XLVIII: TrueSight

Jessica laid her head down on the table where Aeron had left her. Where was Michael? She didn’t dare shut her eyes, any moment now she would see nothing except the haze of colours. Where was Michael? I need Michael! Every time she thought about his name a burst of light flashed through the pattern of colours, it was the only thing that varied.

Then it was gone.

All of it.

“Aeron!” she shouted, reaching forwards blindly.

“What’s wrong?”

I can’t see! I can’t see! She wanted to shout at him. Then the patterns stopped swirling and she took a breath.

“I can see,” she breathed.

The patterns fell into place like a jigsaw puzzle upon completion, and then it started to move. She saw a brilliant light floating high on top of a mountain, spawning smaller lights that tumbled down the mountainside until they burst onto the land. One light blurred towards her in a rush, then burst into her vision until all she saw was black spots. One of the lights turned dark, dashing down into the earth, deeper and deeper, the earth closing around it.

“What is it, Jessica?” Aeron’s voice asked her, “what do you see?”

If this had not been TrueSight, she would have had no idea what to tell him, but she knew because she could See.

“The Fall. Lucifer’s Fall.”

Morgan’s voice came, unbidden into her vision.

“You will guide them out of Lucifer’s gilded cages.”

The light burned down into the earth, contained by it but also containing it, creating its own world, its own realm. Lucifer’s light did not dim, and he looked up, born anew. He saw the world through new eyes. Lucifer rose. She saw the fac of the one who cast him back.

“Michael!” she shouted, reaching out.

XLVII: Need

The blurry-water-effect she had described to Delia was getting worse, as the daylight grew brighter her vision grew worse and worse. As soon as she stopped trying to blink it away, however, she realized that she was seeing bright colours in random patterns. It was starting to scare her, more than just a little bit. Blinking rapidly the world swam in front of her eyes. She took a step forwards and felt something knock against her hip.

“Jessica?”

She turned in the direction of the side of Aeron’s voice.

“I didn’t think it was going to go this fast,” Jessica whispered, groping a hand around. Tears flooded into her eyes, “I need Michael. Where’s my phone? Where’s my phone!”

Aeron caught her hand and gave it a light squeeze. She reached into her pocket and tried to find her phone. It slipped from her grasp and clattered onto the floor. Jessica made to get it, but Aeron stopped her, guiding her into a chair instead.

“Sit, I’ll get it.”

“I’m not an invalid,” she snapped as he pressed her phone into her hand. She blinked stubbornly.

This was not going to happen! It was happening, and she knew there was nothing she could do about it. She thumbed her phone, trying to navigate it. She could not see it properly.

“Michael. I need Michael,” she mumbled, trying to remember where it was. If only she had bothered to set the voice recognition, she wouldn’t be in this blasted mess.

“Let me,” Aeron offered.

“No! I can do this!” Jessica retorted, angered by her incapability, but Aeron took the phone and did it anyways, pressing the phone to her ear.

“Hey babe,” Michael’s voice sounded, instantly calming her, “you need me?”

“I’m at the coven house. I need you.”

“I’m coming.”

XLVI: Waking

Morgan had bought a casual coffin, but an expensive one all the same. From the way Aeron told her, she had dressed herself in her best clothes the night before and had called him to tell him to come and ‘collect’ her no later than 9am, which was when he had found her. She had made all the appropriate arrangements, having sent out invitations to her funeral and wake that week and even gone so far as ask Aeron to prepare a few modest remarks – nothing too fancy, she had insisted.

Jessica wandered around aimlessly. The Darjeeling house was empty save for the coven members that were not ‘elsewhere’, which is how Aeron explained their absence. Jessica did not know many of them personally. It felt strange being amongst them as Morgan’s successor.

“Drink?” Delia asked, handing her another glass of white wine.

Jessica accepted it with thanks. Delia was Aeron’s eighteen-year-old daughter, destined to follow her father as Coven Loremaster. This meant she was a brainiac.

“You alright?” she asked her, and Jessica blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes.

“Yeah.”

“It’s happening already isn’t it? You’re the youngest Cassandrian, so you’re inheriting all the gifts and curses. Am I right?”

Jessica looked at her, struggling to keep her vision from blurring.

“Yes, you’re right.”

Delia’s eyes lit up and she drew Jessica off to one side.

“What’s it like?”

Jessica stared at her. What kind of question was that?

“It’s like going blind,” Jessica told her flatly, “my eyesight is going, Delia, it’s not something you can just describe.”

“But is it like being blindfolded or is it like something else?”

Jessica took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Delia was just trying learn.

“It’s like trying to blink water from your eyes only it doesn’t help.”

XLV: Losing

It started the next day.


Jessica was brushing her teeth when she noticed that the world in the mirror was fading around the edges. She had to brace herself against the sink, knowing what it was.

“It’s alright, Jazzy,” she told herself, “take a breath. It’s okay.”

The phone chose to ring, but she already knew what it was. People to tell her that Morgan Mirkhill had passed away in the morning, found by Aeron Smithson. Most likely it was Aeron himself, but Jessica left that to surprise. She stumbled towards where the phone sat and whisked it to her ear.

“Yes?”

“Jessica?”

“Aeron,” she replied, “I’ve been waiting for your call.”

“I thought you might have been. You know, don’t you?”

“That Morgan is dead. She told me, yesterday,” Jessica told him, “can you come and pick me up? I assume she’s had all her things in order and the wake will be in a few hours?”

“You guessed correctly. You’re handling this better than I thought you would.”

Jessica tried not to laugh. As much as she hated it, Morgan was dead, and had given her a warning, so she was as prepared as she could be. She had not been particularly close to Morgan anyways.

“I can come and collect you in an hour. You’re not okay to drive?”

Jessica looked around, the fading had stopped spreading but it was enough to make her worry.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Already losing it then,” Aeron murmured, “I’m sorry, Jessica.”

“It’s alright,” Jessica lied, trying to still her heart-rate, “I’ll be ready. I’ll be waiting, call me on my cell when you get here, I don’t know how fast this is going to go.”

“Alright, honey.” Don’t call me honey, Jessica wanted to tell him, but she left it.

XLIV: Coffee

“Do you want me to do something about it?” Michael murmured, pushing her mug closer to her, encouraging her to drink.

“What? About Karl?”

He nodded.

“Don’t be silly,” she told him, although she was quietly warmed by his protectiveness.

When she looked at him again for a moment she saw him different, as though he was glowing. It was different from the normal visions the Sight had given her, it was never real. This scared her.

“Jazz?”

She shook her head and smiled. Michael had been her boyfriend for nearly a year now. They talked, about everything, and about nothing. She had never felt this strong a connection with anyone before. Sometimes she could feel it in the way their hands touched. There was a connection, physical and emotional and sometimes she wondered if maybe she should take it further…

“It’s nothing,” she said.

