. Apparently someone who looks just like you has made a good impression on the executive assistants and accounts clerks I've talked to.

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L.

So you've met a guy. It's about time, even if "it's complicated." Does Evie realize that telling me not to worry that you're spending your weekends in Kansas City only makes me worry more? There's no way you could afford to travel like that on an intern's salary! Or is this "guy" living there?

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L.

WTF do you mean by 'Survived surgery. Need better meds.'?

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L.

Nevermind. I talked to Evie. I'm still getting used to the idea that she's taken on both of us, but I think I can like her.

Bror, you could always use a few more working brain cells. You could have mentioned you still had a skull plate left to replace. See you over break, or will you be in KC?

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L.

Bror, it was great seeing you over break. You do look a lot better! One of these days you've got to take me to see this mythical office you work at. Meeting T was interesting. Caustic, but interesting.

By the way, when the hell were you going to mention that you're a mage?

Yes, the AK-97 is awesome. I did not know that that much recoil compensation could be retrofitted in. I did recognize the sound suppressor in the case. Did you know those things are illegal? Because they are!

Now for the thing I didn't want Evie overhearing. Remember that afternoon you lent me your -illegal in the States- skateboard? I was trying out a few tricks in the park you pointed out when some Russian dude comes up to tell me "Is good your brother trusts truce. Means no problems here, da? Say hello for Valentin." The guy moved like one of those Adepts in a spy flick, but for an Ork that's impressive. That's also insanely dangerous, which is why I believed him.

---

"This just in, hot off the Net: A second major explosion in Kansas City. No information yet on casualties. Initial leads tie it in to either the drug gang violence that led to bombings in KC and Amarillo a few weeks ago or to the international terror strikes earlier this year in Detroit and Lansing."

"Godammit, Mads, pick up! I know you're in Kansas City this weekend. Damn it!"

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L.

Bror. If you ever receive this, I want you to know I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry for not believing in you. I'm sure you didn't want it to happen, but I was read in today. Not everything, flatscan! I know they left out a lot because I'm still just a kid. But you're just a kid too! This can't be happening.

Wherever they send you, please try to make it back.

---

"This just in from Tír na nÓg: A raid on an IRA arms drop went wrong today. Several national policemen have been injured in an explosion at the munitions bunker and subsequent firefight. The search is now on for four munitions smugglers, armed and dangerous, possibly operating out of London."

---

Evelyn tried to brace herself as she worked in the kitchen to put together a meal with two extra plates. Lars might even eat for a change. Thunderbird's Song had warned her who'd be letting himself in. Right. It would take a top-of-the-line sequencer to crack the front door. Maybe she could tell Lars she heard something scratching at the ... her AR display flagged the door opening barely enough to fit a thin figure, with no one there. Three guesses who would have the guts to break in in daylight and still be that paranoid. She waited.

"AAAAAAAAAUUUUGH!"

*whooof!*

*thunk* *thump*

Ah yes, the sound of a human body crashing into an interior wall before hitting the wall.

"MADS!"

"Who? I'm not so sure. Maybe I bumped my head? Hej ... no, no, no, don't ... no, really. See? I'm fine. I'm here now, Lars. Just. It's okay. It's going to be okay."

"Dr. Beaulieu,"

"Please call me Evelyn, or Evie. I'm not on the floor."

"That does beat 'Who the hell are you and what are you doing with my son!'"

"That it does."

"Evelyn. I like the feel of that. Give them a couple more minutes. Braindeath the Magician is having some odd pains in his chest and throat, but it'll take a tow rig to make him let go of Lars right now."

"You two are still going at it?"

"Meh. He enjoys being a pest. An irrationally risk-taking pest with a nose for trouble - can the guy even walk into a music performance without generating injuries? - but a pest, nonetheless."

"He does grow on you."

"That, now that is a horrifying thought, woman. Are you *sure* he isn't yours by birth?"

"As a doctor and a woman, I can assure you that I would remember giving birth to either one."

The two refused to notice any red eyes or wet patches on the brothers' shirts as they walked in on the conversation. Mads positioning himself almost unconsciously to keep watch over his brother and foster mother.

---

Mama Bear hated that she'd had to ask her sons to come to the clinic to help out. On a good night, she, a nurse, and a local volunteer could handle the patient intake. Lars might be exposed to might be a knife injury or two, because the clinic was in a No Man's Land between Trog Town and South Detroit proper. Where it was needed. The bangers left her alone and she didn't have to break heads.

This just wasn't shaping up to be a good night.

The weather had been hot and muggy for days leading up to a full moon weekend. The kind that too often had ended with her setting one of her older son's bones or treating a dislocation, but the manic glint in his eyes, that lopsided broken grin: 'Hej, Mama! I'm still here!' somehow warming her heart more than he broke it. However, this weekend it wasn't just trog-punk mosh pit violence, but a drug money-fueled turf war.

Candace had had to cancel when already too many border zones went hot. That left Peters to assist in back, Mads up front to keep his brother too buried in filing forms and recording payments to deal with too much. She prayed what spilled over wouldn't be too much for the eleven-year-old.

By sundown, she and the nurse were trying like hell to save a young Ork couple's first litter. One of the babies would need to be turned to avoid a C-section they couldn't afford, or worse. The last thing they'd need would be:

"Doc. How's it going? Daddy's beside himself"

... exactly that.

"Oh, really? HE'S beside himself? HE DID THIS TO ME!"

"Tell him 5 cm, and no more interruptions if he wants to keep breathing!"

"Got it."

--

"Mister Torres? 5 cm, and I wouldn't go in there if I were you."

"Too true, kid."

-- one voodoo doll to be named after an obstetrician later --

"Lars, call up the forms list, we've got five sets of live birth records to fill out, not four."

*thunk*

"Aw, hell. New daddy needs smelling salts."

"NEW DADDY BETTER GET HIS ASS IN HERE AND MEET HIS KIDS, RIGHT NOW!"

"I'd hurry up if I were you."

--

A couple of hours later, even Lars wasn't astonished by his brother's announcement to the clinic's makeshift lobby:

"Folks, listen up! The word out of Metro PeeDee is that the Skeletons may be moving on the Chromers tonight. If you don't have colors - no, I don't need to know - anyway, the right colors to fly on the out and about, or serious armor, I'm going to recommend making plans for home while you can. Ms Williams, we've got time for Jeffy here if you've got wheels lined up."

"Yo, Al1ce! Is it just the Skellies and Chromes rolling?"

"'Busher, my man, you know it ain't. That's from the popo's tote board. Azzies are bringing in some high-grade for their Alpha-rated clients, but that drop won't hit T-Town streets. Make that better not. Looking at posted courier rates, the southwest docks 'round River Rouge must be getting warn-offs."

"Then I'll camp here until Mama Bear can work her magic on my arm. Better odds that way, I figure."

"Chip truth, that. Let me place some calls before the party goes mobile."

...

" ... yes, Max, really, really. Makes and models serious. Clinic? yeah. Listen, could you make a pickup on the way over? Sending that too."

"Ambusher, Miss Comstock, Mr. Smith, Mrs. J. Doe? I've got a mechanic in-bound with gear, he should be here in an hour or so, after a stop at Covenant Community. Yes?"

"If he's rolling straight through past Triple-C your friend better have his DocWagon paid up."

"I know Max. DocWagon and a metric hoopful of scrap iron stashed in the frame."

"I'll stay. You've got my interest now.

---

"MAKE WAY, people. That includes you, breeder. We've got wounded here."

"That's just peachy. One, this is Mama Bear's clinic, not the Skels'. Two, no colors. Three, I mean ditch the fragging colors and stop waving heat. NOW."

"Do you know who I am, brat?"

"In a whole world of fucking pain if you don't move your mother-fucking hand off my arm. Neutral ground here, but I WILL make an exception for you. Five seconds more, BOYS, and I'm calling the hunt on whatever's left."

" ... Axe, Jake, do it. 's'n order. "

"You just got lucky, kid."

"Jake? Shuddup."

"Back again so soon? Back off, bucko. Lars? Paperwork for Mr. Mickey Mouse. Let his friends help with that. What've we got here?
... slot me sideways. Doc's still in surgery, too ... damn.
Yo Bones, you're still conscious. What are you running on this evening?"

"Nothin' man. Jus' *argh* clean *m'th'rf'kr* Guts n' Coke, okay? Tha'z it. Swear. Don't poke there!"

"Listen hard. We're short on supplies, the night's young, and you're short on time. I need your permission to do what I decide is necessary to keep you alive. Scan?"

"Yo! We didn't bring him here to die on us!"

"... yeah. Whatever. Do it. "

"Got it. Lars, keep an eye out for Max inbound. Miss Comstock would you go outside with Lars to keep watch?

OK. Right. Lemme break out a tray."

...

"Gentlemen. These, are bandage scissors modified for ballistic clothing. Over there, we have an assortment of implements. You'll be removing clothing and armor as I direct once I scrub up, aaaand holding your bro down. But first,

"Folks! I've got 100 ready to go for one good hit of Nitro. Any takers? Thank you sweet lady!"

