Chapter 2.
1329 PRESCOTT STREET,
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIF.
(JUNE 27, 1999)
Sirius Black threw the book down on the glass-topped coffee table in the conservatory.
"Hey! Watch it!" exclaimed Piper Halliwell.
The expatriate Englishman acted as if he had never even heard her. "Let me get this straight. On this world, I'm a fictional character?!"
Prue Halliwell shrugged and nodded. "I'm afraid so."
"But, how is that even possible?" he countered.
"Well, according to the Book of Shadows," replied Phoebe Halliwell, "some people are so psychic (even latently) that they can actually have visions of parallel worlds in their dreams! Author H.P. Lovecraft was one such. So, maybe J.K. Rowling was, too."
"Take my word for it," replied Colin Mallory. "Parallel-Earths definitely exist. Identical in every way, except historically."
"Let's test that theory," challenged Sirius. "A Lycan friend of mine once told me a story about a certain incident that occurred in the Gevaudan region of France back in the mid-eighteenth century. It seems a Shadowlord/Red Talon metis named Blackfang led several lupine Kinfolk on a three-year killing spree of humans! Most modern Lycans prefer to credit the final suppression of those renegades to Blackfang's homid Kinfolk half-brother; M'sieur Jean Chastel. But, in truth, Jean had a little help."
SOUTH-CENTRAL FRANCE (1767)
Chastel had been lured into a trap. But not before he had managed to make four of his attackers precede him into the afterlife by firing both barrels of each St. Denis Model 1750 over-under flintlock pistol with unerring accuracy. But, the Lycans that followed had not only managed to unhorse him, they had also successfully hounded him into fleeing on foot. Thereby not giving him one spare moment to reload those pistols from his precious bag of blessed silver ammunition! A bag that now lay at the roots of the tree he had been so hard-pressed to climb, in time.
"Come down, little brother," growled Blackfang in an unmistakably gloating tone. "Come down, now, and we will grant you a mercifully swift death. You have my word!"
"Expecting a deranged Lycan to honor his word," observed a new and decidedly female voice, "is like asking a two-year-old child not to be terrible. Virtually guaranteed not to happen!"
The homicidal metis spun about, as did the quasi-sentient wolves accompanying him. There, standing between them and the cadaver of Chastel's horse stood a woman only slightly taller than the dwarfish Kinsman!* A woman wearing a red jerkin over a black shirt (with matching belt, trousers, and boots). With her face partially concealed by the hood of a red riding cloak; and with her arms concealed by its draping folds.
"Go away, woman! We seek other prey, this day."
The woman suddenly raised her arms above her head. Violently throwing the folds of her cloak back over her shoulders in the process! This, in turn, revealed the silver battle ax in her right hand; the silver short sword in her left hand and her smiling face to the full view of Blackfang.
The latter could only gasp in horrified astonishment. "You!"
NEW YORK CITY (MARCH 27, 2014)
Katherine Merteuil sat bolt upright as her alarm clock rudely awakened her from the strange nightmare she had been having. For a second or two, she was completely disoriented as to her name and whereabouts. Then, it all came flooding back to her. Causing her to lean to her left and turn off the alarm with as much vindictively brute force as she could muster with her clenched right fist.
"Shit-shit-shit-shit-SHIT!" she muttered half-aloud. "I cannot afford to be late my first day of work."
Fifteen minutes later, the paroled drug offender was grabbing a subway train at the station nearest her Greenwich village halfway house. Twenty minutes after that, she was punching her time card just inside the employees' entrance at the back of Shelton's Restaurant.
"Oh!" exclaimed a strangely familiar voice. "You must be the new waitress. Hi! I'm the owner, Amanda Shelton."
Katherine turned about, her right arm instinctively extended to shake hands. That is; till she got a good look at her new boss and vice-versa. One was a redhead; the other was blonde. But, aside from that?
They could have passed for identical twin sisters.
SAN FRANCISCO (1999)
"Nope!" said Piper after leaving through the Book of Shadows some more. "According to this, the Chastel of our world was aided by a professional witch hunter named Kaulder. Between the two of them, they exposed the Beast of Gevaudan as actually being the pet _lion_ of an African witch doctor secretly working for one of the vampire clans of Paris! Some outfit called 'Maison D'Eclipse.' "
"A Setite bloodline," explained Sirius. "Usually working in cahoots with Clan LaSombra of the Sabbat. At least, on my world."
"Though that doesn't help them get back where they belong," observed Harry Potter, Junior (somewhat sarcastically). "Does it?"
"Maybe it does," remarked Piper. "The Book of Shadows identified that witch doctor as belonging to a vampire clique called 'Xi Dundu.' Which made me do a little further research. The Gangrel Clan have an African affiliate known as the 'Akunanse.' They, in turn, have an association with the were-spider tribe called the Ananasi, who have a caste nicknamed 'the phase spiders' from their ability to fade in and out of third dimensional space as easily as Leo can orb!"
"I have a hunch where this is heading," said Phoebe. "And it's giving me the heebie-jeebies!"
"Do you have a _better_ idea for sending Colin and Sirius back home?" admonished Prue.
Piper turned to her husband. "Could you orb over to Daedalus' lair, and ask him to ask Prince Julian to ask the Gangrel primogen if he could set up a meeting between us and the local branch of the Akunanse?"
"That's a pretty tall order, sweetheart," replied the Whitelighter. "The Camarilla's become pretty reclusive since the Glordelia incident. Keeping themselves at arms' length from all the other supernatural inhabitants of the city!"
"If you have to," countered his wife, "remind His Highness that he _owes_ us for helping him to hang on to 'his' city.
