Hiding in the Light

We managed to reach my truck without incident. He stopped and looked as if he were about to object to getting in. “Our first stop is roughly twenty miles from here. If you'd rather walk.” Whatever he had been about to say he wisely kept to himself. Pulling out of the parking lot I filled him in. “With the lack of information in the file trying to figure out where to look is going to be somewhat difficult.” He didn't look convinced, waving his had towards the scenery outside he asked. “How many places could he go to around here? I shot him a stern look.

“First, remember you don't actually know that he is in our jurisdiction.” He had the decency to look thoughtful rather than angry at that. “Second, said jurisdiction covers Missouri, Arkansas and parts of Kentucky and Tennessee. That's a whole lot of little towns where he might be siting having a beer without even bother trying to hide.” A frown creased Mather's face. “Then how do yo expect to find him?” An intelligent question, there might be hope for the kid. “By having someone else do the looking for us.” I smiled at his puzzled look. “Do you mean magically or online?” Considering his age I was expecting the online option, before tackling the problem with magically tracing him I explained the issue with finding him online. “While we do live in the digital age, the problem we face with spotting him online is that unless he posts his location on Facebook, the only way he'll show up is if someone catches him in their selfie.” He looked at me with an incredulous expression. “Post his own location, Seriously?” I just shrugged “It wouldn't be the first time.”

“Tracking someone using magic only works if you have something of theirs to focus on.” He nodded, maybe he was reassured that I knew the basics, or to let me know he understood. I'd like to think it was the latter. “Since we don't have anything belonging to Mr. Edgars, we'll have to do this the old fashioned way.” He shot me a questioning look. “The Magical Community just isn't that large. Add to that how spread out we are around here and folks tend to set up their own networks for information and communication.” I could see he was trying to figure out what I meant. “Basically they're gossip chains. People talk to each other and send messages about new people and events. A new Shaper in town might just make the cut for them.”

His brow furrowed as he worked things out. “But he's a fugitive, he won't exactly be reaching out to the grapevine.” “Do we know for certain that he's aware of his fugitive status? It is possible that he heard your Clave disbanded the Coven he had joined so he relocated to find a new one. Of course since there was nothing in the file explaining the nature of his former Coven,” I gave him a sideways glance, “there is no way to find like minded groups that may be active in this area. And for the record, rhetoric that is deemed to be hateful can mean almost anything these days.”

I noticed him tightening his mouth out of the corner of my eye. “I don't suppose you were briefed on what exactly the hateful rhetoric was?” Giving me a look somewhere between apologetic and exasperated Mather said, “All I was told was that the Coven had given themselves over to hate and anger.” I shook my head, “I am really not liking this case. Hate and anger are sufficiently vague to cover nearly anything. If there were indications of Mr. Edgars or his Coven taking some sort of harmful actions that would be one thing.” I drained the last of my coffee. “Rhetoric just means voicing a set of ideas. People talk about ideas all the time. Most of the time those ideas don't make sense, but that is how we get to the ideas that just might work.”

I caught a glimpse of him staring at me so I shrugged. “Sometimes I ramble when I'm driving. You'll get used to it, or decide to take your own car.” The rest of the trip went by with nothing but the radio to break the quiet. If he had any objections to country music he kept them to himself.

Mundanes passing the turnoff to The Bar would never even notice the road. The owner and most of the regular patrons all did what they could to maintain the glamour hiding the drive. While most Magicians frequented the same bars and clubs that Mundanes did, The bar was different. It offered privacy for those in the Community that had difficulty blending in with Mundane society.

As we walked in the door Raz smiled at us from across the room and waved us towards an empty booth. Raz, short for Razzmatazz, (not her birth name if you were wondering) had been a fixture at The Bar for twenty years. Currently she was a petite redhead, but that would change. Her Shifting was not under her control, so the little things like hair and eye color, height, weight, race, and gender would be different from day to day. Yet for some reason everyone in the Community always knew who Raz was. I'd explain how that works, but honestly I have no idea.

