George just grins back at me. Sometimes I think George sees the world as something solely set up for his personal amusement. I've never seen a guy smile so much. I used to think it was annoying, until I got to know him. Of course, it's still annoying when I'm the cause of his chuckle.

“Peter, you need to ease up, relax a bit. Now, this lady was one of your dad's personal assistants. Right?”

“Yeah, she's the one who gave me the news... I told you.” I sip; a bit testy I'm not getting total sympathy.

“Hear me out.” He moves on, “Now, she does not work for you, like she did your dad. Far as I know, she's not in the comic book business, so if the bi... “ Another flash of that grin, “excuse me, woman of strong will and limited social skills hates you, who cares? It's not like you have to keep talking to her.”

He's right, or at least he would be right if it weren't for my new double life. Even now, I know Jessica is double-checking our findings on the goo. For one thing, the damn stuff turned from green to a dull brown-ish hue before I even got it back to the lab. The liquid is biological, containing tissue organic components from many sources: reptilian, rodent, and... I think, human. Fitting really, the stuff smells like something rolled over and died in a sulfur pit, then rotted... a lot.

Why do I think of these things when I'm drinking?

A soft cough. “I said 'It's not like you have to keep talking to her.'"

I snap back into focus, and nod, “You're right George, but, there's more to it than that. I can't explain it all. It's... personal.” Crap, I hope I'm not pissing him off. George has been one of my best friends since high school. Maybe I should tell him, I mean, I've trusted him with secrets before. Besides, unlike Jessica, he doesn't loathe me.

He doesn't pursue, nor does he look particularly stung. George just nods, “Have it your way, just saying... “ His eyes suddenly gleam with a thought, which he verbalizes in a “Hmmmmmm.”

I get suspicious, “What? What does ‘Hmmm’ mean?”

The all too constant grin returns, “Just thinking.” He must see that I'm going to pry until he shares this one, because he goes on, “Maybe you two have some sexual tension going on.”

I am quite sure that other super heroes don't spew their drinks. Can you imagine Avatar spraying mead all over his teammates in the Protectorate? Or Omega coughing up a beer on a date? Just doesn't happen; I am, as ever, the great exception, joy.

After a brief spat of sputtering, I refute, as logically as always, “Are you nuts? What part of 'the woman hates me' didn't you understand? This isn't even a woman; it's a scientific journal in drag. She's a computer in a C cup. No, I take that back, computers are at least user friendly.”

And the George grin is in full force.

“Shut up," I grumble. It’s easy for George to find a lady any time he wants. Big athletic looking bald black guys are very “in” right now. At least, I think they’re in. Plus, he owns this place so he’s doing okay. The man gets more dates than a fig tree.

“Sorry, Peter, but you got to admit, it's like you go out of your way to surround yourself with women who are difficult for you.” Before I can protest again, he goes on, “Take Susan; beautiful, intelligent, and she shoots you down so often you're competing with the moon for setting frequency. Then there was Linda...”

A soft stomach twist there, god what a nightmare that was. “I broke it off. Ancient history...”

“You tried to be her knight in shining armor and it damn near killed you.” George digs the spurs in a bit deeper; “There's something in you that just can't settle for simple. “ His smile is gone as he says this, replaced by a somber gentleness that, well, guys don't talk about.

Oh, hell, maybe he's right. I don't know. I sigh, and finish my drink, “Okay, okay, you win. I ... I'm not saying I agree, but you're right in that this is hardly the first time I've let a woman drive me nuts.” I check my watch, both as an excuse to leave and mull this over, and because I don't want to be late for a deadline, “I better go, If I don't get that assignment done, my editor will start another speech about all the rising new talents just looking for a spot in the comic book world.” I sigh.

George nods. He understands. George always seems to understand. It's almost as annoying as that smile.  “Hey, what the hell are bartenders for, got to keep the stereotype alive. See you in the funny papers.”

I shake my head, and start to head out. Three guys with no necks push past me as they come in. They have smiles, too. Predatory ones. At first I think I’m imagining things, then I see George’s smile fade entirely, he hands a rag over to his assistant, and heads to his office. The men follow.

