11 December, 2016

I don?t quite understand this place called Rhy?Din. I?ve been here just a short while and already have seen more than I imagined possible. The Circle must not be aware of this place, otherwise I?d have been found out already. It?d be an easy task for them, I imagine. The kind of power even the senior members of the Circle have is but a candle compared to the flame hidden away in this realm. I can hardly control it myself, most days, so I?ve limited my reliance on the arts until I can get a better grasp of things.

If being a Sleeper is like being deaf and becoming Awoken is like hearing for the first time, then coming here is like being a blind, deaf, mute with no sense of touch. Because, stars, the clarity of it all is astounding. I remember when I had that first vision as a young boy, the sense of exhilaration and that feeling of being overwhelmed by the seemingly endless possibilities that had just stretched out before me.
Well, Rhy?Din is like that on crack. Crude, but apt. I can?t say why, but it?s like the veil between mundane and magical is so thin as to be nearly nonexistent. I?ve met some who are not practitioners of the art and I cannot fathom how, because it?s so very easy to reach past it and draw from the wellspring, the source, or whatever the Circle has decided to name it these days.

Hell, just the sheer number of non-mortal beings running around is enough of an indicator. I?ve met more than a handful over the last few days, though Mus?ad and Una come to mind more than any other. I?ve yet to truly look into either one of them and I suspect that Mus?ad is one whom I cannot ever truly know in that manner, but they are definitely not human. Mus?ad, I know, is very powerful. I cannot yet ascertain the nature of his power, the source, but it far outweighs my own. It?s frightening, to be honest. I?ve met mages more powerful than myself but never encountered anything that so far outclassed me as to make what I can do seem like parlor tricks, like a stage-magician?s sleight of hand. It is my hope to understand where his power comes from so that I may study it and learn something of it myself. It is likely, however, that the power at his hands is something separate from what I have at my disposal and so no matter my understanding, I will doubtlessly be unable to tap into it.

Una is a greater mystery still. She does not radiate power in the same way as Mus?ad, though there is something to be said for her own, I?m sure. What I could gather from our brief interaction last night left me feeling much the same way I imagine a rabbit does when there are foxes or wolves nearby. She?s a predator, without a doubt, though I?m not sure what exactly her prey is at this point. I made her a proposition, offering my services, with the hopes that I might yet learn more.

It's a dangerous game I?m playing, but Adam suggested I find a hobby. I suppose I have, for the time being.
Owen twisted the pen, the ballpoint needle retreating into the round black container. The clip was slid over the binding of the thin journal bound in a black faux-leather material before he lifted the cover to shut it. His fingers raked across the desk to drag the journal away as he rose and turned to flick off the little desk lamp. The incandescent bulb retained some glow of energy for the short moments after its shut-off and then the room was utterly dark.

?Lux,? Owen said, and a ball of warm light hovered in the air a few inches above and in front of him. He reached for the glowing orb and plucked it from the air, then tossed it across the room to where it zoomed, leaving behind a trail not unlike a comet?s tail before stopping above the small cot in his room.

?Not there,? he said, pointing toward the foot of the cot. ?There.?

The light bobbed with apparent irritation before lazily making its way down to the foot of the cot, casting its warm glow over the heavy wooden trunk bound with straps of leather and bars of iron. He went to his knees in front of the trunk and ran fingers over a series of latches and interconnecting locks that looked like some abstract clockwork mechanism as one-by-one, they clicked and opened. The trunk lid lifted, propelled by a small spring mechanism inside, and swung back to rest against the foot of cot and revealed the contents inside ? except that the lid now blocked out that orb of light so they were cast in shadow.

?Closer,? Owen said irritably. ?Must you always be so difficult??

The light pulsed several times, the light going brighter and darker again and again before it finally moved to hover over the opened trunk.

?Thank you,? he said. It made a buzzing sound not unlike an electrical current in an old house.

Owen reached past several pairs of black slacks and shirts to tuck the journal away beneath them all. Then he removed a small talisman made of iron. It was round and about twice the size of an American half-dollar coin. Both sides were carved with interconnecting runes and a Celtic knot, however the runic carvings were of a variety of dialects and carried with them a multitude of occultist connotations. Celtic, Nordic, some in Latin and others in older Akkadian linked together to complete the ring around the Celtic knotwork and when read clockwise seemed to pulse with a light so faint that it might have been mistaken for a reflection off the surface of the talisman itself, rather than the activation of any stored power.

He looped the talisman?s leather strip around his neck and closed the trunk. It locked with a tap of his finger and then he went to the door, this time the light followed. The door opened and he stepped out into the lit hallway and paused, looking back at the buzzing ball of light.

?Somnum,? he said, and the orb winked out of existence.

Una Mia for this scene! ]

Una's back was to the door, one shoulder leaned against the frame, posture too comfortable to have been there only moments?and yet it must have been given Elle's exit moments before. The woman's scent coiled around Una, a temptation ready to strike, until Owen opened the door and sunlight filtered into the hallway.

"Owen," she said, the syllables of his name rounded and drawn out. She was slow to turn and face him, one finger shoving tortoiseshell sunglasses into the dark cap of her hair as she did so. Her eyes went first to his face, but it was a short visit that soon gave way to a longer look over his shoulder and into the apartment.

Gulp.

"U-Una?" the quiver in his voice lasted only a moment. For a flicker of a second he looked over the woman's shoulder to see if Elle was out there, but she must have just turned the corner for the stairs and was well on her way out of the building. Owen stepped back, the lines of worry returning to his forehead as he frowned. It took an effort of will not to cross his arms over his chest again, though he did suddenly feel very cold. With his torso and arms bare, the markings were plain to see. They started at his right elbow, words scribbled in black script, runes and symbols that seemed to derive from just about every written language known to Earth. The tattoo was fresh, his skin was still red and raised around the lines of text, and it came just up to that shoulder before abruptly stopping as though incomplete. They shimmered in the light, the kind of greasy sheen of skin rubbed down with something to prevent infection.

"What are you doing here?" his voice was stronger the second time around, less frightened and surprised. He didn't like being caught off guard like that and steeled himself when fixing his eyes just between hers.

But that second of quiver was enough to snap Una's eyes back to his face, as if the waver in his voice might translate over his features and she wanted to witness it. The m?lange of scents coming from within the apartment began to paint their pictures: booze and sheets, skin, the perfume of sweat and exertion, and Una's regard of the man opposite her was longer for all of it, thoughtful, as she was righting an internal miscalculation she'd made.

She reached, but stopped short of touching the markings that spanned Owen's torso, but the weighted drop of dark lashes had a similar affect, and she was unabashed as she flicked the tip of her finger towards his sternum where a rune was inked. "I know that one," she said, and then dragged her attention upwards again. "Invite me in, Owen." The words were as soft as an intimacy between confidantes, might have sounded as a command but could be read upon her face as a request. She did not answer his question.

Invite me in, Owen. Now where had he read about that before? "It's means seal, or barrier," he said. "In the context of the greater piece," though he hadn't looked to see which rune she'd pointed out. His lips curved and formed a small smile that was half hidden under a beard that grew bushier every day. He took a second step back and looked down at her feet to where they waited on the other side of the threshold, and a brow quirked. His frown was gone as quick as that, replaced with a kind of curiosity instead.

"I didn't take you the sort to care about manners, Una, showing up unannounced as you are. So why do you need me to invite you in?"

Una's feet were clad in plain black flats, slight wear on the tips of the toes. They remained motionless. Slim-fitting black pants were visible from beneath the heavy overcoat she wore, which was an unremarkable wool affair she'd picked up in rush.

Her gaze followed his to her feet, tracked backwards towards his and navigated up the length of his body, getting caught in the constellation of markings again. Una was excellent with languages, but in this case the context and meaning were foreign to her because Owen himself was foreign to her. "No? Then you've made a miscalculation about me, as well." The slight upturn at one corner of her mouth suggested she was pleased at that mutual misreading. "I don't need you to, but I'd like you to. Would you prefer it the other way?"

"I'm not entirely certain on the rules for thresholds, most of my contact being with mortals, but I'm fairly certain that if there is a threshold keeping you out, then my invitation will do very little to make this easier on you," his hands shoved into his pockets and he looked back up at her, careful not to let his eyes linger too long in any one place. "But please, Una, come in."

"What 'sort' did you take me for, Owen?" Una asked. One step over the threshold and then another, moving around him if he didn't stop her. She was neither rebuffed nor did she spontaneously combust once she'd passed through the doorway; the smile she gave him had a bit of pique in it, however, that increased the further inside the apartment she got.

Una slowed first at the pile of clothes layered over the couch, but continued towards the table, where two fingers dropped to streak across the top of the chair as her other hand worked the buttons of her coat free. Her destination, once she'd slowed again to study the pattern of the bedsheets with the same intensity as a fortune teller might consider tea leaves, was the window and its view.

The window offered a pleasant view over the more metropolitan district of Rhy'Din. It showed a city sprawling out in the early morning sun, its view only partially obscured by a second set of apartments just a few blocks down and towering just as high as the building they were currently standing in. It was a nice view for a shitty little loft, but Owen had never bothered to look out the window.

"A predator," plain and simple. He watched her move as one might watch a snake slither through the grass, with a wariness that was also part mesmerized. The door closed with a flick of his fingers and he turned to watch her. When she studied a pile of clothes he moved to it, plucking a dark button-down shirt up and tugging it on as she went to study the bed and then take in the view outside.

"What can I do for you, Una?"

Una wasn't interested in the view, but it provided a neutral resting place while she sorted things. Fingers closed around the window frame and yanked it upward by an inch until a frigid gust of wind passed through the spare apartment and morning mixed with night before. She inhaled.

