Scion: Sins of the Children

by Syreene

As the rest of the world becomes aware of the existence of Scions, those in New Orleans are finding they need to beware those who fear and covet what they don't understand...

1. Awakenings

AWAKENINGS

Two months ago - The Herbal Oasis

"For the last time, Manu, if I'm in the cab with a date, we don't need the personal commentary!" Kenari says angrily as the door to The Herbal Oasis slams open with a loud jingle of bells.

"He was no good for you sister! Didn't you see the way he was leering at women out the window?" Manu tries to explain as he follows her.

Kenari stops and spins around to poke a finger at Manu's chest. "Unlike you, I knewexactly what I was doing! Did you have any idea what kind of money that man has? All of that preparation... wasted! Argh!" She tosses her hands in the air and stomps away leaving the beaded curtain shaking in her wake.

"You really ought to trust her more," Senbi says as he puts their new collection of fresh herbs on display behind the counter.

"I just don't want to see her taken advantage of, little brother," Manu sighs as he runs a hand though his hair.

Senbi smiles as he leans against the counter. "Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe she's the one taking advantage?"

"Why can't they understand?" Kenari sighs and kneels in front of a small shrine with the statue of a black cat wearing gold earrings. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to calm herself before taking a stick of incense out of the cup and lighting it. She waves it over the statue and around herself before replacing it.

"Mau Bast, great protector and goddess of cats… hear my plea." She removes the diamond bracelet that her last "date" gave her and places it around the foot of the statue.

"My father claims I am your child, but I feel so alone right now. He treats me like a fragile doll, and my brothers… they mean well, but they just don't understand what it's like to be without purpose. Haji has the shop, Manu has the taxi, and Senbi..." she lets out a laugh. "Well, he has his girlfriends. I've tried to be the good daughter… but there has to be something more for me out there. I can feel it! Please, great mother… tell me for true if I am deluding myself."

She bends down and kisses the base of the statue. "Thank you for listening." She stands up with a sigh and makes her way upstairs to her apartment, not noticing her father watching her from the kitchen alcove.

He walks to the shrine and places a gentle hand on top of the cat statue with a sigh. "There is only so much a father can do without the guidance of the mother."

Later that night... around 4am

Kenari stretches and yawns as she stands up from her table of cards. "Thank the gods this day is over," she mutters. "If I have to tell one more drunk college girl about the man of their dreams I think I am going to be sick."

As she turns her hand accidentally brushes the table and knocks a number of tarot cards onto the ground. "Shit," she growls as she bends down to pick them up. "I know I saw one more down here... where'd it go?"

There's a soft meow from under the beaded tablecloth as a black cat with bright yellow eyes peeks its head out from under it with a card under his paw.

"What have you got there, Matit? You being helpful?" She asks with a smile as she picks up the card and scratches the cat under its chin. The High Priestess... figures...you always were a wily one.

Suddenly there's the sound of knocking at her door followed by what she could swear was the sound of scratching. Kenari sighs inwardly as she stands up. "One more customer, Kenari... you can do it." Matit bolts from under the table towards the door and scratches at it excitedly with his front paws.

"Patience, cat! All good things come to those who wait." She runs a hand through her hair and quickly checks her make-up in the mirror before smiling and opening the door. "Welcome to Madame Sanuras, weary traveller. How can I ease your concerns?"

A woman with bronzed skin and shining long black hair smiles back at her. She raises a hand jingling with multiple bracelets and tucks her hair behind her ear, revealing a metal gold cat with blue jeweled eyes wrapped around it. "I have... concerns... about my daughter that I was hoping you could help me with," she answers smoothly. "May I come in?"

"All who seek the truth are welcome," Kenari replies as she opens the door and gestures towards her table. "Please, have a seat."

The woman nods and enters, her hips slowly swaying as she runs a finger over the table and makes her way to her seat. Before Kenari can close the door, however, she is followed by two spotted cats with bright green eyes who give her a meow before joining the woman at her feet. "My apologies, little ones," Kenari says as she takes a seat. "It's not every day you see cats so well behaved."

"They're rather particular with who they choose to follow," the woman replies with an amused smile.

"What question may I help you answer about your daughter tonight?" Kenari asks as she spreads the tarot cards out in a fan on the table with her hand.

The woman reaches out and places a delicate hand wearing intricate finger armor over hers, stopping her over one of the cards. "I need to know if she's ready to find out her purpose," she answers as she looks Kenari in the eyes and motions her hand back to pull out the card she stopped over.

Kenari flips over the card to reveal the calm visage of The High Priestess once again staring up at her.

Kenari swallows as she stares at the card. "To find our true calling is what we all seek, is it not? To know that we were put on this planet for a purpose... it would answer so many questions that we have."

"But is she ready for the truth of it?" The woman asks as she leans forward. "Is she ready to know how large her world truly is... and how dangerous?"

"Yes," she replies adamantly as she looks up at the woman before catching herself and clearing her throat. "I... I mean... if she's anything like you, I'm sure she must be capable."

The woman lets out a low chuckle as she pats her hand. "As am I, Kenari Sanura. As am I." She leans back in the chair and starts removing her finger armor piece by piece as she lays them on the table. "I am pleased with what Amon has done with my gift. I believe you are ready, my daughter, for yours." She gestures with her hand to the armor pieces.

"Praise be to the goddess and mother of cats," Kenari whispers as she sits back in shock with wide eyes.

Bast reaches out a hand and gently puts a stray curl behind Kenari's ear with a smile as the golden earcuff has now moved to Kenari.

"Not just to cats... occasionally a chosen few who have earned my blessings. Your father has been a devout follower of mine all his life, and he does his best to continue the old ways despite the changing world around us." She smiles slyly. "I couldn't leave his legacy to those boys, however. While loyal, they do not have that spiritual connection that I do so love... so I gave him you."

"I..." she swallows and takes a deep breath to calm herself. "I will prove your trust in me and my father was not misplaced, mother."

"Of that I am sure, my love," Bast replies as she gestures again to the armor. "Now please... don your gift, and know that I trust you with this most serious purpose."

Kenari dons the filigreed claws and as she puts on each one she can feel an energy flow from her fingers up through her chest. When she sets the last one on her pinky, however, she gasps and freezes, eyes wide as she's overcome with a vision.

Swirling images of gods of many different cultures... individual young people from all corners of the world looking up to the sky... older faces filled with hate carrying signs of protest... with Kenari standing in the middle of them all.

"Wh-what just happened to me?" Kenari gasps as her head throbs in pain.

"Truth is often painful, unfortunately," Bast laments, "but if used wisely, these claws will let you see what is to come." She gestures to the earcuff. "And this... will let you see the truth that tries to hide in dark places; physical or... otherwise," she adds mysteriously.

Don't forget about me! a voice declares in her ear as she reaches up to touch the cuff in surprise. "Who the hell is that?"

You can call me Grey Mouser... I'm just your friendly neighborhood disembodied voice here to help you with your purpose.

"And what IS my purpose?" Kenari pleads.

"To find others like you and fix that which is broken," Bast replies as she sets her final gift on the table... a pair of curved daggers with winged scarabs carved into the cross guards and a red ruby at the hilt.

"But what is broken, mother?"

Bast stands up and places her hands on both of Kenari's cheeks before leaning down and kissing her on the forehead.

"The world, my daughter... the world. One day others like you will find you... and all shall be revealed. Be strong, my love." Bast stands with her hands giving one last caress of Kenari's cheeks before she walks towards the door.

She opens the door but pauses to look over her shoulder as Kenari stands. "If all goes well, my daughter... we will meet again someday." With a gesture of her hand the two spotted cats follow to heel and she walks out the door into the night.

Kenari shakes herself and runs to look out the door... but Bast is gone. "Goodbye... mother..."

---

A gentle breeze rustled through the palms surrounding her little courtyard. Elle settled back in her chair, cradling her coffee mug in her hands, the rich aroma of coffee and chicory scented the air.

Her mind drifted back to how this chapter in her life began. Just over eleven years ago the nightmares began. There was nothing else to call them, with their howling winds, walls of water, people stuck in attics with rising water and no way out, or baking in the sun on rooftops with no shelter from the relentless sun. She knew the place, it was her home town, New Orleans, there were glimpses of street signs as row boats plied the waters where streets once were.

The first time the dream came Elle woke in a cold sweat, shaking in fear and rage. Was is he dreaming true? Oh, gods, please, no. But the dream came again, this time it was the bayou, houses on stilts engulfed in rising water, the chickens roosting in the bottle tree outside Nana's place. That's when she knew she was dreaming true. Her guts twisted into knots, but when? She breathed slow and deep, centering herself, stilling her mind. Not yet, she'd know when.

After the fourth or fifth iteration of "The Dream", as Elle had begun to think of it, she realized she needed help, how to understand, what to do. For the three years she had been in New York for Nursing School she had let her connection to the Loa and the Gede go quiet. She still had a small altar in her apartment, but she hadn't sat with the spirits in a long time. Renewing her practice after the second visitation of "The Dream" brought more disquiet, not less. The spirits were restless, uneasy, she felt a calling to ceremony with others to seek answers.

This posed a problem. While there were many Voodun practitioners in New York, she wasn't necessarily looking for the ones that could be found publicly. She'd gone to the open Voodoo Temple when she first arrived in town and had not really connected with anyone. A few trips to botanicas around New York yielded little in the way of Voodun contacts.

