by T. S. Mann
‘We sometimes refer to it as the Forbidden Axiom as well. It is the raw unfiltered power to reshape reality in a manner completely unfettered by causality or sanity. It is forbidden because we all want desperately to pretend it doesn’t exist even as it tempts us with its power, because drawing on the Beyond to work magic means you no longer subject to the limits of the Axioms.
“You can just do whatever you want with chaos magic … just so long as what you want fits within whatever form of insanity the Beyond has inflicted upon you. We don’t give such magic a fancy, personalized name like Paragon or Bodhisattva. We don’t give it a color or a sound or a smell. Because if we look too closely at it, we risk falling into it and never getting back out.”
Doc let his words hang in the air. Then, suddenly, he clapped his hands together, causing Matt to jump. The glowing orbs scattered like darting insects and then faded away, and the ceiling light resumed its normal intensity. When Doc spoke again, he was back to his breezy professorial demeanor.
“Any other questions?”
Matt sat very still for a long moment. “I don’t remember anything like that,” he said in a very quiet voice.
“Nothing at all? Not even something in the corner of your eye that you were afraid to look at?”
“No.” Very emphatic. Very quick.
“Good to hear. You’re very fortunate in that respect.” Doc rose from his chair and stretched. “And now, I think we’ve reached a stopping point for the night. Or rather the morning. It will be dawn before too long and you’ve been running on adrenaline and magic for hours now. There’s a spare room set up for you upstairs. We can continue after you’ve rested for a while.”
With that, Doc looked over at the clock on the wall, snapped his fingers, and said “Tempus fugit.” Immediately, Elvis’s hips began to swing once again, and at the edge of his awareness, Matt felt time resume its normal course. He thought for a second and then looked quizzically at Doc.
“Hey, if you can stop time, why don’t you just let me sleep for a few hours and then we just pick up where we left off?”
Doc picked up the dishes away and moved them to the sink.
“Well, for a number of metaphysical reasons I can explain later, but the simplest reason is that sleeping through a time-stop messes with your internal clock like jet lag. You would probably wake up violently sick and be out of action for the rest of the day.”
“Huh. Good to know.” Matt rose and followed Doc out of the kitchen and up a nearby staircase, carrying Luke’s coat over his arm.
On the second floor, Doc opened a door to a small bedroom with a four-poster wooden bed and framed poster announcing the 1976 Delta Blues Festival hanging above it. The bedroom was otherwise undecorated except for a dresser and small armoire, both oaken. In short, a seldom-used guest bedroom. Matt considered asking whether the armoire led to Narnia but thought better of it. There was an open door on one of the walls that led to a small bathroom.
“I’ll wake you around ten or so. Sooner if Electra comes back with news about your brother. I’ll also see if I can rustle you up some fresh clothes. There are fresh towels and other toiletries in the bathroom if you want to take a shower later. I ask only one thing: please don’t go into any of the other rooms on this floor. I keep an assortment of magical crap lying around that you probably don’t want to touch until you’re more experienced. Cursed monkey paws, that sort of thing.”
Matt’s eyes widened in surprise, and then Doc laughed mischievously.
“Kidding! I’m kidding! But seriously, there are some ... unusual magical items in the other rooms so don’t go exploring, okay?”
Matt smiled and nodded. “Got it.” Then, he grew serious. “Thanks, Doc. Really, thank you for everything you’ve done for me and everything you’re doing for Luke. I honestly don’t know what I’d have done if Electra hadn’t showed up and brought me here. I’ll pay you back for all this somehow, I promise.”
“Don’t mention it,” Doc replied warmly. “Strangers should look out for one another. No one else is going to do it for us. Now get some sleep.”
Matt entered the guest room and closed the door behind him. He looked around the room once more and began undressing, yawning again as he did so. Doc was right. He really was exhausted, and he’d be no help to Luke or anyone else unless he rested.
On the other side of the door, Doc stood with his eyes closed, monitoring the boy’s brain waves and heart rate. There was a slight risk in using mind magic on the boy, just enough to get him to stop worrying about his brother’s fate and the evening’s other traumas and instead to go straight to bed.
