by Bill Fawcett
My eyes settled on a beautiful woman in a flowing dress. Her name was Terry Patterson. She had flowing brown hair and an impossibly tiny waist that was cinched with a large, hammered silver belt. Her eyes locked with mine for a split second. I sent her a plea while swooping down toward her. The air around me vibrated as Karian moved to intercept me. I was about a foot away from Terry when Karian barreled into me, sending me skidding across the tile floor in a path made by the frantically parting crowd.
I careened into the wall and felt my right wing snap from the impact. I got up dizzily, wincing in pain, and through my blurred vision I could see the beast advancing on me. I shook my head to regain my dazzled senses, and leapt to the side as he slashed with his lethal claws. He ravaged through the delicate webbing on my other wing, and I stumbled away clumsily to escape his wrath.
I knew I could no longer fly—my wings were tattered and hung uselessly from my back. I groaned and found Terry again. Karian was rounding on me, preparing to finish me off. I knew I had little time and I sprinted to the woman. She’d received my message and unhooked the belt, tossing it while I was in mid-leap. My hand latched around the silver part as I caught it.
The pain was excruciating.
Smoke billowed from my palm, and I let out a shrill wail that made me reminisce of Wanda’s spectacular death. I had never felt such pain, and flames danced from the spot where the silver burned my skin. I barely could retain my senses, but managed to seize the leather portion of the belt. The relief was instantaneous.
I spun around to meet Karian, who dashed towards me. He slammed into me with such force I didn’t have time to react. He seized me as his powerful wings pumped to lift us in the air. I couldn’t breath or move, but somehow I managed to press the belt against those talons. His grasp loosened just enough for me to wriggle my arms free. I arched my back while snapping the belt loose. It whipped around his backside and I seized both ends. I pushed the silver flat against his throat. His eyes bulged. Fire sizzled at the apex of his neck. I gritted my teeth. “See you in Hades, bastard.”
He howled in pain, and his wings immediately stopped beating. We crashed into the floor. I pulled with all my strength as the creature writhed beneath my grip. The sound of agony was indescribable as it thundered through the hotel. Fire ignited and I watched as his face collapsed into the growing hole at his throat. When his body stopped thrashing, I released the belt and watched as the silver disappeared into the quick burning inferno that consumed him.
I rolled away from him, looking at the blackened palm of my hand. It smoked like a campfire that had just been doused, and I cradled it in my good arm. Tears sprang to my eyes and mingled with the blood on my face. I looked at Karian, whose body dissolved into ashes. He was gone. Completely. The only thing remaining was Terry’s belt.
I got to my feet, picked up the belt, careful not to touch the silver and carried it back to the regal woman who stood waiting. I handed it to her. “Thank you.”
I had never spoken those words to another being ever. Especially to a human.
“You’re welcome.”
I nodded and turned to face the silent crowd. Suddenly, they erupted into applause. I let a rare smile creep across my face as I realized that even humans such as this were not inclined to believe anything that might unravel the fabric of their reality. So I bowed, and turned, and left the hotel.
* * *
My name is Megaera. I was once the harbinger of justice, until I realized that it was not justice at all—I am now a renegade. It’s been a few weeks since my excursion in DragonCon, and I do not yet know what I shall do. I may continue to fight evil, I may not. I may fight alongside my sisters, or against them. But I will not fight for that which is not just, and I will remain fervent in my opposition to my former mission. If that means fighting Hades himself, so be it.
He was always kind of a jerk anyway.
“I DON’T DO dragons.”
“I—see.”
Sara didn’t, but she duly tapped this information into the form on her laptop. She rather hoped, with all the noise echoing around the Hyatt lobby, that she hadn’t heard correctly, but her client’s next statement left her in no doubt.
“I mean, they are so arrogant. When you’re with them they don’t focus on you. Oh, no, a dragon is always smugly preening and looking around to make sure everyone’s aware of how gorgeous they are. They used to hoard gold; now their greed’s turned to feeding their egos.”