Elle remembered getting little sleep at this stage of "The Dream" cycle. Between the last year of Nursing School, sitting at her altar, listening to the Ancestors' restlessness, searching through the shops of Harlem, the Bronx and Brooklyn, and the recurring nightmares, sleep was elusive at best. She began to worry about her grades, about her health. In desperation she called New Orleans, to Mambo Kathleen.

What's the matter child?", the soothing voice of her aunt's friend calmed Elle's jangled nerves. Why had she stayed away so long, she wondered. Trying to fit into a world without the spirits certainly had its drawbacks.

"I've been having this horrible dream, New Orleans underwater, it feels like a true dream, a knowing, it keeps recurring, I'm having trouble sleeping, I feel like it's trying to tell me what I need to do but I don't understand,I've read the cards but they don't make sense, the Sun as the basis and the Fool for what may come, I don't understand". As the story of the dream tumbled out of her in a rush Elle felt relief and calm returning.

"You need a reading, one from a mambo or houngan or babalawo" Mambo Kathleen began. "and then you will probably need to attend a fete to hear what the Loa have to say. Have you done any spiritual cleansing? an uncrossing?" The rattle of the cowrie shells could be heard through the phone as she spoke.

"I've looked all over for a hounfour, one that feels right, the only ones I've come across feel cheap, inauthentic. I hadn't thought of going to a babalawo, there's one in East Harlem I've heard good things about. And, no, I haven't done a cleansing." Chagrined, Elle cast her eyes down, even though Mambo Kathleen didn't sit across from her.

"You must remember what I taught you, girl. The Loa have plans for you, that's sure, and your dreaming true. I've had glimpses of what you speak of, but not in that level of detail. You must tell me everything you remember about your dreams. If you have more, write them down, they will be important for us here in Louisiana."

They talked long into the night, afterward Elle slept well for the first time in weeks.

The altar had been set, offerings made, ancestors called. Elle sat expectantly across from Awo Ifakunle as he studied the shells, made notes and threw again, again, again. They had started with a reading on her own ancestors and spirits, who watched over her from the other side, what plant and animal allies the family had. From there investigation into her dreams and direction would be read.

"You are equally connected to both sides of your ancestors. Not many people are." Awo Ifakunle entoned, in semi-trance. "There is fire, lots and lots of fire, the pepper plant, your ally, a fiery lion your totem, and a great tree, tall with deep roots.

"You have two guardians, one a fine tailored gentleman who helped build the French Quarter, and a wise woman of great power from the bayous. Get to know them, sit with them, they will guide you...home, you must go home, that is where your work is, finish your studies, then go home.

"The Orisha are all around you, Yemaya is strong in you, very strong, there is much magic, and the crossroads, too. Elegua is close to you as well. There is more I cannot see."

The readings continued with more offerings, more throwing of shells, more trance-induced talk. Visions of water, and death, and healing, all leading back to New Orleans. She would not escape after all.

Awo Ifakunle looked at her with respect, acknowledging the power within her. He made a phone call, speaking quietly in the receiver, then gave Elle the name and number of someone on Long Island, a mambo that he knew, Mambo Marie Carmel.

"Call her. She is expecting you. You need a good head washing and to attend a fete to hear from the Loa directly. I can tell you that they have work for you at home, in New Orleans. Mambo Marie can guide you from here. It was a pleasure meeting you, you are connected to spirit and the Orisha, the Loa. Do not stray again, child, they will not be pleased. If you do there will be consequences."

Elle made the call when she got home and the whirlwind began. Even though she was busier than ever, Elle slept well, having accepted she would return home. "Damn it!" she mused, "just what I wanted, not." But accept it she did, she had seen the effect resisting the Loa had on some of her friends and family. Not a pretty sight at all, and the longer one fought it, the worse things got. "Not going there, I'm too smart for that, I know when I've been caught, I do".

The head washing made her feel, clear, bright, unburdened, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The weight of emotional turmoil and uncertainty was gone. Elle smiled as she dressed in white for the fete that night. This would be a homecoming, it had been many years since she had attended a ceremony. She made sure all was in order, her dress, her head wrapped in the old way, her offerings of fine Cuban cigars and rum for Elegua, and sweet, mashed name and coconut for Yemaya.

The power swirled around her as Elle stepped into the temple. She swayed with the rhythm of the drums, was caught up in the songs and dances as each of the Loa were called into the circle. First came Legba, the gatekeeper of the crossroads, and his family, then the Rada, the Petra and the Gede families. Deep in trance she felt the freedom of the dance and the power of the spirits around her.

By now many of the Loa were in attendance, speaking through those they had possessed. Lost in the rhythm of the drums Elle paid little attention to her surroundings. Suddenly she was confronted by a woman smelling of rum and peppers, eyes black as night, black and purple beads swinging from her neck.

"You!" the woman exclaimed, "You are my daughter! I give you the gifts of death, healing and magic!"

As quickly as she appeared she swirled away, caught up in the crush of people around them both. Elle shook with the power of the encounter, something real had happened, something important. A fine gentleman tipped his top hat to her and smiled as she withdrew from the dance.

"Did you get what you were looking for? Did the Loa have a message for you?" Mambo Marie inquired, seeing that Elle was shaken and had moved out of the dance.

"I'm not sure. Black and purple, rum and peppers, that's Maman Brigitte, isn't it? She called me her daughter and said she had gifts for me. I'm a nurse, a healer, what does the Lwa of death want of me?" Confusion began to return, Elle slumped, energy draining out of her in waves.

"Do not fear Maman, Elle, she has the power to heal as well as harm. She is the last resort for many who seek healing. Perhaps she is calling you to aid those that need help in crossing to the other side. She is powerful and caring in her own way, a good ally to have in this life, and given your dreams I'm not entirely surprised."

Elle let Mambo Marie walk her to a bench against the wall. "Wait here, I'll be back momentarily", and Marie was gone in a swish of white and swirl of gauze.

No sooner had Elle registered her leaving, Marie as back with a steaming cup filled with coffee and chicory, laced with honey and spices. "This will help, drink it and rest for awhile"

When Elle returned home later that night one of her roommates was still awake, studying for exams. "A late night messenger just delivered a package for you." A box wrapped in brown paper and addressed in neat block letters sat at the edge of the dining room table.

Picking it up Elle retreated into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. There was no return address on the box, no marks of a delivery service of any kind, just the neat block letters of her name and address. Unwrapping the box Elle could feel the pulsing energy within. Opening the lid she discovered three pieces of jewelry, each with a tag inscribed with the same block lettering.

Emerald wrapped in silver on a silver chain to be worn around the neck. "Healing" was written on its tag.

A labradorite ear stud, with a tag that said "Magic".

Last, there was a ring of black onyx. Elle didn't need to read the tag to know it was "Death".

Elle smiled, inhaling the scent of coffee and chickory. I should add honey, sometimes, and cinnamon, she thought as she returned her gaze outward to her little courtyard. "Time to go to work" she shrugged off the memories and began to prepare for her day.

---

"Afternoon, Francis," said one officer, as the patrol car slowed to keep pace with him.

Fixer winced. "Only my Mama calls me Francis. Whatchu want, po-po?"

"Keep it respectful, Mr. Robinet," the officer told him. "We're just saying hello."

"Uh-huh. 'Cause I'm the kind of guy you say hello to," Fixer said. "Oh, look, there's Fixer. Maybe he robbed a bank this morning. Knocked off a jewelry store and has diamonds in his back pocket. Some stolen credit cards."

"Just making sure you're staying out of trouble."

"Uh-huh. That's not saying hello, is it? That's saying, 'That Fixer, he goin' to do somethin' wrong, let's keep an eye on him."

"If you're not doing anything wrong, you don't have anything to worry about," the officer smiled.

"Look, I ain't done nothing wrong, I ain't doing nothing wrong, you guys are like dogs barking at squirrels," Fixer sneered.

"Been some break-ins on Magazine Street," the officer said. "Know anything?"

"Do your own work," Fixer said. "I ain't no rat."

The patrol car accelerated slightly, pulling up onto the curb ahead of Fixer. The light bar on the roof began strobing red-and-blue.

"Okay, kid, you know the drill," the officer said, getting out of the car. "Hands behind your back."

"You arresting me? For what?" Fixer exclaimed. "Ain't done nothing."

"Hands behind your back," the officer repeated, shoving Fixer towards the wall.

"I ain't done nothing!"

The officer did a quick leg sweep and knocked Fixer off his feet. His partner slammed a knee into the small of his back, and punched him several times. "Hands behind your back, asshole!"

"I ain't do—"

Someone grabbed the scruff of his neck and shoved his face into the pavement.

"I said, 'Hands behind your back!'" the second officer snarled. "I won't ask again!"

His arms were wrenched into place, and cuffs snapped onto his wrists. The officers manhandled him into the back of the patrol car and drove off.

He was taken into an interview room and left, handcuffed, for two, maybe three hours before anyone came to speak with him. It was a police detective in a rumpled shirt and jacket, a grease stain on his blue tie.

"I'm told you know something about the break-ins on Magazine Street."

"Whoever told you that is full of shit," Fixer said.

"We have you on a security camera. We know you were in the area," the detective said.

"I need your permission to walk down the street?"

"Watch your tone, punk. We know you're a pickpocket."

"You don't know shit. I ain't got no record," Fixer said.

