He awoke screaming, or thinking he did, though the room around him was dark and silent. He waited for his heart to ease, his breathing to slow, before he slowly sat up in bed.
Ariel, lying next to Idaho, stirred at his movement. "Idy..?" she uttered sleepily.
He patted her shoulder. "Just going to the bathroom, hun," he said quietly, and kissed her cheek. She muttered and settled back in. Idaho walked over to the base's bathroom, on the other side of the building. As he did, he thought, again, about getting an apartment, but on the heels of this most recent dream, he didn't think it was possible.
The dreams had been consistent, building up to this one. They started with him walking through the Isles, dressed in his casual attire, not looking for trouble, but expecting it. Then he turned into an alley to find some vampire feeding on someone.
He assumed that part of the dream came from what happened to Ariel, since these dreams started right around when she died. The vampire turned to him and said, "Come here, Duncan Idaho."
The voice was seductive, sultry, and as the nights went on, the vampire resolved itself into someone he knew: Satine.
Satine stepped aside from the man whose fount she drank from, keeping her eyes on him. "Come and drink. It's elixir."
"You're sick!" But his eyes were drawn to the reddening pool at the man's neck. For weeks he denied it, while Satine worked on him, tempting him. He would draw nearer and back away, forcing himself out of the dream like a man who dove too deep, struggling to get to the surface. But finally, tonight, finally…he bent his head to the man's neck, and took a tentative lick of the sticky, dark fluid.
It was ambrosia.
Darkly sweet, with a bite of fire. Addicting. More…
He felt it gushing down his throat, and couldn't swallow fast enough. Someone took him by the shoulder and turned him around - Masonry.
"Told you we're too close. Like blood, don't you? I just let it run through my hands. You drink it."
However, Womby put her mind at ease, so to speak. "He's aliver 'n you an' me," he told her over lunch after her meeting with Idaho. "Got a magical mace an' 's stoned all th' time. Got somethin' ta do with'is girl."
"Stoned?"
He nodded, biting off some of his hamburger. "Jasmine. Th' man reeks of jasmine."
She wondered what that could mean, but it made it seem even more important to find him. Womby mentioned Mase (Title him Masonry, never Nate, she thought) and went to the D to find him. It took a couple of days, but once when she came in, she was immediately assaulted by patchouli - deep, dark, musky earth - and jasmine. She saw him, leaning against the bar, standing next to what she knew immediately as a red-haired succubus dressed head to toe in red.
Making the sign of the cross, she approached him. He was staring out into space, not even paying attention to the conversation around him. She could see he wore sunglasses, and guessed probably why. She stepped into his line of sight.
He looked up at the interruption, then smiled. "Prov? Prov! Providencea," he almost sang, and took her in his arms for a bear hug. "Where've you been?"
She needed to get away from the sickening scent that was making her both horny and sick to her stomach. "Home, Nate," she said, after he let her down, and she tried to ignore his own bulge in his pants. "I hath go home, to attend matters private. I have speech with thee anon." She motioned to the other bar.
"Sure, sure, can I get you any-"
But she was already moving, getting out of the radius of the succubus and taking large gulps of clearer air. He followed demurely.
She was standing, finally breathing clean air, and looked up at Nate who looked at her concernedly. "You okay?"
"Thou art not dead," she said accusingly.
He smiled, folded his arms across his chest, and laughed. "No! No, I'm not - the most wonderful person came into my life! She brought me back, Prov - she gives me everything I ever wanted and more, much more - "
Providence stood and listed to him espouse on the beauty of his new lover. He used words like "goddess" and "gentle", "powerful" and "adoring."
"And ye kill for her?"
He stopped in mid-word. "Hm?"
"For her. Thou shalt kill."
"If she asked me, I would."
"Wouldst thou?" Tears began to form in her eyes. "Truly?"
"Yes, she doesn't mind that-"
"Didst to the Isles go, children dead by thine hand?"
"Yes, but-"
"Whyfor?" She stared at him, almost seeing the same monster that others saw. She couldn't believe...
"Because I liked it," he said, leaning close to her now. "I still do, Prov. Don't start the guilt shit on me."
