Alex hung up the phone. His conversation with Sarah had left him feeling both depressed and exhilarated although the feeling of exhilaration was winning out. Sarah’s schedule was full for the next couple of weeks between training with the Protectorate and assisting a man named Dr. Wight in searching for a killer -- a metahuman. That meant he wouldn’t get to see her for quite a while, hence the element of depression.

On the other hand, she had promised to call him when she returned to set up a date. That thought alone was enough to send the feeling of depression scurrying for cover, even if the date was still a couple of weeks off.

In the mean time, Alex had to decide how to keep himself occupied. He had thought to do a little cleaning and dusting but found that it hadn’t needed it as badly as he’d thought. There was nothing to watch on the television so he ambled into his studio and cued up the recording of the piano piece he’d turned in yesterday.

Professor Greene had encouraged him to develop it into a full symphony. Alex had been a little dubious, especially considering the amount of time. However, Greene had been certain Alex could do it and now Alex was starting to warm up to the idea. He stopped by the music library at school to pick up some of the materials that he needed and headed back to his place to start working on it.

Alex made several copies of the DAT recordings and started using the multiple copies to set up a number of tracks, each representing a different instrument. Using his studio equipment and synthesizers, he was able to change the sound of the piano to the sounds of the various brass instruments, strings, and woodwinds. He added the sounds of percussion as necessary, again using his equipment to alter the sound to match the timbre of the drums, bells and other percussion instruments.

As he was finishing the last conversions of the raw music, Alex was rather rudely interrupted. It seemed that his stomach was trying to stage a popular uprising and wouldn’t desist unless it’s demands of food were met. Alex checked his watch and only then realized that he had been at it for well over twelve hours without a break. When Alex stood up, his muscles added their voices to the protest.

He turned on the stereo and headed into the kitchen. he made himself a couple of large sandwiches, poured a large glass of juice and sat down to eat. Afterwards, he changed into some sweats and after stretching a little, changed the music and began a capoeira routine. He had also been experimenting with some of the instruments traditionally used in capoeira training and had decided to beef them up a bit. Instead of only using the traditional stringed instruments and drums, Alex had added a base line, mixed in an electric guitar and added a few other synthesized elements. The result served the same purpose as the traditional music but now it was a lot catchier and more fun to move to.

Alex worked out for about an hour and a half before calling it a night.

Over the next couple of days, Alex kept the same routine, departing only slightly when his Prof. Greene asked him to help out with a few visiting high school students. Juilliard was sponsoring a series of workshops for New York area high schools and, due to a scheduling mix up, there were a few more students than the instructors could handle. Alex agreed with a little reluctance and headed over to the room where the students were waiting.

Alex looked into the room through the window in the door. There were eight students some sitting in place while others were milling about the room. All of them seemed to be about the same age, betweek twelve and fourteen. Four of them had violins, two had cellos, one had a viola and the last a bass. The last student was almost dwarfed by her instrument which caused Alex to smile slightly.

As he entered the room, they all stopped talking and wandering about almost in unison and stared at him. A few beats went by and Alex was suddenly hit be the realization that he was supposed to be their teacher and were probably waiting for him to say something.

“Good morning,” he started. “Sorry I’m late. Have you been waiting long?” After a few moments, one of the students, a boy  with a violin, responded.

“Uh well, not really.”

“Good,” said Alex smiling slightly. “Why don’t you take your seats and I’ll have a quick look at the material. Then we’ll get started.”

Alex took off his jacket, sat on the corner of a desk and started to have a look at the sheet music. Before he had read the title of the music, he realized that it was still quiet. He looked up and noticed that one of the girls was nudging the boy that had spoken earlier. When she noticed Alex was watching, her hand snapped back and came to rest on top of her violin.

Alex noted the slightly apprehensive expressions on the faces of the students. Putting the music down, he gently asked, “Was there something any of you wanted to ask?”

The boy who had spoken earlier cleared his throat. “Are Are you the same guy that was fightin’ with the two villains that showed up here a couple of days ago?” he asked. “Alice,” he continued, indicating the girl who had nudged him, “says she saw you on the news night before last in a story with Knock-out.”

Alex nodded and replied, “Yes, I am.” Then he added in a lighter tone, “Unless, of course, that sort of thing happens more than once a day. If that’s the case, you might be thinking of someone else.”

One of the other girls giggled before she was hushed up by a glare from Alice. Alice herself looked like she was going to speak when she was interrupted by one of the other boys.

