Fixed and Consequent

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 26, Eighteen Four

I like Jace. Cam didn?t, not when she first met him. She thought he was kind of snotty and arrogant, like a lot of the guys are around here. I mean, all you have to be is male and reasonably mobile for most of the woman around here to swoon over you, I suppose even I get a little snippy about it.

I worry some, because Jace seems to be the sort that doesn?t stay. I don?t know if they?ll be together forever or anything, but I can see them being friends. Sometimes, they seem better at that. Being friends. I think that?s more important.

On Valentines, Cam stayed home, and I know she was out of sorts. I had work, so I left her some little toys and candy, and a video of ?Godzilla? because I like to sing her Gonzos ?Camilla? song. But Jace showed up out of the blue and took her out.

I asked where they went the next morning, and she blushed, and finally said that they?d gone to the submarine races. Which really confused me. It was night, and submarines go under the water anyhow, and they can?t be easy to see from the beach even in day time. And why would that get a blush? I don?t understand couples.

Jace was there the last day Cam was at her apartment. The last night. The psychiatrist had given her address to the thugs after her. One was watching her. She knew it, she knew it was coming, she freaked out... I guess it was a complete psychotic episode. She even knocked over the Fender Rhodes keyboard. It was okay, though, she just loosed a few tubes and broke the cord, I fixed that in an hour.

He was kind of trying to pick through the mess, and I guess he finally realized there was someone watching Cam. Anyhow, I got there as he was walking out and just... Well, I was stunned. Jace wasn?t leaving, though, he found the guy that did it and grabbed him.

We already knew who, this guy gave us where, and he screamed a lot. That?s really annoying. If you?re going to hand out cruelty, you should be prepared to accept at least as much as you?ve given, after all. I guess most of these thug sorts are too arrogant to think they could end up on the wrong end of a boot on your testicals. That was kind of creative, but it took too much time for my tastes.

I was able to deaden off the sound, so it wasn?t like Jace or Cam had to hurry. I don?t think in terms of personal revenge in the sense of an eye for an eye and returning what was given, to me, it?s either make my point and assume they?re smart enough to listen or to simply remove the problem. I guess because Dad?s so businesslike about it, and not too many people are stupid enough to mess with he or Mom.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 27, Eighteen Four

The study ended, everything they had on me was inconclusive, I tried not to be horribly surprised. I wasn?t, but it hurt. It hurt a lot that time. Maybe because I?ve been out on my own for a while, or just because I?ve been hearing it for so long.

We don?t know why. We don?t know how. We don?t know how to stop it. We can just barely make you comfortable. I just went home and stayed with Mom and Dad a few days. Holed up like a wounded animal, I guess.

Nothing?s changed. Why would it? I?ve barely changed. I?ve gotten taller. I?ve learned more. I?ve sort of half-assed gone through puberty. I?m just glad I don?t have to shave.

I remember being little and watching Dad shaving. I was so fascinated by the straight edge and lather, that had to be the epitome of being an adult. Sometimes, he?d dot the foam on my nose, sometimes he?d let me pretend to shave.

I guess a lot of what I feel came as I got older and learned more. He always was happy with me then, I know. I suppose I?m not, and try to see myself through eyes that aren?t mine. But they are.

It?s like looking in the mirror, and your reflection isn?t happy with what it sees. That scares me. A lot. If I listen to that reflection too much... I lose.

Fixed and consequent. Image and mage, I. Game, I. I don?t like that. I?m so afraid, sometimes. I?ve been on the other side of the mirror. But all I wanted was to get back.

We always do that. Dorothy, Alice, Odysseus, the Darling children, willingly set off for fantastic adventure, and then they just wanted to go home. Mainly girls I guess, but even Tom Sawyer looked back...

Always looked back. Mom always looks back. She can?t remember when she was born, but she always looks back. Maybe to find what she forgot, to step back and help someone that spurned her get back up, to try and fix things. I don?t know. When she?s mad at someone she loves, even when they?ve done things she can?t forgive, she doesn?t often talk about that. She talks about what was before.

This week was such hell I don?t know what I?m thinking, let alone writing. Why am I writing? For who? I have all these journals and I don?t know why. This week, this now, not... two or three months ago. April. Almost May. I don?t know what day it is. I don?t know what time it is. I picked myself up off the porch a while ago, my whole body aches, I?m afraid to look in the mirror.

It?s raining. Thunder, a little lightning. My mind is restless, there?s nothing I can do about it. Everything that happened this week will have to wait its turn.