I start to do the same. This doesn’t feel right. I wish I could say I move with the grace of a ninja, but George notices right away. A new smile pops up on his face, this one looks vaguely plastic. He mumbles something to the no-neck trio, and walks over to me.

“Everything ok, Peter?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you.” I eye the stooges as I speak, “Those guys don’t look like regulars.”

“Them? Peter, you’ve been drawing fantasy so much you’re seeing things. It’s just some good Christian charity… that’s all. They’re new to the neighborhood and … asked me for some tips on the local scene. That’s all.” He wets his lips, and can’t seem to quite meet my gaze. George has never lied to me before, not really; He’s not very good at it. Is he scared for himself? Or me?

“Oh, my mistake.” I plaster on my own fake smile. It’s probably not very convincing, but George is so nervous, I’m betting he won’t catch it. “Well, see you later then George.” I walk out.

******

Twenty minutes later, I still can’t believe George lied to me. No matter what I do, this could lead to something I don’t like. What if I try to help, either as myself, or as Surge, and make it worse? I just don’t know.

Fortunately, I at least have the luxury of losing myself in my work. To my delight, Susan has indeed given me a little more room to work with artistically. It looks pretty fun. A succession of panels is supposed to depict Surge in a classic battle with Annihilator. Having been slapped around in real life, I can now say I much prefer drawing it.

I get to work over my board in the office. A curve of line, a little shading here, and slowly it forms into place. You can lose yourself in moments like these, and that’s not a bad thing, not bad at all. Sometime later, I find myself snapping out of the creative fire that just engulfed me. Time to review my work.

“What the hell?”

This is all wrong. I mean, it starts out with the fight, but there, in the background of the first panel page, there’s a woman sitting with candles or something all around her. The next panel closes in on her, ignoring the fight scene.  Yup, those are candles, and she’s in some sort of circle. She’s looking straight at me, I mean, the reader. Beautiful woman, I’d love to see her inked. In the next panel she’s motioning as if beckoning me, darn it, I mean, the reader to come hither. As the drawings progress, she has an increasingly frustrated, almost put out look.

Finally, there’s writing, pretty artistic lettering, a burst style: “SURGE, MEET ME AT THE WITCHING HOUR, CRANE STREET.”

I rub my eyes, and then gaze at what I just drew again. That’s it, I’m finally snapping. I’m getting so desperate for a date, my artwork is arranging make believe midnight rendezvous. If my editor saw this, he’d give me down the road so far I’d be at a rural address. I toss the pages into the circular waste containment unit, and start again.

For some reason it’s hard to focus, I keep feeling the urge to drift, but I fight it, and get my work done. I do it right this time.

******

The Baltimore skyline at night and I are becoming good friends. I have questions, ones only Surge could get answers to, or so I hope. Maybe the F.B.I. can give me some details. I called in earlier, as Surge, and spoke to an agent Morris. I'm supposed to meet him, on all things, on the roof of the office. Must be something about rooftops in this business. Either that, or they don't want to have me publicly walking through the front door. Either way, the flight is pleasant.

He's there, wearing a nice but not too expensive suit; minus the supposedly ever-present shades, he kind of looks like an F.B.I agent on T.V. I land next to him and he doesn’t even flinch.

“Thanks for meeting me, Agent Morris.” Not for the first time I wonder if I’m letting something slip out. Did my dad work with this guy when he was still alive? Jessica doesn’t think so, but what if she’s wrong?

“Not a problem, Surge. We’re all on the same side.” He offers his hand, so smoothly I take it before I consider otherwise. His grip is hard to gauge through the suit’s gauntlet. “What can I do you for?”

I plunge in, trying to act confident, experienced, and above all, sincere. As they say, if you can fake sincerity, you’ve got it made.

“You know about Crux and that S.N.A.F.U. gang’s attempt to rob it recently?” I don’t wait for him to answer, he’s F.B.I; this is rhetorical for him. “I found an interesting material there. A liquid biological compound of seemingly random genetic elements; I’ve never seen the like.” Well, that much is true enough.

I watch his stance, I think I see a lip twitch, but he simply nods, “Go on.”

