July, 2006

It had taken a few months. Xavier Relaford had a superhuman ability with languages, but it still took months to learn the secrets of teleportation, and how doors *really* worked. By early July, he had linked a door in the Library to a door in the basement of a retail shop he had inherited from his father. Speak the right word, and you could step through to the library deep under Zonavi. Fail to speak the word, and you opened a small broom closet in New Jersey. He isolated the Library, so that the only way in or out was through his door, or teleporting, if you knew where it was.

He paid Muqtammad a kings ransom for his forebears and his dedication to their duty, and intended to resume his life as a linguistics professor at Princeton while he delved the hidden secrets of the Library. Classes would be starting soon, and he really should teach at least one, to maintain his position on the faculty.

So he returned to Hudson city, to his apartment and to his more mundane life. His free time he spent mostly at study. Every discovery he made led to more questions. Every question's answer revealed more mysteries. The things he learned about how the world really worked, he could no more explain to another person than he could explain to a cockroach. Extra dimensional power, inter dimensional power, how to use the very walls that separate one world from another to power rites and rituals, it was very foreign and very fascinating.

Still, even with his curiosities mostly quenched by the access to Aidid's discoveries, he would feel unease if idle for more than a few minutes. The Alacarvra was still out there, in the wide world, and he was willing to wager, closer than he suspected. He had to learn how to defend himself, and quickly. He set about learning how to attack, and defend. How to confuse and mislead. How to use the power for fast access to the supernatural, for affects that needed no ritual or rite.

By the time Labor Day had rolled around, he was researching the targeted illusions that had been used against him in Dubai. There had been a pre-Incan civilization who had been the masters of illusion, and misdirection. Farhid Aidid had learned of them, and used his ability to teleport to learn some of their secrets. There were spells to counter illusions in the library, and plenty of them, but the Professor knew from experience that once you were under the affect of the spell, it may be too late to cast a counter spell. Aidid had believed there was a King of these Pre Incans whose advisors had crafted a ring to dampen illusions, to protect him from his rivals and enemies. That was exactly what Relaford was looking for.

He had had enough for one evening, though. His eyes bothered him, and his lower back hurt. He had  habit of slumping, when he read. He slumped a lot. He stood up and stretched, leaving the book he was reading open on the desk, reaching his hand towards the sofa, he thought about his jacket, and it drifted to his hand. He nudged his glasses up onto his nose, and smiled in spite of himself. I could get used to this. He thought, as he pulled the jacket on, and spun his index finger to dim the lights above. He had no need to get electricity to the library, an internet connection down there would have been useful, but it wasnt strictly necessary. His italian shoes made nearly no sound as he hobbled to the door. His cane clicked at the stones however, until he opened the door and stepped through to the basement of his store.

His accountant had insisted that he open some sort of business, here. Something to do with operating the building at a loss for tax purposes. Very dreary. Relaford decided to open a curiosity shop, he couldn't think of a better way to say "overpriced junk you dont want" than that. But it had amazed him that even though he was below street level, and had no sign, nor advertising, people came into the shop, anyway. Not only entering, but actually spending money there. It was nowhere near enough to cover the expenses related to the building, but it was a nuisance. He had had to hire help.

Allison Rose was a competant receptionist. Which was really what she was. She kept track of the Professor's schedule. If the phone happened to ring, she answered it. If someone wandered in, wanting to pay a lot of money for a crystal ball, so be it, she sold it to them. She minded her own business, didnt ask questions about his basement, and thought she was overpaid. She was perfect.

"All done in your Library, Dr. Relaford?" She asked.

"Yes, Allison. Thank you. I'll be leaving now. You should close up and take off, too. It's a gorgeous day, and there are still a few hours till sundown."  It was true, he was a Doctor, of languages, spoken and written. But he kind of preferred Dr. to Professor. Professor implied teacher. He had little interest in teaching. "That is, I didnt mean to imply that you look pale." He added, then realized he should have kept his mouth shut.

"Oh, you didn't." Allison said absently. It had only been ten days, but already she was used to his conversational backtracking.

"Have a good evening, Allison. I will be back tomorrow sometime." He said, relieved to be heading out the door.

"G'night Dr. Relaford." she said to the jingle of the bells over the door.

