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FANTASIA

by Carolyn

The feeling that something very strange was going on didn’t strike Blair until lunch time.

All in all, it had seemed a typical Thursday. He had no classes, and was free to join Jim for the entire day at the station.

Blair tended to wake up a bit later than Jim on Thursday mornings, having had a late class on Wednesday evening, and the strong desire to finish as much university related work as possible before he went to bed. He liked to have his full attention on Jim and the detective's work for at least one full day a week, and Thursdays were the only one he could spare. He had been awake until 3:30 a.m., finishing up some grading and adding a few notes to his Sentinel notebooks before succumbing to sleep. That his alarm did not go off as planned was not the most convenient thing, but not uncommon. Some nights he barely remembered to turn off the lights, let alone set his alarm.

Jim sleeping late, on the other hand -- necessitating their rushing through their morning routines and skipping their peaceful cup of coffee with the newspaper -- was highly irregular. If all the other strange things hadn't taken place, Blair might have been willing to overlook that oddity.

Having Simon, Megan, Joel and Jim hovering over him throughout the day was just plain annoying. He didn't even have time to get himself a cup of coffee on his own without one of them following him around and chattering away about whatever was on their minds.

When Joel Taggert followed him into the men's room to finish telling a story that Blair had heard about a dozen times before, he decided to plant himself at Jim's desk and try to figure out what was wrong with the members of Major Crime.

He might have blamed it on the weather. Hurricanes were highly unusual in Cascade, but El Nino had thrown out all the rule books, and the city was bracing itself for a storm which forecasters predicted would hit late that evening. Preparations were being made for emergency shelters and all of the police officers were told they would remain on call throughout the storm. Blair was secretly hoping that he could persuade Jim to let him run some tests while the weather was at its worst, to gauge his reaction to the barometric pressure and high winds. In fact, he was wondering if the falling pressure was affecting his Sentinel already. That just might explain his odd behavior. However, since the group in Major Crimes sported only one Sentinel, the others had no excuses whatsoever. As the day went on, his suspicions heightened.

A little after noon, he suggested lunch. Jim simply said there was a bit more paperwork he wanted to get through and walked away to refill his glass of water. Megan was instantly at his side, asking him where she might go in the university district for some funky clothes. He gladly gave her the names of some of the more eclectic shops and was discussing with her the merits of vintage clothes versus new replicas of vintage when Jim returned.

At 1:00, he declared that he was starving, and would happily walk to a nearby deli if Jim was too engrossed in his work to take a break. Simon immediately called him into his office and discussed some problems that his son Daryl was having in school and questioned Blair about the merits of one-on-one versus group tutoring. Blair dutifully gave his opinions, his stomach rumbling loudly the whole time. Simon ignored the efforts Blair made to terminate the discussion and instead regaled him with the story of Daryl's first report card. If his stomach wasn't growling so much, Blair might have fallen asleep.

By 1:30, he was begging Jim to take a break from their paperwork and go to lunch, even conceding a trip to Wonder Burger as long as he would feed him and feed him fast. Before Jim could even open his mouth to give another lame excuse for their dire need to finish all the paperwork, Rafe and Brown walked over to Jim's desk and deposited a brown paper bag atop the stacks of files.

"Today's your lucky day, gentlemen," Brown exclaimed with a grin. "Rafe and I got called out to help with the storm preparations at the high school, and we need to motor if we're gonna get there in time. We ordered take out, but figured we could stop off at the Wonder Burger drive through on the way." He grabbed the bag and held it away from Blair's grasping hands, grinning evilly.

"That is, if you're hungry. What do you say, Hair Boy?" Blair lunged at the bigger detective and tore the bag from his hands before he could even blink. Rafe burst into laughter and herded his astounded partner to the doors.

Blair tossed a corned beef sandwich to Jim -- the Sentinel had always claimed they were his all-time favorite. Hoping the second choice was something he liked, but knowing that he would probably have gnawed on a cow's hoof at that point, he was amazed when he opened the wrapper to reveal a turkey sandwich on seven grain bread with lettuce, tomatoes and tahini dressing. The turkey meat was fresh, having been carved right off the bird, not that processed kind the law enforcement officers tended to enjoy. It was exactly what Blair himself would have ordered had he been able to get to the deli.

