Princess of Wands

by John Ringo

  Barbara contemplated the scenery as Sharice drove the car up I-40 and into the Appalachian Mountains. She had lived in quite a few places, and visited others, but the Appalachians were one area she’d never seen. Most of the mountains in her experience were much higher and arid but the Appalachians were covered in trees and there were flashes of green and a few buds to relieve the brown-gray of the forests. It was a clear day and as the car turned off onto a side road she could see for miles. Many of the mountains had houses tucked into their sides in such a way that when the trees were full of leaves they must have been invisible. It was a place of quiet beauty and she hoped she would be coming back again.

  She hadn’t paid attention to the route but she did when they turned onto a side road and up the side of a mountain. The road was poorly maintained and very twisty. They passed a couple of houses, vacation or retirement homes she was sure from the look, then cut up over a ridge and back down to a gated fence with a manned guard shack. On the left side of the gate was an embossed metal sign, about two feet square, that said: “The Foundation for Love and Universal Faith. Est. 1907.” The unarmed security guard waved at Sharice and apparently pressed a control because the gate started to open.

  “We mostly depend upon working in the shadows,” Sharice said, as she drove through a section of tended white pines. They were tall but there was an understory of smaller cedars that cloaked whatever was beyond them from sight. “But everyone has to have one place they can go where they are fully secure. The Foundation is guarded by far more than a rent-a-cop, I can assure you.”

  “I…” Barbara said, then stopped. “I can feel it.” And she could, a tingling like after a shower. It felt… fresh and clean as if the miasma of the world had dropped away.

  When they cleared the pines she smiled, looking at the buildings of the “Foundation.” There were several of them, most resembling chalets but with a few using other architectures. She recognized some of it as Oriental and a small building that could be a mosque, but the rest was so eclectic as to defy even her knowledge. A small stream ran through the hollow that they clustered in and the buildings seemed to fit its pattern naturally. Scattered among them were a wealth of gardens, most of them brown at this time of year. But she could see that in the spring and fall they would be a riot of color.

  “This is the hard time,” Sharice said, as if reading her thoughts. “The bad time, when the spirits of the winter, the spirits of darkness and cold, hold sway. Some of them are simply neutral, but many side with evil. From Samhaine to Beltane is when we are at our lowest ebb, when the spirits of the dark come forth to do battle and we must challenge them despite our relative lack of strength.” She paused and then grinned. “Or, maybe, it’s simply Seasonal Affective Disorder.”

  She pulled the car around the back into a small parking lot that was mostly grass and trees with an occasional parking pad.

  “You’re in the Gletsch Chalet,” she said, pointing at the building which was a more or less traditional Alpine chalet on the other side of the stream. There was a small bridge and the walk was not far.

  “I guess I’d better start unloading,” Barb said. “What’s the dress code?”

  “There isn’t one, sweetie,” Sharice said, smiling. “You can be as dressy as you’d like or just wear jeans and a flannel shirt. Nobody will comment.” She paused and frowned. “Some of the attendees at training… costume as their avatars. Especially on First Night. And you’ll probably find some of them… odd.”

  “I can imagine,” Barbara said, shrugging. “I’ll manage.”

  “I want you to try to understand, though, Barb,” Sharice said, firmly. “Most of those who are drawn into Special Circumstances are fringe people. People who are actually a little psychic as you would call it. They’ve mostly been outcasts in their lives. They’ve taken up the fringe lifestyle of groups that accepted them as they are, rather than trying to make them…” She paused and then gestured at Barbara.

  “So, what you’re saying is, I’m the outcast?” Barb asked, lightly. “You’d be surprised how out of place I’ve felt most of my life.”

