Prologue

In a multiverse so amazingly diverse is a story of a modern America, not so different from the one you are currently inhabiting. In this version of the universe there is an ancient wyrding witch clan that has managed to survive a purge of all magi other than the luciferian warlock elite, who control all the world's religions and commerce for the past 1600 years. Through centuries of demonization via corrupt Church edicts and Church inspired sectarian violence of all suspected witches, this clan of Irish, Danaan witches survived by living at the fringes of society. In the wilds, where superstitious men feared to tread, they lived off the land and kept their medicinal larders well stocked for the variety of herbs available to them. Later; they moved to the cities where they adapted their own language to blend in with the masses who lived around them. This witch clan passed on its craft in a matriarchal succession that counts its generations all the way back to ancient Tara of the Sixth Century A.D., from mother to daughter.

Words like “witch,” or “coven” were never used in this household, even though it was the enlightened Twentieth Century, the persecution was sure to follow. Christian terms were used instead. A witch was a herbalist, a healer, or a midwife, and in place of a coven was the women’s circle. Every parish had one of those for bake sales and ladies’ auxiliaries and such. Outsiders never had a clue, though close kin and friends might have suspected these women were a bit too knowledgeable to be rank amateurs. In fact, husbands rarely suspected their spouses, and were content to leave women things to the women. Dinner was good, the children were well cared for, and the house was clean. What more could a man want to know? And so an ancient craft survived to modern times.

The ruling warlock elite kept their handiwork hidden in their carefully crafted shadows of their masquerade of being "pillars of the communities". This modern America of the 1960s lived in the constant threat of nuclear annihilation and yet had no clue that most of what they believed to be true of their government, was but a very thin facade of deceit and treachery. Had they been fearful of the Russians, they had far more to fear of their own hidden leadership. Levels within levels of evil, posing as national security and wealthy wyrding kindred printing talismans to rule peoples' lives with as if it were valuable currency. The more money acquired; the more control they had over those lives so touched, to their minutest abominable whims. Even this is but a single string on a quantum fret set with parallel strings above and below it. As the adage says: "As Above, So Below." It is but a sympathetic vibration of a quantum note struck on another parallel superstring.

Stone Henge Dreams

Emma stood alone and barefoot in the circle of tall standing stones. The night was cold and the full moon directly above her illuminating her single silver lock in the center of her fine, high brow. On the northernmost dolmen, a large raven cawed raucously in the moonlight. Before her eyes a bonfire ignited to light and warm the confines of the holy place. Shadows of inky blackness detached from the menhir forming themselves into black robed women in tall crowned, broad brimmed hats who circled the stones clockwise while chanting. The raven flew to a space in front of the altar stone and transformed into a tall, ebon haired, black robed woman. She had been known for centuries beyond counting as the Morrigan, the Battle Raven.

"Sisters, summon our guests," the Morrigan cried. "It is time for our council to commence." She stepped forward and cast twine bound bundles of sage into the bonfire sweetening its smoke. Fireflies gathered to the outer circle of stones and winked in their obscure patterns of dance. The flutter of tiny wings announced the coming of a four inch tall, brown haired, bare foot man with sparrows wings wearing a white linen tunic with a miniature steel broadsword tucked in its sash.

"Sir Gregory of the Shining Sword," Emma announced the diminutive piskie hero.

The piskie bowed to her and the Morrigan and took his place, perched on a smaller stone before the fire. From the eastern gate of the stones came a tall, white winged man in silvery armor. Planting his lance bearing his personal banner outside of the circle, he entered the space solemnly. The strong moonlight gleaming about his silver armor and snowy wings bathed him in ethereal beauty and brilliance.

"Our dear Brother George," she called out, "the dragon slayer."

The angelic man touched the hilt of his brilliant sword to his heart and bowed at the shoulders, holding out the flat of the blade to all present, and took his place by the bonfire. From the western gate of the circle, came a spectral woman, who drew back her cowl from her head, revealing a silver crescent headpiece that circled her dark hair.

"The dark adept witch of the Formors, Sister Elvyra," she announced, beaming proudly at her old friend.

"Blessed be, sisters and gentle folk," Elvyra said, nodding to all present and took her place near the fire next to the piskie hero of her father's world.

Two tall, crimson robed figures strode silently through the southern gate of the standing stones, and removed their cowls to reveal their long, pale hair and sharp elongated facial features. The first of the two, who was fully seven feet tall had stopped before her at the fire, bowing slightly and smiling, revealing an even row of white teeth with sharply pointed canines. The other of the pair of Sidhe males, was about six inches shorter and maintained a space, one step behind and to his left and glared silently at Elvyra and the piskie, who pretended not to notice.

"I'm afraid I do not know you, sirs," Emma said, looking to the Morrigan.

"Before you stand Master Shabriri and Elder Shan of the Sidhe (Shee)," the Raven explained, "The Sidhe Master will be the boy's mentor in days yet to come. The Elder Shan is his assistant. Where the Shamblynn has failed in preserving the lad's Sidhe heritage, these will attend to it." The crimson robed males took their place by the fire, nearer to the altar stone. Luminous yellow eyes appeared out of the shadows of the menhir on the east side of the henge, and the familiar form of a large coyote loped forward to be recognized. A wiry looking, Indian brave, his head shaved at the sides with the hair in its center standing in a stiff cockscomb and a feathered roach attached, came up quietly behind him and waited.

"Brother, Coyote, the Trickster," she announced formally, as his baleful yellow eyes hooded momentarily in recognition. "I do not know this other who is with you, sir."

"This is the warrior I have chosen to train your brave in the ways of the Good Red Road, as we had agreed. He is of the Mohawk people, who guard the gateway to the east, and the great grandson of Sky Woman. We call him Little Fox." The brave stepped forward into the firelight.

Though shorter than Emma, his fierce hawk nosed visage, and hard sculpted body dressed in buckskin leggings were the picture of quiet confidence and pride, punctuated by the most startling blue eyes she had ever seen on a man, much less an Indian. He said not a word as he took his place next to Coyote around the fire. His sharp eyes taking in all the guests present in silent assessment of his surroundings.

Three crones had separated themselves from the circling, chanting witches to stand behind the Morrigan and the altar stone. As the firelight illuminated the shadowy recesses below their broad brimmed hats, she recognized the face of her mother among the three. It was time for the council to begin deliberations and all became silent as the Morrigan spoke.

“Is the council of allies here complete?” Raven asked the assembled group.

“Iktome, the Spider is not present,” Coyote responded. “He has taken a new wife, and under even the best of circumstances, this is a mortal danger. He has asked the counsel’s understanding and indulgence in this.”

“So, mote it be,” the Morrigan said smiling. “May our handsome friend consummate his marriage in safety. We wish him well. Now, to business...” The interminable meeting of this mixed cultural and racial multitude went on for hours, discussing future engagements, proper training and at one point an argument over who held the better part of their people’s interest over the absent unicorn.

“Enough of this bickering,” Shabriri asserted. “This boy is not to be divided into parts. Even so, what claim or interest can the Formor witch or Annwn (Ahn-noon) fae make on our lad?”

“Our only claim is friendship,” Elvyra said calmly, “No small matter, Sidhe. It was our lives we were ready to pay on behalf of those, not of our own blood when the proud Sidhe were no where near to protect their own. Have a care.”

“No small matter, indeed,” the Master admitted. “May we humbly extend our gratitude to you both. But to the rest of you, know this...” The Sidhe Master raised his hands to the night sky and traced a Celtic cross of light in the heavens.

“The lad is a Celt, of the plane of Abred,” he said , and then embellished the cross with a shimmering circle of light. “and he is also Sidhe, of the eternal summer lands of Gwynydd (Gwihn-nihd). This is the Wheel of this boy’s life and destiny. The Celtic Wheel. Neither this pooka, nor this savage have any part in that.”

“I am no mere pooka,” Coyote said with a low growl, “and through his great grandfather the boy shares blood with this savage. I would remind you that of all the ancient peoples on this earth, the Celts have been known as savages and barbarians of old by the Greeks and later, the Romans, only because they could not be dominated and shunned their concrete cities. But then, who better, would understand the savages of North America? I am no mere, shape shifting faery, Sidhe. I am a Teacher to my own people, and my medicine is far reaching.” He turned to address Little Fox, who stood quietly watching the Sidhe male doing his magick.

“Little Fox, raise your hands to the skies,” Coyote instructed, “and blow across your palms to the wheel in the heavens.” Having done as instructed, the four quarters of the circle filled with the colors Red, Yellow, Black and White.

“Behold the Medicine Wheel of this boy’s life and destiny,” Coyote proclaimed. “His limbs do not fight among themselves. His blood does not argue in his veins. He is mixed medicine, but he is only one boy. All of us must fill our place in this wheel to make him a whole warrior or he will not live long enough to honor any of us. Some have already bought his life with their own, and all life is precious.”

All such argument ceased and the focus was that it was in the best interest for all and the boy if he were fully trained with no parts lacking. The child had made allies in all realms, and the sacrifices of love would be respected above all things. The Rite of the Blessing Moon was complete. Emma let out a sigh of relief as someone tapped her shoulder and spoke to her urgently.

“Grandma, I can’t find my socks,” Johnny said nervously. “I think they are all in the wash and I promised Mrs. Clark that I‘d mow her back lawn today. Grandpa says to tell you the coffee‘s ready.”

Emma smiled at her grandson and stretched in her bed. It was always something with these men folk, but then, they were her men folk and she loved them dearly. She had made the boy her own since her daughter had given him up for adoption at birth. Lorry and Dave, along with Johnny's new half sister, Linda, were doing well for themselves, many miles away in California. The unusual forces of nature surrounding the boy had nearly destroyed their family. It seemed as though the Fates themselves had decreed that her grandson would be her responsibility alone. Which was just fine with her and Willard.

“Check my laundry basket in the summer kitchen, sweetie,” she said. “I took them off the line last night and hadn’t gotten around to sorting them yet.”

In a couple weeks the thin blond boy with the elfin features would turn ten years old, and nearly as tall as she was, and every bit as tall as his cousin, Leona, who was already fifteen. His rapidly growing limbs were causing him no end of embarrassment as he couldn’t seem to get used to how big he was. The clumsiness of this stage of his growth was making him quite accident prone. She considered her dreams for a moment longer and then got out of bed. She had to get these men out of the house and off to start their respective days. Leona would only be here for a few more weeks of fostering in the craft before returning home for school. There was just so much she wanted to take her through.

Willard rubbed his bald pate with a large gnarled hand as he looked over some drawings at the breakfast table with his coffee. He was in the process of finishing up an attic apartment for a neighbor across the street.

“I heard they already have a boarder lined up to rent that apartment,” she said, grabbing a skillet and some boiled potatoes from the fridge.

“Yes, they do,” he said. “I’m finishing the kitchen cupboards today and I have his rental agreement for when he shows up later. Got a strange name though, John Little Fox, it says here.” Emma nearly dropped the skillet, and set the bowl of leftover spuds on the sink counter.

“Little Fox?” she asked.

“Yep, that’s what it says,” he said. “I met him once while we were still framing the walls up there. He don’t look like no Injun, though. He’s got eyes bluer than mine. A quiet little guy, probably all of five foot two in his cowboy boots. Real polite and kind of a soft spoken sort. Hey, look at the time. I gotta get going, hon.” He drained his coffee, kissed her and dashed for the door.

“Hey, Grams,” Leona said walking in and giving her a hug, “that wash we made of thyme, rosemary and marjoram seems to be doing the trick for my complexion.”

“Well, keep using it and stay away from the sodas and chocolates, sweetie,” she said. “That pretty face won’t take much effort at all to stay that way.”

“Johnny thinks I’m pretty too,” Leona said as she straightened her long blond ponytail.

“Johnny thinks I’m pretty, dear,” she said laughing. “Your cousin hasn’t learned to look at women from any other perspective than ‘nice’ and ‘not nice’. Naturally, to him, all the nice ones are beautiful. If he saw Doris Day treat her dog badly, he‘d think she was a hag." Leona laughed at the mental picture of her cousin as she took her seat at the breakfast table.

"The consequence to that," she went on, "is eventually he will try to make the distinction that if they are beautiful, they are going to be nice people too, and we‘ll have to school the boy well about that fallacy, now. Won‘t we?”

“I know a few girls that would get that idea out of his head quickly,” Leona said. “They’re pom-pom girls on our cheerleading team. With pom-poms out to here,” She gestured in front of her bust. “and they think they own all the boys.”

“What’s pom-poms?” Johnny asked, walking in from the summer kitchen. “Sounds like some kind of candy or something.”

“Most guys seem to think so,” Leona teased, “but actually, they’re the colored paper froofy looking things that girls wave at sports events. You‘ll see a lot of that when you get into high school.”

“Oh,” he said. “What are we going to do today after I get Mrs. Clark’s back yard cleaned and mowed? I’ve almost got enough saved for a dozen new archery arrows for my bow.”

“Good for you, dear,” she said. “Maybe by your birthday, your Grandpa will help you put up a safe backdrop to go with your target, and you can practice in the backyard. Maybe your new friend will join you out there.”

“I don’t have any new friends,” he said, puzzled.

“You will have,” she said. “His name will be John Little Fox.”

“How do you know that, Grams?” Leona asked.

“Let’s just say, a little bird told me,” she said with a wink.

“Let’s just say, the little bird was probably more like a large Raven,” Johnny said with a wicked laugh.

“You really know your birds, Son,” she said with a nod.

“My legs ache and my nose wants to bleed every time I even think about that bird,” he said, referring to his ordeal against Mescalero magick a few short years ago in California..

“But you had danced so well,” she said, laughing. “Think of it as winning your very first dance contest.”

“What did you win?” Leona asked.

“I won an eagle feather, an Indian name,” he counted, “and another chance to live a little longer.”

“Cool,” Leona exclaimed. “What name did they give you?”

“Panther Boy,” he replied with a look of distaste.

“Like, in ’mountain lion’?” Leona asked. “Why that name?”

Johnny held his face close to hers, wrinkled his nose and bared his pointed canines and let loose with a snarl that would make any puma proud. Leona jumped back.

“You know,” Leona complained, “sometimes it gets really creepy how well you mimic things. For a second, I thought you had transformed into one.”

“It would amaze you what you think you see in a desert, Cousin,” he said, chuckling as he took his place at the breakfast table.

“That’s fine with me, Cousin,” Leona said. “The only animals I look forward to dancing with will be wearing tuxedos at my junior prom next year.” She sat down at the table as Emma brought over the home fries and eggs.

Johnny finished breakfast and ran out to do his yard work and make his extra money. Leona and her worked together in the summer kitchen brewing ointments and tinctures for various remedies. Emma smiled to herself. After all these years, the dreams still took some getting used to.

Meeting The Little Fox

Willard was busily hanging cupboards in the unfinished kitchen. He had a few shelves to set in place, some doors to hang and then clean up. The new, attic apartment would be ready for occupation before noon. He had walked the city inspector through yesterday, and it passed for its certificate of occupancy. Whitey Schneider was hobbling up the steps on his crutches to come inside and look at the handiwork. Willard shook his head and smiled. Whitey had the better part of one leg blown off in a mortar attack back in the Korean conflict. One leg or no legs, that man wouldn't let anything stop him from going anywhere or doing anything he wanted to.

"Have you seen any sign of our new tenant yet, Willie?" Whitey asked, leaning on his crutches.

"Not yet, but the day's still young," he said. "I've got your rental papers for him on the shelf over there, for when he shows up. I'm still going to be here a while to hang the doors and sweep up. Why don't you take in a foot race or something, and I'll get the papers to you if I can catch up with you later."

"I just wanted to be sure that everything is ship shape for our new tenant," Whitey said, looking about.

"He must be pretty special," Willard said, "if you're making all this fuss over him. He seems like a quiet and friendly type of guy."

"You don't get around much at the V.F.W. hall these days," Whitey said with a chuckle. "Our Mr. Little Fox registered with us and we helped get his records. He's the talk of the hall. A genuine war hero."

"You don't say," Willard said, stopping a moment to look at his friend. "He's such a soft spoken, little fella, I'd never have taken him for entering even contact sports."

"Oh, don't let his size and demeanor fool you," Whitey said with a mirthful gleam in his eyes. "This fellow was some kind of commando back in the Korean conflict. His record's got pages of citations and medals on it. In his last battle, he had attached himself to a division that was fighting a holding action on a hill. In one day, that quiet, little man, personally killed over three hundred Chinese and North Korean soldiers. Some with his rifle. Some with their rifles, and the rest with a trenching tool, like it was a tomahawk or something."

"So, he really is some kind of Injun then," Willard asked.

"Don't let the blue eyes fool you either," Whitey said laughing. "His papers say he's a Mohawk from up north. Hey, I'm here to tell you, if there were more Indians like John, we'd be the ones living on the reservations. Personally, I couldn't be prouder if Eisenhower was renting this apartment himself. If he comes in and thinks he wants the shelves on the other wall. You go ahead and do the work and I'll pay for it without question. I want it perfect for him here."

"I'll keep that in mind," Willard said. "Now, how about you go run that footrace, and I'll get back to work making our new friend comfortable. I'll get those papers right to you when he comes."

"Thanks Willie," Whitey said, as he gimped towards the stairs. "You're the best, buddy."

Willard pondered the new tenant as he finished hanging shelves and doors. Since they had gotten Johnny back from California, Emma had taken a greater interest in her Native heritage and had even taken the children to the museum and several other exhibits and shows to school them about it. She had mentioned how some day, the boy would have an Indian mentor, among others, and the introduction of a genuine Indian war hero moving in across the street struck him as being more than a little serendipitous. He'd have to be sure to mention this to her later. The real test would be if Johnny likes this guy.

"It's very nice," a low quiet voice said from the doorway, startling him.

Standing in the doorway, was a small, athletically built man, a little over five feet tall with close cropped black hair, a hawk beak nose and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in a short sleeved, white polo shirt, casual black slacks and a pair of penny loafers. His mouth was a straight gash that cut across his face and turned up at the corners to smile.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Little Fox," he said, rising to his feet and extending his hand.

The smaller man stepped forward and took his hand in a firm, friendly squeeze and smiled broadly, looking about the new kitchen.

"Call me John, please," the younger man said. "The mister stuff makes me uncomfortable, like wearing a tie or something."

"I know just what you mean," he said. "I'm Willard, but Whitey and some of my friends just call me Willie. I don't mind either of those, as long as I'm not called too late for dinner."

"I know just what you mean," John said, rubbing his tummy meaningfully. "I'm sorry, I got here a little earlier than I expected. Could I give you a hand with anything?"

"I'll tell you what," he said. "You take care of those rental papers for Whitey, and help me hang these doors and sweep up the sawdust, and I'll help you move in your things and treat you to a first rate, home cooked meal with me and the missus. We only live across the street."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to be all that much trouble," John said.

"Good," Willard said, smacking him on the back, "then you won't turn me down and get me in trouble with my missus for not having you over for dinner."

With John's help, the work went by in no time at all. Willard helped empty the U-Haul trailer by carting boxes up the stairs. About midway through the morning, Johnny showed up out in front of the house.

"I finished Mrs. Clark's yard," Johnny said. "Grandma said to come over and see if you needed any help moving stuff, and to tell you both that lunch will be ready on the front porch in an hour from now."

"Well, boyo," Willard said. "You're just in time to take this box up all those stairs to our new neighbor. His name is John, too." Willard sat down on the back of the trailer to catch his breath a moment.

"Hey, we got more help, I see," John said, emerging from the side door to his apartment.

"This is my grandson, Johnny," Willard said, "and Johnny, this is John Little Fox, our new neighbor."

"Little Fox?" Johnny asked. "That's an Indian name, isn't it?"

"I'm Mohawk," John said with a smile, "from northern New York. Would you like to help me set up my citizen band radio? It's in that box you're carrying."

"Really?" Johnny asked, excitedly. "I've always wanted to see one of these. I've been reading a series of books called "The Radio Boys" and they get into ham radios and stuff like that."

"In that case," John said, companionably, "you'll probably have to stop by sometimes after I get home from work and I'll show you how the thing works."

"Could I?" Johnny asked, wide eyed.

"First, we get him moved in," Willard said. "And then we go get that lunch on the front porch. Then we get into hobbies."

"Sure thing, Grandpa," Johnny said, and dashed away with the box.

The boy had endless energy for running up and down the stairs with all those boxes. No sooner had Willard handed him or John off with one, Johnny was back for another. By the time Emma and Leona had made an appearance out on the porch with trays of sandwiches and a pitcher of cold root beer, the trailer was empty.

“Well, boys,” Willard said in mock solemnity, “Duty calls us and we have to go do justice to those trays of sandwiches as best we are able.”

“We’ll do our level best, not to let you down, sir,” John said, smiling and giving a snappy salute.

“We will eat them on the porches,” Johnny said, mimicking a famous speech, “We will eat them on the front steps. We will eat them in the kitchen...”

“Aw, c’mon there Mr. Churchill,” Willard said, pulling him along. “We’ll just eat them now.”

Introductions made all around, the men set into inhaling the myriad of cold cut sandwiches and tall glasses of cold, homemade root beer. The conversation was lively and with two "Johns" on the porch. the subject of names had to come up.

"Little Fox doesn't sound like any Mohawk name that I can recall," Emma said thoughtfully.

"It's not," John replied. "I got my Indian name from a Cherokee medicine man who had mentored me back in the service, and took it on as my legal name."

"Proud of the heritage," Emma commented with a smile.

"And why shouldn't I be?" John quipped. "I was brought up on the Akwesasne Reservation up north, and it took a while to find myself as a young man. I had help on the way, and when I found myself, I was an Indian. The Creator has been very kind to me."

"My father was Iroquois," Emma replied. "Though I was born and raised in my mother's clan as an Irish Celt. My father taught me as a child that we were a part of the Six Nations, but I never really thought of us so much as 'Indians'. Maybe Hollywood had something to do with that."

"The Six Nations were a very civilized federation of Natives," John related, "of which the Mohawk were considered the guardians of the eastern gateway into Six Nations territory. No teepees, but long houses and cabins. Were you aware that the structure of the United States government is based on our own? Of all the different peoples who have contributed to this great country, our own are nothing to scoff at."

"I've been hearing that your own contributions to our country have been nothing to scoff at," Willard said, with a note of admiration. "Our new friend is a Korean war hero," He announced to the others.

"If you don't mind," John said, blushing, "of the one hundred best days of my life, none of those days in Korea, ever made the list. I like them better behind me."

"I'll keep that in mind, my friend," Willard replied, noting that Johnny was watching the newcomer with his head cocked to one side. This usually meant that the boy was intensely intrigued by someone or something. Knowing that Emma wanted some positive exposure for the boy in Indian culture, he thought it might help to encourage a bit more interaction.

“With two John’s present, we’re going to have to designate a ’Big John’ and a ’Little John’ to keep ’em straight,” he said with a gruff chuckle.

“Well, I guess that makes me ’Little John’, “ Johnny said, staring down at his feet self consciously. “Sort of like in Robin Hood.”

“You?” Little Fox asked incredulously. “How old are you boy?”

“I’ll be ten in two weeks,” Johnny replied.

“Look at you, then,” John said, appraising him, “Only ten years old and already you have a couple inches on me. I dare say you will probably grow to be a giant of a man. No sir. You are ‘Big John’ and I am ‘Little John’.”

“But you’re older than me,” Johnny observed, “and that would be disrespectful to treat you as little.”

“The Creator made no mistakes,” John explained, “when he made you or me. I am happy with who and what I am and I don’t feel even a little bit disrespected here. I do okay for myself, Big John. It’s not a person’s size that should gain them respect, but how big their heart is. Besides, I am the Little Fox. How could I all of a sudden become a ‘Big John‘?”

“Giants come in all sizes,” Emma remarked.

“It never fails to amaze me,” Willard said, “the things an old geezer like me learns everyday.”

“I’ve been told once,” John said, “by a very wise man, that when you get to the age where that no longer happens, you have become too old.”

“God forbid,” he exclaimed, with a horrified expression on his face.

“I think my young man, here,” Emma said, pecking him on the cheek, “has more than a few good years left in him before he can qualify as ‘too old’.”

Willard blushed and changed the subject again. Finishing lunch on the porch, and extracting a promise from John to come over for supper at five o'clock, he set off to get Whitey his rental papers. John went back to the apartment to unpack and Johnny volunteered to help. Before he took off to go visit the Schneider residence, Emma stopped him at the door.

"You never cease to amaze me, Willard," she said. "You knew he would be our boy's next mentor."

"We'd talked about it months ago," he replied. "If you tell me you think it's going to rain, I know enough to bring an umbrella. What good is it having a witch for a wife, if I don't listen to her?"

"You are a very unusual man, Willard," she said, pecking him on the cheek.

"It's a requirement when you're married to a very unusual woman," he said, tipping his hat and leaving.

Breaker, Birthday Boy!

Hanging from a line, thirty feet above the pavement, John Little Fox pondered his life at this point in time. Ten year old, Johnny stood in the driveway holding his safety line, but the real line that would control his descent was attached to the clip in his harness. John took very few things in life for granted. The boy seemed to have a similar attitude and followed him about in near hero worship. Having been in leadership positions before, he could take this in stride. Besides, the boy seemed to be uncomfortable with himself and that is one state of mind that he well knew the remedies for. It was time to share some of life’s lessons with another.

Willard and Emma, the boy’s grandparents, were a remarkable mix of people and cultures. Willard was an independent, semi-retired carpenter who was well known for his work around the neighborhood. Emma was a woman of some wisdom in how she scrutinized the little things that most people missed. She would not look out of place in buckskins and beads, but there was something else about her that gave her an undeniable presence. He couldn’t place it, but it was as if he had met her before and it was very important that he be here with them. The job opening at Barthemes Steel Manufacturing and the apartment his worker at the V.A. so emphatically recommended to him seemed nearly too good to be true. The neighborhood was a friendly mix of Italians, Irish, Puerto Ricans and Negroes. For a mid-sized, industrial city, this neighborhood had a small town feel to it, which did much to add to his comfort here. Everybody knew everybody else, and it was only days before folks were calling his own name out on the street and introducing themselves. He was going to like it here.

Fastening the last bracket to the chimney, his ground plane antenna looked like it would hold up through a hurricane. He attached the coaxial cable to its base and dropped the cable coil to the eaves near his living room window to run to his set.

“Johnny,” he called down to the anxious lad below, “Did you get that grounding rod hammered into the ground near the house yet?”

“Yes,” the boy shouted up to him, “all but four inches are sticking up to attach the ground wire to. Just like you said.”

“Good boy,” he said. “Stand back a little bit because I’m going to drop that wire to you now.”

Having attached his ground wire to the antenna base securely, he tossed the remaining wire on its spool down the side of the house. He descended slowly. Every few feet down the side of the house, he tucked and fastened the wire and hid it in the trim of the house so that it was undetectable from the street. These houses were old, but well kept. It wouldn’t do to deface the structure with dangling wires. He had already endeared himself to his new landlord by offering to install a television antenna on the opposite peak. Dropping gently to the ground, he unclipped his safety line and it slid free of its attachment on the roof. Pulling his sheath knife from his belt, he cut, stripped and spliced the ground wire to the loop on the top of its rod.

“Now we attach these to the base station upstairs,” he said to Johnny, “and see how far we can talk tonight. Maybe we’ll catch some good ’skip’. ”

“What’s a skip?” Johnny asked.

“That’s when things shift in the atmosphere,” he explained, “usually from sunspots or shifting ionosphere and it causes our radio signals to bounce over greater distances and we can talk to people in other states or countries.”

“How far can you talk?” Johnny asked.

“It depends,” he said, “but I have some QSL cards from as far west as Idaho and as far north as Nova Scotia.”

“What’s a QSL card?” the boy asked.

“It’s a radio operator’s calling card,” he explained as they walked up the stairs to his apartment. “Whenever you make contact with a remote operator somewhere, you make arrangements to exchange QSL’s by mail, and hang them on the wall by your rig. But don‘t ask me what‘s a rig. Let‘s go hook it up and you can see the QSL‘s and the whole thing for yourself..”

The Lafayette HB20-C citizens band base station sat on a card table in the living room. On a cork bulletin board above the set, were a host of postcards hailing from various states with radios, antennas and lightning bolts announcing hellos with ornate call letters from operators all over the United States and Canada. His own QSL greeted them with: "A big HELLO from the Little Fox in Northern New York, KEC 5191," in the center of the array. He pulled his coax cable in through the window and attached it to the back of his set and powered it up. A moment or two for the tubes to warm up and the friendly local radio chatter began to fill the room.

"Break on one eight, for a radio check, please," he said, keying his desk mike.

"Go ahead, breaker," said a voice on the radio, "This is the Teddy Bear receiving you at a five on my meter, buddy. Whatcher handle and twenty?"

"This is the Little Fox," he replied, "coming from the middle of Rochester, New York. Thanks for the check. I'm just getting this thing set up."

"Well, you're coming through just fine," Teddy Bear replied. "I'm picking you up as clear as crystal in East Bloomfield, New York. I'd say that qualified as a fine job, buddy. Are you new to the area?"

"Ten four, Bear," he replied, "I just moved down here from Northern New York."

"Welcome, and good luck, Little Fox," the Bear responded. "We've got us a 'bunny hunt' going on and most of us are mobile right now and homing in on our 'bunny'. Maybe we can get together for a coffee break in the near future and you can meet all the gang."

"Sounds like a big ten four there, Bear," he said smiling into the mike. "I'll catch up with you when I get everything settled here. This is KEC 5191, Little Fox signing off."

"We'll be listening for ya, Little Fox," came the reply. "This is KUQ 2533, Teddy Bear out." He had almost forgotten the boy was still with him as Johnny stood and watched the exchange.

“You wouldn’t just happen to have an operator’s license on you now, would you?” he asked.

“Um, no,” Johnny replied. “How would I get one?”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to look into that, when we go meet the local CBers later,” he said.

“Can I go too?” Johnny asked, wide eyed.

“Well, not today,” he said. “I’ve got work early tomorrow. But if your grandma says it’s okay, we’ll see who we can meet on Friday or Saturday. There’s a good coffee shop up in the Goodman Plaza that sells donuts and we can arrange a meet up and maybe get into a bunny hunt for some fun.”

“What’s a bunny hunt?” Johnny asked.

“That’s where a person, the ‘bunny’, drives out and parks his car with a mobile rig and talks a lot,” he explained, “and all the other CBers have to use their mobile rigs and watch their meters and hunt him down. When they do, they announce the winner. Sometimes there’s a prize or trophy involved, and then they all have coffee and talk about radios and stuff.”

“Do you have a CB in your car too?” Johnny asked.


“Well, not yet.” he said. “But I’ve been thinking about getting one, and I might as well get a directional hoop too if we’re going to bunny hunt.”

The boy was positively enchanted with the technology, and showed a lot of promise in following detailed directions. He almost felt bad for sending Johnny home so he could turn in for the night. Five a.m. always came early, and his job was demanding. The lad was a quick study, and shared his passion for radios. This was going to be a nice place to live. The folks here were growing on him already.

* * *

It was quite a day at the new job. He had been there a little over a week now, and the coworkers were friendly. John was an excellent machinist and quickly earned the respect of his peers. He actually enjoyed the sweet smell of cutting oil on the parts he manufactured. In the lunch room, a guy named Smitty had told him about a Lafayette Radio Outlet on Ridge Road, about a mile north of his neighborhood. He had more than enough money left over to buy a new rig. Ah, the benefits of being single.

A fair sized plaza with a large parking lot commanded his attention and there was the familiar logo, as promised. Looking about the store were a host of hobby items from F.M. radio kits to Vandegraf generators. A pair of black, Space Patrol walkie talkies that boasted a quarter mile range caught his eye for under twelve dollars. The boy's birthday was only days away, and he wouldn't need a license for these. The mobile CB and antenna array were considerably more, but all of it was well within his budget. He walked out of the store to his car feeling very pleased with himself about his purchases.

Emma and Willard said that they were having a party for the boy on Saturday, so he kept his purchases in the trunk with some tools and hooked up his new mobile unit in the parking lot after work Friday night and drove around testing it till after dark to avoid Johnny seeing his surprise. He was to pick up Johnny about mid morning on Saturday, and take him around with the CB for awhile as Emma and the neighbors set up his party in the backyard. At ten o'clock sharp on Saturday morning, he crossed the street to pick up Johnny for a little impromptu bunny hunt and coffee break with the Bear and his buddies.

"Are you ready for this, sport?" he said.

Johnny stood breathless. John's red convertible was all clean and shiny with a fresh wax job. A large whip antenna was mounted on the rear bumper and on the passenger side near the side view mirror, was a directional hoop antenna that Johnny would be expected to operate for the bunny hunt.

"Your job will be to aim that hoop around when our bunny is talking and watch that meter on the set," he instructed. "When that meter is as far as its going to get on the signal, you tell me what direction the hoop is facing by saying 'one o'clock' or such. Twelve o'clock is straight ahead and six o'clock is straight behind us. You following that?"

"Three o'clock would be right and nine o'clock would be left, correct?" Johnny said, mimicking his tone perfectly.

"You're really spooky sometimes. You know that?" he said, ruffling the boy's hair.

"Ten four, good buddy," Johnny mimicked.

"You need to quit that," he warned, "or I'm going to have to stop the car and look at my wallet to see which of us said that. How can you expect a man to drive the car and follow the conversation if the question in the air is always who said what?"

"Sorry," Johnny said.

"No you're not," he said, swatting him playfully, "You're quite pleased with yourself today. It's your birthday."

In short order, the airwaves filled with chatter as Teddy Bear established where the coffee break would take place, and CBers from all over the city began tracking his signal. Johnny followed directions and gave directions flawlessly, and they were the first carload to track the Bear down at Vic and Irv's just north of Sea Breeze and Durand Park. It was a beautiful summer morning by the lake. A Texas hot and Coke were in order for the boy as he had tracked the Bear down good. He would prove to be an excellent partner in bunny hunts. He made a mental note to sign them up for some of the more sanctioned events when he could. Meeting all the local enthusiasts and their wives was a hit. Johnny ate up all the specialized lingo of the radio world like it was his second language. Before long it was time to get the boy back home for his surprise party. As they pulled up to the house, Leona left the porch to go inside. No doubt it was to tell the others to be ready. The street was unusually quiet for a summer afternoon.

"Well, I'll go park my car and be over in a little bit, okay?" he said.

"I think there's a party," Johnny said with an odd expression. "There's a lot of people here."

"How can you tell?" he asked.

"I like these people," Johnny said. "and I feel them all in one place, right here," the boy said tapping his heart.

"Remind me not to try and sneak up on you," he said. "Have I told you that you're a spooky kid?"

"A couple times today," Johnny said smiling.

Johnny's party was a neighborhood blast. The ever abundant Smith kids brought a record player and a towering stack of 45 rpm records to dance to. Most of the adults sat in the shade of Emma's pear tree while Johnny and Leona danced uninhibitedly in a mix of ethnicities that the United Nations would envy. Mrs. Genovese from next door brought an olive salad and stuffed shells for the spread. Geraldine Smith, with her crowd of children and grandchildren brought army sized portions of fatback, collared greens and cornbread muffins, not to mention the entertainment. The Morales kids brought fried bananas and pasteles. A spread of acorn muffins, miniature meat and potato pies and casseroles and soft drinks, besides the cake and ice cream ensured the steady dancing and socializing would not lack for food and refreshments. The gifts were handed out after the cake and ice cream. As the neighborhood was not especially affluent, John felt a little self conscious about the walkie talkies he had bought for the boy. Next time, he promised himself, he'd give such gifts privately. Still, the spirits were high as one of the Smith girls held up a 45 rpm record that seemed to be significant to the other kids in the crowd and looked to Johnny with a challenge in her eyes and pointed to the disk.

"Can the birthday boy do it again?" she asked before the hushed crowd of kids. Johnny's face broke out in a slow sly smile as he recognized the record.

"Does Howdy Doody got a wooden butt?" Johnny asked with a wicked grin.

"Here we go again," someone yelled from the crowd near the record player. The most heathen sounding drumbeat John had ever heard emerged from the phonograph. Johnny was standing still, with his eyes half shut as muscles started twitching to the rhythm and he gave in to the music. Shoulders shimmied, hips shook, feet stomped and bodies leapt and whirled in unified abandon as one by one the neighborhood kids joined in the circle dance.

"You'd think they would have forgotten how to do that dance since last year," Geraldine said. "I ain't seen 'em do it right since then."

"When did my kids learn that dance?" Mrs. Morales said. "We've only been here a month. I never even see them practice that one but they know it now!"

"It's something about Johnny," Geraldine's oldest daughter, Essie explained, "We own that record, and the kids can't dance like that unless Johnny's in his groove. Emma, your boy is just not natural for a white boy," Essie said laughing at the synchronized show being put on by the kids.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Emma replied, "though if I remember right, it was your sisters that taught him to dance."

"Oh, that kind of dancin' don't come from no teachin', " Geraldine declared, "He's got a gift like David dancin' before the Lord with all his might, an' he brings his mighty men in line with him!"

"Yeah, and the women too and it's a strange gift indeed, to come all wrapped up in a white boy," Essie said, as they fell into each other laughing.

John pondered the sight as the music came to its end and all the children looked at each other like they couldn't believe they pulled it off. Johnny resumed his formerly self conscious posture in the crowd and memories of dreams involving ancient people and stone circles crossed John's mind for review. There was a reason he was here.

Speak Softly And Carry A Big Stick

It had to happen. Summer had to end and Leona had to leave for her home. Not that fifth grade was all that bad. Johnny's grades were beginning to get him some recognition and a music teacher from the Eastman School of Music had shown up early in the year to introduce him to the idea of playing the trumpet. Piano would have been preferable, but there was no way that Grandma was going to be able to buy him a piano, and even if she could, there would be no place to put it. The trumpet would do just fine, besides he'd still get to learn how to read and play music. Then he wanted to write music of his own.

At ten years old, he was experiencing something of an artistic renaissance. When he wasn't doing bookwork, he was drawing relentlessly. Not just the usual young boy's super heroes and villains, but ideas and inventions. What he picked up in normal music class had him starting his own composition book, which was what got his music teacher to recommend him for the advanced music program. It wasn't that he was ignoring his book studies either. On library days he always came out with four or five books under his arm. Some stories and a good portion of various disciplines of science. His regular teacher thought he was losing his focus in class with his incessant doodling, but his grades remained at the top of his class. The only class he did not excel in was physical education. He was growing rapidly and couldn't seem to keep himself from tripping over his own feet.

At about five foot, seven inches tall, he was rail thin and his sharp, upswept facial features made him look like the world's tallest elf. His unruly blond hair and over large, almond shaped blue eyes would have easily landed him a role as Peter Pan in the school play, but instead, he played the Pied Piper of Hamlin. His ability to memorize lines and mimic characters made him such a natural, that when he took on his part, scolding the crooked mayor of Hamlin for cheating him, the boy playing the part almost backed off the stage in fear as Johnny advanced on him with eyes flashing angrily. This attention made him the butt of the school's rougher element, and more than twice a week Johnny was forced to run home. The school principal had talked with him and his grandmother about moving up and skipping a couple grades, but the idea of being put in with so many kids older and bigger than himself and trying to survive the negative attention was more stress than they were prepared to handle. He would stay put and deal with problems more his size and age range.

Winter had made an premature visit in October and Johnny had an early warning that he was due to be jumped after school and he had made a break from the other side of the school on the pretext of going to visit his music teacher. He ran downtown and circled his neighborhood wide so that he could enter it from a direction the bullies would not expect from him. Deep in the large pockets of his winter coat, he had brought the walkie talkies that John Little Fox had given him for his last birthday. Little John usually got home from work about the same time Johnny got home from school, and if his homework was finished, he would sometimes visit his older friend and they would talk on the CB radio. Johnny was hoping he could contact the Little Fox and let him know of his situation.

"Panther Boy to Little Fox, Panther Boy to Little Fox," he called on his set.

He had one walkie talkie up to his ear and the other he was talking through, trying to boost his range by pressing both talk buttons at once. A pair of brawny, and rough looking black men, he had never seen before had noticed him and were crossing the street towards him. They didn't look the least bit friendly. He was trying to decide whether he should start running all over again when they boxed him in a deserted store front.

"Gimme them radios, kid," one said through a face ravaged with pock marks and scars. Johnny didn't see much help in arguing and didn't want to think of what kind of damage those big arms and hands might do to him. He gave up his prized possessions, and the two brutes started to walk away with them.

About halfway down the block, a sudden movement caught his attention. John Little Fox was running up the street towards the two men, hell bent for leather as his grandfather would say. The little man never slowed, but shot out his arms into the midsections of the two hoodlums and used his momentum to shove them up against the wall with his fingers thrust painfully into the softer flesh of their bellies. They couldn't breathe, couldn't talk and were hesitant to make any moves while he had them held up thus.

"You want to give the boy his walkies back?" he asked them in a low tone of voice, laced with a double helping of menace.

The lout in his left hand offered up the pair of radios with a pained grunt, and John let them drop to their feet holding their guts, and accepted the units. As he turned to give the radios back to Johnny, two more men came to join the first two. Now four large men stood around them on the snowy sidewalk. Johnny was certain that this was his last day. He had been running since the last bell rung at school and still managed to get corralled by worse than he was running from. He knew everyone in this neighborhood, but he had no idea of where these thugs were from. He also had no idea of what to do. He was trying to quiet his panicking mind to generate some fear that might move them along, but as the smallest of the four towered over the two of them it would be a poor try at best. Things were threatening to get much worse.

"I'll take those radios, white man," said the biggest of the newcomers.

"Who are you calling a white man?" John asked in a low growl.

"How about I call you a dead one?" the goon replied snapping forth a switchblade knife.

"I fear no man," John said with a defiant gaze..

That just had to be about the corniest thing he had ever heard out of somebody who was about to be cut to ribbons by four big thugs. This would be it. He closed his eyes tightly and balled up his fists, hoping he might actually leave a mark on his murderers. A staccato flurry of sharp, bone breaking cracks followed by four dull thuds of bodies hitting pavement and snow banks and then silence reached his ears in the space of two seconds. Opening his eyes, John was still standing before him in that loose, easy, half crouch and looking about at his handiwork. The four big men were sprawled about the sidewalk like so much litter.

"Your grandmother said you were late home from school," John said. "Geraldine's boy, Henry, said you were giving the slip to some school punks. I came looking for you. I take it that these guys aren't from your school, and probably haven't been in school since before your time."

So small. So soft spoken. So deadly. Johnny was still struggling to believe his own eyes, but his eyes had never followed what had actually happened there. It was all over in scarcely a blink, and there they were, talking as if he was late for an appointment because he missed a bus or something. Four, full sized men taken down in seconds and the little giant who did it all, was talking to him like he had just offered to help carry a ladder. He had never, even in the most outlandish movie he had ever seen, even heard of such a thing. It's Friday, October eighth, nineteen sixty three. The big headlines were that President Kennedy was visiting an Ethiopian Emperor named Haile Selassie, the Dodgers beat the Yankees in four straight games to win the Series and Willie Mays was going to play baseball for the Giants and make one hundred thousand dollars this year. There wasn't a single mention anywhere of a miniature Mohawk warrior beating the bejeebers out of four heavyweights in a split second without raising a sweat. A Negroe athlete, even as fine as Willie Mays, getting a hundred grand a year to play baseball was tough enough to believe in this day and age. There was still good magick in the world of men.

“Are you okay?” John asked. “I’d like to take you home and have a little talk with your grandparents about this. We have to see about teaching you some basic self defense. Running’s a good strategy, but what do you do when there’s no place to run?”

