Ryk E. Spoor's Blog, page 26

Princess Holy Aura: Chapter 12

Why don't we take a look at the OTHER side in this conflict?

-----

 

 

Chapter 12.

The door opened. The shape that stood outlined in the faint light from the hallway was subtly wrong; something about the length of arm, joints, stance, said this was nothing that belonged in so mundane a place. But despite its alien nature, it hesitated, unsure.

"What news?"

The voice from within the room was a warm contralto. At first, a human might have found it welcoming. But beneath the voice was something else, as inhuman as the figure that waited in the doorway. "Come," the voice said again, "speak."

The creature in the doorway bobbed low, almost groveling on the floor before rising and stepping forward. Its features were stretched and hairless, with a crest that rose and fell like a fish's fin, eyes huge and dark. Broad, clawed, webbed hands twitched nervously. "Bu'lekau is defeated. Its screams were heard and it speaks no more, and human responders are evacuating the building."

"And do they speak of what destroyed a shoggoth?"

"A woman-child, of silver and light, so they say."

"Tch." The speaker arose, a figure nearly the color of the shadows surrounding her; a brilliant white smile, disconcerting in its brightness, flashed out. "Fear not, Arlaung. I had expected this failure."

"I do not understand, Great Queen," he said. "The powers move deeply on this world; a shoggoth of such power is far greater than any adversary the prior First Enemies have faced. I was . . . certain it would work."

The Queen laughed; it was a sound that Arlaung found comforting, but a human would have heard cruelty and hunger. "You do not remember the other times, Arlaung. But there is a pattern, a way of these things. Surely, we attempt to change that pattern—and sometimes, we have succeeded—but it is by far its strongest in the beginning. As the others appear, their total power is greater . . . but so are their vulnerabilities. Our best chances of victory have always been when we took advantage not of simple combat, but the opportunities their weaknesses provided."

She surveyed herself idly. "And this cycle may offer us some . . . most interesting opportunities."

Without warning, a lurid purple-and-green glow emanated from farther within the room.

"Ah!" she said, and turned toward the light.

The luminance came from a strange, multifaceted stone within a box covered with alien runes in shapes that human eyes would have found difficult to observe without confusion or even maddening pain; for Arlaung and his Queen, the symbols were clean and clear and strong. "What does the Trapezohedron say, Great Queen?"

"It begins to clear, Arlaung. Soon it will be time for you to carry it."

"Can I not be chosen? Let another carry it in the seeking, Great Queen! I would serve you well as one of the Cataclysm Knights!"

She shook her head, shadows moving like long tresses about her. "You must serve as you were made, Arlaung. The Knights must reflect the Princesses; you know this. You are no more human than I. Be the seeker of the Knights, guide them to me, and be content; for when Azathoth of the Nine Arms comes finally to this her throne, you shall be rewarded with the dominion of Y'ha-nthlei and rule the seas under her, and all your people will bow before you."

Arlaung bowed again. "As you command, Great Queen. I merely wished—"

Another laugh. "Be not eager to take the field of battle, child of the depths. Better far to use humans—for their strength is nigh the equal of their folly, and far more easily bent to our needs."

Her hand caressed the stone and it flickered like a candle for a moment. "We will gather the Knights, and through them find the weapons of this world that will defeat the Apocalypse Maidens."

She straightened and looked up, past the ceiling to a limitless distance. "Yes, we have failed before, Arlaung. It is possible we will fail again. But numberless defeats mean nothing, for we will never die . . . and they need only fail once."

 

 

Princess Holy Aura: Chapter 11

Something had interrupted Holly and Trayne's day out...

 

-----

 

 

Chapter 11.

Holly dove reflexively to the side, rolling and pushing herself up against the wall, and saw Silvertail—Mr. Owen—already in the corner.

The black mass flowed, an avalanche of night, and abruptly red and blue and yellow eyes appeared along the shapeless flanks, uncountable mouths opened, and a gibbering laughter echoed from them all, in voices from ear-piercingly high to basso profundo growls that shuddered through the air. The tide of obscene black slime split around tables and patrons frozen in midflight, rose up around them, staring with mocking, chilling hunger at each person caught in this flash-flood abomination.

What the hell is that?

The thing continued to run, a river of living tar, glistening and with a foul, sulfurous odor, out the doorway. This has got to be one of our enemies! I have to—

Even as she started to rise, she felt Silvertail's hand on her shoulder. "Not yet," he said, and she could hear the leashed fury and tension, the desire to say instead Yes, now.

But she understood, now that he'd stopped her from just acting on impulse. We have to be able to hide from our enemies. If I change here, in front of both human and monstrous witnesses, they'll know who I am in both guises. They'll be able to trace us. And we can't keep making new identities.

The wave of leering, mad-eyed corruption passed out the doorway, leaving the floor blackened and warped by its passage. Screams and curses echoed back from the rest of the mall, but the remaining patrons in Hearty's first cautiously, then with terrified speed, began to flee. Judging by the direction they're all turning, the thing flowed off to the left; everyone's running to the right. That direction will take it straight to the center of the mall.

"Why isn't it killing anyone?" she murmured, hearing her voice shaking. I'm terrified, she realized with a strange, breathless abstraction. Absolutely sweaty-palmed shaking terrified. I know that thing's evil. I know it wants to kill. Why isn't it?

Silvertail's answer held no comfort. "Oh, it shall," he said grimly. "But first it will sow panic and terror. And it has in all likelihood already sealed the doors of the mall; there is no escape from it, so it can kill at leisure."

The last of the mob disappeared out the door; Silvertail glanced around, then made a subtle gesture and whispered words that Holly couldn't quit catch. The security cameras suddenly sparked and smoked. "Now," he said.

Holly took a breath. "To avert the Apocalypse, and shield the innocent from evil, and stand against the powers of destruction, I offer myself as wielder and weapon, as symbol and sword!" The words came easily, naturally, and despite her fear her voice had steadied, rang out with an echoing power beyond that of mere speech. "Mistress of the spirit, ruler of the stars beyond, Mystic Galaxy Defender, Princess Holy Aura!"

The silver light exploded about her again, renewing and rebuilding, summoning forth the armor and weapon that were hers, funneling into her a nigh-limitless strength and certainty that helped drive back the fear of that immense amorphous thing that waited outside. "What is that creature, Silvertail?" she asked as she sprinted through the doorway.

His answer—as before—reached her easily, even though the screams were louder and incoherent, panicked announcements were now booming from the speakers above, accompanied by the many-voiced chorus of mad laughter. "A shoggoth, Princess."

A shoggoth? Holy shit. "That's a lot scarier than I thought they'd be."

"Alas, most of these beings shall be; Lovecraft and his peers, for all their mastery of language, were limited by their perceptions and their own beliefs. You do not face a mindless mass of protoplasm, but a hostile and malign intellect with vast control over a body made to consume and destroy."

The shoggoth's black mass glinted with a gelid, wintry sheen, as though it were both molten and frozen; the surface heaved and flexed and pulsed, and the huge, glowingly inhuman eyes flickered with malice. It nearly filled the three-story rotunda at the center of the mall, flowing around the escalators and elevator, a whirlpool that rose rather than fell; dozens of people were trapped on both levels, surrounded by walls of oozing, malodorous chaos. Holy Aura could see men and women, teenagers backed against a wall, a family with a baby stroller in the center of a slowly shrinking circle of vileness.

"Iiii fffeeeel yyoooouuu, chchchaaaaammmpiiiiooon," it said, a hundred voices speaking in a terrifying chorus, just enough out of synch to be eerie and repellent. "Ssshooowwww yyourssellff . . . oorrrr Iiii wwiiill FFEEED!"

The flowing ebony about the family heaved up, transformed to a mouth filled with fangs of polished night, a mouth that lunged and cut the stroller in half; Holly was struck speechless for a moment with horror, until she saw the mother, holding her child in a deathgrip; somehow she had snatched her baby literally from the jaws of death.

With a burst of silver speed, Holy Aura leapt to the top of the second-floor railing. "Then here I am, monster!" she shouted, trying not to show any sign of the panic that was beginning to rise within her; the template of her predecessors helped, encouraging her, supporting her actions and words, and for the first time she was grateful for that wordless yet powerful semipresence. "Mystic Galaxy Defender, Apocalypse Maiden the First, Princess Holy Aura, reborn as sword and shield, weapon and wielder, mistress of souls and stars! You have threatened innocents and brought fear to this world, and for that, this Apocalypse Maiden says that you are going down!"

Hey, it even let me get through that whole speech, she thought, Steve's analytical attitude also helping to distance herself from the terror the shoggoth's nearness brought forth. If they're influenced by memes, I guess they have to take the whole package, not just the parts they want.

The mouths coalesced into a single gigantic maw, and the thing's voice was thunder. "And now I will feed!"

Princess Holy Aura leapt backward, a spurt of pure fright powering that jump as a fanged night-dark mouth the size of a garage door squirted forward on a column of ebony hatred. But the fanged lunge missed, carving a fifteen-foot chunk of floor out instead, and with her mouth dry but her grip firm, Holy Aura spun the Silverlight Bisento around and sliced completely through the column of blackness.

Smoke burst from the cut and the thing hissed from a dozen new mouths. But the hisses were also laughs, as the severed part was swallowed by and rejoined the main body. "Dammit, Silvertail, what do I do now?"

"I told you that such a simple approach would not work on many of your enemies. To kill a shoggoth even with that weapon? If it could be done, it would be a work of hours, carving it apart again and again until finally even its reformed parts were all sufficiently injured by your holy power. You must channel your power, find its expression within you and unleash it. Unfortunately this was not something we could practice before."

She bounded from point to point, evading the thing's increasingly vicious jabs and slashes and grabs as Silvertail spoke. "Yeah. If I have a power that could wipe out something that powerful, I'd probably have taken our house down."

"That is not the issue; the issue is that only adversaries of true corruption will allow you to call the power forth, recognize how it works. The power is vastly less effective against ordinary beings and structures of mere matter—which is a good thing in such a crowded building as this."

"What?" She parried two more lightning-fast jabs and skidded around the corner of the second wing of the mall, still running. "So I have to call it up only in battle and 'recognize how it works' while something tries to kill me for real? Your training plan sucks!"

She heard a distant, rueful chuckle. "I cannot entirely disagree. But that is what you must do."

"How?"

"The coronet is your Apocalypse Seal—the channel and control for the power that is Holy Aura's, and that will connect you to the others. You felt it seal to you, in pain and power, in your first transformation. Now reach out to it, call to it."

"That's hard to do when something's trying to kill me!" she retorted. She whirled the bisento like a propeller, and three writhing segments of tarry hunger fell just short of her and wriggled, smoking, away to rejoin the pursuing red-eyed ebony tsunami.

"I know, but you must. Holly—Holy Aura—if you do not begin to battle in earnest, and soon, it will turn its attention back to the people trapped here!"

She bit back another protest. He's right. This monster can do more than one thing at a time, and if I don't keep it focused on me, it'll be more than happy to keep chasing me around the mall while it eats everyone I'm supposed to protect!

She flipped around, bounced off the thick glass of the local Apple store, and caromed between support pillars, leaping straight past the thing as it tried to adjust its flow. "Ginhikari no Bisento!"

The silver-shining blade laid the shoggoth open, a cut sixty feet long, and Princess Holy Aura felt a grim smile on her own face at the multivoiced howl of pain and rage. Maybe that doesn't really hurt it, but that stung enough that it'll stay with me for a little longer.

If I can only figure this out . . .

She remembered that first transformation, twin crescents of light that burned themselves with pure-ice chill across her brows, and felt that pain and comfort echo as she thought of it. Please, Apocalypse Seal, open, unseal, whatever, at least show me what I can do—

There was a flash of light within her head, and for an instant she leapt, not above a crowd of terrified people, but into the limitless depths of space. She soared through a void dusted with numberless points and smudges of light; below her, a mighty whirlpool of stars and dust, turning with a motion so ponderously grandiose that even the rise and fall of the dinosaurs took less than a single turn to complete, and yet she could see it turning, could sense the majesty and power of that cosmic pinwheel, of the hundred billion stars encompassed in its light, see how it and its surrounding brethren dwarfed her world and all its people to utter insignificance, of less import than the loss or gain of a single grain of sand in the Sahara.

Yet . . .

Yet . . .

We are not insignificant, she thought to herself. We can't be.

The vision flickered, and she cannonballed into the railing, slipped, plummeted to the ground floor. Before she could rise, ebony hunger swirled around her, caught at her legs, fought to prevent her from rising. She felt the nauseating pressure combined with a vicious, gnawing pain rising up her calves. Desperately, she tore away, whirled the bisento's blade and crushing ball around and over and through, leapt away, not even a tenth of a second separating her from onyx, burning hunger. Her legs screamed silently, the flesh red and raw, and though she sensed her silver power trying to counter it, that dark malevolence clung to the wounds, contesting bitterly with any cleansing or healing power that dared try to reclaim what it had touched.

The Apocalypse Seal is still the key! But how is insignificance the point?

The monster was barely a breath behind. She knew if she entered that vision again, the shoggoth would have her.

But if I don't . . . For a moment she wasn't Holy Aura; she was Stephen Russ, someone older, someone used to accepting bitter, mundane truths, and yet, somehow, refusing to let it take him down, make him bitter and angry. . . . if I don't understand what my power means, what it can do, if I can't figure out how to tap it—I'll fail anyway. It'll catch me sooner or later, and everyone here will die, and that will be the end.

If I'm insignificant, fine. Just show me what the answer is for this insignificant mote.