"Thou...thou...thy-" Her hands flew to her mouth, holding back both being sick, and her own gasping words.
Now Nate disappeared, to be replaced by Masonry, a cold, stony, dispassionate murderer. "I do like it, it gives me power. I have their life in my hands. They belong to me."
"NO!!!" She screamed and jerked as far away from him as she could. "No, no, no, liketh not monster, no! Thou lovest me, and Kit, and ... Frosty! Whyfor killing, why?!"
"Prov, c'mon, I wouldn't hurt you."
"Whatof thine precious lady? Sayth my death she demands-"
"Yes, I would."
There was silence in her ears, not even the music from the club penetrated it. She stared at him, saw only him, a man who had been so kind and protective and now...now...
"...e'en Frosty?" she whispered.
His voice held no emotion as he stated, "Even him."
Suddenly, she screamed, "WHY?!!" so loudly that it attracted all the patrons at the other bar.
Masonry walked closer to her as he spoke, "Because I love her. And she lets me do what I want. If I want to kill, I will. She doesn't judge me," his voice dropped to a low growl, "like some people seem to do."
That tone of voice made her start - and like a rabbit, she darted around him, to run into the other bar, down the stairs, her tears falling freely now, so that she slammed into the wall at the bottom of the stairs and fell into a crumpled heap. She ignored the other heroes who stopped to help, jumped into the open elevator, and ran, blindly she didn't know - just to get away from the monster that had been her friend Nathan Greene.
The Circle of Thorns on Nerva didn’t stop their ritual. They had made recent encroachments on Arctican-held territory, bringing their version of religion and power to the masses. Some went for that, but since Kay was in charge of making sure the culture of the conquered world was kept in servitude of the culture of the Arctican Occupation Force, she had to make sure that there would be no underlying centers of resistance.
Kay, once known as the “hero” Kill Favored, raised her sword and, with a short, angry cry, headed into the fray. Quickly, cleanly, she separated the headfrom the Madness Mage’s body, then turned her focus on a demon. The demon roared, and she gutted it as well. It didn’t take long for the Circle to be dispatched in this same, gruesome way. She turned to look at the man who she meant to save and chastise, and stopped short.
“Kay,” he said.
She looked at the man, who looked twice as old as she did, though they were both the same age. She straightened, smiled, though there was no emotion in it. In fact, she had hoped he would have been dead.
“Sage,” she spat.
“I see your husband allowed you to actually do something.”
She narrowed her eyes at him; the last time they had met, over ten years ago, was the last time they were amicable to each other, choosing to enforce a truce so that some of his “students” could be released from her husband’s “care.” She had told him of Arctican culture that meant women needed to be kept far away from war; though that had changed over the past few years with the Arctican men seeing women and men fight side by side in their pitiful attempts to extricate the more powerful and advanced Arcticans. “It matters to you?”
“It does, since it encroaches on certain interests.”
“Oh, wait, wait, don’t tell me. That little mage we killed last year? I think I remember her name as the Bowman. Some elflike-creature, let me think.”
Sage waited, his old man’s face a mask. The only indication of his growing rage was the darkness gathering around him.
“Your wife, right?”
Sage now smiled, though it was more like a smirk. “This, my dearest, has nothing to do with her, but everything to do with your husband.”
“Frost Guardian has brought peace to these Isles, prosperity to the strong as it should be. You called the Resistance cowards once, if I’m not mistaken.”
“A man can change his mind.”
“Since his wife’s now a martyr.”
Again, he smirked. “So will the Iceman think as well.” He raised his hands, and she brought the sword up for a parry – it had some protection against magic, but wasn’t purely magical. A darkness covered them, and then he was gone.
“Coward,” she snapped, walking over to the spot where he had been. She peered; it looked like a hole.
“Go down the rabbit hole to Wonderland,” Sage chuckled. “You will not be missed.”
She turned to see him, his eyes blazing red, and suddenly she saw horrible, terrifying images before her eyes and coursing through her mind like the hounds of the Wild Hunt. She tried to scream, but there was no air to make a sound… Cold Soldier, my love, where are you…was her last thought as she passed into oblivion.
