Part 9
I slipped through a side door, in case my parents were already waiting in the main part of the house. Everything was still dark, as I'd left it. I slipped off my shoes, flipped on the house lights, and curled up on the couch, pulling out my phone so it would look like I'd been waiting for them at home the whole time.
On a whim, I searched for Acropolis Urban Developers. There was my dad, grinning larger than life, posing with a team of foremen. They were all pretty bulky guys, but my dad was still about a head taller than the tallest one in the group. It was like the "big boss" at the end of a game of Grand Theft Auto, surrounded by his generic-looking henchmen. I found the listing of different buildings Acropolis constructed. It wasn't "half the skyline," Kayce had been exaggerating... But there were about a dozen now-famous buildings that owed their existence to my dad's company. God-like? Hardly.
I heard the front door knob click, and hastily closed the browser window, out of habit.
Mom gave a sigh and I heard a pair of thuds as she kicked off her shoes.
"Oh, my feet were killing me in those awful pumps!" she moaned. "It feels so good to free my toes!"
"Honey, I thought you were over putting yourself in pain just to impress me," Dad murmured in return, over the susurration of the plastic bags. "Though I will say, you looked divine in that outfit--so it wasn't for nothing."
They were still kissing, in each other's arms, as they walked into the room behind me.
I popped my head up over the back of the couch and grinned. "Did you have a nice time at the Fishers'?"
Mom broke the kiss and smiled at me. "Oh, Priscilla--yes, Don and Kate's was lovely, and then we had a Grand Opening for the new high-rise downtown, so there were photos and a reception."
"Lots of reporters," Dad muttered, setting the bags of paper-wrapped sandwiches and cartons of sides from Great Steaks on the table. "Naturally, we couldn't take it too casually. Dinner's up!"
We sat around the table with our cheesesteaks and fries, and Mom gave me a sly smile and a wink before prompting, "So... Priscilla, you have something to tell your father? About a recent application exam?"
Dad gulped down a fry and wiped his beard. "Oh yeah, how did that go, honey?"
I hadn't been feeling very good about it before, but now I felt a small surge of pride to be able to say, "They already tallied the results, and I got accepted as the historian for the student team led by FRED."
Mom replayed her supportive excitement with a huge smile and a small squeal. "Oooh, how exciting!"
"That's great!" Dad put up his hand and I high-fived it. "Wait, hold on--FRED?" He looked at Mom. "You told me this Macedonia trip was being sponsored by Daeva-Staite," his thick eyebrows bent in confusion.
"They're footing the bill to bring students along on the dig," I filled in, "but the organization actually doing the digging is called Fortune Research and Educational Development, or FRED. And we're not going to Macedonia, exactly--it's a small island off the coast of Greece, called Fortuna or something." I dimly recalled mentioning it when the exam was first announced. "Chelsea Perrit's on the team, too--she's been doing research on them already."
An awkward pause hung in the air for a few moments. A look passed between my parents, as if Dad had something he wanted to say, but Mom froze him with a glance that said not now.
I could see his neck muscles bunching, and I was feeling a little tense, myself, so I stood up. "Well, I have some homework to do for a Chem lab on Friday. Good night, you guys." I gave them both a quick hug and retreated upstairs.
On the balcony, I heard them talking in rushed, low voices, so I stopped to listen.
"... After all this time..." Dad muttered, as he finished saying something.
"Do you think it's a sign?" Mom murmured back.
"Could be," Dad replied. I heard his voice move toward the kitchen, and he spoke a little louder over the sound of the running faucet. "Goodness knows we've waited long enough."
Waited? For what? I wondered.
"... For town," My mom's voice floated up to my ears much quieter than Dad's voice. "I never thought this day would come. I can't believe she's really going."
"Don't get too ahead of yourself," Dad responded. "It might be a false alarm. It could be nothing. We must play it carefully until we can confirm..."
Mom started running the ice maker, and I missed the end of what Dad was saying. I heard her saying something about picking up her shoes, so I slipped into my room and pulled out my Chem textbook.
Later, as I was climbing into bed, I heard Dad's footsteps on the carpet in the hallway.
"Dad?" I called.