"You might as well. Your name and face keep turning up in our investigations," the detective told him.

"I bet Abraham Lincoln's name and face keep turning up, too. You investigating him?" Fixer smirked.

"Being a smart-ass isn't going to help you, son."

"Being a dumb-ass isn't going to help you, Mr. Policeman."

"You're college educated. Good family. You're the one standing at the crossroads, son," the detective said. "You need to decide what side of the law you're going to be on. We're done for now. You think about what I said."

It wasn't Fixer's first time in jail. He'd been in juvenile hall several times for truancy, breaking curfew, and shoplifting. All misdemeanors. He'd been picked up before, not only on suspicion of criminal activity, but singled out for attention whenever peaceful protests turned sour.

"I don't belong here, lemme go!" someone shouted.

"Shut up," ordered a guard. "Back away from the door, kid. You're getting a roommate."

"Lemmego," said the new inmate. "I got legs. Well, one leg."

"What's your story, Pops? Why are you getting hassled?" Fixer asked as his cellmate sank onto his bunk. The man was African-American, with salt-and-pepper hair. A beat-up canvas Army jacket. A prosthetic leg. He smelled like cigarette smoke, but not of alcohol. Nor did he have the unwashed, rank odor of a complete indigent.

"Calling me homeless," the man muttered. "I'm not. I'm not. I just ... they don't want to listen. You?"

"Got arrested because they think I know something about some break-ins," Fixer said.

"Same old story when I was growing up. The black kid must have done it," the old man said. "Still the same. Ain't the only one sleeping in doorways, but I'm the one getting hassled about it. Name's Walker."

"Francis Xavier Robinet, though pretty much only my father calls me that. Everyone else calls me Fixer."

"You can call me Walker, or you can call me Sarge," the old man smiled.

"Did you lose your leg in the service?"

"Nope," Walker said. "Drunk driver ran a red light. Woke up in the hospital minus my leg. Now, Robinet ... heard that name before. Big shot pastor. Related?"

Fixer looked down at his shoes. "He's my father. We ... don't talk much."

"Bad juju between you?"

"Difference of opinion," Fixer said. "He may be a man of the cloth, but he's in thick with the politics and money crowd. I think money and laws should follow the spirit, not the other way around."

"How old are you, Fixer?"

"Twenty-four," Fixer told him.

"You sound pretty world-wise for twenty-four."

"Thanks, Sarge," Fixer says. "My old man says I need to accept Jesus as my personal savior. I choose to walk a different spiritual path."

"Vodoun?" Walker asked.

Fixer nodded. "The rest of the Robinets, we all observe the rites. My Aunt has a store on Royal in the French Quarter. She lets me room downstairs."

"Are you a houngan?"

"Sur pwen," Fixer answered. "The men will come to me when they do not want to speak to Mambo Kathleen. You seem to know a lot about the subject."

"Bits and pieces. But I've been ridden."

"Ashay," Fixer said. "A blessing."

"With a cost," Walker told him. "For I have seen things."

"Ashay," Fixer said again. "I would have you tell me, but this is not the time or place."

Walker simply nodded.

The Public Defender saw to Fixer's release on Monday morning. No charges were filed; another camera had provided video of the suspects. Fixer had been several blocks away. Walker remained behind; he had to face a judge on charges of vagrancy.

"I'll come find you. Buy you a drink," he smiled. Then, looking at a dour guard, he added, "Well, maybe coffee and beignets down at Cafe du Monde."

"Deal, Sarge," Fixer said, giving the older man a brother-to-brother handclasp.

It was nearly two weeks before the old man came by the shop.

"Sorry, had to go stand in line at a shelter and play by the rules," he said.

"You mean the rules that keep you in your place," Fixer said.

"Yup. Those rules."

"Mambo Kathleen won't be back for another hour. Got to watch the store until then," Fixer said. "Have a seat. Won't need the table unless someone asks for a reading."

"You read the cards, too? Damn."

"Learned it in grade school. The cards just talk to me."

"Well, I do have something to tell you," Walker said.

The older man sat down and bowed his head. Suddenly, his head jerked backwards. His eyes rolled back into his head. His body twitched, as if someone were shrugging a jacket over their shoulders.

"Ashay," whispered Fixer. Walker had said he'd been ridden, but Fixer hadn't expected to see a demonstration, certainly not one where the Loa simply flowed into a horse so easily.

"Francis Xavier Robinet," the man spoke, his voice redolent with a different place and time. "I am Kalfu."

Fixer knelt. "Mait Carrefour, I hear you."

"Indeed. You are at a crossroads," the Loa/Walker told him. "It is time to embark on a new journey."

"I don't understand. Have I offended?" Fixer asked.

The Loa/Walker gave a deep, robust laugh. "Ho-ho, the look on your face! Oh, no, nothing like that. I have something important to tell you, and some things to give you."

"I am listening."

"I came to your mother one night, and she saw what I wished her to see. You are her son ... and mine."

Fixer stared. His belief was not in question. He'd heard stories of the Loa walking among mortals, as they must, even taking pleasure. But to hear that Kalfu, Papa Legba's dark twin, was his father set his mind to whirling.

"What do you wish of me?" he asked.

"Nothing. I do not make demands, for I am not bound by them. I am pleased with who you are and what you have done, and this is why I am here," Kalfu/Walker said.

"Gifts, to unlock powers that you will one day grow into and make your own."

He took an old skeleton key from his pocket and touched it to Fixer's forehead before presenting it to him.

"To unlock the magic in your blood," Kalfu/Walker intoned.

Fixer nodded and slipped it onto his keyring.

Next, Kalfu presented him with a ring set with a cabochon-cut obsidian. "Though we walk in shadow, we are not blind."

Fixer donned the ring. It was a perfect fit.

A set of dog tags followed, bearing Walker's name. "Know your guide."

Fixer slipped the chain over his head and tucked the tags into his shirt.

"Lose any of these gifts, and you lose the power," Kalfu/Walker warned.

"Thank you, Papa Carrefour."

"There is more," Kalfu/Walker said. "As the blood of the Loa flows in yours, so may your spirit ride in others, eyes, hands, and body. Use the power wisely."

Fixer drew in a sharp breath. To be ridden was one thing; to have the power to ride another, something else. Kalfu/Walker rose from his chair and held out his hand.

"To no man kneel, to no beast submit," he said.

Walker's body jerked once more, and his eyes returned to normal.

"Are you alright, Sarge?" Fixer asked.

"I've gotten used to it," Walker said. "I imagine Papa Carrefour told you?"

"He did. I gather this isn't something I can tell Mambo Kathleen?"

"Not yet, though I imagine she will sense something has changed," Walker said. "One fight is over, another is just beginning. You are already a part of it, standing against laws that suffocate and authority that binds men in chains they cannot see or feel."

Fixer let out a heavy sigh. "Damn. Does that mean my father ...?"

"Chains he cannot see or feel," said Walker. "You understand it at an instinctual level. Whether your father understands it or not, he serves other masters now."

The bells attached to the door chimed as Fixer's aunt, Mambo Kathleen, entered the store. "Good Afternoon," she smiled, a swirl of skirts and a fragrance that seemed to brighten the room without choking everyone in a cloud of perfume.

"Aunt, this is Sergeant Walker," Fixer introduced his friend. "We were ... cellmates the other weekend."

"Welcome, Sergeant Walker."

"Thank you, Mambo Kathleen," Walker replied.

"Ah. You believe?"

"I do. There is wisdom in the ways of our ancestors, and we are stronger when we walk together," Walker said.

"Ashay," Kathleen agreed. "Will you join us for dinner?"

"Actually, that was going to be my question, Ma'am," Walker smiled.

"You're sure, Sarge?" Fixer asked.

"You treated me with respect, and that's A-1 in my book," Walker said. "The police may think I'm some homeless derelict, but that's because they're looking and not seeing. I have a house, but … war changes you. You find sleeping on the floor easier than sleeping on a bed."

"There's more to it than that," Fixer said quietly.

"Yeah, there is."

"When you need to talk, I will listen," he told the older man.

"Thank you."

---

"Ugh. I need to stop ordering from Happy Wok."

Sven kept picking at the slimy, cooling egg foo young despite his objections. It was yet another late night at the office, not because he had anything particular to do, but because he found it easier to think there.

It'd been 3 months since they had won the election. He still had a dozen "Christine Porter for a better tomorrow!" yard signs in a corner. Useless now, of course, but he hasn't been quite able to throw them out yet. It was a harrowing election - far more harrowing than even Christine knew, or would ever know if he had anything to do with it.

Sven sighed. When he's got a path before him, he follows it without question, without qualm. But that doesn't mean he's free from judging his actions once the whole business is over with. Sure, they won. And sure, Christine honestly was the best future for the people they've grown to care for over the years since they were first assigned to New Orleans. But the stairway to hell is paved on good intentions...

He shook off the thoughts and focused again on his current predicament. Some of the restaurant owners were bucking from the newly minted Association, and they were facing opposition from the mayor's office already about her bold proposals for government transparency.

His cell buzzed, a text from Christine. Come by the Cave. Sven smirked, remembering when they found that hole-in-the-wall bar. She knew he didn't drink like that, but then they wouldn't be meeting for drinks.

