Michael
Previously:
After visiting a gallery in the Santa Fe arts district Mike and Grace agreed that Jenn needed some sort of warding lest she draw the attention of the Fallen who had purchased the painting with zir face on it. One of zir faces. The individual in question is capable of changing zir physical features with even more ease than with which ze changes others'.
So they found Jenn. They explained to her what was going on. Grace was no more on board with the idea of keeping her contained to a warded building than Mike was. So they came to the same conclusion and they left Jenn with her free will intact and then Mike saw the time and suggested they go get dinner and discuss their next move.
Which brings us to right now.
Mike is driving a rental Altima through the eastern suburbs. In one of the rare exceptions to the radio clause the music playing is whatever the Mercurial Elite would like to listen to as she hacks. He is unfamiliar with the eastern suburbs of Denver but now seems the opportune time to learn.
Suffice to say the car is warded against detection. He'd rather the Nephandus detect his resonance than Grace's. Ze already knows who he is. Ze's been toying with him for decades.
[corr 2/mind 1: CORR + MIND WARD. blah blah modifiers go here.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN3 (1, 1, 4, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Michael
[blah blah extending]
Dice: 4 d10 TN4 (1, 3, 7, 9) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Grace
There's not much learning going on about the eastern suburbs of Denver. Grace just tells him to drive. Anywhere, so long as there are houses. More people are learning how to password-protect their networks these days, but not enough that it's a real issue. Won't take long.
And indeed, after about ten minutes time, she tells him to stop. It's a perfectly middle-class neighborhood they've landed themselves in. It's old enough to have acquired large, mature trees and a certain level of character, but still -- Grace despises places like this. Something to do with having been brought up in one. It's just a reminder of all the pain people go through to make it all look like there's nothing out of the ordinary, nothing wrong, and all for their neighbors.
She doesn't want the radio on. Advertisements are memetic poison. They'll jar the brain when it wants to concentrate, she says.
"Okay, so, this is going to take a lot longer than it does in the movies. Also, it's a lot more boring, sorry," she says, as she's setting up her connection to "F-231-5G" which looks to be a default name for an unsecured 5G connection that some hapless person left for her to find. But you know, Mike, you wanted to come with...
"I'll let you know whenever I find anything."
Michael
Her apology is met with a forgiving smile. Nothing to apologize for. If they're both pursuing the same subject and one of them at least is of the mind that they're better off working together than running off in separate directions then some idleness is to be expected.
Besides: It's not as if he has nothing to do while he's waiting for her.
"Take your time," he says. Takes his eyes off of her long enough to reach into the backseat and retrieve his briefcase. "I'm not going anywhere."
You're up, Evans.
Grace
It takes her about an hour to conclude that yes, the curator was not actually lying about the gallery keeping paper records (in such an age!) To this, she curses under her breath, but it's nothing major, Mike. "Just found out the people who run that Gallery really are Luddites. Not even any Apple-based training-wheels."
So, now it's on to plan B: Find out what we *can* find. Grace has been to the place before. She knows coordinates. So she'll try to connect to the gallery itself, to catalog the items it contains in terms of what information they have, and what she needs to know. Filter by relevance. It's not Luck, not to her. She makes her luck by sorting out the gold from the dross. And the specific information she's looking for? Bank records, accounts, sales records, maybe even passwords if she can.
[Corr 2, Entropy 2 -- Search those records, find me what I'm looking for. Diff 5 - 1 (taking time)]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (2, 3, 5) ( success x 1 )
Michael
An hour is a long time to sit idle while someone works beside you. Mike had plenty to keep him busy on the tablet computer he has inside his briefcase but after half an hour he decided he didn't need to pay that close attention to his life back in California. So he removed a thick softbound book from the briefcase and put the briefcase in the backseat again and settled down to read.
Grace exhausted every electronic avenue before conceding defeat. Her voice after an hour of silence did not startle him as a gunshot would but he still takes a sharp breath as he returns to the present.
"Hey!" he says. Sounds pleased as hell to have something that resembles a clue. "That's great!"
