Orphan At The Edge Of The World 124 Crawling Chaos 22

Whatever thoughts or actions Muriel may have taken on it were limited by her inability to know exactly what he had planned before the food and wine had been handed to him and he was out the door. Accustomed to doing what she wanted without question and under the impression that no one would be foolish enough to drop her name without her permission, the restaurant a.s.sumed it to be Muriel's instruction. The small act of pettiness allowed Orison to leave without an explosion.

Halfway across town, the young mage had managed to catch a ride with a delivery guy heading the direction he was going and hitched a ride. Sitting in the back of the pickup, he opened the food container only to find that it looked days old and slightly moldy. It wasn't that much of a surprise. He had felt some kind of negative energy draw near for a second but far from upset, he was tickled in finding she was every bit as petty as he was.

Close to his destination, the young mage let the guy know as he jumped out. The man warned him that the area he was in belonged to mafia and to be careful. Orison responded by handing the man his bottle of likely vinegar wine and told the man to give it as a gag gift to someone.

Walking through a neighborhood that couldn't be considered good or bad at a casual glance, the young mage actually managed to get lost for a few minutes on the labyrinthine streets. By the time he had managed to find the rather nice townhouse that was his destination, he didn't have nearly the amount of comfortable time he had originally antic.i.p.ated. Despite that, he still leisurely strode up to the gate guard and announced himself only after he had strolled around the front half of the property once. There wasn't much chance of need but he wanted to be ready for a quick exit if necessary.

After a call to the house from the guard box intercom, there was a small wait before the man on duty gave Orison a pitying look and said, "You were late. Ms. Gorgonos won't be seeing you this evening."

Orison affected resigned depression. "Alright, I get that she's got to show me my place and all that. Just let me rest for a second. I had to hoof all the way across town to get here and even if I had the money for a cab, I doubt she'd let you call me one."

The guard, somewhat expecting an outburst, was taken by surprise. "Well, as long as you don't cause a ruckus and stay a respectable distance from the guard box, I don't mind you taking a couple of minutes to catch your breath."

The young mage nodded and sat on the other side of the drive up to the gate. Leaning against the wall, he exercised two castings of mend on it to force the gate's brace bolts out. When his side of the two door gate fell, twisting the middle latching part, he pretended to be as startled as the guard.

Conspiratorially, he said, "Hey, is she actually falling on hard times or something? I mean, when I saw that her artists looked a little down and out, I didn't think much of it but then she stiffed me on dinner and now I find out her house is in disrepair."

After taking a moment to report the situation to the house, the guard said, "I'm sorry, my friend. I'm sure you're tired but it's probably best you don't hang around."

Affecting a sympathetic expression, Orison nodded and as he walked away, he said, "You can tell her it's alright. She's obviously having some financial difficulties at the moment. I'll look for some side work somewhere else. I hope she gets back on her feet soon."

During their exchange, the guard had kept the intercom open just in case Orison had done something like try to run past him towards the house. The buzzing crackle of feedback as someone tried to send out while it was already open could be heard from where Orison was. By the time the guard responded, he felt that the young mage was far away enough that he needed to half yell in an attempt to get Orison's attention.

The guard said, "Hey buddy, Ms. Gorgonos told me to tell ya truce. She's sending a maid with a plate of bread and some salt."

Walking back, Orison was a bit confused. He expected his mini temper tantrum would have some effect but it wasn't this.

Misunderstanding the young mage's perplexed expression, the guard added, "I don't get it either, buddy. This has to be one of the wonkiest places I've worked. I'd say take it with a grain of salt but, haha, that's what it looks like you'll be doin anyway."

A minute later, with ritual grace, Orison sprinkled a little of the oil and salt offered onto a bread stick and took a bite off the end. With that done, the maid who brought it out took him to meet Muriel in a den that looked very much like it belonged to a traditional man rather than the regal woman who paced in it presently.

In a half amused, half angry manner, Muriel said, "Have a seat or stand as you wish. Do you care for a drink? I plan on helping myself. Iron workers in this city are a nightmare to deal with and I'll never make the mistake of asking a sculptor to help with house repairs ever again."

The 180 from royal b*tch to relatable person was jarring to the young mage but he decided to take a small leap of faith and accepted a double shot of brandy.

Airing his confusion, Orison said, "Not to question the sudden left turn too hard but why are you so willing to change approach with me?"

