Story Twelve: Fascinating Efficiency

“See this is exactly the problem with the orthodoxy of the Sons of Ether. Their 'dimensional science' is so clinically sterile, plastic, and contrived, that their own calculations stumble over themselves, trying to prove their proofs on how they proved that dimensional entity X did such and such a classification of such and such action, and further, they get lost in which behavior exhibited qualities of Freudian or Jungian psychoanalogy and how that action interdicts his, hers, or its developmental qualities; and while they’re on it, they tangent off on how to determine what gender the thing is, if it has one, and after hours of very scientific calculations, determine that the variable is incalculable: but they will denote it male for reference sake.”

Damon’s scarred face turned slowly toward Jennifer Slater. His pale eyes blinked slowly as the amorphous shapes around them blurred to indistinction. “This is your first time to the umbra, isn’t it?” he said, looking at the disheveled woman.

“Yes,” she said, straightening her crooked glasses. “It’s so beautiful. But why is everything blinking past us so fast?”

Because I’m moving us across the penumbra, from our anchor in Los Angeles, to a new anchor several thousand miles away.” As Damon said this, the twisting shimmering shapes lost all semblance of coherence; the blur around them was nearly blinding.

“How long will it take us?” she asked.

“Another few moments.”

“So fast?”

“Spatial movement works a little different here,” Damon said.

“Fascinating.” Jenny pulled out piece of paper and started scribbling some numbers down with her pencil.

Damon shook his head. “Would you like a calculator?” he asked dryly.

Jenny shook her head and answered without looking up. “No. Too slow.” She continued to scribble.

“Well, here we are,” Damon said.

By the time Jenny looked up, the spirit world was a shimmering fade, dissolving into the tangible reality that she was used to. This version contained a very refined living room. A plush black leather couch bent in an L-shape, bookended by mahogany endtables holding marble lamps, surrounded a glass coffee table with a black ring around it, papers and magazines strewn across it. Against the wall was a cascading grey entertainment system, centered around a flashing monitor and standing in between large screeching speakers. The young boy watching on the couch jumped up suddenly and put his hand to his heart, startled, only letting his suddenly tense shoulders drop when he recognized Damon. A small lizard crawled around the end of the couch and looked up at their guests with him.

“Jesus, Damon," the boy said, fumbling to mute the loud speakers. "You surprised me.”

“Sorry, friend,” Damon said.

“No problem," Devon replied. "Who’s the – “

“Fascinating!” Jenny said, stepping forward.

“ – Girl.”

Jenny’s eyes shot wide as she saw Devon’s head. The young man’s hair appeared to be constructed of fire, spiraling upward, crackling silently. Jenny raced around the end of the couch. Damon watched her with mild amusement; so did the lizard.

“Don’t worry, it can’t hurt you. Everyone–“

Jenny pulled off her glasses and examined his hair closely, holding her hand near his head, feeling if there was any heat.

“–freaks at it.”

“Utterly fascinating," she said. "Jenny Slater,” she added, taking his hand and shaking it vigorously, while pushing up her glasses up with the other hand. “Jenny Slater.”

“It’s a result of–“ Devon began.

“If I had to hazard a guess,” Jenny said concurrently, speaking quickly, “I would say that it was a result of permanent paradox.”

“–too much paradox,” Devon finished. Devon shot Damon an odd look, and the latter only shrugged and sat on the couch, lighting a cigarette. Devon looked back at Jenny as he reached down to pick up the small lizard.

“Jenny Slater,” Jenny said, again shaking Devon’s hand. “You see, Reality Deviant Mathematics is my specialty. I’d love to know more about your–your–well, your hair.”

“Damon,” Devon said, smiling, “did you know this was Jenny Slater?”

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” Jenny said, folding her arms over her chest and stepping back. “Did I say that too many times?”

Devon and Damon both nodded.

"Gosh," Jenny muttered, shifting her balance back and forth between each foot.