“I—see.”
Sara hated repeating herself, but what did one say to a maniac? Maybe “maniac” wasn’t quite the right word. Maybe this client was just very deeply into role-playing. Many of the thousands of people gathered at this Atlanta convention were into that sort of thing. She wished she’d had more time to read Beth’s notes before conducting her first interview of the day, but she’d been running late and was under-slept (how did anyone get any rest with the all-night noise that roared up from the lobby?) when she met “Lady Cassandra” for this consultation over breakfast.
Sara took a sip of coffee, trying to buy time to get her wits about her, and hoping a hit of caffeine would help make this seem more real. It didn’t help when a dozen or so semi-naked men pretending to be Spartan warriors marched by. Many of them were quite buff in their little leather Speedos. They all carried bronze shields. Costumed con-goers were everywhere and the day was—Sara checked her watch—incredibly young.
Sara gestured toward the Spartans. “Perhaps one of them—?”
After all, Lady Cassandra was dressed in white, flowing robes that were perhaps intended to look like ancient Greek clothing.
Lady Cassandra gave a disdainful glance across the low wall that separated the restaurant from the open lobby, just as someone dressed in a purple dinosaur suit blundered by. “Mortals?” she scoffed. Her dark eyes sparked with fury. “Do you think I’m interested in mortals?”
“Um—well ...” Sara was totally at sea. All she could do was quote company advertising copy. “Matchmaking is an art that Bethany Thorson and Associates have perfected to a science. We guarantee that our clients will find the right person, at the right time and in the right place to spark the right chemistry that forms everlasting love.” She smiled wanly as she finished this treacle-coated crap.
Lady Cassandra sighed dramatically. “You don’t believe a word I’m saying, do you? That’s all right, I’m used to it.”
“No, no,” Sara hastened to say. Where was Beth? She was supposed to help her through her first couple of interviews. She had to soldier on without her boss. “No dragons. Yes, well. Why don’t you tell me about the sort of person that does interest you?”
Lady Cassandra touched a blood red nail to her delicately pointed chin. “Space pirates are good for a fling, but I’m so over that part of my life. Demigods are not on the agenda, either. Been there, done that. I need stability. Someone who’ll come home more often than a superhero is also required. I don’t want any of those, ‘Honey, I have to save the world, I’ll see you whenever I get back’ excuses. They know you can’t argue with that, even if really takes ten seconds to push the asteroid out of earth’s path and they spend the rest of the month high rolling in Vegas.”
Lady Cassandra continued to speak, while Sara stared at her, completely helpless.
* * *
“I knew this was a bad idea,” Beth muttered as she caught sight of Sara and the demigoddess. Sara looked thunderstruck. Cassandra looked like she was about to throw lightning. Beth wove through the crowd, hoping to salvage the situation.
Beth Thorson was the absolute best matchmaker in all the multiverse—she had an award back in her office in L.A. to attest to it—and this was her busiest time of year. And this year DragonCon was going to be more of a challenge than usual.
It would have helped if Linda hadn’t been put on bed rest when the baby wasn’t due for another four months. Sara was certainly an
excellent matchmaker, and even though she’d never been to a con before, she was into the same sorts of books, movies, television series, games and other hobbies that interested the people who attended DragonCon. Beth knew that Sara was going to fit right in working with their mortal clientele. Beth’s original plan was that she and Linda would take the supernatural appointments as they had in years before. But this year things hadn’t worked out the way they were supposed to. Disaster was in the offing. Beth smiled. Immanent disaster was one of her favorite challenges.
She hurried up to the table and drew Sara aside.
