Crossover Earth '98
Avalon du Lac meets Cassandra Netherland, in...
MEMORIES, GHOSTS AND DEMONS
BY LISE MENDEL AND MICHAEL SURBROOK
Because she had so many memories of losing both parents, Cassandra decided not to argue with her mother during the several day drive from Michigan to Maryland. Because she thought Cassandra had suffered some sort of minor brain damage, her mother made the same decision. It made for a refreshingly pleasant four day drive. The two of them enjoyed getting reacquainted, although Cassandra had clearly changed. Her mother seemed to pass off all the strangeness, probably putting it down to the accident.
Coming home was a little harder. It was evening when she pulled into the same-as-ever driveway, and the walkway was lit by an obliging neighbor who had, she gathered, been watching the place while Mother was out caring for her. Cassandra found herself hanging back, fooling with her suitcases as her mother carried her overnight bag in the house. She looked at it, dubiously, and followed her in. As she entered the door, she felt the time traces she and others had left around here. The memories of her growing up, the childhood that was entirely hers, but not her entire childhood. The people that had been here and gone...
She returned to the car for a second load of belongings while her mother took her things upstairs to the guest room. That room had been next to the one she and Grace had shared for years, before the accident. She stared up for a few moments, then made the obligatory objections to her mother doing all that carrying, and danced the social dance that ended up with her in bed, and made noises about getting herself a late night snack before settling in.
Then she went back downstairs, to the kitchen. She had never realized, while growing up, how big the house really was. She got down a coffee mug (which were kept in exactly the same place they had always been). She reflected that you never know what it is you have until it's gone, then shook her head. These were not the thoughts which left her from seeking sleep, here. There were other worries on her mind.
*No major haunting,* she told herself. *I would have felt it the moment I walked in the door.* But still, she was not ready to lie down in that bed.
She opened the freezer to find the ground coffee, then closed it again. *I'd better go and see,* she thought, and went down one more flight of stairs.
Then she stood, transfixed, before the door to the third and final flight of stairs. The concrete stairs. The cold, hard stairs which were truly lethal to fall down. She closed her eyes and felt beyond the door, and found nothing. She opened the door and saw... stairs. Nothing more. No child's ghost, reaching for her, demanding an explanation or apology. Grace had passed beyond and found her peace without her help.
Cassandra stood, staring down into the darkness. Even without finding a reproachful spirit here, she still felt haunted.
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In the basement of his home, surrounded by a protective layer of earth and stone, Avalon sat cross legged in the center of his work room. Well, floated actually, since at the moment he was a good three feet off the floor. His eyes were closed and hands rested lightly on his knees, fingers up in the classic 'lotus' position. His breathing was faint and slow, and for all intents and purposes, he seemed asleep.
In fact, he was quite awake, it was just that his mind was else where. Guarded by his three familiars, Avalon had cast his consciousness free, to roam the astral plane and take stock of the present status of the Earth.
Rising from his home in Maryland, Avalon looked to the west, following the streams of magical energy as they ebbed and flowed across the landscape. Far to the west and south, there was the great sinkhole that marked New Orleans. The strands and lines of energy that spiraled about the place were tinged with red and black, sure signs of necromantic activity. But then, New Orleans had always been a favorite haunt of vampires and ghouls. It came from having to bury everyone above ground.
Further west a tall, slowly spinning column marked the location of Medicine Wheel, in Montana. Avalon still wasn't sure what the intended purpose of the structure was, other than it was very old and seemed to relate to weather and fertility magics. He'd wisely decided long ago that trying to bend such sorceries to his own needs was a very bad idea. Traveling further west, he passed such hotspots as Crater Lake and the Arizona meteor crater. Both were locus of high magic, where the unwary could consume themselves with their own spells if the proper precautions were not made.
Finally, Avalon stood on the shores of the Pacific. To the north was San Francisco, home to Milo Tagelohn, better known as "The Gnome". As with New Orleans, Avalon found San Francisco to be rife with ancient and dark magic, although most if it seemed to be dormant, quietly waiting for the right master. Turning away from the shore, Avalon looked out over the crashing waves.
