Title

by Stanley, Jacob

Thackery chuckled at the off-color reference.

  “Anyway,” she said, “The best way to find out if it’s intended for you is to try and open the box. If it’s yours, then you’ll be able to open it.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  “Then you won’t, dummy. That’s how the boxes work. Just like Simone’s.”

  “Is there any price if I open it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Am I obligating myself in some way?”

  “No. But I think you’ll take the Key.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s how it works.”

  Malcolm didn’t much care for the answer. It felt like the words were a vague layer hiding something nefarious.

  “Be straight with me,” he said.

  “The Keys are amazing creations. Each one is either a work of incredible art, or a work of amazing technical prowess. Each was created through the work of some genius somewhere. I don’t know what’s in the box, but when you see it, I know you’ll love it. When people first encounter The Keys, they tend to have a very positive response.”

  “Alright then. I’m going to assume that it will bewitch me in some way as soon as I lay eyes on it. Is there any downside to taking it?”

  “Additional responsibilities that you can either take or decline.”

  “My choice?”

  “Of course.”

  “What kinds of responsibilities?”

  “That’s going to vary, but the Keys are meant to be used. People will ask you to use it if you take it. There’s a whole group who work in the shadows, overseeing the Keys, with my help.”

  “But I can lay it down if I want?”

  “Yes.”

  Malcolm was torn.

  On the one hand, he had a passion for magical gadgets of all kinds. And his curiosity at this moment was absolutely killing him. On the other, he didn’t really want to possess something that would potentially give him earth-shattering power. He was just a regular bloke in many ways, and had no desire to step into some kind of big league role with gods breathing down his neck forever and lots of big responsibility. It was almost laughable to him that anyone would want to put him into that kind of position.

  “I think I should just leave the box alone,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.

  They sat there in silence for almost a whole minute, and the tension mounted. Malcolm kept glancing at the box, weighing things.

  Finally he sighed and said, “Ah, hell. Why not? I guess I’ll give it a look.”

  Without another thought, he reached down, and tried to open it, half expecting that it wouldn’t budge and the whole thing would turn out to be a false alarm.

  But it did budge. Easy as pie.

  Inside he found a deck of silvery cards with a white rubber band wrapped around them.

  Vivienne walked over to stand beside him and looked down at the box over his shoulder.

  “Okay,” she said. “This is ‘The Book of Prometheus.’ It’s not a book at all, actually, but a very special tarot deck. Makes perfect sense to give it to you.”

  Thackery raised an eyebrow. “It does?”

  “The deck only works for strong intuitives… You ever heard of a man from the 1600s named Cyrus Kleegan?”

  “Three-Eyes Kleegan?”

  She nodded. “Yes, named because his third eye was wide open and he had knowledge of all things in the universe.”

  “Sure, I’ve read a story or two in some old books. Was he real? Always figured he was made up. At least mostly.”

  “No, not made up. Exaggerated a bit, but he existed.”

  “And these are Kleegan’s cards?”

  She nodded. “He made them, with the help of The Gods.”

  “Including the God Prometheus, presumably?”

  “No, Kleegan named the cards himself, just on a whim. He thought it made them sound like a big deal.”

  “What do they do?”

  “Well, they have no predetermined images. The symbols appear and change, depending on the situation and the questions you ask.”

  “And they’re always right?”

  “Depends on who’s holding them. In the hands of an ordinary person, they’re useless. In the hands of a very powerful intuitive, they can provide an excellent read on just about any situation. But you still have to interpret them, which takes skill, and you have to work with them for a while to get the right feel.”

  “I thought the Keys of Heaven were all, you know… fires coming down from the sky, and earthquakes, and plagues and whatnot.”

  She shrugged. “Some of them are, but you wouldn’t be suited to any of those. The Keys themselves don’t actually have any power on their own. They’re just tools to manipulate powers that are already present inside the wielder. If I gave you something made to bring down pillars of fire, you wouldn’t be able to make it work at all. But this tarot deck should work well for you.”

  He tentatively reached down and touched one of the cards with an index finger. It was cold—clearly made of metal. He removed the rubber band, and then peeled the card off the top of the deck. It was very thin, like any normal playing card, and flexible. Springy. There was no image of any kind. Instead both sides were so finely polished it was like looking into a mirror.

  “How do I make it work?” he asked.

  “So you’re accepting them?”

  Am I? he thought, and then said, “I’m not sure yet. Maybe.”

  “No reason for you to know how they work if you’re not committed. You don’t get a tryout with these. It’s not like buying a car or something. Just answer the question: do you want the deck, or not?”

  He considered it. The card felt very right in his hand, like it was always meant to be there. He took the rest of the deck out of the box. The cards were heavy. Substantial.

  It seemed very much that they belonged in his pocket. Forever.

  They’re bewitching me, he thought. Just like I knew they would.

  And he didn’t care.

  “I’ll take them,” he said.

  “Just like that?”

  He shrugged. “I guess I’m weak.”

