[Holbrook]

The fairy sits on the rear view mirror, feeling the vibration of the windscreen wipers, she beings to hum, her voice dropping a few octaves, becoming rich and rounded.

Sometimes the river flows but nothing breathes.
A train arrives but never leaves.
It's a shame.
Oh life - like love that walks out of the door,
of being rich or being poor.
Such a shame.
But it's then, then that faith arrives
to make you feel at least alive.
And that's why you should keep on aiming high,
just seek yourself and you will shine.

Oh no... hold onto anything loose. ,"Matt mutters.

"Why? Sandra asks, "That's a damn good impression of Heather Small."

The fairy winks and points at Matt's window; it starts to roll down as they move slowly, barely walking pace. They were caught in the rush hour traffic, inching close to the sidewalk.

"I am getting wet!" Matt tries to force the window closed. The glass groans but refuses to move.

The fairy ignores him and continues to boom out her song

You've go to search for the hero inside yourself,
search for the secrets you hide.
Search for the hero inside yourself
until you find the key to your life.

"Huh?" A woman with a small boy in tow says as she keeps pace with the car.

In this life, long and hard though it may seem,
live it as you'd live a dream.
Aim so high.
Just keep the flame of truth burning bright.
The missing treasure you must find

The fairy takes a bow, Sandra claps, Matt growls and the rear door pops open.

"Get in woman, you are getting soaked." The fairy says as she buzzes past Matt's ear and lands on the little boy's head, carefully avoiding his grasping hands.

[kater]

Oh great a kid messing up my car, what happened to it being just a woman, I didn't get all sherberty over him. Still he is a good looking lad, kinda reminds me of me, or not, but nostalgia is a disease aswell you know. So now we have three of our merry band of ....... err magickers. She's tutting before I even finish the thought, I feel about four right now.
"Sorry mummy."
The new comers stare at the demented old man, my car has become a zoo, the kid pets me just to make it official. Luckily we pass on admonitions of sarcasm and she skips to the good stuff.
"I think introductions are in order."
I raise one hand off the wheel "Matt McDonaHugh, magick tracker extraordinaire."
That raises an eyebrow with the mother, she looks more than a little perplexed, and worried.
"How did you know?"
I hike my thumb in the general direction of the fairy.
"Oh, ......oh I, a fairy"
It sinks in. Fairy to the rescue.
"Don't worry dear, its ok I am your buddie."
Perplexion hits defcon 6.
"I have been sent to aid you, Matt, and several others with your powers."
"But I only just got them."
"Actually you only just used them, they become activated at certain levels of stress caused by an event relative to your ability, you needed to heal your son but with no aid around, your powers have been with you longer though."
A revelation, the first of many no doubt.
"I'm glad you removed the tattoo's to dear, your are too pretty for that sort of thing."
Lifestyle advice aswell, she should start a column. The poor girl looks flustered, she strikes me as being strong-minded but this would be too much even for someone tripping the light fantastic.
The passenger seat speaks again, almost causing me to play bumper cars with an oncoming Dodge Ram, the groups first field trip would have had a rather final destination there.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Sandra Haretan."
I snigger inwardly and receive an unsubtle eye-balling, Sandra obviously has good radar by now, bloody telepathic women why can't I have cool powers. Bet its a gender thing again, oh boy if magick trackers ever get a union mine will hear about this.
"I'm Emily, Emily Powers and this is my son Evan."
This just gets better.
A double take in the rear mirror reveals Emily to be quite attractive, shabby blonde hair and a face edging towards masculine but strong features and proud. Yeah thats what it is, not pretty but even sitting down she carries herself well, I may actually like her though not if her son keeps doing his mountaineering impression on my back seat.
I wonder.
"So what's everyone's powers....... I mean abilities." House trained already.
"That doesn't matter for now." The voice is the same high, whimsical melody but the tone is hard, tight, commanding.
I never know when to quit, makes life a challenge.
"Sure but we'll get to the end and then you'll say 'oh by the way' and thats when its too late."
"You can wait."
Story of my life.

[Holbrook]

"I need just one more... just one more..." Joe whispers as he thinks hard on the tumbers in the lock. He can feel them moving, sliding along. Click! Yes Joe beams as he mentally opens the wall safe.

Joe is sitting on the outside of the closed window the nose pressed against the cold wet glass. The safe is on the far wall. The picture that hid it is carefully balanced mid air, not in range of any sensors. Joe has mentally tagged them as his mind went walkabout in the room. The safe door is open and Joe is rummaging around inside. Mentally that is. Snap! Open comes the jewel case. Out comes the neckace, rings and other trinkets.

