It took me a few days of sleep and thinking back to get the wherewithal to write this down. This one’s a little personal to me, even by my standards, but Hannah thought this would be an interesting read, so… here it is.

A little exposition is in order. After the incident outside that jazz club a year and a half ago – not to mention the destruction of my living room, it had been rather quiet on that front. Nobody else tried to break down my door (or my face), I got my door and furniture replaced, and bought some new art/made some new prints of those burnt photos where I could. Overall my living room burning up was sort of a blessing in disguise.

I was rather on the fence regarding what to do regarding that pendulum stone Dad left me though. It certainly didn’t seem to do anything aside from look pretty, but it didn’t answer why someone would want it. Though I had considered talking to Theo and an old mentor of mine about it, I ended up just tucking the gem away somewhere safe. That was the end of the matter – until Hannah came over to do some research.

Dad always had a saying when I was young – when practitioners meet, things blow up.

Hannah came by around ten, wearing an adorable Chartreuse skirt and toting a bag of books nearly bigger than her. She was shorter than I expected, though I’m not sure why in hindsight. Regardless, I invited her in and took her coat, clearing some table space off of my (new and shiny) oak table for her books.

As I went about making some coffee for the two of us, Hannah was wandering about my apartment, admiring my collection of art and photo prints and asking all sorts of annoying questions about me and mine – you know, that getting to know someone thing nobody ever does anymore.

“These are pretty good.” I remember her saying, before she asked “Did you paint all of these pieces?”

“Nah, I just did the landscapes and the prints. Those are all pieces that survived the break in.” I noted, muttering in annoyance to myself. I lost five paintings in that explosion.

“What about this burnt one near the mantle? Who are these two?”

I looked up, seeing her examining the photo of my family, set in a brand new frame next to the jewelry box. I really should have just trashed the thing since it wasn’t much of a ‘family’ photo – pre-teen Melissa and her mother had been carbonized out of existence, but the part that survived was … well the important part.

“The older one is my father. The younger one…  my brother, Ben. That photo was taken before he died.” I said after a moment, preventing any awkward silence with the roar of the coffee grinder.

Hannah had an ‘Oh’ look on her face, before squinting a moment and asking, “…wait, were you wearing a skirt in that photo?”

“My family was big on cruel and unusual punishment!” I said with a smirk and a chuckle. I think she stuck her tongue out at me before she moved on to admiring my bookshelf.

After coffee, and a bit more chatting – and some criticism regarding my lack of Greek classic literature in my book collection – we eventually got down to brass tacks. I had pulled the one book I had on the topic of magical jewelry and gems, and had another one from my mentor mailed to me yesterday. Supplementing this was what Hannah brought – lots of old stuff that her school library was unlikely to be missing.

“So what did you figure out so far about it?” Hannah asked as I pulled the amethyst pendulum from its secure spot – the breast pocket of my shirt – laying it on the table for her to look at.

“It’s a very pretty pendulum stone.” I said with a sigh as I took a seat, pouring another cup of coffee from the French press.

“Well we know that.” Hannah said with a roll of her eyes, "But what could be special about it? Having your nose broken over a necklace would be silly if there wasn’t something special about it.”

I paused, closing my eyes in thought. She was right of course; nobody breaks into houses for common varieties of quartz – unless I just draw the weird thieves. I glanced over at Hannah, watching her wince a bit at the coffee as she drank it (I make it kind of strong) as I turned over in my head what not-so-mundane significance it might have.

“Well… the Greeks called it the ‘sobriety stone’. Supposedly it warded off drunkenness and helped prevent dangers from excess.” I took a sip of coffee before I added, “Not very true on either count, I would add.”

"I wouldn’t know.” She said as she picked up the pendulum by the chain, letting it dangle as she watched it intently.

“Right, tea-totaller, I forgot.” I joked with a facetious sigh, before I continued, “Depending upon which circle you’re in, it has a lot of positive properties – it helps clear the mind for meditation, it supposedly treats ailments of the heart and other organs, and it helps emotional issues and lowers stress.”

Hannah looked at me a moment, before turning back to the stone, staring at it for a moment more before asking, “So it helps to balance… or ground you, in a way?”

“That’s a good way to think about it.” I answered with a nod, before continuing, “And as you’re probably aware, pendulum crystals are typically used for dowsing or divination. Some people use it like a o-“

I was interrupted by a loud scraping against the table. Glancing over, I watched as the amethyst pendulum dangling from Hannah’s fingers, was in the midst of running along the surface of my new newish table, carving into it like a knife through butter.

My new bloody table. Gaah.

Hannah had a sheepish look on her face as the pointed crystal made an odd pattern across the polished wood. Before I could say anything, I glanced down to see the pattern that the sweeping passes were making.

“Wait…” I narrowed my eyes as I leaned down, watching. I held a hand up to make sure Hannah didn’t move, letting the crystal do its thing as it swung lazily, gouging thin marks on my furniture.

Slowly, it came to a stop after making a gentle, slowly contracting oval. I let Hannah put the crystal down before asking her, “Did… you do something?”

“Well, I was just trying to feel the crystal,” Hannah paused, a bit embarrassed before she continued, “Along the way I may have accidentally given it a tiny little spark. ”

“A… spark?” I asked, not quite liking where this was going.

“Yes, you know…” she glanced away briefly, before wiggling her fingers spooky like.

I narrowed my eyes at her, “You focused some… crazy elemental something-or-another into that gem, didn’t you?”

Hannah just nodded slowly. “I’ve been trying to teach myself to get in touch with earth and stone lately.  I can already do Air and Fire, so I figured why not Earth?”
I glanced down at my poor table with a sigh, before looking over the pattern again. There was something familiar about the unusual path the outer lines took…

“…Long Island.” I concluded with a bit of surprise, running my finger along the outer oval, “This is… Long Island.”

Hannah tilted her head to look at the carving, arching a brow, “Am I supposed to say I see a puck or a glastig?”

“This isn’t a Rorschach test.” I stuck my tongue out at her, some excitement edging out the frustration of losing my table as I pointed, “The way it splits on the right? That’s Riverhead and Sag Harbor. That line on the bottom is Fire Island.”

"Wow, that is some dowsing rod.”She said, before pointing at the oval the crystal ended at, “What is this marking?”

“I… hm.” I stared at the carved map a moment, before reaching over, taking a letter opener off of my computer desk and beginning to carve into the drawing, marking out the county lines for Kings, Queen, Nassau, and Suffolk County.

Hey, it’s my ruined table, I can do what I want.

After marking where Nassau and Suffolk were divided, I tapped the oval a few moments.
“That area is… near where my Miss Elm lives.” I answered with a look I assumed was thoughtful on my face.

“Miss Elm?”

“My mentor.” I noted, rubbing my face as I leaned back. Quietly, I wondered if the crystal was trying to point me there. But what could Miss Elm have that the crystal wants me to know about?

Hannah’s look was one of puzzlement as she said, “I thought your dad showed you how to use magic.”

“Dad left when I was 15. I didn’t manifest anything until… well, about a year later.” I leaned back in my chair, tapping my chin. Although I was trying to look thoughtful, I couldn’t help but remember my first little ‘experiences’ with the arcane. That would have been a lot less terrifying if Dad had been there.

Zits and boys are enough to worry about when you’re 16. Lighting curtains on fire and turning invisible accidentally are a bit much, you know?

“But… he left you this crystal, which clearly has some purpose, right?” Hannah asked, drawing my focus back to the matter at hand. I just offered her a simple shrug. At the moment, it was all a bit much.

“I have an idea.” She said, standing up as she carefully put her coffee cup and saucer to the side, “I think more clearly when I’m out and about. Maybe we could take a walk?”