When they were out of earshot of Cassandra, Sara said, “I think she really believes—”
“I know.” Beth grasped Sara by the shoulders. She didn’t think her young protege was likely to bolt, but a firm grasp helped to make sure. Besides, it was meant to be comforting. She looked Sara in the eye and said slowly and firmly, “Her reality is every bit as real as your reality. There are many realities, and Atlanta, Georgia, over Labor Day weekend is one of those points in the multiverse where realities converge for a short time. It has to do with the belief in multiple possibilities that all these thousands of multi-media fandoms generate—like Dorothy’s believing that There’s no place like home could really get her back to Kansas. Though why she wanted to go back to Kansas doesn’t really make a lot of sense. But then, I’m a California girl.”
“Multiverse. Reality,” Sara repeated. “Realities.” Her gaze shifted away from Beth. She was focused on someone in a large white rabbit costume when she said, “I see.”
“People come to DragonCon for many reasons,” Beth went doggedly on. “They come to meet friends that share the same interests. They come to see the guests, to hear the music, to shop, to go to panels, to wear costumes, to go to parties, to game. Some come hoping to meet their ideal mate. That’s why we’re here.”
“I knew all this coming in,” Sara reminded her.
Beth found that she was reluctant to go any deeper into the truth at the moment. Maybe it was better to find out some things in one’s own time—which meant the hard way. She had a backlog of clients to deal with anyway.
“I’Il tell you what, Sara. I’ll finish the interview with Cassandra. I’m supposed to be meeting with Prince Barahael in the Hilton lobby in ten minutes. Double booked is not good. I need you to go over there and bring him to the Hyatt. Be charming.”
Sara looked dubious. “Ten minutes isn’t much time to get from here to there and back again. How do I recognize him in this crowd? Aren’t I always charming?”
“No, but you’re polite and discreet and that’s usually good enough. Barahael’s a high elf lord. You’ll recognize him when you see him. Go.”
* * *
“High elf lord, my ass,” Sara muttered as she hurried down the steps at the back entrance of the Hyatt. From there she had to cross the street and go through the Marriott and across another street to get to the Hilton, going downhill from one DragonCon venue to the next—much like the day, she suspected. She was alternately blasted by hot humid outside air and the frigid temperatures of hotel air conditioning. Sweat. Freeze. Sweat. Freeze. The physical discomfort didn’t help her mood any. But the sights and sounds did make her smile. The energy generated by this eclectic crowd was invigorating. Sara just didn’t like the notion that maybe a few of them were more than a little bit out of the mainstream. At least, she didn’t like the notion of working with complete nut jobs—or suspecting that her boss was one of the nut jobs.
“Oh, rats,” she complained once she finally reached the Hilton lobby. “Elf lords are thick on the ground over here.”
Beth hadn’t told her where she was supposed to meet this Barahael person. How did one pick one elf lord out of thousands of milling fans, some of them in sort of elf costumes? Not to mention the ones dressed like Sephiroth or elfy-looking anime characters. All Sara could do was wander around and hope for the best. Especially after she discovered that Beth wasn’t answering her cell phone. Either her usual black one, or the large bright red one with too many numbers and odd symbols that was her special phone.
She said hello to several false Barahaels before she encountered the crowd outside one of the Dealers’ Halls. There were people gathered ten deep around a shouting man, cameras and camera phones were being held up like lighters at a rock concert.
The shouting man paid no attention to the buzzing, flashing circle around him. He kept right on shouting questions at the short man in front of him. Not that it did him any good, because the person he’d chosen to speak to was dressed as Silent Bob, and he was not breaking character.
The Bob just looked on in a benign, bemused way, and occasionally gave a little shrug. People chuckled.
When Sara finally took a good look at the cause of all the commotion, she realized what Beth had meant by You’ll recognize him when you see him. If that man wasn’t an elf, he damned well ought to be. He sort of shone. And it wasn’t just because he was dressed in silver and white and had platinum hair down to his ass. Whatever makeup he was wearing gave his skin a translucent sheen that seemed like an inner glow. Sara didn’t recognize the language he was shouting, but he had the most beautiful voice she’d ever heard.
Sara worked her way to the front of the crowd and called, “Prince Barahael?”