The vision returned, redoubled in force; almost instantly, Princess Holy Aura felt her body—seeming so distant it lay beyond the horizon of the universe—stumble, be caught up.

But now she saw beyond the galaxies, beyond the void itself, and her universe itself was puny, less than the merest atom adrift between the stars, and things waited there, in the spaces beyond and between universes, things that hungered for form and power, for the chance to reshape a reality to their incomprehensible and malevolent desires. The places between pushed and probed at the boundaries of all universes, seeking an entrance, a foothold, a beachhead, and all too often found it, encircling and crushing what lay within.

Far, far away she thought she heard a shout of fear, of her name cried by Silvertail, a cry cut off as even her head was enveloped and distant burning hunger began to crush in on her.

She was alone, and both of her were enveloped in alien hunger and malice. There was no light, there was no hope, there was no escape for her or the world, for they meant nothing, and never had. That which waited beyond the paper-thin veil of their puny reality was infinitely more vast than all the dust-mote worlds that deluded themselves into thinking they were anything other than just that, dust beneath the feet of beings more ancient than their universe.

No.

It was a simple, visceral, primal thought, a denial.

But what point the denial? She had seen how microscopically trivial, how utterly insignificant not only she, but her entire world, her galaxy, her universe was. What was this but a refusal to accept truth, a comforting and threadbare lie?

No. We are not insignificant.

A glint of light. A sense of presence.

She seized upon that tiny dot of luminance, even as she felt in the far remoteness of reality her breath cut off, an acid flame scorching away her breath.

Light.

And now she saw herself, a single point of thought, of consciousness on that puny speck, that drifting dot of nothingness, but she was not alone. There were billions of other points, each one almost imperceptible, but together a brilliant luminance that shone through the boundaries of reality—calling the darkness to it, yes, but also resonating, not with the spaces beyond, but with something above and below and around all of it.

We are not insignificant. Those things sought our world, and were cast out, and have been cast out before. They have been defeated again and again by this microscopic dot within the cosmos.

The cold-metal crescents were warm now, warm and comforting, and she understood. Matter has resisted them here, and elsewhere, and it does so because it also has spirit, has will, to resist. The limitless universe was the power of spirit, the magic she was bound to—as were, in their own way, her adversaries—was the foundation of all reality, and she was the first, the living representative of that spark: the power of the spirit that underlay the existence of the cosmic all, of the other mythic elements that made up the world, earth, air, fire, and water. They all were part of, and partook of, the spirit, the will of humanity—in both creation and destruction.

And now Holy Aura—and Stephen Russ—understood what it meant to be an Apocalypse Maiden.

A detonation of pure argent light burst from her body as Princess Holy Aura's consciousness returned. The shoggoth's viscous form was blown away from her, water before a depth charge, and scattered, smoking, reforming but painfully, as her acid-burned, eaten flesh renewed itself; she felt the pain ebbing away, driven away by her understanding of what the power of the Apocalypse Maiden meant.

"Almost you caught me," she said, standing unmoved in midair atop nothing but an aura of light. "Almost."

Spirit. That's why I'm the first, why he said I had to be the first. "Your shape, your terror, you touch both mind and soul. It was you guiding me to my insignificance. But that was a lie, all a lie."

"A lie?" it echoed in a voice that made the mall shudder. "Truth, truth, truth," it said, now with a dozen dozen voices, laughing, mocking. "Ph'iagnik, insignificant, a speck of refuse within a—"

"Bullshit!" she said, feeling that she was both Holly Owen and Stephen Russ. "Why keep coming here, then? We kicked your asses off our planet, and we've done it again and again, and that's why you're afraid of us, that's why you can't ignore us, can't leave us to grow again. Because we have the power to beat you."

With the certainty came the thrill of the power, the light, gathering into her hands, charging the Silverlight Bisento so it glowed, casting shadows away from her, eradicating any sign of darkness about her. She remembered the vision of the galaxy, of the numberless stars, and the one Sun that was theirs, out of all in the universe. "I am the Apocalypse Maiden, cataclysm and creation in one, and you—you're getting the cataclysm right now!"

The shoggoth gave an inarticulate scream and lunged for her, an attack from all directions, a thousand needles of lethal darkness.

She reached out, yet in, within and behind and above herself, to the symbol of the spirit—the stars themselves—and chose destruction.

Warm, exhilarating fire burned through her veins. gold-white starflame coalesced upon the blade of the Silverlight Bisento, and the living tar of the shoggoth shrank back, the red and green and yellow points of eyes wide and afraid, but it was too late. "Light of Apocalypse—Solar FLARE!"

The auric-argent luminance blasted from her, driven by her will and certainty, and fountained on and across the shoggoth. The hard-driven ebony needles of the thing's substance dissipated, some mere inches from her skin. Its mouths froze in motion and crumbled before the intolerable light, its eyes were blinded and then blown away, dust in a star-wind. The light expanded outward, mercilessly seeking out the dark-flowing thing as it tried to flee, to escape the burning, destroying light, but it had sealed the mall itself. There was no place to run to, and the light pierced wall and door and floor like glass. There was a thin, horrified scream, a shriek of disbelieving agony that echoed from the entirety of the world about . . . and then silence.

The light faded, and only a trace of coal-black dust sifted down, to fall on the faces of the people throughout the building, whose expressions were slowly changing from terror to hope and relief.

Thank God. I thought that the light wouldn't touch other human beings . . . but I couldn't be sure.

Suddenly realizing that all were staring at her, she recovered herself and bowed.

Can't show how scared I was. How scared I still am, even after winning. My knees want to give way, but I've got to get out of sight!

She leapt through the air, forcing her shaking legs to obey, and ducked through the doors which were now open. Three more gigantic steps and a bound and she was in the narrow belt of forest preserve that surrounded the mall on two sides.

Now I can be Holly again.

Even as she changed back, the shock, fear, agony, and elation caught up with her in a startlingly nauseating fashion.

And so she found herself, in the middle of her triumph, on her knees in the forest, wondering if she was about to lose both of those triple cheeseburgers.

Not exactly what I expected after the heroine's victory!

 

 

 

Princess Holy Aura

Holly Owen was practicing being herself...

 

-----

 

 

Chapter 10.

     "Nice to get out of the house!" Holly said, probably for the fourth time in the last hour now that she thought of it.

But it was true. The last few weeks had been spent mostly indoors, practicing the many different aspects of just being a teenage girl . . . and learning the pitfalls. These included mundane annoyances like finding that a five-foot-seven-inch teenage girl couldn't reach shelves that Stephen Russ at over six feet had no trouble getting to, and more involved and disturbing problems like dealing with menstruation.

At least I don't have crippling cramps most of the time. It hurts sort of like having eaten a really gas-producing burrito—though not exactly like that—but it doesn't put me down for days.

Silvertail hadn't replied, probably figuring that there was no reply he hadn't already made. "Are you ready to look for new outfits?" he asked, looking around the bustling mall with its dozens or hundreds of shops, and the constant flow and curl of people eddying through the broad walkways in front of the stores.

"Sure am!" Holly felt a touch of anticipation at the idea, and while a part of her was thinking Well, that's stereotypical, isn't it? the other part knew that much of the reason was perfectly obvious: as Stephen Russ, he'd been stuck very, very rarely buying clothes, and almost always the cheapest, most straightforward clothing he could get—jeans, T-shirts or an occasional inexpensive polo shirt, simple white or black socks, sneakers.

Now, with Silvertail's resources, Holly could buy pretty much anything she wanted to wear . . . and while the thought still sometimes gave her a bit of a jolt, she actually looked good enough to make buying the right clothes really worthwhile!

But, fortunately, not too good. "Oh, and Dad? Thanks for, um, toning down my looks a little."

"You're welcome, Holly," he said with a flash of a smile. "That must be a unique event—being thanked for making someone less attractive."

"Still a good thing," she said, glancing in the window of Current Memes and seeing her reflection. The black-haired girl with wide eyes was still going to always attract attention—Holly Owen remained beautiful, no doubt about it—but not the incomparably mesmerizing, Photoshop-shaming perfection that had been. Princess Holy Aura might—probably would—always look like that, but that just made it more important to have a little mundanity in Holly Owen's appearance.

"Yes, I concur," Silvertail said. "And I should thank you for your insistence. You were right in more ways than one."

It belatedly occurred to Holly that they maybe shouldn't be talking about these things in public, but then she realized that in some ways, this was the most secure place to talk outside of the house; a thousand conversations rose and rustled about them, murmuring a thousand concerns mundane and vital, and no one was likely to ever overhear more than a word or two of anyone else's without being obvious in their eavesdropping. "Right? About what?" she asked, trying to decide where she wanted to shop first. Current Memes was actually a good candidate for later, but right now she wanted more straightforward clothes.

"For insisting that I was viewing the past—and especially my daughter—through a filter of guilt and nostalgia, elevating her to perfection. You were entirely right; she and her friends were not the vision that Holy Aura is; they became that vision, and symbolized the ideals represented, by their transformations, but in life they were no more perfection than anyone." He looked at her again and smiled with a fondness that looked beyond the present. "Indeed, in this form you truly look very, very much like her, now that I have cleared the haze from memory. And that will certainly make it easier to play the part of a proper father."

She smiled back. "Well, I'm glad. You're welcome!"

Suddenly Holly spotted another clothing store—Youth At Heart—and she loved the look of the deep electric-blue top in the window. "Oh, over here!" she said, and turned, striding quickly toward the entrance, which was across the hall and down.

Wham!

Holly found herself on the ground, having cannonballed off a big man with a bushy red beard streaked with gray. The man looked at her with a combination of concern and annoyance. "You okay?"

She felt Silvertail's hand helping her up. "Um, yeah—"

"Good. But watch where you're going." He looked at Silvertail. "She ran right into me!"

Mr. Owen nodded. "A bit too focused on her destination. Watch yourself, Holly."

"But—" she saw a warning glint in Silvertail's glance, dropped her own gaze. "Okay. Sorry," she said to the man.

"No problem. Glad you're okay." He continued on his way.

Dammit, what the hell's going on? I know I was perfectly clear to head where I was going!

It wasn't worth arguing with Silvertail about, especially not at this point, and the two of them entered the store and browsed without further incident. Besides the electric-blue top, there were two others, one black with a deep-violet lace front and another a brilliant red, that really appealed to her.

I think I'm seeing colors differently. More intense, and more differentiated. "Hey, Dad, is there really a difference between male and female color vision?"

"There is, in fact. It appears to be at least partially mediated by hormonal development and related changes; even here, those who change their physical sex from male to female have often reported a clear increase in their color perceptions, and in Lemuria it was well-demonstrated. It is not quite so . . . drastic as your culture's stereotypes might make it, but it is a very real effect."

"Wow. Learn something new every day."

She continued looking around. Some new jeans were definitely indicated, as well as some other pants. Holly wasn't sure she was quite ready to try skirts, outside of the mahou shoujo outfit, but shorts, definitely. Another store caught her eye and she immediately headed for that one.

She found herself brought up short when a path she thought was clear enough . . . suddenly wasn't. Second time. Which means it's me, not them.

Okay, what the hell is going on? "Silver . . . Dad, am I nuts, or did those people all just ignore where I was going?"

He sighed. "Not precisely. Observe, Holly. You must observe the world around you, through eyes not blinded by what you were used to."

It suddenly dawned on her what Silvertail meant. She remembered how he—Stephen Russ—walked. Just the way she was trying to, confident, focused, and certain.

But the people around here towered above her for the most part. It was like walking through a mall mostly populated by members of championship basketball teams. "Oh. It really is me."

"I am afraid so," Silvertail answered. "You are used to being a very large man, and—entirely without your conscious intent—you know that people tend to give you a fairly wide berth. You are now far less visible, and thus far less subconsciously intimidating, than Stephen Russ."

Holly didn't like that thought, but it made sense. "So I've been an asshole all my life?"

"Knowing your personality, Stephen, I am quite sure you never consciously thought about it—and neither did most people you have encountered. They simply saw a tall, very wide man approaching and gave said man, who looked like he knew exactly where he was going, the space he needed. Admittedly, I think it will do you no harm to learn to watch where you are going more carefully and observe others around you with greater consideration."

"So it's not because I'm a girl now."

"No. Oh, there will be difficulties you will encounter from that change, especially in the way individuals interact with you, but at this level your perceived sex, as such, is not truly relevant. Your size and your age and perceived position is much more on-point."

Still sounds like I was being a self-absorbed dick before. But I'll let Silvertail be the judge on that. "But if I'm walking right next to a six-foot-something dude who's clearly my dad, instead of running on ahead without looking, I won't have that problem."

"True enough."

As they continued shopping, she paid more attention to the people around them, and the way salespeople behaved. They always talk to Mr. Owen first, and Holly second. Which makes sense with what Silvertail said, because Mr. Owen is the adult, and presumably the guy who will be deciding if Holly can actually get the shoes, dress, whatever. I'm not an adult any more. I'm a teenager, a young teenager, and that means I'm still mostly a kid.

The obvious exception to that attitude was boys Holly's age, or a bit older, who often stared at her. And sometimes guys a lot older, which is getting into creep territory. But that change she'd already expected. Even with the changes Silvertail made, Holly Owen's going to turn a lot of heads. The more direct stares were pretty annoying, though.

Still, after another hour or so she'd found a lot of clothes of all types that she needed, and she took some slight pleasure out of having the taller, stronger Silvertail/Mr. Owen carry most of it. "Can we get lunch?"

"Is it really that time?" He glanced at the watch on his wrist. "I suppose it is. Yes, let's get something."

