Helen

 

Five hours after I finished my business behind Murray’s, I sat in a taxi outside the gates of a seemingly secure housing complex in Beverly Hills.  My State proved quite fixed so I could only follow through Provincial methods.  Here, that meant spending a fortune chartering an airplane but apparently I’d a fortune or six to spare.

Earlier in Grimsby, a little bribery and a few honeyed smiles and Murray, the restaurateur and chef, had opened up nicely.  He fed me a Cajun rice salad that had convinced me that no one—especially not a gourmet—would walk out on such a dish.  But apparently Ms. Michaela (Mackie) Normand did.  In all likelihood, she was my sister.  Murray described her as the daughter of a wealthy family, a skilled chef, heavily involved in church and charity, and for the most part appalling taste in men for such a lovely woman (no, Murray declined to mention that he had dated her).  Probably Darren had enjoyed corrupting such a good woman. That didn’t dissolve my apprentice theory, of course, it just meant she’d been trained more recently than I’d imagined.  Armed with this knowledge, I had come to Los Angeles.

Well, after laying the seeds for a monster out of the leftover energy in that alley.

Anyway…  I had, so far as I could tell, my standard package of powers in this State and my powers were adapted for urban environments.  I would only “own” this city in a few days but I suspected I’d move on by then.  Even I cannot always sense Coreals—it depends largely on the Provincial laws—but this Mackie girl was a total novice.  I could tell she had already fled this scene.  But to where?

After paying my unusually quiet cab driver, I circled the neighborhood.  A ten-foot wall completely enclosed a dozen, expensive looking houses.  Cameras covered all entrances and exits; private security and police patrolled everywhere.  Even for Beverly Hills this seemed a bit excessive to me.  Maybe this had been Darren’s home?

A pretty girl can bullshit her way into a lot of places but I imagined the security guards in this area were hardened against pretty girls.  Already a cop (a woman) had eyed me suspiciously even though I strode past in my most purposeful manner. 

Sewers or fence?

Ironically, the great amount of greenery in this area befuddled my city-fixated senses.  I sensed the layout of two or three houses along the edge but all the big backyards, private ponds, and small parks concealed way too much from me.

Would I be invisible to cameras in this plane?  Could I even sense them?  Yes, I could.  That suggested I could sneak past them and render myself invisible to the cameras or at least to those watching them.  That left only the actual security guards and the residents.  Just my bad luck—or was it Darren’s?—that she had assumed a State in almost the center of the complex.

Better take the sewers, I decided, slipping between two parked cars.  I found a manhole just ahead.  Traffic flowed fairly heavily along the street and I shut my eyes and ordered it to die down for a minute.  Somehow my powers (which were originally designed for forests) considered this “parting a stampede”.  Don’t ask me how it works because I can’t explain the adaptations of Sovereignties.  But the cars died down and for a couple of seconds everyone looked away.  I had just a second so I sprinted into the street, yanked open the manhole cover, and ducked down into the access tunnel.  A car passed over just as I replaced the cover.  My powers cut it close.  I hoped whoever was in that car didn’t see me but even if they did, who could find me down here?

I dropped the rest of the way down, maybe ten feet, and landed dead center in the muck of an LA sewer.  The biggest problem here—and the source of my reluctance—was the smell.  I passed through the sewage as easily as I would have passed through a brier patch if my powers were forest-centered: like a wraith.  I disturbed my surroundings not at all; nor was I in turn affected in any way.  In the forest, I could cross through plants covered with dew and spill not one drop.  After a day in the ocean, I can swim like a mermaid and probe the depths of ocean abysses.  Here, I was a master of the city and what belongs to the city more than its sewage and garbage?

All right, I wasn’t literally a wraith.  Wading through the muck takes time and effort.  Fortunately, LA was going through—surprise—a dry spell and the muck only reached my knees.  I traveled for twenty minutes, sensing my exact above ground location at all times.  Sadly, her house had no secret sewer access that I could sense which pretty ruled out the house having ever belonging to Darren.  He would certainly have a couple of good ways out and for me, those are always good ways in.  Too bad.  Instead, I found the manhole closest to her house and climbed up. 

I cracked the manhole cover and spied all directions.  The coast was clear, of course, since there really weren’t many people about.  I popped up the cover with a superhuman push, climbed out, and caught it on the way down, replacing it gracefully.  Nothing about my clothing betrayed where I’d just been.  No stench clung to my clothing. My socks and shoes were untouched, in short I looked as completely normal as I could manage.

My powers are so cool!

I was right at the driveway of the house and I started towards it as if I lived there. 

“Yap!  Yap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap!”  A poodle jumped out of the bushes into my path and I almost jumped over an oak tree to get away. 

Damn it!

In the forest, I’ve a way with animals, but in the city my friends are gadgets and cars and the like.  Dogs bark at me and I actually have to listen for the things.  And I hate poodles!  But it might be an animal Attendant of my sister and so I didn’t follow my first inclination and snap its neck.  I just bent over and slapped the little mutt’s nose.  That sent it yipping away in fear and pain which made my day.

