by Phil Stern
An uneasy silence permeated the room, most everyone’s gloved-hands nervously twisting about underneath the table. Sitting near the center, Lady Ingrith looked about. “Comments, anyone?”
“This is horrible,” Lord Volt spluttered. “And you say this witch just swam out and attacked all three of you? Without any provocation?”
“Provocation? Listen to you!” A stately lord in his mid-50's irritably stroked a large mustache. “They’re all assassins and murderers! They need no provocation!”
“The police.” A petite lady demon eagerly slid forward in her seat. “They can track this girl down, surely?”
“Bullocks, I say!” Lounging near the far end, George laughed. “You ain’t catching nobody with your guns and bobbies. Just let me have a crack at the old girl, without interference, and we won’t be bothered no more by any witch!”
“Please.” Nose wrinkled in distaste, Lady Ingrith drew back. “Lord Jarton, you need to get a more appropriate host before...”
“The name’s George!”
“Quiet, you ruffian!” Leveling an angry finger, old Lord Karot half-rose. “You shouldn’t even be allowed in here like that! May I remind you that this is the Lord’s Conclave, and in that present body, you are certainly no Lord!”
“Who cares about that!” Hands fluttering, Lord Volt’s face was drained of all color. “Sathron and Rhapsony are dead! We need to kill this witch before we all join them!”
Lady Ingrith held up a calming hand. “Lady Wendily, you’ve fought this witch and kept your host alive.” Casting a dour frown in George’s direction, the Conclave’s chair turned back to the elegant young demon at the table’s end. “What would you suggest?”
Leaning forward, Wendily didn’t hesitate. “Give me a free hand over the entire city. Full powers over the police, military, civil administration, everything. Even the Conclave itself. Then I can kill this witch.”
“You want to be boss of everything?” asked Lord Hue. “That’s unprecedented!”
“So is this crisis, my Lord!” Wendily smoothly shot back. “Right now, Caylee is taking full advantage of our disorganization. There’s only one way to take back the initiative, and that’s with a single, unified leadership.”
“Caylee?” demanded a middle-aged woman near Ingrith. “Who’s that?”
“The witch.” Wendily smiled. “It will make a fine inscription for a tombstone, don’t you think?”
“And we’re sure our colleagues our dead?” Volt fretfully cast a glance at the table’s two empty seats. “Perhaps they ascended into other hosts?”
“Yes. After all, not so long ago we thought Jarton was gone.” Sighing, Karot frowned in George’s direction. “Now we know differently.”
“I’m sorry, but Sathron and Rhapsony must have expired.” Trying to look sad, Wendily glanced down at the table. “There’s no hope, I’m afraid.”
“Give it a day or two, I say.” Slapping the table top three times, George pointed down at Wendily. “You never know, girly girl. Those two was all right, they was. They might have made it into new hosts.”
A rumble of relieved approval swept around the table, many of the demons nodding appreciatively at George. Clearly, the Conclave wasn’t prepared to write off two of their most prominent members just yet. Drawing herself up, Wendily forced a smile.
“Of course we’re not giving up hope.” Pausing, the young noble looked from one colleague to another. “But the only way we can beat this witch is to be unified. That’s why I propose giving me the authority to fully prosecute this search, and protect the citizens...”
“You want power over everything? Even us?” The teenage girl pretended to vomit. “I’d rather die!”
“Yes, Wendily. What you propose amounts to a dictatorship,” Hue added. “Is that really necessary?”
“May I remind you that we already have a leadership structure.” Raising a poignant eyebrow, Lady Ingrith ran a gloved-finger along the table’s edge. “That’s what the Conclave is all about.”
“The Conclave is about protecting our mutual interests.” Wendily smiled. “And right now, I’d say that staying alive is our strongest mutual interest. Wouldn’t you?”
At this a general debate broke out around the table. Sensing the growing tension, several familiars animated and dashed about, including an alligator, bear, wild boar, and even a ferocious rooster. Lightly stroking her own rat’s head, which had popped up to take a look about, Wendily waited for everyone to quiet down again.
