Chapter Four
Know Thy Enemy.
A low, vaporous fog coated the ground, and an eerie silence clung to the air, as Zoey and Oscar made their way through the Moth Cemetery in Astoria. The cemetery pre-dated the Great Fire, and was one of few surviving landmarks of the time. The old tombstones, faded and cracked paving stones, and weaving pathways lent the area a foreboding atmosphere.
And, the fact that it was nearly three in the morning didn't help.
"Shouldn't you be in costume?" Oscar asked, his low voice louder than intended. Experience with low-lying fog cover had him keeping his lantern-light close to the ground. When Zoey turned to him, her eyes glistened in the dark, reflecting like a cat's.
"I mean. If we meet someone in here with a pulse... I'd rather they meet Zoey. Fantisma has a habit of freaking people out. I mean, with Zoey, they might still freak out, but they probably won't
panic
. And, if we meet something without a pulse - I still have all my spells." Oscar nodded, barely visible in the limited moonlight. "Did you... actually used to hang out here?" she asked.
"I... didn't feel like I had anywhere else to be. And, if you combine Astoria's history, the graveyard's age; a bit of chalk and string, a candle, maybe a knife... It's enough to experiment. Enough to get in over your head."
Zoey watched his face; it had darkened, and hardened for a moment, into a suggestion of the terrifying, expressionless gaze of Octagon, the man he used to be. She nodded, and asked quietly, "Were there others here?"
"At first,"' he answered. "... not... after."
She nodded. It was the most Oscar had said about his origin story; revealing this old boneyard as his own training ground was rough on him. As he'd told her about it, Zoey had reached out and held his hand. He was so uncomfortably monotone when discussing it, even now, years later.
Just as Zoey opened her mouth to speak, a familiar scent teased at the edges of Oscar's nose, and he held up his hand in a fist, calling for
'silence'
. "Smell that?" he asked. Zoey's eyes narrowed, as she raised her nose - but shook her head. "It's grave earth. Fresh grave earth."
"... a self-motivated exhumation?" Zoey asked, with a smirk. Oscar smiled back.
"I prefer 'spontaneous unburial rite'," he replied. He gestured with the lantern. After a few steps off the path, he spoke into the silence, "I just want to remind you - I'm at best a consultant. After, uh, last night... I'm sure I could cast even my simple spells right now. I'm pretty far from the Dark Power." Unbidden, the image of Zoey's alter ego, Fantisma - spread before him, writhing; her nails digging into his scalp, her heels scratching her back - surged through Oscar's mind. The dim light didn't let him see the smirk that crept across Zoey's face, and she felt a little warmth in her belly, and across her cheeks.
"I've
ruined
you, is what you're saying," she murmured, quietly. Her darksight let her see that Oscar was blushing - and smiling. He really had a dangerously adorable smile.
"I think you've actually
improved
me. Like a street dog, forgetting how to fight once he's..." Oscar froze, as Zoey heard a rustle, not too far in the distance - less than 50 feet off, but the fog clouded all sense of direction. "... hear that?" Oscar hissed.
Zoey scanned through the distance. Even able to see in the darkness, her vision couldn't grant her sight through the fog - but she could hear movement, and then - quiet.
Oscar crept a step forward, and Zoey nodded. Then, with only a moment's thought, Fantisma lifted both her feet off the ground. With a carmel purr, Fantisma's voice rolled through the fog, "Hey hey, little kittens, come on now." She allowed herself to drift forward, feeling the wind, dampness and darkness around her. "We're not here to hurt you -
much
." Deliberately, she allowed a dull, red light to shimmer forth from her eyes, while the bolero churned up eddies and vortices in the fog.
Even as Fantisma's eyes were glowing and held the unearthly power to see through darkness, it was Oscar pointing that made her notice the macabre display on a grave, just a few feet ahead.
The gravestone had cracked, probably long ago. Atop the grave, though, a circle had been burned into the grass, probably by barbecue starter and a lighter. A half-burned cigar soaked in a tumbler of rum, and a cut-open cat and beheaded black rooster lay in the circle; a clump of the rooster's feathers had been pulled loose and dropped on the ground. Fantisma studied the objects, as Oscar silently crossed the distance to them.
"Voodoo," Fantisma said, quietly - lightly turning the word into a question.
Oscar knelt, nodding, then, with a moment's study, sneered. He looked up at Fantisma, tapping his nose twice. As Fantisma drifted slowly upwards, he answered, speaking just "No. The trappings, but there's no... meaning, no understanding. Crude. The circle's too basic, the components aren't interacting correctly. Still," Oscar sighed. "Killed the cat - and the chicken - fresh. That takes focus. Could be our guy, but if so, he's long gone."