Sven threw on his rumbled coat jacket, chucking the rest of the MSG slop on his way out. He jumped in his old hatchback and drove the half-empty streets to the bar. It was what, 2am? It never seemed to matter. Something was always going on, and the city never quite felt deserted. It's a blessing to see how the community has rebounded since those desperate years. Tourists have been flocking to the party meccas, of course, but Sven avoided their turf as a general rule. They weren't voters, after all.

Sven sauntered into the bar, not even acknowledging the bartendress on his way to their usual table, isolated in the back. Christine was waiting for him, smirking at his entrance as always, and offered him a beer. Sven accepted it and drank heartily, although he knew he'd probably not have another tonight.

"How's the Restaurant Association going?" She asked, more as a formality than an actual question.

"Fine, fine. We may lose a few, but honestly they know the future - if they don't stand together, we'll be drowning in McDonald's and Chipotles by the year's end."

"Well, Sven, I know how much you hate the attention, but I wanted to give you something. Think of it as... a reward, for all the hard work you've put into the campaign. And, really, for everything - I wouldn't have stayed here if it weren't for you, much less won the council seat!"

Ugh. He never understood how people liked getting rewards and such. It turned all that achievement, all that effort, into tiny trinkets and useless ribbons. His reward was the change he had wrought, his trophy the history being written in his wake. Christine knew this, but she just thought he was being bashful.

"Christine, you know that I-"

"Yes, yes, I know. But this is different. Come on, have a seat."

Sven pulled up a chair, as Christine placed an old wooden box on the table in front of him. "Go ahead, open it!"

It was an old box, but on closer inspection Sven realized it was actually quite fine in its craftsmanship. It has a gold band going around it, and despite heavy wear and tear the oak was still good, solid, and somehow... warm. He lifted the hinged lid, and inside was a gorgeously maintained Smith and Wesson revolver. He didn't know guns very well, but he knew this looked to be a beaut.

"Wow, Christine. I don't even know what to say. How much was this? I can't accept something like this. I don't even have a permit!"

"Don't worry about it, we'll get the paperwork processed easy. But I want you to look at it closely. It is a precious thing, I actually inherited it from my father, long ago, and I think it's time I pass it on to you. It's not like I'm having kids any time soon!"

Christine was no spring chicken, but Sven knew she was on her early fifties. Taking the gun out, a little wary of the inattentive bartendress, he felt the heft of the revolver - very sturdy indeed! The handle was of highly polished... bone? Was that bone? Ivory? And it has a "T" carved in the grip. Or was it an arrow, pointing upwards?

"It's a Tiwaz rune," she clarified as he felt along the carving. "It stands for... it stands for Victory. And after our victory, I can think of no more fitting reward."

"Christine, I... I don't know what to say. Thank you." Something about that symbol. Something tugging at his thoughts. He felt like he knew it from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place from where. Obviously it was a Nordic rune, or Viking, or whatever. Despite his namesake, he wasn't very in touch with his roots, raised by adoptive parents of a more English bent.

"Well, anyways, I'd best be off. I've got a council meeting in the morning."

"Wait! How do I, you know, take care of it?" Sven asked distractedly, still staring at that rune.

"There's a cleaning kit under the felt, I've been polishing it once a month for 20 years. Oh, and by the way - it's name is Hand of Justice."

Despite his protests, Christine had given Sven another gift - a week off. Despite his protests, and despite the protests he engineered from the staff.

Ugh. A whole week.

Oh well, he had bought some intriguing shrooms from the Silk Road that he'd been meaning to try. He didn't trip often - in fact, he hadn't had time for such a luxury during his whole tenure at FEMA, meaning it had been, jeez, 10 years now? Sure he'd been smoking weed this whole time, drug testing being a thing of the past for government employees, and the occasional whiff of DMT was what the doctor ordered when he was feeling too embroiled in reality.

He started his preparations. Spent the morning relaxing, fasting, hydrating, reflecting. Put his headphones on, filling his senses with Alt-J, Glitchmob, and the like. Started brewing the tea, almost a ritual despite being out of practice. His office may look like it was still awaiting FEMA assistance, but his spartan apartment was easy to clean. And finally, when he felt ready, he calmly drank the several cups of tea and settled down for the ride.

At first, a little bit of screwiness - the entry was sometimes rough, although this strain was a lot smoother than others. But then The Groove hit and the knick-knack brickabrack give a dog a bone in the apartment started their merry dancing.

I always forget how much I miss this state. There's always that little bit of trepidation before diving in, or trip a day, son, I'm going in, but once you're home your home is homey. Or horny? No not horny, not since Marjorie-

Bah, stop it, you're here to unwind. Unwhinge, unhinge even.

Let's wander about, wonder about what? The mirror - the mirror in my mind, in front of me. But not me? Who... is he?

As I looked into the mirror, my reflection was not what I was expecting - and grew all the more unexpecteder. My short goatee grew like weeds into a bushy beard, tied in crazy designs as a tree's exposed roots. My shoulders and arms swelled into unbelievable, unachievable rippliness, my belly tightened to Atlassian proportion. And my right hand-

My right hand is SHORN OFF! Bloody, dripping meat where my hand ought to be. And looking away from the mirror in horror, I see my hand truly is missing! Pulsing, angry meat. And a searing pain rushed through me, bringing me to my knees. No! I've never had a bad trip! Control yourself! CONTROL YOUR-

Sven blinked open his eyes. His heart was racing, sweat dripping from every pore. He forced himself to calm. Focused straight ahead, gathering his wits and reminding himself that experiential reality was not absolute reality, especially in his current state. Finally, after a few minutes of breathing exercises, he calmly lifted his right hand and - his hand was still there, unharmed.

"Ohkaaayyyyyy... Well that was fun." He said to no one in particular. He unsteadily got up and went to the fridge to get that pineapple he'd been saving. He was still tripping hard, but that phase had passed and he was feeling far more mobile than before.

On his way to the kitchen he passed by the mirror again - and again his reflection was not his own. He resolutely ignored it, got the pineapple, and ate them in the kitchenette, his back to the mirror.

"Stop it. Go away. I'm on vacation." He said to the reflection.

And the reflection... chuckled.

Sven stopped eating the pineapple.

"Sven, my child, you have an odd choice in vacational vocations." The voice was calm, but somehow full of force - like rolling thunder, not yet cresting into deafening roar.

"Ummm... Well, you know. Disney tickets being what they are." Who am I talking to?

"Turn around already, I shan't allow that vision to occur again."

Sven coolly turned to face the mirror. Or told himself he did it coolly, shaking as he was.

"OK, so what. Am I so troubled by something I'm splitting my personality now? Who are you supposed to be, the incarnation of - let me guess - my desire to know my birth parents rising as some sort of father-figure to guide me through dark times?"

The reflection seemed taken aback, then wrinkled his nose and laughed all the mightier.

"You are far closer to the truth than you know! Hahahaha, your sister sure chose you well!"

Sven's heart turned cold. His sister had died in a car accident when he was only 12. He always felt a pain of remorse that he couldn't somehow prevent it, and never really got close with anyone since losing his best friend.

"No, no, not that sister. She rests well, have no fear - and stop blaming yourself for Acts of God. At least, Acts of God that have befallen so far.

"I speak of Christine, my dearest daughter. She has served me well these few decades, but she has chosen to pass her mantle on to you. And in these times, younger blood is perhaps the wiser stone to cast."

Sven's mind was racing. Where was his subconscious coming up with all this yammering? Why was he trying to form a family bond with his boss? Sure he loved and protected her like family - in fact, considering his dull parents and brutish brother, probably held her in higher regard than that. But she was way too old to be a sister. Why not just assign her the mother role? That seems a lot more Freudian.

"You still aren't understanding, because you try too hard to understand. But it matters little. Do you know who I am?"

Sven cleared his mind, following the advice of the apparition. And all of a sudden that wooden box, the gift from Christine, flashed brilliantly in his mind's eye.

"Yes! Now you've got it! I think you'll suit our purposes quite well, quite well indeed!" Another hearty laugh, this time shaking the tiny apartment.

"I've one more gift for you, before you start your Trials. You wanted to go to Disney, well - let your Conscience be your Guide!"

And suddenly - the apparition disappeared. The mirror just showed Sven's reflection again - his pupils dilated to a ridiculous degree. His goatee was back, his short, unkempt red-blonde hair back to its non-epic length, his hands, well, not missing.

"Well this is another fine mess you've gotten me into," Sven said out loud, and giggled manically at the quote. He let the trip continue on its way, bringing him back to the sofa with pineapple in hand.

He felt something wet on the side of his neck, and wiped at it. Blood

"GODDAMMIT STOP FUCKING WITH ME!" He screamed, finally getting frustrated with this far too turbulent trip. He ran back to the mirror, and saw that it was only a few drops of blood, dripping from his left ear.

His newly pierced left ear, with a stud permanently embedded. And the tip of the stud was a tip of bone, sharp as all hell.

Sven finally had it. He smoked several large bong hits to calm his nerves, even though he might as well be drinking water in his current state. He put his earphones on, switched to the classical playlist, and curled up in bed. The rest of the night he had nothing but lazy, anodyne fractals floating in his mind's eye, but he didn't get to sleep until much later in the night.

Sven awoke with a start. His sheets were soaked in sweat, despite his poor air conditioner's best efforts.

He laid in bed, staring at his ceiling, not wanting to do what he knew he needed to do next.

Well, there's a first time for everything, he thought, checking off "bad trip" from his bucket list. Finally he cautiously explored his left ear with his fingers - and felt the alien stud, cold against his fingers even though he couldn't feel it in his ear.

