The Damocles Solution 12.
Janine took another long sip of whatever count this glass of white wine was. The fourth? Fifth? She had long lost track. "And so, I got waited on by this really cute new young guy at the local garden store…and I could tell he didn't have any training at all…'cuz I asked if he had any ladies' slippers, and he sez to me, 'Uh, no ma'am, I don't, but my wife has three closets full of them if you'd like to see!'" She laughed loudly, and so did Dr. Phil Dendron aside of her.
Egon raised an eyebrow, catching the similarly raised eyebrow of Dendron's wife. Janine and Dendron had hit it off so well, they had been the life of the party since the plant psychologist sat down next to her, and both his wife and Egon showed the most saintly, patient temperaments the whole afternoon and early evening.
Dendron was not only on the statuesque side, dwarfing Janine on one side, while Egon dwarfed her on the other, but he was also a fantastic and entertaining talker. He was exuberantly happy to share all his tales of travels and experience with plants with her, along with anyone else who cared to listen. The rest of the time, they had been exchanging silly plant stories and jokes, and Janine was more than happy to give her spin on the average person's idea of Dendron's methods on improving plant growth, quoting his books verbatim when she needed to.
Dendron lifted his glass again. "My dear, that gives me an excellent idea! A shopping guide for local owners! I could make it another publication. Wait! I can see the title now!" he gestured dramatically with his free hand, as if thinking up a new blockbuster movie. "Happy Plants Are Made in New York!"
"Sounds great!" Janine laughed, then clinked glasses with him. "I call dibs on the first copy!"
"You know, Miss Melnitz," said Dendron, "I am so happy I got to sit with you at this dinner. The last time we met it was under rather stressful matters."
"Oh yes!" she agreed.
"And to think I spent quite a while wondering what in blazes my profession has to do with this organization at all." He scratched his head. "In fact, I still do wonder what in blazes my profession has to do with this organization." Holding up a finger in confidence, he added, "But…no matter! This was one of the most fun afternoons I've had in a while. I'd love for you to meet the rest of my family at my greenhouse and home sometime in the near future, preferably before your work week begins again."
"Oh, me too. Thank you so much for the invitation! Pleasure to be able to be seated beside you!" She turned to Egon, her cheeks red from wine, and her dark blue dress, he noticed, making them look even redder. "Don'tcha think, Dr. Spengler?"
Caught off guard yet again, Egon placed his water glass down on the table. "Oh, yes. Um…certainly."
He had been seated next to the woman the entire table now knew as Mrs. Dolores Aracelli, who sat next to her assisstant and butler, Morgan. Dr. Tennent was seated on Morgan's other side. Janine had glanced over at them once or twice, and all of them, especially Tennent, seemed wrapped up in their own minds constantly. Tennent looked downright uncomfortable, as if he had some important filing work he was missing out on, though he made a good attempt at conversation, in his own highbrow way.
Morgan hardly spoke the entire time. True, Aracelli did seem to have trouble getting around, and she seemed to genuinely need him; but for someone who said that she had Morgan as an assisstant for quite a few months now, he still seemed rather formal to her.
In addition, Aracelli's constant placid smile bothered Janine, but she figured she let it slide, as the only topic of her conversation involved her talking solely about her "three children and seven grandchildren" and also her "grandmotherly intuition of the universe and its operations."
Almost in answer of their thoughts, Aracelli cleared her throat, pushed out her seat with great effort, and got the attention of both Egon and Tennent. "Gentlemen? I would like to retire to a separate room to discuss an important issue," she announced, taking hold of the rather sturdy, elegantly-inscribed, jeweled cane hooked on the arm of her seat. "Shall we? I will be in the powder room a few moments, and before long, I will join you."
Tennent visibly paled, and Egon silently complied. Morgan remained at the table, the large bald man smiling cooly at Janine when she saw he was not leaving with them.
Before Egon could get away, she called him. "Dr. Spengler?"
He turned, and she waved him to lean in further. "Yes?"
She pointed at the two of them. "I don't like yer friends," she said, quietly enough so Morgan could not hear.
He leaned in, ever so close to her ear to whisper before leaving, oblivious to the fact that he was making her turned a thousand more shades of red as he did so. "Educational and paranormal enthusiasts do not equal friends. In fact, as you know in my case, sometimes the paranormal chooses you, and not the other way around."
On his way to their private room, he noticed Aracelli turned around before the restroom door, smiling at him.
