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.”