by Phil Stern
Tiffany’s own father certainly never missed an excuse to stay away from home. As a young child she could well remember how irritated mother would become, along with the vicious arguments ignited by his eventual return. It was a vicious cycle of dishonesty and aggression that eventually destroyed both of their lives. But for the Coven’s intercession, they would have surely wrecked her own as well.
Letting out a deep sigh, the sorceress wiped away a final tear. And why was she thinking of her dysfunctional parents tonight? It hardly seemed pertinent to the task at hand.
Rising from the bed, she restlessly glanced about the bleak room. Finally crossing over to the window, the enchantress studied the dank alleyway. Flickering, wavering shafts of light from nearby street lamps were regular interrupted by a passing soldier. Declaring some kind of peace, the cat and dog went their separate ways. All in all, it seemed as if Victorian Donlon was settling down for the night.
Pulling down the shade, Tiffany returned to the uncomfortable bed. Mentally running through the checklist for tomorrow, everything seemed in place. Actually, it was a pretty simple op. The tough part would be afterwards, retracing her steps back through Victorian London and then the time portal home. But she’d figure it out.
Just before drifting off, as she’d done for the past several months, Tiffany’s mind reflexively returned to wedding preparations. Amid all the guests, flowers, dresses, and invitations, she idly wondered if she and Blake would make it.
Of course, her own double existence was quite different from her father’s chronic lying and womanizing. Blake knew that, even if she kept him blissfully ignorant of most operational details. The very thought of what she was planning for tomorrow would shake him to his very core.
Still, it was fair to wonder if her long absences and vague explanations would someday begin to wear on them both. And just like her parents, whether the shared life of her dreams would inevitably become marred with too many extramarital secrets.
*****
Checking out bright and early, Tiffany made her way over to Nellon Park without incident. It was a pleasant day, the streets full of people. In the manner of such things yesterday’s excitement was already fading fast, replaced by the routine of just another morning in the city.
The area around Nellon lake was still roped off, though the heavy metal net had been removed. Armed men dotted the shore, many examining just-unpacked diving equipment. The oversized silver helmets and thick rubber hoses were like something from a 50's science fiction movie, though the diving tanks themselves seemed sturdy enough.
Presumably, then, Donlon did indeed possess the technical ability to invade Lysandy in force. Whether they could hunt down Caylee and Sarina, or even operate in a fully magical environment at all, was another issue. Of course, Tiffany didn’t intend to give them that opportunity.
Wandering about some distance off, as if she were just another city dweller taking the air, the enchantress professionally analyzed the foreign magic drifting from the lake. Potent stuff, even in it’s diffused, airborne state. Properly concentrated and mixed with the right magical accelerant, the quiet city lake would take on a life all it’s own.
Drifting up into the nearby wooded hill, the sorceress methodically searched for the right rock. After an hour she finally found the perfect sample. About eight pounds, it was unusually round and smooth. More importantly, the geode also possessed significant traces of native magic.
Taking her time, Tiffany charged the rock with subtle waves of earth fire. Inspired, she also infused it with magic from the time stone. Soon it was an unsteady, roiling mess.
Gingerly carrying her little project back down the hill, she found a small open space between several trees. Then, after several carefully hefts within a shielded hand, Tiffany heaved the rock down at the lake. Breaking the slightly ripping surface near dead center, it disappeared from sight with a sharp hiss and wisp of delicate smoke.
Even as an alarm was raised, and the sleeping Gatling gun operators began swinging the powerful weapons about, Tiffany raced in the opposite direction. Soon on the street once more, she quickly made her way uptown to Highsmith Square.
*****
Sitting in the Prime Minister’s grand office, Lady Wendily impetuously waved the field marshal out. By now she’d moved the main desk to the far corner of the huge room, where her back wasn’t to the windows. Yet as things were turning out, even this basic safety precaution seemed quite unnecessary.
To all indications the Coven was battered and in full retreat. Following some minor skirmishing yesterday, both crones and beasts had fled. A subsequent search of the countryside had turned up nothing, though the battlefield itself yielded some interesting clues. Bloody bandages had been recovered from a burned manor home where they’d apparently bivouacked the night before. A surviving soldier also reported a witch to be badly wounded, perhaps immobilized with broken ribs.
There were even tantalizing hints that at least one invading harlot had been killed outright. Faint earth fire burns in the grass, in human shape, were probably from an incinerated body. Since all their non-magical victims had been simply left to rot, this was likely one of their own.
This theory was further supported by Peck’s stylized demise. Yes, there was a certain artistry to leaving a severed head on a bench, that she would admit. Still, it all seemed a little desperate.
Not to mention mildly regrettable. After all, Peck had been quite young and handsome. A slow absorption his succulent life force, perhaps extending over several days, would have been most pleasant.
Languidly pulling off her right glove, the beautiful young demon stared into her own tenderly flaming flesh. So, the question now was this. Had the witches simply wandered farther north, putting as much distance between themselves and the city as possible? Or, in fact, had they somehow fled the dimension entirely?
Personally she suspected the dirty girls had found some inter-dimensional portal and skipped out. Call it demon’s intuition, call it whatever you like. But in her experience...