Far across the sea lay Australia and Ayers Rock. The Rock as an exceedingly powerful focus for magical energy, a gate to Limbo and the other lands that the Aborigines referred to as "The Dreamtime". And to the north of that lay Hong Kong. It had been returned to Communist China just recently, and Avalon wondered how the few sorcerers who had made the city their home now fared. Hsien-ko, he knew, still lived there; but then, she had been living in Hong Kong for over 200 years and had no desire to leave. He briefly considered visiting her, but quickly decided against it. It would be rude to drop by unannounced, especially since it was daylight, or close enough to it, in the Pacific Rim city.
Rising, he began to move out over the water, but... there was a tremor, a flicker on the edge of his vision. Someone had disturbed an old ward, a ward he had almost forgotten about. His trip across the Pacific discarded, Avalon retraced his path across the Astral realm at the speed of thought, racing to return to his unmoving body.
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Cassandra's week long deadline came and went without news of her homeless millionaire/do-gooder being killed, so she began to prepare for action. She needed to get a clearer picture of the approaching catastrophe, and she needed to find (or create) allies before it came.
Getting contacts in the 'official' realm would have to wait. She didn't have the credentials or status as any sort of an expert, and didn't think she'd have the time to get them in any conventional way. Getting the aid of superheroes, on the other hand, should be possible. Judging from her experiences in other time streams, they were generally open to unconventional sources of information, and were willing to accept the fact that she knew what she knew with a minimum of proof. And she'd need some contacts in the mystical realm, too. Getting their attention would be easy.
Surviving that attention would be another matter, entirely.
Proper clothes would be needed. She found a seamstress and a source for LevutanTM (much lighter and more flexible than Kevlar, more puncture resistant than mylar, and less expensive than KombudarTM), and commissioned a costume. Nothing skin tight, nothing that screamed 'superhero', but it would mark her as eccentric. She was less likely to be an immediate target that way and, she had to admit to herself, she liked the look.
Then to form a plan of action. She spent hours searching the time stream for 'key points'. She made trips to the public library, looking for possible 'hot spots'. She spent days fighting the inevitable conclusion...
The only logical starting point was the mage. She would have to pay a visit to Avalon.
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With a sudden start, Avalon stood, his feet reaching the floor moments before his simple spell of levitation dropped him there. Shaking his head and combing his long hair away from his face, he glanced about the room. Manannan Mac Lir lay curled up in a corner, watching him with large blue eyes, the tip of his tail twitching slightly. Baset yawned, her teeth white against her black fur, and stretched. That done, she sat up and started scratching behind one ear. Herrick, meanwhile, lay in his customary spot on the work bench. Forbidden to smoke in the house, he settled for chewing his cigar, spiting the remains into a well-placed and well-stained trash bin.
Sitting up, Manannan gave Avalon a questioning look. "Well, that was quick. We figured you'd be gone a couple of hours at least."
Avalon spared the Sheltie a brief glance. "Something came up... a stirring of power..."
"Can you be a little more specific?" Manannan asked with a shake of his head.
"Someone or something has disturbed the wards at the mansion," Avalon replied testily, "I must see to it immediately." That said, he strode quickly for the door.
"Hey! Hey! Boss! Wait up!" Manannan scrambled for the door, claws clicking on the smooth floor. Moments later, Baset and Herrick followed, the three bounding out the door and down the hall.
"Hey Boss, don't do anything stupid, this could be a trap y'know..."
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As she drove along, Cassandra mentally reviewed the factors which made Avalon a compelling first contact:
But she still wasn't comfortable with the thought.
Which is why she was driving to the site of the old Nightwatch base, not to the mage's home. She hoped to find out more about this Avalon before risking contact. Hopefully, the time traces he'd left at his old headquarters would tell her something about how he'd handle the temptation which her existence presented to magic wielders.
She checked the map several times. This was definitely not the site of the Nightwatch Headquarters she had known, but it was the address she had found - an old farm house, out in the Western half of the county. She pulled the yellow Miata off to the side of the road rather than taking it through the chained off drive. She locked it and left it there by the "no trespassing" sign, then examined the landscape.
