For Cameron, this was all routine; a meet-and-greet phase, a revealing conversation, and then the springing of a trap -- either his, or the OPFOR's. He sipped his tea and was thankful it had been made properly; sweet almost to the point of sickliness, with just enough actual tea flavor to season but not enough to create bitterness. Nej ordered a half chicken and a small tub of beans.

"So," Cameron began, "gimme the ol' elevator pitch. What sorta items can a feller expect to receive if'n he retains your services?"

Nej raised one graying eyebrow, stark against his dark brown skin. "Mister Texas, I ain't exactly the sorta guy you pick outta the phone book." He chose his words with care. "As folks say, 'if you gotta ask, you cain't afford it'."

"Oh, I don't know about that," drawled Cameron. "I reckon I can afford quite a lot."

Nej gave Cameron a Look, of the capitalized variety. To his great surprise, Cameron found himself beginning to experience emotions of embarrassment and anxiety, which was not remotely the norm; Cameron knew from past experience that he was capable of remaining perfectly even-keeled in the face of all manner of outlandish situations from disarming nuclear bombs to eating another man alive. After a moment of quick contemplation, he put it down to "probably magic", which was in fact correct; Nej was a poor salesman, but a very good sorcerer.

Clearing his throat and trying his best to shake off the effects, Cameron leaned forward. "I can see you ain't a man what likes goofin' around, so I'll get to the point. A feller of our mutual acquaintance contacted you about procurin' a certain china bowl, in return for a large shipment o' cash delivered by a third party. Turns out, that there third party had other instructions to pass on a subset o' that cash to another person, and so on, endin' in a somewhat complex chain of events which culminated in a buncha people tryin' to kill me." Nej's face had twisted into a frown at this point, but Cameron bulled forward, trying to get this over with. "Now I don't give a damn about you, or the bowl, or any o' the specifics of its acquisition or distribution." He leaned forward. "But I do want the name o' that feller who contracted you, for reasons that should be pretty dang obvious at this juncture."

Nej began to put down his half chicken, very deliberately. He opened his mouth to reply, no doubt to say something supercilious and dismissive, but Cameron was saved from having to hear it by the advent of trouble, which he had been expecting for some time now. Tiny, nigh-imperceptible flickers of motion and light in reflective surfaces, meaningless in and of themselves, had been accumulating an inchoate picture in his hindbrain for the last few seconds; abruptly, they coalesced into a simple certainty: somebody was about to shoot him.

Without pausing to think, he dodged out of the way in the split-second before the shot was fired; the sniper's bullet, passing smoothly through the area where Cameron's head had been a moment ago, slammed directly into Nej's chest, bowling him over backwards and tossing him a good five feet backwards across the floor. Cursing, Cameron hauled out his irons and readied them as the expected swarm of agents began pouring in through the restaurant's doors.

Cameron tossed off a few shots at the suited men, but as usual, there was little effect; the androids quickly ducked out of the way before his bullets could even clear the barrel and returned fire, forcing him to duck down behind a table for cover. He cursed again, realizing he'd spilled his tea.

To his surprise, Nej stood up behind him, tossing away the splintered remains of the chicken which had absorbed the sniper's bullet in utter defiance of logical physics; the old sorcerer cracked his knuckles, pursed his lips contemplatively, and gestured nonchalantly at one of the agents. Unfortunately, nothing happened, and the suited automaton coolly emptied its magazine at Nej in response.

"Get down, ya damn fool!" yelled Cameron, but he clearly needn't have bothered; Nej shrugged as the bullets sailed around him, missing by a few inches in various directions. Cameron took careful note of this; under normal, non-magical circumstances, agents had the precision accuracy of a laser. Spose I'll haveta take such things into account when shootin' folks what might be wizards.

Nej strolled unhurriedly over next to Cameron and knelt down so that they could hear each other over the sounds of gunfire, destruction, and screaming that were filling the restaurant. "I expect these a-holes are the folks what you been trackin' down?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow again.

Cameron nodded. "As you can see, I got a powerful interest in figurin' out how they keep findin' me." He stood up and squeezed off a few shots, forcing the agents to dodge again, then squatted back down to weather the responding fusillade. "They ain't real neighborly."

Nej pursed his lips and rubbed his chin contemplatively. "So it do seem. Now, pardon me fer askin', but if you cain't shoot 'em, how do you kill 'em?"