"Ah," a murmur that was warmer in tone as she turned, resting a hip against the sill. Her fingers counted seconds against the top of her thigh. "Then you're correct. We've no need for pleasantries." Owen had recovered his shirt by then, and she felt an enigmatic flicker of appreciation for the gesture?though she doubted sincerely it was for any reason other than his own comfort. Or discomfort, as the case may be. "I don't need any help finding the things that are already my own. But there are things that are not, that I wanted your help with." She paused, a glance raking the apartment from corner to corner. "But I'm no longer sure that would be a beneficial arrangement, Owen." Easing from the window frame, fingertips retraced their steps in an upward line along the buttons of her coat as she started for the door she only just recently passed through.

The lock clicked audibly, though he stood now by the bed. He didn't bother looking in that direction, only reached down for the little kit hiding under the bed and then turned to gather up the rest of his clothes. His things were brought to the table so he could finish the process of getting dressed.

"I need work," he said. "And you need something done. So, tell me what it is you need to find and if I think I can find it, we can discuss payment. You'll find that my prices are quite fair, I think."

He turned to face her while looping a black necktie with gold and white stripes slashing diagonally and down from left to right around the upturned collar of his shirt. He didn't look her in the eye, not yet, but his gaze flicked over hers for just long enough that if they'd caught each other in that moment, he would have.

The click of the lock had the effect of a curb on Una's forward progression, though she was close enough to the door that her hand fell to the knob anyway, then rose to the lock, a light skim of her fingers over its dull surface. "Bold," a murmur that was equal parts amused and vexed--though not because it prevented her egress, but more for what it meant. "Or reckless."

Her approach towards the table was slow enough that he was working on the necktie by the time she stopped in front of him, her focus on the items scattered over the table first, and then a leisurely foray over the terrain of his neck, the red gold stubble that caught the light, the jump of his pulse beneath fair skin and the mapwork of faint blue where sunlight illuminated the side of his throat. "Your prices might be the fairest in all the land, but that has no effect on the fact that right now you're a liability." Her eyes lifted, a fathomless, violent black, from neckline to scour his face, though there was no meeting between them. "You are hiding from something. This apartment is neither warded, nor is it yours. You need money and I have not yet been able to ascertain what kind of risk you are. So, I'll pass for now, and you can unlock the door or not. I will be leaving, either way."

His fingers rolled into the kit and with a flick, it opened. It unrolled to reveal several instruments like one might see on a medical tray during a surgery. He smiled, tucking the shirt into his pants, and then grabbed his belt to slip it through the loops on the trousers. One of the crystal vials glimmered in the light and the strands of hair within went from rich auburn to verdant green.

"The woman, Elle," he said. "She's fae, and I've never met her kind. There are certain spells, certain potions, and rituals which require faerie essence, Una. And it is incredibly hard to come by where I'm from. This apartment was just something to woo the lovely lady for a night of fun. She had a good time and I got what I needed. I'm not in hiding, Una."

"Let's not waste any more time. You tracked me down for a reason, Mus'ad seemed to indicate that you needed someone of my talents. You said you needed something found, asked me if I was good at it. Well, I am. Please," he indicated a chair and then sat down in the second to tug his shoes on. "Sit, talk with me."

Una studied the kit as it unrolled and the contents were revealed, light sliding over steel. Reflexively, one hand sought the pocket of her coat where a similar material ran cool across her palm.

From crystal vial to the curve of his smile, and back. Each exerted a different kind of pull. Two passes around this loop while Owen made his explanation and then Una turned, unfazed and intent on being true to her word even as Owen seated himself and gestured towards the other chair. "I have more time to waste than you. I'll consider what you've said."

Una turned the lock, and without a look back over her shoulder, said, "The tenant will be back soon."

"Probably," he pulled at his tie and smoothed out the wrinkles on his shirt. "I'll be out before then, I just have to clean up a bit. I wouldn't want to leave a mess behind," Owen stood and didn't do anything to dissuade her from leaving this time. Instead he rolled the black nylon pouch back up and left it on the table before moving over to the bed so he could smooth out and remake the sheets.

"Thanks for stopping by, Una."

Unfettered for the scene! ]

Owen had never smoked hookah before, though he figured now was as good a time to try as any. He imagined it wasn't much different than a cigarette. Same effect, different delivery system. So, he wasn't terribly nervous when he stepped into the dimly lit hookah den called Yasmina's, and any trepidation he might have felt was swept away with the rush of warm air that was so stark a contrast to the biting cold that permeated the streets outside.

His cheeks were flushed by a hard wind and he had to rake his fingers through his hair several times to settle it before letting his mind open wide to follow the tiny pulses of compulsion that directed him toward Mus'ad. Even through the haze of the smoke that hung about the den in a thick cloud he could see the man, for the Sight he called upon relied not on the pale green eyes which were locked away under closed lids. It was his mind's eye that had him stepping through a plume of smoke blown into the air by a small party settled on colorful cushions in a ring to the back of the den where he imagined his target must have been unwittingly waiting for him.

Mus'ad was settled comfortably, having spent at least an hour here, already. Yasmina's wasn't exactly like home but it was a close approximation and he felt much more comfortable in his linen shirt here than the rest of the city, which suffered from the unspeakably cold weather.

The smoke left a pleasant haze in the air, thick and aromatic with the scents of applewood and char. The Jinn was enjoying a mixture of woodbine and tobacco when he spied Owen heading his way with eyes closed. A curious sight, to be sure, but he assumed the reason for it would become apparent soon enough. Owen strode closer to his table, surefooted, expectant. A brow arched but still he waited, the picture of patience with the brass mouthpiece of the hose hovering just in front of his mouth.

"Are you looking for me?" he asked quietly.

"Indeed I am," eyes opened as he spoke and he smiled down at Mus'ad. Then he let his gaze wander briefly, looking around the immediate area to check for potential eavesdroppers. "May I join you, Mus'ad?"

Inclining his head, he gestured to a nearby low stool with his free hand before signaling to one of the wait staff. "A pot of coffee." It would be strong, thick as syrup, served with condensed milk. Green eyes strayed to his companion and a smile flirted briefly with his mouth. "Have you ever had the pleasure of a hookah before?"

"Thank you," he unbuttoned his coat and fell to the stool. The little black satchel slung crossways over his shoulder was slipped to the floor placed beside his feet. "I've not. Though I have been told that I'm missing out."

Lips twitched again, angling himself to face the redhead adjacent to him at the low table. "It is an acquired taste. Do you normally smoke other herbs or tobacco?" He didn't know much about Owen but this was a good chance to learn.

"Cigarettes on occasion," he rubbed his hands together to try and help speed up the warming up process. His fingers felt like daggers made of pure, cold ice. "Usually only after I've exhausted myself, though. Magic, it can give me the shakes."

"You did not finish telling me of your studies in that area." A waiter appeared with a glass pitcher of coffee on a tray, the spout curved and elegant. Two glasses set into silver bases with handles were set in front of each of them and Mus'ad straightened so that he could pour for them. "Please, help yourself," nodding at the hookah.

Another house and mouthpiece was picked up. He checked the fitting with the clear unease of someone unfamiliar with what they were doing, and then fitted the mouthpiece between his lips and inhaled just a small amount. HIs lips smacked a handful of times as he considered the flavor.

"What's there to tell? I'm a mage, a wizard, or whatever cultural term you'd prefer to use for a mortal who practices the arcane arts."

"I think you do yourself a disservice to speak of it so blandly." A cup of coffee was set in front of Owen, already treated with a dollop of thick, sweetened milk. "Do you have a specialty? Did your studies give you a greater appreciation for the world and we poor creatures that live in it?"

"Mmm..." he made a thoughtful humming sound and picked up a cup of coffee with a nod of his thanks. "I suppose my specialty would be manipulation of the quintessence, which is what we call that essential something extra in all things. It's magic in its purest form. However, I've lately been trying to expand my horizons into other fields of magic."

"My studies have given me a greater understanding. But I don't know about appreciation. I tend to go against the current in that regard, where my colleagues and mentors would have me treat the world with wariness, I feel compelled to explore it and its people under the assumption that people in all shapes are inherently good."

Relaxing into a reclining position once more, Mus'ad pulled the mouthpiece closer and filled his lungs while listening to the bouncy intonations of Owen's accent. "So, you can manipulate the magical essence of any other being?" Eyes narrowed, pensive, before settling on a small-statured man sitting three tables away, alone and seemingly dozing. "That man is an efrit. What could you do to him?"

"In theory," he affirmed with a nod. His wrist rolled over in an absent gesture. "I lack fine control. People, no matter their true nature, are complicated. Humans are the simplest to manipulate in such a manner and yet I still have a great deal of difficulty manipulating the energies around them, let alone an efrit or something of that nature."

"It requires power and skill that I've yet to come into, not to mention a willingness to truly invade another person in a way that I don't know if I am capable of. In theory, those who manipulate the quintessence can also erase it. Completely remove it from existence, though very few have ever been capable of boasting such a power. And of those few, even less have ever been proven to possess it."

"It is not the nature of my interests, regardless. I manipulate my own quintessence and use it to enchant and create, not interfere with another's energy. For that I turn to simpler means. Fire is the great equalizer, they say."

"A humble man is a wise man," he murmured, pleased with Owen's answer. "Do you think that fire would make equals of us?" gesturing back and forth between himself and Owen with the mouthpiece of the hookah. Smoke oozed through his lips as he spoke, hanging heavy in the air.

Owen studied him for a long moment from over the cup of coffee held between pale fingers. His eyes had a glazed over and far-away look to them, as though he was not present in the here and now. And suddenly they were clear and he shook his head.

"I do not know what you are," he said plainly. "But I do know that whatever power you have at your disposal makes what I am capable of a spark next to a bonfire, to stick with the metaphor. So, no, I do not think so."

Mus'ad inhaled from the hose again, allowing it to sink in and hit his system before responding. "Your honesty is attractive but dangerous. Your fellow students are correct to say that you should be wary of those you seek to know. I do not wish you harm but it may not always be so. You will not receive such kindness from every acquaintance. It is wiser still to protect yourself while you gain more understanding of the world." It would be a shame to see Owen's flame extinguished too early.