At Blair's perplexed look, Jim muttered around a mouthful of corned beef something vague about Henri starting a diet. Nodding thoughtfully, Blair picked up his sandwich.

*But Rafe hates corned beef, and Henri sure as hell would never order tahini, diet or no diet.* Blair noticed Jim's pointed stare and bit deeply into his sandwich. *Curiouser and curiouser.*

By 2:30 p.m. most the paperwork was complete. After making a cup of tea under the careful supervision of Joel Taggert, who was suddenly interested in the blend Blair was using, the anthropologist made his way back to his desk. Pulling a lotto ticket he had bought on a whim the night before out of his wallet, he asked Jim for the newspaper.

The panicked look he received in response to his question was as out of place as just about everything else that had occurred that day. Sighing, he held up the lotto ticket and repeated his request.

Jim's demeanor changed so quickly, Blair might have thought he had imagined the earlier look. His answer threw Blair's brain right back into overdrive, trying to figure out what the *hell* was going on. Seems that one of the members of the personnel department had commandeered every last copy of the paper earlier that afternoon. Her son was featured in an article about a college football game that was covered in the Sports section, and she wanted additional copies to send to relatives and friends.

Mentally reviewing the members of the personnel department, he could not think of one of them who had any children at all, let alone a college-aged son.

Blair stuffed the ticket back into his wallet. He would just have to look when he got home, he decided.

Midway through the afternoon, Blair noticed that Jim's phone had not rung once the entire day. After a half hour of waiting for a phone call -- any phone call -- to come in to the normally very busy phone, he got suspicious. He crept over to Brown's desk and dialed Jim's extension. The call was immediately sent to Rafe's voicemail, with instructions for the caller to leave messages for Rafe, Ellison or Sandburg at the tone. He hung up quickly.

It was time to go look for the pods.

Relief came in the form of a red headed pain in the neck whom he usually did his best to avoid. Today, however, Cassie Wells was the answer to his prayers. Dodging away from his desk while Jim reviewed a folder with Simon, he followed the forensics chief down to her office on the fifth floor. She was chattering excitedly about a new computer program a former colleague had sent her, and how thrilled Blair was going to be with its astounding abilities. He had no idea whatsoever what the program was meant to accomplish, but that would be revealed when it was run, Cassie explained.

By the third time this Wonder Program crashed the forensics computer, Blair was all too happy to be led back upstairs by his partner who had come dashing into the forensics department, frightening both Cassie and himself. All he needed was to have his gun drawn and Blair would have thought he was being rescued from imminent danger.

*Damn, that must be it,* he thought to himself. Blair reviewed the attempts that had been made by all the members of Major Crime to keep him in their sights all day, and worriedly tried to remember who might be trying to kill him. He mulled it over for about a half hour before screwing up the courage to confront Jim with his speculation. To his utter embarrassment, Jim actually laughed at him. Granted it was a strained laugh, and never quite reached his eyes, but the sentiment was there to be seen. Jim thought his assumption was foolish. For several minutes, Blair, too, thought he was being foolish, but all his attempts to explain the bizarre behavior of his friends today were in vain. Nothing else made sense. But if Jim was laughing it off, he should too.

Judging the storm to be a viable threat to Cascade proper, Simon decided to put in a bit of overtime to prepare for the worst, and called most of the detectives into his office to fill them in on the emergency procedures they were to follow.

Blair had finally finished with Jim's paperwork and pulled out his professor's copy of an Introduction to Anthropology book his department chair wanted him to review. Deeply engrossed, he barely heard Jim when he told him to stay put at his desk.

After an hour of reading, Blair glanced at the wall clock. It was 7:00 p.m. Not relishing the thought of ending up stuck at the precinct during the hurricane, and realizing that Jim would likely be in Simon's office far longer than Blair wanted to wait, he scribbled a quick note to his partner and called a cab.