Ugh.

He clambered out of bed, took a quick shower, and got to internetting. First, that symbol on the gun. I obviously had picked it out of some history class I had taken, or maybe something from my occult phase during college. What had she called it? Tirwas?

He found it - Tiwaz. Wikipedia article and everything. The symbol of some Norse god named Tyr. A rune that ensures victory in battle, granted by valkyries.

He kept idly fiddling with his new jewelry, pushing back how to deal with this impossibility until he answered some of the easier questions.

"Ow!"

Damn, that bone was sharp. He had pricked his finger on it, a small droplet of blood forming on the tip of his index finger.

Hi Sven. Christine's voice came suddenly, and he could just hear the giant grin she was wearing as she said it.

"Christine?!" Sven yelped, turning around, looking for the source of her voice.

Yeah, hey Sven. Stop for a second, pretend we're on the phone. We've got some ground to cover.

Oh okay. I'm just still tripping... somehow. Hi, Imaginary Christine!

::Knock Knock::

Sven, startled, went to his door and looked through the peephole.

Christine.

He quickly opened the door, and she shone a bright smile.

"Tripping? What have you been up to?" She grinned all the wider, knowing how uncomfortable Sven would be at this breach of work etiquette.

"Oh, hi, Christine. I'm, umm... I'm feeling a little confused. Sorry, what day is it? Was I supposed to be in work?" Sven fumbled for his cellphone to see if he's been missing messages - and to assure himself of the date. Nope, next day, haven't gone all Rip van Winkle.

"I see you've gotten yourself some jewelry."

Ok, she was enjoying this. Time to stop stammering and start controlling the situation.

"Yeah. So. Let me go out on a limb here. If I'm talking nonsense, I'll remind you I'm currently on vacation.

"You're my sister. And that gun you gave me has some mystic powers or some shit. And... and it fucking pierced my ear somehow. Did I shoot myself with it or something while I was - while I was vacationing? And our father is Scandinavian or something. And... and the earring has a.. bluetooth microphone..." Sven muttered off as he realized how fantastical this all sounded.

"Well, that's pretty damn close, actually. But the stud isn't bluetooth. Prick your finger on it and you'll, let's say, speed dial me." Sven just stared at her, slightly agape, as he processed this presented reality.

"It's made of the same tooth as the hilt on my gun - your gun. Fenrir's tooth."Fenrir? What the hell is a Fenrir?

"Also, our dad isn't Scandinavian. Well, he is, but he's a lot more than that. Have you ever heard of Tyr?"

---

Twylla moved back a few feet so she could better see all of it. Ah, yes...there was a gap just there, in the top tier..

Humming a merry tune to herself, she sped downward, cool water caressing her body. Her hair fanned out behind her, hovering in the water like a great, crimson cape. Looking down past her tail at the reefs below, she scanned intently for what she needed. Aha! There it was - a giant clam. She drifted to the nook where the great mollusk sat and gently stroked and prodded at the sensitive flesh along the shell's edge. Slowly, it opened to reveal a glistening pearl the size of a basketball. It shone with all the colors of the ocean, soft blues and greens and pinks.

"Thank you!" she patted the shell before she lifted the pearl out, the great thing almost too heavy for her to carry.

As she turned to swim back, a figure appeared from behind a stand of seaweed. Or, at least, he may have been by the seaweed. Who knows? One minute he wasn't there and the next, he was. He was a bald man with skin as dark as ebony. He wore a simple pair of overalls over a sturdy, plaid shirt. His eyes and mouth crinkled happily as he smiled at Twylla, watching her gather her materials.

Twylla tilted her head and looked at him curiously, unperturbed by his appearance in her dream. After all, dreams are dreams and who knows what or who will appear? Besides, the man felt...right. She couldn't put a finger on what it was about him, but he felt familiar, like...home...family...

"Shouldn't you have a tail to better swim?" she pointed out with a smile.

"Ah! So I should," the man said with a chuckle. His clothes disappeared and he morphed, his legs fusing together and scales appearing on his newly formed tail. The scales were black as the night sky, with the edges trimmed in silver. His lower half looked akin to the night sky shining with stars.

"Much better!" Twylla grinned and turned, darting back towards her project.

"What are you building, daughter?" the man asked, easily catching up to her and swimming by her side.

"A garden. Look!" she said as they rose over a reef. There, just across the rise, stood a great, tiered garden. Fantastical plants waved in the water, some obviously from the real world (or, at least, inspired by them) and others that were obviously the stuff of dreams. Light filtered through the water from above, dancing across leaves and petals of every shape and color. Every tier held a different plant, each arranged beautifully, heights and colors complementing each other so that it was a dazzling display.

Each tier was shored up by a wall made of pearl. On the uppermost pier, there was a gap that still needed to be filled. Twylla swam up to it and placed her newly acquired pearl into the space. She opened her palms, pressed against it and the pearl seemed to take on the consistency of clay. Still humming contently, she molded the pearl to fit the wall, creating a opalescent barrier to hold back the earth.

"It's beautiful!" the man laughed, delighted. "May I help?"

"Of course! What else do you think we should do?" Twylla flipped over in the water so that she was hanging above her guest's head, regarding him and the garden thoughtfully. The fact that he had called her 'daughter' earlier did not even register. After all...dreams are dreams...though, this one seemed amazingly lucid...

"Hmmm. I believe that your underwater garden needs some life! Perhaps some fish live here?" he reached out to the water surrounding them and pulled in a swirling handful of water that solidified to ice. He ran his hands over it, smoothing it until it took on the shape of a silvery-blue fish. He breathed lightly upon it and, suddenly, it sprang to life in his hand, swimming away into the foliage.

Laughing, Twylla follows suit and begins to pull forth different materials to create fish of her own. Before long, eels are born from long strands of seaweed, fish with flowing fins are made from sea flower petals, fish of all colors and sizes crafted into existence and set free into the garden.

After a while, the dark-skinned man stops creating and sighs, "As much fun as I am having, my daughter, I'm afraid the time for play must end. I have come for a more serious reason."

"Daughter...you keep calling me that. Who are you?" Twylla settles upon a boulder and stretches out, lounging in the saltwater.

"I am Ptah. And I call you my daughter because that is who you are," he smiles softly and swishes his tail, coming to rest beside the boulder.

"Ptah...Ptah...oh! The Egyptian god of creation. Huh...I haven't thought about Ptah since school," she muses, still caught in the notion that this is naught but a surprisingly lucid dream.

Ptah smiles indulgently, knowing that she'll understand the truth of things shortly, "Twylla, soon there is going to be a war over Earth and its fate. This will not be your battle, though. You are not a warrior, I know. Few of my children ever are. But you do have a vibrant imagination and a drive to create. This is something that will be needed when the battle is over and the world will need to recover."

Twylla regards Ptah with an amused smile, "And what am I supposed to do after a battle? Program the world to be better?"

"You will find a way, daughter. Do not sell yourself short!" Ptah reaches out to pat Twylla's shoulder. "And you won't be alone. There will be others who will help the world recover. Your talents and theirs, together, will start the process of healing."

From somewhere, Ptah produces a ring and choker. He takes Twylla's hand and carefully places the golden band upon her finger, a glittering ring engraved with the image of a sacred bull, legs outstretched as though running. He then reaches up to tie the choker around her neck. It bears Ptah's symbol, the scepter of dominion.

"These gifts will help you access your divine blood. Use them well and wisely," Ptah leans forward and kisses her forehead. "Now, wake up, Twylla. You have much to do."

Twylla sighs contently, slowly waking from her slumber. Gentle, morning light filters into her bedroom through thin, breezy curtains. She rolls over and looks at the clock. 10AM. Taking a deep breath, she stretches and yawns before snuggling back down into the mattress for five more minutes.

Finally, her stomach rumbles. She scratches at her thigh while she considers exactly how hungry she is. Another insistent tummy tremor convinces her that she really ought to get out of bed and eat. Sadly, she has no magical butler who will sweep in and place a tray of delicious breakfast in her lap.

Curse you, fate and student loans, she grumbles to herself. _T'weren't for you, I'd be rich!_

She swings her legs over the edge of the bed and stands. As she leans forward to push herself up, something tickles her neck. Without thinking, she reaches up to scratch at it and encounters something cool and metallic...a pendant?

I don't remember going to sleep with my jewelry on, she thinks. She mentally shrugs, figuring that she must have and simply forgot. She lowers her hand and catches a glimpse of gold on her finger. Now that startles her, slightly. I don't own any gold...

Lifting her hand, she sees a ring. It is a lovely thing, crafted into a delicate band engraved with an Egyptian-style running bull.

"Wait..." Twylla gasps. Her dream. She remembers all of it as vividly as if she lived it. There is no fog that slowly obscures the details, as would normally happen upon waking. She clearly remembers Ptah giving her this ring. She remembers the garden, the conversation...everything.

"No, no, no, no..." she jumps up, fully alert now, and rushes to the bathroom. Wide-eyed, she stares into the mirror, her gaze fixed upon the tiny scepter of dominion that hangs at the base of her throat.

Gasping, she pulls off the ring and choker, tossing them to the floor and running to the bed. She jumps onto the mattress and stares at the jewelry where it landed just outside the bathroom door, regarding them as though they were snakes poised to strike.

