by Alan Baxter
Isiah took her hand from his face. ‘I’ve long since given up feeling sorry for myself.’
‘You say that. But you don’t really mean it.’
They looked at each other for a long moment, their eyes locked. Isiah wanted to say a lot of things. He wanted to tell her how much he felt drawn to her. He wanted to tell her how he had removed himself from the possibility of ever loving a mortal because the pain was too much, but she wasn’t really mortal like most. He wanted to explain that she was the first person he had met in centuries that made him feel like Megan used to make him feel. He wanted to tell her that he was lonely and that he only felt more lonely when he thought of the possibilities that she presented. He wanted to tear her clothes off, here and now. Instead he said, ‘We have work to do.’
Petra nodded, her eyes a little sad. ‘Where are we now?’
Isiah took in a quick breath. ‘India. Can’t you tell?’
‘I tried to keep up with things, but you dragged us around so quickly. Sure, there are a lot of Indian people around, but it could be Malaysia or Fiji for all I know!’ Her mouth was curved in mock annoyance. ‘Don’t you ever tire?’
He shrugged. ‘Eventually. But not right now. You ever been to Sydney before?’
‘Yes, but not for years. Decades actually. I’m sure it’s changed. Wait a moment.’
She closed her eyes and Isiah felt her power swell. He watched her, drinking her in. After a moment her eyes fluttered open again. ‘Olivier says the ONC headquarters in Sydney is in Paddington. I have the location.’ She tapped one finger at her temple.
Isiah nodded. ‘Good. We must tread carefully. They will be on their guard. I know where we can start.’
The shimmer of RealmShift abated and Isiah and Petra stood among trees beside a wide lake. The air was hot, humid. Picnickers sat around the lake and on the grass between the trees, children ran, dogs frolicked. ‘Centennial Park,’ Isiah said.
Petra nodded. ‘Ah, yes. We can walk from here.’
‘I thought so.’
They stepped out from the shadows and strolled along as if they had been in the park all morning, just like everyone else. Isiah slipped off his leather jacket, something he rarely did, and slung it over one shoulder. His hard, muscular body pressed through a dark t-shirt. Petra smiled softly and took his hand in hers. Before he could react, she distracted him with conversation. ‘Olivier tells me that the house is large and getting quite busy. Many Optimates Cruor of the ONC have reported there and apparently large numbers of general members are starting to head to Australia.’
Isiah smiled inwardly, glad to be holding her hand. ‘Are they heading anywhere particular, the general members?’
‘No. They’re using all manner of methods, some on tours, some on supposed business trips, some simply flying direct, and they’re arriving all over the country. But one thing is certain; the ONC are gathering in this country for some reason.’
‘It makes sense to arrive this way. The hierarchy would appear to be working well if the centralised command is here in Sydney. Presumably they have some way to disseminate information to their members once they’ve arrived.’
They walked to the north end of Centennial Park, enjoying the sunshine and warmth of the Australian summer. As they stepped through large sandstone gates into the noisy mayhem of the streets they both pulled their guard tightly around themselves, masking themselves from any outward scrutiny, mundane or otherwise. Just a couple walking hand in hand, across a busy junction and along Oxford Street. Isiah watched their reflection in a shop window as they strolled past and thought they made quite the good looking couple. Petra giggled. Was there anything she didn’t hear him think? He would have to practice keeping his thoughts deeper in his mind.
‘This way,’ Petra said, pulling on his hand as a pedestrian crossing signal started beeping, the green man lit on the pole, urging those crossing to hurry with technological indifference.
They walked through the streets of Paddington, passing churches and schools and rows of Federation terraces. At one point Isiah paused, using a credit card at an ATM. He flashed the Australian notes before pocketing them. Petra nodded once and they continued on. Eventually they turned into a tree-lined street and Petra squeezed his hand. ‘Nearly there.’
‘Keep walking. We’ll just wander on by and have a look first. Which house is it.’
‘I’ll tell you as we approach.’