I continue. I’m an artist; I like to think I’m good at reading expressions, and what they mean, but I’m getting nothing from Morris. “Now, I know the government is already looking into this, but S.N.A.F.U. is a for hire group. Whoever paid them for this try might try again with someone a bit more… competent. It would really help if I could get the low down on what this is, why someone would want it, and who that someone might be.”

I get ready for the shut outs, belligerence, or the speeches on national security. If it weren’t for the fact that the next batch of villains might be more dangerous to the public good, I’d let this go. Instead I get ready to mention how the press would love to know there’s a story waiting to be sniffed out. The reputation is the result of years of my Dad’s hard work for this city, but Surge is a household name in this town, and I’m not above using the respect he garnered to save lives. My voice, electronically masked, is cool and confident; my own body language screams that I won’t take no for an answer. I’m ready for anything.

“Sure thing,” He nods. “Two days enough time? I’d try to make it sooner, but our lab boys are doing their own analysis independently, and the investigators talking to Crux senior execs aren’t done yet. How can I best reach you?”

Okay, I was ready for anything but a helpful attitude of mutual cooperation.

“Surge?”

After snapping out of my surprise for a moment, I give a frequency they can use. “I’ll keep my set attuned for it. Thank you, Agent Morris.” I’m feeling a bit sheepish here. Thank goodness no one can see me blush. “What of SNAFU? Any chance I can talk to them?”

“I’ll have to check with their lawyers.” He sighs, “Damn sharks just love burying us in paper work. It’s embarrassing…”

“Hey,” I smile under my helmet; after all, hating lawyers is kind of a universal trait that binds all Americans together. “Not your fault. Let me know when it can be set up.”

He chuckles, “Okay, I will. Anything else?”

“No, I’m grateful. Adios.” Would my dad say Adios? Oh well, viva gorditas and all that. I fly off and he gives me a smile and a snappy salute. I return it. Damn, did I have this played out all wrong or what? Who says you can’t trust the government?

******

Three foiled carjacking attempts, and five thwarted (Okay, I could get to like that word) muggings later, I’m about ready to call it quits for the night. It must be almost two in the morning, and even the crooks are too pooped to pop. I soar on the electric energies and begin one last run through the city.  I notice the floating woman in white hovering in midair with a rather put out expression on her face.

Actually, the first thing I notice is not her floating. Nor is it her expression. The very first thing that comes to mind is she looks gorgeous. The next one is that… I’ve seen her before. More than that, I've drawn her before.

“Holy crap.” I angle to turn my flight into a hover as I gape.

“Well, it is about time, do you know how long I’ve been waiting here?” She doesn’t tap her foot, but that’s the tone in her voice. Then again, she doesn’t have a floor to tap. She seems spectral, almost translucent. There’s no red. This has got to be the most advanced hologram I’ve ever seen.

“You were waiting, for me?” I check the energy frequencies around the projection. No radio waves, no electricity I can surmise. Light reflection and refraction maybe? I run a hand to first one side of her, then another. If there’s a beam somewhere, I’m not cutting it off with my actions. Besides, how is it speaking?

“Of course, I performed a seeking earlier, and was sure you felt it.” Her eyes, clear as moonlight, watch my gestures as she speaks, “I know it’s not uncommon for confusion to occur, but surely you felt something? That ritual has never failed me before and…” she tilts her head, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to discern the source of this hologram, your…” I hesitate, I can’t sound too impressed, after all, Surge is supposed to have faced dozens of foes of all types and tech levels, “… image quality is excellent.”

“Hologram? You think I’m a hologram?” She looks a bit insulted, and then goes on, “This is my astral self, my soul on a journey if you will.”

I nod, “Riiiight.” Maybe she’s not a hologram though, the apparent transparency could be an aspect of some natural biological power. Experimentally, I push forward. My fingers go right through her torso. This is really unnatural. I mean, there ought to be some way to gauge…

“HEY!” She floats back a bit.

“What?” I do the same, “What?”

“Watch the hands, buddy. I don’t care if you are the ‘premiere super hero of Baltimore,’ if I was here physically, I’d slap you silly.”

“Oh Christ.” Dear Dad, in my attempts to carry on your illustrious career, I fondled a ghost tonight. She’s sassy; you’d like her.