"I am a Jinn," to answer the question not asked.

Lips quirked in a tiny smile that was soon hidden by a cup as he drank a small mouthful of coffee. "Oh, I know. Rhy'Din certainly has more magical beings than I've encountered before, but your concern and words are appreciated, Mus'ad."

It took an effort to keep his jaw from dropping. "Jinn," not a question, because he was quite familiar with the term. "Well...that explains quite a bit."

"What does it explain?" he asked with an amused expression. Couldn't wait to hear what Owen knew of his people, or thought he knew.

"Just your aura," Owen's fingers waggled as his hand went high and then down, simulating a shimmering effect. "I can see the power but I cannot ascertain the source of depth of it, and there are few instances where that might occur. It is less clear than say, Una's, which is predatorial in nature. The clarity of hers is a testament to what she is, whereas yours suggests a more complicated role in the lives of mortals."

"Granted, auras are fickle things and not entirely dependent on the subject. She is, for instance, not entirely the predator however much she might exude that kind of energy."

Mention of Una had his smile widening by an inch. "She is complicated, no? There is a charming beauty to her but I would never doubt that she is the predator you think her to be. She does not question her darkness, for all that she does not brandish it as a club." Una was more sophisticated than that. "What is the source of her power, what do you see?"

"I should explain," he set the coffee down and looked at the tip of Mus'ad's nose to avoid eye-contact. "In my world, mages cannot look too long in the eyes of another living being with a soul. If we do, it leads to what's known as a soul gaze. During this time, the two parties see the fundamental truths of one another. Their very pure and most unadulterated nature."

"It's why I don't make eye contact. It's not pleasant to have yourself exposed like that, nor is it pleasant to do that to another person."

"But, last night I did that to Una."

"So, I she knows me and I know her in a way few people can. It is of course only a fraction of a whole, but it is a very important piece of the puzzle. The source of her power is, I think, in her conviction. In the code by which she operates. She is a predator and she is also prey to some, and she keeps that perspective balanced in a way few of her kind generally do."

It was interesting to hear this perspective, weighing it against his own. Head tilted, he listened without smoking or drinking, the coffee still untouched. "Was this a willing thing you did with her or did you catch her unawares? Was there a purpose to this?"

"I caught her unawares, I am ashamed to admit. The purpose was to quell her fears about working with me. She has seen my truth now, she knows the kind of man I am. It seems to have done the trick."

A brow arched. "What sort of man are you, Owen? What is your truth?"

"Would that I could turn my soul gaze inward," he smiled wanly. "I can only infer that I am good, or try to be, and that I trust easily and sometimes too readily."

"Would you do this with me?" He paused and chuckled to himself, holding up a hand. "Not now or this evening. Another time."

He paused a long moment to think it over, and then nodded. "If you wish," he said. "If you are willing to expose that much of yourself to me, then yes."

Mus'ad inclined his head. "Of course,? Now, he reached for his coffee and took a sip before continuing. "Is there a reason you sought me out this evening?"

"There is," he paused to sip his coffee again before leaning forward to set it down. "I was hoping you might help me with something, Mus'ad. I am trying to locate a few choice items. One of them is for my own personal needs, the rest are for a job that I am doing for Una."

The waiter buzzed back by the table but Mus'ad shook his head, declining anything more. "What is it you seek?"

"For Una, I am seeking several items," Owen reached down to lift the satchel into his lap. He unzipped it and removed a small black journal, opened it to a page, and then offered it over to Mus'ad.

A brow arched, holding Owen's gaze for a moment before he took the book and turned it so that he could read it. Green eyes skimmed down the list. "Has she told you the purpose of these items?"

"Oh, this is my own compiling. She knows little of the materials I'll need, but yes. It's to raise the dead. Someone who has perished that apparently has information she needs."

"Ghastly business," he added, turning to pick up his coffee for a sip. "But nothing outside my abilities so long as I have the proper materials and foci."

"Indeed," he murmured. "What is it you cannot find? This ring? Does it have a name?" tapping the word on the paper. There was the temptation to turn pages and read further but it was restrained.

"Well, all of it, frankly. I don't quite need you to gather it all for me so much as point me in the right direction. You and Una are the only two people in Rhy'Din I know aside from Adam, and he is a doctor and knows nothing of the things I seek. If you can point me in the right direction I can gather most of these materials," Owen explained. "What I truly require your assistance with is the ring and an inkling of a rare metal known as dimeritium. The ring itself is nothing outstanding or remarkable, but I require it to fashion something for myself. A magical suppressant, if you will."

"Preferably something made of iron, though given the size I'm not sure if that's feasible."

Closing the book, it was handed over to Owen, leaning forward onto the table with one elbow. "I could find all of those things for you and aid you in this work. What do you offer as payment for my services?"

Owen reached a long arm for the book and took it. "To be frank, I'm not sure. I don't know that I require assistance with the ritual itself, but what kind of price might you set for such service?"

Now both elbows settled on the table, fingers steepled together in front of his face. "For my aid in finding these items for you, you will tell me the information that Una receives from the mouth of the dead."

"What if, by some chance, my spell fails and there is no information?"

He waved a hand, dismissing the idea. "We will cross that bridge when it is before us. Do you agree to these terms?"

Owen frowned deeply and considered Mus'ad for a long moment. Then he drank his coffee, draining the cup, and set it back down. "Very well. Deal."

Mus?ad smiled and inclined his head. "If you could provide me a copy of this list, I will be happy to assist you. When will the spell take place?"

"Presumably whenever I am ready. We still have to locate the corpse, but she has one of her people gathering the deceased's personal effects. Once I have them I can locate the body easily enough. Then it's just a matter of preparing the ritual," he flipped the journal open and produced a pen from the breast pocket of his coat and started to jot down a quick copy of the materials he needed, including the rare metal he needed for his suppressant.

No set deadline, even better. "I will bring you the items when I have them all at once." The Jinn preferred efficiency over bringing them piecemeal. "Shall we perform the mundane business of exchanging contact information?" his tone wry.

"Is that something you need?" he laughed quietly. "A phone number?" he scribbled that down alongside the list of items and then tore a page out of the journal and offered it over to him.

"It is convenient and serves its purpose." An enigmatic smile followed as he accepted the paper and folded it twice before sliding it into his breast pocket. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am required elsewhere. It has been a most enjoyable evening with you." Pressing his palms together, Mus'ad bowed his head over them before pushing to his feet.

Owen mirrored the gesture and rose to his feet in the same instant as Mus'ad. "Of course. Thank you for your time, Mus'ad. And your help."

With a nod, Mus'ad turned away to settle his bill.

Una Mia for the scene! ]


"There's very little that can't be suppressed by self-control. You might consider practicing it." There was a flippant arch of her brow, and then Una took a step back, fingertips going lax around his throat and finally releasing him altogether. She looked back towards the hanging carpets to avoid witnessing the blood rush to fill in the white spaces her fingers had no doubt left behind. The grip had been bruising, but not enough to cut off his airway. Una thought she might regret that later. She felt an inkling of it once she realized her suggestion had no measurable effect on him. The shudder was collateral, though hardly a consolation. "It would have been polite to offer some warning," she said, detaching her gaze from his with little effort this time as she bent to sweep up her fallen coat, hiding her fists and the dark half-moon impression her nails had bitten palms within the motion.

"You're going to speak to me about politeness?" he arched a brow at her, rubbing gingerly at his neck once she released him. "There are some things that cannot be suppressed, Una. The scholars of my world have had to cope with this for millennia and still no one knows of a way to suppress it. But sure, I'll get right on that. Along with finding the cure to cancer and blindness..."

With a roll of his eyes, he stepped away from the wall he'd been thrust against and smoothed out his coat reflexively.

"I apologize for any undue stress I may have caused you, Una. It is not a pleasant experience for either party, but one which I feel is necessary. Now, I believe you have a job for me?"

"I am going to speak about it, yes. Hypocrisy is an entirely different matter." Una disregarded both Owen's sarcasm and the subsequent eyeroll, though the flinch at one corner of her mouth might have been an inclination to smile for the latter. It wasn't a gesture that seemed suited to his usual mannerisms. But then, her exposure had been limited thus far. And she meant to keep it that way.

"Has it ever been? A pleasant experience, I mean." Una folded her wool coat over her arm, backing another few paces away to give Owen room to compose, and gave a single, fierce shake of her head for his latter question. "No, we've been over this. I don't want you for any job--" she meant to go on, but the carpets nearby billowed and parted around the considerable bulk of another who moved purposefully in their direction. She didn't bother with an introduction, but turned abruptly aside from Owen and spoke to the other man, who'd stopped a respectful distance from them both.

"Pleasant? No, never," he shook his head. "No, you said I might be a liability," he argued, beginning to speak over her. "You've seen me now, Una. So, you know --" he turned abruptly when another man joined them in the alleyway. He bristled visibly and the air swept in a way that had nothing to do with the wind tossing rugs and strips of silk and cloth out in the market. A hand reached up to clutch around the lump of an amulet beneath his coat, but he slowly began to ease up when their conversation went on.

Instead, he craned his head to the side in an attempt to get a better idea of what they were saying and his expression changed to a concentrated frown which wrinkled his brows and forehead considerably.

Una's demeanor with the other man was relaxed, a clear indication of an enduring bond their mannerisms. The bob of the other man?s head was deferential. Una slanted an accusing, if slightly amused, look aside at Owen, for the way the air spiked around him, and the sudden shift in current. Her eyes narrowed as his hand rose, but her attention returned shortly to the other man as he replied. The news was not what she'd anticipated or hoped for, judging by hard furrow etched between her brows and the firm line that erased the last vestiges of humor from her mouth. "Amenda," she said, and then turned a half-pirouette to face the eavesdropping mage. Her eyes sought his without reluctance, a quiet rage building within the black pits of them.