The nearest decent location was Hearty's, a sort of upscale burger place with other family-type meal selections. The place was crowded, and the two of them found themselves seated in the back, not far from the restrooms, at the only remaining two-seat table. Despite the busyness of the hour, the waitstaff were prompt, and Holly ordered two triple-decker Chipotle Challenge burgers with a large order of Hearty's steak fries. "Plus I want one of your honey-barbeque wing appetizers, and a salad with ranch!" she finished.

The young man taking their order failed to restrain a raising eyebrow, and he glanced at Mr. Owen. Silvertail smiled and nodded. "And I will have the Classic Combo, I think."

The Classic Combo was a single-patty regular burger with a medium fry and drink. Holly grinned at the server as he walked off still looking confused. "I guess a lot of people are going to look at my appetite funny."

"That they will. Not only are you eating to sustain a body they cannot see, one that has an adult man's metabolism, but also you will be expending more energy in transformations and battles—whenever we have them."

"It's been quite a while. When—"

He shrugged. "Soon, probably. But until you start to seek out the other Apocalypse Maidens in earnest, there will be little to draw them out. They will be active, and there will be incidents in the next month or two before you enter school, but where and when? That I cannot predict." He looked at her with a faint smile. "Still, I am not sure that you need that much food."

She stuck her tongue out at him. And am I just playing the part, being immature naturally, or changing? This whole thing is still bizarre and scary, even when it's getting to be almost mundane.

As Holly was plowing through her second burger, a customer came out of the bathroom and went to the front desk. A moment later Holly caught a fragment from one of the other people going by: ". . . clogged, so Brent, go clear it out. And mop up after."

Ugh, thought Holly. Sure hope that doesn't mean we're going to get the stink of a clogged toilet here while we're eating.

Even as she thought that, Brent went by them and into the bathroom; she could distantly hear the sound of someone getting out a plunger and starting work.

There was a wet SPLOOSH! noise, and suddenly Brent came tumbling out into view, eyes wide. He skidded to a stop on his rear, staring back the way he'd come.

Laughter rippled around the restaurant, which intensified as the plunger then followed, describing a lazy circle in the air before landing with a hollow thonk in front of Brent, and finally a blue-and-white scrub brush flipped through the air and bounced ineffectually off Brent's forehead.

Holly was not laughing. She saw goosebumps rising on her arms as though the air had turned to ice, and Silvertail was slowly easing out of his seat.

Then, as Brent scrambled to his feet, there was a deep, sucking, muttering noise, as of a set of air-filled sewage pipes the size of the New York City sewers, and the laughter cut off . . .

And turned to screams as something black as night thundered from the bathroom corridor.

 

 

 

 

Princess Holy Aura: Chapter 9

They moved out, it's obvious they need to move IN somewhere...

-----

 

Chapter 9.

     Steve looked around the huge furnished basement again, trying to distract himself from what he was about to do. "Dang, I still can't believe we're living in this place. Thousands of square feet, including this, what, cut-price Danger Room?"

"Call it a practice room or perhaps dojo," Silvertail, who was now in the shape of 'Trayne Owen'—a tall, slender, distinguished looking gentleman with black hair touched with pure silver at the temples, lightly tanned. His eyes were brilliant blue, a startling contrast to the hair, and his voice was not the tenor that Steve generally associated with the mahou shoujo spirit advisors but a deep, warm bass. "Neither your technology nor my limited magic is up to creating a 'danger room' as you envision it. But making a room that is secure and reinforced enough to survive some abuse, that can be done." He raised one dark eyebrow. "You seem particularly nervous, Steve. What is it today?"

"Kinda silly, I guess," Steve answered, feeling embarrassment trying to well up. "I mean, I know I'm committed to the course, but what I'm about to do . . . it's really sort of sealing it."

"I admit to not seeing it that way, but your perceptions are your own. However, is there any point in delaying?"

"No . . . guess not." He swallowed, grasped the Star Nebula Brooch, and focused on the need to protect people—his friends, family, those who could not defend themselves. "To avert the Apocalypse, and shield the innocent from evil, and stand against the powers of destruction, I offer myself as wielder and weapon, as symbol and sword! Mistress of the spirit, ruler of the stars beyond, Mystic Galaxy Defender, Princess Holy Aura!"

Once more the echoing words called forth argent luminance that erased him in a chime of victory and renewal, rebuilt that which had been and would ever be in tingling silver sunshine, formed into a girl slender and strong as steel. She opened her eyes, already in the battle pose that she knew was the ending of the transformation. "Wow," she said. "I mean . . . I did this before, but I was so scared, angry, confused . . . I couldn't see it, feel it like that. Was it so . . . beautiful before?"

"It is always beautiful, more beautiful each time than the last," Silvertail—Trayne—said, his voice rough with emotion. "I am glad you can see it that way . . . Holly?"

"Holy Aura right now . . . but yes, I guess you'd better just call me Holly." She stared in wonder at her arms and hands. "Well, that's one way to lose weight."

"Technically, of course, it is not lost, merely . . . displaced, turned to potential rather than actuality. Was your trepidation due to the simple fact of the transformation?"

She laughed, hearing the sound echo back like a golden bell. "No, that wasn't it. It's that I'm not changing back for a long time. Maybe not for a year."

Trayne Owen—since that's how I'd better think of him when he's human—frowned. "That is not at all necessary, Ste . . . Holly. I had assumed that you would spend a great deal of time as Stephen Russ, whenever possible."

"That was my first thought," she said, walking, feeling the shift in weight and motion that was at once completely wrong and . . . somehow . . . exactly right, and that was scary enough that she stopped and focused only on talking. "Umm . . . yeah. I thought that at first, but then I realized I'd be setting myself up for total disaster.

"I need to get used to being Holly Owen/Holy Aura, being her for a long time, because I'm going to be spending hours around teenagers every day when school starts, and if I'm going to have any chance of making contact with the right people, and making friends? I can't be clueless about how to live like this."

"Hm. You have a point. But I am still not clear as to why you would have to—as you implied—never turn back until the task is done."

"I might change back once in a while, for various reasons . . ." she conceded, and swallowed hard again, ". . . if for no other reason than to remind me who I really am, because you know, I still find the fact that I'm a girl and absolutely accepting that to be really creepy. Because the other part of me isn't accepting it at all, you know."

Holly could see real concern on Trayne's face. "Are you all right?"

"Of course I'm not! This is completely freaky! But I have to be all right with it by the time I actually meet the other Apocalypse Maidens. And I absolutely am not going to be that cliché, where the guy who gets his sex changed doesn't even learn the basics about being a girl, gets surprised by having her first period, walks into the boys' room without thinking about it, all those low-comedy tropes. Thanks, I'm going to be the lead in a serious Magical Girl show, not a joke."

Trayne rubbed his chin. "This could take considerable time, Holy Aura. We do not—"

"We are not going to rush this and screw it up," Holly said with as much finality as her soprano voice could manage. "School won't be in session for a couple months. If I practice living like . . . being Holly Owen for that long, I won't blow my role the first time someone startles me. I have enough female relatives and friends to know that I'd damn well better know if having my period's going to—do you know how weird it sounds to say that phrase?—having it's going to just annoy me, or lay me up for a day or three. I'm assuming that this is a real honest-to-God fourteen-year-old girl's body and that means it will have a monthly cycle, yes?"

"I am afraid so, yes. You are as real as any other young woman, including the annoyances that may incur."

"Right. So I have to learn how to deal with that. Have to figure out how to dress—I assume I can't just summon regular clothes out of nowhere to replace this useless-looking sparkly magical girl armor?"

"No. We can . . . tweak the transformation so that you switch between Holly Owen and Holy Aura rather than between Stephen and Holy Aura, and in that case changing back to Holly would also put her in whatever clothes Holly was wearing at the time, but Holly would still have had to dress herself beforehand."

"Man, I'll have to learn so much. How to dress right and wear the stuff right." Holly shook her head. "Freaks me out, really." She tried to make it come out light, but the trembling in her voice gave her away. Not nearly as relaxed about this as I want to make myself think.

She was seized by an almost irresistible urge to change back, become Stephen again. No, she told herself, this will not get any easier if I put it off. If I do . . . I might even hesitate the next time a monster comes calling, and that could get me—and a lot of other people—killed. I made this decision, I have to stick with it!

"It strikes me," Trayne said slowly, apparently unaware of the conflict within her, "that you are . . . oddly nonchalant about the whole idea of dressing in girls' clothing. Or is that an act?"

She seized the question like a lifeline, a focus of something to think about. "No, no, not really. I mean, my being all calm is sort of an act . . . actually, totally an act, I want to run around screaming or just change back right now . . . but the wearing girls’ clothing? Well, I will be a girl, so it's not like Stephen-me walking around in women’s clothing. And I've been in plays—tried out for Dr. Frank N. Furter in Rocky Horror one year, in fact . . . anyway, I can play the role. But I do have to get used to it, or I'll blow the role at the worst possible time."

"Well, I do have the simple outfits you asked me to pick up. Having seen many young women of your age, I believe I was able to do reasonably well in terms of size."

"Guess I'd better go change. How's this going to work with the armor outfit?"

"Let me think a moment." Trayne suddenly shrank back to the white rat. "I cannot perform much magic unless I am in this form; most of it is being used to hold the human shape otherwise," said Silvertail Heartseeker. "Now let me see . . ."

The little animal scurried around Holly's feet three times clockwise, three times counterclockwise, and then stopped before her, intoning something in what she had to assume was ancient Lemurian. "Aiylen ta vrayna, hai embreisan!" he finished, and a brilliant fountain of rainbow light enveloped her, sent a tingling electric shock through her body. "There. I believe that if you now simply will yourself to become Holly Owen the accoutrements of Holy Aura will vanish."

"Okay, I'll try it when I go to change." She picked up the bags Trayne had indicated. "Be right back."

Steve made it into the bathroom and collapsed to the floor, shaking. Part of me really thinks of itself as Holy Aura. I hear "Holy Aura" or even "Holly" and part of me's already saying "Oh, that's me." Jesus. Am I going to lose myself? She visualized herself as a man, and shuddered at the realization that it was almost as hard to do that as it had been before to visualize himself as a woman.

It really was too much. She knew she had to accept this, could not yield to the temptation to change back, not now, not so soon, but she . . . Steve . . . also felt she couldn't bear another second of this alien-yet-absolutely-right body. Tears began to stream down her face and she gave a scream of fear and frustration and slammed her arm against the tub.

The porcelain-coated cast iron shattered like candy glass, the impact a cannon shot that shook the house, showering her with debris, cracking the ceiling above. The shock snapped her out of her panic. "Holy moley, as the Captain used to say," she murmured, staring in disbelief at the slender arm and delicate, long-fingered hand which were not damaged—not even scraped—by that titanic impact.

"Holy Aura! Are you all right?" Silvertail's worried voice came through the door.

"Okay. Yeah, okay for now. Sorry about that. We'll have to replace the tub and get the room fixed."

"Are you certain you are all right?" Silvertail asked again. His concern was unmistakable. "I am not worried about repairs. I am worried about you. I have placed a nearly intolerable burden on you, Stephen, and—"

"It's done, Silvertail," she said, not without a touch of anger, but controlled this time, controlled, not running away. "I have to deal with it. I was freaking out, yes, but my superhuman tantrum snapped me out of it. I'll finish changing and then get out of here."

She brushed away the debris and opened up the bags carefully. Panties—nice simple ones, thank God . . . jeans . . . T-shirt . . . bra? Jesus, yes, I'm going to have to wear one. Don't want to think about that. But no avoiding it. Even without looking down, she could feel that she was . . . well developed for a fourteen-year-old girl. Not ridiculously so (thank GOD that part of the meme isn't applying) but more than enough to make a brassiere a normal part of her clothing in this here and now.

She concentrated on reversing the change, and in a flash of light the crystal boots, sparkling skirt, and other elements of Princess Holy Aura's mahou shoujo existence disappeared. Aaaaand now I'm naked. Does that make me automatically now a peeping tom? It's my body, but it's not. She tried to avoid looking down too much as she dressed, but the contours that were, once more, alien yet familiar tried to draw the eye . . . and the panic.

Finally she was dressed and stood, shakily, to leave. A movement caught her attention and for the first time she looked at the mirror . . . and froze.

A waterfall of shining deep purple, eyes that shimmered with the depths of the twilight sky, a face drawn from legends and a form from the dreams of angels, wearing a simple black T-shirt and jeans. Holly Owen stared back at her, eyes haunted with unnamed fears, yet with a face filled with utter determination and a strength Steve had not imagined.

Her mouth was dry and her eyes stung, and she realized she had been staring in utter disbelief for . . . minutes? "That's . . . me?" she whispered. "Oh, crap."

"What is it, Steve? You sound . . . worse."

"Just realizing that this is worse," she said, finally tearing her gaze from the impossibility in the mirror and yanking the door open.

Silvertail blinked in surprise. "I see nothing wrong."

"I don't look like 'a teenage girl,' Silvertail! I look like . . . like . . . like some idealized image of a teenage girl! I haven't TOUCHED a makeup case and I look like someone took four hours and Photoshop to make me look perfect! Half the girls are going to hate me just on looks alone, and the boys are all going to act like complete idiots around me, when they're not following me around!"

Silvertail sighed. "The meme of the magical girl—and for that matter, the superheroine—makes much of that rather inescapable. Your appearance is something of a trial for me as well, I must confess."

"Why? Do I look like some fantasy of yours?" As he said that, Steve-Holly knew that had gone too far. "Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean that."

