Marcus walked into the Medical Examiner’s office, and knocked on the ME’s door.  His old friend, Frieda Bishop was sitting at her desk, looking more than a bit frazzled. She looked like she hadn’t slept in three days, nor bathed or possibly eaten.  No frigging wonder after the massacre three days ago.  No one’s been getting any sleep, Marcus thought.  It’s hard enough keeping food down after seeing that unholy mess.  Over 40 first responders dead – firefighters, paramedics and cops.  James’ brother Thomas had just risen to sergeant too, dammit.  It was a nightmare.  Marcus wasn’t sure James was going to make it through the funeral – but he was going to do his damnedest to be there for him.  Thomas was his friend too – but he and James had been really close, especially after James’ dad left and James basically raised Thomas by himself.   “Sorry, Frieda.  I didn’t mean to space out… I was woolgathering.”

 

            She sighed.  “Don’t apologize, Marcus – this whole situation is a giant cluster-fuck.  My people have been working in tents and warehouses trying to identify what the hell happened, and it’s a freaking nightmare.  People torn apart, bodies being put back together like a jigsaw puzzle, except half the pieces are missing.  I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

            “Any ideas?  I know you’ve probably got the brass breathing down your neck on this one – hell, they’re breathing down mine just as bad.”  Marcus asked, trying to gauge how Frieda was feeling.  She looks tired – tired, and wrung out, exhausted - mentally and physically.  Like I feel right now.

 

            “Ideas?  Not really.  It’s a confusing mess – it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.  Marcus, you won’t believe it, but almost every single one of the bodies we’ve found have been injured with massive bite wounds, from something I can’t identify, and what’s left of them has been torn apart by something with immense strength and what appear to be talons.  They look like they were torn apart by a wild animal.”

 

            “What?  ALL of them?”  Marcus asked.  “Even the police?  Were there any animals dead at the scene?”

 

            Frieda sighed – this had obviously caused her a lot of stress.  “Yeah, everyone.  And no, there were no animals found… All we found was this.”  She held out her hand, and showed Marcus something that looked like a large tooth.  The tooth was made of some hard white substance, and was roughly triangular in shape and serrated, and quite sharp.  He took it, and looked at it closely while she continued.  “At first I thought it was from some sort of shark, but when I checked with my marine biologist pals over at Marine land, they told me it wasn’t anything like they’d ever seen either.  So then I took it to some veterinarians, who suggested reptiles.  The herpetologists said it looked vaguely dinosaur like, but the paleontologist I took it too at the ROM said it didn’t match anything he’d ever seen. No one I know can figure out what kind of animal or creature this tooth came out of.  That’s just not possible.”

 

            “Well, if it didn’t come from anything we can identify, what did it come from?  What do they call those unidentified creatures – cryptids?”

 

            “Maybe.”  She said, quietly.  “I was wondering, Marcus… Do you believe in monsters?”

 

            “Ha!  Maybe the two legged kind.  I don’t know if I believe in any other kind.” 

 

            Frieda took his hand, and carefully took back the tooth.  “Maybe you should start, Marcus.  Maybe you should start.”

 

            Marcus nodded, a little creeped out.  Frieda isn’t usually like this – this case must be screwing with her pretty good.  I mean, monsters?  Really?  “What about the survivor – Mike Conners?”  

 

            “I haven’t examined him, obviously – but I understand he’s under psychiatric observation.  A friend of mine who has talked with him says he’s very disturbed.  He claims the clinic was attacked by a monster, and it chose to let him live because – in his words – ‘it wasn’t allowed to kill me.’  He’s under the impression that he’s pure of heart, and that’s what saved him from the creature, like it was some kind of demon.  He also said the monster was after someone called Eric.  Everyone else was just caught in the crossfire.  Any of the names ring a bell?”

 

            “Sort of.  Eric was a patient there – but when everything went balls up, he got out of there, stole a police car, drove to downtown Toronto, and disappeared with a hostage and a social worker named Christine Vallan.  He also left a trail of chaos and bodies like at the clinic, too.  At this point we don’t know if he or some other party is responsible for the chaos – but I know for sure he wasn’t responsible for what happened at the clinic.”

 

            “I think you need to find him, Marcus.  Find him and ask him what the hell is going on.  Do you think whatever was at the clinic could have followed him to this social worker’s house?”  Frieda was insistent, and looked earnest in her question.

