"The Gathering" - Chapter 5

Pawns and Games

 

Eden Bennet leaned against the wall, partially hidden behind a huge dumpster where she had been waiting close to an hour. Her blond waves were neatly tucked away in a tight chignon at the back of her neck. Her breath fogged in front her, the autumn chill apparent. That was stupid. She thought critically. Someone could’ve known you were here.

She rubbed her palms together slowly, letting the slow friction of her skin rubbing together warm her hands and cold-nipped fingers. Her normal attire of long, gored skirt and long-sleeved blouse had been traded by an outfit more utilitarian and eminently practical for the task at hand. She still couldn’t come to grips how people sometimes dress here in this world. She preferred to remain in her native world, where technology has not yet supplanted magic as a governing force and basic elements of good and evil did not get blurred by shadings of gray. She shook her head in mild despair. The endless struggle between the two sides on her native world had reached the point where instead of an overt confrontation where victory could be grabbed through a decisive battle, both sides opted to employ a devious game of cat-and-mouse. Breaking the barrier between worlds is no easy feat, and the price exacted for such power is draining on their resources but each party seemed willing to invest in dipping into their magical reserves to harness potential recruits.

She hunkered behind the metal dumpster, crinkling her nose at the smell. Nikolai had tasked her to keep watch on this end of the alley while he flushed out their quarry. Eden doubted his choice of tactics and had been quite vocal about it. She suggested Vincent come along, his clairvoyant talents useful especially in tracking but not only Nikolai, but even the Council had overruled her arguments. She had even called in old favours from her extensive contacts to get someone with a background in tracking but all of them had been unanswered.

That itself worried her. It is one thing to decline, but another thing altogether to leave a request for aid unanswered. Eden has no illusions of her place in grand scheme of things—she’s merely a pawn. Granted, an extremely valuable and useful one but a pawn, nonetheless. Nothing compared to the unending struggle against the other side, where both sides calculate their losses in terms of hundreds, if not thousands.

She shook her head. Battles within battles, stalemate after stalemate, she thought despondently. And the end is nowhere in sight.

A soft patter of footsteps alerted her to her oncoming quarry. She had already magnified her hearing and vision with a spell that enabled her to see even in the darkest of shadows. The clattering of metal—most likely covers from the many bins packing the alley—sounded, coming closer.

Now! She could hear Nikolai’s mental shout in her head.

Eden stepped out from her hiding and gestured with her right arm, making a cutting motion even as she whispered the words to the spell. The effect is instantaneous. An almost visible curtain of wind gusted from behind her, sending tendrils of her blond hair whipping forward. The curtain of fast-moving air coalesced into a solid form, the force of the winds catching their quarry and holding him immobile, flattening him against the wall of the alley. The force of the impact rendered him unconscious.

She could hear the swift falls of Nikolai’s steps as he slowed down from his run as he neared her. Lately she seemed to be tuned to him. She suspected that may have something to do with having worked for a long time with a telepath and filed away the observation for future reference.

“Trouble?” Nikolai asked, smirking upward at their captive.

“Not really,” the witch answered. “Although I’m curious why they needed a trained combat meister and a battle-witch to capture one rogue werebeast.”

“How could you tell?” Nikolai asked. “That he’s a werebeast, I mean,” he qualified further.

“You didn’t read his mind?”

“I did,” Nikolai retorted testily, but the annoyance wasn’t directed at her, she could tell. “I couldn’t read anything deeper than surface thoughts. The rest are static.”

“Static?”

“Just raw impulses, primal urges.”

“Primal urges, you say?” Eden snickered. “How elemental.”

“Don’t start, Bennet,” Nikolai warned, but there was a small smile on his lips. “Let’s have a look at our werebeast, eh?”

Eden gestured and the blanket of air surrounding their captive bowed to her command, lowering him to eye level. She reached out and lifted his left eyelid. In the dim light illuminating the alley, his left eye glimmered yellow.

“Wolf-kind,” Eden confirmed. “You get any readings on a specific clan?”