I always feel like such a junkie when I take something so I?ll sleep. A lot probably started like this. Hurting and needing sleep. It bothers me to know it?s something that won?t ever end. I take the same now as I did when I weighed one hundred and twenty pounds, though. That?s comforting.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 28, Eighteen Four


I wasn?t doing all that well. I don?t know, maybe I picked up a virus, maybe I was just tired and worn out. All I knew is everything was so bloody hard on me. It felt like slamming my head to the wall over and over and over again.

The only quiet I got was working. That happens sometimes. I can?t sleep, everything haunting me beats on me like pick hammers in the hands of drunken dwarves in the motherlode. When I work, I push it all aside, and sometimes for the first time in days, I?ll have peace.

I wasn?t particularly pleasant, I wasn?t trying, either. I wanted whatever I had left to be left alone, and that wasn?t going to help. I had a few bad seizures, I hurt myself pretty badly with them. Bruises, but I cut the hell out of my side on some glass, I think. It healed all right, it just hurt.

Bruises are such a part of my life, it amazes me that some people get off on pain. It?s all right, though, I know how to deal with the people who say they do. They?re easier than those that don?t care for it, really.

Being quiet and introspective, though, upsets a lot of people, and I found myself every morning for a week and more in arguments over the fact that I?m not putting them down, I?m just prone to depression, and it has nothing in the world to do with them.

I can?t smile a lot, Spirits, I?d like to, but I can?t. It?s impossible. I can?t do a lot of things. That overwhelms what I can do sometimes. I?ll tell them what?s wrong, if I know, but I can?t magically make myself stop hurting over it. I wish I could. I don?t know why anyone expects that of me.

Going rounds with Feathyre, and especially after she?d just been gotten back from some place that snatched her, was constant for a while. I wanted to smack her silly, she would see a nice looking guy and be willing to follow him anywhere.

What was really weird was suddenly there were two guys who looked and acted enough like me to really give me the creeps. One gay, the other bisexual, and why do I know this? Because they were practically wearing T-Shirts proclaiming it. It was about every other word out of their mouths.

One even purrs. That was disturbing as hell, to say the least. It?s not comfortable thinking you?ve been cloned, but I?ve been told that it?s common. People see someone they think is neat or good looking, and they will run off to the vast bank of plastic surgeons here to have themselves made over into that person. Particularly if they can?t get sex from that person.

Anyhow, this is all going on, and Feathyre and I meet up with this girl named Rome. I remembered her from about a year before, she was some sort of trader. She got Ace a rare Harley Davidson out of some database of sellers without any trouble at all.

We come walking up, and she?s staring at Feathyre, all these odd technological gadgets aimed at her, and I panicked. For all I know, she?s scanning to see if anyone?s wanting to buy a hippogriff.

Then she kept talking like Feathyre was a thing, not a person. I suppose it?s natural to assume Feathyre?s an animal, but it?s not natural to me. It bothered me, and I wasn?t trying to be nice. Polite, sure. But it really angered me.

Rome explained that she was just curious and not good with people, which I can understand, and I don?t know. People stare at me a lot, they study me, I?ve even volunteered for it, but Feathyre never has, and she just wants to be one of the gang.

I can understand that. All too well.

Always outside and never belonging. I had my family to support me, Feathyre just now got people who will do that. People can stare at me all they want, I don?t think it?s right to stare at others who aren?t used to it. I know that?s stupid. No one has whether or not they?re used to being gaped at printed on their forehead.

It was just really irritating after all that time trying to make Feathyre understand that I wasn?t mad at her, and that people did accept her and like her and want her around, and here?s Rome. Staring. I know it wasn?t like she set that up to jerk the rug out from under my feet, but that?s what happened.

Otherwise, she seems okay. She seems to prefer to think the worst of Feathyre and I, she?ll either get over it or she won?t. I think she expected me to be a lot more apologetic and smile and all after I realized there was no danger, but I really didn?t feel like backing down.

There?d just been too many people poking and prodding at me, trying to get me to cut loose a spell in public, trying to get me mad, to get me to fight; constantly testing, and you know, there?s just a point where I can?t let someone more forceful than I deal with it.

I swear sometimes people have been sneaking in here and reading this journal. Reading it, and not having the background to know what really I am writing about, but willing to use it anyhow.

It wasn?t a day after I wrote about some of my fears that some freak of an artist was showing me almost the identical thing I had written, drawn out. And then kept pushing me. For what? I don?t know.

The amusing thing was he obviously thought he knew what he was going on about, and just as obviously, knew absolutely nothing. At one point, he was trying to blame me for what he was seeing. Which is really amusing because there was nothing around me to see other than my aura, which is no different than anyone elses. Nanny wasn?t in my shadow.

