Promise: Caulborn #2

by Nicholas Olivo

  I made my way past shelves filled with books and stopped just before a short bust of the Greek philosopher Thales. I relaxed my eyes, letting my caul filter out the illusion that covered the entrance to the Loremaster’s sanctum. It was an unassuming door, made of plain brown wood with a brass handle. I took a quick look around, and when I was confident I wasn’t being watched, I opened the door and stepped through.

  The air in the Athenaeum had been warm and dry. The chamber I stepped into was cool and even drier. Dim, too. I blinked a few times to get my eyes to adjust. The room was shaped like a hexagon, and the floor bowed slightly, like the bottom of a bowl. On four of the walls were other doors similar to the one I’d just passed through. Each of those connected to another dimension via its version of the Athenaeum.

  The last wall had a set of French doors inlaid with frosted glass. Next to that door sat a little girl, maybe six years old. She was wearing a pink and white dress with lace around the hem, and her dirty-blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail with bright pink ribbon. She swung her legs lazily in the chair, her little Mary Janes coming short of the floor by about a foot. She patted a well-loved teddy bear as she regarded me.

  “Hello,” I said. This was new. The Loremaster rarely had unattended guests. Maybe this little girl had accidentally wandered into the sanctum. “My name’s Vincent. What’s yours?”

  “Evelyn,” the little girl replied in a voice that sounded like something out of a Disney movie. She was focused on the teddy bear and making it dance. If she was scared or frightened, I didn’t see it. Still, the best thing to do was help get her home. The Loremaster would be able to divine which library she’d stumbled through and then we could get her back there.

  “Okay, Evelyn,” I said. “I’m going to find the man who lives here, and we’ll see about getting you back with your mommy and daddy, okay?” I moved toward the double doors and was reaching for the handle when her hand shot out and caught me by the wrist.

  “You do not have permission to enter.” The little Disney princess’s eyes glowed red and her voice sounded like something drudged up from the bottom of Tartarus. Her tiny hand latched onto me so tightly that I could feel the bones in my wrist grinding together. I tried to break free and couldn’t. I forced my eyes to relax and my caul let me see through an illusion I hadn’t even realized was there. Evelyn was nearly nine feet tall, with mottled black and green skin, and had a face that looked like it was a cross between an alligator and a demon. A pair of onyx horns curled back from her head, and two rows of razor-sharp teeth lined her mouth. She clutched the teddy bear in six-fingered hands that ended in ragged talons. “You do not have permission to enter,” she repeated, a forked tongue flicking between her teeth as she spoke.

  I swallowed. “I meant no offense or disrespect to the Loremaster,” I said, somehow meeting those glowing coals of eyes. “I would like to speak with him on a matter of importance.”

  “And you bring the fee?” There were two versions of her voice: the Disney version and the demonic version. I focused on the Disney one. Hearing a chipper little voice coming from something out of my worst nightmares helped keep the fear down.

  “I have the fee, yes.”

  “And you will make no move to destroy any of the knowledge contained within?”

  “I will not.”

  She released my wrist. “Then you may proceed, Vincent.” I let her illusion return, and the little girl smiled sweetly at me as she hoisted herself back up in her chair and began singing softly to her teddy. I filtered it out again and saw the twisted nightmare sitting on the chair, still singing to the bear. I’ve seen some weird things before, but this ranked pretty high on the screwed-up-o-meter.

  I swung the doors open and stepped into a second hexagonal room. It was easily a hundred feet across and the ceiling stretched sixty or seventy feet above me. There were dozens of dark mahogany floor-to-ceiling-bookshelves, each one laden with leather-bound books. Brass ladders affixed to the shelves gleamed in the light, and leather couches and recliners adorned the room. The ceiling and floor were made of glass, and this afforded a fantastic view of a mountain range, which the room appeared to be floating above.

