Back in their nice apartment, Sam sprawled on one of the penthouse sun loungers out on the veranda as the sun went down. After the sweltering heat of the day, he enjoyed the slight chill of the evening, it was just a pity the air was so dry.
He just couldn’t get comfortable and shifted often. Perhaps it was the after effects of Atkin’s curse on his form; perhaps it was his body’s natural reaction to a warmer climate or the numerous close encounters of the insect kind recently. In any case, he stewed as he idly browsed the current case notes and some Red Srulik comic clippings downloaded to his rugged tablet. He tried to concentrate, but ended up thinking of home and of her.
He reminded himself to drink and took a gulp of water from a courtesy bottle freshly piped straight from the bottling factory tanks into 1-litre bottles as they had watched. Who said heroics didn’t come with any perks from time to time? Funny thing about fire breathing, you never notice how dry ones’ throat is.
Water may have been hyper-inflated, but hopefully local beer and soda weren’t. Maybe his flatmates would want to hang out and chat. How often do they all get the chance these days?
He stretched his legs, and wandered around the apartment looking for the rest of the Balance. He could hear Akira downstairs trying to talk with one of their young, female neighbours; though from the giggles coming up the stairwell his chat up technique might need a little work. Mary was on a call to Jeeves and muttered that she’d join in a few minutes.
Adam was easily found, he was still outside on the roof working on the raft or otherwise enraptured by his phone. Sam left him to his work, envious of Adam’s perpetual sense of purpose and direction and new fancy.
Wonder if there was any drink in the apartment?
As he checked the kitchen he found a cupboard filled with a variety of booze; including his favourite brand of gold leaf Vodka, some peach schnapps, Mary’s favourite Irish Whiskey, craft beers from home and several non-alcoholic beers as well. Sam smiled. This was too well organised for someone not to have pre-arranged it. Having poured himself a large mug of the Vodka he gave a silent prayer of gratitude to Jeeves (who else could have organised it?) and headed to the living room.
He thought about loss and, for some reason, his thoughts turned to Tiamente. In their last and final meeting, Tiamente had called to him (or so he had thought) and his dragon patron begged for the remains of their physical form to be destroyed. He had no knowledge of his success or failure.
While the other members of the Balance were far more well-read and practiced in practical mysticism, this was something he had to do.
They had dismissed Sam’s idea for a ritual to cleanse the sullied waters, both suggesting, “That’s not how it works, Sam” or other such excuses. Naturally, Sam respected their expertise, but he had a nagging feeling about something. He had witnessed both Mary and Akira cast spells and manipulate physical space and force to their will, yet neither have performed or supported a ritual since the teams formation.
Was there something inherently dangerous about the task? Would there be anything particularly risky for them, something to do with their past, perhaps?
Sam immediately began making hasty revision into classical historical laying to rest rites. He elected to attempt a Celtic pagan ritual, in respect of Tiamente’s heritage. From what Sam knew or believed, Tiamente deserved a smooth passing into the beyond.
“Let’s get to work,” he muttered as he drew up a list of tools and symbols that would be required.
The more he thought about it though, there was little historical information about authentic Celtic rituals to draw on – beyond what their enemies had written intending to demonise them; wicker men and Caesar anyone? Most rituals he had read about had been supposedly ‘rediscovered’ in the 18th and 19th century… so?
Mary materialised at the drinks cupboard and helped herself to a large glass of malt, then turned to see what Sam was doing.
“I wanted a Celtic ritual to lay Tiamente’s spirit to rest but…” Sam shrugged.
“Ok, so we need a sacrifice linked to it, flames for a touch of sympathetic magic and water for scrying.” Mary grabbed a wok, some lighter fuel, a knife and one of their bottles of water. She stopped, thought hard then grabbed a bag of salt and headed for the roof.
Sam flew to the roof to take in the beautiful sunset across the city. Even the irritated populace seemed to cool as the sun began to disappear into night. She would have liked it here. He thought about contacting Pseudo-Annie about an update on the professor’s records but Sam could not summon the willpower, and elected to brood instead while Mary set up the wok as a makeshift wood burner.
She, the real she, still hadn’t sent him any messages, or if she had – Sam did not have the knowledge to recognise them. Maybe she isn’t okay, maybe she isn’t ever coming back.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his arm. It’s no use and not helping. He’d have to do something to occupy him or he would have no rest tonight, it’s happened before.
Mary tapped him on the shoulder breaking his chain of thought “so, I was thinking a sacrifice linked to Tiamante – that being you basically. Something like some of your blood or a scale would suffice. We burn it whilst casting salt to purify, and then add water to create a scrying pool.
I have the advantage of being able to create and perform rituals, but there’s plenty of tradition in the way of blessing springs and purifying waters back in the old country. Besides which I was thinking, maybe, to try to work in the ‘un-doing’ neutralise spell; the abjurations of Abbridon, I’ve been using on the unfortunate tools of… whoever’s behind this ten-plagues thing. If it works on them, it might also work on their magical doings… So, yes, count me in, we can work on this together.”
An hour later, Sam collapsed into bed. The ritual had worked, or at least he had felt it had. There had only been three traces left of the Dragon; Himself, what he presumed was the Black Dragonkin apparently still imprisoned below the Bastille Experience, and a third fragment to the north west… Not sure what that was exactly but thankfully nothing in the direction of Carpathia.
Back on the roof, Mary still wasn’t feeling sleepy. She considered Sam’s original suggestion for some sort of ritual for an attempt at purifying the waters, Possible, but where could she research such a ritual? Was there a Library here they could visit or some way to check? She considered phoning St. Catherine’s but it would be middle of the night back home. No, intuition and folklore had worked for Sam’s ritual (effectively it was a banishment ritual though she had better not mention that to Sam).
No, better use the inability to sleep to good effect. A phone call to Officer Levi and a visit downtown had resulted in a lift by prison van to the Solomon Penitentiary. So, this was where they imprisoned powered prisoners? It felt brutal and harsh.
She was here to visit with the latest culprits/victims of the Bargainer (and perhaps, behind him, “Sabra”).
She transformed into Old Mary (a form that they have not yet seen, at least as far as she could remember) and instead of confronting them, sat idly in a cell across from the flyman and Boils in their separate cells pretending to be just another prisoner. Boils was pouting, occasionally screaming in rage. The fly however was obviously suffering from the DTs, delirium tremens, a rapid onset of confusion usually caused by withdrawal from alcohol. Mary knew that when it occurred it could last for two to three days.
She strummed out some charms on her harp, calming and healing, hoping to put the more resistant of the two into a receptive frame of mind before working the ‘reversing’ magic she used on the first culprit-victims.
A couple of hours later she finally gave up. Boils seemed beyond recovery, filled with hate, spite and a complete lack of sorrow for his actions. McFly was completely out of it (though she thought she saw some indications that the ritual might have started some form of recovery but he was so confused just now it was hard to tell; worth trying again, once the DTs had passed possibly?
One last attempt; she covertly signalled the guard and got transferred to the woman’s wing and the cell opposite Dever and began the ritual whilst being enticed by her to ‘get real pretty, real quick…” She kept on trying to slim Mary down but something in the wing was inhibiting her power though everyone kept their distance from her.
After about twenty minutes, she gave up. Dever, yes she was definitely Emunah Stricker, the only one of them positively identified by the Police so far, was beyond redemption and nothing Mary did seemed to work.
Time to go, Mary signalled for the guards and was quickly escorted back to Officer Levi’s presence and a lift home.
Superhero Adventures, UK Style 