Without needing to mention it, they both pulled their psychic cloaks as close as they could and closed their minds completely. After fifty yards or so, Petra tapped one finger against the back of Isiah’s hand as she held it, gestured subtly with her chin.
The house was large, far bigger than most of the other residences in the suburb and matched by few in the street. It was old, by Sydney standards, had probably seen a lot of history. A high, iron fence all around, thick shrubs inside the pointed, black metal barricade. The second storey of the house, with its full length balcony and intricate balustrades, visible above the dark green leaves. Gabled windows indicated attic rooms. As they passed the front gate Isiah stole a glance up the red brick pathway and saw a deep porch with a heavy front door. A man sat lounging in a deck chair on the grass beside the porch. He wore shorts and a scruffy vest, his feet bare, to all intents and purposes the national dress of Australia. He was absently picking under a fingernail with a small pocket knife. Isiah looked away before the man might look up and notice them and then the gate was past and they walked alongside iron poles and dark green leaves again.
They continued another fifty yards before Isiah spoke. ‘It’s a big place.’
‘Did you feel the surge as we passed?’ Petra’s eyes were wide. ‘I’ve never known an ONC house to emanate MageSign like that before. And the wards are strong.’
Isiah was impressed. ‘I was masked so tightly that I couldn’t really tell. You could feel that even through your own wards?’
Petra nodded. ‘Our strengths seem to lie in different disciplines.’
‘What a team!’ Isiah laughed at his own cheesiness and Petra rolled her eyes. ‘So, what now?’ he wondered aloud. ‘We need to watch. Get a feel for the place.’
Petra nodded. ‘But it will be hard. The wards extend all the way to the fences surrounding the property and, as you said, they will be especially on their guard.’
They had reached the end of the street and stopped walking, turning to look back the way they had come. ‘Perhaps we can watch from across the street?’
‘Camp out on the roof opposite?’
‘Maybe.’ Isiah’s expression was stern.
‘What is it?’
‘I’m feeling frustrated. I should have come for this Sorcerer bastard years ago when it was first in my mind to do so. Now the job is so much trickier and there seems to be a lot more at stake.’
‘Everything has its time, Isiah. Lamenting the past is like trying to feed a dead cat. Pointless. Let’s concentrate on what we can do now.’
Isiah looked down at Petra, his mouth twitching in a smile. ‘Trying to feed a dead cat?’
‘It’s from my early life. My original life. Ukrainians have some strange proverbs. You should hear some of our bedtime stories. They’re positively disturbing.’
Isiah laughed. Then his face hardened as his presence closed tightly. He felt Petra do the same. He gestured subtly back towards the house. A young girl had emerged from the front gate and stood looking up and down the street. Isiah pulled Petra to himself and kissed her. Keeping her held tightly he whispered, ‘Try to act casual. Can you feel anything about her?’
Petra nestled into Isiah’s neck, her breath warm, making him shiver. ‘She’s masking herself, but she’s a novice. She’s scared of something, like she’s reluctant to leave the house. Some past experience or... wait a minute.’ Isiah felt Petra become more guarded. She looked up and kissed him, long and passionate. The kiss, their bodies pressed together, the hot, humid summer air, all so intoxicating. After a moment Petra pulled
away, though not completely severing their embrace. ‘She just tried to sense us, but she was clumsy. She felt nothing. She’s leaving.’
Isiah shook himself, physically trying to pull back from the warm depths of Petra’s affection. He looked up the road and saw the young girl walking away from them.
‘She’s still on guard,’ Petra said. ‘She’s quite paranoid. But she has power.’
Isiah eyes were thoughtful as he stared at the girl’s retreating back. He absently stroked Petra’s hair at the nape of her neck. ‘I wonder...’
‘What?’
He looked at her, a slight smile. ‘We need to get closer to this organisation and learn more about what they’re up to. We can’t get close without being spotted. So perhaps we need someone on the inside. It’s the only thing that makes sense really.’
Petra shook her head. ‘We’ve thought of that before, naturally. The members seem very loyal and it would be next to impossible for one of them to hide their intentions if we did manage to turn them.’