A sharp rap on the heavy, closed doors harshly boomed across the room. “My Lady!” called out the just-departed field marshal. “There’s a problem!”
Raising a delicate eyebrow, the demon’s hand snapped closed into a fist. The flame was instantly extinguished, though tendrils of dark smoke continued rising towards the ceiling. “Come in.”
Nearly stumbling through the door, the sweating officer rocked to a halt. “Nellon Lake, my lady. Something awful is happening!”
*****
Stretched out on her stomach in a classic sniper’s stance, Tiffany Smith cradled the advanced laser rifle against her shoulder. Humming with suppressed power, the activated Coven Stick was almost hot to the touch. Peering through the high-powered scope, she easily looked into Wendily’s office in Highsmith Square.
Back in black tactical gear, the sorceress was on a flat apartment building a half-mile off. It was a great set up, with a slightly raised platform thirty feet in from the roof’s edge providing an ideal perch. Having fused the one rooftop door closed, she should remain undisturbed for as long as it took.
Patience was the key. A good sniper could remain both ready and loose for hours, waiting for their opportunity. Death could then be unleashed on a moment’s notice, striking when the target least expected.
Shifting about in place, she made a slight adjustment to the telescopic device. Raising up a few inches, she flipped back her hair while coolly extending a tripod leg by a sixteenth-inch. Settling back down, Tiffany’s eye once more looked right through the scope.
There, that was perfect. All in all, the minor resettling took mere seconds. Which was exactly the way it should be.
Locked in on the demon’s lair, cheek once more pressed into the smooth, hot metal, Tiffany waited. Her old instructor in magical urban combat had always said you might only get one shot. Thinking back on the helplessness of yesterday morning, watching Jenla bleed out within Caylee’s arms, she certainly
didn’t intend on missing hers.
*****
Still sitting, Wendily raised an eyebrow. “Tell me.”
“It’s like the water has gone crazy!” the general exclaimed. “Boiling and frothing all about!”
“The entire lake, or just one spot?”
“The whole thing, my lady! It’s like some fire has been turned on down below. None of my men can get nearer than a hundred feet!”
Frowning at the animated human, Wendily drummed irritable fingers on the desk top. This was annoying. Clearly having anticipated her next move, the witches had figured out a way of foiling pursuit into this Lysandy place. “You don’t say?”
“I do say!” Drawing himself up, the offended general put a hand over his heart. “I swear to you, on my honor...”
“All right! Shut up!” Eyes blazing silver, the slim young demon violently swept aside several neatly arranged files. “Get out!”
Even as the man fled, and Wendily sourly leaned back in the chair, she realized it could all be worse. After all, the witches had unwittingly confirmed that Lysandy was indeed their interstellar roadway into Donlon. So when the lake calmed down she’d send twice as many men through the watery rift. No, ten times as many! They’d make Lysandy their first inter-dimensional colony of their expanding empire, unlocking both mundane and magical riches.
And what better way to control her fellow demons? Leaping up, she idly strolled around the massive desk towards the huge, inviting windows. After all, with the advent of witch provocateurs still running around, they would naturally look to her for...
Just as Wendily’s fingertips brushed the glass, the windows shattered with a massive, crashing roar. Thrown back across the room, a neat hole in the center of her chest, the demon was driven head first into the desk.
*****
Even as her finger released the trigger, and the Coven Stick began morphing back into it’s inert state, Tiffany was up and moving.
Attaching the magical weapon to her belt, the sorceress ran for the roof’s edge. Leaping at the last possible moment, she flew through the air to alight on the next building over. Seamlessly landing and running again, she then vaulted onto the next roof. In this manner she quickly made her way across a quarter-mile of inner Donlon, dashing around clothes lines, trash, and other rooftop obstacles between jumps.
Her final stop was only about four stories high. Dropping off the edge, she executed a neat pirouette mid-air to magically land boot-first in someone’s back yard. Leaping the short fence, then jogged off into the surrounding neighborhood.
*****
Upon hearing tumult from the PM’s office, a minor government minister just walking past went rushing in. Amid the drifting dust, sudden exterior wind, and crunch of glass under feet, he soon noticed the broken body of a young woman within the shattered remains of a crushed desk.
Rushing over, he bent down over her body. Obviously dead, her head hung at an impossible angle. There was also an angry red hole right in the center of her...
What was that? Looking down, the young man was shocked to see the slain girl’s hand grasping his wrist, while her other hand came up to yank his face close to her own.
EPILOGUE
TIFFANY SMITH SAT off to one side of the coffee shop, holding the old-fashioned letter by the edges. Addressed to herself in rounded, feminine handwriting, it had arrived via regular snail mail at her Earth-based apartment barely an hour before. As to a return address, there was merely a capital “J” in the upper left-hand corner. Carefully placing it on the table, propped up against her hand bag, the sorceress took a thoughtful sip of coffee.
The trip back from Donlon had been routine, relatively speaking. Once more accessing the old mining tunnels near the city, she’d used the same waterborne rift to travel back to Victorian London. Luckily, Lady Richardson was out at the time, though the same frosty butler was astonished by her emergence from the basement stairway. Once more sporting both era-appropriate attire and attitude, she regally strode out the front door before quickly disappearing into the late 19th century metropolis.