“You think they’ll be back again today?” The boy didn’t sound concerned as much as curious, as if he had money on a rematch or something.

“I don’t think so”, said Alex. “I’m kind of surprised that it made the news--”

The boy interrupted “Not as surprised as I was when I found out that Alice actually watched the news last night.”

At that, the rest of the students started chuckling. Alice didn’t seem to be happy about it.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” chided Alex. “You shouldn’t be teasing like that. She’s probably right to be a little concerned. Things like that don’t happen everyday, at least not where I’m from. However, I promise that you don’t have anything to fear from me unless you start shooting ‘death-rays’ out of your eyes and start glaring at people. Now, was there anything else?”

“Yes. What’s your name?” This question came from Alice, and came more in the form of a demand than a question.

Alex resisted a sudden urge to give her a small lesson in manners and then replied. “My name is Alex. My guess is that you are Alice, right?” When the girl nodded, Alex continued. “How about the rest of you? What are your names? Let’s start with you.” Alex indicated the first boy to speak, and then just pointed at the students randomly.

“I’m Bryan.”

“Charlie.”

“Jane.”

“Denise.”

“Angie.”

“Paula.”

“Juan.” The last name was spoken by boy who had teased Alice.

“Well, I’m pleased to meet all of you. Have you had the chance to look at the music?” The students nodded after a few seconds.

“Tell you what, then. Let me hear how you sound and we can go from there.” Alex spread his copy of the music on the podium and everyone got their instruments ready. He lifted his arms and set the tempo and the students began playing -- badly. Alex winced but had them continue playing. After a few seconds, though, the students were helplessly lost and Alex had them stop.

Alex paused for a few moments before asking, “How many of you have been playing longer than a couple of months?” No one raised their hand.

“A couple of weeks?” Again no response.

“How many of you have only had your instruments for a week or less?” asked Alex, fearing the response.

One by one, each student slowly raised their hands.

Alex sighed and made a mental note to himself to find a suitable way to thank Prof. Greene for bestowing  his first teaching experience upon him.

“Okay”, said Alex. “Let’s start with a few of the basics.” Alex walked over to the chalk board, picked up some chalk and drew five parallel lines on the board. “This is what is commonly called a staff.”

Next to the lines, on the left side, starting at the bottom, he wrote the letters “E,” “G,” “B,” “D,” and “F.” Next to the spaces between the lines, he wrote, also from the bottom, “F,” “A,” “C,” and “E.”

“Each line and space indicates a musical note”

Alex spent the rest of the afternoon working with the students, giving them their first glimpses into the world of music. There were moments when he thought he was just banging his head against a wall but he kept at it and, by the end of the day, he had them playing their first scales, albeit a little shakily and very out of tune.

On the whole, he wasn’t entirely displeased with their progress. As they, packed up their instruments, he found that he was actually looking forward to seeing them at the next session in two days.

“Okay everyone. I want you to practice the scales that you learned today and we’ll pick it up again day after tomorrow. Have a good evening.”

The students replied with a “G’night, Alex” as they went to meet their parents. As Alex retrieved his coat from the chair he’d draped it over, he failed to notice the stares that a few of the parents were directing at him as they left

Alex spent the next day relaxing a little. He decided that a small break was in order, having spent a great deal of time in his studio in the last several days. He contacted Sarah’s Tailor, Susan Ping-Lee and arranged to drop by later that afternoon to discuss the order of an overcoat made of the Dura-wear fiber.

After setting up the appointment, Alex put on his coat and headed out for a little holiday shopping. Christmas was still a few weeks off but he thought, if he could get things shipped ahead, he wouldn’t have to lug it all onto the plane and through customs.

Alex roamed around for a few hours, checking out a few of the out-of-the-way shops. He found a few nice things and, after arranging to have them shipped home, stopped at a small Indian restaurant for a quick bit to eat. It had seemed ages since he’d had a curry dish and he found that he missed some of the places he used to frequent in London.

After lunch, he stopped by the tailor’s and met with Susan Ping-Lee. Susan was indeed a consummate professional and, after discussing what it was he had in mind (and why) he arranged to have both a jacket and an overcoat made from the Dura-wear fiber. Sarah had been correct; they would be a good deal more expensive than something made from more conventional material. But then, having had to find several replacements for his garments in recent months, he felt the additional cost justifiable.