“You’ll teach me how to fight like that?” he asked incredulously and pointing back at their urban battle ground.

“Sure. You're not thinking of becoming a bully or anything, are you?” John said. “Those were pretty basic moves for the most part. The real trick is to be able to do them fast enough and with enough power to only have to do them once.”

"Where do you get that kind of power from?" he asked.

"Everywhere. Even from your opponents," John replied.

“If Grandma says okay,” he said, “I’ll do anything you say.”

“That will be the point,” John said stopping to face him. “If I agree to train you, you must agree to do anything I tell you, when I tell you. If I tell you to punch through a brick, I want you to punch through it like you only have one chance.”

“You’re going to tell me to punch bricks with all my might?” he asked. “I might be safer just getting beat up a little.”

“Not yet,” John said smiling, “but the time will come when we have you built up and trained to it. If I were to tell you to punch through anything, it will be because I am absolutely sure that you can. You don’t think I’d just let you hurt yourself, do you? ”

“No,” he said. “I’ve just never heard of such a thing. I’ve seen judo once on TV, but it was nothing like what you just did. I never even seen what you did.”

“It’s called ‘karate,’” John said. “I learned it in Okinawa when I was in the service. In it, you learn to use your whole body and mind as a weapon. Hands, feet, elbows, knees and even your head.”

“Isn’t kicking somebody ‘dirty fighting’?” he asked.

“Almost as dirty as outnumbering and jumping on one poor skinny kid, I would say,” John said, matter-of-factly. “I can’t think of any really nice way to hurt people, so if they don’t try to hurt me, I leave them alone. That is the honorable way to live. If they are so messed up where they want to hurt someone for fun or profit, who’s to say I messed them up worse than they already were. When those gonzos back there wake up, how much respect do you think they will have for the next little person who walks by?”

“I thought we’d be goners by now,” he admitted. “I’ve changed my mind about a lot of things I thought in the past few minutes. I think they will too.”

“See, you’re learning already,” John said, punching him playfully, “That’s what I like about you, kid. The thing is, when they wake up, they will say I hit them when they weren't looking, or used dirty tactics or any number of excuses. There is never any glory in fighting. Which is why we'll do as little of it as we can get away with.”

Big John and Little John, and nobody knew how big Little John really was. He felt as giddy as if he had just heard the biggest joke of the century. This was better than reading the best issue of Batman he had ever seen. Nobody could ever imagine what this quiet, kind and friendly little man was capable of, and if Grandma was up to her usual form, he was certain that she would allow him to become privy to this special secret. She just had this way of knowing impossible things. If this was what would come of walking John’s Good Red Road, he was going to plant his big clumsy feet firmly in the middle of it.

There was a moment when he thought she might veto the whole program. Grandma didn’t want him solving his problems with his fists, but with his brains. John Little Fox agreed, but said the option to do either should be open, or his brains would likely get spilled out onto the street. She looked at them both, long and hard. Even she couldn’t deny that the little Mohawk warrior wasn’t firstly and foremost a man of peace. Everything about the quiet and confident way John carried himself and conducted his business pointed to his deep desire to live at harmony with all his neighbors as much as was possible, and a little more besides. This was no braggart or show off. Truth told, the man went out of his way to avoid any confrontational behavior.

"Okay, boys," she agreed, "but if I hear of any fighting at all, I first want to hear about everything you did to avoid it. Om biggun tu?"

"Tiggum, Grandma," he replied. "We understand. John was telling me that very thing on the way home."

"What's a 'tiggum?'" John asked.

"It's Irish. It means 'I understand,'" he replied. "Sometimes we speak Irish at home."

"I didn't know that Irish people had any other language than English," John said.

"When the British took over our island," he explained, "they made it illegal to speak our own language or practice our own customs or culture. Everybody had to become Englishmen, or be hanged. So a lot of us practice our own language and customs where the bloody British never see or hear it."

"Hmmm. Where have I heard that story before?" John said, remembering his own tribal history. "Even without the Indian blood, we've got a lot in common."

"So, how come you've got blue eyes?" he asked.

"There's some Irish in the family a few generations back," John replied. "We were never sure if he was attracted to our women or the game of lacrosse."

"What's lacrosse?" he asked.

"It's a game where we run around, tossing a ball and catching it with sticks," John explained, "and if the other guy gets too close, we get to hit him with the stick. Rough sport."

"I can see the attraction," he quipped, "but with Irish women, you still might get hit with the sticks anyways. We call them shillelaghs."

“The women, or the sticks?” John asked.

“Let’s not let my grandmother hear this,” he replied, trying hard to stifle a laugh.

The Sidhe Contingent

By ancient decree crossovers into the plane of Abred by the Sidhe were not allowed. However the matter of blood kin and hereditary political bonds made this a questionable matter. Since events rarely favored the fair folk in the dealings with humankind, such circumstances were kept, understandably to a minimum by all concerned. Even so, Master Shabriri and Elder Shan would keep their intrusion minimal in nature by conducting the boy's training out-of-body. Their crossing consisted of passing through a portal that connected to a mausoleum within the county the boy lived in. The Sheehan family had ancient ties to the Sidhe and the crypt had been kept free of family remains for well over a century. If anyone had visited the sealed tomb, they might well question why the dead might have use for the large old mirror on the far wall. It was through this mirror the Master and Elder Sidhe prepared to step fully and physically into the earthly plane of Abred.

The ancient, rune carved mirror turned black as the depths of space itself as the dust laden air was sucked violently out of the sealed stone crypt. Then, as though a window had been opened into a bright summer morning, the sweet air and light of Gwynvyd refreshed the vaulted room as Master and Elder stepped through its portal.

A full seven feet tall, Master Shabriri loomed into the room, his crimson traveling cloak billowing in his wake. Pulling back his cowl, revealed his pale blond hair and brass colored eyes which accented his ruddy complexion. The sharp, upswept facial features common to his race, along with his high pointed ears made him devilishly handsome by Sidhe standards. He swept through the crypt examining the plaques labeling the individual crypts that housed the supplies they would need for their extended stay.

The second of the pair, Elder Shan stepped through the portal glancing quickly about. About six inches shorter of stature than the Master, he cut a no less imposing figure. Noting the Master's cowl was down, this meant that conversation was allowed and he dropped his own to speak. Snowy, fine white hair accented large violet eyes with high arching brows, his rich tenor voice broke the century long silence of the room.

"Everything is exactly as I left it," the Elder said. "This place was built to my own specifications, you know."

"I take nothing for granted in this plane," Shabriri replied. "These men are creatures of convenience. They honor their fallen and then rob them, make pacts and then break them according to whatever philosophy presents them convenient justification."

"And if this mission succeeds, brother mine," Shan said. "We will have a great deal more interaction between us and these men you seem to loathe. Are you certain you can cope with this?"

"Of course, I can." Shabriri said, running his fingers along a wall plate. "I don't hate men. I am merely a realist when it comes to dealing with them. If I am prepared to deal with humans at their worst, they can hardly burden me with unpleasant surprises. If in the course of the next twenty or thirty years, our little wizard inspires the race to a higher level of honor, then it is I who will be pleasantly surprised. Either way, I'm not likely to fail."

"It pleases me to hear that," Shan replied. "Your self torture devices are stored in the far crypt. Push up on the name plate and they open."

"Excellent, I am eager to get out-of-body," Shabriri said, opening his storage area. "I can spend a few days assessing the mission without having to cross planes so often or suffer the disorientation each time."

"I just hate hooking those evil looking things up to you, my brother," Shan said in disgust. "The wounds they cause heal quickly and easily enough, but it is such a grisly task forcing your spirit out of your body. It's too bad you weren't born a catalept as well."

"That would be nice," Shabriri said, smiling. "But as convenient as catalepsy may be for sleeping away the years, it loses much in conscious focus. I don't feel a thing when I get free of my body, and I'm wide awake and capable of interacting on the waking planes. Most humans don't perceive ghosts. Those that do, only barely. This is the perfect way to tutor our Sidhe princeling."

"I, for one, don't want to end up as the boy's father did," Shan said, distastefully, moving to his own storage niche. "He came into this plane an Emerald, and got blasted out of it like a Formorian madman. How one falls so far is beyond my imagining."

"I think he was drunk with power," Shabriri said as he prepared his pallet. "After so many centuries away from the race of men, and then immersed in their culture with all its inherent pleasures and distractions. For all of their accomplishments as a civilization, they still live less than a single century. One so ancient as Shamblynn among so many mere children, gave him a heady taste of power. Being an Emerald of the Danaans might have even heightened his disdain for such a heavily industrialized society as this. They have little care or concern for Mother Danu, which is especially manifest in the ways they poison Her water and air, therefore; he had little concern over their lives. But that is just my own speculation. We can only guess at what goes through the minds of the mad."

"True," said the Elder. "I have no desire to number myself among them. A century or so ago, when I first came among these people and set up this place, it was trying enough. I think it was my focus on all the prophecies that kept my mind on the proper track. The Sheehan family practically worship us as gods. I had to insist that they impose no more than an angelic sculpture or two and a Celtic cross upon the features of this shrine and that they allow no human remains to be interred here, but rather fabricate that there were. They would have done anything for us."

"They wanted to do more than this?" Shabriri said, indicating the mausoleum.

"Terrence Sheehan would have built a monument that would have scandalized their church and their family," Shan explained, "had I let him have his reins. They value their ancestry and are proud. But all the wealth they possessed wouldn't have bought them much leeway with the ruling church. Not for very long anyway. I couldn't be certain when the events would unfold to bring us back into prominence among the world of men, so I needed a structure that would weather the times in anonymity until we could arrive and take a hand. This is what we settled upon."

"Good thinking." Shabriri nodded appreciatively as he set up his apparatus. "This is quiet and allows us the privacy we'll need and the ability to have our base in this plane to conduct our work. The dead are not likely to complain or take notice of couple more disembodied spirits roaming about. I think I'm about ready to take my place now. Will you assist me, please?"

Master Shabriri took his place on his stone pallet, and began centering himself for the pain that was to follow. Elder Shan made numerous incisions near strategic nerve endings in the Master's flesh and inserted clamps to hold the flaps of skin open to the air. Great care was made to sever no major blood vessels. As the Sidhe are nearly immortal, the wounds are made only to facilitate the Master's consciousness residing outside of his body, as it remained in a comatose state, unable to fully heal, and unable to die. Elder Shan, being a natural cataleptic, was able to self induce a state resembling death and disembody himself. However, most of his will was tied to his body so he would best serve at the beck and call of the Master as needed. His duties would require him to revive periodically to administer fluids and nutrients to them both, and do remote searches for information or join wills with the Master for the purpose of amplifying Shabriri's power.

The procedure was complete and the Master's breathing and nervous system shunted itself to the bare minimum needed to sustain his corporeal life. His ethereal form manifested next to the pallet.

"It's time for you to join me, brother," Shabriri's shade spoke to him. "We will take in the sights and circumstances of the city to get a better idea of how to proceed."

Shan took his place on his own pallet and seemed to sink in on himself as he vacated his body in a deep dreamlike state. Unseen by human eyes, the pair of specters left the cemetery to roam the streets of Rochester.

Teachers! Teachers! Teachers!

It was a long day for Johnny. He lay in bed, meditating on the day's events. Little Fox had trained him relentlessly after school and in order to spend more time on lessons, the Mohawk war hero had insisted that he bring his book work with him. Between chapters of Math and Social Studies, Little John had insisted that he stand and work on his breathing and blocking. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Upward block, downward, inward, outward, right hand, left hand. Exhale sharply on the strike. Push from the diaphragm. Even going over the school work, there were ways to breathe to help unclutter the mind and promote clearer thinking and sharper memory.

He was learning that John's karate wasn't just punching, chopping and kicking. It was a whole way of living, breathing and thinking. Sometimes it was almost too much, and then the little warrior would show him results and progress he would never have previously guessed at. Johnny wanted to be better. Not better than anybody else, he wanted to always be a better Johnny. Little John showed him how. It was, and it wasn't in the fighting. It was a struggle with one's own ignorance about themselves and others. It wasn't in striving against the world but honing one's own members and faculties to a fine degree, allowing them a greater freedom of endeavor.

John had forbade him to engage in any form of fighting at school or afterwards. If trouble came, he was simply to run like hell. The man had told him that until John's karate became his karate, it would be too much to expect him to be able to deal with a conflict with any measure of competency. Endless repetition of movements and techniques would engrain these into his own body's memory until the execution of technique would not require thought, only circumstance. His opponent's initiation of violent force would be their own undoing.

Johnny was also learning something else. Something that scared him. John was the mightiest warrior, bar none, that he had ever heard or read of in any tale. He was present when the little titan had taken out four much larger men in a matter of mere seconds. If Mr. Schneider was to be believed, John had killed over three hundred enemy soldiers in a single day's fighting. The thing that scared Johnny the most, was that he was taller, faster and stronger than his master. All that killing made John a man to be feared. A gentle man, true. But deadly as a loaded gun. Would that make him an even greater killer? A monster? He knew he was somehow different. Everybody had said as much in so many ways. But this?

Grandma had an answer. It came in the form of a Celtic cross pendant on a thick silver chain. Originally, it had been made for his father, to welcome him into the clannadh. Grandma wore one just like it, only smaller. It was said that no dark fae could bear the touch of silver. It would turn black and become as poison to them. He was instructed to never take it off, and that if at any time, this silver was to tarnish, he should stop what he was doing and examine his ways. What might seem right at the time, would be revealed for what it truly was. If he couldn't deal with it alone, Grandma had a special spell her mother had crafted, that would help him win against the darkness. He would be no monster. He would be a powerful wizard, a mighty warrior. A hero. He would dream great dreams. Someone was tapping on his bedroom window. The dreaming would have to wait.

It was still very early in the spring, and Grandpa Willard had not yet removed the storm windows. The strange man in the crimson cloak tapping on his window could not be let in that way, even if he was inclined to let strangers in through his window. Johnny sat up in his bed and pointed to the storm latches and shrugged his shoulders at the man. The next instant, this towering giant of a man was standing at the foot of his bed and removed his hood for Johnny to observe his features.

"Who the heck are you?" he asked boldly. "And what do you think you are doing in my room?"

"I am Shabriri," the giant said as he moved into the light where Johnny could see him better. "I am a Master of the Sidhe and here to teach you the ways of your father's people." In the street light that shone into his room, the pale straight hair, the high cheekbones and upswept pale almond shaped eyes that nearly matched his own spoke volumes. The tall pointed ears and the flushed red complexion were a bit more than he expected. "What is that shining at your neck?" the tall specter asked.

"My father's clan medallion," he replied. "My grandma said I should never take it off."

"It's made of silver," the Master observed. "How wise your grandmother is, boy. This will not allow you to turn to the dark side without plenty of warning. It would have saved your father's life, had he actually been able to wear it. It might even be wise if myself and my associate got something like this as long as we must stay here to train you. Our first meeting, and already you've been helpful."

"Your associate?" he asked, looking about the room and towards the closed window.

"Elder Shan," the Master said. "You can't see him, but he's here to help me. This world and this plane of existence is dangerous to our kind. Your father, for all his good intentions couldn't bear it, so we are careful here, and you must be too. It's a little easier on you, because you were born here, and your mother is human. But you have the finest human teachers already. Don't you?"

Johnny nodded.

"Well I am here to teach you about the part of you that they cannot," Shabriri said with a flourish. "First, we will have to see what you are made of. We'll test you. If you pass this week's testing, I will give you one night of a treat. How does that sound to you?"

"A treat of what?" he asked suspiciously.

"What every boy dreams for, of course: A night of flight," Shabriri said with a grin that revealed an interesting set of canines that were mirrored when Johnny smiled back at him.

"Here's your first lesson, lad," the Master said. "Among the fae folk, dominance and station are displayed by the presence of claws, horns or fangs. We show that we are not docile eaters of grass, but creatures deserving of our space and capable of enforcing it. For humans, it is happiness or some such thing. When you bare your teeth to an animal or a fae, you show your potential to be a threat. Just a smile reveals who and what you are. To make an aggressive move after that, is taken for an actual threat. You smile, and allow them their space. You do not advance upon them unless you intend to attack. You allow them to approach and offer an empty weapon hand and then you may parlay with them."

"What about humans?" he asked.

"If they note those fine incisors of yours," the Master said with a toothy grin, "they will probably take you for one of their versions of an incubus. You would probably do well not to show these when you smile unless you want to make a specific point, and that being that you intend to dominate the situation at hand."

"What's an incubus?" he asked.

"Generically speaking, " the Master explained, "it is any male of our nonhuman lineage, a succubus would be the female of the species. Among most human cultures today, these are all considered to be vampires or demons. Whereas most fae have no desire to drain human blood or ensnare their miserable souls, there are better reasons for them to fear our kind, but they don't really need any more fear than they already wallow in."

"I've already learned how to project fear," he said. "Grandma taught me."

"How nice," Shabriri said condescendingly. "But I shall do the testing here, and I shall determine what you have and what you lack as a Sidhe. Each night, I will come and tell you a bit more and then test you. The tests will be like nothing you have ever faced thus far, and have little, if anything to do with what I teach you. They are structured to make you reach for things on an instinctual level. If deep down inside you are human, then you will fail these. The aboriginal warrior will teach you human warcraft. Which is no small thing. But if you prove to be Sidhe in your very nature, I will teach you things no human could dream of. Now sleep."

* * *

It was a cold and windy night in the inner city. Johnny was standing on a street corner in his bare feet and pajamas. He could feel the wind, but barely felt the cold at all. Across the street to the right was a tavern that was a notorious haunt for the city’s underworld. The last of its patrons were leaving and vehicles departed quickly down shadowed side streets. The sound of police sirens wailed in the distance. Across the street from the infamous bar, a body of a man lay in a pool of blood on the sidewalk.

“Don’t let this happen to me!” the wind pleaded him.

Walking up to the corpse, it was apparent that its head had been blown off its shoulders with a shotgun at close range. The badly mutilated neck, the powder burns on the neck and shoulders of the expensive suit and the sharp smell of cordite testified of the night’s foul activities. The head was nowhere to be seen. His gorge rose in his throat, but he had no desire to further desecrate this horrible place by vomiting. He practiced his breathing as John had taught him and set about looking for the missing head. He found it hidden in a hedge a couple houses down from the body and brought it back and set it atop the corpse for the police to find.

“Thank you,” whispered the wind in his ears.

* * *

Waking up, he felt like he had barely gotten to sleep. His feet ached as if he had walked all night, and his mouth tasted bad. The smell of Willard’s coffee wafting into his room, told him it was time to get up and get ready for school.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Willard said with a gruff chuckle as Johnny dragged himself to the breakfast table.

“Are you alright, Son?” his grandmother asked as she looked over her shoulder at him while making home fries and eggs.

“I’m okay, I think,” he said. “It was one of those nights when the dreams got really weird.”

“It was a bad night in the city altogether,” Grandpa Willard said, folding his newspaper about so he could show him the headlines. “It seems there was a Mafia style murder at that Caesar Nero’s place over in the market district. It says they blew a feller’s head clean off his shoulders.” Johnny turned pale, then green and raced for the bathroom retching.

“What do suppose got into him,” Willard asked at his retreating grandson.

“Whatever it is, won’t stay in him,” his grandmother observed, turned off her skillet and followed him into the bathroom.

“I’m sorry Grandma,” he said between dry heaves. “Maybe I am just a little sick today.”

“Does this outburst relate in any way to your weird night and your grandpa’s headlines?” she asked.

“I think so,” he said, rinsing his mouth in the sink. “A Sidhe came to my room last night to teach me something, and then the next thing I knew, I was standing in the street in front of Caesar Nero’s. I found the man’s head for him. It was awful. I never seen so much blood and guts before, but I did what I could for him, and then the wind thanked me and I woke up here.”

“This Sidhe have a name?” she asked, looking at him askance.

“Master Shabriri,” he said. “Oh, and thanks for the medallion, Grandma. He said it was a smart thing to do.”

“I’m glad he approves,” she said dubiously. “We had hoped it would had helped your father if we only had it made in time.”

“He seems to think it would have really helped,” he said, and washed his face.

“I have to wonder at the wisdom of exposing such a young boy to such a grisly scene as this,” she said. “I’m worried for you, dear.”

“He said it was to test me as a Sidhe,” he said. “He warned me that if I was truly human, I couldn’t pass these tests. They would decide on just how fae I really am. I’m okay now. Just a little grossed out, I guess. I don’t think I did anything wrong. It was a bad thing that happened, but I did my best.”

“When you have these tests of his,” she said tenderly, “you be sure to talk to your grandma about it afterwards. I’ll do what I can to help you sort things out. Okay?”

“Tiggum,” he replied, hugging her.

"So, what was your impression of what happened?" she asked.

"Something cruel and awful happened there," he explained, "Somebody hated this man more than just wanting to kill him. They wanted to hurt him so bad that it would go beyond just dying and taking what ever he left. They had even took his head and hid it in some bushes down the street. It seemed that the man didn't want to be taken away without it."

"Why, do you suppose this?" she asked.

"Because the wind begged me not to let this happen to him." He continued, "The only thing I could see that I might do to put some small part to rights was to find his head and put it near his body. When I did this, the wind said 'Thank you,' and I was done there."

"Let's go over this," she said. "First, you see a crime was committed. Did you see who killed him?"

"No, it was already done and the cars were all driving away," he replied.

"Next, you heard spirits on the wind, and responded to some kind of need," she surmised. "Did you think that maybe he had deserved what had happened to him?"

"I didn't think about it," he said. "I never met this person before. I couldn't say what he was like. I was simply there and I thought I could help just a little bit and make things not as bad."

"So you used some kind of sense to find his head and return the gory thing back to his body," she concluded. "Was this something you understood?"

"No," he said. "It just seemed like the natural thing to do at the time. I'm not sure I wouldn't have felt worse if I had just walked away and turned my back on it all. It happened. It wasn't my doing. What I could do to make it a little better, I did. It makes me a little sick, but I feel better for it. Doesn't that sound crazy to you?"

"It sounds like my boy is somebody's hero whether he feels like one or not," she said, brushing his hair back and looking into his eyes. "Do you think you can make school today?"

"I think with a little breakfast, I'll feel better," he said. "Thanks, Grandma."

"You just remember to talk to me," she said. "I think I might just learn a few things too. Other people might find you strange, but I think none of them will ever know you as well as I do. I want us to stay that way."

"I love you, Grandma," he said, squeezing her hard.

"I love you too, Son," she replied with a gasp, "but you've got to let me breathe. You're getting quite a grip as you're growing up. Maybe, Little John knows something to help you gauge that strength of yours."

"I'll ask," he said, smiling.

Flight Night

"We're losing the baby," a woman's voice snapped and the majority of the team of masked medical professionals left the woman on the delivery table to help.

Most of them passed right through Johnny who had found himself in the delivery room of some hospital barefoot and wearing only his pajamas. He never had a clue where Master Shabriri would leave him next. He was a little shocked that people could walk through him and not even see him. It all seemed so real. He could see, hear, feel and smell everything going on around him from the musky, cloying scent of amniotic fluid, right down to the sensations of warm, slippery blood and fluids on the cool tile floor beneath his bare feet. This was obviously where a woman was giving birth, but something was wrong. The woman who was laying on the monstrous bed with the stirrups was also standing and weeping in the corner where the team were frantically trying to get the baby to breathe again.

"My baby," she sobbed. "Please save my baby. Don't let this be for nothing. She must live or my husband will be so shattered. Little boy, can you help her?"

She could see him. She was looking right at him and he hadn't any idea of how he might help those who were so much better trained than himself. Why would she even think to ask? He looked around, hoping that some idea might present itself. The infant was already turning blue on the table with the doctors working in an organized panic.

A silvery cord rose up from the table towards the ceiling. Following it with his eyes, in the far corner of the room it ended in an irregularly shaped pink balloon that was trying to lift through the ceiling. Immediately he ran over to the table, ignoring all the people who could not see or feel him and grabbed the silvery cord and pulled hand over hand to retrieve the baby's spirit. It was slippery to the touch but he willed as much as he pulled and the bemused infant soon came to hand. Gently he pushed the tiny spirit back into the inert body on the table. Her little eyes never leaving his own as he tapped her chest and nose lightly. The two images of the physical and spiritual merged and the tiny eyelids began to flicker.

"I think she's coming around," a hopeful voice said.

"Get that Oh Two over here, stat," commanded another. "We may yet save at least one of them."

In that moment, Johnny began to understand as he looked towards the head of the table and the woman's figure receded slowly from view.

"Thank you," she said as she faded from sight.

A cough and then a lusty wail followed as the infant on the table made her connection with the world around her. The team cleaned, measured and weighed her as he watched to see that she wouldn't leave her body again. He looked back to her mother on the table who looked as if she were sleeping peacefully, but he knew she no longer resided in that body. This little girl would grow up without a mommy. Johnny wept and followed the infant to the nursery, hovering over her until he could see her eyes open. She blinked and squinted at the light but continued trying to look about until her gaze fell on him. For a timeless moment they looked into each others eyes and shared their all too brief lives.

"Are you going to lay there all day," Grandpa said with his gruff chuckle, "or are we all going to have breakfast together before school?"

"I'm awake," he said, pulling himself up dreamily and headed for the bathroom.

"Whoa, lad," his grandfather said in alarm. "What have you stepped in? Are you bleeding or something?"

Looking down at his feet and wiggling his bloody toes, reality slapped him in the face.

"I'm alright, Grandpa," he said thoughtfully. "I don't think this is my blood. It was another one of those strange dreams."

"Good Lord," Willard exclaimed. "Not another murder, is it?"

"No," he said smiling a moment. "This time it was a baby born with a problem."

"You know, Son," his grandfather said. "I accept that what most people think is 'normal' just doesn't happen much in this household, and I can handle that. What concerns your old grandpa is that seeing people getting their heads blown off and bloody baby birthings is quite an intense thing for a ten year old boy to be right in the middle of. If this starts to get to be a bit too much for you, I'll understand, but will you talk about it with me? I don't like the idea that you're out there alone and I can't help you."

"I think I'll need that talk," he said, sniffing, "after I get a shower. Everything smells like blood and pee."

* * *

In the wee hours of the following morning, Johnny was searching through the rubble of a burned out shell of a house for the corpse of its owner. The next night he called up a small whirlwind to bring attention to a man suffering a heart attack in an alley behind a bar. Each night there was a different scenario to deal with that was beyond his imagining and some of it real enough to make the newspapers the following days, minus any mention of his own involvement, of course. Grandma and Grandpa, and sometimes even John Little Fox listened patiently and discussed things as much as they were able. Like the doctor in the delivery room, he felt he had his own team to help him save the lives, or afterlives of the people he was called upon to help. He wasn’t so alone. Saturday night came and Shabriri stood again at the foot of his bed.

“You’ve done well,” the Sidhe Master said.

“I did the right things and passed the tests?” he asked.

“There was no real right or wrong in your tests,” the Master said. “They were tests to see whether you would draw upon your power or fold within yourself. Truly, I never expected you to care so much about these creatures as you have done. You found the power within yourself to deal with events as you’ve faced them, and it did not unhinge you.”

“Unhinge?” he asked.

“It didn’t drive you insane,” Shabriri supplied. “It seems your human half has lent you a facet of strength we don’t share in Sidhe realms. I will be leaving you for a short while to study a bit more on this as it will be important in your future lessons. But, I believe I owe you a treat my little witch, a night of flight. You will need to dress for this. I can’t have you getting sick on us, now can I?”

Johnny dressed in his jeans, hooded sweater and sneakers and then followed the mysterious Sidhe to the alley beyond his play area in the backyard. A single light bulb over a garage door lit the alleyway near his backyard. Shabriri turned from him, lifted his arms and then faded from sight.

The sense of a friendly presence on the wind, or maybe it was the wind, caressed his face and whispered its secrets in his ears. Lifting his own arms, he began to rise like a kite on a string. Leaning into the wind, he moved forward up the alley towards the street. For over fifty yards he sailed up the alley at a height of about six feet and landed lightly just before the corner.

"If you don't come up with some money, I'll beat your damned brains out with this pipe," came a man's snarling voice from the bushes near the corner.

"I haven't got any money," insisted another male voice.

"Don't tell me that," the first voice growled. "You just got paid yesterday."

"I paid the rent with that," the man said.

"Then give me what's left and I'll let you live," the first voice rasped.

"Leave him alone," Johnny roared indignantly, "and I'll let you live."

"Who said that?" the snarler demanded.

"A ghost," Johnny said, in a moment of inspiration and began rising into the night breeze and floating over the bushes towards the voices.

"I'll make you a ghost, kid," the man insisted. "Now get outta here."

As the street lamp on the corner cast his shadow over the two men struggling in the lawn near the hedges, the mugger looked up at him and his eyes grew wide.

"Holy shit," the man exclaimed, dropping his weapon and bolting for safety down the street. The man on the ground quickly found his feet, did a double take at him through the glare of the street lamp and dashed back into his house, slamming the door shut. Johnny laughed in exhilaration and flew after the running man, quickly overtaking him.

"I've come for your soul, thief," he declared mockingly.

The man screamed in terror and ducked into a yard and over a low fence. This won't do at all if he attacks someone else in their yards or homes. He kept himself at about ten feet from the ground so he could clear fences and duck the phone and power lines. He also didn't want to be in the man's easy reach or he might figure that someone so solid could not really be a ghost.

"Trespasser," he called out in his most spooky rasping voice. "I have come for your evil soul before you can claim another victim. You can't escape me. Only Jesus can save you from me, and he doesn't like you either." The man glanced at him over his shoulder and tumbled over a tricycle in the shadowy backyard.

"Oh Jesus," the man pleaded desperately from his knees, "I swear I'll never rob another soul as long as I live and if you let me live I promise I'll go to church and be the best Christian man in the city. Please give me another chance to make right."

From deep in his shadowed hood Johnny smiled and looked up to the stars and spread his arms wide, pretending to argue with a voice only he could hear.

"What is THIS?" he bellowed at the stars. "You actually believe this filthy sinner?"

"Oh, thank you Lord," the man exclaimed in relief. "Don't let this demon take my soul to Hell. I'm a changed man. I will be the poor man's greatest friend. You just watch me." Johnny turned from the stars and lowered a few feet towards the man, pointing at him.

"Oh, you WILL be," he said in his most menacing voice. "I'll be watching you. If I see you cause so much as a frown on an innocent soul again, you will be MINE. Now go home and pray for your miserable salvation." Johnny looked up again and shot into the night sky out of view of the man and watched him scrambling over the fence for the street.

He felt so good. A little bit wicked for deceiving that wretch, but good. He exulted in the cool night air and toured the city for a while, enjoying the special freedom he had. Below him, a man staggered out of Norwell's Tavern into the street and was set upon by a belligerent stray dog. Johnny swooped out of the sky, howling with glee at the astonished pair. The yelping mutt scurried up the street with his tail tucked as the sobering drunk watched after them. It seemed that this would be a night that more than just he would remember.

Johnny rose to a height of about twenty feet or so. Now and again he touched down on the pavement and bounded into the air to be lofted on the gentle breeze as if he were light as a balloon. He stayed pretty much in familiar neighborhood and was floating down Augusta Street when a girl he knew from school called out to him from an open second floor window.

"I know you," she said. "You're Johnny from Mr. Chaika's class. I must like you better than I thought."

"What makes you say that?" he asked, lowering himself to the porch roof outside of her window. It was amazing how nonchalant she behaved about seeing one of her classmates flying by her house.

"I'm having one of my romantic dreams," she explained, "and you come flying out of the night sky to see me. I always thought you were an okay kid, but since I'm dreaming about you like this, I think it's telling me that I'm obviously having deeper feelings."

"Do you always interpret your dreams?" he asked.

"Only the ones I can remember," she said. "Sometimes my mom and I will talk about our dreams. My dad thinks it's all silly, but mom says that it shows the real you because in your dreams, you can be anybody or anything your heart desires. So, I'm dreaming about you."

"Have you ever dreamed about me before?" he asked.

"I think once I dreamed we were dancing together at a Valentine's Day party at school," she said, "but then you turned into someone else and I started to have a different dream. I never knew how it was going to turn out"

"My grandma would say that's a 'passing interest,'" he said.

"Your grandmother interprets dreams too?" she asked.

"Every morning at breakfast," he replied. "She says that's when we're still most likely to remember them."

"Do you believe in dreams?" she asked.

"I'm only a dream myself," he answered mischievously. "This is the only world I know."

"Oh, that's right," she said. "You just seem so real, sitting here by my window. Would you like to come inside for a while?"

"I, uh, really have to be going," he lied. "I promised Peter Pan and the boys that I'd go play with them tonight. I'll be late if I don't hurry. It was nice sharing your dream with you." With that, he flew off to the east. The second star to the right and then straight on till morning. He was really beginning to develop some bad habits with all the lying and deceiving he had done this night. It was curious how all of it seemed to be the right thing to do, and yet he felt guilty for it. By the time he got past the end of the block and certain that he was out of view, he turned south and then west back to the alley behind his grandmother's house. He had some fun tonight and didn't want to ruin it by doing or saying something he might regret later. Besides, the night air was making him sleepy and he didn't want to wake up in the morning on somebody's roof.

Sunday morning was warm and sunny. Johnny had much he wanted to talk about at breakfast.

"Did you ever fly before?" he asked his grandmother.

"Often," she replied, "but mostly in dreams."

"I mean really fly," he said. "Like in the real world."

"They are all real worlds, boyo," she answered. "Were you dreaming, or awake in those places Shabriri left you? If they were real, why weren't you seen or felt? If they were only dreams, then whose blood was that on your feet when you didn't have any wounds? If Annwn was only a place of myth and dreams, then how did you get that little scar on your forehead that is present in this 'real' world. Did it really happen or didn't it, and how can you tell? Your mom's house in Riverside, California doesn't seem so real when you are here in Rochester, New York, but then, we know that Rochester is not the sum total of all reality."

"So, then if I did something bad or good," he theorized, "in a dream, the real fact of the matter is that I had done the thing and not where I done it."

"Did you do something in a dream," she asked, "that you might be ashamed of?"

"I pretended I was a demon," he replied, "and tricked a man who I caught robbing another man to make him stop. Then I pretended that I was a dream to a girl from school who thought she was dreaming when she saw me flying by her house. I lied and cheated and I feel good about that and bad about it at the same time."

"Without resorting to violence, you stopped a crime," she replied, drying her hands on a dish towel. "You did so by playing on the criminal's deepest fears. Truth told, if the man were to continue with such a life, the end might be far worse than you portrayed in a good many ways. And the impact of a flying boy on an impressionable young lady, could wound and scar her for life if she didn't have the emotional safety net of a silly romantic dream to fall back on. I'd have to call those good deeds. Add to that mix the fact that the idea of lying or deceiving people no matter how bad or good they might be makes you think twice about doing it. I think my boy's growing up to be a fine young man. Just don't ever let the lies or deceit become an easy thing or Grandma will apply this wooden spoon to the seat of your understanding. Om biggun tu?"

"Tiggum," he replied. "Ten four. We're readin' you five by five here, good buddy," he said, mimicking his CB buddies. His grandmother chuckled and shook her head at him.

War In The Heavens

The clarion call of the High Council rang in his near immortal soul. Elder Shan arose from his pallet to release the Sidhe Master from the devices that helped keep him in an out-of-body state. He disliked the self mutilating torture devices, but for a full blooded Sidhe a complete regeneration of damaged tissue would occur within a couple days or so depending upon the severity. These were designed to do more aggravating of exposed nerve endings than tissue damage, allowing the shock to drive the Master out of his body for the duration of the self torture. Shan's catalepsy allowed him to leave his body without all the pain, however it was in a dreamy, detached state of mind. Shabriri could function with the same intensity as his waking hours, so he would direct the operations while Shan's dreaming consciousness was better utilized in an ancillary role to the Master.

"Time to awaken, brother," he said softly, deftly applying unguent to Shabriri's incisions. "We are required to attend the High Council back in Gwynydd."

"I may have some information they will need to hear," the Master said, rising from his pallet. "This cream of yours has excellent properties. I've heard that your decoctions were unparalleled. I am comforted to find this is not an unqualified statement."

"I'll wager you are at that," he said, smiling. "I wouldn't relish waking with all those open cuts myself. Not without a good balm to ease the healing process. So, you think our little wizardling might have something to offer the High Council?"

"He has a natural ability that I would expect from a full blooded Sidhe," the Master said. "Also a toughness that exceeds any Sidhe I can think of. Neither of which will help if he's killed outright upon entering. But if the witch and the aboriginal are drawn in with him, I would suppose he has as much a satisfactory chance of succeeding as surviving."

"You would recommend sending a party of humans into Logres?" he asked.

"For several good reasons, my brother," Shabriri replied. "First, Logres is a predominantly human plane. Secondly, the witch, the boy and his cousin have already spent several days in Annwn, a plane hostile to humans and Sidhe and have come back relatively unharmed. Thirdly, as with Annwn, this is a case where representatives of that realm are conducting raiding forays into neighboring planes in spite of any decrees to the contrary. Fourthly, no outcry occurred against us or even themselves for their intervention. We have the perfect circumstance for plausible deniability. Fifth, of all of us, they may be the best suited individuals for successfully stopping the Pentacle."

Donning their cowled, crimson cloaks they left the sealed crypt of the earthly plane through the mirrored portal to Gwynydd. The sunlight was near blinding after their weeks in Abred and they kept their hoods up as they entered the coach waiting to take them to the High Council. Spiraling towers of alabaster and ivory carved as fine and intricate as lace rose before them as the coach quickly made its way to the meeting. Shan never tired of seeing them, though Shabriri seemed preoccupied by his thoughts for the duration of the short ride. It was a lovely day.

No time was wasted, within moments of arriving they were ushered to their respective seats at the Council Round Table that circled the Pool of the Moon that lay mirror still in the center of the chamber. A vision of wizards attacking a Fae temple and stealing the artifacts held in reverence there was unfolding in the pool's reflections.

"Another foray by the Pentacle?" Shabriri asked as he took his seat.

"It appears so," Master Sine replied without looking up from the pool. "It would also appear that they are only after artifacts that can be used for conquest. The Temple of the Green Cathedral was nearer their entry point than this one, and possessed far greater artifacts of healing. Even so, they chose to by pass it and strike at this one to obtain the Rift Wand."

"Perhaps they feel protected from any chance of harm?" Elder Shan offered.

"If they do, it is an unreasonable assumption," Master Sine said pointing to another vision in the Pool. "Two of their raiding party were torn to shreds by the faeries that guard this temple. The main body of them escaped through the rift with the artifact."

"But why risk life and limbs to steal the Rift Wand if they already are able to traverse rifts?" Elder Shan puzzled.

"It would seem they are limited by knowledge and, or circumstances to which planes they have access to," Master Sine surmised aloud. "We've been suffering their raids for a while now, and have been waiting for them the past two times. Even so, we cannot always tell when or where they will attack. Perhaps there are only a couple small rifts they have access to. With the Rift Wand, they will have the means to access far more than those and the very nature of rifts put them in proximity to power locations. The Pentacle of Logres has intentions of conquest and possession of resources. Who is their Grand Wizard at this point in time?"

"Mordred VII is currently in control there," Elder Shannon answered. "We lost a party of our rangers getting even that much information. Along with them, the artifacts they went in armed with has given the Pentacle more information where with to make these raids in our plane. The last party we lost were also former celebrants at the temple that was just attacked. None of this bodes well for us."

"We must find a way to stop them," Elder Sian insisted.

"Does anyone have any suggestions as to how this might be done?" Master Sine asked, cocking a silvery brow at the adamant Elder.

"I might have the beginnings of an idea," Master Shabriri volunteered. "He is only a boy, but he has benefits that none of us here can boast of. He is half human. His father was an Emerald, Shamblynn who went mad in Abred. The child appears human enough but seems to have inherited the best of both natures. He has survived an incursion into Annwn with his Matriarch and his human cousin as his support and they all have returned relatively unharmed."

"You would send them into this hornets nest?" Elder Sian asked incredulously.

"Logres is a human plane," Shabriri said. "It is ruled by a human wizard caste. The humans I would send in are of a witch clan and very skilled of themselves and have some experience in other planes. The boy is one of us as much as he is one of them. I would argue that they are the best suited for this and that they also have a stake in this as well. The Pentacle will not stop their power grab until they are supreme in all the planes. I doubt they will stop until they reach Ceugant. I, for one, wouldn't want to wait that long."

"But how can we expect them to accomplish this on their own?" Master Sine asked.

"We'll have to work on that part," Shabriri said raising a finger and smiling. "Won't we?"

The High Council continued many days in argument on this matter and reached their eventual consensus. The nature of the raids and the politics of the Pentacle represented a fair enough threat to involve the witch clan in Abred and a plan was formulated. Any Sidhe caught crossing over would be killed out of hand, or worse. With Sidhe help, the humans and the hybrid child would likely be the better choice than a standing army at averting much evil in the planes.

It was decided that if Master Shabriri could obtain the human Matriarch’s consent, the party would be brought over to Gwynvyd and outfitted in such a manner as make the Lograns believe that royalty had crossed over from a rich and yet undiscovered human plane. With the Rift Wand in their possession, it was only a matter of time and experimentation before Abred would be added to the list of threatened realms in Mordred’s lust for power. Perhaps that lust could be used as the weakness to draw Mordred into an interplanar trap. Remove the head and the monster becomes much less of a threat. But the Grand Wizard of Logres was nobody’s fool. This would take much research and planning to find the perfect bait for this trap. It would save a great many lives in countless planes if an all out war could be averted and all the known rifts could be closed or rendered impassable to and from the troubled world.

What the Master and Elder needed now was greater license to work in the plane of Abred as the Matriarch's cooperation was desperately needed. Her realm was not threatened yet and she might not view this as her fight. This deception had no chance of working without human help, and not just any humans. The Matriarch's bond of nurture and protection to the hybrid child was not a thing that even the Master Sidhe wanted to be caught in the middle of.

Another World Away

All of the elves were dead. Some survived longer than others but all had eventually succumbed to the treatment. Not that His Excellency would mind or miss them. After all, they were interlopers to His sovereign realm. Rumsdon was certain He would be pleased with the artifacts taken from them and the information gained on the possible locations of even more powerful weapons to help in His crusade to spread His beneficence throughout the multiverse. With the added benefits of the Rift Wand liberated in their last foray into the realm of forest devils, it was practically assured that the Pentacle would now have the means to transport its shock troops to virtually any habitable plane in the multiverse and conduct pinpoint strikes into armories and treasuries wherewith to arm and fund their Cosmic Storm.

“You can dispose of the bodies now and have the personal effects taken to the examiners,” he ordered the waiting adjutant.

“Feed the pigs, sir?” the adjutant queried.

“Yes,” he replied tersely, “Pigs have to eat too and I’d hate to waste the meat. Has Dick come about yet for our scheduled meeting?”

“Dauntless is already in the outer room looking over some of the effects,” the soldier replied, “and awaits your earliest convenience.”

“Very good,” he replied. “You may carry on.”

Rumsdon smiled to himself. His good friend had taken so well to the nickname of Dauntless since he became Vizier to Grand Wizard Mordred. In the distant past he had taken so many barbs for his common name by political rivals. Now everyone, regardless of political affiliation gave due respect to Dauntless Dick as he facilitated His Excellency’s foreign and domestic policies. The power and prestige they had accumulated between the High Trio since their appointments was beyond belief. In ancient times, of all the guilds, the warlocks were looked upon narrowly. As civilization advanced and society changed, it turned out that none were so politically savvy as the warlocks and thus came their rise to power over the centuries.