 

            “Maybe – but it would have to be able to fly to keep up with him – he was easily going 100 miles per hour in the police car he stole.”  Marcus said.  “No way anything on foot would have been able to keep up with him – and there wasn’t anyone in a car following him, cause I was pretty close on his tail for a fair bit of the trip before I lost him.”

 

            Frieda nodded, and smiled sadly.  “There isn’t any more to tell.  We’ll be putting the pieces back together for a few more weeks, and we’re missing too many parts – god knows where they got to.  I swear Marcus, it’s like a plane crash, without the plane or the wreckage.  It’s that gruesome.”

 

            He thanked her, and rose from his seat to say goodbye.  Nothing new, I guess, he thought, except body parts are missing.  I kinda hoped she’d have something more for me.  “I’ll see you on Monday, Frieda.  Thanks for everything.”  He said, getting ready to head back to the office.

 

            Frieda sighed.  “Yeah – see you soon, Marcus.  Stay safe, okay?”

 

            “I’ll do my best.”

 

            Somewhere in all that transpired a few moments ago, Marcus realized he was dreaming – that he was literally replaying the scene in his head that he had been privy to just six weeks ago.  But knowing the fact he was dreaming didn’t help – he couldn’t make himself wake up.  His dream self went back to the office, and did a frantic day’s work at the office, 90% of which revolved around the Massacre – and then he went home.

 

            He tried to wind down by checking out the internet – James was always sending him links for some whacked out conspiracy theory or another – and they were usually good for a chuckle and some light reading, if nothing else.  As he viewed the latest set of links – supposedly video footage of the Neilson massacre from the security footage or dash-cams of the police cars – he saw grainy video seem to show the police supposedly fire at a strange shapeless mass that ignored their bullets.  Yeah, right.  What utter crap.  James should know better that to give this stuff any credence.  Every idiot with photoshop is probably trying to mock something up to sell to the Toronto Star for big bucks.  He reached over and turned off the computer – and unlike the original event six weeks ago, the computer monitor did not shut off. 

 

            Marcus, nonplussed, tried the power switch a few times to no avail, so he pulled the power cord.  Nothing happened – the video was still frozen with the ubiquitous ‘pause’ screen of the Youtube videos.   “What the hell?”  Marcus didn’t know what to do, when the video started up again – this time of its own accord.  The shadowy figure got shot by what must have been hundreds of round of ammunition – and then it turned, and addressed him by name. 

 

            The creature opened its toothy maw, full of triangular serrated teeth.  Its eyes were full of stars, and it’s body was black shadow.  It spoke, and when it spoke, the room went cold.  What’s the matter, Marcus Drake?  Don’t you believe in demons?  We believe in you… Their words weren’t audible with his ears – he heard them inside his head, like icy knives scratching across stone. He felt fear.

 

            Marcus gasped as he woke with his heart pounding.  “Jeezus, Mary and Joseph!”  He tried to calm his beating heart, but he couldn’t – and he tried to breath in and out slowly to calm his racing thoughts. Thank god that was a nightmare, he thought, and then realized he wasn’t sure it was actually over.  His thoughts seemed hazy and confused, and the room seemed out of focus.  He was covered in sweat.

 

            “Damn, that was rough.”  He muttered to himself.  I’m not going back to sleep after that one, he thought.  Might as well get a coffee and sort my head out; maybe thrown on the TV and try to relax.  As he crawled out of bed to clean himself up, he noticed the clock by the bedside said 4am.  James was right.  We need to see what the hell is going on for ourselves.  I’m putting in for leave later today – I should have after the massacre but I’m too bloody stubborn.  The chief will okay it, I’m sure.  I just hope James feels the same way – I’m not sure I want to go this alone.

 

*           *           *

 

            The office that morning was just as busy as usual – Police and clerks and attorneys all moving about with hurried business of their own.  Marcus got some nods from friends, and some surly grunts from overworked associations in their cube farms.  I hope James still feels the way he did last night after drinks, thought Marcus, mirroring his earlier thought that morning.  I’m starting to believe Frieda and Christine a little.  Never mind not wanting to go it alone, this may be too dangerous to go it alone. 

 

            He got to his office, and hung his jacket on the rack, and went to get another coffee. What the hell would I do without caffeine?  He wondered.  Probably cease functioning.  Marcus put a spoon of sugar in it, and stirred, then went back to his office and sat down to enjoy a few minutes of quiet.