Once he was finished getting measured for the coats, he handed Susan his credit card and she went to the back of the shop for a receipt. While he was waiting, a thought occurred to him.

When she returned with his receipt, he asked, “Is there any way I could have you make something for Sarah? I’d like to give it to her for a Christmas gift.”

“Well, normally I wouldn’t,” she started, “but since she’s the one that referred you to me, I don’t see why not. What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking of having a Dura-wear jacket made for her as well, I think -- something casual enough for daily wear but not too oh utilitarian, I suppose.” Alex foundered for another minute before Susan began asking questions to clarify what he wanted -- a gift for a friend that was part “thank you,” part Christmas gift and not inappropriate.

It didn’t take long before Alex realized that he was very much out of his depth. Finally, Susan felt she had enough information and she assured him that both he and Sarah would be happy with the result.

Alex left the tailor’s satisfied that everything would fit and would be ready in time for the holidays. It wasn’t until he was half way home that he didn’t even know if Sarah celebrated Christmas, or any other holiday for that matter -- the subject hadn’t actually come up the last time he saw her.

Oh well, he thought, I suppose I’ll find out soon enough

The next day, Alex showed up a little early to the class, eager to see how the students had fared on their own. Alex sat down to wait, put on the headphones from a portable CD player he’d bought and began listening to an ecclectic assortment of music that he’d brought with him that included some Jazz by Miles Davis, some classic Rock and Roll from a compilation album and Handel’s “Water Music.”

After about half an hour, Juan came into the room, his violin case held loosely in his left hand.

“Hello there.”

“Hey,” replied Juan laconically.

“You’re the first one to make it in. Manage to get in any practice?”

“A little. Kind of tough when the walls are thin. Appreciation of the Arts ain’t too common in my neighborhood.”

“Well, we’ll see how you did when the rest get here,” said Alex checking his watch. “They should be here any moment now.”

“I don’t think they’re comin’,” said Juan.

“Really? Why not? Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves last time.”

“They did, ‘cept maybe Alice. I don’t think she’d know a good time if it bit her on the a--”

“Perhaps,” interrupted Alex. “But that doesn’t explain the rest of them not being here.”

“Prob’ly their parents. A lot of ‘em were lookin’ at you kinda funny when they left last time.”

As if on cue, Professor Greene opened the door and motioned Alex over. “Hi Alex, could I have a word?”

Alex excused himself and stepped into the hall with his professor.

“You’ve probably noticed that your class is a good deal smaller than it was last time,” said Greene. “I wanted to let you know that it wasn’t the quality of the instruction you were giving. In fact, each of the parents that I spoke to were quite pleased at their children’s progress--”

“But,” interjected Alex.

“But almost all of them expressed concerns about their instructor being a metahuman -- particularly in light of the recent attack here on campus. I’m actually a little surprised that Juan is here this morning. His mother was one of the more er, vocal of the parents that called. I’m sorry.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t know he was here,” answered Alex distractedly. He’s a good kid, I think, but he seems a little headstrong.”  He didn’t know why he was surprised at this development, but he was. He’d never really considered that someone might be threatened by his abilities and the reality was a little unnerving.

“As a result, the faculty has decided to uh, discontinue this particular class until such time as another instructor can be found. If you like, I’ll go tell him.” The professor indicated the waiting boy. “I seem to be developing something of a knack for breaking bad news”

“No, I’ll tell him. But if you can find another instructor soon, I’d appreciate it. They all seemed pretty enthusiastic last time and I’d hate to see it go to waste on something else.” Alex went into the room and broke the news to Juan

Alex arrived at home feeling somewhat depressed. He reached for the remote and turned on the television hoping to catch the news. It had been a few days since he’d bothered and he thought it might be a good idea to stay current on local affairs.

What he saw did little to boost his spirits. There was a short piece about Sarah, referred to as Knock-out by the news anchor, and Dr. Wight investigating a string of murders suspected of being committed by a metahuman. This led into a larger, more in-depth story on Omega, the Nike sponsored hero operating out of Los Angeles. He was apparently in town on something of a good will campaign, working with the authorities on gang problems, apprehending drug dealers and even policing bars in several of the run down sections of Philadelphia.

The campaign was evidently an attempt to counter the stigma of having been set up as the killer of a MNN new reporter and a multi-millionaire that resided there. When asked about the killings, he had nothing to say other than that the killer’s actions spoke volumes and that he would not elaborate on them further.