“Let me see if I understand you correctly.” Lord Karot’s booming voice grabbed the room’s attention once more. “You want special powers over everyone and everything, including us, until the witch is dead?”
“Yes, my Lord,” Wendily replied. “But actually, I don’t even think the Conclave should meet as a body again for the duration of this emergency. You should all hunker down in your mansions and castles, protected by the army, until further notice.”
“The army?” Volt squealed. “Here, in the city?”
“Yes,” Wendily acknowledged. “Two of our finest regiments are even now encamped just north of here. They would be deployed in and around Donlon itself, keeping order while we...”
For the second straight session, a tremendous crash interrupted a Lord’s Conclave. But this time, the ornate double doors slammed open to reveal a strange, unknown lord in his mid-20's. Complete with top hat, cane, and a fine suit, he confidently strolled into the meeting room, eyes burning a deep silver.
Nearly everyone jumped to their feet. “Sathron!” Volt cried out. “Oh, my friend. We thought you were dead!”
Instinctively rising with the rest, Wendily froze. For as the youthful Lord turned his bitter gaze in her direction, she recognized none other than Max, her recent slave.
“No, I am Rhapsony, ascended into the body of Max Olser. Or Lord Olser, if you prefer.” Thrice rapping his cane on the floor, Max’s ungloved hands began burning into the fine wood. “Wendily is a liar and a fraud! Do not believe a word she says! She is personally responsible for Sathron’s demise, as well as the violent death of my own former host!”
Gasps and groans greeted this announcement, the demons nearest Wendily scrambling backwards in alarm. Leaping up onto the table itself, Max now pointed the lightly flaming cane straight down at his former mistress. “But that isn’t even the worst of it! For now, in the wake of her own malfeasance and treachery, Wendily seeks to launch a putsch and become dictator over us all!”
CHAPTER TEN
DIMLY, AS IF FROM a great distance, a crowing rooster proudly announced the coming of a new day. Smaller birds chirped in response from the outside porch, while an industrious woodpecker delved into the nearby windowsill in search of breakfast. A morning gust gently rattled the cracked pane, sending a nearby chipmunk scurrying for cover.
Eyes slowly drifting open, Caylee simply lay still and listened. In the two weeks they’d been holed up in the abandoned manor home, she’d learned to love the pastoral Donlon farmland. The city itself was a cruel place, full of misery and danger. Yet the sorceress felt completely accepted by the rolling fields and wandering carriage lanes of the countryside, it’s natural, vibrant energy doing much to refresh her tattered confidence.
Hand tentatively grasping her earth stone underneath the covers, Caylee carefully tested it’s magical output once more. Disappointed, she let out a slow breath. Perhaps a tad stronger than last night, but not by much.
At this point her magical power source was approaching sixty percent of normal strength. A vast improvement compared to how weak it was following the titanic battle in Donlon harbor, to be sure. Still, the increase was less and less each day. At this rate it might take another month to reach peak power, if the earth stone was ever to fully rebound at all.
“Hey, relax.” Rolling over from the other side of the bed, Peck’s strong arms slipped around her shoulders and waist. “Have faith, Caylee. It will come.”
“Will it?” Pressing back against hi
m, the enchantress tried to hold back her growing frustration. “There’s barely any difference from yesterday.”
“But there is some, right?” Stroking her long blonde hair, he tenderly kissed a naked shoulder. “So there is progress.”
“If you can even call it that.” Sighing, she rolled over to face him directly. “What if it never fully comes back? What if this is it?”
“Listen to me.” Leaning in for a gentle kiss, the young rebel leader held her tightly once more. “It’s coming back. Slowly but surely.”
“But if it doesn’t...”
“Look, even in it’s present condition, you’re still the top magician in Donlon.” Pulling the covers fully over their heads, he snuggled closer. “It’s not like there’s any competition for most powerful sorceress around here, is there?”
“No, but there are demons,” she pointed out. “Before, I could handle them. But now...”