 

            His moment of reverie didn’t last long.  Before he was halfway done his cup, James knocked on Marcus’ door, and quietly stepped inside his office. 

 

“Rough night?”  James asked.  “Me too.  I’ve been tossing and turning and seeing monsters half the night and Harry Potter and his crew beaming down from spaceships for the rest of it, when I’m not jittery as hell.  If you still mean to, I intend to ask for leave.  I have to know what’s going on – and if it is what Christine said, I think we should try and help.”

 

“Ha!  If it’s what Christine said, do you really think we have a hope in hell of doing anything other than providing this guy a target rich environment?  I’m not sure what exactly we can do – but dammit, I feel the same way.  I’m going to ask for leave as well.”  Marcus sighed.  “I feel like Caesar, crossing the Rubicon – this case, it’s my Rubicon.  Once I do this, there’s no turning back…  It’s all or nothing.”

 

James nodded.  It was the same way for him.

 

“I guess the first thing we do is talk to Dr. Collins and Dr. Wellesley, and find out where they sent Erica – cause that’s probably where this religious nutbar is going to be.  Once we know where they’re going, I’ll ask for leave from the chief and we’ll probably be out of here by the end of the day.”

 

“Gotcha.”  James said.  “I’ll get started with Dr. Wellesley – why don’t you call Dr. Collins?”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

Now that the decision had been made, Marcus strangely felt better, more at ease.  The strange disquiet and malaise that had been following him around all morning began to dissipate and he began to feel more himself.  He felt free for the first time in six weeks… it was strange how one decision could change everything.  He did a quick yellow pages search on his computer, and soon had Joyce Collin’s number in front of him.  He called, and the phone rang three times before it was picked up.

 

“Joyce Collin’s office, this is Sally speaking.”  A pleasant but rather stressed voice said over the phone. 

 

“Hello, Sally.  This is detective inspector Marcus Drake.  I’m calling to inquire about an appointment Ms. Collins was supposed to have with a woman named Erika on Monday morning around 11am.  Can I speak to her please?”

 

“Um… I’m sorry Mr. Drake.  Miss Collins was murdered on Sunday afternoon.  She never made her Monday appointments.  Didn’t the other detectives tell you?”  Marcus could tell Sally was more than a little irked, and very close to being overwhelmed.

 

“I’m very sorry, but no.  We have a large office, and this case is not related to hers.  I’ll find out who’s dealing with her case and chat with them…  Can I ask you one question, Sally?”  Marcus asked.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Was she seeing someone over the weekend?  Where was she killed?”

 

“I can’t remember, Mr. Drake – the detectives have her day planner.  You could find out from them.  She was found outside of a Chinese restaurant, downtown.  I’m sorry.  I don’t know any more.”

 

“Of course, ma’am.  Thank you.”

 

Marcus hung up, and turned back to his computer, and logged into the office network.  Aha!  Briggs and Conway have the case, he thought as he punched their extension.  Maybe they can fill me in on the details.  The phone rang, then picked up.

 

“This is Briggs.”  Wilson Briggs was a good detective, with over 12 years experience.  He was brusque, and sometimes rude, but efficient as hell.  “Hello?”

 

“Hey Briggs, it’s Marcus.”

 

“Oh hey, Detective Inspector!  What can I do for you?”  Briggs offered.

 

“I need to know some facts about the Joyce Collins case.  Anything weird about it so far?”  Marcus asked.

 

“Well, if by weird you mean ‘find the teacher stuffed into the back seat of her car with her throat slit ear to ear, with $10,000 sitting next to her wrapped in bank bands weird, then yeah we found a little bit.  Seriously, whoever killed her didn’t even try to take the money – and we lifted some prints off the keys to the car – but they came back all fucked up.  We figure someone’s trying to conceal their fingerprints.”

 

“Damn.  It’s been a while since we’ve seen that trick, hasn’t it?” 

 

“Yeah – a few years at least.  Anything else?”

 

“Yeah.  Did Ms. Collins have a dayplanner?  I need to know if she was meeting someone on the weekend.”  Marcus stated.  “If you’ve got a name, I’d appreciate it.”

 

“She was seeing some guy called Vargas Elm for lunch on Sunday – that’s it. Her day planner says ‘bring notes’ but we didn’t find anything with her, other than the money.  We figure whoever killed her, took the notes.  That help you any?”  Briggs seemed curious over the question. 

