A/N: Wheee! We're almost done, unless my muse and/or the characters decide(s) to be evil and pull another stunt on me....

Anywho... There's a character sketch of Raphie (actually, two—the first one was too hard to see, so I changed the bg and reposted for the second) up on my devart account, if anyone's curious.

Disclaimer: I don't own this stuff. This was NOT my idea, it was my muse's. And the characters and stuffsesness belong to Diane Duane. And, no, I don't have attention deficit disor... OOH! PRETTY CEILING PATTERNS!!!


On the Care and Keeping of Shoulder Angels

OR:

A Wizard Under Annoyingly Close Watch Due to the Boredom of A Certain Power and the Kind but Unappreciated Concern of Its Sibling ^and the Belated and Bizarrely Unexplained Presence of Another

Chapter Six: A Note of Warning

"It is of greatest consequence that one must heed the following:

"Never, under any circumstances whatsoever, follow the advice of your shoulder angels unquestioningly.

"Particularly if they are in perfect agreement with one another."

—St. Behemiel's Guide to Popular Supernatural Household Pets Vol. 4: Shoulder Angels


George Peterson was one of those people who took life as it came. His daily schedule consisted of the following: wake up, brush teeth, go to school, do homework, go to sleep, repeat. And repeat, and repeat, and repeat.

He wasn't worried about politics, or wars, or college (which, in his mind, were all pretty much the same thing). If you were to ask him about the president, he'd say something along the lines of I don't know, but whoever he is, he must be doing a nice job, since we aren't bombing the Middle East, or accusing Korea, or squabbling with China, right? Ask him about wars—even if he had lived in the middle of WWII—and you would have gotten something like War? What war? And college would merit a response similar to Gee, I'm not sure, but my sister might know, why don't you ask her?

(His sister was currently in college. She'd applied to about twenty, and gotten acceptance letters from all. She'd had a 1600 on the SAT 's, had graduated valedictorian, and had participated in more extra-curricular activities than one could shake a stick at. Although it could be argued that she did shake a stick at one of them, considering softball was among them.)

Needless to say, he didn't understand when people would gush at him for his high grades in AP Calculus (which he had the highest grade in the class, and possibly the school, for), despite the fact he was a freshman, or his essays that he occasionally submitted to college-level contests and won (unless his sister was also entering), or his talent in the violin, which he'd insist was only a skill (never mind that he'd had multiple offers from the New York Youth Symphony to the point that there were people ringing his doorbell to beg at his knees). All he really did was listen (usually to his sister), and follow directions perfectly, and get gushed at. How was that talent?

(No one told him people often couldn't follow directions perfectly—either due to difficulty understanding, or difficulty remembering, or just plain difficulty following directions—and would therefore make perfectly human errors.)

But people were often thrown off by the way he acted.

How could such a.... an idiot be such a prodigy?

Few, however, ever realized that he wasn't really an idiot—he'd just state things in such a way that would make people think they had come up with the notions themselves. George never gave a straight statement where a question could be substituted. It was part of his matter-of-fact way of viewing life as a whole.

So, when George walked in on three people—one whom he recognized from science class, one whom he thought looked vaguely familiar but wasn't sure about, and a third whom he'd never before seen in his life—sitting on his desk, he, naturally, reacted in the first way that occurred to him.

"Oh... hello. Did you need something?"

Nita, Kit, and Raphael stared at him blankly for a few moments.

"Uh...." began Nita and Kit at the same time. They glanced at each other.

"No, no, we'll be fine, thanks," Nita finished.

"Ah. Okay, just checking."

And with that, he exited. Too much blinking and staring from the peanut gallery.

"Uh... maybe we should get out of here..." suggested Kit after a moment.

"That would be prudent," agreed Raphael, as dryly as ever.

With that, the three of them went the way of the dodo, as far as George's room was concerned. George, however, popped back in, remembering that he'd went to his room for a reason, and again exited, carrying a large, bomb-shaped package.


A few minutes later, the two wizards and inexplicably present Power were greeted on George's driveway by two cranberries and a Christmas roast (otherwise referred to as The Lone One, the One's Champion, and Poncho).

"Hey, how'd you get here so f-" began Nita, before realizing Ponch was present. "...oh. Never mind."

"So." The Lone Power looked from Nita to Kit, plainly trying its hardest to ignore its colleague.

"Uh..." began Nita.

"Exactly what happened back there?" demanded the Lone Power.

"I'd like to ask the same of you right now," Raphael replied, despite the fact that the query had been directed at Nita."

"You'd like to ask it of me? It's not as though I have any motivation whatsoever to sabotage..."

"um..." the One's Champion began in a small voice.

Raphael either didn't hear or chose to ignore her. "Past experience dictates that..."

"Past experience?" interrupted the Lone One. "You could take your past experience and shove it up your underdeveloped little..."