“You Seeing things again?”

Yes, she had told him, but how now to tell him that Morgan was going to die and that she was going to start Seeing in a way that she had never seen anything before. That it scared her. That she did not really want it.

“Did you know…” she started shyly, “..when I see you with the Sight, you’re surrounded by this light.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed in mirth.

“Maybe it’s telling you you’re safe with me then,” he said, chuckling.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Either that or you’re too good to be true.”

“Nothing, anywhere, is too good to be truth,” he replied and moved to get up.

She caught his hand and kept him there.

“Did you know…Dreamers can see the past, Diviners can see the future,” she told him, “Morgan says that Dreamers sacrifice their hold on reality sometimes…”

“And Diviners sacrifice sight, I know.”

XLIII: Trivial

Jessica Mirkhill had had the Sight since she was a child, but, like her mother and grandmother bhefore her, she could not see much beyond the small glimmers of trivial events: how many eggs would the chickens lay today? Would there be rain or shine tomorrow? Useless little things in the greater scheme of things. Not like what Morgan was capable of: to see through the many streams of the future into the actual ocean of time and then make sense of it.

Jessica shuddered. Secretly she had always hoped that Morgan would outlive her, that way she would not, as the youngest Cassandrian, inherit the TrueSight. Of course, her actual eyesight would fade. That was not what scared her, however, it was the vastness of the ocean. 

“Guess there’s no use worrying about it now,” she murmured to herself.

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

The voice came out of nowhere and suddenly Jessica found herself corned, two burly arms pinned to either side of her head. She swore silently.

“Karl, don’t you ever give up?” she asked him, crossing her arms. 

“I’m a slow learner.”

“Please let me go.”

“Will you go out with me?”

“No.”

“You’re way too good for Michael, Jessica. You should be with me.”

Jessica really wished she could tell him that tomorrow she was going to turn into a freak because her great-grandmother was going to be dead. That would have put him off. 

“Picking on my girlfriend again?” 

Karl stepped away from her, turning to face Michael, who was casually leaning against the stairwell.

“What’s it to you, St.Claire?”

“Well, she is my girlfriend,” Michael replied, holding out his hand for Jessica, “let’s go, Jazzy.” 

Jessica darted down the stairs ahead of Michael, shooting an impish smile at Karl.

“Karl...stay away from her.”

XLII: Foresight

“Listen closely, Jazzy,” Morgan Mirkhill told her great-great-grandaughter.

Jessica stared into blind eyes.

“Alright, Morgan,” Jessica replied, setting herself.

“Tomorrow I’m going to die.”

“Wh- ”

Morgan raised a hand, commanding silence.

“When I am dead, you will start to See things, not the way you have been seeing them up until now, but to See things.”

Jessica could hear the capital letters while her foremother spoke. She had known that this day would come of course, but it would have helped if Morgan had given her some more time. More time to prepare, more time to read, more time to prepare before she took up the mantle of Seer within the Coven.

“You won’t be joining the Coven.” 

Jessica blinked at the empty eyes.

“But I thought…all these years of training,” she said, spreading her hands on the lunch table. 

Around them the school cafeteria was emptying, Jessica glanced at the violin case next to her. She was going to be late to music. Morgan appeared to follow her gaze.

“Your teacher is detained, you will arrive before him.”

Jessica nodded, taking it for granted in a way that any Mirkhill child would. Morgan knew.

“So…I won’t be joining the Coven?”

“Maye has broken the Coven and gone missing,” Morgan told her, “Alyxa is also missing, but I know where she is.”

Jessica waited for the ‘she can be found here’ that she was expecting, but there was nothing.

“Morgan – ”

“You will help her and Morpheus and Bast find their way out,” the blind Seer interrupted.

“How?”

“Seeing is what we do, Jazzy. You, your mother, your grandmother, myself. We are the Cassandrian line. By Apollo’s Gift we See, and by his Curse they have do not believe us. You will guide them out of Lucifer’s gilded cages.”

End of Part I, Beginning of Part II

How do you end parts of stories that you’d never intended to have parts in the first place? That’s asking a helluva dramatic question. Let’s be clear on one thing! I never intended for there to be more than one part. In fact there weren’t meant to be parts at all, there was just meant to be a continual narrative telling a story that went whichever which way. As usual, however, the story has a way of finding its own route through its own plot twists.

When I first started writing Valerian Night it was my intent to explore a story in which dead deities incorporated themselves into our world, linking themselves vampirically to a particular human. We can’t forget that I started this as a project for my creative writing course at the University of Canberra. Thus the interactive polls, which gave me a direction to go in, if the story was less charitable.

Which brings me to the end of Part 1 and the beginning of Part 2.

Part 1 has been, on the whole, largely unplanned, direction taking shape all by itself (with a helpful hand from those of you who polled in). So we’ve been on a round trip. We’ve met, directly or indirectly, a host of characters who will be taking the stage throughout the rest of the story. We’ve mixed pantheons, learned about ends of worlds, and washing machines that do the laundry by themselves.

It’s been a gentle ride.

Let’s up the stakes then.

Those of you who read my story Cascades when it was going, you might just encounter some familiar faces.

So enter the Morning Star with suitable theatricality, with flocks of angels on the horizon.

And of course we still have an imprisoned God of Light waiting in the wings…

XLI: Caged

The bars of the two cages were golden, shimmering in the light of the room.


“And how’re my beautiful goddesses today?” the Prince exclaimed as he danced into the room, running his fingers over the bars as he passed on his way to the amber throne.

The strange-furred panther on the left hissed at him and clawed at him.

“Awww, Bast, don’t you like your accommodations? You know I’d have let you stay in a normal room, if only you’d leave the drapes alone, silly kitty.”

-Save your words, Lucifer, I will not hear them!- Bast snarled at him, pacing back and forth in her cell.

Lucifer laughed, falling back into his chair, turning his attention to the cage on the right.

“And how about you, my dearest one?” he practically purred, he glanced at Bast, “do you know, Venus was once frightfully jealous of this one!”

Bast ignored him. The other inhabitant merely shrugged, her true-black hair fell around her kneeling form in supernatural waves, snapping around her angrily, the only betrayal of emotion. Even her ice-blue eyes said nothing.

“Well, Destroyer?” the Morning Star asked her.

She reached out and touched the bars of her prison, the gold shook and trembled beneath her fingers. Lucifer sat back and watched her, a spark of interest lighting in his eyes.

“Always pushing, treasure, always testing me, cheeky goddess,” he murmured, and then laughed again, “but not today, Kali, I have more guests for you to meet!”

Kali dropped her hand and turned her head.