 

“Yeah – it’s starting to tie in to the massacre case James and I are working.  A witness to some of the massacre was supposed to talk with Ms. Collins on Monday and she never made it.  Thanks for the help, guys – and good work!”  Marcus said, thinking quickly.  So there actually is a Vargas Elm…  Interesting.  I wonder if he’s the religious nutbar that Christine Vallan said he was – or if he’s something else entirely.  God, I hope the ‘evil wizard’ part is bullshit.  Jesus, that would be all we’d need.

 

“No problem, Detective Inspector.”  Briggs signed off and hung up.

 

Marcus combed his fingers through his silvering hair, and let out a ‘whoosh’ of air. So Vargas is real, he thought. I wonder how much of Miss Vallan’s story is also real?  It can’t all be real – can it?  Just to cover all the bases, he pulled up what was in the system about the Collins murder and read the file.  Like Briggs said, there wasn’t much. So Mr. Elm isn’t afraid of killing, and doesn’t care about large amounts of money.  That’s a very, very dangerous combination.

 

Marcus busied himself with tidying up his paperwork, and cleaning up loose ends on the active cases he had, so that when he got leave, the office would be in some semblance of order when he got back.  Assuming I even survive to come back, he thought.  What the hell – might as well keep up a positive attitude. 

 

A little while later, James slipped into his office again.  “Hey boss, I think I found where they’re going.”

 

“And…”  Marcus asked.

 

“The best guess is Salt Lake City or the Bonneville Salt Flats.  Apparently the goddess that Elm is supposed to be looking for likes salt water – and those are the most likely places in North America.  The only other places Dr. Wellesley mentioned were in the Middle East – the Dead sea and a few rivers we could never get to with all the fighting going on over there anyway. Dr. Wellesley said his impression of Miss Van Helstrome is ‘someone quite composed, articulate, but flighty in that way that wealthy people often are.’  Doesn’t sound like our psychiatric patient, Eric much, does it?”

 

            “Maybe – maybe not.  If he was… misdiagnosed, maybe it was actually cured, or went away.  It wouldn’t be the first time a doctor made a mistaken diagnosis.”  Marcus supposed.

 

            “Maybe, but it would be the first time they’d admit it.”  James agreed, joking.  “Okay – say the red-head is Eric – so she goes to Salt Lake City?  How?  She can’t get ID and a passport, right?  Or do you think her sister arranged it?”

 

            “With that much money, I’m sure she did.”  Marcus said.  “Her story is that Erica went to a clinic and got Sexual Reassignment Surgery.”

 

            “I don’t think so, Marcus.  SRS doesn’t shrink you several inches or change your bone structure.  She doesn’t look like Eric even a little.  Not possible.”

 

            “Don’t you mean ‘probably’ not possible?”  Marcus asked.

 

            “Oh man.  Yeah, definitely.  If we have to start factoring magic into our investigations, reason just went out the window.  We’ll have cops looking for unicorns soon.”

 

            “Hey – that’s not funny.”  Marcus said.  “Can you imagine how screwed up that would make court proceedings?  Warrants to use magic to read a suspects mind and incriminate him with what you find out.  Use magical mind control to make sure no one re-offends – where does it stop?  Our whole system would collapse.”

 

            James was quiet a moment, and Marcus filled in.  “I think we’ve seen enough.  I’m talking to Marshall to see if we can both get leave.  You might want to call the airport and book us a couple of tickets on the next flight.  We might as well get down there ASAP – we might even beat both of them if we hurry.”

 

            “You got it.”  James pulled his mobile phone, and started doing the search.  Marcus left James behind and went to his superiors’ office, Superintendent Marshal Givens.

 

            “Hey Marcus!  What brings you to my neck of the woods?”  Marshall asked.

 

            “It’s that damned Massacre case from six weeks ago.”  Marcus began.  James and I are run ragged – we’d like to take some time off to deal with it.”

 

            “About bloody time,” Marshall interjected.  “I’ve been trying to get you to take leave for weeks.  Take as much time as you need.  Where you gonna go?”

 

            “We’re going to go to Salt Lake City, maybe tour some churches and do some hunting.  I’ve got an old friend in the area too.”

 

            “Well, good luck – I hope you bag a few of whatever you’re hunting.  I hope you feel better soon, Marcus.”