...

"'busher, Comstock, thank you for pitching in, waiting for Max, and NOT running away screaming when he showed up. I owe ya."

"Null sheen, omae. I was surprised to see a cleancut like you reach in for those rounds. Messy work."

"Beats losing a patient. Sucking up a few miles of ditchwater and muck - that's messy."

"You see? It's all about people. That's why I want to start up -"

"NO, Max. Just, no. And we both know your dogs hate me."

"They don't hate other Changelings. I don't understand how there'd be that much difference."

"I don't want to test any theories about that either."

...

"Um, Max?"

"Yes? Lars, right? You know, you do look a lot like your brother."

"So I'm told. Yeah. Are you a runner? You seem awful comfortable with combat medicine."

"What do you think?"

"What about Mads?"

"That's his name? I sort of forgot while we were in London. No offense, but who'd hire a kid for that kind of stuff?"

"London?"

"Ahhh. Ummmm. Don't tell your brother I mentioned that. He can be a little scary even when he isn't on edge."

---

To: Gunnison, L.
Fm: Gunnison, M.

Guess who'll be back in Motor City to see you off to your 1c year? Also, whatever rumors you've heard, I had nothing to do with it. Want anything from the Tir?

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L.

Mads, thank you ever so much for introducing me to the perimeter security patrols. According to my teacher, we're not supposed to notice them. First time I've ever lost points on a quiz because it had to be classified. Thanks.

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L.

Speaking of things you could have warned me about: the Bravo Company awards case. Apparently, I'm expected to be as good at orienteering, confidence course, and outdoor swimming as 'The Madman' was, his 1c year.

P.S. This year's confidence course was designed by a sadist.
P.P.S. I'm still not fine with turkey.

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L.

I enjoyed having a relaxing Winter Break, but the barracks here feels more like home. I can't believe I'll be in 7th grade next year. Is it too much to hope that Seattle will be a normal assignment?

---

To: Gunnison, M.
Fm: Gunnison, L.

Based on the news from Seattle, I can only assume that "normal" is a setting on my big brother saw on a washing machine, once, from a distance, using a telescope with dusty lenses. I wish you could have made it back to Detroit for Spring Break, but there's always next time, right?

P.S. Evie told me about your arm.

---

To: [expired account]
Fm: Gunnison, L.

Bror. They said it was a routine courier job.

How does a "routine courier" go missing?

All I remember is how sad you looked packing for the trip. And you and Thomas both were looking around at everything like you didn't think you'd see it again. But it was you I wouldn't see again, wasn't it?

Evie said this would be the last msg I could send to any of your accounts, and that I'd understand some day.

I don't want to understand some day.

I want my brother.

---

Author's note: All events referenced happen over the course of two years, prior to the start of " Chewing Through The Straps "]

Sunday, February 3, 2008,

Office of Student Services, Schuster Hall, Whateley Academy

Perhaps Providence had decreed that the first meeting of the morning had gone too smoothly. Or perhaps, it was just one of those days. Maybe it was something in the way that Auxiliary Security Officer Jensen stood - more like bounced on his heels in a localized area - or the slight build that helped make him look short for his age, or the way his restless glamour silently keened the untended dead into the aether, but Ms. Chavez must have seen enough reminder of the despised Loki Laufeyson in the boy to clench her fists. Jensen went on alert at almost the same time. Elizabeth Carson braced herself to intervene, but she'd also taken stock of the bandaging barely hidden by the duty cap that the young man was wearing. She could work with that.

"Mister Jensen! Would you care to explain why you are standing duty while injured?"

Jensen didn't take his eyes off of Chavez as he replied, "Ma'am, Admiral Everheart thought I should get an early start on my latest detention. Should I have reported to Arena 77 instead?"

"No. It was intended that someone from Security show Ms. Chavez around campus, not necessarily to defend themselves from her."

"Mrs. Carson, do you know who that son of a whore is? He's —"

"Mads Christian Møller-Jensen af Rosenborg, a freshman-year student at this school and the eldest adopted son of a talented surgeon I'd gladly welcome to practice medicine here. Trust me, we have met on more than one occasion."

"Ma'am?"

"In my position I have to always be on the lookout for new talent to make up for attrition."

"I see."

To be fair, America didn't want to fight a kid, and the more she looked at him the more she could make out differences. This boy was a few inches taller than Kid Loki, had dirty blond hair instead of jet black, mismatched hazel eyes instead of green, a f-ing assault rifle and pistol, and somehow he was even paler than that Asgardian pain in the culo. She asked him, "If you aren't him, then why do you remind me so much of a certain lying, thieving," *ahem* "... jerk I used to know?"

"Maybe some of my awesome rubbed off on the Wilson by accident?"

"Ay! Now I've got it: you both have a head you don't need."

Jensen raised one eyebrow in disdain, "Miss, I don't provide those services to just anyone."

Mrs. Carson sighed, "Can I trust the two of you to set aside your plans for impending apocalypse long enough to manage one tour of the campus?"

"Yes, of course." "Yes, ma'am." Both: Not a chance in hell.


Homer Gallery, Schuster Hall

"Are we really supposed to be starting this tour with an abandoned museum?"

"The Homer Gallery is part of the standard nickel tour we give all our incoming. Think of it as a rite of passage."

"Is that why you picked the lock?"

"No! Of course not. I just had to give it a little encouragement. Let's start with the one piece every new student must view within their first conscious 24 hours on campus: a portrait of Lord Paramount, Prince of Wallachia."

"Why? While you're at it, what's with the Vlad Dracul reference?"

"One: he's a major donor and money talks. Two: Wallachia is in Eastern Europe, maybe he sees himself as unifying the postage stamp country as a bulwark against the infidels."

"Megalomaniac."

"But a successful one. They'll have to enjoy it while he lasts. Now this over here is gold. That's pretty much all there is to it. One ton of gold. It's supposed to be a statement - up to the individual to figure it out."

"Let me guess: another major donor with more money than God?"

"Yep. Gabriella Guzman. Like Paramount, she's an alumnus, only her money comes from real estate and other businesses in the Southwest and Mexico." Metro paused, and let his voice become much more somber, "One thing to remember if you happen to meet her is that her kid was murdered here on campus last year."

"Madre de Dios!"

"Puts that lump of gold AND the portrait into perspective doesn't it?"

"And then some. Was the killer caught?"

"As far as I know. But word is there's more to the case than that, and that's all above my paygrade. On a happier note? Superhero costumes that beg that universal question which spans the generations: 'What the hell were they thinking?'"


Crystal Hall

The Crystal Hall was ... interesting. The geodesic dome was somewhat dated, and there was a hint of that universal cafeteria smell, but the layouts of the different dining levels and the interior design demonstrated that someone had put thought into a recent rehab of the place. What truly stood out was the variety of shapes and sizes and appearances among the student body. The kid pointed out some features of the weekend morning's sluggish self-organization of cliques, clubs, gangs, and mobs. It seemed that no matter which universe one chose, there would always be The Beautiful People (some of whom were so smoking hot America might consider trading teams for some batter practice), the Losers, the Misfits. But what could possibly be the point of having Jocks and Cheerleaders?

Some of the kids were weird even by Roberto da Costa's standards, others were prime trademark infringements if this universe had a Marvel Comics worth paying attention to. "What's with the Dani Moonstar clone?"

"Hm? Down, girl! That's Pejuta and I hear she's got a lady of her own back home. If you mean she's heavy into her tribal identity, that's because she is. She's also divides her time between rehabbing ancient autos, combat skills training, modeling, math tutoring, and inter-planar travel."

"Not impressed by a strong young woman showing she can make it in the white man's world?"

"From the combat simulator schedules I've seen, she's doing that by burning her candle at both ends. Anyway, over there we've got our special needs line, one of the 'big eaters' lines, and you can pretty much tell what the others offer. Let's show you the faculty and staff dining area so you can grab some grub off someone's ID other than mine."

"Why not yours, too cheap to share?"

"I pick up my meals from the short bus line."

"Just how special are those meals?"

"The chefs pride themselves on being able to prepare nearly anything needed, and it still be edible. Even Muktuk a lá Minamata. On that cheerful note, I'll be back in thirty minutes or so to continue the tour."

9:15PM, December 24th, 2007,
Aarhus, Denmark

Margrethe checked her watch. If all had gone to plan her cousin's guest should be nearby and her grandchildren either running from them or ganging up on them. Remembering her own grandfather and knowing the children's mothers as she did, the smart money was on the latter.

"Mary? Would you be so kind as to check on the boys and Isabella? I hate to think what mischief they might be getting into."

"I was thinking the same thing myself. By your leave?"

"Of course."


One week ago

"Rudolph!"

< Sshhhh. We must keep it a secret. Julemanden doesn't know I'm here! >

Mary pursed her lips, not wanting to convey Parental Approval for whatever was coming. "I'm beginning to see the reasoning."