-Morpheus!- Bast hissed as the Dream-King entered, his arm wrapped tightly around Alyxa’s shoulders, -let them go, Dark Prince, they are of no use to you!-

“Au contraire, they are going to be very useful.”

-With what?-

“With giving humanity back what is theirs: imagination….and faith.”

XL: Daystar

There was a stale quality to the air, as though it had been breathed before. Her head hurt; Alyxa opened her eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the soft glow that lit up the room in which she lay. To her surprise rather than lying on a hard stone floor she was resting on a mattress.

“Awake then at last, Dreamer?”

Not even Morpheus was that beautiful, this creature was spellbinding. His hair was nearly white, falling over his shoulders in almost effeminate flows. It was his cheekbones that shocked her; on any other man they might have been too delicate. The eyes were brilliantly blue, the purest cut sapphires had nothing on them.

“It’s been forever since I’ve had guests, especially little Dreaming treasures,” he went on, and all Alyxa could do was watch his lips move.

A perfect mouth. Kissable, and tasteable –

“Alyxa!”

She turned at the sound of her name and saw Morpheus storming in.

“Ah, the Dream-King awakened, undreaming! Rested after your sleep, darling?” the stranger asked, half spinning half hovering out of the way as Morpheus swept by him to wrap his arms around Alyxa protectively.

“Morph- ” she murmured.

“What have you done with us? Why do you hold us here?” the Dream-King demanded.

“I have done nothing, honey,” the stranger told him laughingly.

“Morpheus, what’s going on, who is this guy?” Alyxa asked, alarmed by the panic in Morpheus’ eyes and voice.

“I believe we are prisoners,” he said softly.

“In a way you are guests and I am your keeper.”

“Who are you?”

The stranger laughed and hovered upwards, arms spread in an expression of delight.

“Alyxa…” Morpheus said, his eyes never leaving their ‘host’, “I present to you the Prince of Hell, the Morning Star, the Great Enemy…Alyxa, this is Lucifer.”

XXXIX: Lovers

The soft hum of the car’s engine vibrated through the gear stick as he shifted it up into fourth and brought the BMW around the corner and into the residential zone. The man in the car beside him glanced at him.

“You sure this is the right place?”

“It has to be,” the driver drawled.

“It doesn’t look like what it should look like.”

“Nothing looks like what it should look like, Achilles, that’s why it’s reality.”

“Oh so we’re reverting to old talk are we? Fine! I’m going to go out ‘n knock on the door.”

“You do that, if you get shot, at least I’ll know it was for a good cause.”

Before Achilles could open the door however, the front door opened. The tall woman in red who stepped out was unmistakable.

“I told you this was the right place.”

“Stop dawdling, this child is starting to get on my nerves!”

“You heard the lady,” Achilles muttered and lifted his duffle-bag from the backseat.

Moments later the two of them were sitting on the sofa, facing a fascinated little girl and her comatose Cat-Goddess. The girl stared at them with eyes wide as moons.

“Amy, stop staring, these are Hector and Achilles,” Medea commanded, coming into the room in a cloud of smoke, “now you two boys… tell me how you plan to protect this girl while I attempt the impossible and move Elysium and Reveille to bring Morpheus out of the clutches – ”

Achilles waved a hand dismissively.

“We are the best, my witchy lady,” he told her dismissively.

“Of all the warlords Zeus had to allow down here, it had to be you two,” Medea muttered in disgust, “and you’re lovers too. Irony amuses me.”

Hector laughed and Achilles winked at her.

“Saw it coming?”

XXXVIII: Curiosity

Amy frowned at Bast, petting her frantically while she tried to drip blood into the cat’s mouth with Medea’s impatient aid.

“Are you sure this is going to help, Miss Medea?”

“You are a Dreamer, the blood and flesh of a Dreamer are like…glue, they strengthen the Deity,” the woman explained, and not for the first time.

Amy pursed her lips. It wasn’t that she was trying to be difficult, but it was all so very confusing. Bast had explained the ‘Dreamer’ thing to her before, but it had never been all that clear. Alyxa was the real Dreamer, she knew what it meant, her father had been a Dreamer before her, and her Grandmother. Amy knew because Alyxa had told her; Amy didn’t know anything about what it meant to be a Dreamer.

“So why am I in danger?” she asked.

“Because you are,” Miss Medea snapped, and Amy ducked her head, momentarily scared into silence.

For a moment neither said anything, Amy out of silent terror and Medea for whatever reasons drove her to make such decisions. After several minutes in which each tick the clock in the kitchen made seemed to set the entire house into vibrations, however, Amy could not leave it any longer.

“Are you going to protect me?” she wanted to know, her voice as small as she could make it.

Medea’s eyes flickered for a moment.

“Yes.”

“But….” Amy took a breath and decided to just let loose and ask all the questions at once, “what about rescuing the others? Aren’t you going to do that too? How can you keep me safe and save the others? I’m sure you’re a very smart lady, Miss Medea, but are you really that powerful?”

Again the ominous flicker of the eyes.

“I will have help.”

XXXVII: Rattled

-Ares?- Medea sent the thought racing out, like an arrow, -Ares! Burn your Dice and your Game, pay attention!-

There was a thunder strike in the otherwise clear evening sky.

-Don’t rattle the heavens with Zeus’ thunder, Ares, this is important!-

The amulet hummed against her throat for a moment.

-Oh fine, spoil my fun, witch, what was it you wanted?-

-It’s about Bast. The Dreamer child says the Cat-Goddess is not in her corporeal shape.-

There was a moment of silence, followed by another stream of curses. The amulet grew warm and then burned softly, Medea hissed for Ares to tone it down.

-Can you verify what the Dreamer child said?-

-She’s the Dreamer, not I,- Medea muttered darkly.

Another thunder clap.

-Ares, I – -

-Yes, I know, enough with the thunder. This really pisses me off. To say the least. If she’s not there, then she’s there, which means the Prince has another Dreamer. This is precisely what I wanted to avoid!- Ares growled.

Medea blew out a swirl of smoke, using a finger to manipulate its shape, working it into the shape of a throne.

-Do you think we should contact the Arcs? This is more their department than it is ours, I don’t want to have them asking questions later,- she asked.

-Leave them for the moment, the Arcs are scattered miserably since the Prince slew the Messiah’s last Incarnate,- Ares replied sourly, -I’ve sent the other two to your address already. They should be there in a day or two.-

-And if the Prince comes looking?-

-Do you honestly believe that he is going to leave his fortress while he’s got another caged Goddess? Come now, Medea, stay with the youngling and please try to remember your maternal instinct a little, eh?-

The connection ended.

XXXVI: Comatose

“Is she dead?” Amy whispered.

It had taken only one line and one look to chase off the men that had stood on the porch, and all Medea had had to do was show Amy Bast’s comatose body. They were seated on the sofa, Bast on the seat between them.