Huddled in the back seat of the taxi while the wind and rain battered the vehicle, he was grateful he had left when he did. He was sure that Jim would not risk driving in this weather, and would end up sleeping on a cot pulled up from the holding cells. Blair stifled a chuckle at the image that presented. He knew that Jim took his job as Sentinel of the Great City very seriously and was probably happy to sleep at the station if it meant that the citizens of Cascade would be safe. As Shaman of the Great City, however, Blair felt a relaxing evening at home -- most likely by candlelight, judging by the fury of the storm -- meditating to relieve the stresses of the day, was more in line with his job description. Although he had wanted to gauge Jim's impressions of how the storm affected his senses, he could always ask the Sentinel about it later.

He glanced next to him and noticed a newspaper lying discarded on the seat. He unfolded it, intending to find the lotto numbers and froze when he saw the small front page article. Beneath the storm warnings and political news was an article that stole his breath and froze his blood. It was a retrospective on the string of serial killings that had taken place two years earlier, and which had ended with Cascade's Detective of the Year apprehending the serial killer David Lash before he could claim a final victim, one Blair Sandburg.

He tore the paper open to the continuation of the article and found a picture of Lash, as well as a photo of Jim. The article took up two entire pages in addition to the blurb on the front page, and mentioned nearly every detail of those horrible days -- days that he had so desperately tried to put behind him, and had even succeeded in doing so. Until now.

Blair frantically begged the driver to stop the cab and leaned out of the door to empty his stomach while the rain poured down over him. The ferocity of the storm matched the churning in his stomach. After assuring the driver that he was only suffering from the onset of a stomach flu, they continued on. The anthropologist felt an acute need to be back in the general vicinity of his best friend, and considered asking the cab driver to return to the station. Pulling his wallet open, and finding only enough cash for the one way trip home, Blair resigned himself to the return to the loft. He figured he could always hop in his Volvo and head back to the station, hurricane or no hurricane. The cabby muttered about the storm, and told Blair that he was heading straight home once he dropped him off.

Blair listened, but did not really hear the man. His mind was trying desperately to conjure the sounds of the five bullets Jim had fired into the body of the serial killer. The man was dead. Jim had killed him. He was *not* waiting for Blair at the loft, couldn’t possibly be.

Blair found himself repeating "he's dead, he's dead, he's dead," as a calming mantra while the elevator rose to the third floor. After a final deep breath in the hallway, he flung open the door and found the living room and kitchen empty. He quickly retrieved a baseball bat from his room and carried it around with him, peering into every nook and cranny in the apartment and double-checking that the locks were securely fastened. He found the morning's newspaper sitting in the middle of Jim's neatly made bed, but quickly headed back down the stairs. He had read all he wanted to in the back of the cab. Finally hearing his heart resume a normal beat, he sat on the couch, baseball bat at his side.

It finally became clear to him why everyone at the station had been so overly solicitous throughout the day. Their attempts to shield him from the article had proven fruitless in the end, but they had certainly tried hard enough.

Unexpected anger swept through him. Why did they think he needed to be handled so delicately? Hadn't he finally proven to them that he was made of stronger stuff than any of them had expected? Did they think he would fall apart at the slightest mention of the serial killer's name?

*Duh, of course they did, you idiot,* he thought harshly. *Or wasn't that you puking your guts out in the street after you read the article?*

Reluctantly, he realized that every one of the conspirators had meant well. It couldn't have been easy, but each and every member of Major Crime had at one time or another made sure he was never alone, and could not see the article certain to bring back the most terrifying experience of his life.

Jim, especially, seemed to have been the most doting. He had probably orchestrated the entire operation. Blair had been right to name him his Blessed Protector two years ago, even if it had been more of a joke at the time. A wash of gratitude flowed through him that his friend would be so sensitive to his roommate's emotions that he would do everything in his power to shield him from danger, even if the danger was long past and only threatened his dreams. A curl of warmth moved from his belly to fill his whole body. He had never had a friend as extraordinary as Jim, and found himself desperately needing to talk to him, to tell him right then.

As he walked towards the phone in the kitchen, a crash from the balcony sent his heart plummeting and made every hair on his body stand on end. Grabbing the cordless phone, he cursed when he discovered it dead.

Okay, okay, he could handle this. *Lash is dead, and I'm just going to see what's on the balcony before I run screaming into the streets,* he firmly told himself.

Retrieving the baseball bat from the couch, he moved slowly to the large windows overlooking the balcony and flipped the light switch to illuminate the deck. A wave of relief coursed though him when he saw the ruined pieces of a hanging plant strewn across the balcony floor.

