Time: Sunday, 3 May, through Monday, 4 May
Place: The Fiendish Glow , all levels
Follows: Light Cousins Take on a Fiendish Glow
Lora Conk is used with permission.
[Sunday 3 May, 5 PM]
"Uh, Brenda?"
"Yeah, Lora?"
"Mmm. . . not sure how to say this. . . "
"Say what?"
"I need the night off."
"So do I. So what? Pen never showed, Nyx took off like a bat out of hell, Heather's stuck over at the Shrine. . . where are we supposed to get anybody to cover for us?"
"Look. Really. I need tonight off."
"You took last night off, Lora. The 'Duct Tape' party, remember?"
Lora did remember -- in fact, that was exactly why she wanted tonight off. Too much Jarod, not enough Jarod. . . and never enough Ms. Parker, she thought to herself. "Yeah, and an early Sunday breakfast crowd here to boot. If I don't get some sleep tonight, I'm not going to be able to do *anything* for the entire week," she complained.
"As if I'm any more awake?" Brenda growled.
"Oh come on, Brenda," Lora whined, "you can have all tomorrow night off. Besides, I was only gone two hours last night, and I'll be back well before closing tonight." She started to massage the other woman's shoulders, hoping to loosen her up a bit.
"Oh, all right," Brenda capitulated. Negotiation was not one of her strong points. "But be back in time for closing." Lora slipped out of earshot before Brenda could change her mind.
[Monday, 12:30 AM]
"Last Call" was, under Ontario law, 1 AM. Theoretically, closing would be no more than a half hour later. Theoretically, that is, unless a vampire or a pigmentally-challenged fugitive were to come in asking for food or sanctuary. So far, no vampires had come though a special refrigerator and separate glasses were acquired and stocked for their drinking pleasure.
Fortunately for the women's normal jobs, there had been no fugitives, either. Unfortunately, Lora had not yet returned, and at least two Glow Worms had to be present when the day's receipts were counted. Worse yet, Lora's parents had called, concerned about her. They had heard rumors that Toronto was infested with vampires, and they most assuredly did not want their daughter associating with "that type". They ended up begrudgingly leaving a message for Lora to call them "sooner than vampirically possible". . .
Anxious, Brenda toyed with the PTT/VOX switch hidden in the folds of her arisaid. . .
--- FLASHBACK ---
[Thursday, 4:30 PM]
"How do I look?" Brenda asked, giving a final tug to her velveteen bodice, and another coat of hairspray to her chignon.
"It's fine, Brenda, you don't have to worry. They're not going to bite if we're a shade off. . . and Clan Bell really does set off your eyes and hair."
Brenda laughed. "I'm not color-blind," she said. In fact, far from color-blind, she had developed a finely-tuned color vision that allowed her to match colors from memory -- "something akin to near-perfect color pitch", as she described it. She was pleasantly surprised to find that Heather had been able to find yardage of the recently-registered sett; its dark blue background, and black and yellow accents, went perfectly with her "summer" coloring and graying hair. The "traditional" arisaid-style bodice and skirt looked somewhat Period, which allowed the stout woman to wear the stiffly-boned stays of her Renfaire garb. She chose to tie her plaide at the left hip in the manner of a woman who had married outside her clan.
As for Lora's costume, well. . . Lora decided that rather than deciding between Celtic and Mexican themes, she'd just "generic bouncer" garb: black jeans, black shirt, black boots. Her two concessions to Celtic heritage were the tartan sash about her waist and the simple tartan ribbon with which she had bound back her copious mane of reddish-brown hair. She was less concerned with her looks than with the health of the heavy claymore she wielded as an intimidation device. "Boudicca, watch out," thought her compatriot, "Here comes Lora!"
Giving a final check to their "war paint", the two women went back downstairs to prepare for their evening guests.
As they entered the main foyer, Dennis raised his hand to show them something about 7 cm long and 4 cm wide. Brenda blinked, squinted slightly, and adjusted her vision until the defaced Motorola ™ logo focused.
"You finished them!" she cried. "Kewl -- thanks!" she rushed forward as if to claim a prize.
"Eh, not so fast, mum," the young Irishman said. "We haven't run them through all their tests yet. But if yer willin' to try it oat. . . "
Brenda grinned. She had had little chance to use her radio equipment since arriving in Toronto, and Dennis's newest toy looked like just the thing. "Sure thing," she beamed. She examined the unit Dennis handed her. The antenna was a lot shorter than she expected, and there was no visible mike switch. "Let me guess. . . you changed the VCO and put repeaters into the walls."