He popped his head in. "Yes, sweetheart?"
I opened my mouth to ask him something that would perhaps let me know what they'd been talking about, without making it seem like I had been listening, but it took me a few moments to finally blurt out, "Should I be worried about this trip? I mean," I shrugged and my hand immediately went for the locket around my neck. "It is a pretty unorthodox scheme--"
"Scheme?" Dad tilted an eyebrow and came in to sit at the end of my bed, just the way he used to. "What do you mean, scheme? There's nothing to be afraid of, it's just a school trip, honey."
I drew my knees up so I could wrap my arms around them. "Yeah, but I just feel like every time I bring it up, I get less and less confident that this is something I should really go for." I sighed. "Especially with Tony in the hospital and--"
"Oh, Pris, honey..." Dad murmured, leaning over to wrap his arms around me. I dropped my knees and welcomed his hug. "Your Mom told me about Tony Rosen. That's a rum deal for a kid his age."
And I was so desperate to do something that I actually faked one of Mom's artifacts to bring it to him, just in case it had some kind of magical powers, even though we don't believe in that stuff! My guilty conscience screamed at me.
"I just can't shake the feeling that maybe this is the universe telling me I should stay put," I murmured into Dad's shoulder.
"Stay put?" Dad tilted his head to look at me as I leaned back. "Pris, honey--what if this is the universe telling you to weigh anchor and seize the high wind? You told me yourself, this is the kind of opportunity you've been hoping for!"
I frowned. "I said maybe," I hedged. "But so much has happened since then..."
We sat, knees touching, as Dad studied my face. Finally he smiled and gestured toward me. "That locket I gave you," he said. "Did I ever tell you the story behind it?"
I shrugged. "You did tell me it was a family heirloom once. You didn't say where from..."
"My mother--your grandmother--took it to an old medicine lady from Cephalonia, and she blessed it with lots of charms for wisdom and protection, and said that the longer a person wore it, the stronger the charms would become, so that no harm would befall the wearer, and they would be able to think clearly in any situation."
I watched my Dad's eyes for the telltale twinkle that said he was kidding; I had no idea where Cephalonia was, but it sounded as made-up as the idea of protection charms. "Serious?" I asked, suppressing my skepticism for his sake. "You're not making this up just because I'm a little freaked out and stressed right now?"
Dad shook his head. "Your Mom knew that story, and we'd always toyed with the idea of giving it to our natural child on their wedding day--but when I met you, the day we decided we were going to adopt you," He put a huge hand on my shoulder and gave me his widest grin. "I knew I wanted you to have it, right there and then." He caressed the side of my face with his fingertips. "You should go on this trip, Priscilla--just do me a favor, and wear that locket the whole time. Never take it off, not even for a minute."
My mind went over that strange, hushed conversation between my parents as I asked, "Not even for showering? You want me to wear it while I'm sleeping? Dad, you know I don't buy into that charm voodoo stuff!" I held his gaze and demanded, "Is there something you know that I don't--and maybe you should tell me?"
He didn't even hesitate. "Nothing serious, Nosy, don't worry!" He ruffled the top of my head with a light chuckle. "Just don't want you to forget about us while you're traveling and making your chance-of-a-lifetime discoveries, is all." He stood up and smiled. "Do it 'cuz you love me?"
I picked up the locket and rubbed it with my fingers. It wasn't uncomfortable at all--at most, I'd just be worried about losing it if I brought it along with me! "Sure, Dad," I replied. "I'll wear it every day, just because I love you!"
He laughed. "Goodnight, sweetheart."
"Goodnight, Dad."
I just heard the door to my parents' bedroom click shut when my phone buzzed for an incoming text. I lifted it and checked the screen.
Chelsea P.--am I going crazy? Check the FRED website.
"What?" I murmured to myself. I entered "Fortune Research Educational Development" into the search bar of my phone's browser. Several hits came up, articles mentioning FRED, talking about "Fortune 500" researches and educational development opportunities... but the website for specifically the organization from Athens, New York, was not a viable option. Even when articles talking about past digs would mention it and try to hyperlink it for reference's sake--the webpage wouldn't load.
