In response to those who wanted more Klarion and Greta, this just sorta came to me…..it's not finished, and I don't know how much time I'll have to devote to it, what with "Phoenix Ascending" and all, but I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!
Klarion and Greta: On the Darkside
Chapter 1: Old Friends, New Friends
Stephanie Brown yawned expansively as she woke up. It hadn't been a particularly quiet night, but she'd finally gotten to sleep. Klarion, the witch boy, had gotten the craziest notion in his head that he had to resurrect some girl's ghost or something, and somehow she had been caught up in the ensuing fallout. Note to self, she thought as she got up and went into the bathroom, do not, repeat, do not get involved with Witch boys ever again. Not that it had been a great disaster, but her nerves just weren't up to it any more.
In the bathroom, she stripped out of her sleep shirt and stepped naked into the shower, turning it on as hot as she could stand it. Mmm. Yes. Just the thing to take the kinks out of the ol' muscles before going to work.
She scrubbed herself clean, snagged her towel off the rack, and stepped out of the shower.
There was a cat sitting on the toilet, watching her. And not just any cat: it was Teekl, staring straight at her in that unnerving way cats have of staring at people.
"T-T-Teekl?" The pit of her stomach dropped down into somewhere in the vicinity of Earth's mantle. One thing she knew: wherever Teekl was, Klarion couldn't be far behind.
She clutched the towel around her. Teekl was no ordinary cat; she wasn't sure how much of him was….was….human? Human like? Whatever the term was, dammit, he wasn't just an animal. "Do you, like, mind? I'd like to get dressed here. In private."
The witch cat actually rolled his eyes, as if to say, humans, but he jumped down from his perch and flowed out the door. Now that she was listening, Stephanie could hear certain sounds coming from the small apartment's kitchen…sounds that indicated she was no longer alone. Oh, damn. Here we go again.
She dressed as hurredly as possible, then went straight to the kitchenette. There sat Klarion, holding Teekl, who was giving her a glare. Took you long enough.
Also in the small kitchenette was a young girl, about fourteen or fifteen years old. Stephanie didn't recognize her; but remembered Klarion talking about bringing back a girl who'd been murdered by her brother. Could this be her? Had he actually succeeded? Unbelievable as it may seem, Stephanie didn't doubt for a moment that he had that kind of mojo. Or nerve.
"Ah, Stephanie, so good to see you again!" Klarion rose to greet her. Stephanie noted that the smallish table was laden with various sorts of breakfast foods: sausage, bacon, ham, hash browns, scrambled eggs, biscuits and toast. "Here. Please. Come have a seat." And he ushered her into a chair. "I took the liberty of making-well, conjuring up-breakfast. So please. Help yourself to anything that strikes your fancy. And I've someone to introduce to you." He motioned to the girl. "Stephanie Brown, may I introduce Greta Hayes. She's the girl I was telling you about, earlier. Greta. This is Stephanie Brown, one of my truest mortal friends."
Gingerly, Stephanie sat, as though the chair might become an anaconda any second. She studied the girl. She was young, of course, and rather comely. Not beautiful, maybe, but attractive. The girl herself, Greta, was studying Stephanie right back. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. Klarion has told me so much about you."
"Ah, uh…y-yes. I-I haven't heard that much about you, but, but, weren't you, uhm." She trailed off, unsure as to how to continue.
"Dead?" said the girl. "Yes, yes, it seems I was." Here she paused, staring down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap. "My brother….." She fell silent.
"Now, Greta, it's alright now," Klarion admonished. "I mean, I know, sort of, how you must be feeling, but all that's in the past. Whatever problems await you now, I'll help you with. And I'm sure Miss Stephanie feels the same way. You're not alone in this." While he spoke, Stephanie was impressed with his evident sincerity. He really cared about this girl. And from the non-verbal cues she was picking up from Greta, the feeling appeared to be somewhat mutual.
Klarion Bleak, the Witch Boy, a Lord of Chaos…..in love? Was the universe ready for this? Was she? "Uh, Klarion, not to be premature or anything, but, but why are you here?"
Klarion wiped his mouth with a silk napkin embossed with the scarlet letters "KB" in one corner. "Two reasons. One, I wanted to introduce Greta to you, since you were so supportive of me in liberating her from some truly dark powers. My success is as much yours as mine.
"And second," and here he paused, while Stephanie steeled herself, sensing something big coming, "I…no, make that we, need your advice."
