Philadelphia, Earth

Delphi, Eganene

Philadelphia, the word rolled off his tongue, so similar to its parallel city, Delphi. Peter kept a safe house here, though he rarely visited. The locals called this place the City of Brotherly Love. It was a fitting name for his new base of operations. The Family was nothing if not a band of Brothers. Of course, most of his Brothers were in Eganene.

Good, he thought. With stakes this high, less competition was better.

Peter checked the street signs. His meeting was close to Center City. Ironic that it was near his safe house, but he'd already canvased that area and found nothing. Just like the rest of Earth, it was devoid of majical energy.

Given that he’d been relocated here suddenly, and that he preferred to keep his safe house secret, he’d rented a small apartment between several schools. Philadelphia Charter, St. Lucille’s and Smithfield- they were the best place to start his search. As the light faded from the sky, he took another corner.

He had mixed feelings about this meeting. Anything with the higher-ups was usually stressful, but it was also true that he might finally get some answers. Why the unexpected move to Philadelphia?

The breach of protocol made him nervous. Mistakes happened when people broke routine.

The back of his neck itched and he stifled the urge to look back. He wasn’t being followed. The unease he felt was internal. In the past, Peter had prided himself on his dedication and attention to detail, considering the extra time he spent on each region worth the price. Tonight, he wasn’t so sure.

Night fell around him, but Peter kept the brim of his hat pulled low. Streetlights bristled along a phalanx of cement buildings. Earth never failed to impress. Crisper and cleaner, the number of people was staggering. He couldn’t imagine the resources needed to feed and clothe them all.

They were like insects crawling over one another in a great rush to gather and consume. New York, Atlanta, New Orleans. He'd gotten good at ignoring the panic. He wasn't being swarmed. It was just city life here.

Grinding the dirty snow into the sidewalk, he let the air clear his mind. Peter had spent the last few years in New Orleans searching the streets for the child. He was proud of his job. Finding the girl was important, critical even, for their whole existence.

Still, seventeen years was a long time. And far too long to be away from Eganene.

This world was too large, he thought, too full of people. He believed he'd be the one to find the girl. He just hadn't predicted just how long it would take.

Stepping over an ice-capped puddle, he catalogued the passing faces. The night was young and there were people on the street. He did this remotely, his mind focused on the upcoming meeting. If they were being called in, someone had a lead.

And that was cause for concern.

Peter had a healthy appreciation for his special gifts, but his Brothers had their own credentials. He grinned into the cold, the wind biting at his teeth. He wasn’t worried, not really. He’d adapt. It was a fine thing, knowing your strengths.

Here, they would call him a people person. Peter could influence others, make them do as he wished, be what he wanted. He could convince them of anything, really.

And all it took was a touch.

He pulled at the fingers of his glove, imagining his hand on skin. It was his favorite part of the job, breaking down barriers in their minds, softly, subtly, until they thought it was their idea to do what he wanted.

It wasn’t his only skill, but it was his favorite. It worked differently on Earth than in Eganene, but Peter wasn’t a one trick pony.

The Family needed him. He was their bloodhound, their tracker. He could sense majic in others, anywhere, even in this world.

He imagined that there must be others with that skill. But, of course, there was no way to know for sure. Anonymity within the organization was rigorously enforced. Management was smart. Meetings were clandestine and compartmentalized. They only involving the same few Employees. The isolation was institutional.

Peter recognized it as a good design, one that had them operating autonomously.

And it certainly built motivation.

He made a left, choosing the busiest street, analyzing each face. Peter’s two Brothers would be at the meeting- the Sniveler and the Hand. He’d spent years trying to dig up their Lunaday names, but they’d buried their secrets deep.

He resisted the urge to spit. Mediocre sycophants. It made him sick to watch them grovel. Not Peter, not ever. He was courteous, but he didn’t dance. There were more Managers, just as there were more Employees. He wasn’t about to put all his bullets in one gun.

He picked up the pace. It wasn’t much further to the Masonic temple at the corner of Broad, a grand building that supervised the flow of traffic around City Hall. Commanding one of the central lines of the city, it’s upper floors were ringed by balconies. The smaller windows were suitable for archers and its highest story was capped with turrets.

The building was older than its neighbors. The younger, glassier buildings were hastily erected things. The temple, on the other hand, was a proud monument. Its stone was feet thick, its windows arched and lit like a church. The stained glass was wrought with iron where the Masonic eye and star replaced the cross. A singular structure, it stood defiant, almost alone in a city of newness. Peter wondered if anyone in this world remembered the building’s true history.

