Christian looked up from his book when a sudden stream of students emerged from the front doors of the building: multiple classes ending for lunch. He tucked the book into his backpack, but stayed on the bench. Eric would find him, and it would save him having to swim the flood upstream. He was grateful for the sweater under his jacket, one of his grandmother’s creations that kept body heat in and cold out, since it had reduced the amount of magic he’d had to use to make waiting outside more comfortable; the wind had already cleared the thin December snow from the bench for him, at least.
Eric noticed him without surprise, bid farewell to a couple of classmates, and wove his way over. “Nice timing.”
“It took me a little longer than I expected this morning, and I wasn't all that far from here, so I thought I'd come harass you,” Christian laughed.
“I'm starving. Up for a burger and fries? My treat—your boss paid me. I feel a bit bad taking the money but I can put it to a good use.”
“Sure. And don’t feel bad. You reassured her about the Y2K thing, even if there was nothing to do.”
Eric gestured to his right, presumably with somewhere specific in mind. “Hard one this morning?”
“Just a huge amount of negative energy. I'd have to say someone was being abused severely and consistently in that house for quite a long time. The master bedroom and the kitchen were so bad I wanted to gag just walking into them. Not all that complicated, just exhausting.”
“And rough on you emotionally. Wasn't that the couple that started fighting all the time once they bought the house?”
“Yep. That has to have been aggravating it. All cleaned up now, though.”
“Good. And you're okay?”
“Worn out, but otherwise fine,” Christian assured him.
“Good,” Eric repeated. “We'll get you a bellyful of excellent burger and home-cut fries, and you'll be good as new. So will I. I'm going to eat my own arm if I don't get food soon.”
“Hard morning?”
“Long. I've been in class for the last four hours, and I was running just a bit late this morning, didn't have much time for breakfast.”
They stopped briefly at a red light; it changed to green, and Christian started to step off the curb. Eric grabbed his arm and yanked him back, saving him from a car whose driver who apparently couldn't be bothered noticing mere pedestrians when he wanted to make a right turn.
“Asshole,” Eric muttered. “You okay?”
“Yeah. That's been happening all day. All week, actually.” He shrugged. “It's coming up on Christmas, and everyone's in a hurry. The drivers around here are psycho anyway. Thanks, those hunches of yours come in handy.”
“Mmhmm. We'd better get across before it changes again.”
They had two more near misses before they reached the sanctuary of the little family-run fast-food place. Eric managed to be in exactly the right place at the right time to grab one of the few tables, and left Chris there to hold it while he got the food himself. He was right, Christian decided, the food here was wonderful and surprisingly moderately-priced—a place to keep in mind.
“I have one more class, and then I'll be home,” Eric said, as they parted ways outside. “Try not to get hit by a car on the way home, okay? Surely you can do some equivalent of my hunches, or something.”
“Not that I'm aware of, but I'll try to keep all senses as open as I can stand,” Christian promised. “I've managed to survive Christmas insanity up 'til now, y'know.”
“Don't make this the year you get killed, huh? I'd like to keep you around.”
Christian saluted playfully. “Yessir.”
By the time he got home, he'd been nearly flattened by one pick-up running a red light well after it changed, had a near miss with a big sedan making a left turn without even slowing down just as Chris was about to step off the curb, and came very close to being knocked in front of a bus by a group of six or seven who were walking three abreast and taking no notice of anyone else who might need the sidewalk.
“I really hate Christmas,” Christian sighed, collapsing gratefully onto one of the kitchen chairs. Sid came to investigate, and hopped up on the next chair so he was in reach for Christian to rub along his jaw. “Gods, I'll be glad when it's over.”
* * *
“The idea here, Hayley,” Dextra said coldly, “was to not do anything that could be traced back to us by anyone. Confronting Christian openly hardly qualifies.”