“No, sorry, Wiccan actually.” A sly smile slips loose on her face. “Was that an apology?”

“Oh Chri.. I mean, hell yes. I…” I try to recover smoothly. Though, after sputtering inside my helmet, the point is moot, but hey…”I apologize miss. So, this is… “ I test the word out carefully, “Magic?”

Her face brightens like I’m Helen Keller just learning what water is called. “Yes. Exactly. Now, you must be prepared.” Her expression grows somber again, “Someone close to you has his very soul in jeopardy. One of the unclean spirits from the darkest paths will claim his shell for its own. I can help, but you must bring him to me so I can cleanse it from him.”

Magic? I have faced it before. At least, I’m pretty sure I have. Imperious Maximus broke so many scientific principles when we fought that reality probably felt like it at least deserved a dinner before hand.

“You’ve got the wrong hero. I’m more of a science wizard. Heck, I barely believe in magic, let alone understand how to fight it.” Might as well admit this much; I don’t recall too many tales of Surge I fighting imps, beasties, or oompa loompas, so hopefully I’m not giving anything away. Then I recall the other part of her warning, “Hold it.” I raise a hand, “Someone close to ME? How do you know, and… not to be rude, but do you have a name, or at least a Nome de Magus?”

She lowers her eyes, and I realize she’s a bit embarrassed. “Last question first. I’m called Portent. I know because it is given to me to know pieces of the grand design that have not yet been set. Some call me the lady in white, for obvious reasons.” Then her head comes up, “And believe in magic or not, it’s not going to go away just because you plug up your ears to its song, and lower your visor to its wonders.”

A new tone of sorrow enters her voice as Portent adds, “Or its horrors. I don’t always know why. It’s like seeing a preview of the after effects of a train wreck. Things will happen, but the things that lead up to it are not always given to me. Someone close to you is a chosen host, and before dawn will be taken. When you find out who that is, you must bring him… alive, to that rooftop.” She gestures to the top of a building. “I’ll be ready.”

“Someone close to me.” I shake my head, “Who? Can you give me a clue? And…why twilight?”

“Try to think of someone in trouble, who feels alone, with no way out. Unable to even speak to his friends.” The floating seeming of her shimmers and starts to fade. “And why twilight? Because it’s always a time of change.”

And with that, she’s gone.

Her description sounds like me actually. Dad left me this stupid suit, and the only one who knows about it is Jessica. Friend is not the word I’d use there. Heck, I haven’t even confronted mom about it and told her what dad was up to all those years. I’m too scared. I can’t even tell George and he’s my best…

There are times in your life when you feel incredibly stupid. The thought that you couldn’t be any blinder if you poked your eyes out with hot pokers settles in, and squirms there, making you very uncomfortable. George, who I can’t talk to; George, who for some reason, is in trouble and won’t talk to me. George, the best friend I put on hold because I was afraid of making matters worse.

Now, he’s been chosen by Fate (Which I don’t believe in, thanks) to be a sacrificial skin to some demon thanks to my inaction? Dammit, Dammit, Dammit!

“FLIGHT!” I hiss at the suit, and streak towards George’s place. Time to unleash a little artistic temperament.

I crash into the bar, ignoring the closed sign, and breaking the door open in a spray of wooden splinters and rended metal. I'll pay for it later somehow. It's almost twilight. Maybe I can nip this in the bud before it starts. I don't have to go far; George is in the main room. His half nude body is surrounded by some chaotic design, a counter clockwise spiral like pattern that in part consists of drying blood.

George eyes blink up at me, “Surge? I… I didn’t mean to.” It’s a wheeze. Normally I’d question how anyone accidentally cuts himself after drawing a scrawl that looks straight out of a B-Movie, and then lands in the center of it. Then again, didn’t I draw something I didn’t intend today?

“You’re in danger,” I answer. If understatement were a nation, I would be El Presidante for life. “You have to come with me before…”

Twilight. Outside the false dawn casts it’s purple shine over the “City of Charm.” Inside, at the same time, all hell breaks loose, perhaps even literally.