Early by at least an hour, he watched the doorway. Decorative stonework lined the entryway, the folds of rock resembling huge paper flowers. He searched as he waited, but the faces were unremarkable. These were a different kind of people with their manicured hands and vacant eyes. Peter imagined they came this way daily, their expensive shoes covered with dust from the temple's old stones. They understood so little.

A bell tolled and he slipped beneath the massive arch and through the door. The foyer smelled of incense. The flames flickering as he shut out the wind. Along the ceiling he noticed modern lighting hidden behind the marble crests. Maybe, Peter thought, the men who lived here were neither of the old world nor the new. Perhaps they had adapted to both.

That would be a fine feat. The castle was from another time, yet here it stood surrounded by its younger neighbors. Not only had it survived, but it had prospered, integrating what it chose. Peter empathized.

Two, fat columns shimmered in the entryway, their white stone flecked with gold. These legs supported the body of the fortress, the high, vaulted ceiling arching over his head like a giant’s belly. Between them, a staircase led to the upper floors, the halls above stretching out like arms, leading to more halls that branched like fingers.

Frescos glowed above him, murals whose rich colors begged for more light and an appreciative audience. Tables were set at intervals along the hall, decorated with painted pottery and bone. Peter wanted to linger a moment, to touch the wonders from Earth. He was sorry that this place no longer made such fine crafts. Now it was a world of trash.

His invitation had been specific. He was to enter the hallway to the left of the central stairs and proceed to the room in the back. Relaxing his shoulders, he moved on, the carpet muffling his footsteps.

As he drew close, he paused and peered into the Greatroom. There was an intimate sitting area arranged to the left. The chairs were empty, but the room was not. The Hand and the Sniveler were positioned in front of the fireplace, whispering to one another as they drank. Hopefully, they would do him a favor and choke.

They’d chosen the inferior position, Peter thought.

The fire’s opening was twice the length of a man and almost as tall. The marble reflected light, effectively blinding his Brothers. Peter watched the taller man’s lips. The grey worms writhed, hidden within a tangle of white beard. He couldn’t make out the words.

As Peter entered, the Hand turned towards him, his face a mask of predatory intelligence. The fat man followed his movements, his beady eyes hungry insects eager to burrow. Neither man spoke.

Peter nodded. They copied his movement before returning to their discussion, backs turned. The fire’s crackle masked any sound. After removing his hat, Peter brushed at the shoulders of his coat before draping it over a chair by the fire. The liquor tray beckoned and he didn’t resist, taking a crystal tumbler.

Peter poured the amber liquid over ice, feeling his thirst rise. It wouldn’t help much, but it might take the edge off. Swirling his glass, he took a moment to let the whiskey breathe. The ice crinkled as it warmed. One drink was all he’d have, so he savored it in small sips.

“Sudden,” he said, approaching his Brothers.

The Hand turned to face him, holding his drink with his left hand. The pale fingers looked dead. His right hand was entirely gone, a flap of shirt pinned into place over the shortened stump. Peter wondered if he’d ever had a taste for women and if they’d ever wanted him back. He thought not.

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“The meeting?” the Sniveler asked, the sound emanating from behind several chins.

Peter nodded, “I wasn’t planning on a relocation.”

Short and thick, with a fleshy face, the Sniveler shot a look at his partner.

“Us either,” the Hand confirmed.

The Sniveler paced to the liquor tray, his back an extensive wall. “Where were you?” he asked, going for nonchalance.

Peter let him wait, counting the iron sconces that filled the room with light. They were beeswax candles, reminding him of the Family’s hall in Orlenia. Metal plates threw the light so that even the darkest corners of the room were filled with a soft luminescence.

“South in New Orleans,” Peter offered. There wasn’t any majic there. He’d been about ready to leave, anyway.

“Hmm,” was the Hand’s addition to the conversation. The Sniveler didn’t bother to reply.

Disgusted by his slack-wit expression, Peter took another sip, trying to enjoy the oaky flavor. It was unusual for Company men to work so closely with one another, especially for so long. Partnerships formed, but generally only survived a few weeks. When someone got what they needed, the pairing dissolved, sometimes amicably, usually not. These two had worked together for years.

Peter laughed to himself, remembering. That had been a good day.

The Sniveler shifted, blotting at the tears that pooled in his facial creases. Peter unconsciously wiped his free hand against his pants.

“Gentleman,” the voice came from behind him.

Peter’s shoulder twitched.

He hadn’t heard the Manager enter. Averting his eyes, his pulse surged, the need to kneel a solid weight behind his knees.

“Sir,” he said crisply, his voice one of three. He shoved his free hand into his pocket to hide the tremor in his fingers. His gold rings scraped his pocket watch.

“Attend, Gentlemen,” his Manager instructed.