"I should hope not. Holly . . . you look almost identical to my daughter, as I have remembered her throughout the centuries. Holy Aura always echoed Aureline, of course . . . but only you have ever duplicated her." The pain in the tiny voice was all too real, and it reached Holly through her self-absorbed conflict. "Now she stands before me again, reborn in you . . . and once more, I must send her—you—into the dangers that I cannot face."

"Oh. Jesus, I'm sorry, Silvertail." She felt the pain of the older man acutely, remembering her losses as Steve. Imagine seeing someone that looked like Mom, exactly like her, and knowing I had to send her into, well, what I am going into. "I . . . well, I guess there's not much I can do about that, but . . ."

"No, there is not," he said. "But perhaps . . . perhaps it is right that it be so. I must act like your father; seeing you like this, I realize that will be far easier than I had thought." A wan, tiny smile crossed the furry face. "And I do not think you will do less than honor to her memory."

"Thanks, Silvertail." As the other shimmered and turned back to the tall human form, she corrected herself: ". . . Dad."

He chuckled, though there was still a note of tears in his voice before he cleared his throat. "You are welcome, of course."

There was a pause of uncomfortable silence. Holly looked back, seeing the wreckage of the tub. "Ugh. That has to get cleaned up. I guess we could at least put all the pieces into what's left of the tub." She stepped back into the bathroom and reached down to pick up the largest chunk of cast iron—and nearly fell over. "What the heck . . . ?"

"Ah. Yes, that is an obvious consequence."

"What? I just broke this thing like it was made of saltine crackers a second ago—"

"Princess Holy Aura broke it. Holly Owen, like Stephen Russ, is a normal human being," Trayne Owen said. "I transposed, or rather added, the transformation to a female form, as you indicated, but the conversion to, well, mortality remains an integral part of the enchantment. And as a fourteen-year-old girl, even one in excellent physical condition, you have nothing even close to the physical strength that Stephen Russ possessed."

"Oh, I get it. Makes sense, I guess. And that does keep me from accidentally doing something that blows my cover. I won't have Clark Kent's problems."

"No. But I see now that your determination to take significant time to accustom yourself to this life was even wiser than I had thought; you have many assumptions in the way you conduct yourself that are predicated on your size and strength, as well as your sex. You will need to recognize and address all of them."

It was a little disconcerting to realize that she couldn't even lift things she-as-Stephen would have moved easily, but Silvertail was right. And the fact was that their conversation had stilled—at least for the moment—her panic and confusion. She straightened. "Fine, I'll leave it to you to clean up. For now, I guess I'd better get started on that practice!"

 

 

 

Princess Holy Aura: Chapter 8

Well, time to see how they can address these problems...

 

 

Chapter 8.

     "You're leaving?"

A sharp stab of guilt made Steve wince. "Yeah. I'm sorry, guys. I'll really miss our games, getting together to hang out, all of that."

Dex looked particularly shellshocked by the sudden announcement, which only made it worse. His parents aren't bad, but they just aren't on his wavelength, and I'm one of the few people that really gets along with him.

Anne, on the other hand, looked excited. "You've gotten another job?"

Have I ever. "Yeah, from a friend of mine from my Air Force days. He's started his own company and he wanted someone willing to run his security."

It really rubbed him raw to lie to his friends this way. But there was no reason to drag them into it; none of them were the right age, nor had any daughters or sisters the right age, to be the Apocalypse Maidens. So he and Silvertail had figured out this story as a decent cover. After all, it only has to last a year at most . . . and after that, either I'll be dead, or things will go back to the way they were, but start getting better. Who knows; maybe this story will turn out to be the truth afterward!

"How much is he paying you?" asked Eli, the ever-cynical.

"A lot more than I've made anywhere else. I guess he's got a bunch of investors, and he's paying for the fact he trusts me as much as anything."

Chad grinned ruefully. "Well, I'm happy for you, Steve—I'm sure we all are—but damn I'll really miss not knowing what happens in the end of the campaign!"

"Who knows; maybe I'll be able to come back and run it once in a while, once things get settled down out there. Maybe a few games a year?"

"That would be awesome," Mike said. "But, hey, you do what you have to. Working at Barron's Bagels, that really wasn't much of a career, right?"

Ain’t that the truth. Except I never really had the drive to go elsewhere. I . . . always felt I was waiting for something.

     Now I wonder if I really was.

The others filtered out of the apartment. Dex, as usual, hung back. "So . . . you're really leaving soon?"

"Moving out tomorrow, actually," he answered, and saw his friend's expression drop even more.

"Um . . . you need help?"

"No," he said. Don't think I could stand to keep lying the whole time. "I've got everything pretty much set; not taking the bed, I've packed up most of the other stuff."

"Yeah, I should've noticed. Thought things looked more empty. But you didn't pack—"

"I'll finish that tonight," he said, following the high schooler's gaze to the wall of weapons. "Won't take all that long. Thought the room would really have felt bare without it and the posters."

Dex's expression was so forlorn that it hurt to look at him. I used to be like that. What would I have felt like if old Lee had left on me when I was that age?

Steve stepped forward, opened the case and pulled out a futuristic handgun. "Here, Dex; you take it."

Dex's eyes widened. "The blaster from Lucky Starr? No, Steve, I can't! That's an original. The most valuable thing you—"

"What makes it valuable is people who want to own it. I know that's been the one thing in my collection you've wanted, and . . . well, I want you to take care of it for me. If I come back, you can give it back to me. Because you're more valuable than any old model."

Dex suddenly threw his arms around Steve, a startling display of emotion from the usually controlled, unconsciously sarcastic boy. "I'll take care of it," he said, then let go as suddenly as he'd started the hug. Dex's eyes were wet. "Steve . . . look, I'm glad for you. I really am. I hated seeing you living like this, day-to-day worries. I couldn't do anything about it, but I hated it. If you're going somewhere where you can live better, I'm happy. Really." He scrubbed at his eyes furiously, wiping away the tears.

"Dex . . ." For an instant he really wanted to tell Dex the truth. Almost did. But Steve had no intention of putting a friend that good in danger. "Thanks."

"Welcome," the boy said, voice a little thick. He took the blaster model, looked at it reverently, then tucked it carefully into his backpack. "Well . . . email me, anyway, please?"

Steve grinned. "You bet."

The smile faded as he heard the footsteps diminish away and the lower door shut. "Dammit."

"I know, Stephen," Silvertail said. "There are few mundane tasks more difficult than saying goodbyes to friends."

"Especially when I'm lying to them."

"We did—"

"Yeah, yeah, we agreed, you're right." Steve looked out the dark window, made out the slender figure walking away; he saw Dexter turn, look back; his shoulders sagged, then he turned away, shrugged, and walked out of sight. "Still felt like I was a total dick, though."

"Perhaps. Anyone might. But if I understand correctly, the item you just gave Dex in the name of your friendship was worth enough that you could have paid a year's rent with it."

"More than that. Even given that I'd never actually get what it's worth. Yeah, it was, but if I ever sold it, I'd never get one again. A friend of mine gave it to me years ago; I guess it's just right that I give it to one of mine."

"Odd that a boy so young seems your closest friend."

"Closest one here, maybe; almost all of my old buddies are scattered around the country, a couple of them are dead. Why Dex? Because he's so damned smart he sometimes seems older. And sometimes I guess he just appealed to my older brother side. Dunno, we just always seemed to mesh well, especially for gaming.

"Anyway, we are set for the real move, right?"

"Everything has been arranged. You did very well in your trips to the library and various government agencies. I was able to understand all of the various requirements to make us 'real people' in the eyes of the law."

"You really got us into the system? For real?"

"I did." The white rat produced—from the same nowhere that it hid the golden crown in whenever there were visitors—a large manila envelope, which almost tipped the creature over. "Mphhh . . . Take a look."

Stephen carefully opened the envelope. There were two slightly smaller envelopes inside. One was labeled "Holly Owen," the other "Trayne Owen."

"Holly Owen. Holly Owen? Seriously, Silvertail? You couldn't think of a better alias for Holy Aura than that?"

He swore there was a smug smile on the rat's face. "It fits with your world's memes, and if I cannot have some amusement in this job, what in the world is the point?"

"Great. I join the ranks of second-rank heroes and villains everywhere." Still, he had to admit it was a perfectly reasonable name, and would be pretty easy to remember. Opening the envelope, he found a social security card—of the right design—a birth certificate showing Holly had been born in Los Angeles (conveniently all the way on the other side of the country), medical records showing all her immunizations were up to date, educational records showing she had done well in school up through junior high, and more. "Holy . . . I know you said you could do this, but seeing it is something else. Even a valid passport?"

"While unlikely, it is possible we may have to travel some considerable distance, so having a passport seemed prudent."

Mr. Trayne Owen's envelope was fatter because it contained records of his work career and showed that Mr. Owen was a well-paid independent consultant for multiple high-profile technology firms. "This will explain both the fact that I have considerable wealth, and that I do not have to go to an office regularly," Silvertail said. "It will be important for me to be available for you in our search for the other Maidens, and to advise you in the event of new conflicts."

"I see you've got a driver's license. Can you actually drive?"

Another ridiculously smug look. "Indeed I can, Stephen."

"How the hell did you manage that?"

"I have observed drivers at length, and learned all of the requirements. The arcana of proper clutch use and shifting might remain beyond me, but I will be using an automatic."

"Just watching does not teach you how to drive, Silvertail."

"When you augment it with magic so that the reflexes and motions are transferred to yourself with repetition, along with perceptual reaction . . . yes, it does."

"Well . . . damn. That's sort of cheating."

"It is cheating in that sense, yes. And we may be doing a lot more 'cheating' in addition to my inventing us identities that are no more real than a mirage."

"I guess. Okay, you do need to be able to drive around here, so that's good."

He began packing the remaining weapons into a box. It only took a couple of hours to finish packing all the other stuff he wanted to take. "I'm ready."

"Make sure, Stephen. Once you've left, we will not return."

"I'm sure. Not like I had all that much stuff to bring with me."

He looked once more around the little apartment, looking forlorn and dingy now that it was emptied, posters removed, weapons gone, just some battered furniture and appliances. Still . . . it had been home for years. "Goodbye," he said.

Carrying the last box, he walked down the stairs; the door swung shut behind him.

 

 

 

Princess Holy Aura: Chapter 7

Steve had confronted Silvertail with a very new wrinkle in this little charade they're going to play...

-----

 

 

Chapter 7.

     Steve had to admit there was a vast satisfaction in seeing the patrician features of Varatraine nee Silvertail go slack-jawed with shock. "Er . . . I beg your pardon?"

I need something to keep my mind off the other issues. This conversation hasn't fixed them, just . . . temporarily reduced my panic mode. "You haven't thought this part through, Silvertail. Oh, if it's easier for you, you can pop back to your rat form."

"How . . . kind. What do you mean, I have not thought this through? I have spent a great deal of time thinking of this approach, rather than the prior one."

"In your prior approach, your girls all had parents or guardians, I'm betting. Me, though—your Holy Aura is being created out of nothing, or at least nothing you ever want to admit to the school administration. Assuming they'd believe you. A fourteen-year-old girl is not an independent adult in this culture. She's expected to have parents or at least a guardian who registers her, looks out for her welfare, tracks whether she's doing her homework, and generally has responsibility for her."

Varatraine blinked, then closed his eyes as though he had a headache. "Ah. I see. You do have a point, Stephen."

"Like they say on TV, but wait, there's more! Where we are right now? Not in Whitney High's school district. You have to get almost over to DIY Home's little mall before you cross into that district. And my hours working at Barron's Bagels, they overlap with school hours. Now, we're lucky at the moment—school's about to let out for the summer this week, so we don't have to solve these problems this very minute—but the way I see it, you're going to have to help me solve at least three problems: being Holy Aura's parent, getting an apartment or even a house that's in the Fullertown district, and figuring out how we're going to live there when I won't be able to keep working at Barron's."

Another thought occurred to him. "Oh, and we'll have to figure out how to do all the documentation. Which means we need a name for me . . . or her . . . other than Holy Aura and we'll need a social security number and, well, a lot of other stuff."

Varatraine had slowly opened his eyes as Steve continued his narration. Once Steve stopped, Varatraine nodded slowly. "You are correct, Stephen Russ. There is indeed more to do than I had thought. To your latter problem . . . can you show me, or find me, examples of the needed documentation?"

"Ummm . . . Probably. I'll have to check on things like dates and form changes. Like, my social security card was issued when I was born thirty-five years ago, and I'd bet that the cards didn't stay the same up until fourteen years back, so you couldn't use a duplicate of mine. Plus they'll probably check background . . ." It started to become clear to him that this could be a major problem. Holy Aura, or whatever name we end up using, never existed before. We have to fake up her name, probably birth records, and prior school records, employment records and stuff for Varatraine or whatever his name will be . . . "And even if we get past that, I just realized that I won't really be able to work at all. If Holy Aura's going to actually make friends, she'll have to meet up with them outside of school, hang out, really get to know them. Plus actually do her homework and stuff. Yeah, that will probably be easier since I've already done the whole high-school thing, but I'll bet they've changed even the curriculum stuff since I was there."

Varatraine shimmered and turned back to the white rat. "I find that I do need to stay in this form more," Silvertail said in a peeved tone. "I will need to weave the transformation spells carefully to permit longer-term stability. A considerable annoyance."

He looked up at Steve, a tiny white face with a far-too-wise expression. "However, I believe I can put your other immediate concerns to rest. As you have seen, I still have some significant magic at my disposal. In terms of raw power, of course, it does not in any way rival that of Princess Holy Aura or any of our likely adversaries. However, given my rather extended age, I believe I can claim to be more skilled with magic than any other mortal being has ever achieved, and one can often substitute skill for power; moreover, most mortal problems are better solved through subtlety and caution than through the application of a sledgehammer of power.