After entering the meeeting room, Aracelli closed the door behind her, and turned around, hobbling. "I won't keep you from your dining very long, gentlemen," she said. Turning to Egon, she grinned. "And, Dr. Spengler, I won't keep you from the young lady you're here together with either. She rather enjoyed that kiss she received from you before you left."
Egon gasped loudly. "Ah…no, ma'am. It—wasn't what it seemed. I simply had to…ah…inform her confidentially that…ah…Mr. Baranov told me he personally sent the wine she was having to our table. She is along for professional reasons."
The elder lady adjusted her thick shawl, obviously not convinced. "Oh…I see. How kind of the host to do so. Anyway," she said, changing the subject, "I must say, I do feel relatively good lately because of this beautiful weather. However, for the one question I shall have to ask you both, I might need to sit down a bit." She pulled up a high-backed chair next to her, and setting her cane aside of it, grasped the back of the chair firmly and leaned on it.
Egon noticed that this was the first time he had gotten a good look at her cane. He inwardly admired its workmanship; the handle seemed to be of solid pewter, terminating in a shaft of the darkest material he'd ever seen. It seemed like it was covered in a velvety material, ending in the same metallic finish as the handle.
The handle bore a carving of a large serpent; and Egon recognized it immediately as similar to Norse drawings of Jormungar he'd seen in his studies. Between the teeth of the serpent, at the handle end of the cane, was a beautiful, deep red sphere, similar to a star sapphire.
"You had me cross the Atlantic to ask me one question, ma'am?" inquired Tennent, offended. "I couldn't think of anything that would warrant such a request, short of desiring to read some cataclysmic heiroglyphs together for the purpose of entertainment, with a heavy dose of destruction a la mode."
"Oh…Dr. Tennent," said Aracelli. "My issue here is one, which I assure you, is extremely urgent." She leaned over the chair more heavily. "I…I have called the two of you here for this reason: I have seen the deaths of one, potentially more, of us in the near future!"
A suffocating silence filled the room.
"Oh…oh dear," Tennent said softly as he took out his handkerchief, wiping his face.
Egon's brow contracted. "I see," said Egon. "Yes. Definitely worthy of discussion. Usually I would not give credence to such visions and dreams, however, I am aware from Dr. Tennent's descriptions, that you have been incredibly accurate in your predictions in the past, coupled with laudable life-long studies."
"You are correct, Dr. Spengler. I might not have quite the same number of degrees that the two of you boast of, and some of the knowledge I have gleaned has been through rather untraditional methods…but I cannot help what I see. And I must ask each of you a question related to this horribly unfortunate prediction. Are either of you interested in passing this knowledge on to someone else, seeing as there could be a mere two-or even less-of us remaining?"
"Excellent point for discussion, " breathed Egon.
Tennent was, in fact, the first one to seat himself in a chair. "Well…as you have seen, I have answered the question already. I have already been the catalyst of Dr. Spengler's knowledge of the glyphs and their meanings."
"Prompted by my previous intricate knowledge of similar language-group glyphs, and sealed by my innumerate questions while researching Tobin's entry on Fenrir's Flute," appended Egon.
Tennent nodded his head. "True…however, I think others should be taught also. I think three is a, dare I say it like this, but a manageable number; it keeps us in check with one another. I am well aware of the fact that if this information is leaked out into the general public, someone will take it upon themselves to mouth the words rather irresponsibly, and grant themselves and their Hearer the ability to summon the end of existence before they knew it."
Tennent leaned back in his chair. "I am also aware of the fact that very few in the world have the background knowledge or the desire or even the opportunity to learn such obscure information. However, enabling someone else to absorb this subject matter allows me to rest easy knowing that at least three people in the world know how to spot the warning signs should this get into the wrong hands, and it would be very easily traceable if it did."
Aracelli pursed her lips. "This is where I must differ, and I am glad to express my opinion face to face with you, Doctor. I am of the mindset that this knowledge rests quite easily with the three of us; and considering the actions of my own student, now deceased," she said with a barely perceptible note of rising anger, "I am willing to let this knowledge remain behind the closed doors of our own intellects."
Egon straightened, and narrowed his eyes. Jeremy was, in fact, Aracelli's student…or at least, her responsiblity.
"Mr. Whittington came to me much the same as you went to Dr. Tennet, Dr. Spengler. However, he didn't have any of the knowledge that the three of us posess; he could not read the glyphs on his own. However, he did have a strong background in all forms of occult, and was phenomenally well-traveled. He came to me knowing about and completely infatuated by the Song of Renewal, more for his little friend's sake than anyone else's…or so he said. It was just…unfortunate that he had discovered other things on his own."