‘I know a trick or two there. I don’t know what that girl was scared of, but something has her on edge. Would you say she was uncertain?’
‘Of what?’
‘Of anything.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. She wasn’t happy. She seemed to be confused and scared, but it’s impossible to know what she’s scared of.’
Isiah nodded. ‘Regardless. We can maybe use that fear. And with your incredible level of sensitivity and my dirty tricks, I think we might be able to turn her to our ends.’ Petra stared at Isiah, her eyes concerned. But she stopped short of actually expressing aversion to the plan. ‘We should follow her,’ Isiah said decisively.
They both jumped as a large crow landed with a clatter and a flurry of wings on the fence beside them. ‘You’ll do no such fucking thing before you talk to me!’
Petra’s eyes widened. ‘Did the crow..?’
Isiah’s expression was sour. ‘Yes it did. What are you doing here?’
‘You’d better buy me a drink. We need to talk.’ The crow launched from the fence and stretched its wings, gliding down an adjacent street. They could see a pub a couple of hundred metres down the road and the crow disappeared into foliage beside the old building.
Isiah let out a sigh of exasperation. ‘Come on. We might as well get this over with.’
Petra shrugged. ‘Why not. Taking me to a pub, it can be our first date.’ Her eyes held a wicked twinkle.
Isiah wondered when the cat and mouse had actually changed places. It seemed like only a short time ago that she had been suspicious of him as he flirted with her. Now he felt like the prey. Perhaps it was a perfect example of being careful what you wish for. As usual, he smothered discomfort with humour. ‘Not a first date you’ll care to remember, given our uninvited company.’
They entered the air-conditioned pub and Isiah bought two glasses of beer. They sat on high stools at an even higher round wooden table. The beer was cold, bitter, refreshing. A few other patrons were gathered around, though it was too early for the lunchtime crowd that would inevitably fill the place before long. A few television sets mounted up on the walls showed rugby and soccer matches playing, or horse, dog and trap racing from tracks around the country. They sat sipping quietly for a moment, then Isiah stiffened. As Petra saw him straighten, she felt it too. A presence. Isiah looked around. It was a familiar sense, holy after a fashion, but musty, ancient.
A tiny, haggard old woman, her clothes little more than black rags, stepped up to their table from behind and pulled herself up onto one of the vacant stools. She grunted and complained with the effort, scrambling up a stool that was too high for her by at least two feet. Petra, her eyes confused, started forward as if to help. Isiah put a hand on her arm and shook his head.
‘Don’t try to help me, you pretty young bitch, I don’t need it.’
Isiah rolled his eyes. He sat and stared at her as she settled onto the stool.
‘Not going to buy me a drink then?’ the old crone demanded, staring hard with one eye while the other roamed the bar lazily.
Against her nature, Petra was disgusted by this odious creature. She looked to Isiah and his face betrayed that he felt the same way and had no concerns showing it.
‘Buy you a drink?’ he asked. ‘What’ll it be? A pint of horse piss and blood?’
‘They have cider in this godsforsaken furnace of a country?’
‘You know full well what they have and don’t have. Enough of your people have been here for long enough.’
‘Well, if they have it in this pub, get me cider.’ The old woman’s accent was a strong Gaelic brogue, with ancient undertones.
Isiah stepped to the bar, watching the table the whole time. Petra looked at the old woman who returned a sneer. Casting a quick glance to Isiah, Petra looked down at the table, awaiting his return. When he sat again, placing a large glass of cider before the old woman, his annoyance was palpable. ‘What do you want?’ He turned to Petra, gesturing towards the old woman. ‘The Morrigan, by the way. Irritating Goddess of War among the Irish and revered by some Wiccans to this day. A most useless and repulsive entity.’
The old woman swigged from the glass, wagging the index finger of her free hand as she drank. Wiping her lips with her sleeve she said, ‘Don’t you be fucking writing me off or suspecting my motives before you’ve heard what I have to say. You’re a warrior yourself. You should worship me, you rude bastard.’