"Close," he told her. "Couldn'a find a small enough VCO, so I modified it to use the second harmonic off the existing one."
Brenda looked at him.
"I needed the room to change this baby's mode to spread spectrum. And yes, there are repeaters in the walls -- power on these rigs is less than 20 milliwatts."
Brenda let out a low whistle. "Kewl!" The technology and expertise involved in that sort of reworking of such a small radio was nothing short of miraculous. Combined with a small collar mike and an in-ear earphone, the radios would be discreetly undetectable -- unless you knew precisely what you were looking for. Unobtrusive but effective -- and Brenda knew they would need that sort of communication before the War was through.
--- END FLASHBACK ---
[Monday, still 12:30 AM -- Brenda's flashbacks don't take as long to experience as they do to read. . . well, maybe they do, but since this is fiction, can we just pretend they're quick?]
"Glow One, Control," she whispered across the mike.
"Control, Dennis," a voice responded. "What's up?"
"Have you seen Lora any time after 5 PM this evening?"
"No, nothing. I heard her take the night off, but we never saw her leave the building. Maybe she's watching TV upstairs?"
Brenda blinked hard. She remembered Lora saying something about "Jarod" and "Pezheads" and "Duct Tape Party". . . and then there was always Ronnie. . . "I'm going to see if O'Mannion's seen her."
"Roger," Dennis replied.
Brenda found Ronnie at the metro entrance/exit.
"What can uy do for ye, lassie?" he said at her approach.
"Have you seen Lora?"
"Not ye, but she's not due back fur an hour."
"Well, when you see her, tell her that her parents called and she's to call them."
[Monday, 2 AM]
"You mean she never came back?" she asked the brawny redhead as the last of the night's customers left The Fiendish Glow.
"No, not as faer as Uy know," he answered. "Dennis?" he asked into his collar mike.
"Nothing here, uyther," he answered. "Cud she be upstaers wi' her VCR?"
Brenda shrugged. "It's worth a try," she said. "Have O'Mannion hold down the fort while I run upstairs and try to find her.
[Ten minutes later.]
Breathless, Brenda ran back down the stairs. No sign of Lora. Not in bed, not in the bedrooms, not in the bathroom, not in the living room, not in the apartment kitchen. Not on the stairs, not in the attic, not in the cantina, not in the pub. Not in either of the restaurant kitchens. Not in either of the restaurants' bathrooms -- not men's, not women's. Not in the refrigerator, not in the freezer. In short, if Lora had not left the "Glow", then she had effectively disappeared into thin air. This was not a good thing.
Brenda disappeared into the "Glow's" offices and rummaged through the Rolodex. "Heather," she mumbled. "Heather, Heather, Heather, Heather. . . got it!" She pulled the card and started dialing.
"Hello?? Hello??? What time is this?" a sleepy voice answered the phone.
"Is this the shrine?" Brenda asked.
The voice mumbled confirmation.
"This is Brenda at The Fiendish Glow. I'm sorry to be calling this late, but I need to speak to MacCousin Heather, now."
"Huh?" the voice responded. "MacCousin. . . Heather. . . ?? NOW??. . . " Brenda could hear the answerer blinking and trying to clear her head.
"Heather. MacCousin Heather. . . one moment please." The voice began to gain some coherency. "H-E-A-T-H-E-R!!!!!!!!" She heard the voice yell. "P-H-O-O-O-O-N-N-N-N-N-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Anyone who had been sleeping at the Shrine had almost certainly been awakened by the piercing cry. On the other hand, Brenda supposed, it probably did nothing for those Addicts who were in what they referred to as "nunklear meltdown".
Five minutes later, an obviously sleepy Heather crawled to the phone.
"Who's callin' ae' this hoor??" she asked, none too pleased to have been awakened.
"Heather, it's me. Brenda." A pause. No response. "Glow Worm. The pub. Remember?"
Slowly, the haze began to clear. "B-b-brenda. Bell. Glow. Right. . . what's up?"
"Lora seems to have disappeared, and I need another Glow Worm to close down for the night. You know, count the receipts, work the safe, and so on."
"Nae, ye dinna need twa' tae cloase. Ye ken do it yaersel'."
"Uh-uh. Standard security procedure. And it's even written into that grant contract from the Celtic Culinary Heritage Preservation Bureau."