Sitting in the booth I opened the folder Meghan had given me. There were several copies of the photo from the original file as well as a couple additional pages. Right on the first page was something that stood out as a potential lead. “Says here that the coven Mr' Edgars was a part of had ties to the Restorationists.” A look of shocked recognition absolutely failed to appear on Mather's face. Before I could explain Raz walked up with two glasses of iced tea. “Are you two ready to order?” Mather looked to the wall as if he had just realized there was a menu there. “Oh, uh, yes, um...” The very model of eloquence that Mather. He finally managed to ask, “What is the special? Raz smiled at him, “Pan fried bass with a herb beer batter and a side of steamed vegetables.” Mather nodded, “That sounds good, I'll try that.” Raz turned her smile on me. “What can I get you Dante?” I looked up from the file. “I'll just have my usual. Bacon double cheeseburger with BBQ sauce and a side of onion rings.” As she wrote down our orders she shook her head. “I don't understand how you stay so healthy eating like you do.” I looked her right in the eye. “Virtuous living.” Raz gave off off an unladylike snort and went to place our orders. I have no idea why she wouldn't believe my answer. Well except for that one party, or maybe because she has known me for twenty years.

Mather watched her walk back to the counter then turned back to me. “You mentioned the Restorationists.” I took a sip of tea, “That's right you probably don't get many of them up around Salem. They want to bring back the days when Magicians lived out in the open. Considering the spotty history that Salem has with witches being noticed by Mundanes it's not surprising they aren't exactly popular there.”

Most Restorationists are basically good people. Their real problem is that they tend to only see the good in people.” He frowned a little, “Is that really such a bad thing?” I leaned back in my seat. “That all depends on how willing one is to acknowledge the fact that not everyone is a good person.” I took another sip of tea and looked around the place. It was still early for the lunch crowd so most of the tables were empty. “The moderate Restorationists will point to the Watsons that they know and say “See. Here are Mundanes that find out about Magic and want to understand. They prove people will accept us.” Well sorry, no, not everyone will.”

Mather was looking thoughtful again. “What do they have to say about those Mundanes that actively try to hunt us?” I gave him a small grin, “Ah yes, the Van Helsings. If the Restorationists acknowledge them at all, they say they are an aberration. As if it is only a few that find out about the Community and react poorly.” I gave a dry laugh. “The only problem with that way of thinking is the small number of Mundanes that know of the Community.” He looked at me over the rim of his iced tea glass. “How would that make a difference?”

Okay, time to go into teacher mode. “Do you have any idea how many Mundanes catch a glimpse of the Magic Community?” He scrunched up his face like he was trying not to give a wrong answer. I waved whatever answer he was going to give down. “Don't try to figure out a number. There really is no way to tell for sure. The only ones we do know about are the ones that do something to alert us to their presence.

Mather nodded, “Such as seek out someone from the Community to learn what they can, or to try and kill them.” I raised my tea in salute, “Exactly. The Watsons and Van Helsings are easy to spot. But increase the number of Mundanes that know about Magicians, and I don't even want to think about what kind of panic that would cause.” He frowned at me, “Do you really think there would be panic?” I tilted my head to give him the 'seriously dude' look. “Have you ever watched the Mundane news? They can create a panic out of almost anything.”

Our food arrived and Raz took a look at the photo on the table. “Interesting case?” I shuffled the papers back into the folder. “I hope not. It'll probably turn out to be nothing.” She smiled at us, “Enjoy your meals guys.” She turned towards the door to greet some new customers, and walked back to the bar.

Mather took a bite of his bass and looked pleasantly surprised to be enjoying it. After savoring that bite for a while he looked over to me. “Do you really think this might be nothing?” I did not reply right away as I was experiencing hickory smoked Nirvana. Washing it down with iced tea I turned my attention to Mather. “We need to keep in mind the possibility that Mr. Edgars just relocated for personal reasons. Second, even if he sympathizes with the Restorationists, he may be one of the moderates we were talking about.” I paused to take another bite of my burger. No apocalyptic crisis is worth hurrying through a good burger.