Then it is just like a scene from a Disney film; the jewels parade into the openfire place up the chimney and out into the rain, the dull sun reflecting off the wet diamonds.

This is the hard part; the jewels now, as the tumbled across the roof, are just on the edge of Joe's range. He is sweating, trying to hold the picture up and the bring the jewels down safely into his grubby hands. "shite," he swears, he is losing the damn jewels they are tumbling off towards the guttering on the roof, skittering down the wet tiles, frightening a lone crow and it pixie rider.

Decision time, set the alarm off and grab the jewels, lose the jewels... hell there is no choice as far as Joe is concerned. The picture drops; setting off an dozen or more silent alarms. Joe tightens his grib on the jewels bring them in faster than the shuttle on re-rentry and snap they are in the cracked leather bag at Joe's feet. He grabs the bag and is off, sprinting as fast as his long legs can carry him through the garden.

He can hear voices now and growls, loud growls. Joe pushes back his mass of black hair and narrows his eyes, giving his 19 year old face the lines he will have in later life. "bye... bye... doggie..." Joe laughs as the dog is paddling mid air, whining and losing control of it bowels.

Joe is now over the wall at the far end of the garden and into the alley behind. Problem. There is a car sitting there, the various shaped contents of which are looking right at him.

[Hereford Eye]

It was a routine break and enter. Been doing this most of my life starting as a game when I was six or seven and then learning you can make a living at it. Always been good at getting into places other people didn’t want me to be.
This night, got into a grocery store, was down in the basement when all hell broke loose. Wasn’t anything I did; was competent enough to not set the fire alarms off anyway. But they went and I was stuck in the basement. Didn’t want to get busted running from a fire so I sat tight. Okay, wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done and almost paid the ultimate because of it.
Pretty soon that fire was raging, big time, three alarm and I’m sitting under it with the sprinkler system keeping me cool at first but then it stops. Smoke, heat, everything bad building.
All of sudden I can see this reservoir with all the water I need. I can see it and I can feel and I can reach out
And bring some to the pipes feed the sprinkler and that fine little mist starts spraying again. I sit out that fire in relative comfort not counting the wet clothes. The firemen start busting their way into the cellar so I move a few things around to help them, distract them. It’s easier moving things around when all you have to do is think about it. Once I moved that water I saw how its done. Been moving things around ever since.
Until now.
A car load of freaks demanding I join them. What’s the options? Look at this group. Driver is older than sin and the front seat passenger ain’t far behind him. The chick in the back seat is getting on in years as well although better preserved than the others. And a four year old!
That just leaves the fairie hanging in front of my face looking all concerned. Whoever is doing costumes for fairies these days is high on something. She is a mess. This is the freakiest looking fairies I’ve ever seen. Okay, so it’s the first fairie I’ve ever seen; she’s still freakie!
I pride myself on getting to the point so I do: “What the f**k is going on?”
“Watch your god damned mouth!” the chick says and I can see her son is getting the finest kind of upbringing. Little boy says loud enough to wake the city: “What the f**k is going on?” Not once, but a dozen times. Like me, he thinks it’s a cool way to get to the point.
Little fairie person hustles back to old coot. “One more,” she says which gets the car moving, the old guy cussing and the rest of us no wiser than we were before.

[kater]

Matt

One more she says, one more! No-one mentioned needing a bus or that I'd be a taxi driver for a collection of 'people', term used loosely, that would make the most hardened football supporters think twice. Now this foul-mouthed braggart. And still one more to come! I'm glad to have a seat of my own and no kid climbing over me swearing vociferously, much to the chagrin of his mother who seems to have recovered from the seeming impotentcy of her situation, in fact she seems positively pissed, could be some good fireworks.
"Evan be quiet now baby."
"What the f**k is going on.........."
"EVAN! shush up for mommy now please."
Please was a nice touch if utterly redundant, the tears well up quickly, a human roman candle waiting for a light.
The other 'kid' seems impressed with his perversion of the child, he'll have a big red palm print tattoo on his cheek unless he's more subtle.
'Slap'
Too late.
Its an impressive noise even by wrasslin standards, my car becomes a morgue, the fairy being the only one showing anything other than rigor mortis. Her and the roman candle exploding spectacularly. She flits about the car ceiling looking not even mildly disturbed, I'd even dare to say amused.
A study by the UCLA biology department showed that at times of quiet or avoidance where an event is being purposefully ignored or there is no event of importance being processed, analysed or interacted with by the upper levels of consciousness, that it is the sub-conscious which throws its random contents into the game, giving its brethren something to do. Outcome, I don't know the fairy's name. Could be a corpse-breaker.
"What is your name?"
I am bestowed with a seemingly genuine smile by the miniature enchantress, reality is such a hard thing to believe but its perception that counts, I count it.
"It took the last group quite a while longer to ask, thanks Matt, its Ghanima."
The upper levels are having a ball, forcing randomness to conform to logical deduction.
"Last group?"
"Why yes, the last time magic came to the fore in your species you killed it off, it was about 300 years ago I believe."
Historians are very clever, so they say at least, each chapter is attributed a quotation to sum up possibly decades of events. I know the quotation for the event she speaks of:
“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil,
as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.”
1 Peter 5:8
"I would count," she goes on,"our other such interaction with your species but it was rather one-sided, though you did get fire from it. That one was a good 75,000 years ago give or take fifty."
Another revelation, the bookies have closed on the number reaching biblical proportions before however this ends.
Ghanima puts her warden of the zoo cap on.
"Now you will all act decently to each other, Joe no more foul language, Emily calm down, I will explain all in a while, Matt here is the next person."
More sherbert.
It wasn't Guy Fawkes but the veil of mystery has been lifted slightly, no more pretense of this being a social group.
Hope the next guy likes the boot.