His Brothers had their eyes down, the Sniveler’s posture so low he looked like he was bowing. Peter wondered how the man could bend his spine around his stomach like that. The Hand caught his eye and Peter looked away. Direct confrontation was discouraged.

“Gentlemen,” their Manager said. “You’ve been a great disappointment to our Family.”

“Sir, I…,” the Sniveler began.

“Excuses,” their Manager continued, “…are unacceptable. Finding the girl has been your sole objective. You were chosen for your abilities…”

Peter could feel sweat at his hairline. It trickled down between his shoulder blades, dampening the shirt beneath his formal jacket. Knees locked, he concentrated on forcing his heartbeat back to normal.

You know better than this, he told himself. You’ve lasted too long to lose it here. Just be calm.

The seconds stretched out painfully. He wondered what the man was waiting for, what he was observing. Peter counted the beats of his heart until, finally, the man inhaled.

“You know the importance of our objective. But, our timeline has changed. Informants have reported increased agitation among the masses. Once again our structure, our assembly, bears sedition.”

The Manager let the silence unfold in an expanse of naked possibility.

Peter felt cold. He’d barely lived through the last Eganese rebellion. There couldn’t be another. There could never be another.

He shied from his memories.

“The witch must be secured by February. New intelligence suggests she is in Philadelphia. Find her. I need not elaborate on the repercussions if you do not.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. She was here. He’d been right!

There’d been something about the new apartment. He would find her. He was close.

The Manager stepped forward- a lean man in an impeccable, black suit. His voice pressed, “Sit, gentlemen.”

Peter made for the nearest chair.

The news was confirmation of what Peter suspected and he listened to his instructions with mounting discomfort. Over the years, he’d picked up a fair amount, reading between the lines, listening to word choice. Often what was omitted was the most important.

By his estimate, there were twelve other Employees with specific Talents. According to what his Manager was telling him, all had been recalled to the North Eastern portion of America. In Eganene, this area was one of two focal points for the Umbilicus and the Family. If the Rebellion was truly a threat, then key personnel would be stationed here.

Three of their Brothers had been sent to Earth to track and kill anyone found with latent ability. Since majic, as they knew it, didn’t really work here, it spoke volumes that they would waste such valuable resources. By Peter’s count, that left nine men and women, nameless, faceless Employees, charged with finding Caroline’s daughter. Failure meant death. Even worse, for those believers, it meant the end of civilization.

The entire directive lasted about fifteen minutes.

Peter left in a hurry, eager to be alone. The deadline was less than a month away.

Soon, she would change. It was a terrifying perspective.

A child with enough power to pull the Company down around their ears. Strong enough to bring back the ways of majic!

Not that he would be around to see it. If the worst came to pass, he and the rest of his Brothers would be terminated. The Family didn’t tolerate failure and theirs would be the greatest failure of all.

He stood with the fortress at his back. It cut the wind, but he could still hear the air moaning over the ramparts. Trash flapped against the snow at his feet.

Choosing a direction, he moved with purpose, disregarding any face that wasn’t young or female. He sought the child wherever he went, every day, every hour. People never noticed.

In a glass window, he saw what they saw-- a tall, well-dressed businessman headed somewhere important. They accepted him as one of their own. That was good. He’d spent a great deal of energy cultivating that façade.

This was his chance. If he could find Caroline’s daughter, he’d be made. But that was a pretty big if. Finding the child had been his mission for years. He’d tried everything he could to draw the child out.

Now, he was out of time. In Eganene, he could have done things.

There were ways that he could…

He stopped, his breath puffing out in a foggy explosion. That was it!

There was no other way. Nothing else he could do to be absolutely sure. Pulling his hat down, his feet moved of their own accord.

It took nothing for him to find Milly’s apartment. He checked on her every year or so, never actually speaking with her, just seeing where she was and what she was doing. The tie between them was strong, a connection, that called to him like blood to blood. It strung them together so that while their paths separated, they still drifted together. Had he been a romantic, he would have believed they were destined for one another.

He knew better. The last time he’d spoken to Milly, he’d been but eighteen. A different time, a different world.

Or perhaps not, he thought. Things were spiraling out of control now, too.

He remembered her in those last moments, unconscious on the floor, her raven hair matted to her head and her skin marred by bruises. He shied away from the memory. Inexperienced, with just a taste of power and no control, he didn’t regret his decision, not really. He hadn’t checked to see if she was alive, but saved his own skin and ran.

Peter Traveled to Delphi in Eganene, his mind filled with memories.

Anyone on the streets of Philadelphia would have seen a man walk into nothing. Their minds, unable to settle this with reality, would have believed they’d imagined the man. In Eganene, it might have been different. Peter had never asked, but judging by reactions at their base in Orlenia, whatever it was that he did when he Traveled was something to see.