NEW YORK CITY (2014)
"Hello, there!" exulted the head waitress. "Welcome to Shelton's. How may I help you?"
"I'm here for lunch with a Mr. Rhett Connor," replied the younger woman (an Amerasian brunette).
"Ah, yes! Mr. Connor has just been taken to his table. Follow me, please?"
Ninety seconds later, the brunette was shaking hands with her latest "client."
"Mr. Connor? I'm Gwen Raiden."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Ethan formally intoned for the head waitress' benefit.
The latter seated his "plus one" before presenting both of them with menus and stating that their server would be right with them, after which, Ethan got right to the point.
"Do you have it?" he asked in an eager whisper.
Gwen nodded, removing it from the left inner pocket of her black pleather jacket to show him.
"Hermione Granger's time turner from the film adaptation of 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban'."
Ethan gazed at the movie prop. A pocket watch that resembled nothing less than a poor man's model of the planet Saturn!
"You know," said Gwen, staring at her "client," quite pointedly, "there was an unusual amount of security at that 'movie memorabilia' warehouse you sent me to, in South Dakota. Plainclothes guards armed with steampunk-looking TASER's?"
Ethan grinned. "What's the matter, my dear? I thought you had a high tolerance for electrical shock."
"I do. But, the effort those guards put into trying to stop me? Plus, the size of that place, in proportion to the extent of their collection? I think you've been holding out on me, Mr. Connor. Which makes me wonder how much this little artifact is _truly_ worth."
Ethan's grin disappeared faster than a re-elected politician's memory. "Do I detect an imminent shake-down for more money than we initially agreed upon?"
Now, it was the world's greatest cat burglar who grinned.
"In the immortal words of Bugs Bunny? 'Hmmm! Could be!' "
To which Ethan had only one response. "Accio!"
5 MINUTES EARLIER
"Whoa!" exclaimed Katherine. "Am I looking into some kind of fun house mirror or something?"
"Or something," replied the equally awe-struck Amanda. "How on Earth...?"
Her half-idle speculation was vociferously interrupted by her business manager/husband, Tom Bartlett.
"Honey? Is this the new waitress? Good! Because, the orders waiting for pick-up are starting to get back-logged! Let's put her to work, ASAP."
Amanda nodded, before whispering to her redheaded doppelganger. "We'll talk during your break."
At about that same moment, Kaulder approached the front window of Shelton's. He was dressed in a Navy-blue business suit beneath a dark brown trench coat from London Fog. And on his face, he wore a pair of Foster Grant sunglasses. Not that the lunch-time sun was that bright! Far from it. These particular sun glasses had been blessed, a long time back (by one of Dolan's thirty-five namesake predecessors) as a means of penetrating whatever glamour spell a witch might be using to try and camouflage themselves from his naked eyes. Nor did they fail him, in that regard, right now.
There, almost dead-center of the main dining room, was his quarry. The stereotypical facial features of a Kiasyd vampire clearly present through the lenses of the Foster Grants. It had the basic characteristics of somewhat saggy skin around the facial cheeks, plus, pointed ears drooping downward like the floppy ones of a Basset hound!
Kaulder smiled and went inside.
The Daughters of the Phoenix were a militant splinter faction of the Verbenae dating back to 1692.
The religious hysteria generated by the infamous Salem Witch Trials had brought about a number of copycat hangings and stonings around the rest of Massachusetts. Not as well-publicized, perhaps, but, certainly no less fatal to their intended targets, most of whom had belonged to the matriarchal Verbena faction known as "The Gardeners." The scattered handful who survived became the wards of the Sisters of Hippolyta. A similarly matriarchal Craft dating back to ancient Greece. Originally a Black Fury sept, composed entirely of female Kinfolk, they had emulated the Amazons of legend by banding together along paramilitary lines, in an effort to defend themselves from persecution by some of the more rigidly patriarchal leaders of polytheistic religions who saw them as unwanted rivals.
By the dawn of the twentieth century, however, the Daughters of the Phoenix had gone their mentors one better. Not only by expanding their membership to include female Kinfolk from other Garou septs, like the Fenrir Valkyria of Freya. But, also, with regard to studying the magical and martial arts of other esoteric feminist groups like the Phoenix School of the Akashic Brotherhood. With cross-training like that, it was not long before the Daughters of the Phoenix were working as bounty hunters for the rest of the supernatural community. Especially when it came to protecting their own kind from so-called "Christian" witch hunters like the Order of the Ax and Cross!
That was how Lynn Smith and her fifteen-year-old daughter, Bianca, happened to recognize Kaulder as he entered the front door of Shelton's.
Katherine found herself approaching a table occupied by a well-dressed man in black with hair almost as red as hers and a highly attractive woman who appeared to be of part-Japanese heritage. And, based on the tail end of their conversation, they must have been discussing old Warner Brothers cartoons just before she arrived. Before she could adopt a fake smile, and utter her well-rehearsed greeting, however, she heard the MIB mutter a strange word.
"Accio!"
Whereupon, there was a flash of light from the palm of his date's right hand. Followed by a flash of near-simultaneous light from his left hand!
"Thank you, Ms. Raiden," gloated Ethan. "I believe this concludes our business."
That was a mistake. For that little bit of bragging managed to snap Gwen out of her otherwise inevitable micro-second of open-mouthed amazement. Consequently, prompting her to spring to her feet; fling the whole table angrily to her left; and, then, generate two balls of deadly-looking electricity.
Tbc
Glossary-
". . .dwarfish Kinsman": imagine bad-ass little character actor Peter Dinklage ("X-Men: Days of Future Past") dressed like a 17th-century French musketeer.