The Page of Chalices

The lights go down, and I head backstage. I made sure we cancelled our post show get togethers. While they’re fun, and connecting with the fanbase is vital to keeping a finger on the pulse of creativity in this world. But, with all the shenanigans the rest of the council is up to, I figured the heads of my House would probably want to have a meeting. Backstage, I make sure no one is around, sigh, and begin to drum on my wrist. Pulling out one of my bobbleheads of myself working the tables, I focus in on the rhythm of the Veil. As I do, Weaving itself out of the sound is me. An image of myself. A copy. Immaterial, unthinking, but it looks and sounds real and it can sure take a pap photo. I send him out the back to publicly be seen getting into my limo. Keeping control, I have the illusory me wave to the few paparazzi that know me well enough to wait for me back there, but in such a way that I look like I’m hiding my face in their pictures, which has us both chuckling. My driver opens the door for my fake self, I get in and tell him, “Just to the garage.” I then have the false image of me fall asleep in the well tinted back of the limousine.

Focusing back on my real surroundings, I wait for the sound of the Queen’s thoughts entering my mind. But it doesn’t come. My phone vibrates. It’s an email. With a link to a video chat. Why are some people always so complicated? I need to head somewhere with a computer. Taking out a pen from my back pocket, but it takes a moment to map out the current location of my recording studio. Pressing the tip of the technically not stolen but borrowed pen against my forehead, I pull out a pocket watch. As I whistle a stanza to harmonize with the Veil’s natural continence around the studio, I click the button at the top of the watch once, twice, thrice and in the blink of an eye, the time between the click of the button and its return to its resting height, I am there. Logging into my computer there, I open the email and click the link.

It takes a moment, before the impatient faces of the King and Queen of Chalices pop up before me, and I can hear the end of their argument. “... not in this century,” the Queen of Chalices states adamantly about whatever topic they were talking about. I know better than to interrupt. Or try understanding their discussions. Douglass Horton and Marie Desrosiers have been in their roles as King and Queen, respectively, for over a decade at this point, so a lot of their arguments take shortcuts, and bring in comments from arguments long past.

“You just don’t,” the king begins to counter, before cutting himself off. “Finally, Mike. Took you long enough to show up.”

“Don’t get on his ass, he had a show,” Marie says, “Think about how often you’re late on the rare occasion you have one of those.”

Doug groans, shaking his head, “I know, that’s why I waited until after any encore might have happened.”

I sigh at my sort of bosses. Not exactly, the organization of the heads of the house isn’t really hierarchical, just more positional. “I was expecting a meeting, so I had to send a friendly face out there. Unless you were planning on telling my driver of this week about the whole secret world of magic and monsters thing?”

He pauses for a second, before relenting. “No, that might get us actually murdered,” he concedes.

The Queen shakes her head. “This meeting is to discuss this Thorsen incident that you dumped on us this afternoon.”

“Hey, I told Doug as soon as I heard about it,” I quickly fall back into the defensive.

“Why are we getting this second hand?” the King interjects. “I thought you and the Seal are close?”

“I mean, we chill some days,” I reply. Then I sigh and admit. “If I was willing to bet on something as important as council business, I’d bet that Jonny needed to get the information to me and to the House of the Staff to track the magic nonsense, and between the two, he has some ulterior motive over in the college neck of the woods and so he decided that us knowing the situation was of lower priority than his plans or schemes or whatever has him hanging out with college kids.”

That gets the Queen to chuckle. “How educated is this guess?”

I look at Marie’s box. “Honest answer? I’d put it at seventy-thirty. Which is a better rate than probably anyone in the world for understanding that guy. By the by, speaking of weirdos, have our friends in the community heard about movements of the House of the Blade?”

Marie looks slightly below her camera, confused. “Why? Should we expect something?”

I shake my head. “Probably not. The King of the Seal is concerned about something, but she’s a worrywort.”

“We haven’t heard anything, but if you want an excuse to visit the Queen of the Blade, Princely did just get thrown in the drunk tank. Nothing major, just going to be a release and fine tomorrow, but you could stop by and check in on him, and coincidentally see the Assistant Chief while you’re at it?”

I shake my head. “It’s not urgent, so I think I’ll pick him up tomorrow and visit with Mister Vela then. I mean, it isn’t like anything’s going to happen tonight.”

The king nods. “We do have all the advantages at night. Well, us and the House of the Seal.”

I chime in. I’ve been out of town on tour these last three months, so I’m out of the loop. I’ll be able to hone in on the city again after the show tomorrow ends the tour. “So, are there any worthy Casanovas good enough to find the veil yet?” I ask. “It’s been three years since we had a Knight, and I for one am curious over whether you guys really want one.”