I looked down, undecided about whether I was done freaking out about Dad or the table. I knew it was going to be a long few days though, and figured maybe a walk would do me good. Quietly, I stood up finished my coffee.

“Why not.”
 

The pendulum’s ability to be used as a divining tool should have been mentioned earlier—I’m sorry.

Something else I can mention though, that hasn’t been—some people speculate the sensitivity of pendulums are akin to that of Ouija boards. The energy used to focus the device—whether pendulum, rod, or whatever—must be gained from something. Sometimes it’s the person that holds the device—in this case, Hannah.

Sometimes the source can be different entirely—or even highjacked. Spirits, elementals, demons—all manner of the otherly can also become a source.

Be careful.

I also think more clearly when I have the chance to exercise out some of the caffeine. Mel’s coffee was more than a little strong.

The Park has been a frequent haunt of mine since coming to the city. The natural space does me wonders. This could be because I’m still a country girl at heart or it could be a side effect from my connections with sprits of field and forest. No matter the case, the Park tends to calm me and focus me.

I probably should have warned Mel about the guys who followed us from her apartment, but at the same time I didn’t want them to know I’d spotted them. Having the tutelage of such paranoid persons as Bert, Darcy and of course my father does have its advantages.

I considered Mel’s own situation with her father, there were obvious parallels. The tone in her voice when she spoke of him in her apartment had been a strange mixture of longing and disgust. I know me and my father had our differences lately, but we’d had the chance to air them out in a good screaming match and move on. Mel obviously had a lot of things she needed to finish up when it came to her own father.

Of course we were trying to figure out what was going on with the crystal. Mel and I exchanged hypothesis as we walked. I thought hard about the way I had ‘activated’ the crystal. It had been ridiculously easy, like the crystal had been somehow programmed to activate at the earliest opportunity. I hadn’t even really tred to do anything with it yet when it switched on. I had only really tried to extend my awareness to feel the crystal when it suddenly jumped to life and started scratching the table.

“I have to say that the crystal felt almost eager to get turned on.” I mentioned to Mel as we worked our way deeper into the Park. Fallen leaves crunched beneath our feet as we walked the path.

Mel chuckled, “Reminds me of a guy I used to know.” She trailed off for a moment; we were walking by a field full of college guys playing touch football. Shirts vs. skins. One of the cuter guys noticed us watching and gave us a smile.

Okay, maybe I have another reason I like the Park ‘cause I didn’t say nothing for a few moments either.

Mel finally broke the silence when we were around a corner and out of earshot. “Yum!”

We both started cracking up like a couple of 13 year-olds.

Apparently that is what the guys following us had been waiting for as they suddenly came crashing out of the bushes. A couple of rougher looking thugs and a skinny guy who obviously didn’t get the memo that Hallowe’en was a one night affair. He was all black and frills like some vampire wannabe.
“H-Hand over the pendant!” The little guy stammered. He obviously hadn’t done this sort of thing before. The bigger guys were a little more professional advancing slowly with menace.

“Okay, okay! Don’t hurt us!” I did my best helpless princess voice. I needed them to think they were in control. “It’s right here.” I slid my hand to my purse.

I suppose I should have given Mel a heads up about what was going to happen next, but I hadn’t been hanging around her long enough to set up a code system like I had with Dad or Darcy. I just had to go for it and hope she figured it out.

As my hand touched on the clasp for my purse strap I quietly unfastened it, then with an underhand motion I whipped my now loose purse around over my shoulder and up at one of the thugs’ face. As expected he tried to duck the purse and fend it off with his arm at the same time. I jerked the strap taught and stepped towards him, catching the purse as it dropped between his arm and his body. A few more quick movements and I had caught his wrist with the strap and stepped around behind him. Using the purse strap as a hayanawa I quickly brought his arm around and the strap over his head. Some pressure on the back of his knee and some quick work with knot tying and the first thug was now as helpless as a baby.

Let that be a lesson to you girls to always buy a purse with a nice strong strap.

Mel, the vampire wannabe and the other thug all kind of stood there in shocked surprise for a moment, not realizing that the fight as started.

Then of course everything happened all at once. The thug came at me, arm cocked to deliver a punch, the vampire wannabe backed up a half step and started waving his hands for some reason, Mel charged forward.

I caught the thug with a boot-heel in the chin before he got close enough to deliver the punch. It staggered him, but didn’t bring him down. About the same time Mel tackled vampire-boy and they tumbled into the bushes, out of sight.

The thug recovered by the time I got my feet under me again, which I suppose serves me right for using a flashy kick like that in a real fight. He brought his hands up in a guard position, obviously deciding I was dangerous enough to approach cautiously. I obliged him a bit and moved into a high stance.

We circled each other a bit, feeling for an opening, He had a longer reach than me, but I was fast enough that I could land some light strikes and evade retaliation. Neither of were really going to land anything solid unless the other overcommitted and missed.

Of course that assumed a level playing field.

I retreated half a step so I had a bit more room to work with while internally I reached out for Air. My abilities are usually unreliable and underwhelming around normal people, but the Park, well the Park always felt like it had more potential. Besides I didn’t need much for what I wanted to do.

Feeling the Air responding to my touch I immediately caused it to spin upwards. It wasn’t much, just a little gust, but it was enough to scoop up the fallen leaves and fling them in the thug’s face.

Startled and half blind, he didn’t’ have a chance to see me step in with an uppercut that caught the sweet spot and dropped him.

After making sure he was out for the count, I jumped into the bushes to help out Mel.

Only she wasn’t the one who needed my help.

She was kneeling over top of vampire-boy, holding him by the frilly front of his shirt, smashing the back of his head off the ground, swearing at him and demanding answers. Vampire-boy was beyond answering though, he was limp and his eyes had rolled back in their sockets.

“Mel.” I stepped over to her carefully. “Mel stop.” I placed a hand on her shoulder.

She whirled and glared at me, hand cocked to do damage.

“He can’t tell you anything.” I gently squeezed her shoulder. “We should go.”

With an exasperated huff she dropped vampire-boy.

I used one of the thugs’ phones to call 911 for an ambulance. Made the conscious one talk to the dispatcher, holding the strap on his arm tight enough to hyperextend his shoulder a little, but not quite dislocate it. After the call and a promise to be a good boy, I undid the restraint and kicked him on the rear end to get him moving. I collected my purse and Mel and we got out of there.

I really do like the Park.

Hannah

Pfft. I didn’t say ‘Yum’. I’m not that crass… but I’m not above wolf whistles and cat calls.


“I think it’s a minor fracture.” Hannah noted as she looked over my bruised and slightly bloody hand. I had connected with vamp-boy’s face a bit too hard in the scuffle. It seems one’s third metacarpal can’t always hold up to venting some frustration. At least it was… kind of satisfying?

Who the hell am I kidding? There wasn’t any satisfaction in that at all.

Still, I thought as we rode the Downtown bound N towards Union Square, I rewound and pondered what happened in my head. I’m not a violent character by nature (usually), but I didn’t even get a hint of stress relief from any of that. The fact someone else could have been following, or staking out my place, both had me nervous and angry.

As Hannah would attest, I was still shaking half an hour after the scuffle. I must have looked like a nervous wreck.

“Well, what now?” Hannah asked, shifting over in her seat to let an elderly man sit, “We can’t go back to your place – they might follow us or have it already staked out. We probably shouldn’t go back to my apartment either in case they follow us back.”

“Hm…” I pondered as I rubbed my hand. I needed a spot that was likely unknown to whoever was apparently still harassing me. I needed an unassuming place, like a Laundromat, or a bookstore.
Bookstore. That was it.

