Mythangelus

by Constantine, Storm

  Iliana closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘No, my darling, it does not. What it means is that our beloved Mori has... powers. Magical powers? Spiritual powers or even... paranormal powers?’

  Linford sat up. ‘No! You can’t mean that! He’s no freak!’

  ‘Now don’t get hysterical on me,’ Iliana said in a low, deadly voice. ‘We’ve no time for that. This is serious.’

  ‘Yeah, I’d say so! It’d be the end of us!’

  ‘That’s not quite what I meant,’ Iliana said. ‘It’s going to open a whole can of worms, don’t you see? The implications are awesome. Tie in the religious aspect with paranormality, and you get a nasty mess of quandaries regarding faith healers, psychics, my god, perhaps even people like tarot readers, I don’t know! Unwittingly, Emory Patrick might redefine the whole concept of what paranormality is and where its boundaries lie.’

  ‘How can that affect us?’ Linford regretted the question even before he’d finished speaking, aware of its selfish tone.

  ‘The DPR will be interested in Emory, Lin. They might already be here.’

  ‘So what? They’re just a bunch of clerks!’ Linford couldn’t help laughing. The DPR! Yeah, terrifying, really terrifying.

  ‘Don’t be pathetic,’ Iliana said. ‘They’ll be wondering what other little surprises Mori might have up his sleeve. They could just snatch him.’

  ‘That’s illegal.’

  ‘Grow up, Linford!’ Iliana stood up.

  ‘Jesus, Illa, you’ve been watching too many spy movies,’ Linford said. ‘This is the real world, with formal procedures etc. No one can just snatch someone like that. Not officially.’

  Iliana turned, one hand on her hip and sneered at him. ‘Despite the vast experience you claim to have, you’re really such a child, Linford! Emory has power, real power. Thousands belong to TOFL, every one of them prepared to stand by their Great Man. If that Great Man turns out to be a paranorm, things could get nasty. How will the great general public react, for example, knowing a paranorm has so much influence, that their sons and daughters flock to his concerts and talks? The DPR would have to do something. They’d have no choice.’

  ‘But Emory might not be a paranorm,’ Linford said.

  Iliana snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! What else could he be?’

  ‘But...’

  She threw her hands up over head in a dramatic gesture, stalking towards the window. ‘Oh, Linford, face reality will you? There’s no Messiah, no Second Coming, there’s only Hope. That’s what Emory is: Hope. Nothing more, in a spiritual sense.’

  ‘Then what can we do?’

  For a moment, the pair of them swapped the most naked glance that it is possible for two people to share. They knew that as survivors, which they undoubtedly were, they should leave Emory Patrick to his destiny. They should run while they still could.

  Then Iliana visibly steeled herself. ‘He’s not losing it, Linford, he really isn’t. I don’t quite what he is doing at the moment, but Emory is no fool. All I have to suggest is that we go back to England. The rest is up to him. We’ll have to trust him.’

  ‘You mean, you think his powers are strong enough to protect him from... well, anything? Strong enough to protect us?’

  Iliana grinned a crooked grin. ‘Doesn’t he say you only have to believe in something to make it real?’

  ‘It’s a risk, Illa.’

  ‘Sure, and I’ll be watching his back like a goddamned hawk lady until he’s got his act together again.’

  The hotel lobby was full of people, wearing Emory Patrick t-shirts and little identification clips. They all appeared to be scurrying around doing nothing very much except scurrying. Nina had brought only her camera case with her, plus a hold-all, with a change of jeans, cosmetics and a toothbrush. Chantal appeared to have brought nothing, but of course she would have checked in earlier. Nina noticed the Dutch girl nodding hello to quite a few of the Patrick people.

  ‘Any of these the ones you got close to, like really close?’ Nina teased.

  Chantal pulled a face, and then pantomimed a demure voice. ‘I believe you misunderstood my meaning, or perhaps my grasp of language was in error.’

  ‘Your grasp of language seems sweetly accurate to me, lady!’

  Chantal shrugged. ‘Well, some of the guys are cute.’

  They went into the lift. ‘Our room is as close to Patrick’s as I could get,’ Chantal said. ‘Fortunately, the hotel staff are not paranoid and therefore as easy to read as a cereal box.’