“Can you not tell?” Medea asked her, taking Amy’s hand and pressing it gently to the Cat-Goddess’ flank.

Amy pursed her lips and furrowed her brow as deep as she could manage. For a moment there was nothing, and then Amy yanked her hand back.

“What is it, child?”

“She’s not there,” Amy whispered, “it’s all empty inside.”

Medea’s eyes narrowed. This was not something she had expected. Bast was not bound to Zeus’ Ban, the law set down after Troy, or even hampered by the Rift; with her followers, she could go where she wanted. If Bast was not in her physical form there was only one place she could be, and it was that very place that Medea had spent her many centuries avoiding.

“Miss Medea, where is she?”


“I’m not sure,” the Witch lied, an easy thing, especially to the child.

She made to light her cigarette, glanced at her companion and got to her feet.

“I’m going to go smoke and think on this, girl, stay here, maybe feed her a little blood.”

“Blood?”

Amy pulled a face.

“Yes, blood. You are a Dreamer, it might help her,” Medea said, slipping the cigarette into the filter and tapping her lighter impatiently.

“Oh.”

“Don’t go crazy though, child, just a prick to your finger. I can do it for you if you like, after I have had time to think….and smoke.”

“Smoking is bad for you,” Amy said softly, a little worried.

“So they keep telling me.”

XXXV: Thoughtless

Amy rubbed her eyes, she was tired, and hungry. No one was home, which meant no one was there to materialize – or make – food. She’d walked into the kitchen and found some of the cookies Alyxa had made for them a few days before and managed not to spill all the milk in her attempt to pour it into a glass. Where did they go? And why had no one thought for a moment ‘wait, someone needs to stay here with Amy’. It was very – what was the word that her Daddy had used? - thoughtless. Yes. Thoughtless. She munched on a cookie, ignoring the fact that there was a trail of crumbs that tumbled in her wake. Maybe she would watch some television in her room. A few days ago a television had appeared on a brand new cabinet in a corner of her room, a corner that had not been there the day before. Amy took these things for granted, however, and did not let it bother her. There was a knock on the door and Amy rushed towards it, then slowed, remembering the things she had been told over the years, even with the Bad Lady.

“Who is it?” she called tentatively, hoping she sounded less excited than she was.

“Amy Dawson?” a man asked her.

Amy frowned. Her seven-year-old mind was trying very hard to remember everything she should and shouldn’t do.

“Amy? Is the woman who took you at home?”

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” Amy told the man on the other side.

The doorknob rattled for a moment.

“I just want to talk.”

“Who are you?”

“Amy, your parents are dead, you’re alone,” he sounded rushed.

“Then it is lucky that I am here, is it not, sweet?” a woman’s voice asked.

XXXIV: Rippling

Medea came storming out of the living room, only to find that she was strangely alone in the entire house. She could feel the residue of strong magics lingering around the front porch, but that was all. She knew, of course, what had happened, the Darjeeling girl had chosen to show off and in doing so had used magics not intended for an unDreaming witch. Who knew what kind of ripples that had torn through fabrics? Medea cursed quietly under her breath and touched her fingers to her necklace.

-Sir,- she cast the thought outwards.

-What?-

His waspish tone did not faze her as she sent him mental images of what she was feeling and seeing. The curses she had uttered were nothing to what poured over the link between them, a veritable solid flow of words in languages long dead.

-How would you like me to proceed, sir?-

For a moment there was a silence, and then…

-You can’t do anything for them without a Dreamer. There is a child, in Morpheus’ Dreamer’s custody. Find her. Perhaps she can do what we can’t. I will make contact with the other two and send them to you. If the Prince gets word of this the child will not be safe.-

-Then she will not be safe, this will travel further, I can feel the residue flowing as I sp- wait. Bast is here.-

The Cat-Goddess was lying in the corner, comatose and silent. Medea bent and lifted her, she was limp but breathing.

-Is she alive, Medea?-

-Yes, sir, but in a faint.-

-Get her to the child, Bast is not like the others, but a Dreamer’s presence can do nothing but help.-

Medea nodded and set her senses scanning, shooting out over the city.

“Where are you…Dreaming child?”

XXXIII: Powers

Alyxa got out of the car with Morpheus and Bast, ignoring the look that Morpheus shot her. He wanted her to stay put, she could feel it, but she could also feel the immense power inside Maye’s house and despite the terror at that immensity she wanted to be there. Bast hopped up onto a windowsill and hissed.

“She’s inside already. Kitten’s claws but she moves fast!”

“I will open – ” Morpheus started, but before he could open anything, Alyxa had simply hit the doorbell.

There was movement inside, quick footsteps, and Maye’s familiar voice, out of breath, exclaiming that she was on the way.

“Oh thank the stars,” Maye whispered when she saw Alyxa’s face, “there’s a wo – ”

“I know,” Alyxa said, “I told you there would be consequences if you didn’t stop.”

“I’m not going to stop! I do not deal well with threats!” Maye snapped.

Alyxa gawked at her.

“Don’t be an idiot, girl, Medea is older than the dirt, she gave meaning to the word ‘witch’ in ways Hecate never thought of!” Bast snarled, leaping past her into the living room.

“This is my house and I will not be threatened in it, not by anyone!”

“You are blinded, Maye Darjeeling, by pride, by lack of power,” Morpheus murmured.

“‘Lack of power’?!” Maye gaped, she turned her anger at Alyxa, “keep your pet God in line, Alyxa, I will not be spoken to like that!”

“It does not work that way, Maye Darjeeling, the more you speak the more you prove you know little of what you claim to,” Morpheus replied, reaching forwards, hand suddenly talon-like.

Maye shouted something that made Alyxa’s ears ring, and the world went dark, fading as though someone had dropped a large blanket over the sun. 

And then simply nothing.

XXXII: Fleeces

The tea Maye found herself serving was not something she believed she’d ever heard of, let alone had in the pantry, she didn’t want to dwell on how it got there. Medea was sitting in one of the armchairs, the TV was now switched off, and a bouquet of flowers was perched neatly in a vase on the coffee table. Maye set the tray of tea down and knelt to pour it, testing the strength; it was just as well that she knew how to serve tea.

“When you say you are ‘Medea’, am I to understand that you are the Medea? Of the Fleece tale?” Maye asked after they had both taken several sips of tea.

“If you like. I’m not really here to discuss me. You have to stop what you are doing.”

“And what exactly am I doing?” Maye asked.

“Did you know that the last time a Dreamerless Ritual was completed, the transition ripped every individual in the Coven to shreds. They’d managed to bring one of the Furies across, that was fun!”

Maye stared at her.

“The stories about you are true, aren’t they?” she demanded.