“Now with that in mind there are two scenarios that I can think of that might make this case problematic.” Mather looked at me expectantly. “One, Mr. Edgars is a member of one of the more extreme sub-groups within the Restorationists. In that case things could become quite brisk in dealing with them.” He gave me a look as if wondering if his definition of brisk was the same as mine. “Second we need to be prepared for this to be about something completely unexpected. And unfortunately where the unexpected is concerned there is no way to narrow down the possibilities.” His face took on an expression that indicated that he was just now beginning to realize just how interesting field work could become. “Now you know why I make sure to eat meals that I will enjoy. There's nothing worse than a near death experience while the taste of frozen pizza is still on your tongue.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes enjoying the meal. I could tell the kid was starting to think things over rather than try to fit reality into the textbooks he had studied in school. As a few customers got up to leave a Hob went around busing the tables. When Mather spotted him he looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “I was under the impression that Shaping Hobs was against the Accords.” I nodded, “It is. That doesn't apply to those that are descended from Hobs that were shaped before the Accords were signed.” He went quiet again while digesting that idea. Probably the well educated professors at that academy he went to didn't tell him that sometimes Shaped beings could breed true.

“How do the Restorationists plan on keeping Mundanes from reacting poorly to Shaped beings and creatures?” I pointed at him with an onion ring. “Now you get to the real issue. The answer is that they don't really have a plan for what comes next. They want things to be the way they want, and don't bother thinking about what would happen to anyone else.”

“The moderate Restorationists are caught up in their belief that everyone is at heart understanding and tolerant. So much so they can't understand why anyone would object to sharing the secret of the Community with Mundanes. Therefore they simply won't tolerate anyone that has a dissenting opinion.” Mather wore a puzzled expression. “That doesn't make much sense. You know that right?” I grinned at him. “Never expect things to make sense. Just be glad when they do and learn to appreciate the irony when they don't.”

I leaned back and looked towards the desserts listed on the chalk board above the bar. I briefly debated with myself whether I had room for cobbler. Quickly conceding defeat, I bent my efforts towards deciding between apple, peach or blueberry. Mather interrupted my important internal debate by bringing up the topic of work. “If the moderates are simply unreasonable, what about those extremists you mentioned?” Blueberry, definitely blueberry. With the important stuff decided I turned back to Mather.

“The issue with most extreme members of any group, is that they want their goals to be accomplished now. No time to come up with a plan to deal with any problems that their goals might cause for others. No time for gradual transition. It needs to get done right now, no matter who will be hurt in the process. Or who might get hurt when its done.”

I stopped when Raz came over to see if we wanted anything else. After taking my order for blueberry cobbler she turned to Mather. “How about you hun? Any dessert?” He managed to look both irritated and embarrassed to be called 'hun'. “I think I'm much too full for dessert.” Raz laughed, “Never let that stop you. We have a cheesecake that is simply amazing.” I could only nod in agreement with that assessment. Mather ordered a slice and shot me a questioning look. “Trust me, we'll be on the road for a bit before our next stop. You'll be glad you stocked up now.”

Describing how good the cobbler was would be needlessly cruel, if you can find The Bar I recommend you try it for yourself. The drive down to Charlotte's place was uneventful. Not even any snarky remarks from Mather to spice things up.

Charlotte's place was the type that gave dive bars a bad name. The regulars would bring sawdust from home to spread on the floor. There were in fact two things that made stopping by worthwhile. First was the genuine antique jukebox in the corner, loaded with actual forty five records. Not even the roughest customer would do anything to endanger that beauty. The second thing was Charlotte herself. She had her finger on the pulse of the Community. There were some who said that if a Shaper farted in Nashville, Charlotte would be holding her nose in minutes.

Mather had a look of horror on his face when we pulled into the parking lot. “You can't be serious. We came all this way just for a beer?” I gave him a sour look. “First of all, you probably shouldn't trust the beer here. Secondly, no, we came for information. There is someone here that could likely point us in the right direction. Just remember a few simple rules. Don't make any sudden moves, don't stare, and whatever you do don't mention the Commissioner.” He frowned “Why not?” “Charlotte and her sister don't exactly get along.” I frowned. “In fact you might want to avoid mentioning this visit to Commissioner Fontane.”

