Barb opened it and smiled, pulling out the holstered H K 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 Affective 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 on the other 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.”
Chapter Three
It took Barb fifteen minutes to haul her bags into her room and they just about filled it. She pulled out the dresses and hung them up, then unpacked the bags as she contemplated the schedule booklet that had been in her room. Registration opened at 5:30, then there was a “Get Together” in the Philosophy Center. There were two seminars in the evening: Advanced Demonic Identification and Cabalistic Symbols: They’re Not Just For The Bad Guys.
Her schedule had helpfully been marked up by someone, with certain seminars highlighted. She had a full schedule for tomorrow, starting with “Introductory Demonology” and running through “Introduction to Pan-Theology.” But other than registration and the get-together, which apparently was when dinner would be served, she didn’t have anything marked for today.