< I promise! He IS coming, right? >

< Of course he is. Maybe he'll bring some Lego blocks? >

"This went on for hours at the airport in Boston."

< What are Lego blocks? >

< Lots of fun! >

< ... for big boys who pick up their toys! >

"Mads, Kris, I'd intended to ash what the two of you think about the school? I'm sure the publicity photos don't tell the whole story."

"I thought you were still trying to weasel out of that?"

"Have you met your aunt? Or Tink?"

"Who's Tink?"

"A cheerful, if diminutive, young woman capable of striking terror into the hearts of velociraptors."

"A velo-, ci-, um, that?"

"A dinosaur that runs fast."

< Could I get one of those for Christmas? Does it fit in the sleigh? >

Mads smiled brightly. "Would an autographed photo suffice?"


One hour earlier


Monica's voice called out from the Turners' back porch, "Jack! Just the person I wanted to see!"

< Go. Save yourself while you can! >

Adam Carlisle giggled at the lame movie quote. "Race ya!"

< You're on! >

Loser had to sign the printed-out photos last, with the girliest glitter pen. Life was so unfair when you're Jack Carlisle.



< What do you mean I get to deliver them too? >

"Stop being such a baby. Here, take this." She handed him a glass rod. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out where to put it. "You break it when you're ready to come back. Come back early enough and we'll take you to out for some last-minute shopping."

That was so not happening.

She handed him the mailer with the autographs, and started with the chanty finger-wiggly stuff. It's even more confusing with extra arms. "Say hello to Denmark for me!"

"WHAT?"


Down the hall

Mary opened the door to the room, one where the children were supposed to be behaving themselves, in time to hear "Yay!"

"Oh my God!" was her own response to the sight.

There was a small (?) dinosaur sitting on Mads' chest. Her son and Alexandra's youngest were riding on the dinosaur's shoulders, cheering it on, much to Nikolai's and Lars' amusement. Thomas had Isabella out of her crib and well away from the rough-housing. That must be the one sane man in this mob. At least no one was crying or bleeding.

The dinosaur barked a couple of times at its prey before turning his head to check out the intruder. It gestured in some form of sign language which a box hung round his neck translated to:

"Did you want this one? He's a bit scrawny, but put enough ketchup on and no one will notice."

Nikolai announced, "We better call it. I think Mads is turning blue-er."

Lars told him, "I'll get Felix if you'll get Christian."

"Deal."

"I'm just going to lay here for a bit."

"Oh, is that so, Mister-my-ribs-are-all-healed-up?"

"Doesn't make Jack any lighter. What've they been feeding you, entire herds?"

"Gentlemen, I would like an explanation for all this. One of you must be capable of acting his age."

The "dinosaur" named Jack leapt over to a table to pick up a mailing tube, before helping Mads up and walking back to the unamused parent. She looked familiar, but how would anyone normal know Metro? Unless Noms had sent him to Hell... hopefully by mistake.

Again from the translator box: "My dear lady, I was sent here from the farthest miles and miles of miles and miles to peacefully deliver this before I was set upon by rabid Vikings. Though sorely persecuted, I prevailed."

Mads spoke up, "May I present to you Jack Carlisle, from Australia's Northern Territory, otherwise known as Razorback the Detention King of Whateley Academy."

"You're the one racing to catch up, pinky biped."

"And Jack, I should also properly introduce Her Royal Highness, Mary, Crown Princess of Denmark."

So THAT was where Jack recognized her from! That must also be why everyone had insisted that Jack make the delivery in person. Such great, great friends he had. He'd plan his vengeance later.

Northern Territory? Darwin? Mary felt numb as she accepted the mailer, "Thank you." Opening it, she saw three other faces she knew both from television and from reports, which meant this had to have been one of the people who risked their lives back in January. If he knows Mads from school, he couldn't be more than a teen himself? She extended her hand for a handshake, "I do mean Thank You to you and to your friends."

Jack pointed a clawed thumb at the crazy one. "May I ask how the rest of you know him?"

Christian said, "Rudolph said he could get me picture of a dinosaur for Christmas, and you came!"

The oldest of the four explained, "He means 'Cousin Mads'."

"Thanks, guys. This bus will do just fine. Oh, look: rust on the undercarriage."



Afternoon, December 24th, 2007,
Turner Residence, Kilgore, Texas

"Jack! What took you so long? Noms said all you had to do was hand over the photos."

< There I was, minding my own business, when suddenly I was attacked by Vikings. >

"Riiiight. Save it for someone who'd buy it. Any last-minute requests for dinner?"

< I'd like a pony. >

Early morning,
Hawthorne Cottage, Whateley Academy

Like any other school day at any other boarding school, the hour or two before breakfast and classes was the usual helter-skelter cluster-stumble as night owls and procrastinators barely avoided being run over by the eager beaver morning persons. The superficial differences in form and capabilities among the youngsters added a mad touch of diversity to the crowd. Informal wagers over what Jimmy T would be waking up as mixed together with the latest emotional weather report for downtown Eldritch-ville, hummed snatches of bad indie pop, and sometimes really weird gossip. It shouldn't work out, but from the house parents down to the youngest resident, it was made to work.

Debbie Cantrell put down the telephone receiver in her office. The news was good. By most measures it was even great. However, she had no illusions that the young woman moving back in had emerged unscathed by her ordeal.

"Should I make the announcement now, or present it to the children as a done deal?"

A middle-aged man appeared in the room, remaining standing to better stay face-to-face with the House Mother in her grav chair.

"I think we should break the news to Caitlin and Melissa first, then send out an email. The freshmen shouldn't know her at all. Even some of the older students never had much contact with her."


Lunch,
Euro-Promotional League table, Crystal Hall, Whateley Academy

Mads 'Metro' Jensen had been seated for maybe five minutes, just enough to plan an assault on whatever the dietitians had dreamed up this time. The green things that looked like nano-cabbages looked and smelled dubious. He tapped one with a fork before holding himself stock-still to double-check if they were still moving, just in case.

"They're called brussel sprouts," offered Thomas 'Valravn' Jensen, sitting down next to Mads. "Or, little green balls of death. By the way, check your mail."

Mads mumbled something along the lines of, "Whatever I'm accused of, I'm probably completely innocent. Brussel sprouts are cruel and unusual punishment for whatever I didn't ... Uh. Oh."

"Might as well eat while you can. They might be cool with it."

"You do know that you are automatically implicated as accomplice?"

"What else is new?"

Unless his taste buds deceived him, the less chewing and more swallowing involved, the easier the sprout things went down. The rest of the meal was easier to chew on. Twelve minutes in, Mads was able to excuse himself and head off to his residence cottage.

Reach stared at the Thornie's retreating back. "Wow. The guy managed to eat like a normal teenager for once. No offense, Ayla. Any chance we'll get to know the occasion?"

Thomas smiled. "He just remembered where he put one of his library books."

"He reads?"

"Sometimes he even reads the things he's supposed to."

"How often is that?"

"I didn't call it a habit, now did I?"



Midday,
Hawthorne Cottage Common Room, Whateley Academy

"... back, Sara. I hope you don't mind that we tried to not make a big fuss over move-in," Mrs. Cantrell said.

"I don't. I do mind being treated like a fragile china doll by Otto and the few staff members who weren't openly hoping I was burning in Hell."

Louis Geintz replied, "Not being in a position to free you doesn't mean we weren't worried. In fact-" In fact he was interrupted by a student trying to get through the main doorway before the door fully opened. Judging by the labored, raspy breathing and purplish complexion, Metro must have tried running from wherever. What could be that much of a problem? Oh. Oh, dear. He reached out telekinetically to stop the boy.

"Sara, might I introduce one of our fellow downstairs residents before he passes out trying to sneak past us?"

This was more like the Whateley Academy that Sara dimly remembered!

"I'd be delighted."

"Well, then. Sara, this is Mads Christian Møller-Jensen. Mads, Sara Waite. Carmilla, this is Metro, who I believe would be delighted to escort you to the Lovecraft Room."

Sara held out her hand for a handshake. Mads hesitated a moment but returned the courtesy with a firm handshake of his own.

"Really?" Sara's smile was a shark's grin in freshly-chummed waters.

"Surprising to say, that's where he was heading in such a hurry."

Busted.

"Far be it for me to impede progress." Sara snared the boy's arm in hers, "Lead on, MacDuff!"



The Lovecraft Room, Whateley Academy

Sara wondered if the boy was mute, intimidated, or afraid to admit whatever he'd been up to in the Demon Princess' absence. If the latter, she hoped against hope that turned out to be very naughty. With her luck, the worst he'd done would be to read a book. Considering the books she hoped she still had, that could be very, very naughty.

At the door, instead of pulling out the room's key Metro retrieved a lock pick set. That explains how. Almost.

"This might take a few tries. The room's presents a different tumbler arrangement every time I," he said before the door he leaned on opened of its own accord.

"I know I locked this door! Of course, if we were going to be ambushed it's a little late to start shooting."