He made his way up to street level, and across the almost busy avenue to his Lexus. He had an appointment for dinner with an old acquaintance, who worked for the New Jersey State Attorney's office, and he did not intend to be late. Scoville's in Riverside Hills wasn't too far, but this time of night the traffic could be unbearable.

He pulled into the parking lot of the single story establishment, built street adjacent in a vast strip mall parking lot. A garish neon sign was lit, even though the late summer sun was still strong. Scoville's bar-b-cue. Not exactly his kind of place, but his acquaintance had picked, and claimed it was good. "Real Barbecue" was the expression he had used. Whatever, this was more about business than dinner.

Mike King had been at Princeton at the same time Xavier had been a very young promising freshman. That was about all they really had in common. Mike had been popular, the captain of the Lacrosse team.  If it hadn't been for his need to pass Prof. Winterbotham's Latin class he would never have met Xavier, and never told him that he'd "owed him one." Time to pay up.

Xavier shut off the big engine, and exited the car, the obnoxious chirping of the alarm setting adding to the usual cacophony of the busy Hudson City streets. The asphalt baked in the evening sun, and the closer he got to the doors, the louder the blues music became that emanated from inside the place. The odor of pork fat and vinegar seemed to ooze from the place, and it set his stomach to churning. He hadn't eaten in a while, he realized at almost the same time he realized that smell smelled really good.

Inside the place was dark, and smokey, the music was  little too loud, and the decor seemed to be intentionally cheesey. Old newspaper clippings in frames, sports jerseys,  few televisions, and black and white pictures of athletes adorned nearly every visible surface of the walls. The hostess was a pretty young girl, and she showed him to Mike's table.

Relaford checked his watch, but he was actually a few minutes early. Evidently Mike had been even earlier. Three cigarette butts and and empty beer bottle sat in front of him, as he read something on the screen of  laptop computer.

"Hello, MIke." Xavier said.

The man looked up from his work and forced a smile. "Hey there dweeb. What's it been, 8 years? 9?"

"Actually, no one calls me that anymore, and its been ten years." He settled into the booth cross from Mike, and pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. "What's good, here?"

"I already ordered a rack of ribs, and a beer for you. If you come here and dont get  a rack, youre an idiot."

The food came in short order, and Relaford was  little off put by the preferred method of eating a "rack of ribs" at first. But the experience was primal, and cathartic. Very carnivorous. The food was delicious, and the wheaty beer semed to compliment it perfectly.

When they were done eating, Mike King belched, and slumped back in the booth, his stomach a bit distended. "Now... What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Xavier? I did the checking you asked me for, and this Stagger is one rough customer. Not much on Connie Castillo, but Stagger has a sheet as long as your arm. Whats more, he's a confirmed superhuman. Not like... big time, but hes strong enough to throw  Harley through the wall of a bar, when he's pissed."

Mike had cued up the powerpoints, and spun his laptop round while he talked. Mugshots, and file footage of Stagger played across the screen. Some bar with the front wall blown in, and a mangled motorcycle laying on a shattered pool table.

Xavier nodded. "Then they are going to arrest him, soon?"

"No Xav. They aren't" He said simply. "I asked about it, and he is covered."

"Covered? How do you mean? He ruined my damn knee in front of witnesses. Why isnt he going to jail?"

Mike tried not to laugh. "That's not how it works, Xav. You should know that by now. He is covered. Someone doesnt want him to go to jail for what he did to you."

"Someone who?"

"Who the hell knows? I hear he's working for someone even more powerful than he is. Maybe its them. Maybe the feds are working him. Maybe they are working someone else who is working him, either way, he isnt going to trial for simple assault."

Simple assault. Thats a hell of a way to say beating the snot out of a man.

"Im sorry, Xav. This is how it works. This whole city is a shit hole filled to the rim with refuse. We fight the battles we can win."

Xavier nodded. There was no sense arguing with Mike about it. He had probably stuck his neck out, just looking into it. "Thanks for looking into the case, Mike. We are even."

As Relaford stood to leave the booth, Mike looked up. "This guy is scum, Xav, but he's well connected. I would suggest you steer clear of him."

"Yeah, sure Mike." 

Just one more thing to add to my to do list.