Nightwatch had been based in an old farmhouse, mansion really, within striking distance of both Washington and Baltimore, but several miles from any population center. No one was there to see her ducking under the chain and walking towards the house. Even if there had been, she would have presented an unremarkable sight; the costume wasn't even finished yet.
She wandered down the road, taking her time and, to all appearances, walking casually. She took a wide detour off the road, however, when she approached the house and saw the remnants of a mystical ward. It had been set years ago, and probably never maintained, but she knew that if it had any power at all left within it, her own powers would set it off like a beacon.
*That's another reason not to mess with him,* she reminded herself. *I can't beat him and I can't hide from him. It's either trust him or leave him alone.*
But she kept walking.
No overwhelming time echoes jumped out at her while she wandered. There was the image of an ambulance over in the garage, someone had had an awful lot of sex in that swimming pool, and there had certainly been a fight with a dragon, but all of it was softened, mellowed with age.
And no strong images of Avalon.
She circled the house with trepidation, avoiding two more wards in the process. The front door, in addition to being boarded up, was well 'protected'. She absently tugged at the boards on a front window, but they were nailed firmly in. Sucking a nonexistent splinter from her thumb, she went around a corner and tried the boards on the next window. A nail pulled free, and a key plank swung, easily, as if on hinges.
Cassandra stared at the open window as if it might grow teeth at any minute and bite her. Eventually she satisfied herself that entering wouldn't set off any mystical alarms and climbed in. She replaced the boards on the window behind her, then stood for minutes, letting her eyes adjust to the sudden darkness.
She wandered around for a few minutes, trying to put names and functions to the hollow shells of rooms, and straining her senses to catch whatever echoes she might find. Finally, she found a bathroom in the middle of the house, closed herself in, crouched under the sink and cut herself adrift...
She was in a brightly lit lobby, decorated in silver and teal. There was a secretary's desk behind extremely thick plastic, comfortable looking chairs, and a wide variety of magazines in the waiting area. She watched as a couple of men in dark gray suits marched in lockstep to the desk and introduced themselves as Perkins and LeMaster of the F.B.I...
She was in a windowless room full of computer equipment and strange machines that went 'ping'. An orange, rocky looking man-like creature in a lab coat was floating above the equipment, upside down, and screaming at impressive volume for Avalon to get him down, all the while insisting that magic didn't exist...
She saw Avalon and Rogue in countless arguments about everything from women to who controlled the team. She saw Saffyre and Rogue in nearly as many. She watched the slow-growing romance between Lone Wolf and Silence blossom as the constant battles, both internal and external to the team, raged about them...
She witnessed a dark the ritual of sacrifice, in the remnants of the headquarters. As it seemed to be reaching some sort of climax, one of the hooded figures cavorting in the candle light turned towards the one next to him, and calmly grabbed the man's swaying arm, twisting his fellow cultist around in a tight circle, neatly tossing him into a thick nest of candles in a corner of the room. The victim went down with a thump on the hard word floor, splatting hot wax over himself and the wall.
The assailant continued his motion, stepped forward and rolled, avoided the flailing hands of another cultist, and scooped the young woman up in his arms. His hood fell back to reveal the white hair, and familiar face, of Avalon himself. "Hang on," he muttered, as he got ready to stand.
The cult leader watched in disbelief as one of his own casually threw a worshipper across the room and grabbed his intended sacrifice, ignoring him completely. He continued his monotonous chant, but raised his dagger over his head, then brought it down in a two handed stab down into Avalon's back. The mage arched back in pain, dropping the woman on the floor as the wicked knife pierced his magical protections.
And found herself, sore and cramped, once again crouching in the closet. It took her a moment to realize that the chants she could still hear were coming from the back room, not within her own head. She carefully pushed open the closet door, and found the shadows light enough that she could find her way. Avoiding the squeakiest of the floor boards, she made her way to a spot, deep in shadows, that afforded a clear view of the old dining room, and settled down to watch.
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Dropping out of the sky, Avalon hovered over the roof of the old Nightwatch mansion. The house had been abandoned for at least eight years and was definitely starting to show signs of wear. The windows had been boarded up and the doors locked, but that still wouldn't be enough to keep out anyone really determined. He had spotted a bright yellow car out near the gate; who knew what sort of trouble the trespasser had caused.