"Change of plans, Owen. How are you with raising the dead? Is that a skill in your wheelhouse?"

The worry lines creasing his forehead disappeared swiftly as his brows rose in surprise. "Raising the dead? Yes," he said quickly. "I'll need specifics, but theoretically, yes. What kind of necromancy do you require?"

The 'theoretically' was mildly troubling, as was also Owen's swift agreement. For differing reasons. After a pause, Una rolled a shoulder as if dislodging her own concerns, and continued, "The kind that allows me to ask questions and receive replies. And, the kind that allows the body to move about and walk upright. Aside from that, I'm not particular," she offered Owen a clipped, sardonic smile before she returned to her conference with the other man again. Then back to Owen: "And we'll also need to locate the body in the first place."

Owen nodded and slowly released the bulge beneath his coat and stepped toward Una and the unnamed stranger. His expression resumed its typical frown and he tapped a pale finger against his lips.

"We'll start with locating the body. A simple enough task. I need to gather supplies for the rest. I think I know where to go for that. But the body. I need to know who it is, how long they have been dead, and if there are any personal effects I can get my hands on then it will certainly expedite the process."

The other man drew closer, looking between Una and Owen, and then more intently at Owen as he listed off his requirements. "I will find out how long dead," he said succinctly and turned, broad shoulders pushing through the patterned sea of carpeting as he made his way back into the throng moving through the market.

"That's Besnik. I imagine if you did with him what you did with me, you would see little more than his loyalty." Una offered the belated introduction after Besnik had vanished. "Come with me," she said, sauntering alongside Owen and reaching to twine one arm lightly around his, hand atop his forearm as if they were old acquaintances.

The stiffness that had appeared and vanished with Besnik's arrival and subsequent departure returned when Una closed the distance and took possession of his arm.

"I don't soul gaze with anyone, Una. I will trust in your familiarity with the man. Where are we going?"

"You just did with me, Owen. And without the consideration of a warning, I'll remind you." A pointed reply as she urged them towards the same path Besnik had taken before them. "Are you saying that you don't soul gaze promiscuously?" Her focus remained on the variegated sea of skin tones, clothing, and motion of bodies in front of them, but her delivery was wry.

"I'm taking you to the edge of the market so you can go home."

"I came here specifically to do that," he said. "Because you need help and wouldn't accept it from someone you don't know. And now, Una, you know me better than anyone in this entire city. You know my truth. And I do not need your escort. I navigated the market well enough on my way here, did I not?"

Despite his protest, he did not attempt to stop her. Owen walked alongside with little reluctance, if only because it meant he could get a better look at the night market and its many odd wares and the power they radiated.

"Would you have been willing to subject yourself to that had I warned you beforehand?"

Una found Owen curious, idiosyncratic, and infuriating by turns and, in rare moments such as this, when their progress stalled because she'd turned a dubious look upon him, all three at once. "No, not because I need help. That conceals your own self-serving motivation. I didn't want to know you Owen, and I had not even the smallest desire for you to know me. Curious about you, yes. And then I was no longer that."

Nearby, two drunken sailors stumbled into a wooden cart, upsetting the ornaments within. A hand-tooled metal star clattered to the cobbles below along with a crescent moon, a carved wooden frog, and a porcelain figurine that shattered into a starburst of white shards and powder that dusted the top of Una's shoe. The sailors laughed uproariously and shoved at each other, one bending to sweep clumsily at the fallen wares. The vendor's disdainful expression morphed to one of accommodation as the sailors bumbled over an apology while simultaneously deriding the vendor for the location of his cart. Una watched the exchange as she spoke, "Whatever you saw, don't presume you know me. You know what: the essence? Perhaps the whole? But the parts that made it are still an enigma. Is it still useful, then, or does it just satisfy curiosity?"

"I won't pretend it wasn't self-serving. I'm in need of work and it is in short supply at the moment, I can't let my only lead dry up, Una," he admitted while watching the sailors with an expression of complete, dispassionate disinterest. "It was not to know you. It was so that you would know me. I apologize for the situation I've thrust upon you, for the discomfort I have caused. But I would do it again, because your curiosity may have abated but mine has not."

"I'm nothing if not persistent, Una. You will be angry with me for what I've done and I can't blame you, but it's happened so there's no point in dwelling on it as far as I can see. Use what you've learned about me to your advantage as others have before, I'm easy to manipulate and quick to offer my help to others. I've taken a gamble on you, and that you didn't tear my throat out back there shows that I may be on to something."

Una's interest was piqued by the events nearby, but as Owen continued, she found herself drawn into the mage's strange orbit once more, her dark eyes an assault upon his features, as if the rough scouring would uncover any untruth to his words. But the more he went on, the more naked and guileless the confession seemed and she found herself wishing he'd simply lie. "You are reckless. And now you are a liability. We are a liability to each other. You to me because you have glimpsed things that you did not earn and that will not allow me to comfortably let you continue on as you were. And me to you because from what I have seen in the alleyway, I don't think you will fare well on the road to satisfying your own curiosity."

Owen's admission to being easy to manipulate confounded Una into silence, and she stood there staring at him while the furrow between her brows deepened and disbelief parted her mouth for a hesitant moment before she said, "You are a strange man, Owen. You shouldn't gamble because I've long decided you're bad luck. Every time I am near you, bad news follows. And besides, you should never gamble on a predator?as you've called me?in the first place. That's just common sense. There is a very large part of me that would still like to tear your throat out, that will give the idea a disturbing amount of in-depth attention and ruminate over it the very second we part. Since we're being honest with each other, I feel compelled to share that. And also, that it is entirely likely in the scheme of things that I will manipulate you and use everything I've learned and am to learn to my advantage, because I have an incredibly willful instinct to survive and thrive." As if in credence, her attention had wandered back to his exposed throat, and it was only another burst of laughter from the sailors that sent it careening in their direction again.

The vendor offered the sailors his flask, and each took it, turning it up in a raucous toast before they handed it back to the vendor, who capped it and set it aside before unleashing enough vocal vitriol upon them to coat the cobbles below in filth. The sailors looked at each other, confused, and then quite suddenly were no more. In their place on the avenue below were a golden scarab beetle, and a platinum dragonfly.

Owen's brows quirked up in vague bemusement at the sudden disappearance of the sailors. "Interesting..." he muttered under his breath before turning to smile brightly at Una.

"You're trying to scare me away, but you should know better. I try to see the good in people, and I have seen that you are predator and you are prey. You are not mindless, you are not thoughtless or cruel. I do not know all there is to know about you, Una, but I know enough to want to pursue this work to its end, at the very least."

"You mistake my lack of guile for a lack of survival instinct, but what you fail to realize is that my nature is an adaptable one. You are not the first risky bet I've made, nor will you be the last. And if I should be wrong and I die, either by your hand or by my involvement in your business, then so be it. Men in my line of work die every day, some old and some young. I will count on my good fortune and quick thinking to keep me going for a while yet, though."

"How does it make you feel, Una, to know that you terrify me?" his question was belated and seemed almost absent, as though his thoughts had suddenly taken a different turn.

It was only after he?d gone off into that lonesome alley after parting ways with Una that the hard, cold winter air truly struck him. It came to him with a powerful gust of physical force that knocked the air from his lungs and sent a cold reeling through his body that was bone deep and cruel as any knife. It was only after a few seconds had passed, only after he heard the heavy panting of ragged breathing from his right and felt the warm trickle down his right forearm that he realized the biting pain in his limb had nothing to do with the cold. Owen twisted to face his assailant as a blade flashed, betrayed by a caught sliver of moonlight. He ducked back and saw the point of a wicked and curved dagger jutting for his face. It fell short only because he tripped over something in the alleyway and landed on his backside with a loud crash of knocked over trash bins and spilling garbage. Instinct had him baring his teeth at the man clad in dark rags who loomed over him. His face was a blur of shadows cast by the low hanging hood that was attached to a ratty looking coat with holes in the sleeves. He smelled of a potent mixture of blood, piss, and a variety of spirits that tasted both stale and fresh in the air. The attacker smiled and showed teeth that were crooked, blackened or missing, and sharper than they should have been.

?Come here now,? he said, stalking closer to where Owen sat sprawled out on the ground with his legs spread-eagle in front of him and his hands searching for a solid surface to press against.

?I don?t have any money,? Owen said. ?Honest, I just got to town a few weeks past and haven?t had a day?s work yet.?

?Not looking for your money, Red,? the man crabbed a fistful of Owen?s hair and yanked up. Owen rose to his feet and found that his attacker looked even taller face-to-face than he had from the ground. He loomed a solid three inches over Owen?s not so inconsiderable height of six-one and was the kind of lean that indicated a hard life and a body of tightly packed muscle.

?Then what do you want??

The blade was held aloft, the flat of it gleaming bright in front of Owen?s eyes. He studied it briefly enough to make out the etching of runes along the spine of the curved weapon?s blade and a rather ornate hilt, pommel and guard that seemed to outclass the thug that was currently attempting to mug him. His eyes widened when slipping into the Sight and he felt a sudden cold in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with the weather. It was roiling with an essence not unlike Una?s. Dark, predatorial, and bloodthirsty.

?Oh,? Owen said. ?I see now.?

?What?? the man thrust Owen against the wall and held the curve of the blade up under his jaw. ?You a screamer, Red??

?I don?t really scream,? Owen started, ?but sometimes if the sex is good enough I can?t really help myself.?

The man struck him in the cut with a balled-up fist and sent the air rushing out of his chest a second time. Owen hunched over, the topmost button of his coat slipping free and allowing a round amulet to dangle out on a short chain. His attacker reached for it with a greedy gleam in his eye.

?What?s this?? he asked. As his fingers closed around the amulet Owen muttered a word under his breath and it suddenly lit with a white-hot fury that made the man howl out in surprised pain. He lurched back, releasing the amulet in the process. The man inspected his wounded hand and then thrust it out at Owen to show him the damage done. Owen looked up and grimaced. It had clearly burned the inscriptions from the amulet onto the man?s hand. ?What the fuck was that?? he demanded.