“My friend Sydney runs a bookstore south of Midtown.” I noted.

“Can this Sydney be trusted?” She asked.
“Yes, to the death. It’s an unusual character flaw these days.” I answered with a grin.

“Alright, much more legal than grabbing a few fake IDs and scammed credit cards to rent us a hotel room for a while, anyway.”

It’s times like this that you realize Hannah’s childhood was very unusual.

Odd Pages is a small esoteric book store to the south of Union Square. It caters to all manner of out of print as well as recently released titles on anything arcane, new age, or just strange. My thrift store friend Ron (not to be confused with Caliburn) often gets good books from Sydney – who, much like Ron, will never reveal to me his suppliers either. Some friends.

Sydney was somewhat annoyed by our sudden appearance as he was in the middle of buying some new titles from a man who looked way too much like Vincent Price. That said, he quickly told the man to come back later, before escorting us in back to the recently christened lounge he set up near a faux fireplace. He even broke out his well-stocked first aid kit, which was unusually well stocked for someone who claimed to be a wimp (in his defense, I’ve never seen him throw a punch in all the years I’ve known him).

Of course, the two or three times I’ve showed up with cracked ribs, dislocated shoulders, and scrapes and bruises might have had something to do with that.

“You know…” Hannah noted as she finished disinfecting the cuts on my hand, “Your dad might have left that crystal to you to show you the way to something.”

“Considering it’s a pendulum stone, that makes sense.” I noted, wincing a bit as Hannah made sure the bone was set, “Still… it only activated when you tried something. Granted… you toss around more ‘force’ than I do, so to speak.”

“I considered that.” She said as she pressed a wooden splint along the bone, before beginning to tape my palm, back around the top of my hand, and back again, “It was really easy to get it to do that. Maybe he had it set to activate when you reached a certain level of progress with your abilities?”

I narrowed my brows in thought. Shortstuff was probably right. Dad would be the sort to set up a giant goose chase for me, if there was something he wanted me to find. He was kind of a rascal like that – and a real bastard.

“Knowing him, he’d do it.” I said simply, ignoring the confused look from Hannah as to why I was narrowing my eyes menacingly for a moment as I continued, “He probably didn’t expect you to investigate the pendulum though. Your ties with elemental magic probably made the activation of whatever was on that easier.”

“He sounds like someone I do not want in my store.” Sydney noted as he came back to join us, carrying a tray with a teapot and a couple cups that he sat down on the table near us, “I figured you two might need refreshments after that.”

“Aw, you’re the best Syd.” I said, patting him on the back with my free hand.

“If I weren’t, you might not cook me breakfast every time I come over.” He said with a grin, “Now if you excuse me, the University of Columbia library just put in an order. Apparently books on ley line theory and elemental magic have become wildly popular and they’re looking to expand their collection. Pardon me ladies.”

I glanced at Hannah, who just ahemed softly as Sydney went back into the stacks before she continued.

“Annnyway…. I think it’d be smart of us to take your dad’s lead, and follow whatever it is – and don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” I tried to play innocent, even though I could feel that disgruntled look at the mere suggestion that we follow along with this mess.

“That look! Darcy gets the same look whenever she’s stuck doing something she doesn’t want to do!” She said as she finished wrapping my hand.

I tried to picture that ‘that look’ might have looked like on Darcy, and found myself snickering a little. Hannah frowned a bit before she continued.

“Clearly someone wants whatever this is leading to. Otherwise they wouldn’t bother attacking you for it. They’d just get it themselves. We may as well find whatever it is and get it first, before they eventually get the pendulum from you.”

I reached over and took a sip of tea, closing my eyes in thought. The temptation to just blast the damn stone to oblivion crossed my mind – at least three times in that next minute. Really, destroying the lead would have ended this – assuming the bad guys caught on.

However, besides Hannah being possibly right, there was that bit of me that wanted to see this through. I hadn’t seen my father in nearly 10 years. The fact he set this up for me seemed like a silly thing to pass up. Maybe he had something important he needed me to do.

And maybe, just maybe… I could see him again.

“…so when do we leave?” Hannah asked, apparently aware that I couldn’t just turn this one down.

I really need to work on my poker face.

I spent most of my evening chatting with Sydney and catching up on some reading. Though he was oddly busy that evening, I managed to get a few lulls talking with him, before someone expecting a sizable order of old Thule Society works came him. Before he had to start packing things away, I managed to get him to call an old acquaintance of mine so I could speak with him.

While I waited, I ended up catching up on some reading I'd missed in recent months - mostly Gaiman and Foucault. I mostly did this as a means of calming down - I'd felt rather tightly wound all day, and I needed something that I felt... well, in control of, even if it was the rate that I choose to flip pages of the book. I'm strange like that.

After Hannah texted me the all clear, I went back to examining the map of Long Island Syd had laying around - of course dated to 1928. I didn't feel safe going home yet, so I opted to stay around for a bit until Hannah got back - a point she'd have likely agreed with me on had it gone to plan like that.

The carved map on my table had left a somewhat vague circle along the central-eastern portion of the island where my old mentor, Christine Elm lived. A Scottish-American by way of Tennessee who taught at a local community college in Suffolk County, she had been rather helpful in my formative years as a budding arcanist. The jist of things being she was far older and wiser on most things than me, and might have had some clue as to why the pendulum was pointing in her neighborhood.

Alternatively, maybe she had something that Dad left behind. They had known each other for years, though Miss Elm insinuated to a falling out before he disappeared. I wasn't a fan of digging up the past when it came to bad blood between my own father and a mentor, but there wasn't much choice.

"Hello?" A familiar voice called out as it walked into the back. I looked up from my map-reading; it was Theo Durban.

"Right here, Theo." I answered. My tone was rather neutral. I realize that I probably should have been more polite in hindsight.


"Mel? Heavens girl, what's going on? I feel like I'm getting a bit of the runaround."He took off his bowler hat and sat down across from me. He was about to say something else before I lifted up the pendulum to dangle in front of him, watching his surprised expression on his face.

"Recognize this?" I asked, watching him closely.

"...yeah, I do."He said with a sigh, leaning back in the plush chair, looking less than a little comfortable. I set the pendulum back on the table, waiting for him to continue. I believe it was self evident he knew more than he had told me before, and I wasn't going to let him get away without telling me.

It was a few moments before he finally spoke, "Your father used to wear that thing around when he came to my shows. He said it was a good luck charm of his, though I knew it was more than that. See, he used it to keep track of things he had hidden away. What, he never said."

"Who do you know that'd have wanted this?" I asked.

"Mm... tell you the truth little lady, he had made a lot of enemies. The powerful ones always do. That's why he kept a habit of storing things away just in case."

I paused, watching as his expression became very thoughtful. I pieced a few things together, before asking "How long have you known my father?"

Theo looked at me, searching my expression. He knew there was something that I knew he wasn't willing to divulge for whatever reason.

I tapped my bandaged hand on the table, waiting.

"December 31st, 1934." He finally spoke, a smile cracking his expression as he added, "Ran into him during a masquerade ball at University of Chicago infiltrated by some sort of demon. More than fireworks blew up that night.

I stared at him, clearly in disbelief as I looked him over. He looked weathered, but at most, maybe his mid 50s. There was a certain... weariness about him though, as if he had known much, and perhaps tried to forget even more.

I can't believe I'm saying it, but I believed him.

Theo cracked a bit of a smile, before he felt around the pocket of his wool jacket a moment, before pulling out a laminated piece of paper, handing it to me.

"Live at the Delta, Theodore Durban, 20th anniversary show, one night only, February 14th, 1916?" I read aloud, glancing up at him.