“I don't care,” Hayley said rebelliously. “I wasn't sure about this whole concept of killing him, and when I saw an alternative, I took it. Now I am sure about the concept of killing him, and it's not right. He has a point. He might not be going about it in the best way, but at least he's doing something to help people. Think about all the unsolved murders that are actually because of a bogle in the basement, or disappearances because of violent liminals, or comas and things caused by liminal toxins or by things that just ate someone's mind. Or even just the stress and doubts about your sanity caused by having weird unexplained things happening all the time? Letting that happen isn't exactly in everyone's best interests, either.”
Cordell sighed. “You're talking about a fairly small segment of the total population.”
“And their lives don't matter? They all deserve to suffer or die?”
“So witches step in to protect them at what cost? Our own lives?”
“Do you want the witch hunts to start again?” Albert demanded. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life locked up in a government cell while they poke and prod you to see what use they can make of you?”
“Canadian government, secret installation,” Cordell muttered, with an uncharacteristic flash of humour. “That's likely to be successful.”
Albert ignored him. “Do you want to be blamed for every dog that bites someone, and every time a pigeon shits on a newly-washed car? Mundanes are always looking for someone to blame!”
Dextra forbore to mention how much recent interpretationssuggested that the Inquisition had at least as much to do with economics and sexually-repressed sadism as it did religion or genuine superstitious blame. She'd tried that once, and only once; it had been like shaking a can of pop and then opening it, if the pop included nitroglycerin. For three hours Albert had ranted about the countless atrocities visited by mundanes on each other in search of witches, and occasionally on actual witches, and at times by witches who saw the best chance of their own survival as being on the other side.
“I did some checking while I was there, y'know. He's blurring their memories. They remember enough to believe he did something, but not enough to destroy their stability. That's actually better for them than sustained exposure to unexplained phenomena, and less likely to make them doubt their sanity. And then they send others to him.”
“And playing with peoples' memories is all peachy keen?” Garrett asked acidly.
“No, it's not, but it's not a clear-cut situation.”
“Yes it is! We don't interfere!”
“It's interfering when Cordell manipulates probabilities so his businesses always do as well as possible! It's interfering when Dextra gives someone advice on what they should do!”
“That's different!”
“No it isn't! Every cat in range came running, ready to defend him, because he gives them what they can accept and does what he can. And I think he does the same thing with people, which explains why he has all those friends who are making it so hard to get the rumours started that the Council came up with, and why so many people come to him for readings and for help. I don't totally agree with his methods, but I don't think he deserves to die.”
Dextra sighed. Great, just what they needed: Hayley questioning basic principles of the Fellowship, as well as the choices their little group had made for the greater good. Next thing they knew, she was going to be out there offering her services to help improve the relationships of mundanes and their pets, or something. Now, what would be the best way to handle it?
“All right,” she said pacifyingly. “You obviously feel very strongly about this. Can you break it down and explain it to us?”
Albert shot her an incredulous look, but she shook her head warningly.
Hayley hugged her little Shih Tzu dog against her, and didn't notice. “I just did, but I guess I can try again.”
It was just as well the others didn't know what Cordell was doing. There were probabilities to be manipulated other than business ones, and impatience and stress ran high at this time of year, leading to many accidents. It would only take one. They'd intended to bring it up tonight—it was very like Cordell, to be annoyed that Hayley had acted without consultation with the group, yet feel it unnecessary for himself. Although she had to concede that extensive manipulation of probability did tend to go along with some sensitivity to natural probability—in other words, hunches that were generally reliable. He'd probably take it as further proof of his own alpha status, to have been proven right in keeping it from the others.
For the moment, she turned her attention to Hayley. They'd have to make her believe she'd convinced them, and then go on with matters without her knowledge. It was a shame, Hayley did have useful talents and intelligence, but if she didn't have the nerve to follow through on an admittedly-distasteful necessity, then she was no use to them. Cordell would understand what Dextra was doing, and they could get Garrett and Albert caught up later. This was an inconvenience, not a catastrophe.