 

            “Thanks sir.  We’ll probably be on a plane by tomorrow morning at the latest.”

 

            “Well don’t wait around here – get out of here, now.  Go – shoo!”  Marshall made some shoo-ing motions with his hands, and pointed to the exit.  “Your leave starts five minutes ago, got it?”

 

            “Definitely.”  Marcus answered.  “See you when I get back.”

 

            Marcus left the Superintendent’s office whistling, and headed over to look for James.  They had a lot to do in a little time – but they were a hell of a lot closer to finding the answers each other needed than they were a few days ago.   Marcus felt for the first time a bit of hope.   

 

*           *           *

 

            Kai sighed as he emerged from the bathroom in Erica’s hotel suite.  “That feels a lot better.  You know, there is something to say about this paper stuff you use.”  Kai said, smirking, knowing it would get Erica’s goat a bit. 

 

            “I’ve been telling you that for weeks.”  Erica said, grinning back at her boyfriend.  “Maybe we should take some back with us, when we’re done here.”

 

            “Actually,” Maeve interjected.  “I can think of more valuable things to take, that are dirt cheap hear.  Spices. Some of those light super metals you talk about.  How about some gemstones or gold? What about some of those books that tell you how to survive and make some of your strange artifices? You should also think about what we’ll need when we get back, since we have no idea where Askeline will deposit us when we arrive back in Mercia.  We could end up halfway around the world – wherever we will serve her needs best.”

 

            “Hrmph.  Fine, spoilsport.”  Erica said, sticking her tongue out at her friend.  “But I’m still taking some other stuff from home back with me.” Especially those condoms, she thought privately.  It would be hard trying to save the world if I end up pregnant, she mused.

 

            Sir Andred smiled.  “I’m sure we can find space for a few rolls of the paper, Erica.  What do we do about dinner?”

 

            Erica thought a minute, and realized they could either go to a restaurant, which would require leaving the hotel room – something she desperately wanted to avoid, due to being so tired – or they could order take out.  The motor hotel they were staying in was comfortable and clean, but it didn’t have its own kitchen to order ‘room service’ from.  “We’ll order something in – I’m too pooped to go out.”

 

            The others nodded, and went about arranging their gear into various rooms. Kai and Erica again shared a room, while Sir Andred and Maeve each chose to sleep alone.  The suite was more than large enough for their needs, and everyone was resting and lounging around after a long day cooped up in Erica’s SUV, driving.  

 

            “How does everyone feel about pizza?” Erica asked.

 

            Kai looked at the others – Maeve gave the ‘go ahead’ nod, and Sir Andred didn’t seem to care.  “Sounds good, hon.  Get some stuff to go with it too, okay?”

 

            “Sure.”  Erica called up the first place she saw – Papa John’s – and ordered.  A few minutes later, she hung up, glad that Pizza, chicken wings, soda pop and potato wedges with gravy were headed their way. 

 

            “Good – are you done, at least till dinner gets here?”  Maeve asked.

 

            “Yeah… Why?”  Erica looked a little confused, but began to suspect why Maeve was corralling her.  “Time for a magic lesson?”  She grinned eagerly.  I sure as hell hope it is, she thought. I’ve been waiting for more training for over a week.  I know so damn little – I need to learn as much as I possibly can, as quickly as I can.

 

            “Yup.”  Maeve answered, motioning to her bedroom.  “You coming?”

 

            “Hell yeah!”  Erica put some money on the coffee table for the others to pay the delivery man with – three twenty dollar bills – and went with Maeve.

 

            “Sit down and get comfy.”  Maeve said, and waited while Erica complied. 

 

            “You asked a while back for me to explain just what you can do with the Words – the magic words – I’ve taught you.  I can’t answer that, not specifically, because there is no answer.  The Thirteen Words are so versatile, that you can perform almost any kind of magic with them, literally.  The only limit is the definition of the word itself, and your imagination.”

 

            “You mean, magic can do anything I can think of?”  Erica asked.

 

            “Anything you can think of, that is within the purview of the words you know, and within your personal level of strength to accomplish without harm.  That’s the real trick – it doesn’t help if you can whip out that beam of light that fried Bishop Blaine or the Demon, if you nearly kill yourself every time you use it, for example.”

 

            Erica smiled wryly.  “I can understand that.  How do I tell when I’m near my limit?”