Isiah raised an eyebrow at Petra, his face amused. Me rude? he thought loudly. Petra smiled, looked away. ‘Well, I’m sure you want something,’ he said aloud.
‘We both want something and we can help each other. You want to find out what’s happening with this fucked up cult. You want to infiltrate...’ She stopped dead, staring hard at Isiah.
‘What?’
The old woman shook her head slowly. ‘Can you die, d’you think?’
Isiah tutted. ‘Oh, piss off, you Banshee. Always with the premonitions of great warrior deaths.’
‘Or the deaths of great warriors. And don’t call me a Banshee, you arrogant fucking upstart.’
‘Make your point or fuck off. You’re annoying me.’
The Morrigan stared hard at Isiah with one eye for a moment. He raised his brow, and a warning hand. ‘All right,’ she snapped. ‘Well, one of mine is in there. Dumb bitch is getting all caught up in it and I can’t get to her. She believes, but she’s being led astray and starting to believe in another as well. In theirs. I have nothing against that, of course, she already believes in a pantheon, but this is different. She’s at risk there. These people are dangerous and I want her out. I’ve been loitering around, trying to catch her attention, but she’s fucking oblivious. Silly cunt is in love. One of their leaders, which doesn’t fucking help. Then I spotted you two watching her and I eavesdropped. I know you, Isiah. Been a long time, eh?’ The old hag cackled a phlegmy laugh.
‘Not long enough,’ Isiah said. ‘Why should I care if she’s one of yours? My concerns are a little more broad ranging here.’
The Morrigan swigged at her glass again. ‘You dumb fuck. It’s lucky for me because you actually exist in this Realm as a human, of sorts, so you can get her out. You want to use her, which is not to my liking. Get her out and ask her what you need to know. Do me that favour, eh? Besides, you owe me, you interfering fucker.’
Isiah made a noise of disgust. ‘Hardly.’
‘You were far from favourable to me and mine the last time our paths crossed.’
‘Unlucky. I don’t play sides or favourites.’
The Morrigan sneered. ‘Not unless it suits your bastard needs. You gonna help me or not?’
‘I plan to see what I can learn from her. Once my aims are achieved, I’ll try to make sure she remains apart from this cult. But not for your sake, you witch. For hers. Besides, my ultimate goal is to see this cult gone completely. Your desires are less than irrelevant.’
The old goddess sneered again. ‘I grow weak, Isia
h. My days are not as glorious as they once were. Isn’t it your job to protect me by protecting mine?’
‘You may be weaker than you were once, but that’s just a natural flux. You’re far from threatened, you disagreeable, venomous hag.’
The Morrigan stood on the footrest of her stool, leaning across the table, seeming extremely agile for one that appeared so old. She stretched out one arm and slapped a hand to Isiah’s forehead. His face blanched at her touch. Without another word she drained her glass, slipped from her stool and left the pub. Isiah watched her silhouette pass the frosted glass doors and felt a flash of RealmShift as the shadow of a large carrion crow flapped up and away. He rubbed one palm absently against his forehead.
‘Interesting,’ Petra said, a laugh barely concealed in her voice.
Isiah looked at her with a shake of the head. ‘You see the sort of thing I have to put up with?’
She made a pout. ‘Poor little Isiah!’ She quickly kissed his lips to stem what was likely to be a less than polite response.
‘Let’s see if we can find that girl again,’ Isiah said, draining his glass.
Petra put a hand on his arm to slow him down. ‘What was that slap on the head about just then?’
He frowned. ‘Nothing important. She gave me a vision. A premonition.’
‘Of what?’
‘The girl. Her name is Faith, she’s a Pagan and worships the Morrigan, but also Dagda, Cernunnos, others. She’s kinda old-school Pagan, actually. And she could be powerful with the right training.’
‘Right. But that’s not a premonition. What did she show you?’ Petra’s face was concerned.
Isiah looked at the wood of the table top. ‘She showed Faith bloodied and dead at the hands of the ONC. She’s trying to guilt trip me into getting Faith out rather than using her.’
‘Was it a real premonition? If it is, maybe we should consider...’