“None,” Nikolai answered, a tinge of frustration in his voice. “His mind was gone. All I could get was raw instincts—fear, hate and such.”

“That’s an interesting development,” Eden slowly said. “Werebeasts who shift into social animals usually have a group mind running in the background of their psyches.”

“Correct,” Nikolai confirmed. “In his case, nothing.”

“You do realize we have someone who could help us?” Eden began cautiously.

Nikolai glared at her. He knew she was right but it breached all procedures the Council had agreed upon previously. He weighed his options and decided.

“To Hell with it,” he grunted. “It’s time Jasper learned, anyway.”

 *  *  *

“Stop doing that!” Wanda hissed.

Jasper and Vincent both jerked to attention, almost-identical guilty looks on their faces.

The three of them were at the bank waiting for their turn to be called, where Wanda and Jasper had to make a sizable withdrawal. Vincent had been amusing himself with ‘peeking,’—as he had so charmingly put it—into the restricted areas of the bank. Jasper had suggested he check out the combination of the bank’s safe and security details but the other just shrugged and spent the next twenty minutes ogling the female employees. Since Jasper could basically read the more obvious aspects of his fixations, he ended up getting distracted.

“I can’t believe I’m taking out this much money on his say-so,” Wanda griped, smacking Vincent’s arm with a backhand. “What are we going to do?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Jasper muttered. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

“Well, make him tell you then,” Wanda huffed, exasperated. “What’s the point of having those freaky powers if you don’t use them?”

“I do use them actually,” Jasper defended himself.

“Of course,” Wanda returned sardonically. “Running out on restaurant bills, scoring freebies, petty shoplifting … Need I go on?”

“You don’t have to be so fucking superior about it,” Jasper grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Hah!” Wanda egged him, poking his side. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy doing that!”

Jasper was about to fire a quick retort but it was made moot as their number was called by the PA system. Forty minutes later found them in Wanda’s VW Polo heading out of the city. Following Vincent’s sketchy directions, they had taken one off the turnoffs leading towards the countryside, something Wanda wasn’t too happy about. She started by snipping about the fact she was wearing a pair loafers not suited for trekking in the countryside. Vincent returned that she won’t be required to walk much. Wanda then moved on to not knowing the directions, and Vincent calmly told her where to turn and which route to take.

After several instances of Vincent’s mildly patronizing instructions, Wanda started snapping that she did not sign up for a cross-country drive to God-knows-where on a somewhat-stranger’s say-so. “And you’re pretty strange,” she said, ending her tirade.

As what had now become an established pattern, Jasper found he is thankful he is in the backseat as Wanda and Vincent argued with each other.

“Oy,” Jasper huffed softly to himself. He fished out his iPod, plugged the headset into his ears and cranked up the volume to drown out the bickering.

He leaned his head to the side, resting his temple on the windshield while he watched the idyllic countryside zipped by. The late sun now had taken a soft, mellow cast to its golden light and it tinted the deepening noon with soft patines of gold. He looked at his watch, noting that in three hours time it will be close to sundown.

“All I’m saying,” Wanda was saying, “is that if I’m going to be traipsing in the countryside while carrying a large wad of cash in my purse I’d like to know where we’re going.”

“And I’ll tell you all in good time,” Vincent told her reasonably, his usual beatific smile on his face. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re hot when you’re ticked off?”

“Yeah, Jasper does.”

Vincent looked at her askance. “Your brother tells you you’re hot? Your brother?”

“What?” Wanda replied, confused. “We’re close like that.”

“Close,” Vincent repeated dully, a sick look on his face.

“Yeah, close,” Wanda affirmed. She gave Vincent a quizzical look before continuing, “what? You have issues with siblings bonding or something—Oh for crying out loud, Vince! This isn’t Flowers in the Attic! And stop trying to change the topic.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Wanda sated firmly.

“I’m not!” Vince whined, his voice climbing half an octave.

“You are!” Wanda returned, matching him in pitch and volume.