?Give me the knife,? Owen straightened and placed a hand on his amulet. The air thrummed with a sudden pulse of power and it kicked the garbage away from him with a gust of wind. He stepped toward the man who was buffeted by the same force and sent reeling back into the opposing alley wall. ?Give me the knife,? he said again.

The man lifted the dagger and thrust out with it again, attempting to push off the wall to give him an extra bit of reach in his lunging attack. Owen put forth more of his will into the amulet and the wall of air that was sweeping around him strengthened and tossed the man aside a foot or two. He hit the ground hard and let go of the dagger. Owen extended his free hand to it and the wind fled from the protective cocoon it had formed around his body and went to sweep up the blade and carry it back to his waiting grasp.

?You really should be careful out here at night,? Owen said. ?There are dangerous folks about.?

?***, man. I didn?t mean nothing, I?m sorry!? the man turned over and scrambled to stand. He got to his feet just as Owen came up behind him.

The mage placed a hand on the back of his attacker?s head.

?Somnus,? he said.

The man went limp and fell face first onto the dirty ground. Owen toed him with a shoe and then bent down to roll him onto his back. He pushed the hood away to get a look at his face. The man was breathing slowly, his eyes closed, so Owen peeled one eyelid back to get a glimpse at the bloodshot peeper behind it and frowned. He then pulled up at the man?s lips and inspected his now less sharp teeth.

?Interesting,? he said, turning his attention to the dagger that was thrumming with violent power. He could feel it thrashing, feel something alien and cold trying to invade his mind. He warded it off with his will and then stood, twisting the knife around between his fingers. ?Very interesting.?

?Merry Christmas,? he said to the sleeping man as he continued through the alley.

?Oh,? Owen paused several feet away and went back to the sleeping man to tear at his already torn jacket. ?You ruined my coat, asshole. I don?t appreciate that,? he rolled the sleeve of his peacoat up and used the rag of the man?s jacket to stop the bleeding from the long but relatively shallow cut along his forearm.

?This better not come back to haunt me.?

A light mist kissed the surface of the ocean, casting a diffuse golden glow across the water as the sun rose on the eastern horizon. Pink cotton candy clouds streaked the sky, carrying the dream of hope in their spindly fingers.

It wasn?t hope that brought Mus?ad across the ocean, reclined in a small boat while a hired hand manned the oars. There was no land in sight, in any direction, but the young man at Mus?ad?s beck and call hadn?t even broken a sweat. ?There,? the Jinn murmured, lifting his chin in the direction of a dark shape looming in the fog ahead.

As they drew nearer, the young man at the oars called out their position so they didn?t get blown out of the water by the galleon.

Sidling up to the large vessel, a rope ladder was lowered for Mus?ad to climb up to the deck where the captain awaited him. The man was small in stature with uptilted eyes set above angular cheekbones. Corded muscle and sinew negated any idea that he might be vulnerable due to his height, as did the self assurance with which he moved, the ease with which the men in his command followed his orders.

?Hanif. It has been many years. I am glad to see you have not yet succumbed to the waves.? The Jinn?s lips quirked, allowing a hint of smile to be seen before bowing his head over palms that pressed together in front of his chest.

?Ah, the mighty Prince Boustani. It is a shame you are still alive.? Both men smirked and then stepped close for a quick hug, clapping each other on the back twice before distancing themselves.

?I was pleased to hear that you still handled much of my family?s interests in this area.?

Hanif?s chin lifted, pride swelling his chest. ?There are none that could best me. I know everything that happens from the desert sands to the peaks of the mountains.?

?Indeed. It is your knowledge of the world I seek today. I am pressed for time in the search for a rare metal called dimeritium. Have you heard its name??

Hanif frowned and then gestured for Mus?ad to follow him. They stepped below deck into Hanif?s personal quarters where a bottle of amber cognac awaited them. Hanif poured them both a glass before they sat at the small table nailed in place.

?I have heard this word once before, from a friend that knew its value. He sought it out far in the West, farther than any I know have gone. He never came back, or his crew.?

Mus?ad nodded slowly, lifting the glass to his lips while ruminating over his options. ?I would have you find it for me. I...cannot offer the same promises as I once did but you will be paid fairly.?

Hanif waved it off. ?I have heard of all that transpired but we have known each other too long for me to split hairs. I work for the Boustani family and you are still Boustani, no??

Mus?ad smiled warmly, inclining his head to the man across the table. ?You honor me with your loyalty.?

?As you honor me with your coin,? was Hanif?s wry response, grinning at the Jinn.

Chuckling, Mus?ad finished off his cognac and rose to his feet. ?I have always known the name of your God.?

?May He always bless me.? Hanif affected a pious pose, pulling a soft laugh from the Jinn.

?I will contact you in two days for news. Until then.? Mus?ad pressed his hands together in a bow before he disappeared from sight.

Una Mia for the scene! ]


"Elle? I admit I handled that rather tactlessly," he sighed with exaggerated exasperation. "But time was not on my side. I'd overslept," he combed some fingers through windswept hair and then returned her smirk with something that while similar, lacked the kind of wicked edge such an expression generally required.

"Traditional, are you? I don't know if I entirely buy that. Now that you mention dinner, though..." he trailed off, the words dying away and replaced by a sip from his cappuccino. "Never mind. Another time. We're here to discuss business, isn't that right?"

Though she might've been curious, Una didn't pursue the lapsed thought once Owen had allowed it to trail off, she only nodded when he brought up their business discussion and straightened in her chair, pushing the box aside to draw her own mug closer.

"How much would you like in return for your services and in what currency would you prefer the sum?"

"Not money, not at this stage," he stated decisively. "Money is important, and once this job is complete I will of course require payment from future ventures with you, Una. But for now, my payment is the guarantee of continuing said relationship."

Elbow atop the table, Una planted her chin in the palm of her hand and committed to an unwavering stare that lasted a full thirty seconds? silence. "Money is where you opened. Back at the inn, and in implication afterwards when you told me more than once you needed work. Now you are changing the terms?"

"Terms were never set, Una. So, I'm not changing anything. A little money now would be useful, yes. But a guaranteed working relationship in the future is more likely to provide me with sustainable income. If you like, we can set a limit to the number of jobs you are required to give me as payment for this venture. Each of those jobs will be paid for through the standard means -- cash is preferred, as Rhy'Din doesn't have a standardized currency as I understand it."

"I like you. And I want to know more about you. Seeing as you have done much to dissuade me from socializing with you, I will instead take to working for you. We both benefit. You get this job essentially pro-bono, I get some guaranteed future work, and the pleasure of your company."

"You are asking me for future work based on an unproven present,? Una countered. ?You have no one to vouch for your skill, no job history to offer up. That would be a terrible business decision on my part. If you botch the current project, what desire would I have for you to do anything else for me, aside from entertain me with your idiosyncrasies and unusual gifts?"

"Well, I've already found your body."

"So, I think I'm off to a good start."

"Where is he?" she asked, then held up a hand to track backward to the issue at hand before she got ahead of herself. "This job and two more afterwards."

"I was going to go a step further and say, if you are unsatisfied with the conclusion of our current business, then you I would forgo my payment altogether," he smiled wryly. "But I can take that deal."

"To be perfectly honest with you, Owen, if I'm unsatisfied with the conclusion of our current business, I will most likely just devote a significant portion of time thereafter towards ending your life or making it an insufferable hell. Whichever." She gave him an arsenic-sweet smile and picked up her mug of coffee. By now the brew was cold.

"You would like to socialize with me? Were we not socializing earlier?? She gestured between the two of them. ?There is coffee, there are books. I am here, giving you the 'pleasure' of my company and you're over there, and there's a knife between us. I think I'd consider this socializing."

"Oh, well in that case, I'll stop slacking off and get right to work," this time his smirk did hold the required edge. It was sharp, complete with a small eyeroll that suggested he didn't quite buy into her threat. Some part of him did, however. And he was okay with that, too.

"Of course we were. Are," he corrected. "But you tried very hard to convince me not to pursue this. Granted, you also gave in very quickly so I may be entirely wrong about your thoughts on the matter. Hard to say. I'm not the best judge of character, except when I am."

His eyes dropped to her coffee. "Vrei să se ?ncălzească asta pentru tine?"

Una hummed a sound of consideration for his comment on judging character. It sounded inconclusive, but it was his attempt at her native language (as well as the fact that it wasn't egregiously off-track) that garnered her attention next. "No, thank you," she said, and then, "Have you been or did you pick it up in your studies?"

She took a small sip of coffee and replaced the mug atop the table. Her interest in it had been mostly courtesy from the beginning.

A finger tapped against the table and he nodded. "I know bits and pieces of many languages, Una," he explained. "I am fluent in Latin, Gaelic, English -- obviously, and Yiddish. But I know enough of many more. Enough to get by in countries that speak it. Most of our arcane lore is based in Latin speaking countries of the past, but every culture has had wizards and mages of some sort throughout time."

"Is that a no, then? You haven't been?"

"No, I haven't. England, Ireland, Scotland, America, and Israel. Never Romania."

Some part of her felt inexplicably relieved by his admission, and though there was a fraction of a second where the intensity of her eyes upon him sharpened as if to pierce any attempt at dishonesty, Una believed him. "I see," she replied, and pushed aside the rest of her coffee. The box got her favor once more and she tucked the ribbon inside before pulling the whole thing into her lap. "And where is the body? Somewhere easily accessible? Far away?"

Owen reached down into the chair to his right. His small black messenger bag was lifted and placed on the table beside his now empty cup of cappuccino. He withdrew from it a black folder and slid it across the table to her. Inside she would find an address and several photographs.