His attempt to salvage face was so lame it was funny.

I fed him another line. I wonder how he?s going to try to use that. It?s too much to believe he?ll have realized that whatever pithy powers of seeing he has are faulting out here.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 29, Eighteen Four

It?s funny how you can see more details in times passing, but they bob around in a dark sea of memory until something shines light across them. That happened again.

The very reason I really wanted to talk to Zip all those weeks ago was that I had seen Alec return. He hadn?t seen Zane, didn?t seem upset in the slightest. He simply took back with Fae and that grinning moron Nemo, talking about how Nemo would make some special thing that would keep Alec from needing all this wild sex and wandering.

Two faced little prick. I try not to say anything, but I really have to bite my tongue when I see Nemo pop up and be all buddy pals with Zane, then with Fae. Fae excuses it by saying that she loves those that are unlovable, Zane just kind of shrugs it off.

Disloyal bastards.

But I saw him. I saw Alec. He didn?t give a damn about his so called best friend. Didn?t remember. That is so utterly convenient. Does something monsterously viscous to a loved one, but it?s his evil self doing it, and then that?s killed but he never stays dead and voila, hopefully after all the turmoil is died down and whoever still cares for him starts missing him, back he comes without a memory in the world of his actions, tra la.

If he?s so bloody powerful, why can?t he control his own evil self? Maybe that?s not fair, but neither is getting your arm ripped off and eaten.

That was after Zane told me what happened. Oh, certainly, finally he goes to sit with Zane, but even after talking to her, he never told Fae. Just left her to wait. And wait. And wait. Then both of them. I wonder if he left again because he figured Zane would do his dirty work for him.

Either way, he could pop back up if Fae or Zane or both got tired of waiting for him and have a lovely drama over how no one really truly loves him because they?re not willing to wait for unspecified weeks, months, years at a time for his sorry ass.

Oh, but he?s a wanderer, it?s his way. If it?s his way, why in hell is he cuddling up to people who are not that way and asking them to prove that they can really love him? That?s absurd and cruel.

I wonder how many of these ?walkabouts? of his came up because he was bored with a current lover and left long enough for them to give up and move on. Probably all of them. He can return to announce he was right all along, everyone sucks, and neatly gloss over the fact that he had broken promises long before they did.

He promised to be true and there for Fae. He broke that. Twice, at the very least. I don?t believe for a moment that he?ll do any better with Zane. It?ll be worse, because she moves back to understanding friend the moment she?s inconveniently in love with him.

It kills me to see her doing this to herself. Her entire life on hold for someone who insists he can change and be there for her and then promptly announces he can?t help what he does, and either she accepts it entire or she doesn?t love him at all.

It would be so much easier if he?d actually be there. For longer than a day. Maybe he is all what Zane insists he is, but all I can see is a shiftless bastard who has caused her far more pain than joy, who makes her prove herself constantly while proving nothing in return.

I keep telling her she doesn?t need him to be special. She was special before she met him. She?s not special because she can tolerate him. Fae does the same with that collection of freak show rejects, but at least they are around more.

Too bad they don?t disappear for months at a time without word. When they?re gone, Fae actually starts to blossom a little. When they?re there, they pull the petals off as quick as they can.

I think the ultimate irony here is that I probably torture myself over it more than they do.

Well. Anyhow. A few goons made a few sloppy hit attempts on me. Nothing more than a couple of obvious big guys trying to close in on me as I was walking to or from work. Nesbitt, the man who works the apothocary counter days, made pretty short work of them.

I think he ate them. I didn?t ask. You don?t ask a drunken half wight ex battle mage what he does with the bodies.

And there was Zip, too.

Horam gave me a dagger, it was beautiful. It was a tooth of a wyvern, and it held on it the poison from the beasts tail, a paralytic. I kept it on me, I tested and replicated the poison, it was remarkable stuff.

Then Cam gave me a tiny baggy. Ricin. It had been in Sams pocket watch when she gave it to me. She didn?t know. She finally found the last pieces of the puzzle.

Sam started working for the mob. It was the only way out of a bad situation that he could see. He did well, but finally was told to wipe out a rival family using the ricin. He balked because they wanted the entire family killed, children and all.

Essentially, they were asking a soldier to become a murderer. He refused, took the ricin and hid it. They came for him and executed him.

Cam asked me to suspend the ricin in a liquid and draw it into a syringe. I did, and sealed it in wax so I could etch a charm on it that it would not use itself against her. I also gave her atropine and told her how to use it. Most people say they can?t, but when it?s a needle to the heart or dying, it?s the needle.

Then it was just a waiting game.