  I’m not sure where the mountain range was, or if it was even on Earth. The Loremaster’s sanctum exists at a nexus of many worlds, and this terrain could’ve been part of any one of them. In contrast to the seemingly frigid landscape outside, the study was warm and dry and seemed to sparkle as words made of light whizzed about the room. They streamed through the walls and the furniture, and ultimately drilled into open, blank books on pedestals, where they inscribed themselves on pages. As the pages filled, they turned, until the books were filled. Then they shut themselves and floated over to shelves, as new blank books took their places.

  A man seated in a leather recliner at the center of the room called out to me. “Vincent Corinthos,” he said warmly. “It has been some time since I last saw you.”

  “Yeah, last time you didn’t have a demonic first-grader working security,” I said as I hung my bomber on a coat rack by the door.

  “These are troubled times, old friend,” he said as he stood and crossed over to me. “One cannot be too careful.” The Loremaster was dressed only in a pair of black spandex bike shorts, and he moved with a cat’s grace. His only other piece of clothing was a leather cuff over his left wrist. Tattoos swirled on his dark skin, and piercings on his nose, ears, and eyebrows glimmered as he moved. I don’t know all the details, but my understanding is the piercings and tattoos conduct raw knowledge from the world around him and focus it into his mind, which he then transcribes into these books.

  The Loremaster was close to seven feet tall and built like a weight lifter. For someone built like he was, the need for security seemed overkill to me. His hand nearly swallowed mine as he shook it. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

  “I need information,” I replied.

  The Loremaster’s grin split his face and his hazel eyes sparkled. “Of course you do. But you know the rules. A story for a story, and you must go first.” He poured a glass of water from a crystal pitcher and handed it to me. The glass felt as if it had just come out of a freezer, despite the fact that it was sitting out on a table. The water was invigorating. Surprisingly so.

  The Loremaster’s grin widened. “One must be refreshed to tell a tale properly,” he said. “That water comes from a rejuvenating spring in the Antipodes. It’ll make sure your mouth doesn’t run dry while you’re telling me your tale.”

  I smiled back and downed the rest of the water. It was so cold that I nearly got a brain-freeze. After a moment, it passed, and the Loremaster gestured to a pair of high-back leather chairs. “Be comfortable, my divine friend,” he said as we sat down. “Now then, what tale do you bring to me?”

  I’d been thinking about this on the trip over. “A story of me and the Urisk,” I said. “And how working together we were able to defeat a warlord named Treggen.”

  The Loremaster leaned back in his chair as he chewed on this. Finally he shook his head. “No. I grow weary of tales of war.” For a fraction of a second, his face looked ancient. It was gone so quickly that I might have imagined it. “Those tales are all the same. Good either defeats evil or not. The characters change but the story does not. I wish for something different.”

  I rubbed my chin. “What’d you have in mind?”

  The Loremaster looked at the ceiling for a moment. “Tell me of the moment you fell in love with Petra.”

  I blinked. “You know how we met.”

  The Loremaster shook his head. “How you met and how you fell in love are two very different moments, Vincent. Meeting is simple, you are in a bar, you are in a classroom, you are in line at the grocery store.” He held up a hand. “But, the moment you fall in love with a person is different. Love at first sight is rare. But there are moments in time where love first blossoms. It may be the way your partner looks at you over the top of a book, the quirk of their lips afte
r telling a joke, or a million other subtle things. That is what I wish to know of you, Vincent Corinthos. What about Petra made you fall in love with her?”

  “She’s a geek girl and a supermodel,” I said. “I’d think it was pretty self-explanatory.”

  The Loremaster frowned at me. “I might accept that if I thought you were a superficial bastard, Vincent Corinthos. I know you better. If the price is too steep, then it was a pleasure speaking with you, and I look forward to another visit sometime in the future.”

  He started to rise, but I held up a hand to stop him. “All right, all right.” I rubbed my face. “Give me a second. I need to think about this.” I’d never tried to go back and actively locate the precise second when I’d fallen for Petra, but I knew what the Loremaster was after. “You want to do your mind linking trick? It’ll be easier to show you than to try and tell it.”