George screams, throwing his head back at an angle that should snap his neck. His eyes flicker, then the irises narrow and become serpentine. The flesh on his arms and legs bubbles and shifts. I know, I know, I should grab him now, but I’m too shocked to react. The bubbling stops, and settles into scales; George’s jaw line extends, protruding even as his teeth turn into fangs.

Then he … it, gives a snickering laugh, “Fool. N’shomet, lord of the serpentine lair, and warrior of the unwashed has already claimed this place for his own.” It stands, and I notice George’s old body isn’t just uglier. It’s eight feet tall and a lot more muscled. N’shomet’s dark purple forked tongue slips in and out, tasting the air.

“Get out of him,” I warn. I need to get him to Portent. A fight in here is definitely out of the question. We’ll destroy the place.

“You didn’t say please.” N’shomet lunges at me, one of its arms pops as a scaled fist hits me like a pile driver. I’m hurtled back out of the building as I crash through the doorframe I came though. That’s one way to get this fight outside I guess.

Stupid. I forgot to put the fields in place. My head, not to mention my vision is spinning from that last hit. A few words and both fields slap into place and I raise up to one knee. Got to get back in the fight.

The demon’s arms loop about me, twining like constrictors.

ZAP!

I love that sound. N’shomet’s crushing arms fly back as he makes contact with the now electrified me.

“More where that came from, Snakey.” I regain the offensive, and mouth “Mega-Bolt!”

Raw power, well over 600 Kilo-watts of genuine, grade A, All American electricity knocks the demon across the street and into a dumpster with a loud wham! The smell of ozone must be pretty strong if you’re not wearing an insulated airtight helmet.

I streak towards the crumpled body, which looks up, his reptilian features softening, “Surge? Please… don’t hit me any more.”

Oh man, I could have killed him. I mean, killed George. I land next to him and drop the high charge field, “George, are you ok?” His breathing seems good.

Laughter rings in my ears, right before N’shomet bites me. His fangs threaten to break the armor, and venom drools over the shoulder plate he snaps on. He’s not speaking, but the demon doesn’t have to. He said it before: ‘fool’.

Silent alarms are going off in my helmet as the stress he’s bringing down on the suit increases. There’s going to be a breach! I clasp his lower and upper jaw and shift the power of the suit to the exo-skeleton. I remember that some reptiles, like alligators have twice as much muscle power in the closing or snapping strength. The secret is to keep them from opening it in the first place and keep it bound shut. Clearly, I’m a bit late for that.

As I struggle, I fly up with him; got to screw up his leverage if I’m going to pry these steel jaws of his open completely again. His arms grip me and start to constrict again. Still, at least we’re wobbling through the air in the right direction. Great, he’s got me right where I want him.

“George, if you’re in there, listen. I can help you, help get this out of you, but you have to fight it. You can’t just give into him. Dammit, George, you’re stronger than this!” We slam up against a wall; fortunately his back makes a good cushion. I release another shock at the same time, and N’shomet is launched another few feet on top of the roof.

Yellow eyes gaze at me with hatred that’s chilling. “Fool,” the demon thrice names me, “George has nothing. Nothing save debt, criminals who seek to take away his place, and friends too self involved to care.” With that, it stretches scaled appendages and grips the water tower nearby, breaking the metal and slamming it down, “Drink deep. I would make your death slow, but I must find the Protector.”

Great, first a demon possesses my friend, then lectures me, and now I'm not even getting top billing. The water tower hits me hard, and breaks even as it buries me. Water spills; if the suit had a tear, that might be a problem. The wave is spilling over me and the energy of the suit sputters and pops.

“You just made a mistake N'shomet.” I up the voltage and the current sparks along the moisture laden path and metal both, frying the demon again. His scream is an uncanny blend of George's voice, a serpent's hiss, and something from a long forgotten nightmare. I toss the remnants of the water tower off of me, and fly to him again.

The hybrid of demon and man is twitching, semi-conscious and I'm pretty sure I don't want it to wake up fully. I look left, right, then bend down and give it another zap. Just a little one. Honest.

Then it's drop the charge field, over the shoulder with the snake man, and I rocket off towards the location the White Witch told me to meet her at. I see a ring of candles (Man, she likes those things) in a pattern not unlike the one George had drawn except this one seems to be clockwise and sans blood. Weird.