 

            “Relax kiddo, I’m going to show you.”  Maeve said.  “Call upon the word of Sight – Sight is capable of spells that conceal or reveal information, and cover whatever a person can see and hear, which means it also allows you to call upon the magic of light and sound.  You can also perform divinations with it – things like scrying and blocking people from scrying you.”

 

            Erica calmed herself and entered her Nairya, her battle-trance.  The Nairya was something Maeve taught her a few weeks ago, saying it would assist her concentration, and keep her focused in battle… So far Maeve had been proven right.  Being able to call upon the trance had saved her life in battle at least once.  She could feel the power roiling within her, and she reached for it with invisible hands, grasping some of its strength and making it hers.  “I have it.”  Erica said.  “Now what?”

 

            “I want you to make a light – a small one, to see by.  A tiny glowing ball that hovers over your left shoulder, and lights your path. Can you do that?”  Maeve waited patiently.  “When you’re doing it, you’ll feel magic course through you – if it starts to feel like it’s burning a bit, you’re drawing too much power and are approaching your threshold.  If that happens, let back on the power a bit – the spell will be weaker, but you won’t hurt yourself or risk Kissing the Void or suffering the Call of Hrask.”

 

            Erica imagined in her mind a tiny ball – but her mind kept changing to that of a glowing female pixie, like Tinkerbell or that annoying faerie from the Zelda game that keeps going ‘hey listen!’  Slowly she could see the shining light start to glow, bursting into light slowly like a very dim lightbulb that slowly grew stronger and stronger.  It’s true, she thought.  I can feel magic flowing through me. I don’t feel any burning though – none at all.  “If I don’t feel any burning, does that mean this spell isn’t particularly taxing?”

 

            “Pretty much.”  Maeve said.  “Nice glowing faerie, by the way.  You’d better not let Kai see that – he hates the Fey.”

 

            “Why?”  Erica asked.

 

            “He didn’t tell you?  Shit.”  Maeve swore, looking like she may have revealed too much.  “A fey warband caught his sister travelling alone in the woods west of Wethom a long time ago, and they took her back to their camp in Rillian.  He found what was left of her four days later.  I won’t go into details, but he and they will never be friends.  He buried her, and then proceeded to hunt and kill as many fey as he could for several years.  The Rillian Fey call him ‘Deathstalker.’  You might say they’re his favorite target.”

 

            “Wow!  So when you said there were no nice elves you knew of, you weren’t kidding then.”  Erica was stunned.  Poor Cinnamon!

 

            “No kiddo, I wasn’t.  They’re bad news – all of them.”  Maeve took a look at Erica, examining her for stress from the spell.  “Did you feel any fatigue? Any burn?”

 

            “Nope, not a bit.”

 

            “Great.”  Maeve said.  “Let’s try something harder then.  Let the light spell go – having too many spells active at once can be bad for your concentration – which means usually using fewer spells is better than using magic for solving every little problem.   Now try to think of a mirror hovering in front of you.  In that mirror is showing the living room out there, with Kai and Sir Andred – like a window into that room.  Try to see what they’re doing and describe what you see.  Once again, feel for the burn, and keep concentrating.  Divinations and scryings are very complicated, and if you lose your focus, your spell will end instantly.”

 

            Erica nodded, and tried to strengthen her focus, and make her Nairya stronger.  She was getting better at it, gradually, but she knew she had a hell of a long way to go before she was anywhere close to Maeve’s focus and training.  Whether she had as much power or not was a moot point, if she didn’t have the focus and willpower to control it safely.

 

            She formed the image of a silver gilt mirror in her mind – like the one her mom, Laura had in the front hall of their home when he was a kid, before things went bad.  She always liked that mirror, and knew it intimately, having stared into it at least a hundred times.  Soon, the image of the mirror hung in front of her, hovering in the air about six inches from the wall.  Maeve had closed the door to the room, so she couldn’t see what was happening outside.  The mirror only showed Erica in its reflection, and the bed she sat upon.

 

            “Good – now concentrate on seeing what is happening in the next room.  You should be warned that some magical powers can affect you if you see them – and seeing them via scrying is no different than seeing them via real vision, unless you are very skilled and expecting to filter out images or sensations you don’t want to see.  Just be warned.”  Maeve told Erica.