"If I understand correctly, in this era as in others, money is a powerful lever."

"Is it ever," Steve said with feeling. "Especially for those of us without it."

"Very well. I can give us access to very significant funds quite easily."

"What? You can . . . what, summon cash or something?" Steve was somewhat ashamed at how eager he felt at the thought. I have a cosmic mission and here I am thinking that I could maybe afford to have a nice roast chicken for dinner.

Silvertail laughed. "Not so outré a power, no, something rather more mundane. I have been around since the beginning, and over the many, many centuries I have accumulated a little wealth here, a little there, each time the cycle repeated, before I had to return to my small form and remain that way. With practice I have become most proficient at assuring the resources are available in various locations. Just a few touches of magic to assure, shall we say, proper provenance of the resources, and money will cease to be an issue. This will, of course, solve both the problem of your employment and that of where you shall stay."

"That . . . yeah, if by 'cease to be an issue' you mean we can live in decent style, yeah, that solves those problems. But—"

"Yes, the bona fides for both Holy Aura and myself as 'Dad' will require some thinking." Silvertail twitched his ears and somehow managed a grin. "And while I admit to being . . . taken unawares by the suggestion, I confess I can think of no better way to provide your civilian self with a proper guardian.

"Still, once I fully understand the requirements of documentation, I believe that I can establish background credentials of sufficient solidity, and then we can do whatever the appropriate registration activity is in the proper, mundane manner. This should suffice for a year, which is the longest I can see this having to hold."

Steve couldn't help but grin. "So you can just . . . magic the documentation into existence that shows, oh, I was born in 2001 in Nebraska or something, and moved around until I got here?"

"I certainly believe I can. The great advantage of papers and, once understood, electronics is that it takes very little energy to modify them. If your documentation had to be carved into giant stone tablets we could have a serious issue, but for this? I am reasonably confident—if you can guide me in determining all of the factors that must be addressed, including the appropriate seals, signatures, forms, and so on."

Wow. "Lucky you're on the side of the good guys. Being able to magically forge documents would be power with major potential for abuse."

"In my era, there had to be significant security magic enacted to prevent exactly that, so yes, I am very familiar with the potential implications of that use of my power. In this case, though, I do not see any moral issues; while the identifications and records will be placed retroactively, they will not be used for nefarious purposes, merely to allow you to enter the school for a mission that will save the entire world."

"Yeah, I guess I can give us a pass on that." Steve glanced hesitantly down at him. "How long would it take to deal with the money side of the equation?"

"A few days, no more. As I said, the wealth involved is quite real, I merely need to arrange access to it. Why?" Before Steve could answer, Silvertail shook his own head. "A foolish question. You are in economic distress already and this concern will not assist you in focusing on the problems at hand. I will address this issue as quickly as I can, Stephen. And that will not be long, even as you think of things."

"So . . . my savings . . . ?"

Silvertail did not laugh; his tiny face showed great sympathy. "Stephen, for all you are sacrificing I will not begrudge replenishing—indeed, increasing vastly—your own resources. As I said, if we succeed, you shall find yourself improving your position. If we do not . . . I see no reason to force you to live in less than pleasant circumstances."

"Thanks." The little rodent-who-wasn't really did seem to be a decent guy.

But I don't want to be played for a sucker either, so . . . "A couple other questions, Silvertail."

The tiny head tilted, whiskers twitching. "Your tone is serious. Go ahead, then."

"It might be a little late, but . . . I want to know if there's any catches in this arrangement you haven't told me."

"Catches?"

"Yeah. You mentioned you know the memes—that you promoted the mahou shoujo memes. So you also have to know how some of those things don't go so well for the girls. Sure, the outline's usually the same, whether it's Sailor Moon, Dynamic Avatar Akane, Zenkai Millennium Symmetry, or Madoka Magica: Girl gets chosen to fight evil of some kind and gets a neat new outfit and shiny new powers, usually has a cute sidekick, and usually gets one or more companions along the way, yada yada. BUT the details vary—and they can be a real screw-fest for the poor girl in the middle. Like, turns out the girl's destiny is to be sacrificed at the end of the show, or that she'll end up turning into one of the monsters, or she's sold her soul as part of the contract and will burn up at the end, et cetera."

"Stephen, I—"

"Hold on. I just want to make it clear I want to know all of the 'provisos and quid pro quos.' I know I'm committed to the course—I can feel it, really, if I think about it, and that still scares the hell out of me. But if there's any more surprises, I want to know them now, even if you're really the bad guy. I'd rather just deal with the betrayal up front."

Silvertail did laugh then, long and loud. "Stephen Russ, isn't this something you should have asked before?"

"Yeah, probably. So?"

The silvery rat stood on his hind legs and gave a very humanlike shrug. "Stephen, if I were the 'bad guy,' do you think I'd just tell you like that?"

"Might, since you've already got me suckered. But sure, you could still lie, I guess."

"I could. But I will not. Stephen, I have to admit that I probably won't think of all of the . . . 'gotchas,' so to speak, in this most unique situation. But I will tell you the remaining . . . well, not traps or tricks, but key aspects of the situation as they may pertain to you."

"Better than nothing, anyway."

"First . . . no, I am in no way the 'bad guy,' at least as you and I would view it. I am not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but the mission I have for you, and the others, is exactly as I told you. It is not in my plans, and certainly would in no way please me, for any of you to meet an untimely end during the final, or any other, battle. It is my most fervent hope that you will all succeed and emerge alive from the conflict, and I believe that all of you can; your predecessors mostly did, and all of them did succeed—obviously—in the main mission.

"Our enemies, of course, are aware of my existence, although they cannot trace me directly. They will be preparing a response to your presence. That, too, will be affected by the zeitgeist, the memes of your era."

"So I can expect not just monsters but demon generals, dark magical girls, something like that?"

"Something of the sort. Exactly what I cannot predict, but there will definitely be coordinated assaults as well as random perils." He twitched his whiskers. "Each of the Apocalypse Maidens will have their own . . . psychological issues. Overcoming adversity—sacrifice, in other words—is as much a part of their existence and power as it is yours. We already know much of your challenge, and undoubtedly there are aspects of that which we have yet to understand."

"But my new friends are also going to have some kind of baggage they have to deal with." Steve sighed, but that didn't actually bother him as much. Helping kids deal with their issues, well, I've done that before. This'll be a lot different, but I actually like helping people work out their problems. "I can live with that."

"Good. The power of our adversaries will of course increase as we get closer to the time when Azathoth Nine-Armed manifests. I will get a better idea of when that time will be after a few months." He looked down thoughtfully, then looked up. "I believe I mentioned this, but I should emphasize—any people killed directly by our adversaries will remain dead in the . . . repaired continuity. This makes it very important to fight efficiently and well; there truly are lives at stake in this world and the one we hope will exist."

Steve nodded. That part didn't make him happy, but it did, as Silvertail said, make this a lot less of a game, something with real stakes. He wasn't just marking time until the Big Bad showed up, what he . . . well, she did was going to matter right from the start.

For the first time since the transformation, he felt himself smile with wonder. "My god, I really did turn into a superhero and beat the hell out of a monster, didn't I?"

"You did indeed, Stephen Russ, and did so in a way . . . most uniquely your own."

"What? You mean my catchphrase?"

Silvertail snorted. "Well, yes, there was that, but I meant in the more . . . direct approach you used. The Silverlight Weapon can channel the power of Holy Aura into a powerful attack. I admit I had underestimated just how powerful you are—I would not have expected a direct physical assault to work on a rock-worm of that size."

"So I've got signature attacks too."

"As you said, Stephen, the outline of the meme is very well known. But we will discuss these when next you are ready to transform. I think that can be left for another day."

Something much more urgent suddenly occurred to him. "Oh, one more thing. How often can we expect attacks?"

"Initially, not very frequently. But once more than two or three of the Maidens have been gathered . . . once a week, on average."

Well, of course. One episode a week. I should have guessed. "So I shouldn't be needed in the next few days?"

"No, I would not think so."

"And you'll have money for me in the next few days?"

"Yes. I will promise you that much."

Steve stretched, finally feeling one set of tensions slowly starting to fade away, replaced by a much more mundane and urgent demand. "All right, then—I'm going to order us some real food!"

Princess Holy Aura: Chapter 6

Well, the first battle has been fought; now comes the aftermath, which may be harder than the fight was!

-----

 

 

Chapter 6.

     Silvertail watched tensely as the pact was fulfilled and Princess Holy Aura was finally reborn. Let it work, he prayed. In the name of all we have sacrificed, in the name of all that was and could be, let this not be a failure.

With eyes that could see what ordinary mortals could not, he watched as Stephen Russ' mortal frame dissolved in light, a core of brilliance forming into a new shape both delicate and strong as a steel blade, head suddenly thrown back, midnight-purple tresses arching up, sparkling with power, coming down in a waterfall of indigo silk, even as the armor formed, different yet exactly as it had always been. Princess Holy Aura's crown materialized in blessed light and sealed itself to her brow, and eyes the color of amethysts and dreams opened for the first time.

Within the small figure, Silvertail Heartseeker could sense confusion and conflict, and for a moment the girl's form trembled. But she straightened as the dhole renewed its attack and threatened innocents, and called it to confront her: ". . . this Apocalypse Maiden says that you are going down!"

That was somewhat different from the usual, but that was also good. Stephen must be accepting his mission! He began to dare to hope, and once more felt his own powers beginning to be unlocked. If she can triumph . . .

A jump, evasion, and he suddenly remembered that Stephen—Holy Aura—did not yet understand her powers, or the desperate urgency of this combat. He shouted his warning, saw her shift her stance.

The immense weapon formed without warning in her hands, and for a moment he was taken aback. Why in the name of the Sunken Lands would that be the shape of the Silverlight Weapon? But that was a minor concern. The important thing would be to guide her in how to use it. The channeling of power through the blade was not a trivial—

Princess Holy Aura, however, did not even seem to hear his attempt to instruct her, but lunged to meet the gigantic armored worm head-on. No! Such a creature cannot be defeated by brute strength, not as you are now! You need to—

His mind went blank with complete shock as Holy Aura's bisento very nearly bisected the eldritch creature in a single blow. By the Powers Beyond . . . He felt a tiny smile stretching his furry features. She is even more powerful than I had expected. This is wonderful!

But then he saw the girl follow her victorious bow with a leap away . . . and sensed the rising turmoil, the confusion and fear. "Oh, dear," he heard himself murmur. With the threat of the monster now gone, Stephen's mind was now realizing the changes, the aspects that he had only contemplated in the abstract before, and Silvertail realized he had to catch up with Holy Aura—or Steve—very, very fast.

That was not, however, so simple when you were a small white rat. And even if he could change that aspect of himself, he could not even approach the speed or strength of the fleeing Apocalypse Maiden.

But a fleeing animal—man or woman or otherwise—will in the end seek a refuge. And Stephen has only one refuge.

It took him some time to make his way back to the apartment—not merely because a rat has, relatively speaking, short legs, but because the last thing Silvertail needed was to draw attention to himself or Steve's neighborhood. More than two hours had passed before he made his way up the stairs, hopping up them one at a time and occasionally pausing to make sure that a creak from below didn't indicate someone coming up behind him.

The door was open a crack. He sniffed; the scents told him Steve was inside, and further emphasized the confusion, fear, and anger he had sensed before. Silvertail slipped inside and, with some effort, nudged the door completely shut.

Steve sat unmoving on the battered brownish couch, staring at empty space. His hands were dirty—covered with black and gray smears of some sort—and one lay on his jeans without regard for the stains it might transfer. Two empty beer bottles were on the stand next to him, and the other hand gripped a third tightly.

"Stephen," Silvertail said quietly.

The big man started violently, spilling beer over his T-shirt. "Dammit. Silvertail?"

"Yes. I am sorry for startling you. I see you made it home, in any event."

"Yeah," he agreed, and rose, putting the bottle down on the table. His attempt to look casual about it was belied by the way his hand shook and knocked over one of the others. He started, tried to catch it, and only succeeded in knocking all three down, the remaining liquid fanning out across the carpet and almost instantly sinking in. "Dammit!" Convulsively Steve threw himself across the room, ripped the roll of paper towels from the holder, and started trying to blot up the mess with a fevered focus on the mundane task.

"Enough, please. Stephen, stop."

"Can't stop, this will stink if I don't get it out, and my landlady—"

"Please, Stephen, stop."

Stephen Russ froze in midscrub, then slowly sat back, his massive frame collapsing like a deflated balloon as he sagged against the wall, eyes closed, hands shaking and clenching.

Silvertail sighed, smelling the stench of fear and anger mixed with the hops and alcohol. "Eleitai, halama, meritami," he muttered, and light streamed from his outstretched paw; the broad brown stain faded away, leaving the carpet clean and dry.

That roused Steve slightly. "That'd be real handy on laundry day."

"No doubt." Silvertail still wasn't sure how to approach the current—very delicate—situation. "But in my current state it is not, I am afraid, something to do casually. Why not wash your hands, at least, in the more usual way?"

The man looked down at his hands as though he had never seen them before. "Oh. Yeah, they're pretty filthy."

Unsteadily, Steve got up and made his way to the sink, scrubbing away at them. "At least the transformation doesn't, like, disintegrate my clothes or anything. When I turned back, I even had the backpack with me. Good thing; I just got the toilet repaired, works like a charm now. But that's how I got all dirty, you know, even when you try to keep things clean, things get a little dirt on 'em, then you're working with water, and—"

"Steve—"

"WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU WARN ME?"

