Chapter 14

Not unexpectedly, we were early. I'd budgeted a bit too much time for traffic, and there hadn't been that much of it. The beep of the motion detector drew Bill's eyes to us, but he was busy with a couple of skinny boys who were purchasing some sort of gaming cards. He waved at us, pointed at our room, and took a moment to stare at Chris.

"You shouldn't have removed quite so many freckles, sweet," I whispered to her, not entirely jokingly.

"Ooops," she didn't sound too repentant. "What do we tell them?"

"Uhmmm... you found an expensive treatment on the web, checked it out, and 'convinced' me to finance it. If they're laughing about me being pussy whipped, they won't consider it too deeply. For all I know, such a treatment might actually exist. As a convenient side effect, your complexion is perfect. No, say 'improving'."

She advanced on me, pressing herself against me, an unfamiliar twinkle in her eyes, and whispered breathily in my ear, "And are you?"

With Chris nuzzling into my neck, teeth nipping, soft breasts and erect nipples crushing against my arm, I had trouble replying for a moment.

"This might not be the best time and place to try out your feminine wiles," I managed to whisper back, as a cough sounded out from behind. I repressed the instinctual swivel, and Christine, to my surprise, did not disengage. She merely took her mouth away from my skin and looked sideways, so she could see, standing to my side as I turned.

Jon and Veronica had entered the room, and their attempts to stifle their smiles were less than successful. Veronica started complimenting Chris on her clothes, and they started the 'girl talk' ritual, not so subtly excluding anything male. I nudged Jon over to a corner, and mentioned the need to talk business.

I drew out the list I'd prepared, and asked him if he could get his hands on gemstones of the exact specifications noted therein. He looked at it, and with my nodded permission made notations on the side of the paper.

"Yes, I can probably manage it all. It'll be very expensive," he warned me after a couple of minutes, deliberately not looking at the laughter emanating from the women. "What I can't see is why you'd need just the gems," he seemed puzzled.

"Now that would be telling tales," I smiled, drew out a billfold and handed it to him. "That should serve as an advance. How soon can I have them? Send a courier to my place with the stones, and I'll pay you the balance on the following Saturday. If that's all right with you?"

"Yes, yes, that's fine," he smiled graciously, already thinking about dodging the tax. Cash opens many doors. "I'm not sure about the turnaround for the order, for something like this. Nobody's ever ordered pure gems. Maximum is around fifteen days, if they have them in stock, I can probably send them over on Wednesday. Send them where?"

I wrote my address down on the paper.

Jon started counting the bills, and lost his place when Matt and Trina entered the room, surreptitiously stuffing the billfold in a pocket as he greeted them. "How much is it?" he asked me sotto voce.

"Twenty kay. Let's sit down, I need to start setting up," I nodded at my laptop.

People were starting to trickle in, and shortly everyone was present. Surreptitiously, I activated Wizard Sight, and we began.

It was different. I felt a great deal more confident and much calmer. Being able to see their auras, while not true telepathy or empathy, allowed me some hint of whether they were enjoying the play, bored, thoughtful or merely pretending. The flow of words, counters and dice was somehow smoother, and everyone noticed that when Chris and I spoke, there was a sort of synchronicity. We didn't stumble over each other's words, stopping and speaking in a subtle choreography that drew admiring glances. I hadn't noticed, before, how much truly in tune we were. Matt looked flabbergasted, still shaking his head ten minutes after the inadvertent display.

Then it was Matt's turn to run our Exalted game, and he was slightly distracted, which allowed us to double and triple-team him, getting a bit more out of the session than he'd probably planned. The fill ins for extras and enemies, courtesy of Trina's group, were pressed rather hard, but managed to acquit themselves in an admirable fashion.

The traditional after-game lunch was somewhat subdued, even more so after Chris and I ordered triple our usual intake.

"He's working you that hard?" David laughed awkwardly at Chris. I wondered how it was that no one had thought to mention the change in Christine's appearance.

"Oh, is he ever," Chris groaned in an obvious bid for sympathy. "The maniac is trying to cram ten years' of instruction into a month. He decided we needed to learn how to kick ass, so..."

"We?" Kevin asked, pointedly.

"Oh, me and Kristen, my best friend. She was sort of molested, and they probably know where she lives, so I convinced him to let her move in. His place is just enormous! And so nice," Chris gushed ever so enthusiastically, and started describing my parents' place, pausing every now and then to spear a bit out of her salad.