"As I was saying," Raphael bore on, "past experience dictates that you'd most likely..."

"Who's he talking to?" whispered Kit to Nita, looking at Raphael oddly.

"...um..." began Nita."

"You didn't let her partner know?" Raphael belligerent-ed, having heard Kit's question. "You assigned yourselves to a partnered wizard and you didn't even let her partner know?"

"Your point being?"

"Uh..." the Champion tried again.

"My point is that it's only prudent to...!"

"PRUDENT MY LITTLE FEATHERED ASS!!"

"HELOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!????????????????" screeched the Defender. Everyone sans Kit and Defender flinched.

"...there," she sighed. "Much better. Now, let's all behave like civilized entities and..."

"I don't see you acting all that civilized when you argue," muttered the Lone One. And was met with a facefull of Barely Contained Righteous Wrath (tm).

"What. Was. That?" its twin whispered, her voice deadly and soft.

"I said, alright, let's do that, then," the Lone One replied indignantly. "What did you think I said?"

The Defender regarded him suspiciously, but let it slide.

"As I was saying, let's all behave like civilized entities and settle this in a mature fashion."

"And...?"

"And... and you're supposed to help me here!"

"Well, it was YOUR idea, you know."

"But that doesn't mean I have to do it all by myself!"

"You should at least start, you know."

"But... but... but that's unfair!"

"No it's not!"

"Yes it is!"

"No it's not!"

"Yes it is!"

...

Raphael, meanwhile, sighed, kneading His temples.

"It's a wonder We get anything done at home, what with this manner of idiocy..."

"...???" Kit noted intelligently. Raphael glanced at him.

"Oh. Right." An irritated flick of the wrist. "There. It's done."

"What's d—Ahh! Nita! There's a pair of little... little people pulling each other's hair in midair! And they look like... they look like the Lone One and the One's Cha... um... never mind..."

Kit withered under Nita's dark look (which plainly spelled out "PLEASE STOP STATING THE OBVIOUS, STUPID," in what would have been bright pink neon letters had they not been dark).

"I've had enough of this," announced Raphael. "I'm leaving."

Silence. If you set aside the continuous clatter of the catfight.

Weren't you leaving? Ponch asked, sounding confused.

"It isn't working. I don't understand... this has never happened before."

Oh, okay.

"Um... any ideas why?" asked Nita.

"No. And it doesn't make any sense I'm here at all, either. Exactly what kind of spell were you trying, anyway?"

"It was just a simple search spell..."

"A simple search spell shouldn't do something like this unless it was either contaminated or interfered with."

"I don't remember any... wait." Nita thought for a moment. "We ran into a... a tear of some sort, and it seemed to have a field surrounding it..."

Raphael's blue eyes narrowed.

"What kind of tear?"

"I don't know, it was dark, and there was something in it... and it was in Ireland."

"...Ireland?"

"Or, at least I think it was. Do you know where Ronan Nolan was as of about fifteen minutes ago?"

Raphael paused a moment.

"Well. My connection with the main nexus still seems to be working, at least... he was taking a walk, near his home."

"Okay, then it was Ireland. We saw him yell at it."

"Did you get a good sense of what the tear felt like?"

"Not really. We were only in contact for a fraction of a second."

Raphael frowned.

"That isn't enough information to draw any conclusions from... we'll have to do a tracer on it."

"Tracer?"

"Yes, it...GGH!" Raphael was punted forward as a small, feathered mass hurtled against the back of his head.

"Um... are you alright?" asked Nita.

Raphael twitched slightly.

"kkkkhfmmmffmffmkk..." He muttered into the ground.

"...pardon?"

...

"That. Is. Absolutely. It!" Raphael grated, rising like the GREAT SPECTRE OF DOOM to deal with His cohorts (one of whom could itself be cons... oh, forget it...).


A few minutes later, when everyone was calm and in control enough to perform a spell, we find our heroes (likely, unlikely, and ludicrously impossible) bending in the half-light of twilight over a nearly complete spell-circle.

"All right, this time, the three of Us can guide this spell from the sides, like you were supposed to do, given your present forms."

The Lone Power glared at Raphael.

"Now, see here..."

"Save it," Raphael snapped irritably. The Lone Power opened its mouth to argue, then thought better of it and turned back to the spell.

"Uh... are you guys ready?" Nita asked, quite unused to having three Powers helping her directly.

...well, okay, two of them were in a state about equivalent in its relationship to their normal form as an AA battery was to a nuclear power plant, and the other was stuck here by accident, but still.

"Roger!" the Defender chirped, earning a funny look from both siblings.

"You are entirely too enthusiastic sometimes," the Lone One commented sardonically.

Raphael glared, and was ignored.

But Nita and Kit, at any rate, had already begun to chant the spell. A three-sided buffer formed around them, building up subtly as the silence did, until the pressure seemed almost unbearable.