[Desdenova]

Street Interlude II

Shadows cast themselves, attenuated horror, along the broken brick line of alleyway. Long, spidery, tainted in their own foul humors. Yet they parted to let the astronomer pass. Hissing things, pulling and drawing at his own shadow. As if knowing what rested within was akin to their existance.

The hit was deceptively simple. Too simple. No one returned alive from it. A slender boy with no obvious weapons, no apparant abilities of supernature, and so far, four experienced foot soldiers of the silent arm of ordered lawlessness had failed to take the brat down.

There was, therefore, no reason to believe that the hit was simple at all.

Maury Dabney, forever doomed to outwit a name of ill omen, determined to rise above the ranks. To take possession of everything already created, to improve upon them. Big ideas in a world where he had found damn near anything was possible.

The brat wasn?t much of anything that he could find. Fast with a scalpel. Smart. No bragging, no flaunting; for such a young man, it could only mean one of two things: He came from the inner circle of another crime family, or he wasn?t nearly as young as he seemed.

The first was far more likely, but Dabney couldn?t place the boy with any of the crimelords he knew of. More German than Jewish, too pale for Italian, too calm for Irish.

That left, still, a well trained offspring of... Who? It went without saying that the name Jones had to be an alias. Zip Manning sounded more realistic than Desdenova Jones, and the boy had given both names.

Y?know, boss, there?s always that Californian contact. Why risk our own men when good help?s easy to find?

A thug hitman with no loyalties is no worth to me. I like to see how deep my men run with it. Besides, I?m not some blithering New York capo playing high society games to use a ringer from outside who could be used just as easily on me.

If that?s it, maybe we should be thinking of waxing him. Avoid potential trouble. What?d we got on him?

The contact, vague description. Black hair, green eyes, sallow. White. Tall, thin, looks young and isn?t...

Dabney had listened for all he was worth that day, sent in and planted in the sidewalk cafe when the boss and his right hand stopped for lunch. Someone outside that could be bought to deal with men that high up, you didn?t forget a thing like that when you were ambitious.

Here was this boy. Black hair, indistinct eyes, white, tall, thin, looked young.

Make a deal with him and have the best at his beck and call. No deal, and the prestige of offing the east coasts favored and feared west coast freelancer.

It only took a moments thought. A snarl of a grin, and the civilized swamp rat eased after the boy.

Swirled shadow disturbances gave the impression, breifly, of two young men in the partially blocked alleyway. The shadow cast and the cast shadow. Darkness closed, and there was only one, resettling the battered fedora on his head.

Harlequins mocking grin cut acid in the pale lower half of the youths features. Insolence screamed in the slump of narrow shoulders to the wall. The strike of match, the momentary illumination of sallow features with the ignition of the cigarette.

Dabneys features sweetened, country boy bully testing out the city boys nerve.

Small potatoes, aint it? Following the skirt around. What?s that gonna do to your reputation?

There was a long hesitation before the youth spoke. Laconic, sardonic, the attempt for innocent earnestness so feigned as to be ludicrous.

Family matters. What?s it to you?

Bigger ideas than family. Much bigger. You know them all, don?t you? You got all the inside tracks. Why work freelance when you could have a steady paycheck?

Greed clutched and writhed obscenely in Dabneys' voice. Salivating tones in the grim night, plucking at the oddly still, half silhoetted youth. Smoke pooled, pulled away, blown from the younger mans lips. Rattlesnake gaze barely hemmed under the brim of the fedora.

Who do you think you?re talkin? to, Mister? Who am I talkin? to, while I?m at it...

Humor delicate as papercuts in the quiet voice. Dabney smirked his response, added a thrum of warning to the acid humor.

Maurey Dabney. And I think I?m talking to the west coast freelancer. Am I?

West coast freelancer. Hm. Explain.

Greed cut loose Dabneys tongue, larceny and ambition kicked aside suspicion. This could only be that shadowy figure that even the most secure of the dons feared. The only one that could hunt them down because they had used him to hunt others down.

Don?t you think... I?m... a little young for that sort of work, Mr. Dabney?

Mirthless grin, hollow as a scarecrow. A snarl hooked up and made pleasant. The youths canines seemed so prominant in that smile.

Looks don?t mean nothing. Around here, even less. We got a gold paved road to the top, hell, your sister does, you got the names and faces, I got the know how.

Unnaturally still but for the random animation of cigarette smoke, the youth listened. A verbal orgy of power, blood, money spilled from Dabneys lips, strands of saliva sliding from a jackals mouth as it waited its turn to scavenge the kill.

And... If I don?t?