“Now you have me.” Barely whispered, his deep voice saturated their intimate world underneath the covers. “And all of us. You’re not alone in this, Caylee. Not anymore.”
Despite her worry, the operative’s earth stone let out a comforting pulse. “Well, it seems to agree with you.” Giggling, she stroked his stubbled cheek.
Letting his finger brush against the magical talisman, Peck’s hand then continued down her bare leg. “Indeed it does.”
As always, she nearly jumped at his electric touch. “I think you may be a little magical yourself.”
“Let’s find out,” Peck breathed, fully pressing against her.
*****
Just as her lungs were about to explode, Tiffany Smith’s head burst from the surface. Gratefully taking a huge breath, she used her upward inertia to swing off to one side, then roll up and out of the water entirely.
“Relax.” Demurely sitting off to one side on a flattish boulder, Jenla was now in sweat pants, a tee shirt, and sneakers. “No one’s here.”
Still breathing hard, Tiffany looked around. It was yet another enclosed, underground space, dimly lit by a large glowing rock in the ceiling. A few heavy beams propped up a minor collapse in a corner, while the floor was merely bare earth. The inter-dimensional portal was nothing more than a soggy hole in the ground, apparently kept open by a natural ring of the same magical geodes worn by Lady Richardson back on Earth.
“This must be Donlon, then?” Slowly standing, Tiffany’s hands and knees were covered in mud.
“Presumably,” Jenla agreed. “It certainly feels like another world, in any event.”
Distastefully covering her nose, Tiffany tried not to breath too deeply. “Another basement. How nice.”
“More like a cave, I think. Or maybe an old mine.” Jenla nodded at the far end, where the dim outlines of an opening were barely visible. “There’s a tunnel out there. Must lead out into something else.”
After changing into working-class Victorian clothing, the two magicians conjured hand-held lanterns before exiting the chamber. A half-mile of wandering through rough-cut underground passageways brought them to a heavy iron door. Easily defeating the rusty lock, they turned into a wider tunnel with more supports and stronger construction. A miniature railway system ran straight down the middle, with a half-filled hand cart sitting idly on the tracks.
Proceeding up the gently slopping mining tunnel, the two Coven-mates soon spied a faint gleam of weak sunlight. Discarding their lanterns, they eventually emerged from the underground passageway to find themselves in an outdoor quarry.
Big piles of rocks were strewn about, interspersed with well-worn wheelbarrows, sledge hammers, and iron picks. The hand cart tracks continued out from their tunnel, terminating in a little platform from which stones could be loaded into wagons.
Looking back around, Jenla realized they’d come out of a buttressed opening in a small hillside. It almost looked like some kind of bizarre animal burrow, one of a half-dozen circling a central work area. “Not really Lady Richardson’s style, is it?”
“No, it isn’t.” Shading her eyes, Tiffany was relieved to see that no one was about. Dawn had just broken, however, meaning the work day would soon commence. “But I doubt she’s ever actually been here.”
Simply sauntering from the quarry, they ignored the pointed stares and rude comments from the arriving men. Outside the main gates was a dirt road, heavily rutted by carriage wheels and horse shoes. Though the quarry was generally surrounded by grassy, lightly forested landscape, they also spied low buildings and smoke in the near-distance.
“A city, I think. Maybe a mile off?” Jenla didn’t even move as an old, gap-toothed worker roared out a surprisingly detailed sexual proposition. “Perhaps they have better manners there?”
“No doubt.” First-impressions, Tiffany decided, were of a low-tech society surging into full-blown industrialization. This came as little surprise, given the obvious connection to late nineteenth-century Earth. “Let’s go.”
*****
Twenty minutes later Peck and Caylee strolled into the main drawing room of their remote hideout. Today’s assigned team was already there, clearly waiting on them. Lounging on a dusty couch, Molly gave Caylee a withering glare. Peck’s sometime girlfriend was joined by Grant and Layla, the novice show-magicians who’d first introduced the sorceress to Peck’s gang. A few others were also in attendance. From the kitchen drifted pleasant smells of frying eggs and bacon, along with a shrieking tea pot reaching full boil.
