Part 7

 I miss half of her story while I contemplate the note I still hold.  I start listening again when she brings up Cyrus trying to stab her in the subway a few weeks ago.

"That was the last day in my apartment.  I had been out of work for three months by then, maxed out my credit cards, pulled in all of the favors I could.  It didn't help."

I interrupt her, "So you're saying Cyrus attacked you on your first day on the streets?  How'd he know?"

"I don't know."  She says.  "Is it important?"

"I'm not sure."  I open the note again.  Read the four words written on it.

She looks at me, checks her pocket.

“It fell out when you got your tissue,” I tell her.

Her mouth forms a silent ‘oh.’  Then, “What's it say?"  She asks and I hand her the note.  She takes it, her fingers brushing mine.  She starts at the contact, a sharp intake of breath, before looking at the note.
 
Bring her to me.

"Who's it from?"  She asks, her lips moving as she rereads the note.

“My best guess?  Old Jenny.”  I open my mouth to say something else, but a train passing overhead drowns out any conversation.  She shivers, whether from the damp, subterranean air, or out of fear, I can't tell.  I pull out a metal barrel hidden beneath a large cardboard box and set it in the middle of the room.  I throw the box, and a few others that do not look too moist, into it and use the Sphere to light it.

She moves closer to the snapping and crackling, bringing a crate with her to sit on.   “How does she know about…”  Her mouth moves a few times the words stopping themselves before they come out.  She finally ended up with “Me?”

“That’s why I think it’s her.”  I say, trying to plan my moves out.

“I, I don’t understand.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”  I try not to be condescending, unsuccessfully.

“Now look here,”  she shouts, standing up from her crate.  The flames cast shifting shadows on her face.  “I did not choose any of this, and you’re the one that grabbed me!  How do I know you’re not the…”  More tears and sobbing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.  Jenny has a touch-“ I pause, trying to find the right phrase, “of the sight.”  I fish around in my cart and pull out an almost clean handkerchief, hand it to her.

She blows her nose in it, wipes the tears from her eyes.  “You mean she can see the future?”

“We think so, I mean she predicts things.  Like that.”  I point at the note she still holds.

“So are you going to?”  She asks, taking a seat again and reading the card.

“Not just yet.  I have a few things to attend to first.  Plus, you look like you could use some rest.”

“You mean sleep here?”  She looks around.

“Not quite,” I say, pulling the necklace that hangs around my neck out of my shirt.  “Follow me.”  I grab the Sigil Sphere and walk towards the pile of boxes that hides the opening to this room.  We emerge in an abandoned subway station.  I can hear her heavy breathing behind me as she follows.

As we step away from the open doorway we came through, the light from the fire fades, so I call upon the Sphere once more, holding it at shoulders height.  It glows feint blue, illuminating our surroundings.  Broken tiles, one of which I kick and listen as it skitters across the floor.

We walk along the platform, I count the doors as I pass them.  Two broken bathrooms, the porcelain inside destroyed, and an office of some kind.  It is the fourth door that I want.  The original wood is rotten through and covered by the boards I have used to patch it.  The key slides in easily.   It opens with a slight creak and I slip inside.  The heavy breathing follows.  “You can sleep in here,” I tell her as I flip a switch.  A dozen strands of Christmas lights, green, red and white, blink on, revealing a small room, maybe ten feet to a side.  A mattress occupied one corner, an old dresser with a cracked mirror beside it.  A shelf lines the closest wall, covered in books.

“But, the lights, how?”

“I wasn’t always homeless.”  I finger one of the books on the bookshelf, Electrical Wiring Commercial 11th Edition.  “I’m the only one with a key.  You get some sleep.  You can lock the door behind me.  I’ll check on you in a few hours.”

“Here?”  She asks, looking at the musty mattress.

“If you have someplace else to be, by all means.”  I make a grand sweep of my arms towards the door.

“Uh, n-no.  I’ll stay.”

I move past her, out onto the platform.

“Charlie, wait.”  She calls out after me.

I turn, face her.

She stands, backlit by the multicolor lights.  “Can I- Can I have the key, in case something happens to you?“

I eye her suspiciously,  “I’d rather…”  The pleading look in her eyes stops me.  I take the key from my neck again and hand it to her.

“Thanks.”  She shuts the door and I hear the lock click as I make my way back to my cart.  There was still a lot to do.

Part 6

"It took me a while to shake that feeling,"  I tell her.

She looks at me, her eyes slits, her body shaking slightly.  "What feeling?"

I give her a minute while I check my surroundings.  My cart was where I had left it, my few possessions safely hidden beneath the ragged grey blanket draped over its top.  Satisfied that it is all there, I reply, "The feeling that the whole world is shaking.  It isn't, that's you."