I pulled up the text thread and replied to Chelsea.
Priscilla T.--I thought you did your research already.
Chelsea P.--I DID! I swear, I just looked it up yesterday I even had the link in my search history!!! It looked pretty basic almost like something from the Myspace days but at least it wasn't like NOTHING what gives??????
When Chelsea freaked out, all semblance of rational punctuation disappeared. Another text came in while I was trying to digest that one.
Chelsea P.--and now my parents are saying I can't go, since they don't know anything about FRED or Dave-State.
Chelsea P.--oops Daeva-Statie gosh autocorrect!
I frowned. That was the one thing that reassured my parents--was there a problem with the Daeva-Staite Foundation, now? I pulled up the website.
There were a lot of stock photos of happy people, beautiful locations and pretty weather patterns, but the details and the actual text on the webpage was pretty sparse. Two or three testimonials from obscure business owners, and a short list of accolades from the past decade or so, but that was it.
I returned to the text thread to find another text from Chelsea.
Chelsea P.--How r ur parents? R they freaking out too?
I thought back to the overheard conversation, and how my dad had been all cryptic about the locket and stuff. But Mom had been excited for me, and Dad did say that he still wanted me to go...
Priscilla T.--They're still ok with it. I can still go if I want to.
Chelsea P.--Lucky.
I closed the window, and pulled up a map. I typed in "Fortuna Island, Macedonia", and got the location of a "Fortune Island" casino in Constantinople. I shifted the map around a few places, zooming in on all the islands, looking for something at least close to the place described. Hadn't Mr. Montaine--or even Scott, his dig rep--shown us a picture of the place? I tried to recall what the coastline had looked like, but the more I looked, the more I found spots on the image where things were too pixelated to distinguish anything, and the spots that were clear were all the wrong locations.
The dread returned, and I found myself fidgeting with the locket more than ever. What exactly was I getting myself into? I held the locket in my fingers till I fell asleep.
>>>>>>>>>
Earlier that afternoon...
The setting sun glinted off the gleaming, mirrored surface of the sculpture titled "Cloud Gate"... known locally and with much affection as "The Bean." Tourists from all over the world posed in front of it, holding their cameras and phones out as far as they could reach--farther still, with selfie sticks--to capture the distorted reflections thrown back at them.
He winced as he saw them. They remained so blissfully unaware what was at stake--what was in store for them. His briefcase handle slid in his clammy grip, and he shifted, mopping his brow. He'd been wrapping up a meeting with a client when "the awakening" occurred. All the preparations and hours of meditation, the physical and psychological tests he allowed himself to undergo in preparation for the moment... All of it came woefully short of the actual pain.
One moment he was shaking the man's hand and receiving assurances of his company's partnership with Fortune Research, and the next... A vicious hot poker sizzled through his skull, burning an image of the metal sculpture into his brain. When he could see again, his guest had departed, and his secretary stood over him as he crouched on his knees, his legs turned to jelly incapable of supporting him. His whole body quivered and the sweat oozed from his pores--but when The Master summoned, His minions obeyed. To do otherwise would be to invite instantaneous destruction.
His sticky, saturated suit clung to his skin as he made his way past a happy couple in the very act of celebrating an engagement next to the dingy white balustrade. He nearly tripped over a little girl trying in vain to sink her baby teeth into the hardened shell of caramel around a thick-skinned apple almost as big as her face.
"Hey!" The worried parent yelled in his face as she yanked her daughter out from under him, but he hardly noticed over the throbbing, burning agony inside his head. He staggered forward until he was in arm's reach of the cool, glossy surface. He extended his hand, resting his palm against the sculpture, before lunging his head forward to cool his suffering. The resounding bong pealed like a voice.
"Hello."
The patient sycophant opened his eyes. A second face grinned over his shoulder in the reflective surface before him, but when he actually turned to look in that direction, he saw no one. Furthermore, a long, bony hand with thick black nails--pointed like claws at the tips--gripped his chin in the reflection and wrenched his head back toward the mirror, and he felt it like a pair of red-hot tongs upon his skin.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, George!" Snarled the reflection.