"A-a-a-c-c-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h. . . ." the MacCousin groaned. "I'll be there as soon as I can," she mumbled, hanging up the receiver.
[Monday, 3 AM - 11 AM]
The books done, the place closed, and Heather safely home, Brenda trudged up the stairs for what was supposed to have been a couple hours' sleep. Lora's disappearance, however, weighed heavily on her mind. She needed to do something before her cohort's parents got too worried. Continuing the search physically was out of the question: not only was it way too late, but she was way too tired, as well. The building had been combed top to bottom by the entire staff, to no avail. Lora was just out and out. . . missing. Until morning came, there was only one thing the brunette could do -- and even that was iffy. . .
She searched through her bags for some sandalwood incense, which she lit and set where she could watch the ember and inhale the fragrance. Then she sat down, cross-legged, facing it. Resting her elbows on her knees and her face in her templed hands, Brenda began to think of Lora. Recalling what she felt during the previous week's Reiki session, she concentrated on that feeling, opened herself up to it, and tried to intensify it. As she grew deeper and deeper into trance, she grew closer and closer to the one thing her body really needed: sleep.
She was in a misty, sunlit field that nevertheless did not illuminate. She sensed, rather than saw, blotches of incandescence glowing across the sky; she smelled the tang of newly-mown grass and the smell of soil fresh from a rainstorm. She stood atop a large rock as she viewed the expanse around her.
"Lora?!" she reached out with her mind. "Lora?!"
Nothing.
She reached out towards the moving blotches, trying to stop one just enough to determinewhat it was. A brush of wings flitted just outside the grasp of her fingers and a buzzing noise of irritation. While she had never put credence in their existence, she knew at once that these were the "fair folk", the "kind folk". . . She reached out a humble apology and checked her pockets for anything that she could use as a peace offering. Some old tissues, a sock keeper, bathroom keys. . . not much. A pretty, shiny silver lozenge button from her "Glow" costume. . . she carefully held the button out in the palm of her hand. "Buttons signify new friendships," she had once read. Hopefully, she hadn't ticked any of them off; they were said to be mischievous and occasionally even malicious.
Brenda paused to think, Could this be where Lora is?
As she once again thought of the Glow Worm, an amazing thing happened: her normally greyish-white skin began to take on a pale, neon-green sheen. She cupped one hand over the opposite arm and put her eye up to it, trying to cut eliminate all outside light sources.
Her skin was still neon green. Worse yet, it was glow-in-the-dark neon green, and she was glowing, and glowing, and. . .
Blinded by her own glow, Brenda reached out with her mind to feel where she was.
"Go," a voice told her. "Go back."
"Huh?" she asked.
"Go back. You're needed in the Otherworld."
"The Otherworld? Have I died, or something?" she queried, confused.
"The Other World," the voice replied. "The dark world beyond the mists."
"Are ye in there, Brenda?" a voice asked.
"You okay, Mum?" another queried.
She heard other voices -- muffled, indistinct as through layers of a dream.
"The waking world," the guide voice told her.
"But -- Lora?" she asked, remembering her mission.
"You will find here when the time for finding is come. Now go back." The Fair One pushed her still-luminous body into the dark void behind here with a loud, resounding, and somewhat painful. . .
The noise woke Brenda with a start, yet for all her efforts, she couldn't seem to move. She tried opening one eye, and then the other. Each time, a bright, blinding light forced her to close them again. The sound of people -- some wondering, some concerned, some downright frightened -- finally forced her to open them and sit up.
It was a terrible mistake.
The back of her head began pounding as if Hephaestus himself were fashioning thunderbolts upon it. The room's spring warmth became a cloying, suffocating, nauseating miasma of sweat, dirty laundry, and what could have been backed-up plumbing.
Worse yet, the Glow's male security staff were staring at her through an obviously forced-open door. Quickly pulling the sheets up to cover her normal sleeping attire, she gazed at them and tried to blush. . . only it was hard to tell if she succeeded, the room was so bright.
"Brenda!!! You're GLOWING!!!!!!" The knot of men parted as a woman clad in a short toga and tartan sash broke through them with a scream that would scare a bean sidhe half to life. Behind her, unremarked by all, was a small man who bore the mark of a century or more of living.
"She's been visited by the Fiair Folk," he quietly said.
