Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Winter
Agent Nightstar's face hardened as she stared at the ferret-who-was-formerly-a-security-guard. She snapped her fingers and two of her colleagues rushed to capture the chattering creature.
"This confirms it," she wasn't looking at me but at my glowing palm. "Class 1 Prophecy Integration. The host is displaying uncontrolled reality manipulation."
"I'm not displaying anything," I protested. "It was an accident! And I'm right here, by the way. The 'host' has a name."
She finally looked at me, her elven features sharp and unimpressed. "Ms. Winter, you need to be transported to PEB Headquarters immediately for containment and decoding."
"Containment?" I sputtered. "I'm not dangerous!""
"You just turned Agent Brickwell into a ferret," her tone flat and with no give.
"Well, when you put it that way..."
Malko stepped forward. "Surely there's some protocol that doesn't involve taking my assistant."
"There is," Agent Nightstar cut him off. "And that protocol is immediate transport to our facility." She reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like an official badge with strange symbols etched around its edges. "This is non-negotiable."
I crossed my arms. "I'm not a plugin like a USB! You can't just extract the prophecy from me, or I'm assuming Malko would have mentioned that option."
"She's correct," Malko confirmed. "Once a prophecy transfers to a living host, it becomes bound to their life force."
Agent Nightstar's mouth twitched in what might have been amusement, if she were capable of such an emotion. "I'm well aware of the metaphysical constraints. That's why we have specialized equipment at headquarters." She held the badge out toward me. "Touch it."
I hesitated. "What does it do?"
"It's a standard bureaucratic teleportation device. Perfectly safe." Her eyes narrowed. "Unless you'd prefer I place you in magical restraints and we take the long way?"
The ferret chattered angrily from inside a transport cage that one of the agents was holding.
I sighed and reached for the badge. "Fine, but I want it on record that I'm cooperating under protest."
"Noted," Agent Nightstar’s tone was even more dry than before.
My fingertips touched the cool metal surface of the badge.
Instantly, the symbols around its edge flared with golden light, and the world around me collapsed inward like I was being sucked through a drinking straw.
Colors blurred, sound compressed into a high-pitched whine, and my stomach lurched violently as reality bent around me.
Then I was flying, tumbling, disoriented into oblivion.
And suddenly, I was being forcefully expelled from the mouth of a stone lion statue, landing in an ungraceful heap on a polished marble floor.
"Ugh," I groaned, pushing myself up on my elbows. My knee throbbed angrily. "What the actual fuck monkeys?"
"First time through the Leonine Transport System?" A bored voice asked.
I looked up to see a goblin sitting behind a reception desk, her green skin contrasting sharply with a crisp white blouse. Her long fingers tapped idly at an ancient computer keyboard while her other hand extended toward me, holding a clipboard with a form attached.
"Sign in, please," she tapped the pen on the board. "The pen only bites if you lie."
I stood shakily, brushing dust off my cardigan. "The pen bites?"
The goblin shrugged. "Standard procedure."
Taking in my surroundings, I realized I was standing in what looked like the unholy offspring of a DMV waiting room and a university library.
The ceiling soared at least thirty feet high, with scrolls zipping through an elaborate network of tubes overhead.
Fluorescent lights buzzed intermittently, some flickering in a way that gave me an instant headache.
A cluster of pixies zoomed across the room carrying stacks of papers, leaving trails of glittering dust that made everyone in their path sneeze violently. In one corner, a minotaur in a rumpled suit pecked laboriously at a computer that looked like it predated the Reagan administration.
"Sign. In." The goblin receptionist repeated, waggling the clipboard impatiently.
I took the clipboard cautiously, eyeing the attached pen. It was a fancy fountain pen, except the nib appeared to be a tiny set of metal teeth that snapped open and closed as I watched.
"Just write your full name, date of birth, and how you came into contact with the prophecy," the goblin instructed. "And for the Cosmic Forces' sake, don't write anything false. Zarneth here," she nodded at the pen. "Hasn't had his breakfast."
I grimaced and began filling out the form, trying to ignore how the pen wriggled eagerly in my grip. When I finished and handed back the clipboard, the goblin scanned it quickly.
"Waiting room four," she pointed to a hallway. "Someone will collect you."
"Wait, but, what?"
The goblin had already returned to her computer, effectively dismissing me. With a frustrated sigh, I headed in the direction she'd indicated, my palm still glowing faintly blue under the harsh lighting and I rubbed at it hoping this was a fever dream because I knocked my head or something.