The bellow was so loud and unexpected that Silvertail jumped back in alarm before the furious, blotchily terrified face of Stephen Russ. "We had discussed the changes, Stephen," he said finally.

The outburst had exhausted Steve; he sank into the couch and put his face in his hands. Finally he swallowed audibly, looked up. "You didn't tell me that she . . . she had an identity. I thought it would be . . . well . . . sort of like playing dress-up, a cosplay where I had real powers and had to deal with really having a different body."

"That was—to an extent—rather what I expected as well, Stephen. What are you saying was different?"

Silvertail could smell some of the immediate anger fading as Steve realized that Silvertail honestly did not understand the problem. "Well . . . when I became . . . Holy Aura, it was like . . . like I already knew I was a woman. Except that I still knew I was a man. But in that body, it was . . . real. I felt this . . . this impression of memory, I guess, of self, knowing how to move and run and everything, and it was all filled with the absolute . . . not even thought, just knowledge, assumption, that I was a woman. Not even a woman, a girl, a teenage girl. I . . ."

Understanding burst in. "Oh. Oh, by the stars and the Light itself, Stephen, I am sorry. There is the basic template of Holy Aura, yes, and it has been . . . well, affected, refined one might say, over the many centuries by those who wore the title. None of their souls, or their memories truly remain, but something of their essence must linger. For another girl who takes up the mantle, of course, this is not an issue at all; it merely helps make them more certain of themselves, of their role as Holy Aura. But for you . . . Stephen, I do apologize, completely and abjectly I beg your pardon. That certainty and knowledge permeating the template would be in direct conflict with your own personal self-knowledge. You did extraordinarily well, then, to push it aside—as you must have—in order to deal with the threat at hand."

Steve extended one shaking hand and stared at it. "And . . . and that's not going away, is it?" he said finally. "Whenever I . . . change, that remnant, whatever, is going to be there. It's not disappearing as I, well, get used to it?"

"No. I am sorry, but now that I have thought on it, no, it is an essential part of the magic. In a sense, it can of course help you in your mission, give you some understanding of a body so utterly different from your own, but in other senses it will be a great trial."

"I'm not sure I can do this."

Silvertail closed his eyes and sighed. "Stephen—"

"I know," he said, and his voice shook. "I know, I accepted it, it's not reversible, I don't have any choice. I made the choice. To save people." His voice lightened for a moment. "To . . . save people." He looked up. "I did, didn't I?"

"You did indeed, Stephen Russ. As Holy Aura, you confronted a monster that would most certainly have destroyed that entire shopping mall and killed many of those there, and continued to do so until stopped."

"And nothing except Princess Holy Aura—or one of these other Apocalypse Maidens—could have stopped it."

"In this case that is not entirely true. It was an extremely dangerous and powerful creature, but the more formidable mundane weapons available to your civilization could deal with it. But many would have died, and much destruction would have ensued, before those weapons could have been brought to bear. It is true, however, that many of the foes to come will be ones beyond the power of mortal weapons to affect, and some will be ones on which your powers, even when you have learned to wield them, will not be very effectual without the assistance of the other Apocalypse Maidens."

"Right." The dark-haired man looked at his hands for another long moment, then clenched them into fists and stood up abruptly. "I'll have to deal with it. Somehow. It's not going to be easy, Silvertail. I'm going to need help from someone, and there's no way I can talk about this to a shrink. Not without getting locked up. And maybe I'm paranoid, but I kinda think it could be a bad idea to just go to the agents that'll be investigating this afternoon's freakshow and tell them what's going on. Though it'd be really nice to have the National Guard on standby."

Silvertail allowed himself to relax a tiny bit. He is a strong-willed man, and his focus is still on helping people. That may just allow us to get past this. "I am afraid your instincts are correct. Besides the obvious mundane issues of their reaction to the sudden appearance of the supernatural, the fact is that at least some of the authorities will undoubtedly be under the influence of our adversaries. You . . . no, we, for you are correct, we must be a team, and I must help you as best I can . . . must for the most part perform this work alone, with only the other Maidens as our support."

"Okay. Kinda goes with the whole meme anyway, right? You don't generally see your magical girl or sentai team running over to the feds and asking them for help. Or when they do, it turns out the officer's another eldritch horror out to eat their souls." The humor was forced and Steve's voice was still strained . . . but he was trying, and Silvertail felt a twinge of admiration. Would I have done so well in his place? I have to wonder. I might well be trying to run away even though I knew I had committed myself to the cause. "So, next step is to start finding the other Maidens, right?"

And we start on the next delicate part of this problem. "Yes, that would be our main goal. The sooner we can gather the full Five, the sooner we will be able to prepare to confront our adversaries, and the more practiced and skilled all of you will be with your powers. This will of course vastly increase our chances of victory when the time comes."

"You didn't specify when, exactly, the time will come—that is, when the Stars will be Right. Do you know?"

"Not exactly. The conditions that make it happen are tied to events here and in that other realm. The appearance of certain agents, and their activities, tells me the cycle has begun anew, and I can estimate it; no less than six months, no more than one year from now. As time draws onward, I will gain a better estimate. For now, of course, it is best that we assume it will be sooner rather than later."

"Right. Assume it'll be a very Cthulhu Christmas, then." Steve's voice had steadied. "Well, I guess it's about time to have some leftover pizza. And I've got work tomorrow." He went and got one piece out of the refrigerator. "So, how do we go about finding these others. You said it wasn't going to be as 'easy,' if you can use that word, as finding four more guys willing to do the job."

"Alas, no. While I am permitted the latitude—with, I should add, not inconsiderable personal effort—to shift the choice from a girl of the appropriate age to any other person I find satisfactory, the rest of the spell proceeds once triggered without any control by myself or anyone else, and the other four will follow the ancient pattern set by Holy Aura herself."

Steve froze in the middle of punching in the heating time on the microwave. "Oh, Christ. You mean that the other four actually have to be teenage girls?"

"I am afraid so, Stephen."

Steve closed his eyes, and Silvertail could hear him counting quietly to himself; the count reached sixty before the man's eyes opened. "Let me get this clear. There are four other Apocalypse Maidens to be found."

"Correct."

"They're particular individuals out there somewhere. That is, I can't just find some teenage girl I think would make a good choice and say 'Hey, you're going to be Apocalypse Maiden number two' or whatever."

"Also correct. The magic is already at work. In the original spell, we had the opportunity to select the Maidens ahead of time, place them within the circle, and so on. Ever afterward, the spell, upon being triggered, seeks out . . . well, appropriate vessels for the power and links them to the destiny of the Apocalypse Maidens. But I cannot actually see these links until they are close to manifestation."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Do we have any idea of where these girls might be, or am I supposed to just start wandering the world, hoping I'll bump into the right ones somewhere between here and Cairo or something?"

Silvertail managed a laugh at that. "It is not quite that bad, Stephen. They must be within a relatively short distance of your initial manifestation, and in fact will be found regularly in relatively close proximity in locations where children of their ages gather."

Steve's eyes narrowed. "Just what locations?"

"Well . . ." Silvertail found himself very hesitant, yet there was no help for it but to simply move forward. "In prior eras they might be regularly gathered to perform work of some sort, or gather for church, or . . ."

"Christ on a pogo stick. A school. They'll all be going to the same goddamned high school, won't they?"

"If there is one such near the area of your first transformation—"

"Yes, there is, dammit, about half a mile off is Whitney High." Steve stared at him accusingly. "You knew this from the start."

"Well . . . yes. But it did not matter until now." He could not quite restrain a whisker-twitching smile. "And you should have, given that I mentioned how your world's memes strongly direct these events and phenomena."

Steve grimaced. "Okay, you got me there. I should have known. So . . . I have to somehow winnow out four girls from an entire high school. You know, a thirty-five-year-old guy hanging around a high school watching the fourteen-year-old girls closely is gonna end up spending a lot of time behind bars, not saving the universe."

"I understand the implications."

"So . . . oh, my god. That's why you mentioned high-school students before. You knew I'd have to—"

Silvertail nodded. "I see no alternative. You, Stephen Russ, will have to enter the high school in the only acceptable guise—that of a fourteen-year-old girl—to locate, befriend, and ultimately activate, the other four Apocalypse Maidens."

"Son of a—" Stephen stopped, frozen.

When Steve turned back to face Silvertail finally, he wore a smile so cold that it made Silvertail shiver involuntarily. "All right, Silvertail. I remember you saying something else—that you couldn't do much to help me until I committed. That means you can help me now, right?"

"That is true—"

"And you know something, I got a different view of you when I changed. Now that I have committed, I'll bet that you also have another form you can take. A human form. Am I right?"

His perceptions must be astonishingly acute as Holy Aura. He would have been seeing my spirit—and remembering what he saw, even during a most emotionally straining moment. "You are."

He concentrated, and felt the familiar rush of power, the triggering of the remnant of the ancient pact in the manner that directly related to him. The light gathered about him, drew him upward, built him up. Silvertail opened his eyes, and for the first time in centuries looked down upon the world around him, even upon Steve. "This is my true, original form, Stephen Russ," he said, hearing his own deep voice again. "Varatraine Aylnell, at your service."

"At my service? That's great, Varatraine," Steve said, and slapped him on the shoulder, still wearing that disquieting grin. "Because you're just what a fourteen-year-old girl is going to need . . . DAD."

 

 

 

Princess Holy Aura: Chapter 5

Well, he'd gone and done it now... time for the henshin (transformation) sequence!

-----

 

 

Chapter 5.

     The silver burst from his body and he became the light, flying outward, making a universe of argent and white touched with rainbows, a whirling cyclone of light that chimed and rang and sang a song of triumph and rebirth. Steve felt a body reforming, electric warmth like a hot shower on a cold, cold day curling around and defining every line, every curve that was coalescing from pure light, tingling like a brush of lightest snow on the finest day. He seemed both within and without, part of the body yet outside of it, a slender form a fraction of the prior size, contours smooth and oddly familiar while being strange, almost alien, and he felt a distant spurt of fear.

But elation and triumph pushed fear back, drowned it out with the sound of trumpets and drums as she spun about—

She?

Steve realized that the thought had felt natural, yet at the same time clashed with the deepest reflexes of his mind. He! That's how I . . . How Stephen Russ . . .

But I'm not Stephen Russ. Not now. Not exactly.

Now the terror of uncertainty—of his own identity being changed, being different and unknown—burst fully in on her. Yet the ecstasy and certainty of the transformation could not be denied or cast aside, and even in her confusion, Steve knew that what he was becoming was necessary, that lives hung in the balance, and he seized that horror, that numbing dread, and shoved it away, into the very farthest reaches of her mind. This must be. This I have accepted. There will be a price . . . but one to be paid later.

She threw her arms out, feeling the light blazing across her body, forming into the raiment that she knew must appear, both in the ancient echoes of knowledge from eons past and in the memories of images Stephen Russ had seen many times. Delicate armored gloves nearly to the elbow, glittering white and silver and pearl shimmering into existence as crystal and metal and cloth, shoulder-guards and sparkling boots and a chiming-crystal skirt of diamond-bright gems edged with mystic metal, woven from the purity of magic as she spun through the perfect pearlescent void—or it spun about her.

Now the light drew in, revealing the world beyond, concentrating to twin arcs of light the brightness of the sun and the essence of hope, arcs that bound themselves around her brows with a flash of pain, flame and ice and lightning forming into a glittering coronet.

It was then that she (he? a tiny voice within asked, hopelessly) realized the dhole was speaking, in a voice lower than anything human, words shaking the ground.

"Seeking, seeking, smell the light . . . consume the light . . . tell us where!" The thing reared up, looming above terrified shoppers, some trapped in wreckage. "Surface-crawlers, water-life, nothings, anakh gryll oman'nanql b'harni Azathoth!" As it finished the last incomprehensible alien phrase, it began to descend, and screams began to rise.

The screams awakened Steve and what he had become to full awareness and acceptance of this impossible reality. "STOP!"

The shout echoed across the lot, a whipcrack of imperative brilliance, and the immense rock-worm halted, curled swiftly around.

Even as it did, he/she felt her mouth open, the hand extend. Oh my God, I even have to follow through with the hackneyed introduction?

At the same time, she spoke. "I am the one you seek, monster! Mystic Galaxy Defender, Apocalypse Maiden the First, Princess Holy Aura, reborn as sword and shield, weapon and wielder, mistress of souls and stars!"

Steve, trying desperately to hold onto a sense of himself, focused on the words. I am not going to have a catchphrase that ends like "in the name of the stars, I will give you a spanking!" I will be Princess Holy Aura—I AM Princess Holy Aura—but on my terms! I accept you—now you accept me!

With that thought Steve found himself fully aware of a body that was not his, but hers, but belonged as much to Steve as ever his own had, and the words of Holy Aura belonged to Steve as well. "You have threatened innocents and brought fear to this world," she continued, "and for that, this Apocalypse Maiden says that you"—the extended hand pointed, and then turned to a fist with the thumb outthrust, turning until it pointed to the ground—"are going down!"

The dhole bellowed its challenge and charged with a speed that belied its immense bulk.

Holy crap, what the hell am I doing?

She saw the monster bearing down on her like a runaway freight train and desperately leapt aside—

To find herself sailing effortlessly through the air, a jump thirty, forty feet high and twice that in length, evading the clumsy charge with ridiculous ease. Another charge, another leap, and her heart began to slow its pounding just a hair. It really can't keep up with me! And me . . . I'm jumping like Spider-Man on speed!