“So,” Devon said, looking between Damon and Jenny (who was again examining his hair closely), “What’s going on?”

Damon tilted his head back and blew a stream of smoke out of his mouth. “She’s an applicant to the Pendragon initiation circle.”

“Hunh?”

“She wants to join,” Damon said.

“Oh. Well, uh, I’m not exactly the chief recruiting officer,” Devon said, stroking the small reptile in his hand.

“I know Sebastian said he moved," Damon said. "But do you know how to get a hold of him?”

“Well, not exactly," Devon said. You see, he, Chip, Bail, and Rasputin went to England in search of the Holy Grail. They’ve reported in since in Kosovo, Turkey, and Singapore. I have no idea where they are now.”

“The Grail?” Damon asked.

“Wait, like the Cup of Christ?” Jenny asked quickly. “Fascinating, the ramification of its existence at all– “

“No,” Devon said. “They found the Cup of Christ. I guess that wasn’t the Grail.”

“Fuck me,” Damon muttered, puffing on his cigarette.

“The Cup of Christ isn’t the Grail?” Jenny said, raising her eyebrows and then furiously scribbling on her notepad, ripping off page after page.

Devon raised his own eyebrows and pointed his thumb at Jenny, Damon only laughed, shrugging again.

“It might be unwise to say so much to a complete stranger, Devon. Some might consider it poor etiquette, or just plain imprudent.”

All three mages turned to see George, an unassuming Asian male, clad in a loose brown robe.

“Sorry,” Devon said softly.

“Damon,” George said, nodding at Damon.

“George,” Damon said to the Akashic. He tok another puff from his cigarette. “The girl wants in on your fan club.”

“Not mine, friend,” George said, hands clasped behind his back.

“No, but it seems that you’re the camp counselor, right now,” Damon said.

“True enough." George looked between Devon and Damon. "If you two could join me in the other room for a moment,” he said, motioning towards the other room.

Jenny started to move with Devon, who was setting the lizard back on the arm of the couch, before Damon grabbed her shoulder from behind and pointed back at the couch. She looked between him, George and the couch, and finally understood.

“Oh, you two," she said. "Right. Sorry.”

Damon shook his head with a chuckle as he left the room.

In the other room, George addressed the other two. “Sebastian says he wants to get a videotaped story behind every recruit. So perhaps we should find – “

“You never listen to me, George," Devon interrupted. "You’re so damn busy training all the time with the Harbingers, you never listen to me.”

George held up his finger, but then checking himself, looked down at his young charge. “Okay. What have I not listened to?” he asked.

Devon smiled at the two and said, “Just follow me. I'll show you.”

As George and Damon fell out behind their cranially flaming companion, Damon chuckled.

“What?” George asked.

“I was at Doissestep the other week, visiting an old friend. Rumor has it, some old school Hermetics and Akashics are a little peeved at you.”

“At me?” George said, his hands again clasped behind his back.

“Yeah. I guess they’re not too happy that you introduced Do into the Pendragon way of life. They were worried about this happy little group as it was.”

“But they were worthy pupils," George said. "They deserved to be taught.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Damon said. After a moment, his eyes darkened. “But ever since Chip and Sebastian took out the House of Helekar and destroyed their Horizon realm, the Council’s been extremely wary of the Pendragons. I mean, when they signed Sebastian’s cabal to do the job, there were like five members of the team, plus four Harbingers, Devon and you—and they still didn't think they'd survive the assault. Then two of them walked in and took the whole House down. That bugged them out. They're all a little too interested in what you all are doing down here.”

“Thank you for the warning," George said. "Perhaps I have been out of touch with my people for too long.”

“Just thought you’d like to know.”

“Here it is,” Devon said, getting out a key and inserting it into the keyhole at the door.

“What is this room? Why don’t I remember it?” George asked.

“Remember that week you went with the Streetfighters to that tournament in Cleveland?”

“Yes,” George said, nodding.

