This story occurs early in Season 5 and is complete in five chapters. It was written for the Elysian Fields Mystery Fic-a-Thon 2021, where each chapter had to include a prompt revealed by the site mods at the end of the prior chapter's posting. Each chapter's prompt is noted at its end.
Not being a chaos mage or Janus devotee, I'm using the time-honored intellectual tradition of "winging it" on behalf of Ethan. I ask for your patience, please, as I perform without a net. Additionally, this story is unbetaed, so all goofs are mine.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
"Chaos was the law of nature; Order was the dream of man."
(The Education of Henry Adams by Henry Adams)
Chapter 1: Ethan Rayne Gets a Notion
"Well now, look at you," Ethan drawled, each word leaving his lips like a dollop of poisoned molasses. He held up an ancient, chipped block of stone, his fingers splayed like the setting for an enormous diamond ring. Unlike a diamond, though, this stone was opaque with power. It practically absorbed the light from the pillar candle next to his oak monastery table.
Of course he had perfectly functional electric lighting, but torches and candlelight created such a lovely atmosphere. But really, what mage worth the title would suffer a workshop lit by everyday incandescent lamps sitting on catalog furniture?
Eyes still on the stone in his hand, he cooed, "Aren't you a beautiful, naughty little artifact." Originally part of a meteorite, it was heavier than one would expect from a six-inch-square block. Its naturally rough surface had been smoothed for carving eons ago. Thin streaks of an ochre mineral shot along one side, ringing the watchful carved eye that stared from the stone. The fragment of eye that remained on the block's opposite side was carved over a patch that was as dark as space.
"I assume that's the piece you were looking for," a flat, disembodied female voice broke into his thoughts. Americans had no style whatsoever; no sense of the luscious gravity of special moments. Nevertheless, he knew how cold and transactional this young woman could be.
"You mean: am I going to trade you what I promised for this? Yes, yes of course," he replied. He set his new acquisition on his lap and then turned his wheelchair toward the iron cabinet at the rear of his workshop. He murmured an incantation and pointed at the lock. And voilà: both the lock and the door sprung open.
A breath of air swept past him, followed by a large sulfuric spark and a very American "Ouch!" The young woman might be invisible, yet she still was vulnerable to the basic laws of physics and magic.
His lips curled into a brief smirk. "Marcie, my dear. Did you really expect an experienced mage to open his treasure trove without adequate safeties in place?"
"If you're such a powerful mage dude, why are you still in that wheelchair?" she retorted without a second's hesitation.
Ah yes, that was Marcie Ross: plunging unseen, straight for the jugular. She truly was an assassin by both temperament and training. In fact, that straightforward match between inner self and action was part of why he liked her. At this moment, though, he'd have preferred to not be reminded of the things he couldn't yet do anymore— such as walking under his own power— since their shared unfortunate time-out in the government's paranormal retraining facility. A facility that theoretically didn't exist, controlled by an agency that also supposedly didn't exist. The fact that neither apparently had names had been the bane of his captive magical abilities before he'd met Marcie.
He turned toward where his senses told him that the young woman was now standing, keeping his face impassive. He was aware that someone looking carefully into his eyes would see barely-banked embers of something dark and implacable within. It didn't matter whether or not Marcie saw that; she already knew it was there. Shared history of trickery and violence was such a timesaver. They'd seen to the core of each other during their time within, and escaping from, the deceptively pastel and suburban retraining facility.
"Darling, we've discussed this," he replied in the mild voice of a teacher. "Antagonizing one's allies while they're helping you has little strategic value. It's much better to bide your time, and bite your tongue, so they don't know what you're about. Even if they're just allies of convenience."
"Yeah, whatever. Old habits die hard and all that." An invisible shrug came through clearly in the tone of her voice. Then, from a bit further away, she said, "I've never understood why someone who supposedly likes chaos would even have that advice."
This time, he was the one who shrugged. "Like everything, chaos lives in the moment and can be part of a 'long game'. As a chaos aficionado, I know where the forces lie and can usually play them to my advantage. I find that it's important to understand one's goals and strategy, even when playing a game that sets them both on end."
He knew that her imagination was anchored deeply, and quite ironically, in what she could see from her own experience. So, he further explained, "Consider this. When we were fleeing from our lovely yet not-so-fun prison, I could have manifested those Fyarl demons into the corridors any time after you removed that constraint ring from my neck. However, I waited until after we'd passed through the security doors that their appearance caused to seal. Chaos for our former captors. Escape for us."
"Oh, that makes sense," Marcie replied.