"Personally, I think it's never too late for some well-placed target practice." The voice was unmistakably male, richer than chocolate and blue velvet, and came with a tall, dark, gorgeous man who the boy could have sworn hadn't been there seconds ago. He would have noticed!

"Daddy!"


Sara ran to greet her father with a hug.


Gothmog released his dear child. "Some other time perhaps? Where are my manners today? I am Antonio Marques Dominguez, Sara's father. I admit to being curious as to who else has been using her room."

What Mads thought: I'm more curious about using him in her room.

What Mads said: "I've been storing some reading materials, that's all. I'll just grab the manuscripts and get out of everyone's hair."

Gothmog stifled a laugh. "Academic study in a school? Why don't you show us the manuscripts? You've piqued my interest. Sara has some valuable first editions of her own, here. I'd hate to see them get mixed up." Seeing the boy's suddenly guarded expression, "I am not kidding when I say that some of them are not for general consumption."

Sara said, "I would like to see what you've gone to so much trouble for, and - no promises, but - I might even be able to help you with translations or interpretations."

Realizing he wasn't getting out of this, not with two entities packing the raw power he associated with Dragons and Other Equally Bad News, Mads walked over to the room's writing desk. From a shelf above the desk, he pulled down a couple of tomes that she knew damned well had not been there the last time Sara had seen the Room. Both were inscribed with the Elder Script of the Hyperboreans, one dealt with the wizard Eibon, making the other tome an ancient version of the nigh-apocryphal Pnakotic Manuscripts.

"Those weren't here before."

"Like I said, this seemed like the safest place to keep them."

"How did you come across these? Somehow I don't think you checked them out of the library."

"One could say we rescued them from inevitable decay."

"Riiiight. Were there other books like these?"

"There was one about Ghoul Cults."

Cultes des Goules was only one of the most accursed tomes of black magic known to the West. Truly healthy reading for a high school freshman whose main concerns should be mid-term grades and seeking a cure for virginity.

"And where did you leave that one?"

"On the nice fireproof floor. I can take a hint."

The Mythos texts Michael Waite had been familiar with were far more likely to arrange the ignition of the reader first, along with scenic portions of the local countryside. Sara could feel her father's amusement.

"And you've been studying these?"

"When I get enough free time," Mads shrugged. "Whether I am studying them is an open question."

"How so?"

"I looked up semi-historical Hyperborea in the library. I'm fairly certain that Old Norse was not being spoken back before Uzuldaroum was scraped off the face of Greenland."

Sr. Dominguez had a suggestion. "Son, why don't you leave those here? They've been safe here so far, and it would be far easier to explain visiting my daughter than picking the lock to her room."

"You may be right, but the room and I enjoyed the challenge. You're both sure?"

"Mads, if I'm not engaged in personal affairs it's okay to visit. Just, knock first, please?"

"I can do that. I should also get to class. Sorry to be such a bother!"

Sara waited until the boy had scurried out before speaking again.

"Old Norse?"

"I did say his ancestry explained a lot."

Wednesday night, October 31, 2000,
Atlanta, Georgia

That Traps was too young to have proper iron boots fitted to him didn't keep the gang leader from expecting the boy to wear the next closest gear: combat boots and blacked steel greaves to go with the jacked bracers hidden by the green jackets they all wore. The extra weight would either toughen up the kid who'd been traded to the Redcap Bombers, or make sure that he was the laggard caught in case of a pursuit. Either outcome would work for Scian, not that he worried about it. No, tonight was a night for trooping the colors before ditching the kiddies and getting down to the real partying: roughing up some of the normies posing as their betters, maybe catch a dream merchant or two for a shaking down.

Word on the street was that one of the normies was still determined to move in on Bomber turf after the last couple of "warnings". Maybe the baby changeling could earn his place in the world sooner than later?


10:20 PM,
Peachtree Center Avenue NE, Five Points

Marjie Kane was having a miserable night of it. The usual mid-week traffic was tied up with chaperoning their little rugrats' trick-or-treating or escorting their balls-and-chains' to some office party or what-not. Spooks and freaks don't pay enough to cover the street tax. What she least needed to see right about now was a murdered-out Suburban slowing down to pull up to her corner.

Instead of the driver spouting some lame pickup line through an open window, someone Marjie never would have expected stepped out.

"My, my. Aren't you just the sweetest young thing? I could just eat you up!"

This can't be happening.

"Now, now, don't be that way! It will all be over before you know it."


11 PM,
Andrew Young International Blvd.

The woman wearing Marjie Kane's face was enjoying being out and about on a clear, cool, All Hallow's Eve. The teen didn't look half bad to start with, and being relatively clean for this time of night could only help her favorite game.

'“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly,' mused 'Marjie' as a couple of bangers wearing bombers, boots, and red gimme caps separated from their roving circle-jerk and headed her way. The runts of the litter were likely circling around, so she steeled herself for the oncoming sleaze as these two stalled for their friends to come around. She pretended not to notice them, humming a little song to herself. How did it go? 'It's all the same, only the names will change; Everyday, it seems we're wastin' away.'

"Ey, what's a pretty young thing like you doing, hanging out in a place like this? Don't you know it ain't safe out here all alone?" The Russian judge gives Bozo #1 a 3.2.

"Hm? Doesn't that go double for a couple of guys like you? I hear that 'white after dark' is a misdemeanor unless you're dressed for a convention."

"Naw, you've got us all wrong. See, it's only a problem for those who ain't working with paid protection." And now Bozo #2 barely avoids going out of bounds with that threat.

"You two being the protection I should be hiring?"

Bozo #1: "I'm sure we can work something out, for the right considerations."

"Who's going to protect y'all from me, sugar? The Great Pumpkin?"

Here comes their cavalry, baby banger and all.

"Let's just say I've brought some friends along in case your man End-Zone gets to feeling froggy."

"I . . . see. We getting this party started out on the sidewalk or what?"

"What kind of fun would that be? Y'see, my man Thistle's got a way with wheels; that must be him now."

Indeed, another ratty-looking twenty-something was pulling to the curb in a Hummer H2. This complicated things.

"Traps! You'n'Baby Seal go in the back with our lady friend. Don't try any shit I wouldn't."

"Right." "Got it."

'Oh look, they're pretending to be pros. Isn't that just sweet?'


“Sweet creature!” said the spider, “You’re witty and you’re wise!
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!


Eastbound Interstate 20,
Outskirts of Atlanta, Georgia

It really was a shame about that barricade. And the H2's windshield. And Bozos #1 and #2. The coroner's report would note that both adult males bled out at the scene of the accident. Except for the kid, who'd had sense enough to brace himself, the rest were unconscious and 'Marjie' herself was feeling kind of full.

"So, kid, humor me. What's your name?"

"I'm called Traps." At that age, it better be for something that carries a possession charge.

"Not what I asked, kid. The police'll be here soon, so you might as well pony up."

"True names have power. You can call me Traps."

"Stop covering for the trash. They'll let you rot in juvie for all they care."

"Doesn't matter. Best place to get my cap blooded, and the Seneschal will have me pulled out whenever he's ready."

They've really done a number on the kid for him to be thinking they're the real thing. Let's push that button.

"Does it matter how it gets blooded? There's half a gallon at least on that concrete."

"Has to be an enemy or prey."

That is f-ed up. "Listen, if what you're saying were true, all I'd have to do to hurt these friends of yours is to tap them with this little beauty."

Old cast iron, bent into a set of knucks. Throw a punch with these on and her own strength? Good times against the finger-wagglers. She slipped one on from her purse, and lightly tagged Traps' backup guy.

The cramped space reeked of burnt hair and flesh. The juvie nearly wrecked himself trying to hide in a corner between the crumpled side panels and the back seat.

Screw this.

Nocnitsa keyed a number into one of the phones she kept in her purse. The good one. "Tigger? Knock-knees here. Look, I'm on a Vice case - a couple of carved-up prostitutes your department's trying to keep quiet - that just went full-on raging DPA, and I need to make a jaydee disappear." "Uh-huh." "What makes you think I crashed a Hummer on I-20?" "No. I'm not saying you're wrong..."


Friday morning, March 22, 2002,
Cleveland, Tennessee

It was seasonably cool for the time of year. Nonetheless, it was a good time for a new beginning. Marjie Kane had struggled for months after she'd been picked up in Atlanta: first to get clean from the meth, and then to get her weight up to something healthy. There'd been more than a couple of fights over going home, and more at home, but that was ... that was okay. It sure beat pushing up daisies, or maybe daffodils, it being spring now.

School was coming along, though whether she got caught up or not, she wasn't going to let that get to her. She'd been down that road.

... I been everywhere, still, I'm standing tall.


Wednesday afternoon, December 26, 2007,
Nantahala National Forest, North Carolina

Len choked back some of the ancient rage as he drove nowhere in particular. Ever since he'd gone back to the place that used to be home, he'd wondered how things stood between him and his family. Seven years of being afraid he was still only two steps shy of falling in with one troop or another, and seven years of hanging on to his sanity by his fingernails.