  3 - Dear Ones

  Vivienne was obviously reluctant to get overly detailed in explaining how to use the cards.

  “You ask questions in your mind about problems you’re trying to solve,” she said. “Then deal cards, and see how you feel about the images and symbols they provide. Those symbols will come from inside you, and they’ll be highly personalized, but the meaning won’t always be obvious.”

  “And that’s it? Sounds about like any other tarot cards, except for the magic bits with the changing images and whatnot.”

  She shrugged. “I can’t tell you much more, really. I don’t want to pollute your process with my ideas. Form a relationship with the deck. You have to find your own way. Just remember, if you consult them, they’ll give answers, but those answers aren’t based on a reading of the future. It’s a reading of the present circumstances, with some educated guessing thrown in. Nothing they tell you is set in stone.”

  He spent a few minutes doing little tests with them—asking simple questions in his mind, and then laying out a few cards. The feel of the thin springy metal would change while he was asking questions—the cards warmed and he felt very subtle vibrations from time to time, as if he were holding something alive.

  The results of his tests were quite interesting. Most of the time, the cards showed very familiar images, many from movies or other pop-culture sources. Other images were drawn from his past. Sometimes they showed symbols that were incredibly obvious, others were so obscure he couldn’t fathom the meaning at all.

  And there were other times when they literally showed him nothing. He would lay out cards and nothing would be there.

  He asked Vivienne about it, and she explained that the cards weren’t all-knowing, because he wasn’t all-knowing. “Like I told you before, the cards are harnessing your own abiliti
es as an intuitive, but your abilities have plenty of limits. You’re just a person, after all.”

  He closed his eyes for a second, rubbed at his temples. “Any reason why using them should make me feel… a little bit off?”

  “Fatigue,” she said. “When you’re using these cards, your psychic muscles are working like crazy. Overwork yourself and you’ll start getting bad information.”

  “A bit like using Traveler technology.”

  She nodded. “Exactly the same.”

  He put the rubber-band back around the cards, and thought, who woulda thunk that magic tarot cards would be bound up with a rubber band… Why not a leather strap or some sort of special carrying case.

  Of course, a rubber band was practical enough, he supposed. Easy to replace and all that.

  He went back to the bed where he’d thrown down the white box they’d come in, thinking he ought to store them there, since the box was magically protected and everything, but he couldn’t find it.

  He asked Vivienne if she’d seen it.

  She shook her head. “It’s gone.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll never see it again. It served its purpose, now it’s gone.”

  “The magic boxes disappear? They go poof?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you have to admit, that’s just a little bit weird, isn’t it? Kind of showy too, if you ask me.”

  “They’re made of materials that aren’t meant for the hands of men. You’ll have to put your cards in your pocket or something. Just don’t be stupid and lose them.”

  - - -

  While he waited for the drones to get back to him, there was nothing else to do but kill time. And he was getting pretty ripe, so he went out to the van, got some clothes, and took a shower.

  When he came out, Vivienne was watching television. She looked like any other 20-something woman, just relaxing, watching a rerun episode of Friends. She laughed at something, and her face lit up.

  Seemed like she was starting to get comfortable with her new situation, which was good to see.

  So strange to think that she’s really a goddess, he thought, at least just from looking at her.

  Of course, as soon as she opened her mouth, you knew something was different. There was a certain authority.

  He sat down on his bed, and asked her, “What’s the deal with the tattoos on your arms?”

  She held up her hands, looked at the incredibly detailed vines, which spiraled all around both forearms, and shrugged. “Ask yourself that,” she said. “My body, everything about it, comes from inside your skull. This version of me is based on the projection I created at the airport, and I created that with your help.”

  “I remember you mentioning that… so you’re some kind of amalgam of a bunch of things in my subconscious mind?”

  “My appearance, yes. The vines are probably symbolic. I am an additive force. I create, renew. In an esoteric sense, I’ve always been associated with the energy of water, which makes things grow and heal. Water makes life… If you psychoanalyze yourself enough, you can probably figure out how you went from that to putting vines crawling up my arms.”

  “Do you like the tattoos?”

  “I don’t know. I guess they’re pretty neat. Makes me seem somewhat bohemian, which is amusing, and pretty close to the truth.”

  Bohemian, eh? he thought. So far he hadn’t seen a great deal of evidence for that, but he supposed it was the sort of thing that was open to interpretation.

  “I love this show,” she said. “It’s just great. I have to see all these.”

  “Really?”

  “What’s not to like? It’s funny, has plenty of heart. Great characters. I’m already addicted.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve seen a few episodes over the years. Got a chuckle or two out of me, I suppose.”

  “A chuckle or two? Come on! It’s hilarious.”

  - - -

  Another Friends rerun started up, one he’d already seen, so he turned over on his side, staring at the wall.

  He let his eyes drift shut—might as well rest when you had a chance in these kinds of edge-of-your-seat situations. His father used to say that tired eyes couldn’t aim, and he’d been right.