Life in the Ivory City had certainly taken a turn for the better. The forest devils were only a minor threat at best, but the propaganda artists rendered their stories of terror and destruction in such a grand manner that not a child went to bed at night without a prayer that their little throats would not be cut by one of their sneaky little elven blades. This was so well done, the public and even the gullible Council of Wizards and the Assembly of the Wise passed unprecedented power and funding to His Excellency to keep them safe from the alien threat. Xenophobia made willing allies where enemies once contended over every protocol. The existence of a nonhuman threat was sheer fortuitousness.

“Did you get anything useful from this lot?” Dauntless asked, indicating the cadavers being removed from the room.

“Not as much as I’d like,” Rumsdon replied, “and we always have to be careful with what information we get this way as sometimes they will say anything just to save their miserable skins. One gave me an excellent piece of insight into the operation of certain artifacts that I’ll want to pass on to the examiners.”

“Did you try it out on anything?” his friend asked.

“Oh no,” he replied, “Not me. Chances are I would try it and the technique of holding a certain image in my mind while using the artifact would destroy the weapon and the wielder. No, I’ll just pass it on down to the examiners and let them test it on someone a bit more expendable, and then only on a minor artifact. We’re going to need that Rift Wand we lifted from the fairies if we expect to be successful with this campaign.”

“You’ve got a devious mind,” Dauntless said with a chuckle. “That’s why we work so well together.”

“So, are we still on for that private dinner with His Excellency this evening?” he asked.

“He’s dying to hear what you’ve gotten so far,” Dauntless said with a grin. “But remember this is all strictly on the hush as for security reasons it cannot be gotten out that all three of the nation’s top people will be meeting in the same place at the same time. The fairies may decide to take us all out in one fell swoop if they ever got wind of it.”

“I believe they would,” he said seriously, “if they knew. But I doubt they have the resources and the moxy to pull such a thing off. More importantly, the Council and the Assembly need to see that we’re taking this threat with the utmost gravity.”

“Speaking of which,” Dauntless interjected, “We got a new law passed forbidding the wearing of concealing glasses and headwear in public areas to better recognize any more fairy incursions into our world. It went through without a hitch and full public support.”

“You know,” Rumsdon said, laughing heavily, “If more of the devils had tails, I believe we could convince the public to willingly forego the wearing of pants to confirm their humanity.” The two men guffawed and slapped their thighs in tears.

We Interrupt This Dream For An Important Announcement...

In a moss covered cottage in a sunny glade at the edge of an ancient forest, Emma brewed a rich broth of heather and chamomile sweetened with a splash of honey mead to enjoy in the warm sunshine. At home it was nearing the winter solstice and much too dark to bear. The President had been shot to death last month in Dallas and the constant threat of nuclear annihilation by the Soviets or even our own saber rattling warmongers made the cold and dark of this oncoming winter just too much to endure. Her dreams gave her respite in a simpler place and time She warmed her soul where the earth's anxieties could not reach her. The cicadas sang their song of deep summer in the trees of the forest when the jingle of harness bells carried ever so faintly from the direction of the packed clay forest road. Emma was in a realm of her own making and brought her mug of brew with her to the roadway wondering at the intrusion.

A magnificently ornate coach drawn by six impossibly snowy white horses slowed to a regal halt in front of her rustic cottage. Emma smiled as the courtly footman bowed deeply to her and opened the coach door.

"Please send my deepest regrets to Prince Charming." she said with a delighted chuckle, "that I won't be able to attend his ball as I simply haven't a thing to wear and those dreadful glass slippers have been aggravating my bunions."

"The Prince sends his regrets that he won't be having a ball," came a familiar voice from within the coach, "and I would spare your bunions inviting you to dance barefoot around the Pool of the Moon at our High Council." Brazen colored eyes glowed from within the cowl of the crimson traveling cloak as the tall Master Sidhe, Shabriri, stepped out of the coach and bowed elegantly.

"I gather that this will be in lieu of some sort of report card on my grandson's progress?" she asked suspiciously.

"That and a good deal more," the Master said enigmatically. "The High Council of the Sidhe requests the very honor of your presence at our court. You are to be one of a very few humans to ever have set foot there and more will accompany you upon your arrival."

"Then this is no light matter for the Sidhe to show such a drastic change of heart," she commented pointedly.

"I will not lie to you, my lady," the Master replied. "These are grave times indeed for all the realms, but take heart in that there is most certainly a light at the end of the tunnel. We are not at liberty to discuss this here. Would you accompany me to the Palace?"

"Your charm and my curiosity overwhelm me, my lord," she said smiling. "Let's be on our way at once. Will this humble dress and apron be appropriate?"

"Emma of the Silver Lock," Shabriri replied, "the Sidhe do not recognize you for your regal clothing but for your regal heart. Leave the gowns and robes to those of us who excel in such things. We beg of you for those things we lack or we would not so much as ask at all."

The Master could well have been the penultimate Irishman with his left handed flattery. She wondered and fretted not a little during her ride through the Summerlands to the Palace of the High Council. The Sidhe were normally a very aloof race in its rare dealings with humanity. Truly, if there were any other way to get whatever it was they wanted rather than ask a human for anything, that is the way they could be predicted to go. A witch of the blood was another story to be sure. Such were almost fanatically inclined never to break an oath or bond with any creature. Being the matriarch of her clan, Emma was worried as to what kind of awful commitment she might be required to live up to and what its ultimate cost might be. Would she be forced to give up her grandson again?

It was only moments before the lacework ivory and alabaster spires of the Sidhe capitol came into view above the magnificently ancient treetops. The sheer beauty of them wrenched at her heart like an unrequited love. The coach soon glided to a stop before the white and silver laced marble columns of the Pool of the Moon. A crystalline resonance sang lightly through the airy expanse as the courtiers announced their arrival to the ageless personages assembled around the still, circular pool that clearly reflected the sharpened image of the full moon in its mirrored surface inspite of the daytime hour. She reminded herself that such were the stuff of dreams.

“Has the aboriginal human been located as yet?” an Elder asked of the Pool.

A pair of luminous yellow eyes peered back at them all from the depths of the Pool and Coyote’s voice came in a low growl.

“Have a care how you would treat your guests fair ones,” the Trickster replied, “The very help you seek might take offense at being referred to in such a deprecating manner.”

“We have no desire to offend, Wise One,” an ancient Sidhe woman responded. “I am the Eldritch Siara of this Council. If anything, it is his aboriginal ties to his land that holds him highest in our personal esteem.”

“His name is Little Fox,” Trickster replied, “the great grandson of Sky Woman. The Akwesasne recognize no royalty, but if they did, he would be a prince among his people. He will respect you as you respect others. Stiffen your necks and he will show you his back. Our kind have no animosity towards the fabled Sidhe. How our relations fare will be contingent on what you show us out rightly. Here is where he rests this night. Treat him honorably.”

The reflection in the Pool changed to a wide babbling stream of crystal clear water and a man standing in the water up to his thighs flicking a flexible rod like a buggy whip. In but a moment the image changed to the fullness of the man standing in the sacred Pool reeling a feathered lure back to himself as he blinked at the assembly surrounding his fishing site.

“I, uh, don’t suppose any of you could tell me what the rainbows are hitting on in these parts, eh?” John Little Fox said a little self consciously.

“Hail to the mighty hero of the Mohawks,” Eldritch Siara intoned in her rich alto voice.

“You, uh, can just call me John,” he replied blushing, “if it’s all the same to you.”

“No,” Emma responded, stepping forward for him to see, “it is not the same at all. The Sidhe are not known among us for stopping for a friendly chat with humans. The fact we are here means something terribly important is afoot.”

“Okay,” he said looking around as he waded out of the Pool, “they look a lot like Johnny in an odd sort of way, but one thing I know is that people who stand and congregate in a circle have no beginning or end and no high or low, so until I see otherwise I will insist we start our relationship on an equal footing. Call me John or Little Fox. They are all the title I have need of. Emma, I know and respect for her wisdom. The tall, handsome devil with the brass colored eyes and pointed ears I think I’ve met before somewhere. As for the rest of you, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. How can I be of service to you?”

“Indeed, gentle folk,” Emma said, “what extraordinary event is it that brings us all together here? Does this involve my grandson in some way?”

“Not exclusively so,” The Eldritch Sidhe woman replied congenially. “He will certainly need be a part of this, but we called the two of you forth for your own unique qualifications and authority in certain areas. Our worlds are in peril from another plane of being. A world not unlike your own, where humans are the dominant species. Look into the Pool and see the events as they have unfolded thus far.”

With the Eldritch’s gesture, the image in the Pool change to a view of a woodland road, not unlike the one she traversed getting here. A point fixed between two very similar trees shimmered and glowed and a group of about a dozen men emerged dressed in strange robes bearing curious devices. A fae farmer walking beside a cartload of fine produce was waylaid by these men as the devices flashed brilliantly and left the farmer's smoldering corpse on the roadside after stripping it of any jewelry or artifacts and pushing the cart off into the woods. The men then double timed further up the way to a woodland temple where they similarly attacked the clergy and stole some artifacts from the altar area while fighting off some faery guardians before running back and disappearing between the two trees.

“That’s horrible,” Emma exclaimed. “Does the Morrigan have knowledge of this?”

“She is searching this moment,” the Eldritch replied, “to find what portal they might open this Solstice in search of artifacts. How they obtained access to the first portals they found is a mystery to us. Quite possibly discovered by accident. But the Rift Wand they stole from that altar will ensure that future crossings are by no means accidental at all. The nature of such rift areas almost ensures that they will find power items nearby when they do, and thus far, this seems to be their sole motivation in their murders. We had sent a party of Sidhe rangers to investigate the first entry site. Only one returned, horribly mutilated and died shortly after this. As we speak even now, the Morrigan is sending us her vision of what appears to be yet another incursion.”

True to form, the Pool of the Moon was reflecting yet another forest scene from a vantage point high in the trees. A slaughter was taking place at a fae shrine in the meadow below. The pilgrims and clergy had not come armed and were at a decided disadvantage against the interlopers whose crackling energy devices exacted a horrible toll on the gentle folk of the shrine. From the Raven’s perspective high in the tree, a portion of a pale blond head with a rounded ear could be seen clinging to the branches below.

“That’s no Sidhe and certainly no dryad,” Elder Sian exclaimed. “Notice the bobbed, rounded ear in the vision. Morrigan, give us another view of this creature.”

The scene jumped and shifted crazily in the Pool as the Battle Raven took another perch nearby. An eerie light came from deep within steel gray eyes and shortened canines bared in the feral grin on the boys face as a low growl emanated from the lad‘s throat.

“Johnny,” Emma and John exclaimed in unison.

“He looks like he’s about to do something stupid and attack,” John said urgently. “Is there some way he can be stopped?”

“Another time, when you are better prepared, young warrior,” came the raucous croak of the Raven’s voice from the Pool.

The boy crouching on the branch nearly jumped out of his own skin in recognition of the Raven on the nearby perch and then the vision became distorted beyond recognition as the violent impact of a body disrupted the serene surface of the Pool. With much startled splashing and sputtering a soaked and bedraggled Johnny crawled out of the Pool towards them.

“And what did you think you might do to that band of armed men out there?” Emma asked, helping him out of the Pool by his ear.

“Ow, I dunno,” Johnny protested. “I couldn’t just sit there and let them kill all those nice people like that. I tried to stay hidden in the trees but I couldn’t help myself. It was all just so awful I thought I’d die if I didn’t do something.”

“You would have made another fine corpse,” she admonished. “Dream time or no, there are some things we don’t get to wake up from. If you die here, you die here. It is as simple as that. Om biggun tu?”

“Tiggum, Grandma.” Johnny sobbed.

“Land sakes, Son,” she said, “Losing our pride and joy would just about kill your Grandpa and me. Be careful for our sakes. It‘s not as if we can get another like our Johnny.”

“Grandma, I couldn’t even think right,” he said, sniffling. “All I could see is their cruel faces and hear their mocking voices and then only the sound of their breathing and their heartbeats. I could smell their sweat and even the blood in their veins and taste the salt of them in the air. I thought I would die if I didn’t tear out their throats.”

“Hunter vision,” Little Fox said.

“What?” she asked.

“It’s what we call hunter’s vision,” he replied, “though this is about as extreme as I’ve ever heard it get. It’s what happens to a big cat or a predator when it becomes focused on its prey.”

“Do you mean he is set to prey upon human beings like they were rabbits or something? she asked incredulously.

“Well, he did look more than a little feral up in that tree,” John said uneasily. “But it seems it gets triggered only by certain kinds of men. The murdering kind. He didn’t get like that when he dealt with that robber. He was angry, yes, but not like this. A medicine man might say that such murdering bastards were his lawful prey. Dark medicine and very powerful, but still medicine for healing and protecting the people.” He looked hard at Johnny.

“You told me once that Coyote gave you a new name?” Little Fox quizzed.

“Panther Boy,” Johnny replied, still sobbing.

“No kidding,” John said, chuckling.

“You find this amusing?” Emma asked.

“Strangely appropriate, would be a better description,” John replied, looking around. “I think our hosts have more to say just now.”

The ranks of Sidhe Elders and Masters looked on at the exchange silently, heads cocking to one side and the other in serious contemplation of the trio in their midst. It was then that Emma understood where Johnny got that peculiar trait and all but burst out laughing.

“So, will you help us?” Eldritch Siara asked blinking at the human display.

“How?” John asked. “We can’t fight your war for you. We’re not gods of war. We are only human. I hate to think of what weapons of destruction they might obtain in our own world should they find it. Truth told, we fear destroying ourselves if we don’t exercise more wisdom than we have in the past. What can we be expected to do?”

“I might be able to explain that best to you.” Master Shabriri stepped forward.

“This is Shabriri,” Johnny said. “He’s the one I’ve been telling you all about that’s been teaching me about my other side.”

“With all the gruesome lessons, you mean?” John asked with his eyes never wavering from the tall Sidhe.

“Please understand. The boy has inherited the best of two worlds,” Shabriri said. “There is much I have to do to prepare him to measure up against the best and the worst that both worlds would throw at him. It may seem harsh at times, but I’ve never given him more than he could handle and I’m more than a little pleased at how he’s done thus far.”

“I understand,” John said quietly. “Just so’s you understand what she’ll do to the both of us should we fail her grandson in any meaningful way, if you catch my drift.”

“I think I understand,” Shabriri said reluctantly. “In any case, we do have a plan that probably only the three of you will ever likely be able to pull off. You will not be required to fight our war for us, nor even for yourselves.” The Master paced towards the Pool and the images he spoke of came to life in the reflection.

“The place where these attacks are coming from is a human dominated plane called Logres, and not too much unlike your own in some ways,” Shabriri explained. “Wizards are the ruling class there, and the Grand Wizard is an ambitious, little tyrant named Mordred VII. Sometime in the past year, members of his military establishment, known as The Pentacle, have found the means to crossover into our realm and have been raiding various shrines and temples for artifacts they can use for gaining power or wreaking havoc. We were thinking that if we disguised yourselves as visiting royalty from yet another human plane rich with artifacts, that Mordred might accept you into their midst, if only to woo the secrets of your world or make an alliance that would bring him more power. There would be a two fold focus. The first would be to retrieve the Rift Wand from his possession and thereby limit his options for his attacks and extra planar forays for weapons. The second, should we be so lucky, would be to lure him into an extra planar trap and thus put an abrupt end to his murdering dynasty.“

“What makes you think he won’t kill us out of hand as he has with those people of yours?” Emma asked.

“Greed, bigotry and fear,” the Master replied. “He wants all the power he can get his hands on. Nonhumans mean less than nothing to him, but humans might be perceived as equals. In which case, he will need to assure himself that he is not in for a similar invasion. The fact that he will believe himself to have royal hostages in his possession he will likely choose to bargain for a better deal.”

“And when is all this likely to happen?” John asked.

“We need to be ready to crossover by the next Summer Solstice,” Shabriri replied.

“We have families and lives to live in our own world,” Emma explained. “How long do you propose we put our lives on hold?”

“I’ve considered that,” Elder Sian interrupted. “If we have you crossover to here and outfit you for your mission, there will be a time lapse where an hour of your time may equal as much as a week here and with the further dilation of crossing over yet again into Logres we may add a few more days to that. Theoretically speaking, you should be able to stay the better part of a year there and be gone for a mere weekend in your own world. But truly, it could also take you longer than that.”

“Also, during this time, our own rangers will be gathering more pertinent information as we can and conducting forays of our own,” the Eldritch interjected. “If it is possible, we will choose not to put your people in harms way, however, it would be wise to consider what would come of this tyrant finding weapons in your own world for as soon as he knows, he will come and you’ve seen how he has no regard for the lives he takes or spends in the taking.”

“Well,” Emma replied with a long sigh. “It seems we’ve got about six months to consider your plan and prepare. After what I’ve seen, I’m not inclined to say no to this. It would be good if you could keep us updated on the situation and give us more information on the identities we are to assume if we are to be convincing. I shudder to think at what mischief he might accomplish getting his hands on but a single atomic warhead. Our own planet is poised already to destroy itself should a single errant one of these manage to detonate.”

“We have an idea that should not fail to impress the Grand Wizard,” Elder Shan replied. “As they are already familiar with our world and customs, we have some relics from the Atlantean age that will be somewhat familiar to his own culture and not be connected with the Sidhe here.”

“Atlantean royalty, are we?” John commented. “Is m’lady comfortable with this?”

“Get comfortable with that speech,” Emma said dryly. “I think we’ll be doing a lot of that in the days to come.”

“Then you will help us, Matriarch?” Eldritch Siara asked for the second time, clearly hoping to exact a witch’s iron bound promise.

“For the present,” Emma answered, “you have my word as a witch that we will do all in our power to aid the Sidhe in this. I still have some few reservations about committing the finest blood in our family to a battle not yet our own and to this plan as I understand it. For one, will it be necessary for my grandson to be exposed to this? And aren‘t there other humans better suited to be drawn into such a thing?”

“Yes and no,” Shabriri said striding forward. “Yes, your grandson must accompany you if this is to work. We will be outfitting yourselves with a few powerful artifacts that could only be manipulated by a Sidhe mind. In this way, we assure ourselves of a few important things. First, the power and complexity of such items will certainly serve to hold Mordred’s interest in what he may stand to gain from you all. Secondly, if they fall into the wrong human hands, they will be able to do very little mischief with them. Thirdly, Johnny is the only one among you that thinks like a Sidhe, but looks very much like a human. He has been living like a human for his whole life. This should help you gain Mordred’s confidence enough to spring our trap. It will be in his best interests to treat you all as royalty. Unless something goes terribly amiss, I see little chance of any harm coming to any of you which is the primary reason this Council has approved of this plan. For my second answer, no. No other humans would be half so suited to succeed at such a plan. First of all, the society is human and wizardly, while you are of similar craft and a human society. You are most likely to understand what you find there than any other human alive. Secondly, you have also traveled to other hostile planes before and returned whole and healthy. I can‘t think of a human in your present lifetime who can lay claim to such experience. Thirdly, as visiting royalty with the aide of this soft spoken, and diminutive Mohawk warrior and Johnny‘s Sidhe powers added to your own, you have surprises the best of these wizards could not begin to guess at. If you were us and the first to be destroyed by this tyrant, would you settle for any lesser chances?”

“No, I would not by any means,” she replied. “You will have your help, but we may exact a price for it. Will you agree to this?”

“I have watched you grow from a child, Emma Silver Lock,” the Eldritch replied, staring evenly. “I have never seen you become mercenary in any of your dealings with anyone in need. Every member of your tiny family is more precious to you than gems. I believe that any price you would exact from us who are distant family, would not be more than you would require to minister to the health and well being of your own. I will agree to any price you claim within our power to deliver to you. I say on the bond of my own words.” The ancient Sidhe woman extended both hands to her, palms downward, eyes never wavering from her eyes.

“Then you have my word as a witch of the blood,” Emma spoke returning the Sidhe gaze and putting her hands palm upwards, under the Eldritch’s palms. “We will agree to aid you in this plan and you shall supply us according to our needs, as my word so mote it be.” The flash of brilliant, multicolored light and the reverberating boom of thunder filled the room as their hands touched.

Emma awoke with a start. It was a Saturday morning in December and unthinkable to be having a thunderstorm at this time of year. The rain was coming down in torrents outside and Willard was sitting on the bedside sipping a mug of coffee and staring out the window.

“I’m surprised you slept through as much as you have,” Willard said. “This has been going on for some time now. As early in the year as we got snow, you wouldn’t think we’d wake up to nearly fifty five degrees and thunder on a December morning. What do you think is happening to our seasons?”

“I would imagine that Mother Nature is becoming a bit irate with the ignorance of enlightened modern humanity,” she replied. “How about we get breakfast?”

“Coffee’s on and Johnny hasn’t gotten up yet,” Willard said.

At this, Johnny stood in the doorway rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Are we really gonna be spies, Grandma?” he asked sleepily as Willard choked on his coffee.

Them Goose Stepping Nazis!

John Little Fox woke up gradually to the sound of rolling thunder, the occasional flash of lightning reflecting off the walls in his bedroom and the sound of a driving rain pattering on his windowsill.

"Whatever happened to dreaming of a white Christmas?" he asked no one in particular as he rolled out of bed.

It was Saturday and no overtime this week. He double checked the calendar hanging in his studio kitchen to make sure it was both a non-work day and still December. With all the strange dreams he might well have accidentally hibernated for the winter for all he knew. Going through his usual morning grooming rituals he abstained from putting on the coffee pot. It struck him as more appropriate, if not urgent to have his morning coffee with Willard and Emma across the street. He was no stranger to medicine dreaming but lately these have been taking on a whole new brand of realism. If it wasn't for the tall elves and the strange architecture he might have some trouble discerning where the dream ended and his present reality began.

John pondered his life and dreams as he shaved and got dressed. His old Cherokee mentor, Floyd Crow's Foot would have told him not to bother drawing an imaginary line between the dreams and waking life. He probably would have insisted the he spend a little time in one of his sweat lodges to help see clearer what lies ahead. The idea tugged at him as precisely what he wanted just now. City living had thrown a wrench into that kind of plan at the moment.

In the dream Johnny said that Coyote named him Panther Boy. Old Floyd was a Panther Clan Cherokee and as spooky as they got, only he used to call them 'painters' or 'paints'. In olden times, the landscape here in New York had its share of panthers or cougars. Every once in a while, even today, in the more rural areas of New York State, one would be spotted drifting in an out of sight like a ghost on the landscape. What exactly did that mean for Johnny? That moment, watching the boy get his hunter's vision crouching in that tree reminded him a lot of Floyd one day when they were hunting deer back up on the reservation. Bow steady in his hand and eyes fixed unblinking on that buck, he could still hear that sub vocal growl purring out of Floyd's throat. Had the old shaman transformed into a red paint before his eyes and pounced on that buck, he would have been the least surprised of anyone. Old Floyd had his dark side, but no one living could tell a story and make him live the tale as Floyd could. He'd have to settle on Emma's wisdom for all of this. The experience of his manifold meals across the street told him now would be a good time to show up for breakfast. He pulled on his winter parka with his hood up and dashed across the street in the downpour to knock on the door. He barely had raised his hand to knock when Willard opened the door and invited him in.

"For a minute, I thought you'd be late for breakfast," Willard said. "C'mon and get that gear off. Emma's got your place all set at the table. If what I've heard so far is any indicator at all, this morning's conversation is going to be a real eye popper."

"You haven't been seeing any really tall elves have you?" he asked his old friend.

"I've always thought my grandson was the world's tallest elf," Willard replied with a friendly chuckle. "But no, I haven't seen what you probably saw last night. Emma's going to show me the whole thing later in her gazing bowl. Let's get in there before our coffees cool."

Sure enough, a good spread of home fries, sausages and toast were laid out on the table. Emma and Johnny were having an animated conversation about the Sidhe. The boy's excitement level grew noticeably when John walked into the kitchen with Willard.

"You know, don't you?" Johnny accused him cheerfully.

"You'll have to excuse my grandson's exuberance," Emma said. "His Sidhe roots have been his point of alienation with the rest of the world and now he has it as common ground with the rest of us. It's one thing to try and describe it to us, and quite another to share the experience outright."

"So that wasn't just a dream last night?" he asked the obvious.

"Yes and no, I afraid," Emma replied. "It was a dream in that your body was asleep in your bed all night. It was not just a dream in that you experienced a reality that we all shared in the dreaming. For instance, you had mentioned how that Shabriri looked familiar to you. You had met him before in a dream at a Blessing Moon ritual at Stone Henge. This is how I knew you were coming and that you would be my grandson's mentor."

"How about the upcoming Solstice thing," he asked. "Will that be a dream too?"

"No," she said. "That will be an actual physical crossover into another world."

"At least I'll know you're going this time," Willard said, looking a little worried.

"Yes, you will dear," she consoled him. "We will probably be gone only a couple days by your count, but we should return in better shape than we came back in the last time and our own world a bit safer and saner for the doing. I'll show you everything later so that you will know exactly what we know with no unpleasant surprises."

"I'll bet you could have taught old Floyd a thing or two," John commented.


"Floyd?" she asked.


"My old mentor," he replied. "I may have mentioned him before, but much of what he taught as a red man has made most of the shocks I've had with this family of yours a bit easier to digest."

"I would have loved to have met him," Emma said. "He sounds like an able man."

"But could he build a house?" Willard said with a note of mock jealousy.

"He built a fair to middlin' sweat lodge," he replied, "but I'm sure he could have taken some first rate lessons from a master craftsman like yourself. If Floyd had built my apartment instead of you, I'm sure I wouldn't have wanted to live there." They all laughed.

"I'm afraid I may have spoken too abruptly at the time," Emma said contritely, "when I promised our help. I had forgotten that you were not one of us and I had no right to speak for your commitment. I'm sure you'll not be held to it if you decide against it."

"Honestly, I'm honored to be considered as family," he said. "I've always felt as though I belonged here. I also feel that you and Johnny will need me in this and I wouldn't turn my back on that. I'm where I'm supposed to be at this point in time. You should know me well enough by now to know that this royal servant or body guard thing has no ill effects on my feelings. Titles are nothing. I know who I am and am not ashamed."

"Nor should you be," Emma responded. "As I've said, the Sidhe's interactions with humans has never been a light thing. The fact that they would even pay us notice at all has more implications than we realize of ourselves."

“So, just to satisfy my own mind as to what all this means,” he said. “This is not some kind of symbolic dream of the trials and tribulations of growing up in a mixed society, but that there exists a real physical threat of flesh and blood humans from another world that we will be required to infiltrate and neutralize?”

“I’m not sure I would have put it quite like that,” she replied, “but that’s the deal in a nutshell. I’m guessing that the unique mix of who you are combined with your military training is what qualifies you for this job. For Johnny and I, it is a matter of our Sidhe bloodlines and craft knowledge that puts us in this position.”

“You’re sure they don’t need a good carpenter,” Willard asked, “that can build a stout padded cabinet to lock all you nutcases into?”

“I doubt it,” he said laughing. “But you might build me one anyway. I’m sure I’m going to need one by the time we get back from this.”

“Hey, Grampa,” Johnny said excitedly. “Could you make me one, shaped like a coffin with a part cut out so I can watch Bela Lugosi movies on the teevee?”

“I don’t think you’re going to have time for television, sport,” John replied with a chuckle. “You’ve got six months of schoolwork to go and only that much time for me to train you before we have to go. In fact, I’m sure I’d feel a whole lot better if your grandpa and grandma could join us for most of this.”

“C’mon hon,” Willard said with a playful cuff, “he’ll teach us all to catch arrows in our teeth.”

“In which case,” she jabbed back, “we’ll probably keep our heads longer if we leave them soaking in a jar than putting them in our mouths. Just what did you have in mind, John?”

“I was thinking of increasing the level of Johnny’s training,” he said, “and a few basic self defense moves for yourself and Willard. I can’t be everywhere at once, but I’d like to assure myself that if it was necessary, the rest of you might have a couple lethal surprises of your own.”

“Grandma fought and killed a monster once,” Johnny volunteered.

“I’m all for that,” Willard said, looking askance at his grandson. “When do we begin?”

“How’s after breakfast sound to you?” he replied.

After breakfast they moved back the coffee table and furniture in the living room and he taught them all basic moves for getting out of choke holds and slipping out of a strong man’s grip. It took Emma a few tries to get out of Willard’s grip as the bulk of his labor had always been without power tools. He was a powerful man. But when she got the hang of it, even Willard was shocked.

“I dare say, old man,” John commented, “that with that upper body strength you have, and these same moves that there is probably nothing smaller than a full grown gorilla that could hold a candle to you.”

“You’re probably right,” Willard replied. “But I won’t be going with you all. Remember?”

“True,” he answered, “but the reason we’re doing this is because we are not out of danger here from these same killers. Besides, if I can teach Emma to get one over on you, I know she‘ll have some rude surprises for those wizards. We need you, buddy.”

“Hear that, hon?” Willard said. “You give ‘em one for me, and if any of them crossover this-a-way, then I’ve got a knuckle sandwich with their names on it.”

“You know I don’t approve of all this talk of fighting and beating people up,” Emma said.

“I understand that better than you might think,” John replied. “But I want you to remember that farmer walking beside his vegetable cart in the woods, and maybe those worshippers at their shrines. Was there anything else they could have done but die?”

“No,” she said looking sullen.

“And more than anything else,” he said, “I don’t want to see another kind soul murdered for their land or possessions. But that won’t stop just because we want them to. We will have to insist.”

“So, you think I could stop them if I trained this way a bit more?” she asked.

“If we practice this often enough,” he said, “self defense will become second nature and you won’t even have to give it much more thought than that.”

“Good, then we’ll train together as a family,” she said. “But right now, I think I need to take Willard into the other room and show him what we saw so that he understands.”

“You both did well today,” he replied with a slight bow. “I can see your grandson’s knack isn’t solely from his father’s side of the family. I‘ll be over later in the week and regularly so until we crossover.”

Emma and Willard retired to the summer kitchen to use her gazing bowl while he and Johnny practiced over and over again. He could tell the progress they were making with the visions in Emma’s bowl because every once in a while he and the boy would catch Willard’s outraged comments about the atrocities he saw.

“Them no good, murderin’ --” Willard’s voice sputtered from the summer kitchen at the back of the house.

“I’ll betcha a quarter that he’s going to call them ‘goose steppin’ Nazis’ before he’s done,” Johnny said with a smile.

“You’re on, sport,” he replied making a swipe at the boy’s head that was ducked easily.

“Why them god forsaken, sieg heilin’, goose steppin, murderin’ Nazis!” Willard exclaimed.

“He’s really mad,” Johnny explained, holding his hand out.

“Oh, quit smirking and take your quarter,” he said tossing a coin and cuffing the boy playfully as he caught it. “Gotcha!”

Martial Marital Bliss!

Willard was worried. Enough so to take full advantage of any time he could spend with John Little Fox for some martial arts tips. He even got Emma to teach him how to use the gazing bowl, but for some reason, he didn't seem to have much of a knack for that sort of thing unless she was there to guide him. He'd catch himself staring into mud puddles looking for news.

The Nazis, his personal epitome of evil, were long defeated and being hunted down all over the world. Nikita Khrushchev and his Commie comrades were threatening to bury Western civilization in a nuclear holocaust. Crime syndicates had entire neighborhoods parceled out as territory and God help those who disagreed with them. If all that wasn't enough, there was a whole other world that wanted to be the Universal Big Cheese and they had no reason to care who they hurt or how much they destroyed to get what they wanted. They'd be comfortable and prosperous in their own plane of existence and far away from all the horror.

His wife and grandson were seriously considering taking the roles of spies and moles along with their considerable talents to take this tyrant on. It frustrated him that he couldn't go too. He'd do all he was capable of doing to encourage and support them. Maybe there was more he could do at home to protect them. At odd times, he took on roles of enemy guards trying to arrest his wife and grandson.

"You there! Woman," he called out in stentorian crispness. "Halt where you stand. I have orders to take you in," he said as he moved up behind her wrapping his massive arms around her shoulders and pinning her arms.

"By all means," Emma replied coyly, "How could I resist such brute force?"

She straightened her arms in his embrace, twisting hard to her left and used the blade of her left hand to slap the inside of his left thigh, reminding him of a far more vulnerable area nearby. He loosened his grip in alarm and she twisted around to face him and delivered a right ridge hand to the same area, a little harder and come up still twisting from the hip with a right elbow just below his throat so as not to hurt him too much and sent him sprawling backwards onto the couch.

"Are you okay, dear?" she asked with a genuine note of concern in her deep brown eyes.

"I'm, I'm not sure," he stammered. "I'm a little off guard from that trick, but I'm mighty impressed with how easily you did that. A little closer here or there, and I'm not sure that I'd be getting up off this couch under my own steam ever again."

"I wouldn't hurt you, sweetheart," Emma said smiling and sat on his lap and hugged him close.

"I was worried about the other guy," he replied. "But it'll serve 'em right if they try to manhandle my good woman." He squeezed her back.

"C'mon Gramps," Johnny whined, "You promised you'd attack me in the backyard with the plastic whiffle ball bat."

"That I did, boyo," he said in his gruff chuckle. "Excuse me, hon. I've got to go abuse our grandson with a bat."

"You two lads take care not to hurt each other," she admonished them both as she straightened her apron and headed for the kitchen.

Trying to herd Johnny into any confining area of the yard was like herding cats. It just didn’t work. As much as he swung his bat, he’d miss. Johnny twisted, jumped, dove and rolled under his swing or just seem to evaporate when he thought he had him.

“You understand, of course,” he said huffing and puffing for his breath, “If I can’t clobber you, we can’t practice our fighting.”

“Little Fox says the best block for a skinny kid is just not to be there,” Johnny said from just out of reach.

“True enough,” Little John replied walking in the back gate into the yard. “Mind if I have a little batting practice, Willard.”

“Sure,” he said, handing over the bat. “We’re about due for a pinch hitter.”

John took a stance in front of Johnny and set him up for a slice to the boy’s left side and suddenly dropped from his knees and spun counter clockwise and caught Johnny behind his knees and knocked him onto his back on the thick lawn.

“And the horsehide is knocked outta the ballpark,” Willard roared excitedly. “I was beginning to think it couldn’t be done.”

“If I hadn’t trained him myself,” the little man said quietly, “and known which way he was going to move, I would’ve missed too.”

“I’m feeling a whole lot better about this mission as the weeks go by,” he said, slapping the little Mohawk a friendly thump on the shoulder blades.

“What did I tell you about hitting me like that?” John roared and shot a quick jab at Willard’s face.

In what appeared to be a twitch, Willard’s large right hand engulfed the warrior’s fist in a tight grip.

“Ooooh,” John said with a grimace. “I’d hate to even think of the new shape of my hand if you didn’t like me.

“We can’t rely on luck, now can we?” he replied warmly, releasing his grip.

“How about my maniacal men folk washing up for dinner?” Emma called from the back window.

“Only if you promise not to hurt us,” they responded in unison, laughing.

Emma blushed, shaking her head as she pulled back inside to set the table. Willard was feeling his stomach settle from the worst of his worries and an appetite coming on. They jostled each other playfully at the big sink in the summer kitchen as they readied themselves for the prize of one of Emma’s meals.

The meal was warm and hearty as the conversation was jovial. Willard reminded himself that they would only be gone for the better part of a weekend. That is, if things went well. But it was disheartening to imagine that almost a year of their lives would pass in that short time and still there was the possibility of danger in every day of that time. He had to admit, he couldn’t dream of three more formidable people to pull off a job like this, and the more he thought of them, the more impressed he was. But the time for whiffle ball bats and living room role plays was soon to come to a close. Someone was knocking at the back door to the summer kitchen.

“That’s strange,” Emma said rising. “Who would be knocking at the back?”

Johnny did a double take from his position at the table.

“Someone we don’t want seen at our front door,” Johnny replied. “It’s Shabriri.”

“Naw,” he drawled. “It’s probably Mrs. Genovese from next door wanting to trim her grape arbor from our side.”

“She knows she’s welcome to come over and help herself anytime,” Emma said. “She even helps prune our fruit trees. She doesn’t have to ask anymore.”

Emma walked to the back of the house and pulled the curtain aside on the back door and jumped back with a start.

“This isn’t a dream,” she said and let the tall stranger inside.

Master Shabriri hunched through the low summer kitchen and ducked under the lentil to the kitchen proper.

“Great sufferin’ sons of Satan,” Willard exclaimed, dropping a loaded fork. “You look bigger in person.”

“At last, we meet,” Shabriri said with a slight bow. “I’ve heard so much about you, Willard. I was hoping we would get the chance to talk before your family crosses over. On this side of the Rifts, while they are gone, you are your city’s best hope of safety.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the flushed red complexion and the tall pointed ears.

“We’ll come to all of that,” Shabriri assured. “First, we need a full meeting of the minds. I trust you’ve all been taking this mission seriously.”

“Serious as a heart attack,” he quipped. “We can even show you how to make one. You know, if you only had a pair of horns, right about here, you’d look like...”

“Master Shabriri,” Emma interjected quickly, “is there a reason you chose to come in the flesh as opposed to a dream or thought form?”

“Not a single reason,” the Master replied, “but, many reasons. First, there is a common complication when dealing with humans that they never believe anything out of their norms unless confronted with it face to face. Even then, they will deduce the entire episode was due to abnormal diet or weather conditions.”

“I’m a believer,” Willard said solemnly, holding up his right hand.

“From this,” the Sidhe continued, gazing oddly at Willard, “we need everyone to be absolutely certain that none of this is whimsy. Secondly, Willard is a part of this family and all of you are involved. To leave him out in any way is to cut your overall effectiveness. We can’t reach him on the level we reach the rest of you and we need him too. Hence, I need to be a part of his reality as well.”

“You want Grandpa to cross over with us?” Johnny asked, wide eyed.

“Not at all,” Shabriri replied. “That haunted hill of yours, where Elvyra lived still remains a prime concern for us for its Rift activity. With the three of you in Logres, and Mordred’s suspicions, along with his control of the Rift Wand, he may begin searching for a means to enter your world covertly. If they manage to find a means to cross over, that will be the likely entry point. Are there any weapon sites nearby that park?”

“I’ll be busted and blistered if there’s not an armory across the street on the Culver Road side of that very park,” Willard pointed out.

“It’s strange how such things wind up so near to power sites,” the Master mused aloud. “Do you see the problem we have, Willard?”

“Let’s make that my problem, handsome,” he replied, “I’ll trim the branches that come this way, and the rest of you can nip our problem in the bud. I’ve been wanting to see what this stuff I’ve been learning can do to those murderin’ devils.”

“Don’t do anything rash,” Emma warned. “I want you whole and healthy when I return. We’ll work together on a plan. This clan hasn‘t been in a good war in a century. Together, we‘ll win this one and it will take all of us to do it.”

“Are you going to call for a circle, Grandma?” Johnny asked.

“I might involve a few,” Emma said thoughtfully. “It might be in our best interests to get Leona over here to help your grandfather scry out any nasty surprises on the hill. She knows her way around it. We don't really need your aunts to find a means to sway things in our favor. They would only try to invoke the Sidhe, and the Sidhe are already involved. But for the three of us, it will likely be the best tactic to just assume we are alone in this and give it our best efforts to win.

"You’re right. No distractions,” Little Fox said. “The time thing will be too much to try and coordinate through. Our best hope is to get our overall plan done before we leave and trust each group to do their parts.”

“Smart choice,” Shabriri said. “A few more weeks to your solstice and then you will be making your appearance, in the flesh, as you say, in my world and then beyond. The rest of you, I can talk to at any time. I’d like a word with Willard now.”

To his credit, he fought valiantly against the ancient prejudices that Shabriri's appearance brought out in him and listened intently. Johnny was part Sidhe, and Emma and her family had dealt with such for centuries. He trusted them and quelled his uneasiness to focus on the overall plans and how he might help bring everyone back home safely. Maybe with the use of Little Fox's fancy red convertible and his granddaughter, Leona's witchery, he could manage to be something more than an inconvenient bump-on-a-log.

Veil Between The Worlds

Leona Mae had arrived by Greyhound Bus only a couple days ago. Already she was overwhelmed and flustered by the tasks Grams and Gramps had laid out for her. For many summers she had studied long and hard the craft her grandmother had so carefully fostered her in. Between Grams and her impossible cousin, Johnny, it was hard to believe there was another witch alive who could match her few years of experience. Even so, she had her doubts that she'd be up to the task ahead. She feared the consequences of failing her family when they needed her most. Gramps had a curious way of carrying himself of late, and seemed all too confident that they made the perfect team to hold down things on the proverbial home front.

Anywhere else in the family, one would shudder to think of the turmoil it might cause to have informed men folk in on the family secret. Male participants, willing or not were completely out of the question. Except in Grandma's house. It was strange, beyond strange and Grams was the family matriarch. Not even an adept as her great grandmother, the previous matriarch, but Grams seemed at no lack for power. Grandpa, Johnny and Mr. Little Fox were Gram's loyal soldiers, above and beyond question. It was as though her grandmother were given a special dispensation from the gods to compensate for the anomaly of Johnny's birth into the clannadh. While she loved her Dad, she could never share this part of her existence with him, ever. It felt kind of liberating at Gram's house to just let her hair down freely with Gramp's quiet acceptance of the family values and Johnny's unusual male perspective in the handling of power. Being around Mr. Little Fox was as comfortable as her favorite slippers. Oh, to have a home like this someday, but wishing for a life in Buckingham Palace was probably a little more within reach.

There were several pages of instructions on a clipboard in the summer kitchen. Nothing out of the usual there. She had spent most of her childhood summers working with her Grams preparing most of the ingredients and decoctions in this household and tending the backyard garden. She even had permission to use the family gazing bowl. It wasn't much to look at but a plain wooden bowl about nine inches across with the patina of generations of witches smoothing its surface. But oh, what history resided in this hallowed vessel. The honor and responsibility to stand in for the clan's matriarch made her heart pound with a mixture of pride and fear. Her mother often bragged to her aunts that she would likely become the next matriarch after Grams. She hoped twice that this wouldn't come too soon, and that she wouldn't do anything to ruin her chances later in life.

By sunset, Friday night, the whole family waited in the backyard. Grams was wearing a nice cotton print dress and an apron. No doubt, the fae crafted witch blade was belted underneath the apron. Johnny was dressed in simple jeans and sneakers with a hooded sweatshirt. Mr. Little Fox had a particularly hawkish appearance in his dungarees, moccasins, flannel shirt, a bone handled sheath knife on his belt and a small knapsack dangling from one fist.

Gramps was looking like he was expecting his first baby as he nervously moved back and forth to everyone insuring they had everything they needed. He needn't have worried. The Sidhe would be supplying everything they lacked for this trip. Just the same, after surviving the terrors of Annwn (Ah-NOON), this was a trip Leona was glad to miss.

The air shimmered in the shade between the pear tree and the younger apple tree. It looked like the heat rising up from the highway on a scorching summer’s day, but the night air was cool as the sun had just barely sunk below the horizon. Johnny‘s eyes practically glowed with excitement and his nostrils flared as if he scented something on the other side of the rippling veil between the worlds. Grams looked at her meaningfully and held two fingers below her eyes, nodded once and smiled. Gramps stole a last kiss and a hug from Grams before they all turned and walked through the veil. For the briefest moment, there was the flash of brilliant sunshine through a parted curtain and then she and Gramps were alone in the backyard..

"Well kiddo," Gramps said in a gruff whisper, "I'm just hoping that this is not one of those things that I'm supposed to get used to. On one hand, I want to complain that we're too old to be marching off to war, and on the other, I wouldn't have it any other way. I just wish my foolish old heart would make up its mind."

