"Are you finding all you need easily?" he gave her a warm smile.

     "Yes, I am. You have a lovely place here."

     He nodded to her and with the book in tow, maneuvered the maze of shelves back to the front of the store where his computer sat on a desk placed beside the entrance. This way he could watch those who entered and exited, and well-hidden cameras throughout the store gave him access to every alcove. These modern technologies gave him access to the mundane, and his sense of magic gave him access to the unconventional conventional that wondered into his small bookstore off of Amsterdam in Atlanta, Georgia.

     Alan Cooper, known to his customers as Kyle "Mac" McGyver, set the large book behind the counter and called up the next in his long list of books to find. An Italian had contacted him on the net several nights before about a volume of Roses Through History - specifically information about the Lancastrian Rose.

     Mac, on the other end of his careful connection, had tested the link for any traces of Technocracy signatures, easy telltale signs his newly trained magic could detect while 'jacking' himself in on what now remained of the digital web.

     The Italian's connection had been tainted, yet not overtly so. The Technocratic bite, evident as a metallic taste in his mouth, seemed more of a ghost. Mac had sent a warning signal to his Mentor, who had answered with the others of their group. McGYVER had agreed to find the text and terminated the screen name, as well as the technocrat behind it. Because the Technocrat died while online, his soul - or Cyber Ghost - remained behind. The other Cypherpunks did their work in quick time and gathered the newly dead 'crat, as Mac had come to call them, and dumped him into their group's storage.

     Now, as he sat calmly behind his desk, protected by Wards and Code, Mac looked over the tome he'd found on the Lancastrian Rose. This had been the third request for information on Roses in the past month. He pulled out his Treo 300 and opened it, establishing a secure connection to his computer's VR.

     With a smile and a wink he checked out the the customer at his register, a Verbena looking up more medicinal uses for Goat Root. Why are all the Verbena in Atlanta? Once he was gone, Mac placed his Oakley VRs over his eyes, and put the phone to his ear and felt the familiar division of himself into two parts. Mac remained behind to attend to his business, while McGYVER joined the Digital Web to discover why a Technocrat would be interested in Roses.

     Another Surfer appeared beside him in the VA storage as he sifted through the information gathered from the dead Crout's ghost.

     "Was he from your Father?"

     Kyle turned his Digital Icon to gaze at his Mentor, Trent Cole, who in this reality appeared to him in the guise of Dr. Zachary Smith. "No. I'm still unsure where this one was from. I know the signature, but I'm more curious about the Rose connection."

     Dr. Smith nodded. "I've listed the requests you've received on the VA Boards, but there's been no response."

     Mac felt the edges of his virtual icon's mouth pull upward in a smile. In the Digital Web, he was in the physical form of his television namesake. A virtual representation of Richard Dean Anderson, a far cry from his true physical appearance, which Trent Cole had altered with hair color and a cut. He doubted Maouri would recognize him. "Did you add in about the thirteen requests for historic information on the Sphinx?"

     "Yes."

     "Good. Sphinx and Roses. What's the connection? Before the 'Crout's connection last night, I'd not given any of this a thought - but now that a Technocrat actually risked the Web to contact me..." the icon shook his head.

     "You no longer think this is your father?"

     "No...it's something else entirely. Something's coming - though I don't have the perception to tell what that is. I just know," he shrugged.

     Dr. Smith laughed, so resembling the character played by Jonathan Harris. "You remind me so much of Maouri when you're like this. I think her ability to know things rubbed off on you."

     Mac pushed the bits and bytes of the killed 'crat's CG away. It jibbed and jabbered in the air as the parts flitted about, unsure of where it was or who. "It'd like to think so...maybe that way she can still be with me."

     Words always failed him when he thought of Maouri. Her death. The scar in the center of his chest ached when he saw her face in his mind's eye, as if that wound was somehow linked with her soul. He always felt closer to her inside the VR world. "He killed her, Trent. I heard them. It's his fault she's dead."

