The flight attendants push their way through the crowd on the concourse and you realise that you realise that you don’t have much time to make your decision. You look at the sign, allegedly leading to the exit. Then back at the flight attendants, the crowd already closing the path behind them.
It’s probably the wrong decision, but you turn to follow them.
It’s a little easier than it was following Rick. The attendants are walking next to each other, the crowd splitting in front of them in a way that it never seems to for you. It takes a little while longer for the crowd to fall back in once they’ve past, and that gives you the time to keep up with them. You walk along behind them nonchalantly, your hands in your pockets and keeping your head down.
You stop as the three approach a security checkpoint. A guard stands by a door marked ‘authorised personnel only’, his hand resting easily on a holstered pistol. You do a smart about turn when you see that, it’s not something you want to have to handle. In fact, you almost give up on the whole idea. That only lasts for a handful of seconds, until you realise you’re being stupid again.
Turning back round, you see that the three attendants are still held up by the guard. He’s checking their identification very carefully. That gives you an opening: They’re all distracted, not even aware of your presence. You summon your cloak to you, covering the guard and the attendants in it. Experimentally, you move in closer to check that it’s working. A couple of people in the crowd on the concourse glance in your direction but the guard remains engrossed in the attendants identifications. You’re close enough to hear them talk now.
“Do we have to go through this every time,” ask the male attendant, with a very noticeable accent that you don’t recognise. He’s barely older than you are, if much better groomed
“Just doing my job,” replies the guard without looking up. He hands the male attendant back his ID.
“We appreciate it,” says the older of the other two attendants. Maybe late thirties you think. She’s attractive in a very specific and engineered sort of way that must take hours in front of a mirror every morning to achieve. If what you’ve seen on television is accurate, her accent is very definitely English. “We know how things are now.”
“My pleasure Ma’am,” replies the guard with a tight smile. “Everything checks out so I’ll let you through now. Long haul flight, right?”
“Back home to London,” answers the older attendant as the guard punches in the code to open the door. Another lucky break, these are exactly the people you’re looking for. You move in closer again, trusting your cloak to keep these four from noticing you. You’re practically breathing down the attendants’ necks but they seem indifferent to your presence. Nobody shouts or complains as you slip through the door after them and let the cloak slip from around the guard.
The attendants set off down the corridor, which only runs for a few metres before feeding into a larger corridor. You follow them, peeking round the corners at the junction carefully, checking both directions. The new corridor runs for some distance in both directions and numerous doors lead off it.
You just manage to catch another security guard in the folds of you cloak in time as he emerges from one of the doors. His gaze passing over you just seconds after you put the cloak in place around him. This corridor is going to be problematic, you realise – There’s too many ways in and out and it’d be all too easy for someone to see you before you spot them. Suddenly, for all your prodigies, you feel very exposed.
You resolve to grab the imago of one of the attendants as quickly as possible, it will be a lot easier to move once you stop having to look over your shoulder every few seconds. You dart from door to door, checking all around you as you move forward. It’s exhausting work, and you struggle to keep up with the three attendants. You have another couple of narrow escapes with people entering the corridor or coming up behind you, just managing to get your cloak around them on each occasion, before the attendants come to a stop outside a set of toilets.
“I need to stop here for a minute,” says the older woman before ducking inside one of the doors. She wouldn’t have been your first choice, but the constant use of your cloak is starting to exhaust you. You need to make the switch now. You check the corridor one last time and edge into the toilet behind her, the Libra sigil already forming in your hand.
The toilets are small and poky, only a couple of cubicles and a pair of sinks. You move inside, slowly and carefully, just in case there’s someone else inside already. Luckily the attendant is alone. To your surprise, she seems to have come in to fix her makeup rather than use the toilet. Still, it makes your job easier. You thrust your palm onto her forehead, grabbing hold of her as she sags downwards.
Her imago bursts into your awareness. You pull it close, not quite enough to transform, but enough to flip through some of her stronger memories: She’s Jennifer Moore, Jen to her friends. At thirty nine, she’s a little older than you had thought, but looking good for her age, though it takes a lot of work and even more makeup to fix her look. You scrabble through the wisps of memory, looking for the important one to confirm again she’s who you need – As Rick said, check and check again. Yes, she’s due to work on a flight back to London. Almost certainly the one Rick will be on.
You pull Jen’s unresisting form into one of the cubicles and start removing her uniform. You’ll need to work fast, make the switch before she wakes up.
Fuck.
Before she wakes up. At best, you’ll have about fifteen minutes before Jen drifts back into consciousness. The flight to London, you now know from her memories, takes hours. The sheer scale of the mess you’re in almost encourages you to give up on the whole idea.
Then you remember something Kali told you, something about Sulva: “He is your ousiarch, and as long as you bind yourself tightly to him, he can catch you if you go seriously askew with your powers.” It seems like a long shot, but maybe a little meditation can give you some inspiration. Worst case scenario, you can always give up and go back to Kali’s apartment.
You lean on the counter, looking into the mirrors hung on the wall above the sink. Then you close your eyes and summon the moon. It hovers in front of you, round and full, so close you can make out patterns of craters and ridges. Surprisingly, they start flowing and moving, rearranging themselves until you are staring at the combined sigils from the Libra, writ impossibly large over the surface of the moon.
“What is it,” you mutter quietly to yourself. You already know the sigil, you just used it to take Jen’s imago.
As if in response to your question, the markings start flowing again, splitting apart, resolving into their component parts. Well again, that’s something you knew already: Sigils make up other sigils and the most complicated sigils describe actions, intents and spells.
One element brings itself into focus, taking up the whole face of the moon. Less helpful, as you are unsure what the part-sigil means. The moon shrinks back, till it is only the size it would be in the night sky, sitting in a field of stars.
The stars, you realise, are the imagos you’ve captured. Kali, the star representing Kali, winks. She knows more about the sigils than you do, so you pull her mind closer and look again at the moon. You dive in and examine the sigil part closer. A whisper from Kali’s thoughts tells you that it’s the part of the sigil that knocks out the target.
What’s interesting, and what you can see thanks to Kali’s memories, is that the knock out sigil part is itself made up of two parts. One part knocks out the victim, the other governs the length of time. Weirdly, you notice, the second part can be adjusted, made stronger.
That’s what you’re looking for. You offer a quick thanks to Sulva for the insight. It didn’t tell you anything you didn’t know already, but it helped you to reflect on what you did. Helped you put things together in a new order. You dial up the power on the knock out sigil element and put everything back together.
You’re eyes snap open and you are back in the toilets. On the floor beside you, Jen is starting to stir. You bring the modified sigil to your hand and press it down on her forehead. Jen goes still again, and this time she should be unconscious for at least six hours.
“Are you ok in there Jen,” calls a voice from outside. Her memories tell you that it’s Trisha, one of the other two attendants.
You stagger a little as you summon Jen’s imago, twisting it round yourself and draping it over your body. The older flight attendant appears in the counter mirrors, still wearing your clothes. “I’m fine,” you reply in her voice. “I just need a couple more minutes.”
Hopefully that will keep Trisha out the way whilst you change into Jen’s uniform.
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