Zydeco was the only movement in the rover, leaning forward to stare at the GPS screen. She never spoke, and Mac wasn't sure what to say, though he had loads of questions to ask. His top most one being: what had happened inside the 57 club?

     Yet from their stunned and sad expressions, he gathered the events were not ones to be remembered soon, or given voice just yet. He could be patient, if in the end he suspected he would be told what he desired.

     Shifting in his seat, he leaned his head from left to right, his neck muscles cramped and stiff. The muscles from his shoulders to his fingers ached from the exertion placed on them while peeling out of the club's parking lot. He'd had to crack his knuckles twice while driving. Mac hoped where ever their destination it would have aspirin.

     And coffee. I really want some coffee.

     Since he held no precognitive ability and had no Rote to tell the future, Mac turned his thoughts toward those sharing the Rover with him. Oz and Zydeco were easy to understand, their lives and attitudes built on them evident. These two worked well together and told the truth as they saw it. As to what their purpose was - who knew?

     About the others...he had only speculation.

     The Shaman...his silence held condemnation, though for who or what Mac didn't know. He guessed this man to be a Dream Speaker. He didn't know why, it just seemed right. Mac had had no experience with their Tradition and wasn't sure what their dictum was.

     The Dream Speaker's companion sat in his lap, her head on his shoulder. His own gaze searched the passing scenery - or what there was visible of it. Though Mac suspected the Shaman could see things traveling about in the desert wild no one else could. Things I can only imagine.

     The 'crout and his companion still looked ill. Almost bewildered, as if they couldn't believe what had happened to them. The bond's eyes were closed, and his female companion was leaned into his chest, her eyes also closed.

     In the back, Mac could just make out the head of the man in the Versace suit. He was reclined as well, his head bent toward Johnny's. The two were engaged in conversation. So not everyone's as quiet as I believed.

     Of the Verbena, Mac could see nothing.

     "What's that?" Kyle's voice was soft beside him in the passenger's seat. He pointed to something ahead of them along the road.

     Mac shook his head and looked down at the GPS, which gave no indication of what lay ahead. "I have no idea. It's bright, whatever it is."

     As he neared the light, the GPS began to ding softly. Mac glanced down at the LCD. The arrow now made a left turn...

     "Oh...you have got to be kidding me."

     Mac had no idea who said it, but he had to agree with them. Before them sat one of the most famous establishments in Nevada.

     The infamous Chicken Ranch.

     "We're not going into there, are we?"

     Again Mac wasn't sure who spoke, but he answered. "That's what the GPS is telling me."

     "Go ahead," Johnny said, and Mac glanced at him in the mirror. "If this is where they want us, we need to be here."

     We? They? He narrowed his eyes at the singer but said nothing. Johnny held his gaze even with Mac's in the mirror then gave a quick smile before looking away.

     Oh I really have a bad feeling about this.

The parking lot was as active as any hotel Mac had seen in town. Women and men mingled about, traveling in and out of the ranch style home with its triple arched front. He pulled the Rover around the side of the parking lot as a tall, statuesque blond, dressed in a shimmering blue gown, stepped out from the front and waved him over.

     With the door to the Chicken Ranch on the passenger's side, Mac put the Rover in park and shut the engine off. Doors immediately opened as stiff and tired passengers stepped out. Mac punched his seat belt release and gave a long sigh. He was tired again, though not plagued by the pain of a migraine. If he counted the hours of sleep he'd had since flying out that morning from Atlanta, they would fit on one hand.

     Here I am, sitting in the biggest damn SUV I've ever been in, just outside the Chicken Ranch in Nevada.

     Wow...my life's become a paperback.

     He turned to retrieve his ibook case, which had somehow found its way closer to the second seat floorboard, then stepped out of the Rover. Arching his back in a stretch, Mac stood by the driver's door as Oz and Zydeco herded the 'crouts out of the Rover and to the side. Oz kept his BFG trained on them with a mischievous gleam in his eye - almost as if to dare the soldiers into action.

     "Aurora!" Johnny came from around the Rover, his arms wide.

     The blond returned the hug and stepped to the side. "Johnny - you just keep getting better and better looking." She glanced at the group. "I see everyone made it out okay?"