Keep up the good work, Evans.
This is going to require some persistence. Or maybe asking for help from the Entropy Adept next to her. She has options.
Grace
Grace's resonance battles with Mike's for control over who feels most imposing, and loses. But still, there's an uptick in the weirdness of this car as she Works on her attack plan.
"I'm going to see if I can get some analog records from the place then, because they have to have something..."
What's going on on Grace's laptop right now is something strange, as Grace keeps flipping back and forth through the Code, looking for the right strings to pull.
[Extending!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 7) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
Michael
Between their distance and her lack of familiarity with the subject Grace feels the strings flip from her fingers about as fast as she can tighten them. She is close. The car feels as if it is shifting. It's an uncanny feeling. But Mike only watches Grace until he's sure her keyboard-tapping isn't in vain before he closes the book and sets it aside for now.
It's a big book. He does not use a placeholder.
The Code reveals itself. It will only last a moment unless Grace either strengthens the effect or finds a way to capture what she's found.
Grace
Grace takes a breath, having found what she knows will lose itself in a split second if she doesn't make it last. Hold on, I've got you, little infodump...
She's quiet. There is no music. So it's just the tapping of keys on her laptop that's filling the small space with noise, too fast. Nobody types like that, except for maybe Grace Evans when she's found something.
[Extending again!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (3, 5, 5) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Michael
Perhaps it's the Sphere in question or the attention he is paying at this moment. Perhaps he's watching her Weave. But when Grace secures the information she's been hunting he lets go a breath it seems he was holding. Picks up the book and flips back to the exact spot he had just abandoned.
As for what Grace has found:
The gallery moves a significant amount of funds through a local credit union every quarter. A little under half their activity appears to be in overhead. They have accounts with Xcel Energy and Comcast. So they have WiFi. They have an account with the city water department. They rent the space. But they have been just-barely-in-the-black for the last seven years because of the movement of pieces such as the one Jenn sold last week.
Their records don't have names or addresses attached to them. But Grace has an idea of how much that piece had to be worth based on conversations with Elijah and by virtue of having two eyeballs. A $7000 deposit cleared on the second of October.
The deposit was cash. The cash came from a larger bank than the one that services the gallery. The threads she follows give Grace the address of the bank. A Westerra near the airport. That's as far as that inquiry brings her.
Grace
"Whoever bought the painting paid in cash, and they made no note of a name," Grace says, leans her head back on the headrest, because she's finally become aware of the stiffness of her neck. "I know where they like to obtain such large quantities of cash, though. It's a Westerra a bit north of here."
She glares at her laptop. "It's a very frustrating thread to follow this one. I'm going to have to hit that bank."
Michael
Michael is very aware of the stiffness climbing into his spine. He is only a few years older than Grace but his tradition and his raison d'être are a wee bit more physical than hers. He hasn't stepped out of the car because as much of a temptation it is he does not want to leave her shut in the car while he stretches his legs.
What a guy.
So Grace has found the point of origin for the financial transaction. Cash means no small amount of premeditation. The individual in question saw the painting and then traveled a significant distance to make a cash withdrawal and then went back to the gallery.
An errant thought makes Mike take a deep breath. It may not be that simple. Grace did say that the curator had been conditioned. Brainwashed. Whichever word one would care to use.
"That's an excellent idea." He shifts his position in the driver's seat. Sets the book down in the backseat rather than on the dashboard. Looks Grace more or less in the eye. By now it's dark. "How far north are we talking?"
Grace
"Like, a mile," she says. "I've got the address. Why, do you want to go there? I'm sure I could find some suitable wi-fi. Or make my own if it comes to it. Hasn't been much worth hacking into yet -- a shame really. I was looking forward to showing off my skils." She fake-pouts at him. Poor hacker, faced with horrible people who never put anything into a database.
"You don't think this person just mentally forced a teller to give them a wad of cash do you? That could make this even more of a pain to trace."
Michael
That fake pout earns her a fake sympathetic gaze. An unspoken Aww poor thing.