“Most of them.”

“I intend to go through with it, my family has worked for generations to bridge the worlds.”

Medea’s dark eyes flashed, somewhere in the house something smashed to the ground.

“The Rift exists for a reason, girl.”

“The Gods – ”

“Are not at your beck and call,” the older woman replied, “they’ve sent me to bring an end to this.”

Maye’s eyes narrowed.

“I am not afraid of you, this has been my dream since I was a child, and my parents’ dream before me. I will not stop.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Medea murmured, smoothing her ruby skirts over her legs, “actually... I’m not.”

XXXI: Introductions

The Coven House had been in the Darjeeling family for more than 20 generations, starting off as a tiny shack and developing into the monstrosity that it was now. Maye, the only child of her parents, was childless at 26, and so shared the house instead with the Coven Diviner, Morgan Mirkhill, who, at age 112, was the oldest member of the Coven. Morgan was blind, and often not entirely sober, though what substances she used to ‘enhance’ herself was beyond anyone. The Coven was not gathered on this particular evening, instead Maye was sitting quietly in front of the television watching the latest episode of True Blood, only somewhat disgusted by the fact that she was watching it alone. Morgan was, oddly, not in the house at all, but rather had called Aeron Smithson, the second eldest Coven member to come and pick her up several hours ago. Perhaps she had had a sense of what was to come, perhaps not, it was never easy to tell with Morgan. Much like reading tea-leaves, she left much to the interpretation of others and sought rarely to explain herself.

Maye answered the door only on the second chime of the bell, muttering darkly that she was about to miss yet another cliff-hanger moment of her secret passion.

“Can I help you?” she asked the tall imposing woman on her doorstep.

“Maye Darjeeling, you are overstepping your bounds,” the woman told her, her voice strangely accented.

“Overstepping my – ?”

“Yes...” the woman said boredly, looking past her into the house, “with the Rift and the Coven. Do you know how rare a good Dreamer is?”

“Wha – ”

“Do you know why?”

“Who the hell are you?” Maye demanded sharply, she did not like the feeling of this.

“You may call me Medea.”

XXX: Awareness

Alyxa sat quiet in her living room, her legs tucked beneath her, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She stared out into the street. It was night and the street lights were burning with their soft glow, illuminating the rain-soaked street. Everything she looked at seemed grey still, as though the Dreamed threat was spreading from her mind to the world around her. Amy was staring at her, she knew, she also knew that Bast and Morpheus were conversing in that silent manner of theirs. She hoped they talked about what it meant to ‘stop the Coven’. What did it mean? Four ‘agents’? Her thoughts ran together in single streams that branched off before she could make sense of any of it. Morpheus had drunk from her again that morning, but gently, igniting her pleasure points before drawing back again. It was the only flash of colour that she had seen since he had urged her to sleep. Bast had been sitting on the window sill, her tail flicking in irritation every now and then. Suddenly she looked up and hissed.

“The Witch is here,” she snarled.

Morpheus suddenly came into the room.

“You are sure?” 

“Am I a cat?” Bast snapped.

“She will empty their veins and set fire to their flesh while they still breathe.”

“Can people really do that?” Amy asked, looking up from her drawing.

“Not in front of the child,” Bast muttered, and instantly the conversation returned to the state of silence.

Alyxa caught Morpheus’ hand just as he passed her. She did not look up.

“Who is ‘the Witch’?”

Morpheus’ green eyes glanced at Bast.

“She is here, nothing else matters,” the Cat-Goddess stated, “are you coming, Morpheus?”

“We will need the car,” Morpheus murmured, “Alyxa will you – ”

“I’ll drive you,” Alyxa whispered. 

XXIX: Elegance

The storm clouds parted quite elegantly to let the small private jet through, closing with thunderous lightening as soon as the wheels steamed against the tarmac of the landing strip. She tucked the cigarette filter back into its case and returned it to her handbag with an elegant gloved hand. She didn’t really know why she was still in the Hepburn phase, but she enjoyed it and so it had stuck, albeit in reds and blacks.

“Mistress, the car is waiting as you asked,” the pilot said, sticking his head out of the cockpit.

“Excellent.”

She made her way down the steps and into the car; the door was closed behind her by the chauffeur. The car purred forward and she sat back, fiddling with the necklace around her throat. For a second it glowed and the glow caught in her eyes.

-Sir?-

-Medea, you know what you’re doing?-

-I have done this before, sir.-

-Yes, several times, and as I recall there tended to be limbs strewn about the place, usually of small children. Artistic, certainly, but lacking...subtlety.-

-Are you complaining?- Medea snapped silently.

-No, but this time...listen, darlin’, we don’t need them dead.-

-We’ve been over this before, sir.-

-Yes, and you still somehow managed to get three pairs of feet up into the rafters, and the house didn’t even have rafters.-

Medea rolled her eyes and tugged her filter case and cigarettes back out of her bag, expertly lighting one up with one hand.

-I will avoid that. In fact, I won’t shed blood, would that make you happy, sir?- she asked him.

-I’d appreciate it, Medea.-

The connection faded as swiftly as it had come. She tapped the end of the filter against the glass.

“Swing by the store, I require rope.”

“As you wish, Mistress.”

XXVIII: Blunders

“You shouldn’t have drunk so much,” Alyxa murmured, letting her arm fall back onto the bedspread.

“I am sorry.”

He wasn’t of course, the concept of actual regret was still alien to him, but it mattered that he had used the words. Words were after all very important. Weren’t they? Her mind was drowsy. It was because of his fingers, he was stroking her forehead, soothing away the images of his long absence.

“Did it work?” she asked, “did you get anything from them?”

“I am not sure, but then one never is with the Olders.”

Bast leapt up onto the bed as Morpheus spoke and patted Alyxa’s cheek with a paw.

“They’ve convinced Zeus to put his agents on it,” the Cat-Goddess told her.

“Agents?”

“Four Youngers,” Morpheus said, “who stayed in this Realm after Troy.”

“Troy? You mean all that Homer stuff really happened?”

It was all so confusing. Like a Dream, but twisting in the telling, as though something were reshaping the truth around her before she had a chance to truly see it.

“‘That Homer stuff’ as you so prettily describe it, kitten,” Bast explained, “is the original blunder that started the whole separation of worlds. I mean, yes, faith failed so the Olders failed, but Troy is where the big mess all started. Zeus left behind some people. Four, one God, and three Heroes. They’ve been given the task to stop your Coven from bridging the Rift any more than they already have.”

“Can the Rift be fixed?”

“In time, perhaps,” Morpheus said, “for now, do not worry about the means or the measure of its rescue. Rest yourself. As you said, I took too much from you.”

She rolled her eyes at him, or tried to, she was so tired.