     "No."

     Mac looked to his left at the 'crout who'd spoken. He seemed a mere wraith of the being he'd seen in the Tropics Lounge. Something nasty had happened to him and his companion inside the bar. No one seemed to pay him any attention.

     "Zydeco." Aurora nodded.

     Zydeco nodded back, but the interaction between the two was little more than what Mac would call 'polite'. Aurora's reaction to Oz was much softer.

     "Please, everyone. I'm Aurora Golden and I'm here assist you. A few of you I know," she smiled at Johnny. "Arden Vervain, Verbena and her ever present companion, Mark Devins, Celestial Chorus. A few of you I know of," she nodded to the Shaman, "Paul Ortega, Dream Speaker. And a few of you I have never met." She looked at Kyle. "Hollow one?"

     "Kyle," he nodded and shook her hand.

     Then she looked at Mac.

     Her gaze held an intense light, and though he felt an uneasiness from his own reaction to her scrutiny, he wasn't in the mood to be intimidated. She took a single step to him, her hand held out. "You I do not know, other than your Tradition." Her gaze slid from his face to the laptop case at his side. "Virtual Adept."

     Mac placed his hand in hers and was amazed at the warmth he found there. "Mac."

     "Mac," she nodded. "Simple. Always keep it simple." She moved away to the tall blond man in the Versace suit. "Mark...what's wrong with Arden?"

     He shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was deep and melodic. Almost intoxicating. "I'm not sure. Girl's been out of it since before all hell broke lose in the club."

     Mac looked at the brunette in his arms. She was leaning into the crook beneath his left arm, her own arms wrapped tightly about his broad chest. Her eyes were shut and her lips moved as if she were repeating a whispered spell of protection. What could she have encountered inside the club that would set off such a reaction? A part of him was glad that he had not witnessed what he was now beginning to suspect had been more than just a raid of Technocracy upon the Awakened.

     Aurora hesitated beside Mark, and then seemed to come to a decision not to touch the Verbena. Instead the statuesque blond turned her attention to the Dream Speaker. "Paul Ortega. I must admit to you I have not had the opportunity to read your latest book, though I have considered altering my schedule to attend your book signing tomorrow."

     He gave her a curt nod, storms in his dark eyes. "As do I."

     The woman beside Paul looked up at the blond and cleared her throat. "My name is Sarah. I work as Mr. Ortega's personal assistant."

     "Yes, you do." Aurora smiled and turned to face the 'crouts. "And you two..." she glanced at Oz. "I assume they've been successfully disabled?"

     Oz gave her a slow, toothy smile. "Completely. EMP'd their toys."

     Mac nodded to himself. That's what's wrong. I suppose if my head were full of electronics, it would have a similar effect. Good thing I wasn't nearby to have my own gear buggered.

     She nodded and took two steps to stand directly before the male. With a half smile pulling at her pink lips, Aurora reached up with the index finger of her right hand. The male began a hasty backward step, but was stopped by Zydeco who grabbed his arm and kept him in his place. The tip of Aurora's finger touched the center off the 'crout's forehead.

     Mac wasn't sure what to expect. Lightening? A loud pop? Nothing happened. Aurora frowned and pressed her finger to his head again.

     Instantly his body convulsed. He put his hands to his midsection and bent forward. The woman beside him touched his arm. "Nicholas?"

     Nicholas. It was such an ordinary name. Not one he'd expected to hear. What was I thinking he'd be called? Voltron or maybe Darth Void? Get a grip, Mac. It's obvious evil doesn't always look stereotypical. Look at this guy…he's a kid for crying out loud.

     Oz reached forward and put a hand on Aurora's arm. "I think you might better step back. I think he's gonna-"

     Nicholas bent forward and vomited, emptying out the contents of his stomach. Some of the brown and gray liquid splattered on Aurora's gown, as well as on his companion's shoes.

     "Pop." Oz said and gave a small chuckle. "Ole Techno-boy here ain't quite as tough now, is he?"

     Aurora stepped back. "Johnny...would you let my assistant know I'll be needing a new gown?"

     Johnny nodded started off around the Rover to the front door.