“Well, I did what Sebastian has been asking me to do.” Devon opened the door and the other two followed him into the room. They were amazed to see a small square room, each of its four walls lined with television sets, which appeared to be displaying every room in the house. The room was also lined with small tables pushed against the walls; two Dell desktop computers sat on these desks. The monitors and the computers seemed to all be wired together and connected to several other machines, neither of which George or Damon recognized.

Damon chuckled, bending over to look at a specific monitor. “He’s even got the bathrooms wired.”

“What?” George exclaimed, bending over to see for himself, hands behind his back. "That is just disrespectful."

“Hey, it’s not like I’m a peeping Tom,” Devon said.

Damon laughed.

“Except that time Lee stayed here,” Devon said, afraid to look up

“Devon!”

“What, George?" Devon said, shrugging. "You’ve seen her!”

“Discipline!” George snapped. "The one thing you refuse to learn."

“I can’t blame you.” Both Detroit mages looked at Damon. “Heck, I brought her to this side of the farm." He looked down at young Devon again. "Besides, she probably knew she was being watched with her own magic and put on a show for you. She could probably even see you back."

Devon's face turned red.

George shook his head, looking down.

“Anyway,” Devon said, coughing. “Sebastian said that everything was going so good with the digital cameras that they’re using on their quest or whatever, that he wanted every room wired with digital video, all of which would be connected to a computer mainframe.”

“You did all of this in a week?” Damon asked.

“Hey, I may be young, and undisciplined,” he said looking at George, ”but I’m not retarded. Besides, I contracted out the work.”

“The files?” Damon asked astutely.

“Stole ‘em as soon as he was done,” Devon said with a smile.

George held his head in his hands, while Damon patted his Devon’s shoulder with a smile.

“Why would he want a house wired like this when he doesn’t even live here any more?” Damon asked.

“I don't know," Devon shrugged. "But the computers should be programmed to tape and search the contents for anomalies, then everything gets catalogued periodically when I dump the hard drives’ files, burning them onto discs, which are easy to store, but I wanted to make sure that we got this interview with what’s her name.”

“Jenny,” George and Damon said in unison.

“Yeah," Devon laughed. "This should be good.”

 

*       *       *

 

“So,” Jenny said, nervously, clearing her throat, looking back and forth at the men who were seated around her. Unconsciously, she sifted her hand through her disheveled blonde hair, which was dry, loose, and falling out of her ponytail. “I guess it begins with my awakening. My husband and I were both mathematicians, obsessed with the same passion for numbers.” She laughed, pushing her glasses up. “Although, well—never mind. Ahem.

“He was awakened before me. After several years of marriage and a few years of his own enlightenment, he awoke me one night, wrapped in the passion of one of his brilliant theorems. He let it flow over me like a symphony. It was beautiful, it was passionate; it was lustful in a way. Ahem. Yes. Anyway, it broke over me and suddenly I finally understood the world the way he saw it.”

Damon and Devon exchanged bemused looks.

“He was a Son of Ether and I was soon introduced into the ranks. I did okay at first, accepting the hard levels of study and the great challenges.” She adjusted her glasses again while clearing her throat. “I think the problems started with my dreams.”

“Your dreams?” George asked.

“Yes, my dreams,” Jenny replied sitting up straight. “You see, I started having very disturbing dreams, but I could never remember them. I tried to talk to Roger about them. Roger is my–was my –husband.” She folded her arms over her chest and then dropped them back at her side, before re-crossing them over her chest again.

“Roger was intensely interested, but when my own interest in the theories of dreams faded, he became disappointed. This was our first falling out, as I really couldn't make him understand how I felt more like the subject of a study, rather than the studier. He didn't see the difference. To him, it was science either way and the process was what mattered most. Anyway, moving past this, I moved onto Reality Deviance Mathematics. Technically, the term ‘Reality Deviants,’ is a throwback to our Technocratic roots, but the term seems to have slight accuracy, plus it’s an all encompassing term, so thus very efficient.”

“Very,” Devon said, nodding.