God damn Longbow - it wasn’t like he could easily hide his multiple scars, tattoos, and constantly emitting electricity. It also didn’t help that he and his benefactor and rescuer from the Zig had a “disagreement”.
David Styrm first expressed disappointment that Provo still kept doing other projects on the side. “What I pay you, and the projects I request, is that not enough?”
Provo believed Styrm thought his skills were less than adequate, and was often insulted at the caliber of “projects” Styrm offered. Instead, he had other groups eating out of his hand for his craft: the IRA, assorted Kenyan tribes, drug dealers, even a representative from Al Qaeda had contacted him. Provo didn’t realize the reason Styrm gave him such easy projects was so that he would be free and on call for Styrm himself.
Provo rounded the corner and leapt over a dumpster. He misjudged, his ankle buckling under him. He rolled sideways and got to his feet, just in time to feel a bullet graze his thigh – where his head had been seconds before. He popped a green stimulant and kept running. He vaulted over a stone wall and landed in a pool of brackish green water, then banked to the right, waiting.
Didn’t Styrm understand it was the principle of the matter? He was a true mercenary, selling to the highest bidder, completely neutral in matters of bombs. He didn’t care that one of them was used against Shiites in Iraq – nor did he care about the Kenyans using it in their country, either. Nor should he care about the one that the ETA used in Madrid, killing over 200 people, a third of them children in a school.
Styrm obviously did and Provo’s life was forfeit in five words: “I am disgusted with you.” Within an hour after he walked out of his workshop in Cap au Diable, he was being tackled by Family of two different factions that he had played off each other in the past, and now – the Longbow jumped over the wall and landed in the water with him.
He relaxed, letting the electricity flow through him, and the Longbow started shaking, the conductivity of the water amplifying the electricity. He laughed as they fell face-first into the water – if they weren’t dead, they would drown.
Provo stepped out of the water and felt something enter his body through his stomach, then butterfly him open at the hips. He stared at a man with a black duster hat, in a black trenchcoat, and a typical black mask. “They missed,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask. “I don’t.”
As Provo sunk to the ground, the last thing he saw was the man’s eyes, yellow and emotionless like a cat’s.
Idaho stopped short. Mender Taggarts, "Tagz" as he called her, had been his personal trainer since Lazarus passed him on to her. She was a dark-haired, buxom woman who wore combat boots and a typical monocle that most Menders wore. She came from the 37th century, from the colonized planet Gelsian, a rough-and-tumble planet where the inhabitants were well-known to not suffer fools gladly.
"Yes. I want to fix it."
"I'm sorry, Idaho, you can't."
"Why the hell not?!"
Tagz crossed her arms across her chest and studied him. "Because it's part of your destiny."
"Fuck my destiny."
The gaze became angry. "You have a duty not only to us, but to time at large, Idaho. You still have a lot of trials by fire to go through before you realize who you really are." She turned away. "I suggest you take some time off for mourning, Idaho. You won't be able to concentrate on your work, and I don't have time to babysit."
Idaho turned on his heel, stormed out of the room, bursting into flame as he did so.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"How's he doing?"
Sonic Butterfly jerked at Suicidal Wombat's entrance. "Shit, man, don't scare me like that. What're you doing here?"
Wombat nodded to the hallway where the private rooms were housed. "Aestas."
"Hm? Oh, yeah. 'ja know her?"
"No, but I know Idaho. Checkin' on 'im."
"He's fine."
"Not if he's like Masonry." He walked on into the hallway, passed over to Idaho's room. He knocked gently on the door, and nodded to himself when Idaho called entrance.
He parted open the door. "Duncan."
"Oh, hi, Womby."
"Hey, mate. Sorry 'bout Ariel."
"I'll be all right."
"Hm, yeah, well..." He closed the door quietly. "I'm sure ya will, but what about her?"
"What do you mean?"
"'er spirit, mate. Ain' nobody seen 'er."
Idaho turned slowly and looked at him. "Because she's with me. She's bound to me or something."
"Bound? Th' only thing that c'n do that is a Pure Marriage or..."
"Or...?"
"She don' want to leave you."
"Why, Womby? I'd only hurt her."
"Why d'ya say that, mate?"
"I didn't want her life."
"Did she want yours?"