“I’m—stop the car!” Vincent shouted.

Wanda hit the brakes, sending the blissfully inattentive Jasper’s head hitting the headrest of Vincent’s seat.

“What the hell!?” he grouched, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Oh, that’s gonna bruise,” he remarked to no one in particular.

Wanda had edged the car to the shoulder of the road, where they had left the city limits some time back and are on one of the less travelled back roads. The particular one they’re on was essentially a small asphalt line cutting across the encroaching wilderness. Over on the not-so-distant horizon on the left side of the road, the Blue Ridge could be seen.

Vincent opened the door and got out. He seemed to be scanning for something, his head cocked to the left with his eyes closed. Jasper had seen enough of Vincent’s abilities at work to know that the other man is trying to sift through multiple scannings of places distant and near and try to marry them to their current location. When the small frown came, Jasper knew he and Wanda should be on alert. Negative emoting is a very rare occurrence for someone as outgoing and upbeat as Vincent, and his own empathic abilities picked up on the small note of concern and alarm emanating from Vincent. He was about to follow the source of the alarm with his mind until he encountered a block. Vincent had thrown up a mental shield to block his probes.

Jasper was starting to go from mildly annoyed to irate. It is one thing to be made travelling cross-country on vague details, as Wanda had pointed out. Another still to sense alarm and refusing to divulge the cause or nature of it. He was about to point this out heatedly to Vincent when the other man turned.

“Stay in the car, Jas,” he said, a rare, stern note of command in his usually affable voice. Wanda had opened her door and was about step out when Vincent continued, “You, too, Wanda.”

Jasper halted Wanda from unleashing another verbal assault by grabbing her wrist. The exchanged a look with each other. Years of growing up together had made them able to communicate non-verbally in a very short time. Wanda, shouldering her purse crosswise across her chest got out of the car, followed by Jasper.

“You really want to do this?” Vincent glared at the two.

“Seems like the day could use some excitement,” Jasper said jauntily. “And it feels to me like you could use some help. Note the word feel.”

“And don’t even think of saying something as insulting or banal such as I’m just a girl,” Wanda continued quickly before Vincent could get a word in edgewise. “Oh, wait,” she said, motioning for them to wait as she returned to the trunk of her car.

She reached in and grabbed something from the inside before closing the trunk and returning back to them. Jasper could see that she is now holding a short length of wooden rod roughly two feet in length. He threw a questioning look at her.

“After the attack, I signed up for escrema classes,” she explained, twirling the rod and making some practice swipes. “You know, self-defense and all that jazz.”

“Fine,” Vincent said, throwing up his hands. He was about to turn away to head into the brush but then abruptly pivoted to face them. “But you follow whatever I say, no matter how bizarre it is. Got it?”

“You showed your sopping wet crotch to me in a restaurant,” Jasper snapped testily. “I think bizarre I can handle.”

Vincent didn’t reply, but the rigid pull of his shoulders contrasted with Wanda’s snickers. They followed him into the brush.

"The Gathering" - Chapter 4

Convergence

Nikolai turned away from the window, facing the ethereal Eden. The room was sparse, as how he had left it after graduating from the Academy. As a ranking mentalist who had completed his training programme he had opted to retain his old residence upon graduating. Outside, the Plaza of Harmony bustled with the students and trainers of the Academy going about their daily business. The meeting place wasn’t Nikolai’s choice. The Council had vetoed his suggestion for somewhere less public.

Nikolai hated coming back to the Academy. It brought back too many memories of slogging away at his assignments and combat training. Memories of things he’d rather forget.

Things hidden he prayed would never see the light of day.

For now however, he concentrated on the task at hand. Eden had contacted him via spell that she had information on the rogue empath that the three of them—himself, Eden and Vincent—had come in contact ten years ago. The three of them had kept the Council in the dark about the fact that they had been keeping tabs, and even checking up periodically—sometimes even telepathically or through magical means—on the rogue.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice clipped. His distaste for the spellweaver notwithstanding, he did not refute her intrinsic worth—especially when dealing with a rogue psychic.  