Meanwhile, while he'd been giving the girl the benefit of his experience, he'd mentally readied the incantation to retrieve the item that Marcie wanted from his iron cabinet. Whispering it under his breath, he then paired his words with a gesture. A dusty, bronze colored bag levitated from the shelf. Following the direction urged by his fingers, the fist size bag floated toward Marcie.
He smirked. It really was a simple spell. And yet, he knew he'd surprised his young, not-quite apprentice by accurately landing the bag into her hands even though she'd moved a few yards since speaking.
"How…?" Her voice was suddenly almost childish, reminding him of very much she hid behind the weapon of her invisibility. He had many ways to hide and many weapons. Thus far, her experience had shown her only this one. With years, and possibly his tutelage, perhaps she'd learn the other undeveloped skills she most clearly had waiting for her to discover.
Almost gently, he said, "You remember, dear. I've always been able to sense you. You're aligned somehow with my particular magickal abilities." As he spoke, he gestured his vault door to close and lock.
"Oh yeah, you always could." Her voice was closer to its usual flatness as she, no doubt, attempted to reestablish the balance between them via her usual nonchalance. She left unspoken that he'd never revealed that capability to anyone but her. He imagined that unusual discretion on his part formed the beginning of whatever trust she had for him.
He smiled inwardly as he watched the bronze bag shake loose its talisman, revealing the action of her invisible hands. The chain holding it arched upward and then over, and suddenly Marcie was visible, stick-thin and sullen in utilitarian clothes. He'd seen pictures of her in their shared time of quite painful reeducation, but never before had he seen the brunette in person.
"Can you see me? I mean, physically?" Her midnight-dark eyes challenged him from under lowered, untrusting brows.
"Indeed I can." He lifted his chin in pride at his spellcasting, which had given that talisman its ability to reveal the self-image Marcie held in her mind's eye. "Look over there, in the mirror." He pointed toward an aged, full-length mirror to her right. Its silver backing had started to discolor, blemishing the surface, but it was still good enough to provide a true reflection of what one could see. Alternatively, it provided a reflection of nothing if one were viewing a vampire. In short, it was a tool any practitioner should have.
"Cool." Marcie exhaled as she spoke, moving her head left and right like a slim, hungry cobra as she viewed herself. "Let's see how this works," she murmured.
With a look of squinting concentration, she focused. While he watched, her brown hair lightened to a reddish blonde. A moment later, her face slowly became more pink, with a dash of freckles that had not been there moments before. Her brown eyes shaded to blue. Her clothing also morphed through a couple of iterations, finally ending in a slim, black outfit covered with a burgundy cloak.
With a grin, she lifted her arms and twirled away from the mirror in a whirl of dark red. "It works, Ethan," she exclaimed. Her new hair fluttered in a non-existent breeze.
His own lips lifted in indulgent pleasure. "Of course, my dear. Just as I promised you." Seeing a mulish frown begin on her face, he turned his hand toward her in a courtly gesture. "May that talisman's abilities show my deepest appreciation for the promise you kept by retrieving this lovely block of stone." He once again lifted the heavy piece of stone into his hands. Oh, what a thing of terrible beauty it was.
"I guess it's like you say," she murmured while playing with her cloak. "A bargain has two sides and is only fulfilled when both halves are kept." While he pondered the wonder of her actually remembering something he'd told her, she returned her gaze to him.
Seeming actually curious, she asked, "What are you planning to do with that grotty chunk of an old temple? I mean, seriously, it was covered in cobwebs and other guck in a British Museum basement vault along with a bunch of other creepy stones, gargoyles, and jewelry that even I could tell would probably kill me."
"It's not part of a temple," he corrected with unusual asperity. "It was part of a gateway, the most ancient Ianus Geminus, that inspired Romulus and Remus. Sadly for them and all of Rome, it was the only one that actually worked and it was demolished by the Sabines before their whole world feeding-frenzy truly began."
"Groovy," she intoned, clearly unimpressed. She swirled again to look at herself in the mirror.
Placing his block of Janus in his lap, he rolled his chair back to his worktable. Once there, he carefully levitated the block to sit inside of a protective circle he'd spun up earlier. He smiled at the eye facing him, then spun to regard Marcie once again.
"The scarlet cape is quite a comic superhero type of fashion statement, darling." Inwardly he applauded the duality of an invisible girl whose outfit was, well, the opposite of subtle. And yet, knowing her usual modus operandi, he wasn't sure if that was the impact she wanted. Of course, it was up to her.
"Yeah, well you know what I think about your Hugh Hefner paisley polyester shirts," she shot back.
"Oh, do kindly 'stuff it' as you insufferable Yanks like to say."