“Yes,” Jenny said. “Efficiency was my problem. To make a long story short, I deduced that technocratic magick is not efficient. I don’t think you would understand the math, but I suppose I could try– “

“No!” Devon, George, and Damon said in unison.

“That’s okay,” Damon continued, gesturing with his hand. “Why don’t you just go on?”

“Okay. Well, basically, I figured through several lengthy theoretical processes, that using magick through a mechanical device is inefficient; it works on a principal which is based on self-deception and denial. Why waste time creating a machine to be the recipient of your magickal focus, when you can use a chant, a song, or drops of your own blood. or whatever, to do the same thing in a fraction of the time?" She looked at each of them. “I thought my theories would revolutionize Ether science, but they scoffed at me. I mean, they scoffed at me. I wasn’t arrogant by any means, it was only a matter of fact. The calculations were right. They are right. I mean when you take into account the magickal temporal coefficient with the foci distribution ratio over the exponential creative energy variable, crossed with the– “

“I don’t understand,” Damon said, shaking his head quickly.

“Me neither,” Devon said just as quick.

“Perhaps our minds our not up to your calculations,” George said, nodding as well.

“We’ll take your word,” Damon said, lighting a new cigarette. “Especially since the rest of us have known that all along.”

“Even I know that,” Devon said.

“I –" Jenny stopped herself. “Humph.” She started scribbling down new figures.

“So how did you end up here?” George asked.

“Oh!” Jenny gasped, looking up.

“The dreams,” Devon said.

“I –“ Jenny squinted at the youngster. “How’d you know?”

Devon shrugged.

“Well, yes. The one thing I could get from my dreams was the reoccurring image of a dragon wrapped over the world, overlaid with an hourglass. I showed a sketch of it to Roger, but he threw it away. He said something about the Pendragons and then walked away.”

“Soon after, she found me,” Damon said. “And I brought her here.”

"I figured that if my talents weren't appreciated amongst my own, then I would take them elsewhere. I mean, if we were a sleeper organization, I would have been handed my pink slip. But they could hardly have done that to me, it’s not the same thing, really. But then again, I didn't want to just be swept under their stupid masculine rug.

"So you followed your dream?" Damon asked.

"Yes," Jenny replied.

“What about Roger?” George asked.

“Divorced.”

“How’d you do?” Devon asked.

“Devon!” George exclaimed.

“No, it’s okay,” Jenny answered. “Pretty lousy actually. I didn’t get anything—except for one thing. But it’s very valuable.”

“What?” Damon asked.

“The plans for constructing a sanctum,” Jenny replied.

Damon and George each raised their eyebrows.

“He had just completed a year’s worth of work with me on the best techniques to build a level five sanctum. I got it. Only I’ve improved on it with my other theories; his was more inefficient–too much technomagick built into it.”

“I think we have an empty room,” Devon said.

 

*       *       *

 

“Wait a minute. We have to meet the Prince of the Vampires?” Jenny said, raising her glasses with her forefinger, stumbling behind Siren in the dark night of the street.

“Kindred, and yes,” Siren replied.

“As far as Reality Deviants go, the Vampire Lord is one of the most dangerous, are you sure– “

“Kindred.”

“Kindred,” Jenny said, catching up to Siren. “But are you sure this is absolutely necessary?

“Very,” Siren replied. “Come on,” she said, pulling Jenny by the arm.

“You know, this is a very dark, dark, alley," Jenny said, as they turned. "I mean, isn’t there a front entrance? I’m sure that would be much safer.”

“Probably," Siren said, not looking at Jenny. "Come on.”

Siren moved towards the man lurking at the end of the alley. Clad in a black leather jacket and dark blue jeans, she had her dull red hair pulled behind her. Her hard features turned back and forth, double-checking the area for anything out of order, but found nothing. Jenny, fumbling with herself, trying to straighten her hair and glasses in vain, pulled a beige corduroy jacket tightly around her and ran her hands nervously over her grey slacks.