“Incoming!” I yell, and land tumbling into the center of the rune she’s set up. The demon seems to sense the darn thing and starts to squirm with renewed consciousness and strength.

“Perfect.” She nods at my placement, “Hold him fast. We have to hurry, the time is almost up.”

“Easy for you to say. Hold on while I fry him…”

“Don’t, he has to be awake and aware for this, and besides, you might accidentally hurt the man the demon took.” Then her white gossamer gown and cloak flutters in a wind that’s just came out of nowhere.

“NOW you tell me.” I hold onto N’shomet for dear life, while his limbs squirm and writhe. It’s like holding a bag full of anacondas when someone forgot to tie the bag off.

“I call upon the winds of the East,” she closes her eyes and begins to chant. Great, I’ve got a python man on steroids trying to slip my grasp, and she’s taking a nap? Her tones are calm, ceremonial, “Blow away the scourge, and help to return what is lost. I invoke thee.”

“Is this really going to help?” I ask as my captive slips an arm free.

Then N’Shomet howls, as if in pain, and oddly, there’s nothing of George’s voice in the cry. It’s as if only one of them felt whatever just hit him.

I gape at her for a second, then pull at one arm that’s managed to get a strangle hold on my neck. Thank goodness for the armor. “Keep going! Keep going!” I yell at her.

She ignores me, but she does keep going, the winds die, and the heat in the area seems to rise. “I call upon the fires of the South. Burn away the ignoble and leave what is pure. I invoke thee.”

It’s hot in here, but it’s not just me. N’shomet is screaming, “No, do not send me back, the master will … what do you want, mortal? Wealth? Power? Women?”

“Women?” I manage to keep it from slithering out of my grasp just barely. “What are you? Pimp Daddy Demon?”

“I call upon the Waters of the West, cleanse that which has been stained, and wash away what taint remains.” Rain cascades down as she speaks this. I don’t have time to look up to see if clouds are up there. “I invoke thee.”

N’shomet howls, shudders and twists, biting down on the armor again. This time he keeps applying pressure with desperation it didn’t have before. Oh man, he’s going to break through in a moment.

“Portent!” I call out. “Next Element PLEASE… if you use the Periodic table I’m toast here!” I hammer the side of the demon's head, trying to shake it off. Venom drips down, I can see it gleam even in the middle of this downpour.

She makes a weird kneeling motion, and calls out, “I call upon the Earth and Sands of the North. Source of strength, bury deep that which is evil, and hold it fast in thy stone grasp. I invoke thee!”

There’s a rumble, and I fall on my rear even as the snake man’s scales start to recede, and his features blur and soften again. An Earthquake? In Baltimore? Fortunately it doesn’t look like a large one, but …

Then George blinks confused, and mutters, “Surge?”

“You’re going to be alright, George,” I assure him, patting him on the back. “Everything’s going to be alright.” He nods, and then sleeps. Like a freaking baby that was just fed warm milk, he snoozes right then and there. I look over to Portent.

“Is… is he going to be okay?”

She nods. The white costume, still moist, clings to a very shapely figure. Naturally, I’m judging her only with an artist’s eye. Honest.

“He’s cleansed. I wish I had help. That ritual wasn’t meant to be done alone, but then…” She smiles, “It wasn’t alone was it? Your friendship was plain to me, and gave you and him strength. You did very well.” Then she considers, “But do you always talk so much?”

“Ah… I was worried,” I evade, then look back at the large nude snoozing black man draped over me. Man, the things you’ll put up with for a friend. “He’s still a bit scuffed; I’m going to take him to a hospital.”

“Good idea…” I hear her respond, her voice as if it’s a whisper in my ear. I look up again, and she’s gone.

I shake my head, “Magic. I hate magic.” Then I recall how it also helped bring my friend back, and besides, anything that brought rain down on a body dressed like that can’t be all bad. Time to fly George in for a check up.

******

Some folks are lousy patients. They won’t take help, give the doctors a hard time, and rush to get out of bed care A.S.A.P.