But Doc had been subtle, using the temporal embolism, the soothing glamour of his demonstration, and a healthy dash of Big Band as cover to instill a powerful lethargy. For all his current reliance on scientific principles, Doc still did his best magic to the sounds of Ella Fitzgerald, Count Basie, and all his other peers from days long gone.
Besides, the boy’s mental powers, while potentially formidable, were raw and untrained, while Doc was a fifth-degree psychomancer, so the issue was never really in doubt. Once Doc felt Matt enter REM sleep, he waited a moment more just to make certain there were no uninvited guests intruding in his guest’s dreams. Then, he returned to the kitchen, picked up a cellphone and quickly dialed a number.
“Mickey, it’s me. You need to come back to Boston. There’s been a ... development." He hesitated for a moment. "It involves your sons.”
CHAPTER 5:
RENDEZVOUS AT CAP’N HOOKS
Meanwhile ...
After dropping Matt off with Ellington, Electra renewed her search for Lindsay, fuming as she rode. She’d spent two weeks tracking the nephilim and had timed her attack to when she thought her quarry would be most vulnerable – right in the middle of a summoning ritual that communed directly with the Great Beyond. And then some stupid jock Stranger dispels the beyonder before she could spring the sneak attack!
As she stopped off to refuel, a different part of her mind, one she usually ignored, reminded her that Matt and his brother were both innocents in all this. Well, probably not innocents, since Lindsay was apparently leading a sex cult of some kind if all the bare flesh was any sign, but certainly they were innocent of trafficking with the Beyond. Regardless, that part of her mind was not in charge presently, and Electra ruthlessly suppressed any charitable impulses, just as she had long ago suppressed any hint of fondness for the girl who had been her best friend before falling to the Beyond.
As Electra slid the gas pump nozzle into the fuel tank, she noticed a flashing sign telling her to either run a credit card or come into the station to prepay. In the mood for neither, she punched the face of the gas pump with her fist and snarled “Gimme!”
Dutifully intimidated, the gas pump display reset to zero and the gas began to flow. Inside, a mundane attendant looked at his computer screen in momentary confusion before shaking his head and going back to his magazine.
As she held the nozzle, Electra’s cell phone rang. She traced a small sigil over the screen to ward against surveillance and attacks before hitting the answer button.
“Talk.”
“Hey, babe! It’s Eddie Ratcliffe. I’ve got something for you.”
Eddie “The Rat” Ratcliffe was not a Stranger, but he was the next best thing. The official term for people like him was "parahuman." A chance encounter with the supernatural had gifted him with minor shapeshifting abilities, specifically the ability to transform into a brown Norwegian rat so long as no mundanes were present to witness the change. Electra didn’t know whether it also cursed him with his generally annoying personality, but she thought it likely.
“Don’t be cryptic, Eddie. And don’t call me babe! I’ve had a long night.”
“Then you should stop breaking my balls. I hear you had a run-in with Cruella DeVille earlier, but she got away. I’ve got a source that may have a line on where to find her.”
“Do you, now. And you’re offering thi
s up for free?”
“No, but I’m willing to put it on your account. The bitch is bad news, and while I personally don’t have a dog in this hunt, my general sense of self-preservation says it’s not a good idea to let her have free roam of the city. Or, ya know, the planet! But I ain’t talking anymore over the phone. How close are you to Cap’n Hook’s?”
Electra did a quick estimation. “Cap’n Hook’s” (apostrophes and all) was Eddie’s seedy little bar overlooking Boston Harbor. His clientele consisted almost entirely of Strangers and parahumans with a few clueless mundanes for them to prey upon.
“Fifteen minutes.”
“See you soon.” Click.
Electra wondered what Eddie’s angle was. He must have known how important this was to her, and while she cautiously trusted him, she doubted he would simply put the cost on her “account.” Well, whatever his game was, it was her only lead, so she mounted the bike and took off for the harbor district.