[Monday, 11 AM]
"Ssh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h," Brenda hushed the MacCousin, drawing a neon-green arm across her pounding forehead. "What do you mean, I'm 'glowing'? she whispered, trying to find some breath -- any breath -- in the overbearingly stuffy room.
"Look at yerself. Noo look a' me. See th' difference?"
Brenda withdrew her left arm from beneath the covers -- and immediately tried to shield her eyes from the glare of the burning magnesium tube that was her forearm. Then she looked at her friend. Then she looked at Ronnie and Dennis who were still standing in the doorway. Finally, she looked at the old man.
"Who's he?" Brenda asked, indicating the small man. During the past week, she had learned the names of the staff and most of their families, plus a couple of the barflies who were fast becoming the pub's "regulars" -- but this was the first time she ever recalled seeing the elderly man.
"Och, that's al' Kerrigan," the redhead said. "Doan muynd him, 'e's forgo'n more'n he ever lairned -- which worrn't much t' begin wi'."
"Good moarnin', Fiair Ones," the old man offered quietly, with as much reverence as his bent frame would allow. His eyes went from one woman to the other, to the sunbeams dancing between them and the closed blinds.
"A' least he has the decency to acknowledge that there are ladies here," Dennis chided.
"O'Mannion, Cleary -- back to work," Heather scolded. "Kerrigan -- out." With her flowing reddish hair, the toga'd Cousin in Plaid looked like the spitting image of an ancient Celtic queen on the warpath.
Brenda put a glowing hand on her friend's arm to restrain her. "Kerrigan's right," she said. "There are Fair Folk here. But," she said, raising her voice for the old man to hear, "I do need to dress. If you'd please?"
Kerrigan acknowledged the request, reverenced to the Fair Ones, and turned to go. When he was out of earshot, she whispered to Heather:
"I did notice a difference between us. Your glow -- is plaid."
[Monday, noon, after several cups of strong coffee and a significant dose of over-the-counter analgesics]
Her glow almost back down to normal, Brenda entered the pub dressed in her usual costume. Food, a cold shower, Excedrin™, and coffee helped lower the pile-driving on the back of her head down to simple blacksmithy; as the headache lessened, and she became more coherent, her glow dimmed almost back to normal. She knew she would need some serious sleep, though, before her incandescence would completely return to normal. And finding Lora wouldn't hurt, either, she mused.)
Today was going to be busy: a lot of preparation would be need to be done for Tuesday's Cinco de Mayo festival upstairs in the cantina. In addition to the usual Mexican and quasi-Mexican cuisine, there would be three piñatas -- one for the children, to be broken around 4 PM, one for the adults, to be broken around 9 PM, and one for the vampires, to be broken at midnight. Then there was the music. . . Brenda's understanding of Spanish was rudimentary at best, and mostly limited to the buzzwords used in technical publications devoted to aeronautical engineering. Trying to find live music this late in the game would be difficult, at best. . . and most of the Spanish-language songs she knew herself were anything but Mexican. (Oh, well, if she had to sing them, she would. . . )
"Why dinna' ye staert wi' somethin' do well?" Heather asked her. "Leave the rest for Pen, when she arrives."
"Pen's coming?" the shorter woman asked, confused. "I thought she couldn't make it 'til next week. And aren't you needed at the Shrine?"
"Pen called while yew ware in the shower. She's taking' a noon flight oot an' should be here aboot eight oor nine this evenin'."
"Kewl. Her business in LA finish early?"
"She dinnae say," the Cousin in Plaid shrugged.
"And you?"
"Hoo could I let a fellow Glow-Warm doon?" she said. "Especially after this mornin's. . . scene?" Heather looked down at her arm, which was still glowing faintly in the colors of Clan MacIntyre.
Brenda nodded, tried to blush, and was rewarded only by the brightening of her glow.
"Dinnae worry," the redhead assured her. "We all glow here, remember?"
The brunette looked up and noticed that all the staff were glowing visibly this day -- a brighter version of the glow she had previously been able to see only on Dennis's sophisticated surveillance equipment. She raised an eyebrow in the Vulcan manner. "Interesting," she observed.
"Well, air we goin' t' start wairk or what?" Heather asked.
"If you can handle the musicians' agents, I'll start on the flyers and piñatas."
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PARALLEL
STORIES: ADVENTURE DOWNBELOW OR, HOW I
TICKED OFF THE FANFIC FAIRIES
and
BACK
TO THE FIENDISH GLOW
NEXT STORY: UNO,
DOS, TRES, QUATRO, CINCO
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