A Plea from the Order

That implied a vampire had been concealing someplace close when I came home the previous night, and I did not discern or feel it. How reassuring. Might simply as well inscribe "Alert R Us" on my merc ID.

One ring. Two. Three. Why would he inquire me about Greg?

The phone connected and a gruff female voice delivered a skilful blurb, "Minnesota Chapter of the Order, how may I help you?"

"I would love to speak to Greg Feldman."

"Your name?"

A pale note of suspicion throbbed through her vocalist.

"I do not have to give you my name," I asserted to the receiver.

"I wish to communicate to the knight-diviner."

A halt issued and a masculine voice asserted, "Please, prescribe yourself."

They were hampered, probably attempting to track the call. What was blathering on?

"No," I mumbled actually.

"Page Ten of your Charter, third paragraph down: 'Any inhabitant has a right to seek consultant of a knight-diviner without dismay of vindication or need for identification.' As a resident, I assert that you put me in contact with the knight-diviner now or specify the time he can be reached."

"The knight-diviner is late," the voice mumbled.

The world halted. I fell through its calmness, appalled and off balance. My throat ached. I heeded my heart thumping in my chest.

"How is that?" My voice was calm.

"He was slaughtered in the line of duty."

"Who did it?"

"The issue is still under investigation. Look, if I could simply get your name…"

I jabbed the disconnect button and dwindled the receiver in its territory. I peeked at the bare seat across from me.

Two weeks ago Greg had crouched in this seat, stirring his coffee. His spoon had made small detailed haloes, never brushing the walls of the mug.

For a moment I could discern him right there, while the remembrance fiddled in my psyche.

Greg was gazing at me with shady brown sights, mournful, like the sights of a hero. "Please, Alder. Abolish your animosity of me for a few moments and heed what I have to assert. It makes sense."

"I do not loathe you. It is an oversimplification."

He shook, scraping that very emotional expression that drove women mad.

"Of course. I did not plan to subtle or ameliorate your emotions. I just need us to focus on the entity of what I have to assert. Could you please, listen?"

I bent back and traversed my arms. "I am listening."

He reached inside his leather coat and generated a rolled-up scroll. He situated the scroll on the table and unfolded it deliberately, clenching it taut with the tips of his fingers.

"This is the plea from the Order."

I hurled my hands into the atmosphere. "That is it, I am done."

"Allow me to finish," he let out.

He did not gawk mad. He did not notify me that I was behaving like a kid, although I realized that I was. It made me madder.

"Very well, then" I mumbled.

"In a few weeks, you will turn twenty-five. While in itself the little, in terms of readmission into the Order it clasps a specific weight. It is much tougher to earn admission once you swerve twenty-five. Not complicated. Only harder."

"I understand," I mumbled.

"They have mailed me brochures." He let go of the scroll and crouched back, knitting his long fingers. The scroll remained open even though every law of physics dictated that it should snarl back into a roll. Greg forgot about physics periodically.

"In that case, you are conscious of the age penalties."

It was not a query, but I retorted it regardless.

"Yes." He sought.

It was a minor action, just visible to those who recognized him well. I could explain by the manner he squatted, extremely still, craning his inlet narrowly, that he had thought at my judgment.

"I wish you would evaluate," he mumbled.

"I do not think so." For a minute I could discern the frustration in his eyes.

We both realized what was left unsaid; the Order pledged defence, and defence to a person of my lineage was paramount.

"Can I ask why?" he uttered.

"It is not for me, Greg. I cannot deal with hierarchy."

For him, the Order was a niche of sanctuary and protection niche of autonomy. Its members devoted themselves to the moralities of the Order entirely, serving with such dedication that the alliance itself no longer appeared as a conference of individuals, but an element in itself, speculating, rationalizing, and extraordinarily potent. Greg obtained it and it nurtured him. I battled it and practically failed.

"Every moment I spent there, I felt as if there was less of me," I let out.

"As if I was dwindling. Withering off. I had to get out and I won't go back."

Greg glanced at me, his vague sights were awful. In this dim glint, in my portable kitchen, his glamour was astounding.

In some arbitrary manner, I was delighted that my stubbornness impelled him to attend and now he squatted in a seat less than a foot away, like an ageless elven prince, glorious and grievous. God, how much I loathed myself for this little girl's intuition.

"If you will excuse me," I mumbled.

He squinted, astonished by my decency and then rose smoothly.

"Of course. Thanks for the coffee."

I saw him at the door. The outside had turned dark, and the bright light of the moon enamelled the grass in my yard with silver.

By the veranda, white Rose of Sharon blossoms glinted against the shrubs like the disbandment of stars.

I gawked Greg move down the three concrete strides, into the yard.

"Greg?"

"Yes?" He swerved.

His magic twinkled about him like a shawl.

"Nothing." I shut the door.

My last memory of him drifted against the moonlight- bathed yard and adorned in his magic.

Oh, God.

I hauled myself with my arms, yearning to sob. The tears would not emerge. My maw had gone arid.

My final link to my family detached. Nobody was left. I had no father, no mother, and now no Greg. I clamped my teeth and ran to Sect.