“It’s him,” Eden confirmed. Her blond tresses rippled like small waves down her back as she moved languidly towards him.

Nikolai backed a step, an arm raised in a warding gesture. “Stay away from me, Bennet,” he snarled. He could almost feel the small almost-healed scab on his upper lip pull at his grimace.

Eden shrugged her nonchalance at his vehement tone, sidling to his side as she peered at the small scab. Her cerulean blue eyes were blank, her mind as calm as still waters. It was a well-known fact that spellweavers have a natural resistance to psychic and even magical intrusions towards them but that did not account for the fact that she seemed to be completely immune to even his cursory scans. Nikolai had never doubted his own skill nor finesse with his telepathy, and if directly pressed would admit to his exact range and power scale as defined by the Academy—currently classified as a Class 8, out of a scale of one to ten, he thought irreverently. Meaning that not only should I be able to read her surface thoughts but also what she had for dinner eight weeks ago. Not for the first time since their small showdown in the recovery room, Nikolai was impressed at her mental shields. I wonder how those shields would stand against …? he thought.

A soft brush of Eden’s forefinger against the small scab brought a slight tingling to the spot. He knew without looking in a mirror that the witch had healed that small scar. Small favours, in light of what had happened. 

That’s what you get for underestimating a spellweaver. 

He did not miss the underlying subtext in Eden’s small spell. The witch was indirectly telling him that her abilities match—if not outright supersedes—his own.

“It’s him,” Eden repeated, softly this time. A small frown furrowed her forehead, marring the otherwise perfect porcelain cast of her features. “And there were two others in his vicinity.”

Nikolai started. “WHAT?!?” he roared in spite of himself. “Two others?”

Eden shook her head in rebuke. “You didn’t let me finish,” she admonished gently as she continued to sketch the details. “There were two energy readings, Prime Andra told me. One mild but focused, the other powerful but a wild, spontaneous spike.”

“A trained mentalist and another rogue,” Nikolai stated, coming to his own conclusion.

“It would seem to be,” Eden agreed. She moved away from his side, going to the window and looking out at the Plaza outside. “It always puzzles me how you mentalists like to structure things,” she commented, a wry smile on her lips. “Something as dynamic and deeply personal like how a person’s mind works …” she trailed off. A deep breath. “But no matter. I suppose that’s why our people never could see eye to eye when it comes to certain things.”

Nikolai snorted. Among the Old Blood, there had always been a marked dissent between each others’ approach to their abilities: invokers, elementals, spellweavers and the like.

So many ways to do things and yet we still have no answer or solution, he thought cynically.

“What else did Prime Andra say?” he asked, returning to the matter at hand.

“That’s the interesting part,” Eden said, a small smile forming on her face. “Do you have anything planned for the next three days?”

“Nothing that I can’t postpone,” Nikolai said guardedly. “Why you ask?”

This time Eden’s smile practically swallowed her face. “How do you feel about another worldwalking?”

* * *

Vincent Somerfeld leaned against the wall of the alley, the lighted end of his cigarette flaring briefly as he took a drag. He had been standing there since noon—with the pretext of waiting for a bus nixed by a patrolling police car when they told him to move along and stop hogging the bench at the bus stop.

He had doubled back after ambling away, with a sandwich tucked in the pocket of the jacket he had brought to ward off the chill of an autumn evening. The late evening sun is edging towards dusk, attesting to his Herculean stamina and willpower at his assigned task.

Of course, if one is observant, the cigarette butts littering the ground near his feet would do in a pinch.

A slight throbbing behind his eyelids signalled an oncoming vision. In his mind, a flash appeared almost montage-like. His quarry was taking the stairs, and about to come out … and the vision stopped just as the tall young man appeared in the doorway of the apartment building. The man paused, his head slightly cocked as if listening to something or someone from somewhere inside the building before stepping onto the sidewalk and began to walk.