I proceeded on to the door and rang the bell.  A few minutes later, a tall, lightly muscled man opened the door.  His dark hair had just recently been dyed and he combed it forward as if that alone could defeat the oncoming baldness.  He wore a green silk bathrobe and probably nothing else.  His hand—pinky sticking out—cradled a glass of fifty-year cognac which he swirled unconsciously.  Another man was in the house and this balding fellow had his scent all over him.  He wasn’t attractive enough to be my sister but it was just possible that his lover was but I doubted it.  I mean, why would a woman sex change into a man just so she could experiment with men?  Although I’ve heard rumonrs that some of my brothers can assuming a female State so they can…

“Yes?” he asked.  “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“I’m looking for my sister,” I said.  “I think she lives here.”

“Sister?  The woman who lives here doesn’t have a sister.  You have the wrong house.”

Of course, I knew it was the right one.  I could sense exactly where she’d arrived in State.  God she was talented!  And so, so, so sloppy.  I wondered how much I would learn when I reached her arrival point.

“She has a sister now,” I said.  “My name is Eden.  Helen Eden.”

He frowned and the pinky, whose companion fingers were gripping his glass, shot in my direction.  “That’s easy to say.  I could say that I was an Eden.  People are always trying to take advantage of celebrities.”

What?  Celebrities?  How could my sister be a celebrity?  That made very little sense.  She had a dark power festering away in her soul.  It’s very difficult to assume a State alien to your nature and how could anyone as inexperienced as she manage that?  Besides, a celebrity on a world where magic was secret would be just about the stupidest State you could design. 

“This is the home of Mackie Eden?”

“I suppose I can say yes,” he said.  “Who are you and how did you get in here?  If you’re a paparazzi, I can guarantee you’ll be disappointed.  But then, where’s your camera?”

“Can you reach her?”

“Of course,” he said. 

“Call her.  Tell her that her sister wishes to speak with her.  We share the same father.  And I bet you’ve never met her father, have you?”

The man frowned.  “She never mentioned him, no.  I’m not sure I can trust you.  But you do rather look like her.  You’re both absolutely striking.”

“Thank you!” I said. 

“Why has she never mentioned you before?”

“I didn’t know she was my sister until recently.  My father sprung it on me as a surprise.  He loves surprises.”

“So does mine,” he said.  “Can you imagine my joy when I told him I was gay.  That left him permanently surprised and I suppose permanently in love.  The name’s Justin, by the way.”

I laughed.  Now this guy, I was pretty sure, was an Attendant.  And a reasonable one.  Lucky for him because I would kill my way into the house Attendant or no. 

“What’s she like?” I said.  “I mean, I’ve never meant her.”

“Oh, she’s even sweeter than she is in her interviews,” Justin said.

“Interviews?” I let myself look surprised.  “Is she a reporter?”

“Dear god, you don’t know what she does for a living?  Where have you been hiding out?”

“High school,” I said.

“You do look a little young,” he said.  “But that’s her demographic.  Does Mackie know about you?  No, she would have told me.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a movie star,” he said.  “Hello?  Beverly Hills, Hollywood, swimming pools, movie stars? You’ve never seen even one of her films?  Candlefire?  Birds and Bees?  Troubles in Greece?”

“Did you say she was sweet?” I asked.

“Oh, of course, an absolute sugar lamb.  As sweat as her apple pie—and my goodness is that sweat.  She does this thing with brown sugar and milk on top—” 

What the Hell was going on here?  By all appearances this was a “sport” State.  A movie star?  If I was looking for a sister without a dark Legacy and with a limited imagination this was exactly the kind of place I’d expect to find her.  Of course, I put two and two together and still ended up with five but never mind that for now.

  I opened my wallet and handed the man my ID.  “I just want to show you that I really am Helen Eden.”

“Oh, pumpkin, I sort of believe you but this doesn’t prove that,” he said.  “But my God, what on Earth are you doing carrying all that money around?  Don’t you know this is Los Angeles?”

“Has she been acting weird lately?” I ask. 

“Now that you mention it she has,” he said.  “Maybe she did find out about her father.  That would explain why she just ran off to Grimsby without a word of explanation—” He shut his mouth.  “Shit.  I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“But she didn’t try to hurt you or anything?”
“Well of course she hurt me!  I leave out a perfectly good selection of clothes for that divine body of hers and she goes and packs absolute trash.  That hurts me!  Speaking of clothes yours are a disaster.  I suppose that does increase the likelihood that you two are related.  And you’re the same height.” 

“That’s all she did?  Reject your clothing and run off to Grimsby?”

“Isn’t that bad enough?” he asked.   “Maybe she was looking for you?”

I sighed.  The only real reason for her to head to Grimsby was that she still remembered who she was.  That was quite surprising since young Regals usually forget who they’d been before and spend quite a bit of time wandering about in dreamy confusion. “Look, you can come in,” he said.  “I’ll give her a call.  But you’ll understand if I’m a little chary.”