[Hereford Eye]

Sandra’s thought is introspective, a feeling too many years of her life had been spent as second fiddle to Norman, his wife, his possession. He wasn’t evil or ugly, just wrapped up in his man’s world view of life. Norman finally had the decency to give it up and she’s on her own, liking it, and now this. This squirt little fairie bouncing around the car making like queen of the world, ordering Matt and the newcomers around as well. She thinks she is back in her old mode, just sitting, just waiting for the next instruction. This stinks!
She has a fleeting thought at the possibility of frying Ghanima. But, that’s not the answer. The answer is getting this thing over with, whatever this thing is. Young lady looks a solid citizen. Nice little boy she is raising. Young man looks typical, on his way to being a typical male in this typical world. Sandra wishes she had some say in who joins this group. She also wishes they stop to eat soon; it’s been a long day with all the markings of beings a much longer day to come. She hasn’t had anything to eat all day.

[Hereford Eye]

The thoughts that accompany the slap are not lady-like. Emily is ready to bury this one with no second thoughts whatsoever. Evan is delighted with his new verbal Punch-Me-Elmo, settled down now that punk got slapped but still mumbling “what the f**k”” as if examining the phrase, looking for its magic. Evan’s never seen a grown man slapped before; it made a mighty impression.
Emily is pretty certain it made an equal impression on the punk. He hasn’t said a word, just sits there looking straight ahead, planning retribution. Men always plan retribution. Whatever this one’s power is will likely be employed at terrorizing Emily as soon as circumstances make it convenient. Emily is not overly concerned at what he might do believing her own power can mitigate most things but it won’t be fun. That’s the trouble with men.
The fairie is bossy as hell and getting away with it, just like slapping the punk. A woman brasses her way through and sometimes she succeeds and sometimes she doesn’t. Sooner or later, life catches up, evens the books. Emily wonders what punishment fits a faerie.

[Holbrook]

Ghanima sighed one more to get but first other things to do... in fact best get the "other things" done first....

"Make for Tipping Street, the industrial estate on the far side of town"

"Huh?" Matt replied trying to wipe the mist of the inside of his windscreen. The heater was failing to cope with four and a half, plus a fairy, semi wet bodies.

Thought you said we have another one to get?" Sandra asked rubbing her temple.

"We do... but later, first onto the freeway here." Ghanima landed on the steering wheel and yanked it to the left.

"Getta off" Matt thundered, but continued the turn across the traffic.

"Wheeeeeeeee...." Evan cried and started to clamber all over Joe.

"Get him offa me...."

Ghanima ignored them all and took up her station on the rear view mirror. The car picked up speed on the small section of freeway and the rain increased its pace too. Ghanima felt a song coming on.

Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm
Into this house we're born
Into this world we're thrown
Like a dog without a bone
An actor out on loan
Riders on the storm

"Oh no... "Sandra sighed.

"Oh yes..." Matt said.

"Old crock..."Joe huffed.

Ghanima continued to ignore them save for pointing to a large green warehouse standing among the other green warehouses on the left of Tipping Street.

The car chugged out side. Matt's window rolled down of its own accord and Ghanima sang out into the stormy evening.

There's a killer on the road
His brain is squirmin' like a toad
Take a long holiday
Let your children play
If ya give this man a ride
Sweet family will die
Killer on the road, yeah

She was answered by the next verse and the large roll doors opening.