“All right, then.” As usual, Peck got right down to business. “You all know the general outline of what’s going on today.”
“Not really.” Sitting up, Molly pointedly studied Caylee, then coolly turned her attention to Peck. “Though I’d imagine you’ve shared all the particulars with magic girl there already, haven’t you?”
“No, he hasn’t.” Dressed in common Donlon clothing, the sorceress gingerly touched her nose. Caylee’s facial injuries were healing well, but things were still somewhat tender. “As of the moment, I know as much as you do.”
“Come on now, Molly, you know how it is.” Keeping his voice light, Peck easily met the gaze of his displaced partner. “I don’t play favorites.”
“Or have much taste, I see.” With a dismissive flip of hair, Molly sat back on the couch. “Brief away, then.”
“We’re going into the city.” Smiling his thanks, Peck took a proffered plate of food just brought in from the kitchen. “Our target is in the government sector.”
“Another money grab?” Grant asked. “We snatched a thousand pounds last week.”
“No, not money. It’s something else this time,” Peck vaguely replied, perching on the edge of an ornate coffee table to eat. “I’ll give out more details once we’re there.”
“Once we’re there?” Layla hesitantly glanced about. “Why not now?”
“Security.” Digging into his breakfast, the curly haired youth seemed utterly unconcerned. “You’ll know everything soon enough.”
“A fortnight back you’d have told us all there is to know,” Molly scoffed, glowering at the sorceress once more. “Now you both have all you’re little secrets. How nice.”
“I’m telling you, Caylee doesn’t know any more than you.” Peck paused. “We’re all a family here.”
“We were, until she arrived,” Molly groused. “Magic slut, she is.”
“There’s no need to be a bitch.” Eyes narrowing, Caylee raised an eyebrow. “If you’re so desperate, take my place tonight. Peck will just have to make do.”
Layla and Grant both looked away. Rolling his eyes, the rebel leader glanced back at the enchantress. “You’re not helping here.”
“It’s not always about helping.” Casually putting a hand on Peck’s shoulder, Caylee smiled. “Is it?”
“It was all about helping when we found you crying underneath a dock, it was.” Not backing away, Molly shrugged. “Or was that another magic slut? Funny, I can’t remember.”
“Ladies, no fighting, please,” Peck said. “Is there
anything else?”
Grant slid forward. “The lids are still tearing everything up, looking for her.” Hesitantly glancing at Caylee, he quickly continued. “Everyone’s being asked about a blonde dander who can do magic.”
“So? They aren’t looking out here.”
“George is asking, too,” Layla added. “I heard he ripped up a bar on Loxton Street two days ago. Sent two boys to the hospital, he did.”
“I still can’t believe George is working for the flipping lids!” Henry, a strapping youth of twenty, slowly shook his head. “Would have never believed it.”
“Well, you never know about people, do you?” Already finished, Peck pointedly put his plate aside. “Get ready, now. We leave in five minutes.”
*****
Keeping their heads down, Tiffany and Jenla shuffled along the crowded streets of Donlon. Though specific landmarks and street patterns were different, the city looked much like the London they’d just left. Clothes, architecture, and technology were obviously very similar. Even language patterns were closely aligned, revealing a clear inter-stellar connection.
Of demons there was yet no sign, though the ubiquitous bobbies seemed to be stationed on almost every corner. The police were quite casual with their truncheons, casually swatting at anyone who vaguely reeked of the lower-class. At one point they even passed a chain gang, guarded by bobbies, struggling to build a wall. The labor was obviously forced, with men, women, and even teenagers working under constant threat of verbal and physical abuse.
It was almost, Tiffany thought, like some kind of wacky Victorian-style police state. Carefully looking about, she noticed the typical dead expressions and fearful demeanor of those trapped within such a society. No doubt there were periodic rallies or festivals where everyone was allowed to cut loose, but rigid obedience was expected at all other times. Upward social mobility was non-existent, of course, unless one was born into wealth or had been integral to the revolution creating the current order.