I'd barely settled into the uncomfortable chair in waiting room four when Agent Nightstar materialized through a doorway that hadn't been there a moment ago.
"This way," without preamble she turned on her heel.
I followed her down a series of corridors, each more bizarre than the last. Don't ask me how to get back.
One was lined with doors that occasionally giggled; another seemed to be underwater, though I remained mysteriously dry while walking through it.
After what felt like forever, we arrived at a small, windowless room on what Agent Nightstar informed me was the second floor.
A table and several chairs occupied the center of the room.
Seated at the table was what I initially thought was a child, but quickly realized was a gnome, judging by the long, pointed beard and the fact that he was standing on his chair to reach the table properly.
He wore enormous, thick glasses that magnified his eyes to comical proportions, and he was surrounded by stacks of ancient-looking books.
"Ms. Winter, this is Dr. Thornwick, our chief prophetic text analyst," Agent Nightstar gestured.
The gnome looked up, blinking owlishly behind his bottle-cap glasses. "Ah! The host! Excellent, excellent." His voice was surprisingly deep for someone so small. "Please, sit." He was unnervingly excited.
I lowered myself into a chair opposite him while Agent Nightstar took a position by the door, arms crossed.
"Now then," Dr. Thornwick began shuffling through his papers.
"The Lost Prophecy of Alexandria! Most exciting.
Thought destroyed forever, you know. But several magical artifacts were 'rescued' and lost to time.
Recently discovered in a sub-basement of a kebab shop in Cairo that used to be a mage's study. " He chuckled.
"Fascinating, absolutely fascinating! The scroll dust residue we collected from your palm contains trace elements of dragon ash and sphinx tears, very rare binding agents in ancient Egyptian magical texts."
"That's... nice?" I offered, unsure what response he expected.
"More than nice! Extraordinary!" He beamed, hopping from his chair to retrieve a massive tome from a nearby shelf. The book was nearly as big as he was. "We've been running magical resonance tests on your palm print for the last twenty minutes."
"I've only been here for fifteen."
"Time moves differently in the Analysis Wing," Agent Nightstar explained flatly. "Bureaucratic efficiency."
That had to be a load of crockshit.
Dr. Thornwick slammed the enormous book onto the table, sending a cloud of dust into the air that made me sneeze. My glowing palm flared brightly with the sneeze, and a potted plant in the corner suddenly sprouted legs and started doing a tap dance.
Everyone froze, staring at the dancing fern.
"Fascinating!" Dr. Thornwick clapped his hands while Agent Nightstar pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Sorry," I mumbled, tucking my hands under my thighs. "I didn't mean to?"
"Reality manipulation tied to emotional responses," Agent Nightstar noted into a small recording device. "Subject demonstrates continued instability."
"I'm not unstable," I glared at both of them. "I'm having a perfectly reasonable reaction to being teleported through a stone lion's mouth and interrogated by a gnome!"
Dr. Thornwick cleared his throat. "Let's focus on what we've managed to translate so far." He flipped through his notes. "Ancient prophecies are notoriously difficult to interpret. They're written to be cryptic, you see. Can't have fate being too straightforward!"
He adjusted his glasses and read from a parchment:
"When celestial bodies align in discord, the Unwitting Vessel shall emerge.
Through chaos and order entwined, the Vessel carries destiny's burden.
Seek the Four Keys of Fate, scattered like stars across the firmament of possibility.
Only when harmony blooms from discord shall the Cosmic Chalice reveal its true purpose.
Beware the Harbinger of Ending Days who seeks to drain the chalice dry. "
I blinked. "Seriously?"
Agent Nightstar nodded grimly. "Ancient prophecies are occasionally metaphorical. We hope."
"What does that even mean? Unwitting Vessel? That's me, I guess?" I pointed to my glowing palm. "And what's this about a chalice? I don't have a chalice."
"The Cosmic Chalice is likely a metaphorical representation of your role as the prophecy carrier," Dr. Thornwick explained, excitement radiating from him like heat from a furnace. "And the Four Keys of Fate, well, that's quite clear, isn't it?"
"Crystal," I deadpanned. That headache from the lights was turning into a migraine.
Agent Nightstar stepped forward. "According to Section 11, Paragraph 42 of the Prophetic Protection Protocol, any Class 1 Prophecy mentioning 'keys' or 'guardians' requires the immediate assignment of Fate Protectors."