Unfettered for the scene. ]


Mus'ad strode into the cafe, leather gloves and long wool coat protecting him from the cold. Messages had been exchanged and this was going to be the place of meeting to exchange a good for a service. There was no tie, tonight, for him to loosen, just the open neck of a pale blue shirt to highlight the warm olive skin tones. The backs of his knuckles skimmed along his newly shaven jawline as he approached the counter to put in an order for coffee. Only then did he turn and let his gaze travel over the tables to see if Owen was present.

Owen sat with his back to the cafe's entrance and thus only spotted Mus'ad when the Jinn walked past him. He watched the other man order his coffee and lifted a hand in greeting when he turned to scout the room. He had a weary look about him, the kind of sunken look to his eyes that suggested he hadn't slept much the night before and had been running haggard all day as a result. But his smile was as bright and genuine as ever, a small thing that seemed almost shy to be loosed.

He was clutching a ceramic mug of coffee by the handle. His fingers were wrapped around it tight and the whites of his knuckles sported fresh bruises and scrapes.

"You were not understating your own trusting nature, were you?" he asked wryly as he helped himself to a seat at Owen's table. Leaning back in the chair, one knee crossed over the other and his hands clasped on top of his thigh. "Could I inquire what happened to you?"

"Just work," he waved a hand dismissively. "Sometimes you have to get your hands a little dirty. What do you mean, regarding my trusting nature?"

"The work you do with Una?" Picking at the fingers of his gloves, they were removed and set to the side. "You act as a man that has never been hunted. You sit with your back to the door rather than facing so that you may see the face and gauge the intent of every person that enters." One of the baristas brought his coffee over to the table and he offered them a smile and nod of his head before green eyes rested upon Owen, questioning silently.

"I have Spidey-sense," he explained cheerily before sipping from the large ceramic mug clutched in bruised and battered hands. "And yes, the work I do with Una. Though the scuffle I was in was not directly related to the job, it did occur as a result."

"I do not follow," he murmured against the lip of his cup, brow arching. "Do you know who it was that attacked you? Were you able to defend yourself appropriately?"

"Some security guards," he explained. "They didn't so much attack me as try to arrest me. There was a bit of a scuffle and I managed to slip away relatively unscathed."

"Relatively," the word light and amused as he dropped his gaze to the red and broken knuckles. "You look weary. I will assume that you want to speak directly and then leave." The Jinn's attempt at consideration, albeit blunt. Reaching inside of his coat, a small metal box was set on the table and pushed toward Owen. "The ring that you requested."

Pushing his mug aside, Owen leaned forward and reached out to take the box. He drew it closer and started to work at the lid. "And the dimeritium? Any luck on that front?"

"Not as easily obtained but I will have it for you." He watched as Owen flipped open the latch on the lid. Once it was opened, it would reveal a ring that contained a hollow compartment behind the facade. Dark green and milky stones studded the filigree face but otherwise, it was nondescript. "I am working with an old contact of mine to find you the metal."

"Ah, excellent," he plucked the ring up and inspected it thoughtfully. Something about his eyes seemed suddenly far off and glazed over, but only for a moment. Then he popped the compartment open and probed it with a pinky. "I expected it might take time for the metal. What of the other supplies I requested? How is that coming along?"

"I will have everything gathered for you soon, it will not be much longer. Are you still trying to figure out the specifics of the spell?" One finger circled the rim of his coffee cup, observing the inspection of the ring.

"Mmm..." he slipped the ring onto his right-hand ring finger and held his hand out in front of him to study it. "At this stage, I'm merely reviewing. I picked up some texts on such rituals a day or two past and have been reading up extensively on the subject. I believe I have found a proper spell for what Una requires. I have located the body as well, now it's just a matter of her deciding when to make the move and acquire it."

"Will you encounter anymore troubles as you already have so far in your works for her?" Another sip of his coffee before considering the next question. "Have you met any others of her family?"

"Most likely, yes," he said in answer to the first question. Evidently satisfied with the placement of the ring, he reached aside to pick his coffee back up. "And no, not now. However, our agreement means that should this job go over well, then she will be calling upon my services again in the future and so it is possible that I will encounter another of the Cristea clan."

"Indeed?" The Jinn mused quietly, leaning back in his chair. One hand remained on his coffee cup, thumb caressing the handle of the mug. "What defenses do you have in place besides your fists?"

"I have my talisman, which is a powerful magical focus, and a handful of tricks up my sleeve. My knowledge of the arcane is not limited to the use of lengthy rituals, I'm able to perform on the fly magic as needed."

"You are more than meets the eye, no?" Mus'ad was amused but it wasn't a cruel jibe of mockery, merely an observation. "Tell me, what are these tricks and magic on the fly of which you speak? It would ease my mind to confirm that you can take care of yourself."

Owen smiled and it seemed to intimate that he hadn't taken the comment as an insult. "You know, the typical wizard fare. Fireballs, storms, and the like. Granted, I'm not great at manipulating the weather. I deal more with forces of a subtler nature. I'm best when manipulating the quintessence -- what we call the essence of magic, or simple energy. Both fields are rather flexible."

"Have you thought of, perhaps, a hand-held weapon of some sort? It is not always smart to let your enemies know what you are capable of doing, they could plan a counter attack next time."

"One of my foci -- a rod -- works fairly well as a baton. But, I used to own a gun before coming to Rhy'Din. I've considered purchasing one, but I'm a little short on funds at the moment."

The Jinn's gaze flicked to a man that entered the cafe in a dark coat, face half obscured by a thick scarf wrapped around his jaw and mouth. Only bright red eyes were visible above it and Mus'ad studied him closely while the man placed a drink order. "Is there a model that you favor over others?"

"Not particularly, no. I had a Smith & Wesson M&P shield that I was fond of, and a Barretta PX4 that was also a fine weapon. But by and large, anything semi-automatic with a polymer frame and a double-stacked magazine does the trick."

"You have a great knowledge of these weapons. What was the need for them in your world? Did your place of learning possess an unsavory atmosphere?"

"Thankfully, I've never had to use one on a person. I've had to draw down on someone before, but never had to pull the trigger. But, the world of mages is a secretive one. There are warring factions and constant power struggles for control over certain territories."

"My knowledge stems less from a necessity and enthusiasm and more because, when I am going to own something capable of causing harm, I want to know and understand that item as intimately as possible."

"You are very good at keeping secrets, are you not?" A sly smile formed, arching a brow as his face tilted. "Is that your intent with Una, to know her as intimately as possible?"

He laughed at the implication. "I am good at keeping secrets," he agreed. "And perhaps. Though, I certainly do not presume to own her by any stretch. I am fascinated by her and though she would never admit it, I know that she is equally curious about me. I've always taken to associating myself with dangerous sorts, I suppose."

"You saw this in your soul gaze that you shared with her? The curiosity she bears for you?" Once again, the Jinn's attention as drawn to the man with the red eyes, who was staring at the back of Owen's head.

"No, it doesn't allow one to see anything of the sort. Only to understand the kind of person someone is. Their nature, not their interests. I can tell because despite her protests to the contrary, she has sought me out a handful of times now and enlisted my help and continues to inquire further about me and my life."

"Who is that man?"

Observable behaviors, that was something Mus'ad could appreciate. Smiling to himself, he met the stare of the red-eyed creature, canting his head in curiosity. "I do not know him. Does he know you? He is looking in this direction as if he carries an intent in his mind." Not an altruistic intent, either, judging from the set of his jaw behind that scarf.

"I know only four people in this city, Mus'ad. You, Una, Livia, and Adam," Owen sipped at his coffee and turned slowly in his seat to look over his shoulder at the red-eyed man standing behind him.

Inhaling slowly, Mus'ad held his breath a moment, one finger twitching against his coffee cup. The stranger suddenly looked very confused, his frown deepening as he glanced wildly around the area where the Jinn and Owen sat. It was as if he did not see them at all. "I think that more than four people know you."

"Oh well that's no fun," he frowned thoughtfully. "I prefer to know the people who know me," Owen studied the man thoughtfully, frowning at the bewildered look about him, and shot Mus'ad a suspicious glance.

Brows rose in question for the suspicion cast in his direction. Had he done something? Goodness. "Perhaps if you introduced yourself, it would solve whatever problem lurks between you?" That as offered with a teasing smile that was soon hidden behind his coffee mug. The red eyed man took a hesitant step forward, huffed to himself, and then turned away to sit at a table, staring at the space that Mus'ad and Owen occupied without truly seeing them.

"I could do that," he said. "I mean, I did so with Una and she's told me on multiple occasions now that she fantasizes about ripping my throat out. But my winning personality has kept me alive thus far. I'm sure I could win him over as well."

"Winning personality or stubborn refusal to believe that a creature of darkness could harm you?" Green eyes narrowed slightly, studying Owen closely. "What is it you hope to gain through your connection to her? I sense it is something deeper than gainful future employment. Why would you tie yourself to a creature that admits to wanting to kill you?"

"Oh, I have no doubt that she could harm me if she really put her mind to it," he said with a surprising amount of cheer. Then he sipped his drink again and stared at the dregs -- a few grains of coffee that had slipped through a filter. "Would that I fully understood it myself. I wondered for a moment if perhaps it was something she was doing to me, that caused my interest. I've read about vampires and their magnetism for mortals. But I've thought about it at length and decided that is not the cause."

"I have seen the depths of who she is. She is dangerous, yes. Dark, but she is not evil. She has done awful things, of this I am sure. But I do not believe she is an inherently bad person. I have seen the duality of her nature and find that fascinating and tragic, and I always try to see the best in people, Mus'ad."

"Besides, you've seen her. She's gorgeous, how can a man not flirt a little with something so beautiful and so dangerous?"

"Are you certain that you are truly seeing the best in her, wanting to believe in it, or only seeing the best in her pleasing features?" Shifting in his seat, he glanced to the stranger behind Owen. A smirk twisted one corner of his mouth, spinning another distraction. "Yes, she is beautiful. Perhaps she is not evil, as you say, and even holds some small regard for you. Do you think that is reason enough for her to keep from killing you, should she decide it is in her best interest? One need not be evil to take a life."