“Sleep, my weary one.”

XXVII: Waiting

SHORT BREAD COOKIES


1 c. butter
1/2 c. brown sugar
2 c. flour
1/4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt


Cream sugar and butter together. Mix dry ingredients together and add to butter-sugar mixture. Roll to 1/2 inch thickness. Cut with cookie cutter. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes at 350C°.

Alyxa read the instructions again. The words were not staying with her. Perhaps she should have stuck with the making of fetches as tonight’s entertainment. Sighing, she looked at Amy, sitting on the counter top. Three nights it had been now, the waiting, without a sign or a Dream.

“Maybe they’ll be home tonight,” the little girl said hopefully.

“In time for cookies?” Alyxa queried, the sardonic edge in her voice lost on the child.

She measured out the right amount of butter on the scale in front of her, placed it on a saucer and slipped it into the microwave.

“Can I push the buttons?” Amy asked.

“10 seconds.”

Dutifully, Amy pressed set the time and watched as the microwave blurred into brief action. Alyxa turned to the flour. The world seemed to blur for a moment. The bag tipped over, spilling brilliantly white.

“Alyxa?” Amy asked, pushing the stop button as the microwave beeped at them.

“It’s nothing. Can you get the sugar from the pa- ” she caught sight then, of Morpheus’ unmistakable shape kneeling in the garden.

She forgot all about the cookies and rushed out.

“Morpheus!”

His blue hair was struggling to fade into a more acceptable black, the emerald eyes burned. His skin, marble pale was now also cold. He blinked at her slowly, as though realizing where he was.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He pushed her hair from her neck n answer, and she felt him break the skin. He drank.

XXVI: Empress

The singing was soft, barely audible, soft and rhythmic, slightly off-key as though a child were humming along with a music box. There two people in the room; one a tall woman, dark curling hair falling around her shoulders, the other was a man, cowering. The magics in the room were so heavy that the air was like syrup with it. It weighed on the man’s shoulders like anvils draped over his shoulders; she wore it like a mantle. The singing was hers, timed to the strings she held stretched between her hands. Red, white, then black flashed between her fingers, given a life of its own as she wove it to her will.

Suddenly, she halted, smiling over the coils at her guest.

“Are you alright there, sweet?”

Her voice was full, like her figure, wrapped in the crimson silks.

“Cat got your tongue perhaps? This is what you wanted, sweet.”

The man blinked several times.

“I-I…” he swallowed nervously.

“Yes, sweet?”

“I-I…I’m fine!”

“Are you sure? You don’t look so good, my sweet. Are you sure you want me to break up that marriage just so you can have your dear, dear Julia?”

Something primal flashed over his face.

“Yes! I want her back! Give her back to me!”

Her smile was brilliant, a sunset in full splendor.

“Of course, all I need is your right hand.”

Without thinking, blinded with the lust that drove all these primitive males to her, he slipped it into the offered gap between the strings. She pulled. He screamed as his hand fell to the floor between them.

“Bitch!”

“I told you my price. It’s not my fault you didn’t listen. Go home, your Julia is waiting.”

He swore at her again, but she was no longer listening. Someone was calling her.

XXV: Straying

“No!” Bast snarls, “no it’s not enough. You do not understand.”

“I find your tone disrespectful, Cat-Goddess,” Isis murmurs.

“You’ve all been locked behind the Rift for so long you’ve forgotten how stubborn humans can be,” Bast continues, shooting a glare at Odin next, “and you! Do you honestly think your precious son will sit idly in his little cage while there is any chance that he might once again walk free? You’ve forgotten the heady taste of reality, you think he has?”

Frigga and Odin share a long look.

“Perhaps the cat has a point,” Frigga put out.

“Of course I do!”

The Olders ignored her.

“What do you propose to do, my Lady,” Odin asks her.

“Zeus?”

“What can I do for you, Frigga?” Zeus drawls, earning an elbow to the side from Hera.

“Which of your children are in the World?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Frigga.”

“We all know that after your debacle at Troy you sent some of your Younglings into the world, in human form, living, dying, being reborn,” the Norse Queen replies coolly, “tell us how many and who.”

Zeus hesitated.

“Come now, brother, don’t be shy,” Tammuz tells him.

“It isn’t as if this was some great secret, Zeus,” Bast mutters darkly, “we all new about it. You have your games, and we have ours. So just answer the goddess already.”

“Four,” Zeus said reluctantly.

“Only four?”

“Yes. Anymore and the balance would have been upset,” Hera retorts, defending her mate.

“Surely there is one amongst those Youngers that can put an end to these procedures,” Frigga suggests, a sly catch in her voice.

Morpheus’ frown deepens. She knew more of these matters than the others; apparently Zeus had been straying again. Unsurprising.

“Give us the names, Zeus.”

“As you wish.”

XXIV: Courting

The Silver Throne is empty, Morpheus feels strange to look upon it again, especially without his Dreamer seated in it. It is disconcerting to be here at all, and not on his own power. Bast sits on his shoulder, her claws flexing slightly into his shoulder, which the regalia and robes of his natural state leaves bare.

“Why are you back?” Isis asks him, the distant sorrow weeping through her voice even though her husband sits silent beside her.

“We are back because my Dreamer’s coven is threatening the Rift.”

The Older Deities share looks. It is strange to see them gathered like this: Zeus and Hera, Isis and Osiris, Odin and Frigga, Ishtar and Tammuz. Without the Younger Deities hovering around them the room seems empty.

“Why would they threaten the Rift?” Hera asks, her tone lilting with her power.

“They are ignorant,” Morpheus replies.

“Have you not educated them?” Tammuz demands, glancing sideways at Zeus, seated beside him.

“You’re being narrow-minded, Tammuz,” Bast scolds, her tail flicking to demonstrate her irritation, “you have forgotten what humans are like, they do not listen to our reason, they act on instinct and emotion.”

“They seem set,” Morpheus puts in.

“And your Dreamer? Is she Working this for them.”

“No.”

The Older Deities raised their eyebrows collectively at Morpheus’ decisive tone.

“I cannot understand why they would – ”

“Dreamerless Rituals are possible when a Coven Master is strong enough, is Maye Darjeeling strong enough to lead that Circle?”

“She is,” both Bast and Morpheus tell her shortly.

Again the Olders share a long look, at long last, Odin raises his head.

“I will not release my son, called or not,” he declares stoically.

“You are his keeper still, my brother,” Tammuz agrees, lifting his eyes to meet Morpheus’, “are you content?”

XXIII: Inquisition

Silver light dashed across the sky as Morpheus stepped out into Alyxa’s backyard, Bast, unusually, riding on his shoulder. Any onlooker would have put that minor fact aside, however, when the backyard was ceased to be the backyard and the two disappeared from sight.