Not until she asks if he thinks this does Mike appear to consider it. Or perhaps this has been a suspicion he has had the entire time and he hasn't wanted to think about it let alone voice it.
"I wouldn't put it past zir," he says. He retrieves his keys from where he'd left them in the clean and empty cupholder and makes them sing in his palm. Takes his eyes off of Grace in order to locate them though he didn't really need to. Mindfulness grants him a sense of center. He hasn't left this space in several hours. It's a good thing it's dark and they're by a public park. Even if he hadn't cast a ward over the entire damned car no one would have noticed them. "Would you care for a cup of coffee before you show off your skills?"
He thinks he's so funny.
Grace
"Sure," she says. "I never turn down caffeine. It'll help too, the longer this takes and we can still stay focused, the better."
But let's make it quick. Time's burning, and another life will soon be taken.
Michael and Grace are of a kind, these two. They're the type that can't seem to rest once the path has been placed before them. Something he says jars her mind, it seems, drawn as she is out of the dream of coffee.
"Are you sure it was the Artist who bought the thing? When I looked at that curator's head, it didn't feel sickening, that magic. Didn't feel the same as before."
Michael
"You're referring to the magick ze used on those two high school girls."
This after he acquiesces to the preciousness of time and starts the engine. Minimal traffic this time of night and so Mike only has to check all of his corners before he pulls the vehicle away from the curb and pulls out into said minimal traffic. He has been awake for... well she hasn't asked him much about himself. Knows that he came into Los Angeles on the 1:40 flight from LAX because Pan sent her a text message but she doesn't know why he went to Pan in the first place or where he was before that.
It's none of her business. He's on a path. Same as she is. In this moment they are on the same path. That path involves a coffee break. They are of a kind.
"How familiar with Qlippothic magick are you?"
This is the last exit before she receives a lecture from a Euthanatos.
Grace
"Not," she says, and it's something of a blessing no? That she, despite all she's seen, has never before seen that.
"I know of it, from you. So thanks for that."
He doesn't get the indication that she doesn't want this lecture. She's paying attention, Mike. Whatever information that might be vital to the case, she'll take in and use to add to their probability of success.
Michael
"You're welcome?"
He does not sound bemused so much as he sounds unfamiliar with the circumstances that have brought them to this point. Perhaps she can empathize. He doesn't often deal with people he hasn't trained himself. If he does they have to be on par with his own skills and knowledge. He hasn't given her any indication of how long he has been pursuing this individual or how it is he knows someone like Pan Echeverría who was up until last year based solely out of Denver.
Or maybe he isn't used to people thanking him.
Moving on:
"Qlippothic magick is another name for the dark side of the Spheres. They are... vulgar, and dangerous, but considerably powerful. All practitioners of Qlippothic magick are capable of using, ah... normal Spheres. Mind, for example. Do you recall the quality of the resonance you felt when you read the curator?"
Grace
"No, I don't. It was too faint. All I could tell was that something definitely happened. Like, I could see the effect, but not the cause."
She lowers her laptop screen without fully closing it, because she wants it to stay among the living, and not attempt to shut itself off. The glow within the car eases up a bit.
Grace is very familiar with the circumstances that have brought them to this point. This isn't even the first time that somebody with no chance of helping her hack has taken her out wardriving. People with her own skills and knowledge don't tend to stick around in Denver. They flit off to wherever in short order. She's had to learn to work with others who think her magic is beyond unknowable, and even some who think their own phones are too difficult to understand.
So, to his passenger, this is as normal as pho on a Tuesday.
Michael
It doesn't take long before Mike's seemingly aimless driving takes them out of the suburban jungle and onto a main drag lit with neon signs and stoplights. The glow from the Mercurial Elite's laptop drowns in the force of electricity around them.
They can either pull through a Starbucks drive-thru or stop into a 24-hour diner. Mike does not abide Starbucks. He ignores an easy righthand turn into a drive-thru to wait at a lefthand turn into a well-lit diner parking lot.