The fact that Sarah and Omega were in the same town did nothing to make him feel secure about his budding relationship with Sarah. That, coupled with the events at Juilliard, had done a number on Alex’s emotions and he felt an intense need for a good work out.

He headed over to the academia a little early, hoping to get in a little more practice. Mestre Juca was there and offered to put him through his paces since the next class had been cancelled. Alex accepted and the teacher walked over to the stereo and put on some of the practice music.

There was a circle painted on the practice mat and Alex stood waiting on the inside of it toward one edge. Juca entered the circle from the opposite edge. Both men picked up the rhythm of the music and began the jingo, a rhythmic, dance-like shifting from one foot to the other. From the jingo, one could launch into any of the other moves in capoeira.

Both Alex and Juca began trading mock blows in a sort of  “combat dance.” Each combination of kicks and blows developed into something a little more complex until they began incorporating handstands, cartwheels and flips.

Usually, Alex felt a little awkward once the acrobatic elements started working into the “dance.” This time, he felt very much at ease. He felt the rhythm of the practice music and even had a feel for the movements of the mestre. He found he was able to time his ‘attacks’ with greater precision than he had before. Ultimately, as was often the case, Juca did something a little unexpected. Often it was a somersault instead of a vault or a cartwheel instead of a handstand. This time, the mestre vaulted over Alex, no mean feat since Alex was nearly a foot taller than his teacher.

Instead of being surprised, Alex had almost seen it coming. He whipped around into a sort of spinning back kick. Juca whirled around, thinking to tag Alex on the shoulder and found himself staring at the bottom of Alex’s foot that hovered mere inches away from his face. Juca smiled and applauded, stepping back to the edge of the circle.

“Well done, mon,” he said, almost laughing. “I was beginnin’ to wonder if you’d ever get da hang of t’ings.”

“What?”replied Alex in mock indignation. “Here, I thought I was supposed to be your star pupil and now you tell me I’m falling behind? Oh the humiliation” Alex grinned, pleased with himself for finally having gotten the hang of the “dance.”

“Oh, quit yer whinin’,” Juca said, smiling. “Show me dat dis was no accident and I might forgive you for bein’ such a dimwit.” The two practiced for another half hour, during which Alex adequately demonstrated that his earlier feat was definitely not an accident.

By the time they wrapped it up, Alex was feeling better. It was almost enough to make up for not being permitted to continue working with the students. Almost, but not quite

Alex spent much of the next two days working on his symphonic piece and stopped around five. He was, again, surprised at how much time had elapsed since he’d begun that morning. It seemed that every time he started working on the project, nearly everything else faded from his mind. While the experience wasn’t unpleasant, it was a bit unsettling and Alex decided to make sure it didn’t become a regular occurrence.

He wasn’t due at the academia for a couple of hours so he decided to get a bite to eat a watch a little television. He watched for about an hour then turned it off, muttering about the lack of anything substantive to watch. He changed into some sweats and put himself through a rigorous workout in the gym, once again playing the new piece he’d cobbled together for practicing.

“Very nice. I like the way you sampled a few of the chants and merged them into the background as  a counterpoint to the main melody.”

The voice was familiar, if not entirely welcome.

“Weaver,” said Alex, only mildly surprised, but annoyed just the same. “I’m actually glad you stopped by. I wanted to discuss a marvelous invention -- the door knocker. It has a slightly more modern counterpart called the door bell. They both serve the function of alerting the owner of a dwelling to the fact that someone wishes to gain entry. It is also considered polite to wait until you are actually invited inside before entering.”

“I may not have mentioned it before but sarcasm is not your best quality,” Weaver replied. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m glad you’ve decided to flex your creative muscles. I understand you’re developing that piano composition into a symphonic piece”

Fist stood on the rooftop of the building across the street from Alex’s place, all but invisible in his jet black bodysuit. His employer had provided the surveillance equipment necessary to keep watch on the young man. Apparently they felt keeping watch on the boy was his best chance of finding the target.

His quarry had yet to be captured on any of the video feeds from the place. Even binoculars were useless. The windows were either blacked out, as on the lower floor or mirrored, as was the one he faced. Instead, the mercenary had to rely on the provided sound equipment and the microphones that were strategically placed throughout the structure.