"They're real. It was real. Or...not? Am I losing my mind?" she mutters to herself. "There's proof right there. They're real and I didn't buy them. They came out of my dream. They came out of my fucking dream!"

Twylla scrambles across the bed to grab her phone and call...who? Who, exactly, is she going to call? Sophie? Her mom? She's fairly certain that, at first, Mom would reassure her that it was just a dream but, what about the jewelry? That's hard proof that it wasn't simply a case of runaway imagination.

Clasping the phone to her chest, Twylla leans back against the headboard and thinks, "Okay, let's just figure this out. What if it's true? What if I am Ptah's kid? What does that mean? What am I supposed to do? He said there would be a battle but that I wasn't meant to fight. I guess I'm meant to help rebuild. How will I know what to do?" Twylla taps the back of the phone that she still clutches as if it were a lifeline to the real world. "If there's a battle...I guess it'll be obvious. Maybe? I don't know!"

"Argh!" frustrated, she slips back down into her bed and pulls the covers over her head. "I wish I had someone to talk to..."

She crawls under the covers and pokes her head out from under, once again facing the jewelry. She regards them silently. Ptah seemed nice. He felt like...family. Which, ya know...duh! If he's my dad, then that's expected.

Chewing at her bottom lip, she finally gets out of bed and picks up the ring and pendant. As she holds them in her hand, she feels comforted. They are warm and solid and calming, like the very earth itself. She puts them back on and it feels...right.

"Okay, Dad. So, what now?" she sighs and looks about the room. Again, her stomach complains and, for just a moment, she can imagine she hears Ptah's rich, amused voice say, Food first! Then, we shall see.

---

The chirping sound of a cheap alarm clock echoed through the mostly empty studio apartment from its place on an end table. A groan emanated from the futon next to the end table and an arm reached out from the blankets, fumbling to snooze the alarm. "Shit," Sebastian cursed as the clock clattered to the floor, still issuing its merry chirp. He crawled further out of the blankets straining to reach the treacherous box. "Double shit," he cursed again as his weight tilted the futon up on two legs and dumped him unceremoniously on the wood floor. At least the alarm was silent now.

For a few minutes Sebastian considered retreating back into slumber right there on the floor. The cold wood pressed against his bare chest broke through his haze just enough to let his brain remember that it was jump day. With another groan and a litany of curses, he pushed himself off the ground and worked to extract himself from the blankets that had ensnared his ankles. He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and flicked the TV on so he could hear the weather report while he got ready.

"No more bar nights the night before jump day," he groaned for sixth or seventh time this year alone. He popped open a bottle of water and stumbled into the bathroom. The bathroom was small and utilitarian, little more than a short hall with a sink, a toilet, and just enough room to stand. Opposite the door was a positively tiny standing shower, just barely big enough for a single adult. He took a pair of aspirin out his medicine cabinet and drained the bottle. As the cabinet's door swung closed, he got a good look in the mirror.

His hair, normally tied back in a neat pony-tail, was a mess with half of it plastered to the side of his face, probably by drool. He needed to shave, his face bristled with stubble alongside is normal goatee. A faint bruise outlined his left eye, a shiner he heard earned in a brawl at the bar. A group of frat boys had been a little too aggressive in their courting of a pair of ladies. He had told them in not-so-polite terms to fuck off. A short fight had broken out, resulting in the black eye for him, one of the boys being hauled out by his two friends, and the lady's able to enjoy the rest of their evening in peace. The bruise was healing well; probably would be gone by this time tomorrow.

A quick shower later, and a pair of Clif bars and Sebastian felt like a human being again. He started to get dressed while keeping an eye on the TV. The weather report warned that some thunderstorms were rolling in later this evening, but the jump time was well before the weather was expected to turn bad. He pulled on his usual: a pair of urban camo cargo pants and a white v-neck shirt. Over the shirt he pulled on one of his royal blue work shirts but didn't button it up. On each sleeve, a white eye had been embroidered with a gray hurricane symbol inside the blue iris where a pupil should be. Under the eye, in neat gold letters was a single word: Stormwatch.

He reached to grab the last piece of his ensemble from atop the dresser. It was necklace with a very large shark's tooth hanging from a simple leather cord. On either side of the tooth, two dark wooden beads adorned the cord. Each bead had a different Japanese character, Kanji if Sebastian remembered correctly, engraved in it. Sebastian had researched the symbols to know their meaning. From right to left the symbols read Duty, Endurance, Intellect, and Valor; virtues he believed in at least. As he fumbled with the clasp, Sebastian thought back to how he'd come to possess such a unique piece of jewelry.

It had been right at the start of his freshman year at the University of New Orleans. The year was off to an interesting start with the threat of Katrina looming. Classes had been cancelled so Sebastian had wandered out to the coast to get a better look at the on-coming storm. The place had been pretty deserted. While he was watching the approaching cloud wall, a colorful flash in the surf caught his attention. He turned his attention to it just in time to see a lone surfer wipeout and get pulled under by the rip tide.

Without hesitation, Sebastian had ran down the beach, shedding excess clothing, and dove into the surf. He reached the unconscious surfer in minutes, with help from the rip tide, and got his head above water. Sebastian was relieved to see the surfer as still breathing. Even still, with the current constantly trying to pull him further out it took almost an hour to drag the surfer back to shore. When he finally came to, the man, apparently also of Japanese descent, introduced himself as Su and gave Sebastian the necklace in return for saving his life. Sebastian had worn it ever since.

Settling the necklace, Sebastian was ready. He turned the TV off, grabbed his gear, and headed out to meet the rest of the Stormwatch.

The Stormwatch was the name of Sebastian's crew. They were a team of professional storm chasers operating out of New Orleans, employed by the Weather Channel. Of primary concern was gathering data on tropical activity, usually by flying at relatively low altitudes directly through tropical events. It was a dangerous job, but the team was well trained and there were few better pilots than Sebastian when it came to navigating a storm.

Sebastian was the last one to arrive at the rendezvous point, as per usual. They were meeting at a cafe near Gold Coast Skydiving for lunch before their jump. Ryan Kingsley was the first one to notice Sebastain's purple Accord to pull into a parking space, and waved him over. Ryan was the youngest and newest member of the crew. Thin, to the point of bordering on scrawny, with round glasses and short brown hair, he looked every bit the stereotypical nerd. Ryan had proven he was more than meets the eye though when he had been an intern on the team by constantly keeping a cool head in the face of danger. Now as an official member of the team, his technical expertise proved vital and he kept their systems running smoothly, possibly even optimally.

Sebastian strode over to Ryan and gave him a firm handshake. "Big day today, kiddo," he said as they grasped hands, "First solo jump. Nervous?"

Ryan returned a wiry smile, his brown eyes sparkling, "Nervous? After flying with you it will take a lot more than jumping out of a plane to make me worry."

"Good man!" Sebastian exclaimed, wrapping his arm around Ryan's shoulder and walking him back to the rest of the crew just in time to see Robert Wilkins setting a sky blue cake on the table. In the center of the cake, a skydiver had been rendered in frosting, vaguely in Ryan's likeness. The skydiver was framed by icing etched words celebrating Ryan's first solo jump.

"Normally, we'd eat the cake after such an event," Rob spoke with a hearty voice, "but seeing as how this is an ice cream cake, I didn't think it would wait. Dig in!" He passed Ryan the cake knife so that the man of the hour could get the first piece. Sebastian took the time to exchange a handshake and hug with Rob. Rob was a tall man, tallest of the group at roughly six feet, eight inches. His long blond hair was tied back in tight ponytail and his ridiculous Hawaiian shirt spoke volumes about his laid back personality. He served as the cinematographer and photographer of their crew and spent his free time planning parties for every occasion. Like this one.

"Where's Johnny?" Sebastian asked, noticing the lack of Rob's boyfriend. Johnny wasn't officially part of the Stormwatchers, but him and Rob were normally inseparable.

Rob shook his head and sighed, "Poor guy picked up the stomach bug that has been going around his office. After he spent forty-five minutes on the toilet we decided it was probably best if he stayed home." Rob waved his hand in front of his nose as if to disperse a foul smell and laughed.

"I keep tellin' him," Kylia Cota chimed in from the opposite side of the table, "That desk job is gonna be the death of him. He needs to get more active." Kylia put down her fork and wiped her hands on her coveralls. A little trail of the blue frosting mingled with the countless grease stains. She grimaced and shook her head, her cornrow braids whipping back and forth. Kylia was the team's mechanic, one of the best. She stood up and gave Sebastian a little salute, "We still on for sparring practice this afternoon?"

Sebastian nodded and pointed to his still bruised eye, "Clearly I need it. Can't believe that punk actually managed to land a hit." Kylia was a MMA fighter in her free time and regularly kicked his ass on the sparring field. It was good practice though and usually a ton of fun. Sebastian looked around and noticed someone was missing. "Where's Diana? Please tell me I got here before her!" he asked the group with a chuckle.

"Like that would ever happen, hot shot," a woman's voice called mockingly from behind him. He turned to see Diana strolling up from the back of the restaurant and putting her phone away, adjusting her red hair back into its normal bob. "Matt called and had some wedding planning questions." She explained, motioning to the phone.

