Avatar felt smug.

There was nothing unusual about that, but he was extra smug tonight. Hugging the shadows as he moved from rooftop to rooftop, the chill March wind whipping his cloak around, he felt postively heroic.

Even the ridiculous costume, so gaudy in the daylight, was working for him. Its black and gray and midnight blue faded into the night. It was practical too, made of some miracle microfiber that would protect him from knives and maybe small arms fire, though he didn't really want to test the latter. He was content to enjoy the costume's warmth, and the knowledge that he was in the best shape of his life. The tight outfit looked damn good on him.

The city wore a different face from his rooftop perspective. The grime and litter faded away in the glow of neon and streetlights, and the streets were almost beautiful. And vulnerable, in a way, because people so seldom looked up. Tonight Avatar had watched junkies shoot up in alleys, and homeless people having sex just around the corner from the entrance to a swanky nightclub. He'd swooped down on Meade Street to prevent a mugging, and tapped on a window in Freetown to politely suggest a pimp put down a knife.

He felt like a goddamned superhero. It felt good.

He took a half step forward and pointed upwards, just like a stupid comic book, and for a moment he seemed to have two shadows. Then the second shadow shot up into the sky and made a wide arc over the city. Avatar closed his eyes for a moment as his awareness split into two, part of him still dramatically posed on the roof and part speeding over the river, floating high enough to avoid notice, the city spread out like an electric quilt below.

Avatar opened his eyes and smiled. Now he stood on the roof of the Penetten Building, surveying downtown. Now he drifted above the Crown Point waterfront, seeking a new spot to set down. Managing doubled sensory impressions wasn't too hard once you learned the trick. Not much harder than looking to your left while pocketing the ace with your right hand.

His other self was the ace up his sleeve, a secret long guarded so scrupulously that he'd never had the chance to test it, develop it. In the few months he'd been with The Conquistadors he'd learned much about his marvelous shadow self. He could send his psychic doppleganger anywhere he wanted. And wherever it went, he could follow.

Across the river his shadow self touched down atop a warehouse. Avatar closed his eyes again and moved through some indefinable other night, vanishing from the skyscraper and reappearing on the warehouse roof.

"Ah, there you are," said a pleasant voice. Avatar whirled and his eyes urgently searched the dim light. A figure leaned casually against an enormous air vent. Unhurriedly, it straightened and ambled towards Avatar, hands in pockets.

Once the stranger had moved out of the shadow of a nearby building, he was revealed as a trim man, about 5'8", with short dark hair and the beginnings of a beard. Only a nice looking business suit, sans tie, protected him from the winter air.

"That's close enough," Avatar said, trying to sound as unconcerned as the strange man looked.

Amusement twinkled in the stranger's dark eyes. Avatar had a vague idea the stranger might be Middle Eastern; and when he next spoke Avatar noted a very faint accent that he couldn't place. His age, too, was difficult to determine.

"Don't be hasty," the stranger remonstrated. "And don't strain yourself trying to let the genie out of the bottle."  

To his horror, Avatar found he could not release his shadowy other self. He tried again, and glared at the man.

"Miss Czolgosz is blocking your avatar," the stranger continued in that maddeningly nonchalant tone. "More cozy with just the three of us, don't you think? She's prepared to block anything else you might try, so please don't try her patience.

"I'm afraid she's a little annoyed with you. She wanted me to approach Rellaford first."

A woman emerged from the shadows, just a few feet behind the man. She couldn't possibly have been there a moment before, but there she stood, a vague shape in a voluminous black parka with far too many snaps and panels and bits of trim. It announced itself as fabulously expensive, and her stilt legs and striking features added to the impression of a fashion model.

"I admit," she said sourly, "there are no good choices." She regarded Avatar with a mix of indifference and annoyance, as if he was an intern who'd put one ice cube too many in her Diet Coke.

"Truly, we live in a debased age," the man sighed. His voice took on a slight lilt, as if he were reciting an old nursery rhyme. "The new house sits on broken foundation, the old lion will hide in his den, the raven must fly her secret skies, the man of light is shrouded in lies.

"Don't forget to breathe," he added, and smiled at Avatar. The erstwhile hero realized he was holding himself rigidly still, and tried to relax. He regarded the strange duo cooly for a moment as he adjusted his tunic. Then he pretended to spot a stain on one of his sleeves. He frowned and without looking up drawled,"And who might you be?"

The short man seemed slightly amused by the performance. "I am The Broker," he said.

"Sure," Avatar replied with a chuckle. "And I'm the chupacabra."

The man frowned slightly at that. "You mean," he suggested, "that I am legendary? Not real? Well, at least you've heard of me." He turned to give his companion a meaningful look, but her attention remained fixed on Avatar.

Edison had heard the name before. Several years ago his amulet had been stolen. He'd had to go to a lot of trouble to get it back. Before finally reclaiming it, he'd overheard the thief on the phone, desperately trying to get in touch with someone she only referred to as "the broker." Later Edison had tried to find this mysterious fence, with no luck.

"You collect mystical doo-dads," Avatar hazarded. He crossed his arms and stared frankly at The Broker. Powers or no powers, he wasn't giving up the amulet without a vicious fight.

