Through the Desert

Colorado is so nice this time of the year I hated leaving it. The desert breeze blew steam into our lungs, a bonus for me, but not enough. Unnatural rain fell in the sky, evaporating before it hit the ground. I hate screwing with the order of the world. It is against the code. Although my direct action was not involved, my simple presence was an abnormality. You could see the streams coagulating hundreds of feet above our heads. We even got a double rainbow over tortured cracked rocks on the first day. I was getting nauseous and could barely see straight. It was dizzying. Jeeps are not known for their climate control. The girls found a silly audio book to keep me awake. They figured if my mind were occupied, my body would not care. It did. 

The book about Death with the capital D and his minions of Ravens versus Buddhist monks trying to attain enlightenment by conquering His realm was far from settling as we approached the lair of the Phoenix. She would know I was coming. The weather was already doing crazy things. I knew the protocol. We paused briefly for dinner at the Hard Rock Café in the center of town. She would be there. She likes all the memorabilia of dead music celebrities being raped for their assets every time a commercial comes on the tube. She likes the music industry full of adolescence abused into artistry, teen rebellion refreshing the status quo for their own generation, preaching revolution to incite concert riots against corporations while feeding the very budgets they protest. She worked over an apprentice of mine in Seattle last time the veil opened. All he does is cry and cry, now. Poor Cobain and his followers got the brunt of that sword.

“I thought it was you when the aerial monsoons started.”

“Nice to see you too, Bird.” Can you think of any famous musicians from Phoenix? Neither can I off the top of my head.

“I guess you are passing through for the wake. Just one night? No other business?”

“None. What wake?” I am not so up on media these days.

“It just happened. My protégé. His time was up.”

She was talking about the King of Pop. Every major player has the power to bestow a gift on a young up and coming. Phoenix chose a child in a family R&B group. Her promise was that he would never grow up, but live forever. Living forever to the fae is different than the corporeal form humans consider. A memory is just as good as a body. A Legend is even better. This kid would be able to convey all of the adult emotions from any song he ever sang without ever truly feeling them for himself. His body and mind would never age. Moments after rising to fame by redoing an old Smoky Robinson tune, the family abuse would begin. I never got close enough to tell if it was solely mad parent pushing to stardom for the dollar signs mental abuse or if it ever got physical. Whatever happened he sure was gifted. He definitely had fae blood coursing his veins through much more than in just the vocal chords.

It makes perfect sense that a child with his budget would live in an amusement park and video game museum. He had more fantasy and sci-fi movie memorabilia to make Peter Jackson jealous. Kevin Smith would have swooned over the amount of Hollywood grade Star Wars and comic merchandise thrown around the guest house. All of it seemed to stop at a certain era when, coincidentally, the lawsuits started pouring through the doorway. All of them were out of court settlements, which might as well be a verdict of guilty to the media. Phoenix knows how well controversy sells, but not this kind. I could not fathom what her endgame might have been. Most of the charges were child molestation cases. I never said all fae were good. This went far beyond simple mischievousness, too.

While the magic took affect his body stopped at eighteen. His mind was not a day more than eight. A slumber party where all the guests sleep together for an eight year old is completely feasible. Have you seen Big with Tom hanks? The ultimate consolidation of the Phoenix power set him on fire during a Pepsi commercial. He rose from the ashes. His plastic surgery bills from that instance onward were astronomical and full of public attention even though he never once had a knife to any of skin. They needed the excuse to explain why he never seemed to get any older. He was 50 years old and they probably still would have carded him for booze. I use the past tense, because if what I am thinking she is saying is true, then he might be dead.

“So, you immortalized him, huh?”

“It was the peak of his career. Any longer and he would have subsided in longevity.”

“From the ashes, right?” I could not help being snotty with her. She knew it.

“That is all, then?”

“That is all. Thanks for the passage.”

“Enjoy your swim.”

She must have known where I was staying. That last comment sealed it. The pool was closed. I could not even get proper vapors from it. The cleaning crew shocked the hell out of it that day with enough chlorine to turn my cilia white. Bitch.

The second day was worse. Road construction was alive and well in Arizona. When we hit the aptly named Devil’s Canyon my hydration levels were far below par.

“Why are we going to San Diego first?”

“We have to pick up your sister.”

The general purpose military vehicle, or GP as it was originally called, which translates into Jeep for us common folk, screeched onto the side of the 8. “What?”

Madaam was silent. She usually is. She prefers to let Millexent do the talking for her in terms of long conversations and explanations. Since this would probably be one of those, she kept her position stoically looking out the window from her queen sized bed in the backseat. To me or you it might not be a queen. To a gnome it was grandiose. Millixent rode shotgun. She is the type of girl that likes to be up front looking at everything. This is typical in faerie tale couples. Look at Jack Sprat and his wife Molly.

“She needs to come,” the answer was subdued and mysterious. Millixent could not even look me in the eye. Instead she pretended to be interested in a shattered mountain valley that would probably have water if not for the LA Aqueduct rerouting it to the coast.

“She won’t.”

“If anyone can get her to, it would be you.” Now she looked at me. The ruse of inattention to compound the impact of the full attention with a bit of flattery worked. That gaze was piercing and commanding. It reminded me of this time I spent in Hamelin. They needed the rats gone and I was the guy to do it. It sealed my place in history as the trickster. Armed with a flute made of stinky cheese and a bit of influence on the weather I convinced those dumb bastards to jump in the town river. What the story does not tell you is that I gave them a month long drought beforehand. I feel like one of those rats right now. A dunk in a raging river that would take me to my death sounds real good.

“I don’t even know why we are going see him in the first place. You keep neglecting to mention that. Plus, there is bad blood there.” I threw my hands in the air, “You know this. Why do I need to explain? They live closer than two hours from each other and never visit. What makes you think I can bring them together?”

“You have a way.”

“You want me to trick her.” This was a statement. It wanted to be a question.

“If you need to.”

“She will see right through it. She always does.”

“Then we kidnap her.” Maddie joined the conversation. It pisses me off when she does those seemingly well thought out plans. Although, rarely is it some offhanded half baked comment like one might think kidnapping another person would be unless they were trying to make a buck off some billionaire. Instead it is some well thought out half baked plan that a couple of idiots would make to try and ransom the president. I would probably go along with it, too. Which idiot does that make me? These girls should have led the rats out of Hamelin. They are good. They taught me everything I know.

“Just drive. We will tell you about it on the way.”

This expedition was getting more and more involved as it progressed. Thunder is not something you can just gag and throw in the trunk. She makes a lot of noise. Intense sonic waves are telekinetic. A single fart would flip me like a burnt pancake. We did not have a trunk anyway.