Sebastian felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of Diana's fiance. That isn't fair to her, he thought to himself, you blew any chance with her a long time ago. Diana was his oldest friend of the group, his co-pilot, and in charge of the team's finances. She had expressed her love for him back in college, after they nearly died when a near miss from a tornado threw the truck they were in a good hundred feet. He had freaked out, rejecting her before his brain had even processed the event, and that was that. Their friendship had recovered and together they managed to get the Stormwatch off the ground after they graduated. He had never worked up the courage to tell her how he really felt back in college and it was far too late now.

Out loud he simply chuckled. "That makes more sense. If I had beat you hear it would be a sure sign of the apocalypse," he said with a wink, "Now let's eat this cake before it melts!" Chorus of agreement greeted these words as everyone settled in to eat. Boisterous cheers from the team periodically, drawing scowls from the other patrons. Just another day for the Stormwatch.

A little over an hour later and the crew was airborne and suited up. As they neared the drop zone, Sebastian couldn't help but feel uneasy. It wasn't the prospect of the jump itself that was worrying him; he had hundreds of jumps on record. Something was definitely wrong, though. Not wanting to worry his compatriots, he kept a smile on his face but also kept an eye open.

The pilot signalled the all clear and one by one the team lined up to jump. Sebastian took the place at the end of the line as the trepidation grew. Diana was out first, a simple and practical jump to get clear. Rob followed with an exaggerated dive. Kylia's back-flip out the door left just Ryan and Sebastian.

As Ryan grabbed the hand holds on either side, Sebastian's sense flared with danger. Ryan turned to wink to him and that was when he saw it. The buckles on either side of Ryan's chute were heavily worn and starting to crack. Before he could shout a warning Ryan was out the door with a whoop of joy. Without hesitation, Sebastian dived out the door after him.

Ryan had his limbs splayed to slow his descent and offer him an impressive vista of the world below. Sebastian kept his diver's aerodynamic form and swiftly caught up with the young man. Ryan's surprise at seeing Sebastian zooming towards him widening into fearful understanding as Sebastian frantically pantomimed the warning. As if to punctuate Sebastian's message, the left buckle chose that moment to snap. Ryan reacted quickly to the danger, stretching out to grab the wayward strap, but moments later the second sheared away. The wind ripped Ryan's pack from him with a sickening crack, sending him tumbling, his right arm hanging at an odd angle.

Sebastian cursed vehemently as he drifted after Ryan's unconscious body. The man's right arm had broken with the pack was ripped free, the pain must have been too much for him to bear. Sebastian reached out and stabilized Ryan's spin. Working quickly, he managed to rip the sleeve off his own suit and securely tie Ryan's limp arm against his body. He then carefully unbuckled his own chute, before wrestling it on his friend's body and securing it. If he could maintain his grip they might just both survive this. No sooner had this thought crossed his mind, when a particularly strong gust sent them spinning, flinging Sebastian one way and Ryan the other.

Now in freefall with no chute, Sebastian's brain kicked into survival mode. There was no panic, just a cold calculating logic. Ryan was too far away to intercept now. Even unconscious, the chute should still deploy when he got below a certain point. Ryan would probably survive. Without a chute of his own Sebastian was much less likely to. Looking below him, he saw one of New Orleans several lakes just a little off to his right. He could probably angle to land in the water. He tried to calculate his odds of survival with what he could remember from physics and anatomy. The answer was… unlikely. "It would take a miracle," he muttered to himself.

"Did I hear somebody ask for a miracle?" a raucous voice called out from behind him.

Startled, Sebastian spun around in the air to see a man falling behind him. The man was of Asian descent, with a sharp goatee and long hair, wild in the whipping wind. He wasn't a skydiver though. He seemed to be wearing only a pair of white knee length swim trunks with a stylized eight headed dragon pattern on one leg. Unbelievably, he was laying back on a white surf board as if reclining in gentle waves and not hurtling towards an untimely demise. Even more unbelievably, Sebastian recognized him. "Su?' he sputtered incredulously.

The man's eyes lit up and he let out a clap. "So glad you remember me!" the man, Su, exclaimed. "Though technically my full name is Susano-O, Shinto God of Storm and Sea. And…" the man put his hands to his mouth and made a deep echoing breathing sound before continuing, "I am your father."

Susano-O, Shinto God, father? these thoughts swirled around in Sebastian's head. He fought to make sense of it all. Gods aren't real, his brain screamed, this is just a hallucination brought on by my imminent death. Another part of him, however, knew it was true. The man had a presence, an almost palpable aura that emanated from him. It spoke of power and chaos, like the raging storm.

"Search your feelings you know it to be true," Susano-O continued in a reasonably close approximation of Vader's classic lines. Despite himself, Sebastian nodded. "Excellent. Our current venue doesn't give me time to explain everything in detail so for any pressing questions go speak with the man that resides here. The old man knows a great deal of what most mortals have forgotten." Susano-O reached out a hand. Sebastian took what was handed to him and stared at the trinket. It appeared to be a laminated card or bookmark of some sort with the words "Inari's Temple" written on the front and an address on the back. A silk ribbon was threaded through a hole punched in the card and a tear-drop shaped piece of blue stone hung from the other end.

As he stared at the card, Susano-O continued, "The necklace I gave you last time we met is a relic that holds the key to half of your power in it. The tooth is from the dragon Orochi and it holds the power of the chaotic seas within it." Sebastian touched the tooth beneath his jump and felt the touch of power there where before there had been only a feeling of comfort.

"There is a storm coming, son, and it is not one of my making. There are some in this city, scions of other gods, who are aware of it as well. Seek them out, ride the storm together, and together rebuild. My final gift to you is this," the god spoke more formally now, his cavalier attitude from before gone, and rose one hand towards the sky. A silent flash of lightning temporarily blinded Sebastian and when he could see again, he found a sheathed sword resting in his hands, warm to the touch. It was a traditional Japanese sword, a katana, but it buzzed with power. It's handle was wrapped in blue ribbons, with a matching blue scabbard. Engraved in gold upon the scabbard was a single character. Susano-O spoke once more, "This sword is called Arashi, or "Storm" in English. With it the sky is yours to command. Use it to save yourself, and perhaps the world. Good luck, Sebastian-chan." With those words, the god was gone.

Moving carefully despite the rushing wind and ever nearing lake, Sebastian slowly drew the blade. Black steel with golden lightning bolts greeted him as well as an immense sense of power. Acting on instinct, he gripped the sword tightly and reached out to it with his mind. The water's surface was only a few hundred meters below now. He poured his will into the blade and felt himself slow. Less than a hundred meters now. He gathered wind about himself and slowed further. One hundred feet to go. He hit the water hard enough to knock the wind from him, like a belly-flop from the high board, but he would live.

Reflexively Sebastian inhaled, realizing too late that he was still under water. The water rushed into his lungs, filling them as if he was laying on a beach, not ten feet below the surface. The tooth, Sebastian realized with a smile, feeling his necklace pressed against his skin, I can breathe under water. That'll be a great party trick. He broke the surface of the lake, sheathed the sword, and began the slow and painful swim to shore.

The day's promised storms had rolled in by the time Sebastian dragged himself onto the shore. Probably for the best, he mused, at least there are a lot less people on the streets. Would be kinda hard to explain the sword. And I certainly don't need to get arrested right now. He picked a street and started walking, limping slightly and using the sheathed blade as an improvised cane.

He wandered the streets on auto-pilot, not paying attention to where he was actually going. His thoughts preoccupied trying to make sense of the day's events. If it wasn't for the fact that he was still holding the sword, he would have sworn the whole thing of as a hallucination from his imminent death. He had survived, which while unlikely, wouldn't have been completely impossible. The sword was still there, however; a constant tingling presence in his hand, not unlike the feeling of nearby static.

He wasn't sure how long he was lost in thought, but came to as the storm-clouded sky darkened even more. "I should probably call the crew and tell them I'm alive. Also make sure Ryan's okay," he muttered to himself. He didn't have a cell phone or even his wallet on him. All of that would be tucked away in his change of clothes in his car. He looked around, but in the dim light and rain he wasn't sure what part of town he was in. His eyes settled on a sign with of a fortune teller's shop with the lights on. "Maybe they have a phone I can use," he muttered and began walking up the stairs.

Maybe Madame Sanura is one of those blind fortune tellers, he thought with a slight smile, that would save me from explaining why I look like a zombie paratrooper. His amethyst and gold jumpsuit was soaked, mud-stained, and ripped in several places. He had lost his hair tie when he hit the water, leaving his hair matted to his head. He shrugged and moved to knock on the door.

The grey cat mewed in dismay as he watched the waterlogged human trudge towards their door. Wet monkey...smells funny...going to stay dry. He hopped down from the windowsill and briefly rubbed up against Kenaris leg before running into the back rooms.

"Coward," Kenari mumbles as she grabs two towels out of the bathroom and uses one to cover the chair set aside for customers.

There's a knock on the door and she smiles in the mirror as she makes sure her appearance and accouterments are in place. She glances at the dagger in it's gilded sheath and with a bite of her bottom lip slips it into her boot. Better safe than sorry when your customers drag themselves out of the sea.

"The future waits for us all," she calls out as she grabs the other towel and glances through the peep hole. Strange... definitely not what I expected. Maybe a near-death experience caused him to suddenly believe? As she takes a breath her nose wrinkles with a sudden scent of cherry blossoms and the sea that causes her to take a step back. This is definitely an odd one... but we can't get answers unless we ask questions...

After the second knock she opens the door with her best seductive smile before handing him a towel. "Welcome, soggy traveler. Dry yourself off and we'll see if your future holds more than pneumonia."