To him, it was nothing. One moment he was in one world, the next, he was somewhere else. It was like diving into water in daylight and coming up inside a dark cavern. He was in a different place, but then again, he wasn’t. Whether or not there was light, he was still wet.

Milly’s apartment was on the south side of the Delphi, stuck between the abandoned factories and the rusting stadium. These were all structures from Earth- their shells manifested in Eganene. The atmosphere left a lot to be desired. Broken bike locks, sometimes still holding a lonely wheel lay abandoned, while the doors were protected by iron bars.

He recognized Milly’s apartment by the naked glass of her windows. She could have chosen a safer place, but she hadn’t. Peter shook his head, mentally chastising her. For such a smart girl, she refused to learn.

He climbed the three stairs and entered her unlocked apartment without knocking. She was sitting inside her kitchen, perched at a cafe table. The countertops were littered with utensils and ingredients, but on the surface of her table there was only a mug.

“Peter!” the word burst from her lips like a curse.

He made a small bow, not taking his eyes from her face. “Milly.”

Her voice cracked, straining her usual low timbre, “How did you find me?”

He grinned. She no longer wore her black hair long, but had it feathered around her face. Her clothing had changed, too. Without the billowing dress he remembered, she looked more human. He wasn’t fooled.

It was a ruse, a deception. Her faded jeans and T-shirt would never make her harmless.

“How dare you?” she snarled, her expression changing from surprise to anger. “How dare you come here after…”

“Come now, Milly,” he interrupted. “Let’s not start like that. Not after all these years.” He took a single step closer, closing the door behind him. Her apartment smelled like food. He turned his back to the kitchen, pretending he couldn’t see the disorder.

She watched him like a trapped cat. “What are you doing here, Peter?”

He took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh, the dusting of snow falling onto the tiles, “You look well, Milly.”

Her green eyes narrowed, “I look alive, you mean.”

Peter took another step and pulled his coat from his shoulders. He could see her take in his suit and shoes, her eyes widening at the leather straps that wrapped about his shoulders to conceal his guns.

She whispered, “Why are you here, Peter?”

“To see you, of course. I need your help.”

There were a few paintings on the wall. She had preceded him to Delphi. Usually she was nearby, often in the same city. But even when she was further, he’d still been able to feel her. It was his Talent that let him do that, but it only worked with her.

He could see it in her face, see that she was not altogether displeased that he had sought her out.

“My help?” she asked, her eyelashes fluttering. Putting her elbow on the table, she rested her chin in her palm. She was going for nonchalant, but it didn’t really work. She was a petite girl and the tight material of her shirt broadcasted the tense muscles of her back.

“You look like you’re doing just fine without my help, Peter,” she said. “Leave me alone. I can’t help you.”

Behind her were the open doors to her apartment. She was alone. Milly didn’t have friends or lovers.

He took another step closer, reading her emotions. “Can’t or won’t, Milly? I know you can.”

She crossed her legs. He watched, his eyes flicking away from her face.

“You question me already.”

“As if you ever answered questions.” It was important to remain calm around Milly. Her temper could sweep in like a storm, conquering by sheer force of will.

He’d witnessed enough to know they were bloody and quick. Still, it was best if he didn’t agitate her. He needed something.

Spreading his hands, he continued, “I didn’t come here to question you, Milly.”

She smirked. “No? Then what do you want.”

“Not that,” he said, although he felt the lie. “You’re still capable of your other talents, I assume.” He watched her eyes dart to the clutter of cooking supplies on the countertop.

After a long pause, she said, “You left me for dead.”

Peter nodded. He wished there was time to question her, but he needed what he’d come for.

“Are you even sorry?”

He looked at her carefully. He could see one of the scars that wound its way down her hairline, “I thought you were dead.”

“You knew I wasn’t.”

He could hear the anger in her voice, and maybe something more.“Well, I thought you soon would be,” he said, earnestly. “Not all of us recover like you. I don’t know how you survived.”

“You didn’t wait…”

“I’ve seen others take wounds like that, Milly. All of them died.”

He could see her take the compliment. Her shoulders arching back as she settled in the chair, “I always was more than you thought I was.”

“Are you still?” he asked, taking two steps towards her. The linoleum was tacky under his feet.

“Of course, but for what you want, there’ll be a price.”

“What?”

The vixen smiled, her red lips parting gently. Most men would think her smile beautiful, but he knew better. “A price for what you want,” she said, her eyes flashing, “and a price for me.”

“But…”

“No. You left me for dead. It’s only right that I have my price, too.”

“And you’re sure you can do what I want?” he asked, suddenly wary.

Milly stood. She still looked seventeen. “If you were uncertain,” she whispered, “you would never have come here.”