He looked sorrowful for a moment. "Yeah. But what if she changed her mind?"
Womby gave him a glare, that encompassed both anger and pity. "She can't now, can she?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wombat heard the spirits speak and followed their direction. Before, they could be often wrong - spirits that he had often controlled and forced to his bidding would say and do things to confuse and spite him. These spirits, these wraiths seeking and becoming comfort, would merely make suggestions.
It was two days after the funeral; he couldn't bring himself to approach Idaho then. But he had seen Ariel hover by him, trying to comfort him in her own way. Idaho was doing his level-best to ignore her, and didn't see her pain like Wombat did.
He followed his guides into Perez Park, a place he hadn't been in quite some time. Hydra still lived there, plaguing the unwary new hero. He followed their direction deep into the woods and found a small house with a set of docks. He didn't remember seeing this house before, but, then, he never really searched it out.
Wombat went up the dock, his feet barely touching the wood. Spirits were quiet here, which was good, but the Hydra hissing in the background made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He knocked gently on the door.
He heard movement inside, then Idaho's voice, cautious: "Who's there?"
"Me, mate," Wombat said quietly.
Locks were undone and the door opened slowly. "How did you find me here?" he asked. He stood topless and barefoot in only jeans. He would look like any man who looked suddenly disturbed, with the exception of the wood-cutting axe in his hand.
"Spirits tol' me. They wouldn'ta tol' me if they din't think it's right."
"No, I guess not, but this isn't my house."
"I'll wait'll ya get dressed, an' I'll talk t'ya out here."
"No, I'll go get my coffee and come outside. Want anything?"
"Coffee?" His eyes brightened.
Idaho smiled. "How do you take it?"
"Milk an' sugar, 'nuff for a layer on th' bottom."
"I'd better just bring out the pot."
A few moments later, Idaho came out with a pot of coffee, a mug and spoon, and a half-gallon carton of milk. He came out again with his mug and a sugar bowl. Wombat made his coffee silently, and after comments of how good it was, he got down to business. "The funeral was beautiful."
"I hear they're supposed to be." He looked down. "Her parents think it's my fault."
"Her dyin'?"
He nodded. "She wanted to be a hero. I told them I tried to dissaude her, but they didn't listen to me. They think I talked her into it. They think I got her killed - "
Womby looked for Ariel but didn't see her.
" - but she went off to the Isles on her own, to see Kitty. And not my fault she got drained dry by --" He cut himself off.
"A vampire?"
"A dampire."
Womby snorted in a chuckle. "Dhampyr. Daywalkers."
"Whatever. She sucked Ariel dry, and now she wants me to forgive her." He glared angrily at Wombat. "I can't. I can't."
"Now's not a good time, Duncan. But I din't come 'ere for 'at." He sipped at his coffee. "Ariel's bound t'ya, you said?"
"Yeah. Twisted Twilight - she's my original's girlfriend," his voice dropped low and he spoke angrily, "they're made for each other. Anyway, she told me that she bound Ariel to me. So I'm going to make her tell me how to release her."
"Ya think, mate, she don' wanna?"
"What do you mean? Don't all souls want to be released?"
Wombat raised an eyebrow and smiled gently. "I c'n tell ya of five righ' now that don't."
"Why not?"
"They all got th'r reasons. But yours don' wanna leave 'cuz she loves you."
He looked painfully at Wombat. "Why?" he cried.
"B'cause she does, ya dope! An' still ya hurt 'er. You ignored her the whole funeral."
"What was I supposed to do, say 'Hi' to air?"
"Yes! Jus' talk t' yerself - they'd f'rgive ya yer grief."
Idaho swallowed. "I didn't know that."
"Eh, mate, ya dunno lotsa things. That'll cover yer ass only so long. Did you love her?"
"Yes."
"With yer heart an' soul?"
"No."
Wombat raised an eyebrow. "At least yer honest."
"I couldn't give up myself. She gave up everything because Twisted...twisted her into it."