"I know what you mean, Gramps," she said. "Every year, when I come here, I feel like I'm stepping into a special, secret world. And if that wasn't plenty, by itself, new ones keep opening up before my very eyes and entice me to explore even further."

"And I always figured that was just an old man's romantic notions," he said, looking at her oddly. “If there's a single God in heaven that created it all, He has to be huge beyond reckoning. I felt small when I thought He only made the heavens and the earth I could see. Now, I'm stunned beyond words. I just can't begin to imagine it all. Let's go inside for some tea and toast and start planning our weekend."

The gruff old carpenter led the way through the summer kitchen door into the back of the house and Leona wondered after the rough hewn old hulk with the heart of a poet.

A Gossamer Reality

The Sidhe stood entranced with her arms outstretched. Her silken, snowy hair and diaphanous silvery gown stirring in the gentle breeze as a swarm of fairies circled, buzzing like a storm of angry dragonflies while strains of Die Valkyrie played in John Little Fox’s head. Reaching a height several feet above her, they simply winked out of existence. The music stopped and the spell abruptly broken, John turned to Elder Shan for an explanation.

“I never thought that a bunch of cute little fairies could strike me as intimidating,” he quipped. “Where was the music coming from?”

“Trooping faeries are indeed a thing to be feared,” Shan replied. “The music however, came from your own mind. It is the means such fae use to communicate. They trigger your own thoughts and memories to depict what they have in mind. I take it that you heard some sort of martial music as they were deploying to reinforce others at another temple.”

“Little people with big hearts,” he said with a chuckle. “My kind of folk.”

“Don’t let their size distract you,” Shan replied, “even a single faery soldier can be a deadly menace to a human sized foe.”

“Like I said,” he said with a wink. “So they speak with others thoughts because they have no voices of their own?”

“Something like that,” Shan explained. “They are creatures of brilliant spirit, but do not possess a soul of their own. They are very intelligent but the only way they can relate to others is by the memories and feelings stored that correspond closely to their own intent. If you want to hear them, you need to still yourself and pay attention to the thoughts and images that surface within yourself. To speak, you need to picture your speech at the forefront of your mind. But we are here for you to meet my cousin.”

“I’ll be sure to pay my respects the next time I meet any more of them,” he said, looking about the courtyard.

The Sidhe woman approached, appearing as if she were effortlessly gliding across the floor to them. Shan nodded to her while John stared in fascination. Her long snowy tresses moved like smoke in the still air as she moved. Though she was called Elder, nothing about her features gave him any indication at all that she was any older than himself. Her finely etched features and large almond eyes the color of lilacs held him entranced. She was taller than he, but not by very much. He watched the corners of her lips turn up and those remarkable eyes smiled at him as he realized she was talking to him.

“I, I’m so sorry,” he blundered, “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I have never seen anyone with eyes like yours before. I am John Little Fox of the Akwesasne Mohawks.”

“Nor have I ever seen such eyes of piercing saphire,” she returned, scrutinizing him unabashedly, “gracing the face of any human before. They are your finest feature. I am Elder Scylla of the Dawn Children. I will help prepare you for your trip to Logres. We have much to do in a few days until your crossover. You may leave him with me, Shan. I will return him to his matriarch after we get him measured and outfitted.”

The tall Sidhe nodded and smiled, observing the unlikely pair and turned to leave the courtyard. John turned again to admire those eyes for another eternal moment when he was aware that not only was her mouth moving again, but something had landed on his shoulder.

“I said, this is Indigo,” she repeated with a laugh like crystal chimes. “He is my personal guardian. Did you not hear me?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, blushing. “It sort of happened to me again. I’ll be okay now. You said indigo?”

Looking over to his right shoulder, a purple globe of light dimmed its radiance to show a tiny winged man about two and a half inches tall, bowing courteously. His tiny face was stretched into a grin that showed he was clearly very amused. Remembering Shan’s instructions about the faeries, he pictured the purple ball of light and then a small fox leaping through the tall grass and stopping to bow on its front legs. In a flash of violet wings, the tiny man kissed him on the center of his forehead and dashed to the Sidhe woman where it hovered over her left shoulder.

“Indigo approves of Little Fox,” she said, raising a finely arched eyebrow. “You speak pixie as though you have always known them. He is duly impressed.”

“I’m getting the hang of things here,” he said. “This seems remarkably like the stories of the sky people I used to hear when I was a boy. By any chance, you wouldn’t know Sky Woman. Would you?”

“We are all related after some fashion,” she replied. “Here she is known as Emerald Sky.”

“I always pictured her as blue skies,” he replied puzzled.

“Indeed. You have eyes much like hers, but Emerald is a designation here for one who holds a dominion,” she explained. “Much like royalty in your own plane but here it goes beyond just an individual with a title to a personage of considerable personal power and command. Here a title signifies something deeper than social status.”

“So then the terms Eldritch and Elder have something more to do with what you are as who you are?”

“Indeed,” she replied. “The Elders here are the Firstborn of the Dawn Children. We predate humanity by a considerable margin. Obviously, not all the Sidhe, like even Master Shabriri are not of the Firstborn, but that status does not hinder his personal reputation in our court in any way. My cousin, Shan is an Elder but serves in an ancillary capacity to Master Shabriri. We all serve in the ways we are best suited. Eldritch Siara is my mother. She is one of the originals of our race and has no parents save for the Maker, the Ancient of Days.”

“That’s incredible,” he remarked. “If you are of the Firstborn of a race older than men, then you must be incredibly ancient. You must be immortal.”

“We do not measure time as you do,” she responded. “I was already millennia old when men first began working copper and bronze. As for immortal… all of us are immortal. Even your kind. Though here, without some sort of mishap, our bodies will endure untold years, and like you, our spirits go on forever. Your flesh does not make you who and what you are but rather the spirit that resides in it.”

“Wiser words never spoken,” he replied in open admiration.

“Come with me,” she said indicating an ornate doorway, “we have much yet to do with you.”

* * *

Emma followed the Eldritch Siara through countless treasure rooms of fine fabrics and clothing that would put an Empress of China to shame. Everything from the sheerness and strength of fabrics woven of spider’s silk to gold and platinum weaves of thread almost too thin to see with the naked eye, the degree of fae workmanship was staggering.

“As you will pose as a witch Matriarch from the plane of Atlantis,” the Eldritch explained, “you and your party will require clothing befitting your status. However, it must not be of obviously Fae design or it will raise suspicions. I think it will better suit us to make it of fine materials of richness and strength to protect the wearer somewhat, but of a cut reminiscent of your own home world. It is important that it looks and feels natural to you.”

“I agree,” she replied. “The longer we stay there, the harder it will be to keep up a heavily fabricated ruse. It will be easier on all of us just to exagerate what we already have in place.”

“You have a sharp mind for one so young, Emma Silverlock,” the Eldritch replied. “My confidence in you is well placed. We have a number of jeweled artifacts of varying capabilities, but as you represent a human plane, we need to keep what you carry down to a minimum to avoid suspicions of Sidhe interference. There’s an Emerald Tiara of note that I would like to show you.”

“I’m going to look like the Queen of England in all of this,” she exclaimed.

“Not precisely, dear,” Siara said, “though it is important that you appear to be the ruler of more than a single island nation if we are to capture Mordred by his greed. This one is a bit understated in design but its function will be particularly useful to you. It grants the wearer dominion over others. So when you issue a command, it will carry a little extra weight. You are far too humble a woman to be the Matriarch of an entire world or nation. With your wisdom and a little boost from this tiara, no one will ever doubt that you are.”

* * *

“At your fullest speed, I want you to run at that wall,” Shabriri said, indicating the wall in question.

“You want me to splat my face against that stone at high speed?” Johnny asked incredulously.

“Not at all,” the Sidhe Master replied patiently. “I want you to continue running up the side of it. You will have to raise your center and move it ahead of yourself as well as pick up your feet as you close on it to continue your stride up the wall. How far you make it depends upon your speed and how well you can move your center of gravity.”

It sounded do-able when stated like that. Johnny bounced on the balls of his feet, getting a feeling for where his center and gravity were and then shot for the wall. Upon reaching it, he lifted his forward leg chest high and managed two steps up the wall before he pushed off and twisted in the air so that he would land with his feet under him.

“Not too bad for a first try,” Shabriri coached. “Now I want you to try that at a diagonal angle towards the corner and try to continue your run across the adjacent wall.”

“You don’t seem to think you’re asking for too much. Do you?” Johnny retorted.

“Just keep thinking of where your feet are as ’down’ and keep your knees a bit more flexed to absorb the impact,” the Master said. “You’ll get a little more distance out of that and then later we can introduce you to an artifact that will take things farther still.”

“Something to make me fly?” he asked excitedly.

“More like ’weight control’,” Shabriri replied. “Now run as I’ve told you.”

Johnny dashed for the corner of the wall making his two steps up the one and another two off the other, coming down at an angle and continued a full run up a tree and perched on a branch with an obviously improvised air of nonchalance that left the Master Sidhe shaking his head at him.

“I really want to fly, you know,” he said, casually buffing his fingernails on his shirt.

“I’m sure you do,” the Master replied while lifting into the air to join him on the next branch. “But flying is for birds, faeries, some insects, sylphs, zephyrs and certain other types, but not for Sidhe boys and men like ourselves. We must align with others more capable of flight to accomplish the illusion of flight. You are aware that your night of flight was not due to your own inherent power, are you not?”

“Yes,” he said dejectedly, “It was the wind that took me along for the ride. I was just wishing is all.”

“Be careful what you wish for, my friend,” the Master gently admonished. “Especially to be what you are not, when what you are holds so much more promise.”

“Sometimes I don’t think anybody knows for certain what I am,” he pouted. “Especially me.”

“I do,” Shabriri said with a toothy grin. You’re an Emerald like your father.

“What’s that mean?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m Irish or something?”

“As Irish as the Hollow Hills,” the Master replied, “the sidhs of ancient Ireland which was once your father’s domain. I imagine that he had returned to re-establish a domain in Abred since he had lost his when the first Celts came to Ireland. You seem to have all the knacks of an Emerald with your own peculiar human twists. I think you will have a very interesting life ahead of you, boy.”

“I heard he was a very bad man,” Johnny said. “Was he like a king or something?”

“Or something,” Shabriri replied. “I couldn’t say what was going through his troubled mind, but I wouldn’t be too quick to judge him as evil as he suffered a lot with the loss of his domain. Not withstanding that human society can have a very disconcerting effect on the Sidhe to begin with. Humans have never managed to cohabitate with anything higher than canines, felines, equines and bovines . Without all the old wounds to heal, I think you will be a far stronger man than your father was.”

“That makes one of us,” Johnny replied gloomily and then brightened in an instant. “Let’s go see how far we can take this gravity thing.”

Diving headfirst off the branch, he grabbed onto a lower branch that flexed and landed him gently on his feet where he made another mad dash at the wall, running to its top about twenty feet above ground level.

“Like his father, nothing short of death will ever stop him,” the Master said to no one in particular.

Crossover To Logres

It was a good thing that everyone didn’t have to take on assumed names and memorize a heavily fictitious world system. The Sidhe hosts had done everything to keep things simple and merely built the story on what was already in place in Emma’s life, but on a much more grandiose scale. The undergarments as supplied to everyone were of spun spider’s silk and as light and airy as could be imagined but couldn’t be torn or pierced with a knife. The exception being her own witch blade which she discreetly belted beneath a moderately ornate platinum weave apron. Her dress, jacket and blouse looked far more business-like but all resemblance to earthly weaves of cloth ended there. The materials were soft to the touch and bespelled in such a manner as to enhance her ability to carry herself as a queen. The emerald tiara was small enough that she could conceal it under a fine sun hat which she preferred when not acting in state. She could mix and match this ensemble to suit a wide range of demands her role might require of her.

Little Fox looked every bit a Chinese Imperial guard of some sort. The visor on his gleaming, gold helmet obscuring his blue eyes and the solar motif on his high collared silken jacket with the broadsword and military sidearm on a baldric bristling with knives and metal stars, gave him an air of brutal efficiency in spite of his small size. He clicked his heels and gave a courtly bow as he noted her entrance. A Sidhe woman was standing near at his arm. Emma knew that look and smiled to herself. He has made a very special friend.

Comparatively speaking, Johnny was a picture of understatement wearing a black turtleneck shirt, creased black slacks with an unusual belt buckle, gum soled black shoes and a faintly iridescent green trench coat. All he seemed to be missing is a Bogart style fedora and a cigarette to complete his look as he stood quietly with his hands in his pockets.

“So are we all private eyes now?” she asked her grandson.

“Nope,” he replied with a barely concealed grin. “We’re secret agents. This get-up has all the coolest gizmos too. The coat repels just about everything and my belt can almost allow me to leap over a tall building in a single bound.”

“Shades of Krypton!” John exclaimed in mock indignation. “All I got was impervious Chinese pajamas and a couple beans from Logres.”

“Beans?” Johnny asked.

Popping one in his mouth, John’s helmet looked like it was floating over an uninhabited set of clothes.

“Whoa!” Johnny admonished. “You used one up. If you only have two, you need to save those for the mission.”

“Relax sport,” John replied, spitting the bean back into his palm and reappearing. “You don’t swallow these unless you want to fade away for keeps. I just hope it’s warm where we are going because they don’t work so good wearing clothes.”

“Even naked,” Johnny replied, “you’ll be more than a match for most men. I’ll bet that’s why they saved those for you.”

“We retrieved the beans off the Logren soldiers the fae disabled at the shrine,” Elder Scylla explained. “We hoped they would give the impression that your skills and societies were about equal.”

“Thank you most kindly,” Emma returned. “However, Eldritch Siara, my niece and my good man at home have no such protections and advantages as we have here, so the price I may exact from you will be to do your utmost to keep them healthy in spite of the odds they may be facing.”

“Whatever you require, I will personally see to it, Emma Silverlock,” the Eldritch responded in kind.

* * *

Between Master Shabriri instructing him in Sidhe ways and John Little Fox drilling him in the martial arts, Johnny’s energy levels hummed like a high voltage power line. There was just so much to learn, so much to experience and all of it was endlessly fascinating that he felt he could stay awake forever to learn it all. When demonstrating his fae artifact, the Weight Belt, by raising and lowering his body weight, Little Fox seemed to recognize it as something that regulated a force called ’chi’ and suggested he use it in combination with several moves designed to move a lot of force in a specified direction. Little Fox also coached him that even nearly weightless, when in free fall from extended heights that he would likely still fall at thirty two feet per second per second and suggested he use his coat or an umbrella in combination with the belt to create wind resistance and affect a softer landing. Not surprisingly, it seemed the Mohawk warrior came with a bit of magick of his own and he was the beneficiary to this vast pool of diverse knowledge.

Grandma was busy practicing her craft by ordering herds of cattle to specific portions of field and birds to fly in precise formations as well as keeping sessions with Little Fox and Eldritch Siara . The days went by all too quickly and the time was coming to crossover into Logres and put all these things to practical use by defusing a very bad situation. The memory of what those wizards had done at the shrines had a sobering effect on him and his resolve hardened into crystalline sharpness. Johnny was not born a creature of half measures in anything he set himself to do.

* * *

The party gathered with the Sidhe at the Temple of the Moon where a contingent of Eldritch and Elders watched otherworldly reflections shimmering on the surface of the large circular pool. Instructions having been given and outfitting completed, it was decided that the party’s best chances would be to emerge within a few hundred yards of the Rift Wand’s last position in the Logren capital of the Ivory City. The image of a grandly robed wizard with thin lips and close set eyes seemed to be giving a speech to a crowd on the vast lawn of an impressive white building. A public entrance might well ensure that they would not be whisked off to disappear in some torture chamber somewhere. A circle of nine Sidhe Masters enclosed Emma, Johnny and Little Fox, raising their arms and humming an eerie harmony to effect the crossing. Unremarkably, the party ceased to exist in the center of the circle. In the Pool, the image of Logres turned to one of all hell breaking loose at the back of the crowd attending the speech.

Elocutus Interupti

The Ivory City is a sprawling metropolis and the picture perfect poster child for urban planning. Laid out in a symmetrical web pattern, all the main rays of the web join at the Pentacle, a vast building complex laid out in the form of a pentagram where each of the Logren military and police bureaus are headquartered within their own wings. Many of the city landmark buildings and parks are laid out according to some arcane or mystical symbol. The Capitol with its Ivory Tower, where the Grand Wizard resides being no exception to this rule, is a giant triangle, laid out in a circular park with the Ivory Tower springing up out if a courtyard in its center. At an expanse of pavement off the South Lawn at the southern base of the triangle, a grandstand was set up for the Grand Wizard and various dignitaries to deliver speeches against the splendid backdrop of the Capitol.

Mordred VII was just reaching his stride in his speech praising the public for their patriotism and resolve in dealing with the alien insurgents currently labeled “the Forest Devils” by the state controlled media, when a small riot broke out in the back of the crowd where the media vans were set up to air the event. He was considered one of the youngest Grand Wizards ever to serve with only a touch of gray at his temples to add a distinguished look to his wavy dark hair and pale, ice blue eyes. He could see from the elevated platform what appeared to be three people suddenly set upon by his security force. It also appeared the small party was holding the upper hand at the moment. It would be a pity if any innocents were killed by stray fire from the highly charged force lashes employed by his force as the small party seemed to forego the use of weapons in their standoff.

“Make certain that none of your loose cannons start firing wildly into that crowd of voters,” he instructed his chief of security. “If we can just contain them quickly, it will be a nice testament to our humane efficiency in dealing with the enemy. You hearing me?”

“Yes, Excellency,” the chief agreed, already relaying the information in his communicator. A hurried exchange and the puzzled chief spoke again, “Excellency, there is a complication,”

“What could possibly be complicated about surrounding three very outnumbered Forest Devils?” he replied in irritation, watching the fracas unfold.

“They’ve definitely rifted here,” the chief explained, “But as near as we can tell, the woman and the boy are quite human and we’re not sure about her personal guard as the helmet and visor hide his features.”

“Humans?” he mused aloud. “Personal guard? A matronly woman and a boy from another plane? What we have here is a diplomatic opportunity, chief. Escort me down to greet our new guests and see if you can get the fighting stopped long enough to establish how friendly we really are.”

With fanatical devotion and blurring attacks, the gold helmeted guard gave no quarter, extending one leg and dropping into a spinning squat and sending three Elite Shadows to brutal spills on the unforgiving pavement. The boy in the iridescent coat stood firm in front of the woman and the first guard to reach for him got a rude surprise when the lad ducked the grab, causing the guard to overbalance and then stood up sharply ramming his shoulder into the guard’s crotch sending him flying headfirst into the side of a media van. The boy and the guard thus busy, the woman managed to stop a second guard in his tracks with hardly more than a sharp glance. Herein was the power in this outworldly trio and Mordred lusted after power. It was this obsession that had caused him to keep his newly acquired Rift Wand close at hand, within the confines of the research wing at the Capitol as opposed to being locked away in some deep vault in the Pentacle Building. Rumsdon was not happy about this, but he would simply have to adjust.

With orders received, the security forces backed up a few steps and held their positions as non threateningly as they knew how. The boy kept his ground in front of the woman with her back to a news van and the helmeted guard looked over his shoulder for instructions from the matron, who signaled he should remove his helmet. Tucking his helmet under his arm, he stood at ease and waited. Quick blue eyes scanned the crowd for any challenges. None of his weapons ever left his baldric in the scuffle.

“I’m very sorry for the rude welcome,” Mordred offered, advancing with a slight bow, “We are a world at war and the only intruders we have seen arriving in such a manner have not been human nor were they friendly. Would you be so kind as to identify yourselves and where you come from and what your business here might be?”

Neither of the males spoke, but the woman stepped forward and they moved forward before her in an obvious move to protect her with their lives. He was impressed. Certainly this was a woman of some importance where ever she came from.

“I am Emma Silverlock,” she replied graciously, “current Matriarch of Atlantis and this is my personal valet, Little Fox and my grandson, Johnny. I am not sure exactly how we arrived here as we were watching an experiment involving rift energies and something seems to have gone wrong. I’m afraid I’m not sure as to when we may be able to return to our homeworld and I’m hoping we might find some degree of human hospitality in yours. And whom do have I the pleasure of speaking to?”


“Serendipitous and fortuitous circumstance, good Matriarch,” he replied with a smile and a gracious bow, hamming it up for the cameras, “bring you to our humble capitol and to our world’s Grand Wizard. I am Mordred Seventh at your service and very pleased to make your acqauintence. I am very sorry for our little misunderstanding. I am so glad no one was hurt. I had no idea there was another human world out there besides all the forms of alien deviltry we’ve met thus far.”

“Indeed,” Emma replied. “In all of our own history where the fae have winked in and out of our lives, I would never have suspected that we might find ourselves winking into someone else’s world as such.”

“Have your people had much interaction with these fae?” He asked.

“For a long stretch of our history,” Emma replied, “they were considered the stuff of myths and legends. Only recently have our wizards developed the science and technology to prove the theory of extra planar existence. Only a moment ago, we were at a demonstration of how large, controlled amounts of electromagnetic energies could be used to open and stabilize rifts to cross large distances instantly in our own world . We had no idea we’d be drawn through one and this looks like no city I know. My husband and my people will be frantic.”

“Well milady is quite the traveler,” Mordred responded with a smarmy grin. “You have reached Logres and this is our capitol, Ivory City. I am the ruling Grand Wizard of this world, Mordred VII, at your service and it looks as though our media hounds are demanding some explanation as to why and how our state of the world speech was interrupted . This is what we know in our circles as a ‘photo opportunity’. Just smile for the cameras and we’ll introduce you to the world as our newest honored guests and then we’ll get you settled in some where’s nice and see what we can do about establishing contact with your world and getting you all home safely. You are among friends here.”

Cameras flashed incessantly. Others clicked and hummed as media personell stabbed microphones forward and shouted questions in rapid fire. Mordred took Emma’s arm gently and beamed and waved to all the cameras and walked for the Capitol steps as the boy and the guard fell into step directly behind them and the Elite Shadows kept the crowd just out of arms reach. Promising more information after the latest dignitaries were personally interviewed by himself, the crowd backed off to a polite distance and Mordred escorted the trio into his office in the Ivory Tower.

Mister Tyrsday Night

Bored, bored, bored, bored and BORED! Johnny felt that he would be spending the rest of his natural life being poked, prodded and questioned in some very bland examination room. This was supposed to be the adventure of a lifetime as a spy in a new and unknown world and here he was. Bored to death in a doctor’s office. Even a real doctor’s office would have been an improvement because at least they had old magazines to read and receptionists and other patients he could practice “the Itch” on to amuse himself.

They did medical evaluations on himself, Little Fox and Grandma to determine their health and humanity and now he was waiting for yet another examiner to come in and do a psych profile (whatever that meant) and do cultural studies on them all. He at least had an idea that this meant he was going to be this new doctor’s social studies teacher and that amused him. It was a very familiar face that greeted him, floating somberly above a white lab coat and a white plastic name tag that read: M. Berle, Examiner.

“Hello Johnny,” the examiner said with a quirky smile. “I’m Examiner Berle and I’m here to ask you a few questions about you and your culture. Hopefully, the things I learn with you will help our fearless leaders from making too many social blunders with your folk that might hinder any friendships our worlds might build upon.”

At that moment another white coated figure leaned into the room catching the Examiner’s attention.

“Milton, will you be wanting copies of these transcripts?” She asked.

“Oh yes, please,” Mr. Berle responded, “and in triplicate as the primary study goes upstairs for immediate review.”

“I’ll get right on it,” she said and ducked back out of the room.

“Now where were we?” Examiner Berle pondered.

“Uncle Milty!” Johnny crowed with obvious delight.

“I beg your pardon,” Examiner Berle replied, “but am I to take it that I resemble an uncle of yours back in Atlantis?”

“Well, yes and no,” he confessed. “Not really my uncle, but Mr. Tuesday Night for certain.”

“You’ve lost me,” Milton replied, looking puzzled. “Your grandmother had made mention of something about Tuesday Night, but didn’t elaborate any further than that. Is that a night of the week? Like Moonday, Tyrsday, Wodensday, Thorsday etcetera?”

“Maybe like your Tyrsday,” Johnny supplied.

“And this Uncle Milty is of some fame to be named after a week night?” Milton asked.

“Oh, he’s a famous comedian from all the way back to Vaudeville,” Johnny said. “Didn’t you do any Vaudeville here?”

“I’ve never even heard of the place,” Milton said. “But likely as not, it doesn’t exist in this world. What’s a ’comedian’?”

“A stand up comic,” Johnny recounted, “a guy who tells jokes and gags and does funny skits on television. In our world, some of these people become very rich and famous for their talent to make people laugh. Don’t you have people like that here?”

“Oh, how very therapeutic that sounds,” Milton said smiling. “No. Our scryboxes…er, your ‘television’ equivalents are mostly put to state use here. We have bards here that sometimes sing silly songs or poems but the bulk of what they do is very serious work and then there’s jesters and they make up wild pranks and scenarios that bring more than a few laughs. But tell me a bit more about these rich and famous comedians.”

“Well sometimes, they work in pairs and one will be sane and serious and the other one will do the comic part.” Johnny recounted. “They’ll have conversations that you think might be serious and then hit you with a punch line that bowls you over.”

“Oooh, that doesn’t sound so good,” Milton replied. “Are punch lines very painful or damaging?”

Johnny looked at him for an odd moment as a thought crossed his mind.

“I can show you by telling you about how my grandfather, the King, had set about to track down one of our world’s foremost thieves by using his second best tracking hound.” he said.

“That sounds exciting,” Milton replied. “I take it that the King’s best dog was in use elsewhere. What made this dog only his second best, I wonder?”

“Now you’re being the straight man,” Johnny said. “It was only his second best dog because this dog had no nose.”

“No nose?” Milton asked.

“No nose at all,” Johnny replied gravely shaking his head.

“How did he smell?” Milton asked.

“Awful.” Johnny replied, looking at him mischievously.

Milton looked taken aback for the briefest moment and then broke out shrieking and crying at the same time.

“Oh that’s too good,” the Examiner said panting. “I’ve got to write that down somewhere. That’s a ’punch line’?”

“And it hit you right between the eyes,” Johnny said. “Did it hurt much?”

“Oh, I want to be hurt like that at least once a day,” Milton said, “and maybe all of Tyrsday night. So people actually get up before other people and do these ’jokes’ as you call them and get rich and famous?”

“Milton Berle in our world lives in a fine mansion and has servants to cook and clean for him,” Johnny said. “In return, he finds all the best jokes and entertains us every Tuesday night on television and makes us laugh and forget about our problems for a while.”

“That sounds like such a wonderful and noble profession,” Milton said while dabbing at his eyes with his handkerchief. Please tell me more about these comedians.”

“I kind of had an idea you might be interested,” Johnny said. “Can I call you Uncle Milty?”

“I’d be honored,” the Examiner replied.

“Well, the next kind of joke is the kind you tell to warm your audience up to you about something funny that happened to you on the way there…” Johnny went on.

* * *

“Our boy is using classic subterfuge and infecting this world with alien ideas,” Emma said with a sly smile.

“I gathered that with the Uncle Milty thing,” Little Fox replied. “I thought that man looked familiar but Johnny hit it dead on.”

“The benefit of watching too much TV,” she replied. “It was probably the different hair style and the glasses that threw you off.”

“Do you suppose we’ll meet doubles of everyone here?” he asked.

“Possible, but it all depends upon just how similar the two planes really are,” she replied. “Chances are that our own doubles don’t even live in this city. Have you ever felt led to move to Washington, D.C.?”

“Never,” John replied flatly.

“I think we’re safe then,” she replied. “I’m not sure I’d want to meet an evil twin or something like that anyway. What do you think of our new flat?”

“Nice neighborhood,” he said, “solid structure, very defensible and a generous allowance. I’m feeling like they are trying to buy some new friends.”

“It makes sense in a diplomatic sort of way,” she said. “I doubt this will distract us from what we are really here to do…”

“IX-NAY!” John interrupted, “There might be bugs.”

“We’ll have the place sprayed,” she replied.

“I meant bugs with ears,” John replied close to her ear.

“Well, let’s get settled in and if you see anything, you can call the exterminator,” she said with a conspiratory wink. “We should call for the car and see about getting some groceries. I’m tired of restaurants all the time. I want a real meal. Johnny should be home in a couple hours from his city wanderings and he’ll be voracious. You know how he likes to eat.”

* * *

In an apartment across the street, Dauntless Dick was sitting next to the wire recorder and wondering aloud to the Elite Shadows with him.

“What we should all be asking is,“ Dauntless said ticking off his fingers, “Number one: What are they really here to do? Number two: What does ‘ix-nay’ mean in their home language? Is it profanity or a warning? Number three: Do they have spells for using insects to spy on others? How would we detect them? Until we know more, all insects are suspect to be spies. I don’t want to take any chances. I also want transcripts of all of their interviews with the Examiners. I only wish Rumsdon could have a few free moments with them. I don’t like any of this.”

“You understand sirrah, that the media finds them eminently newsworthy.” Agent Simms remarked. “PR and His Excellency actually have the Matriarch scheduled to lead the Ivory City Solstice Celebration this season, and it’s to be aired worldwide. He intends to garner support for his war chest from Atlantis. We can‘t afford to offend these dignitaries.”

“I don’t intend to,” Dauntless replied irritably, “but I’m not afraid to question our ’good luck’. The saying goes: If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.”

“Your concerns are duly noted, sirrah,” Agent Simms said. “Should we continue our surveillance by following them all?”

“By any and all means,” Dick replied. “I also want Shadows among the Yellow Jackets in the City Bureau. This will allow us to keep track of any localized effect the Atlanteans may have on the populace at large and keep tabs on any contacts they may make.”

“Very good, sir,” Simms responded, picking up a telecom and punching in an office code to the local enforcers. “I have a contact in the Captain’s office that will do the job nicely. Have you any specific instructions to give him?”

“Just to keep an eye on them,” he replied, “keep a low profile and not to step on any toes unless he’s sure he’s got something on them. If his thugs make any kind of scene that reflects badly on his Excellency, I’ll have Rumsdon prepare parts of him as a delicacy. Understood?”

“Will do, sirrah,” Simms replied and began speaking into the com.

* * *

“You don’t suppose they’re in cahoots with the Devils, do you?” Rumsdon asked.

“I can’t imagine those isolationist snobs having any traffic with any kind of human, but we can’t rule out that they may be here to scout our own world for conquests of their own.” Dauntless replied.

“It seems like the human thing to do,” Rumsdon mumbled over steepled fingers. With Public Relations trying to work the loyal allies image into His Excellency and the world at large, it might be in our best interests if we orchestrated something to put our new ‘allies’ in a not-so-favorable light on that world scry cast. Maybe if the Solstice Ceremony came out to be anything but harmonious. The entire world would view that as an ominous portent without any prodding from us at all.”

“And we can still play up our support of His Excellency’s program while diplomatically showing our misgivings about the Atlanteans.” Dick added. “You are just so diabolical sometimes. Do you have any specific ideas as to what we’ll do?”

“Not yet,” Rumsdon replied. “But I’m working on it. We still have some weeks to prepare for this. What gives me pause is that we have no idea of how many worlds there are that can be reached through these rifts and what kind of technologies and magicks they might have to use for us or against us. If we could gain one or two allies among that number we could conquer through less costlier means and increase our profit margins in all of this. Gods forbid that we go storming into a plane vastly superior than our own and pick a fight we can‘t win.”

“We could always duck back through our rift and seal it up couldn’t we?” Dauntless asked.

“It appears so, but Forest Devils have made it through in places here that we had not expected.” Rumsdon pointed out.

“But we caught and killed them all quickly,” Dauntless added.

“We certainly hope we did.” Rumsdon said uneasily. “Fortunately, we have a pervasive media and the Devils look and act foreign enough to tell apart from out own with those tall pointed ears and odd colored eyes and hair. I would have suspected that boy or even the valet if it weren’t for their ears and the Examiners passing them as human. We need to tread gentle with these ones. We may need them later and if it looks like we could make an easy victory or that we might need to protect ourselves from their world, than we need to be able to distance ourselves from any fracas we might stir and make it look like it was someone else‘s idea.”

"Well, Mordred will be on tour, garnering resources and I’ll be the Master of Ceremonies for the Solstice Event,” Dauntless pointed out. “I’ll need to look spotless.”

“That’s the idea,” Rumsdon said with a slow smile.

Which Is Witch, And Vice Versa

Johnny was certain he was being watched, and by a good deal more than one set of eyes by the feel of it. It had been such a lovely, cool spring day in Ivory City and he had been dying to explore it more fully. He didn’t think he stood out much from the crowd as his choice of clothing wasn’t all that different from their own. Even the iridescent green overcoat was a darker green and didn’t stand out. It could easily blend him in with the trees and shrubbery that decorated the better neighborhoods. There were the ever present Yellow Jackets which served as the local police. As many corners as he had turned, he was certain he saw the same deadpan face beneath the yellow helmet that turned up in each new place. There were one or two others about who seemed to be paying attention to a pretty Asian girl chatting with a book seller, but the deadpan cop was looking anywhere but the girl every time Johnny glanced in his direction.

Digging into his pocket for some of his allowance money, he bought a sandwich from a street vendor and puzzled what was so beguiling about the Asian girl at the book seller’s stand outside the shop. She was pretty, to be sure, but she couldn’t have been older than twelve and surely these men would be better interested in a more mature woman with interesting curves. The girl was drawing the shopkeeper’s attention to a book to the far left of the shop display when a dark haired boy walked out of the shop with an iron bound antique book under his arm and turned to the right. Did he just steal that book? There was no one in the store he could have paid. But still, all eyes were on the girl who glanced at the boy and ended her discussion and walked the other way down the street.

“I’m Frankie,” said a husky lad with light brown hair and gray eyes he hadn’t noticed eating at the same cart.

“Huh?” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you standing there. I’m Johnny.”

“I figured,” the fat boy replied. “With Charlene in the neighborhood, no one notices much of anything else.”

“Like noticing the kid that just stole the antique book out of that shop?” he asked with a smirk.

“Pretty much like that,” Frankie replied uncomfortably. “I’m surprised you even noticed the Dodger with Charm working the front like that. You really are as different as the say on the scrybox .”

“Uh, you saw that?” he asked.

“Everybody saw that,” Frankie said with just a little exasperation. “You’re world news and here you are walking down our turf as big as life with your own personal Yellow Jacket tailing you like a lost puppy dog.”

“Turf?” he asked, “Are you part of a gang or something?”

“Wanna lose the Jacket?” Frankie said nodding at the deadpan cop, “Then we can talk more about it.”

“I was just wondering what I might do to lose him,” he replied with a big grin. “and I think I might like to have that talk. Got any ideas?”

“Leave it to Foggy,” the fat kid said with a smile, “ and when you see your chance, head for Broome Alley to the right of the book shop across the street.”

“Who’s Foggy?” he asked.

“At your service,” Frankie said with a wink. “Just ask for the Witch Kids when you get back in the alley.”

“Which kids?”

“Exactly.”

The fat kid ambled over to the deadpan Yellow Jacket with a sandwich in each hand and attempted to engage him in conversation. Johnny couldn’t make out what was being said but he was close enough to notice the man’s expression glazing over and took it as his cue to move nonchalantly across the street, out of the cop’s peripheral vision and into the alley beyond. He made his way quietly about a half a block down the alley when he noticed the dark haired boy discussing the iron bound book laid out on a crate with a red haired pair who must have been brother and sister. He was thinking how he might approach the group when his thoughts were interrupted by a throaty feminine voice coming from just over his right shoulder.

“Is the prrrretty blond boy trying to track our Dodger?” a raven haired, svelt lass with pale hazel eyes perched languorously across the top of a tall slat fence purred.

“Actually,” he said, “Foggy said I could meet some pretty cool kids this way. He’ll be catching up as soon as he’s done distracting the Yellow Jacket around the corner from here.”

“For a bite of that sandwich,” she purred. “I’ll introduce you to the gang myself.”

“I can wait for Foggy,” he said. “But you can have the sandwich anyway, if you like.”

“Ooooh, I like a soft touch,” she said lithely leaping from her perch to accept the sandwich. Wolfing it down and fastidiously licking her lips and fingers, she grabbed him by his ears and kissed him full on the lips and leaped away up several odd piles of trash and debris to a ledge where she proceeded to open and examine the contents of his wallet. By this time, the trio by the crate were watching him with no little amusement.

“Hey, that’s mine!” he shouted. “I only said you could have the sandwich you thief.”

“Thieves are what we are,” she said spitefully, “and stealing is what we do. There’s not much else a Witch Kid can do to survive around here. Get over it about your money. You’ll just get more anyway.”

“It’s the idea of being prey,” Johnny growled and ran up the wall to her perch and snatched his wallet out of her stunned fingers.

“He chased down the Cat,” the dark haired boy exclaimed.

“In our own backyard,” the redheaded lad remarked.

“If you want something from a friend,” Johnny growled at the girl, pinning her with his eyes, “you simply ask.”

“Witch Kids have no friends,” the red haired girl called up to him.

“Except maybe other witch kids,” he called back, never shifting his gaze from Cat. “You might be surprised to hear you’re not the only ones in all the worlds.”

“He’s the kid from the news scry,” Foggy supplied, walking up and gawking at the spectacle. “I told him I’d introduce you when Charlene’s charm failed to hold him and he noticed Dodger taking the Tome from the book store. I figured you all would like to meet him.”

“Stunned, I’m sure,” The red haired girl responded.

“Downright blinked, if I say so myself,” her brother replied smiling.

“Do I need to lam it out of here,” Dodger asked nervously, “or do we really have a new witch kid from another world?”

“This sounds cornier than a Saturday Matinee,” he said stepping off the ledge and drifting down to the alley below, “but I come in peace. Just don’t try and make a victim out of me or I’ll show you why that’s a bad idea.”

“Did he say Saturnsday?” Foggy asked.

“What’s a ‘mattinay’?” Cat called down from her perch.

“I heard a threat mixed in all that,” the redheaded boy said levelly. “Just why is it such a bad idea to treat you like any other wizard in this city? We’re the Witch Kids and like it or not, this is as much our city as anyone’s.”

A boisterous gust of wind blew through the alley, bringing with it the threat of rain. Johnny glared ominously at the twins as his eyes flashed and lightning struck the chimney on a building across the alley from Cat’s perch.

“Because I won’t let myself be anyone’s lunch,” he said with a voice that held a distant echo of the thunder ringing in everyone’s ears.

“You’re NOT taking away our turf,” the redheaded boy insisted.

“I didn’t come here for anything but your friendship,” Johnny growled, “and for that you try to rob me. If you’re the leader here then it’s high time you wise up.”

“Easy Sparky,” the red haired girl said in her best consoling manner. “Nobody here wants to rob you. You have your money back. We just wanted to know who you are and how you factor. I think introductions are in order and we all get to know each other like civilized sorts, eh?”

“It works for me,” Johnny said, the storm brewing in his eyes quickly disappearing as the sun came back out in the skies overhead. “I’m Johnny and I’m here with my grandmother and our bodyguard from Atlantis.”

“Well if you’re to be a genuine Witch Kid, you’re going to need a craft name here buddy,” The redheaded boy insisted with a very genuine smile. “I’m Hector Noggins, but here I’m called Hex.”

“I’m Jennifer Noggins, but here I’m called Jinx,” the red haired girl said.

“You know me as Foggy Frankie Fogherty,” Frankie said with a nod.

“Katie Katz,” Cat said leaping her way down to the alley.

“Dodgin’ Dan Dolby,” the Dodger responded in turn.

“You’re missing a few others like Charm, Jolt and Sylph,” Jinx said. “But you’ll no doubt get to meet them later on. I’m thinking we’ll call you Stormy because of that temper of yours and maybe you can tell us how you ran up that wall if you’re feeling really friendly. Or is that just your talent?”

“The storm thing is a talent. I think.” Johnny replied. “The wall thing is a combination of things I’m not sure of where to begin at.”

“Don’t puzzle too hard about it,” Hex said. “Most of us here have odd talents that we were just born with and not too much formal schooling about. Getting registered as a witch in this world offers more chains than perks so it’s always wiser to just keep such things to yourself and maybe a close circle of friends and try to get by the best way we can. Since none of us were born rich and the government decided to wage war on poverty we try to pool our talents and make do on our own. They’d rather we were all in nice safe institutions, doing and believing everything we are told, but we have our own ideas.”

“If your grandmother’s a rich Matriarch,” Jinx cut in, “why would you want to be friends with us. We’re nobodies here and you can rub elbows with the best wizards and warlocks of the land.”

“Look at me,” Johnny said, holding his arms out. “I’m a witch kid. Like any of you. My Grandma and Little Fox are the best people I know here, but so far, you are all the kids I’ve met. I came out because I was bored with all the old blowhards I’ve met at the Capitol. I wanted to explore Ivory City and meet real folks and I found them. You. Keep my secrets and I’ll keep yours. Deal?”

“Denizens of the alleys of the Ivory City,” Hex and Jinx crowed to the heavens, “We proudly present your hallowed pathways with our newest Witch Kid, Stormy!”

“Which kid is that?” the troops replied in unison, pointing at him.

“Exactly.” Hex and Jinx responded in finality.

“This calls for a celebration,” Foggy declared. “I’m hungry.”

“Did you steal enough sandwiches for all of us?” Hex asked.

“I, uh… ate them all,” Foggy admitted sheepishly.

“How about I buy us all lunch?” Johnny volunteered, taking out his wallet.

“Put that away,” Jinx insisted. “We said we wouldn’t rob you of your cash and we meant it.”

“Just a little bit maybe,” Cat purred. “The sandwich he gave me whet my appetite and I’m so hungry.”

“Hey,” Johnny said, indicating the group. “We’re like family now and it’s only fair if one of us who has, shares with those of us who don’t. Think of it as my portion of the membership dues.”

“All in favor?” Hex inquired.

The vote was unanimous as the gang ushered its newest member to the nearest backstreet eatery with much gusto. The conversation and questions went both ways among the celebrants and for the first time in his short life, Johnny felt less like an outsider than he ever had before. Each of these new friends were as oddball as he was and each accepted the others differences equally. The redheaded, green eyed Hector and Jennifer were the oldest, sixteen and the leaders and strategists of the group. Apparently the twins had their own unique form of communication and information gathering between them. Next in line was dark haired, blue eyed Dodger, who was a lifelong street thief and could slip in and out of trouble as if he was born into it. Foggy Frankie Fogherty could fog people’s minds and make them forget details of what was going on around them, when he wasn’t fogging his pants and making people want to quickly find someplace less fragrant to be. Asiatic china doll, Charming Charlene Chang could enter a room and become the sole center of attention, which made for excellent distractions for the rest of the group’s activities. Katie Katz, the Cat had a nearly feline sense of balance and agility. She often prowled the rooftops gathering information and entering buildings through the upper story windows without leaving a trace of her passing. Blond and gray eyed, Jolting Joey Vallan looked a lot like Johnny and had fashioned a broken force lash into a pair of wristbands that allowed him to send a stunning jolt of electricity up to forty feet away with the same effect as the Yellow Jackets ’stingers’, but not the deadly amperage of the force lash. Sally Gwynn, a.k.a. Sylph had light brown, curly hair and soft features as well as a talent for calling up dust devils and whirlwinds when she needed a hand. It was her father that owned the eatery they were all currently patronizing. Most of these were a couple years older than Johnny, but nobody seemed to be counting. Together, they provided the mutual security they needed to live on the streets of Ivory City and out of government run institutions normally reserved for such children. Witch Kids. Exactly.