     "Please, everyone, follow me."

     Mac waited for the others to file into a line behind their host before moving away from the Rover. He fell in behind Paul and his friend Susan.

     The Chicken Ranch was everything and nothing he'd ever imagined. Because in truth, Mac had never given the place much thought. He knew of its existence as a peripheral of life, much as the average person knew of the Empire State building or the Eiffel Tower. Yet not all peoples had seen it up close and in person.

     The front steps led to a set of double doors that bled into a visage of Victorian splendor. The hard wood floors bore cloaks of wildly colored Indian weave rugs, Persian artistry that swallowed the more subtle colors of the satin and velour couches lining the walls. Couples and triples sat in and among this decor, oblivious to the beauty, their own machinations incongruent with their surroundings.

     Tiffany lamps, their dangling baubles of crystal and bead, illuminated the rooms as the group traveled behind their host and through the various caverns of affection and domination. Mac's mind reeled at the possibilities presented here, as women of ever persuasion and age, race and culture stepped toward him and laid their hands in his arms, chest and cheek.

     "Pretty..." one said as she touched him.

     "Very nice..." said another.

     "Anything you want, honey..." still another offered.

     Mac pulled away, a smile teasing the side of his mouth. Ahead Mark had paused for him to catch up. The tall stylish man said nothing but the expression on his face conveyed amusement.

     Aurora led them to a back room, complete with red and gold trimmed wallpaper. In the farthest corner sat an antique baby grand, a lovely redhead seated upon the emerald covered stool, her fingers casting lightly over ivory and obsidian keys. Mac couldn't place the melody. He was too enthralled with the surroundings.

     A long, gold embroidered chord hung beside a gold velour couch with gold tassels. Aurora gave the chord a single tug, and the wall in front of her slid to the left. Mac blinked, observing that none of the patrons or ladies in the room seemed to notice. Or cared.

     Aurora gestured for everyone to proceed her into the doorway. Mac took up the rear, just ahead of their host. Stairs greeted him immediately, winding down to the left, dimly lit by naked bulbs suspended above them. Another door halted them at the stairs termination and everyone waited for Aurora, who stepped around and opened them.

     "Whoa..." Mac was the last to step inside.

     The room was twice the size and ceiling height as the house above them. Where the Ranch itself was decorated in bordello gauche, this room was more ultra-modernized, if not a bit stylish. The floors were covered in similar Indian weave rugs as above, but the colors were muted, much less blaring to the eye. The furniture was arranged in U shapes in three places, each conveniently created sitting and chatting areas for socializing. The area to the left sat directly before a bar filled with food. Ham, roast beef, chicken, vegetables, cheeses, and beverages - all were placed and ready. The meat's spicy aromas pulled at Mac's stomach. He needed to eat something soon.

     The center U rested before a chalkboard, as if to create the illusion of a boardroom. Above the board hung a Phillips flat screen television.

     It was the final U that caught Mac's attention. Against the wall sat several tables, all heavily covered in monitors, CPUs, Cable modems, scanners, etc. He moved past the others to browse through the connections and found an ethernet port for his ibook.

     "Mac," Aurora began. He turned to her. "All the connections are T1 and heavily fire walled. We are on a secured connection - there is no Technocracy hacking here." She turned her gaze to Nicholas and glared. The Technocrat said nothing.

     The smells of the food enticed him, but Mac set to integrating his own toys with those of the Chicken Ranch.

     "Please, everyone, make yourselves comfortable, as our Adept is," Aurora said. "There is food and drink. You are safe here. We have much to discuss."

     Mac was only partially aware that the group had meandered about, settling here and there. He glanced back to see where Zydeco and Oz had put the Technocrats. They sat in the center U, close together, still looking a bit peaked. Aurora disappeared for ten minutes or so, and Mac took this time to get online and check his email. Trent had sent him several worried messages. With a pang of guilt, Mac remembered he'd turned the phone off. With a sigh, he pulled the Treo from his jacket pocket and turned it on. His voicemail buzzer rang immediately and he cut the volume.