This year he knew.

Thirteen years ago his family'd gone so far as to give his younger brother his name as an even trade. They'd always said otherwise, but still seemed disappointed with what they'd gotten in return.

This year his father had actually asked why Len couldn't be more like the boy who'd traded his soul for a more advantageous Choosing at the Market and didn't look back. One of his cousins had snickered at that, thinking Len's hearing must be as duller'n'a dullahan's.

Once more he jammed an old red cap on his head, then pointed his truck east towards Asheville. As much as he'd worked getting into college, that must be where his future lay.

---

"The Spider and the Fly", Mary Howitt
"Dead or Alive", Richard Sambora, Jon Bon Jovi

Early Sunday afternoon, December 23, 2007,

Meråker, Norway

*knock* *knock*

A faint call of "Mom! Someone's at the door!" could be heard through the front door of the Ruud family's home. One of the men in the group chuckled at the young girl's announcement, "Ya think?"

"Stop it. Children these days are expected to be wary of strangers."

"In the old days they were expected to defend the home against strangers."

"Only under their mothers' directions and orders. That goes for all of you."

The door was opened by a young teenager. The blue-streaked white hair, slender frame, pointed ears, and strong magical core were dead giveaways to this being Elle Astrid Ruud.

"H-hello? May I help you?"


The three boys looked like normal teenagers, two of them obviously being brothers. The tall, dark-haired, scruffy man in the leather jacket looked like he'd rather pee on the side of a house than enter one. The woman towered a solid half-meter over the man. She also had horns and tusks. When telling about the visit later on, Elle would credit her composure to an internship with international heroes and half a year at Whateley Academy.

"Miss Ruud, may we come in? I trust one of your parents is home too?"

"Um, yes. Please come in." She yelled back toward the kitchen, "MOM! We have company!"

The two blond boys, brothers for sure, hung back a bit to make sure the woman managed to get through the doorway without hitting her head.

She said, "Thank you. We can only stay a few minutes, but this may require an explanation."


Anna-Marie Ruud felt faint, seeing who or what her eldest had invited inside. Her mind blanked on everything she'd been told as a child about the hospitality due their ancient neighbors to the east, so she winged it. "Sara," she said to one of her daughters, "Please pour some coffee for our guests, bring it here, and start another pot." She stepped forward to introduce herself.

"I'm Anna-Marie Ruud, you've met my daughter Elle, and you?"

"Evelyn Beaulieu, these are my sons Mads and Lars Møller-Jensen, Mads' friend Thomas Jensen, and my sons' lineal half-brother Fenrir Lokkison. We didn't plan to intrude, but perhaps my older son can explain himself."

"Mrs. Ruud, Elle was signed up for a 'Secret Santa' exchange back at Whateley, but signals got crossed and the person who drew her name ran into problems. As Fen's side of the family lives in the Ironwood - Over on the other side of the border crossing? It kind of makes you all neighbors. - I was asked to handle the dropped ball at the last minute without adequate time to shop."

Thomas explained it as, "Translation: Mads got himself detained in København, so he punted."

"So, to make up for what is owed, we - that is, me, Thomas, and Fen - put together this small basket of smoked meats, which keeps everything under the spending limit." Mads handed the basket (Though he wasn't carrying one when he stepped inside?) with appropriate flourish to Elle. Elle handed it in turn to her mother.

"... which is to say that I and this one's mother," Evelyn pointed to the scruffy guy, "had to keep four greedy sets of hands out of it once it was packed, while the other two juvenile delinquents egged them on."

The look on Lars' face spoke volumes about how many times he'd been caught.

"I have three of my own, so I know how that can go. You've met Elle and Sara. Thea is hopefully still drawing. May I ask what kind of meats are in here?"

"Smoked salmon, salt-cured boar, along with reindeer pemmican and jerky."

Elle asked her classmate, "What? No bear?"

The two brothers turned pale. "No." "That would be wrong."

"How could it be worse than hunting reindeer in Sweden, where it's not legal?"

"Elle, I will explain part of that to you later."

The two mothers spent the rest of the short visit comparing notes over coffee and toast, and grilling their eldests over things which had curiously been missed in previous discussions of the school year. Soon the odd family group was gone, off to Copenhagen if Anna-Marie remembered correctly.

"Mom, what was the deal with reindeer? Everyone knows that the Sami have legal ownership in Sweden."

"They weren't exactly in Sweden. Or maybe they were, Grandmother Andersen wasn't too sure on that part herself."

"That doesn't make sense."

"The doctors say you've turned into one of the Irish alver. We've just entertained at least one visiting trollkjerringa and possibly a jotun; but that's the part that's hard to believe?"

"Jotun? No way!"

"Go look up the names of our visitors. You'll see."

On a train bound for Oslo

Evelyn asked herself later if she should have introduced the boys more formally, but decided that they'd put too much burden on the woman's hospitality as it was. There was always so much of a to-do over the holidays!

Ruud residence

Elle was sure there had to be at least one Fenrir Lokkison out there who wasn't an overweight neckbeard or nerdish LARPer using a screen name they couldn't measure up to that matched their guest's description. Otherwise ... On a whim, she ran the others' names into public search engines as well as Whateley's. It turned out that Lars was attending school in Aalborg and had gotten a very strange nickname. What was a "Count of Rosenborg" anyway?

"MOM!"

Fall 2007,
Powers Testing Labs, Whateley Academy


"You're claiming that you have three stable forms, and you don't want to show us the third?"

"It doesn't work out well for all involved."

"Son, why don't you let the experts decide that?"

---

"Circe! Thank you so much for coming!"

"You did say it was urgent, Doctor." Circe looked around the lab and realized why all the doors were locked and bolted. Miss Newman looked particularly distressed. The white horse she was riding, bareback, didn't look any happier. In fact, the only breed she could recall with a more vicious set of teeth than that thing was the Schwartzwald Unicorn. "I did have to stop at the Cafeteria for these items." Circe handed Dr. Shandy a bag of warm doughnuts. The horse's ears pricked up.

"What do I do with this?"

Circe gestured for the researcher to wait until she was no longer directly between him and the horse.

"Offer him some of what's inside, to give me a chance of breaking the curse on your assistant."

Not seeing what pastries had to do with anything, he pulled one of the doughnuts out of the bag and held it out. The scent of warm vanilla and confectioner's sugar was almost irresistable. For some reason, he failed to notice the sorceress tossing three small items across the path of the stallion suddenly galloping down on him. Hillary Newman landed on top of him.

Several healing spells and a pat-down for three cold iron coffin-nails later, Dr. Shandy asked, "Do you want me to retrieve the rest of your doughnuts?" Lord knows he didn't need more himself.

The student snarled at the doctor Try it and see what happens.

"Doctor, I didn't get to be the age I have by being needlessly stupid."

Astral space, coexisting with the former State of South Dakota

Metro - that was one of his names after all - walked into a traditional Plains campsite. He stopped at the campfire, and listened.

From inside a teepee that had been richly decorated many years and many miles back, he heard, "Some times, I wish I'd taken the choice Coyote offered me"

Metro frowned at that, but took that as an invitation to enter. An old, old Lakota medicine woman knelt on the ground beside her near-duplicate. Many tokens of the spirits she'd formed alliances and friendships with over the years adorned her dress. In her prime she must have been formidable. So must have been her opponents, if old scars on her body and soul were any true guide.

He said, "The road not traveled? Maybe. Pull a few strings here or there, and I suppose things might have turned out different."

That wasn't what the woman wanted to hear. Kayda was on her feet, her sacred dagger barely visible in her off hand. He idly wondered what she might lead with.

"I would have had a beloved wife and children! I could have stayed a man!"

"From what I've heard, you did have a beloved wife and - eventually - children. Grand-children by now, what? Not a huge difference there."

"What about my manhood?"

"What about it?" The young man shrugged at the idiocy. "You were a teen-aged farm boy with no rites of passage under his belt who could have been replaced by a common device running off C-cell batteries... Remember those?

... Don't look at me like that. I know the limited differences better than you."


Kayda slumped to the ground. It was an old story, an old wish, and she was so tired.

"I could have become a man."

Metro reached out, tipping her head up to face him. "Maybe. Maybe not. Someone might have afforded you the physical opportunity, but it would have been entirely up to you whether you reached out and took it. There are rules about that, or so I've been told."

"Coyote showed me!"

"I'm sure he showed you a. possible. future. And I know that it has been said that if you choose an outcome you damned well better be prepared to commit the actions that bring it about and accept the consequences of each one. I doubt he was unaware of that at the time."

"Are you saying he lied?"

"No. I'm saying that he chose a time and place for his offer such that either fork in the road you took would be acceptable. Because that's what I will now do, as it's all one to me." He mimed straightening his lavender silk tie and brushing lint off his midnight black suit.

"What?"

"Your old road ends here, Wihakayda. Will you choose to follow a new one, perhaps after Lanie, or maybe after Debra?"