Friends In Low Places

Emma and Johnny sat across from each other in the living room, gazing quietly into a china bowl filled with water. Emma, the picture of studiousness while Johnny couldn’t repress a crooked smile as he imaged his thoughts into the waters of the make shift scrying bowl. It was certain there was no kind of technology that would pick up on this particular wavelength. As Johnny communed his findings with his grandmother, John Little Fox was also busy trying to image everything they had so far in graphic detail to a tiny globe of purple light that had materialized out of nowhere. He then had to still himself to see what information the indigo pixie had to share with them. This was not the kind of thing he was used to, but much of his life had been spent outside of his own comfort zone and adapting well to the demands his surroundings put upon him without complaint. Always, ever the penultimate warrior.

“It’s not too late,” Emma observed as she stood and stretched. “It would be nice to stretch the legs and get some fresh air before bed tonight. Is anyone up for a little walk? We could stop for pie and coffee along the way if you like.”

“Allow me to gather a few things and milady’s cloak,” Little Fox said, rising from where he was sitting cross legged on the carpet.

“I’m certainly ready for pie,” Johnny added. “I’ll get my coat.”

It was a beautiful, cool night for a stroll and the park like quality of the urban neighborhood they were quartered in was easy on the eyes as they strolled on through towards downtown and a favorite café, known for its homemade pies and excellent coffee. Yellow Jacketed cops nodded and greeted them as they passed, enquiring about their well being. Emma played the regal matriarch to the hilt and nodded graciously while her trusted valet ran interference.

“Scylla sends that the Rift Wand is in the Capitol building itself and not the Ivory Tower section,” Little Fox spoke under his breath when they were alone. “It’s in a research section in the southern wing on the other side of the same building you’ll be leading the Solstice Celebration in. I’ll need to find some way to slip away to find it and destroy it. It may be my only chance to get anywhere’s near it.”

“Every eye in Logres will be on us that night,” Emma whispered. “All play acting aside, I doubt that I’m talented enough to run that Celebration the way we intend to and cast a believable illusion that you are still guarding me in plain sight of the cameras.”

“It will be all formal, won’t it?” Johnny asked.

“Yes, why do you ask?” Emma replied.

“John’s gold helmet covers most of his face,” Johnny said. “As long as he’s not required to speak, I might know someone who could dress as him and keep up our charade. He has to get naked anyway to do the thing with the beans, so he won’t be needing his clothes and no one will know that he’s not with us. It’s perfect.”

“Who do you know that we can trust?” Little Fox asked quietly.

“Instead of walking around the park to the café,” Johnny said, nodding in the direction of the neatly trimmed topiary. “Let’s walk through the center and I’ll introduce you to a couple of my new friends, the Witch Kids.”

“Which kids?” his grandmother asked.

“Exactly,” he replied raising an eyebrow.

Cherry blossoms gave off a heady aroma, strolling within the confines of the elegant city park. Little Fox dropped into a defensive crouch and moved towards a shadow that had detached itself from one of the many cherry trees.

“Which kid is that?” Johnny asked aloud.

“Exactly.” came back the voice of Dodger.

“That’s a high sign if ever I heard one before,” Little Fox said, relaxing his stance as a dark haired young man approached them stepping into the light of the street lamp.

“This is my friend, the Dodger,” Johnny announced. “Dodger, this is my grandmother, Emma Silverlock and our body guard, Little Fox.”

“Hey, I thought you’d be taller,” Dodger said, looking eye to eye with John Little Fox. “You stomped those Shadows like they was nothing bigger than roaches and you were a giant foot. I saw the whole thing on the scrybox. I’ve been wanting to shake your hand ever since.”

“Well, hand me that paw of yours, sport,” Little Fox replied jovially, “and I’ll give it a first class shaking.”

“Don’t s’pose you could teach me to fight like that?” Dodger asked, shaking his hand vigorously.

“Got a few years to learn?” Little Fox asked.

“I’m not even sure the world has that long, these days,” Dodger replied glumly.

“What makes you say that, Dodge?” Johnny asked.

“That Tome we jacked from the book store,” Dodger admitted, staring at his own feet. “It was a special order for a VIP in the Wizard’s Council. That’s how we knew it would be there. We thought we might use it to train ourselves to be a step ahead of the Feds, but what we found was so downright evil that none of us dare to even try anything we read in there. If it’s true that any of those uppity old cranks are considering that kind of magick then we need to be wondering exactly how bad the Forest Devils are and who the bad guys really are. Or are there just bad guys and worse guys and if the whole ball of wax is that stinkin’ rottin’, what chance do the rest of us have of surviving all those power plays by our betters?”

“Hey you!” a voice called out from one of several yellow helmets bouncing down one of the park paths. “Stop that kid. Don’t let him get away.”

With that, the Dodger took off and put as many trees between himself and his pursuers as he possibly could. Johnny almost followed, but at once a Stinger went off and an arc of electrical energy shot into him causing his back to arch.

“JEEZ! That smarts!” Johnny complained through clenched teeth as the arcane design of his overcoat took over an sent the charge back at the oncoming Yellow Jackets who ran face first into the wild shot.

Three Jackets went down as though they were pole axed, laying on the sidewalk twitching and blinking rapidly. Emma and John stood over them in case they had any more ideas of attacking family members.

“The next time you shoot at me or mine,” Emma warned with a low growl in her voice. “If Little Fox here doesn’t kill you out of hand then we’ll have you strung up in your own dungeons. Om biggun tu? You understand me?”

“Yes ma’am,” one gasped, still spasming and blinking from the charge he took. “We’re sorry. It was a stray shot. A mistake. It won’t happen again. Please don’t report us. We were only doing our jobs.”

“Does your job consist of you shooting innocents for your own personal amusement?” she asked archly.

“N-no ma’am,” he replied. “We were trying to protect you from a known thief.”

“It was just a boy who stopped to say hello to my grandson,” Emma pointed out, “and then as the boy wisely ran for cover, you shot my grandson. I see nothing criminal about running from crazy men brandishing weapons who shoot them off indiscriminately.”

“N-no ma’am,” the cop agreed.

“Don’t trouble us any more tonight and I just might forget this happened,” Emma said, flicking her hands as if to shoo them away.

“We were just leaving, ma’am,” the Jacket said as he and his colleagues attempted to walk out of the park on wobbly legs holding each other up.

“That was amusing,” Emma said casually as she looked to her grandson who was checking out the lining of his overcoat. “Are you okay, Sonshine?”

“That hurt when it hit,” he replied. “but then it was gone just as fast. I wonder what this coat can do with bullets.”

“Let’s not find out,” Little Fox insisted. “What really bugs me as that they never saw fit to correct you about the dungeons.”

“Maybe they were too stunned and afraid,” Emma said.

“Of us or the dungeons?” Little Fox asked watching them leave. “They seemed more concerned about being reported than they were afraid of what we might do. Couple that with my worldwide reputation for swatting their elite forces like a giant foot, I find that troubling. They know I can hurt them but they’re more afraid of what their bosses will do to them. Not much of a policemen’s union here, I take it.”

“Dodger seems concerned that his world is worse than what it seems,” Emma responded. “Taking this information with what we saw those wizards do at the fae shrine, is anyone really surprised at this?”

“The Witch Kids steal,” Johnny added, “but they steal to survive. None of them seem to have much besides what they’re wearing so it’s not like they’re just greedy and getting richer. Awful tales come back about kids the government takes away and most are never heard from again. They just want to live free and that doesn’t make them so bad. This whole world isn’t so bad as I thought it might be. They just don’t know the truth, and those that do know, lie to them. They are as much the victims here as the faeries.”

“I think I’d like to have a long, uninterrupted chat with your new friends, Johnny,” Emma said. “Is there any chance we could slip out of sight, maybe during a shopping trip tomorrow and all of us get together for tea?”

“I know of a clothing store in the Market District,” Johnny supplied, “and if we can slip out the back we can probably duck into the back room at Windwalker’s and Sylph’s dad will cover for us as we meet with the rest of the gang. That’s where I’ve been spending most of my allowance lately. They’re nice people, the food’s okay there and nobody can see us from the street.”

“Contact your friends in the morning and we’ll arrange to be shopping early in the afternoon,” Emma said.

“I’ll meet you there when the time comes,” Johnny added.

* * *

As they entered Perlman’s Apparel, a heavy set kid, who was loitering outside began engaging a local Yellow Jacket in earnest conversation and immediately the man’s eyes were showing that glazed look. Inside a lovely young Asian girl nodded to them and indicated the dressing rooms in the back of the store. Emma shook her hand in greeting, discreetly tucking a small wad of bills in her hand.

“That dress in the window would look so nice on you,” Emma whispered and winked, “and it will certainly need a new pair of shoes to go with it, dear.”

They pretended to look at some items on the racks for a while as Charm became the focal point of all attention in the store and they discreetly moved into the back rooms where Dodger was waiting in the shadows.

“This way ma’am,” Dodger whispered. “Out the back door and down the alleyway to the left. You’ll see Stormy at the back door of Windwalker’s.”

“How will we know this Stormy?” Little Fox asked.

You’ll just know,” Dodger said with a smile. “Exactly.”

A short foray down Broome Alley, a familiar blond head peered out at them from the shadowed recesses of a back door to some kind of restaurant.

“Grandma?” Johnny called quietly, bidding them in.

“You must be Stormy,” Little Fox said with a smirk.

“That figures,” Emma added. “I’m just wondering what you did to get that name here.”

“They got my Irish up,” Johnny replied sheepishly, “and we sort of found a way around it to be friends.”

“Then these are some very unusual children, Sonshine,” Emma said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Here, I’m Stormy, Grandma,” Johnny replied sub voce. “I’m a Witch Kid too.”

“My boy has found his own level,” Emma said with a wink. “I think I like them already.”

Johnny beamed, eager to make the introductions. The first to greet them was a tall burly man with light brown hair, friendly blue eyes and dressed in an apron.

“I’m Windwalker,” he said offering firm handshakes and a slight bow, “and I’m the owner and chief cook in this establishment. I am honored and apologise that I’m not used to receiving such royal guests in my humble eatery but I promise to give the best I have if it will do, ma’am.”

“I am an excellent judge of cooking and character,” Emma replied sternly, taking everyone aback, “and I am quite certain that you are eminently capable of taking care of us in the manner we are fully accustomed to. You have my full Matriarchal seal of approval and we will be equally honored to share your table with you.”

The backroom collectively exhaled and smiles broke out infectiously as the ice was effectively broken. Introductions and handshakes were exchanged with enthusiasm. They may not have known it when she came in, but these were Emma’s kind of folk. Neither was she surprised to find that Windwalker laid out a pretty fair spread of victuals. It was the common consensus that ‘Grandma Emma’ become the unofficial grandmother to all the Witch Kids. With full stomachs and much information to share, it was well after sunset before they returned to their apartment in the more affluent part of town.

Get Your Hot Dogs Here!

“He really thinks there might be a Commie attack from up on Cobbs Hill?” Whitey asked incredulously.

“Do you think for a moment he would have given us the keys to his shiny red convertible if he didn’t?” Willard said, jangling the car keys in Whitey’s face. “Besides, if you think about it, look at all the damage they could do from just that hill top. You’ve got the city reservoir up there. They could poison the city’s water supply. There are TV and radio towers on that and the neighboring hill. They could take out all of our communications and there’s a National Guard armory across the street from the park. Just think of all the weapons they might find in there.”

“So why did he leave with the Missus and the boy for that big Injun convention up north?” Whitey asked.

“He’s been watching over the place since he came here,” Willard lied convincingly, “and there’s no telling where or when a problem might break out. It’s not as if we have their timetables or anything. We got the CB radio in the car and Johnny’s walkie-talkies to keep in touch with. So for us it’s just a nice ride to the park and if anything happens, you can tune in channel nine, which the police monitor, and call for help if we see anything.”

“Well, if John Little Fox says there’s the remotest chance of a Commie threat,” Whitey vowed, “I’m not about to shirk my patriotic duty to keep vigilant. Can we ride with the top down?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind,” Willard said with a wink.


“God, I love this stuff!” Whitey crowed, slapping his good knee.


It was a beautiful, early summer, Saturday afternoon for a drive to the park. Leona sat in the back seat, catching the wind in her hair as the pair of over aged boys sat in the front, playing with the radio and discussing possible tactics for their upcoming adventure. They had agreed that they would park the car in the lot across from the armory so Whitey could man the radio and keep an eye on things there as Willard and Leona took the walkies on a hike up into the wooded park on the hill.

“Papa Bear to Eagle Eye, do you copy?” Willard asked, checking the radio out a little ways from the car.

“Ten four, Papa Bear,” Whitey returned. “Reading you five by five here, ol’ buddy. How’s about that Goldilocks? You copy us, babe?”

“Yeah, uh, ten four,” Leona replied. “Loud and clear, over.”

“Is all this code talk really necessary, Grandpa?” she asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Willard replied. “Little Fox is the only one of us that has a license for this sort of thing so we have to sound legit while we’re using his radio or we’ll draw a heavy fine from the authorities and we’re up here to help, not become a nuisance ourselves.”

“I need a license for this thing?” she asked, holding up the walkie-talkie.

“No,” he replied, “Just the radio in the car. I want you to carry that just in case we get separated or something.”

“I know these woods like our backyard, Gramps,” she said. “Grams has been taking us here for years.”

“I’ve only been here once or twice myself,” he pointed out. “I’ll need you to show me where the strange parts of the forest are where our Commie wizards might come poking through.”

“Why do you call them Communists?” she asked. “We really don’t know what kind of government they might have at home.”

“’Cause Whitey hates Commies,” he replied. “They blew his leg off and he sees them as a threat to our way of living and these murderin’ bums are all of that and more. He’d have us both locked up if we told him we were searching for killer wizards from another world out here.”

“Sounds like another cheesy drive-in movie,” Leona said with a giggle. “We should probably be making our way down that trail over there. It leads deeper into the center of the forest and we almost always rift a little when we start exploring off in that direction. Elvyra’s house is on the far side of that.”

Willard looked up through the canopy of trees to check the sun’s position relative to his own to get his bearings and proceeded with his granddaughter down the hard packed clay trail. About a hundred yards or so into the woods, Leona halted and pointed to a space between a group of four or five large oaks where another trail crossed the area.

“Look closely between those two big trees, Gramps,” she pointed. “The air there seems to shimmer like the heat off a hot car hood.”

“Yeah, I see it,” Willard replied, squinting at the phenomenon. “If anything, it feels cooler here than hotter. Is that a rift?”

“Actually, Grams says it’s a portal or a nexus,” Leona explained, “A rift is kind of a free flowing tear in the fabric of space and time, while a nexus is more of a doorway fixed between two points.”

“Being a carpenter, myself,” Willard wondered aloud, “I have to ask; who built the doorway?”

“Nobody knows anymore,” she replied. “I’m always wondering what kind of explosions or accidents happen that cause the rifts. If we keep on testing all those atomic bombs, are we making more holes for things to come through?”

“I never thought of that,” Willard admitted. “That’s not a pleasant thought that the things we built to protect ourselves from one threat should pose an even greater threat to our safety and well being. Have you guys ever walked into one of those things?”

“Oh, lots of times,” Leona replied. “Sometimes, you don’t even notice passing through one until you realize that you’re not in the woods you were in anymore. Most of the time, these open into pretty nice places in the daylight hours. But you wouldn’t want to be out here at night. That’s a whole different story.” Remembering the dark plane of Annwn was enough to send an unconscious chill up her spine.

“Could you find our way back if we checked this one out?” he asked, eyes never wavering from the shimmering portal.

“It wouldn’t matter,” she replied, “after a half an hour or so, the universe would be aware that we don’t belong there and correct itself and shift us back somewhere within a quarter mile of where we entered. Except for Johnny, and he can seem to play there all day long if he wants. But even he has his limits.”

“Let’s check in with Whitey,” he said, making up his mind, “and go through this one. With any luck, we might see your Grams and the guys on the other side.”

“I kind of doubt that,” she said, “but it couldn’t hurt anything to stroll through. We’ve done it dozens of times before and I’m sure you’ll appreciate the experience.”

“Papa Bear to Eagle Eye, you copy?” Willard recited into his radio.

“Eagle Eye here, five by,” Whitey replied. “Unless the Commies are sportin’ short shorts and dangerous curves, there’s nothing to report here but a pleasant day. Not that I’m complaining. Ten Four?”

“Nothing here yet either,” Willard said with a chuckle, “I’m just wanting to check out the far side of the hill, so we might be out of radio contact for a half hour or so.”

“It’s not that big a park, Papa Bear,” Whitey replied, “But I copy you and will be standing by as you need me. I wanted to go over the vendor and get a Texas hot and a cold lemonade any who.”

“Ten four, Papa Bear out.” Willard responded. “Let’s take a short walk.”

There was only a moment of disorientation when he didn’t feel as if the sun was in quite the right place in the sky, but for the most part, the woods didn’t look any different until he came to where the trail cut along the side of a small cliff side. From there, he looked out over what should have been the city of Rochester. But there were only treetops as far as the eye could see and no city to be seen at all. In the distance, he could make out a pair of bright colored zeppelins, one red and one blue with strange glyphs on the sides, flying high above the endless canopy of trees. The faint sound of gas powered props droned from the distant aircraft.

“I wonder if those might be our wizards,” Willard pondered aloud.

“I don’t know,” Leona replied. “A couple years ago, me Grams and Johnny saw a green and white one with symbols something like those, but that was long before we heard anything about Logres. So maybe they’re somebody else who lives out here. Grams says that there are as many worlds as there are possible decisions that could change history, made by every person who ever lived.”

“Eagle Eye, do you copy?” Willard called, testing his radio. The hiss of white noise was all he that could pick up from the set. For all the good reception that came with being on a hilltop, there was not the slightest suggestion of any kind of radio signal coming from anywhere.

“Maybe we should be making our ways back,” he suggested.

“We can go back towards the center of the oaks or we can continue on down the trail and just see what other rift we might just pop out into our own world through.” Leona pointed out.

“There’s more of these things?” he asked.

“Every once in a while we stumble onto a new one,” Leona said. “Either way, we don’t resonate on the same frequency as these worlds, so we’re never there very long before we’re back in our forest again.”

“Since we have no idea where our wizards might come through,” Willard decided, “we’ll hike on down this trail and see where it takes us.”

Another twenty minutes of strolling and they felt the slightest disorientation, almost like the briefest dizzy spell and then they noticed some backyards bordering the wooded park not far from where Elvyra used to live.

“Looks like we’re back home again,” Willard said.

“It could be,” Leona replied. “I could never be sure about that as these houses could be just a part of a plane that is a lot closer to our own. Sometimes I find myself wondering if my mom is really still the mom I left behind or if I’ve come back to a place only slightly different than my own where another Leona and Mom and Dad lives and if maybe she skipped off to some other world with her Grams and little cousin, Johnny.”

“Your cousin’s not so little anymore, kiddo,” Willard said with a gruff chuckle. “But that’s a lot of uncertainty for one young lady to carry around. Doesn’t it give you nightmares or anything?”

“Taken with the fact that several times a year, in school,” Leona replied, “we have to all go down into the fallout shelter and practice what to do in case the Soviets nuke the bejeebers out of us. I’d have to say it ranks with the smaller problems that just about any kid in the world has to carry with them now-a-days.”

“I’m sorry for how the world turned out, sweetie,” Willard said. “I’m wonderin’, when you guys all spent all that time in Annwn, a couple years back, why didn’t you all just pop back here after an hour or so, instead of spending so long away?”

“With Johnny,” she replied, “there’s no telling how long he’ll stay or how he’ll effect the rest of us. But there used to be a portal in a fence at Elvyra’s house that had runes and charms all over it, and I’m sure that had some sort of magick that made that difference since the Vough was using it to send things across this way to do mischief. It got destroyed when her house burned down.” She unconsciously rubbed at the faint scar on her hand where her grandmother had burned her with a flaming stick to give her the sensation she needed to scare off the giant rats that were stalking them as they slept that first night in that nightmare world. She wondered what kind of world her Grams and Johnny would be sleeping in tonight. She hadn’t wondered very long when a distraught middle aged man approached them on the trail.

“Hey, you haven’t seen an overly friendly pair of Dobermans gallivanting about here, have you?” He asked.

“Can’t say that we have,” Willard replied. “We’re just out for a hike. We can split up and help you look. What are their names, in case we find them?”

“Rex and Lady,” he said, “and my name’s Howard, by the way.”

Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bidahway,” Willard joked, stretching forth a large hand for a friendly shake. “My name is Willard and this is my granddaughter, Leona. Allow me to check in with our pal, Whitey and we’ll see if we can split up and help you find your dogs.”

To his relief, Whitey responded right away and he and Leona took opposite directions on the trail staying in radio contact and searched for the pair of playful Dobermans. He wasn’t far from the section of park where giant water storage tanks squatted among the trees when he heard barking, a sharp crack and a yelp. Running ahead he met a lone Doberman that nearly bowled him over trying to hide behind his legs.

“Easy boy,” Willard said, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “You must be Rex. C’mon fella and let’s see if we can find that girlfriend of yours.”

“Papa Bear to Goldilocks,” Willard called on the radio.

“Goldilocks here,” Leona responded.

“I found Rex over near the big storage tanks,” he explained. “I haven’t seen Lady yet, but something certainly has Rex scared silly, so keep your eyes peeled for a very nervous dog.”

“Ten four,” Leona returned. “I’ll be coming up the northern trail from the other side and should either see the dog or see you within a few minutes.”

Willard slid off his belt and looped it through the dog’s collar. Fortunately, he was in the habit of wearing suspenders in addition to his belt. It made for a fine short leash. Rex heeled very well and seemed to prefer to stay slightly behind him. Something had certainly scared the daylights out of this mutt and he hadn’t gotten too far up the trail when the smell of burnt hair and flesh reached his nostrils and he spotted something smoldering on the trail ahead of him. It was the charred remains of Lady. Rex whimpered and tried to pull away from him.

“Papa Bear to everyone,” he called again on the radio. “I found the female, and it ain’t pretty. It looks like we might be having some anticipated company on the hill with us today. Keep your eyes peeled for anyone dressed strangely. Take no action as they may be armed and dangerous but don’t let them out of your sight and stay in radio contact.”

“Ten four, “ Leona replied. “I can see you from here, but nobody else yet. Howard should be coming up on you soon from the service road.”

“Ten four,” Whitey replied. “I’m on the job here in the parking lot. I’m enjoying a shady tree and a lemonade and watching a few young school fellers out for a graduation party. Nothing unusual to report here. Eagle Eye out.”

Being that it was late June, there were bound to be countless graduation parties going on all over town, but something about that statement left the hair ruffled on the back of his neck. He didn’t get to ponder it too long before a very excited Howard burst onto the scene.

“Rexy!” he called, “You found my Rex. And where is your mate, Lady wandering off to? You naughty hound,” He clipped the dog’s leash on its collar and handed Willard back his belt when he noticed the smoldering ruin that was once Lady.

“Oh my God!” he cried, “What happened to Lady? What could do this to her?”

“I really don’t know,” Willard gently lied. “It looks like she was struck by lightning, but it’s a sunny day and we didn’t hear any thunder. Maybe it was one of those freak occurrences we read about in the supermarket tabloids. I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m glad I was able to find Rex here for you. He and I met back there a ways and since he was coming from this way, I brought him back up here in hopes of finding Lady. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what else I can say.”

“Thanks,” Howard mumbled, teary eyed and stunned by the carnage.

“I’m thinking,” Willard offered gently, “that it might be a good idea if we all got off the hill until we know what caused this, just in case it might happen again to one of us.”

“Good idea,” Howard replied, looking about wildly and hastening down the trail with his remaining Doberman in tow.

Leona’s eyes widened as she walked up from the opposite end of the trail to see the smoldering remains of the dog.

“What the heck did this?” She asked, indicating the corpse.

“I’ve seen this before,” he replied. “In your grandma’s gazing bowl. Our wizards are here and some where’s in this park We need to be watching for some guys dressed in matching robes.”

“Criminy Gramps,” Leona exclaimed, “It’s graduation time and there will be guys and gals in robes just about everywhere this time of year.”

Mr. Tyrsday Night's Debut

Johnny nearly fell off the examining table rocking with laughter at Uncle Milty’s new jokes. Their sessions together were full of old Vaudeville memorabilia and favorite comic routines from home and a lot of instructions about how the lines were delivered. It was old hat to Johnny, who never tired of them, but it was all new to Logres and Examiner Berle was planning on lacing a few of these jokes into the lecture he was about to give at a symposium hosted in New Cardiff.

“Many people will tell a joke during a speech in our world,” Johnny said. “They call them ‘ice breakers’ and it helps get their attention. It keeps them from falling asleep because they want to listen for what happens in the rest of the talk.”

“Being as the lecture is on what we’ve learned so far about our parallel worlds,” the examiner mused aloud, “I’ll have to do something to stretch it out a bit and add to my honorarium. It would be fair to say that this style of humor is a part of our cultural differences and I’d like to measure its effect on an audience in our own world for compatibility.”

“Well, as we say in show biz,” Johnny mimicked, “Break a leg.”

“Whose?” Uncle Milty asked, puzzled about the admonition.

“Yours,” Johnny replied, giggling.

“But I thought we were friends,” Milty returned.

“We are,” Johnny explained, “It’s just that in show business, many of them believe it will jinx their show if you wish them good luck. So they do the opposite and say to ‘break a leg’.”

“Oh.” Milty said. “By all means, break the legs. Do you think they will like me?”

“Millions of Atlanteans couldn’t be wrong,” Johnny offered. “I think they’ll have to reserve a week night here to name you after.”

“’Catch me on the scrybox this week?” Milty asked.

“Get used to it,” Johnny said. “You were made for each other.”

* * *

The symposium was the usual collection of stuffed shirts and evening finery one would expect in a meeting of eminent scientists and doctors, no matter what they were called in any plane. Emma was bringing in the Logren version of popcorn to the men folk in the living room just as Examiner Berle was being called to the podium.

“Good evening ladies, gentlemen and distinguished guests,” Uncle Milty addressed the audience with his quirky smile. “I flew all the way from Ivory City, to attend this symposium and I have to tell you that my arms are very tired.” He mimicked flapping his arms before a crowd stunned to silence.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Milty adlibbed, “It wasn’t easy. All the ducks were flying the other way, and if you think they’re messy when they fly overhead…” he rolled his eyes. Laughter began breaking out in fits among the tables. Clearly, this wasn’t the customary beginning to a scientific lecture, but it was beginning to work.


“He’s making me homesick,” Emma commented above the sound of laughter coming from the scrybox.

“Now he looks like the Milton Berle I remember on TV,” Little Fox said, slapping his thigh.

“Wait until you catch his big finish,” Johnny bragged. “I helped him with that one.”

The lecture went on with a good many jokes laced in with actual scientific commentary concerning the study of otherworld cultures and quips of conversations with the Atlantean test subjects.

“So I asked the boy,” the examiner went on, “how did his grandfather’s second best tracking dog smell, with no nose to speak of. Just awful, he replied. Which goes to show you that dogs are pretty much the same every where you go. Thank you all. You‘ve been a wonderful audience. Good night.”

Those in the audience who could stop whooping and gasping for air long enough to stand arose to give Uncle Milty a roaring standing ovation. The humble examiner gave bows of gratitude as the credits rolled across the screen. Uncle Milty’s experiment in cross worlds humor was a hilarious success.

* * *

“I’m not liking how popular our guests are becoming,” Rumsdon commented, turning off the scrybox.

“Indeed.” Dauntless replied, “Every time one of them says or does something different, it becomes the latest rage all over Logres. The only good thing I can say that comes from all of this is that now we’ll have to increase their security and that will help us keep a better eye on them.”

“Just awful,” Rumsdon said, choking back a laugh.

“Stop that,” Dauntless insisted. “You’ll have me weeping again.”

“We can’t have that, now can we,” Rumsdon said. “Perhaps I should share with you some of my plans for the Solstice Celebration.”

“It’ll have to be really good to counter all of this,” Dauntless pointed out.

“Not good, precisely,” Rumsdon corrected him, “but evil. Suppose as the Matriarch and her boy lead the ceremony, something terribly evil manifests and brings great tragedy on the whole thing before millions of viewers? It took me a while to get another copy of the missing Tome, but we can set up our spell and trigger the conjuration during the rites and everyone will assume it’s a part of their otherworld magick and hold them responsible. Even if many assume it’s just an accident, no one will be so quick to ever trust them again. There will always be that nagging element of doubt.”

“But how will we cast a spell like that when everyone will be expected to follow suit with the Matriarch?” Dauntless asked.

“It’s simple,” Rumsdon explained, “We set up our spell in it’s near entirety just prior to the ceremony. Then when her ceremony is at its height, we concentrate and invoke the demon with a minimum of any revealing gestures. It will appear as though she had done it herself and before millions of witnesses.”

“If we play this right,” Dauntless said, rubbing his hands with enthusiasm, “We can bring it down together and then squeeze extra funding for the Pentacle and more encompassing powers to deal with such forms of future terrors. We can also diplomatically negate her influence by insisting it all was just an accident and that she really didn‘t know what she was doing. We can‘t lose.”

“Don’t be too quick to celebrate,” Rumsdon admonished. “We’ll have to be extra sharp to maintain our focus on our own agenda during that celebration or we’ll botch it up and then nothing much will come of our efforts. We have a lot riding on this.”

“What could go wrong?” Dauntless asked. “It’s not as though either of us are novices. The Atlanteans may impress the ignorant populace, but I’m certain the best of them couldn’t stand toe to toe with a good Logren wizard.”

“And what if all their soldiers fight as well as that pipsqueak bodyguard of hers?” Rumsdon added. “Keep your prejudices aside, no matter how apt they may be and remember that we don’t want to start a war with the Atlanteans. We want an alliance with another human plane as we have no idea of how many non-humans we may be taking on in Operation Cosmic Storm. If we bit off more than we could chew, we’ll need a back-up plan and the Atlanteans fit nicely into this. But we also don’t want them so popular that they start calling the shots for us. A bit of public humility is all we want from this. Let this be the most precise wizardry we have ever performed and it will be our names holding such reverence in the public eye. Are you with me?”

“Of course,” Dauntless replied. “Let me see that Tome of yours. I want to get an idea of what will be required of us to pull this off.”

“Indeed,” Rumsdon said, pulling the Tome out of a drawer. “A pair of well focused, master warlocks can be a power that few could ever hope to reckon with.”

Troubling News, All Around

Through the twisted and tainted dark forest trail of Annwn, the ebon scaled dragon followed close on the heels of the unicorn colt that appeared to be dancing on the mist that covered the ground. Into the open glade the colt led them. The Vough’s Black Tower, Dun Cruachan, loomed over the chasm off to their left. Emma knew the colt was heading for the edge of the bottomless abyss that was hidden from their view by the low lying fog. It was apparent to her that the unicorn was about to sacrifice itself to drop the wingless dragon to its death in the abyss below. Emma awoke in a sweat.

* * *


Johnny chaffed at the idea of having a Yellow Jacket escort him everywhere, but his friends were natural experts at diversion and evasion. As he stepped out his front door to the awaiting officer, Charlene Chang was coming up the walkway dressed in a bright new dress and shoes and carrying a bouquet of flowers. The Yellow Jacket’s attention naturally shifted to her the moment she entered the property and this was her cue to stumble and drop the flowers and weep. Immediately, the officer was at her side and helping her to pick up the spilled bouquet.

“Our teacher wanted me to give these to the Atlantean Matriarch,” she whined.

“Don’t worry, young lady,” the cop assured her. “I’m sure we can save most of these and put them in some kind of order to be presentable.”

Johnny adjusted himself in his Weight Belt so that he weighed nearly nothing and sprang for the rooftop while the officer’s attention was focused on gathering the flowers. From the ledge, he moved towards the center of the roof to be out of sight, just in case the Jacket looked up. On the roof next door, Cat and Sylph were watching his progress. Sylph flexed her knees and motioned upwards with her hands. He wasn’t sure if she was commenting on how she was impressed with the way he made it to the roof or if she had an idea. He added only a pound to his weight and ran for the ledge to leap to the other roof with the girls when in mid-leap, Sylph raised her hands and whistled and a whirlwind caught him, whisking him over the housetops towards Market District and Broome Alley. It took him only a moment to realize this was Sylph’s handiwork. A slow smile spread across his face and he relaxed, stretched and enjoyed the semblance of flight watching the city folk below him going about their daily business, completely oblivious to the boy soaring over their heads. What a day this was turning out to be.

Gently the zephyr of wind set him down on the roof over Windwalker’s Eatery. Keeping his weight light, Johnny opened his coat a little and drifted down to the alley behind the establishment, noting that Hex and his sister, Jinx were already waiting for him there.

“We hope you enjoyed the ride,” they said in unison. “It’s not a trick we’ll be doing too many times.”

“It was nice,” Johnny replied. “It seemed a safe enough way to travel through the city without attracting all sorts of Yellow Jackets.”

“Don’t bet your life on it, pal,” Hex said.

“If the wizards see an unregistered witch flying over the city,” Jinx added.

“You can believe they will do anything in their power to get that witch properly institutionalized.” Hex continued.

“Even those that can’t fly or whistle up the wind can blink you out of the sky with a simple Stinger.” Jinx said.

“We keep safe and free here by never being caught using the same trick twice,” Hex explained.

It was easy to understand why the carrot topped twins were the ringleaders and chief strategists here. Johnny was already a known witch, but due to his diplomatic status, there wasn’t anything the government dared do to attempt to separate him from his grandmother. The other Witch Kids had no such guarantees. As he had soon learned, this had been the natural way of life here for generations. Sally’s father, Mr. Gwynn, a.k.a. Windwalker had been a Witch Kid ringleader in Broome Alley many years ago. Now he owns an eatery bordering his old turf. It would be impossible to feed all the street kids three square meals a day, but saving all his leftovers and scraps, he sees to it that present generations of Witch Kids don’t starve. Proof positive that the system and its counterculture worked in this world. Johnny pondered that even in a whole world of witches and wizards that persecution of those who were different was still the norm. Even here, one was not exactly free to be a witch no matter how talented they might be. It was still something that many found best served by secrecy.

“Heads up,” Cat called out as she performed an acrobatic leap into their midst from a nearby fire escape balcony. “Sylph’s on her way up the alley and Foggy is running interference for her.”

“Who’s after Sylph?” Hex demanded.

“What went wrong?” Jinx asked.

“Charm’s decoy worked as usual,” Cat explained, “but Shadows were watching and nabbed her after she tried to drop the flowers off to Grandma Emma.”

At this point, Sylph made her way up the alley, sobbing heavily. Foggy wasn’t very far behind her. Charlene and Sally were best of friends since they had known each other. Charlene shared Sally’s room above her father’s eatery. Jinx and Cat had been known to join them on the colder nights for a group sleep over. But Charm was a regular and had her own bed and dresser with Sylph.

“Shadows were watching the place the whole time,” Sylph sobbed. “Two of them blinked her on the sidewalk and stuffed her into a van, and the other three tried to corner me and Cat. What will we do? You know that once they get her through the City Council, we‘ll never find out where they send her to be re-educated. They don‘t keep records of such things so that it never leaks out to anyone who could use it to do harm.”

“Don’t worry, Sylph,” Hex comforted her putting an arm around her shoulders, “Dodger has been nabbed before and knows the system well enough to have an idea of where they’ll take her next.”

“We don’t care who they think they are,” Jinx added passionately, “they won’t just make off with one of our own without a fight that will leave them with a permanent limp.”

“Where’s Dodger now?” Johnny asked.

“He was your back up,” Hex explained, “He’s probably following the van to the safe house and will get back to us as soon as he knows where it stops.”

“Then we’ll work out a plan to get our Charm back home to us,” Jinx added.

“Won’t it be dangerous for her to be seen here?” Johnny asked. “Every cop in town will have her description and be looking for her.”

“Not if we get her before she’s processed,” Hex insisted. “Until then, we have a cell of only five Shadows who know her face and they don’t keep any kinds of records that can be traced to them. We’ve had to do the same for Dodger when he was new here.”

“Once me and the gang give them the Fog treatment,” Foggy bragged, “they’ll be lucky if they can remember their own names.”

“The trick is,” Jinx explained, “that we’ll have to find them fast and keep them all in the one place and work them over good. Has anybody seen Jolt? We‘re going to need him to spread a whole lot of blink into a room full of Shadows.”

Within the hour, Dodger and Jolt were back in Broome Alley with the gang and plans were being made to rescue Charm from a safe house on the far eastern side of the Market District. Apparently there were more than a single cell of Shadows involved and another group was standing guard on the rooftop of the small defunct warehouse they were using. It was overcast that evening and Johnny had an idea.

“You can’t go,” Hex insisted. “Everyone in Logres knows your face from the scrybox.”

“I can make a mask,” Stormy objected. “I’m the Witch Kid responsible and I can help. Jolt can wear my coat for protection as he blinks a room full of Shadows. I can wear a full face mask and get the guards on the roof and keep them there.”

“They’ll still recognize that belt buckle of yours,” Jinx pointed out. “Will it still work if we cover it with a sash? Do you think?”

“I know what your thinking, Jinxie,” Cat said with enthusiasm. “We can use that red cowl and trim a bit off the cape to make a concealing sash for his belt. By the time those Shadows get a gander of our scarlet caped crusader on the rooftop they’ll be blinked just trying to figure out what’s up.”

“And I can drop him in from the skies,” Sylph added, no longer crying. “It’ll be perfect.”

“It’ll be something completely unexpected,” Hex said approvingly.

“What kinds of weapons do Shadows usually carry?” Johnny asked. “Are they invisible up there on the roof?”

“Usually, the Shadows carry force lashes,” Dodger said, “which are very lethal and can burn you like a lightning strike. But the Shadows that nabbed Charm were using Stingers, which hurt like blazes but only stun you and leave no burns. Your whole body goes spastic and you just sort of lie there blinking uncontrollably until the effect wears off. It’s anybody’s guess what the ones on the roof are carrying, but it‘s pretty chilly out and there‘s no need for them to be invisible. Coming out of an overcast sky at night, you‘ll see them before they see you. The red you‘ll be wearing looks dark in low light.”

“Are you sure you still want to loan me your coat?” Jolt asked. “At worst, I’ll only get blinked and nabbed, but you’ll get flashed.”

“Hang on to it,” Stormy insisted. “I don’t want any other Witch Kids getting nabbed on my account. If anything happens to me up there, you keep it with my blessings. It was a gift to me from the Sidhe. I‘ve still got a few tricks that Little Fox taught me.”

“Forest Devils?” Hex and Jinx exclaimed in unison. “They gave you gifts? They didn‘t try to trap you or kill you in your sleep?”

“Grandma Emma talked a bit about it,” Jinx explained, “but with all the news on the scrybox, it‘s a bit much to get our minds around.”

“They’re not devils,” Johnny stated flatly. “They’re fae, and they’re not your enemies. In fact, if somewhere in your world’s past, people hadn’t interacted on friendly terms with them, you wouldn’t have the talents running through your bloodlines as you have today. So, you already have more than a few fae gifts yourselves.”

“My great granddad always used to tell us tales of the Old Race,” Foggy said. “He used to claim that we are distantly related, but he died before the Forest Devils started sneaking in and killing people. Nowadays, who knows what to believe?”

“Do any of you have access to a real scrying device besides the scrybox?” Johnny asked.

“I do,” Cat admitted, “up in my loft. What do you have in mind?”

“When we get Charm back,” Johnny explained, “we could all get together and you can see what I saw, and then we’ll talk about who the Devils really are. Until then, we are just wasting time we need to get Charm back.”

“Not that I don’t believe, Stormy,” Hex said as Jinx remained disturbingly silent, “but there’s a lot to this story on all sides that has a troubling ring to it. If he lives through this, I’m going to insist he comes with us to use Cat’s mirror and we get to the bottom of this thing. Are you all with me?”

“Exactly!” came the unified response.

Johnny was elated. The gang would move out at dusk.

Witch Kids To The Rescue!

On the east side of the Market District, bordering the docks and the railroad yards about two full blocks of old and ramshackle warehousing and factory outlet buildings crowded each other for space along the narrow streets and alleys. The gang were looking for a relatively small, two story, red brick structure billed as Star Casket Company. It was there where Charm was being held against her will until she could be interrogated, processed, shipped away for institutionalization and made to tow the party line as a government witch.

Mindful of the guards on the rooftop, Cat was stealthily casing the second floor for a window she could jimmy quietly and gain entrance, while Dodger and Jolt were doing likewise from ground level in the back of the building by the loading docks and dumpsters. Foggy posted himself as the lookout where the alley met the street. Hex and Jinx stood across the street in the front of the building, pretending to be arguing as a guard watched from the front door. Unbeknownst to said guard, the rotten mortar was quietly disintegrating from around a few bricks in the alcove over his head. Amused with the arguing siblings, the gravity of the situation was not lost on the Shadow guard when the loose bricks crashed upon his head, knocking him senseless on the steps at the entrance.

Taking their cue, the Noggins twins raced across the street, relieving the guard of his keys, wallet and Stinger. What seemed like an eternal moment, they froze inside the foyer, sensing their mates gaining entry into the back and upper story of the building. Charm could not be sensed as she was shielded in a cell somewhere within, but this was to be expected. The Shadows would not want desperate parents searching and finding their missing children. Charm’s parents were lost in a train wreck that nearly claimed her own life as the family were fleeing to someplace rural, where she would not be taken away to be trained as a government witch. Her last remaining “family” were the diverse children closing in on the warehouse with felonious intentions.

Sliding through the upper story window as silently as ink might ooze across a window sill, Cat gained entrance and let her eyes adjust to the gloom within. A stairway in the corner led to the rooftop. Looking around the room, she found a piece of an old bed frame she could wedge into the door bar, cutting off the Shadows on the roof from spoiling their fun below. No doubt, Stormy would have other means to reach ground level. The Shadows in the safe house proper would be the ones with the most information on Charm and they needed to be kept all in one place. The ones on the rooftop were now relegated to the one person that Cat had no intentions of ever crossing again. He didn’t even need a force lash to fry someone.

Dodger deftly picked the lock and opened the door only a crack to see what lie within. He was hoping a guard would be at the back so that there’d be one less for Joltin’ Joey to deal with when they got to the common room. No such luck. Jolt was going to have to take out four Shadows in one fell swoop. Either of his makeshift wristbands were the equivalent of a pretty good Stinger and that coat of Stormy’s was fair protection.

“Just so you know,” Dodger whispered, “if they blink you, it’s still going to hurt some. Just try to blink them all first and be ready for the jolting.”

“Four to one odds,” Jolt complained, “and these are Shadows and not simple Jackets. You can believe I’ll try like my life depends on it.”

“It does,” Dodger returned. “I don’t reckon Stormy will have an easy time with the five to one odds on the roof either. I hope he truly has some tricks up his sleeve because now he doesn’t even have the coat to protect him and those Shadows will probably be packin’ lashes.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jolt whispered, “I’d feel guilty already except you all said how he blasted that chimney in the alley. Our boy is a witch’s witch. He’ll probably zap ‘em all before his feet even touch the roof.”

“Let’s get upstairs,” Dodger said with a nod towards the stairwell. “We want to be in position at the door when Hex dowses the lights.”

With all the stealth of seasoned cat burglars, the boys crept up the rickety staircase, keeping their feet planted nearest the walls so as to prevent the old steps from creaking. Nearer to the top, the sound of a scrybox playing a rowdy soccer game blared from the adjoining common room. The back stairway door from the room was locked by a knob on the inside. Dodger made use of his pocket knife to quietly pry loose the door pins. When the signal came they would simply push the door down and Joey would blink anything in the room. He took a moment to spy through the gap between the door and lentil.