Vincent was about to move away from his spot to start tailing the man when his intended quarry turned abruptly and unmistakably made a bee-line for him.

“You know you could never hide from me, Vince,” he said as he stepped closer.

Vincent smiled. Despite his misgivings, he genuinely liked the man. “Jasper,” he said the other’s name by way of greeting. “I wasn’t trying to hide …”

“Liar,” Jasper said, his face crinkling into a smile. “How long has it been?”

“Two years,” Vincent answered, wincing inwardly at the answer. “I should’ve kept in touch.”

“Nah,” A shrug. “You have your own things to settle.” Jasper paused. “Have you had dinner?” he asked. 

“There’s a wicked Indian place around the corner here,” he said, motioning towards the direction he had been heading.

“I could eat,” Vincent shrugged.

“Great,” Jasper said, moving on. “Come on, then.”

Vincent tried his best to catch up to the taller man. He remembered how often he had compared his five-foot-six slender build to Jasper’s rangy, long-legged physique. He gave himself a mental shrug and quickened his steps.

“What are you up to?” Jasper asked, his dark green eyes glancing at him.

“Nothing much,” Vincent hedged. “Just moving around.”

Jasper snorted. “Meaning you’re keeping tabs on rogues like me,” he stated flatly. However, the slight smirk marked his comment as playful.

“Something like that,” Vincent agreed, not seeing the point of keeping the charade.

“Don’t you clairvoyants normally stay in a locked room and pass on whatever you see to your guys?” Jasper said as he wiggled his eyebrows, miming air quotes at the word guys.

“Not me,” Vincent denied. “I prefer field work.”

“Ah,” the other replied. Vincent decided to leave it at that for now as they had reached the eatery Jasper had mentioned earlier.

Thirty-five minutes passed after they’ve demolished enough food to feed a small family. Jasper still couldn’t grasp how a person with Vincent’s diminutive frame could put away three plates of briyani rice, chicken masala and dhal gravy. Now, Vincent is absorbed with the task of stealing the two ladu from Jasper’s plate of desserts. Jasper rolled his eyes at the petty larceny and decided he liked the other man enough to forego a small argument of which sweetmeat belongs to whom.

“I haven’t seen Niki or Eden around,” he began nonchalantly.

“You wouldn’t,” Vincent confirmed. “One, they weren’t the ones assigned to watch over you. Two, you’re not that good.”

Jasper smirked. “Good enough to know you’ve been tailing and keeping watch for the last two weeks,” he countered.

He was rewarded when Vincent paused imperceptibly mid-chew.

“Interesting,” the shorter main commented. “I take it you’ve been practicing?”

“More or less,” Jasper shrugged. He slurped noisily at this lassi. “Niki gave me some pointers before he left and I started from there.”

“How far did you go with your …”

“Experimenting?” Jasper finished. “Hmmm …” he collected his thoughts and started rattling off, “Reading and projecting emotions. Id insinuation—that was tough. I almost got lost in someone’s head once …”

Vincent shuddered. He’s heard of novice telepaths who ended up mind-blanked. They thought to enter another sentient mind without taking precaution against being lost or swallowed by another potentially powerful native structure. He was glad he wasn’t a telepath. Clairvoyance is tricky enough without having to traipse through someone’s head.

“Id insinuation, eh?” he repeated. “That was impressive. Usually most rogues never mastered that particular skill.”

“You forget,” Jasper returned. “I was tutored by a combat meister.”

“True,” Vincent assented. “I take it that you’ve mastered scanning, reading and projecting. Implanting suggestions?” he prompted.

“Check.” Jasper answered. “Am I answering a questionnaire here?” he asked after a brief pause.

“Of sorts.”

“Oh?” Jasper raised an eyebrow. “Care to share?”

“Nice try, Jas,” Vincent replied, using his nickname for the other man. “Mind if I smoke?”

“I’m bumming one,” Jasper held out a hand.

“Where did you pick up the habit?” Vincent asked as he passed his pack of Marlboro Lights to Jasper.