The realization that she wasn't helpless—that this thing was wrecking real estate but unable to reach her—finally allowed Princess Holy Aura to accept that she could act. And also to become aware of a distant, clear voice:

"Princess! Holy Aura! You must stop it swiftly, before it thinks to call to its brethren!"

Stop it? Even if her strength was equal to her jumping ability, she wasn't sure her hand would survive punching the thing. But . . . I'm a mahou shoujo now, so I should have a weapon . . .

The thought triggered the certainty, and once more the pure silver light shone out, this time between her hands. What will it be? A wand? A bow? Please don't let it be some kind of Frisbee or anything.

A long shaft, glittering as argent as the light, grew from pure luminance and extended out, one end a huge blade, the other a massive ball, the entire thing almost twice Holy Aura's height, and she felt a broad, savage grin spreading across her newfound face. A broad-bladed naginata, a bisento! A weapon I actually know how to use! Despite its great size, the bladed spear felt light as a dagger in her hands, and she spun it around, creating a shining circle of dazzling reflections before her.

"That . . . is rather different," Silvertail's quiet voice said. "But no matter! You will need to invoke the—"

She wasn't listening. Seeing the destruction that the monster had caused, and realizing that there were people injured—people who might die if this thing wasn't stopped fast—raised the fury and outrage to its peak again. "Here, monster—try this!"

She leapt once more, but this time toward the dhole, drawing the great weapon back as she did. It lunged to meet her, but she rose above it, then descended, bringing the massive blade down with every ounce of strength she had and a shouted battlecry. "Ginhikari no Bisento!"

The concussion blew out the remaining windows around the mall lot. The Silverlight Bisento sundered the dhole's head, shattering stone skin, splintering and crushing the mighty grinding jaws, driving the monster's body downward with the same irresistible, absolute force of an avalanche, hammering the multiton creature's body into the pavement with a shockwave of power, bowing the surface of the parking lot into a crater eighty feet and more across. The worm-thing gave one tremendous, shuddering convulsion and collapsed.

For a moment, all was silent; Holy Aura landed atop the stony corpse of her fallen foe and gazed out, shellshocked at the abrupt beginning and end, as people rose from the ground, began to stare at her and point, murmurs of shock and disbelief turning to gratitude.

Then she heard sirens approaching fast. Instinctively she gave a smile and a bow to the assembled people, then leapt away, bounding to the roof of DIY Home and sprinting across it.

As she ran, Steve felt the confusion returning, and a new panic. What happened there? I was doing that . . . but I wasn't! I didn't think about half of that! I just . . . did it! I didn't make up most of that speech! And . . . who am I? I'm a . . . a man, but I'm thinking I'm not! I'm Holy Aura! I'm Stephen Russ! I was shouting an attack I never knew! What . . . and I haven't even . . . how . . .

Thoughts beginning to unravel, the girl in glittering, implausible armor ran faster, streaking through the air, trying to outrun the one thing she could never escape: herself.

Princess Holy Aura: Chapter 4

Steve had a rather momentous decision to make...

----

 

 

Chapter 4.

     The white rat's warning hadn't faded from Steve's mind in the last few days. Though Silvertail hadn't said anything about it since, Steve knew that the one-week deadline was already pushing what Silvertail thought was safe.

But there were still questions . . . over and above the ones he'd already been wrestling with. With a sigh, Steve dumped his laundry basket out on the bed before speaking. "Silvertail, I've got another question—one that's been nagging at me a while."

The wizard-turned-rodent glanced up at Steve from Silvertail's perch on the end of the bed. "Go on, Stephen Russ," Silvertail said, as Steve sorted through his unfolded but clean laundry for a shirt to wear.

"I get why you didn't want to choose a young girl for this gig—and I agree with your reasons, believe me. And most of those reasons apply to choosing a boy of that age. But why didn't you choose an adult woman? Or maybe look for someone who was, well, already going the transgendered route?" He found a T-shirt featuring the entire collection of trolls from Homestuck and pulled it on over his head, covering the Star Nebula Brooch which hung from a leather cord around his neck.

"There are several reasons," Silvertail answered after a pause. "Though I certainly did think of simply looking for a woman of the appropriate type and of roughly your age. Certainly they would not have the . . . issues that you may encounter simply from the transformation, although a great many adults—I suspect including yourself—would not look forward greatly to becoming a young high-school student again."

"God, no. My experiences in school sucked until I hit my full growth spurt, which was, like, the end of my junior year. Until then I was pretty short, a little too fat, and a loudmouthed geek, which made me a perfect bullying target. Kinda like Dex is now; he's a little taller than I was, and skinny as a sheet of paper, but even though he's better looking than I was, he's got that unconscious arrogance that sets bullies off. So no way would I want to go back."

"But to answer your question . . . I did keep that as a possibility," Silvertail continued. "In truth, I was only a few days from giving up on searching for a man of your qualities. But I chose that direction first because of the potential advantages. If I could find a man with the requisite character—courage, willingness to risk himself for others, clear empathy for the plight of those less fortunate, and so on—"

"Okay, you're starting to embarrass the hell out of me," Steve said, and ducked into the bathroom so the potential blush wouldn't be visible. And I need to go anyway. "I'm no paladin."

A sniff of amusement was audible through the thin door. "Indeed? Perhaps not, but you certainly have many of the qualities. In any event, if I could find such a man, and one who had a firm self-identity—who was, nonetheless, willing to give up that self-identity for the sake of the world—then I would have found a Princess Holy Aura who would be far, far stronger than any since the very first time the enchantment took hold and made my daughter Aureline and her friends into the Apocalypse Maidens.

"This I explained to you earlier. The important point for the purpose of your question, of course, is that this level of self-sacrifice—and thus potential power for Holy Aura—did not apply to the other categories you mention, other than the possibility of finding a woman who hated her own identity as a woman; such a person would, undoubtedly, have at least as many potential issues to deal with as would you."

Steve nodded, then realized that Silvertail couldn't see him. "Yeah, that makes sense, I guess." Another thought occurred to him. "Hey—that doesn't mean you set up poor Emmanuel, did you?"

There was an injured tone in the white rat's reply. "Certainly not!" Then Silvertail's voice took on a more apologetic note. "Though . . . not deliberately, but in a sense . . . yes, I suppose. Not that I directed the events, but the magic that aids me in finding the Heart that was Sought also will tend to draw the opposition to my area. It was, in that way, inevitable that some sort of conflict would emerge, and those conflicts are what bring the destined Holy Aura to the fore."

That made sense. Steve stood up and pushed the handle on the toilet; he was rewarded with the sound of something snapping, a jingle of a chain, and almost no sign of anything flushing. "Dammit!"

Opening the tank showed that a key piece of plastic had given way; the entire float and flush assembly would have to be replaced. "Wonderful. Hey, Silvertail, I don't suppose you could give me a sort of down-payment on that 'everything coming up roses' reward? Because this is going to really hit my nonexistent budget."

"What happened?"

After a quick explanation, the white rat shook his head. "No, I have no immediate remedy for this situation. What little magic I still wield is not terribly useful for fixing damaged objects. Although getting more resources . . ." He paused for a moment. "Not yet, no. Unless you commit—unless Princess Holy Aura is manifest—my powers remain extremely limited, circumscribed by my mission."

"Then we've got to go shopping, much as it pains me. I really, really hate digging into my savings."

"You do have savings, however?"

Steve grimaced as he dug out his backpack. "Such as they are. Three hundred and seventeen dollars. That's five years of savings, and it would barely cover one month's rent."

"I see." Silvertail watched Steve as he strapped the pack on. "Shall I stay here?"

"From what you just told me, that would be stupid, wouldn't it?"

The white whiskers twitched in an unmistakable smile. "I would not consider it wise to be far separated from you, no. That is why I have gone with you to your place of work and hidden nearby during your workdays."

"Okay, hop in; you can ride in the pack."

It was a three-mile walk from the apartment, and Steve mopped sweat from his face with one arm of his T-shirt; the early summer day was already promising to be scorchingly hot. Finally, the broad storefront of DIY Home, the building supply chain, loomed up in front of him. DIY Home sat at one end of the Twin Pines strip mall, the anchor store for a long stretch of shops that ranged from restaurants to office supply outlets, shoe stores, and others.

Silvertail himself probably wasn't having a great time of it either; that backpack, even with the upper zipper open, was going to be awfully hot. Silvertail hadn't said a word of complaint, though. And pretty soon I have to give him an answer. It's been four days, I'm past the midpoint of my week.

On the positive side, Steve knew exactly what he was looking for; he'd fixed more than one cranky toilet in the past, and DIY Home had everything set up to make it easy to find. Fifteen minutes later, he handed over almost all the money in his wallet and left the building supply giant with a gray and orange bag swinging from his hand.

I really need to keep some money on hand. With a reluctant sigh, he turned toward the bank sitting isolated in the middle of the mall, separate from everything else to allow space for its drive-through service. The ATM, at least, was free. It only took a few moments, and another wince at the reduction of his savings, to withdraw thirty dollars. Gotta make that last a week. More, actually. If nothing else breaks, anyway.

Steve headed for the path that led out of the mall—across the surrounding verge of grass to the main road—but stopped by the far side of the pet supply house, which was a blind wall and out of sight of everything else. "Here, Silvertail, get out a sec; I want to put this stuff in the pack."

"I appreciate the chance to get out of that stifling thing," Silvertail said primly. His bedraggled look emphasized his discomfort.

"Sorry about that. Here." He took the water bottle from the side of the backpack and opened it, letting Silvertail drink. "Better?"

"Much, thank you."

The ground quivered.

"Whoa!" Steve steadied himself against the wall as the vibration peaked, then faded away. "Wow. Haven't felt an earthquake around here since I was a little kid."

Silvertail was stiff, nose twitching; he said nothing.

Then the ground shook again, more strongly. Shouts of surprise and concern echoed around the mall parking lot, and there were faint creaks and jingles from the buildings. As Steve stepped out to look around the mall, a lone shopping cart suddenly turned and rattled downhill, jarred loose from its prior perch. Everyone else stood frozen, waiting for the earth to resume its normal immobility.

Steve felt a creeping chill working its way up his spine; he looked down at Silvertail, whose red eyes met his levelly. "That . . . wasn't an earthquake, was it?"

"I suspect not," the white rat said grimly. "It—"

The ground rocked under Steve, accompanied by a shuddering, crunching sound that transmitted itself violently through his boots; Steve barely managed to keep his footing.

The blacktop in the center of the parking lot heaved skyward, sending an SUV and two compact cars flipping end over end like discarded toys. A second tremendous impact, and the dark asphalt gave way, opened up like a malignant flower, and something reared up from beneath the earth.

Steve swore, unable to think of anything coherent to say. The thing was huge, fifteen, maybe twenty feet across, an eyeless, gray-stone monstrosity that rose up higher and higher into the air, a worm the size of a freight train with a mouth of whirring, crushing assemblages that had no business being in anything living. It brought with it a hideous stench, a smell of brimstone and decay, and even the brilliant sunlight was suddenly cold and distant, an alien and sharp light revealing an abomination from an ancient and inimical realm. "What the hell . . . ?"

"A dhole, sometimes called a chthonian," Silvertail answered, his calm, controlled voice somehow audible even over the screams, the rending of stone, the rumbling snarl of the creature as it turned down, seeking, questing for something. "A creature of the deep earth, but a mystical one, a species allied closely with our enemies."

Steve felt himself shaking. The nightgaunts had been terrifying, but still on a human scale. They were things he could fight, that he could imagine himself fighting, creatures that a good hard swing with a crowbar could break.

But this? His brain couldn't even grasp how huge the thing was, and the idea of fighting it wasn't even laughable.

The dhole turned toward the screaming, running people, and slid forward, crushing cars and the pavement itself with a casual and horrific force. Steve saw distant terrified faces and realized that even though the creature was clumsy and slow to turn, it was only a matter of minutes before it crushed and devoured something much more vulnerable than empty vehicles.

The Star Nebula Brooch pressed coolly against his skin, beneath the T-shirt, and Steve could not ignore it. Swallowing hard, he reached down and pulled the glittering piece of jewelry out. "Okay, Silvertail . . . how do I turn this thing on?"

"Are you sure, Steve? Once done, it cannot be undone."

He risked another glance, saw the dhole crash headlong into the main storefront, punching a hole in the wall, accompanied by a shrieking, grinding noise as the thing's mouth pulverized whatever it had consumed. "Dammit, yes, I'm sure! I can't stand here and let people get killed! I'd never be able to live with myself! Now, Silvertail! I accept this mission, this calling, whatever it is, I'll be this, this . . . Princess Holy Aura! Tell me what to DO!"

The white rat bowed his head, then raised it. The golden crown suddenly shimmered, and an argent glow flickered around him. "Then repeat after me, Stephen Russ. To avert the Apocalypse . . ."

He took a deep breath. "To avert the Apocalypse . . ."

". . . and shield the innocent from evil . . ."

". . . and shield the innocent from evil . . ." he repeated. The Brooch hummed abruptly in his hand, a warm vibration utterly different from the monstrous shaking and impact of the dhole.

". . . and stand against the powers of destruction . . . I offer myself as wielder and weapon, as symbol and sword . . ."

The monster froze suddenly, then pivoted. Steve was barely conscious of the motion, as a warm, tingling sensation began to spread outward from the Star Nebula Brooch, and he found himself completing the oath in chorus with Silvertail, now taller, brighter, no longer a tiny creature but a shimmering figure of a man, indistinct and luminous. ". . . mistress of the spirit, ruler of the stars beyond, Mystic Galaxy Defender, Princess Holy Aura!"