"First time they had ever printed flyers for my show. I started in Kansas City before that - a lot of dive bar shows for a lot of those years. It goes without saying Reconstruction did not endear me to most audiences at the time, but at least they had to see me as people then." he explained with a chuckle.

"Reconstruc..." I looked up at him, arching a brow. By his account, he was at least 170 years old. Theo just nodded. He gathered this was a lot to take.

"...how?" I asked. That was probably the obvious question.

"Your father isn't the only one with a big spark, girl. Our kind? We can do anything we set our mind to." Theo answered cryptically, before adding with a bitter tone,"Of course, that makes it sound like it's something I did personally. Let's... just say that when you're a young African-American kid who saw a war between the states over slavery and things are still shit afterwards for you, you tend to be ambitious, want something better. That makes you do stupid things."

"A deal with the devil?" I asked.

"I've always been a blues guy, I suppose." He said with a wistful sigh and a chuckle, before continuing.

"As for Jon - and I know Van Buren wasn't his name, but I wasn't willing to tell anyone that - he made his own mistakes too. He told me back at the Delta before it closed in '74 was that if he could do it all over again, he'd settle down somewhere quiet, and have himself a family. " He looked me over, before adding,"I guess, at least for a little while, he stuck to his word."

"It's one of the few things he did see through... sort of." I noted with a bitter tone. There was a pause before Theo continued

"I probably shouldn't tell you this, but last time I saw him - and this was when you would have been about 10 or so - he had high hopes you wouldn't follow in his footsteps."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Plenty of reasons! The danger mostly. You know, being found out, kidnapped or killed because of your blood - or maybe what's in it. The heartache..." He paused briefly, before adding, "When I first met him, he had a thing with this Belgian woman during the Second War. She... ended up killed in an artillery strike during the Ardennes Offensive. It was 40 years before he finally found himself someone else to love."

"To fill the space." I corrected him. He glanced at me, but simply nodded.

"I shouldn't buffalo you then. He never forget about Soph... hell of a woman. She was taking food to some American GIs when it all happened. Jon was inconsolable for days. I guess... well, he wanted to try and move past her."

Sophia... heh. So that's where my middle name came from.

"So now... I have this stone." I said, deciding to shift the topic, "And it seems to be telling me to go out to Long Island."

"The thing only works for people with a certain amount of 'muscle'. Knowing Jon as I do, he probably hid something out there in case he ever needed to find it, or if he wanted you to eventually find something out. Problem is, clearly someone else figured it out too."

He looked at me in the eye. He had a very expressive gaze, but this time he was using it. It's the sort of gaze that only someone who had seen beyond their years can give, both searching and expressive. He probably already knew I was going to follow this lead, but he told me anyway, "I don't know what he did, but Jon had a lot of secrets - dangerous ones - so I don't think I need to tell you that you'd be a damn fool not to follow up."

I was about to respond, before my phone buzzed. I looked down to see a text message from Phil.

"...Odd. Phil's at my house, apparently with wine." I noted aloud.

"Guess you shouldn't keep him waiting." Theo noted with a chuckle as he patted me on the shoulder and began to make his way out.

"Right... and thanks Theo." I said to him earnestly. He just smiled at me and made his way out.

This was all a problem. There might have been folks watching my apartment. So Phil could have been in real danger. That said, there was something fishy about it all.

I texted Hannah about the matter, and told her to meet me back at my house. I didn't have a lot of time to wait around in case something happened to him.

The feeling of being yanked around by the strings was getting awfully annoying.

You and “Peter” kiss a lot, Hannah. Before a more elaborate reply though—I’ll read more on him.

If there are attempts to lead you Gotham Witch, do you wish to continue in their chosen path, or will you find a new trail to forge yourself?

You have no monopoly on that one, Nemmy.

I ended up flagging a taxi to get home. That said, it was still a long ride, what with all of the rush hour traffic. So, it gave me just enough time to do some important thinking... notably, about how this had to be a trap.

Phil never really had a tendency to just drop by, especially if he didn't know if I was home. He had a key - what was supposed to be a casual fling got fairly interesting after a point, I admit - but he'd still have asked if I was home first usually. Also, he hated emoticons, and the "See You Soon in his message set off some alarm bells.

Well shit.

Hannah was going to be awhile catching up, I wagered, although it wasn't too far away to my apartment. Nonetheless, I knew I had to be cautious. I asked the taxi driver to drop me off about a block away, dropping him a hefty single bill tip before getting out and glancing around discreetly. I took a methodical pass around the block, glancing around for anyone suspicious. Aside from a couple Orthodox Jewish men, a few hipsters, and two tourists, there was nobody around. Taking a deep breath, I went up to my apartment.

My apartment building was conspicuously quiet as I went up the stairs to my place, with not a soul in the hallways - though I did hear the couple next door either watching professional wrestling or making up after a long fight, hard to tell. It was also somewhat dark in the hallway - that wasn't anything terribly sinister though, my landlord was just lazy about changing one of the bulbs. It did make it creepier though.

Two things were unsettling when I got close - there was loud blaring music from the other side of my door. Upon scooting closer, I checked the lock - unlocked.

"Greaaat." I remember saying. However, Resignation gave way to horror when I began to hear muffled screams on the other side.

Phil.

I quickly weighed what I was about to do - this was probably a trap to get me to barge in and get shot, stabbed, turned into a newt, etc. But if I didn't, this could get worse.

Of course, that wasn't to say I couldn't take precautions. Quickly, I focused a bit of power, waving my hand over my eyes to ensure that invisible ambushers wouldn't get the drop. My coat's been mostly bulletproof for awhile, so I was secure on that front. As for a weapon - well, I don't like to weave magic in my own home, but I do have options.

I stood to the side of my door, turning the handle before flinging it open and stepping back against the wall. Nothing came flying out except very loud R.E.M. music - and that painful, tormented screaming.

I peered inside carefully, clenching my fist and focusing a bit of power just in case. There were signs of a struggle - my table had been knocked over, with papers scattered everywhere and there was blood on the floor. To top it off, someone from around the corner of my living room was writhing on the floor, and whoever it was was wearing Ben Sherman's - so likely Phil.

I moved into the apartment quickly, glancing around warily for a would-be attacker. To add to the table and papers strewn everywhere, one of my lamps had been shattered in some sort of struggle, and there was a kitchen knife - thankfully not bloody - stuck in my kitchen wall.

Two break-ins in a year. Did I mention I've moved since then?

As Phil came into view, I could see his white shirt covered in blood, the poor fellow clutching his ears as he held himself in a fetal position on the floor. He had a rather tortured look on his face, the fresh blood on his fingers suggesting that most of it was coming from his ears - though that gash along his ribs didn't look pleasant either.

The remote to my stereo was missing, so I had to manually shut it off. As I did, Phil calmed down considerably, his breath shallow as he rolled onto his back. I moved over to him carefully, kneeling down and brushing a lock of bloody hair out of his eyes.

"...Phil?" I asked pensively.

"Ugh..." he groaned weakly, looking dazed and out of it. Whether he was aware I was even there I'm not sure.

"What in the hell happened?" I asked, examining him. I saw a few bruises along his temple where it look like he had been struck. As I spoke, he shuddered a bit, clutching his ears tighter

"T...too loud..."He murmured, groaning. Pursing my lips, I snapped my fingers next to his ear, which caused him to jolt and whimper.

Someone had used something to make him sensitive, and they had deliberately used it to torture him to get me into the room. Charging into the room might have been a mistake, but clearly the music had been harming Phil.

There are a few magics around that can alter senses. Illusions are the most notable of sorts, but looking at the blood, it wasn't illusionary but physiological. I'm not capable of casting such things... but I've known people who could, many of which capable of far worse and more debilitating measures.