The pleasant tone, the hinting of denial to Dabneys grand vision, it struck the bayou dreamer like a sledgehammer. Snarling from the lechery of power, he had both .45s drawn and aimed at the youth before he knew what he had done.

Oh, you will. Punk ass city boy bastard, you will.

I?ve been told that anyone whose parents are sick enough to name them after Southern Civil War generals is doomed to eternal inadequecy and usually heavily closeted homosexuality channeled inappropriately as aggressive ambition.

Fluid tones, clinically interested, and most of it sailed over Dabneys head. The youths mobile features twisted into a disgusted smirk.

How?s your heart, Mr. Dabney?

Dabney drew back, staring at the bizarre remark. It was the only reaction he had time to make, other than the reflexive firing of both pistols. Bullets struck masonry.

The youth was directly before Dabney. Holding something wet, black red. Grinning.

His heart.

Zip used his wrist to tilt back the fedora, to avoid getting blood on the felt, his head turning, a lurid sneer given over his shoulder while he reached to seize the still warm corpse by the gaping hole in the upper chest.

Eric, one. Hyde, one. What the hell was he babbling about, Scooter?

I don?t know. The time it was when he left earth was the 1940s. I?m only eighteen.

Desdenova drew from the shadows as simply as he had slid into their cover, stepping silently to flank Zip. Unconcerned, undismayed, by the wreckage. He simply reached over to take back his hat.

Zip eyed the astronomer a moment. Clean, hard intelligence burned in dead eyes, and Desdenova met that with the same gently shy demurring as ever. Just another California boy.

Get outta here, kid. I?m hungry, and you should be in bed.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 30, Eighteen Four

Two knights, I found out later they were actually in service of Takhisis, one of the Krynnish gods, cornered Horam in the tavern. They were big, one seemed to be a battle mage.

I realized that Horam was in trouble after I threw the wyvern tooth knife into one of them. Unfortunately, I didn?t get the mage. Horam collapsed, and the other knight was going to smash in his skull with his mace.

A third knight showed up, but I didn?t know that. I just acted. I had to. Even though there were people all around, I went out of time to get to Horam. But that?s when everything went awry.

I don?t like doing that, running out of time. I can?t seize when I am there, but I can?t feel, smell, taste, barely hear or see, anything around me, unless it?s out of step, too. It?s hard to think that my mothers people always existed like that. It?s not hard to think that it helped to destroy them.

Maybe that?s why I seize. I?m allergic or sensitive or something to time passing or being in it?s flow.

Anyhow, I misjudged, I returned to time to try and pull Horam out, but he?s huge, and heavy, and I hadn?t completely returned. The mace didn?t hit Horam, though. It hit me.

I?ve never felt so much pain in my life. It was like an explosion went off in my body, and I didn?t even catch the full power of the blow. I remember hitting the floor. The third knight said something about the lady would be pleased to play with Horam. They took him, the knight I?d paralyzed, and vanished.

I guess I wasn?t worth the trouble, or they figured I was dead, or maybe they couldn?t get their hands or spells on me in the state I was in. I had to get out of it, I knew that, or I would be stuck experiencing constantly that blow. It hurt so bloody much, I don?t know how I pushed back completely into time.

Cam came in then. She didn?t scream, she just got me to the porch somehow and called for Jace. I remember asking if I had a seizure, but she didn?t know. I might have.

I started asking about the submarine races, but Jace arrived then and just picked me up. I think I blacked out. The next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes in the hospital. Cam was there, asleep in the chair. Jace came back, made sure I was comfortable, and took her home.

That was so stupid. I should have just shot the stupid knights. Next time, I will. I was convinced Mom and Dad would bring me home for sure, but they didn?t. They made sure my shoulder was set, chewed me out for being stupid, but...

I think they were kind of proud that I was able to drop everything and even expose myself for a friend.

I guess I am, too.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 31, Eighteen Four

Mom wouldn?t let anyone heal my shoulder because if I?d thought it through as I should have, it wouldn?t have happened. I didn?t dispute that, and I was kind of surprised when some people encouraged me to disobey.

I don?t disobey my mother or father, or any of my family. That would be worse than disloyal, I don?t even know any words bad enough for it. If I don?t agree, I will talk to them about it, explain my veiw, and usually, if I?m right, they amend what they said, if I?m wrong, I accept.

Well. That sounds so bloodless, especially considering all I have written. Talking about it encompasses screaming, yelling, tantrums and sulking. Even so, I wouldn?t willingly disobey my parents. They?ve been here a lot longer than I have and are far more experienced than I. It would be stupid to try and think otherwise.