"Like this." Cameron waited until the burst of return fire had slackened, then popped up again and executed a series of three tightly-placed shots - one at an agent's current position, a second in the spot where he reckoned the agent would be in if it dodged the first, and the third where it was likely to be if it dodged the second. As expected, the agent evaded the first two with ease, but found itself squarely struck by the third; the creature's head exploded into a burst of metal and plastic shards as it dropped to the ground. Cameron dropped back into cover, smirking at Nej. "They dodge real fast, but they ain't too smart."

"'Spose I get it," ruminated Nej, standing up again and ignoring the bullets flying around him. The old sorcerer looked around, spread his hands theatrically, and muttered to Cameron "Shoot that there stove, if you don' mind," as he nodded his head towards a window into the establishment's kitchen.

Cameron, more than a little open to the opportunities of improvisation in battle, promptly did as he was asked. The revolver's bullet cracked into the stove with little initial effect, but after a moment there was a large and tightly targeted gas explosion which shot upwards at an astonishingly precise twenty-three degree angle which perfectly struck the supports of a large overhead hood fan assembly. The fan's supports snapped, and the fan housing swung suddenly and powerfully down like a titanic hammer, smashing into the wall between the kitchen and the dining area at the exact moment an agent was moving towards it for cover. The resulting crash and debris cloud made things very confused for a number of seconds before eventually revealing that the agent had been handily crushed, but that was only the beginning.

As Cameron watched, awed, a sequence of events began to play out through the restaurant. A settling section of wall triggered a cascade which dropped a brick onto a second agent, causing him to accidentally muff his shot and instead blow the back off his ally's head. A falling light fixture toppled the drinks machine, scattering ice cubes all over the floor in just such a way that they appeared as if by magic directly under an agent's descending foot, and the resulting trip-and-slide brought the agent directly into the path of a collapsing support beam. In seconds, the deadly Rube Goldberg machine had claimed six of the detestable androids, and sown sufficient confusion throughout the others that Cameron was able to capitalize on their distraction and take them out, one at a time, with carefully-placed shots. In under a minute, the restaurant was silent.

Cameron whistled appreciatively as he reloaded, stepping out of cover. "Damn, man. That there is what I call a force to be reckoned with."

Nej nodded, retrieving his small dish of beans from where it had miraculously been untouched by falling dust or plaster on the table. "You ain't the first to call me such." He took an unhurried bite of his beans, chewing them contemplatively. "Seems ta me that you and I got a mutual problem."

Cameron holstered his guns, inclining his head respectfully towards Nej. "Gotta say I agree with that assessment -- and seems to me that trackin' down my quarry might be just as beneficial to you as it is to me."

Nej ate for a few moments, pondering, then tossed the bowl over his shoulder into a half-collapsed trash can. "Mebbe. But mebbe you do me a lil' favor first."

"So, that's the place?" asked Enna, nodding at the run-down bookstore across the street. "Seems like kind of a dump."

"Occult bookshops usually are. It's not like you'd get a lot of power out of a paperback you bought in a flashy, upscale bookstore." Orton took another sip of his fruit juice and winced. He would have preferred a boba tea or something, but those wouldn't be popular in this part of the country for another five or ten years.

"Why's that?" asked Enna, scooting over closer to hear him better over the loud noises of the birds and other wildlife in the area. "Isn't the knowledge the same?"

Orton shook his head, trying how best to figure out how to phrase his response. "Remember, magic is really differences in entropy. Anything old that still exists has a huge entropy differential, because it had to resist a lot of change to stay intact as long as it has. That's why ancient tomes and rituals and language have so much power; it's not because they're old, it's because they're old and still around."

"Seriously? So thousands of years from now, stupid things we made up might have real magical power?" Enna giggled.

Orton chuckled as well. "Probably. Around the year 3000, mages are probably going to be blowing each other up with Magic: The Gathering cards. It's gonna be lit, fam."

"Lit? Fam?" Enna cocked her head. "What's that mean?"

Orton winced. "Ugh. Future slang. Sorry. Think of it like, uh..." -- he racked his brain -- "I guess you might say 'it's gonna be radical, bro'. Or something like that."

Enna giggled again. "Future slang. Lit, fam."