  Malcolm began to drift, and was just at the edge of sleep when abruptly, images started flashing into his mind—images that seemed so immediate and real that, even after his eyes shot open, they made it hard to concentrate on the real world around him.

  He abruptly sat up, and closed his eyes again to better focus on the images. He began to notice a subtle but vaguely hypnotic buzzing sound in his mind that reminded him of someone playing a blues solo on an out-of-tune harmonica.

  The sound made him feel ill, and he actually groaned.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Vivienne.

  “The drones,” he said. “At least I think so.”

  “They’re back?”

  “Yes, and they’re trying to tell me something. But the communication feels a bit... odd...”

  “Odd how?”

  “Just getting a stream of images, and, there’s a sound too... A sort of melodic buzzing. Makes it hard to think clearly...”

  “What images?”

  “A building. Maybe a church. I get a nice feeling about it, like I should go there, but it looks old and rundown. It’s somewhere in the woods, and there’s a sign... Let me see…. The place is called Valiant Heart Baptist Church... Seems like it might be abandoned and-”

  His train of thought was interrupted as a new image popped into his head. It was Simone Copeland, eyes full of tears, in a jail cell, hands tied, makeup running down her cheeks. She struggled against her bindings.

  “Oh dear,” he said.

  “What?” said Vivienne.

  “It’s her,” he said. “Simone. I’m seeing images of her in a cell. Looks like she’s in a prison, and she’s also tied up. Looks as if she’s been crying.”

  “The drones found her then?”

  “Seems that way.”

  “Has she changed physically? Is she showing the influence of the dragon in her body?”

  “No… Looks just like her normal self.”

  “Well that’s good, means the process is going slowly.”

  “Yes… But there’s something odd.”

  “What?”

  “The drones weren’t even supposed to be looking for her. I sent them specifically to look for the ogre woman, Myra. I’d been hoping that finding Myra might ultimately lead me to Simone, but hadn’t been anticipating it would go like this.”

  As he was speaking, the image stream started over from the beginning, with various angles on the church. He focused in more, tried to capture all the details in his memory as well as he could. But then, before he could accomplish much in that direction, the visual communication stopped suddenly.

  There was a long moment of silence, and he thought the message was over, but then he received a quick burst of information, more like what the drones had used in most of their previous communications.

  The coast is clear, they told him. Get here quick. Rescue the young pretty woman while you still have time.

  He sent the thought back: Glad to see you’ve found Simone, but what about Myra? You were supposed to be looking for her.

  We know your desires, dear one, even those you do not share openly, so we searched for the young woman as well. Myra, a leader among these villains, was also here in this fallen place of worship, but she’s gone now. The building is empty, no danger, and it is safe to make a rescue of the dragon girl Simone. Come save her. It’s not far.

  Thackery replied: So you’re saying the jail cell with Simone is literally inside the church?

  Yes dear one, that is the truth you seek. Come to us and achieve your heroic destiny.

  He was about to ask more questions but then the feeling of connection was abruptly severed, like someone had taken scissors to a telephone wire.

  “And now they’re gone again,” he said. “Can’t
feel them at all. Which isn’t normal, I don’t think.”

  “Doesn’t sound normal. I wonder what’s causing the connection problem.”

  “Don’t know. Maybe I didn’t drink enough of the broth when I woke them up. I was a bit squeamish about the whole idea, and I honestly don’t know the procedure that well. This is the first time I’ve ever used Aethen drones before.”

  “The amount you need to drink depends on the make and model of drone,” she said. “But that’s hard to tell just by looking at them.”

  “Sounds like you know more about them than I do.”

  “I’m no expert—never had much reason to interact with the Aethen population myself—but I’ve picked up a reasonably large amount of third-hand information over the centuries.”

  “Anyway, whatever’s going on with them, they’re our only lead. I’ve got the name of an abandoned church, apparently it’s fairly close so it shouldn’t be hard to find. They also told me a few specific things beyond just showing me pictures; at the end of the communication I was able to get a little bit of a normal dialogue with them… They claim Simone is literally there, in the church they showed me—there’s some sort of prison hidden inside. They also said that Myra had been there earlier, but she’s gone now. The church is supposedly empty—totally unguarded—and we need to hurry if we want to make it in time to rescue Simone before someone returns.

  Vivienne sighed and gave the TV a disappointed look. “Seems like we got our marching orders. Guess I’ll have to catch this episode later.”

  “I’ve seen it, trust me, you’re not missing much. The stuff from earlier seasons is much better.”

  “What?! Better than this? Seriously?”

  4 - Driven

  They found the church using his smart phone. It was about two hours away, and was considered an historical treasure by the state of Virginia, which was why no one had bothered to tear the place down even though it was clearly a total wreck.

  He had gassed up the van while he was out buying clothes, so they were able to leave straight away. They ran into very little traffic, and made rapid progress towards their destination, which was kind of a double edged sword in a way. Mostly because he had a bad feeling about the whole thing, and wasn’t really in any great hurry to step off the side of a proverbial cliff at the moment.