“Recently.” A pause. “About three weeks ago.” Jasper’s dark eyes met Vincent’s blue ones challengingly. “Cut to the chase, Vince. You being here had something to do with that telepath who attacked me.”

Vincent kept his silence, more intent on lighting up his cigarette. He flicked the tinder of his lighter …

…and his world erupted in flames. This isn’t real, he told himself. That however didn’t account for the searing heat he felt. Or the burning walls of the dimly-lit restaurant crackling away as the flames ate at the furnishings. Or the blisters forming on his skin, cracking peeling… I can’t …! I can’t breathe …! he thought as his sleeve caught fire…

…and the tiny little flame erupted from the lighter’s nozzle. Vincent dropped it, stunned and shocked.

“How did you…?” he began to ask, falteringly. He tried again, “How did you …”

“How did I do it?” Jasper answered for him. His dark eyes had gone flat, emotionless. “I know what you’re afraid of, remember? You told me you were trapped in a burning house when your parents were killed.”

“That was just cold, Jas,” Vincent shot back, petulantly. He leaned back, finished lighting his cigarette and blew a puff of smoke towards the ceiling. “But masterfully done!” he stood up and bowed. “Niki himself couldn’t have done better!”

“That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for,” Jasper looked up from his seat, a small puzzled frown.

“Oh, au contraire, my friend,” Vincent grinned devilishly. He hiked up his jacket and shirt, showing Jasper the large wet spot on his jeans. “You succeeded in making me piss in my pants!” he looked around, slightly confused. “No one seems to take notice, I see?” he glanced at Jasper, wiggling his eyebrows.

The entire restaurant did seem to be oblivious of the two men, as Vincent had pointed out. Jasper nodded by way of admission. He’s been gently manipulating thoughts and sensations around the two of them so onlookers will conveniently forget about them. And it saved them from paying for overpriced Indian food.

He had thought about what Niki had taught him on how to blank out selective parts of a person’s memories but Jasper decided against it. How does one explain away almost an hour’s worth of recollection in one’s memory? Not for the first time, he wondered at what kind of life and past necessitated Niki to employ such ruthless method when using his powers.

“Would you like them to?” Jasper asked rhetorically. He stood up and grabbed Vincent by the collar. “Come on, we’re finishing this at my place.”

*  *  *

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Wanda reiterated. “You used your powers to hoodwink an entire restaurant and get out of paying, you kept the fact that you have friends with weird powers like you hidden from me…”

“To be fair,” Vincent interjected. “He was the weird one. And I’m not like him. I’m a clairvoyant.”

“Meaning, what exactly?” Wanda asked testily, curious despite her mounting annoyance. It doesn’t take an empath to figure that one out. For the moment, her train of thought had been derailed by Vincent’s interruption.

The two of them had returned from their free dinner feeling like two naughty schoolboys playing truant. When Jasper and Vincent got to Jasper’s apartment, Wanda was waiting for them—or rather, Jasper. Ignoring Jasper’s attempt at discretion, Vincent practically poured out ten years worth of history to a bewildered Wanda—who had steadily went from being bewildered to supremely pissed.

And Vincent’s cavalier statements and behaviour is just adding more fuel to the fire.

“I see things,” Vincent replied simply.

“Like what, the future?”

“That’s precognition,” Vincent corrected her, a beatific smile on his face. Jasper could tell he’s enjoying baiting his sister.

“So?” Wanda asked, riveted now to Vincent’s subtle baiting. “You see what, really?”

“Things,” he answered. “Objects, people or events happening in other places in the present.”

“That’s … useful, I suppose,” Wanda commented.

“Oh, it is,” Vincent agreed. He cocked his head slightly, as his eyes glazed momentarily. Those blue eyes refocused on Wanda, and a slow lazy smile appeared. “I like how your undies match your shoes.”

Jasper guffawed, at the same time as realization struck Wanda. Her shriek of exasperation tells him that she’s getting on well with Vincent.