"Anyway," continued Orton doggedly, "there's going to be a couple of kids show up around eleven tonight to burn the place down. One of two things will happen; either we stop them and they run off, or we don't and the shop's owner scares them off a little while later -- after the fire gets started, but before it really spreads too far."

"But... I thought you said we were supposed to make sure this place burns down?" Enna had a quizzical expression on her face.

Orton nodded. "Yeah. The first two times I went through this loop, I accidentally started a fire after scaring them off."

She giggled again. "Seriously? You accidentally burned down the same shop twice?"

"What can I say? I'm really talented." Orton sipped the last of his juice and threw the cup away, looking off into the distance. "The first time, I didn't even know I had done it; I left before the fire was anything more than a smolder, and never looked into it further. On the second loop, I did everything exactly the same, then paid a little bit more attention to the news; that was how I discovered what had happened. And on the third loop, I made sure to save the shop -- and found out that it had horrible consequences later. So there's been a lot of trial-and-error."

This seemed to strike a nerve in her, for some reason; Enna looked up into the sky, seeming pensive. "I... I guess it's easy to make mistakes. Even if you think you know what you're doing."

Orton winced. "Especially if you think you know what you're doing. Kettering's law: 'Logic is an organized way of going wrong with confidence'. It's one of the reasons I don't try to get clever at this step, by doing something sensible like buying the book myself like a regular customer. There's just no way to know what else I might be changing." Enna rolled her eyes, but didn't respond, and the two of them watched the day pass by in silence for a few moments. It was a beautiful day; Orton was enjoying being out in the sun while it was still possible.

Eventually, Enna seemed to shake off her mood, and turned back to him. "Okay, so we either avoid the punks, or scare them off and then burn the place down ourselves. Then what?"

"Then nothing. Job's done; we go home and go back to training and preparing for the next event, which is in March." Orton did not mention that it would be in Paris, France; he was still building up his nerve about that part. "The important bit is making it through this next part. I've never been attacked or in danger while doing this step, but things have already changed a lot; we might be shot at by those agents, or that Cameron guy might turn up again. So being out and about means being prepared to hold your own in a fight."

"And you really think I'm ready for that." Enna's tone indicated she did not share that opinion.

Orton shrugged. "You're a sorceress now, even if you don't really feel like one. I've taught you basic vaticinophrasty, and your charm should protect you against at least twelve bullets -- more, if you put a little energy into it. You might not be able to shatter buildings or explode people into clouds of mist yet, but you can pick up a lead pipe and smack people if they get sassy. If somebody really gives you trouble, just shout 'apasarāgrataḥ' at them."

Enna laughed. "Shout 'asparagus' at them? Seriously?"

"'Apasarāgrataḥ' -- it means 'begone' in Sanskrit. You have a natural aptitude at adjuration, so even if they don't obey, they'll be a little disoriented for a second, which should give you enough time to kick them in the balls or something." Orton lay down on his back and put his hands behind his head as he closed his eyes, trying to soak up the sunlight. "Giving people commands in ancient languages is a cheap and shitty conjurer's trick, but with a sorcerer's power, it'll sometimes do more than confuse them. Real spells -- actual rituals and incantations -- require a lot more theoretical grounding than you have now, and there will be plenty of time for those later. For tonight, just stay relaxed and trust in your power."

"Okay, so let me get this straight." Enna ticked off three fingers. "I have an amulet that will protect me from a handful of bullets, the mystical power to find a baseball bat in a trash can, and an unreliable capability to yell at people in languages neither of us speak. Somehow, I don't feel very mighty."

"Gotta crawl before you walk, beautiful." Orton was feeling dozy.

"What'd you call me?"

Whoops. Shit. Orton winced. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking." He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see her expression. Then, after a moment, the unexpected happened; he heard her moving, then abruptly she was kneeling down next to the bench he was laying on. The scent of her perfume enfolded him even as her arm draped across his chest and her cheek touched his forehead.

"Orton, don't you know anything? No girl hates being called beautiful." Orton murmured something vaguely apologetic, afraid of saying the wrong thing. For nearly a minute, he savored the blissful experience of her soft, warm breath and the heat of her body. Then, just as abruptly, she was gone.

That there is what we call a missed opportunity, boy, said Nej's voice in his mind. Orton grimaced, but couldn't disagree.