He was impressed at the quality of the equipment he had been given. Not only was the sound quality excellent, there was a small display unit that duplicated the floor plan of the place. It’s purpose was to interpret the sounds detected by the microphones in the apartment  and convert them into a graphical display of the relative positions of the origins of those sounds. After filtering out the sources of the music, and other miscellaneous noises, what was left were a couple of dots representing the people speaking, in this case, the dots represented the boy and the one called Weaver -- his target.

It was an unusual job and one that had driven his price up when he heard the details, or lack of them to be more accurate. His employer was unable to provide much information on the target’s abilities; only that they had been unable to get a visual ID and only knew him by the sound of his voice. He had no known offensive ability and his defensive abilities seemed to be limited to being extremely elusive. The one thing that had been stipulated was that no permanent harm was to be done to the resident of the building, a boy named Alexander St. John-Smythe. They did allow a little room for bruising as long as it was necessary to take out Weaver and wasn’t terminal.

Fist put the display unit back into the box where he’d found it and closed the lid. He momentarily considered going against instructions and keeping it but decided against it. No telling how deep the pockets were who’d paid him. No sense taking the risk of becoming the next target, even for a very nice toy. He touched the button on the top of the case that triggered the destruct sequence. In a few moments, the case and its contents would be reduced to unidentifiable slag. Quietly standing up, he took a couple of running steps and launched himself at the large window that opened onto the exercise room
 
 

“I understand you’re developing that piano composition into a symphonic piece. If you’re willing, I’d like to help--”

Weaver’s impending offer was interrupted by the sudden sound of shattering glass.

Alex whipped around in time to see the figure of a man land on the exercise mat and roll quickly to his feet. He was dressed like a ninja, minus the mask.  His hair was short, dark, and his face too hard to define.

The intruder looked around and then addressed Alex. “I’m looking for Weaver. Where is he?” Alex was slightly confused since Weaver had just been standing right -- Weaver was gone.

“Weaver isn’t here at the moment,” replied Alex trying to cover his surprise. “Would you like to leave a message?”

“Don’t play games with me, boy,” Fist replied. “I know he was just here. Even a ‘porter couldn’t have gotten out without me knowing it.” The man did not appear to be armed but his posture suggested danger just the same. “You’re not my target but sometimes bystanders get hurt. Give me Weaver and you’ll get to sleep in your own bed instead of the infirmary.”

Alex found he was getting tired -- very tired -- of being threatened and told what to do.

“I don’t think I like your tone,” he began. “I’ve already told you he isn’t here and I’m sure you can see that for yourself. Unless you’re going to stand there and hurl more threats at me, I think you had better leave while it’s still an option.”

The music to which he had been practicing was still playing over the sound system in his apartment. Alex focused on the rhythm of his practice music and felt the power within himself begin to grow.

“Son,” began the intruder, “you’re about to learn a very painful lesson.”

“I’ll be certain to take notes.”

Fist quickly closed the distance between himself and Alex. The punch that he threw at Alex would have been more than sufficient to flatten any three ordinary men. However, as he was about to learn, Alex was far from ordinary.

Instead of feeling the bone-crushing impact between his fist and the Alex’s face, the mercenary felt nothing as his hand passed through the empty space where Alex had stood an instant before. The music had sufficiently boosted his normal level of ability. Although still not at “full strength,” his heightened abilities had been sufficient to allow him to duck under the blow. By the time Fist recovered from the missed blow, Alex was already facing his attacker.

Fist frowned and made a mental note to bump up his fee for this one -- there had been no mention of metahuman-level ability in the boy. The mercenacry moved out into the exercise room and sized up his opponent more carefully. Alex began shifting his weight from one foot to the other in time to the music.

Fist recognized the style as Capoeira but wasn’t certain which form he was practicing. The mercenary began circling and chose a moment in the music between beats to attack. The flurry on Alex would have pulverized a brick wall, but the Brit managed to block all but the last one. The impact from that one was enough to send him flying to land on the exercise mat a few feet away. The young man rolled to his feet and continued moving in the same odd, dance-like way.

The mercenary attacked again, this time with several strong and very rapid kicks. The result was much the same as the last attack. Alex had once again either dodged or blocked the majority of the blows. Several had definitely landed but if they had any effect, his opponent wasn’t showing it.

 Before Fist had the chance to attack again, Alex went on the offensive. The young man attacked with a series of punches and acrobatic kicks that ended with a solid kick to the intruders mid-section. Fist landed hard several yards away. Years of hard training prevented him from losing consciousness but he had definitely felt the blow and knew that he couldn’t take too many more.