  ‘Does he have security?’

  ‘Course. They have a few heavies – you know, concerned brothers, to keep the hordes from the big man.’

  ‘He’s not doing interviews, I take it?’

  Chantal rolled her eyes. ‘No, not exactly. I reckon you should get to Forsyth or Brown to get to Patrick. If not directly, then through the merchandising staff or something.’

  ‘You mean I might have to buy a t-shirt?’

  ‘It may come to that. Can’t your expense account take it?’

  ‘You kidding! I’m a temp for the DPR. Whatever I buy on expenses has to have about six invoices, a signature in blood, ten good reasons why I bought it...’

  Chantal groaned. ‘Oh, grim! Well, here’s our floor. We should make dinner if we hurry. Perhaps that’ll give us our first contact.’

  ‘Damn, I knew I should have brought a posh frock with me!’ Nina said.

  Chantal put a hand on her arm. ‘Nina Vivian, this is Amsterdam. Anything goes here. Relax.’

  Linford did not feel like eating. He felt hyped up, excited. Iliana glanced pointedly at his glass every time he summoned the waiter to refill it with Scotch, but she said nothing, eating her seafood like a cat, in a dainty yet macabre manner, and betraying no sign of unease other than her nibbled fingernails. She’d been to see Emory before coming down to dinner and had not yet divulged the outcome of the interview. Linford felt she was tormenting him deliberately by her silence, but he shrank from asking her outright.

  ‘I shall miss this food,’ she said, clawing the flesh from her last monster prawn. They’d eaten out at Indonesian restaurants every night before this, but tonight some instinct prevented them from straying into the city. Both of them wanted to stay near Emory. Iliana had said earlier she was sure Emory ‘wasn’t losing it’, but just the fact she had spoken those words suggested she was worried he might be.

  Eventually, Linford could stand it no longer and shouldered his pride aside. ‘How did he seem tonight?’ he asked.

  Iliana licked her lips. ‘Wired, I’d say. He’s suffering, Lin, I know he is. Kicking himself, I think, but he won’t talk about it.’

  ‘I told you,’ Linford replied.

  Iliana ignored the remark. ‘I suggested England and he was vague about committing himself. But I reckon if I just book the tickets and pack, he’ll comply.’

  ‘God, I do hope so. I’ve started getting really jumpy since you put that thought into my head about DPR creeps. I’m seeing men in grey everywhere! Do you know...’ Linford noticed he no longer had the shred of Iliana’s attention he’d had before. She was looking up expectantly, a welcoming smile spreading across her face. For a moment, before he followed the direction of her gaze, Linford thought Emory himself had shown up for dinner. But what he saw first was a large expensive camera, and then the tall, lanky woman who was holding it up to her face. He stood up, extending his arms, fingers spread. ‘No pictures!’

  ‘Oh sorry!’ The woman lowered the camera, revealing a strong attractive face with little makeup. She pushed back her long, straight brown hair behind one ear.

  Iliana put a restraining hand on Linford’s arm and said, ‘It’s all right, quite all right.’

  The woman came right up to their table, the camera dangling heavily against her chest. She wore a faded t-shirt with a badly-screened fractal print on it, her leather jacket was scuffed and her jeans were ripped, but something about her presence spoke comfortable affluence. ‘I hope you don’t min
d,’ she said, beaming at Iliana. ‘I realise now who you are, but – you won’t believe this – when I saw you sitting there I thought you were someone else, a Hollywood someone else as it happens. I do apologise. You must be going through hell with photographers at the moment. I was well out of order, pointing a lens at you like that. I am sorry.’

  Iliana would normally crush such an approach with a blast of well-delivered verbal cruelty, but tonight she was obviously prepared to be magnanimous. ‘Oh, as I said, it’s quite all right. You staying here, or just passing through with your recording eye?’

  God, she’s flirting! Linford thought, aghast.

  The photographer grinned. ‘Staying here actually. I was just about to sample the cuisine of this establishment with my colleague.’ She gestured towards another jeans and leather-clad female hanging back by the door with folded arms.

  ‘Really? Well, please, join us!’

  Linford was astonished.

  Iliana extended a hand, which the photographer shook vigorously. ‘I’m Iliana Forsyth and this is Linford Brown.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Hazel Rose.’ She beamed at Linford and indicated the seat by him. ‘Can I sit here?’