The Star Nebula Brooch burned like the sun, and everything—the mall, the charging rock-worm, Silvertail, and even Stephen Russ himself—dissolved into a pure silver luminance and an echoing note of music that shook the stars in their courses.

Princess Holy Aura: Chapter 3

Steve was about to have visitors...

 

-----

 

 

Chapter 3.

     "Hey, he's kawaii, Steve!"

Silvertail held himself still as Richard Dexter Armitage reached out a finger to gently stroke his white fur. Kawaii? Japanese quoted in reference to anime, obviously. Not surprising that Mr. Russ' friends have similar tastes. He had already noted the multiple posters of science fiction and fantasy shows of all types, reinforcing his impression of Stephen Russ—along with a wall case filled with weapons ranging from the mundane to models of science-fiction devices. But that is all to the good. At least Stephen understands the essential nature of the mission, and I need not waste time explaining the basic role of the Apocalypse Maidens, even if there are details he does not understand.

"Gentle, Dex," Steve said; Silvertail saw a quick sideways glance at him, obviously worried about how well the "rat" would handle being treated as a pet.

"Steve, I know how to handle white rats," Dex said, rolling his eyes as he picked up Silvertail and brought him nose-to-nose, grinning and making sniffing noises; Silvertail recognized typical "play with cute pet" behavior and simply sniffed back. "My family's had lots of them over the years. Where's his cage?"

"Er . . . I ended up getting him today without warning. Long story. So I'm going to keep him in this box for tonight."

Dexter—a contrast in opposites to his much older friend, with long golden-blond hair carelessly combed back, a delicate-featured face, and slender build—made a face. "If he decides he wants out, he'll get out of that in about two seconds. You'd better get a cage real quick."

"I know, I know. Now put Silvertail down. The others will be here soon, and I thought you had character work you wanted to get done."

"Oh, yeah!" Dex returned Silvertail to his friend's shoulder and sat down, dumping a large collection of books, papers, and a bag of dice of varying shapes onto the large, chipped folding banquet table that occupied a large part of Steve's living room. "Look, I was going through this supplement, and since I'm playing a wizard I thought . . ."

Silvertail tuned out the details of the conversation; he was aware of how role-playing games worked—in fact, he remembered with a slight pang the similar games that had existed long before this civilization ever rose, games he had played before that had become impossible. He was much more interested in observing the people, and especially Stephen.

The other players who filtered in over the next hour were an interesting group; one young woman, probably ten years younger than Steve Russ, named Anne, clearly paired with another man of her own age named Mike; a rather hefty but energetic boy named Chad, with a scruffy almost-beard and a cheerful expression, who appeared about the same age as Dex; and one much older man named Eli, quiet but with the air of a military man about him.

What most impressed Silvertail was the way in which Stephen directed his game, even though he was clearly distracted by the events of the evening. It was obvious that Dexter was the smartest member of the group, although Anne was often more dynamic as a personality. That only applied in the real-life interactions, though; Dexter shed his nerdish uncertainty when playing his character, and his quick mind and surprisingly powerful voice often dominated play. Eli was quiet, contributing to the game with a considered and careful approach that made his comments and characters' actions stand out the few times they acted; Chad simply played his character with a cheer and verve that echoed his own personality, while Mike always seemed a bit intimidated by the louder members of the group like Dex, Anne, and Chad.

What Steve did—without, as far as Silvertail could tell, making the others consciously aware of it—was to redirect the sometimes overbearing certainty of Dexter to reduce his spotlight-hogging tendencies, bring Mike more into the game by asking him exactly the sort of questions that his character would be most interested in, and direct events to allow, in general, all of the players to get their moment to shine.

After several hours, the game had to come to a temporary end; it was getting late and some of the others had to get up early. Silvertail noticed Steve trying to hide his interest in the leftovers—chips, pizza that Eli had brought, a vegetable plate from Anne. This is not a luxurious apartment. Did Steve sacrifice more than I realized this evening?

To his surprise, Dex—who Silvertail had tentatively tagged as a rather self-centered young man—intervened as the others were packing up. "Hey, let's just leave the extras here. Either Steve'll eat them, or we can have them for the next game day after tomorrow."

"Well . . ." said Anne, hesitating.

"Remember, always bribe the game master," Dex said, glancing at the fridge with an expression that told Silvertail that the younger man was very aware of how empty it was.

At that, the others laughed and agreed. Dex was the last to leave, and as he did, Steve touched him on the shoulder. "Hey, Dex," he said. "Thanks."

"For what?" the younger boy asked; he looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"For making sure they left the food."

"Well . . . yeah." Dex flushed visibly. "Figured you could use it. Didn't see your usual bag of bagels."

Steve grinned. "You're sharp. Anyway . . . thanks."

"You're welcome. I mean, it's just smart game tactics—"

"Shut up and get out of here before you make yourself look like a dick."

"Right. See you in a couple!"

The door closed and Stephen sat down with a whoosh of relief. Then he glanced at Silvertail. "You can still talk, right?"

"I certainly can," Silvertail answered.

"Still going to take some getting used to," Stephen said. "So, I still have questions."

"I have no doubt of it, Stephen Russ. But it is quite late; I believe you have to work in the morning?"

"Yeah, but right now I'm not ready to sleep. Not without some more answers."

"As you wish." The questions were, after all, inevitable, and it wouldn't matter if they came now or later. The real trick would be to answer them in a way that would be acceptable to Stephen Russ. Mostly, of course, Silvertail intended to be—and had to be, in fact—honest, but there were very delicate aspects of the situation that probably were best left to later.

Stephen sat down, looking at him somberly. "Not that it really makes much difference if the situation's as bad as you say . . . but I'd like to know if I get anything out of this."

"You mean, is there a reward, other than the self-satisfaction of fighting for humanity's survival?"

He looked pained. "I guess, yeah. I mean, it's worth it just for that, don't get me wrong, but . . ."

"Say no more. A hero is still a person, and still needs to worry about their survival. Yes, Stephen Russ. The magic that binds you to the contract once made also binds the world to reward you once Azathoth of the Nine Arms is banished once more to the realms beyond this one."

"Azathoth? I thought that was the, what, 'blind idiot god' at the center of the universe."

He sighed. "Stephen Russ, you of all people should recognize that the common perception is not going to always be the truth. Lovecraft . . . sensed certain things, was exposed to elements of the truth in passing. But they were filtered through his mind, his beliefs, his prejudices and perceptions of the world. This is true of all others who have glimpsed portions of the truth.

"So no, Azathoth Nine-Armed is not a formless mass of chaos. She—for that pronoun fits better than any other—is an alien invader, ruler and director of the forces and beings beneath her. Her precise manifestation—and even more so that of her underlings, the scouts and shocktroops who will come to prepare the way—is affected by the human consciousness, the gestalt of human perception and the specifics of those that they encounter and of the civilization that they are seeking to conquer. So some manifestations of your adversaries—if you take up your destiny—will be of ancient lineage, while others may seem far more contemporary."

"So they're shaped by, what, our beliefs? Some Jungian collective unconscious?"

Silvertail twitched his whiskers. "To an extent, yes, that would be a reasonable way to view it. A more modern and cynical way might be to say that they are rather subject to meme infection."

Steve laughed, a short and nervous but still genuine sound of amusement. "That's funny. Hopefully that doesn't mean that they'll manifest spouting 'all your base are belong to us' or something stupid like that."

"No, the more amusing memes would not be their forte," he replied. If only they were. But the memes they will likely manifest . . . you do not need to be reminded of now. "In any event . . . yes, there is a reward, Stephen Russ. If you defeat these enemies, avert the apocalypse, then the world returns to what it was before this began. Even you will not recall it. But you will find that you are . . . well, fortunate would be the best term. The success that has eluded you thus far will seek you out; whatever 'happy ending' you might wish for in this world will be made possible. That will be true of you and all the other Apocalypse Maidens."

"So I'll save the world, not know the world ever needed saving, but then have everything start coming up roses?"

"In essence, yes."

"That kinda sucks. I mean, not the everything coming up roses part—I guess you can tell I'm not exactly doing great on my own, though I won't complain, lots of other people are worse off. The having done something awesome and not knowing it, that sucks."

"I cannot disagree," Silvertail said. "But it is part and parcel of the nature of the enchantment and the war. The powers of magic that make the war possible are usually walled off from this world, ever since the first great conflict. So the battle is fought, the world witnesses the battle, but all of this is affected by—is a part of—the grand contest. Once the conflict is resolved, the world returns to what it was before the magic appeared."

"That almost sounds as though magic's real source is this Azathoth, or wherever she comes from."

"Not truly. It is more a matter of the fact that the way in which she was sealed away was done using all the power of magic we could channel, so that her entry to the world would of necessity bring the magic back . . . and any attempt to bring magic back would, almost certainly, unleash her as well."

Stephen looked at him. "So why do you remember?"

"I am . . . the key, you might say. Or the flaw in the prison, an inescapable one given that there were magic-workers on this side of the barrier. I am the one who watches for the cycle to resume, whenever the conditions are right, because I am the only one with the ability to find those who can close the door."

"But why?"

He sighed, feeling his whiskers drooping, remembering in the distant, distant past when it would have been human shoulders slumping. "Because I was the one who created the Apocalypse Maidens, Stephen Russ. One of thirteen, the most powerful of Lemuria's wizards, and the only one to survive the conjuration that transformed my daughter and her four closest and most courageous friends into the weapon the world needed. As you can see"—he gestured to himself—"it . . . cost me."

Steve looked simultaneously sympathetic, outraged, and pained. "Do you have any idea how hard this is for me to deal with? I mean . . . Lemuria? A wizard stuck as a white rat? And you did this to your own daughter?"

"I did not do this to her; she volunteered, and . . ." His voice, despite untold centuries of control, threatened to break. "And . . . I have never been more proud than I was that day."

 

"Oh. Sorry." Steve paused. "So . . . what about the other twelve of you?"

"They . . . were consumed by the ritual. We knew the risks, of course—the power we were unleashing was by far the greatest magic ever worked by mankind. I think I only lived because there was, as I said, a necessity that there be a key, a linchpin, a nexus of the enchantment that would remain throughout eternity." Even after all the centuries, remembering the deaths of his friends still hurt.

"But your daughter and her friends . . . they did win, right?"

"They won, yes. And in doing so ripped the foundations of magic from this cosmos, shattered the stability we had enforced upon the world, and wiped out our entire civilization, nearly dooming humanity to extinction."

"Holy shit. And this is the good outcome if I take this brooch-thing up and win?"

"No, no, Stephen. That was then, when the world was filled with magic, when so much relied upon magic that to withdraw it was like turning the foundations of a building to water. My daughter and her friends did survive, and so did enough of humanity—or we would not be here to speak of it. But in the other repetitions of the cycle . . . while there is great destruction sometimes wrought during the combat, the world is returned to its prior state afterward. Not entirely without cost—if people were specifically slain by the forces of our enemies, they will be found to have died, albeit by more mundane forces, after the victory. But the world will not be destroyed if you win. Only if you lose will it be plunged into a creeping shadow of its old self."

Steve nodded slowly. "Jesus." He looked down at the Star Nebula Brooch, lying on the table between them, and picked it up reluctantly. "And this really is the only way to fight these things?"

He shrugged. "The only one I know of."

Stephen Russ sighed. "Tell you what. I'll . . . carry it for a while. Think about it. But . . . this is all of me you want me to change."

"Not all of you. I might even say the least important part of you. I do not wish to change the sort of person you are."

He bit his lip. "Yeah. I guess. But dammit, my entire life and self-image aren't just something to toss aside, either."

"I did not say they were, and perhaps I should apologize; one's self-image is not at all unimportant, and indeed for a man of your age, that self-image is the rock on which you have built your identity. So, yes, I was wrong, and I do apologize. I ask you to make a very significant sacrifice, of your self-image, of your position in a society that—you know well—values men more than women in many areas. I ask you to, at least temporarily, sacrifice even the respect that age and size have given you.

"But know that these sacrifices will make you, as Holy Aura, vastly stronger; the willingness of the Chosen to take up the battle at great personal cost, this is one of the greatest sources of power in any magic. Your willing acceptance of this price may give us the key to a swifter and more certain victory. And they will certainly make it more likely that one day you will wake up—the same Stephen Russ you are now—and your life will become brighter, and the world will be safe."

Silvertail could see Stephen considering that. "So," he said, "in a nutshell, the more I'm personally willing to sacrifice to the cause, the more powerful Holy Aura will be."

"Correct. If you accept the burden, you are—while Holy Aura, in any event—sacrificing a major portion of your personal foundation and viewpoint; this will make you immensely stronger as Princess Holy Aura."

"You say 'while Holy Aura'; does that mean I can change back to Stephen Russ?"

"Yes. You will of course have no access to any of Holy Aura's powers while in your original form, but yes, you will be able to change back. You will not, however, be able to change your mind once you have accepted the power; once done, the enchantment cannot be undone."

Stephen surveyed the brooch again, eyes tracing the beauty of the curves absently. Finally he straightened. "Okay. I'll think on it. And not too long. I promise I'll have an answer for you in . . . um . . . a week. Is that okay?"

A week . . . She will have learned of the loss of her creatures soon. She will know that either I chose to act, or that the Princess has been found. Yet . . . I have no right, nor power, to force the issue. "If it must be, then it must be. One week, Stephen Russ. May that time be well spent, for our enemy is already moving."