Siren nodded at the doorman: an imposing, muscular, dark-skinned man, whose long black hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail. “Blade,” she said in the dark.

“Siren,” he nodded, opening the door for her and her guest. “He’s waiting for you.”

“Good,” Siren said.

“Fascinating,” Jenny said, as Siren pulled her up the stairs. “Did you see the pigmentation of his skin, it was unusually dark for a vamp–I mean Kindred—wasn’t it? Was that a quirk of clan distinction, or something? I would love to get a blood sample– “

“So would he,” Siren said, cracking a smile.

“I—of —oh. Yes. I see.”

Another man, an even larger, barrel-chested man in a suit waited at the top of the stairs. “He’s ready for you,” the man said.

Siren merely nodded at the ghoul and went through the open door with Jenny.

Krayvis, the Prince of Detroit, looked up from his desk. He wore a dark black suit, with a black shirt underneath, and a black tie. He looked undescribably old for a man with such a young face; an unnatural pallor clung to him. Krayvis turned from the ragged looking man next to him. Siren knew the other man to be a Gangrel, Mohammed; in torn jeans and a black T-shirt, he was quite a contrast to the prince. The Gangrel looked up at the duo with a menacing look, but Krayvis, touching his hand softly, reassured Mohammed that it was okay.

“And what do you have for me, young Siren?” Krayvis asked.

“Just what I promised. A new mage.”

“Very good," Krayvis said hungrily.

Mohammed held his hand up, spinning his forefinger.

“Hunh?” Jenny asked.

“Turn around,” Mohammed whispered.

Hesitantly, Jenny did so, looking only quickly at Siren, who nodded.

Mohammed shook his head. Krayvis’ eyes squinted, as he looked between Mohammed and Jenny. The two Kindred looked at each other for a few long moments, where it seemed that their eyes were contracting a dialogue, but after a few stared glances, they looked back at the kine before them.

“I’ve kept our part of Leander’s deal,” Siren said.

“Yes,” Krayvis said softly. Too softly. “You show me those of your brood and I have free reign on the others.”

“Hunh?” Jenny asked.

“No, you give them one warning to deal with us first,” Siren said, her hands on her hips.

“Of course,” Krayvis said, nodding absently.

“I don’t want to be disrespectful, Prince Krayvis," Siren said. "But if you don’t hold your part of the deal, it makes it harder for us to deal with the other mages here.”

“And yet you mages ask more each time I deal with you,” Krayvis said evenly.

“You agreed to the deal. And I ask nothing more of you today, than to hold up your end of that bargain.”

“I have my image to uphold,” Krayvis said, reclining in his chair.

“We’ve taken out more than enough Sabbat to keep your harpies happy.”

“Yes, you have," Krayvis said, smiling dangerously. "But I’ve also taken more casualties from Black Spirals for maintaining the peace with the Garou.”

“But some of the Garou have been helping stake out the Sabbat too,” Siren said.

“That is why I hold my end of the bargain.”

“So now you know the girl," Siren said. "Her name is Jenny Slater and she’s a Pendragon.”

“I will spread the word,” Krayvis said, his dead eyes staring outward.

Siren nodded.

“Mohammed,” Krayvis said slowly, “Go to Electrica and tell whoever’s there about our new friend.”

“Certainly,” the Gangrel said, nodding and smirking. He turned and left, walking through the main office door.

Siren turned back towards the rear door, grabbing Jenny. “Thank you,” she said to Krayvis, turning to leave.

Krayvis looked at her, nodding slowly, before returning his gaze to the documents on his desk.

Jenny’s eyes were wide open the whole time and stayed wide open as they walked back out past the ghoul and the doorman, Blade.

“That was fascinating,” Jenny said when they were back on the street. "Utterly fascinating. I could study the supernatural socio-political strata alone for a lifetime, I think."

“Yeah, well, welcome to Detroit,” Siren said, shaking her head at her bubbly partner, who was once again scribbling on her notepad.