"Anyway, about the need to kick ass?" Ronald interrupted. He didn't seem too entranced with hearing about yet another dream home.

"Oh, yes, he brought in a girl from his martial arts class, and they're drilling us incessantly. No mercy. I hurt all over, what with the sheer brutality. I don't want to think about how much weight I've lost."

The main course was on its way to our table, and everyone started to dig into the sinful masses of dead cow flesh, after a brief look of disbelief thrown at the last portion of Chris' statement. A teenaged girl, complaining about losing weight?

"Why so brutal?" Veronica asked me.

"Well, I think it's a military saying, but the best way to go about it is to train like it's real, and treat the real thing like it's practice. Training is supposed to be as much worse than the real thing as we can make it without actual injuries, so that when it comes to actual fighting, it'll be a breeze."

"Sounds logical," she nodded, "but not very nice."

"Neither is 'molestation'," I could feel my lips curl as I looked her in the eye, "and if more girls were trained, there might not be room for any."

That put a damper on conversation for a while.

"You know," Kevin turned to look at me, "you were much better today, than usual. Did you put some extra time into the preparations?"

That set Chris to giggling, and she answered the question for me, "No, he didn't. We didn't give him any time to prepare, and he's teaching Mickey, the girl from martial arts I told you about, how to run his business, on top of his classes. He spent the morning cooking, actually baking some cakes. Real good ones, too! I just think he's more relaxed, so it went through more smoothly. He already remembers everything, since he wrote it all originally, and he's got enough stuff prepared for the next fifteen years, so," she shrugged, "there wasn't any actual need to prepare anything."

The conversation went in another direction, politics this time, and since I'd barely kept up with events, there was time to eat. Christine likewise kept busy with the excellent food. It wasn't long before we were replete, leaning back in our seats.

"So, does he cook better than this?" Veronica inquired of Chris.

"Oh, lots better," Chris replied instantly. "This is good, but plain. There's nothing special about it, other than the quality of the meat. Logan cooks more exotic, Indian, Chinese, Thai, Mexican, some really hot stuff, some pretty weird looking stuff, but so, so good. Mickey's also pretty hot in the kitchen, you should have seen how they worked together yesterday. I'd feel like unskilled labor, except I didn't have to do any work," she sounded smug about it.

"I'm sure I could find some grunt labor just for you," I responded. "Weeding the garden, cleaning the pool," I ducked the toothpick she tossed my way, "spit shining the floor and the toilet with a toothbrush," I added to general laughter.

To everyone's surprise, Christine was the one to sign the check this time, casually tossing her spanking brand new credit card onto the tray, looking cool as can be.

"I don't remember," Matt said slowly, "you having a credit card. Or am I missing something, dear daughter?"

"Nope, you're still as sharp as a spoon," Chris beamed at him. "Logan got me a card, for incidentals. And a bike like his, so I could go looking for incidentals. He doesn't seem to like shopping," she added just the right note of amazement to her voice, cracking everyone up. Even I had to laugh at that.

"So he's wining and dining you properly?" Veronica nodded in comradely fashion.

"Actually, no wining. The only alcohol I've seen is for cooking. When I asked what's a girl to do for a drink, he offered me some awful smelling cleaning supplies."

"Poison is poison," I said. "In chemistry for 5^th grade, we drew up the molecule for alcohol. Look it up. Alcohol poisoning is simply a kinder name for a drug overdose. In fact, the term alcohol poisoning is redundant because the drug, ethyl alcohol or ethanol, is a toxic substance in and of itself. A more accurate name is alcohol overdose."

"Now, that seems a bit extreme," David frowned at me.

"No, it's merely accurate. The liver can detoxify most of it, depending on quantities, but it's still a poison and a drug. But then again, oxygen is also poisonous, in a way," I smiled at him, "so don't worry about imbibing, as long as you moderate the intake. Everyone dies eventually, so you might as well enjoy what time you have. I simply abhor the taste, so I don't keep any. I think my parents have a few bottles of champagne or something of the sort, but raiding their stores is out of the question."

"And everyone's always moaning about how awful teenagers are today," David shook his head, and the older folk exchanged looks, as did Chris and I. Very different looks.

"Logan is not a typical teenager," Matt remarked, "and I'm pleased to say that neither is Chris."

"Of course, Logan can be just awful. Awfully annoying," Chris added helpfully.