"I-I saw Cyrus!  How'd he find us?"  She asks.  "Oh my God, the Russian..."

"Can take care of himself," I finish her sentence.  I half expect him to pop into the room at any moment, but I do not tell her that.

"So what do we do now?  I can't hide down here forever."  She says, taking a seat amongst the same pile of crates she had before.

"And I can't hide you forever..."  I stall, debating the options available to her, us.  "We could protect you until you're not 'newly fallen,'"  I suggest, but I know how hollow my words were as I say them.

"And how long will that take?" she asks.

"I don't know," I stall again.  "Wait... no, that won't work."

"What?"

"No..."  I shake my head, putting the thought out of my mind.

"Fine," she sighs.  "Why now?  I mean, I get that I'm 'newly fallen' or whatever, but there must be tons of new homeless all the time."

I have not had long enough to think about it, so I dig in my cart, pulling out a half used cigarette and used another power of the Sphere to light it.

"How'd you..." She begins.

"It'll start any fire I want it to,"  I tell her, and leave it at that, my thoughts returning to her previous questions.  "I think he just finally has the support that he needs.  Before, the Princes kept each other in check, no one wanting the others to become too powerful... maybe he's made some deals."

"Is there any way we could check that?"  She asks.

"The only reliable way I can think of involves us talking to each of the Princes..."

"Well, I've met three of them already, and I've barely been homeless a month."  A sharp intake of breath before she begins to sob.

I give her time.  "Is that the first time you've admitted it?"

She nods, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the crumpled napkin from earlier.  The yellow paper with my sigil on it slips out, falling to the floor.  She does not seem to notice as she blows her nose.

I approach and pick up the paper, noting the fear in her eyes as I come close.  "Why don't you tell me what happened?"  I offer, unfolding the note and reading it.

Part 5

"Was he really a troll?"  She asks as we slide our trays forward.  We had appeared around the corner from the soup kitchen and joined the twenty some-odd of the other unwashed masses in line

I laugh and wipe a stray curl of blonde hair, dirty blonde by necessity, from my forehead. "No."  I leave it at that.  We will get nowhere if I indulge her every curiosity.  A scoop of lumpy looking mashed potatoes was dumped on my plate with an audible gloop.  I flash a yellowing smile at the man behind the counter, "Thanks Sam."

He smiles back and gives Mary a scoop as well.  She responds with a smile of her own, her still white teeth looking out of place amongst the rest of the dirt on her face.  Veggies were next, asparagus or green beans.  I have the beans, she the asparagus.  Finally the meat.  It looks tough, but is still steaming so I take some.  I reach into my pocket and withdraw a crumpled dollar bill, dropping it into the pot labelled donations.

While Mary searches through her wallet, a man's black velcro affair, I step up to the billboard that lines one of the walls.  It is littered with the usual trash about where good places to get handouts are and which properties actively kicked transients out.  Occasionally odd jobs are posted on the board, but those posts usually went fast.  This was the case today and I glance back to see Mary toss a handful of coins into the pot.

"What's this?"  She asks as she approaches the cork board.

I begin to explain the purpose of the board when she shoots me a look that makes me bite my tongue. 

"Isn't this your Sigil?"  She asks, pulling a folded piece of yellow paper from the board.

I reach for it, nodding my assent.

 She pulls the paper away from me.  "You can have it once I know what the hell is going on."  She slides it into the back pocket of her black jeans.

I start to protest but feel a pair of eyes looking at me.  I turn to find Rush standing behind me.

"Shall we," he asks, motioning to a nearby empty table with his own tray.

We ignore the looks we got from the other patrons as we take our seats.  At least he and I did.

"Why are they staring at us?"  Mary asks in a whisper, leaning forward over her food so we can hear her better.

"It's rare to see two Princes together."  The Russian tells her around a mouthful of potato.  "Now eat and let us finish tale."

She nods, and I find myself glad that was all she had done.

The Russian slips into the role of storyteller, and in between bites, begins again.  "As I said earlier, it was a long time ago when Twelve Princes showed up.  Where Spheres came from no one ever found out, or if they did, they never managed to share.  You see, is those very orbs that give us Princes our power."  He pauses to tear a chunk off of the slab of meat on his plate.

I jump in.  "Neither of us is a first generation, or even second generation Prince.  We were both given our orbs by a Prince that was near death."

"What if a Prince dies without giving away his Sphere?"  She asks

"There are only seven Princes left, the other Orbs are lost to time and the grave."

She nods again.