The wind was whipping the remaining plants back and forth, and several others had also met their untimely demises on the hard deck. Hoping to save the rest, he decided to brave the wind and rain and walked out onto the deck.

Pulling a wrought iron chair over to stand on, he managed to pull two of the remaining three plants to the safety of the floor.

The metal was slick with rain, though, and as he attempted to lean out and grasp at the final plant swinging furiously as the storm battered it, he overbalanced and for a moment, teetered on the brink of falling to the street below. Pulling himself back sharply, he overbalanced in the opposite direction, and his feet went out from under him, slipping off the chair. He fell backwards onto the balcony, banging his head sharply on one of the other heavy chairs.

He was unconscious before his body came fully to rest on the sodden floor.

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When Blair opened his eyes, it was to overly bright sunshine.

Raising himself slowly from where he lay on the floor of his office -- his office? -- he noted the sunlight streaming through the windows, brightening the cramped space like no sunny day ever had before. Wondering why he had fallen asleep on the floor of his office, he moved cautiously through the room, finding nothing out of place.

*Must've been a hell of a party,* he thought to himself. *I haven't been this hung over in years.*

He squinted at the windows and considered creating a set of makeshift drapes out of some of the old rugs he had lying around, while silently vowing to never touch any form of alcohol again. A strange chittering noise startled him, and he looked up to the top of his bookshelves to find Larry, his erstwhile research subject, staring down at him.

"What the hell?" he murmured.

The Barbary ape leapt down and insinuated himself in Blair's arms, continuing his happy chatter as Blair walked into the deserted hallways of Hargrove Hall.

He stopped at several doors, hoping to find a colleague or at the very least a student nearby, but it appeared as though he was thoroughly alone. Maybe it was Sunday? Then again, he had never seen the building this deserted, and he had worked plenty of Sundays before.

He finally made his way out onto the quad, and what he saw took his breath away. The once austere setting had been transformed into something that looked like the set of a children's television show. Impossibly huge flowers in all colors of the rainbow grew everywhere. Looking closer, he could see windows and doors cut into the stalks of the massive plants, suggesting that the flowers were homes. In addition to the gigantic flowers, there were smaller versions of the same which grew in carefully manicured patches between their larger counterparts. A master landscaper could not have done a more thorough job of blending colors and heights to make for a stunningly beautiful scene. In the very center of what used to be Rainier's quad was what appeared to be a winding stone walkway made of brightly colored bricks.

Blair turned in a slow circle, hoping to see something to indicate that this was still Rainier University and not some bizarre alternate reality. A flash of metallic grey caught his eye, but when he realized what it was, he was further convinced that he was very far from home.

In what would have been the parking lot at the real Rainier, sat his Corvair. The body looked a bit worse for wear and all the tires were flattened, causing the chassis of the vehicle to lay directly on the ground. As he started towards his old car, a giggling sound caught his attention.

He turned quickly, but saw no one. Larry crouched silently at his side.

"Did you hear that, Larry?" he asked. The ape danced in a tight circle and reached up to take Blair's hand, but never made a sound. Blair looked pensively at the ape, then realized that Larry had been completely silent since they had walked into this strange flower patch. Besides, apes didn't giggle.

Again, he ventured forward, taking several steps towards the car before the sound of laughter reached him. A swift spin on his heels showed him that again, no one was visible. Larry clambered up onto his shoulder, and he whispered softly to the little ape.

"Larry, I don’t think we're in Cascade anymore."

"You got that right, dude!" a voice called out, startling Blair badly and sending Larry skittering away.

"Where am I?" Blair asked, almost afraid of the answer he would receive.

"Uni, my brother. You are in the Land of Uni."

The speaker appeared to be a student. Age-wise, he was probably a freshman, but he was dressed more oddly than any freshman he had ever encountered. There was something about him that was vaguely familiar.

"Gather 'round, everybody! Come on out and meet the dude who fell from the sky!" he called out loudly. It was on the tip of Blair's tongue to inform this strange fellow that he had not fallen out of the sky when he saw quite a few other coeds making their way tentatively from behind the flowers. Some even rose up out of the smaller patches of wild flowers, while others opened what he had correctly assumed were doors and stepped out into the bright sunshine to stare at him. Their bright clothes, like those of the young man standing at his side, were a match for the flowers in which they lived, and the anthropologist found himself squinting again and wishing for an aspirin or two.

