Some Guys Have All the Luck, Part Eighteen

I sighed as a scratched my head. I was right back where I started – this was about me after all. But that confirmation was all I really had. An unseen enemy that knew entirely too much about me and had another six and a half years or so to get it right. Oh, yeah, I finally got the whole ‘hit and miss’ thing that had been going on – the guy, Vinnie Anderson or whoever he was – didn’t dare get close enough to really supervise his own operation. Touching each other was evidently a bad idea and there was no way to know how close might be too close. He had to have had some sense of my existence to even start looking, let alone find mespacer.gifspacer.gif; it stood to reason that in time I’d be able to sense him as well but the time table would be anyone’s guess. If he wanted to stay healthy getting close to me wasn’t the way to do it.

But vampires, werewolves and the like are a willful bunch – and often stupid on top of it. Those most obedient at a distance would likely be least able to think for themselves if the situation demanded it. It dawned on me that the first vampire probably hadn’t been after anyone at all; it was trying to draw me out. But I couldn’t sense it and it didn’t have clear instructions so it did what came unnaturally to it while waiting for me to take the bait. It did nothing to improve my humor when I realized the damned thing probably thought it was doing something smart, killing Old Man Jenkins. Instead, it made getting at me much more difficult since I not only emerged but emerged with a danged good reason to be more wary. I promised myself silently that at some point, I was going to find that thing and end it.

"Did you hear me, Jackie Boy?" Momma asked.

I shook my head, partially in answer and partially to get myself out of my reveille. "No, Ma’am, sorry. I was thinking."

"That’s alright, Dear. I said you need to write to the Mistress. She sees parts of the Chronicles we can’t. She may know all about this only one commander type business where I only know the little I’ve read. Tresmayne can take it to her."

Wolff nodded, "I can do that. I don’t know how long it will take. I won’t know where she is until I begin the hunt. If she’s home, a day, no more. If she’s abroad…" He shrugged.

I nodded, "I’ll write it tonight. You think I should include the stuff we’ve got on Vinnie?"

Crystal nodded emphatically, "Yes!"

I sighed, "You want me to include everything, don’t you?"

Nyota chuckled, "You haven’t caught on yet, have you? You need only ask your questions. Any details she needs she will get from the Chronicles."

"What? Really? Already? But I thought someone wrote them." I couldn’t believe it.

"Someone did – you. We all do, it’s instinctive. The narrative you run through your mind is often recorded as the history. Did you not notice how it seemed at times like you were reading the person’s mind? This is why." Nyota told me.

"Everything?" I asked.

She shook her head, "No, only the history. Your most private thoughts – those you would never share or would not share openly – they will never be recorded. Just the history – and then really only that you are willing to share. It even corrects itself – if you change your wish and don’t want something recorded, it disappears."

"But every slayer?" I started.

Crystal headed me off, "No. Some slayers are too uncomfortable with it and they are either never recorded or it erases when the slayer becomes aware and never records again. You have to be willing, even if you aren’t conscious of it."

I nodded. This was just getting too weird even for me. The crazy Chronicles aside, I now had some bizarre command power I didn’t begin to know how to deal with, as a result a maniac was trying to kill me and perfectly willing to mess with my family to do it; in addition, an Irish werewolf was living on my sofa and taking over my den with his computers; not to mention, a house full of slayers and an ancient werewolf; and to top it all off, my Momma was a retired slayer. I tell you, some guys have all the luck.