  ‘Nina, you are brilliant, absolutely brilliant!’ Chantal leaned against the side of the lift, her grinning, slightly intoxicated face reflected in the shiny doors opposite.

  ‘Hazel, please, not Nina!’ Nina said, giggling. They had spent a very pleasant evening in the company of Iliana and Linford, being heaped with delicacies both culinary and alcoholic, all of which had been paid for by the Transmission of Future Light.

  ‘I could get into religion if it’s this well-paid!’ Nina had whispered to Chantal as they’d left the restaurant. Now they were on their way to a meeting with Emory Patrick himself.

  ‘I don’t know how you did it,’ Chantal said. ‘It looked so natural.’

  Nina rearranged her hair, peering at the misty reflection of herself in the doors. ‘It was natural,’ she replied. ‘Anyway, we’ve got a few minutes alone together, so tell me what was on their minds.’

  Chantal wrinkled her nose. ‘They’re planning on leaving soon. Iliana couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was also quite surprised at herself when she asked us up to meet Emory. As for Linford, he nearly had a cerebral haemorrhage when Iliana came out with the invitation. Still, they don’t suspect we’re anything but what we claimed to be.’

  As far as the Future Lighters were concerned, Hazel Rose and her assistant were in the city to photograph a local rock star’s wedding.

  ‘Your Department certainly sent the right woman for the job,’ Chantal said. ‘You have one amazing Talent for coercion.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Nina didn’t mention the rest of it. She already liked Chantal a lot and didn’t want to lose her friendship. They’d just kind of clicked together, made a good team. If Chantal knew the rest, she’d back off. It didn’t take telepathy to work that one out.

  Linford and Iliana had gone back to their room and had arranged for Chantal and Nina to meet them there in ten minutes or so. Enough time for Nina to drop off her camera – Linford had insisted on that – and for Chantal to roll a joint of the excellent grass she’d insouciantly ordered from over the counter in the bar they’d visited earlier.

  As they sat on Chantal’s bed smoking together, Nina was aware of a certain tightness in the fibres of her body, and consciously regulated her breathing. Was that fear or excitement? ‘Read me,’ she said to Chantal.

  Chantal frowned. ‘Don’t have to. It’s radiating off you, like you’re just about to go on your first date. Palpitations! He freaks you, this guy, doesn’t he?’

  Words flashed through Nina’s brain, almost as if she could hear them, but she didn’t recognise the voice. Sometimes, it’s like a premonition. She stood up, swaying a little on her feet. ‘Come on, let’s get this over with.’

  Iliana was putting down the phone after speaking to Emory, Linford hopping around uncomfortably behind her, between the beds. ‘Well, what did he say, apart from “go to hell”? We don’t know these women, Illa. What are you playing at?’

  Iliana straightened up and turned round slowly. She looked like an ice goddess, all stretched white satin and glittering paste jewellery, statuesque neck and coiled hair. Her expression, however, was strangely vague. ‘Linford, you know me as well as anyone. I don’t know why I invited the Rose woman and her friend up here. I just felt compelled to. I still do. That’s not like me, but in a way, I’m not worried about it.’

  ‘What’s going on, Illa? This sounds weird.’

  ‘Gets weirder.’ She sat down on the bed, leaning back on straight arms. ‘Emory knows, Lin. I’m sure he does. He knew what I was going to say before I spoke. Oh, he let me say the words, but he could have stopped me at any time and finished my little speech. All he said was “I’ll be ready”. Just that. No argument. Nothing. There’s something special about that woman...’

  Linford’s mouth dropped open. ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She couldn’t be... well connected with what we spoke about earlier, could she? A woman in grey?’

  Iliana laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! No. I have a nose for officials and Hazel Rose doesn’t have the right smell. She’s poky in her own right, but I strongly feel she’s independent. Good God, Linford, you really are seeing grey shadows in every corner, aren’t you!’

  ‘Remember you’re the hawk lady.’

  Iliana nodded. ‘I know. But Hazel Rose isn’t prey, isn’t vermin. She’s another hawk.’

  ‘Jesus, she’s really made an impression on you, hasn’t she!’

  Iliana shrugged. ‘She picked me out. I’m not stupid.’