"Where are you headed?"

Metro smiled, and reached out a skeletal hand to a much younger Kayda.

"Home."

Sunday afternoon, December 2nd, 2007,

Hawthorne Cottage, Whateley Academy

Kraken's detention at Hawthorne Cottage got off to a roaring start - and if Mrs. Cantrel ever found out who rigged the toilets with a backflow geyser function, heads would roll (after she got the schematics) - when one of the Thornies decided to test whether or not he was a hydrokinetic in addition to manifesting hot and cold running water. Even the fourth basement bathroom dwellers were appalled by the mess; they're usually a tough crowd to impress.

Exquisite's ego took a quieter hit when some tattooed tramp informed her that if the showers weren't sufficiently cleaned (To her standards? As if!), she'd be starting over, from scratch, with the level of difficulty raised to 'Augean Stables'. A little taste of her power should have been sufficient to show the chippie who was who around here. Instead, she found herself in the front leaning rest position, nose-to-grate with the closest fungus-dripping drain, while Eldritch explained exactly where she'd gone ever so horribly wrong.

As if to cap off Training Day: The Detention Chronicles, Kraken walked around a corner in the first basement in time to see one of the freaks tromping into a bathroom he'd just finished cleaning, carrying a towel, a bucket, and heaven alone knows what else in a gym bag. He stared for a minute at the clumps of mud that had fallen off the guy's boots. Worse, under all the mud, the guy was wearing what looked like a Campus Security uniform. Mama Lowry's son knew a dirty trick being set up when he saw one. This was way too much to put up with!

Whoever it was walked back out of the bathroom, like he'd forgotten something, tracking more dirt down the hall. So he iced the guy up one side and down the other for good measure. Kraken intended to let him chill out long enough to send A Message, that's all.

Mr. Geintz appeared between the two. "In fairness, I will give you one word of advice: run."

Within seconds, the entire block of ice shattered. Supercooled shards of water ice chimed as they fell away to the tiled floor, taking most of the caked-on dirt with them. Looking past Geintz, Kraken saw wisdom in the teacher's advice.

It was the greatest con that Odin ever played on the world and, as usual, Loki was right in the middle of it.

"Hela Lokisdottir, it is no secret that few among the Aesir can bear your visage, nor that it is unseemly for you to bear such a dark burden in the midst of bright Asgard."

"My liege, I"

"You haven't complained; that is true. However, I have devoted to this matter my thoughts and thus is my boon to you: that you shall be granted rulership over your own realm far removed. There, under your rule shall come all manner of folk save those chosen for Lady Freya's host-field Fólkvangr or my own mead-hall Valhalla. All Nine Realms will surrender their fallen to your care save only for those two reserves."

Hela was no fool. One couldn't be and survive alongside her siblings and parents. This was a permanent exile from not only the halls of her father's Asgard but the mountains and forests of Jotunheim. Already, the cold, dead shades of the realms that answered – for now – to the All-Father would be en route to this realm.

"This you have willed, and thus shall it be. By your leave, m'lord?"

"One other thing: the Dead shall still be allowed rebirth to their kin. We do not wish your halls to be overcrowded beyond measure any more than we would want that for our own."

"I shall leave you, Uncle, and Asgard shall not see my face until the destruction of her gods. Even endings must have their end."

---

Year 535 of the Roman calendar brought news, from the courts of Xibalba, of a great and deadly eruption. The following four years saw crops failing across Midgard and its peoples starved. Out of fear of Fimbulwintr's approach, nobles sacrificed gold and amber to Vanir and Æsir alike, not knowing that those worthies had placed their hopes that sacrificing one of their own by a shaft of mistletoe might grant them the return of fertile years. Like a wolf snapping at the heels of those troubles, Saxons and Jutes sailed for Brigantia's lands, lest Justinian's Plague consume them too. The prince of mischief himself soon followed, taking their Victory for his own wife. Two sons are said to have been born of there coupling, but the wise do not enquire too closely into such affairs.

---

Four centuries later, sensing that the Æsir and Vanir were at the twilight of their day against the bright Sun of Rome's devotion, Surtr sounded his horn. The ground rent apart at Eldgjá, releasing the Wolf. The land burned at Hallmundahraun as the Serpent writhed. The fading magics of would-be deities could not hold out. Winter came in earnest.

---

Once true Spring returned to the realms, a lone traveler approached Hela's realm by way of the old journey road that lead from the lands of gods and giants. His cloak was rent by blade and gray with ash. He squinted through his one good eye at the Lady who arose to meet him at her gate.

"Tell me, Uncle, what business you have here. Did you not decree that I was to be the sole ruler of these lands?"

"That I did decree, in the days when my words had power and my chest held breath. Have you no room for a weary soul to rest?"

"What of Valhalla? How goes the day in Fólkvangr?"

"Pale echoes of the places they had been, inhabited by tutelary shades reenacting their appointed parts in a passion play until even their stories die. Must I beg for hospitality at the gate of your hall?"

"No. Of course not. But know that when you leave you cannot return to what you once were."

"I have sired children amongst the mortal men of the Middle Earth. I shall depart from your care by Freya's Well as would any of them."

"Then I bid you come in, that I may give you shelter from the rain."

Sarkii's tavern in Ulthar, close by the Skai River docks

"... What I've heard from my sources is that there's a forbiddance up around that elder one's school. It's going to be an unhealthy place to be, come spring."

"So? Getting entangled in that one's affairs is never healthy."

"Nevertheless, if it were up to me, I'd be telling everyone who'd listen to stay away: don't take up a newly-available hallow if at all possible, don't take up a hallow if it's headed for that area, don't make it need to go there."

"Fine. I'll clue my people in, but you know there's always some who don't get the word."

"They are welcome to sacrifice themselves, as always."


Early afternoon, Monday, August 12, 2007,
Lakeland, Florida

Noel Lee Jameson the Third was ready to start back to school. He'd miss the time he'd spent on the local rock walls over the summer, but school also meant schoolgirls. He hadn't spent all the money he'd raised on odd jobs like mowing or washing windows, and he had lost some weight, so yeah: schoolgirls.

Better yet, his older brother, Ernest Lee, would soon be going back to that boarding school up in New Hampshire and taking the unfair competition with him! Last year's class unit spent on human mutation didn't give exemplar effects on the opposite sex their due. Not that Lee didn't have an unfair advantage over his shorter brown-eyed and brown-haired little brother all along, but it would be good to get something of a chance.

Noel checked the time and the weather report. With a bit of luck, he could get in a couple of hours of Good and Evil Online in before a power outage or dinner, whichever came first.

Late afternoon

Florida didn't come by its reputation as the Lightning State for no good reason. As the brutally hot land breeze met the sea breeze, both loaded with water vapor, the thunder clouds built to the sky. The hunter paid the darkening no mind beyond the shade provided. There was still prey to be found and eaten.

The hunter did mind the fat raindrops that pounded it, driving it further into the foliage in hopes of shelter. It had waited out storms before and would do so now. Even had it known what ozone was, it would only understand that it was too late to run.

Noel

Damn, that was close!

On the one hand, Noel was glad he'd logged off just in case something like this happened. One the other, there was no telling when the power company would restore power. Sometimes it took only minutes, sometimes hours.

The easiest thing to do was to take a short nap now and make the time up later. It wasn't like the game wouldn't still be running! Besides, he did feel a little bit tired from mowing the yard that morning. The next couple of yawns sealed the deal.

Outside

The hunter had no concept or even instinct to guide it. The world around it was strange, filled with glowing hiding places and prey and bigger things, and there were shadows too. It felt hunted by shadows and lights it could not recognize.

In an increasingly desperate search for hiding places and maybe food the hunter soon lost itself in a maze of things. Poking its head out into a larger open space, it saw something that looked like one of the really big not-hunter things, but glowing. It glowed but also smelled like food for its new kind. It settled into the not-food food-smelling place, away from the rain and the loud lights in the distance, and risked dozing off.

Noel

For no earthly reason, Noel dreamed about hunting massive insects. There were dragonflies big enough to fly on. There were palmetto bugs scaled up for a Paleozoic documentary about coal. The little lizard he found, trying to fit itself in a place that he'd be in therapy for years to explain, looked so out of place he almost laughed. He stuck it in a pocket and promptly forgot about it.

Early evening

Noel thought he heard his name being called from somewhere, but after getting no response, his mother sent Lee back to wake his brother up. The power had been out for a whole five minutes, but that was more than enough for the teen to be out like a light after being deprived of his favorite online game. Lee saw his neat-freak little brother shivering on top of his bed, despite being wrapped up in all his sheets and bed covers. He walked across the carpeted room and instead of trying to wake Noel up, he gently pried one eye open. If the kid had been faking, that would have ended the act.

Lee couldn't make out Noel's irises at all.

He turned out the room's light and closed the door. Bright lights plus manifestation-driven migraines weren't a fun combination in his experience. He made up a list of the usual coping measures: ice (lots of it), up-to-date fire extinguisher, a gallon or two of chicken soup, ambulance and emergency room services on their parents' insurance ...


