Prophesy is a good line of business, but it is full of risks.
(Mark Twain, American writer, humorist, entrepreneur, publisher, lecturer)
"Is this a lake or a river?" asked Cataliades annoyed by the wetness in the air and the jacket's tightness that hindered his movements.
The vampire who drove the sleek hydrofoil was not in a mood to talk, the daemon had already noticed, but he was an Ancient One's recurring guest and the pilot could not throw him overboard. The boat glided smoothly over the water surface and came to a stop in the middle of a large inlet.
It was the fifth time Cataliades went to that specific location to meet the Pythoness and had not liked it a single time. The fashion to dwell in mobile houses as the one which was about to rise from the waters was quite annoying in itself, and he did not hide his dislike. He recognised that a house underwater was better that those at the mercy of the winds, attached to the ground only by a cable made of dozens of smaller cables intertwined. Or than those ships that followed a low orbit course around the planet, correcting their direction with timely bursts of small propellers. Rich people always found ways to irritate other people and to show how much time they had to spend in trivial pursuits.
Cataliades was busy simmering and huffing when a dark figure seemed to emerge from the waters, walking toward him. The shape blurred for a few seconds, then regained its solid contours and jumped over the deck in a fluid motion.
"Daemon, I heard you cursing from the depth of this lake."
"Pythia?" he asked narrowing his eyes to see her facial features in the lightless night.
"Would you have preferred an alligator?"
"Hardly good company, Ancient One," Cataliades regained some of his presence of mind and bowed to the vampiress.
"At any rate, there are no gators here," the old lady said with a crusty voice. "So, would you prefer cruising or descending into my abode?"
"If you don't mind, let's stay on board. There's a nice sitting room under the deck."
The vampiress' chuckle sounded like a shrill and went down his spinal cord as an electric shock. The more time he spent with her, the more he felt a live chill in his bones. The Ancient One was not a creature one could get accustomed to. Maybe it was her considerable age, maybe the fact that her decrepit body did not behave as such or the unsettling timelessness that she exuded, most of all when she tried to be casual or humorous. She was beyond comprehension and beyond company.
Indeed, she lived alone with a few handmaidens who took shifts of a couple of months each. Diantha was one of them, and she enjoyed it. But the little daemon had never been one who settled for cosy and easy.
"Our sweet fairy has moved," said the Pythoness sitting in front of the daemon.
Cataliades stood quiet, uncertain if it was a statement or a question. After a while he said, "As you required, she's in Louisiana at the moment."
"Something happened," the vampiress continued.
Something always happened when his godchild was in their dimension, and by the seer's words it seemed it had increased somehow in the last days. The daemon lawyer nodded. It was something the sybil had said many times in the last three decades, but only after some time they had understood that it was Alia's presence the variable that spurred the abrupt changes in her visions. The fae had never stayed in Earth longer than a couple of weeks, most journeys lasting only a week. Since fifteen years, therefore, Cataliades had had to increase Alia's commitments in the daemons' realm and in their strongholds on Earth, as well as in fairies' business with humans.
The seer had experienced strong and clear visions each time the fairy had crossed a portal and for the entire time of her stay. The Pythia, though, had never shared the true scope of her visions nor the extent of Alia's involvement, if any at all had ever appeared. And the vampiress had no offered any related prophecy. Nevertheless, Cataliades had felt compelled to abide to her requests as a little ant worked for its ant hill without asking for explanation of its role. Or rewards.
"Something strong," repeated the Pythia as if speaking to herself.
Humidity had infiltrated the interior of the boat covering every surface with a film of wetness. Even the air was heavy and tiny droplets of water soaked the daemon's hair. The vampiress appeared immune to the water assault or her parchment-like skin absorbed it thoroughly.
"Do feelings interfere with visions?" asked Cataliades after a while.
"Sure. Feelings are powerful energy and," the sybil chuckled in that ominous way of hers, "make the world go round."
Cataliades was not sure whether the vampiress joked or was serious, therefore added, "I wasn't joking, Pythoness."
"Nor was I, Desmond."
