The door to the apartment closed. Art and Yao walked back into the hall, one half of the pair delighted, their job finished. Art was whistling, hands tucked behind his head, supremely satisfied.

Yao, on the other hand, was ashen faced. She looked at Art, eyes filled with horror. “I can’t believe she was even weirder than you.”

Art just shrugged, continuing to walk down the hall and towards the stairs. “Everything I learned about the world and all the magic it contains, I learned from her; and there's much I don't yet know that she does. She's a truly wonderful woman.”

“That's certainly one way to describe her.” Yao shivered. “I never thought there would come a day where I'd wish someone had no more going on in their life than watching paint dry.”

“Oh, come on, it's not that bad.”

“…Art, there were anime girls.”

“Point taken.”

“And those anime girls were the subject of some kind of magical tradition.”

“She’s a great innovator, is my sis.”

“And she explained this entire tradition in relation to something called ‘VTubers.’”

“It’s the way of the future.”

“Right. If you say so.”

Art laughed again. “She’s the one who claims so - I’m an orthodox Hermeticist. Still. You can’t be too ungrateful - thanks to her, we were able to discover a prospective solution to our problems.”

“Indeed - albeit with divination.”

“And? The master, Confucius, placed much faith in the results of divination, as was discussed in his Xici commentary to the I Ching, citing the tale of Fuxi.’”

“Excuse me; it seems I wasn't clear enough. Divination by means of anime girls.”

“Never thought you'd have to rely on demonic cultivation, eh?”

“Oh, make no mistake. I've relied on demonic cultivators many times before; even the foulest paths can be transfigured in the light of a good character. But that doesn't mean I have to like it,” she said, in a mock petulant tone. Art laughed.

“Fair enough.”

They reached the base of the building and opened the door to the outside. A blast of cold air walloped them as they entered into the night, a subtle darkness tinged by the neon glow of the muted signs.

Yao looked up into the light polluted sky, seeking in vain for any sign of the stars to guide her way. At last she sighed, shaking her head. “You know this world far better than me. Where do we need to go to get home?”

Art pulled a crinkled map out of his pocket, opening it with a shake and examining it carefully. He stuck out his tongue as he contemplated the paper in his hands, deciphering his sister’s neat but cramped scrawl.

“Now, it says here that if we want to find someone who can help us return to our world, we have to go to the swamps…”

***

Days had passed since Art and his new partner had left her apartment. Joanne had spent that time deep in thought, meditating upon the secrets of the goddesses and the world they had unfolded to her.

She had not been all that surprised by Art’s story - if there was anyone she knew who would die horribly to his own summoned angel only to go to a martial arts world and treat it as a protracted vacation, it was her younger brother. The sour-faced noble lady with the ahoge had been rather unexpected, but it was still inline with her vision of the man.

She smiled as she recalled the woman sitting on a cushion in her dining room, assiduously trying not to look at the merch decorating the walls in tastefully arranged and esoteric significant formations.

Then her expression turned altogether more serious as she recalled the rest of the conversation. Her brother had explained their conundrum to her; she had performed a divination for them, identifying the optimum location for them to find answers to their queries; and they had gone to leave. Before they had departed, however, her little brother had left her with a rather odd request.

“I know this is a weird one, sis, but can you look into why the qi is so scarce here? It’s bothering me - why does the cultivation world I went to have so much qi, and yet this world has so little. It could just be due to laws of nature unknown to myself, but my intuition tells me something isn’t right. I know this is a silly request, but at any rate, I’d appreciate it if you’d look into the problem.”

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Joanne had accepted. She shouldn’t have - yes, she was out of school right at this moment, but that didn’t mean she had the time or money to go gallivanting about all over God’s green acres in search of possible qi deficiencies in the fabric of reality. But she only had one younger brother, and when he asked her for a favour, well, how could she refuse?

So she had done her own divinations, consulting the cards to see if the esoteric currents were registering some kind of disruption. Much to her chagrin, they were - there was a bump at the back end of the card signifying the World, a bump signifying that all was not right with the world.

She had done further divinations, seeking if the problem was solvable (it as), if she was one of those who could solve it (she was), and where she would find an answer, given that an answer could be found (it could; she was able to pinpoint the location precisely, with an error margin of a mere twenty feet).

She had double checked her divinations - not generally a good idea, but in a case like this she figured it was warranted - and, to her eternal annoyance, had received the same reply. That this reply signalled a lengthy and irksome journey before she would find the final answers to her questions did not help her anger.