"Is this seat taken?"  An African American man wearing a filthy over-sized green jacket asks.  He tips his sun-faded stovepipe hat to Mary, winks.  All that was missing was a squirting flower and face paint and he could have been a circus clown.  Well that and a bath.  I laugh, as I often did when I saw him on the street.  I think that was the reaction he was going for.

I could hear the whispers start around us as I stand up and extend my hand.  "It's been too long.  Mary, this is Freak Beans."

He takes my hand, pumps it, and then turns to Mary. "Please, call me Benny."

She looks around, noticing the glances that were being cast our way as he takes the final seat at our table, setting down his own tray.  "You're a Prince too," she states.

He winks at her again by way of admission.

"We were just telling her about about curse."  The Russian says, glaring at Benny.

"Then by all means,  continue."  Benny says as he takes a bite of his green beans.

The Russian's eyes do not leave Freak Beans, but he continues.  "Despite the power the Spheres give us, they hold in them a curse.  Should a Prince take one of the newly fallen as his queen, it is said that they will gain control over other Princes, but more importantly, darkness will fall over the realm."

"What's that mean?"  Mary asks.  "I mean, the newly fallen part?" 

"I think that refers to you, you have not been among us," Benny extends his arms, indicating the other patrons around him, "for very long.  As for the rest of it, I hope not to find out.  And now my friends," he glares at the Russian, "And I mean that term very loosely, I think it's time we parted company."  Scooping up the remaining mashed potatoes on his plate, he shoves them in his pocket.

I was prepared for the flash and have my arm covering my eyes as he winks out of existence.

"I must concur,"  I tell the Russian as the whispers began to reach me.  I grab hold of Mary's arm, and the two of us leave the soup kitchen as Cyrus appears in the doorway.

Part 4

Mary screamed, causing the new arrival to jump.

"What's she doing down 'ere?"  The man asked, his accent almost as thick as his salt and pepper beard.

"Relax Rush.  I brought her."  I told him, slowly getting to my feet.

"She's with you?"  He glared at me.

"I'm not with anyone!"  Mary growled.

"Sorry,"  I apologized on her behalf and shot her a look.  She held my gaze for a second, the fear evident in her eyes.  "Cyrus just tried to grab her.  I got there first and now we're here."

"Excuse me, Rush, how-" She started to ask.

"You," he snapped and it was her turn to jump, "May call me The Russian.  And you, Dairy Mary, what does Cyrus want with you?"

"I, I uh, Dairy Mary?"  Her stare was directed at me.  "Dairy Mary?  Why, why the hell didn't you tell me."

I tried to feign ignorance.  Luckily I did not have to for long.

"I asked about Cyrus," the Russian asked.

She began to sob.  "I, I don't know what he wants.  Charlie thinks he wants me to be his wife."  She reached into her pocket, pulled out a crumpled tissue and blew her nose.

"Tovarishch, is this true?"  He asked, momentarily lapsing into his mother tongue.  He turn to me and I nodded.

He spat.  "Son of a... You know what this means?"

"Calm down,"  I told him, "I don't know for sure."

"What?" Mary asked, dabbing at the tears on her cheeks.

"What I was trying to tell you before he arrived."  I began but The Russian interrupted me.

"Bah!  Don't sugarcoat it."  He limped slowly to a pile of crates, his right leg bending very little.  "Sit," He gestured to a box opposite him.

 She looked to me and I nodded, resuming my own seat upon the floor.

"It was long time ago when the Twelve Princes appeared for the first time."

"But, aren't you one of them?"  She interrupted, casting a sidelong glance at me.

He let out a long breath through his crooked nose.

I took this as a cue and answered her myself.  "Yes, I am now, but I wasn't always."  I rolled the Sigil Sphere around in my hand, letting it rest between my thumb and forefinger before flipping my hand over, the orb not appearing to move at all.  "A few years ago, The Troll King passed away..."

"Troll King?" She asked

"Let him finish..."  The Russian barked, shaking his head.

She brought her hands to her lips, chewing on a knuckle.  "Sorry."

"Anyway, when The Troll King passed, he gave his Sigil Sphere to me, and I became the new Eighth Prince."

"You took it from him!"  The Russian laughed, but soon was bent over coughing.

Mary stood up, but I held my hand out, motioning for her to stay put.

"Took.  Gave.  What does it matter now, he was dying and had no use for it then."

"What you say is true," he said between wheezes, trying to catch his breath.  Dust began to fall as another subway train rumbled over head.  "I am in need of food."  He winked at me.  "Let us finish this story over a feast."

"I know just the place."  I smiled.  Before she could protest, I rose and took hold of Mary's arm, and once again, we were somewhere else.