“Where did they go?” Amy asked Alyxa, perched on top of the counter as the older Dreamer did the dishes.

“Hopefully to go talk some sense into the other Deities,” she said, “and hopefully they’ll have more luck than I did talking sense into my Coven.”

Amy put on a seven-year-old’s equivalent of a thoughtful expression – sucking on her bottom lip, eyes squinting in deliberate concentration, her little legs banging the cupboard door beneath her seat.

“Are there lots?”

“Lots?”

“Of Deities.”

“Hundreds, thousands, probably more. Every entity humanity ever dreamt up and worshipped, since before we had languages, they’re all there, behind the Rift,” Alyxa explained, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“This Rift thing. It keeps them there and us here, ‘n only Dreamers can go through?”

Alyxa nodded. She was used to Amy’s many questions by now, even if they sometimes made her think about things she would rather not.

“So how come Morpheus and Bast can go back and forth now?” Amy wanted to know next.
Alyxa stopped, frowning. This was such a question. Truth be told she didn’t really know, so she said,

“I guess it has something to do with Bast. She doesn’t seem to need a Dreamer to keep her here with blood, so….”

The words just fell out of her mouth as she put another plate in the rack, and even as she said them, it made sense.

“I like Bast,” Amy stated decisively.

“I like Morpheus.”

“Like ‘like’ like?”

“No choice really,” Alyxa replied softly.

XXII: Ambition

Alyxa’s hand shook as she dialed Maye’s number, a sleep-fogged voice mumbled her name in query.

“Maye…we need to talk.”

“If this is about the bringing another – ” the Coven Mistress muttered.

“We can’t!”

“What do you mean ‘we can’t’?!” Maye demanded, startled out of her sleep completely.

“Maye, the last time that we – that a Dreamer brought someone through, he kill – ”

“We’ve been planning this for years, Alyxa. Your own father is the one who made the final preparations! He gave his life to re-establish the communication between our world and Réveille! How dare you dishonor his memory by suggesting we abort!”

“Maye – ”

“I am your Coven Mistress! Like my mother before me! I will not put up with your insubordination!”

Alyxa could not believe what she was hearing. She and Maye had been raised together within the Coven, their parents had been friends. They had been the special children of the Coven, the Mistress’s heir and the Dreamer’s. They had always known their place. It was not like Maye to completely disregard what she, the Coven’s Dreamer, was saying. Not like this. Unlike the other Witches, she was not ‘subordinate’. The Coven needed her, she did not need the Coven.

“Maye…”

“There is nothing to talk about, Dreamer. This has been the Coven’s purpose, to reestablish our power…my Mother wanted nothing more, and your Father…”

“It was Dad’s dream, yes, I know, but – ”

“No buts. We know the Rituals. We do not need you to draw another through. Choose as you will, Alyxa.”

Maye hung up on her. Alyxa looked up at Morpheus.

“Will a Dreamerless Ritual work?”

Morpheus’ lips tightened, a human expression.

“Witches have an extraordinary power in intent, and your Mistress is driven by it. With enough intent, anything is possible. Anything.”

XXI: Mythos

Eight-hundred years ago, a Dreamer named Andris lived in far-northern Europe. For many years he had been in communing with an otherworld called ‘The Unsleeping’, in particular with a creature called himself Baldur, and promised them light and love and warmth.

They lighted upon an ambition: to bring Baldur into the world of the humans, to let him share his love and light and warmth with the cold realms of the North. Baldur had only the vaguest of memories and conceptions of the world, just a touch away, but without followers he would be weak, without something to keep him anchored to that world, with all its fickle tendencies and heartbreak, he would fade and become nothing, a shadow of nothing. Even to this, Andris knew the answer; he was brilliant as well as powerful, and his Coven had used blood rituals since the dawning of their time.

So Baldur came through, and he a transcended goodness. He was innocent and fragile in that innocence.

It was that innocence that broke him.

In the far north, people died often; it was cold, it was dangerous. For Baldur it was too much. His fear of his own death, of not existing, grew too much for him to bear. He drank the blood of his Dreamer, the anchor that kept him in the world, but it was not enough, and so in a moment of panicked despair Baldur consumed Andris, swallowing him whole, to anchor himself forever to the world.

Horrified by his act, the Gods in Réveille banded together and drew Baldur back into their world, holding him there. It was then that the Great Gods created the Rift, to separate the mortal world from Réveille, to keep Baldur’s now unbalanced and grown power from ending humanity to cull the suffering.

XX: Historical

“Watch,” Morpheus’ voice compels her, and Alyxa cannot look away.

The Dreamer stares as the stars are born, planets exploding into existence as suns collide and galaxies spin in and out of control.

“Morpheus, what is this?”

“Watch, witchlet.”

Gods and Demons and Angels and all manner of creation wander through worlds unknowable, she recognizes Earth only because Morpheus whispers it to her. The Dream is so vivid she can taste the dust as Demons and Angels take to a battlefield somewhere between the moon and the planet. She sees humanity awaken from their evolutionary folds, birthed into a war that preceded their existence. The Gods strike, Demons and Angels everywhere keen and wail, breaking. Humanity advances, Gods flail as worship gives way to commerce, and commerce to decadence. Empires rise, crumble, disappear. Monuments raised, shattered, forgotten. Myths, legends.

The Gods retreat from the world of trade and currency, they retreat to Morpheus’ kingdom: Réveille. They grow bitter and weary, watching the happenings of the mortal world through mirrors and streams of water, longing to touch it, but knowing that to re-enter that world would unravel them forever.

“Morpheus, I know all of this,” Alyxa whispers, turning to look up at him.

“Are you sure?”

“You’ve shown me this before,” she tells him, an edge creeping into her voice; what was he playing at?

“Are you sure?” he asks again, “watch, little witch.”

With a disgruntled sigh, Alyxa turns back, mesmerized again by the vision. So mesmerized that she does not notice Bast seated at Morpheus’ feet.

-You’re going to show her then?-

-I have no choice. She is a Dreamer, this history is hers to own as much as yours and mine.-

-Sentimentality,- Bast scoffed, -she needs to know this before her Coven rocks the world with another Ragnarok.-

XIX: Growth

Amy’s life had changed. She was well aware of this, and to be honest she had expected it to be more difficult, but she knew that Morpheus and Bast were magic, so why should things not be as easy as they had been? Magic made things easier right? Like the way the washing machine danced now, cleaning clothes before spitting them into the empty basket. The basket then lifted itself and tipped itself into the equally animate dryer. Amy never grew tired of watching it. It was a good example for how changed her life really was.

No one on the street questioned her presence, and when someone did ask, she was introduced as Alyxa’s neice. She loved Alyxa; Alyxa was the kind of girl she wanted to be when she grew up, all so-fi-sticated and witchy.