“As best as I could make it,” Dodger whispered, “there are two on the couch on the left wall and another seated on a chair directly across from us. I hear the fourth talking from somewhere off to the right but can’t spot him through the keyhole or anything.”

A momentary flickering of the room lights before the full darkness set in and the complaints of how the soccer game was interrupted served as the boys’ cue to make their entrance. Joey took the lead with Dodger bringing up the rear, careful not to allow the flash of Jolt’s wristband stingers blind his night vision. In the first instant, Jolt zapped the Shadow across from the door and the guard to his immediate left. Seeing the second man on the couch raising his weapon, Dodger jumped on him and held on for dear life. Joltin’ Joey frantically looked for an opening to blink Dodger’s quarry when the fourth Shadow fired on them from a small kitchenette off to the right and the room fairly crackled with energy as Dodger and his prey slumped spasming to the floor.

“Cripes, that stings!” Joey exclaimed, as the fae coat caught the charge and repelled it back into the fourth Shadow.

Jolt was the only one in the common room left standing when Hex and Cat came through the opposite door.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Hex apologized. “We found Charm’s cell and had more locks to get past than we expected. You and Dodger took out all four Shadows by yourselves?”

“Us and the fact that they were stunned by my remarkable taste in men’s wear,” Jolt joked as he watched the residual play of energies moving through the weave of the coat towards his wristbands..

Cat looked after Dodger as Hex helped Foggy drag the guard from the front door up the stairs to the common room. With Charm free and all the Shadows locked in Charm’s cell, they began ‘the Fog treatment’ to obscure their captives minds about anything that occurred within the past day or so. By the time the Shadows all regained their senses, none of them would have any recollection of what had happened or how they got there. Up on the roof, the sounds of a deadlier battle shook the building.

* * *

Sylph stood entranced on a nearby rooftop directing the efforts of the zephyr that flew Stormy to his rendezvous with the Shadows on the safe house roof. The sky was overcast and lowering with a threatening storm as he sailed overhead in his crimson cowl and mask. His black turtleneck shirt and slacks accented by the crimson sash and cape made him look like a comic book superhero, but his mood was anything but heroic. Images of these men murdering defenseless fae folk at a woodland shrine filled him with a dark, unholy passion. Had anyone been close enough, they would have noted the unnatural gleam in his eyes as he approached the rooftop. Spreading his arms with the cape, he created enough wind resistance to slow his descent enough not to hurt himself landing in their midst. The sound of fabric snapping in the wind also alerted one of the Shadows below to his presence and raised a force lash to take aim. The faint, rising whine of the unit’s capacitor charging gave Stormy the telltale that he was about to be fried in flight. Angry gray eyes flashed and the deafening boom of thunder cracked the night with the added blast of the crisped guard’s force lash overloading as the lightning bolt combined with the exploding capacitor removed the threat.

Hitting the roof in a roll and utilizing his fae belt to increase his weight by several times in the somersault, he plowed into a second Shadow, sending him screaming over the edge to crash in a senseless heap in the dumpster in the alley below. Turning, to the sound of twin capacitors charging, he adjusted his weight and cart wheeled between the two guardsmen attempting to draw down on him. The Shadow realized the error too late and fried his counterpart, whose exploding lash unit knocked a third guard aside in the blast. Unaware yet that it was a closer call than he imagined, Stormy halted the tumble in a defensive crouch wondering why the smell of burnt flesh and fabric smelled so close. A two inch wide slash of char striped his left shoulder. He noticed the pull of his singed shoulder when one of the remaining guards closed on him. The guard grabbed his throat to strangle him and he responded by grabbing the man’s ears and planting both feet into the guard’s stomach, pulling him down on himself and using his feet to launch his attacker off the front of the building to the unforgiving street below. Wincing with the pain, he jumped back to his feet again only to find the last guard had him dead to rights. By the sound of it, the capacitor was reaching its crescendo when the unsuspecting Shadow was torn apart by a large whirlwind before his eyes. It was then he felt his cape being yanked off and saw it wrap around nothingness as Sally’s father, Windwalker appeared before him with the scarlet cloak wrapped around his loins and spitting a black bean into the palm of his large hand.

“I figured a game was afoot,” Mr. Gwynn explained, “when none of the girls showed up tonight to help in the kitchen. Boy, does your granny have any idea that you’re trying to take on five confirmed killers all by your lonesome?”

“No sir,” Stormy replied, holding his left arm close so as not to aggravate the wound anymore. “I had to help, since Charm was nabbed trying to help me get away from my escort. There are five more of these below that the gang are taking out to get her free. We should probably go help them.”

“You helped enough for one night, laddie,” Mr. Gwynn insisted as he hunted around for something better to preserve his modesty. “Sally will sail you back to the alley, and I’ll assist the gang in getting back home. This will likely be some kind of repeat of what we did for Dodger. We’ll all meet in the back room and tend to all the injuries as we can and have your granny meet you there.”

Johnny dreaded the chewing he knew he would be getting from Grandma and Little Fox for this evening’s foray, but his conscience would never forgive him had he failed his friends. Whether Grams or the Mohawk warrior understood that or not, he would take his desserts patiently, knowing he did his best for all concerned. He lightened his weight and Sylph got them both back to the safety of the Eatery. He was sore and Sally was nervous and looking for something to occupy herself until the rest of the gang got there so she slathered an aloe based cream on his burnt shoulder.

“This stuff usually works great on the burns we get in the kitchen,” she chatted nervously, “but I don’t know how much it will relieve the burn of a force lash. People rarely survive those. This looks small, but still very nasty.”

The cool, moist salve did manage to take a lot of the sting out of the burn and kept the surrounding skin from cracking painfully. It looked to be the third degree variety of burn. It was likely going to leave a big scar. To Johnny’s way of thinking, this would be all the badge of honor he would ever require to remind him of the choices he had made. The noise from the alley entrance announced the gang returning victoriously from the night’s mission. Within the hour, Grams and Little Fox were at his side in the Eatery as the Witch Kids intercepted them and did their level best to crow about his contribution to Charm and the gang’s well being.

“Are you and Grandma mad at me?” Johnny asked his mentor.

“Very much so, sport,” Little Fox replied quietly. “You managed to get through this one alive, and that’s always a good thing, but don’t you think you could have gotten through this better with another two or three adult helpers?”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny admitted. “I didn’t think…”

“A common failing for young men and women,” Emma pointed out, “they fail to consider all the angles and repercussions of their actions. This is why you want to take advantage of older and wiser counsel before you make such far reaching plans. I understand why you did what you had. I’m more than a little upset you didn’t think much of the help we might’ve been able to give your group.”

“Before any of you were born,” Windwalker added, “I was a Witch Kid here in this very alley. I led some of your mothers and fathers on these streets. Did I suddenly grow too old and stupid?”

The room went silent as all the kids stared down at their shoes in shame. The first indication of any agreement or argument to the contrary were Charm, Sylph and Jinx piling on the hulking chef in a group hug.

“We promise not to tackle anything this big again,” Sally promised, “without checking with you first.”

“We were the stupid ones,” Jinx admitted to the adults present, “when we forgot the best friends we’ve ever known in our rush to help each other. Some of us could have been killed out there, and we could have avoided it by at least having the extra counsel, not to mention some extra witch power.”

“Grandma, I’ll understand if you are going to ground me or punish me somehow,” Johnny offered.

“What do you think of me now?” Emma asked incredulously. “Nothing I would ever do to correct my boy would come close to the hurt that burn you took is doing to you now. Let me have a look at that thing and see what it‘s going to take to keep you all in one piece. I only wish your great grandmother were here to treat you.”

“It’s okay,” Johnny said. “Sally put some salve on it, but what I really need now is a hug to help me get better.”

“All the hugs you want, Sonshine,” Emma said, holding him gingerly to avoid disturbing the shoulder injury. “All the hugs you want, but don’t you ever leave me out like this again. I know there’s no stopping you sometimes, but at least I can do all in my power to see you get through these things in one piece. Whatever happened to your doppelganger the Apple Banger in this adventure?”

“I dunno,” Johnny replied. “Maybe he didn’t come because I didn’t feel scared. I felt like I was the guy to be scared of.”

In all the chatter, John Little Fox was an island of silent introspection as he watched his young charge bear his wounds stoically. After all, in only a year’s training, the boy had managed to go on the warpath and take out at least four, fully grown, professional guardsmen by Windwalker’s account. This was too much, too soon. A long talk would be in order and that would have to be soon too. How could he protect the boy from himself?

News From A Foreign Front

Rarely had Rumsdon ever yanked his proverbial chain so hard as this when he called Dauntless Dick from his PR session to attend him at the Pentacle. None the less, the effect of a whispered word and the abrupt cancelation of the Q and A session would have a stunning impact with the media concerning his competent handing of matters of national security. He smiled to himself about his own mastery of self image as he was escorted into Rumsdon’s mahogany and leather upholstered inner sanctum.

“I take it that you’ve come upon some interesting developments experimenting with that rift wand,” he said, getting straight to the point.

“At best, we may have located the plane of Atlantis,” Rumsdon explained, handing him a snifter of brandy. “I wanted to brain storm this over with you before we break it to His Excellency. At the very least, we’ve certainly located another human plane and a locale there with access to at least two other planes.”

“It’s human, but you’re not sure it’s Atlantis?” he asked. “Why?”

“It’s certainly a human predominant plane,” Rumsdon said, “but it doesn’t completely jive with what we’ve been led to believe about Atlantean culture. What we’ve scried so far shows a very different form of human society where craft is entirely based upon technology and extremely little or no basis on talents. They lean so heavily upon industrialization that they are poisoning their air and water to such a degree that I would believe that if there’s the least bit of talent in that world, it is stifled into hiding if it exists at all.”

“Then it has to be yet another human plane,” he mused. “How many such planes could there be? Our studies show humanity to be unique in all the cosmos. I’m not sure I’d like this getting out to the general public until we can put the right spin on things.”

“Quite possibly,” Rumsdon added, “there could be countless alternate human planes. Though I highly doubt it. I am more inclined to believe that the Matriarch lied to us about hers and I’m suspicious of her motives for doing so.”

“Do you think she’s doing it to throw us off and set us up for conquest?” he asked.

“The only other explanation is that she’s working with the Forest Devils,” Rumsdon offered. “There are portals linking that plane to at least two others besides ours. The Psy Corps’ readings on them list them as Gwynydd, Abred and Annwn, in descending order. Abred is the human plane in the middle of those and of course you know who lives in Gwynydd. Since talent is so rare in Abred, it might explain the Matriarch’s party having so much of it if they are truly in an alliance with others. Look at her. She’s a natural diplomat and an accomplished witch. She’d be the perfect candidate for such an enterprise. Don’t you think?”

“Very possibly,” he mused, tapping his prominent chin. “Still, we are speculating and I would like to know more about this new plane. For a world so given over to technology, there must be some of it that we can exploit to our own uses. Have you seen anything promising in the scrying?”

“Indeed.” Rumsdon replied. “They are a fractured and very warlike society where the balance of world power is maintained by a constant readiness to annihilate the other contingents. This might account for the valet’s and the boy’s extreme proficiency in fighting skills. They also have bombs and missiles capable of leveling entire nations if I’m reading this aright.”

“You don’t suppose they are amassing these to use on us,” he asked. “Do you?”

“At first, I was as concerned about this as you,” Rumsdon explained, “and rightly so, as this represents an unprecedented threat. Our entire world could be held for ransom just with the threat of one such of these devices being set off in one of our cities. There would be no defense for such a threat. But every indication I can get from their media is that they believe they are alone in the universe. With no talents to speak of, how would they be aware that anyone else exists. Of course, this particular theory argues against the idea that anyone like the Matriarch‘s party could ever come from such a plane. But I digress.”

Ready to speculate even further on so intriguing information as this, Rumsdon halted him from speaking, holding up his hand in a halting motion as he appeared to be collecting his thoughts for the moment and then suddenly spinning his chair around.

“Now, think on this,” Rumsdon fairly cackled with delight. “If we exercise a little caution, burst in on these hapless rubes and steal a couple of these ‘nuclear warhead’ things and set one or two to explode on other worlds as an example and make demands of aquiessence, we could conquer and annex entire worlds with incredibly little effort and expense.”

“Survival would dictate that the Forest Devils give us tribute and anything else we might demand for the privilege of being allowed to exist,” he returned. “We’d be wealthy and powerful beyond our wildest dreams.”

“Indeed, we would,” Rumsdon agreed, collecting himself again. “But that is still more speculation. First, we need to get an Elite Shadow team in there and see what we may find of this technology and its weapons systems. Then we must determine ways these items can be best used to serve our own purposes. We also need to limit the Matriarch’s power upon ourselves and our society and still determine if she represents a threat from Atlantis or a disguised threat from this or yet another plane in allegiance with the Devils.”

“Our plans are still in effect for the Solstice Celebration?” he asked.

“And more important than ever,” Rumsdon replied. “If these new weapons are real and we get them before the Atlanteans can be made aware of their existence, we can use them to control the balance of power and trade between our worlds. The premise will be: It’s better to be with us than against us.”

“I have to admit,” he said, “that the idea of the Matriarch being from the new plane and not Atlantis and having such weapons at her disposal to place as we would, will trouble my sleep considerably.”

“As it would mine as well,” Rumsdon agreed. “Either way, it would be wise of us to get one or two of these ‘nukes’ as they call them and we can argue back that we might place one of these in their ‘White House’ or their ‘Kremlin’. We will not be defenseless. Besides that, as I‘ve said, they‘re not a very talented people as we are. What chance could they stand against an entire Council of Wizards, Assembly of the Wise or the power of the Pentacle?”

“I would say that depends upon how our Matriarch and her party fit in to all of this,” he replied. “The reports on this front worry me.”

“You have two teams of my best Elites and the city’s Yellow Jackets in your pocket,” Rumsdon pointed out. “Is there anything you need to report that I haven’t heard yet?”

“Well…” he said, fidgeting and trying to find a better way to phrase this disaster. “You have been quite busy with the Rift Wand Project and I didn’t want to disturb you unless I had something concrete to give you…”

“Out with it,” Rumsdon coaxed, snapping his fingers impatiently.

“We’ve been tailing them as we can, but sooner or later they always seem to elude us and we cannot account for their actions or where abouts during those times. In one instance, they were seen walking through a city park at night and it seems the boy was caught by a stray Stinger blast meant for a thief that some of our Jackets were chasing. The boy shrugged off the jolt as if it were no more than a tickle and the old woman brought down the three Jackets with a spell as she thought they were threatening her grandson. All of that misunderstanding was worked out between them and no further report was made. But just the other day, as the Jacket escort for the boy met him at the front door of their house, things turned into an awful mess and we are still trying to sort out the details of what happened.”

“Why don’t you just give me what you have?”

“The Jacket reports that he was bespelled by an adolescent, unregistered witch who was attempting to deliver flowers to the Matriarch. While he was predisposed with the girl, the boy, Johnny disappeared from the front steps without a trace. A team of Elites were covertly watching the front and apparently recognized the girl had spelled the Jacket, stunned her and took her captive as she attempted to leave. The rest of the team dashed off to find the boy or her accomplices.

“I’m not liking the sound of this,” Rumsdon complained. “You have two teams of five Elite Shadows each and you are wording this as if the Yellow Jacket was the sole filer of this report as opposed to the most efficient intelligence forces in our world.”

“It all sort of breaks down from here,” he explained, wringing his hands. “Of the two teams of Elites, four men are dead and one is hospitalized and in stable condition from a fall from the roof of their safe house. The survivor claims they were attacked by a masked, crimson caped wizard who struck them with lightning and knocked him from the roof into a dumpster using fighting techniques much like those we have seen from the Atlantean men, except the valet and the Matriarch were accounted for by other Yellow Jackets still at their residence. The boy, we are not sure of, but he is only eleven years old and none of them have ever been seen dressed in this manner. Of the five Elites who had supposedly taken the unregistered witch into custody, there is no trace of the girl, nor do they remember ever catching anyone or even watching the house that day. One apparently had a concussion from falling mortar in what appears to be a common household accident. The other four show signs of being stunned with stingers but nothing else was amiss in the safe house except for the five guards on the rooftop, who had no interaction with the captive or the first team except to take their positions on the rooftop. Whomever was responsible for taking out a safe house and no less than ten Elite Shadows had to be professionals of the highest sort.”

“Or, perhaps had the aid of the Forest Devils,” Rumsdon finished. “It is still unknown the extent of their powers and craft, and such capes or cloaks are not unknown among their kind. No. Now, I’m sure our Atlanteans are not from this new plane, but I’m a little more convinced that they might be in some secret allegiance with the Devils. The scarlet caped devastator of our forces on the rooftop is likely one referred to as an ’Emerald’ of the Sidhe. The girl it rescued, might well be a human traitor or a spy they didn’t want caught and interrogated. Hence the guards were mind wiped to throw us off. It probably never suspected the Elite it cast off the roof would survive by landing in a trash pile and be able to give us this much information. I would say the girl was attempting to contact the Matriarch with the flowers and the plot was foiled by the Jacket and the Elites in the van. Did the Matriarch get any of those flowers?”

“None at all,” he replied. “The girl stumbled on the sidewalk and spilled the entire bouquet before the Elites pounced on her. The flowers appear to be nothing spelled or special in any way. The Matriarch was never aware anything was amiss in the front of the house. She and her valet left the house later that day to go shopping and the three of them returned together that evening as though the day was completely uneventful. They all checked out as human when we tested them upon arrival, and the only one unaccounted for was the boy. He was playing pranks as boys will. He certainly can‘t be our Emerald Sidhe attacker. Got any clues?”

“I still don’t trust the Atlanteans,” Rumsdon grumbled, “but I think these are separate and unrelated incidences. It is more likely the Devils are stepping up the action over the stolen Rift Wand and trying to gain an ally in the Atlantean contingent or simply trying to eliminate them as a possible ally for us. Still, if we manage to get our hands on these nuclear warheads, whether or not we have allies, we can carry the entire balance of power in the multiverse. This new plane has no talent to speak of and if we can obtain these quietly enough, no one, ever, will be the wiser for how and where we had obtained these and we can cover our tracks by setting off events that would cause that world to annihilate itself in the global nuclear war they are already poised to fight. No one will ever be able to threaten us in the same way. We just have to put the Matriarch in her place and hold our own course to obtain the weapons we need and our futures are as golden as gods.”

“Mordred is going to love this news,” Dauntless said with great relief.

“Don’t get too comfortable with it yet,” Rumsdon pointed out, “There is still the matter of the Emerald’s attack on a supposedly secret safe house. Except for that scouting party of oversized elves that we captured and interrogated, this is the first genuine attack we’ve sustained from the Devils and it was particularly viscious as it was effective.”

“I keep forgetting that all the other so-called attacks were contrived as PR material to support the war. We‘ve done our job so well, it‘s difficult even for me to remember what the truth is from the fiction.”

“Well, let me clarify this for you,” Rumsdon replied, “this one isn’t fiction. In my Pentacle accounts, we’ve scried high order ranking Sidhe wearing red cowled cloaks and the description our injured Elite gave us about the attacker on the roof fits an Emerald to a tee. This has to be the beginning of some important change for them and I’m only too sorry we have next to nothing to go on about the unregistered witch they rescued and their motives for so doing. A little cloak and dagger here and there, helped us clear the political field of a few problematic wizards and witches in the Council, but this threat was and is very real.”

“Didn’t any of our Homeland Security programs turn up any breaches or suspicious activities?” he asked.

“Not a bloody thing,” Rumsdon replied. “We know so little about these rifts and how to use this wand that it’s pathetic. Our finding the first rifts and crossing over was mostly chance, coupled with a few clues found in some very old writings. We got lucky, for gods sakes. Look at the surprise we had in the middle of Mordred’s speech, practically on the Capitol steps when the Atlanteans showed up. If they had been Emeralds or the likes, it could have been the end for us all. We have to take this seriously.” Rumsdon pounded his fist on his desk to drum home his point.

“Alright then,” Dauntless replied while pacing like a caged animal. Some of his best thinking was done on his feet in moments like this.

“We leak the Devil attack to the media,” he mused aloud for the benefit of his companion. “Except we alter a few of the facts about the safe house to make the action sound particularly sinister. We’ll leak that is was a top secret security outpost, dedicated to detecting time/space breaches in the Ivory City and that we believe a more serious attack on the city may be imminent. Next we’ll step up our security program and require more wider ranging powers from the Wizard’s Council and the Assembly to better protect the public at large. Something to give us more leeway in the detection and apprehension of unregistered witches would be a help. I have a very superficial description of the girl from the Yellow Jacket on duty that day. If we move through the city and roust a few citizens to find her, it is only their patriotic duty to comply peacefully and without protest as we do our jobs. If we can locate the girl again, maybe we can get some better information as to what this foray was all about.”

“I highly doubt you’ll find this witch within the confines of the city,” Rumsdon offered. “Too much time has passed and she no doubt has high tailed it into hiding or the Emerald took her back to Gwynydd.

“I don’t get that thing with the Emeralds,” he side tracked, “Emerald Sidhe wearing a red cloak? Shouldn’t it be a green cloak?”

“As far as I can tell,” Rumsdon answered, “it’s not a color designation as much as a status of some sort. Emeralds hold a particularly high concentration of power over natural forces, like the lightning strikes, for instance. Beyond that, I think the red cloaks are merely a stylish affectation. One Sidhe looks so much like the others, it is hard to tell.”

“Anyway, it won’t hurt to make an effort to search the city, he went on. “If nothing else, it will show us in a positive light, working hard to protect the public from the threat of invasion by the Forest Devils and legitimize our power plays in the Council. Anyone opposing us might well be viewed as accommodating the enemy.”

“Ah! Very good,” Rumsdon added, “So when we consolidate some of the power and wealth from Operation Cosmic Storm, we’ll have a tighter rein on where the spoils are distributed. How perfectly diabolical you are!”

“I notice that we both have our moments,” he replied diplomatically.

“We do indeed,” Rumsdon said with a big grin. “Let’s inform our Grand Wizard and get the ball rolling.”

“No worries there,” Mordred said appearing just inside the door with a flourish of his cape. “I find my trusted Inner Circle functioning to my well placed pride. It’s the Solstice plan I’m not clear on though. Care to elaborate?”

“Our plan is simplicity, Excellency,” Rumsdon replied. “Before the event, we begin the Circle of Invocation on the platform, that is, up to the point of calling the demon by name. Leaving that unsaid, we take full part as prescribed in the Matriarch’s Solstice dance and in the course of the dance, under the cover of the music, we utter the demon’s name, finishing the Circle of Invocation. Dauntless and I will have protective sigils on our robes, specific to controlling the monster and when it appears, wreaking havoc in the midst of the Matriarch’s ceremony, we will save the day showing the viewing public two things we want them to remember. First that the Atlantean magick is reckless, wild and not nearly so refined as our own. Secondly, that the faithful minions of His Excellency are constantly on the job, protecting the citizens of Logres from every threat.”

“You’ve thought of everything, I see,” Mordred commented. “These nuke things, are they something we can get our hands on? Are there many or few to be had?”

“According to our scry, the factions in Abred stockpile these things,” Rumsdon explained, “but they are very large so I doubt we’ll be able to move very many of them back here.”

“So if we’re implicated in stealing one or two,” Mordred replied, frowning, “we take the chance that they will use one or more of these from their stockpiles on us . That’s unacceptable, gentlemen.”

“We have a few things going for us , Excellency,” Rumsdon responded. “First is that they have no talent for rifts or magick. Secondly, they are posed for war against each other. If we take one or two of these and detonate one or two of the others, we will cover our own tracks and at the same time they will suspect each other and begin their own mutual annihilation converting Abred into a poisonous Hell that no one will ever want to travel to again. The last of these great weapons will remain in our own capable hands to use as we see fit. No one will know how many we have or what kind of spell we have used to level one of the Devil cities and we can demand acquiescence and tribute without any loss of life. Our lives.”

“Flawlessly planned,” Mordred exclaimed with applause. “As I have to travel to Romulus for the Solstice celebration there, I’ll use the time zone difference to catch you all on the scrybox. Give us a good show!”

“We will, Excellency,” Dauntless replied. “Performances worthy of the gods of the new cosmic order that your reign will bring to us all.”

Looking Through A Glass Darkly

Out of necessity, it was a few days before Johnny was could meet with the gang back in Broome Alley to use Cat’s scry mirror. His shoulder was healing nicely, but in public he was forced to appear to be moving freely, to avoid any questions concerning his injury. Already the media reports on the apparent attack on a top secret security post were circulating across the scrybox and every other form of news media in the realm. People were stopped going about their businesses. Eyes and ears were scanned for signs of possible Sidhe lineage and then endless questions about all of their friends and relatives. Calls and letters were intercepted and monitored and any objections raised were as good as a vague admission of guilt or complicity. Most accepted the inconvenience stoically as a part of their civic duty to protect their homes from invaders, but the Witch Kids knew differently. As the images from Stormy’s memories of the attacks upon the fae sylvan shrines unfolded in Cat’s scrying mirror, the gang watched in horrified silence.

“So that’s what Operation Cosmic Storm is really all about,” Hex remarked, shaking his head sadly. “I thought the Tome we jacked was the worst we would see.”

“You know all those people are going to hate us all as monsters,” Jinx said worriedly. “Here we were all so worried about being murdered by monsters sneaking up on us in the night, and all this time, we are the monsters.”

“But what were all the murders about then,” Dodger asked, “if they weren’t done by the Forest Devils? Do you think our own wizards might be unleashing some of the nastiness in that Tome upon our own people?”

“It seems obvious now, doesn’t it?” Charm remarked. “We know what that safe house place was for and we also know how we dressed up Stormy to keep them busy on the roof while you all rescued me. That was no concerted attack by Forest Devils to subvert the city. I’ll bet if we look hard enough on the people who were murdered, we’ll find they objected in some way to all the plans for Operation Cosmic Storm and were gotten conveniently out of the way and their deaths used to promote the program.”

Johnny cringed within himself, tamping down the guilt of his own birthright. Who would understand that until recently, in his own mind, he was as human as any of them?

“If we attempt to scry that close to government,” Cat warned, “they’ll trace us, hunt us down and then we’ll be the unfortunate victims of the next attack.”

“Cat’s right,” Johnny added. “If you’re going to look into this at all, I would recommend that you start by reading old news articles and see who’s names pop up in opposition to Mordred’s best laid plans and comparing that to the list of victims. In the wake of current sensation, people forget old news fast. My Grandpa taught me that one during our last election when I was trying to understand how politicians could lie their ways out of trouble and into office. This is a bit more extreme than anything I’ve seen at home, but it seems to work on the same principle.”

“Jolt was the best student here of all of us,” Hex pointed out, “You feelin’ like a little bit of research, buddy?”

“The library has all sorts of past issues of the news feeds for historical purposes,” Jolt replied. “I could start by making a list of the victims names and then cross referencing them with any earlier articles mentioning their names and writing down the subjects to see if there’s some sort of correlation. But then what?”

“Then we’ll have something we can take to Windwalker,” Jinx finished, “and we can get some adults involved. It’s their world at stake too and I think they should know what’s happening. We’re just kids, remember?”

“No.” Hex argued, “We’re Witch Kids, and we are wise to make a difference.”

“Exactly!” the group responded a little too loudly in unison. To which each also caught themselves and made shushing motions to each other and broke into a fit of laughing.

“I can promise you, “ Johnny raised his voice over the commotion, “that no Sidhe is planning on hurting any of you in any way. I can tell you that their primary plan is to get back the Rift Wand and use it to shut down the available options of what worlds The Pentacle can plunder. For that, we’re going to need some help.”

“Isn’t that treason?” Dodger asked. “You want us to betray our own forces?”

“Our forces?” Jinx asked, raising an eyebrow. “We steal here just to survive in a situation where our government has other plans for our lives. We never murder people for what we want and we never threaten anyone except when our backs are to the wall. We’re not perfect godlings, but we’re not evil. Face it, Dodger. Most of the people around here know who and what we are and wink and look the other way. Some complain and call the Jackets when the pinch gets too tight, but basically we have to admit the people of the Ivory City are a pretty decent lot and would never condone murdering innocents in their homes and shrines to steal their goods. We’re not monsters.”

“No, I guess we’re not,” Dodger replied. “But you know, when it’s all said and done that this is what they’ll make us out to be. We’re bucking our own government.”

“Which is exactly what we were doing the day we helped get you loose from a safe house as an unregistered witch,” Sylph added. “We’re always bucking the government. That’s what we do here. Otherwise we’d all be a bunch of soul sold zombies, spouting government slogans as if it were the best thing for everyone. We can’t even kid ourselves, Dodge.”

“I just wanted it clear in my own mind,” Dodger continued, “when I volunteer to help Stormy, Grandma Emma and Little Fox. I think they’re the greatest, but I don’t want to go just flyin’ off the handle just because it makes me feel good for the moment. I want to be sure it’s the right thing to do.”

“If it’s any help, Dodge,” Jolt supplied, “I can tell you for certain about two of the victims of the phony Sidhe attacks. The Wiccan House Whip was Lillith Ravengood, and she nearly always voted against anything the Warlocks ever tabled since before Mordred came into power. The other one I know about was Tyr Morningwaite, a publisher who was responsible for a book tracing back the lineages of the most powerful wyrding families to ancient blood ties to the Old Race which is said to be the Sidhe. It has always been Mordred’s platform that humanity is the ‘apex of creation’ and the idea that any lesser races had contributed to our greatness was so much superstitious balderdash. If any of the rest of the names I can find, check out as obvious as these, I’d have to label us as revolutionaries and heroes and certainly not traitors. If anyone deserves the label of traitor, it would have to be those who broke their oaths of office to drag our society into the dregs of a war of worlds for their own personal gain.”

“Just the sheer gall it took to just march in, murder the owners and steal their artifacts, no matter what the reasons, would be enough to swing my vote,” Foggy offered. “That is, if I were allowed to vote. Which none of us are.”

“It’s settled then,” Dodger reasoned. “I’ll meet with Grandma Emma and Little Fox and see how I might help. I know the ins and outs of this city better than anybody.”

“If I know my grandma,” Johnny said as the smile lit his face, “she’ll be expecting you. I already have an idea of what they’ll ask and you’re going to love it.”

“Hey,” Jolt complained, “What about the rest of us?”

“Not that I’ve lied to you or anything,” Johnny replied, “but you really need to stop believing everything you’re told and look deeper into things to see what holds up and what falls apart. My Gramps used to tell me that every politician will paint his own picture and tell you his side is the right one, but scryboxes were never meant to replace the brains your creator gave you.”

“Stormy’s right,” Hex interrupted. “We need a strength of unity in our ranks and the best we can get is when we know the whole truth of the matter. If Stormy’s not just painting his side of the story and we know that for sure, we know we can trust him and Grandma Emma with our lives. We may believe his story now, but when we know all the facts then we have a means to convince others who don’t know him or care about other people in other worlds as much as we care about this world and our own people. We’ll need facts that anyone can believe in.”

“If we wanted to be party line witches,” Jinx added, “we’d never have struggled to be our own witches. Witch Kids.”

“EXACTLY!” they replied in unison.

Charm stayed busy in Windwalker’s kitchen and in the back room to stay out of sight of the authorities. As it was, there were questions asked through out the district about an Asiatic teenager somewhat matching her description. Jolting Joey found no less than fourteen victims of so called Devil assaults and twelve of these had some kinds of recorded histories of either disagreeing with Mordred’s regime or having debated contrary to the currently popular human centrist view of history to one which upheld the belief that humans had interacted with other species in the distant past or as recent as the last millennia or so. Two of the remaining victims had no public records that could be verified anywhere.

Jinx and Foggy soon joined in on the research and noticed the patterns emerging from what they knew of history and the current events they now perused. Most of the current Warlock Party platform rested upon human pride and the assumption that inherent human greatness gave them mandate to rule the cosmos and bring about the Pax Humana. Big money was moving everywhere with dreams of reaping the richest rewards for the investing. These were big changes in Logren politics, considering that only two hundred years ago or so, the warlocks were practically considered pariahs among the wyrding folk. Oath breakers. Untrustworthy in any bargaining or magical dealings.

In this day and age, such cultivation of the ancient precepts of unbreakable will and word were beginning to phase out as quaint and archaic ideals. Society needed to be free of such moral anachronisms in order to expand and cultivate economic growth. It was said that extra room was needed for more entrepreneurs with newer ideas of how to make money that came in the form of paper talismans. There were certainly more job opportunities for skilled workers in these new venues. But what the gang noticed that in all these new trends, was that what society-at-large lacked was the wisdom that all such things come with their own price tags.

From their hidey holes in Broome Alley to their current seats in the public library, they could see the patterns that for all the monies that changed hands and stockpiled in bank vaults. The store shelves were cluttered with dangerous or defective goods which rarely delivered on their promises of health, wealth or even being a good bargain. Warlock politics brought with it warlock trade in which promises made were easily ignored. Consumers sustained themselves upon the belief that their next purchases would bring them what they wanted and at bargain prices. For all the money the average Logren citizen earned, what wasn’t taxed out of their hands before they could see it, was spent and lost on merchandise that rarely brought them the conveniences they promised. After all, the rich would wisely say: “You get what you pay for.” But the unprinted truth of that was that for most people, a good deal was out of their financial reach. Broken dreams filled landfills for the poor and strong boxes for the wealthy elite.

The Witch Kids educated themselves about their own world and it empowered them in ways they never suspected. They talked with Windwalker in a way that shook him to his soul and he began to move on this news on his own and the eatery became a stopping point for many new and interesting visitors. Dodger was preparing with Grandma Emma to masquerade as Little Fox at the Solstice Celebration on National Scry and the Mohawk warrior was training him personally in his own peculiar Atlantean style of fighting. Hex and the gang were canvassing the bookstore to find exactly what the ultimate purpose the evil Tome was intended to serve. It was there, they also found that another copy was obtained for members high in the Council. This was going to be a problem. Someone had plans for something nasty and they were urgent enough to merit the extra pain and expense. This was obviously no casual curiosity into things better left alone. These were the acts of someone dedicated to evil.

The Spiral Dance

Dodgin’ Dan Dolby, the deadliest man in the world. True, he was only posing as John Little Fox and the golden helm and visor would conceal his features, but he was there for the entire world to see and hold in awe. For days now, the Mohawk warrior taught him how to stand, to walk and what positions to take. His baldrics and bandoleers of weapons would not be worn during the Solstice Ceremony, but no one considered this man any the less lethal for it. After all, he had taken on the Grand Wizard’s Elite Shadows on the national scry without drawing a single weapon and looked like he was ready for more while the guards looked like they had more than enough. It was plenty difficult just to keep his fifteen year old hormones from taking him off the edge. He had to stop the daydreaming and focus on the job at hand. No one must ever suspect that the world famous warrior from Atlantis was anywhere but in the uniform Dodger was now occupying.

Grandma Emma and Stormy, also known to the world as Johnny were deep in preparations for a spiral dance ceremony for the event. It was amazing how studious Stormy became in transcripting the musical sequences for the musicians at the ceremony and the time the younger boy had spent going back and forth seeing that everything was perfect. He had never heard such music as this, that was at once earthy and yet otherworldly. Strange and primitive rhythms rocked at his innards until Grandma Emma promised she would give him a spell to keep him immune to the effects of the music and dance. It wouldn’t do to have her personal guard cavorting about the platform with all the celebrants. Somehow it didn’t seem so strange that they would go through all that detail for the drums and the music and yet neglect to train the dancers. He just knew their feet would find their own steps.

It was a dress rehearsal for everyone’s benefit. Dodger watched in silent awe as world leaders and Council members took directions from the Atlantean Matriarch to find their spots on the edge of a giant circle on the huge podium. He even got to bow and use Little Fox’s martial salute to the Vizier, Dauntless Dick himself and Grand Marshal of the Pentacle, Rumsdon. In his ceremonial capacity to the Matriarch, it was understood that Little Fox spoke to no one but her and only as needed. He would not be required to speak to anyone and thus preserving the illusion that he was, in fact, the deadliest man in Logres tonight. He also got to meet Uncle Milty, Ivory City’s first and foremost comedian. Mr. Berle’s mastering of the Atlantean comedic style had skyrocketed the scholarly old gentleman to rarified heights and even gained him his very own scrybox feature every Tyrsday night, which no one liked to miss. The man was known for single handedly raising the Logren morale after all the sinister news of Devil attacks and murders. Uncle Milty would be opening the night’s festivities with a few of his famous adlibbed lines and then introducing the star studded list of special guests. Who would ever place an orphaned witch kid from the back alleys to a place like this in the center of the universe? It would be a night he would always remember.

Dodger was stunned by the enormity of the celebration, but not so much so that he didn’t notice Dauntless and Rumsdon chanting quietly off stage while the others discussed cues and positioning with the Matriarch and rehearsing short speeches they would each give as Uncle Milty introduced them at the podium. The pair were wearing formal robes, which was not unusual in itself with Council members at any given time. It was just curious that they were so involved in synchronously turning and chanting quietly in unison during the rehearsal. It was then that he recognized the sigils on the backs of the men’s robes were those he had seen in the Tome he had jacked so many weeks ago. He couldn’t make out a word they were saying as they took such pains to do it sub voce, but he had read the Tome and was certain that none of this could mean anything good. He made a mental note to pass this information to Stormy and Grandma Emma at his first opportunity. For the sakes of them all, he truly wished he was the deadliest man in Logres. He had the sinking feeling that it would take nothing less to bail them out of the trouble to come. Whatever it was.

* * *

The night of the big event was upon him and Dodger’s stomach was a mass of fluttering butterflies. Grandma Emma and Stormy took the news about the Vizier and Grand Marshal Rumsdon with the assurances that whatever evil spell they had planned that they would be in no mind to perform such a thing tonight.

“There will be multiple spells working in concert tonight, if you’ll pardon the pun,” Grandma said raising a finger. “First, the music is spelled to keep the musicians playing it long and with harmonic variations to keep it interesting. We need this dance to continue a full hour for Little Fox to get his job done. Secondly, between Johnny and myself the dance will be so enchanted that the hard part will be to keep the spectators from rushing the stage to join in. Johnny’s got a knack for this all by himself but this time I’m going to enforce the deal and make it carry. No one on that stage except for you and I will be able to resist dancing and they’ll do it in a harmony of spirit I think you’ve never seen before. The dance portion is scheduled for only twenty minutes, but we’ll create such a grand spell that we’ll work it for the better part of an hour. I only hope their hearts hold out for them. I don‘t think anyone will have the strength to cast a spell, evil or otherwise once this goes into effect.”

“Afterwards, the Vizier has to give the closing benedictions,” Stormy added, “and I’m sure he won’t want to botch that on national television.”

“Television?” he asked.

“That’s our word for your scrybox,” Stormy explained. “The technology is different, but the end result is the same. With Uncle Milty on the set now, I get them confused sometimes.”

“You’ve got an Uncle Milty too?” he asked, voice raising higher. “Are our worlds mirrors of each other?”

“I think people are pretty much the same anywhere,” Stormy answered. “But worlds and cultures are different as people in their own ways. A little change in viewpoint and you can pretty much get along anywhere, I think.”

“Maybe I’ll get to travel like you someday,” he added wistfully.

“You never know,” Stormy replied. “New things happen everyday.”

Prior to them leaving the house, Little Fox had given him last minute instructions and disappeared into the night. Dodger kept in step with his Matriarch like he had been there his whole life and scanned the rooms continually for any signs of trouble. Grandma’s spell was obviously helping with his ability to focus as the butterflies had left him completely and only the assurances of a seasoned professional filled him now.

Uncle Milty stepped out into the lime light to the roar of applause and delivered his carefully crafted lines with dignified aplomb and introduced the myriad of guests as they took their places on the giant stage. When called, he, Grandma Emma and Johnny came forward to be introduced and Uncle Milty escorted them to their assigned positions for the ceremony and took his own place among the robed, dancing celebrants.

He continued scanning the crowd and noted the Vizier and Grand Marshal Rumsdon in their ceremonial robes among the plethora of fashion and designer robes of the celebrants. They appeared anxious, but the Matriarch began her speech to greet the Solstice celebrants and open the dance and then, all was quiet. Johnny cued the percussion section and the drums began to pulse like a heartbeat while he moved to the center of the circle. He stood there for the space of a couple deep breaths and very subtly, his body began to move to the beat. Slowly the musicians began to accompany the earthy beat with an exotic rhythm and harmony and Johnny’s movements became more defined and the first of the dancers at the edge of the circle surrounding him began to mirror his movements while moving in a spiral towards the center where Johnny danced. One by one, the other celebrants moved in step into the spiral dance as if they had danced this way their entire lives. Dodger had no doubt that Johnny had, but in truth many of these dancers weren’t even friends in Council or the Assembly of the Wise. Scanning the audience, he could see them swaying, nodding their heads and rocking their shoulders in time to the music. The effect was awesome to behold and he had a grandstand view of the spectacle.

Horns, wind and stringed instruments joined and harmonized as the full spiral of the dance was formed on stage. Many feet above the dancers, tiny fireflies mirrored the spiral below like a model of the galaxy in miniature. The dancers and spectators were so enrapt in the ensorcelled dance that none stopped even for the briefest instant to “Oooh” or “Aaaah” at the massive effect the world watched on their scryboxes. Stormy began to perform leaps and little midair spins to his dance which even the elder of the celebrants mirrored without a misstep. Dodger was certain none of those older gents could ever have been convinced to even rehearse moves like that, much less perform them outright for all the world to see. Gods, but it was a marvelous sight to see. Past the twenty minute mark and all the cameras remained focused upon the stage with no let up in sight. The only changes were the indicator lights on the individual cameras, showing which one was the main feed of that moment. As the musicians added bridges and variations on the theme, Johnny added stomps and shimmies which were followed in turn by every dancer on the stage. Sweat appeared upon flushed faces but no other sign was made that any were willing to do any more or less than to dance this spiral with the witch kid dancing the circle at its center. The Matriarch held her position, chanting a song and waving her arms gracefully as if she were directing the fireflies in their aerial dancing.

At the fifty minute mark, Dodger noticed a large contingent of Elite Guard gathering in from the exits, but no one made a move closer in as they stood with heads nodding, swaying in time with the music and rocking their shoulders at the back of the audience. Some of the dancers on stage, including the Vizier and Grand Marshal Rumsdon were showing signs of exhaustion. Grandma Emma appeared to take note of this and began signaling to get the musicians attention and slowly wound the dance to its proper closing.

In spite of the length of the dancing, the audience seemed never to notice the passing of so much time and applauded wildly, the Elites in the back echoing their approval. In fits and droves the celebrants seemed to come out of their trances, smiling and acknowledging the applause and congratulating each other on their splendid performances. Dauntless Dick seemed to find the energy to make his way up to the podium, upon which he leaned heavily and proclaimed he hadn’t danced that well or hard since he was a boy. With the exception of one, Dodger doubted any boy ever danced like that before. The crowd roared their approval and Dauntless waved, smiled and chanted the simple Solstice benediction for prosperity and world peace and the press boxes began their clamor of news anchors and commentary on the epic ceremony and picture of harmonic coexistence such as the Council or Assembly have never seen in their combined histories. The fireflies seemed to have left the room when no one was watching as there were none to be seen winking anywhere. Dodger held his position next to his Matriarch and Stormy as the celebrants and the crowd dispersed. A limousine drove them home afterwards. People from all walks of life on the street could be seen mimicking their favorite dance moves from the night’s performance. If he lived so long, Dodger would tell his grandchildren of this one night of his life and anyone who would listen for years to come. Providing, of course that something awful didn’t happen to the genuine deadliest man in the world as he took on his mission to retrieve and destroy the Rift Wand. It would all be pointless then. Dodger worried all the way back to the apartment with Grandma Emma and Johnny.