“Don’t be curious,” Doug replies, “We don’t.”

Marie shakes her head. “Speak for yourself, Doug. I just don’t want someone unworthy. There is this one woman beachside who’s got some potential. No interfering, though, she’s gotta touch the veil of her own accord before we can step in.”

“I am aware of your nonsense criteria,” I complain.

She shakes her head. “What are you calling nonsense?” she asks.

“I mean,” Doug adds, “If you could manage to do it, why can’t this person? Who are they, by the way?”

Marie shakes her head. “Not telling you, either. What about no interfering do you not get?”

“For him,” I interject, “Probably the concept.”

As they chuckle about that and start to think about what else they need to talk to their councilor about, I sigh. It is true, our house doesn’t invite in anyone who doesn’t happen upon the Veil in their own creative aspirations. But we’ve lacked someone with the romantic perspective to become our knight ever since Deshawn moved to Atlanta to further his R&B career and Jordan moved out west for her acting. I don’t begrudge either of them their passions, those are what makes us worthy of our house, but it did leave the house a bit stuck. Waiting for this new kid to find the veil, then to become strong enough in our world to hold her own magically before we have a knight, it might be difficult. The beauty of our city is going to suffer. It is already starting to wane.

I start to smirk. There is another option. I may not be allowed to interfere, but that doesn’t mean she has to stumble into the veil unprompted. The mystical world could just as easily stumble into her. Holding back the smile, I look at my sort of bosses. “So, anything else we need to discuss?” I ask.

“You’re absolutely certain this slight against us wasn’t an attack?” Doug asks.

I shrug. “Seventy percent. Do we know anything about these Thorsens or whatever? Because that’s more likely to be an attack than the slight?”

“But ho,” Marie begins her statement before putting together the pieces, “Because someone may be attempting to sow discord by putting a magical person as a tourist near a member of the House of the Seal.”

To his credit, Douglass immediately picks up on the line of reasoning. He may not be the most creative thinker in the world, and we like to make fun of his constant concern, but he’s certainly not a fool. “If one of these Thorsens starts to deal with the law, it’s definitely an attack. Tomorrow, when you’re picking up Princely, check to see.”

I nod. “Will do,” I say. Then, looking around, I add, “Well, I’m going to head out. I need to find my way home.”

“Yeah,” Marie adds, “It is getting late. I’ve got a few appointments in the morning. Nothing I’m too concerned about, but I want to make sure I’ve gotten my beauty sleep.”

“Madame Desrosiers,” Doug begins, and I know this is going nowhere good. I start to do the four click process of leaving the chat as he continues, “No one is setting an appointment with you for your-”

I manage to end the call on my end, at least, before anything started to get worse. I don’t want to be dragged into that. Its offhand comments like that, and whatever equally offensive invective Marie is going to spew back, that we need a Knight. And preferably some new voices that one or both of them can chat with. Break up the chaos of them only talking to one another. I get dressed in casual clothes, and flip up my hood, to start to walk not home, but to a friend’s place.

Knocking on the door of a townhouse, a young looking woman comes to the door, visibly confused by my presence. “What do you want Michael?”

I smile. “Raluca,” I muse aloud, “Why the hostility?”

“Because I’m feeling hostile when someone who tried to kill me more than once shows up at my door in the middle of the night.”

I clutch my nonexistent pearls. “I haven’t tried to kill you in more than a decade,” I insist. “I was hoping you might scout something out for me.”

She sighs and walks further back into her house. “Come on in,” she says. As she sits down in her living room, she asks, “So, how long have you known where I live?”

“When someone who’s tried to kill me longer than I’ve been alive shows up in my city, I make sure to keep an eye on them. Even if they’re out of the game.”

It’s her turn to clutch her imaginary pearls. “I did not try to kill you. I tried to kill your mom while she was in labor. It’s a whole different thing.”

I nod. “Fair, but to an infant it does really feel the same,” I joke.

She sighs loudly. “So, what do you want me to investigate or whatever?”

“Well, evidently there’s some woman out in the beach clubs enjoying what the world has to offer. Now some reliable sources say she’s got the potential to be interesting. I was hoping you might check it out, see how close she is to actually being interesting.”

Raluca grins. “Am I allowed to enjoy what she has to offer?”

I shrug. “Now you know I can’t tell you what to do, but you probably only ought to if she’s already interesting, or right on the cusp,” I offer.

She catches my meaning. Licking her lips, she smiles. “Well, here’s to hoping we both get what we want,” she says. Then, after a moment, she looks out the window. “Well, are you planning on crashing here or do you want a ride home?” she asks.

I know better than to linger too long in her home. “I need the exercise,” I reply, “And you need the time.”

As she leads me out the door, she replies in turn, “Oh ye of little faith…”