Phil began to tremble again as quiet whistling emanated from my bedroom.
Glaring in that direction, then back to poor Phil, I removed my scarf to wrap part of it around his ears to help muffle the noise.

"Stay put, doll." I murmured lightly.

Quietly walking over to my computer desk, I opened up the bottom drawer. My revolver was gone.

Bloody hell, I thought with a sigh.

This was actually more inconvenient than dangerous, you see. A friend of mine gave me some good luck charms after my last break in - they look sort of silly, with green ink on what looks like pink tissue paper. When Lin gave them to me, I did feel a small degree of magic in each one, so I figured why not? They could be useful.

Quietly shuffling to my kitchen, I snatched one of the little charms, with its mostly illegible Chinese script written on them, off of the wall. Briefly, I turned on my stove, before gently lowering the paper to the flame to let it ignite. It burned quickly as I felt a slight ripple in the air, before I threw the quickly immolating remains into the sink.

Here's hoping, I thought as I pulled my kitchen knife from the wall.

I followed the whistling down the hallway to my bedroom, piecing things together as I listened to the whistling. The magic used on Phil had to have been fleshsculpting. Nothing else is quite so precise. Making things worse, I recognized that tune my house-intruder was whistling.

The door was already half open as I approached. I heard him or her shuffling through my paintings. I heard a distinctly feminine voice murmur, "She needs to paint more of these."

Briefly, I froze upon realizing who the voice was. That didn't stop me from flinging the door open and going for the dramatic entrance, of course.

She stood a couple inches shorter than I did. The last time I saw her, her hair had been sort of a chin-length purple. Nowadays she wore it short and red. She was wearing this red wool coat that I had given her for X-Mas several years ago - which was great for obscuring the blood that obviously stained it.

"Hello, Rose." I said flatly, brandishing that kitchen knife.

"It's been a long time, Melissa. I was wondering when you'd get here." She said sweetly, glancing at me with those hazelnut eyes of hers. Well, they should have been hazel; for some reason, they looked more amber in the light.

"Ever consider calling... and not attacking my friend?" I asked, a cold tone in my voice as I watched her carefully put down the painting - it was a landscape of the campus of my alma mater.

"As needs must, dear." Rose said with a smirk, shaking her head as she looked past me, "Really though, dear? A bassist? You could have done so much better. Remember that cute drummer who had a crush on you back in college?"

"The one who died of a smack OD our senior year? You always had odd taste in men... and women." I said as I approached her. I was doing everything possible to keep my temper down, though it didn't show in my voice as I spoke, "What did you do to him?"

"Weeeeell, we... ran into each other near the Living Room bar, and he was telling me about his music, and how he wished sometimes he could hear it better."Her tone was matter of fact as she added with a mischievous grin,"So... I obliged."

I narrowed my eyes as I took one step towards her. She just smirked as she drew my revolver, cocking the hammer as she aimed it at me, giving me a tut tut.

"Don't be rash dear. I just need something of yours and then I'll leave and never come back - unless you want me to, anyway. I think we can settle this like ladies - for old times sake, hm?"

She motioned to the knife with the firearm, indicating I should drop it, all the while gave me a smile that used to make my heart melt. Funny how I don't see the appeal anymore.

College, sheesh.

"...let me guess, pendulum amulet." I asked, still holding the knife.

"A lot of trouble for a simple new age trinket, I say." Rose said with a sigh and a nod.

"Don't start, Rose. You never could lie to me, and I've had enough grief happen the past year to figure out what it does, and know that people want. Now, how did you get dragged into this?"

"That would be telling, my peche." She answered, referring to her old nickname for me,"I was hoping anyway you could be more helpful than your brother."

I admit I wasn't sure how to take that, considering Ben had been dead for over a decade. Considering fleshsculptors are the creepy sort though, I assumed the sort.

So I did the dignified thing, and threw the knife at her leg.

Kitchen knives aren't balanced for throwing, and I'm not a knife expert. I did, however, leave a nice solid gash along her thigh. She gasped, before cursing at me and aiming her (my) gun at me.

The hammer dropped on the firing pin. As expected, nothing happened.

Before she could attempt a second shot, I swung my fist at her. I ignored the pain in my hand as I connected, her head snapping to the side and forcing her weight onto her cut leg, causing her to stumble and drop the gun.

It goes without saying that was satisfying, enough so that I immediately tried to follow up. Unfortunately, Rose had always been the more athletic than the two of us. She caught my arm and threw me towards my bed in what was probably a textbook judo throw. I remember falling short, half hitting the bed before falling to the floor, somewhat dazed.

As I sluggishly tried to get up, I felt her grab me from behind, stepping on the back of my knee to keep me down. Using her leverage, she pinned me against the endboard of my own bed as I felt her reach beneath my coat. It... was eerie. I remember gasping as I distinctly felt her hand pass through skin and flesh, her fingers reaching inside of me as I struggled. It didn't exactly hurt - more disturbing than anything else.

On the other hand, knowing who was reaching into my chest cavity left me quietly preparing a plea to my maker. I was dead.

"If... I no longer have your heart, la pucelle..." she whispered in my ear, "Perhaps I should just take it."

I cried out weakly as I felt cold fingers grasping inside my chest, around something that wasn't meant to ever have people touching. I kind of remember panicking - a natural reaction when the membrane surrounding the heart is disturbed. There wasn't much logic to it though, just distinct fear of death as I laid there, those fingers feeling my heart beat rapidly.

Through all of this, I barely noticed the door to my apartment slamming shut, footsteps creaking on the wooden floor as someone came in. As quickly as that happened, that hand that had so effortlessly entered my chest cavity to grab my heart quickly pulled out.

I heard Rose curse as she stood up, leaving me to slide to the floor, panting for dear life. I looked up at her, as she angrily glared at me, before - and I kid you not - opening my bedroom window and leaping out of my seventh story apartment.

I heard Hannah's voice calling to me as I sat up against the bed, but my head was swirling too much to respond. I just sat there, clutching my hand to my chest as quietly reassured myself I was still alive.


"Mel?" I heard Hannah ask quietly as I opened an eye, seeing her kneeling next to me. I probably had a rather wild look in my eye, since she was gently patting my shoulder, telling me to just breathe for a few moments as she looked me over to make sure neither the knife or the gun laying in my room had done anything to me.

It was a minute or so before I had enough wits about me to talk again, remembering the crippled fellow in my living room.

"C...call an ambulance."

Magic able to affect flesh as easily as fingers through Israeli mud—I always thought such magic was simply a myth—or exaggerated. If it is real, however—I know a friend who knows an acquaintance who may be able to help Phil, if he needs it.

Hannah—apologies if Peter’s still a touchy subject.

If you say so, Hannah . . .

Incidentally, what happened to the table marked by the pendulum, Gotham Witch?—was it simply knocked over, or had Rose taken a deeper interest in it?

I truly forgot how nasty flesh sculpters can be... Though I thought some where healers.....

Lin, in her infinite kindness, took us to this lovely Dim Sum place for breakfast. Apparently she had done a huge favor for the proprietor, a Mr. Zhao, some years ago and as a consequence, all the xiaojia I could eat was on the house. Hannah’s love for spiced chicken feet and the hundred year old tofu was a bit weird though.

I did my best ‘I’m wide awake’ impression, but apparently I couldn’t convince myself of that, having to drop by the Dunkin’ in Penn Station to grab a very tall cup of joe. As Hannah could probably attest with the tossing and turning (and apparently murmuring to myself), I had barely slept the night before. As we got on the east bound train, I sort of remember Hannah saying something about getting the recipe for something or another before I was out like a light.