"This is true," he set his mug aside and turned to side sideways in his chair so he could watch the stranger thoughtfully while considering Mus'ad's line of questioning. "Part of my interest is scholarly, of course. I've never met one of her kind, nor have I met one of yours. The scholar in me needs to know more. Needs to understand, to learn and make sense of who and what she is. But I do not believe, at the end of the day, that she will do me any real harm. I may be wrong -- I have been before. But, I don't believe that I have anything to fear from her, not really. It isn't that she is incapable, and I know she has killed. I'm certain she has taken many lives. Just not mine. Maybe I am being overly optimistic or naive. Maybe I am wrong. But, it's what I believe."

The other man with red eyes was looking intently at the entrance to the cafe, his gaze fixed there. "I believe it is a fairly recent term: curiosity killed the cat. I trust you have heard it?" Chuckling to himself, Mus'ad waved a hand in the air. "I trust your judgment, your ability to handle yourself. I merely wanted to know that you have considered these things, considered your own safety. Beyond that, I hope you are not wrong." Mus'ad rose to his feet and nodded at the stranger. "Shall we find out what it is he wants?"

"I have, but I appreciate your concern nonetheless, Mus'ad," he nodded toward the strange man. "I suppose we should Will you allow him to see us or must I do something incredibly bombastic to break this illusion of yours?"

"Bombastic," slowly repeating the word to himself with a smile. The illusion of invisibility was lifted as Mus'ad approached the table. "Good evening. Are you searching for my friend here?" gesturing to Owen at his side. "What is your purpose?"

Owen flashed Mus'ad a smile at the repeated word, and then he stood and walked over to join him at the stranger's table. He went a step further by pulling out a chair at the table and taking a seat across from the red-eyed man.

"I don't know anyone with eyes like yours."

Fists clenched on the table as they were glared at. Mus'ad remained on his feet, standing behind Owen's chair and to the left with hands held loosely behind his back. He stared openly at the creature, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. "He is a servant of Anubis," Mus'ad supplied. A growl was heard low from the throat of the red-eyed man, obviously restraining himself from acting out. "What is your purpose?" Mus'ad asked again, his tone harder this time.

"Anubis? As in, Anubis? The Egyptian God?" Owen arched a brow and glanced over his shoulder at Mus'ad and then back at the red-eyed man. "Show me your face, friend."

"He has imagined himself a god but he is a... fizier, a sorcerer, such as yourself. A very old one." Another growl, this one louder and lasting longer, rumbled from the man and he leaned forward, eyes glowing brighter. "We are Anubis," the man bit out, slowly crawling hand over hand across the table. "We are eternal. We have been sent to bring you home."

"Me?" a finger pointed at his chest, the tip pressing right over his heart. "Or Mus'ad?" he leaned back as the man started to reach across the table. "I'm not from Egypt, my friend. I'm from London, originally. There's a small difference between those two places, if I recall."

"I am not wanted at home," he murmured, watching the man with narrowed eyes. He was getting closer and closer to Owen so Mus'ad took a step forward, one brow arched. The red eyes were centered on Owen, a feral smile stretching his mouth and baring his teeth. "He needs you home, you have something He needs." Reaching out a hand, the stranger grabbed a fistful of Owen's shirt, jerking him forward.

Owen reached under his coat, just at the waistline of his trousers, and produced a small knife of no more than three inches in total length. It had a shortly curved black blade, and he held it point down and stabbed straight at the man's arm. In the same instant, the air around him veritably thrummed with energy, a force of will being summoned up in preparation of a spell.

"He can politely keep his hands to himself," he said. "I was sent here. The only people who have the authority to bring me anywhere but Rhy'Din are the ones who sent me here in the first place. I suggest you take this up with the Council. That, or you've got the wrong man. I know no Anubis, either sorcerer or would-be-deity."

Anubis' servant clawed and scrabbled at the shield of energy, leaving angry red marks in the air where nails rent the very air. The blade was barely dodged, lunging for it with animalistic frenzy. "We are here to take you to Him, you were born of Him. You will now serve."

Mus'ad tensed but restrained himself from acting, waiting to see what Owen was capable of.

The table exploded in a sudden shower of splintering wood as an invisible force of pure, raw energy erupted from Owen's fist from beneath the table. It propelled most of the scraps of wood upward toward the ceiling and he swiftly rose to his feet and kicked his chair back so he could take a few steps to separate himself further from the red-eyed man.

"I think that's quite enough," he said, glancing aside at Mus'ad. "Is he making any sense to you?"

The Jinn took another step back, giving Owen room to do whatever it is he was going to do to defend himself. Wood exploded upward and the baristas started, staring with wide eyes over at the tableau. Mus'ad held a hand up to them, indicating for them to remain calm. A shield shimmered into existence and they crouched behind the counter, protecting the money.

"No, it does not make sense to me, I do not know your parentage. What will you do with him?" nodding toward the stranger who was shaking himself off and crouching, eyes narrowed to slits as he glared up at Owen. He struck again, lunching for Owen's legs.

Owen side-stepped with all the grace and poise of a person who'd been picked last for every sports game he'd ever participated in as a child. Meaning, he stumbled over his own pushed aside chair and landed on his back. Despite the blunder, the air was still pulsing with arcane power and he loosed it in a blast of air and then, upon scrambling to his feet, shouted, "Liga!" and sent energy toward the man. Almost immediately, the red-eyed man's eyes widened and he toppled over, thrashing as though bound by invisible restraints.

"Question him, I suppose," Owen said breathlessly.

"Can you maybe fix the table, Mus'ad? I've never been good at mending things."

A chair was kicked five feet away, bowling over more chairs as the man thrashed on the ground. "Your abilities are impressive, Owen." Hands were slipped into the pockets of his coat. The question of the table was ignored for now, being that it was of a much lower priority. "Where would you like to question this man? Do you have a place specially prepared for someone of his strength?"

"I don't have a place at all, Mus'ad. I'm living in the back of a doctor's office until I can scrape up enough cash to get something a little more respectable," he palmed at his eyes and walked over to the thrashing man. Falling to a crouch, Owen placed a hand over the man's forehead and pushed so the back of the man's head was pressed against the ground. "Please stop kicking. I really don't wish to do you any harm, my friend."

One moment, they were in the cafe of the bookstore, surrounded by splintered wood and scurrying footsteps, the next they were in a room made of concrete, the noises made by the Servant of Anubis echoing in the dim interior. Warm light pooled on the ceiling, lit by sconces on the walls in the far corners; no windows marked the room and a thick iron door was the only way in or out.

"Now you may do with him as you wish and none will be the wiser."

He was reeling from the suddenness of the transition and gave Mus'ad an uneasy look. "Handy power you have there, Mus'ad. One of these days I'd like to discuss the nature of your power with you. Maybe after we share a soul gaze," his smile was weak.

"Perhaps you should concentrate on the task at hand while answers rest before you." He was amused by Owen's questing nature, that it might take priority in a time like this. "Are you able to question him or would you like my aid in this matter?"

"That depends on how resistant he is," Owen said. Then he went to straddle the prone man and put all his weight upon him, not that it was much of a burden. "Excuse me, sir?" he asked the thrashing man. "Can I ask you a few questions?"

He cast a skeptical look at the redhead and his...interrogation techniques but remained silent, pacing in a slow circle around the pair with hands clasped behind his back.

The man stopped his thrashing and had fixed Owen with a furious glare. He smiled back. "Who sent you?"

The man struggled and glared, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he spat the words at Owen. "Anubis has sent us. We are Anubis." He was a cultist that firmly believed every word that came out of his mouth, whether it made sense to others or not.

"Okay then," he tapped the man on the forehead and pushed so the back of his head was pressed against the ground. "Okay, so. Why does Anubis want me?"

The legs kicked sharply, trying to knee Owen in the back, a low growl building in the back of his throat. It was guttural, animalistic, and left no doubt that there was very little humanity left in this raging husk. Gnashing his teeth, head jerking side to side, Mus'ad sighed to himself and stepped forward, standing just behind Owen's left shoulder and well away from spastic limbs.

"Iihdai," the word a low thrum that soon slowed the stranger's movements until glassy eyes stared at the ceiling, mouth slack. "Iijabatan."

"You are a gift to the Most Holy in the Far Mountains across the water."

"Oh okay, I know exactly what he means then," Owen ran his hands over the man's face. "Somnus, " he said, and the man fell asleep. He stood, turned, and frowned at Mus'ad. "I have no idea what that means."

"I'm not used to questioning people, however. And even less used to questioning deranged religious zealots. So, I defer to your wisdom in this, sadiq."

A dangerous smile curled the corners of his mouth while staring down at the sleeping prisoner. "Leave him with me, I will find the answers you seek."

"I'd ask how, but no I'm afraid to hear the answer."

"Do you prefer him alive or dead when I am finished?" A pragmatic curiosity without threat.

"Well generally speaking I prefer all people alive," he said, turning to eye the sleeping man with a worried frown. "I'm not huge on the killing department. Sometimes men must die, though. And if he were to escape and perhaps inform his people about me...Use your best judgment, I suppose."

The Jinn inclined his head to the mage. "I shall do as you counsel and use prudence in my methods." As much as could be allowed. "You may leave him here, none but I know of this place. You may trust my discretion in the matter."

Owen extended a hand to Mus'ad. "I appreciate the help, friend. I can't even begin to fathom what this is in regards to. The only people outside of Rhy'Din who know that I am here are...well, my brother, if I'm not mistaken."

"Which clearly, I am,? Owen added with a sheepish grin.

Though it was local custom, Mus'ad eschewed the extended hand in favor of pressing his own together in front of his chest for a small bow. "If he does not possess the answers, I will follow the trail back to the heart of the matter."