George looked. He laid eyes on the face he had only seen in illustrations and icons, his ears listened to the voice he had only ever imagined for as long as he considered himself a believer--and instead of pain or fear, he felt relief. Relief gave way to elation. It was all true! It would happen just as the Ancient Ones foretold! He was free at last--and soon he would mete out judgment on his enemies, in order to bestow the promised reward upon his loyal followers!
"Your Greatness," George whispered, almost stroking the mirror in adoration, "I have waited to look upon you for so long, I would not ever look upon anything else!"
The twisted, gaunt figure in the reflection gave a thin-lipped grin as his fiery-orange eyes glowed and narrowed. "I have been freed from my prison, but I am not wholly free yet. I have yet to claim a physical form--"
"Oh!" George gasped and immediately plastered his body against the slick surface of The Bean. "Take me, My Master! I will be your vessel--"
"GET OFF ME!" The clawed hands shoved against his shoulders, sending George stumbling backwards and tearing deep furrows in the shoulders of his Giorgio Armani suit jacket. His tailor would have a meltdown.
"How dare you presume to throw yourself at me like a fawning whelp!" growled The Master. "I have no need of your pathetic, disease-ridden carcass, because there is one better whom I shall convince to allow me the use of its body."
George remained crouched on the stones of the palisade, head bowed in penitence. "What can I do, Great Master?"
The figure in the reflection tapped a long black claw against his chin. "Gather the others. Tell them our moment is at hand. The Heir has been found."
George gasped and his eyes lifted. "If the Heir has made itself known to you, then your enemies will not be far behind!"
A low chuckle, like the grinding of stones against one another, came from the reflected figure. "No, not far at all--in fact, I'm planning to pay them a visit very soon. Take care of The Heir, make sure she does not escape your grasp!"
George blinked. This was a new dynamic he hadn't expected. No one had been able to figure out if the prophecy's reference to The Heir denoted a man or a woman. He scrambled to his feet. "My lord... She?" he inquired, but the figure had vanished, the sun was all but set, and he was finally aware of the strange looks from passersby.
George limped away from Millennium Park, fumbling with his cell phone as he struggled to send a text to his associate, EM.
GH: The Master Has Spoken. The Heir Has Arisen.
He moved to slip his phone back into his jacket pocket, but the reply came before he'd completed the motion.
EM: Way ahead of you. I knew it was one of CU. Did He say which?
GH: Girl. Name Not Revealed.
EM: That helps, thanks. Think I've figured out which. Time to bring ourselves fame and fortune! Hail Egamad!
George felt the heat of just seeing The Master's name spelled out on his screen, as if its presence would melt the hardware. He didn't care.
GH: Hail Egamad! The Heir will open The Vault, and The Power And Glory will be ours!
>>>>>>>>>>
I popped my head up over the back of the couch and grinned. "Did you have a nice time at the Fishers'?"
Mom broke the kiss and smiled at me. "Oh, Priscilla--yes, Don and Kate's was lovely, and then we had a Grand Opening for the new high-rise downtown, so there were photos and a reception."
"Lots of reporters," Dad muttered, setting the bags of paper-wrapped sandwiches and cartons of sides from Great Steaks on the table. "Naturally, we couldn't take it too casually. Dinner's up!"
We sat around the table with our cheesesteaks and fries, and Mom gave me a sly smile and a wink before prompting, "So... Priscilla, you have something to tell your father? About a recent application exam?"
Dad gulped down a fry and wiped his beard. "Oh yeah, how did that go, honey?"
I hadn't been feeling very good about it before, but now I felt a small surge of pride to be able to say, "They already tallied the results, and I got accepted as the historian for the student team led by FRED."
Mom replayed her supportive excitement with a huge smile and a small squeal. "Oooh, how exciting!"
"That's great!" Dad put up his hand and I high-fived it. "Wait, hold on--FRED?" He looked at Mom. "You told me this Macedonia trip was being sponsored by Daeva-Staite," his thick eyebrows bent in confusion.
"They're footing the bill to bring students along on the dig," I filled in, "but the organization actually doing the digging is called Fortune Research and Educational Development, or FRED. And we're not going to Macedonia, exactly--it's a small island off the coast of Greece, called Fortuna or something." I dimly recalled mentioning it when the exam was first announced. "Chelsea Perrit's on the team, too--she's been doing research on them already."