 

            “Okay…”  Erica tried to ‘see’ into the other room, but apparently making the wall invisible was beyond her, so she imagined her mirror being the tiny eye of a small fly, hovering around behind the living room, watching Sir Andred and Kai – and then projecting what the fly saw upon the mirror, like she was watching TV.   Even as the image slowly built, and she practiced moving around the ‘spy fly’, she could feel a slow burn start to creep in – not painful, but like a muscle cramp that tells you ‘you’ve gone far enough – any more of this will hurt you.’   “I think I can see them – Kai’s watching TV, and Sir Andred is getting something out of the bar fridge.”  She said.

 

            Maeve opened the door to the suite outside, and confirmed the vision.  “Sure is.  Good job, Erica.”  Maeve looked impressed.  “Did you feel any burn?”

 

            “Yeah,” Erica said.  “At the end of it – like I was close to taking too much, but not so much it hurt.  I take it that feeling is when you ‘reach your threshold’?”

 

            “Pretty much, Erica.  If you keep that almost-burning sensation in mind when you cast spells, you’ll have a lot less of being dragged to a healer to save your life… again… happening.”

 

            “Warning duly noted.”  Erica said, laughing.  “How long will this scrying last?”

 

            “Several minutes at best, at your strength.  Any more would tire you or hurt you.  As you can see, you didn’t have to recite a spell, or say a specific prayer – you just thought something, and it happened.  That’s how we use magic – and why it’s almost impossible to nail down exactly what a word can do.  There’s a lot of overlap as well.”

 

            “What do you mean, overlap?”  Erica asked.

 

            “Well, let’s say you want to put out a raging fire, okay?  You could smother it with Air or Earth, douse it with Water, or consume all the fuel instantly with Fire to keep it from having fuel to burn.  You could ‘move’ the fire somewhere safer and less flammable with Forces, or contain it within a force field to prevent it from spreading with the same.  Eventually its air would run out, and it would smother.  Other words can do other things – part of the trick of being a successful sorcerer is learning which tricks work, and which tricks don’t work as well.  The more you practice, the more discoveries you’ll make and the more options you’ll have in a pinch.”

 

            Erica thought it over a moment.  “Okay – so Sight is everything you can see, hear, touch, smell and taste, plus scrying, right?”

 

            “Pretty close.”  Maeve agreed.  “And your question is?”

 

            “What are the limits of Binding?  I mean, the way you understand it.”

 

            “Binding is a bit harder to define… It’s a Word of the Primal Essence’s – the secret forces that shape our world.  You can break or repair objects, but not living things – that falls under the purview of Body magic.  You can lock or unlock magical and mundane locks, create or dispel magical wards, and even paralyze your foes by binding them that they cannot move.  It is said that those in the Age of Legends could use Binding to summon or banish Demons and Angels, or even travel to other dimensions such as the Faerie realms, the Elemental Demesnes, or the Realms of the Gods.  I should warn you, Erica, that all such magics are incredibly dangerous to you, and you shouldn’t use them except in great crisis.  The fact you can travel to the Void and back – before you were trained – is very frightening to me, and should be to you as well.  Binding is also used in conjunction with other magical words to craft magical items, such as weapons, armor and more wondrous things.  It can also animate objects by binding a small life-force into it for a short time.”

 

            “So I can do things…”  Erica began.

 

            “That have not been done with Binding since the Age of Legends, yes.  Thus my suggestion to use caution in all things.  We don’t want you accidentally summoning something, nor transporting yourself or us somewhere where we don’t want to go.”

 

            Erica shuddered, remembering the Demon.  I could summon that… oh my god. Never – I’ll never do that. Not ever.  Erica shuddered again.  “Okay.  Does that mean I can teleport us to where we need to go?”

 

            “Sorry, no.  Teleportation falls under the purview of Forces – which is apportation and movement, as well as telekinesis and force-shaping.  Not one of the words I know, frankly.  Too bad, too – then I wouldn’t need those damn moon-gates.”

 

            “What words do you have, Maeve?”  Erica asked.

 

            “Well you know Sight, Mind and Binding – because I wouldn’t have been able to teach it to you otherwise…  But it’s a wise sorceress who keeps a few secrets, even from her friends and allies.  You’d do well to remember that yourself.  Never tell anyone everything that you can do – keep a little something back as your secret.  You’ll live longer if you do.”

 

            “I will.  Thanks Maeve.”