I also don?t make a habit of forgetting what they have done for me. What they have been for me. I may not owe them anything, but they have earned everything. I want to be worthy of that. I?ve seen bad parents. I know how lucky I am in that regard.

I?m spoiled, and I like it. Rebelling doesn?t buy anyone a damn thing except the realization that they didn?t have to rebel in the first place. A lot of my friends had to go through that, and it just seemed to me that rebelling wasn?t bringing them maturity, it was underlining their immaturity.

Oh, how daring, you got your labia pierced. Won?t Mom be shocked? Probably not, she was the lady on the light tower shaking her bare breasts at one of the last monsters of rock concerts. Won?t Dad be appalled, you tattooed a pagan symbol on your ankle. When Dad remembers shooting down terrorists in the guise of ladies carrying babies with their bombs.

It?s so incredibly stupid it stuns. They?re all over the place lately. They have absolutely no real tragedy in their lives, but they insist that they do, and some even have their stories down well. And they?re rebelling against either the evil ennui of middle class or some horrific ghetto childhood.

Absolutely clueless. They all come off as nothing more or less than a lot of rich white kids with good families who are under the impression that it?s so terribly cool to be stoned, drunk, tattooed, and pierced. That?s being defiant to them.

Lazy, clueless, stupid, brats. If they wanted to cry out to the world that they were there, why aren?t they raising more than their libidos and forcing addictions on themselves while being (inevitably) in some ?band?. Rock, or punk, of course, though they?ve never actually heard either, and though most can?t tell you the make of instrument they use, they?re hard core.

Hard core well raised and kept Yuppie spawn. It?s so deep and meaningful and utterly cool I may faint. They?re hilarious, I?ll give them that.

Meanwhile, their peers are working to make that mark, to make that difference. They?re challenging the slopes, they?re pushing the limits of a vehical, they?re opening the box of music; they?re engrossed in the hard study and work and dedication that it takes to be a true rebel.

These dorks are under the impression that saying the f-word every other sentance makes them real city harsh. I?d pay to watch them loose in Los Angeles for a night. The prostitutes alone would eat them alive.

The funny thing is that you absolutely cannot tell these idiots apart, and they all are bad versions of the older people who?ve been there for a while. It makes me wonder if there isn?t a horribly incompetant mad scientist running around making the proverbial copy of a copy of a copy of a clone: It?s there, but they?re as stupid and blurry as a bag of feathers. With the same impact, too.

Each story given to the clone is lifted from the overheard and half understood words of people hanging around the tavern, with a poor effort to modernize or improve upon those, only having re-runs of Fame and the Love Boat to base their perceptions of modern reality, and they?ve heard of Orange County, but they?ve never actually watched it.

Which is good, because OC is as fantastic a series as Star Trek. At least Star Trek had some good writers and actors on the original series.

One of the punk rocker clones decided to make himself friendly with Cam and I, and he got horribly offended that we didn?t care for the music style, but I was familiar with it, at least. It astonishes me, in this day and age, when all someone can do is parrot off key words and names, but they really don?t know anything else about their supposed passion.

Sid Vicious is God, but who is Wendi O, Black Flag, Anarchy? Sometimes, they can dredge up the Dead Kennedies. Shouldn?t someone who worships at Punks altar know more than me? And that Johnny Rotten already wrote its epitaph?

It was bizarre, but he settled down. There was someone else with us by then, but I can?t remember if it was Jace or not. In any case, we started talking about religion and politics being as that seemed less volotile than music.

I said ?boobies?, which always makes Cam flinch. So of course I wait for the best times to do this. Boobies, titties, jugs, tits, bonzos, golden bozos, I went through this whole list and she suddenly announced she was going to exorcise the evil from me.

Cam pinned me against the booth and started rattling off prayers, so I started thrashing around and smoking. It was hilarious, but all those jaded, faded, seen it all on the streets people, were freaked out.

I?ll wait until Cam isn?t so shaken up over her faith before I make my head spin around. She?ll love it. That?s Dad?s favorite, too.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 32, Eighteen Four

He?s here. HE?S here. He?s not supposed to be here. He must have come back, but I don?t know how, maybe he never left, I don?t know. He showed up, and I tried to walk away before he saw me, but it didn?t matter, you know your own, and he told me he?d be back.

He?d be back. I?m not supposed to be. Nothing was ever said about me. I don?t know what to do. I know I should tell Mom and Dad, but they?re safe, Alice is safe, and they?ll take me back home where it?s safe, too.

Dad?s said before Tombs is better than he is, he has no conscience, but Dad?s not facing him alone anymore, Mom?s no pussy cat, spirits know Jackie isn?t.