Early afternoon, Thursday, August 16, 2007,
Lakeland Regional Health Medical Center, Lakeland, Florida

This time around, the Jameson family was in better shape to deal with a mutant manifestation. A lack of panic on their end translated into a much smoother hospital admission once Noel's temperature began to spike. It didn't hurt to have some of Whateley Academy's resources on their side as well. A package arrived that morning which they hoped would help Noel to communicate without relying on a small chalkboard.

Noel himself was still working his way through the early stages of grief. His hair had fallen out over the past couple of days, and there were signs that scales might replace his outer layer of skin. To keep any outer layer of skin, he'd have to make sure that he spent as much time in humid air as he could. That, or keep a barrel of aloe vera gel in his room. He would also need to spend hours under a sunlamp in addition to Vitamin D supplements. Skipping that could have consequences for his bones. On a scale of one to ten, he'd rate those problems at two stars. The kick in the teeth was that while he was unconscious, his hyoid bone had migrated to a higher position in his neck, and grown spurs to support a dewlap. Although he was getting therapy to teach him how to chew and swallow again, there was nothing to be done to restore his ability to speak.

Lee had claimed there was a guy in his year group who was also mute because of his manifestation. He called around and was able to track down one of the rejected Sign-to-Speech vocorders. It seemed that Noel was in luck because the guy – someone called Razorback – was picky about the gear he used due to a sensitivity to sound. Noel and the rest of his immediate family would still need to learn ASL, and fluency usually takes years to achieve.

Anna Jameson focused on the here and now. For one of their problems, they had a partial solution and that was better than none in her book. She put on a smile before entering Noel's room, lest anyone get the idea that she was anything but proud of her son. That smile exacted its price in the hidden pain of seeing her child in a hospital bed.

"Good afternoon, Noel! I've even brought a package for you!"

Noel wrote on his small whiteboard: "I don't even know sign yet."

"That's true, but I expect you'd get a lot of use in having it around to give you feedback on what you are learning."

"It can't hurt to try."

"Exactly. Now, how's the other therapy going?"

"Doctors say maybe tomorrow."

"That's an improvement!" Noel shrugged and started writing, but Anna said, "It doesn't have to be perfect and you know it."

Even the boy's sigh was silent. "Any word on school?"

"I think we can rule out a local education."

"Hormonal super-powered bullies"

"I know, but Lee says the martial arts program is top-notch. Maybe powers testing will turn up something else that's helpful. Anyway, now that we have this gadget, we might as well practice"


Tuesday Afternoon, August 28, 2007,
Whateley Academy, New Hampshire

Noel and Lee flew up to Boston from Orlando. If ever there were an airport that had seen everything, it would be Orlando International Airport. There was also a taste of irony in flying from MCO.

The train route from Boston to Dunwich, NH, was called the Miskatonic Express. Perhaps that was yet another way to drive home the point that this was a long way from home. To Noel, riding it felt like they were going back in time. That suspicion came close to being confirmed by the Norman Rockwell buildings and homes that made up most of the small town. Another leg of the journey, this time on a bug, brought them past the gargoyle-attended gates of Whateley Academy.

Lee got off the bus well before Noel, when it stopped to let off passengers and luggage intended for Emerson Cottage. Lee had explained the cottage system, among other things before they left, so Noel wasn't surprised that not a single student with noticeable GSD was let off at Emerson, before continuing on to Twain Cottage. This would be, God willing, his home away from home for the next four years. Soon he was caught up in the confusing whirl of planned activities: check-in, room assignments, campus tour, and food.

Noel temporarily ended up with a single room under the working assumption that there were sure to be one or two freshmen straggling in before the week was out. That worked for him: he had plenty of room to mount his sunlamps to the wall and get everything else squared away.


Wednesday morning, August 29, 2007,
Twain Cottage, Whateley Academy

At Mr. Filbert's recommendation, Noel had gotten up and showered early. By all accounts, he'd want a decent breakfast before an early powers testing appointment. There didn't seem to be many people up and about when he showered, so he wasn't expecting one of the older students to knock on his face instead of the door when he stepped out.

That is, he assumed the four hundred pounds of muscled saurian was one of the older students.

Noel motioned for his visitor to wait a sec so he could grab his whiteboard. "Can I help you?"

The other person hissed something like a stifled laugh and started gesturing. Sign language!

"You must be Razorback?"

Jack nodded his head.

"Still learning basics."

Jack reached out for the board. "My friends know sign. We could teach?"

A light at the end of the tunnel!

"That would be great."

"Get schedule done. Look us up. Outcast Corner."

"I'll be sure to do that"

Jack waved, turned, and bounded out the door. An odd duck, for sure, but that was what he had been told to expect of Whateley and Twain.


Thursday morning, August 30, 2007,
Powers Testing Labs, Whateley Academy

Powers Testing was a mad scientist's cross between a military intake physical and "American Gladiators", with a side of "Candid Camera" for good measure. On the bright side, he'd come up with a code name that contrasted against his brother's. On the other, Noel should never have told them that rock climbing was one of his hobbies because they found an insane set of problems set up in one of the gyms.

That was where he got most of his bruises. On an otherwise simple bouldering route, he went to swing his right leg to catch the hold, and some impulse made him pull his leg in and under him instead as if he'd get better purchase that way. The trouble was that he'd committed to the move. Down, he went. Hard.

A couple more courses went well, and then he lost it traversing an underhang.

Getting smashed by a cannon-propelled basketball while he was on a stationary bike did little to improve his mood. No danger sense? No duh.


Late Thursday afternoon, August 30, 2007,
Administration, Schuster Hall, Whateley Academy

Ms. Hastings went over Noel's updated records, pausing here and there along the way for a noncommittal "okay" or "oh", now and then.

"Did the doctors in charge of testing explain the results and their conclusions?"

Noel wrote out, "No, ma'am."

"So much for pleasant surprises, then. From what I gather, you manifested as an Avatar Two and Paragon One. The latter is one of the esper traits. Sometime next week I'd like the staff at Doyle Medical Center to look you over more thoroughly. The researchers here think they found evidence for normal development of an avatar trait, but your records and appearance are more appropriate to a moderate form of Spirit Hallow Mismatch Deformity. Had you been trying to free similar climbing routes out in the real world, you'd be in a hospital or a morgue.

There's been a very recent upswing in non-aware avatar spirits. As an Avatar Two, that may be where the problem's starting for you. The spirit does not understand what you need, but it cannot help but react. The esper paragon trait they believe they've found is weak, but it could be developed, as it's good for keeping people alive. Do you understand what I'm telling you? "

His whiteboard was getting a workout.

"I think so.
Avatar = work together or get hurt.
Paragon trait = Do right thing, sometimes."

"That's the gist of it. I see that you're requesting Basic Martial Arts. Might I ask why?"

"My brother recommended it."

"Then I won't have to explain Combat Finals. Good. I recommend holding off on math so you can pick up Esper I. You're getting Mr. Williams' American History class out of the way?"

Noel nodded. He'd heard some horror stories.

"Very well. English ... yes. It's a four-credit requirement here. You don't want to get behind on that. Powers Theory and Lab. Did your brother discuss this as well?"

"He said it was a good idea. "

"I don't see Avatars I on your request. Based on what you've told me, I think you may need it. Do you think you can wake up early on Saturdays to knock that requirement out?"

"I can do my best."

"Well, then. I've got Basic Martial Arts, Esper I, American History I, in the mornings. After lunch, it's English 101, Powers Theory, Powers Lab. We'll round out the week with Saturday morning Avatars I.

Normally, I'd want to move on to discussing work-study positions available. However, not being able to speak makes almost anything we'd want you to try a non-starter. I think I should slot you in for the first period Evening Introduction to American Sign Language that's running short on students. It's a tough schedule, but I have confidence that you can pull through. "

"I hope so."

"I know so. Welcome to Whateley, Mr. Jameson."

Tuesday, September 6, 2016,
The Quad, Whateley Academy

Clarissa Logan sits under the dense dark canopy of an ancient oak tree, accompanied only by her faithful "ex-boyfriend". The gloom is perfectly suited to her complection and its shadows hide whether she is sketching something, or working on her magic theory homework from all the Shiny Happy People. No one wants to get involved in either one. She is interrupted by *someone examining her zombie*?

"Dear me. This is good work for a beginner. The physics is off on the jaw, but that can be fixed... "

The woman's asymmetrical cornrows are swept to the side with a natural elegance and shine that frames her chestnut-toned face and sets itself off from a flat black stretch tee. The woman's (also black) pouch-loaded duty belt, tactical cargo pants and boots complete a professional outfit that is equal parts Combat Final and Stage Crew. Penny's heart sinks at how gaudy her school uniform suddenly feels to her.

"Er..."

"Oh! Sorry. I'm Ellen Peters. I saw an teaching position in stage management posted for the Theater Department here and jumped at the chance. And you are?"