Had she found no answers, she could go on with her life. There were experiments - important experiments - that she desperately wanted to find answers for, and now wouldn’t, at least not for a long while. She looked longingly at the paint cans in the corner; she had water insoluble and water soluble paints, and wanted to see how the differing chemical composition impacted their aesthetic impact.

Alas, a question for another time. For now, the anime girls had spoken: she had to go to the Witz, the most luxurious hotel in town, and seek for clues there. She groaned at the thought of the annoying evening ahead of her - she hated heaving to deal with the wealthy.

Still, it was unavoidable, and so she donned her fancy garb, steeled herself, prayed to the shark girl on her wall for good fortune, and went out into a night very like that of the day her brother had visited, what felt like aeons ago.

***

The Witz wasn’t just a hotel; it was the meeting spot for all of the wealthiest individuals in Megamegamegapolis, Whyiohiowa. Anyone who was anyone went there; anyone who was no one couldn’t possibly expect to enter, not unless they had the support of a wealthy and powerful patron.

Joanne did not, and so she had decided to enter the Witz, not by breaking and entering, but by subterfuge. She was wearing her nicest clothing - the only hand tailored suit she owned - and had her sunglasses on, even though it was nine p.m. (it was, she felt, the wealthy thing to do). There was a patent leather purse hanging by her side, and she staggered slightly as she walked down the street in her excessively high heels.

There were two men before the door, both heavily armed, keeping a careful eye on anyone entering the building. Inside, in the hotel’s gold and marble lobby, were four more guards, and Joanne could tell by her second sight that the attendants were also armed. She admired their thoroughness.

She walked across the hall, footsteps small, straight, and clipped, and moved purposively towards the attendants behind the desk. They barely examined her, their faces bored, as she strode up to the table, straightened her glasses with a sniff, and produced a card.

“Brianne Jonesby. I have a reservation.”

The attendant, a young if slightly chubby woman with mousy brown hair, yawned as she consulted her book. Her eyes scanned the lines lazily, finally returning to rest on ‘Brianne.’

“I’m afraid I can’t find your name, ma’am.”

“Can’t find my name- can’t find my name- good Heavens! Well I never. To think that you would have misplaced my reservation - mine - that of Brianne Jonesby. Of all the things-”

Her tone was affronted, angry, strident, the epitome of self-righteous indignation. It expressed, in the clearest of terms, how incensed she was at the staff’s failure to remember her reservation.

The attendant groaned as the woman in the garish dress complained to her, then slowly felt concern grow in her breast. Was this woman actually someone important? Had they forgotten her reservation? Should she really have a room?

Normally the woman would dismiss this as mere posing, someone trying to make a last minute reservation by pretending they had had one this entire time, and seeking to get something free out of it while they did. That’s what she should be doing - dismissing the woman, or asking if she wanted to book a room properly. But for some reason she felt herself seized by concern, as if the woman really had a reservation.

Joanne made sure not to smile as she stroked the talisman in her purse, watching the woman respond to it in real time. It was a simple amulet, designed only with a single goal - to convince the target of the truth of what she was saying. (And it did so rather impressively, if she had to compliment herself - it increased, not their fear, not their anger, not even their interest, but their care and concern. There was nothing quite so easy to trick as the heart.)

At last the woman told Joanne that though she could find no reservation in the system, she was sure there must have been one, and that the missing reservation was no doubt the fault of the staff. She told her a room would be prepared for her shortly, and in the interim asked if she didn’t want to enjoy a late night dinner in the hotel restaurant - courtesy of the hotel, of course.

Joanne accepted with good grace, giving a polite apology for the stress she was putting the staff through at the same time as she stroked a second talisman, which exuded feelings of peace and relief in the air. The dispute done, she agreed to return to the attendant in another hour or so, and then went to the restaurant.

From here, her goal was simple. Do another divination, find the source of the problem as per her earlier divinations, and from there begin her attempt to solve the problem, thereby making her brother happy and herself stronger. (And hopefully enjoy a free dinner at the finest restaurant in town.)

At least, that had been the plan. But the plan changed as soon as she entered the restaurant and saw… them.

There they were, sitting there smugly before her - Hank, son of the wealthiest magnate in town, and his girlfriend - the &%#$@ who cheated on Art.

Joanne’s eye twitched.