No conscience, but he will deal. There are things he wants, I know that, but I don?t know what those things are yet. Almost. I just have to see if they are what he wants. Money, power, those don?t mean anything to him, but killing isn?t his only focus, it can?t be, or there wouldn?t be an end to it.

Dad can?t really want him dead, or doesn?t know how, or he?s afraid of what would happen.

What would happen...

Oh, spirits, it could be killing Dad to kill Tombs.

I don?t know enough!

I don?t want to kill him, and I know that doesn?t bother him in the slightest, none of the bonds that are there, and yet they are there.

I don?t know what to do. I don?t know what to do. All I can do is try to get Nana to talk about it. She?s dealt with him. She?s driven him away.

It was strange, though. He looked just as I expected, except he had one eye that wasn?t corrupt. That was very strange. It was steel gray, and it while it was as dead as the rest of him, it wasn?t corrupt in his influence.

I wonder where it was from. Why he had it. There must be a reason, he doesn?t do anything without reason.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 33, Eighteen Four

They killed him. The man that had ordered Sams death. Zane grabbed him and the shooter, Cam and Jace dealt with it. Ricin, and then Cam just shot them. I don?t blame her, ricin is pretty gross in action.

I had other problems coming up, but they were the usual. Girl secretly adores you, girl starts throwing problem after problem at you wanting you to save her, you get irritated and tell her you?re not there to be someone?s caretaker.

Ugh. Really. What I love is the part where they get all offended and insist I?m putting on tremendous airs if that?s what I think. It?s not only what I think, but I could make money placing bets on the outcome.

Jace and Cam moved in together, he bought a house, even. It was really nice. He never seems to mind me, which I?m glad of. I try to stay out from underfoot, I hate being in the way. Though, for a time, Cam was very upset and was keeping me with her as much as possible.

I can understand that. I know it doesn?t usually last long when people go through it, so I just accept it. It?s easier when they can see, yes, I am all right.

Cam always says she?s fine when I sieze and she?s with me, but I know it scares her a lot. She?ll get used to it, I?m sure, Mom said that you have to get used to things like that, or they?ll drive you insane.

Ace showed up a while ago, he?s kind of like the Marlboro man crossed with the Terminator. He?s all right, I suppose, though sometimes, he creeps me out with the emphasis he puts on me having a girlfriend. He?s too old to think that way, or, I think he is.

I guess he?s really into it, he?s always checking out the ladies, always making remarks to the effect that he?d like to see them in skimpier outfits or heels or what have you. They always seem a perilous line between a compliment and too far to me, but no one else has really gotten offended.

Ace started dating Fae, and they seem to get along well. Well, they?d probably do better if it wasn?t for Faes freak show of backstabbing bastards trying to break them up because Ace is hetrosexual and won?t be stepping out on Fae to have sex with one of them.

Nemo?s another who does the ?evil me did it, not my fault!? schtick. It?s absurd. Or, ?I?m chaotic, haha, can?t blame me?. They have no idea what chaos truly is. It is the most pathetic thing in the world, watching them run around insisting they?re of chaos.

Chaos has become their excuse. It?s a handy shield. It?s a mystical, mysterious, evil force only they understand and it?s all theirs to command. Unless it?s commanding them, and then you can?t blame them for whatever stupid stunt they pulled under its influence.

No longer is chaos the arm of Nature, complimented by order. That one may work with the other to accomplish the aims of balance. I think that repells me the most about those cretins. The misuse and misunderstanding of what is as constant as time and life.

They don?t know what evil or good are, let alone neutrality. They do know what sex is. Even their spawn know that. Filthy. Just filthy. I was confronted by two of the freak shows children, and though they were both under the age of seven, they were jaded little sex fiends. Cam said they?ll both try to use spells on adults to fuel lusts.

Yet I was the one in the wrong when I was revolted. If I was home, I?d have called the police to report the obvious pedophilia going on. I haven?t seen the sick little family since, and I hope my luck holds.

It amazes me that people think my family is strange.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 34, Eighteen Four

Lola showed up again, and she was pregnant. I didn?t even know she had a steady boyfriend, let alone a lover. As it turned out, she did, and they?d broken up, and there she was. Pregnant.

That all confused me. It still does. Why would you not want to let people know you had a boy or girl friend? If I was someone?s boyfriend, I?d hope they were taken enough with me or proud enough of me to say so. I don?t know, it seems a lot of people do that around here. They?re taken, but you?d never know it.

It also made me nervous, because I know Lola really wanted to be married. A lot of her friends are, or are engaged, Rick and Paige; Eliza married Ciro on Christmas; Shannon was engaged to ...Bjorn, I think, I don?t remember. So that was probably it, but I am still a single straight male.