As we walked through the doors I heard Mather try to stifle a gagging cough. I guess the combination of stale beer, moldy sawdust, various flavors of vapes, as well as urine and vomit was too much for him. Fortunately for me, years ago I had come up with a simple spell to keep from being overwhelmed by odors. I actually have it placed on a pendent I wear for just such occasions as that. Some people have suggested that it was a useless bit of magic. My guess is that those people never found a decomposing body in a port-o-let.

Charlotte herself was standing behind the bar. It took a little effort to see the resemblance between her and her mother. Maybe it was because Charlotte had the sides of her head shaved and her hair dyed in alternating stripes of pink and purple. It could also have been the nose rings I suppose. I wasn't quite certain what the look she was going for was called anymore. It could be punk, or maybe new wave, they kept changing the name but keeping the basic look. Personally I found it jarring because in my head she was still that five year old with pigtails and a Pokemon shirt. I suppose that is one of the untold perils of being on the job for thirty years.

As we stepped up to the bar, Charlotte gave me an odd look. “Let me guess uncle Dante, big sis decided you needed a baby sitter.” And just like that she jumped to he teenage years. “Actually the order came from the Liaison Office.” She started to make some smart alec remark, so I cut her off. “This is Agent Mather, from the Salem Clave.” She raised her eyebrows, “Long way from home aren't you Slim?” I couldn't tell if the sour look on his face was from being called Slim or just because he was trying not to choke on the aroma in the bar.

Charlotte didn't give him the chance to respond, “So obviously this isn't a social call, so what do you need from me uncle Dante?” I smiled and pulled out the photo of our fugitive. “Salem is looking for this man for questioning. It may be nothing and he might not even be in our jurisdiction, but your mother offered our help. Which means of course my help.” She looked at the photo then back up at me, “So why should I help you track him down?” I smiled at her, “I just need you to let me know if you hear anything about him being in the area. Like I said it most likely will turn out to be nothing, but I just need to be sure.” She glared at me, “That still doesn't explain why I should help you.”

I chuckled, “I suppose we have moved past the days of me offering to take you out for ice cream.” She didn't quite manage to hide a smile at that. I leaned on the bar, “Tell you what, if you help me out with this I'll owe you one. Knowing your family, you're going to need to collect on that at some point.” Charlotte made a face at me then nodded, “Point taken. I'll see if any of my contacts know anything.” She leaned in close, “But I will still be expecting ice cream Uncle Dante.” I winked at her and steered Mather out the door. He really wasn't looking all that good.

As soon as we stepped outside, Mather puffed out a breath then inhaled deeply. Honestly the air in the parking lot still smelled of urine and vomit with exhaust fumes added on top, but I suppose it was fresher than inside the bar. Once we were back in my truck he turned to me. “Please tell me our next stop will be less...aromatic.” I chuckled a bit, maybe when this was all over I'd teach him that odor filtering spell. “Don't worry about that, the only thing that smells at our next stop is the attitudes.” He shot me a questioning look as I started the truck.

“There's a coffee house that a number of Restorationists hang out at. I'm fairly hopeful that if Mr. Edgars is here, and he has ties to their movement, these folks will know him.” He narrowed his eyes, “And if they don't?” I heaved a sigh, “Hopefully its either because he didn't come here, or that he is not associated with the Restorationists. The other option would be they don't know him because he is linked to the more extreme members of their group.” He settled back and stared out the windshield. “That would be bad I'm guessing.” I gave a humorless laugh. “Bad would be an improvement.”

We headed off to a nicer neighborhood to meet up with a more refined class of scumbags. Maybe its my age catching up with me, but I cringe when I hear people talk about how a nice neighborhood like it is a shield against bad behavior. Most revolutionaries do their best recruiting in cafes and reading rooms that you won't find in the undesirable neighborhoods. At least on the bad streets you can usually tell who will try to kill you.