Chapter Two

As Barbara fixed dinner she considered how to broach the subject of her trip to Mark. She loved her husband and, as a good Christian woman, considered him to be the head of the household. And Mark was not going to want her to go. However, she also knew that the group she was involved with was, without question, doing God's work. This was to be her first formal training session, not to mention first official mission, and she intended to be there when called.

She finished fixing dinner, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and broccoli, then set it out on the table, calling the family to feed. It took a while.

Allison was on the phone with a friend. Getting her to hang up involved threats to lose the privilege for a week. The first games of March Madness were on so dragging Brandon away from the TV practically involved oxen. Mark had already decided that he was just going to eat off a tray so Brandon wanted to know why he couldn't as well. Since Mark was ignoring the argument, Barb got no support from that direction. By the time she got Brandon over to the table and a TV tray on Mark's lap, the phone had rung again and Allison was back on. Even Brook was hiding in her room so it took nearly fifteen minutes from the moment the broccoli was ready before they sat down.

They had just said grace, Barbara saying the prayer since Mark was glued to the Georgia Tech game, and settled down to their food when Allison made a face.

"This broccoli is cold!"

Barb counted to ten, slowly, then did it again in Fusian. If she didn't she might say something . . . unChristian to her daughter. Demons were going to be a vacation!

Barbara waited until the break between the third and fourth quarter to spring her surprise.

"Mark?" she said, sitting down on the couch.

"Yeah?" he asked, distractedly, as the announcer ran over the highlights of the previous quarter along with what was going on in other games.

"I've been invited to a religious retreat with the Women of Faith Foundation," Barb said. "I'll be gone for about a week. And I may be going somewhere afterwards, I don't know how long that will be."

"Uh, huh," Mark said. "I can't believe they didn't score that as a foul, would you look at that?"

"Mark," Barbara said, with just a hint of impatience. "Did you hear me?"

"Uh . . ." Mark said, finally turning to look at her. "No?"

"I'm going to a religious retreat," Barb repeated. "For a week. Then maybe somewhere after that, I don't know how long."

"A week?" Mark snapped. "Who's paying for it?"

"The Foundation," Barbara sighed. "And my plane-fair."

"Why?" he asked.

"It's through the church," Barbara replied, only half lying.

"Who's going to . . ." Mark said, pausing.

"Cook? Clean? Do the laundry? Pick up the kids from school?" Barb asked. "Shop?"

"Yeah," Mark replied. "I've got a job!"

"Brandon and Brook can stay in the after school program. I'll get someone to cart Allison to cheerleading. For the evening things, like karate and dance, you'll have to do it. I'll leave a list of chores for the kids and pre-made food for some of the nights. Then there's take out and delivery. You'll survive, I'm sure."

"You don't have to be sarcastic," Mark said, sighing. "Why do you have to go I guess is what I mean."

"A foundation is paying for me to meet with other women of faith in a dialogue on the nature of faith," Barbara replied, admitting that it was only half of the truth. "It's important, to me, to our church and to God. I'd hoped to get your blessings on it, not resistance."

"Whatever," Mark said as the game started up again. "Like you said, we'll survive."

"Thank you," Barb said, but she knew darned well he hadn't heard it.

The "religious retreat" was at a small facility in Western North Carolina. Barbara could have driven, but the foundation had provided plane tickets to Asheville Airport so she found herself negotiating her carry-on through the small crowd and wondering who was going to be meeting her.

As she exited the restricted area there was a short, plump, older woman with a face full of wrinkles in a paisley dress -holding up a sign that said: "Barbara Everette." The woman's silver hair was pinned up on her head with silver pins and she wore what, to Barb's eyes, were an enormous number of necklaces, most of them silver and bearing both caballic symbols and other "fantasy" motifs. The centerpiece was a massive dragon's head cast in silver that seemed to be roaring defiance. Her makeup was also . . . outré in Barbara's opinion, heavily applied and very extreme, the eyeliner working up almost to the edge of her hair and making her look somewhat elfish.

Barb, who had dressed in a cream silk shirt, light maroon washed silk jacket, a matching skirt and heels and wearing only a pearl necklace and her wedding ring felt that she was either over dressed or underdressed but that, certainly, they were going to make an odd pair. However, she approached the woman, holding out her hand.

"I'm Barbara," she said, smiling. "Please call me Barb."

"Sharice Rickels," the woman said, lowering the sign and taking her hand. "Glad you could make it. I'm looking forward to talking."

"It . . . should be interesting," Barbara said, uneasily. "I have to pick up some checked baggage."