"Hmm," she hummed, signaling her lack of intimidation. Regardless, he watched as her cape reshaped itself into something more like a gray duster. Really, it suited her better.
"So, how do I turn this thing off?" Marcie asked.
"Simply remove it so neither the talisman nor its chain is directly touching your skin."
She nodded, pulling the talisman's necklace from under her shirt and then over her head. As she started to pocket it, he watched her image fade, the necklace disappearing into a now invisible pocket.
"Cool," she said in what Ethan regretted was her typical, limited vocabulary. "Are we done here?"
"For now," he replied with his best smile. It perfectly mixed friendliness with calculated malice; thus, it was one of his favorite studied expressions. He was sure Marcie beamed back at him with her own sweetly ruthless smile as she bid him farewell.
Or, more accurately, as she said, "Outta here," in passing and then closed the door behind her. Farewell could be said in so very many ways.
He waited until all of his senses told him that she'd left the premises.
Then he returned his full attention to the block of ancient stone on his table. After years of research, and with the help of his lovely assistant Marcie, he was finally able to gaze directly at the ancient, original evocation of Janus. All of time since the beginning of civilization compressed down to this block of stone. To this meteorite, with its unearthly origin bound to this finite planet.
"Well, look at you, old friend," he murmured lovingly at the eye facing him; the one ringed in hints of ochre like a clay tattoo that would never fade. It almost seemed to be watching him, in return. Eye-to-eye they were, yet something was missing.
After a moment's pause, Ethan wheeled to a different table to retrieve an old fashioned, rectangular looking glass. A delicious former apprentice, who had been more of a standard user of magicks than Ethan, had left it here years ago. She'd used it to scry and also to project spells. He used it now to see himself while shaving.
Whatever its purpose, it was the perfect size to prop behind and slightly to the side of his new acquisition. Sitting back, he gazed with delight into both eyes of this original Janus. The closest one continued its curious, tattooed inspection of him while the other, adamantine eye glared from the mirror.
Ethan smiled. After centuries of being hidden away, these eyes were once again able to view the world. Oh, what they could do together.
Without consciously planning it, he began speaking one of the ancient invocations. "My lord of Chaos, gates and transitions, beginnings and endings, peace and war, male and female. Duality is the primordial nature of your power. There is no life and all is static without you."
Chaos and duality were built into the DNA of the planet and all who lived on it. None could resist the elemental forces orchestrated by Janus. Yet, as he said that, his gaze hardened while he visualized one person in particular who'd managed to thwart his little, spelled moments of chaos over the past few years.
"Hmm," he murmured while keeping Janus in his sight. "Perhaps it's time for a little outing around the block, as it were. I know just the place for it"
It might have been his imagination, but he swore he saw both eyes glint for a second, with their focus sharpening on him.
He smiled his appreciation and then, after a deep breath, spoke to the image of his greatest friend and foe, whose face was currently limned in his mind's eye.
"We've always been two sides of the same coin, old man. Ever since London, you and me; Magick's acolytes; Egyhon's hosts. What could cause more chaos for you than what is right there, under your nose. A Slayer and a vampire, bringing together light and dark; youth and unnatural age; yin and yang. Truly two sides of a delightful coin, truly together. What chaos that could cause."
As he prepared his next words, something like a bolt of electricity coursed through his whole body, from lifeless legs, to groin, to heart, to mind. Spellcasting had always been kindred of pleasure and sex, and was so very, very satisfying. With that thought, he said, "So, once more for old time's sake, Ripper. Let's play."
The candles around him all flared high and bright at the same time, as did every nerve in his body. As did his mind. It was absolutely glorious. He couldn't wait to find out what fallout from his words might be.
To be continued...
END NOTES
This first chapter fulfills the following Challenge Prompt 1 of the 2021 Elysian Fields Mystery Fic-a-Thon Challenge.
YOUR FIC MUST INCLUDE THE CHARACTER(S) ETHAN RAYNE AND/OR MARCIE ROSS
Ethan Rayne's presence in the story is proved in paragraph 1:
"Well now, look at you," Ethan drawled, each word leaving his lips like a dollop of poisoned molasses.
Marcie Ross is evidenced when Ethan specifies that he's with her in this "extra-credit" dialogue snippet:
His lips curled into a brief smirk. "Marcie, my dear. Did you really expect an experienced, powerful mage to open his treasure trove without adequate safeties in place?"
"If you're such a powerful magic dude, why are you still in that wheelchair?" she retorted without a second's hesitation.
Ah yes, that was Marcie Ross: plunge unseen and straight for the jugular. [...]