  The Loremaster’s grin returned. “That Glimpse is one remarkable talent. I thank you for the offer and graciously accept.” He scooted his chair forward, easily moving the heavy piece of furniture without any apparent effort. Then he reached over and placed his palm against the side of my face. I resisted the urge to begin muttering, “Our minds are merging,” as I didn’t think that he’d appreciate a Star Trek reference just then.

  “I think I know where it is, but I’m going to have to go back a bit just to be sure,” I said. The Loremaster nodded at me. I closed my eyes and focused my Glimpse.

  In the Glimpse, it was about eight years ago. The Urisk didn’t worship me yet. I had no psychic talents, no powers other than Opening or Glimpsing. I’d recently been assigned to Boston’s Caulborn, and they were trying to figure out what to do with me. There were concerns about how well I’d do as a field agent because of my absolutely pathetic marksmanship scores. To my dismay, it looked like I’d only ever be a paper pusher with the Caulborn, and I was seriously considering quitting and going into business for myself as a supernatural locksmith. I had a good ear for language though, and lately the Caulborn had me working with the Dover Demon of all creatures, trying to teach it to read and speak English.

  I’d been able to learn that the “demon” was actually a kind of fae called an Urisk. His name was Lotholio, and he was from a realm called the Bright Side. He had been in this dimension since the ’70s and desperately wanted to go home, but the Caulborn agents hadn’t been able to find a way to get him there. I spent most of my days with him, struggling to help him communicate. At night, I’d go to Gearstripper’s workshop and watch Star Trek: The Next Generation reruns.

  One night, as Captain Picard was violently denying that he was seeking Jamaharon, a female voice I’d never heard before called into the shop. “Gearstripper? Are you in here?”

  Gears scrambled to his feet so fast that he knocked over the bowl of Cheetos we’d been sharing. “Petra!” Gears cried. Orange cheese puffs sprayed everywhere as the little gremlin sprang from table to table, bounding into this woman’s arms like a puppy. His tiny arms wrapped around her neck and he cuddled into her. She laughed, a melodic sound that made me smile, too. I got to my feet, wiped orange powder from my hands onto my pants, and walked over to her.

  “Oh, Petra, this is Vinnie,” Gears said as he untangled himself from her. “He’s a new agent here. He likes Firefly, too, and Star Trek, and he can quote every line from Ghostbusters.”

  I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Petra.”

  She took it. Her skin was smoother and softer than any other skin I’d felt in my life. Her smile made her dark eyes sparkle. “Likewise, Vinnie.”

  She was absolutely gorgeous. Even dressed in a plain white T-shirt and black jeans, which were obviously chosen for comfort rather than style, she looked stunning. A brown leather bag was slung over one shoulder, and her long brown hair was done in an elaborate braid. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. And I couldn’t ask her if I knew her because my tongue decided this was a great time to tie itself in a knot, and the only word my brain could form was “wow.”

  Gears saved me from embarrassing myself by launching into one of his rapid-fire Q&A sessions. “So how’s the job? You were in Hawaii, right? Did you see volcanoes? Did you hula dance? Oh, and did you bring back any macadamia nuts?” His voice took on a pleading tone. “Please say you brought back macadamia nuts.”

  Petra laughed again and pulled a jar of nuts from her bag. Gears clapped his tiny hands in delight and tore into them. As he stuffed his face, Petra ticked answers to his questions off on her fingers. “The job is going well. Yes, I was in Hawaii. I got to go on a helicopter ride into a volcano, which was very exciting. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the free time for any dancing.”

  “Were you on a mission?” I asked.

  Petra looked at me quizzically, then smiled in understanding. “I’m not Caulborn,” she said. “I’m a fashion model.”

  “You know that catalogue you like to look at sometimes, Vinnie?” Gears said around a mouthful of nuts. “Victoria’s Secret? Petra works for them.”

