Song of the Day | No Aphrodisiac by The Whitlams| Spotify | YouTube
After an unknown amount of time, a hazy awareness fizzled back into Soda's brain. A cold sweat swept over her and she hauled herself onto her hands and knees, just in time to puke violently. All the pizza and beer and car sandwiches, and probably half an intestine as well.
Then she started to cry. Big, hiccuping, heartbroken sobs. Rowan was just a fucked up stranger, but Red was supposed to be her friend! They’d known each other for ten years! He was supposed to be helping. For the first time in ages, she longed for her mother. She just wanted Louise’s bony tanned arms to encircle her, pull her close, play with her hair like she used to. She’d know what to do. Well, actually, probably not. She chronically avoided her problems, including getting that thing checked out, which turned out to be bowel cancer. She’d probably suggest a Bloody Mary and a cigarette, then let someone else make the plan. But she’d have a laugh about it, which would make Soda feel better. Especially the part with the spew on the expensive carpet.
What carpet? Thick carpet in the richest midnight blue, sparkling with gold and silver stars and moons. Someone’s hand was on her back, patting it gently. It was Evangeline. She was crouched down, her designer shoes carefully avoiding the vomit. The look of concern on her face seemed quite genuine.
“Transfer shock. Very common. Better out than in."
Belatedly, while snot gently dribbled out of one nostril, she remembered what she was wearing. She'd had to borrow a pair of Kitty’s pyjamas: matching pink My Little Pony boxer shorts and singlet, with frills. So many frills. An impossibly fine silk handkerchief appeared in front of her. Soda took it and glanced around while trying to clean up her face and her last shred of dignity.
She was in some kind of opulent library. There was an enormous fireplace on one side and a multi-story bank of windows on the other, with dizzying rows of bookstacks filling the cavernous space between. Soda was near the banked fire, and there was a man seated in a deep armchair across from her.
“Not a very graceful entrance." His voice was deep and velvety, with just a hint of French about it.
He had a strong jaw, with dark brown skin, a wide nose, and tightly trimmed beard and curls. He looked like he’d never been blotchy in his life. He was wearing a closely fitted deep purple suit that set off his complexion perfectly. He glowed in the firelight, an otherworldly figure carved from onyx.
“Sorry about the carpet.” She tried to sniffle unobtrusively.
She was acutely aware of everything about her physical self. Blotchy, snotty face. Bed hair. MLP jammies. She thought this might be it: the moment she actually died of cringe.
“Up you get." Evangeline stood and offered Soda a hand.
She took it, and hauled herself up. She stood huddled with her arms across her chest. Being stark arse naked might be less embarrassing.
“This is Rene Mwangi, Patron of House Orleans. Do you know who he is?”
Soda gave a small nod, not keen to meet his eyes. “Yeah, you’re the boss, right?”
“I am the boss."
Even his accent sounds expensive. He waved a hand that was as thick with rings as Rowan’s, all in brightest gold. The upchuck in front of her atomised into nothing in a wisp of steam. The magic had no colour she could see, which seemed strange to Soda. She could see it all increasingly well: the shimmer and hint of spells crawling across the room, mostly in impersonal lines of silver, but shot through with the occasional flash of colour.
“I can see immediately that we got to you just in time Miss Jones.” The Patron unfolded himself from the sofa and stood to an impressive height. “The curse on you is very strong.”
“Yeah no shit!" Her vision was blurring with all the magical activity humming around her.
Rene laughed a rich, musical laugh. “Ah, Australians. So crass. I almost like it. Almost.”
Soda blushed despite her defiant frown. She felt like she was standing in front of royalty. Or a god. Why were all these people so fucking beautiful and elegant? It was annoying. Even in her ludicrous pyjamas, she felt drabber than ever.
Evangeline put her hand on her shoulder, and gave it a little squeeze. It was… comforting. She had no idea what to make of Evangeline’s kindness. It seemed genuine, but she’d been warned, hadn’t she?
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?"Evangeline steered Soda towards one of the chairs by the fire.
There was a very large tartan blanket draped across the back, which Evangeline wrapped around her. She swaddled herself in it and sighed with relief, then flopped into the chair. It was very big and squishy and threatened to swallow her. She tried to stay focused, even though she really just wanted to be a big baby and cry some more and maybe eat a jam sandwich.
“Well, after you left we had pizza and beer and went to bed. I woke up in the middle of being fucking ambushed by one of Penny’s devices, I guess? I-I saw Red and asked him to help…” She blinked back more angry tears, and explained what had happened. "And then, um, the captain rescued me. Are my friends going to be okay?”