Then there’s George. It’s the next day, but he’s clearly in no hurry.

“How do you do it?” I ask, as a shapely lady in white (Not her of course) walks by, “Last time I was in a hospital, the nurse in charge of me was snappy and had a face that sent birds into flight.”

“I don’t know, Peter. Could be Karma, some sort of punishment? Maybe you were Henry the Eighth in a past life.” George leans back into his pillow and smiles. It’s the same irritating, smug, overly friendly smile that drives me nuts some days. Thank God it’s back.

“Not funny,” I reply. “So, things are going your way, eh?”

“Yeah. Damn, Surge not only saved me, turns out he busted up the racket that was threatening to take over my place. No mercy. Surge is one class act.” George goes on, and I can’t help but feel pride. I have to fight a smile myself.

“Wonder how he knew?”

“Mmm?” I jerk my head up from my reverie.

His brown eyes stare into me. “You heard me.” George then looks about, makes sure everyone is out of earshot, and adds quietly, “Don’t you think it’s time you fess up?”

Oh God. I swallow, “Fess up?”

“You see those guys coming into my place. I shut you out. I’m about ready to kill myself because I don’t see any other way to escape this, then this evil thing takes over me…and, well, I don’t remember much after that, but I wake up with Surge looking after me. He drops me off here, or so they tell me…” His gaze is back on me, as if searching, “And then those guys who gave me trouble become his number one target? Do I look stupid to you?”

I take a deep breath. “The jig is up, huh? I, I meant to tell you.”

He nods, his suspicions confirmed, “Damn straight. You told Surge about it all didn’t you? I don’t know how you found him, but maybe you have some number that’s work related. Or maybe you just waved him down screaming like a nut bar…either way,” his smile gentles into somberness, “thanks.”

After my heart stops banging around in my chest, I force my expression to stay calm, smile back, “You’re welcome. What are friends for?”

“For life, Pete, for life.” He pats my shoulder, and then looks up at the T.V. blaring some news. “Damn, too bad he can’t be in more than one place at a time though.”

The last catches me off guard, “Huh? What, why?” He points to the tube, and I look… and listen.

“…Crux Industries chemical plant burned last night, triggering minor explosions… while no one was in the plant, there is nothing left of the building… stiff fines are expected should…”

I get a sinking feeling in my gut. Give us two days, he said. Sure thing, he said. God, could I be any more a sap. Wait, maybe I could at least talk to one of the prisoners. They’d need a pretty good excuse to block me there.

“…in other news, the group S.N.A.F.U. is rumored to have escaped in mid transport, but are not believed to be in the Baltimore area…”

That one would work. I scowl.

“Hey, whoa, Peter, what’s wrong?” George taps my shoulder.

“Ah, sorry George. Ever have one of those days when you’re dining on the sweet fruits of victory only to find half a worm?”

“From time to time. It’s called life.” He smiles, “Ease up, my man, you do your damndest, no one can ask more.”

“Thanks.” Then I chuckle, “Oh well, at least my life can’t get any more complicated.”

George arches a brow. “For a boy with a genius level IQ and an artist’s imagination, you’re not too bright some days.”

“HEY, what’s that supposed to mean?” I grumble.

“Just you’ve got a nasty habit of tempting fate.” He shakes his head.

I roll my eyes, “Take care, George.”

With a wave he lets me go, and I leave the hospital and head to my car. Really, after all this, it just can’t get more complicated. It’s not possible.

That’s some consolation. After all, I saved George, which is great, but I’m behind on a deadline, the F.B.I. pulled a fast one on me, somewhere out there is a ‘protector’ whom I can’t warn because I don’t know who the hell he is, and, to top it off, I forgot to ask Portent for a phone number.

******

A grimy hand, wearing a tattered, open-fingered glove reached for the handset on the public pay phone. Another hand, somewhat matching the first, dialed a long distance number with practiced ease. It didn't matter that the hand had never dialed the number before. It also apparently didn't matter that neither of these hands had deposited a single coin into the slot on the pay phone. The call went through anyway.