"You took the opportunity to teach him the recitation, did you not? You said he could not read the script himself," observed Tennent.
"I told him the words of summoning, and told himabout the Song of Renewal…because I saw nothing but anger and frustration written all over his face. I assumed it was because of the difficult life of his friend. And I saw, confusingly, that he would cause hellish upheaval in the world. So…yes. I made sure I did, in fact, teach him about the Song of Renewal, in hopes that sheer ignorance would prevent the cataclysm caused by his own hands."
"So in essence, you taught a very angry man the code words to receive such a powerful tool such as Fenrir's Flute?" persisted the sociologist.
"As anyone would know, someone that was capable mentally and emotionally of doing something as destructive as Mr. Whittington would have stopped at nothing to get what he wanted. Since I was the one he turned to that was capable of teaching him and bringing the future I saw to pass, I would shoulder the responsibility and be rather discreet in what I taught him, making it the stuff of legends and empty promises, therefore making sure the disaster was averted. He must have had a sixth sense to be able to find Fenrir's altar, and the manuscript inside, also."
"Perhaps even paranormal assisstance in finding the altar," said Egon.
"I must say also that Ragnarock had not been summoned for centuries; so no one could possibly know what its effect would be until the whole process was started, anyway," said Tennent. "The mechanics are all there in the writings, however when a force such as that is used it could have all sorts of strange effects…or it could have none at all, or it could even destroy the summoner."
Egon closed his eyes, his knitted brows the only indication of his own discomfort speaking of the subject. "It appeared channeling the powers of the flute…changes one's appearance, and I would assume that it changes one's mental state, also, considering…what I have seen. Once one discovers where the altar is and recites the summon words with the Hearer along, bearing the flute grants the user the entirety of information needed to control its use." He pushed up his glasses thoughtfully. "For example, he knew precisely what to play, and when, to control what was happening in the city. This could be the only way that he would know the Song of Destruction without having learned it in the language in which it is encoded."
Aracelli straightened. "And that is my point. Yes, the crisis was averted, as I could tell the Song of Renewal was played…it was the only thing that could have possibly reversed such a powerful process. However, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Knowledge of this nature should, in my opinion, not leave those contained in this room."
They both turned to Egon. "Your thoughts, Dr. Spengler?" asked Tennent, rather pointedly.
Egon put his hands in his pockets. "I…I must say I am in agreement with Mrs. Aracelli. I think we should be the ones to die with this knowledge. I would not ask anyone else to be responsible for this, and I would also seriously and repeatedly attempt to desist those who are even curious."
"You are not willing to teach others that which you have pressed others to know yourself, Dr. Spengler?"
He glared at his former teacher. "With all due respect, Doctor…my knowledge of this issue beforehand was the same as yours…solely intellectual. If you have personally experienced what I did in New York City two years ago, you'd seek out every single obscure reference to Ragnarock in the world you could find, solely for the purpose of burning or razing it to ashes."
Tennent rubbed his hands together nervously. "Understandable. Well…it seems we are in quite a quandry here. My main issue is preservation, while there is the issue of how to check on those who show curiosity of such a thing. Perhaps we can-"
"Gentlemen," interrupted Aracelli. "I should not have waited so long in to begin to broach this subject. I suggest we discuss this again before this conference concludes. I am beginning to tire because of the long afternoon and the weightiness of this matter," said Aracelli. "And I'd prefer not to sit down here, as quite honestly, I might not be able to arise again!"
"Well, I would suggest we exit. We have kept ourselves very late, and one very lengthy discussion would arouse unecessary suspicion. No doubt dessert is over already and the guests are beginning to thin out," said Tennent, quite pleased on the premature end to the subject matter.
Egon was the first to leave the room, leaving Tennent and Aracelli behind. Exiting the door to the private room, he noticed that, indeed, most guests have gone home or back to the hotel.
Returning to the table, and finding it completely empty, he began surveying the dining hall to ascertain the whereabouts of Janine. He was stopped in his tracks by Dendron's wife, who was apparently slowly leading her very happy, though a tad unsteady husband out of the dining hall by the arm. He wasn't done telling others of his adventures, yet.
"Dr. Spengler. I have news of your secretary. She went out on the deck past the French doors to get some fresh air." She leaned in a bit with an understanding grin. "Seems her and my husband had more spirits than they could handle tonight."