“Your friends are fine.” The voice of Captain Pereira came from somewhere by the door, clipped and brusque.
“I mobilised a team, but Ash and Bosby escaped in that damn car. A short time later, two people from the house, a young man and a young woman, were picked up by a colourful van owned by Mr Normal Wilks, sometimes known as North Star. Last seen tracking north. Assumed destination, the portal keeper’s residence. A third individual, identified as a vampire, slunk off and disappeared into a manhole.”
“I always hated that car,” said Evangeline with a scowl.
“Okay. Um, cool.”
Relief was followed quickly by a stab of guilt. She’d abandoned Mick and Kitty when they’d been so helpful… But she could feel herself changing, and she wasn’t sure if it was a good thing. These were the people who dealt with global crises, not her and her daffy bohemian mates.
Another black man in a beautiful suit appeared, wielding a silver tray with a tea setting. He magicked a small side table (deep red magic, scented like a fireplace) and set the tray on it in smooth, practised motions. He poured her a cup of tea, set the teapot down, and nodded once to the Patron. They shared an intense look for a moment before he left again, all without saying a word.
“Um, thank you?” Soda picked up the tea and sipped it.
It was a delicate floral green tea, the nicest she’d ever tasted. After a few sips she felt warm and refreshed. Her senses sharpened and her exhaustion drained away.
“Damn, can I order this online somewhere?”
Evangeline smiled. Rene didn’t.
“I’m afraid we’re running short on time,” said Evangeline apologetically, “so you won’t get the rest you need. In its place, some of the world’s finest healing tea, for the greatest need only. There are only a few bushes left that grow the same way as before the Covenant.”
Soda sipped the tea again, and felt brighter still. “I see. Um, thank you for sharing it with me.” She paused, wondering how to say the next thing, but decided bluntness had gotten her this far. “So what do you want from me in exchange?”
Rene arched an eyebrow and Evangeline grinned. “Straight to the point then, I suppose. I’ve done something terrible, Soda. I need your help fixing it.”
That was unexpected.
“What on earth does that mean?”
Evangeline looked earnest, pleading. A little panicky, even. She started pacing. “I’ll admit it, I found the book of the First Sorceress, and I wanted to use it to help heal the world. I’ve seen so much suffering and I can never seem to do enough!”
She clenched a fist, then took a long breath. Soda saw Rene roll his eyes.
“But I made a mistake. A big mistake. That’s why we’re here, in House Orleans. I’ve enlisted the Enclave to help me make things right.”
“Jeez, what did you do?”
“She tore a hole in the wall of the universe."
“Oh snap! Some people said that might happen. But… it’s already happened?”
“Not fully,” said Evangeline. “But a rare equinox approaches, a night when the walls between the realms are thin. If we can’t close it then, it’ll burst open, and all of reality will get sucked into an endless void.”
They looked at Soda expectantly.
“Uhh…. shit hey?"
“Goddess save me,” muttered Rene. Louder, he said, “we’re almost out of time. We’re closing in on the third Artefact, but there are many variables. Do you have any information that could help us?”
As he spoke, the Stone hummed to life and struck up a deep thrumming warning. She felt paranoid, since she'd literally come to these people for help. Why not tell them everything? She didn't want to, for some reason. Rene was watching her closely.
“I don’t really have any leads either," she said after a long pause. "Your goons–uh, guys, took all the books from the Lost Library so we didn’t have many other ideas.”
The Patron’s black eyes shone with reflected firelight. “I see many things, girl. You would be wise to help us.”
Girl. Soda’s jaw clenched. She stared back, flat and hostile. Tides of magic she didn’t understand washed around the room. The Stone hummed.
“Perhaps you can come to see the problem for yourself, and then maybe you’ll understand that this is bigger than petty politics.” Rene stood, and the moment passed.
Soda nodded slowly, though she got the strong message that she would be co-operating either way. She glanced at Evangeline, whose face only showed caution. If she listened just right, Soda could hear the vast webs of magic all around her, many layers above and below, through a sprawling manor house and far out into the grounds around them. She felt a keen stab of danger. Part of her had been recklessly assured that at least she had a really good shield. But how would it stand up to the vastness of this organisation? She felt stupid and alone. She wished she hadn’t abandoned her friends. She wished Rowan and Red would be more trustworthy. She wished Frank weren’t dead.
“We’ll leave in two hours. Captain Pereira will show you basic safety drills so you don’t destroy my house with your ignorance.”
Soda’s melancholy thoughts were gone in a flash. “You’re going to teach me some magic? Fuck yes, about time!”
Chapter Thirteen: House Orleans
Better out than in, crass Australians, about time