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?”
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