Part of it was me reminding myself I had no giant gaping hole my back where someone could reach in to tear my innards out. The other was trying to dissect everything from yesterday. I hadn’t bothered mentioning to Hannah that Phil and I had a less than amicable breakup, and really I hadn’t bothered thinking about it much. I felt bad about it, considering he was still in the hospital, but really, it was probably for his own good. Lately, people have been getting hurt around me.

Besides, I had to explain to him three times the woman who cuffed and kicked him did keep me from meeting my maker. Sheesh.

Then there was that bit Rose told me about Ben. How a deceased relative could be of much use to her at all was rather confusing, until I thought about it awhile and a hunch. Since dad had a tendency of leaving things around as clues, maybe we should follow the trend?

“Mel, wake up.” Hannah nudged me as the automated voice announced we were stopping at Hempstead.

“Mrgh.” I tactfully responded. I think I had dreamed a bit, and though I don’t remember it, it wasn’t pleasant.

I rubbed my eyes a moment, before picking up my messenger bag that I had asked Hannah to grab and we made our way off of the train. Most of it had been preassembled – my spellcasting components, a few vials of some various substances, a wooden stake (you never know when vampires might show up), silver cross, sea salt, garlic, and a few knives for various purposes. Tack on one change of clothes, a spare set of contacts as well as my back-up glasses and a few other odds and ends and we were ready for war.

“Why are we here again?” Hannah asked as she glanced around. The foot traffic was pretty light overall since most traffic is heading towards New York rather than away. There were a few people about, as well as a couple cops and some creepy fellows in black suits talking to each other in their earpieces. I’m sure suburbia always has to fear for the worst from Jihadists.

“I have to visit family. Just a hunch.” I noted as I flagged down a taxi, catching one on the first wave, motioning Hannah in before I climbed in. The driver probably expected us to note a residency or a hotel, so when I pointed him to a cemetery he had an odd look on his face but obliged.

“You have family near the cemetery?” Hannah asked.

“Something like that.” I said with a yawn, still rubbing my eyes and wishing I had just worn glasses. It’s hard to run and gun in even the most stylish lenses however; best not to take the chance.

When we arrived, I dropped the driver a good tip before climbing out and motioning towards the east entrance. Unlike Hempstead proper, which is almost more Queens in demographics than Long Island, West Hempstead – my hometown – was a bit more affluent and far more ethnically homogenous. That didn’t stop me from giving a paranoid glance around as we went in, of course.

Benjamin Jamison Albrecht’s headstone was in a prominent spot to the east of the family plot. To placate my mother, Dad had thrown down a lot of money for a fancy polished marble headstone, with an engraving of her son as well as the usual dove effigies and quote from Matthew. This was more for my mother – a firm Protestant - than my father or I – but we both grieve in our own ways.

“Hello Ben. Sorry we don’t have time to chat.” I said to “him”, before glancing around the headstone, pulling a wreath aside as I glanced about.

“Someone else has been walking on this.” Hannah said, pointing to some imprinted tracks that light layer of snow barely covered.

“I hate being right.” I said with a sigh as I walked over, looking the section of ground as well as the headstone over, even going so far as to move a wreath out of the way and checking beneath it.

Hannah watched as I snooped about, reading over the effigy as she asked, “You come here a lot?”

“Not enough.” I responded, dusting some snow out of the way. It had been cold enough that the recent dusting was still on the ground. Considering someone had been tracking about on here, it was unsurprising when some of the snow I brushed aside had dirt mingled with it.

“This dirt is fresh.” I noted, before brushing a bit more away. Noticing I was onto something, Hannah helped me clear snow from the plot.

“Do you think that creepy woman dug up your brother?” Hannah asked with a worried look.

“Knowing her… hard to say.” I said tactfully. I hadn’t mentioned to her that Rose and I went back a ways… or why Lin’s comment the previous night was so damn hilarious.

I also hadn't mentioned that if she had of dug up my brother, I'd have strangled the bitch myself.

Thankfully, digging up my brother’s body wasn’t her plan. A 1X1’ square had been dug up atop the plot, the dirt freshly turned. Something had apparently been buried atop the sarcophagus.

“Going by how little the dirt has sunk…” I noted, running my hands through the mossy soil, “There had been something buried here for not too long, that had been recently dug up. If it had been the sarcophagus, there would have been a pile of loosened dirt here. So it wasn’t my brother she was after…”

“…but something your father left behind.” Hannah finished for me.

I simply nodded. It was oddly refreshing to know someone else who had similar difficulties with their fathers.

before standing up and taking a few moments to precisely put everything back on my brother’s plot mostly the way I had found it. Hannah was kind enough to help to.

Just because you’re following one of your father’s crazy leads doesn’t mean you can’t take a few moments to keep house for family.

“Well…” I said after putting the wreath back in place, “We don’t know what was taken. But since Rose had taken the time to ambush me in my apartment, it seems that we still have something that puts us in pole position.”

“I suppose.” Hannah said, glancing thoughtfully at the headstone before looking at me and asking, “What now then?”

“Now we get out of here before we run into my mother.” I said wryly as I led us back to the station, “If she knew that someone had been digging around her son’s grave, she’d think that it was some crazy satanic ritual that I was involved in.”

“How did your parents ever get together, again?” Hannah asked, a bit of humor in her voice.

“The world may never know.”

There was a small delay on the train to Ronkonkoma, which left us getting lunch at a Pakistani place I used to frequent in my younger days. The proprietor still remembered me and gave me the adopted customer treatment – whether it was because I was a good customer or because I was one of the few Caucasian customers from the rich white suburbs who ever braved to try his kebob is beyond me. Either way, it was good.

It was another hour on the train, sitting there and watching as we moved farther away from the city, condos giving way to individual houses and even undeveloped forest. I hadn’t gone out this way since that incident at Ronkonkoma Lake a few years ago, so it did feel a bit weird having to come back. If Hannah had noticed my preoccupation, she didn’t say anything, mostly content to just sort of watch trees and homes go by as the LIRR sped east.

Miss Elm was there to greet us when we got off of the train. A larger woman in her late middle years, she greeted both of us with a hug and ushered us into her car before I even managed introductions. Apparently she had lasagna waiting at home and had just picked up some mozzarella and prosciutto to go with it.

Go adopted mothers.

The ride back to her house was mostly me listening to Hannah and Miss Elm chatting. Miss Elm had tactfully noted she studied anthropology and folklore, which of course got the conversation rolling. I couldn’t help but noticed something was bothering the old professor, but as the two were engaged in an intense conversation about hiking, baking, and the origins of folk lore, I was content to just take a nap – the last nap I’d get for quite a while.

Miss Elm kept a small, but quaint home about three miles from Fire Island along the south shore. Over the years she had found interesting places to keep her various literature, including all along the living room and in the fringes of the kitchen. Her collection had expanded since last time, as her books on the occult had been moved next to her small shrine to nature, and she had converted her son’s childhood room into a study – though she kept all of his art school drawings in situ.

It was nearly dark by the time we arrived. We had dinner almost the moment we arrived at her home. Miss Elm set the lasagna – a very, very large one - out, and had me pick out a bottle of red wine. I tried to get Hannah to drink a bit, but she of course wasn’t interested (sissy). Wine or not, however, the food was amazing.

Afterwards, Hannah wandered off to the other side of the house to look around at the books – whereas I kept a nice shelf of interesting stuff, I swear Miss Elm had never gotten rid of a book in her life. Nor did she ever waste liquor – she pulled out the last couple drinks of scotch she picked up from the northernmost distillery in Scotland and poured us both a bit.

“So what is this about, Mel?”She asked, finally getting to the point now that introductions and food were out of the way.