Fourteen minutes later …
Electra pulled into the bar’s parking lot and scanned the area. The place seemed mostly empty, which wasn’t too suspicious. The Church of the Unity Blade was obviously out in force tonight, and those Strangers, parahumans, and sentient anomalies who were not a part of that congregation would be wise to stay indoors. The Boston congregation of the Unity Blade was ... aggressive. Collateral damage was rarely an issue for them even in the best of times, and some of the Blade’s more xenophobic members would happily use the excuse of a nephilim in the city to cleanse their territory of “blasphemies,” as well as just to settle old scores.
Since quite a few of them had old scores to settle with Electra, she fortified her shields and checked the enchantments on her guns before going in. The Desert Eagles would be powerful weapons even in the hands of a mundane (or at least, one strong enough to fire them without dislocating a shoulder), but the spells woven onto the bullets allowed them to put a hole through nearly any kind of anomaly and pierce all but the strongest shields. Electra’s talents were not as diverse or as potent as Doc’s, but she was exceptionally powerful within her chosen niche.
Cap’n Hook’s was a combination dive and firetrap, consisting of ancient timbers crudely nailed to the frame of an abandoned warehouse. The name of the place was gaudily emblazoned on a four-by-eight neon sign on the roof next to a cartoonish depiction of Barrie’s pirate who, as best Electra could recall, had never been anywhere near Boston in any of the Peter Pan stories.
She took another quick look around, but if any other Strangers were nearby, they were hidden by veils or cloaks she couldn’t pierce. As she entered, the smell of sawdust and cheap beer made her wrinkle her nose.
Eddie stood behind the bar waiting for her wearing a tacky, sweat-stained bowling shirt and his usual ratlike demeanor. He had a cigarette perched behind his left ear, as if he were waiting for her to arrive before he lit up. Other than its owner, the place looked empty. From the back corner, Whipping Post by the Allman Brothers had just started up on a jukebox.
“Hey, babe! Long time, no see!” The Rat called out to her in exaggerated delight at her arrival.
“It’s been two days. And I told you not to call me babe. Now, what do you have for me?” Electra walked up to the bar but didn’t sit.
“Easy, babe, easy. My contact is supposed to call me with the details any minute now. In the meantime, can I get you the usual?”
As he spoke, he took the cigarette from behind his ear and put it in his mouth, while fishing a lighter out of his shirt pocket with the other hand. There was something in his eyes, Electra thought, some nervous intensity.
“I don’t have a usual, Eddie. Is there something ... wrong ...” Her voice trailed off as she noticed that Eddie, still without breaking eye contact with her, was trying unsuccessfully to get a flame from his lighter. In the recesses of her mind, the Blacksmith, avatar of the Material Axiom, whispered a hint, and she shifted her perceptions to observe the lighter at its molecular level. The lighter worked fine. There was just something in the air, some well-concealed spell, that stopped it from lighting, specifically by suppressing all combustion reactions in the area.
Reactions like the ones that caused bullets to fire out of guns when you pulled the trigger.
“Shit!” Electra spat as she spun around into a fighting stance.
Behind her, three Unity Blade paladins shimmered into view as they abandoned their veils. They were attired in plain black suits with matching ties and black gloves, the standard uniform for the Boston congregation. She didn’t recognize any of them, but then she hadn’t traveled in Blade circles for quite a while.
The youngest paladin looked to be in his early twenties if not younger. He stood back nervously clutching an eight-inch ivory wand. Probably a squire, Electra thought. If she remembered correctly, the wand was enchanted to fire sleep hexes; not terribly strong but specifically designed to bypass most magical shields.
The other two paladins were clearly more experienced. The one on the left was a muscular blockhead with a red buzz-cut and neatly trimmed beard that said “ex-military.” The one on the right was an equally muscular black man with a shaved head and a goatee. Both carried the obviously enchanted swords that signified full initiation into the warrior-priesthood and both were already charging her.