Moving down past one side of the house, Avalon came to rest near the back deck. The garden here was an overgrown tangle of weeds and bushes, although the onset of winter head reduced most of the growth to dry brown bracken that cracked and crunched as he stepped through it. Drawing his cloak tighter about his body, Avalon stepped up onto the deck, trying to avoid making a great deal of noise as his boots clumped slightly on the wooden risers.
Turning to his left, Avalon pressed close to the equipment shed. Over to his right was the pool and hot tub. Both were filled to a considerable depth by scummy rainwater overlaid with fallen leaves. In the summer they were sure to become breeding pits for mosquitoes. Beyond that was a tangled mess of vines that marked the old trellis garden. As far as he could tell, everything was quiet and still.
Bringing his hands together, Avalon concentrated for a moment and then twisted his hands. A scant second later, his enchanted staff popped into existence, the crystal at the top glowing faintly. Shifting the staff to one side, Avalon then crept around the edge of the shed.
Standing at the stairs to the porch was someone dressed in some form of hooded robe. Fortunately for Avalon he was looking over towards the trellis. Stepping back behind the shed, Avalon muttered a quick incantation and made several sharp passes in the air in front of him. Pushing out on the layers of magic around him, he then lifted into the air, rising up over the shed to the roof of the porch.
Silently landing on the porch roof, Avalon bent forward and looked down, wincing slightly as his knees popped noisily. The person in the robe looked back and forth across the back deck, muttering to himself and shivering slightly due to the cold. A moment later one hand dipped inside the robe, producing the shiny form of a small pistol. The apparent guard checked the action and then slipped the weapon back inside the robe.
Well, that certainly settled a few things. Avalon still wasn't sure if this was a trap meant for him, despite Manannan's predictions, but armed guards hanging around the old Nightwatch mansion were not a good sign. Bending over slowly, Avalon stretched out with one hand, reaching for the back of the cultist's robe. A moment later he had grasped a tight handful of cloth and took to the air, dragging a very surprised guard with him.
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Stepping back onto the deck, Avalon did his best to straighten the cultist's roughly-sewn robe. It was a bit short, and his long white hair wouldn't stay tucked inside the hood. Swearing silently, Avalon opened the door to the porch, slipping inside silently. The long, but narrow, expanse was empty, but he could clearly hear chanting coming from the formal dining room. Creeping closer to the double doors, now propped open with chunks of brick, Avalon peered around the edge of the jamb, trying to do his best to look as relaxed as possible.
There were at least a dozen figures in the candle lit room, grouped in a loose circle about a naked and bound young girl. She had been gagged, and her eyes were wide and starring, filled with fear. The lead cultist stood over her, brandishing a khanjar with a long tapering blade. The whole circle swayed and chanted, intoning what sounded like 'Calydrys' over and over, their movements casting odd flickering
Avalon's brows narrowed as he gazed upon the scene. 'Calydrys' was the name of a demon, that much he knew, and the poor girl on the floor was certainly meant as payment for his services... if he arrived. Moving away from the door, Avalon considered summoning his staff again, but decided that unleashing bolts of magic within the confines of the Nightwatch manse was not one of his better plans. Instead, he simply stepped forward, joining the muttering ring, trying to place himself as close to the young teen as possible.
Cassandra watched from deep in the shadows, as far from the ceremony as she could be and still have a clear view of the action. She tensed as the fourteenth cultist joined the circle, and waited for Avalon to reveal himself, and turn his back to his doom.
Most of the cultists were too entranced by the ritual of their spell to even notice his presence, which was fine with Avalon. Reaching out mentally, his wrapped several strands of power around the amulet he wore about his neck, bringing a protective field of force into play.
Finally, the ritual seemed to be reaching some sort of climax. Avalon couldn't fully understand the words, other than they were saying 'the fate' over and over. It was now or never. Turning towards the chanting figure next to him, Avalon calmly grabbed the man's swaying arm, twisting it, and the man, around in a tight circle, neatly tossing him into a thick nest of candles that had been placed in a corner of the room. He went down with a thump on the hard word floor, splattering hot wax over himself and the wall.