Girl ya gotta love your man
Girl ya gotta love your man
Take him by the hand
Make him understand
The world on you depends
Our life will never end
Gotta love your man, yeah


"Wow!" Even commented as the car entered what looked like the film set of his favourite superhero show...


Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm
Into this house we're born
Into this world we're thrown
Like a dog without a bone
An actor out on loan
Riders on the storm

Ghanima was really belting out the song now as the four plus a half took in the scene before them.

Vehicles and equipment of all sizes and shapes filled the hanger like building even one the the government's latest fighter planes was tucked in a corner and the air buzzed with fairies.

Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm

Ghanima finished bowed to her "team" then flitted out the open window callings "Out, time to get kitted out, new vehicle, equipment etc... etc....."

"Something to eat" Sandra asked.

"Oh yes... Both Evan and I." Emily added.

"Not a bad idea..." Matt said, as he stepped out of the car.

"Yes... and that and rest... need rest before we go after the last one..

"What's with the punk?" Joe commented.

"Oh you will see..." Ghanima said and sang the first two lines again "There's a killer on the road His brain is squirmin' like a toad,"

"Oh brother" Matt said....

[kater]

Matt

Now normally this was where he'd draw the line, I mean fighter bombers, in a green warehouse, filled with faeries!!! Magic must be the new drugs. Wonder what the magical equivalent of viagra was like. Or not. There was something eerie about having your thoughts read, voyeuristic if you weren't the one on the end of it. Is it possible to shield one's thoughts from a being who assumedly has practised or had that ability since birth. Birth. I wonder what fairy babies look like. Save that for the Q&A session.
Ok here goes, shields up Mr Chekov. Thought one ....... launch:
**You are an annoying little witch**
"Well you ain't a whole bundle of fun either, you grumpy old git."

I canna do it Captain, I doo not have the puwer.
Damnit Scotty try, give me everything. Launch two.
**I'd like to squash you like a cockroach.**
"Cockroaches are Sandra's specialty."

Come on Bones, for the love of God, save him man. Launch three.
**Well I think you are the most repulsive, ugly piece of vermin I have ever seen.**
"What was that about vermin?"
We did it Jim, we did it.

Getting a chance to smile smugly has been a rarity, I bask in it, pulling mental faces at a confused looking Ghanima. Now what was that about food.

[Hereford Eye]

Joeis pretty sure this is a screwed up mess even with all the cool stuff laying around and all the damned fairies left in the world. Of course, the fairies are worse than gnats! They appear in front of your face, give you quizzical frown or humorous belch and off they go, gone before you can swat them. Joe isn’t good at by-standing, he’d rather being doing so he tries to shift this one over just a little, get it into the line of flight of that one. His efforts are rewarded by several very satisfying screams.
Joe does his innocent look, half whistling and looking into the air. Of a sudden he is swarmed, a million angry fairies clustered around him, a million angry little voices screaming their heads off. If the noise didn’t hurt so much he’d be laughing his ass off. As it is, he cannot hold back a big silly grin.
A million tiny fairies stop shouting, look at each other or a close approximation to looking at each other, then they return their attention to Joe. A million tiny voices chant: “one…..two….three!”
Joe is ceiling height, upside down, his feet seemingly nailed to the roof with a million tiny fairies swarming around him laughing their collective ass off. Joe does not see the humor in the situation. He also does not see a way to use his power to free himself. Yeah, his shoes seemed nailed to the ceiling but his shoes have no laces; they are equipped with sticky material stuff that refuses to unstick no matter how much he tries. The fairies, satisfied with their handiwork, flit off to resume the real task at hand.
“Ghanima!” his voice is as powerful as he can manage. It’s enough. Ghanima flits into view before his eyes although she is right side up and he isn’t.
“Yes, Joe, what can I do for you?”
“Get me down…..NOW!”
Ghanima considers the proposition as if it were a legitimate request, comes to a conclusion which she announces matter-of-factly: “I don’t believe you’ve learned your lesson, yet.” She disappears.
Joe screams her name again and again but Ghanima is busy elsewhere.
In a while, Joe stops screaming. It isn’t a short while nor a particularly long while but of sufficient length to be indicative that it is possible his brain has re-engaged. “Ghanima,” he calls softly.
Ghanima is there in an instant. “Yes?” she asks.
“I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
“And?”
“I won’t do it again.”
“And?”
“I think that covers everything, doesn’t it?”
“Very good start, Joe, but not enough. I’ll be back when you’re ready.”
“F**k you, bitch!” the young man yells at a faerie who isn’t there.