Fantisma sneered herself, glancing over Oscar, as she paused her upward motion. She flicked her wrist up, as if dismissively - while pointing slightly past Oscar, into the fog. "Ugh. So, there's no way we're going to get hands on this guy, by, uh, 1:30?" she said, suggesting a direction as Oscar stood up. Then, he
surged
, pouncing hard into the fog, as Fantisma spake Latin words of power, banishing the fog she'd summoned earlier - leaving the brash, youthful Voudun revealed, and pinned under Oscar.
Fantisma floated down, her eyes glowing red, as she snarled, "So let's talk about dead ca -" and cut herself off.
The young necromancer shrieked, "Get this asshole off of me! He's touching me! Help!"
Fantisma gasped; Oscar wrestled, trying to keep the necromancer pinned - while avoiding touching her. "... it's a girl necromancer...!" Oscar gasped.
"I'm
not
a necromancer!" the girl said, vehemently. Oscar may never have been an expert martial artist, but he'd been in a number of fights - and had fifty pounds on his opponent. Despite her resistance, she was pinned now; pressed against the ground, arm held up behind by Oscar - as she glared up at Fantisma. "I was
practicing
."
"Yeah, practicing
badly
," Fantisma snarked. "Any magic you have to kill cats for..."
"Sure, easy for
you
to say," the girl spat. Fantisma took a moment, and evaluated her. Young - under eighteen, certainly. A local to Halcyon City, by the accent. But almost certainly not
from
the wealthy Astoria neighborhood; sounded a lot more like King's Row.
"What are you doing out here?" Fantisma asked, adding, "Long way from home."
"Hey, can you get your thug to leggo my arm? You're a
superhero
, it's not like I'm gonna
outrun
you," the girl said.
After a brief pause, Fantisma made a dismissive wave of her hand, and said, "You know -
fair
. Thug...?" she paused, smirking at Oscar, who glared up at her for a moment. "Let her go."
Oscar hesitated, but nodded, and released the girl's arm. She squeaked, as if she was trying to suggest she was
angry
, but only managed to communicate that she was
intimidated
. She crawled a few feet from Oscar, and stood up. She was short; maybe 5'3" - shorter than Fantisma with her heels on, and particularly with heels
and
floating half a foot off the ground.
As she got up, the young woman blurted out, "Aw,
shit
, it really
is
you!" and her face abruptly beamed.
Fantisma glanced past her to Oscar, who shook his head lightly, and shrugged. Spreading her arms and fingers wide, Fantisma answered, "Yup, the real deal."
"Man, I
love
you! I've got clippings from when you were still Ghost Princess, tearin' shit up. You kick
ass
," she said, enthusiastic. "Taking down Graveyard, fighting Shadow Master, binding up
demons
and stuff. You saved the
city
like, a bunch of times! Aw, man - you didn't come out here to bust
me
, did you? My spell didn't even work!"
Fantisma couldn't help the corner of her mouth turning up slightly. "Well, it... had some effect. I felt a pull through astral space," she lied. Specifically, she deliberately lied,
badly
- in such a way that anyone who had
any
idea what they were doing would know the lie right away. Oscar had to turn away to stifle a laugh. Fantisma continued, "Listen, blood sacrifice is no joke. The cat, and the..."
"Yeah," she responded, looking crestfallen. "Look, I... I don't feel great about that. And it didn't work, either. But look, the cat was dying, some kidney thing. I fed it a big ass can of tuna, and gave it some sedatives. The shelter was putting her down anyway! And, like," she gestured broadly. "Chicken's a chicken, I didn't think that was a big deal." She hesitated another moment, then added, "But I
do
feel bad about the cat."
"Alright," Fantisma said, slightly disoriented by the turn the conversation had taken. "So, uhm. Hold on, let's, uh, start over, a little." She glided down a few inches, into easier reach, and offered the young necromancer her hand. "Fanstima. And you are...?"
"Tanisha," she said, enthusiastically shaking Fantisma's hand. "This is awesome. Like, so honoured to meet..."
"Why are you trying to learn magic, Tanisha?" Fantisma said, a little firmly, trying to keep her on topic.
Tanisha looked a little crestfallen, but tried to continue with enthusiasm. "Because I wanna get into college."
Oscar, leaning on a gravestone a few feet behind Tanisha, said, "You're trying to use magic to... charm your way into college?"
Tanisha turned towards Oscar, and gave him a dismissive look. "Hey, we're talking here," she said, before turning back to Fantisma. Fantisma smirked, meeting Oscar's outraged gaze and giving a light shake of her head. "I'm not trying to charm or cheat anybody. But the Ipswitch campus has started giving bursaries, even full ride scholarships, for students with magical talents, right? I mean.
