The smoke in the medicine hut seemed to get thicker and thicker, until everyone was floating in it - literally - or at least it seemed that way... Feet were off the ground and heads were in the clouds. Like leaves on the surface of a windswept pool, everyone drifted off into their own... thing?
An hour later, Robor, Beats, and Emend abruptly snapped awake, finding themselves seated on the russet-sack cushions. Morrow Wind had an amused grin on his face and nodded over to a nearby pile of cushions, where Usdiyona was now snoring loudly in bear-cub form - her paws twitching and moving, as if she were running after something in her sleep.
After a few moments, the bear-girl awoke, sat up on her haunches, and went to say something, but it came out a squeaking growl-ish bark. She started with surprise, realizing that she was in bear form, and quickly changed back to her twelve year old human self.
"When did I change?" she asked Morrow Wind in confusion, "I was chasing the flying picnic baskets, but they..." She stopped, as she heard what she was saying.
Tilting her head to the side, she then proclaimed with a perplexed look - "I just had the strangest dream!"
At the mention of dreams, Robor, Beats, and Emend could suddenly recall details of dreams, or visions, that they had while under the influence of the genuinely magic magic-mushrooms.
---
For Robor, it was of a vast vaulted stone ceiling somewhere. The type one would see in a cathedral, grand central station, or other building using classical architecture to open up wide spaces - only this ceiling was encrusted in a thick layer of dirt and had little tendrils of vegetation growing down through cracks in it, where water had seeped in and stained the stones with a dark rusty color.
The entire vision was focused on the ceiling, as if all Robor could do was look at it, but below - out of sight - a conversation went on, to which he appeared to be an unseen eavesdropper.
"I had nowhere else to go!" a girl's familiar voice pleaded.
The last time Robor had heard the voice, he had been another person, and the voice had mocked his dangerous plight - "Time to run now, old man. Go! ... Go!"
An unfamiliar voice answered the girl, his words leaving his lips like the smooth flicking tongue of some devilish serpent. "Of course you didn't girl. No one who falls in with Belial's Brood has any future among the Clans."
"Le Blaze was a deviant troublemaker!" Another voice, this one powerful and brusk, interjected; "He didn't have the sense to follow rules, established for his own protection. The fool was destroyed trying to drink the blood of an angel! Who does that?!?"
"Quite," the more sophisticated voice agreed, "It wasn't enough that he was Daeva. He was Daeva and stupid. Not a very complimentary combination at all I'm afraid."
"But I'm not one of them," the girl cried, fear and desperation mounting in her voice. "He never turned me! I can change! I can be anything you want me to be!"
"What I want you to be..." the regal man's voice said with a hint of malevolent intent, "...is quite."
"No! Please! Nooo!" the girl screamed, as a loud wet squelching thump was heard - followed by her voice being cut off and forever silenced.
"Nice of the little imp to come find us, rather than having to root the trash out ourselves," the heavier voice remarked, apparently picking up the now deceased girl's body and throwing it over his shoulder.
"The Brood is a thorn in the side of any Clan unfortunate enough to have to deal with them," the first voice sighed. "They have no regard for law, are admitted infernalists, and attract such egregious attention with their blatant acts of wanton depravity."
"They however, are not what concerns me about this whole sorted affair..."
"It's the angel, right?" the heavier voice asked.
"Yes," came the reply; "This city hasn't had an angelic presence for nearly a decade and I have to admit, I have become somewhat accustomed to the lack of supernal oversight."
"Do you want us to find this guy and take him out?"
"Ah ha ha... If only it was that easy. No, they operate in groups - and like the magi, can conjure pure sunlight at high enough mastery. We need to find them, yes. But, they cannot be engaged without proper intel and the right sort of preparation first. And even then, it is best to separate and pick the weaker ones off first, one-by-one..."
---
Beats could recall seeing a dingy tarp through shrouded darkness, covering some large object in the middle of a rough concrete floor. His view slowly circled the object, until he became aware of another presence in the place with him.
Whoever it was remained unseen, yet Beats could observe - through a bizarre time-lapse-like unfolding - the interactions that person was making on the scene.
First a high definition camera was set up on a tri-pod, facing the tarp.
Then a cable was run from the camera, across the dark concrete, to the back of a computer server on the floor.
A door opened and closed from somewhere out of Beats' field of view and footsteps echoed in the empty space. One was the click-clack of a woman in high heels; the other the quick-paced skitter of a small child, trying to keep up.
The woman spoke, but something about her voice was off. An unusual accent - almost Spanish, but with a notable 'b' for 'v' and 'p' for 'f' substitution, rather than the classic 'h' for 'j' - and a more full sound than one might expect from a woman. Beats suspected he was hearing a 'non-binary', as the younger generation was now calling it.
"Here we are. You get to be youtube pamous!"
"I get to be on TV?" an excited little voice replied. Beats couldn't tell if it belonged to a boy or girl - it was too young, but the accent was English.
"You bet! This is the TB camera, right here."
"Ooh! Hey, what's that under there?"
"That is a surprise!"
---
Emend's vision had intruded upon Blume and Blumenthal's upper office - the one that didn't really exist in the physical world - and it was just like he had remembered it.
The room was richly appointed; lavished with ornate paneling, dark-stained wood accents, columns of heavy-laden bookshelves, a stamped-tin tile ceiling, and a huge black desk facing the door. The ornate brass candle stands that Emend remembered, with their huge squat candles and fat ropy wicks, sat in each corner - mercifully unlit.
The two 'Blumes' were there, discussing paperwork piled on Mr. Blumenthal's desk.
"Just settle it," Mr. Blumenthal said, dragging a long puff off a fine cigar. "There's no point in fighting for the place with a forgery, no matter how good the document looks. It's not worth the accusation itself getting out and upsetting other clients."
"You are aware that Mr. Hardman is one of them now," Mr. Blume replied, "does this give you pause, seeing that he remembers our little 'offer'?"
"Mr. Hardman is worth keeping tabs on;" Mr. Blumenthal pointed out, motioning with the cigar, "And what better way, than to let them have the place. The hallow itself is too good for them to pass up, not to mention its longstanding history among the Chosen. They will be very easy to watch, when we know where they call home."
"It is a shame we lost him," Mr. Blume lamented; "His father was truly amazing and we had such high hopes for the son."
"The line is not yet lost," Mr. Blumenthal replied, "We are still playing the long-game. What is another twenty years to us? A drop of water in an endless ocean. Mr. Hartman will be long gone, by the time his son stands before us to make his own choice."
---
As everyone pondered the meaning of what they could recall from their strangely prophetic dreams, the Saint returned to the group, having completed his lone oblation at the hallow.
Morrow Wind meanwhile, took a small sack and handed it to Emend.
"These three agates each hold double the usual amount of tass. Take them and use your knowledge of Prime to pull the tass free when you need it."