     And after he'd recovered from that nightmarish morning two years ago, Mac had done a bit of his own hacking into his father's background, a place he'd never traveled. And there, the awful truth had been revealed. His father was a member of the Technocracy, a Progenitor no less, as was his eldest brother Daniel. The Cooper family held a long history of membership with the Technocratic Union - and it seemed they'd kept a close watch on little Alan Cooper as well.

     Until his skills surpassed what he should have been doing, and he was able, somehow, to teleport the medical book from his father's vault into the store where he found it. Of course at the time, he'd had no knowledge of Correspondence spheres or Technomagic. All this he'd learned after his recovery, during the months that Trent Cole taught and trained him in the Tradition of the Virtual Adept.

     Now he held a new I.D., a new life in Atlanta, Georgia, and he hoped his previous self was listed as dead/missing within the Technocracy files, another potential Mage terminated - possibly. And he'd kept his new existence in the background, scarcely using magic to gain what he wanted.

     "I understand, Mac - but caution. Always. You know how I feel. You should move on, and not dwell so much in your past."

     Mac nodded. With a solemn face he turned and looked away from where they stood. Something vibrated the Virtual Web - plucking at its strings ever so delicately. Only those in tune would hear it, feel it.

     "There it is again." Trent/Smith said.

     "What is it? Where is it coming from?"

     "From the West. I received this moments ago," Trent/Smith waved his hand in the air. An email the size of a mid-sized car appeared before both of them, obscurring their view of the storage area. It was addressed to Trent Cole, VA, Mentor to Alan Christopher Cooper.

     Mac took a step forward, his hand out toward the email. The body, the main text, was encrypted. "Trent, I can't read the rest of it."

     "No, it's appearently coded for me only. Stoner couldn't read it either, which I found odd since cryption is his specialty."

     "What does it say?" He turned a wide-eyed face to Trent/Smith. "And why does it have my real name on it?"

     "The email simply requests that you travel to Las Vegas."

     "Las Vegas?" He took a step closer to Smith and pointed at the email. "Who sent it?"

     "The who is up in the air. There is no trace of Union tampering. None. But what has my attention and my concern is the mpeg in closing. It's a Sphinx, Mac."

     Mac's eyes widened. "A sphinx?" He scrolled the email to reveal the bottom, where a golden graphic representation of a Sphinx sat. The mythical creature turned its head and fixed him with a piercing stare.

     Abruptly the entire image of the email vanished in a puff of smoke.

     "What the...?"

     "I thought that might happen," Trent clasped his hands behind his back. "Given the mysteriousness of the email itself. So, are you packed and ready for a trip?"

     The Adept fixed his mentor with an intense stare of his own. "How can you be so clam about this? Trent, it had my real name on it. Who knows that besides us? Alan Cooper is missing, presumed dead in Hawaii. I want to keep it that way. And what is this Sphinx? Why are so many requesting information on it? How can you just accept this so calmly?"

     "I'm not calm, Mac. It's as you said - something is happening. And for some reason, you're being summoned into it." Trent/Smith reached out and put his hands on Mac's shoulders. "You're ready. Don't be afraid. We're here. I'm here. You only need to call us if you need us. Now, can you be packed and ready to leave tomorrow?"

     "I can be..." Mac checked the physical reality quickly. The store was nearly empty - the time had neared 8:00 p.m. One straggler remained in the back, his dark visage revealed on the computer monitor. "There is something odd about that customer."

     Trent's demeanor changed as he too sensed the intruder in the store via his link to Mac's system. "He is a Hollow One. Just let him pass. He will leave."

     With his breath held, Mac as McGYVER nodded to Trent and eased himself out of VR and into the physical. He closed his phone and slipped it into his pocket as he kept his gaze trained on his monitor. With a quick touch of the keys he placed a ward on himself and any other Sleepers that may be in the vicinity.