"Not a problem," Sharice said, depositing the card in the nearest trash and leading her over to the baggage claim area. "I heard, many of us have heard, how you were chosen to attend the Foundation meetings. We were, to say the least, impressed. Also impressed that a Christian would both be able to do what you did and not find the Foundation odd or impossible."

"You're not a Christian?" Barb asked, curiously.

"Oh, Lady, no," the woman said, laughing merrily. "You'll find few among our ranks. There are some Catholics, a few, but you're the first Protestant I've met. Most of us are what you would term pagans. I'm a Wiccan, reformist—mind you I don't have the body for sky clad. Well, not anymore," she added with a grin. "I had my days, lovey. But most of us are pagan. Wiccan, Hindu, Asatru, got a lot of Asatru . . ."

"I don't even know what any of those are," Barbara said, curiously. "And they're all . . . members of the Foundation?"

"Yes," Sharice said, shrugging. "There are . . . oh I suppose you could use the term 'politics' even in the foundation. More like . . . theatrics, if you don't mind the pun," she added, grinning. "Power is a function of followers and interest on the part of the deity. Asatru is gaining in strength, not only in the foundation but in the world. They're worshippers of the Norse Gods, by the way. Thus they're increasing in power and that's good. Of course, there's the sub-branch that follow the chaotic tenets of the Jester and that's a pain in the butt, as you can imagine. Hindus, of course, have great power, but it's dispersed what with one thing or another. You think we have problems here, you have no idea how bad it is in India or other regions where Hindus are prevalent. We've been hoping for more Christians. America is an essentially Christian country and the power levels available to ardent Christians are just amazing. But the faith is so . . ." she paused and looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I was on a hobby horse."

"I think you were about to say something like 'closed minded,'" Barb said, shrugging. "I suppose it is."

"But we do what we can with the power available to us," Sharice said, brightly. "Really, the . . . other side is as crippled as we are. They have many worshippers in secret, but they can't coordinate like we can."

"There's my bags," Barbara said. "Could you maybe get a skycap? I've . . . got a few."

"A few" turned out to be five, including her carry-on which she added to the stack.

"I think we can get all of these in my car," Sharice said, nervously. "I hadn't realized you'd be bringing so many."

"I suppose I shouldn't have," Barb admitted. "But I didn't know what the meetings would be like, what to wear, and the last time I traveled I traveled so light I didn't have the right clothes at all. So I sort of brought . . . everything I might need."

"I'll go get the car."

Sharice's car was a three year old Malibu, light green and . . . -cluttered. The back seat was covered in books, bags and implements, some of which, like the skull-headed mace, made Barbara question if she was meeting the right person. The front seat held a large bag with a black knife handle and some candles peeking out, while the floor was covered in magazines, most of them with demons, dragons or fairies on the cover.

"I suppose I should have cleaned it out," Sharice said, embarrassedly. "But I like to have clutter around me. It's what's called comfort clutter," she added, hoisting the obviously heavy bag into the back. "And . . . I've learned to have my tools with me at all times."

Between packing the trunk and the back seat they got all the bags in the car. Barb tipped the skycap then got in the car, kicking the magazines aside to get some floor space for her feet.

"I understand you pack," Sharice said as they pulled out of the front entrance.

"Yes," Barbara said, unhappily. She'd left her .45 in the Honda at Birmingham Airport and had felt half naked ever since.

"Glove compartment," was all Sharice said.

Barb opened it and smiled, pulling out the holstered HK USP .45. It was even the SOCOM model, much more accurate than the standard model she usually carried. She drew it from the holster, dropped the magazine and ensured it was clear then slid the mag back in and tucked it in her waistband. There were two more mags in the glove compartment and she put those in her purse.

"I'm not much into guns, myself," Sharice said with a sniff. "I prefer to use my powers to change the surroundings for the greater good. Also, guns are rarely useful against the primary enemies." She paused and shrugged. "But they are useful for dispensing with their agents here on earth."

"I grew up with guns," Barb said, returning shrug for shrug. "My father taught me to use them and made me start packing when I was a teenager. I suspect that a couple of times I probably would have been date raped if the guy I was with didn't know I was armed, and more than capable of using it."

"I see," Sharice said, frowning. "I won't contest your position. As long as each comes to good, that is all that matters."

Barbara contemplated the scenery as Sharice drove the car up I-40 and into the Appalachian Mountains. She had lived in quite a few places, and visited others, but the Appalachians were one area she'd never seen. Most of the mountains in her experience were much higher and arid but the Appalachians were covered in trees and there were flashes of green and a few buds to relieve the brown-gray of the forests. It was a clear day and as the car turned off onto a side road she could see for miles. Many of the mountains had houses tucked into their sides in such a way that when the trees were full of leaves they must have been invisible. It was a place of quiet beauty and she hoped she would be coming back again.