"Collect is perhaps not the correct word," The Broker replied calmly. "Of course, I do have my personal collection of...items of interest. But mostly, you might say I'm a cataloger. A librarian. I keep track of certain objects. I learn their stories and locations. When their owners no longer need them, I make sure they are passed on."

"Call it a hobby," he said, and shrugged. "Without some purpose, life becomes terribly dull."

"Your spiel is getting a little dull," Avatar said loftily. "Just come take it, if you think you can." He uncrossed his arms and relaxed into a defensive posture - body turned, knees slightly bent, arms loose. Too bad that was all he'd learned so far of self-defense; his Conquistadors training to date had focused on his powers.

The Broker's faint smile had never wavered, but now sincerity touched it, and he looked rather kindly. "I like this fierceness," he said. "This you will need. But I am here to conduct business, not perform a robbery.

"There is a private collection of items of interest in New York City. It will shortly be...available. The owner has died, you see. The full extent of this collection I do not know, but it includes a zephyr ring, a mirror that allows one to enter dreams, and an extensive library. I think you will enjoy the volume on Akkadian amulets."

Avatar's hand twitched, and he fought the urge to clutch at the amulet around his neck. To finally get answers about the mysterious object...

"And you can get me this stuff?" he asked casually. "Why me? And why should I believe any of this?"

"If I may address your last question first," The Broker said, "I can at least demonstrate my familiarity with objects of power." He rolled up one sleeve, and then the other, to display thick bracelets on each arm. He unhooked one and tossed it to the hero.

"What do your talented fingers say about that?" he asked.

The bracelet was strangely warm in the winter air. It appeared to be old leather, and the clasp was simple, almost crude. Avatar cupped it in his hands. Immediately he felt the object's age and power. An image came to him of two mountains, weathered but enduring. He looked up at the Broker, allowing his amazement to show on his face.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" The Broker said fondly. "They're known as the Bracers of Samson, though as far as I've been able to determine they aren't nearly old enough to have inspired the Biblical legend.

"I might add," he continued dryly, "that they're worthless unless you possess both of them." He held out his hand and cocked an eyebrow.

Avatar nodded and threw the bracelet back. The Broker plucked it out of the air faster than the eye could follow, and carefully put it back on his wrist.

"All right," Avatar said, relaxing a bit. "Let's say I believe all this. Why come to me?"

The Broker sighed. "Because dark days will soon fall on this city," he said sadly. "An old debt is due, and an ancient power walks these streets. Like will call to like, and your Conquistadors are unprepared."

Avatar laughed loudly. The Broker looked puzzled.

"Sorry," Avatar said and chuckled. "It's just...you actually almost had me. But you're laying it on too thick now. What, you're my Merlin or Yoda or something? And I've got a special destiny to save Hudson City?"

"Oh no, Mr. Palmer," The Broker returned cooly. "You can't save Hudson City. You can't even save yourself.  I'm certain you will soon meet the bad end you have been assiduously pursuing these last ten years. But until that happy event, you are in a position to do some good.

"And if you achieve nothing," he continued, "I may offer assistance to another, or I may simply watch your city burn. Whatever happens will surely be interesting."

He bestowed another kindly smile on the stunned hero and continued.

"And I hope you are not under the misapprehension that I will be giving you anything. I am here to conduct business. It is of course impossible to set a monetary value on a collection such as this, but shall we say ten million dollars?"

Avatar's jaw worked but no sound came out. If he liquidated all his accounts, sold the gallery and condo...he just might raise a million. Then there was the stolen painting, and he still had some very convincing fakes tucked away...

"Your silence," The Broker said delicately, "tells me you cannot approach such a price. Fortunately, I also deal in favors. I will give you these items, and you will do three things for me."

"One favor," Avatar countered.

"Far too low."

"A favor could be anything at all. That's far too high."

"I would not ask you to drain the sea," The Broker said, "or slaughter the just. But I might have need of a bodyguard for a time."

Miss Czolgosz snorted. The Broker made a tutting noise, and continued.

"Or for someone to steal something for me. Nothing too onerous. Shall we say, two favors? And as you are a scrupulously moral man, you may refuse me twice."

Avatar studied the man through narrowed eyes.

"You agree?" The Broker pressed.

"I'm not agreeing to anything until I see the goods," Avatar said reluctantly. "But I think we can do business."

"Excellent!" the Broker exclaimed. "When I have the collection in hand I will find you again."

"You mean you don't-" Avatar began to complain, but in a blink of an eye The Broker and Miss Czolgosz had vanished.

"Fucker," Avatar muttered. His hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly as he considered how expertly The Broker had manipulated the encounter. The strange man had kept him consistently off balance, baited the hook expertly, and gotten him to agree, in principle at least, to pay an unspecified price for a pig in a poke.

From a professional standpoint, he had to admire the guy.

He cautiously reached for his other half, and to his relief it soared up from his body into the night's embrace. Avatar gave no regard to the city spread out below his avatar's eye. He was furiously thinking how to get the advantage in his next meeting with The Broker.