Despite the odd nature of the young men and women slowly surrounding him, Blair felt no fear -- just a burgeoning desire to understand how he had come to this fantastical place.

"Uni," he repeated, trying out the word and hoping it would ring a bell. "How'd I get here?"

"You crashed your ride, man. Your landing skills are *way* extreme. We never saw anything like it! You dropped that classic right on top of the Wicked Warlock of the East."

"What? What are you talking about?" This was getting weirder by the minute.

"Chill, man. Come this way and check out your handiwork."

Blair moved cautiously towards the wreck of the Corvair, accompanied by the grinning student. Around the side of the car, he could see a pair of legs sticking out, clad in army fatigues. A brand new pair of Nike Severes donned the corpse's feet. Shuddering at the thought that his reckless landing skills caused the obvious death of another person, he moved away. Then abruptly caught himself assuming guilt for what could not possibly be his fault. The last time he checked, the Corvair was definitely a land-based vehicle.

"Okay," Blair began, after taking several deep breaths to calm his racing heart. "This man I allegedly killed, who did you say he was?"

"Garrett Kincaid, the Wicked Warlock of the East. He was one scary dude."

"Oh, man." Blair hung his head and placed his hands over his face. The warlock's name brought a host of fuzzy images to his brain, all of them bad ones. The guy was, as the student so succinctly put it, one scary dude. Blair had never intentionally hurt anyone in his life, but now, not only had he killed a man, but it was someone he knew! Albeit a pretty deranged someone, but a person nonetheless. He looked up to see the students jumping up and down and waving at something in the distance -- something that looked an awful lot like a soap bubble -- which was floating closer and closer towards them.

The bubble grew larger and larger as it approached where he stood, and disappeared just before it touched the ground. In its place stood a beautiful, strangely familiar woman with flowing dark hair. She wore a long dress which was lined at the wrists, collar, and hemline with pink fur. Before he could conjure up a name for her, which he *knew* was lurking in the muddle that was now his brain, she began speaking.

"Welcome, mate, to Uni. I see my citizens have already greeted you. I'm Megan, the Good Witch of the North. I wanted to add my own welcome to you personally." The woman spoke in a lilting Australian accent.

"Thanks, but I honestly had no idea that I had landed on someone. In fact, I don't even recall flying the Corvair in here. I'm very, very sorry. I've never killed anyone in my life."

"Oh, don't be modest. You've rid us of a very dangerous warlock. He was a bollocky bastard, and we owe you our eternal gratitude for what you've done." She beamed at him, and he was warmed by the soothing tone of her voice, and apparent lack of desire to prosecute him in any way. Besides, she really was a beautiful woman, taste in clothing aside. He racked his brains for what kind of an animal it might have been that yielded such bright fur, but was interrupted by a question from his hostess.

"What's your name, and where do you come from?"

"I'm Blair Sandburg, from Cascade."

"Well then Blair Sandburg from Cascade, are you a good warlock, or a bad warlock?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said, are you a good warlock or a bad warlock?"

"I'm not a warlock at all, uh . . ." Blair blushed as she laughed lightly and laid a cool hand on his cheek.

"You can call me Megan. I'm surprised to hear you're not a powerful sorcerer. Only someone with great strength could ever hope to overcome the power of a wicked warlock."

"Well, that Corvair *was* built in the sixties, when the frames of vehicles contained quite a bit of steel, and that resulted in a heavier car than say, a Mazda or Hyundai of today, the component parts of which are . . ."

"Now, now, Warlock Blair. You're being modest again," Megan laughed. "With or without your strange four-wheeled broom named Corvair, you must have some power within you to defeat one of the warlocks."

"Warlocks? Plural? You mean there's more than just him?" he asked, pointing to the legs.

"Oh, yes. His brother is an even stronger sorcerer, and will be mighty ticked off to hear that you've knocked off his broski. He's the Wicked Warlock of the West. David Lash." At the mention of that name, all the students cried out in fear and scurried back amongst the flowers. Blair found himself with an armful of Barbary ape and his own stomach in his shoes. He swallowed hard and tried to come up with something, anything, to say to this lovely woman who was looking at him expectantly when she smiled brightly. He felt the tension in his chest ease somewhat.