Knocking back a shot and pouring another, she said, "I'm already on thin ice with the collective... If you don't know who they are, you will soon since I'm going to introduce you to one of their coordinators. Better to earn some goodwill at this point than to keep playing an evil witch... What do you know about secret societies?"

Being open after the little cloak and dagger routine made Orison feel like he'd let his temper cost them nearly two days worth of intense effort but if he could use this opportunity to cut straight to the heart of the matter more quickly, he'd take it.

The young mage said, "Enough to know I don't know enough."

Muriel grimaced over the sharpness of her drink and threw in, "My husband was a Mason in good standing. This city used to be a safe place, supernaturally speaking anyway. There's a lot of good people in that society but there's a movement. Some call them the new blood and some call them the skull and crossbones. They call themselves The Illuminati and they're about as benign as radiation sickness. They've also been a crumbly brick in the Mason's organization from nearly the beginning of the Renaissance.

"Jonathan, you might know him as the CEO and board director responsible for cosmetics and women's apparel at Mercer's INC, he and I went out to an old quarry earlier today. He brought me in as a consultant... My talents make me sensitive to the signatures left behind by the use of gifts.

"One of the signatures there matches one that was left on a car driving back to Port Haven nine years ago. It also matches the one lingering on my gate outside... Don't be so tense. I haven't said anything to Jonathan yet and the little stains that died out there were part of the new blood. Unfortunately, their parents are as well. Under the table, I and Mr Carter would like nothing more than to thank you for whatever you did to wipe out those little hemorrhoids. Above the table, I have to tell you that if you are figured out, Mr. Cantrip, there are few places you could go to seek asylum.

"Throw your lot in with the collective as soon as you can. I'd suggest putting some distance between yourself and this city as well. The powers behind the collective would probably be more than thrilled to have a smart young gifted that has aspirations of becoming something a little more substantial than another rug weaver, junk jewelry maker or whatever else most of the collective's lower echelon are mostly comprised of."

Organizing his thoughts as quickly as he could, Orison said, "I'm more than a little confused. If you know that much then you know why I'm here to begin with."

Muriel looked agitated. "No one aside from Jonathan and myself knew how much Neil had been doing to keep us informed of certain activities in the city... h.e.l.l, I was the one who helped find that cheeky man the last time he'd gotten a little too close to the new blood's business. If you're looking for him then I don't know how to help you.

"Yes, I posted a request through one of my subordinates to have him snoop around me. I was trying to find out what happened to some of the artists and models that had disappeared and I wanted his help in a way that wouldn't a.s.sociate the two of us in a positive way. Painting myself as one of his suspects allowed him to contact me more frequently without drawing suspicion from who I a.s.sume are behind their and his vanis.h.i.+ng.

"I'd warned him to only go as far as was safe. I think he became emotionally invested and went too far...again. I admit part of the blame. Neil's a good man and I should have known better but he's a pretty d.a.m.n good detective too. If I'd have been thinking more clearly, I wouldn't have put him on it in the first place.

"I put on my nasty mask and walk around like some villain from a story book but I really do care about my artists. Art's one of the last things that bring any color and joy to this ruin of a life I live now. I hate them so much but unless I have something solid to throw in the faces of our leaders, it's pointless. Cover up and move on is the blanket strategy at this point and that makes the Mason's vulnerable to the new blood's vicious antics."

He still didn't have a bead on the woman. He might as well have not even tried to use the stag pin as there was nothing coming from her. Considering the film of negative energy that rolled around her but lacked the faint hint of sweet rot that necromancy had, she was a curse master. Twisting a charm to block empathy would be a piece of cake.

Orison asked, "If you care about your artists, why is Nicolas so close to sticking a foot in the grave and why is he scared of you?"

At the mention of Nicolas her eyes softened a little and then she started laughing. "They're all scared of me, Mr. Cantrip. I can't afford to show a single lick of affection for any of them. Due to my position as a widow of one of the current leaders.h.i.+p's fallen and a person of considerable might in my own right, the new blood don't dare lash at me directly but everyone around me is fair game.

"As for sweet, awkward little Nicolas, he gets so wrapped up into his work that he can go days without eating or getting proper rest. I honestly don't know what to do about him sometimes. The poor young man is so gullible that he's half convinced I was the one who made that model of his disappear. It's probably better that way. The more he hates me, the safer he is."

He wanted to believe her. Her situation and way of handling it was something Orison could understand and sympathize with. This world ill.u.s.trated at every turn the prices one had to pay for power and it would sooth his heart a little to know that there were people like what Muriel presented herself to be, within it. He didn't, though.

