“I’ve been asleep for how long,” you ask.
You look around you. This is the place you were brought after the Stellae caught you and tried you. It is shrouded in darkness and you cannot see beyond a few metres. You’re sitting upon a low stone bier, where until a few moments ago you had been sleeping. It had seemed the most peaceful place in the world, but now you’d rather get up and move.
Almost everything around you seems unchanged, and what you just heard seems impossible.
“Over eight years,” repeats Frank
Frank is still there, standing exactly where he was before, but now he’s older. He’s got a thick beard and his frame has bulked out, become even more muscular. Frank was frightening enough before, but now he looks like he could break your back without even trying. He doesn’t look happy to see you
What seemed like less than a minute ago, a big bruiser of a Russian named Fyodor had stood at Frank’s side, but he’s gone now, replaced by someone else. A young African American woman about your own age – well what you thought was your own age until Frank told you eight years had passed. Her large eyes twinkle as she examines you with fascination. She has a model’s build and you realise you are staring at her with your mouth hanging open.
“Eight years,” you say, almost to yourself. “Why wake me now?”
Frank shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn’t speak up. In fact it is his companion that answers. “Because we need your help,” she says smoothly, speaking with a thick accent that you don’t recognise. Maybe she isn’t American after all.
You look at the pair. “Uh, no offence, but why would you need me,” you ask. “When it came to it, Fyodor and Kali caught me laughably easily. Where is Fyodor anyway?”
“He passed away a couple years ago,” replies the girl. You murmur your sympathies, for all that the big Russian was your enemy, there was just something likable about him. “And we need you because there’s a… uh… situation with your sister.”
“My sister,” you echo, confused. “You mean Rosalie, what’s the problem,” you ask worriedly.
“It isn’t good,” says the girl solemnly.
“I don’t think we should tell him this,” interrupts Frankly, sounding surly.
“Well I do,” replies the girl. Frank reels as if slapped before staring at the ground angrily. “There’s no easy way to say this, but Rosalie has gone… well… rogue. She’s stolen several artefacts from the archives, including something you are very familiar with: The Libra Personae. She killed two Stellae escaping with her haul.”
“My brother,” interrupts Frank, his eyes hard. “My dad…”
“No,” you protest. “No way. Rosalie wouldn’t do anything like that. Who the fuck do you think you are to say that,” you add angrily.
“My name is Malaika,” replies the girl calmly. “Malaika Mbulu. I know it sounds crazy, until a couple of days ago I thought Rosalie was my best friend. I can’t imagine her doing any of this. But she did, and now I’m left trying to pick up the pieces.” She wipes at her eyes. “You asked me who I thought I was,” she says, looking at Frank. “Apparently I’m now the leader of the Stellae Errantes and I need your help.”
You sit silently as your digest what Malaika has just told you. You almost don’t believe it, only the earnestness in Malaika’s voice convinces you otherwise. “Why me?”
“A number of reasons,” replies Malaika. Frank makes an odd sound at the back of his throat that suggests he believes otherwise, but says nothing more. “First is that you and Rosalie still possess a link. She told me about it often, and I’m guessing that it will help you find her. The second is that you’ve got more practical experience than any of us with the Libra.”
“That’s no use if you don’t have the book,” you interrupt.
“That might not necessarily be the case,” replies Malaika. “Nash, that’s another one of us, has a few ideas he’d like to try with you.”
Frank looks up and stares at Malaika. “Are you crazy,” he hisses at her.
Malaika silences Frank with a look. “If I’m being honest with you Will, it’s also because you know how the Libra makes you think. The kind of things it makes you do.”
“You are crazy,” you reply. “If you know what I did when I had the book, then you wouldn’t be asking for my help.”
“The third reason,” says Malaika, seemingly ignoring you. “Fyodor once told me that he thought you would do anything for Rosalie. And that included saving her from herself. That’s why I’m asking you Will, because you once set aside the Libra to save Rosalie. You’d do it again wouldn’t you?”
You have to admit, Malaika is right. You nod. “So what you are saying is ‘set a thief to catch a thief’?”
Malaika smiles, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. “So true, but in this case it is more like setting a semi-reformed warlock to catch a rogue Stellae. You see Frank, I told you Will would willing to help us.”
Frank scowls. “He could be lying.”
“I’m not sure that it’s even possible to lie here,” replies Malaika. “There is one more thing, and it’s better to show you than to tell you about it too. It might change your mind. Once you’ve seen that you can decide if you want to help, or if you want to come back here and return to sleep.”
You’re pretty sure you want to help, but you nod in agreement anyway. Whatever it is that Malaika wants to show you must be important if she thinks it’ll make a big enough difference to sway your opinion. You stand up from the bier, relaxing as Frank grabs one of your arms and wrestles it behind you. He gives you a nudge and pushes you forward.
“Nice and slow Prescott,” he says.
You walk through the darkness for what seems like an age. Malaika leads the way, just a few paces in front of you. Frank trails along behind, keeping your arm twisted behind your back and pushing you along. Eventually you see light pouring through the outline of a door shape. You step through the door and into a bedroom.
You risk a glance behind you. As Frank steps out of the shadowy doorway, the blackness fades away and suddenly is replaced by a shoe closet. Row upon row of fashionable shoes are stacked on shelves. There is no sign of the place you’ve come from.
“This way,” says Malaika, heading out the bedroom door. Frank pushes you through after her and into the living room.
It’s big, very big. Expensive looking furniture is dotted round the room. The most impressive part of the room is the huge windows that line two of the walls. Through open blinds you can see the instantly recognisable skyline of New York City. This must be an upscale penthouse apartment.
“Hmm,” mutters Malaika to herself. “Where is she?”
Her question is answered seconds later when a man crawls into the room on all fours. A small girl is perched on his back, giggling and grinning as she holds on to his shoulders. She must be about eight or so.
“Yay, Auntie Malaithka,” lisps the girl. She hops off the man’s back and runs over “You’re backth.”
The man stands up. He’s ragged and unkempt looking, his clothes faded and worn. Lank white hair hangs down the side of his face in strings. The couple of day’s growth on his chin might be called designer stubble on someone more fashionable. On this guy it just looks like he doesn’t like shaving. “I told you I wasn’t good with kids,” he mutters,” running his hands over dry looking lips.
“Uncle Wick is a tewwible horthie,” says the girl. She notices you for the first time and grasps and Malaika by the legs, half hiding behind them.
“Emily, this is Will Prescott,” says Malaika. “Say hello to Will.” The girl emerges from behind Malaika’s legs and smiles brightly at you, showing off a set of prominent and slightly crooked teeth. You wave weakly in return. “Will, this is Emily Shabbleman.”
Your jaw drops. This is one of Rosalie’s daughters?
Malaika kneels down by the girl. “Will might be able to help us find your mommy,” says Malaika, brushing Emily’s unkempt blonde hair with her hands.
“I mith my mommy,” says Emily sadly. The little girl looks up at you. “Will you help find my mommy?”
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