"Right. I'll just do the polite thing, and let y'all talk about me behind my back," I stood and walked away for a visit to the bathroom, still astonished that I'd more or less managed the southern accent on the y'all. At least, it hadn't sounded ridiculous to my ear. All the practice with twisting my vocal chords around unpronounceable incantations was paying unexpected dividends.

I took my time in the bathroom, and as anticipated, only Matt and Chris were waiting for me, outside the restaurant. Chris was chattering away about the upcoming shopping trip and the stores she was going to raid. A wonderful deflecting tactic. Joining them, I just nodded and let my eyes glaze as Chris discussed fabrics and sizes, and the best colours for a redhead or what would fit Kristen's skin tone.

"So, ahem," Matt broke in. "Are you taking proper precautions?" he blurted out.

My mouth just hung open, but Chris came to the rescue. "Daddy, we haven't had sex. Not yet," she managed a faint smile.

"And you won't be a grandfather until and unless Chris wishes it so," I managed to add.

Matt managed to collect himself. "What are your plans?"

"Well, I'm committed to another year of highschool, and I'll make sure I'm not alone there. Chris is much too smart to waste more than another year in that institution. We'll finish our degrees, using remote study, rather quickly. After that?"

"In regard to each other?" Matt clarified.

Oh. A sticky subject. I'd sort of planned on never getting married, but... "What do you think of marriage, Chris?"

"Marriage?" she bit her lower lip, eyes downcast for a moment. Raising her head, she looked resolute. "I don't," she shrugged.

"I quite agree. Religious or civil ceremonies just don't mean anything to me. We don't need anyone or anything chaining us together. We are together, and that's not going to change."

Christine's reaction and the complete lack of mention of her mother were glaring warnings that something was not right there. I'd noticed the matter before, but not really paid attention. Perhaps Kristen would have something to contribute on the subject, before bearding Chris.

Matt opened his mouth, but Chris preempted him, "And now it's your turn to tell us how we're just 15, and we can't possibly understand what we're saying, we're too young to commit... right?"

Doing a remarkable fish impersonation, Matt closed his mouth, opened it again, and breathed out audibly. "Ahem... yes. You are, you know."

"Possibly," I admitted without, for once, insisting on accuracy and mentioning my actual age of 16, "but we feel like 'home' when we're together. And you never know what you're really getting when you commit, right?" I shot him a piercing look.

He clutched his hair, turned his face away, and sighed deeply. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation," he shook his head.

"That makes two of us," I admitted, "but do you really think Chris is going to regret anything about this? That's the question you need to answer."

Chris opened her mouth to speak, but I motioned her to silence, and we let him think, standing there in stillness.

Finally, he spoke.

"No, I don't think I'm going to stand in your way. Whatever your chronological age, you're more adult than most adults, Logan. And I want Chris to be happy, and I've never seen her happier. Of course," he smiled at us, "I'm sure your parents might have something to say on the subject. And really, Chris, why so much makeup?"

She rolled her eyes at the non-sequitur, and invited him to touch her face to see if there was any makeup there, whatsoever.

"See?" she crowed at his expression, "It's all painted on, and I lost quite a few of those awful freckles. It's a new treatment I found on the net, they..."

Chris fed him the line I'd given her, and he seemed to swallow it whole. Matt wasn't quite metrosexual, and his interest in skin smoothing techniques and face paint was subzero. Fortunately for us.

The fact that he was so willing to have his fifteen year old daughter move in with me for the foreseeable future raised the stink factor of her home situation to a new level. I hadn't really considered the matter, last week, not thinking to look a gift horse in the mouth — but the magical influence theory held no water here, and it was more than just unusual. I was no longer sure that sticking my nose into the matter was wise — having Chris with me was all I really cared about. Investigating might stir up wasps. If her mother wanted to deal drugs, or whatever, it was no longer any of our business. Later, when we had real power, I'd nudge Chris into 'rescuing' her father — if I learned that things were as I presently assumed them to be, and he deserved rescuing. I'd learned enough by now, the hard way, to be wary of acting on assumptions and impressions. Taking an extra effort to learn for certain was important.

"Anyway, daddy, we really have to scoot and rescue Kristen. She's with her parents, and the poor thing must be a nervous wreck by now."

"Right," he answered, bemused, "go ahead and 'scoot'."