"Advice? Me?" Stephanie was hoping she kept the squeak out of her voice.
"But of course you. You're one of my closest mortal friends, Stephanie. I value and respect your opinion."
Oh, Lord, thought Stephanie. Here we go again.
Several blocks away, a man fumbled with the key to his house. He was a tall man, with iron-gray hair, sporting two white highlights down the sides. People who saw him on the street-which was rare-were more often than not impressed with his silence. He just didn't seem like a man who talked a lot. Or smiled a lot. And they would be right.
One thing most passersby probably wouldn't have noticed, unless, that is, they knew what to look for, was that, curiously, whenever he encountered someone, or someone passed by him on the sidewalk, they invariably moved out of the way. There was nothing fearsome about him; people simply felt uncomfortable in his presence for some reason.
So other pedestrians simply moved to one side without even realizing they were doing so. And Jason Blood wouldn't have had it any other way.
Just now he was more tired than anything. During his long life, he'd been many things: soldier, sailor, merchant, spy. Now he was simply grateful that he could be left alone to continue what he considered his true occupation: researcher into the occult.
This was a vocation which he pursued with a passion that often surprised those who came to know him to any degree. More than once, someone had described him as being driven by "some inner demon."
If only they'd known.
For Jason Blood was driven by a demon. Centuries ago, he'd been bonded with Merlin's personal demon, Etrigan, as both a gift and a curse for crimes unmentionable. Now he devoted his every waking hour to the study of that realm of metaphysics that showed the most promise of freeing him from his bondage. He'd been told that such freedom could easily result in his death. He didn't particularly care.
What nobody understood was that being bonded to a demon, an actual demon, was no picnic. He was subject to the creature's infernal nature, not through choice, but by sheer psychic proximity. It was a bit like being too close to a fire…in the spiritual sense. In other words, highly uncomfortable. And it never went away.
He opened the heavy carved oak door to his home. There; the warm interior light spilled across him, producing a sigh of relief. It was always good to be home.
He moved into the living room—which some people often mistook for the library due to the abundance of books, depositing his package on the coffee table and removing his leather greatcoat from around him, hanging it up on a nearby coat hanger. He'd been more tired than usual these days, especially because he could sense that something was up. Something was going to happen. What, he didn't know. But some sixth—or seventh, or eighth, or thirty-fourth—sense told him to be on his guard.
Extra senses very seldom warned you about good times on the way.
With his coat hung up, he turned to the package on his table. He'd paid a huge sum for the object inside, but, if it only did half of what it was supposed to do, it would be worth every cent.
He opened it carefully. Inside was a bar of what appeared to be ordinary metal. Gingerly, he picked it up—and was overcome by the curious sensation that crept up his arm.
For Jason Blood, mystical researcher and occasional back seat driver to an infernal alter ego, could sense nothing at all from this bar of metal.
That was unusual. For Blood, it was normal to be able to sense certain small things about objects he handled. Sometimes, he could tell if the last person who owned it had died of violence, particularly if he'd been holding said object at the time. Other times, he could get some sort of clue as to the nature of the last owner, what sort of person he (or she) had been, where they had lived, etc.
But about this bar, he could tell nothing whatsoever. He shivered, partly with delight. So. It was true.
This was a bar of nth metal, a leftover from the Thanagarian near-invasion a while back. One of its properties was said to be the negation of magic.
And his demonic other half was bonded to him by magic. So the possibilities were…..interesting. Yes, very interesting, indeed.
"Well, of course there are…..not exactly problems, Stephanie. But concerns. I'm sure Greta will wish to resume her life here on Earth, and some things need attending to."
"Oh? Like what?" Stephanie glanced over at the girl, Greta, who was following the conversation and feeding Teekl a bite of sausage simultaneously.
"It's fairly certain she can't go back to living with her brother. I understand he's in Arkham anyway? And there's the small matter of her being legally dead, you see. She'll need a new identity. Do you suppose you could help us out there?"
Stephanie clasped her hands together. Quite against her former intentions, she was getting drawn into the problem. There were some complications to someone returning from the dead. And how exactly had the witch boy managed that, anyway? He hadn't actually told her all about it, just that he'd bargained some demon lord for her. In a sense, he'd bought her. And brought her back. In a way, it was kinda somewhere between kinky and sweet. Just exactly the sort of thing she'd expect from Klarion Bleak. "Hm. Yes. New ID, cover story….I guess I could say she's my, I dunno, niece or cousin or something. Is anyone likely to recognize her? From her old life, I mean?"