An awkward pause hung in the air for a few moments. A look passed between my parents, as if Dad had something he wanted to say, but Mom froze him with a glance that said not now.
I could see his neck muscles bunching, and I was feeling a little tense, myself, so I stood up. "Well, I have some homework to do for a Chem lab on Friday. Good night, you guys." I gave them both a quick hug and retreated upstairs.
On the balcony, I heard them talking in rushed, low voices, so I stopped to listen.
"... After all this time..." Dad muttered, as he finished saying something.
"Do you think it's a sign?" Mom murmured back.
"Could be," Dad replied. I heard his voice move toward the kitchen, and he spoke a little louder over the sound of the running faucet. "Goodness knows we've waited long enough."
Waited? For what? I wondered.
"... For town," My mom's voice floated up to my ears much quieter than Dad's voice. "I never thought this day would come. I can't believe she's really going."
"Don't get too ahead of yourself," Dad responded. "It might be a false alarm. It could be nothing. We must play it carefully until we can confirm..."
Mom started running the ice maker, and I missed the end of what Dad was saying. I heard her saying something about picking up her shoes, so I slipped into my room and pulled out my Chem textbook.
Later, as I was climbing into bed, I heard Dad's footsteps on the carpet in the hallway.
"Dad?" I called.
He popped his head in. "Yes, sweetheart?"
I opened my mouth to ask him something that would perhaps let me know what they'd been talking about, without making it seem like I had been listening, but it took me a few moments to finally blurt out, "Should I be worried about this trip? I mean," I shrugged and my hand immediately went for the locket around my neck. "It is a pretty unorthodox scheme--"
"Scheme?" Dad tilted an eyebrow and came in to sit at the end of my bed, just the way he used to. "What do you mean, scheme? There's nothing to be afraid of, it's just a school trip, honey."
I drew my knees up so I could wrap my arms around them. "Yeah, but I just feel like every time I bring it up, I get less and less confident that this is something I should really go for." I sighed. "Especially with Tony in the hospital and--"
"Oh, Pris, honey..." Dad murmured, leaning over to wrap his arms around me. I dropped my knees and welcomed his hug. "Your Mom told me about Tony Rosen. That's a rum deal for a kid his age."
And I was so desperate to do something that I actually faked one of Mom's artifacts to bring it to him, just in case it had some kind of magical powers, even though we don't believe in that stuff! My guilty conscience screamed at me.
"I just can't shake the feeling that maybe this is the universe telling me I should stay put," I murmured into Dad's shoulder.
"Stay put?" Dad tilted his head to look at me as I leaned back. "Pris, honey--what if this is the universe telling you to weigh anchor and seize the high wind? You told me yourself, this is the kind of opportunity you've been hoping for!"
I frowned. "I said maybe," I hedged. "But so much has happened since then..."
We sat, knees touching, as Dad studied my face. Finally he smiled and gestured toward me. "That locket I gave you," he said. "Did I ever tell you the story behind it?"
I shrugged. "You did tell me it was a family heirloom once. You didn't say where from..."
"My mother--your grandmother--took it to an old medicine lady from Cephalonia, and she blessed it with lots of charms for wisdom and protection, and said that the longer a person wore it, the stronger the charms would become, so that no harm would befall the wearer, and they would be able to think clearly in any situation."
I watched my Dad's eyes for the telltale twinkle that said he was kidding; I had no idea where Cephalonia was, but it sounded as made-up as the idea of protection charms. "Serious?" I asked, suppressing my skepticism for his sake. "You're not making this up just because I'm a little freaked out and stressed right now?"
Dad shook his head. "Your Mom knew that story, and we'd always toyed with the idea of giving it to our natural child on their wedding day--but when I met you, the day we decided we were going to adopt you," He put a huge hand on my shoulder and gave me his widest grin. "I knew I wanted you to have it, right there and then." He caressed the side of my face with his fingertips. "You should go on this trip, Priscilla--just do me a favor, and wear that locket the whole time. Never take it off, not even for a minute."