We took him at his word and hurried over to the car, Chris digging out her phone and calling Kristen. She spoke with her all through the ride, chattering away. I didn't truly listen in, but I got the sense that she was quite relieved at gaining what was tantamount to open permission for an indefinite stay. Which presented yet another problem — how were we going to get the same for Kristen? I couldn't think of anything short of blackmail or threats of physical violence, and I wasn't sure even that would work. Simple words wouldn't be enough, and I didn't think there was any chance of 'buying' her away. Parents tend to cling — at least, the good ones do — and I'd seen nothing to make me think there was anything wrong with Kristen's pair. Getting them used to the idea of Kristen staying with us, in the interim, was a good first step, but it wasn't enough. Changing her school to mine — ours, with Chris — might help. With bureaucratic inertia and a bit of pressure, they'd never manage to change schools back, however loud they screamed. Perhaps my parents, assuming they were brought up to speed, could help?

Certainly, we'd have to discuss the matter, but there were too many things to deal with. It would simply have to wait. Actually, perhaps signs of stalking by the soon to be non-existent rapists would work. If they had to send her away for her own safety... it should work.

We picked Kristen up — she was waiting for us on the street, perhaps betraying her 'role' of supposedly scared. She was hyped, as her greeting kisses showed — plenty of passion.

"The folks didn't even recognize me, at first!" she just about shouted into my ear. "It was so great! My brother, Curt, is visiting from college, and he actually whistled when he saw me!" she preened.

I held her close, and tilted her chin, making a show of examining her face. "Well... ," I delayed the verdict, "you do look wonderful. And Kris, you'll only get better. Best get used to whistles and lewd proposals, as you'll be getting a lot of both."

Appearances are such a big deal, that a lecture concerning how they no longer mattered to us was out of place, and insulting besides. It would take her decades, if not centuries, to learn that how she looked didn't matter when she could assume any appearance she fancied. Social conditioning couldn't be shed so easily. I felt that the outside nowadays mattered more than the contents, in almost every field. Nor was I immune to the disease — ugly and fat was repulsive, beauty and style attractive. Looking beyond the surface was very difficult, requiring both discipline and motivation. Or possibly, a good nature.

Kris opened her mouth to demur, but stopped before saying anything. "Oh, right. You know, every girl wants to be beautiful, to be noticed. But it's sort of scary, coming true like that."

"Really, Kris, you're being ridiculous," Christine laughed softly. "Scary is elementals trying to rip you apart. Don't forget that you don't have to be more beautiful than you're comfortable with — we'll be regular shapechangers in a few short months."

"Easily," I nodded, "you'll see. It's going to come to us much more quickly. Our progress won't be geometric, I assure you, if not quite logarithmic. Today, you're breaking the first circle of life. After the shopping — and this time I'm budgeting five hours for that, so you should be able to get most anything you need — I'll cast two second circle spells for the first time. One is the basic healing spell, which will allow me to draw on all your energies. The second is the spell that affects the intellect. It doesn't make one smarter, per se, just faster. Much, much faster, and aids in recollection. I'll maintain it for the entire evening, and we'll start learning really, really fast. Tomorrow, we'll take a short vacation from study, rest and let our bodies heal. We've been putting some serious stress on the system, and Chris, you really have lost some weight, and not to exercise. We can't allow ourselves to fall apart. Once we're a bit more settled, after we deal with my parents on Monday, we'll start a routine of study, exercise, martial arts and magical work."

"And sex. We need lots of sex," Chris added, and Kristen choked out a gasp.

"Right, I'll be sure to schedule that in," I responded drily.

"Well, you do need to practice that spell," Chris replied smoothly.

"Spell? What does that have to do with anything?" Kristen asked, bewildered. "I thought we were waiting for the ritual?"

"Oral sex is still sex, Kris," Chris grinned, "and Logan needs looooots of blowjobs. He needs to master spellcasting when fucking," she was being deliberately crude, I could see by cast of her face. "You see, when he's got it buried deep and begins to... ," I swerved sharply, as a crazy driver tried to cut me off.

"Christ, Chris, shut the fuck up!" Kristen wailed. "He obviously can't concentrate on driving when you're talking sexy. All the blood goes to the other head, or something. Just don't!"

"Ohhh, is wittle Kwisten embawassed?" Chris mocked her.

"Hey, no cat fighting in the car!" I said sharply, as I was sure that Kristen's reaction would be physical. "That's likely to result in an accident, for certain." I suddenly recalled all the times I'd fought with my sister, mostly good naturedly, before her bitch from beyond the pole phase, in the back seat of the car. Feeling like the parent was... distinctly odd. Especially considering the circumstances.