  “But you adjusted to that mask,” Sharice said. “You put it on and you wear it well. These are people who, by and large, never could. You are what we call a ‘mundane.’ A person who can’t enter into the fringe or, at least, doesn’t enjoy doing so. And mundanes have made most of these peoples’ lives hell. They laugh at them for their oddity. By the way you act, dress, speak, you are… well, yes, you’re on our side. But you’re the enemy they have dealt with their entire social lives. You asked me how you should dress? Forget the pretty make-up, forget the nice heels, forget the washed silk. Put on a T-shirt and jeans and some running shoes and just… be yourself. As ‘yourself’ as you can manage. Or don’t. If yourself is dressed to the nines every single moment, dress to the nines. But understand that your fellow warriors aren’t the church lady teller at the bank.”

  “Okay,” Barbara said.

  “Dress however you want, look around and then make your decision,” Sharice said, sighing.

  “Can I ask a question?” Barbara said.

  “You just did,” Sharice answered, smiling. “But go ahead.”

  “Have you ever been… ?”

  “On assignment,” Sharice filled in for her. “Yes, but I’m retired.” She paused again and shrugged. “You get old. You get to the point where you just can’t run with the big boys. The knees are shot and sometimes the wisest simply — flee. You’ve seen too much and…” She shrugged again. “You just want to rest your weary bones and not hear the screams anymore.”

  “You were… powerful,” Barb said, cocking her head to the side and really examining the woman for the first time.

  “Still am, dearie,” Sharice chuckled. “Still am. And old and maybe I’ve gained some wisdom. Which was why I was asked to pick you up.”

  Chapter Three

  It took Barb fifteen minutes to haul her bags into her room and they just about filled it. She pulled out the dresses and hung them up, then unpacked the bags as she contemplated the schedule booklet that had been in her room. Registration opened at 5:30, then there was a “Get Together” in the Philosophy Center. There were two seminars in the evening: Advanced Demonic Identification and Cabalistic Symbols: They’re Not Just For The Bad Guys.

  Her schedule had helpfully been marked up by someone, with certain seminars highlighted. She had a full schedule for tomorrow, starting with “Introductory Demonology” and running through “Introduction to Pan-Theology.” But other than registration and the get-together, which apparently was when dinner would be served, she didn’t have anything marked for today.

  She considered Sharice’s suggestions on dress but simply couldn’t appear in public with these people for the first time in jeans and a T-shirt. So she chose a simple dress, cotton-polyester and patterned, and a pair of low pumps. She intended to bring along a down duster against the chill that hung in the air and that would get worse after dark. She contemplated her makeup and touched it up, stuck the pistol in her purse and went forth to find registration.

  As she entered the Administrative Center, which was designed like a temple of some sort, she got her first real look at her fellow attendees. There were two Buddhist monks in saffron robes, a man with “punked” hair and a number of piercings on his face, two women in what she could only describe as “ceremonial” robes covered in what she supposed were “cabalistic” symbols and a number of other people that she categorized, aware that it was uncharitable, as “geeks.” Two of them were obviously a pair, possibly husband and wife, the man tall with dark hair and heavyset and the wife short and… okay, she could lose a few pounds.

  She stood in line behind them, patiently waiting and, okay, eavesdropping.

  “I’m worried that they’re going to assign us to the Lycaean case,” the woman was saying. “I hate New York.”

  “Dartho said there’s a case going on at the cons,” the man said. “Maybe we’ll get th
at.”

  “I could do cons,” the woman said, grinning. “At least we’d be able to fit in. I hate working directly with the Bureau. The damned agents are always looking down their collective nose.”

  “I know,” the man said, frowning. “And it’s not like they can outshoot us or outthink us.”

  “I’m sorry,” Barbara said, touching his shoulder. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you shoot.”

  “Is there a problem with that?” the woman said, somewhat nastily.

  “None at all,” Barb said, smiling at her. “It’s just the person that picked me up from the airport seemed very… down on violence. And I enjoy shooting. So I was surprised.”

  “Oh,” the man said, trying not to look at her chest and failing miserably. “Well, there’s a range here. But, yeah, a lot of the operators are really down on guns. They seem to think that that’s what the cops we work with are for.”

