“Xiao?” James said, curiously.
“He would have been Augustus’ choice,” Sharice said, nodding definitely. “However, at the time, he was in the hospital. Otillia was in New Mexico, tracking down a manifestation of the Coyote that was spreading bubonic plague. Hertha was in Los Angeles, dealing with a pack of windigo. He might have pulled her off of the latter and set someone like, oh, Dartho or Virdigar on it. Probably would have if Barb hadn’t taken care of it for us. But those are the only three that I can imagine would have succeeded. And now, four,” she finished, looking at Barbara, calmly.
“But you must learn where your power truly lies. Often, the gods will give great power to the believer who is facing their enemies. But it is a capricious thing and it is likely you would not be given as much again, in the same situation. You are going to have to learn to hold it, to use it and to know its breadth and depth. This is something that is rare in Christians, this working with the Power of God. Finding just how much your White God will Gift you, and how. There is more than just the power to do harm. The gods can send understanding of the situation, healing, protection and even a touch of foresight. You need to learn your powers, all of your powers, their extent and form, then blend them into a whole.”
“I wish I had had healing,” Barbara said, sadly. “Kelly literally died in my arms. I wish that I could have…”
“In time, perhaps,” Sharice said, nodding. “There is that in you, I can feel it. You are a very nurturing person, which is the first step to being a Healer. You are a violent one as well. It is a dichotomy that is hard to manage. You do so by revealing the nurturer and hiding the killer. Turning a face of love to the world while the bloody hands rend at your heart. I would say you need to be careful of the bloody hands, but, truly, you must be careful of both. Sometimes our adversaries are tricky to a fault and they will seduce you through your nurturing side if you let them.”
Everyone seemed to have gotten a plate and was eating or already done when a man stood up from one of the tables and walked to the front of the room. He was unassuming, a bit tall, with brown hair and regular features, wearing a long purple ceremonial robe covered in golden stars. Barbara had been briefly introduced but could not for the life of her remember his name.
When he reached the front of the room conversation slowly drifted off and he raised his hands above his head ceremoniously.
“Let the Light shine upon this gathering,” the man said. “Let the Powers of Good guard us and our counsels. Let us feel joy for our triumphs and grieve for our fallen, knowing that the battle goes on and will go on as long as the stars shine and the sun burns. And let us come to know our fellows as warriors of the Light.” He paused and looked around the room, apparently picking out faces.
“We only have three new persons to introduce this time,” he said. “Hsu Hsiu and Jiao Hicheng come to us from Nepal.” He gestured to the two monks and they rose, bowing deeply. “Jiao Hicheng is the Kotan Lama and Hsiu his apprentice. They have traveled here to brief us on some of the more esoteric deities which are being seen in modern China and which we can anticipate will eventually start cropping up in the immigrant areas. I would like to thank them for coming all this way.” He bowed in return and there was a brief spattering of applause as the monks sat down.
“And then we have our newest warrior,” the man continued. “Barb? Could you stand up? This is Barbara Everette, everyone. Most of you know the story and if you don’t I’m sure someone will relate it. Suffice to say that Barb manifested powers of an order that flatly floored everyone in the leadership of the Foundation. She has agreed to join with us in our battle for the Light and against Darkness. She, unusually, is a Christian, but as firm a believer as anyone in this room and a kind and gentle lady. A wise and loving addition to our group. However, anyone who can blast their way through a room full of Maenad worshippers, kill a high priest and acolytes and then destroy and dispel an avatar of Almadu, is far more than a pretty face and a nice smile. Do not get on her bad side.”
Barbara blushed and waved to the scattered chuckles and applause and then gratefully sat down. As she did she caught what could only be called a baleful look from Dartho.
“Well, that’s all I have,” the man said. “You’ve got your schedules. The highlighted panels are only suggestions, feel free to sit in on any that you prefer. There’s a previously unscheduled worship service for the Wicca contingent on Friday, that being the night of the gibbous moon. Sky clad is optional.”
With that he simply walked back over to his seat and the conversations started again.
Barbara touched Sharice on the arm and frowned when the woman turned to her.
“Would it be… unwelcome if I went over to talk to Janea?” she asked, diffidently.
“Mother of All, child,” the woman said, smiling. “That’s what this evening is for. Go! I could see that you two bonded.”
She covered the move by putting her plate with the other dirty dishes and getting another glass of wine. She usually only had one but she figured she could handle two if she nursed the second one. Then she wandered towards the Asatru delegation.
Two of the men were clearly drunk, roaring out an off-key song that had something to do with making people die. Several of the others, slightly less inebriated, had joined in. Janea was talking with a bear of a man, big, blond, bearded and hairy to the point that his back hairs were sticking through the weave of his light tunic. Barb came over and sat down, not interrupting.
“… wondered if we’d ever find it,” the man said. “The manifestation wasn’t a shape-shifter, but it was very good at make-up and it was stalking the costuming parties so it just looked like… a made-up human being.”
“What about the feet?” Janea said, frowning. “Its feet were reversed.”
“It had a prosthetic on that made it look as if it had clubbed its ‘normal’ feet and the others were for show,” the man said, shrugging and taking a drink of beer. “Of course, when the tac-team blew in the door, they were in big trouble. I’d warned the Special Agent that bullets weren’t going to hurt it.”
“Iron,” Janea said, frowning again in thought. “Fire. Cold steel?”
“Cold steel,” the man said, half drawing his sword. “One thrust, a jolt of power and it dispelled. Badly injured one of the tac-team members. Fortunately, it was HRT and they more or less expected it. They hadn’t been briefed on its resistance and they really tore the special agent a new one.”
“I still haven’t had a live one.” Janea sighed theatrically, then brightened, putting on the face of a little girl. “But the year is young!” she added with a giggle.
“You will,” the man said, turning to Barbara and grinning. “Just like the woman of the hour.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Barb said, firmly. “I’m here to learn. I’m learning just listening. What was it you were fighting?”
“A Tikoloshe,” the man said, shrugging. “South African. Preys on women, but most of the various demons do. It had been haunting rave clubs in the Baltimore area, probably summoned or brought by one of the immigrant witch doctors. We finally found its lair and, well…”