I nodded.  “She must get all kinds of weird people pulling stunts on her.”  States are a funny thing.  This guy probably dreamed up a dozen such stunts and the more he thought up the more that would suddenly pop into my sister’s head as actual “memories” on this plane.  Coreals have used this aspect of States against me—but my mind went blank when I tried concocting a good story that might, somehow, help me. 

Her Attendant opened the door and gestured me inside and I followed him in.  His very buff lover—a boxer by the look of his thrice-broke nose and fighter’s build—was seated on a coach helping himself to some of my sister’s cognac.  When he saw me he looked distinctly uncomfortable and sadly closed his robe tighter. “Who’s this?” 

“Apparently it is Mackie’s sister,” he said.  “Sit tight while I call Mackie.”

Justin found and dialed some numbers.  The boyfriend stared at me as if I were a Martian woman come to steal Earth men.  Too bad I wasn’t.  He would have looked good inside my flying saucer.  Too bad he was so gay.

“Cognac?” he offered, awkwardly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Justin said.  “She’s a high school girl!”

I shook my head.  “Could I use a bathroom?” I asked Justin.

“Upstairs, straight ahead,” Justin said.  “And I’d better not catch you digging through her medicine cabinet because if you’re a reporter, I’ll have you arrested.” He covered an ear.  “Mackie!  Is that you?”

“Right,” I said, hurrying up the stairs.       

Naturally, I took a left at the stairs because that led to the place where my sister had first taken her State.  It turned out to be a bedroom apparently decorated to wake her up in the morning: the walls were painted mocha brown.  I could practically smell the coffee (some colors have strong scent associations for me).  She had first assumed her State on the bed and I approached it and “felt” the energy.

She had squandered far too much power fiddling with her initial State.  She had not Shifted planes but she had shifted locations.  Sometimes, I can make inferences about a State if I’m lucky enough to find the point where it had started.  But in this case, the raw waste of power made it clear that she really had assumed a movie star State just as all the evidence insisted.  Her State had zero connection with the Wary underworld that existed on this plane.  How long could that last?  This girl was bleeding power and even the Provincials would smell it and be at least curious if not outright hungry.

What I could not see—not in any way—was the presence of her Dark Legacy.  Her State contained no obvious Corruption.  Maybe the transfer had failed?  God, I hoped not!  I had just created a monster to hunt down a dangerous sister.  If she wasn’t actually dangerous, well, Dad would be pretty pissed off that I’d pretty much just killed my new sister.

But I’d never heard of a Legacy transfer failing.  Most likely, she was simply enjoying a moment of sanity and would soon collapse into Corruption.  Just a matter of time. 

“I can’t get through to her,” Justin said.  I turned around.  “But maybe you don’t want to speak to her anyway.”  His boyfriend stood in front of him looking awfully threatening. 

“Do you have a picture of her?” I asked. 

“I really think you should leave,” Justin said.

The boyfriend stretched his arm out and I sidestepped him and punched him in the nose, breaking it for a forth time and knocking him back on his ass.  Justin jumped out of the way, his yelp echoing the poodle’s earlier noise.

“Do you have a picture of her?” I asked again.

“Scott!” he said, bending down.  “You bitch!”

“I asked for a picture of her,” I said. 

“Who are you?  She’s famous, you freak!  Why do you need a picture?”

“Because she’s not famous to me,” I said.  I noticed Scott’s knee had a surgery scar and I stomped on it hard.  Something snapped.  Scott screamed in pain. 

“God, leave him alone,” Justin said, cradling him.  “What do you want from us?”

“A picture of my sister.”

“She’s not your sister,” he said.  “You’re an evil bitch.”

“She is my sister and you’ll find that she’s the evil bitch.  If you see her again, run away.”  I looked down at Scott.  “And don’t even think about getting up.  That blown knee has totally thrown off your balance.  And since your right arm is better developed than your left, I’ll attack you left and dodge the right and beat the shit out of you.  Judging from the cuts above your eye and your nose, it’ll be easy. 

“You!  A picture.  Now!”

“Downstairs on the coffee table,” he said.  “She’s on the cover of freaking Glamour.”

I nodded.  “That will do.” 

I stepped over them and as I passed I reached down and snatched the cell phone out of Justin’s pocket with superhuman speed.   They offered no resistance; they were both too shocked.  I hurried downstairs and found the magazine on the coffee table.  The cover starred a red-haired woman of unearthly beauty who could only be a full-fledged Regal.  She really did resemble me.  We shared the same small nose, large wide eyes, and high cheekbones, and even the thick, manageable hair.  I ripped the cover off the magazine and tucked it in my purse.

What to do about the pair upstairs?  They would just call the police and, probably, my sister.  I checked through the cell phone’s numbers.  One of them surely belonged to my sister.  Perfect.  I pulled my gun out of my purse (private airport security is nonexistent) and started upstairs.