He passed through the French doors, and, sure enough, there was Janine, alone on the deck, sitting with her feet tucked up, in an elaborate chair. She mumbled to herself as she drifted in and out of sleep.
Egon, after trying to rouse her with no results, stared stupidly at her a few moments. He was having quite a lot of trouble figuring out what the heck he should do with her.
Then, Winson's hand signals popped into his cranium. He had it! He knelt down, his arms steadying himself on the chair she sat on.
Before picking her up, he recalled the last conversation he had in the private room with Aracelli and Tennent, who were by now, he could see, standing at the opposite side of the hall by the exit doorway, conversing, with Morgan scanning the guests as they left. He wasn't sure how much of Aracelli's prediction he believed. He forced himself to fight off believing it, with the same irrational denial he had about the possibility of powerful wizards in his lineage.
He brought his arms around her, and, for an unconscious split second, stopped to take in the scent of her hair….then immedately stopped himself from thinking about all the combined chemicals needed to recreate that scent of strawberries in her shampoo. He had nothing to drink tonight, but that particular combination of chemicals was irresistibly intoxicating, and he grit his teeth.
Crumbs on whatever was in with that methylchloroisothiazolinone!
He then recognized it; it was that same rush of energy that completely overtook him when there was less than ten seconds left until the activated packs on his and his friends' back would blow a crater in Manhattan half a mile wide, as a hurt and lonely man played his death dirge for the world.
When there was nothing left…but her.
He picked her up, then carried her into the dining hall, still ignoring the various things she was saying in her half-sleep, no doubt none of which she'd remember in the morning, anyway. He'd seen it before after she helped herself to a few beers from the six-packs the other guys would use to celebrate with after a hard bust.
She came out of her stupor long enough to see Dendron by the doorway. "Thanks again for dinner!" she managed to singsong clearly, taking Egon's handkerchief out of its pocket and waving it at the plant psychologist, and getting an energetic wave and smile in return.
Aracelli moved to block his way to the doorway, and laid a hand on his arm. "Sometimes I see things that can be easily changed…sometimes not," she said, calmly smiling up at him. "I chatted a little longer with Dr. Tennent as he was seeming so uncomfortable. I am thinking that what we discussed earlier might be able to be stopped. But that's for later to discuss."
"Hopefully sooner than later."
"Yes. I'll be in touch."
Jarred into consciousness by seeing Dendron, and the conversation now that Egon was carrying, Janine sighed heavily, and ran her hand, still holding the handkerchief, underneath his jacket. "Dr. Spengler. You're wearing that cologne I got you," she drawled sleepily into his neck. "What're ya tryin' to do to me? …drives me crazy…"
Aracelli raised her eyebrows, and while Egon held his breath, wide-eyed, then fumbled for yet another poor explanation, he was stopped again before exiting the room…this time by Morgan. "Dr. Spengler. If you'd so like," he ventured, "I can call the hotel staff to help your secretary back into her room if you'd rather remain and socialize."
"That will not be necessary," he practically snapped before disappearing into the hallway, with such a sudden and particular uncontrolled hostility in his tone of voice that made both Aracelli and Tennent shift their eyes to their corners as he passed.
"Secretary," said Aracelli to Tennent at her side, now that Egon was out of earshot. She turned to Morgan, then Tennent, who was hiding his now almost neurotic state in the thinnest veneer of control now thanks to Aracelli's encouragement. "Just a secretary."
"Yes. Indeed," said Morgan, with a knowing nod of his head, looking askance at the elderly mystic.
Carrying Janine through the elevator, then the hallway, Egon soon figured out, wasn't exactly going to be the covert operation he so ardently desired that it should be. At least once someone who had remembered Janine stopped him, telling him that he enjoyed listening to and eventually joining in her spirited conversations with Dendron. He also was stopped at least three times by ladies wanting to give him advice of all types, a few of which were too much information and something he didn't expect to hear in such a supposedly polite environment.
Reaching her room, he placed her on the plush chair for a moment until he rooted through her clutch purse with the sole intention of getting her keys.
Getting her door opened, he brought her inside, and gently placed her on her bed. After sitting down for a moment or two to remove his glasses, massage the bridge of his nose and attempt to clear his mind, he couldn't help but watch her. Now that she was somewhere comfortable, she turned to her side, and tucked her hands under the hotel pillow, still smiling. Her lips and cheeks, very, very red.
After a period of silence, he smiled. "Glad you had fun," he whispered.
He got up again, and went to the door, locking and closing it as softly as he could.
"Hmmmm." She said dreamily, stirring a little. "Me, too."