Accessing the house sitting over the Inner Boundary portal was a bit more tricky. Now attired as a simple serving girl, she had to troop in with the other staff the next morning, then hide out in the lower pantry until the mid-afternoon lull. Only when the kitchen above was finally empty did she pull out the time stone and controller. Moments later the sorceress was whisked back to the dusty, abandoned space underneath an alleyway in modern-day London.
As promised, she hadn’t lost any time in the here and now. Immediately flying back to Philadelphia, the harried lead sorceress, journalist, and bride-to-be had seamlessly picked up all the threads in her complicated life. Nearly buried with decisions and details, she had deliberately pushed aside any review of recent events.
But now, with the arrival of the strange letter, the experienced operative mentally reviewed the recent mission across time and space. Staring at it some moments more, Tiffany finally picked up the envelope, expertly sliced it open with a fingernail, and pulled out the contents.
Inside was a single sheet of paper, with handwriting on both front and back. Quickly flipping it over, her eyes were instantly drawn to the signature. “Love Always, Jenla” was near the lower right-hand corner. A passable sketch of an earth stone, hanging from a necklace, was in the lower left-hand corner.
Hands shaking slightly, the enchantress turned the missive back over. Taking a deep breath, she began reading.
Dear Tiffany,
If you’re reading this letter now, it almost certainly means two very crucial things. Number one, you’re back on Earth following the successful conclusion of our mission. And number two, I’m dead. A bit more on that in a moment.
What you’re now reading was sent right before we left for London, so I don’t know any details as to what happened “over there.” (See? For once, you know more about the future than I do.) To be honest, I wasn’t entirely forthcoming before. Why? Well, too much foreknowledge is a terrible burden. Trust me, I know.
But now that it’s all over, I can fill in some of the blanks.
First of all, as you may have guessed already, you were the one who sent me back in time. My instructions were to find your younger self, and together we’d stop Caylee from becoming a demon. This would (or should, from your perspective) erase the destructive time line that I came from, while also alerting the Coven to the grave threat gestating in Donlon.
It sounds much simpler than it is, though. Fifteen years from now you sit on the Coven Council. An older, less capable woman is Coven Leader. Throughout your 30's and early 40's, you led the fight against the growing demon power. Without you, quite frankly, the Coven would have been defeated early on.
Yet with catastrophic defeat looming, 43-year-old Tiffany proposes a radical solution. Use the time stone to go back and beat the demons before they even get going. Victory in one simple stroke.
But hold on a menlar! Destroying our own time line is also a form of mass suicide. At least, that’s what most of the senior witches, and the rest of the Coven Council, believe. Older Tiffany is voted down. Better the death you know than the one you don’t. There will be no mission back in time.
Yet you’ve been preparing this backup plan for a while. You shared knowledge of time travel with key subordinates (myself, Bree Colby, a few others). Together we worked out the technical and historical details. Then you stole the time stone, gave it to me, and boom! Here I am. Or was, anyway.
So yes, in a sense we’re renegades. You most of all, I suppose. But make no mistake, Tiffany Smith saved the Coven. Both over the bitter future that now will never happen, and by having the courage to defy all your contemporaries.
That’s why I’m now dead. I don’t know exactly how I died (easily, I hope), but whatever happened know it was my choice. Or fate, really. For if we’re going to wipe out that horrible future, it must be all or nothing. If I’m the last link, then I must go too.
Okay
, you want a more scientific reason? Well, in our mission planning, Bree suggested my continued existence might essentially act as some kind of temporal pollutant. Our reformulated time line could be slowly destablized, maybe even drawn back over into the old reality. Since Bree’s the smartest girl I know, we can’t take that chance.
Not to mention that many of our Coven-mates in the future would consider me the worst mass murderer in history. Yes, I’m fully aware they don’t even exist anymore. But that’s exactly the point. To be honest, I’m already finding it a lot to live with.
And of course, I’m not really dying. For I still exist in this time line. Don’t be fooled, by the way. I may seem like a brave little ten-year-old, but I’m actually scared out of my mind half the time. But the “new” Jenla will have a far happier girlhood than I did. And no doubt, a much more meaningful and longer life.
In the spirt of full disclosure you and I only disagreed on one thing. I think Caylee was a traitor. Most everyone else does too. You’re the only one who doesn’t. Which is why I didn’t simply come back a year before and kill her. Or go back to Caylee’s home dimension and arrange some accident for her as a child. You wouldn’t allow it. For all our sakes, I hope you’re right.
Be happy, Tiffany. You deserve it. And by the stone, don’t let those jealous bitches get you down! I think it’s great that you’re getting married. I only wish I could have been there to see it.
All the best, and all my love.
Jenla
Letting the paper drop down, Tiffany was nearly overwhelmed. First one tear came, then another. Pulling out a napkin, she turned away and cried silently for some moments. Quickly retiring to the bathroom, she locked herself in a stall and bawled harder than she had in quite a while.