“Mm… when’s the last time you saw my father?” I asked. I was still trying to formulate a way to explain everything that happened. I figured this would give me a few moments to do such.

“Jon Albrecht?” She snorted, taking a drink, “That good for nothing… has to have been at least 10 years.”

“I gathered… did he… leave anything with you, or tell you about anything?” I asked, watching her expression.

“Why would he? He and I never saw eye to eye. In all my ears I’ve never known a more insufferable man.”

“Well…” I started, trying to figure out the best way to explain it. Eventually, I undid the pendulum from around my neck, and held it up to her as I asked “Does this look familiar?”

Miss Elm put down her glass of whiskey as she grabbed her reading glasses, not touching the gem but looking it over carefully, “He… used to wear that. He said that someone gave it to him a long time ago, in Europe.”

I wondered quietly if it had been Sophia who gave it to him, but pushed the thought aside as I continued.

“It… well… long story short, it directed us here.”

“Here?” She asked, arching a brow as she took the gem into hand.

The moment she did, the pendulum nearly tore itself out of her hand, pulling on the chain sideways on its own accord. Both of us blinked in surprise as the dangling stone swung about, pointing down the hall as if held up by an invisible hand.

“…no fair. It didn’t even damage your table.” I said with a sigh. Miss Elm gave me a confused look as we both stood up, following the motion of the crystal. The pendulum distinctly was pointing at something nearby, to the east.

We both followed the trail, finding ourselves in the study. Hannah was standing there, peering through an old book she found on 17th century witch trials in Europe. The pendulum pointed sharply at the empty spot where she had removed the book from.

“What’s wr…” Hannah was about to ask, before looking at the crystal and blinking, “Oh.”

“Jinkees, a clue.” I muttered, reaching between the stacks and feeling about.

It was Hannah’s turn to look at me odd at that point.

“…I’ll loan you my Scooby Doo collection later.” I said, feeling very old as I continued feeling about behind the bookshelf.

Hannah and Miss Elm both watched as I felt around for a few moments, feeling for anything that may have been tucked away. Besides what I was likely looking for, there was a half used pack of old post-it notes, a candy bar (unwrapped), and an old Robotech comic (her son’s?). Finally, I withdrew an old, flat leather bound book that had been carefully tucked behind the section on learning Turkish.

As I lifted the book up, we all watched the pendulum followed its exact movements. Hannah and I just looked at each other with a smirk.

“I’ve never seen that book before.”

Miss Elm said, taking it and looking it over,

“It looks like a journal. Jon must have left it here. But why?”

“Well… who would have looked behind the section on learning Turkish?” Hannah asked.

We both looked at her. She did have a point.

We cleared the nearest table and cracked open the book. Several things were immediately evident. It was a journal, though the entries were fairly widely spaced – the first one in 1942, and the last in 1996. A set of pages were missing from near the end, leaving a large gap between 1981 and the last entry. The damn thing was written in mostly Provencal French… or was it High Latin? I kept reading… Latin, Celtiberian (According to Hannah), Basque… Provencal – my father’s favorite nearly extinct European language, etc. In short, he switched the language nearly every entry, using either dead languages or nearly extinct ones.

Finally, to top off all of the crypticness, an old post card was stuck between the pages near the last entry.

“And this is an old promotional postcard from the Lazlo Society.” Hannah noted, looking it over. The Lazlo lighthouse graphic was prominently printed on the reverse side, "I don’t think they made many of these before Victor Lazlo vanished.”

“Dad loved to leave his things laying around other people's houses. No wonder you hated him, Miss Elm.” I noted with a sigh.

We spent a good share of the night going through the journal, trying to translate it. Miss Elm helped us a bit with the Latin – of which she was far, far better than either of us, but mostly she let us work on the thing while doing her own research. I think she had a distinct (and correct) feeling that I was chasing something that was rather important to me, and such things are easier with two people than three.

…or maybe it was because Hannah had not only passable Latin skills, but a ridiculously strong grasp of Celtic languages.

“…and then I drove off, with the Pope’s hat under my arm.” She had narrated from an entry in the 1940s in an entry that was written in Welsh.

“…how do you do that? I asked, starting to get curious.

“Faeries, probably. I’ve never had any lessons.” Was all she said as she flipped through some other entries.

I took quiet solace in the fact Provencal was pretty close to the conversational Catalan I knew and kept translating. Who needed faeries anyway, I told myself.


Now, both of us were pretty good at languages. However, translation on this scale takes time that I'm not properly conveying by text. That said, by the time Miss Elm had gone to bed, Hannah and I had managed to translate a good share of what my father wrote.

And in many ways, I wish I hadn’t known half of this stuff.

This was the jist.

- His marriage, the birth of my brother and I, our birthdays, and some things going on that he never told us about – like why he never showed up to my school play on the 4th of April in 1993 (he got jumped by a Mafia wizard – coincidentally, that fellow who mugged me a year ago had been one of those…).

- He had been engaging in feuds with other spellcasters – amongst other things. In addition to mafia boy, who looked like George Clooney, that he met on the 2nd of October (year unspecified), he had arranged for the arrest and off-the-scene elimination of a necromancer named Finneas, arranged a cave in of an archaeological site in Spain on an arcanist named Roberto Silva, a large supporter of Francesco Franco and someone who was furthering research of magic powers in wartime.

- He had personally gone about blowing up the vehicle of one of Gotti’s capos – well, more precisely he had convinced a Gotti soldier that he was taking out someone else.

Most of these things made sense – they were also deciphered first because most of them were in Latin or Gaelic, so they were the easiest to interpret. As the night went on and the coffee pot got lower, what I was managing to translate finally started to get weird. Amongst some of the things I inscribed into a Word file on my laptop…

- He had acquainted himself with a man who had made a deal with a being of some shadiness for the ability to play music, but as a consequence, could never die until he had done a certain favor for this being (While that sounds like a good thing, after a while I’m sure it could get quite tedious). His name? Theo Durban.

- He had stolen the works of a German arcanist who had specialized in the reanimation of necrotic tissue, even if it was stitched together in a new body. Hannah noted it sounded awfully Frankenstein…

- He had met a clone of himself from another world, who claimed that in that world they were fighting some evil invasion by spellcasting beings backed by a dark force.

- That he had met a man who had sold his soul to Mephisto for arcane knowledge and the love of a woman (Faustian).

“He lives a story book life.” Hannah noted with a yawn, at around 11:20 at night.

At about that point, something occurred to me – about the point I smacked my hand to my forehead.

“…half of these entries are lies.” I said. It was followed shortly thereafter by something that sounded nothing like “That son of a bitch.”

“What?” Hannah asked, looking at me.

“He’s quoting troupes and story plots and inserting himself in weird ways.” By this point I had swapped to my spectacles, which I lifted to rub my tired eyes, “Very little of this happened the way he literally claims. As a memoir, it’s full of crap.”

“Wow.” Hannah said, squinting at me, “…how do you know?”

“Because that’s something he used to do when telling me stories as a kid.” I said with a wry grin, “He always said you could change the nouns but the story would be the same in some small, instinctive fashion. Whether it was the Bronze Age or 1990, 10,000 soldiers or 5 Ninjas, Patton’s Army or the PLA, the story was always the same.”

“So it’s clearly a code then.” Hannah noted. I nodded affirmatively; it was the obvious truth.

“I suppose.” I sighed, lifting my glasses again to rub my eyes. I have to admit, I was impressed. It would be easy to figure out a bunch of it is second rate fiction, but you'd have to really of known Jon to understand why he did what he did - and how to decode it.