Stone Cutter

It was a cool night to be out jogging barefoot and naked across town towards the Ivory Tower. Emma had used a needle and a fine silk strand from one of her fae garments to thread the black bean on a single strong filament worn about his neck. John Little Fox had no fears of accidentally swallowing the enchanted item or of being seen. The exertion kept him warm as he loped along at a brisk pace to where he had a cloak and some clothes stashed. A few blocks away from the apartment, he quickly donned his gear and made his way across town to where the Rift Wand was being kept.

The sprawling Capitol building and its Ivory Tower was gaily lit for the Solstice Celebration. The southwest corner housed the executive offices and council chamber of the witches’ Assembly of the Wise. The southeastern corner likewise housed the Wizards’ Council. The northern corner held the main amphitheater where celebrities and heads of state would be jostling for position within for all the best places to view and be viewed by others. Little Fox wasted no time stashing his clothes in a nearby alcove and taking the wrought iron fence at a run. Launching himself off the hood of a limousine to clear the spiked barricade, he did a neat tuck and roll as he touched down on the other side. Coming out of an energy dissipating tumble and into a smooth stride, he continued his way into the building unseen.

He knew the layout of the building from his sessions with Indigo and Scylla. By this time, Emma, Johnny and his own doppelganger would be appearing on the grand stage for the Solstice Celebration. He could hear the applause coming from the far side of the building. That meant he had less than an hour to get his hands on the Rift Wand and destroy it. He slowed down when he got to the research wing of the building as he knew there would be more guards here than just those he could actually see. Elite Shadows constantly patrolled these corridors in pairs and in the innermost rooms, there would be an unknown number of them using the same methods he was using to stand guard on the Pentacle’s treasures.

He was very glad the place was heated. He could slow his pace and approach cautiously. Windwalker had told him that the invisible Shadows would not be carrying weapons. That would give their positions away, but they would be within easy reach of weapons, should they need them. He would need some kind of diversion to get past the guards he could see and then he would quietly stand inside and search the room for weapons to get a clue where the invisible guards might be.

Two guards flanking a third, who was carrying a small urn of coffee and a tray of sandwiches passed him in the hall going in the direction he was heading. He padded along a few feet behind them to a large double door at the end of the hall with an armed guard standing at parade rest on either side. Only one door to this wing. That will save a lot of needless searching.

“Open up, lads,” the tray bearer commanded, “so the others can have their dinner and you two can head back to the barracks and watch the show on the scrybox with the rest.”

“I’ll bet we already missed Uncle Milty,” one complained.

“You never know what that man will say next,” the other said with a chuckle.

“I know what you mean,” said his relief. “It always hits me right between the eyes. He was telling us about how he had slipped and got his rump stuck in a garbage can and started hollerin’ ‘FIRE! FIRE!’ and when the Yellow Jackets came and pulled him out and asked him where the fire was, he asked them if he yelled ‘GARBAGE!’, would they have come?”

“He’s great,” the other relief guard added, “too bad I’m on watch next Tyrsday night because I’m going to have to miss him.”

“That’s tough luck, buddy, we’ll be sure to tell you what happens when we come to relieve you,” one of the retreating guards promised over his shoulder.

John followed the tray bearer through the double doors. The antechamber held another set of double doors directly opposite of those he came through and a single door off to the right. The walls were paneled in what looked like walnut with pictures of past Grand Wizards in scenes in various portions of the Capitol and a few military insignia and coats-of-arms. Two of these appeared on either side of the double doors he wanted to go through. A small array of spears, swords and force lashes were available on a rack below these on each side. Ah, the predictability of the military mind, he thought.

“Sandwiches and coffee for you two,” the tray bearer announced as he set his load down on a small table near the single door. “You’re missing what is promising to be quite the world event on the scry tonight. I’ll be back for the trays with your relief in a couple hours. Try not to swallow those beans.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and headed back out the double doors which promptly closed behind him.

Little Fox stood fixed and silent, taking in the room and trying to estimate the remaining guards’ sizes and locations. The small door opened of its own accord, showing a small dressing room with a lavatory. He could hear the sound of someone urinating within. Nearby a sandwich rose from the plate and a bite appeared to be taken out of it and estimating the distance from the guard’s mouth to his throat, he quickly karate chopped with a rigid hand to the man’s larynx. A slight choking sound and the soft thud of a body hitting the marble floor was all he needed to tell him the move was successful. The sound of a toilet flushing, the sink run for a moment and then a towel rustling on its rack and a voice entered the room from the dressing room.

“I hate having to hear about all this second hand,” the voice complained.

Estimating the area of the guard’s throat, he made the same move again, only to come into contact with the man’s chin instead. Executing a quick drop and spin, he swept the guard’s feet out from under him sharply and heard the satisfying crack of a skull smacking the unyielding stone floor. Standing stock still, he listened to see if the noise, as subdued as it was, made any impact on the guards outside the double doors.

Since no one had made any attempt to contact anyone beyond the next set of doors, he assumed these were the last of the guards he might have to deal with and crossed the room for the double doors. They were locked. Of course, neither of the guards were carrying keys on them or he would have been able to spot them easier. Striding back to the dressing room, he checked their uniforms for keys. There were none to be found. The doors were well made, but only hardwood and nothing like steel vaulting or such. He could break them down with a single kick, but that would bring the outside guards in on him and they’d raise the alarm.

Examining the doors, he could see through the gap between them into the darkened room beyond and he could make out the bolt and latch system that were holding them fast. Being these hung in a wooden frame, he thought he might make use of the short swords in the racks to either side to pry the doors apart just enough to allow the bolt and latch to clear their receptacles and quietly swing the doors open. Just as he thought the swords might just bend or break, the doors opened. Entering the room, he found a light and noticed a knob he could turn to lock or unlock the doors from the inside. He shut and locked them behind him as he scouted the room.

In the center of the large room, the marble floor was carved out in a deep groove filled with salt that made up a twelve foot circle with a pentagram in its midst and the letters, YHVH. Remembering his conversations with Emma and Johnny, this was what they called the Seal of Solomon and those letters represented the Name of God. Yod He Vau He, or the combination of letters we use to get the name, Jehovah. Interesting that the Creator of his own universe was also the Big Cheese of this one. This certainly picked up his respect for the breadth and width of the Creator’s works quite a few notches. If it wasn’t a stretch of the brain pan to try and imagine before, it was downright astounding to consider now. Evidently, this particular alternate reality had a Solomon or his equivalent in its history too, but considering that in both worlds he knew of, had an Uncle Milty, this wasn’t too much of a stretch on his imagination.

Tearing himself away from his contemplation, he scanned the myriad of shelves and benches arrayed along the walls. Many contained books old and new, while others were covered with glass doors and held relics and artifacts to be studied. Among many of the cases were collections of bows and arrows of obvious Sidhe design and odd knives, swords, wands and staves of various designs. In one case was what appeared to be a bone handled hunting knife with a fine bead worked scabbard and belt with a card in front of it. The card read: “Stone Cutter”. Prying open the case with one of the short swords, he took the precious blade within for his own. This was a knife an Indian might covet. Where these wizards may have gotten it or how, he dreaded to consider but he would give this tool the respect it deserved as only one of his own people could. Holding his treasure in both hands reverently to the sky, he thanked all the spirits and the Creator of all for the spoil of his coup in hushed tones. Draping the ornate belt over his shoulder like a baldric, he realized that the acquisition was a visible clue as to his whereabouts, but it was a risk he was willing to take. Searching around all the cases, the one labeled Rift Wand was empty and his heart sank. A quick search around the room revealed it to be sitting in a cradle on a work bench, along side what appeared to be a wooden baseball bat with the words: “Louisville Slugger” in the familiar burnt wood trademark on one side. There was no baseball played here, and certainly no Louisville either. The bat had to come from his homeworld and that meant it was only a matter of time before far worse things showed up on these shelves. He had to find a way to quietly destroy the Rift Wand so that it could never be used to open the gate back to his world again.

The wand itself appeared to be more of a scepter than a simple stick. It was about thirty inches long, tapered at the bottom and wider at the top where the wood seemed to be carved into a taloned hand that held an opalescent blue-green stone orb about two inches in diameter. How someone managed to get that stone orb into the grasp of that talon without breaking the wood was a mystery to him. Hefting the artifact, he was surprised to find the wood had been petrified over the ages and become like stone. Smashing this on a bench or whatever was going to make a lot of noise. He might consider selling his own life dearly to destroy it, but there was Johnny and Emma yet to consider. The beadwork belt itched across his bare shoulders when he remembered the name, Stone Cutter and decided to try an experiment.

Drawing the blade from its sheath, he gave a trial cut on the tapered end of the wand. It was like cutting through wax, the blade cut through the haft of the wand and he could count the rings in the petrified wood. He continued slicing up the haft like he was slicing carrots and one by one cut the talons from around the orb. Setting the stone by itself on the bench, he attempted to cut it in half when it vanished out of his hand in a cool flash of blue-white light, leaving his eyes momentarily dazzled.

“Well, it doesn’t look as though there’s enough of this left to get them into any more trouble,” he muttered.

Now, was the matter of leaving the premises without being seen. Eventually, they would find out about the break in and the damage done, but that was better put off until he was well out of the area. With Dodger standing his watch at the Solstice ceremony, no one would ever be able to tie him to the crime. Getting out with a very visible knife and belt slung over his shoulder would not stand the scrutiny he might take trying to get out through the halls and past the guards. There were windows and about a twenty foot drop to the lawn below, but none of these had any latches or devises to open them with.

Looking them over, it occurred to him that glass was only fused, molten sand of a sort. Kind of an igneous rock as it were. Drawing Stone Cutter once again, he worked the blade back and forth on the window to make himself a place to hold onto the glass. It cut through the glass easily enough. Holding the top of his piece, he then cut out a panel big enough to crawl through and quietly set the slab on the floor and wriggled through to the ledge.

The twenty feet looked like a considerable drop but the carved facade of the building allowed him hand and toe holds to climb down a little closer to the ground before leaping so as not to cripple himself in the escape. Across the boulevard and to the right a little was the alcove in a group of buildings where he had stashed his cloak and clothes he had traveled across town in. What few people out in the street were limo drivers and such parked in a long arc around the Capitol lawns and all their eyes were focused on the other end of the building where all their bosses and celebrities would be coming out. From this distance, no one would likely notice a haunted knife making its way down the wall and across the lawn.

Over the edge and into the night, Little Fox made his way to his clothing unseen. Dressing and wearing his new knife in a more proper fashion, he raised the hood of his cloak against the chill and made his way across the city to the apartments. A limo was parked at the curb and a couple Yellow Jackets sat on the hood in an animated discussion. They hadn’t noticed him approaching the house through all the shadows generated by the trees and street lights. Finding a stone, he slung it hard at a metal sign on the other side, prompting the Jackets to go investigate while he walked quietly up to the front door and knocked. Before anyone could notice and think to ask him his business, Johnny answered the door and let him inside.

“How’d it go?” Johnny asked after the door was closed behind him.

“No more worries of the former nature,” he replied. “Though I have some newer concerns we may need to discuss later.”

Emma was bringing in a tray of hot tea and looked up at him frowning. Pulling Dodger into his room, they switched clothes and sent the lad out the front door with a box of Emma’s homemade cinnamon rolls under his arm. The Yellow Jackets at the curb only gave the cloaked boy a casual glance and went back to their conversation. It was too late in the evening to go out for a walk and discuss his findings and would be very suspicious after the exceptionally long ceremony tonight. A bit of a warming brew, a light snack and a full night’s sleep would have to do the trick. Besides, he couldn’t be sure that anyone was in any immediate danger.

The Scene Of A Crime

“How, by the gods did this happen?” Rumsdon roared at the Captain of the Watch.

Dawn was barely breaking when he was awakened by the call that someone had broken into the Capitol building. He really needed that sleep after getting run through the proverbial wringer at that Solstice dance. He was irritated that he and Dauntless never got the chance to complete their conjuration to discredit the Atlantean Matriarch. The news just kept getting worse instead of better as he had hoped. With any luck, he could work off his frustration in taking apart any suspects in this crime. Slowly and painfully.

“As far as we can tell, sir,” the captain replied coolly, “both guards were killed instantly. Though it will be hard to determine how with an autopsy as both of them had swallowed their beans. It’ll be a long time before any parts of them are visible again. However it was done, it was executed quietly as the guards just outside the doors heard nothing at all from within at any time during the watch. One was found near the restroom and the other had eaten a portion of a sandwich. They were killed simultaneously by an unknown number of assailants or one of them would have cried out. They may have rifted into the room as no activity of any sort was reported in any of the halls or by the posted guards. There are two swords missing from the racks, which seem to be the means by which the doors were jimmied open. An artifact, a primitive hunting knife called, Stone Cutter is missing from a case and the Orb was stolen from the Rift Wand and the haft cut to pieces. A small section of glass was removed from the window, by which means it appears they made their escape. No ropes or ladders outside, so they probably flew from the ledge. No witnesses from the street saw anything unusual from this section of the building, but then, they never noticed the window being cut out from within either. It appears they were after the knife and took the Orb from the wand as an after thought. Destroying the haft like that, appears to done out of sheer spitefulness. They probably didn’t even know what it could do and just wanted the Orb.”

“Do we have any suspects as to whom might have cause to do this?” Rumsdon asked, pulling himself together with a deep breath.

“I’d say it was the Forest Devils,” the captain replied. “The Atlantean men were capable of this kind of killing, but they were accounted for by our own people all night long. They were nowhere near here at any time and they couldn’t have rifted in, assuming they knew how because this appears to have happened while they were all occupied with yourself and the Vizier in the Solstice ceremony. The knife that was taken was not even one of the better crafted artifacts from those taken from the Devil rangers but was individual enough to suggest that it could have been done by maybe a vengeful relative of the ranger who had originally worn it and retrieved as some act of closure. The Rift Wand being sliced up like that was probably just a little spite thrown in for good measure. We have no idea where they came in from or where they went from here. I wouldn’t begin to know who I should round up for questioning.”

“The Atlanteans are mixed up in this somehow,” Dauntless chimed in, looking about at the damage done.

“How so?” Rumsdon argued irritably. “I would remind you that we were in their very thrall on the far end of this complex whilst this was being propagated. They didn’t even have a moment where they could even think about doing something else other than dance us half to death.”

“I hate to admit it,” Dauntless acceded, “but, true enough. We couldn’t even finish the summoning of --”

“Don’t even breathe that name, you fool!” Rumsdon snapped at him. “We’ve completely every requirement for the conjuration except speaking its name. If you want to face it without any protective sigils, you can wait until I’m out of here before you commit suicide.”

“S-sorry,” Dauntless said, wiping at his paled brow. “That was too close. It just seems all too convenient that so much has been befuddled by happenstance. Did we get anywhere on acquiring one or two of those nuke things?”

“We got real close,” Rumsdon sat back heavily on a stool next to the bench. “I sent a full team of five and only one came back. All he got for our trouble was that wooden club on the bench here and a broken collarbone. The other four had the nukes in their hands but were nabbed or killed by the local militia there in Abred.”

“Do you think we can try again?” Dauntless asked, hopefully. “Maybe with a larger contingent of Shadows. We know where they are now. What’s to stop us from taking them by sheer force?”

“Three little words, my friend,” Rumsdon growled, nodding back at the mess on the bench again, “No-Rift-Wand. We’d have to find a naturally occurring rift somewhere on this planet that connects with Abred and if they aren’t hard enough to come by, we have no clue where in Logres that might be and where in Abred it might deposit our troops. We have been to the home of the ultimate weapons in the multiverse and all we have to show for it is a wooden club.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Dauntless exploded, “Operation Cosmic Storm comes so close to fruition and then it all starts falling apart to a series of happy accidents while someone takes on our highest security just to steal a cheap knife. Doesn’t that sound just a little too convenient to you?”

“He’s right, you know,” Mordred said, sweeping into the room, his dark cloak swirling majestically. “Think about how the Atlanteans got here, in the middle of my speech and then the other attacks out of nowhere and men are killed in such an efficient style. They may not have done this themselves, but you can bet they are somehow a part of it.” The Grand Wizard continued his browsing of the crime scene while he voiced his suspicions to the stunned trio.

“Doesn’t the knife taken from this case strike anyone as odd?” Mordred asked aloud.

“Yes, Your Excellency,” the captain replied. “It was nearly worthless compared to all the other treasures in this room.”

“Perhaps not so much as you might think,” Mordred said, examining the pieces on the bench and tossing them each a chunk of the former wand. “Perhaps the knife was named Stone Cutter because of its affinity for cutting through stone. Please don’t strain yourselves trying to figure that all out. I’m sure you all had a very rough night and your minds are not rested properly. I slept a bit on the flight home. What you don’t see here, is that these swords from the rack in the other room were used to pry the doors and then the display case. Then the knife in the display case was used to destroy the Rift Wand, steal the Orb from it and cut a way out of the room without having to pass the other guards. They might not have been seen as they too were likely using black beans or possibly another means of becoming invisible. They probably couldn’t bring tools or weapons in because they were as naked as the guards they killed in the other room, but for an Atlantean fighter, this would be child’s play. Those guards wouldn’t have survived even if they could see their attackers.”

“Shouldn’t we be arresting the Atlanteans for questioning?” Rumsdon asked.

“Oh, gods no,” Mordred said while examining the glass that was set aside on the floor. “Everyone in Logres saw their favorite Atlantean celebrities on the scrybox last night working magick in grand style and making Council members and world leaders prance about the stage like bloody marionettes. We’ll look bad if we trouble them now, and we mustn’t hurt our ratings. Besides that, it’s obvious the Matriarch can control scores of people if she so wished, and her valet, could occupy himself killing you all day long if he chose to use any weapons besides his hands and feet and not even break a sweat. The weak link here would be the boy.”

“How so?” Dauntless asked. “Do you want us to apprehend him?”

“No,” Mordred said, hefting the bat, “Leave him to me. I think I can get him to visit me without raising anyone’s ire. Once I have him in my power, I think the Matriarch will become an appropriately concerned grandmother and less of a threat. Does anyone know what this thing is used for? It would seem if it were a weapon, it would be more effective with some studs, hobnails or spikes sticking out of it.”

Rules That Are Made To Be Altered

The Orb’s return to the altar of the sylvan shrine was the first indication to the Sidhe that Little Fox had been successful in his mission. From there, winged faeries popped to and fro in every part of Gwynydd spreading the news that the tides had turned against the Logren wizards. Once the hate mongering regime was purged from the Ivory City, the war would be over and many planes besides this one could breathe easier once again.

Scylla immediately sent Indigo to check on the Mohawk warrior. The pixie returned almost as quickly as it left, overjoyed that Little Fox appeared alive and well, if not a bit somber with concerns. It wouldn’t do to have Indigo drawing attention to Emma’s tiny clan by too many appearances that the wizard’s might pick up on. It was time to meet with her Eldritch mother, Siara. Between them and the assembled Masters at the Pool of the Moon, all the pieces might be put together and the big picture allowed to unfold.

As expected, the Eldritch was to be found gazing at a turmoil of images coming from the Pool. Something called a “Louisville Slugger” was found in the proximity of the Rift Wand and was certainly of Abred manufacture. This, in turn left Emma and her party in great anxiety that a wizard party had crossed over before the Wand was destroyed and that Willard and Leona might possibly have been the ones to intercept them and foil their plan. Since the time difference was far too dissimilar between Logres and Abred, Emma nor Leona could simply scry to each other for communication. Regardless of any edicts to the contrary, the Sidhe were going to have to cross over into Abred to protect the remainder of Emma’s clan as promised.

Indeed, there was resistance to this idea straight away from the majority of Elders and Masters. Non-interference in human affairs was by far the strictest rule. Isolation was the ironclad policy. Elder Scylla watched her mother in wonderment as never before had she seen her serene countenance cracked by the lines of passion.

“The rule exists to discourage mankind from tampering in forces he does not understand, but we plainly see the men of Abred do exactly that, and without our added wisdom. I might add that Emma’s witch clan were brought into certain peril by our own doing and her iron bound will and word as a witch of the blood seal our treaty. We keep few secrets from witches who are already familiar with the very forces we represent. The same word that bound her, binds me. You may argue law and semantics to your hearts content, but in order to save your miserable lives and lifestyles, I gave my bond to this witch to protect her own as she and hers have come forward to help save both of our worlds and the Ancient of Days only knows how many others.”

“I would also remind this august assembly,” Shabriri said, stepping forward, “that this clan is not merely human, but of fae blood also. The boy is Emerald Shamblynn’s own son by the matriarch’s daughter. We are kin. Those rules do not hold us against our own. They have some rights to both worlds and we are obliged to look after our own.”

The assembly discoursed heatedly among themselves over this development. Arguing degrees of involvement according to genetic percentages and what might constitute an appropriate response and the question of exposure to other humans in the area. The Eldritch shook her head and called Shabriri, Shan and Scylla to accompany her to her tower.

“The human lifespan is not so long at its healthiest to endure the length of time those pompous elves might argue. I may have means in my tower, if the three of you can hold the focus for me to render aid if needed.” Siara called over her shoulder, striding briskly for the lacey, alabaster tower.

“Eldritch,” Shabriri called out, “if four of those wizards are trapped in Abred and captured by the authorities, their information can indeed be ruinous towards the Treaty of Silence. Is there something we can do to mute them or discount any testimony they might give?”

“Yes,” Scylla interjected. “Madness. No need to kill them as the wizards are as human as those of Abred. But if we give them something just a little ’mind altering’ any testimony they might give will be taken for madness and the seriousness of their crimes may have them incarcerated indefinitely. Indigo can administer the mushrooms while the Eldritch looks in on the clan for potential casualties and injuries. But on that hill, this all needs be done before nightfall or all portals open into Annwn and not here.”

“For Logres, the Treaty of Silence is null and void,” Siara explained. “Since they’ve taken to raiding neighboring planes on their own, we can’t very well be held to account for their knowledge. But Abred still needs protecting and nurturing until such a time they are deemed mature enough to cope with the fullness of reality.”

The trio rushed up the spiral staircase on the heels of a very determined Eldritch Siara.

The Home Run King

Willard and Leona left the smoldering remains of Howard’s Doberman and moved quickly for the lower trails in search of the quickest way back to the baseball diamonds in the park.

“What’s eating you, Gramps?” Leona asked breathlessly.

“Just a hunch,” the old carpenter huffed, holding his place by hanging onto a younger oak sapling and reaching for his walkie-talkie.

“Papa Bear to Eagle Eye,” he called.

“Eagle Eye here,” Whitey returned.

“Those boys you mentioned, on their graduation party,” he said. “Were they wearing robes by any chance?”

“Ten four, buddy,” Whitey replied. “They must’ve been college boys. Maybe ROTC as they headed over to the armory just a bit ago and the five of them are heading up into the park with some picnic gear now. Why do you ask?”

“Because I don’t think they’re college boys,” Willard returned, “and I don’t think they’re ROTC neither. Which side of the hill were they heading for?”

“The side nearest the new expressway, over by the baseball diamonds,” Whitey came back. “You think these are our Commies? I just figured those two
olive drab chests would be packing beer and eats being as they were all still dressed for graduation.”

“Get to a pay phone and put in an anonymous call to the police about a possible break in at the armory,” Willard insisted. “If it turns out I’m right, you might want to be near by to send the cops up this way ‘cause I don’t want them to get away with anything they might have pulled out of that armory.”

“Ten four,” Whitey answered. “There’s a pay phone near the Rec House. I’m on it, buddy. You and Goldilocks try to keep out of trouble up there, eh?”

Willard and Leona made haste down from the hill towards the picnic area using the trees along the way down to check themselves against tumbling head long. It was a lovely day for a game of baseball and Willard noted that five men in college robes had stopped to gawk at a game. The apparent leader spoke something to the others and moved off towards the drinking fountain. Willard sauntered casually towards the small bleachers to get a better look. There were four wizards left watching the game and a pair olive drab chests held between them. The solo wizard stopped for a drink and bolted up a trail going up the wooded hill. Helping himself to an unattended baseball bat, the aging carpenter took off up the hill after him.

“Papa Bear to Eagle Eye,” he puffed into his walkie unit, “The commies are gathered near the first diamond with the chests. The leader just ran up to the woods and I’m on his tail. If those others start up too, you need to get the cops on them as fast as you can. Goldilocks,.. High tail yourself towards the portals and see if you can’t discreetly stop them from opening.”

“Gotcha, Gramps,” Leona replied, dashing back up the way she came.

Willard’s heart was pounding like a Salvation Army bass drum and his breath came in ragged gasps. He was feeling his age mightily, but there was no way he was going to allow these murdering swine to get away with those weapons. He stopped a moment and held on to a tree until the darkness cleared from his eyes and used the bat as a walking stick to help him climb the hill. He already had an idea where they were heading, so he wasn’t too concerned that the wizard had gotten out of his sight. It was the guys carrying the weapons he really didn’t want crossing worlds up there.

“Papa Bear, this is Eagle Eye,” Whitey’s voice came over the speaker. “The cops ain’t here yet and two of those boys are coming up the trail behind you carrying that footlocker. You copy?”

“Ten four, buddy,” Willard panted, “I’ll just catch my breath behind some trees for a minute and try to get a little batting practice in for today.”

“Knock them commie horsehides outta the park, Babe,” Whitey returned. “I think I see the Blue Knights pulling into the parking area and I need to go talk to them.”

Willard turned down the volume on the walkie-talkie and set his back against a wide oak and out of sight from the lower trail. His heart was still pounding badly, but he had managed to get his breath back a bit. Leona’s voice came through faintly that she was in place and had the other wizard in sight. Nobody’s going nowhere today, he thought as he got a choke hold on his bat.

The men were visible, just a few yards down the trail and complaining as they fought the bushes while trying to carry the chest up side by side. His heart beat faster as he remembered the kind of weapons he knew they’d be carrying. He didn’t want to be slow, or miss or give them a chance to use those things and get himself fried like that Doberman. He had a family to take care of and a world that needed him to be the man of the hour. As the pair drew up level to the tree, Willard hit a hard bunt to the nearest man’s chin, sending him tumbling like a limp rag doll back down the trail. Dropping the chest, he overbalanced his surprised mate and the hulking carpenter used the moment to cock the bat for a full swing at his head. The sickening sound of cracked bone rewarded him as the second man tumbled into the concealing underbrush, never to stir again.

Willard grabbed the footlocker. Damnation, but it was heavy. None the less, he dragged it into the bushes behind his tree and headed down the trail to move the other carcass from easy view. His laboring heart was sounding like a freight train rushing in his ears. He’d rest a moment behind his tree as soon as he got a little further back up the hill.

Whitey’s voice came faintly over the speaker that the cops were chasing the last pair straight up the hill towards him and they had the chest with them. Willard could hear them scrabbling up the trail towards him. They were hauling it up by one dragging from the front and the other pushing up from the rear. With a sharp downwards swing of the bat, he dropped the first one like a hundred pound sack of potatoes. Glancing down at the chest, the other had disappeared from view. In a moment, he felt a strong arm lock around his neck and the spots returned to his eyes. Without a second thought, his lessons came to him in startling clarity and he turned his head into the crook of the man’s elbow to buy his windpipe a little room to breathe. Dropping the bat, he reached up with his right hand and grasped the robe at the man’s shoulder and dropped on his right knee while twisting sharply to his left. The wizard came flying over his shoulder to land hard on his back, across the corner of the footlocker. He could hear the police radios coming up from the bottom of the hill.

The spots wouldn’t clear and his heart sounded like the locomotive was nearly on him. He had no time to spare. Leona was up in the woods alone with the fifth wizard, trying to keep the portals from being opened. He could hear her voice faintly on the walkie, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He grabbed his bat and used it to purchase his way up to the top of the trail. At the top, he gasped and tried to clear his vision well enough to see which trail he had to go down to intercept the leader of these murdering Nazi’s. The smell of the smoldering dog was his first clue and he staggered with all of his remaining strength down the hard packed clay trail. Thank God, he didn’t have to climb no more hills to get there. Rounding a bend in the trail, the last wizard stood waiting, with arms crossed in front of him as he watched him stagger up the trail, leaning heavily on his makeshift walking stick.

“Out for a stroll, old man?” the young wizard asked with a smirk.

“Naw,” Willard puffed, trying to get enough wind to talk and then swing, “I’m an American League talent scout, and I was wonderin’ how you’d catch a pop fly.”

“A what?” the wizard asked.

“This.” Willard grunted, putting his last ounce of strength into his swing.

The bat caught the man across the chest and left collar bone knocking him backwards into a rippling pool that just happened to be spread out vertically between two trees on the trail. The wizard grasped the bat upon impact and Willard could feel it being torn out of his grip as the darkness overtook him and carried him into a cool, deep well where he thought he might lie and rest for a while. He just couldn’t find the strength to raise his head to see what happened to that guy. Maybe someone would tell him about it later.

Somewhere, far, far away there was a light. Perhaps a single star shining in his all encompassing night. It seemed to be growing larger. Maybe it was not a star at all but a light at the end of a long tunnel. If so, why was it getting closer? Was he lying on a subway track and a train was coming? Oh no, this wouldn’t do at all. He must get up and find shelter off the tracks, but his body would not obey him. Out of the darkness a globe of purple light flashed. No train signal he knew of was purple. It must be something else. The sound of hummingbird wings and a tiny breeze on his cheek made him look about. The purple light grew so much brighter as to hurt his eyes. Something in his mind suggested that he was still alive and that help was on the way. Of course he was alive. He’d stay that way if the train didn’t run him over first. The silvery white glow of its lamp grew closer and began to resolve into a shape very unlike the headlamp of an oncoming train. Except for the buzz of hummingbird wings retreating quickly, there was no noise of steam or diesel powered machinery. No smell of coal oil or cave dampness or rusting iron. There was the smooth coolness of packed clay under him and the sound of someone sobbing. A girl was crying. Leona! Yes, he remembered now. He had come to rescue Leona from those awful men who killed people and animals like there was no difference. He was in the woods on the hill, but the bright silvery light was cool and didn’t feel like sunlight on his face. A woman’s voice was speaking to the girl and then to him. It didn’t sound like English, but somehow was comforting. Was it an angel? Someone had touched something cold and smooth to his chest and he felt warmth spreading through him to his extremities. His fingers and toes felt all prickly for a bit and feeling returned to them all. His heart was pumping a strong, steady beat in his chest and he was feeling like he was about to wake up from a long, restful nap. He stretched his arms and legs experimentally. Yep. Those worked just fine. The warm glow of sunlight filtering through the massive oaks and maple made patterns of dark and warm red on his closed eyelids. The sound of police radios and someone shouting:

“Over here! There’s a man down over this way. Have the ambulance drive up to the top of the hill and approach the trails from the east side of the reservoir.”

Yep. It was time to wake up and face the music. It actually felt good to be alive on such a bright sunny day. He’d get up if only Leona would quit hugging him.

Divide And Conquer

Emma and Little Fox sat calmly across from each other as she gazed into the water in a china bowl she had set aside for scrying. The Eldritch filled them in on everything that happened when she had checked in on Willard and Leona up on Cobb’s Hill. Emma was relieved to find that Willard was in fine shape after the ordeal. Her concern for his safety had been well placed and Siara kept her part of the bargain in repairing the damage of a massive heart attack. Leona had taken it all like the trooper she had proven herself to be back in Annwn and kept her head throughout the ordeal.

Two of the Elite Shadows would never rise again. The other two were badly injured and jibbering like idiots and the fifth, it was assumed, got blasted back to Logres on the business end of a Louisville Slugger. The authorities took the injured as prisoners and the warheads were retrieved by military officials. Willard, Whitey, Leona and some local dog owner named, Howard were debriefed and sworn to secrecy by a super secret organization called, Majestic-12 that had taken control of the situation from there. Sidhe involvement was never suspected except by her own clannadh as it should be.

Johnny had turned up the volume on Uncle Milty in the other room as they huddled and discussed the situation as it stood thus far. The threat of the Rift Wand had ended, but there was still the knowledge of how to cross over into Gwynydd at odd times to raid and sack villages and shrines. The general mindset and policies of the current regime needed a change of venue and that was going to have to come from the natives on this side of the rifts.

Dodger had related to them about the Vizier’s and the Grand Marshal’s rune covered robes and the Tome he had recognized these as having come from. Indeed, all the Witch Kids, past and present were researching the full details of their government’s involvement in things the general populace might not well approve of. If word of all this could reach the masses via the scryboxes, perhaps a different regime could take the reins and end the pillaging of neighboring worlds.

“I wish I could say I was confident that it would be that simple to have them removed,” Little Fox said, keeping his voice below the level of the blaring scrybox.

“Between the three of them, “ he added, “they have the halls of power entangled in their collective webwork. We’ll have to divide them long enough for the Logrens to conquer their influence.”

“How can we do that?” Johnny asked. “If you’ve got any ideas, let me know and I can work ‘em on the Grand Wizard, himself when I meet with him tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you still want to go to that, Sonshine?” Emma asked. “We can always make an excuse that you were under the weather and they’ll understand. As predatory as that man comes off, I keep having these misgivings that he thinks he’ll find an easy kill in you.”

“Me too,” Johnny replied, “but I’m already too suspicious to give him any easy marks to jump at, and if he jumps at me the wrong way, that’ll be one problem solved.”

“Don’t get so cocky,” Little Fox warned, “you’re only setting yourself up for a hard fall later and we don’t want to lose you to some foolish notion. These men didn’t get to where they are by being careless. You would better serve our overall plans if you over estimated his offenses and defenses. Benjamin Franklin used to say that he always expected the worst. Not that he was pessimistic, but knew that if he was prepared for the worst, he would have the best chances, and if the worst didn’t happen, then it was a pleasant surprise. Respect your enemy enough to steel yourself for the worst he may do and only then do you stand the best chances of surviving and winning.”

“I’ll remember that,” Johnny said, growing pensive.

“That’s my boy,” Emma said, ruffling his hair and hugging him close. “So, we have an opportunity here. While Johnny’s with Mordred, maybe we can get a few of the kids and do a tour of the Capitol and maybe meet with the cronies and see what kind of slip ups we might manufacture with some odd information about that Tome.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Little Fox asked.

“No,” she answered matter-of-factly, “It’s just the only weak spot in their armor that we know about and maybe we can just innocently stumble around the subject until someone steps on a nerve and find a way to work it to our advantage. At least the three of us will be in the general vicinity of each other, giving us a better vantage.”

“Yeah,” Little Fox mused aloud, “I was thinking that getting Johnny loose from us was too much like the divide and conquer strategy we want to use for ourselves. Maybe we should do some shopping and meet with some of the kids and take that little tour and just happen to be in the building when Johnny arrives for his audience with His Excellency.”

“It’s a plan,” Emma said with a wink.

* * *

“These are the sigils they wore on their robes,” Dodger pointed to the elaborate figures in the Tome. “I’m sure of it.”

“Wow!” Hex exclaimed, “They were conjuring up a real stinker of a demon and they would have been the only ones untouchable to it. Here’s the invocation ritual here, which sounds like the deal you described at the rehearsal. They must’ve planned to do most of the ritual and leave the calling until the right moment and then unleashed this Faschysto-stinkus critter on the whole assembly.”

“Is that actually its name?” Foggy asked.

“Kind of, sort of,” Hex replied. “In these sorts of things, you never want to speak its real name unless you’re protected somehow. Like wearing robes with those sigils on them.”

“I don’t get it,” Charm cut in. “It’s a devil, but not a Sidhe devil. What would they expect to get for their efforts?”

“The only one working magick on that stage,” Jinx explained, “would be Grandma Emma, and if they did all of this in advance so that they only had to say the one word, and that being it’s name; everyone watching would think it had something to do with the Matriarch’s ceremony and they would look like the heroes if they stepped in a stopped it.”

“Everything they’ve done,” Jolt added, “from the beginning, even from the murders, has been to give the illusion that they are busy, working hard to save us all from some awful things. But they are really the awful things we need saving from.”

“That’s warlocks for you, and all the time we give them more and more freedom,” Foggy finished, “we get mired deeper and deeper into their power. We get weaker and they get stronger.”

“They have to be stopped,” Hex insisted. “But how?”

“Seeing’s how you already know its name,” Little Fox interjected to the startled crew, “maybe we can all take a little tour to the halls of power and maybe trip them up." No one but Cat had noticed the Mohawk and the Matriarch coming up on their meeting in the alley.

“I would have said something,” she called from her perch, “but I figured it would be a pleasant surprise for a change.”

“No problem, Cat,” Hex returned. “I take it you have a plan for confronting them. Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

“Yes,” Little Fox agreed, “and yes. We were thinking of something very public, as in ‘public relations’ oriented and legal. A school tour with a couple Atlantean celebrities shaking hands with the Vizier and the Grand Marshal and perhaps a little impromptu question and answer period with a few loaded questions for the cameras.”

“Will Stormy be with us?” Sylph asked.

“He’s meeting privately with the Grand Wizard in the Ivory Tower,” Emma answered. “We just wanted to be somewhere near in case he needed us and since it’s your world and your government, we thought you might have some questions that beg for honest answers, though I doubt they will give any. In any case, we’ll keep them busy so they can’t work over my grandson and maybe we can create enough unplanned stress to make them slip up a little on the scrybox and make people look a little harder at them.”

“Count us in,” Hex chimed. “How are we going to pull this off?”

“We hired a school bus and a driver, sport,” Little Fox said. “It’s parked in front of Perlman’s and of course there’s media vans out front waiting to tell the world what kind of clothes we were shopping for and why we needed a bus. We’ve also made appointments to meet Frick and Frack in the Vizier’s office today. It’s a natural.”

Mr. Gwynn put on his best suit and a schoolmaster’s robe from Perlman’s and led the youngsters up into the school bus. From there, the limo and the bus made their way to the Capitol where Emma had already made an appointment to meet with Dauntless and Rumsdon. Media cameras followed the whole charade as the Atlantean Matriarch exchanged pleasantries with the schoolmaster and his charges as they toured the building together. For the benefit of the cameras and reporters present, Emma assured the schoolmaster that the Vizier and the Grand Marshal were the kindest of gentlemen and wouldn’t mind sharing a little of her time with them in encouraging such bright young minds to study harder for a brighter future. A guard went inside the offices immediately as the contingent of reporters, celebrities and school kids made their way up the hall. The Matriarch had hardly knocked when Dauntless answered his door displaying his widest possible grin.

“And what surprise have we here?” he asked pleasantly.

“Oh, please be a dear,” Emma gushed, “and maybe you and the Grand Marshal could say a few encouraging words to these bright young children looking for careers in government someday. After all, you are their heroes, you know.”

“Why we’d be honored,” Dauntless said, motioning to Rumsdon over his shoulder to step out into the camera lights. “I take it this group is majoring in political science and the likes?”

“Why, yes sir,” Mr. Gwynn agreed. “they’ve been studying the Logren political system in the greatest of detail all year. We had met the Matriarch outside, and she assured us that you were such friends that you would not be averse to sharing a bit of your wisdom for some of tomorrow’s leaders here today.”

“Certainly,” Rumsdon stepped forward to join in. “We can take a few questions, but then we must return back to work. You understand.”

“How about it kids,” Mr. Gwynn said with a wink. “One at a time please and make them quick so that our leaders may get back to work.”

The cameras flashed and whined and microphones lowered from every direction as the men posed and smiled.

“Isn’t it true that the war on the Forest Devils is just a sham,” Charm asked, “and that two of the people listed as victims, in fact never existed?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Dauntless glibly countered, “the media probably just misspelled their names and that’s why you can’t find them.”

“Why is it,” Jolt asked, that the only victims we can verify, without exception, are known political opponents of Mordred’s policies and the Warlock party line?”

“Mere coincidence,” Rumsdon cut in. “They just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could happen to anyone. Even you or I.”

“Is it true,” Jinx added, “That you and the Vizier were planning to disrupt the Solstice Ceremony with what amounts to an act of terror?”

“Nonsense!” Rumsdon shouted.

“Then what of those sigils,” Hex spoke up for the cameras, “on your robes to protect you from Faschysto-stinkus?”

“That’s Faschystostarchus,” Dauntless roared.

“You idiot!” Rumsdon yelled, pushing Dauntless out of the way to try and claw his way back into the office to hide.

The smell of brimstone and rotten eggs filled the room as the towering demon took form in their midst. Cameras kept rolling. This was indeed news. Not what anyone anticipated, but real news. Dauntless raged and grabbed Hex in a strangle hold as Mr. Gwynn tried to coral the kids away from the threat, but they were trying to rally to help Hector. The commotion of reporters all blocking his retreat, Rumsdon attempted to bolt down the hall but a mighty taloned hand snatched him up and crammed him into a large maw with entirely too many teeth to be a feasible evolutionary design. Grabbing the throttling pair of Hex and Dauntless, the clawed fingers pulled Hex away by the neck and tossed him limply aside and popped the plumper and more satisfying Vizier into its mouth and chewed noisily. It started to reach for the children who were trying to help Hector when Emma remembered the power of command in her tiara that she wore under her hat today.

“Leave those children be!” she commanded the hulking monstrosity.

It paused in mid-reach and considered the reporters instead. She stepped forward and shouted again.

“Leave off from this plane entirely and return to your own!”

Well, it did manage a light snack of two master warlocks. The trip wasn’t a total loss. It returned to its own dark realm with its gullet a little fuller than it was when it arrived. Besides, magic users can be such a nasty lot once they’re riled. It just seemed like a good idea to quit while ahead. The stench remained a while, but the beast was gone.

Mr. Gwynn took over trying to rouse Hex. The boy’s neck was hopelessly broken and already his skin was paling from blood loss as his sister, Jinx wailed piteously. The reporters stop recording out of respect and assisted the ambulance crew in finding the remaining victim. Dodger approached Little Fox from the crowd of milling children.

“Where’s Stormy?” Dodger asked, “Did he get free of Mordred?”

“I almost forgot in all the ruckus,” Little Fox exclaimed. “The entrance to the Tower should be down at the end of the hall.” He hastened Emma towards the doors as the guards stepped in the way blocking them. The reporters, hearing another story in all of this began recording again.

“My grandson is in that tower, boys,” Emma said levelly. “Obviously, there’s some ill magick afoot in this place and I, for one, certainly don’t want my child mixed up in it. You can let me in while you can still operate under your own steam, or I can call back your leaders’ minion to move you. The choice is yours.”

The guards looked about for a moment. The reporters scanned the room for signs of any apparition, but it was unnecessary. Stepping aside, the Elites let Little Fox and Emma walk through the doors into the corridor leading up into Mordred’s tower. The smell of night air, mustiness and exotic fungi greeted them, but the office was as vacant as the workroom beyond it. Emma knew this smell all too well. She shuddered at the thought.

“They’ve gone,” Little Fox noted, “Let’s try some of the other offices that join to this tower.”

“Save your breath, John,” Emma replied. “They’re not in this world anymore. Johnny took him somewhere and chances are that neither will ever return.”

“Can you get us there?”

“No.”

“Can the Sidhe get us there?”

“Perhaps, but everything in Annwn is hostile to them.”

“And Johnny is part ‘them’.”

“Exactly.”

