Page Nineteen: Just Average

The girl studied the man before her. Average. Not tall not short; neither slim nor fat; not hansom not ugly. Just average. The kind of person you meet everyday, and promptly forget you've met. 'Ideal Detective material', she thought, 'just blends in to the crowd'. She looked at where he was staring, and quickly covered her bare shoulder. He shifted and looked directly at her, then snapping out of a momentary dream, he gesticulated, almost randomly, his hands open and fingers splayed as if trying to pluck words out of the air. What had just passed, what ever it was, had completely thrown him, he was lost and did not know what to do or say. She watched him, unable to help, as he floundered. Finally, he swung his arms forward and gestured towards the chair,
     'Sit. Please sit.' As he said the words he sat down in his chair and the she followed suit, carefully sitting back, so the over large dressing gown kept her covered and the sight of her body did not disturb him further. Even sitting, he still looked troubled, his left hand came up to his face, his fingers tracing the lines on his furrowed brow. 'Sorry, I -'. His eyes went to the ceiling and he noisily exhaled. 'Look, erm, sorry, I never asked your name. I'm Philip'
     'I know, it was on your Licence. They call me Saffron.' She said, holding up a strand of damp magenta hair for him to see. ''Cos of my hair.'
     'Oh, you're a retro then.' He was visibly relaxing, slowly coming into sync. with the rest of the world. She glanced around the room. All of the furniture and decoration was antique (or pastiche), exquisite black and coloured lacquer in sharp geometric shapes. He had obviously spent a great deal of time and money recreating this look.
     'No, not really, it's a bit before my time. I saw an old poster once and liked it. You into Art Deco then?' He looked around the room before looking back at her and nodded. 'Is it a Bogart thing then?' He nodded again, slightly embarrassed, then lent forward and picked up his coffee. She reached for her cup and then sat back, craddling the warm cup in both hands. For a while they both gazed into their drinks, not saying anything. Eventually she spoke. 'I never saw who it was.' He shot her a quizzical look. 'This woman. I never saw her. I was selling mags near the Royal Theatre. The coin dropped into my tin, she didn't even stop for a mag. I couldn't even say it was a woman ~ it could have been a man.' He seemed to get cross at that, because he glared at her for an instant before taking a sudden interest in his coffee again. She was making him uncomfortable, and his erratic behaviour was making her feel uncomfortable too. 'Look, are my clothes ready? I should be going. I'm sorry I can't help you. If you get my stuff, I'll go.'
     'Sorry, er no, they're still in the wash. I've some women's clothes in the bedroom, you can take what ever you want.'
     'I don't think you're my size.' She said, watching him turn red as she started to giggle.
     'No, no. They're not mine, the belonged to a friend.' She raised an eye-brow and giggled some more. 'A lady friend.' She giggled even more, almost laughing. Then he must have realised she was teasing him, because he started to giggle with her. Within minutes they were both laughing out loud. With tears running down his face he finally managed to speak. 'I promised you something to eat. Why don't you get dressed, then we'll go out.' With the ice broken, she felt more at ease and the idea of food was tempting.
     'Or we could stay here and you could cook, or send out for a take-away, I don't mind.' He shook his head.
     'My cooking is okay for me, but I wouldn't inflict it on someone else. I know a great Mongolian, we could go there.' He stood up and held out his hand, which she took and he helped her up from the chair. He then lead her into the bedroom and showed her a wardrobe full of clothes. The wardrobe was meticulously laid out, with all the hanging garments protected in polythene bags and smaller items neatly folded in tissue paper and stacked on shelves. Boots and shoes with incredible heals stood in rows on the floor of the wardrobe. She picked one of the dresses and pulled it from its plastic protection to examined it. The cloth was unlike anything she had seen before, she draped it over her arm, the material looked like cotton, but flowed like silk. She could not believe how sensuous it felt. She checked inside the collar for a label, but there was not one. She looked at him in total amazement. 'They belonged to the woman who gave me the coin. It's called sommerfäden, it's supposed to be made from angel's breath and morning sunlight.' He offered by way of an explanation. She just had to try it on. She handed him the dress, while letting the dressing gown drop to the floor and stepped out of it. Philip held up the dress for her, now oblivious to, or at least unphased by, her nudity. It  slipped over her head and poured over her flesh like double cream. It was so shear and so light she had to look twice to make sure she was still wearing it and it had not simply slid over her body and fallen straight to the floor.
     'Wow! It's like I'm not wearing it.' She said in an incredulous tone. 'It's not see-through is it?' He shook his head as she spun round, peering over her shoulder, trying to look at her bum. He pointed to the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. At first she did not recognise the reflection. The dress transformed her from a waif to a woman, she could see the dress accentuating her curves without highlighting her bulges. Smoothing her hand over her flattened stomach, the touch was so sheer it was like she caressing her naked skin. She kicked her leg and watched the cloth billow like clouds and flow like mist. She had a million more questions, but doubted he would have any answers. So she bent down and searched through the shelves. 'What about underwear?'
     'Er.' He paused. 'She never wore any.' She looked up with a mischievous grin. That did not embarrass him.
     'Then I guess I won't be either.' And neither did that