Continuing his motion, Avalon stepped forward and rolled, avoiding the flailing hands of another cultist, and scooping the young woman up in his arms. "Hang on," he muttered, as he got ready to stand.
The cult leader watched in disbelief as one of his own casually threw a worshiper across the room and grabbed his intended sacrifice, ignoring him completely. He continued his monotonous chant, but raised his dagger over his head...
Cassandra took this as her cue to provide a distraction. She jumped from the shadows into the wildly flickering light with a wave of her hands, and a choked cry. The floor between the cult leader and Avalon obediently exploded in a brilliant flash of light.
"Oh, foolish worshipers of Calydrys," she bellowed at full volume, "now is the time to repent your wicked ways, and stop messing with matters you don't understand!"
Avalon blinked at the display. He wasn't certain who the woman was, but her rather minor cantrip shouldn't have done that! Reciting a rapid series of mnemonic phrases, he made a quick sequence of ritualized gestures with his free hand. Tightening his grip on the clearly terrified girl, he then vanished from the room.
Cassandra glanced at the spot where Avalon had stood a moment before, then back at the room full of demon worshiping fanatics.
"F*@# you, Mage," she muttered under her breath.
At the same time, the knife wielding leader of the cultists screamed in rage at her. "Interloper!" he yelled, "You have disrupted this most sacred ceremony, and sealed your DOOM!"
As he ranted, Cassandra noted with relief that the strands of magic which the cultists had been weaving in the circle had all but dissipated. The only source of magical power in the room was that curved, wicked looking knife.
"All is not lost, my faithful ones," the priest continued to rant "We shall continue our ceremony, with that one as our sacrifice." He gestured at Cassandra with the weapon, and began to chant ominously.
The cult, now little more than a mob, hesitated. It was clear they didn't know which one they feared more, their leader, or his designated victim.
"I wouldn't try it," she advised them, more or less calmly. "My destiny does not lie in that circle of yours."
They stood, staring at each other, silent except for the chanting of the cult leader. Finally, he brought his incantation to an end with a flourish. "I have invoked Calydrys, who has stripped her of magiks," the cultist intoned. "She is powerless before us! Take her!"
The rest of them charged her, ignoring her indignant snort of "You liar."
She avoided their grasping hands easily, as if her movements had been carefully choreographed, and made a bee line for the leader. Twice en route she struck out at a cultist who was careless or unlucky enough to give her an opening. Once she herself was hit, but she rolled with the impact, and came to her feet directly in front of the head cultist himself. She saw an evil leer grow under his cowl.
The tension in the room was palpable. Every eye was on the two of them as they faced off against each other, so it's not surprising that no one noticed Avalon as he glided in silently through the open porch doors.
"So, woman, you come to Calydrys of your own free will," the cult leader suggested. "He will appreciate your gesture."
She shook her head, dodging the surrounding cultists with an odd minimum of movement, even when they were grabbing at he from behind. "I'm giving you one last chance. Hand me the knife."
"As you WILL!" he called, and stabbed at her brutally.
She moved aside, instinctively striking his hand aside. He twisted, to compensate, and the blade sliced through the robe at his knee.
For an instant the tableaux froze, all eyes locked upon the blood upon the blade. Then the cult leader gave an eerie, keening gasp, and the rest watched in horror as the hand holding the knife began to shrink in upon itself. By the time the empty cloak hit the ground, the cultists were screaming in panic and fleeing blindly.
Cassandra stumbled out the porch door, passing both the panicked and feeling cultists and Avalon without acknowledgement. She leaned against the wall, and gasped for air in the moonlight.
"Man," she whispered into the night, "I hate it when that happens"
Glancing warily at the somewhat odd woman, Avalon stepped into the now empty dining room, and poked gingerly at robe that lay flat against the ground, feeling not unlike Darth Vader standing over the corpse of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Finally, lifting the garment on the end of his staff, he found what he was looking for.
"An Indonesian khanjar... very nice," Avalon said as he stepped out onto the patio.
"Nice...?" she wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered.
With a visible effort, she composed herself and turned to him. "So, Lord du Lac," she said, "we meet again."