them as well. They certainly perform animal sacrifice. There are times when parts of Chickamauga park are filled with the bodies of dead animals. No black cat is safe. And they try to pass themselves off as pagans!”
“Where we’re going is liable to be dangerous,” Sharice said. “Especially with that sort of spiritual atmosphere. Keep on your toes.”
“Wah-Keng will watch over me, Lady Darkfire,” the adept replied. “I should not require assistance.”
“Hopefully,” Sharice said.
“You’re Lady Darkfire?” Lord Korgan said, his eyes wide.
“Only when I put on a robe,” Sharice replied, grinning. “Until then I’m just Sharice. We need two more. Then we must go to your power center.”
“They’re on their way,” Lady Lithram said. “You know Wiccans…”
“Herding cats is easier,” Sharice said. “Well, let’s get on our game face. We’ve got a soul to save.”
“Doris, right?”
Doris turned and was surprised to see Folsom Duncan. She had been hanging around the cigar terrace half in anticipation of running across the only group she’d interacted with so far. But none of the people she recognized had been around. But it was still just past sunrise, so that wasn’t surprising.
“Sleep okay?” Duncan asked.
“Didn’t sleep at all,” Doris admitted. She could feel the fatigue tugging at her, but sleep hadn’t even been close to a possibility. She’d spent the whole night in one corner or another watching the congoers. It was more or less how she’d spent high school, watching all the kids socialize around her and never being able to break in.
“That will catch up with you, quick,” Duncan said, yawning. “My sleep schedule is totally off. I was up late and I should still be in bed, but it was not to be. Have you had breakfast?”
“Yes,” Doris said, quietly. The con suite had donuts and coffee.
“Well, let me get you a mocha or something,” Duncan said, leading her to the coffee shop in the corner of the hotel. “Given any thought to how you want to spend the con? I’ll admit I probably came on too hard. You can do anything you want, it’s your con, not mine.”
“I gave it a lot of thought,” Doris admitted. She’d had hours to think about it.
“I’m not sure it was worth a lot of thought,” Duncan said, laughing gently.
“No, it was,” Doris said. “I know who I am. I know why I am that way. I’m not sure it’s who I want to be. Or even who I should be. Does that make any sense?”
“Yes,” Duncan admitted. “People come to the Dragon for various reasons. Most come to have fun. Some come to see people, minor celebrities…”
“You?” Doris asked.
“I don’t classify myself that way,” Duncan said. “Some come to interact with friends they’ve made at previous cons. Costumers come to show off their talents. But a few, a special few, if you will, come to find who they truly are. They have been hammered into a certain mold, and it’s a mold with which they are uncomfortable. To the Dragon they are all one. They are all the children of the Dragon: the stormtroopers and the Leias, the Dawn contestants and the guys taking their picture are all equal in the eyes of the Dragon. There’s a song, probably before your time, about masks. The Stranger. We all have a face that we hide away forever, and we take them out and show ourselves when everyone has gone. Some are satin, some are steel, some are silk and some are leather. They’re the faces of the Stranger but we love to try them on.
“What some find from the Dragon is that the face of the Stranger is theirs. In your sleeplessness do you have any idea who you want to be?”
“Yes,” Doris said, pulling out the program book. “You were right. I want to be her. But you see that suit of armor behind her?”
“The one that she seems to shrink from or possibly draw upon?”
“Yep,” Doris said, looking at the cover. “I want to kick its ass. I’m tired of being afraid. I’m tired of being… who I was. I want to be somebody better. Somebody stronger.”
“Then fortune may have sent you to the right corner of the con,” Duncan said as they reached the head of the line. “When you’re actually ready to start kicking ass, look me up. I have friends who can aid you there. I’ll take a venti mocha, no whip. Doris…?”
Sharice looked up at the blast of a car horn and darted across the road, making it to the sidewalk safely.
“Odin’s Eye,” Hjalmar muttered. “I think the spell went astray. This does not look like the Moon Paths.”
The threesome had manifested on a city street. On their side was the back of a large building with a vehicle pull-through. Some people were filtering out of doors at the back of the building and heading down to cross the street. On the far side of the street was a large Hilton hotel.
“Dragon*Con,” Drakon said, looking at the marquee for the Hilton. “We’re behind the Marriott. Downtown Atlanta. Wonder which day it is?”
“Dragon*Con, huh?” Hjalmar said. “Always wanted to get there. So are we on the Moon Paths or not? Or did we shift in space and time?”
“It’s the Moon Paths,” Sharice said. “I think it’s a metaphorical representation. An interesting one. I’m not sure who is generating the metaphor. It might be Janea. If so, I’d like to know why.”
“May be hard to find her,” Drakon pointed out as a statuesque redhead in high heels and a schoolgirl outfit walked past. “With the Dawn contest, there are about six thousand redheads at Dragon*Con.”
“Janea stands out in any sort of crowd,” Sharice said, biting her lip. “But that’s not the tough part. We need to figure out the rules of this place. Let’s go find someplace to sit down and consider.”
The hotel was already a bit crowded, but they found a comfortable conversation set of chairs and a table on the main floor of the hotel.
“I’ve been thinking,” Sharice said.
“That sounds ungood,” Hjalmar opined. “Do you think we can get a drink or something? I wasn’t expecting to be thirsty on the Moon Paths.”
“That’s the sort of thing I was thinking,” Sharice admitted. She had a purse and opened it up. “Any of you got any money?”
“Thirty bucks, more or less,” Drakon said, pulling out a leather wallet on a chain. It had a Chinese dragon embossed on it, to no one’s surprise. “And a driver’s license. That’s about it.”
“’Bout two hundred,” Hjalmar said, going through the pockets of his cargo pants. “And a driver’s license, Visa check card, and a room key in a pack with the room number on it. I’m here in the Marriott. 2738.”
“I’ve got about five hundred, a Visa and an American Express,” Sharice said. “Also a room key, 2739.”
She got up and walked over to a nearby ATM, used it and came back.
“And I’ve got five thousand in my account,” she said, sitting down. “Okay, interesting.”
“Power equals money?” Hjalmar asked. “Relative power is about the same. That’s a pretty simple metaphor.”
“But one that works in this environment,” Sharice said. “But we’re not going to want to get into any fights.”
“That sucks,” Drakon said.
“Because if we do, we get hauled to jail?” Hjalmar asked. “What happens then?”
“I’m not sure,” Sharice said. “But I think getting stuck on the Moon Paths is the least of your worries.”
“So who are all the people?” Drakon asked. “I hadn’t expected the Moon Paths to be so…crowded.”
“At a guess?” Sharice said. “The staff are representatives or one or another of the gods. The leaders of each department may be gods themselves. But this has to be some sort of a neutral zone and I’d guess the police and security keep it that way. That’s why we don’t want to get into any fights. The rest of them? Sleeping people caught in dream. The deceased who are stuck in a sort of limbo. Christian purgatory? Demons and spirits of one sort or another. Angels, for that matter. We’re going to have to think our way through this.”
“Blast,” Hjalmar said. “Maybe you should bring someone else.”
“I just have to hope there’s a reason we’re all here,” Sharice said, biting her lip. “So you’re stuck.”
“Speaking of which, how do we get back?” Drakon asked. “Normally you concentrate on your silver cord.”