Klarion spread some butter—real butter, not margarine—over a biscuit and took a bite. "Not sure. Probably not….Greta? Is there any one in particular?"
The girl hesitated. "I….don't think so. I never made any really close friends, when I was a-alive," she stuttered slightly over the last word. Stephanie could sympathize. Actually, the girl was doing a remarkable job of adjusting to it all, all things considered. She wasn't sure she could've.
But then, this girl also had someone to turn to. Someone to help her, someone to support her emotionally. Klarion. Stephanie was still trying to wrap her brain around that notion. Hope they don't have any lovers' quarrels anytime soon, she said to herself. Not sure what I'd do if I were caught in the middle of one of those, with these two. Aloud, she said, "Well, that's good. So…we need to concentrate on the new identity. I have…..some…..experience with those, myself. And, I know a guy." Bruce Wayne—Batman—had connections, to put it mildly.
Klarion leaned forward suddenly, a faraway look on his blue face. "You know, I just thought of someone else I could tap for advice. Someone who's had a lot of experience in changing identities himself. Plus, it'll annoy him, which is always so amusing to me."
Stephanie sipped her coffee. It was getting cold. "Really? Who?" She wasn't too sure about this notion of bringing in what she considered an outsider into the mix.
"A most fascinating individual. In fact," he stood up, "I think I'll just pop over there to his place right now." He saw the look on Stephanie's face. "Oh, don't worry, Stephanie. Jason Blood's harmless, er, well, most of the time, anyway. Besides, he owes me a favor."
"Jason Blood? The guy with the demon?" Stephanie's eyebrows rose; this really didn't sound like a good idea….
"The same. I shan't be long…."
"Wait! Klarion! Hold up a minute!"
"Eh?" He paused in mid gesture.
"You said you valued my advice. Well, I don't know if it's been brought to your attention before, but you're gonna kinda stand out, what with the blue face an' all."
He looked thoughtful. "Hm. Yes, I don't blend in well up here in Blue Rafters, do I? Well…..I am a witch boy….let's see….." He frowned in concentration. Then he tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and whispered, "mutare cutis mea color ad id de Stephanie." There was a moment…
….and his skin turned into the same color as Stephanie's own. Stephanie's eyes widened; she still couldn't get used to the use of magic on such a casual basis. His features were still the same, with the same odd hair-points, but aside from that, no-one would've thought him to be anything other than human.
"And now," he said with a small smile, "I shall go visit my dear Uncle Jason." And he was gone.
Stephanie and Greta were left staring at each other, Teekl still in Greta's lap, looking hungrily at the next sausage patty. Greta smiled shyly and shrugged. "I rather liked the blue."
Klarion paused on the sidewalk outside of Jason Blood's brownstone. He was wishing he'd snagged some artifact from Blood's house during his last visit; then he could've 'ported straight in. But he hadn't, so he had no mystical leverage, so to speak. He sighed. He'd just have to go up and knock on the door like everyone else. It was so ordinary….
But the closer he got, the more his witch-senses gave off alarms. He cast about. Something was wrong. But what?
He reached the door, reached up to knock…..and the door swung loosely inward.
Hm? The door was….open? No, wait…the door wasn't just open, it had been broken into. The lock was shattered, a brute force entry.
Cautiously, he stepped into the darkened room, every sense alert. Someone would actually break in on Merlin's demon? Besides him? What was the world coming to, anyway? He felt an irrational surge of jealousy.
The place was a shambles, books strewn across the floor, the coffee table smashed in two, the sofa and chairs overturned. And there was no sign of Jason Blood.
Ever more cautiously, he opened his senses up to the environment, feeling for what he feared to find. He breathed a sigh of relief when his senses told him there were no dead bodies in the immediate vicinity.
But equally troubling, there was no one here at all. Klarion could sense traces of Jason Blood-he and "Uncle Jason" had crossed swords often enough that he could sense his presence, even from across a crowded room-but now he couldn't find any trace of where Blood could be. Even more disturbing, he could not sense any other life forms that might be responsible for this mess. "Oh, no," he said, under his breath, lips pressed together. "Not even hardly. If anybody offs MY Uncle Jason, it's going to be me."