The owner of this particular pair of hands spoke into the handset with a voice that seemed to be both old and young at the same time. He spoke briefly and precisely in a way that no normal voice could. When his message was finished, he replaced the handset and ambled off down the sidewalk, taking great interest in a couple of pigeons who were pecking and scratching in the grass near a bench. Reaching into a pocket in his ragged and patched coat, he withdrew a handful of seeds and tossed them gently onto the grass near the birds… He then produced a neatly wrapped sandwich from another and sat down beside them.

As he ate, he would interject a comment or two in the brief pauses of the cooing of the birds. But mostly he just listened…

******

I walk into my apartment and drop my bag on the floor. I made the deadline. Barely. I only avoided the “rising new talent” speech by dropping the artwork on the editor's desk and muttering something about a stomach virus.

I'm looking forward to a hot shower and an uneventful evening. Then I make the mistake of glancing at the answering machine.

One message. Great. It’s probably Jessica wanting me to check in so she can give another glowing critique of my screw-ups and general character flaws.

I hit the button and (surprise, surprise) it's not her voice. The man sounds kind of old, but he has a sort of springy quality to his voice, like he's on the verge of dancing a jig or something. It almost comes across like a telemarketer, but I listen to the message anyway.

“Hello Peter. Sorry to have had to call while you were out, but I'm having dinner with a couple of friends this evening.”

Uhm, that's okay, whoever you are. I forgive you.

“I wish to extend an invitation to you. It's a very important invitation, I think, and should you wish to decline, I would understand but would strongly urge you to reconsider. It may well be the most important meeting of your career.”

Whoa, I smile, this might be a new offer from one of the big comic companies.

“Please meet me and the others in 36 hours, 14 minutes from the time this message ends. We'll be waiting outside of Lincoln Center in New York City. You'll recognize the group when you arrive.”

Recognize the group?

“Oh, please remember to bring the Surge Armor. You'll be needing it soon after the meeting.

“See you soon.”

I drop the phone. I'm freaking out. He knows, he knows; whoever this is knows!

******

“How the hell does he know, Jessica?” I say as I work with her on the tape. “I may be new, but I've not been that stupid? Radar is pretty good for seeing if someone is following me.”

“Are you sure?” Jessica shoots me a frown as she continues trying to isolate any carrier waves on the tape, “Absolutely sure? You were half blind once, and like it or not, still a rookie masquerading as a veteran. You're still making some mistakes in battle, is it so hard to believe you did the same changing?”

Damn it. The problem is, I can't say that at all. I try to calm down, look back, access the situation and see where I could have slipped up. Thinking on it, whoever this is, the voice wasn't hostile, or even gloating. “I think the accent's English...”

“That does us very little good,” She says, “I have no idea what region? Do you?”

“No.” Damn. “Anything we can filter in the background coming in?”

“Not yet.” She shakes her head again, and listens, then looks over at me. “Wait, confine the frequency a bit more, another .02% please.”

A twist of the dial, and viola, we have something. I'm cool, I'm confident, I'm... confused. “Just what is it we have?”

“It is subliminal...” She looks curious, “I'll play it.”

“Isn't that for brainwashing?” I ask, and considering 'I' was the one listening to that thing, I'm a bit unnerved.

“Very few have the technology to make truly effective mind manipulating subliminal messages that work," Jessica assures me. She hits play, and we both listen.

That same voice pipes cheerily, “Oh... Before I forget. Jessica? Take it easy on the boy. He's having enough difficulty coping without constantly having to duel with you... Or perhaps I should tell him about the Bahamas, hmmm?”

It's to her, not me? I don't know whether to be relieved or insulted. I glance over at her, “Bahamas?”

Jessica's eyes have gone very wide. Her back is straight, and she's pale as a sheet as if she'd just been caught in the buff on C-span or something. Then she clears her throat, “You should rest, make arrangements to be out of town, and while you rest I'll re-power the suit. Make sure it's ready for the Bahamas... battle,” she corrects herself, “... for battle if need be.”

I nod, and for once, carefully hide my smirk. I have got to learn more about this sometime. Then I grow somber again. New York City? If this is an ambush, someone has gone to a lot of trouble to set it up. I notice Jessica isn't protesting me going. She's right. My secret, and the secret of Surge is on the line.

What choice do I have?

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