Christian looked up from his book when a sudden stream of students emerged from the front doors of the building: multiple classes ending for lunch. He tucked the book into his backpack, but stayed on the bench. Eric would find him, and it would save him having to swim the flood upstream. He was grateful for the sweater under his jacket, one of his grandmother’s creations that kept body heat in and cold out, since it had reduced the amount of magic he’d had to use to make waiting outside more comfortable; the wind had already cleared the thin December snow from the bench for him, at least.
Eric noticed him without surprise, bid farewell to a couple of classmates, and wove his way over. “Nice timing.”
“It took me a little longer than I expected this morning, and I wasn't all that far from here, so I thought I'd come harass you,” Christian laughed.
“I'm starving. Up for a burger and fries? My treat—your boss paid me. I feel a bit bad taking the money but I can put it to a good use.”
“Sure. And don’t feel bad. You reassured her about the Y2K thing, even if there was nothing to do.”
Eric gestured to his right, presumably with somewhere specific in mind. “Hard one this morning?”
“Just a huge amount of negative energy. I'd have to say someone was being abused severely and consistently in that house for quite a long time. The master bedroom and the kitchen were so bad I wanted to gag just walking into them. Not all that complicated, just exhausting.”
“And rough on you emotionally. Wasn't that the couple that started fighting all the time once they bought the house?”
“Yep. That has to have been aggravating it. All cleaned up now, though.”
“Good. And you're okay?”
“Worn out, but otherwise fine,” Christian assured him.
“Good,” Eric repeated. “We'll get you a bellyful of excellent burger and home-cut fries, and you'll be good as new. So will I. I'm going to eat my own arm if I don't get food soon.”
“Hard morning?”
“Long. I've been in class for the last four hours, and I was running just a bit late this morning, didn't have much time for breakfast.”
They stopped briefly at a red light; it changed to green, and Christian started to step off the curb. Eric grabbed his arm and yanked him back, saving him from a car whose driver who apparently couldn't be bothered noticing mere pedestrians when he wanted to make a right turn.
“Asshole,” Eric muttered. “You okay?”
“Yeah. That's been happening all day. All week, actually.” He shrugged. “It's coming up on Christmas, and everyone's in a hurry. The drivers around here are psycho anyway. Thanks, those hunches of yours come in handy.”
“Mmhmm. We'd better get across before it changes again.”
They had two more near misses before they reached the sanctuary of the little family-run fast-food place. Eric managed to be in exactly the right place at the right time to grab one of the few tables, and left Chris there to hold it while he got the food himself. He was right, Christian decided, the food here was wonderful and surprisingly moderately-priced—a place to keep in mind.
“I have one more class, and then I'll be home,” Eric said, as they parted ways outside. “Try not to get hit by a car on the way home, okay? Surely you can do some equivalent of my hunches, or something.”
“Not that I'm aware of, but I'll try to keep all senses as open as I can stand,” Christian promised. “I've managed to survive Christmas insanity up 'til now, y'know.”
“Don't make this the year you get killed, huh? I'd like to keep you around.”
Christian saluted playfully. “Yessir.”
By the time he got home, he'd been nearly flattened by one pick-up running a red light well after it changed, had a near miss with a big sedan making a left turn without even slowing down just as Chris was about to step off the curb, and came very close to being knocked in front of a bus by a group of six or seven who were walking three abreast and taking no notice of anyone else who might need the sidewalk.
“I really hate Christmas,” Christian sighed, collapsing gratefully onto one of the kitchen chairs. Sid came to investigate, and hopped up on the next chair so he was in reach for Christian to rub along his jaw. “Gods, I'll be glad when it's over.”
* * *
“The idea here, Hayley,” Dextra said coldly, “was to not do anything that could be traced back to us by anyone. Confronting Christian openly hardly qualifies.”