"Uh… well, my godchild went through several emotional states these last days," offered the lawyer. "For the first time she came back to Earth without being flanked by fae or daemon guardians or having a work to occupy her time with. She's just free to rediscover her world. She stayed with her brother's family for almost a week, then a few days ago went at court as a fae—"
"Did she meet Northman?" interjected the vampiress with a glint in her fogged eyes.
"It was the purpose of the visit, obviously," stated Cataliades matter-of-factly.
The Pythia smiled and the daemon instinctively retreated back in his chair. Her smile was not friendly nor mirthful, it was just a teeth exposure. And her teeth were not a cordial sight. It made the daemon think of hungry wolves or yawning alligators. The only reason he did not run away was that his blood was disgusting and mildly toxic for vampires and they knew it.
"It explains a lot, then," mumbled the vampiress.
"I'm sorry to shatter your line of thoughts but they moved on. Both of them. Time and life went on and they found other partners," Cataliades clasped his hands over the large belly he sported and continued. "Alia had many lovers in Faery and outside, not to mention her on-off affair with her cousin, and never asked me of Northman. Not once." The daemon seemed to consider all the information at his disposal and confirmed his words with a hands' gesture. "Northman is happily married with a formidable vampiress and enjoys a healthy sexual life even outside of his marriage, as customary among your kind."
The Pythia listened attentively and nodded.
"Definitely no chances of any reunion," concluded the daemon to his satisfaction.
The vampiress, her eyes closed, slid into whatever place she went when she pondered deeply about something, or when a vision interfered with her reality. Cataliades had observed many times the vampire downtime, that peculiar state in which they found a deeper concentration or reviewed some episodes of their life or simply rested in an alerted frame of mind. With the seer it was different. She appeared dispossessed of her consciousness, her body left inanimate but, without any warning, she would open her misty eyes and continue a conversation as if she had always been there, aware.
"And what about Northman, did he ever ask you about his first wife?" asked the vampiress.
Cataliades thought about it then answered, "Not that I remember. No, definitely no."
"Does he know you are her godfather… and what you did to her?"
The daemon startled and stammered a little. "What— what— what do you mean, Pythia?"
"Oh, Desmond," the vampiress waved a scrawny hand and smiled her threatening smile, "wouldn't you think I didn't know of your precious few drops of blood for Fintan and his lover, and for your godchild…"
Cataliades gaped at the vampiress and felt his face reddening and burning from inside. "Northman knows nothing of it."
The Pythia nodded, then paused. "There's been a surge in my visions this past week. Not only in number but in intensity… and clarity…"
"So," the daemon did not know how to frame the question exactly, "is it clear where we're heading?"
"No, Desmond," the seer seemed almost sad, "it does not work so… easily. I'm immersed in time, it's around me, everywhere. I see things, persons, actions, but not stories, not definite paths. Just opportunities. Moments."
He nodded.
"Do you remember that peculiar device you retrieved for me forty-five years ago?" asked the Ancient One after a while.
"The box in Oklahoma's coffers?" Cataliades frowned in the effort to remember more details.
"Mmm," the vampiress nodded, "it's a recording contraption, unknown origin, partially broken, it took us some years to… unfold its secrets."
"Has it to do with our situation…?"
"I don't know. The only link I see is that… when we finally had a taste of the content… visions had a spike… in number, intensity… strength…"
"As you experience now?"
"Seemingly."
"Is there something related?"
"Ah, Desmond, this I don't know," the Pythia bent her head sideways, left and right, as to relax her neck. "What I know is that you should increase the chances of encounters between Alia and Northman. Just a little."
Cataliades shook his head and turned his palms upside in a gesture of resignation.
"Daemon, I've got to understand if this changes our… opportunities, and which way it would take us."
"Yes, Pythia. I can do that."
"Lightly, just a little prodding. If it means anything for us it will gather momentum of its own, then we'll see to it…"
"What if—"
"I will continue to explore the sea of time, and hope not to drown…"
Cataliades felt that their meeting was coming to an end. He stood up and waited to be dismissed.
"If something happens, I'll call for you, Desmond…" the Pythia stood up and reached the stairs to the deck, the action light and effortless so at odds with her aged body. "Time is a critical variable, you know. But the good news is that there's a lot of it. Maybe, not for all of us, though."
The Ancient One disappeared in the night, leaving the daemon soaked in the watery air. Unsatisfied.