…to be consumed. A trap! The Shadow fought the pull. Like a fly caught in resin, Each kick, Each fight, Pulling it deeper, Suffocating, Drowning. Like a soul, Caught in the Darqness, Thrashing madly, Clawing and scratching In panic. Then, The Shadow stopped fighting. Motionless. Hanging still. Frozen in amber. It could sense it was no longer sinking. 'Every action has an equal and opposite 'Reaction' Slowly and deliberately It started to swim With smooth fluid movements It began to rise, Rising, Through the Blackness, Rising up, Reaching towards The light of  The Waking Lands…

     ^The elderly couple to Rochelle du Pont's left jumped slightly as one of the large candle flickered briefly, some impurity in the wick causing it to momentarily burn brightly and then spit with a bright orange spark, before continuing to burn with its usual dull yellow light. They clutched each others hands tighter, the two young women to her right giggled. 'Amateurs' she thought to herself, 'Still, I'll have to speak to Maud about those cheap wicks.'. Without moving her head and through partially closed eyes, she scanned around the room. With the exception of Maud who was off in a world of her own (again) and the new girl who just smiled and nodded, everyone else kept glancing nervously at the red and white banded candles. 'Then again it does add to the atmosphere.' she concluded. After a dignified pause, Rochelle continued with the incantation.
     'Do you know Maud.' Rochelle would state later, after bidding everyone Goodbye, Safe-journey and Merry-part, as she sat in the parlor in silent communion with Maud, who will still be on planet-Maud, aided by the herbal pipe she kept sucking on. 'Something's not right.' She would reach out and top up her cup with steaming apple tea, then pile in three heaped spoon-fulls of sugar, making a hot sickly syrup to counter the healthy measure of brandy she will then add. 'I can feel it. I don't know what it is, but it's not right. We haven't had an attendance of that size since the eclipse. It takes a good earth-crisis to turn folk back to the old ways.' She would take a sip of tea, waiting for Maud to respond, before continuing. 'And that new girl's spooky, did you see her aura? Have you ever seen a blue that dark? What do they call it?'
     'Indigo.' Would be Maud's single contribution to the conversation. Following that there will be a long period of silence. Rochelle in deep contemplation, Maud away with the faeries.
     'Still having those cat-dreams?' Maud will nod and suck on her pipe. 'See, it's not right.' But before then, Rochelle must finish the incantation and then serve tea and cake to the gathering, before sending them on their way.

…the Shadow surfaced in the alley. It's only thought for retribution. The putrid wretch had gone, or had never been there, just a manifestation by the Sphinx to bait the trap. Enraged with unfettered anger, the Shadow rose into the night sky, the clouds spitting bolts of lighting at the negative energy created. The Shadow roared back with thunder, shaking the clouds, causing them to panic and release their load in a torrent of rain over the city…

Poised in the center, the spider felt a vibration in the web. It waited a while, balancing the vibrations as they traveled up its legs. Left side, third leg. It spun around by 135 degrees and ran off in the direction of the trapped fly.