And they were launched off into infinity.

Like a clown off a springboard into a pool of whipped cream.


Nita felt movement. Somehow, she felt herself going through George's room, and she felt herself going through the matter and being, and essence that made up the matter in his room. She felt herself hurtling, backwards, and in slow motion, through an illogical transit, felt herself coming out in Ireland, felt herself plastered against a thin layer of cellophane-shield that was both there and not there.

Felt herself being guided, gently, by a three-sided buoy, bizarrely similar to the bumpers in a beginner's bowling alley.

And saw people walking around in darkness, some in groups, some alone.

And saw a book. A vaguely familiar book. In her claudication.

But that couldn't be right, her claudication was with her, not in Ireland. And her claudication was on her.

Go back! We've got to go back! She cried in a panic, feeling metaphysical self stretching impossibly. She was too small, to big, turning in impossibly upon herself  like timelessness, or like a mortal ouroboros.

And then everything snapped back, into place.

Or, at least their bodies snapped back into place before colliding painfully with the pavement.

"Owwww...." Kit announced eloquently.

You're back! You'rebackyou'rebackyou'rebackyou'reback!

"Oh, perfect," Nita groaned. "It's perfect. This is so ridiculous. The first discontinuity to show up... the very first..."

"Neets, what are you babbling about?" Kit demanded, pushing himself off the ground.

"Kit... it's so ridiculous... you won't believe it..."

Nita reached into her claudication and fished around in it, still talking.

"I found this book randomly lying around on my bed, only about half an hour before the first problem showed up..."

"Who're you calling problem?" the Lone One challenged, balling up its little fists.

"...here it is! Look..."

Nita pulled a large book, which looked rather like a volume of an encyclopedia, out of her claudication and set it on the floor.

"The spell lead right into th—" she began.

The book fell open to a page, labeled "A Note of Warning" in large, bold script at the top.

In the box where there would usually have followed a description, there was a large hole. Nita stared at it.

Kit leaned forward.

"Hey, what's tha—"

The hole suddenly sprang from the page, like a picture from a pop-up book. Nita thrust herself backwards, having had enough weird experiences with unexplained holes lately....


George packed his violin back into its rectangular case, having practiced for a good half hour before his weekly lesson. After a careful inspection to make sure all of the catches were secure, he rose to walk next door, to his teacher's house three houses down.

He was, however, distracted the moment he opened the door.

For the second time that afternoon, George was confronted with a strange sight involving a two classmates and a strange blond boy on his family's property, although there was now a dog with them. For the second time, George considered for a moment before deciding to leave well enough alone.

However, in order to get to his teacher's house, George had to go past the small group on his driveway.

No problem.

And then a hole seemed to pop out of nowhere between one breath and the next, and gravity seemed to decide to say Bugger off to Newton, and George and two others were tipped into the hole like so many sugar cubes into a teacup.

Oh dear, George found himself thinking, I hope my violin survives this.


Nita and her cohorts (consisting of one dog and two miniature Powers, according to the most recent census) stared blankly at the hole in the air in front of them.

"...that's not good," she said finally. (As the illustrious Douglass Adams has said, humans tend to make stupidly obvious statements when their brains are trying to deny something.)

"No, it's not," agreed the Defender. (Although I'm not at all sure what Adams has to say on the subject of shoulder angels making pointless statements...)

There was a pause, in which a few monkeys banged wrenches at bars and made talked about evil.

...and in which the Lone Power and One's Champion looked at each other.

"You know, we'd better go after them, huh?" the Lone One observed, finally.

"Yeah. That'd be good."

"Right."

"Okay."

They both looked expectantly at Nita.

"Well?" the Lone One insisted. "What are you waiting for?"

"...should I just... jump?"

"That's how it usually works," the Champion replied. "On..."

Can I come, too? Ponch interrupted.

"...okay, that works," the Champion agreed. "...anyway, on three?"

"Right."

"One..."

"Two..."

"Three..."

"Hup!"

And the four of them jumped into the unknown darkness...


A/N: well! That went well! Nita, the shoulder angels, and Ponch are on their way to meet the enemy, whilst Kit, Raphael, and George are presumably already there, and.... have I missed anyone?

Oh yes. Our mysterious presences are presumably waiting.

So.... we are nearing the end of this little 'fic... only a chapter or two to go, folks...

Aside from that...

I really should stop putting off to the last minute, really I should. You don't know how many times I've tried to call the main characters Nit or Kita (I believe the former is rather worse, though). I've had all this free time this week...

Although I don't work well unless under pressure. Bleaugh.

Questions? Comments? Critiques? Clickie, clickie, please.... pleeeeeease????

And remember:

All that glitters may not be gold, but it could be plastic, or glass, or steel, or silver, or aluminum, or....