Before Owen could respond, they were standing back inside the small cafe of the Opera House where employees were grumbling while sweeping up the splinters of broken table from the scuffle earlier.

Remembering the gesture, Owen repeated it. After they returned at the bookstore. He blinked a little, dazed, and then glanced around at the mess. "Oh, bother. This is going to cost me," he sighed, shoulders slumping. "And what can I do to repay you for the assistance, Mus'ad?"

"You are weary from your recent adventures. We can discuss payment at another time."

"If you insist," he searched the floor for his bag and scooped it up. "Oh, I hope I didn't bend any of the spines..."

"Rest yourself. This matter is in good hands." A genuine smile spread across his face before he blinked out of sight.

"He's going to teach me how to do that."

The small space was easy enough to find - Owen wasn't particularly coy or subtle when it came to disguising his whereabouts. There were many things the man could stand to learn about defensive tactics but Mus'ad debated whether or not that should fall under his purview. Either way, it took little to no trouble to slither through the cracks of the shoddy warding that marked the mage's home.

Standing at the foot of the bed, he surveyed the duvet pulled smooth over the sheets, everything tidy and in its place. For some reason, that defied his expectations. Glancing down at his phone, Mus'ad chuckled and tapped out a text message to the redhead.

Text: I thought you would be messy. You are not. I am pleased.
Text: Will you be home soon or should I come back another time?


The door to the tiny closet of a bathroom swung open suddenly and a half-naked redhead came scrambling out. He clutched a towel about his waist and blinked past the wet hair that clung to his forehead and hung low enough to obscure his vision. A cloud of steam rolled out after him, quickly swirling away on a current of cold air brought in by the open window.

"Hello," he said, doing his best to sound composed and calm and not at all taken off guard.


The sudden draft brought Mus'ad's attention to the open window, wondering at it in this weather. He crossed the space to close it with a firm thump, locking the mechanism against the chill bite of winter. It also gave Owen a minute to compose himself before Mus'ad turned around and arched a brow, inspecting the tattoos that inked over the pale skin of the mage.

Stepping closer, he stretched out a hand to trace a fingertip against one of the lines on Owen's shoulder. "What do these mean?"


"A great many things," he said, wiping a shock of violent red and wet hair from his face. "Warding and so on, I am only just beginning to experiment with such magic."

"But pretty as I may be, you did not come here to oogle me, I suspect. How can I help you, sadiq?"


"Oogle," repeating the word softly to himself with a smile. Such funny words from a funny man. "Indeed, should I want to look at you, I would take my time to do so and not catch you unawares." His eyes held a hint of teasing promise as they caught Owen's and then the Jinn turned his back on the mage, reaching for a parcel on the small table against the wall.

"I brought you the things that you bade me seek on your behalf. The metal was difficult to find and more difficult, still, to mine. A life was lost." Dark cloth was wrapped around a small tin box, the hinged lid shut. Inside would be the dimeritium, as well as the other items from the list that were still pending.


"Then it is bittersweet news you bring me. Might I ask the name of the fallen?" he stepped back into the bathroom, leaving the door open just a crack wide enough that he could hear Mus'ad while he hastily dressed himself in slacks and a shirt.


That pesky draft must have been lurking silently because the door swung open a few inches so that the Jinn saw flashes of a pale butt cheek and lean leg before they were covered in fabric. Pity.

He waved a hand for the question. "Do not worry for his family, they will be well taken care of. "When will you raise this dead person to answer Una's questions?"


"Well," he said, stepping out of the bathroom as he finished buttoning his shirt. "There's a problem on that front as well. The man I'm to raise, Anton, his corpse had been dispossessed of his organs. Chiefly, his brain, heart, and eyes. These were used in a ritual which has trapped his soul on the material plane in something called a phylactery. Thus, I cannot raise him until this item is found."


A slow smile crawled across his mouth, leaning back against the table where the parcel rested, arms crossed over his chest. "Shall you request my aid once more in finding a lost item?"


"Oh, I think not. I'm already indebted enough to you as it is, sadiq. No offense."


"You wound me, Owen, to think that there is such as thing as too much debt between friends."


"Certainly there is. I'd like to start at least paying you back for what's owed before I continue to ask more of you," he smiled, glancing at the parcel Mus'ad brought. "We've yet to discuss the man from the bookstore and payment for the services you've provided me then."


Laughing to himself, Mus'ad shrugged his shoulders. "You are correct, we have no yet discussed payment for that. But we will not at this moment, either. I came to deliver this and offer you an invitation to come to my home next week for dinner. Would you honor me?"


"Your home?" taken aback, he did not press the issue of payment for the moment. A brow arched inquisitively instead. "It would be my pleasure, Mus'ad. What is the occasion?"


"Nothing more than seeking the pleasure of your company. No talk of business or favors owed. A simple meal and the evening before us."


"Sounds like a treat then," both hands shoved into his pockets. "Are we to dine alone or should I expect other guests as well?"


"I am not yet certain. However, whether alone or in company, I am certain the evening will be pleasant. Do you have a favorite dish you would like to request? Perhaps a certain spirit?'


"I like to consider myself adventurous, so I will enjoy whatever it is you decide to prepare. As for spirits, I usually go weak in the knees for a good Scotch or whiskey, but that can often depend on the meal."


"Adventurous is a good word for you, I think." His smile became a grin that flashed white teeth before he pushed away from the table. "I must leave you now, I am required elsewhere. I wish you much luck and please tell me if the dead man is able to be used. If you find yourself faltering, I will offer my assistance." The Jinn's expression turned sly with a tilt of his chin. "I will offer it to Una, her coffers are deeper."


He laughed and combed fingers through swiftly drying hair. "I imagine they are. Thank you, Mus'ad. I will be in touch soon, regardless of how this job goes."


"Yes, you will." He spoke with certainty. Inclining his head to the mage, Mus'ad disappeared from view.



(Thank you to Owen for the scene! )

Owen spent the time during the short cab ride from Una?s back to his apartment considering the shoebox sized container of thick styrofoam that sat in the back seat beside him. The label had been addressed to her apartment and no return address was listed. The contents had been as thoroughly examined as he could manage at the time, which was admittedly only a cursory study ? he hadn?t been to sleep yet and morning was in full swing. It was cold, he wasn?t wearing any shoes and his clothes were stiff from air drying. He palmed at his eyes and thanked the driver when the cab rolled to a halt outside his building, and then sprinted with the package in his arms over the ice and snow packed ground.

Before the door to his apartment had finished closing, Owen had flicked the heat on and gone into the restroom to fill the tub with piping hot water. As it began to fill he stripped out of stiff clothes and examined himself briefly in the mirror. Fingers came up and pulled at the flesh just beneath his eye to reveal the red beneath.

?You?re a mess, Owen Ramsey,? he told himself. ?No more experiments when you?ve been drinking, yeah??

He brushed over his left arm with the tip of a finger and traced a line of dark ink that wound its way from elbow to shoulder and was just beginning to sprawl across his chest. The symbols, letters, and words tattooed on his pale flesh stood out in stark contrast with their background. They came in many shapes and forms, languages ranging from Latin to Russian, English to Gaelic, and so on. One marking dominated the rest at his bicep. It was a construct of his own design, a crescent of symbols made to resemble the moon. When he focused on it he could see the tendrils of magic that he?d woven into the ink.

?How long until you come looking for me yourself, I wonder??

Then he sank into the bath and leaned his head back against the edge of the tub. His eyes turned toward the ceiling. He smiled despite his exhaustion as the events of the night before and subsequent morning played out in his mind.

?We?ll call this a win.?

His phone rang somewhere else in the small apartment. Owen frowned and half-climbed out of the tub. Then, deciding it could wait, he fell back into the hot water and closed the door to the restroom with a flick of his wrist and an effort of will.

Snatching up a towel from the nearby rack, Owen climbed out of the tub and unstopped the drain. He left it and the restroom behind to pad with bare, wet feet across the cold concrete floor of his apartment. The warmth blasting from the vents did little to cut that chill, unfortunately. He?d have to do something about that in the future. His phone was resting at the edge of a small dining table, which had been shoved against the wall to make room for the enormous chalk drawing of magic circles that dominated most of the dining area floor.

?Oh, that won?t do,? he stooped down to smudge some of the chalk with a finger, breaking the connections and dispelling the circle of its power. Then he plucked his phone up from the table and checked through the messages he?d missed during his impromptu visit to Una?s.

His expression darkened. The call had been from a blocked number, and that same number had sent him a picture. When he viewed the message, he was greeted by a photograph of his brother, Cavan, who stood amidst a crowd of upper class white twenty-somethings who were dressed to the nines and holding expensive drinks in funny shaped glasses. The backdrop looked like a dance floor at a club. It was dark, multicolored lights lined what looked like the edge of the dance floor, and the angle seemed to have been taken from a balcony overlooking the venue.

More concerning at the moment than the simple fact that he?d received a picture of his brother from an unknown party, was that the photo had been digitally stamped with the same symbol he?d seen dominating a series of arcane scripture that tattooed a cultist following a man who went by the name Anubis earlier that night.

?Oh dear,? he said. ?Cavan, what trouble have you gotten me into this time??

Sighing, Owen went to get dressed and then sat down at a tiny desk to write a letter.

Just as he?d finished there came a knock at his door. He sealed the letter with a dark wax and blew to hasten the drying before standing and crossing his small apartment to answer the door.

?Mr. Owen Ramsey?? asked a courier wearing a black ballcap and canvas pants.

?That?s me.?

?Package for you, sir,? the courier held out a small styrofoam box. Owen struggled not to frown as he accepted the package.

?Thank you. Do I need to sign for anything??

?Uh, yeah,? the courier held out a pad. Owen signed, thanked the man again, and closed the door.

He set the package down on the table and studied the label. Addressed to him, no return information. Then he opened it, sighed, replaced the lid and picked up his phone.

?Hi, Una. You?ll never guess what just showed up at my door.?