"Don' matter, mate; 'swhat she wanted. Yer Twist jus' pushed it a little." Wombat drained his mug. "Lis'n mate, here's what th' spirits say, 'kay?" His face turned serious, and he focused entirely on Idaho as he spoke. "She loves you with what's left of her being. Do not deny her that, Idaho, no matter how close to your original you might think you are. Even Masonry's heart is full of devotion - so can yours be. It's not a surrender, but a sharing. We do not expect you to give all today, but give small pieces, and you will see." Then Wombat closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, then relaxed.
The two men looked at each other, when Wombat opened his eyes. Without another word on the matter, Wombat said goodbye and leapt off into the trees. "Think he'll listen?" Wombat whispered.
The spirits didn't answer.
Grimaulkin turned, his hands on fire. He felt more than saw the Death Mage at his back, and he turned to glare at him.
“Mikey, it’s me, Alex. Can’t tell anymore with the eyes. But I know you, man.”
Grimaulkin studied the older-looking man. Death Mages usually gave up bits of their essences in order to summon those zombies that did their bidding, and therefore aged faster than their counterparts. Alex could be about Mikey’s age, if not even younger.
“Don’t quite remember you, man.” He immediately buckled down for a fight.
“I’m not here to fight you.”
“Then what?”
“I’m here to congratulate you, and wonder if you’d be interested in working together.”
Grimaulkin stared at him. “Word travels fast.”
Alex folded his arms across his chest. “How you got where you are is no secret, Mikey. What you’re doing over here in Paragon is tempting fate, though.”
“I have the power, how I use it is my own choice. It’s in the contract.”
“You cheated.”
Grimaulkin shrugged. “Didn’t we all?”
“Yeah, we did.” Alex grinned. “But I need your help.”
“Oh? What do I get out of it?”
Alex held out a brown pouch and hefted it. “This.” He tossed it to Grimaulkin, who caught it on the fly. He noticed there were two pouches, one brown and fat, and the other black, flat and folded against the brown one. Alex then pulled out a pair of ornate gloves from his robes and handed them to Grimaulkin.
Grimaulkin eyed Alex. “Okay, explain first.”
“You don’t want to be handling dead bodies bare handed, do you?”
“Screw you, pal!” Grim backed away quickly, dropping the pouch.
“Wait, wait, let me explain! Here…” Alex picked up the pouch, put on one of the gloves. He took out something from the pouch that looked like a dried out chicken bone, tossed it on the ground. It hissed in the grass, grew, and a creature that looked like a skeleton with leather instead of skin rose up. Grim backed away as it turned to face him, swaying side-to-side, barely able to keep itself up.
Alex summoned darkness, which even he could feel in the air, and the creature took a shuddering, angry breath, its eyes filled with darkness and focused slightly tighter on Grim. Grim gulped and backed away further, the smell of it now stronger of death and the grave.
“Now…tell me why… I would want…that!” Grim tried to hold down his lunch, breakfast, dinner, and all the way back to last week’s Sunday dinner.
“First of all,” Alex said, “it’s your servant, would do everything you tell it. It’s quiet, discreet, and disposable.”
“So’s Louie.”
“But you can’t bring Louie to the Isles, can you? He’s a little too obvious there. The Legacy Chain would eat you for dinner if they felt you pull a soul out of the Netherworld.”
“Tell me why I’d go to the Isles.”
“To fetch some bones for me.”
Grimaulkin laughed.
“Plus, there’s lots of different magical items there that can’t be found here. The Legacy Chain has tons of things there. All I want is bones,” he held up the black pouch. “The zombies will drop an extra bone for you for every enemy it kills, it’ll look like the one you used, except it won’t have the enchantment on it.” He held up one of the bones from the brown pouch – it had a red, glittery symbol on it.
“So I use the bones and get old like you?”
“No, here’s where it’s great for you, Mikey.” Alex grinned. “You have your powers from an outside source, not from within you. That’s where you’ll get the power for your summoning. You won’t get old like me. I get more bones, better bones, and you get better magical items, things that can help you with your…quest.”
Piss off Grimmy by using her power to summon zombies. Heh, heh, heh, she’ll love that. “Those gloves aren’t enchanted, they won’t stick to me or anything?”
“No, they only make the zombies more focused on your will.”
Grimaulkin held out his hand. “Okay, let me try it. As long as I’m not downwind.”