Electra suppressed the instinct to go for her guns – the Blade had put a lot of effort into neutralizing them. Instead, she whirled around and leapt up onto the nearest bar stool. Then, she kicked herself off and somersaulted over the two swordsmen as they strained to reach her. Eddie dove for cover as their blades smashed into the bar. Behind them, Electra pirouetted gracefully in the air to land behind the frightened squire, thanking the Arbiter of Fate as she flew that the bar’s ceiling was just high enough to accommodate such a stunt.
Hoping that the command word hadn’t been changed from the one she remembered, Electra wrapped one arm tightly around the boy’s throat in a choke-hold and grabbed his wrist with her other hand. In a fluid motion, she jerked his arm up to point the wand at the jarhead and cried out “Dormi bene!” As she did, she felt juice crackle within the wand, and a bolt of magical energy flew out and struck the man in his chest. Instantly, his knees buckled, and he slumped to the ground.
Meanwhile, the black guy had repositioned himself into a defensive crouch. His stance suggested that he could parry the wand’s hexes with his sword, which was a problem since Electra was otherwise unarmed. But then, he barked in surprise and dropped his stance as a blast of cold water hit him in the back of his head. Eddie might not have been a Stranger, but he was a pretty good bartender, and he had a clear shot at the guy with the soda dispenser. The cold spray distracted him long enough for Electra to get another hex off, and he soon landed on the floor next to his friend.
The primary threats disabled, Electra whirled the startled young squire around and planted a kiss squarely on his lips. He tensed and then slumped as the knockout drugs in her lipstick hit his system. Of course, she didn’t actually have any knockout drugs in her lipstick, but it sounded like the sort of thing a dangerous femme fatale straight out of a spy movie would possess, and since that was the cloak she wore, her magic made it true. She dropped the boy to the ground and looked up at Eddie who grinned back at her smugly as he replaced the unlit cigarette behind his ear.
“I could’ve taken him without your help, Eddie.”
“Ahem! ‘Thank you, Eddie. I really appreciate your heroic assistance!’ I believe that’s the proper response when someone whose skills are limited to turning into a rat and mixing the perfect Long Island Tea picks a fight with a paladin just to try and save your ungrateful ass.”
She started to respond sarcastically but then held her tongue. He really had taken a risk for her – even though she took out them out easily enough, paladins held grudges. This might be the last night that Cap’n Hook’s was open for business.
“So, what was all this about, then?”
“Beats me. They showed up ab
out ten minutes before I called, shooed out all the other customers, and said if I didn’t lure you over here, they’d send me off to Rat-Heaven.”
She crooked an eyebrow at him doubtfully.
“Well, alright,” he said testily. “They didn’t say ‘Rat-Heaven,’ but that was the gist of it! Other than luring you into a trap, they weren’t real forthcoming with their plans, ya know?”
From the far wall of the bar, another voice spoke up. “It was a test.”
Electra and Eddie both turned. Sitting by herself at a small table near the jukebox was a thin, frail woman seemingly in her late sixties, wearing a matronly black jacket and skirt over a white blouse with lacy frills at the collar. She also wore dark black glasses and had a German Shepherd with a seeing-eye harness sitting at her feet. And she had been completely invisible before choosing to reveal herself.
At the sight of her, Electra froze. It was Mother Eagle, leader of the Boston congregation. Electra reached out with her senses to see if the anti-combustion effect was still operating. It was. Then, she did some quick math to see if she could make it to the door before getting cut in two with a death hex. She couldn’t. Eddie didn’t know who the old woman was, but he was smart enough to be nervous. When he noticed Electra’s reaction, he was smart enough to be scared.
“It’s quite alright, my dear. I have no wish to fight you, certainly not in this squalid tavern. Mr. Ratcliffe? Kindly fetch two glasses of red wine for Miss Dellamorte and myself. Then, you may leave. We will attend to locking up.”
Eddie glanced at Electra, who simply nodded. She walked slowly over to the table and sat down opposite the woman. Eddie rushed over with two glasses of house red. As he passed by Electra, he leaned in and mouthed “Good luck,” before quickly leaving via the back door.