  I blushed so hard that my face burned. That’s where I’d seen her before. In my defense, she did look different with her clothes on and without angel wings. My face burned hotter when I realized just how lame of a defense that was. I did my best to keep my eyes on her face and not think about her in her underwear. Petra giggled. Her lips were so perfect. I took in her high cheekbones and flawless pale skin and thought she looked like something Michelangelo might have sculpted.

  “Have a seat, Petra,” Gears said, indicating the area we’d cleared. “TNG’s just about over, but TOS is on right after that. I think it’s the one where Kirk and Spock are gangsters.”

  “A Piece of the Action,” Petra and I said in unison.

  That night the three of us hung out until just after one in the morning. It went like that for a few months whenever Petra was home from a shoot: late night geek fests and junk food. I brought in my old Sega Saturn to the office, and we played Clockwork Knight. She even knew comic books, and we debated Frank Miller’s storytelling style for an entire night.

  “So when are you going to ask Petra out?” Gears asked me one afternoon over lunch. Lotholio and I were taking a break from our latest English lesson, and the Urisk was resting in his chambers.

  I just about snarfed my Pepsi. “Ask her out?”

  “Um, yeah.” Gears said, taking a bottle of Karo syrup from his Doctor Who lunchbox. “You know, like a date? Don’t you humans still do that?”

  I swallowed and rubbed my mouth with a paper napkin. “Gears, she’s a supermodel. She’s got movie stars and rock musicians and who knows what else lining up to date her.” I looked at him as he unscrewed the cap of the corn syrup. “Are you seriously going to drink that straight?” In response, Gears held the bottle in both hands and drained a third of it in just a couple of seconds. He wiped the back of his mouth with a sigh of satisfaction.

  “That’s disturbing,” I said.

  “Don’t change the subject,” Gears said as he pulled out a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich. “We’re talking about Petra. You’ll notice she spends all her free time in my workshop. Watching sci-fi shows. With you. Geez, Vinnie, do you need a slide rule to figure this out? She likes you.” My expression must’ve been completely dumbfounded, because Gears just sighed. “Vinnie, she does. Trust me. She’s due back tomorrow night, talk to her then.”

  I’d actually been counting down the days until her arrival and knew exactly when she’d be home. Gears probably knew that, he knew me well enough. I agonized for the rest of that day about what I’d say to her. I tried to think about how James T. Kirk would approach this situation. I imagined a mini William Shatner sitting on my shoulder, giving me advice.

  “You have to make her feel… like she’s the most special woman in the world, let her… know just how much spending time with her is worth to you. And then… pick her up and carry her off into the stars.”

  Without my intending it, a mini Patrick Stewart popped up on my other should
er. “You must not put on illusions. Be your true self, for only that self can truly impress someone of her splendor.”

  I dismissed the tiny captains from my shoulders. Too many hours of Trek was playing with my brain. The first thing I needed was to find something for us to do. I went downstairs, grabbed Doc Ryan’s copy of the Boston Globe and started searching.

  The next night, Petra arrived in Gearstripper’s workshop just before seven. “Hey there,” she said with a grin.

  “Hey, yourself,” I said back, returning the smile. I gestured into the shop. “Unfortunately, Gears has some top-secret project that he’s working on right now and can’t be disturbed. So I was wondering if you’d like to go catch a showing of Return of the Jedi? There’s a place downtown that shows the original theatrical presentation every couple of months.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Petra said. And just like that we were walking out of the workshop. Gears’s head poked around a crate, and he gave me a thumbs up. He’d come up with the top-secret project idea when I’d told him about the movie.

  All right, Corinthos, step one, complete. Don’t screw it up now.

  We had good seats at the movie, and to my delight, Petra started whispering dialog to me. I replied with the appropriate lines, and we were grinning like kids the whole time. When the lights came up, she smiled at me so brightly that my brain imploded. This was the greatest night of my life. It was perfect.

  And then we ran into trouble.

  It happened as we were coming out of the theater. “Hey there, pretty lady,” came a voice from the shadows. “How ’bout you ditch the little boy there and come be with a real man?”