"I was hop... " Sebastian started to say as the door opened, but the fortune teller's words and tone cut that thought short. "Thank you," he said instead when he noticed the towel. He took it with his left hand, looked around a moment, and then dropped the sword into an umbrella rack near the door. _Hopefully she didn't recognize the three foot long weapon as such_, he thought as he began to towel off as best he could before crossing the threshold. The towel smelled clean with a hint of incense that he didn't recognize, which was admittedly pretty much all of them.

"I'm afraid I don't have any money to pay for a reading or anything," he said, his voice a bit hoarse, though whether that was because of the rain or the proximity of the strange woman he wasn't sure. Based on previous experience, he would place money on it being the latter. "I was sky-diving with some friends when I…uh," he paused considering his words, "I was blown off course. I was hoping I could use your phone to call my friends and let them know I'm okay." He kept his eyes averted while he spoke, trying to look like he was taking in the room. He was a terrible liar, and while it wasn't exactly a lie, he wasn't really sure how he was going to explain himself if pressed.

"Darling, I think the story of how you crawled out of the sea in what is most definitely not a swimsuit and decided to come to me instead of a bar payphone is going to be worth the price of admission," Kenari replies with a wave of her hand and sway of her hips as she walks through the beaded curtain to sit at her table.

"Come now, and tell me why you're really here... and then you can use my phone to call your friends." She sets her cell phone on the table next to a black wooden box inscribed with silver hieroglyphs.

Sebastian hesitated for a moment, eyeing the phone. Then he shrugged and sat down. He ripped off a dangling strip of his suit and tied his hair back as he started talking. "Technically it was a lake, not the sea. And you can call me Sebastian. Like I said before, my friends and I were skydiving earlier today. One of my friends had a catastrophic failure of his chute so I gave him mine." He pointed a finger at the woman when she looked like she might say something, "It is not as stupid as it sounds. He was unconscious and those chutes can easily handle two people. I had planned do the rest of the fall tandem. The wind didn't cooperate though, and separated us before I could secure myself. I was too far to get back to him and the rest of the crew, so I angled for the lake, though I wasn't really expecting that to save me."

Sebastian hesitated again, wrestling with himself on how to explain what happened next.

"A lake? Strange then that you smell so strongly of the sea," Kenari responds as she opens the box to reveal a set of gold filigreed claws next to a deck of cards that she starts slipping on one by one. "The sea and..." she takes a long sniff. "yes... definitely cherry blossoms. Coming from the lake you would think you'd reek of fish and seaweed. And was there a lady in shimmering armor at the bottom who gave you that?" she points over his shoulder to the other room where his sword rests in her umbrella stand.

Sebastian felt his temper flare a bit as he snapped his retort, "No the sword came from the Japanese god claiming to be my father!" He paused and spent a moment to collect himself. "Sorry. It's been a long day," he sighed, "Cat's out of the bag now. That last part is the truth of how I survived the fall. Hell even I think I'm crazy, or I would, if it wasn't for the sword." He started to rise, "Thanks for your time. Sorry if I scared you."

"And now we get to the truth of it," Kenari replies calmly as she starts pulling out cards one by one and laying them in a cross pattern face down on the table. She flips over the Fool in the middle of the cross.

"You have experienced a visitation from the Gods and it has set you on an unknown path..."

She uses a claw and flips over The Emperor on the right side. "A Fathers wish to protect his loved ones has set your present in motion."

She places the point of a claw on the card to the left and smiles slyly. "Don't you want to know for what purpose? For it is by the grace of Bast that I may tell you."

Sebastian settled back in his chair. "I've never been much for fortune telling," he admits cautiously, "But then again if you had told me this morning I was going to meet a god, I would have laughed in your face. Maybe it's time I broaden my perspective some."

"There are more things in Heaven and Earth, my friend... than dreamt of in our philosophies," Kenari replies with a small chuckle as she turns over
the Two of Pentacles and places it over The Fool.

"The things your father told you... they cause conflict as you wonder how to balance the life you've created for yourself with the one that's been revealed to you. Do you tell your mother? Your friends? Do you go about your life like normal? Will it change everything from here on?"

She turns over the card to the right to reveal The Hierophant. Her nose wrinkles as she lets out a slight hiss at the sight of the card. "The future will not be an easy one, as the beliefs and traditions of a group that seeks conformity will challenge your new role."

"Not your favorite card, I take it?" Sebastian asks with a smirk.

"You have no idea," Kenari replies flatly as she points to the card above The Fool. "This card represents the best outcome if you overcome your challenges."

The Magician.

"Innnnteresting..."

"How so?" Sebastian asks as he leans slightly forward.

"The Magician is a bridge between the spirit world and that of humanity," she explains as she sits back and gestures with her hand, the delicate clink of metal claws ringing like bells in the quiet. "It's not an easy role to have, however. You will be plagued with many hard decisions as you are joined by others who wish to bridge that gap, and harmed by those who fear it. But fear not, for when you have fully manifested and mastered the elements of body, mind, heart and soul, you will rise to power and victory."

"Others?"

Kenari offers a half smile as she continues the reading. "You did come to me, after all. Now this final card below The Fool represents what truly drives you deep down... and what will keep driving you through these difficult times."

She leans over the table and with a delicate claw flips over... The Four of Wands. "Ah... who isn't driven by a desire for peace and harmony?" She smiles as she taps the card with a claw. "But maybe there's more... a desire for home, a place to belong? Perhaps not a place... but a person to belong to?"

Sebastian was quiet for several minutes after the fortune teller finished speaking. He didn't doubt her words. He had felt power in them, similar but different, from what he had felt from the relics his father had gifted upon him.

When he did speak, it came out in soft, cracked voice. "Susano-O. That was his name. My father I mean. God of seas and storms. I don't really know much about Shinto, but that's where he hails from." Sebastian swallowed, trying to find his full voice, before continuing, "He said there was a storm coming. I'm supposed to find out other… Scions he called them, and together we are supposed to rebuild after it passes." Sebastian leveled his gaze at the woman. "You're one of them." It wasn't a question. "I felt a tinge of power in your words, not too different then the power in Arashi," he said tilting his head towards the sword and then pulled his necklace from underneath his jump suit, "Or this tooth."

He stood abruptly, taking on a confidence he hadn't felt since the landing, and extended his right hand, "Sebastian Vogel. I'm the leader of the Stormwatch weather team and…" he paused for only a moment, resolve flashing through his eyes like lightning, "Scion of Susano-O."

Kenari smiles at Sebastian's words and carefully removes her claws before placing them back in the box. She then stands and places her hand in his, along with her cell phone. "Kenari Sanura, Scion of Bast. A pleasure to finally meet you, Sebastian. Feel free to call your friends now, once you've decided what to tell them."

Sebastian nodded and took the phone. He took a moment to actually recall Diana's number before punching it in. She answered on the second ring, "Tribbet here." Her voice was definitely strained but she maintained a professional attitude.

"Hey Diana, it's me," Sebastian said, rather sheepishly.

"Sebastian!" she exclaimed, "Thank god you are okay. What happened?"

Thank god indeed, though probably not the one you are thinking,, Sebastian mused before answering, "Ryan's chute broke off and knocked him out. I strapped mine on him. I got a hold of what was left of his and managed a rough landing in one of the lakes. How's Ryan doing?" It was a straight lie, but he hoped her relief that he was alive and the slight static of the call covered that.

She didn't question him. "Broken arm, but I'm guessing you knew that. Doctor thinks he might have a cracked rib too. We're waiting on X-Rays." He sighed in relief.

"Guess we're going to have call in some IT support for next week's server install. Maybe Ryan will finally drum up the courage to ask Ms. Delacroix out." The both chuckled at that. "Speaking of which, I think I'm going to take few days off. I'm alive, but I'm still banged up a bit. You're in charge until I get back in."

Diana laughed again, "I'm in charge even when you are here. But seriously, take care of yourself. We'll see you in a few days."

He hung up the phone and set it back on the table. His earlier confidence waived for a moment before he looked back up to Kenari. "Thank you. You gave me quite the wake up call this evening. Can I... that is, I'd like to buy you dinner in return. As a thank you."

Edit

Kenari smiles. "Generosity so freely given is a rare gift these days. Let me gather my things and close up shop." She scoops her cards up and slips them into a pouch at her belt before grabbing her box and making her way into the back room.

"I hope I won't need them... but you never know," she mutters to herself before pouring her claws into a velvet bag that she ties tightly to her belt. She then takes her ear cuff out of her jewelry box and affixes it to her right ear.

Busy night? a voice asks in her ear.

"Interesting one to say the least. See what you can dig up on this Sebastian with his Storm Watch group, would you? I'm curious if he has any enemies I should be aware of."

You got it, lady. In the meantime, take care of yourself. Things are getting... weird to say the least.

"Yes... there is change coming... I can feel it."

"Did you say something?" Sebastian calls out.

"Just have to change and then I'm coming!" Kenari replies as she slips on a black miniskirt and knee high boots to go with her red corset that thankfully goes with almost everything she has.

"Watch the house, love... but don't get yourself hurt!" she whispers to her cat as she scratches him under the chin.

Bring leftovers! the cat meows in reply.

"Perfection can't be rushed!" Kenari admonishes Sebastian with a smile as she struts back into the main room and grabs a small black purse off the back of her chair. "Shall we?"