"If it's any consolation," Mike says, "knowing the cause doesn't help understand the effect. A Nephandus such as our friend The Artist can avail zirself of, ah... normal Spheres without leaving behind traces of having used Qlippothic magick. Sometimes. Depends on their power. The Artist is... quite powerful."
At least as powerful as is Mike, anyway. And Mike is a humble creature.
"And I have reason to believe ze masks zir resonance when ze casts. It makes it difficult to trace zir without, ah... leaving oneself open to detection."
Grace
Thank the Universe that Mike does not think Starbucks is acceptable as a coffee replacement. It's not. And besides, fuck that place.
"So, you're saying it's going to continue being frustrating as hell, like trying to grab a hagfish or something?" she says, sighs. "It's a good possibility this trail is going to go cold, but I'll see it through until we know for sure." She packs the laptop in its bag, and slings it up on her shoulder before stepping out of the car.
Late night coffee at a 24-hour diner isn't much better than Starbucks, really. But at least it's not that soulless place. She gives Mike a smile, and starts walking up to the place.
Michael
Like trying to grab a hagfish or something?
He nods. Gives a small affirmative vocalization. Driving has the bulk of his attention but that doesn't mean he can't attend to Grace also. He is a disciple of Mind magick.
Once they're in the parking lot of the diner he climbs out and lets Grace close her own damned door. Holds still until she's afforded him a smile. He returns the smile. If this is not the first it is still a rare smile she has given him. With that Mike locks the car not with the fob but with the driver's side lock and then he follows her inside.
They have both been sitting for quite some time so Mike suggests they take their coffee at the counter. It means they can stand and get a refill to go. Brilliant.
Grace
Grace is all for that plan, of getting to-go refills, of standing at the counter. She has her laptop to carry around (because it is going with her, damnit) but it's a lightweight screaming fast machine. This is what she splurges on, Mike -- lots of powerful tech.
Her coffee, when it arrives, is promptly doctored with copious amounts of sugar and cream. The caffeine needs a little something to help it along, doesn't it?
"So, how do you know our mutual priestly friend?" she asks, knowing if he wants to talk about secrets, he can make them go unnoticed.
Michael
Their coffee has been sitting in the urn on the brewer's burner for an hour. Maybe less given the time of night and the type of person inclined to order coffee after sundown. It steams when poured into the eggshell-white ceramic mugs the tired-eyed waitress lays down and Mike takes a sip of it to confirm that it tastes like burnt motor oil before slinking the canister of sugar away from Grace and upending it into his mug.
By the time he's done pouring one could possibly stand a spoon up in his cup. He sets the canister aside around the time she's asking how he knows the Chorister.
"Father Echeverría?" he asks as if there are a slew of magical priests roaming the land west of the Mississippi. "He assisted me in a matter involving a cult and their desire to use one of my student's hearts to power their node."
That would explain the huge debt Michael MacCarrick appears to owe him now.
Grace
"That sounds like Pan," she says, smiles a little into her cup. She has yet to call him by his full, formal title, and likely never will. "He's the helping sort."
Which would explain how someone like Grace can even halfway get along with someone like Father Echeverría. Her problems with patriarchs stem mostly from their unwillingness to use their power wisely. In most cases. Pan isn't one of those most cases.
"He's always there when you need him, sometimes quite literally. Good friend to have."
Michael
Mike is looking right at her as she discusses Pan and his status as a helping sort. Someone who is a good friend to have.
Then he gives his cup one more stir of the stained metal spoon to disperse heat and dissolve the fifty grams of sugar he just dumped into his coffee.
"That he is," he says. "It's my understanding that he spent a significant amount of time here. Are you from Denver, originally, or...?"
Oh shit. Small talk. The side effect of a coffee break.
Grace
She shakes her head. "No. Phoenix. I came to Denver for school, and then I woke up," she says, downs some coffee. Her eyes blink open a little wider, surprising herself with how much she apparently needed that.
"I found our community here, and they've been good to me. A good place, really, despite all the horrible things that do happen."
She calls the place a hellmouth a lot. But there's the mountains, and the snow, and the legal pot. And there's also good friends (family, really) she's loath to leave behind.
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