“I don't care,” Hayley said rebelliously. “I wasn't sure about this whole concept of killing him, and when I saw an alternative, I took it. Now I am sure about the concept of killing him, and it's not right. He has a point. He might not be going about it in the best way, but at least he's doing something to help people. Think about all the unsolved murders that are actually because of a bogle in the basement, or disappearances because of violent liminals, or comas and things caused by liminal toxins or by things that just ate someone's mind. Or even just the stress and doubts about your sanity caused by having weird unexplained things happening all the time? Letting that happen isn't exactly in everyone's best interests, either.”
Cordell sighed. “You're talking about a fairly small segment of the total population.”
“And their lives don't matter? They all deserve to suffer or die?”
“So witches step in to protect them at what cost? Our own lives?”
“Do you want the witch hunts to start again?” Albert demanded. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life locked up in a government cell while they poke and prod you to see what use they can make of you?”
“Canadian government, secret installation,” Cordell muttered, with an uncharacteristic flash of humour. “That's likely to be successful.”
Albert ignored him. “Do you want to be blamed for every dog that bites someone, and every time a pigeon shits on a newly-washed car? Mundanes are always looking for someone to blame!”
Dextra forbore to mention how much recent interpretationssuggested that the Inquisition had at least as much to do with economics and sexually-repressed sadism as it did religion or genuine superstitious blame. She'd tried that once, and only once; it had been like shaking a can of pop and then opening it, if the pop included nitroglycerin. For three hours Albert had ranted about the countless atrocities visited by mundanes on each other in search of witches, and occasionally on actual witches, and at times by witches who saw the best chance of their own survival as being on the other side.
“I did some checking while I was there, y'know. He's blurring their memories. They remember enough to believe he did something, but not enough to destroy their stability. That's actually better for them than sustained exposure to unexplained phenomena, and less likely to make them doubt their sanity. And then they send others to him.”
“And playing with peoples' memories is all peachy keen?” Garrett asked acidly.
“No, it's not, but it's not a clear-cut situation.”
“Yes it is! We don't interfere!”
“It's interfering when Cordell manipulates probabilities so his businesses always do as well as possible! It's interfering when Dextra gives someone advice on what they should do!”
“That's different!”
“No it isn't! Every cat in range came running, ready to defend him, because he gives them what they can accept and does what he can. And I think he does the same thing with people, which explains why he has all those friends who are making it so hard to get the rumours started that the Council came up with, and why so many people come to him for readings and for help. I don't totally agree with his methods, but I don't think he deserves to die.”
Dextra sighed. Great, just what they needed: Hayley questioning basic principles of the Fellowship, as well as the choices their little group had made for the greater good. Next thing they knew, she was going to be out there offering her services to help improve the relationships of mundanes and their pets, or something. Now, what would be the best way to handle it?
“All right,” she said pacifyingly. “You obviously feel very strongly about this. Can you break it down and explain it to us?”
Albert shot her an incredulous look, but she shook her head warningly.
Hayley hugged her little Shih Tzu dog against her, and didn't notice. “I just did, but I guess I can try again.”
It was just as well the others didn't know what Cordell was doing. There were probabilities to be manipulated other than business ones, and impatience and stress ran high at this time of year, leading to many accidents. It would only take one. They'd intended to bring it up tonight—it was very like Cordell, to be annoyed that Hayley had acted without consultation with the group, yet feel it unnecessary for himself. Although she had to concede that extensive manipulation of probability did tend to go along with some sensitivity to natural probability—in other words, hunches that were generally reliable. He'd probably take it as further proof of his own alpha status, to have been proven right in keeping it from the others.
For the moment, she turned her attention to Hayley. They'd have to make her believe she'd convinced them, and then go on with matters without her knowledge. It was a shame, Hayley did have useful talents and intelligence, but if she didn't have the nerve to follow through on an admittedly-distasteful necessity, then she was no use to them. Cordell would understand what Dextra was doing, and they could get Garrett and Albert caught up later. This was an inconvenience, not a catastrophe.