Something about the name sounds like maybe she should know it, but Penny sets that aside. "Penny, as in Penny Dreadful."

"Does that make you a good Penny or a Bad Penny?"

"I plan on always turning up, whether they want me to or not."

"Eggs-cellent. Whitmaniac?"

"You already heard about Whitman?"

"Back before you girls got the good showers. I'm an alum myself."

As two plus two dawns as four in the freshman's eyes, Ellen says, "Come on, let's hijack your advisor and get you set up for some fun classes. You know you want to!" She might be three months pregnant and a shoo-in for an Obie this year, but Goria isn't ready to slow down yet. There'd be time enough for rest in the grave.

(from a random writing prompt)


Early afternoon, Saturday, February 14, 2009,
Lost Puppy Patrol Table, Crystal Hall

Thomas Jensen looked beyond the hall's transparent dome at the wintry weather outside. He still hadn't figured out why Mads Møller-Jensen had spent so much of the mealtime looking outside from the other side of the table. He'd been picking at his food all meal, trying to figure the best time for what he had to say. Someone was sure to take it wrong - so what else was new? Maybe Mads was coming down with something the paranoid hadn't been vaccinated for?

Thomas finally spoke up, looking directly at his counterpart, "Since last VD Day went so well, I decided to get you something special."

"Huh? But I... It's not ready yet! Wait. Why are ambushing me in front of everyone?"

Gods. He had a plan in mind.

Abbie Elliott looked over from her seat and said, "Should we be updating our insurance policies? With you two I'm never sure."

"Look. I'm innocent!"

This time, Kris choked on his drink. He rushed to the men's room, presumably to get presentable.

"Right. Anyway, here." Thomas handed over a (It was wrapped at least?) box.

"Should we wait until Kris gets his shirt clean?"

"Your call."

"He'll hate you both for making him miss it."

Ten minutes later, Kris was back, pretending his shirt wasn't stained at all and the curiosity wasn't killing him.

"Now?"

"Sure."

"Woah." Mads pulled out a set of lock picks. Some didn't even look like they were meant for a lock.

Thomas explained, "Kris told me about you having issues leaving the hospital that time." If looks could kill... "I asked Imp to vette the set. She said it would make a wonderful gift for someone she knows, so it can't be too bad."

"Thank you. Aaaaaaaand on that note, I do have a couple of things to take care of." Mads got up, patted Thomas on the shoulder, and said to the rest of the team at the table, "Team Tactics review tomorrow!"

Abbie watched her fellow sophomore make his retreat. "That was a jerk-ass response. Next time, Ex-Lax chocolates."

"Wouldn't get past a detox spell. I think I'll head back over to Poe. Weather like this doesn't last long."


Thomas wasn't joking. He liked rough weather. Thunderstorms were best, but he got along well with most blizzards. This one felt like it was out of season, but at this school there was no telling what might be "in season". Once back inside he shook the clinging snow off his jacket. A card fell out of one of the pockets.


"Success Pond. 3PM. Bring skates. I've got the rest covered."

"There were once creatures that, I suppose, one might call humans. Designed by the High Sidhe, they were nothing if not useful: they could till the earth or fight and die en masse under harsh conditions without posing a threat to the great lords in their Courts. Earth-born, they naturally generated essence that fed the great dragon lines. Even those culled could be put to use: the blood could be transmuted into bloodsteel, skin cured into parchment or finer leathers tanned with crushed brain, flesh and offal fed to hellhounds, bone ground to fertilizer, fats rendered into carrier oils for arcane potions and perfumes.

Do not pretend to be shocked. A race as proud and long-lived as the Sidhe could hardly afford to care for a barnyard species that lived only three or four score years, assuming they survived to adulthood. Come to think of it, that part hasn't changed. Do you name your chickens and involve yourself in their short lives? Of course you don't. Your dog? The cat that adopted you? That is different.

Over millennia, some few escaped their masters and fled into the wilds and wastelands. The Center Court continued to contemplate its collective navel and cared not whether they lived or died. If they should lose the holds the West had over them, they cared even less. There is a lesson in this regarding how allies are to be treated.

Like the Beasts of the Center, the Dragons of the North found these humans tasty. Suspiciously tasty for obligate omnivores that curiously couldn't survive without dietary ascorbic acid and were crippled without sufficient sunlight. They also just happened to be able to transmit their diseases to the avian species that were much more closely related to the Lords of the Air.

Yes. There's a lesson or two in how to treat your rivals.

Consider that those aligned with Air, even the most unworldly, can be as practical in some matters as they are inveterate tinkerers in others. With these new self-replicating toys, the Sidhe might as well as shipped them a box of Happy Fun Balls wrapped in bubblewrap, styrofoam peanuts, and glitter, and labeled it "Danger! Plague Rats". Worse, the Court finally had somewhat programmable ground troops that could be taught things. Troops that could be taught to feed themselves on and protect herds of large grazing herbivores. Give a giant enough rope...

Did you know that the jinn of the air are the closest of all elemental races to the human race, lacking only the soul and sometimes not even that? Yes, humans can function without one, but that ten percent of sociopathic humans mirrors the ten percent of soul-blessed jinn. It is suspected that some of the tinkering was, shall we say, intimate; the human drive for variety in sexual experimentation is only matched by that of dragons. There are some Terrestrial planes in which they've managed to cross themselves back with ancestral species. Their aspect of Gaia must have been stoned when She brought them back.

What can one say about the humans of those days and the Southern Court? The naked apes already had access to fire to make basic pottery and tools with, just as they needed wood or stone for shelter, air and water for survival. Some of the escapees drifted into Southern lands and adapted as best they could, but it was always a case of being "so close and yet so far apart". For two to be together, one must permanently change, thus the other has to make it worth their while. What the Southern Court's descendants have learned of manifesting mortal wishes into shared reality is the subject of both dreams and nightmares. The borders between their Realms and the Terrestrial shift like sand dunes and are easily crossed.

What about the East? What about them and their relationships do you truly desire to learn? The Lords of the Seas and the Daughters of the Wells certainly had less to fear from the air-breathing swamp-apes than even the weakest Dragon. The same could not be said of two-legged land-dwellers: Lorelei, Scylla, Charybdis, Leviathan, Kracken, Rheintöchter, nixies, nymphs, kelpies, brook horses, grindylow, fossegrim, sirens, undines, rusalki, kappas, suiko, mishibizhiw; the list goes on. The Sidhe in the West had finally made something the East wanted, and water is all about desire. What they were granted was the Great Forge made for the North. Desire and Wisdom are rarely partnered; 'Father' Dagon and 'Mother" Hydra took advantage of that before the World was broken.

All that time that Gaia was thought to be asleep, she was dreaming and not unaware.

Her humans would have the endurance and adaptability of Water. For better or worse, Her Sea's Call cannot be denied. To soothe their new wanderlust, they would learn to swim and to sail. Now, Dagon and Hydra's children must depend on Gaia's for mere reproduction. They would sing and make music, and it's now the undine and fossegrim who might gain a soul from their unions. Water always wins.

Her humans would retain the mortality of Fire and the spark of creation "borrowed" from the Djinn. They would be drawn to beauty like moths to a candle's flame. They would dance to wooden drums around their fires fueled by ax-felled trees. Human-smelted and -worked iron is now nearly as lethal as cold iron to a Certain Race and their kind. Fire is the original two-edged sword.

Her humans would be, to be fair, based on certain Northern tribes. For better and worse, they'd bear the most insatiable needs: to learn what Was and Was Never; to examine, tamper with, and control what Is and what Could Be; and to imagine and dream what Will Be and Must Never Be. Like Air, they would never all completely find rest.

Gaia's Humanity would be taught by Her children, knowing that it would hurt.

Wolf's Father agreed to teach them, then turned Wolf, Dog, Fox, and Coyote loose to play with Man while he left to go hunting or something. To his mind, the little pack would be just fine.

Bast would officially claim they all must have been dropped on their heads (repeatedly in one or two Cases she could name) to have turned out so wrong, but it's so cute to see puppies and kittens playing together.

Horse was intrigued by the one land animal that could, sometimes, keep up. Some needed to be kicked in the head once or ten times, and he was happy to oblige. It would be Man that returned Mustang to his ancestral home.

Raven considers them all idiots, but he's pulled some bone-headed pranks in the past himself.


Now, it would be the returning fey folk that would learn what the weight of disregard feels like. Man would pack-bond with nearly anyone or anything (Some blame Dragon, others Dog and Coyote), but even the fey changelings raised by humans as human children could only live a lonely and short mortal life. Many of the swapped human children would lose... something, and become fully of the fey, or they would pine away for something that couldn't be named or bespelled by their eldritch parents."


-- excerpt from "I Brought You Into This World, I Can Take You Back Out Of It: An Erisian Cosmology with a Side Order of Applesauce", written by Do I Look That Stupid?, published by Sacred Chao Press under the Paladin's Pentangle imprint. Gabba gabba hey.