Metroverse 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 it.

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.

Maybe.

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

Must be 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."

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 very comforting."

"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. 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? Abbie and I are in the Survival class. It's one of the moves 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 to keep 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?"

"I can glide with them without wearing myself out. They also make maneuvering that 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."

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 marveled 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.


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.


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 flag-draped coffin had served notice that it was too late to apologize to either him or Lily.



Of course.

And 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.


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.


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 her own life until they'd been pushed away?


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.


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.


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.


Dear, sweet, indispensable, Brie. 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 Brie's home, and a letter addressed to her. She'd never known that the nanite systems were failing - a lingering consequence of the shadow wars against the likes of Palm and other enemies of humanity.


Programmed lighting came on to interrupt the unaging Sidhe Queen's reverie. It was getting late, and her 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. 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 expecting you."

Nikki accepted the offered hand.

The halls were filled with the sound of mighty wings one last time as the lights went out.

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."

"Cache everything in a secure location."

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

"We could pray for help."

Thomas started looking up and around nervously.

"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."

"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 mute testimony to some attack. The two young men took note of a failed barricade that had been brushed aside, not molesting whatever remained behind and under the scorched cabinets. They explored deeper into the building. 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.

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."

...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. "

“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 close 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. 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!"

"None of them account 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 guessed, his 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."

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

"Probably for the best. I almost forgot: the 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. 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."

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? Don'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. Ain'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've been working 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

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."

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."

(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.