Ivory To Ebon Tower

Books, ancient and modern, astrolabes, crystal balls, cauldrons, vials of odd colored liquids and ground glittering crystals and a plethora of odd gadgets, gizmos and things a boy like Johnny could spend days looking over and figuring out. He scanned the office and the wizard’s work room beyond it in fascination as Mordred wound up his small talk and got to the point of why he had called him here.

“Something was taken from us,” Mordred said, rounding a globe to look him in the eyes, “and I think you can tell me how to find it.”

“Do you think I took it?” he asked, cocking his head to one side to gaze back.

“No, I don’t,” Mordred replied, “I know precisely where the three of you were when this happened, but I know Atlanteans were involved in this. Your people are here, somewhere and you are going to take us to them.”

“There are no other Atlanteans in Logres,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Then I will have a squad of Elite Shadows flash fry your grandmother’s valet from a safe distance until one of you tells me how to get the Orb back.” Mordred countered.

“I’m the one you want,” Johnny said, looking deep into the warlock’s eyes to reinforce his words with feeling. “Of the three of us, I am the only one with the talent to rift to where the treasures are kept.”

“So, you’re how you all got here?” Mordred asked.

“No,” he replied truthfully, “I could never have made a jump this far on my best day, and certainly not with two adults in tow. But the treasures I speak of, and your Orb, are not so far away that I can’t get you to them.”

“So your compatriots there can jump me?” Mordred said with a smirk, “I don’t think so.”

“Bring weapons, if you will,” Johnny replied, tossing him a heavily modified force lash from a collection of weapons on a bench. “There are no Atlanteans in the place I speak of. It is too dark and dangerous to live in. It’s just a neat place to store things you don’t want others finding. But if you‘ve got your heart all set on killing Little Fox and my grandmother, go ahead. Because in the end, it will come down to just you and me and the only thing that will keep you alive and richer, is my hope that I might get you to spare their lives by cooperating with you.”

“How many people can you cross over with? Mordred asked, putting down the lash for a model he better favored.

“I’ve never tried it with more than two besides myself,” he answered truthfully. “I’m still just a kid and I’m not so sure I can hang onto two full sized adults for a jump like this, from this world. I’ve never done that at all.”

The comm unit on the desk began flashing and Mordred picked up the handset to answer it.

“What?” Mordred asked the unknown speaker. “And they’re likely to be heading this way? I’ll take this into consideration. We’re in no danger here.”
Putting down the set, Mordred grabbed a flashlight and a few odds and ends from his collections.

“A dark and dangerous place, you say?” Mordred said, conversationally, “a little preparation and what say we both take a little foray to look and see for ourselves. If you’re right, we can always come back later to pick up a few things, but a little reconnaissance never hurt anyone. I’ve got a stinger here to use on you if you disappoint me. After all, none of us needs to die. We can all get along nicely, you’ll see. Now, is there something you have to do to prepare?”

Johnny moved to the center of the room and closed his eyes and began reaching outside of himself to find the dark plane of Annwn as he had been there before. More accurately, he was looking for the point they had left from, as Elvyra’s gateway no longer existed to take them both over. The rune charms around the gate, he knew by heart as his grandma had taught him to read runes before he could read the alphabet. He worked their arcane formula in his head over and over to ensure that when they crossed, the universe would accept them as its own. Only one of them would be allowed to cross back over again. If he lived through this.

“You need to put your hands on my shoulders while I concentrate” he said, finding the image and feel of the plane he was seeking.

Mordred crossed the room and placed both hands on the boy’s shoulders as the room grew unnaturally dark. A faint, cool breeze wafted gently in from somewhere, carrying scents he couldn’t begin to identify. It became too dark for them to see. The floor disappeared, to be replaced by soil and rock. Dimly luminescent images began to take form in the darkness around them.

“We’re here,” Johnny said. “You brought something for light. We’re going to need it to find our way up the trail through the woods to the Black Tower.”

Mordred switched on his flashlight and surveyed the area they stood. Slabs of sandstone littered the area and a few scrub pines. The luminescent images he saw, were the products of various lichens and fungi in this dark world. A trail disappeared in a series of switchbacks down a fog filled gorge to what sounded like a river behind them, and in the area Johnny had indicated was a clear trail cutting through the blackness of a forest. The sky was clear but the air was damp and cool. A low lying fog hugged the ground below their knees, making the walking treacherous. Finding a couple branches to use as walking sticks, Johnny handed one to Mordred to help him pick his way through the fog.

“Don’t think to overload me with extra things to carry,” Mordred hissed. “I’ll have my hands free to wield this flashlight and keep this stinger pointed at you every step of the way. One false move out of you and I’ll blink you where you stand. I’m told you can take a jolt from one of these, but I’ll bet it still hurts plenty.”

“Yeah, it does,” Johnny said, “but suit yourself. I was only trying to prevent you from crippling yourself on the stones or roots you can’t see through the fog.”

“No worries. I’ll just have to pick up my feet when I walk, won‘t I?” Mordred replied.

They walked on in the direction he remembered the abyss to be. He could feel eyes watching them from everywhere as tortured, twisted tree limbs beseeched in their silent, frozen agonies. The walk was uneventful except for the occasional outburst of strange cries and roars off in the distance and Mordred stumbling and twisting his ankle on an uneven patch of ground. Johnny ignored the man’s pain as if he hadn’t noticed and continued towards the glade, trying to figure how he might lead him off the edge or lock him in the central cell in the Black Tower. That is, if the mechanism still worked. Time passed much differently here than at home. He spent days locked in that cell and only hours passed for his grandfather at home. There was no telling how much time here had passed since the five years in Abred since he was here last.

A full moon was slowly rising into the night sky, and by its light, Johnny could make out the Tower off a bit to his left by the moon light gleaming of its polished obsidian surface. The fog carried out over the abyss so that the glade looked like it continued on over to the rock formations on the distant side. Adjusting his Weight Belt to null, he slowed down and made his way closer to the edge of where he remembered the abyss to be. He flexed his knees a bit as he didn’t want to give away his weightlessness by bobbing or drifting with each step. He felt for the ledge constantly and probed with his stick a little in his right hand to feel for it. Mordred followed along, noting the Tower in the moonlight.

“Did your people build this here?” Mordred asked.

“No,” Johnny replied. “The Tower had a former occupant many years ago and we’ve made use of it since. As you can see, it‘s not near any roads and the terrain isn’t very nice. Nobody comes here, so it‘s perfect.” He wasn’t really lying.

It was then a couple of things happened all at once. His staff found the edge and slipped through his fingers into the abyss, and a couple furred somethings came growling out from the forest edge towards them, mostly obscured by the low lying fog. Mordred backed away from the approaching critters to get off a shot at them and promptly fell out of sight over the edge, wailing a moment that was silenced with the clattering of loose rocks. He must have hit the side a few times on the way down. It was a very long way to fall and Johnny was not about to hang around that long to listen for more.

As the furry menaces closed in on him, he simply pushed off with his toes to make a long slow leap over their heads and away from the edge. They never had time to slow down. He could hear them squealing in fright for some moments before they fell too far through the fog to hear anymore. He thought about inspecting the Black Tower and waiting out the night, but Grandma and Little Fox would be worried and he had no idea what kind of time passed between these planes. He had read tales where humans spent an evening in some fairyland and when they got home in the morning, everyone they knew were long dead. That wouldn’t do at all. He would have to trust his night vision take the trail back to the rock outcropping without any weapons. It was the nearest rift point he knew of in this world. Besides, his Mohawk mentor had taught him that he was the weapon.

Somewhere in all the relief he was feeling, was the nagging guilt that he had just caused the death of yet another person. How many did that make thus far? Why must it always boil down to trading life for life? Had he managed to lock Mordred in the Black Tower, he would die slowly there as time passed differently here than at home. A few hours and days would pass here. It was probably a mercy that he got rid of the threat quickly. It was just a bit of an ordeal to his young mind that a quicker death could be considered a merciful ending. It was not lost on him that his mentor was keeping track of his increasing body count with no little alarm.

The moon was high making a silvery arch of the trees leaving the forest as he approached the outcropping that marked his Grandma’s and Leona’s former campsite, back when they searched this world to bring him home. He remembered there was a bowl carved into one of the slabs that his grandmother had used to catch rainwater. With any luck, there would be some in it now. He was thirsty and hungry and not at all sure he could rift back into the Ivory Tower back in Logres, or if he should. Perhaps he should just get back home to Gramps and Leona and have the Sidhe cross Grams and Little Fox back over. The job was done. The Rift Wand destroyed by his martial arts master. Mordred was certainly not coming back from that fall even if the Annwn gateway spell didn’t work. Without their leader and the news starting to get out that the Logrens were being used, they were heading for a more propitious change of leadership. Besides, he might end up popping into more trouble than he left, whisking off that way, with their Grand Wizard. He’d have to rest a bit and think about it more.

Even with his enhanced night vision, Johnny could not clearly make out the winged creatures flitting past him on the trail. The general shape and configuration of their formations as they flew, made him think they were a squadron of piskies. The Annwn version of pixies were about twice the size at four to five inches tall looking like miniature angels with sparrows wings, except there was nothing angelic about piskies or this plane. If anything, the hellish plane leaned heavily in the other direction of the spectrum.

He and his cousin, with the help of an outcast piskie friend named, Gregory had fought against such a war party along with the mad Vough the last time he was here. He had the Vough’s scepter as a weapon before. He had no weapons at all now. These creatures could cut him to ribbons now, if they wanted to. They just didn’t seem to want to at the moment.

Coming out of the woods to the sandstone outcropping, he noticed a small smokeless fire of heaped twigs burning merrily in front of the old stone shelter where he had formerly left the Vough’s wand and staff nearly five years ago. Nothing ever faded in Johnny’s memories. It seemed like only yesterday, he was saying goodbye to his piskie friend who was bathing in the bowl his Grandma had scooped out of the stone with her witch blade. It was like he could see him standing there now, holding that sword he had made pounding a nail flat in his cell and sharpened on a stone. In fact, he could see him standing there, because there he was, and with a few of his cousins perched around him too. Gregory had since become the chieftain of his own clan in all this time, and they had brought sweet pears, edible mushrooms and smoked meat strips.

Johnny didn’t want to think too much about what kind of meat it was. He probably didn’t even have a name for most of the animals found on this world anyway, but it sure was nice finding an old friend. He lapped water out of the hollow, ate pears and fungi as he warmed himself by the fire. Evidently, the piskies had successfully cultivated those pear seeds they left behind for him when they left. It was amazing that they grew and produced fruit in only five years, but then five years, Abred time would be plenty enough to plant an entire orchard and have it grow to maturity. With the help of his piskie friends, it was decided that he would wait until the twilight before dawn and crossover back into Abred again and meet his Grams and everyone there.

How We Say Our Goodbyes

Ambulance attendants picked up the unresponsive leader of the Witch Kids as soldiers ran to and fro searching for any sign of the Grand Wizard, Mordred, his Vizier or the Grand Marshal. Media crews gathered in corners of lobbies and reiterated to the general public the pandemonium they had witnessed and some had even filmed when the Vizier and Grand Marshal called disaster down on themselves and upon the visiting school children by summoning a demon that was alleged to be the very same entity they intended to use to foil the Atlantean Matriarch’s Solstice Ceremony. Speculation had it that Dauntless and Rumsdon’s motives were due to jealousy for being cast aside as MC’s to the ever popular Uncle Milty, who admitted freely to having learned his comedic style from the Atlantean contingent.

Interviews with the children and their schoolmaster, Mr. Gwynn also pointed to treacherous abuses of power by the missing world leaders. Besides the Vizier and the Grand Marshal, for reasons obvious to the media hounds, those missing included the Grand Wizard and the Atlantean boy, Johnny. The Council and Assembly had gathered hurriedly to appoint temporary leadership and to diplomatically assure the Atlanteans that no form of hostage taking by its errant leader-at-large would be condoned and that every effort to obtain his safe return to his grandmother would be made.

For a moment, it had appeared that events would exacerbate the tragedies already suffered when a party of High Sidhe appeared suddenly in the midst of the combined assembly. As tradition demanded, no weapons of any kind were allowed in such meetings. The Sidhe carried none also. They made it clear they were there to parlay with whatever new leadership emerged and make a formal bond of peace. For the benefit of keeping the viewing public from panic and rioting, and for the first time in its history, the combined assemblies allowed the media to cover history in the making. There would still be elements of the populace that would never trust anything promised by the Forest Devils, but the media hounds were already divesting themselves of using such propaganda laden labels. Only time would tell what would come next for the Logrens.

* * *

Emma did her best to hold herself up well for Hector’s funeral. No word had reached her yet on Johnny’s whereabouts, as the Sidhe could not delve very far into Annwn to see him there. It had to be enough that they knew that where ever he was, he was still alive. Her and Little Fox were considering that when they got back, if he didn’t show up right away, they would risk a crossing through the rifts on Cobb’s Hill at night, to try and find him and bring him home.

A place of honor, in a local city park was the place chosen to lay Hex to rest. A huge, polished and hollowed block of red granite that was awaiting a bronze statue of Mordred VII was re-appointed by the Assembly of the Wise to hold Hector’s remains as a true Logren hero for his part in exposing the warlocks’ skullduggery in office. The statue of Mordred was never to be finished. A bronze casting of children, dancing in a circle would be fastened to the top of the giant block in the center of the market district park within sight of Broome Alley. The bronze plaque touting the warlock’s many dubious contributions was removed and fine carving, inlaid with gold leaf of Hector’s vital statistics graced the polished surface. A plaque of his own contribution to Logren history would be added later. Emma and Little Fox gazed for a while at the engraving and decided it needed a single word, carved deep with their own enchanted blades to the epitaph:

Here Lies Hector “Hex” Noggins
Loving Brother, Faithful Friend
Witch Kid
Exactly!
Imbolc 5747 - Yule 12th, 5765

Hector’s remains were lovingly laid to rest in the hollow of the giant block and sealed away from the ravages of time and vandals. Witch kids, past and present filed by, paying Jinx and the gang their respects. Even the market district had closed that day to attend and the park was overwhelmed with white roses. On a modest grandstand, a very mixed array of Logren, Atlantean and Sidhe dignitaries were present to honor the fallen hero. Emma and Little Fox, of course, along with Elder Scylla and Master Sine, who was now the designated ambassador from Gwynydd to Logres and a few members of the Assembly and Council along with Jennifer Noggins and Mr. Gwynn. The new Wiccan House Whip, Rowena Winterwolf gave an inspiring eulogy to those present:

“I have been a witch my entire life,” Rowena said. “And when it came time to register, I was proud to do so. I believed in our government system wholeheartedly and trusted that they would always do what’s right and act in my best interests. Hector Noggins and doubtless many others did not share in that opinion and were ostracized from that system and forced to live in hiding. We do not all believe the same thing, but for all my worldly wisdom, I have to admit that this boy was right to believe as he did and strong enough to resist the overwhelming odds of opinions against him. He did not stand down just because everyone else thought he should. These children with him, when everyone else of us were swayed this way and that, by a contrived public opinion, looked past the façade and charades and into the facts that were there for all of us to see and came to conclusions of their own. How different this all would had been, had we all been thinking and questioning the evidence we were given, instead of accepting that corruptible men and women would always do the right thing and work for that which is in all of our best interests and not spend our lives and taxes to profit the privileged few. Without the sacrifices these children had made, indeed, many of us in the Assembly of the Wise and the Council of Wizards might never have awoken from our long sleep, except to find ourselves the unfortunate victims of a war of our own making.” Every eye in the crowd and those viewing via scrybox watched her in still silence.

“Therefore, it is with the greatest, personal humility that I declare these children to be truly wise and everything a registered witch should be and Hector Noggins a full witch and true hero of Logres. May the government they so rightly spurned, learn the wisdom of their righteous examples and live up to all of our trust!”

The crowd roared its approval wildly and applauded for many minutes until Jennifer “Jinx” Noggins was led up to the microphone by Emma Silverlock and Mr. “Windwalker” Gwynn. The crowd silenced to complete stillness once again in anticipation of what Hector’s twin sister might say.

“There are many questions that face us all,” Jinx said, with a catch in her voice. “We will all have to be wise as the best witches and wizards we might be, to find the answers together. But for the moment at hand, I have only one question to put to you all and I need to hear your answers loud enough so that even Hex might hear them.”

“Which kid is that?” she shouted, pointing to the memorial block.

“EXACTLY!” was the reply that echoed throughout the streets of the Ivory City.

Having hoisted a ladder up the back of Hex’s monument, it was that moment that Cat, Jolt, Dodger, Foggy, Charm and Sylph appeared dancing what was now known throughout Logres as Stormy’s dance on the top of the monument in celebration of the life of their fallen comrade. Kids and adults pushed forward to beat the all too familiar rhythm on the edge of the grandstand with their hands as others in the crowd began their best attempt at dancing as well. The resultant spectacle was nowhere near the quality choreography anyone had witnessed at the Solstice, but the unity of spirit was unparalleled.

A Knight To Remember

Changes came quickly enough in Logres. Mordred never resurfaced in the public spotlight. If he did, it would have been to stand trial for his treachery against his own people and then to those of Gwynydd. Whatever his fate, he was undoubtedly better off missing. The Warlock Party barely made any showing at all in the next elections. Indeed, most of the attention rested upon the Druid and Wiccan parties and to everyone’s surprise, it was a saintly old Druid named, Blaise Monroe that took on the name, Gwydion XIV and the title of Grand Wizard of Logres.

For the Sidhe attaché, though relations were normalizing between the two world planes, trade became a matter of tight controls. Humans could not be expected to manage unrestricted access to fae magicks. The Council in Gwynydd planned a gradual release of craft used primarily for healing and well being to discourage any further empire building by human factions, well meaning or not. Emma was more than a little disappointed that her own world would be a long time, if ever in coming into any such relations with the Sidhe. Not that she could blame them. Then there was still the matter of her missing, but reportedly alive grandson. Whatever he did with Mordred in Annwn, he was still breathing.

The Witch Kids, with Mr. Gwynn and Jinx as the executors, were given the deeds to several pieces of property in Ivory City that were formerly used as Shadow stations, including the Star Casket Company building they once raided to rescue Charm. A respectable funding was set up to allow the boarding and educating of orphans and other social misfits to better respond to the needs of those individuals who cannot normally tow the current party lines. Standards were set on acceptable education and no restrictions set in public schools on those who held political or philosophical views of their own. As long as they didn’t advocate violence against the government and chose to argue their points in an acceptable public manner, they were given an equal status with anyone else. This, in itself was an historic change in Logren thought and culture. New names, faces and voices were stepping forward from all walks of life to fill the gaps in education and social reform. The economic index dipped for only a little while as Logrens retooled and set new standards on acceptable trade and manufacture. With the aid of Sidhe involvement, they might never see the wholesale poisoning of air, land and water that was happening in Abred.

The charade of the Atlanteans remained in place as Abred was plane under the Treaty of Silence. Trade or travel would never be encouraged between it and any other planes until some future time when they would be deemed mature enough to handle all the implications of multiversal reality without destroying themselves or others in the process. Emma highly doubted that this would ever take place in her lifetime. Her grandson’s probably, but not her own. She considered herself and her incredible clannadh to be blessed above all, that she even got to partake in this much and set foot on other fantastic worlds. There would be no Atlantean embassy in Logres for the time being and the Logrens would also be made to endorse the Treaty of Silence in favor of developing civilizations that needed a little isolation to go through their growing pains.

Scylla crossed over with Emma and Little Fox to the Pool of the Moon where they were greeted by the Eldritch Siara, Master Shabriri and Elder Shan.

“There are no mere words I could say to convey our gratitude for your intervention,” the Eldritch spoke with her head slightly bowed. “You and your clan have taken on grave danger, at no thought of reward to spare our worlds a war that would only bring endless grief. I have kept my word to you and intervened in your husband’s well being, and still, instead of heaping the treasures on you that you so richly deserve, I must ask for those artifacts we had loaned to you for this mission.”

“We have returned with only those things we brought from here,” Emma replied. “Except for my grandson who is still missing in Annwn. I believe he gave his coat away to someone in Logres and has the Weight Belt on him still.”

“The coat in Logres is no problem at all,” Shabriri interjected, holding up the formerly missing belt. “The belt as you can see, has been returned when your grandson hailed us upon returning, safe and sound to your home in Abred.”

In the Pool, the images of Willard, Johnny and Leona could be seen as looking up through the water of Emma’s humble gazing bowl. She and Little Fox moved closer to the Pool to wave back as she handed the Eldritch the Emerald Tiara and her platinum weave apron.

“You make keep the dress, dear,” Siara said, “it was made for you. And Little Fox, you may keep the uniform if you like but you must give us the helmet, black beans and the knife you took in Logres”

“I might have something to say about that,” Emerald Sky said as she entered the court with her attendants.

“It’s alright, ma’am,” Little Fox said, “I’ve been missing my dungarees, moccasins and trusty sheath knife since I left them here. I did what I knew was the right thing to do. These fine people owe me nothing for it.”

“The knife in question, grandson,” the Emerald replied, “is for no one but me to award as I see fit. Look at the bead work. The Sidhe ranger that carried that blade with him on his mission to Logres was given that knife by one of your ancestors and the sky people of my own court blessed it to the value it now possesses. It belongs in our family and you braved all and retrieved it. It is yours by right.”

“S-sky Woman,” John stuttered.

“As your new friends would say,” the Emerald said with a smile, “Exactly.”

“The Council recognizes the rights of ownership,” Siara pronounced. “The knife belongs to Little Fox of the Akwesasne.”

“I would be honored if I might be allowed to make a gift,” John said, his eyes fastening themselves upon Elder Scylla.

“You have gifted us with so much of your time and energy already,” the Eldritch said, “We could never thank you enough, but feel free to express yourself here among friends and family.”

“From the Witch Blade that Emma carries, that was humbly crafted by her father,” John said, “to the Stone Cutter of my ancestors, your people do such marvelous things to simple tools. I would like to give Elder Scylla my humble hunting knife in hopes that she will make it a better knife and remember me always when she looks upon it. It is only bone, steel and leather crafted by human hands but then, I am only a human man and nothing exalted like Sky Woman. Sometimes, small things make a big difference. That is the greatest thing I can say to you that would have any value here.” He gently placed the sheathed knife in her outstretched hands. Her eyes were downcast as she held it tightly to her bosom.

“It’s like a fairy tale of Abred long ago,” Scylla said, “where the humble blacksmith or a farm boy rise up to become mighty heroes and save the people of the realm from great evil and present their trophies to some fairy princess. Would you lend me your knee?”

Little Fox went down on one knee and bowed his head.

“Though the world you hail from, will never know of the mighty deeds you have done,” Scylla said, unsheathing the knife, “though this be no shining sword, but in the hands of the right man, it is every whit as effective as one. In my heart of hearts, I use this to dub thee as Little Fox, knight errant and warrior of the Witch Clan. Arise, sir knight and be recognized by your peers.”

Standing, John was immediately set upon by dancing, multicolored lights that lent him a glorified appearance to the sound of applause by Emma and the members of the Sidhe court. From the depths of the Pool of the Moon, came the fierce joy of Johnny’s shrieking, hawk whistle and the gruff roar of Willard’s: “Atta boy, John!”. The images of them in the Pool shown Leona to be frowning in concentration as she tried to hold the images of the court in her grandmother’s gazing bowl.

“I’m feeling more than a little rewarded,” John said, smiling broadly. “How about you, Emma?”

“I’ve already got a knife,” she said with a grin. “It’s been long enough since I’ve been able to rustle up a good, home cooked meal in my very own kitchen and nothing here will do us better than that right now.”

Without further fanfare, the belongings they originally arrived in were handed to them in parcels and the Masters surrounded them, humming their odd harmony and as simply as before, the enchanted court melted away to show them under the pear tree in Emma’s backyard and her garden as the screen door to the summer kitchen burst open and Leona, Willard and Johnny came running out to greet them.

Insisting that she was not exactly tired from walking such a distance home, Emma corralled Leona into helping her make a feast for all to celebrate. Willard ambled over to the corner grocery store to get some ice cream for later on. The men folk chattered on about their adventures as the women discussed their own experiences and laid out a spread that would keep them in leftovers for most of the following week.

Later on that evening, they sat down with faery floats, of home made rootbeer and vanilla ice cream and watched summer re-runs of the Milton Berle Show.

“Not to brag or anything, “ Johnny said with a conspirator’s wink, “but I taught that man everything he knows.”

“Do you have real beer in your rootbeer or something?” Leona asked.

“Well, I taught him a little,” Emma said, sipping from her float. “But Johnny certainly taught him the most about comedy.”

“Yep,” Little Fox added, licking his spoon, “I was as surprised as anybody at the time.”

Leona and Willard looked at them all, then at each other, shrugged and laughed. There would be a lot for them all to catch up on.

In Darkness And Pain

Waves of pain and nausea rolled over him as Mordred awoke to find himself on a stone outcropping far below the ledge he tumbled from. It was daylight now, though overcast and bleak. Aside from possibly a concussion and some cracked ribs, he was certain that his right hip was fractured. Peering over the edge of his perch, he couldn’t see the bottom of this vast chasm as the muted light of day couldn’t travel that far into those shadowed depths. He had been tricked by the boy. The brat hadn’t simply dropped his stick when they were set upon by wild animals, he lost it over the edge as he was probing through the fog for it hoping for him to make a false step and send him to his doom. The stick was within easy reach of him on the ledge he now occupied. He had no idea of how long he had lain there. A few hours, at least as the moon had just risen when he had fallen.

Wincing from the pain, he grabbed the stick and set himself upright to take stock of what he might have to alleviate the situation. The stinger he had trained on the boy was gone. It probably fell over the edge and was falling still for all he knew. He had a broken force lash in his cloak pocket. Luckily, it didn’t break in such a way as to discharge or he would be crisped as well as injured. Perhaps that could be repaired or altered in some way to be of use. His flashlight was gone too. He had a jeweled athame, a ceremonial long knife on his belt that would prove quite useful. He wasn’t sure how he might splint a broken hip. He would simply have to try to keep as much weight off his right side as possible and just tough out the pain as best he could.

He looked about on the ledge he was for anything he might use. It looked like it went on for about thirty or forty feet and anywhere from five to fifteen feet wide, but he was quite alone on the bare stone ledge. The wall above him was quite sheer, and even if he wasn’t so injured, he doubted he could find enough hand and toe holds to climb to the top. Unless he learned how to fly or levitate, he would likely die of starvation or thirst on this ledge.

The clouds began clearing towards the evening and even with the sunlight showing from the west, he still could not see the bottom of the chasm. He had no idea of the scale of things to even begin to judge how far it might be to the other side. Certainly, it was much too far for any human being to jump with any hope at all of making it. The stars began to shine and the moon peeked over the edge at him, when he thought he might go mad from thirst. He lay back and tried to lose himself and his pain in the sleep of the exhausted.

Sometime in the night, between fever dreams of terrors and darkness, he heard a snuffling sound and felt the stiff whiskers and cold nose of a large rodent on his cheek. Slashing quickly with his athame, he managed to cut the hapless creature’s throat on the first stroke. Licking the warm blood that had spurted in his face, he felt better revived and an edge taken off his thirst. Picking up the over large, twitching rodent he satiated his thirst in draining it of its remaining life’s blood. But how did it get here and uninjured by any fall? It didn’t have any wings, so it had to get here by some promising route. There had to be a burrow somewhere nearby. A creature of this size, just might make a hole big enough for him to crawl through to the land above. The moon was gone for the night and the stars made a weak light at best. He cut some strips of raw meat from the carcass and chewed thoughtfully as he considered a wait until morning to try and find how this creature had found him on this ledge.

His hip ached like he had been walloped by a sledge hammer. A breakfast of raw meat strips and he felt well enough to drag himself to his good leg, as he used the walking stick to make his way along the ledge. He leaned heavily with his left shoulder up to the wall and hobbled along examining for holes that he might have missed due to the irregularities of the rock wall. Towards the far end of his ledge, he was rewarded not with a burrow, but a doorway cut into the cliff side. There was no door attached. Who would anyone fear entering from this unlikely direction? A few feet inside and he could make out steps carved into the bedrock of the cliff face reaching upwards into the darkness. This would likely be going up into the Black Tower that he and the boy were traveling to, when he was led too near the edge in the fog.

Twice, he had to rest on the landings and fight off the waves of pain and nausea in the darkness as he methodically felt his way up the stairs. On one landing, the wall was made up of a bit more broken stone and he felt a large burrow the rodent must have came through. He decided to pass on this option in favor of where ever the steps led him. Making it to the top, he was barred from any further progress by a jammed, heavy wooden door. Leaning back on the wall he felt a fixture and leaned on it to give some relief to his throbbing hip. The fixture pulled out and down like a lever, causing him to fall into the door that opened into a dimly lit circular room. The pain of the impact nearly caused him to black out again but he fought it off with singular determination.

The lights came from high, slit windows and some odd vials of phosphorescent matter of unknown origin on the manifold shelves. Silvery glyphs gleamed though the dust of ages on the black stone floor and in their center was a couple pieces of furniture. The most welcomed of these was a dusty, ragged cot. He didn’t care how filthy it might be or who might live here. In spite of the lying brat’s claims, it was clear that nobody had been in this tower in many years. He lay down on the cot and mercifully lost consciousness once again. He knew he would live to hound the Atlanteans to their very graves.

Epilogue

Over the distant mountains, the dark dragon stretched against the starry sky and writhed in its pain. It was hurt, but the battle was far from over for that one. In the meadow before her, lit to nearly daytime brightness by the full moon, her unicorn colt danced and kicked up his heels in unbounded joy and gratitude for another day of life. A red haired boy watched for a moment or so, smiled and then turned his back to walk out of sight.

“His friend begins his spirit walk,” Coyote observed.

“At first glance,” Emma said, “you wouldn’t think that Johnny noticed or even cared but that he could dance.”

“That would be a mistake,” Coyote pointed out, “he has nothing to take for granted. He has no mother or father who care for him, but he has you and he knows that is only because of your good will and not anything contingent on himself. He knows his friend sacrificed his life for what he believed in and that it could well have been his own life that was forfeit. He was always aware of this, even as he also knows his friend is not really dead or lost, but has moved on to yet another stage of living. He has a dance for everything he feels inside of himself and whether in dance or in his day to day actions, those things inside himself, come to the outside and affect everyone around him.”

“I still worry about him,” she said. “He is only eleven years old and has killed an Otherworld hag and another five or six men in Logres. Is killing so easy for him?”

“You worry well, wise woman,” Coyote replied, watching the colt chasing its tail in the meadow below them. “The mad woman of Annwn had every intention of killing you all and he could not permit that. For him it was a choice of good or evil prevailing and he made his choice that you all should live. That it caused her death was an unfortunate side effect to him. As for the deaths in Logres, he is directly accountable for only three of them. Of the five warriors on that roof, one survived his fall and the last one was killed by Windwalker. The sixth casualty, Mordred, still lives, though in great pain, but who really forced those decisions?”

“He chose to attack those guards on that rooftop,” she said.

“He chose to help rescue his friend who was taken, imprisoned and about to have her spirit broken, against her will,” Coyote pointed out. “That is the danger of such a creature as he is. You cannot expect him to co-exist in a world full of evil beings. It is their nature to do such things and it is his nature not to abide it. Look at the meadow he dances in. Is a single wildflower trampled in his glee?”

Emma watched the unicorn as it leapt, kicked up its silvery hooves, high stepped and pranced for all of its unbounded joy, but not a single flower was crushed beneath its hooves. Not one.

“He’s gentle,” Coyote said. “He will do no hurt to any gentle thing. But still, I say, you worry well. The world you live in was not meant for the likes of this kind. He is fine and at peace in his meadow, but men are not always as gentle as wildflowers. Even the best of them have their dark moments and having only one such moment, at the wrong time, in his presence can be fatal if he doesn’t learn ‘mercy’. He has to learn to see the good in all men and not to judge them by a single bad moment in their lives. Even so, if he doesn’t learn when mercy is inappropriate, it may cost him his own life at the hands of a hardened killer. There are no easy roads that take us all the way to where we are going. Sooner or later, there are hills to climb and bad weather to endure. Such is true for us all.”

Coyote faded from view. His baleful yellow eyes winking at her was the last of him she could see. Sitting on the hillside, she continued to watch the unicorn dance and wondered about him. The night was cool, but not uncomfortable and the fragrance in the gentle night breeze of the wildflowers was that of …. Coffee… and bacon frying.

“Breakfast, Hon,” Willard rumbled gently in her ear. “Leona’s cooking and we thought you might want to see Little Fox and me before we headed off to work. I’ve got some prospects down at the Union Hall.”

“Good,” she said as she stretched and reached for her slippers and robe. “I want home to return to normal around here so all my soldiers heal well.”

“I never felt better,” Willard said, flexing his massive arms, “but just seeing you back makes me feel like that all the time.

She gave him a peck on his balding head and whisked on her robe and made her way to the kitchen where Johnny was helping Leona with breakfast. John Little Fox sat nursing a cup of hot coffee promising Johnny that after work tonight, his lessons would mainly consist of a long chat between friends. Emma could see the massive guilt complex passing behind Johnny’s eyes as he attempted to bury himself in breakfast chores.

“Is it possible that anyone here had better dreams than I last night?” she queried her little clan. Dreams were a very normal part of life in Emma’s book.

“I dreamt I was eating a giant marshmallow,” Willard joked, and putting his big fist up to his mouth, he coughed into it, producing a small flurry of down. “I think I’m going to have to buy a new pillow today.”

Little Fox choked, mid swallow on his coffee and grabbed a napkin, laughing and pointing at Willard as he fought to pull himself together with tears streaming down his cheeks. Johnny grinned at his grandfather and John’s antics but Emma could plainly tell he was haunted by something. Leona brought over the platter of scrambled eggs, home fries and bacon and set them on the table and pulled up her own chair.

“I dreamed the faeries were choosing a new queen,” Leona added, thoughtfully. “I remember running and hiding from them, hoping they would not choose me.”

“Why be afraid of faeries?” Johnny asked, frowning.

“I was afraid I would be lousy at it,” Leona said, buttering her toast. “I didn’t want to let them down. Does that make any sense to you, Grams?”

“It means you were their right choice all along, dear,” she said, pouring coffee into her big ceramic mug. “Some people would look at such a thing as prestige and riches and fine gowns, but you saw it for what it really is: responsibility to your subjects. It’s not all about being lovely and regal. It’s about having a queen sized heart and proving that everyday for the rest of your life. Maybe one day, you’ll get your chance to be matriarch in my stead.”

“Grandma, I’m not adept,” Leona replied with a voice beginning to break. “I couldn’t hold that rift shut longer than a few minutes and still that wizard got away and I almost lost Gramps right before my very eyes and there was nothing I could do but cry.”

“Neither am I, adept,” she said gently. “But sweetie, after so many years of experience, it hardly makes a difference in this family. You use what you have and not what you wish you had and sometimes the very best thing we can do to heal is cry. You were a young lady, sitting in a life and death situation that would tax even me and we all got through it. If there’s anything you felt you could have done better, you just chalk that up as experience you’ll make good use of later. Om biggun tu?”

“I was afraid every step of the way, Grams,” Leona said.

“Wise witch,” she said with a nod. “More than just your world were on a collision course with destruction had any of us failed.” She looked over at her grandson who looked like he was trying to shrink into his chair.

“Is any of this lost on you, Sonshine?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow. With a heart shuddering sob, Johnny bolted for the back door to the far back end of the yard where Willard had designated his own private play area.

“Maybe I should talk to him now,” Little Fox offered, but Emma motioned him to finish his breakfast.

“You’ll get your turn later,” she said. “I’m sure it will reinforce what I say to him now and maybe add a few lessons that would never occur to an old woman. You also don’t want to be late for work. We’ve still got so much to do for him.”

Emma could hear him gently howling his grief in a long low voice that seemed to come up from the bottom of a deep, deep well of sorrow. He wasn’t raging or making a lot of noise, just issuing a long, extended groan from the depths of his soul. One little boy, even as large as he had grown, should never know the kind of grief he was feeling. She sat down next to him on the fulcrum of his tilting pirate ship and pulled his head to her shoulder and held him there as he wept bitter tears and waited for it to clear his system enough so that he could speak again.

“Grandma, I feel so very bad,” he sobbed. “I felt bad when they killed those people, just to take their stuff and there was nothing I could do. I felt bad when they took my friend and there was something I could do. I felt bad when Mordred was going to kill you all just to get his way and all the others he killed too and then I felt bad when I dropped him off a cliff to save our lives. I wanted to be a hero, Grandma! I wanted to come to the rescue and save people from awful things and I’ve become an awful thing, myself.”

“Oh, look! Look,” she said, nudging her grandson and pointing at a fat rat poking around in the rubble of his play area. “Ugh! Rats are everywhere these days. You can put up signs that say ’No Rats Allowed’, but I think even if they could read them, they’d just laugh at them.”

Johnny bent down to pick up a stone, but she pulled him back to herself.

“Here comes my hero now,” she said with pride, pointing to a large tiger striped tabby with the scars of many fights nicking his ears. “Big Tom Tom. He‘s on the job.”

The big stray was already focused intently on the large rat and creeping close. Hardly a muscle moved but for the twitching of his tail behind him until he pounced in a savage fury rending the rat’s flesh into bloody ribbons with his teeth and claws. It was over with in seconds as the big stray carried his prize back with him into the alley with a noticeably proud strut in his step.

“It’s funny how many things Danu shows us that we think we’re too big or too smart to learn from,” she said. “Like with anything else, there’s rats and all kinds of vermin crawling beneath the floorboards of the universe. If we leave them be, they’ll destroy our homes and families with disease, decay and destruction. If we beg them to stop, they will only breed more. It seems the only way that good folks can live in health and peace are to make use of those things that by their very nature, prey on those vermin and do us all a service by their existence. You don’t think Big Tom Tom is just a bigger rat, now do you?”

“No, ma’am,” Johnny replied, with a light dawning inside him.

“It sort of stands to reason,” she pointed out, “that like Danu, our Earth, the multiverse is going to have bigger rats and bigger cats to keep them in line. Maybe even a fine Panther Boy! Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Meow,” he said, smiling through his tears.

“See?” she said, hugging him, “you’re not at all an awful thing. I’d have to say as any Leo worth his kitty litter, that you’re a fine and well bred cat. Let’s just try to keep those good looks of yours longer than Tom Tom’s. Now, I suppose our Little Fox is going to have more to say later, so for now, dry those eyes up a bit. I‘m glad you don‘t like killing rats, but when they come and threaten to chew out your throat, I expect dead rats is about all that‘s supposed to come from that kind of foolishness.”

“It was nice you got to see Hex off on his way, last night,” she said. “I was so sorry you missed the service. Things are going to be a lot different for the gang now. You’ll probably never realize the many ways you’ve changed their whole world with all the things you’ve done. It won’t be perfect. They never are. But on certain nights of the week, a whole world will hold on to its funny bone and other people will rise up to make them laugh even more. Kids with talent will be allowed to grow up and learn their own ways of mastering themselves rather than being mastered by others. Still, there will be those who object to that. But now there are more choices than just living on the streets and stealing a warm blanket and a meal to keep alive. The fae folk in all their little woodland hamlets no longer need to die for the beauty they possess. Here, in our own world, the threat of nuclear annihilation has been set back a notch or two because certain outside parties they never would have suspected have been foiled and all of us had a part in that. Your grandpa killed some men trying to steal bombs to destroy other worlds. Little Fox killed some men protecting a treasure that belonged to none of us. But had all those men lived and accomplished what they desired to do, untold millions of men, women and children would have died violently and horribly in their homes on many worlds besides our own. For a little while, I lived like a queen of my world and commanded the bravest and staunchest of heroes who saved many little kingdoms. Monsters died. Some heroes died, but worlds and lives worth fighting for have been spared. It was a good trade.”

“I thought it was expensive,” Johnny said. “But when you put it like that, it was worth every penny.”

“You better believe it, boy-o,” she said. “There’s a whole lot of cock and bull stories in those history books of yours, but we’ve learned that one thing is true: when ordinary people want to live free, they always have to dig deep down inside themselves to find the currency to pay for it. Just because we call it ‘free’ doesn’t mean it’s cheap.”

“I’d like not to have to spend any more this summer,” Johnny said. “If you don’t mind.”

I’d say you’ve earned it,” she said, ruffling his hair. “I think that’s going to be about the gist of what Little Fox wants to talk to you about later. Debriefings, R and R and soldier stuff like that. He has experience in those things and knows what it will take to pull you men back together in a good way. I have a great deal of respect for what my men folk can do. For centuries, this clannadh has been about women. But without men like you, your grandpa and Little Fox,.. I dread to even think about what might have happened to all of us. Your aunts once thought we were cursed with bad fae luck, but I happen to know how truly lucky I really am.”

“Me too, Grams,” Johnny agreed, touching his forehead to hers.

* * *

In a sprawling graveyard, on the other side of town, a large antique mirror shimmers and allows two otherworldly visitors to step into the confines of an unused, family mausoleum. Elder Shan and Master Shabriri still have much to do with Johnny’s continuing education as a Sidhe princeling.

“The boy is unmistakably an Emerald like his father before him,” Shan continued in a discussion that started a world apart from this gloomy place.

“Yes, he’s an Emerald,” the Master said, “but no, he’s not like his father or any other Sidhe or human in the realm of any of our experiences. There‘s always more to him than is readily seen.”

“He’s very dangerous,” Shan observed. “Is it safe to continue teaching him?”

“They are all dangerous,” Shabriri noted, “he is just more so. I can teach him only so far and then I need to learn what he can teach us. We have to bind him to us somehow.”

“If I might suggest,” the Elder said, while laying out their equipment on their pallets, “I’ve noticed he is easily alienated from his human peers.”

“He hasn’t any human peers,” Shabriri snapped.

“All the more to my point,” Shan asserted. “We can use this to our advantage and make him dependent upon us for understanding and nurturing. This will give us a measure of control, a safety line, if you will, in dealing with such a creature as he.”

“You fear this boy,” Shabriri said, making eye contact.

“Respect,” Shan replied, “is a better word. Only a fool would sit in the trees and wave a sword during a thunder storm. He is, after all, an untrained Emerald.”

“Forgive me, brother,” Shabriri said, “I didn’t intend that as a criticism. For all of an Emerald’s power, his father never had to deal with the likes of his own son in human flesh and I take pause in that, as this is precisely what we are required to do. It is all too easy to look at him and say that he is but a boy and leave it at that. But we both know what this mere boy has done to change the worlds he has touched. Suppose, when he grows and comes into his own, that his motivations become less altruistic? What then? Who or what could stop him? What safeguards exist to control such a one as him?”

“Your pallette is ready, brother,” Shan said, indicating his spot. “The idea is quite daunting, to be sure. But we also know that he did not accomplish any of those things alone. He had help from his many friends and relatives.”

“Indeed, he did,” the Master said, reclining on his bier. “We must become his closest friends. So much so that he dares not make a move without our approval. We must be his most invaluable allies.”

“Careful not to cross the matriarch, my friend,” Shan admonished, starting the incisions that would drive the Master outside of himself. “We don’t ever want to put ourselves in the position of coming between those two. Some have already paid dearly for that mistake. We must, at least appear to be working in perfect concert with the witch clan’s purposes or we risk everything. I would point out that therein lies our safety line.”

The grotesque details of the disembodiment of Master Shabriri having been expertly administered, the Elder Shan moves to his own bier and seems to sink into himself and once again, two otherworldly specters leave the confines of the grand old cemetery to walk the streets of Rochester on an agenda that no human mind could ever dream of.


END OF BOOK TWO OF WITCH CLAN SERIES

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Texte: John Stormm
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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 12.10.2012

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