My mind went over that strange, hushed conversation between my parents as I asked, "Not even for showering? You want me to wear it while I'm sleeping? Dad, you know I don't buy into that charm voodoo stuff!" I held his gaze and demanded, "Is there something you know that I don't--and maybe you should tell me?"
He didn't even hesitate. "Nothing serious, Nosy, don't worry!" He ruffled the top of my head with a light chuckle. "Just don't want you to forget about us while you're traveling and making your chance-of-a-lifetime discoveries, is all." He stood up and smiled. "Do it 'cuz you love me?"
I picked up the locket and rubbed it with my fingers. It wasn't uncomfortable at all--at most, I'd just be worried about losing it if I brought it along with me! "Sure, Dad," I replied. "I'll wear it every day, just because I love you!"
He laughed. "Goodnight, sweetheart."
"Goodnight, Dad."
I just heard the door to my parents' bedroom click shut when my phone buzzed for an incoming text. I lifted it and checked the screen.
Chelsea P.--am I going crazy? Check the FRED website.
"What?" I murmured to myself. I entered "Fortune Research Educational Development" into the search bar of my phone's browser. Several hits came up, articles mentioning FRED, talking about "Fortune 500" researches and educational development opportunities... but the website for specifically the organization from Athens, New York, was not a viable option. Even when articles talking about past digs would mention it and try to hyperlink it for reference's sake--the webpage wouldn't load.
I pulled up the text thread and replied to Chelsea.
Priscilla T.--I thought you did your research already.
Chelsea P.--I DID! I swear, I just looked it up yesterday I even had the link in my search history!!! It looked pretty basic almost like something from the Myspace days but at least it wasn't like NOTHING what gives??????
When Chelsea freaked out, all semblance of rational punctuation disappeared. Another text came in while I was trying to digest that one.
Chelsea P.--and now my parents are saying I can't go, since they don't know anything about FRED or Dave-State.
Chelsea P.--oops Daeva-Statie gosh autocorrect!
I frowned. That was the one thing that reassured my parents--was there a problem with the Daeva-Staite Foundation, now? I pulled up the website.
There were a lot of stock photos of happy people, beautiful locations and pretty weather patterns, but the details and the actual text on the webpage was pretty sparse. Two or three testimonials from obscure business owners, and a short list of accolades from the past decade or so, but that was it.
I returned to the text thread to find another text from Chelsea.
Chelsea P.--How r ur parents? R they freaking out too?
I thought back to the overheard conversation, and how my dad had been all cryptic about the locket and stuff. But Mom had been excited for me, and Dad did say that he still wanted me to go...
Priscilla T.--They're still ok with it. I can still go if I want to.
Chelsea P.--Lucky.
I closed the window, and pulled up a map. I typed in "Fortuna Island, Macedonia", and got the location of a "Fortune Island" casino in Constantinople. I shifted the map around a few places, zooming in on all the islands, looking for something at least close to the place described. Hadn't Mr. Montaine--or even Scott, his dig rep--shown us a picture of the place? I tried to recall what the coastline had looked like, but the more I looked, the more I found spots on the image where things were too pixelated to distinguish anything, and the spots that were clear were all the wrong locations.
The dread returned, and I found myself fidgeting with the locket more than ever. What exactly was I getting myself into? I held the locket in my fingers till I fell asleep.
>>>>>>>>>
Earlier that afternoon...
The setting sun glinted off the gleaming, mirrored surface of the sculpture titled "Cloud Gate"... known locally and with much affection as "The Bean." Tourists from all over the world posed in front of it, holding their cameras and phones out as far as they could reach--farther still, with selfie sticks--to capture the distorted reflections thrown back at them.
He winced as he saw them. They remained so blissfully unaware what was at stake--what was in store for them. His briefcase handle slid in his clammy grip, and he shifted, mopping his brow. He'd been wrapping up a meeting with a client when "the awakening" occurred. All the preparations and hours of meditation, the physical and psychological tests he allowed himself to undergo in preparation for the moment... All of it came woefully short of the actual pain.