I just don?t understand why she would get pregnant while knowing things weren?t that stable with her boyfriend. She?s certainly old enough to know that getting pregnant solves nothing, she?s been here long enough to see what happens.

Sure, accidents happen, but it?s kind of difficult envisioning a degreed professional woman who commands her own body having a slip of latex or a missed pill or whatever.

I checked to see what the babies were, well, babies, it turned out to be. She hadn?t seen a doctor yet, and a lot of women around here do that, sort of trusting to luck. But it is two, a boy and a girl. They should be fine if she takes care of herself.

I just remembered that. Sapphire. He?s a little blue dragon, about the size of a small dog, and he?s so cute and so funny. He lives with Tyg, which I can?t imagine, because she is such a lady like sort, and well, Sapphire is just plain crackers.

When I met Sapphire, he gave me a Beanie-octopus, it was green. I love it. Cam wanted one too, and I don?t know where to get things like that off hand. There weren?t any in the toy stores, so maybe it was a retired Beanie, or not a Beanie at all, just a bean bag octupus.

So, I made more. It took a long time to get the spell right. It?s a lot of work setting up, it?d probably be easier to just get someone to make more of them by hand, but I didn?t know who could make things like that, and it?d probably still be more money than I usually have to play with.

Anyhow, it is a think tank, and I do get paid for doing stupid side experiments like that. So, I did it as a manufacturing experiment, I got a few brownie points, because the bright young up and coming researchers don?t like to deal with such mundane issues.

Well, if they knew it could bolster their toy collections, they might, except most of them are such scary geeks, they buy two and three of everything so they have one to keep in its original packaging.

I mean, we have Moms old toys, her old Legos and cars and dolls and every toy made for the original release of ?Star Wars?, but they?re to play with. The Ubergeek squad, well, I suppose I shouldn?t call them that, but they are, completely freaked out to find that out.

What really confuses me is that they?ll geek out on things like Dungeons and Dragons, Everquest, City of Heros, and I?ll come in late sometimes while they?re having their geekfests in the employees lounge or conference room, and Spirits! Haven?t they looked out of the window? Or in a mirror?

One of the security guards is a Klingon, Hor?zt, he?s huge, he?s mean, he could split an anvil with his bat-leth, and where is he Friday nights? Wearing a T-shirt that says ?Saving Throw vs Sexy?, playing an elvish girl thief in a Grayhawk role playing game.

I kind of like the T-shirt, though. I guess you have to be comfortable with your geekdom to wear it. That, or no one?s going to laugh if you happen to be a three hundred pound Klingon.

Anyhow, I got the spell down, but it really is a pain in the ass. It?d be good for first artical and short runs or possibly prop creation, but otherwise, as Matilde said, Santas? elves aren?t out of a job.

I made a lot of the beanie octopii, well, I was calling them beanie Cthulus, and I gave them to people for fun. And a red one for Cam, which is what I was trying to do in the first place.

Matilde used it a few times for random objects, testing it, and it just makes toys. I?m not sure why yet. She specified a fuel ignition pump, and it was perfect -- except it was a model, and wouldn?t work in her car. Everything comes off of it like that, no matter what materials you set to it.

I think it may have been in the ground work, it?s based on a ward. I intended to give some of the beanies to the little ones, and I didn?t want anything on it or in it to hurt them. That got tied up in so much of the set up, I don?t think it?d be much worth going back and removing that from it. Too much is hung on that basis.

It has its uses, anyhow, and was accepted in as a toy makers spell. It?s like having a patent. I have two others, both intended for personal protection, that?s really what they expect of me. It?s kind of weird, though, because they like one enough to market, and every time I come in and leave, there it is in the apothocary, cast into a tile and decoratively hand colored by various artists and artisans, depending on what you want to pay for it.

I guess they sell pretty good, I get a check for it every quarter which was over a thousand dollars last time. I?m not sure what happened with the other one, except that they told me it was being included in a body of work for one of their star engineers, and whenever she cracked her objective, I?d get royalties there, too.

It was a pretty nasty ward, I really wonder what it?s getting incorperated into.

I got Feathyre a job here, in the child care center. She always seemed at odds, and the child care center was looking for someone with wings who was also tough enough to offer protection. I understand there?s been a few nasty divorces and security for the kids is at issue.

They were thrilled to have her, of course. Some of the kids also have wings, and well, hippogriffs are protectors. It?s a good match. It?s hilarious to watch them out in a field and in the employees atrium. They adore her, she adores them. I think it?s been good for her, having a purpose.