 

            “No worries.”  Maeve said.  “I think I hear dinner arriving – we’d better get out there, or all the pizza will be gone the way those two eat…”

 

            “True.”  Erica laughed.  “Let’s go.”  

 

            The magic lesson over for the moment, Erica and Maeve went to rejoin the others.

 

*           *           *

 

            That night, as Sir Andred and Maeve readied themselves for bed, Kai and Erica found themselves alone in their shared room.  Kai could tell Erica was in a chatty mood, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what.  “Hey Erica…  You look like you want to talk?”

 

            “A little, yeah Kai.”  Erica said.  “Maeve’s been teaching me more magic – and I think I can do more than I expected.  It’s kind of cool and scary, how versatile and powerful these Words are.  Does Maeve only know three words?  I know two…”

 

            Kai smiled. “It’s not that simple.  Maeve knows four words that I know of – but she’s also had a decade or more of learning dirty tricks to use with them.  She’s one of the canniest spellcasters I know, and she’s proven capable of more than what even she thought she could do.  It’s not how much you know as much as how well you use what you have.  A sloppy magician, even a more powerful one, could be defeated by an extremely cunning apprentice.”

 

            Erica pondered that a moment.  “That’s really good to know.  I had no idea the Words I knew could do so much stuff!”

 

            “Well, I have even less idea.  Maeve taught me a bit of theory, but less actual fact – and truth be told, I didn’t ask much.  It’s not like I can use it myself.”  Kai laughed.  “She tried to teach me once, to see if I had the talent.  That was funny – and no, I didn’t have any skill with it.”

 

            “Hrm.  So I guess not many people have magical talents?”  Erica asked.

 

            “Maeve once told me she thought it was about one in a thousand, with maybe one in a hundred of them being a sorcerer of decent strength, capable of more than cantrips and minor spells.  Sorcerers like Maeve and Vargas are rarer than hens’ teeth.”  Kai answered.  “Does that help any?”

 

            “Yeah, a bit.”  Erica said, changing the topic.  “I suppose tomorrow we’ll be driving again – and then hopefully getting to Salt Lake City late in the day or early the day after.  Any ideas what to do once we get there?”

 

            “Well, it’s probably useless to scry Vargas – he might be able to shield himself – but Gaius and Flavius might be easier to catch off guard.  Still – the same goes for us.  He might not be able to scry Maeve, or you if you learn how to protect from it – but he’d be able to find Sir Andred and I no problem.  It kinda cancels both of us out in that respect.”

 

            Kai took a breath and continued.  “We know he’ll need a sacred spot – probably near a river.  It might be more productive to scout out the terrain and see which areas are good for his ritual, and assume he’ll be at one of the locations.  Barring that, didn’t your sisters’ friend Harlan say he could hire people to find him for us?”

 

            Erica thought back a few days to her conversation with both Angie and Uncle Harlan.  I bet he could find Vargas for us – either himself or through detectives or other people he hires.  “I bet you he could, Kai.  I should give him a call in the morning.”

 

            “Great!  Now will you stop talking, and get under these covers with me?  As I understand it, it’s your duty to keep me warm at night.”  Kai said smiling.

 

            “What!?  No way!  Boyfriends are supposed to keep their girlfriends warm, and to warm cold hands and feet on when they’re chilled.  That’s why boys have body hair and… and stuff.  Girlfriends are supposed to lend comfort and a listening ear.”

 

            Kai smirked.  “It sounds like you’ve thought this out in advance?”

 

            “It’s just common knowledge around here, jeez.”  Erica said, smiling back.  “You do have a lot of fur on you, Kai.  It’s like you’re a small bear.”

 

            “Rawr!”  Kai answered, making pawing motions at Erica. 

 

            Erica couldn’t help but laugh.  “Okay, okay!”  she said.  “I’ll be right there.”

 

            As they cuddled and Kai turned out the light, he quietly spoke in the darkness.  “You know, you were a bit right when you said I was like a bear – but to be honest, I’ve never been called ‘small’ before.”

 

            Erica tried to look at her boyfriend in the darkness, and then realized what he was trying to say to her, and snorted in laughter.  “Oh my gods, really?”  She asked.  “I promise you, hon, once this is over, we’ll see about proving that, okay?”

 

            Kai hugged her close, and smiled.  “Deal.”

 

            The two dozed off to sleep in each others’ arms…