One moment he was shaking the man's hand and receiving assurances of his company's partnership with Fortune Research, and the next... A vicious hot poker sizzled through his skull, burning an image of the metal sculpture into his brain. When he could see again, his guest had departed, and his secretary stood over him as he crouched on his knees, his legs turned to jelly incapable of supporting him. His whole body quivered and the sweat oozed from his pores--but when The Master summoned, His minions obeyed. To do otherwise would be to invite instantaneous destruction.
His sticky, saturated suit clung to his skin as he made his way past a happy couple in the very act of celebrating an engagement next to the dingy white balustrade. He nearly tripped over a little girl trying in vain to sink her baby teeth into the hardened shell of caramel around a thick-skinned apple almost as big as her face.
"Hey!" The worried parent yelled in his face as she yanked her daughter out from under him, but he hardly noticed over the throbbing, burning agony inside his head. He staggered forward until he was in arm's reach of the cool, glossy surface. He extended his hand, resting his palm against the sculpture, before lunging his head forward to cool his suffering. The resounding bong pealed like a voice.
"Hello."
The patient sycophant opened his eyes. A second face grinned over his shoulder in the reflective surface before him, but when he actually turned to look in that direction, he saw no one. Furthermore, a long, bony hand with thick black nails--pointed like claws at the tips--gripped his chin in the reflection and wrenched his head back toward the mirror, and he felt it like a pair of red-hot tongs upon his skin.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, George!" Snarled the reflection.
George looked. He laid eyes on the face he had only seen in illustrations and icons, his ears listened to the voice he had only ever imagined for as long as he considered himself a believer--and instead of pain or fear, he felt relief. Relief gave way to elation. It was all true! It would happen just as the Ancient Ones foretold! He was free at last--and soon he would mete out judgment on his enemies, in order to bestow the promised reward upon his loyal followers!
"Your Greatness," George whispered, almost stroking the mirror in adoration, "I have waited to look upon you for so long, I would not ever look upon anything else!"
The twisted, gaunt figure in the reflection gave a thin-lipped grin as his fiery-orange eyes glowed and narrowed. "I have been freed from my prison, but I am not wholly free yet. I have yet to claim a physical form--"
"Oh!" George gasped and immediately plastered his body against the slick surface of The Bean. "Take me, My Master! I will be your vessel--"
"GET OFF ME!" The clawed hands shoved against his shoulders, sending George stumbling backwards and tearing deep furrows in the shoulders of his Giorgio Armani suit jacket. His tailor would have a meltdown.
"How dare you presume to throw yourself at me like a fawning whelp!" growled The Master. "I have no need of your pathetic, disease-ridden carcass, because there is one better whom I shall convince to allow me the use of its body."
George remained crouched on the stones of the palisade, head bowed in penitence. "What can I do, Great Master?"
The figure in the reflection tapped a long black claw against his chin. "Gather the others. Tell them our moment is at hand. The Heir has been found."
George gasped and his eyes lifted. "If the Heir has made itself known to you, then your enemies will not be far behind!"
A low chuckle, like the grinding of stones against one another, came from the reflected figure. "No, not far at all--in fact, I'm planning to pay them a visit very soon. Take care of The Heir, make sure she does not escape your grasp!"
George blinked. This was a new dynamic he hadn't expected. No one had been able to figure out if the prophecy's reference to The Heir denoted a man or a woman. He scrambled to his feet. "My lord... She?" he inquired, but the figure had vanished, the sun was all but set, and he was finally aware of the strange looks from passersby.
George limped away from Millennium Park, fumbling with his cell phone as he struggled to send a text to his associate, EM.
GH: The Master Has Spoken. The Heir Has Arisen.
He moved to slip his phone back into his jacket pocket, but the reply came before he'd completed the motion.
EM: Way ahead of you. I knew it was one of CU. Did He say which?
GH: Girl. Name Not Revealed.
EM: That helps, thanks. Think I've figured out which. Time to bring ourselves fame and fortune! Hail Egamad!
George felt the heat of just seeing The Master's name spelled out on his screen, as if its presence would melt the hardware. He didn't care.
GH: Hail Egamad! The Heir will open The Vault, and The Power And Glory will be ours!
>>>>>>>>>>
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