Hannah flipped through what I had typed out and printed, scratching her head, “So… he didn’t regret that he used to like Ben more than you before he passed away?”

“…no, he didn't.” I said after a pause, taking a drink of (Irish) coffee. It wasn’t that I had to think about it; it was more that I had to wonder why that fact didn't bother me more than it did, “That was… factual. I always knew it. We never really bonded until after Ben passed away. After that, I still knew he always felt guilty about it.”

“He write that bonding with you was one of his greatest surprises.”

“Dad never liked to believe he could ever be surprised. Of course, had I known he was at least 200 years old, I could see why – but still.”

“Well… what about this story about him tricking the Spider God Ixtali?” Hannah asked, showing me a page that she had recently translated.

“There’s a lot of trickster myths in Native Am…” I paused mid dismissal, reading the words again. He had written this one as a story. But the more I looked at it, I realized it as fact.

“There was a man who lived nearly a thousand times and died nearly a thousand deaths. Yet he would always linger – even as the world became more and more drab, the people just the same, the seasons never really changing. He didn’t so much as live but sleepwalk.

During the darkest of days, in the greatest of wars, he met a maiden. This maiden had seemed much, yet to her, life was still new, still young, still… inspiring. The gods themselves told those fighting that war that such purity didn’t belong. By the end of that winter, the girl was dead, and the man woke up the one thousandth time, all alone.”

The man, however, saw something differently after the girl’s death. If fate would not bring justice, he decided, he would bring it himself. He swore a pledge that those responsible for ruining the last great thing on his earth would pay. Ixtali, the weaver and plotter, heard this, and made him an offer. He would bring the man those responsible for the murderer of his love, and in exchange, Ixtali would learn this man’s greatest secret – one that even the wise Ixtali never knew.

So the deed was done. The general who oversaw the slaughter of his love and her family was brought to the man, who mercilessly slaughtered him. When Ixtali went to learn the man’s secret, the man told him. However, when Ixtali learned the man’s humble truth, he felt cheated. He attempted to strike the man down, but the man escaped, enlightened by the truth he so long knew but so rarely realized.

And so Ixtali would chase the man across the infinite worlds for untold years, seeking a truth he already knew. The man knew the truth, but he kept running – for the truth never set him free."

“It’s an okay short story.” Hannah noted as I finished reciting it.

“It's a parable. He’s… talking about Sophia.” I said with realization, staring at the page as the significance stared me in the face.

“Who?” Hannah asked. I was starting to feel bad referencing things she didn’t understand, and explained to her the whole story that Theo had told me, about the only woman who had touched my father’s heart, and whose death changed him into the man I knew.

“That’s… wow.” Was all she said.

“I can’t tell if he’s a wizard or a very gloomy vampire.” I said flatly, “Sometimes I swear he did glitter.”

“So Ixtali is probably someone then.” Hannah theorized, going back to the reading.

“The names seem to be authentic when he names them. Theo Durban is real. This capo of Gotti’s was too. So something named Ixtali likely exists.”

“Well, it seems like the context of the stories are often esoteric to his own beliefs and thoughts, but the details he lists are often, out of context, original.” Hannah continued flipping through the pages, looking for words that may have lined up or were shared into something common with some meaning.

I sighed as I sat there, bending the original book pages by the corner and flipping them. As I did this slowly, I noticed something interesting.

“He always puts numbers in the same place on the page.” I said, more slowly flipping each page to confirm my result.

Hannah leaned over, about to say something, when there was a loud crash out in the living room.

Quietly, I sort of wished I had gotten more sleep before.

Sleep is very important. I love sleep. Mmmm, sleep.

Gotham Witch wrote:Hannah asked as she glanced around. The foot traffic was pretty light overall since most traffic is heading towards New York rather than away. There were a few people about, as well as a couple cops and some creepy fellows in black suits talking to each other in their earpieces. I’m sure suburbia always has to fear for the worst from Jihadists.

Suburbia can occasionally hide other dangers and predators they may have been interested in. Just saying.

nothing is ever easy is it.....

Something I confess I’ve never been well acquainted with until that night – wiping blood off of glasses.

So that is why I wore contacts.

Although home invasions in Suffolk County aren’t common, they aren’t unheard of. Miss Elm’s injuries turned out minor, but it was pretty much an expected that someone had to call the cops. This is especially true with the headless guy on the lawn. Throwing him out of the window hadn’t turned out the way I had intended it to say the least.

Fortunately, with only a 12 gauge shotgun and a .357 revolver in the house, there was no way to properly explain the trauma that had been inflicted on Goth Boy. There had apparently been some rumors about a ‘gun toting maniac’ in the Long Island area, and combined with blatant evidence of home invasion, the police were content enough to leave it at that.

Miss Elm was taken to the ambulance as a precautionary. It hadn’t seemed like there was anything major, but considering the circumstances it was better safe than sorry. She had kindly told me to help myself to whatever she had that might help on this matter. My first thought was a nice bed I could curl up in for a while. It kind of seemed like that’s what the world was trying to push me towards the past few days.

But considering the number of people who had gotten hurt up to this point over that stupid book, I had damn well had enough.

It was about 1:10 AM by the time the ambulance left and I could finally go back inside. Hannah had done a bit of work cleaning up the house while I had dealt with the authorities. There was a sandwich and a pot of coffee on the stove. Pausing, I reached inside my blouse, pulling out the pendulum crystal and tossing it to her before I sat down and took a bite. Figuring out what the plan was, she nodded and went outside, probably to find a patch of loose dirt instead of wrecking one of Miss Elm’s tables.

I felt more like I was going to war than investigating a mystery. Though Miss Elm wasn’t a hunter, one of her previous boyfriends was, and he had the decency to leave behind a well maintained Remington 870 Express Super Magnum. Apparently he used to hunt Bull Moose in Alaska, hence the need for 3.5” shells. I would have preferred something with more capacity, but Dad always did say work with what you had.

Speaking of Dad, I was starting to get awfully annoyed with feeling like I was cleaning up his mess. What was in that journal that was so important to resort to a break in? They went to awfully great lengths to get that book. Even the translated notes, had they grabbed them – they didn’t – would have been useless without some context.

That context, of course would be to have known Jon Albrecht. Who did he piss off and what he had he hidden from them, I wondered.

After washing my face, putting my contacts back in, and making a few extra preparations, I grabbed our bags, the firearms, and a few other things and walked outside to load Miss Elm’s car, an old beat-up Accord. I saw Hannah in the currently barren rose garden, examining a freshly sketched dirt drawing.

“It’s pointing somewhere directly north of us.” She said, having heard me close the door behind me.

“That’d only be about 15 minutes away. There isn’t too much up there, but we’d still have to figure out where to go.”

Hannah was about to say something, before pausing and squinting at the drawing in the dirt, “…I think the crystal drew a… cow skull?”

I think I blinked, shortly followed by something quite vulgar, if Hannah’s expression was anything to go off of. I was kind of tired at the time.
“Now it makes sense. I know where they went.” I said almost giddy-like as I tossed our stuff in the back seat – though the firearms went in the trunk.

“Based on a cow skull?”

“Yes! There’s an old slaughter house dating back to the 19th century. It got closed up after a major accident after World War 2, and has only been sparsely used since then by a series of failed companies, but the building is still there.”

“Creepy.” She said, walking over to look through her things to make sure everything was there, before looking up at me, “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“Not particularly.” I admitted as I climbed into the driver’s seat and started up the car.

“It’s been a long couple days for you. I don’t want us getting into anything that might be too much.” Hannah said as she got into the passenger seat and buckled herself in. I managed a weak smirk as I turned on the ignition.

“Well, we can both rest after we find out whoever interrupted our lovely walk in the park the other day.”