The little inconsistencies to her weary but actually good hearted person act could be played off as being out of practice and out of touch with her 'true' self since she had to put on a b*tch act everyday but Orison wasn't a casual or mundane observer. Her heart rate was even. There were no signs of distress. No matter if it was the mean girl act in the restaurant or the aggrieved victim role she was playing now, both were delivered with the glacier calm of a sociopath.

Ultimately, the deep game Muriel was playing didn't matter to Orison at all. He wasn't here to expose her. He was here to find Neil. And even though he hadn't found any clues, there was some kind of spatial anomaly in her bas.e.m.e.nt. If she had some kind of extra dimensional pocket, there was a possibility of it being what they were looking for.

It was only a possibility, however. Orison wasn't particularly willing to throw caution to the wind over a maybe. There were plenty of other reasons and explanations. Her story was air tight for the moment too, even if he didn't buy the sentiment behind it.

Struggling for a way to dig more without it being obvious, Orison said, "Well, my being strapped for cash isn't a lie. I'm not overly fond of the idea of being beholden to some group for support until I figure everything out for myself. If there are some legitimate possibilities of modeling work, I'm still interested in hearing about it."

Turning thoughtful, Muriel said, "I'll admit to personal reasons for pus.h.i.+ng you towards the collective but keeping you on hand might be useful for a little while. I warn you. I keep personal and work matters separate. If you want modeling work, you need to have the credentials."

Orison asked, "What did you have in mind for me to prove my credentials?"

Muriel led him to a sculpting studio in her back yard. After ordering a few materials to be prepared, she asked for a painter she had on residence to come. Once the man received some directions from Muriel, the somewhat tired and lanky man turned to Orison.

It set the young mage's mind at ease that the artist who had been ordered to sketch him didn't seem overly thrilled at the idea. That became important as Muriel's instructions for position and pose slowly escalated from easy, innocent and fully clothed to difficult and practically p.o.r.nographic. All the while, Orison was testing around the spatial anomaly with excruciatingly slow subtlety to keep from alerting Muriel.

A female model, temporarily recruited from staff, was brought in. Things escalated a lot more quickly and at first, the young mage didn't have any problems dividing his attention between following instructions and pursuing his supernatural investigation. That changed when the female model started becoming a little too invested and Orison's body control slipped for a moment in response to her 'willingness', nearly turning a pose imitating the act of intimacy to the act itself. Fortunately, Muriel recognized the need for all involved to have a small break to sort themselves.

While the young mage used a wet towel provided to him to wipe off the female model's...sweat... that had collected on him, Muriel acknowledged Orison's professionalism briefly before calling in a male model recruited from security. Things became awkward quickly and even though the man looked miserable, he started involuntarily responding before they had even reached halfway through 'suggestive' poses. Orison was glad because it gave him ample reason to deny going any further, something he had planned on doing anyway.

Muriel attempted a second time with another man recruited from security. It was the guy from the guard gate. Fortunately, Orison had finally breached the protection of the anomaly and had gotten a split second look inside by the time he had reached the portion that had taken down the first guy. The poor security guard suffered a similar fate but unlike the first, lost his composure and got angry at Orison.

The young mage turned to Muriel and said, "It doesn't really matter past this point any way. This 'cup bearer at rest' pose is pretty much past the limit of my comfort zone. No offense to your vision, Ms. Gorgonos, but sitting on another dude's knee and pretending to whisper to him while resting my head on his shoulder is less cla.s.sical style and more Santa Claus/ Daddy role play in my eyes."

Muriel was unamused but the artist laughed as he flipped his sketchbook around to show that in one of his concept blocks, he had put a Santa hat and beard on the security guard's head. It did worlds for the negative tension as the security guard chuckled nervously, asking to go back to his post.

"Besides, it's after one in the morning. Coming all the way across town and engaging in what is essentially isometric exercise for nearly four hours, I don't have much endurance left in me," Orison added.

Muriel glanced between him and the panda eyed artist and grudgingly agreed. "The pool bungalow is empty, Mr. Cantrip. Unless you have somewhere to be, feel free to use it... I'll see that you're supplied with some refreshments and sleeping clothes."

The young mage said, "Thank you. I think I'll take you up on that."

With a glare of warning, she said, "The main house is off limits for any reason."

Orison smiled and nodded his agreement. That smile turned a darker shade once Muriel was out of view.

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