Everything at the house was a special occasion in Amy’s eyes: she loved the cooking that Alyxa did, even if the older girl grumbled that most of it never turned out right, but most of all she loved the stories that she was told before bed. Morpheus and Alyxa would stand in the doorway, watching, and Bast would sit on her bed and spin cotton candy tales out of thin air with images that danced over the pale ceiling. She had no idea that she was being educated.

Nor did she have any idea that after sleep came, they would watch her still, until Alyxa grew weary and Morpheus took her to bed, but Bast would watch her, and wait, and when the Dreaming started, the Cat-Goddess would simply nod to herself and slip out the window.

The Dreams were about small things: it would rain next weekend, there would be no salami at the butcher. At the beginning, dreamers always Dream innocently.

XVIII: Ignorance

Morpheus stood at the edge of the living room, staring out into the backyard. Behind him, he heard Alyxa talking with Amy in the kitchen as they went about making ‘cookies’. It sounded interesting, but there was something else that had caught his attention, something neither mortal females could see while they were awake.

-You feel it too, then?- Bast asked him from where she was lounging atop the back of the sofa.

-It is impossible to not feel,- he replied wordlessly.

She flicked a tail and stretched.

-Your Dreamer’s coven is talking about bringing over another,- she murmured.

-They do not understand patience.-

-They are limited creatures, of course they don’t,- Bast said wryly.

They bring too many of us through, the Rift exists for reasons they have obviously forgotten,- Morpheus told her pointedly, -and if they do not rein in their instincts they will bridge the Rift…-

-You act as if I don’t know any of this, kitten,- Bast scolded.

She leapt suddenly and pounced on some invisible prey, a dust mote perhaps.

-Let us hope that Isis and Ishtar at least have the sense to hold back somewhat.-

Bast looked at him as the words floated through the air between them.

-Does Alyxa know that you need her blood to stay here?- she asked him after a moment of silence.

-She does, it is a Dreamer thing.-

-And yet she does not know of the greatest mistake in the history of her kind?-

-She is young still…-

Bast flicked her ears back; young was no excuse to be foolish, or worse, stupid, Morpheus knew that.

-There is a reason why you are the first to come across in eight-hundred years, Dream-King, you should educate your pet before she lets her friends remind the world through their ignorance.-

XVII: Entertainment

Mice in Réveille were, generally speaking, dull and unimaginative. They left their homes to forage for food and returned with their keep. Bast had had no expectations that they would be any more entertaining here.

Unlike the others, who seemed desperate to venture into the world and experience the headiness of reality, Bast had been content to watch from the other side of the Rift. Her entertainment had come from watching the Dead Gods harass each other; Zeus’ lot in particular seemed very keen on sleeping around and creating messy love affairs that kept everyone busy. Make no mistake, Bast was a cat, and her feline nature made her both playful and easily irritated, something without a breath space between them. The primary difference between her and the others was that where they had long since lost worship to the inevitable drifts of mortal time, Bast’s true followers never really forgot her, and so she had maintained a foothold – a pawhold, if you will – and this served her now.

The Russian-blue feline shook herself free of the leaves that had settled against her fur and hissed at the tomcat as he tried to approach her again.

“Typical male,” she told him in mortal speech, catching him by surprise.

His ears went back and his tail fluffed itself up impressively, but she ignored him and stretched. He was not worth her time, if she had not found herself so bored with waiting outside the mouse hole tonight he would not have been worth her time to start with. She flicked an ear at him: go away.

Dawn would be in a few hours, perhaps a nap on the child’s bed then, followed by a lazy bath in the morning sunlight. It would not do to be tired when the time came.

XVI: Cleansing

Alyxa frowned at the pile of dirty clothes that lay unceremoniously scattered all over her laundry floor in her laundry floor. This was not what she had had in mind for her Sunday afternoon. She wanted to study her Craft books, she wanted to be out in the herb garden, she wanted –

“Oh hell,” she grumbled, and set about making some sort of sense of the laundry.
She must have been at it for a couple of minutes when she noticed that Morpheus was standing in the door, looking at her with those bright eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked her, voice loaded with curiosity.

“Laundry,” she replied shortly, “cleaning clothes.”

“And…you do this by putting them into the machine and then…?”

“The machine spins them around and makes them clean,” Alyxa explained, demonstrating by putting the clothes into the washing machine and tipping in some detergent.

They watched it go for a couple of minutes. Then…

“Have you seen Bast today?”

Morpheus completely ignored the question, his eyes fixed on the washing machine.

“Have you ever considered doing this?”

Suddenly the washing machine gurgled and bleeped several times.

“What did you do?” Alyxa asked, a touch of worry flooding into her like boiling water seeping through a teabag.

“Made it easier.”

“What what easier?”

Alyxa edged away from the washing machine as it stuttered and then returned to its normal cycle with renewed fervor.

“Your ‘laundry’, it will now do itself.”

“It sounds like a helicopter trying to take off…” Alyxa murmured.

“Come, witchling, let us go and see what the child is doing.”

“Morpheus…I’m not sure abo- ”

He brushed a strand of hair back from her face.

“It will be well,” he said quietly, “see?”

Alyxa glanced at the washing machine. It smiled back at her.

XV: Nocturnal

Alyxa found it severely unnerving to watch Morpheus and Bast; the one would look at the other, and yet their eyes never met. Bast had taken to sitting on the windowsill in the front room, looking out into the world, and Morpheus would then stand in the arched doorway at the other end of the room, just watching her. Sometimes, Alyxa wondered if they spoke to each other at all, and if they did if those conversations would ever be audible or if they would remain restricted to the eerie ESP that she suspected was going on.

Nights were different of course; Bast had taken to sleeping on Amy’s bed for the majority of the night, only to be completely untraceable in the morning. Amy took it all for granted, in that innocent childlike way, but Alyxa suspected that there was more than the regular feline nocturnal activities going on Bast’s excursions.

“But where does she go?” she asked Morpheus one morning, waking to find him gently licking blood off her fingers.

“Have you ever tried to ask a cat where she goes?”

“Well...I’ve never had to put up with a cat that could talk, now have I?” Alyxa countered.

“Have you not?” Morpheus queried.

Alyxa stared at him, confusion pouring into her mind, she was distracted by the gentle kiss of his lips against her wrist as he drew more blood from her.

“No...” she murmured, “no, I haven’t. Mortal...cats don’t talk.”

“Of course they do, my love,” Morpheus chided, his voice strangely thick with humanity, “you simply do not know how to listen yet.”

She smiled, drowsy once more.

“Do you think...you could teach me?”

“To listen?”

Alyxa nodded, she could feel Réveille pulling at her from just beyond the veil.

“You and I can do anything...anything.”