  “Part of it is a misunderstanding of the three-fold path,” the woman said, shaking her head. “Evil given returns three fold, you know? But using violence in the service of good is good. It’s not violence itself that stains the soul but the nature of the feelings when violence is used.”

  “I see,” Barbara said. “What if… what if when you use violence for good you know that the… side of you that is doing that is not, essentially, good?”

  “That can be a problem,” the woman said, earnestly, talking a bit fast so that the words ran together. “That is a crack that the Enemy can use to strike through to your soul. The best way to use violence is to be so steeped in the muscle memory that when you enter combat you simply respond, emotionlessly. Or so it seems.”

  “Have you… ?” Barb asked.

  “No, actually,” the woman admitted. “So far we’ve never had to draw our weapons. But we’re fairly new to all of this. My name’s Julie Lamm, by the way,” she added, smiling and holding out her hand. “And this is James, my husband. And you are… ?”

  “Barbara Everette,” Barb said, holding out her own as she tried to keep up with the rapid patter of the woman’s voice. She had never realized it was possible to both have a southern accent and talk like a New Yorker.

  “Crap!” James said, his eyes widening. “You’re Barbara Everette?”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you,” Julie said, her own eyes wide. “And I take back any suggestions that I made.”

  “I don’t see why,” Barb said, shaking her hand and James’. “I’m here to learn.”

  “Learn what?” James asked. “You took down a sixth level avatar! There are only about three agents in the U.S. that might have been able to do that!”

  “James, stop that,” Julie said, wise understanding in her eyes and her speech slowing. “Barbara, you have to understand that what you did is considered… amazing. I hadn’t known who you were or I wouldn’t have been so… definite. To simply hold your soul against such an adversary shows that your soul is very tough, very strong. Yes, using anger in combat might open up a channel to the Enemy. But it would take a strong avatar to use it, especially if Almadu was unable to do it. Almadu is one of the Children of Tiamat. A very ancient and powerful godling. If you were able to withstand his glamour, then it’s likely that your soul is… very pure.”

  “I was protected by the hand of the Lord,” Barbara said, simply. “I… felt the… what did you call it?”

  “Glamour,” Julie said. “It’s one way of saying a mental projection. They come in various… guises. But each tries to use the evil that you feel in your soul against you. If he was unable to…”

  “Oh, but he did,” Barbara said, relieved that she could actually talk about her experience with people that didn’t think she was insane. “I… walked through… horrible visions. But then the Lord entered me and they… stopped. I could feel His light in my soul, shielding me.”

  “I heard you had a full manifestation,” James said, interestedly. “Actual physical projection.”

  “I’m not sure about that,” Barb said, humbly. “But I could not have done what I did without the shielding hand of the Lord over me.”

  “Christian?” the man with piercings asked, somewhat hostilely. He had died black hair and blue eyes that were almost black. He was wearing a tattered pair of black jeans and a plain black T-shirt. Barbara realized that if you ignored the piercings he was actually good looking in a thin and hollowed out way. He had gotten his badge and it read simply “Dragon-Kin.”

  “Yes,” Barb said, simply. “I’m an Episcopalian.”

  “This is Barbara Everette, Dartho,” James interjected.

  “Oh,” Dartho said, nodding. “Pleased to meet you. Good job in Louisiana. For a beginner.” He didn’t really sound as if he was pleased to meet her.

  “Thank you,” Barbara said, dryly, cocking her head to the side. “I take it you’re not a beginner?”

  “No,” Dartho said, turning and walking away.

  “Wooo,” James said, shaking his head. “I hadn’t expected that.”

  “Dartho’s a powerful adept,” Julie said, shaking her head. “And highly trained. Not one of the ones that think violence is only for the police, either. But probably not powerful enough to have done what you did. That has to grate on him. Especially since you’re…” Julie gestured at her and shrugged.

  “Good looking?” Barb said, hotly. “Well dressed? Normal looking? A… what’s the term, a ‘mundane’?”