  The atmosphere in Linford and Iliana’s room was electric when Chantal and Nina arrived. Nina had to escape to the bathroom, where she sat on the toilet with her head in her hands, trying to collect her thoughts. Why did she feel like this? It was just a job like any other. Her stomach churned with pain as if her guts were twisting into knots. Was she genuinely ill or something? This was terrible. She’d have to be in peak form to handle the next stage of the operation. One moment of lost concentration and the whole fragile structure of coercion she’d erected around Iliana – and hoped to extend to Patrick – could crumble.

  Iliana came and knocked on the door. ‘Are you ready? Emory’s expecting us.’ Nina flushed the chain and came out. Iliana put a hand on her arm. ‘Are you all right, Hazel? You look very white.’

  Nina raised a hand. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Had a busy, busy day, that’s all and a little overindulgence. Got a bit of a headache.’

  ‘Would you like something for that?’

  Nina shook her head. ‘No, really. I’ll be fine. Just don’t offer me another drink.’

  Walking the short distance up the corridor to Emory’s room, Nina felt as if she might faint at any time. Chantal, picking up the way she was feeling, linked her arm through Nina’s to give her some support, both physical and emotional. Nina was thinking, This is a gruesome parody of sociability. We all feel as if we’re going to our deaths, yet we’re still walking, still smiling at each other. It’s a sham. Are you in control of this, Nina Vivian, are you?

  A tall, well-muscled individual, obviously a bodyguard, stood outside the door to Emory Patrick’s room. Two young girls were sitting on the floor against the wall. They had a large ghetto-blaster between them, which filled the corridor with raucous music. The enormous, half-empty bottle of wine sitting on the carpet indicated the girls were entertaining the bodyguard during what must be the loneliest watch of the night. Both the girls wore identification clips which proclaimed they were Future Light merchandising staff. They peered curiously at Nina and Chantal as Iliana addressed the muscle-man.

  ‘Hey, I’ve seen you,’ one of the girls said to Nina. ‘Weren’t you in ID magazine last month? Aren’t you that photographer... er... sorry, forgotten your name... what was it?’

  Iliana glared frost
ily at the girls, as she opened the door. ‘Come along Hazel.’ Clearly she disapproved of mixing with the menial staff. As Nina went through the door, she heard the girl’s lowered voice say, ‘Sure the name wasn’t Hazel...’

  Linford was relieved to see that Emory had dressed and shaved himself for the occasion. He was looking splendid in tight black leather with a loose red shirt, his hair hanging round his shoulders and back. Iliana busied herself with the introductions, as she poured everyone a drink.

  ‘Emory, this is Hazel Rose, and her assistant Felice.’

  Emory smiled at Nina. ‘Ms.... Rose, pleased to meet you.’ He held out his hand to be shaken. Nina hesitated, prompting Chantal to take hold of the hand herself.

  ‘Hazel isn’t feeling too well,’ Iliana said brightly. ‘Have you any Perrier, Mori?’

  ‘No, but we could ring for some.’

  Nina sat down in one of the white, overstuffed chairs. She flapped her hands at them. ‘Oh, please don’t make a fuss. I’ll be OK in a minute.’ Chantal sat down beside her on the arm of the chair. Nina was grateful for her support. The initial sensation of being in Emory Patrick’s presence had been like standing too close to the lip of a volcano. One false step and she’d fall, to a death either by broken neck or incineration. Yet that feeling had only lasted brief seconds, and she felt it might have been self-induced. She’d hyped herself up for this meeting far too much.

  ‘I’m very pleased to meet you Hazel Rose,’ Emory said. ‘I’m familiar with your work.’

  The room bucked before Nina’s eyes. ‘Are you?’ she managed to say. ‘I’m surprised.’

  ‘Why? You’re fairly well-known aren’t you? I’ve seen your stuff in all the glossy magazines.’

  He knows who I am, she thought. He knows everything about me. And yet she was sure that, for whatever reason, he wasn’t going to expose her to his colleagues. He probably thought she was a scheming little paparazzo, angling to get some sensational pictures, and had decided to play along for a while. The indignation she felt at that revelation cleared away some of her confusion. She sat upright. ‘So, are you going to let me photograph you when you get back to England, then?’