     Ten or so minutes passed and the Hollow One, a tall thin figure garbed in black, with hunched shoulder and shaved head, passed out of the camera angle. He seemed to glide past the other shelves hopefully on his way out of the door.

     He paused before the counter and turned slowly, reminding Mac of Nosferatu in manner and grace. His eyes were painted in the center of black circles and his bald head was covered in tattoos. He fixed Mac with his stare and gave him a toothy smile.

"All will come to naught, in the lesson thy was taught; for the danger is not here, but in the West is the where; black pits rise and the tide, it be high, as the Sleepers endure with silence and Judgement Day is nigh; Your Father turns away, but the enemy - they will come another day!"

     The Hollow One gave a mighty cackle and dashed from the store. Luckily Mac was the only other person inside. He tapped a few keys on the alarm pad and locked the door, then turned and pressed his back against the tinted glass as he clutched his chest with his left hand. The old familiar headache returned between his eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

     Not now...not now...

...your Father turns away...

     His heart raced against his chest and he relaxed back, safe behind his Wards and security wiring. His own apartment rested above the store, a simple network of three rooms and a bathroom. Since Maouri's death, he'd needed little, and spent his money on as much technology he could buy without attracting attention. His pills were upstairs - in the medicine cabinet. He needed to get to them before the headache became as debilitating as the others had recently become.

     What did the Hollow One's message mean?

     His phone vibrated in his pocket and he checked the ID. With a grim face he slid his shades on and stepped back into VR. "You heard?"

     Trent's stoic face nodded. "Get rid of all of it. I'll call Marc. He's the best disposal I know." He frowned. "Mac...your nose is bleeding again."

     In RL, the Adept removed his shades and rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. A garish red smear painted his skin. Damn. He moved back behind his counter and pulled at the box of tissues and pressed them into his nose. Mac slid the shades back on. "Sorry..."

     "Is there a headache?"

     He nodded, amazed that his VR icon was also suffering from the nose bleed. "It'll be okay. The nosebleeds usually pass rather quick."

     "Kyle," Trent/Smith never used his new name unless he was worried. "I'm beginning to wonder if the nosebleeds and the headaches aren't related."

     "Oh no," Mac sniffed and smiled. "I've had the nosebleeds for a long time, since right after Maouri and I met and even then the doctor just said I have tender adnoids. The headaches are a different story. They didn't start till after I Awakened." A sharp pain pierced him between the eyes and he winced. "Maybe I'm allergic to magic."

     "Maybe we should reconsider..." Trent/Smith tapped his chin with the index finger of his right hand.

     Mac shook his head. "No - you heard him. He mentioned my Father. The pact with the group was that I would leave if ever Dr. Cooper discovered my whereabouts. There is no solid evidence of this - only the odd prophecy of a Hollow One. But I can afford to be cautious."

     Trent gave him a smile. "If you feel up to it. Just please keep in touch with me. Book a ticket for tomorrow. You can stay at Maggie's."

     Great. Maggie's house and her sixteen cats. I'm going to sneeze all night.

     Ending the transmission, Mac began the drill of movement. Marc and his team where there with their trucks within a half hour, and by the time Mac had downed the last of his migraine pills, cleaned up his nose, packed his bag, and scanned the net for a good flight; the entire lower rooms were bare. Not even a shred of paper remained.

     "Mac," Marc stepped back into the shop, his boys behind him. "We've got to get the upstairs too. You got your personal arsenal with you?"

     He looked with adoration to his fellow Adept brethren. They had become his family, all of them, pained, as he was to learn the truth of his biological family. "Yes," he thought of the Treo 300 in his pocket and the laser pointer in his pocket. "I have my personal things."

     The tall, redheaded Adept put a hand on Mac's shoulder and squeezed. "Link safely, man. And beware the boggies."

     Mac nodded. The headache had subsided to a dull throb between his eyes. With less than a glance around him, he stepped past the others and out into the Atlanta night, bound for Las Vegas and an uncertain future.