     Pulling a chair up, he pulled his three-fingered gloves from the laptop case. He's seen the holographic drive on the Ranch's system and wanted to integrate it into his own. He'd used one for a couple of months with Trent's supervision. Within minutes his own screen was projected above his head. With his sensor gloves he began sifting through the web, searching for any kind of reports on the 57 Club.

     "Anything interesting?"

     Johnny stood beside him. The singer held a beer in his hand.

     "Not yet. I've got two bots combing as well. If something flags, it'll ping so we can see it."

     "Might wanna set that thing to track any video reports as well," Johnny said. His dark eyes filled with worry.

     "He's right," Zydeco came up on Mac's other side. "This is all well and good for you...but you're hacking that stuff so fast I can't read any of it. I need something I can see and hear."

     "Will do." Mac moved his right hand up to the small star image that represented his hard drive. He tapped it once with his index finger and opened up his computer to the small searcher Rotes he'd created the other day. It never hurt to have some simple utility programs ready.

     Aurora reappeared, dressed in a golden gown of similar cut to the blue one. She called everyone to the center U. Mac finished up what he could, then left the system running and removed his gloves and shoved them into his pockets.

     "Again, I welcome all of you."

     "Excuse me," Paul began. He glanced at his companion. "Could you tell us where we are? Other than the fact we're below the Chicken Ranch?"

     "You are in a safe house. This part of the building was originally created to house a Chantry in the late 80s, but the Mages who built it were killed by Technocracy."

     All gazes glanced to the two on the couch. Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the ceiling.

     "As for your being here, or myself having anything to do in the planning, I am as uninformed as you. I manage this establishment and had no intention of spending my Tuesday and Tuesday night arranging for your safe passage here. But I, like everyone in this room, received a message with the signature of the sphinx."

     Mac glanced around at the group, subconsciously attempting to recall their names and only guessing at their Traditions.

     "Did you, Adept?"

     Mac nodded. "At the airport, and in the 57 Club. I was told to drive the Rover around the back."

     She turned her attention to Mark. "You and Arden both?"

     Mark nodded. "I got it in a letter." He waved.

     Aurora smiled.

     Mac looked at Arden. She sat beside her friend, her gazed fixed on some point beyond those in the room. The corners of her mouth were pulled down. Is she going to snap out of this?

     "I also received such a totem," Paul spoke up.

     "So did we," Zydeco said. She readjusted her BFG on her hip. "Me and Oz here were doing other things, some of it sleeping, when we get this message to report to the club, go undercover and zap these two." She pointed the BFG at Nicholas. Nicholas held on to his companion's hand as if to comfort her.

     "And you..." Aurora faced the Hollow One, who had taken a seat on a couch near the food. "You received a message?"

     "It was more of a premonition." Kyle sat up straight. "I saw the boys in black storm the building several times, and in each instance, people died. The scenario that played itself out in real time was the one where the least amount of people died." He looked at Mac. "I knew he would be there with the truck in any ending."

     Died? Mac frowned and looked at the others. People had died in there? No wonder they all look shell-shocked. I'd be willing to bet those that died were all Mages, no sleepers.

     "And you..." she turned to the Technocrats. "I can assume that you were the ones that reported on the 'reality deviant' activity at the club?"

     Nicholas managed to look defiant even as his pallor remained nearly milky. "I was doing my job."

     "Killing Mages is your job?" Mark asked.

     "I didn't know they were going to come in there with guns drawn."

     "I don't believe that." Mark shook his head.

     "It's not standard operating procedure." Nicholas' stoic expression remained as he glared at the tall blond.

     Mac could keep quiet no longer. "I don’t believe you either. Technocrats can't be trusted." He didn't want to believe Nicholas. Here was a man who represented in the flesh, the very people that had destroyed his life.

     But Nicholas wasn't going to back down. He looked up at Mac, his eyes flashing. "So says the traitor."

     Fury burned just below the surface. Mac balled his hands into fists. Traitor? He returned Nicholas' gaze with what he hoped was an even stare. "You know nothing. I have never worked for or been slave to the Technocracy."

     "That may be," Paul said smoothly from his position by the flat screen. He crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes narrowed as he spoke. "But your Tradition was. And as you said, the Technocracy can't be trusted."

Back to Journal