The elf immediately turned his gaze on her. What color were those eyes, anyway? Silver? Aquamarine? Where did he get the specialty contact lenses? Could he actually see anything?
None of these questions mattered when he spoke to her. “Good morrow, beautiful lady. How may I serve you?”
He was not speaking English, but Sara somehow knew that as long as his attention was on her she was able to understand him. She hoped that he could understand her.
“I think I’m here to serve you,” she responded. “That is, if you have an appointment with Beth Thorson.”
His smile was bright enough to light up the world. More photos were snapped. He stepped closer to her. Sara fought the urge to let her knees buckle.
“Meeting with Lady Beth is indeed my mission,” Prince Barahael said. “Please lead me to her. “And you are, dear maiden—?”
Sara fought the urge to tell him that she wasn’t particularly dear, and certainly not a maiden, but that would have been neither polite nor discreet. Besides, it sounded cute coming from the elf prince. She guessed you could put up with a lot from guys with pointy ears—which possibly explained why her mother’d always had it so bad for Mr. Spock.
“Sara,” she told him as he took her arm. And he was the one who actually did the leading, at her direction. Somehow he managed to slip them through the crowd with a speed and grace that boggled her mind. Maybe it helped that people tended to stop and stare at him as they passed—and these were people who were used to seeing brilliant costume work.
* * *
His current surroundings were totally alien, and Prince Barahael of the Silver Kingdom was completely wary though he walked with the appearance of utter confidence. He did not trust the treaty with the Golden Elves to hold. He was not sure if this strange meeting place crowded with mortals was meant as an insult or a trap. The treaty stipulated that no mortal was to be harmed, so he walked here without any weapon other than the natural magic of his kind. He came in peace. Whether his betrothed did so was yet to be seen. He kept a close eye on his mortal guide, determined with all his honor to keep the innocent woman safe if being at his side put her in danger.
Though they passed many a strange sight on the journey through the maze of buildings, none of them evoked any alarm in the young woman. When they reached her lady, the Lady of Thorson was with a centaur.
The centaur woman was under a glamour, but Barahael saw through the illusion of mortal shape and bowed deeply. “Ally of old, I welcome you.”
The centaur snickered as she rose to her feet to return the bow. “Lord Prince, I pledge my bow to your service.
”
He gave her a gracious smile. “Then stand at my side at my wedding.”
The centaur gasped. “So the rumor of an alliance with the Golden Ones is true?”
“It will be truth soon.” He bowed to Lady Thorson. “Greetings, Facilitator Between the Worlds.”
Beth liked the title, but she wasn’t so sure she liked the conversation between her two clients. “What do you mean by alliance?” she asked the elf prince. “I’ve arranged for you to meet the heiress of the Golden Realm in my capacity as a matchmaker.” She’d promised each of the elves to find them a mate, and that was all. “Diplomacy will cost you extra. You do know that, don’t you? You signed a contract.”
“I honor my pledged work,” he told her. “Does the Golden Princess?”
This was a problematical question, but Beth was prepared to explain the delay. “The Golden Council has expressed some concern about security issues.”
Which was, technically, true, but those concerns had been voiced several weeks before. The Princess was just late and Beth was covering for her. Beth did not pretend to herself that the princess was a spoiled rotten little bitch, but she said, “She is a shy, delicate lady, so she is hesitating to cross into a such a boisterous, loud assemblage as here in this meeting place. She is working up her courage—”
“I saw her courage at the Battle of Greyhound Fields,” Asli the centaur spoke up.
Beth was about to tell the centaur that if she couldn’t say anything helpful, then not to say anything at all.
But Asli went on. “That was where the Golden One and all her bodyguards turned and fled the field of battle.”
Beth subtracted ten percent off the centaur’s fee. “There, you see, Lord Barahael? She obviously doesn’t like crowds.” Battlefields were crowded, right? “I know that she’s anxious to meet you, but is uncomfortable with the only neutral territory where your meeting is possible. I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”