With still no sign of Weaver and nothing to be gained by continuing the fight with the boy, Fist decided to make a quick retreat. When Alex attacked again, Fist channeled the force of the attack back at the young combatant. The resulting throw sent Alex careening into a pommel horse. In the few moments it took Alex to regain his feet, Fist was gone leaving nothing but the fragments of shattered glass and a cold wind blowing through the hole in the window

Alex held the door as the last of the repairmen left carrying his ladder. He had swept up the glass the night before and now that the window had been replaced, the air was beginning to warm up again. He walked back into the kitchen, fixed himself some tea and took a seat in the living room. His ribs were still a little tender from last nights fight and he was glad to be off of his feet. Just as he was getting comfortable there was a knock on the door.

He briefly considered not answering the door. Then, thinking it might have been one of the repairmen returning to retrieve some forgotten item, he stood up and answered the knock. It was Weaver.

“What an amazing thing,” said the vagabond with genuine awe. “You were right! This ‘summoning knocker’ thing actually worked. Here you are.”

Alex sighed and stepped aside allowing Weaver to come in. “At least you knocked this time.”

“I just wanted to check up on you after last night. I would have felt terrible if you’d come to some harm on my account.” Weaver looked over at the gym and commented, “They did good work on the window. You’d never know it had been broken”

“Weaver,” Alex began. “Who was that last night? And why on earth was he looking for you? Did you barge into someone else’s home once too often or something? And where did you disappear to anyway? I damn near got a few broken ribs on your behalf!”

“You left out ‘how did he know you were here?’ -- a very important question that shouldn’t be overloo--”

“Never mind that for now!” snapped Alex. “You have a very annoying way of diverting the conversation, and for once I’d like some straight answers!”

Weaver shrugged and said patiently. “I don’t know who it was, I’ve never seen him before. I have no idea why he was looking for me. I have never actually barged in on anyone. However, I admit I do have a tendency to appear unannounced but that’s only in your case. I have no idea where I ‘disappeared to.’ One moment, I was speaking to you about your symphony, the next I’m employing that, that -- door knocker thing. I know how much time has passed and what has transpired in that time but I can’t say that I was actually anywhere in particular.”

Alex listened to the rag-clad old man and the tension eased out of him as he did. When Weaver had finished, Alex reluctantly added, “Okay, so how did he know you were here?”

Weaver’s expression appeared to be one of genuine surprise. “Good question! Why didn’t I think of that?!”

“But you just--”

“I knew you smarter than they gave you credit for!” continued Weaver, not noticing Alex’s sour look. Weaver’s animation seemed to grow until he was almost dancing. “I have to say that I don’t really know how he knew I was here!”

Alex was beginning to seriously question the wisdom of continuing his conversation with Weaver when the old man suddenly clamed down.

“I think we may be able to puzzle it out though”, he said almost calmly. “He could not possibly have seen me at any point--”

“Why not?” asked Alex.

“The windows are mirrored on this floor so no one could have seen inside.”

“What about infrared cameras?”

“You’ve been reading, I see,” replied Weaver. “Good, good. The windows again. Specially insulated. Has the side effect of blocking IR transmission.”

“Then what about--”

“If you’re going to keep interrupting, we’ll never get through this!” Weaver snapped. “Just trust me, I could not have been seen by anyone.”

“Why not?” asked Alex deliberately.

“Because you’re the only one I’ve ever allowed to see me.”

Weaver said it so matter-of-factly that Alex wasn’t sure how to respond. Before he had the chance, Weaver continued.

“If he couldn’t see me, then he must have heard me. That would mean either very high tech parabolic microphones from some distance away or perhaps microphones planted somewhere around here--”

Weaver was interrupted by the sound of the telephone. Alex turned and picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Peter Windham, from the Ministry of Metahuman Affairs.”

“Oh, I’ve been hoping you’d call. Is there any word from the Protectorate?”

“Well, yes, there is,”replied the functionary. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. We’ve managed to pull a few strings and we’ve set up a meeting for you for early tomorrow afternoon. You’ll be meeting with Trinity and Lioness. They should be able to offer some kind of advice for your current situation.”

Alex jotted down the details and thanked him for his efforts before hanging up.

“I have a meeting with the Protectorate tomorrow. Maybe I’ll finally get some help--”

Alex looked up and Weaver was nowhere to be seen
 

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