  “Yep,” Julie said, grinning. “That would be it. Between who you obviously are, what you represent, and how much more powerful you are, as a newbie, he has to be sort of hot under the collar.”

  “That is so…” Barbara said and stopped.

  “Human?” Julie asked. They’d reached the head of the line and she nodded at the person handing out badges. “Julie and James Lamm.”

  “Right here, Julie,” the woman said. She was heavyset with teased out red hair wearing a T-shirt captioned in Latin. “Good to see you again.”

  “Glad to be here,” Julie said, sighing. “But there’s a lot of tension.”

  “Barbara Everette is attending,” the woman said, nervously. “We’re all on pins and needles. I hear she’s a real…”

  “Mundane?” Barb finished for her. “Barbara Everette,” she added, smiling.

  “Actually,” the woman said, shaking her head ruefully. “I was going to say ‘Bible-thumper.’ “ She handed Barbara her badge and shrugged with a grin. “I think you’re the only Christian attending this time. We’d heard that you get your power from the White God and you don’t get powers like those without being steeped in faith.”

  “You also don’t get them by simply going to church on Sunday and looking down your nose at everyone else the rest of the week,” Barb said, hanging the badge around her neck on a provided lanyard. “Or, for that matter, by looking down your nose at all.”

  “That’s… true,” the woman said, rapidly reevaluating her.

  “So I won’t be Bible thumping this week,” Barbara said. “Or standing in the hallways screaming at everyone that they’re going to hell.”

  “Oh,” the woman said, chuckling. “Good.”

  “Although I may point out that there is but one path to Heaven,” Barbara added, grinning. “Through the Saving Grace of Our Lord. But only if anyone asks.”

  She turned to see that Julie and James had been waiting through the by-play and joined them.

  “I can see that this is going to be an interesting week.” Barb sighed.

  “You’re not what anyone expected you to be,” Julie said. “Some of the high-level adepts, like Dartho, tend to be sort of… stuck on themselves. That doesn’t interfere with their work, but I sort of expected you to be…”

  “Pride is a sin,” Barb said, shrugging. “Sin destroys the soul and closes it to God. And I’m here to learn. I am a… newbie. What my dad would call an FNG. And… yes, I feel like a fish out of water. I hadn’t expected… this,” she finished, gesturing to the people in line. There were more weird out
fits than she’d ever seen in her life. At least Julie and James were dressed normally. “But I have to learn if I’m to do this job to the best of my ability. And doing less would also be a sin against God.”

  “Not to mention getting killed,” James said, frowning. “And getting your soul ripped out and tossed into eternal torment.”

  “That too,” Barbara admitted. “There are things…” She stopped and shook her head at the visions. “My husband has been complaining about the nightmares I’ve been having. I can’t exactly tell him that I’m reliving watching a demon feeding on its worshippers. Not to mention trying to feed on me. Nor is there an analyst I can approach about it.”

  “There are some here,” Julie said, leading them off. “And you might want to talk to them. What you’re suffering from is straight-forward post-traumatic stress. There are aspects of it that learning about help. There are probably things that you think about your experience that bother you. And those are, quite often, very normal and have a logical basis. Dr. Braun can probably help you quite a bit.”

  “That would be nice,” Barbara admitted. “But I’m not sure I’ll have time this week.”

  “Don’t worry, you will,” James said. “There’s only so much you can absorb at once. They’ll probably suggest that you take a heavy load at first, then trail off towards the end of the week. Besides, a lot of the learning in this field is what’s called institutional memory. You’ll pick up the theory in the seminars but you can only really learn by doing and then talking it over with more experienced operators.”

  “Are you operational?” Julie asked as they left the building.

  “I’m not sure what you mean by that,” Barb admitted. “But I was told I was going to be given a mission of something like a week’s duration at the completion of this week.”

  “That’s operational,” Julie said, with a note of curiosity. “They generally pair a new operator with an older one. Do you know who you’re going to be with?”