She hadn't paid attention to the route but she did when they turned onto a side road and up the side of a mountain. The road was poorly maintained and very twisty. They passed a couple of houses, vacation or retirement homes she was sure from the look, then cut up over a ridge and back down to a gated fence with a manned guard shack. On the left side of the gate was an embossed metal sign, about two feet square, that said: "The Foundation for Love and Universal Faith. Est. 1907." The unarmed security guard waved at Sharice and apparently pressed a control because the gate started to open.

"We mostly depend upon working in the shadows," Sharice said, as she drove through a section of tended white pines. They were tall but there was an understory of smaller cedars that cloaked whatever was beyond them from sight. "But everyone has to have one place they can go where they are fully secure. The Foundation is guarded by far more than a rent-a-cop, I can assure you."

"I . . ." Barbara said, then stopped. "I can feel it." And she could, a tingling like after a shower. It felt . . . fresh and clean as if the miasma of the world had dropped away.

When they cleared the pines she smiled, looking at the buildings of the "Foundation." There were several of them, most resembling chalets but with a few using other architectures. She recognized some of it as Oriental and a small building that could be a mosque but the rest was so eclectic as to defy even her knowledge. A small stream ran through the hollow that they clustered in and the buildings seemed to fit its pattern naturally. Scattered among them were a wealth of gardens most of them brown at this time of year. But she could see that in the spring and fall they would be a riot of color.

"This is the hard time," Sharice said, as if reading her thoughts. "The bad time, when the spirits of the winter, the spirits of darkness and cold, hold sway. Some of them are simply neutral, but many side with evil. From Samhaine to Beltane is when we are at our lowest ebb, when the spirits of the dark come forth to do battle and we must challenge them despite our relative lack of strength." She paused and then grinned. "Or, maybe, it's simply Seasonal Affected Disorder."

She pulled the car around the back into a small parking lot that was mostly grass and trees with an occasional parking pad.

"You're in the Gletsch Chalet," she said, pointing at the building which was a more or less traditional Alpine chalet that was on the far side of the stream. There was a small bridge and the walk was not far.

"I guess I'd better start unloading," Barb said. "What's the dress code?"

"There isn't one, sweetie," Sharice said, smiling. "You can be as dressy as you'd like or just wear jeans and a flannel shirt. Nobody will comment." She paused and frowned. "Some of the attendees at training . . . costume as their avatars. Especially on First Night. And you'll probably find some of them . . . odd."

"I can imagine," Barbara said, shrugging. "I'll manage."

"I want you to try to understand, though, Barb," Sharice said, firmly. "Most of those who are drawn into Special Circumstances are fringe people. People who are actually a little psychic as you would call it. They've mostly been outcasts in their lives. They've taken up the fringe lifestyle of groups that accepted them as they are, rather than trying to make them . . ." she paused and then gestured at Barbara.

"So, what you're saying is, I'm the outcast?" Barb asked, lightly. "You'd be surprised how out of place I've felt most of my life."

"But you adjusted to that mask," Sharice said. "You put it on and you wear it well. These are people who, by and large, never could. You are what we call a 'mundane.' A person who can't enter into the fringe or at least doesn't enjoy doing so. And mundanes have made most of these peoples' lives hell. They laugh at them for their oddity. By the way you act, dress, speak, you are . . . well, yes, you're on our side. But you're the enemy they have dealt with their entire social lives. You asked me how you should dress? Forget the pretty make-up, forget the nice heels, forget the washed silk. Put on a t-shirt and jeans and some running shoes and just . . . be yourself. As 'yourself' as you can manage. Or don't. If yourself is dressed to the nines every single moment, dress to the nines. But understand that your fellow warriors aren't the church lady teller at the bank."

"Okay," Barbara said.

"Dress however you want, look around and then make your decision," Sharice said, sighing.

"Can I ask a question?" Barbara said.

"You just did," Sharice answered, smiling. "But go ahead."

"Have you ever been . . ."

"On assignment," Sharice filled in for her. "Yes, but I'm retired." She paused again and shrugged. "You get old. You get to the point where you just can't run with the big boys. The knees are shot and sometimes the wisest simply—flee. You've seen too much and . . ." she shrugged again. "You just want to rest your weary bones and not hear the screams anymore."

"You were . . . powerful," Barb said, cocking her head to the side and really examining the woman for the first time.

"Still am, dearie," Sharice chuckled. "Still am. And old and maybe I've gained some wisdom. Which was why I was asked to pick you up."