"Don't spit the bunny now, Warlock Blair. The Wicked Warlock of the West holds no power here, and you're welcome to stay here as long as you wish."

"And Larry, too?"

"And Larry, too," she answered with a benevolent smile.

"But . . ." Blair hesitated. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful, and this environment was just *ripe* for a research paper -- one he would never be able to submit of course, but it would be fascinating to study the dynamics of that flying soap bubble and the viability of large flowers for housing -- but he knew he didn’t belong here. His home was in Cascade.

"But what, Warlock Blair?"

Blair rolled his eyes at her continued usage of the undeserved honorific. Then again, since she seemed to be in charge around here, he didn't want to anger her. Just as long as she didn't start calling him Sandy -- he hated that nickname.

"I was sort of hoping you could tell me how to get home. Not that I don’t appreciate your offer, but I really think it would be best all around if I went back to Cascade."

"I thought you would say that. But I'm afraid I can't help you. My powers are great, but they have their limits. Perhaps your answer lies with the great and powerful sorceress who lives beyond the boundaries of our land. I'm sure she can help you get home."

Upon hearing the good witch's words, the students began to skip about and sing, clapping their hands and dancing together wildly. Blair wondered if the bright flowers in which these people lived might be poppies as he watched the merriment. They were singing something in impossibly high voices, and the only bit he caught was the vaguely annoying "tra la la la la, la la la, la la la" refrain.

With Larry snuggled in his arms, he viewed the spectacle from beside the Corvair, grudgingly admitting that this rivaled any Superbowl half-time show he had ever seen, when a great cloud of black smoke erupted from the middle of the winding road. The students scattered instantly and cowered in fear from the new arrival.

The smoke cleared to reveal a woman with a rather stout figure, dressed in a yellow three-quarter length chiffon dress embroidered all over with little white ducks. A filmy yellow scarf was artfully tied around her neck, and a heavy veil, attached to a wide-brimmed straw hat, obscured her face from view. As the new arrival strode purposefully on low-heeled mules to where he and Megan were standing, a thick-fingered hand violently brushed back the veil to reveal a face which had haunted Blair's dreams for two years. Lash.

He spared a moment to be completely pissed off that this one memory seemed to be as clear as day while the rest of his life was shrouded in mystery. Soon, though, the terror gripped him again as he regarded the cross-dressing serial killer.

"Who killed my brother?" he shrieked. "Damn you, you little freaks, which of you *dared* to kill my only brother?"

"He did!" several of the student cried out in unison, and all fingers pointed towards him. Blair swallowed and shrank back away from the evil leer directed at him.

"And who might you be?"

"He is a great warlock, more powerful than you could ever be, Davie," the Good Witch of the North taunted. It was apparent that Lash was not happy with Megan's nickname for him, as his face became grimmer. "His name is Blair Sandburg of Cascade." Her ringing voice came from behind him, and he stared incredulously at the woman he thought was on his side.

"Megan!" he whispered harshly, making a cutting motion at his neck with his hand. She ignored his attempts to quiet her and continued.

"What is your business here, Davie?" The beautiful woman drawled out the man's name, pleased to be able to get a rise out of the evil warlock.

"I have come for the Nike Severes. These shoes are killing me, and the sneakers rightfully belong to me." He strode to the Corvair and knelt down next to the disembodied legs. As he reached to untie the sneakers, they disappeared from the dead warlock's feet and the corpse's legs shriveled up, curling themselves swiftly under the body of the car.

"No!" he screamed, and Blair felt his blood run cold. That horrible voice had screamed at him like that before. They were different words, but it was the same barely sane sound emanating from the depths of the madman's soul.

*Great, Sandburg, just great. Only you could land your damn car in a land where Lash is not only alive, but pissed as all hell and can pop in and out at will!* He felt the beginnings of a panic attack as he watched the serial killer/warlock flail his arms about in rage.

"There are your sneakers!" Megan cried out triumphantly, and pointed down at Blair's feet. Blair looked down as well, flabbergasted. Sure enough, Megan had somehow replaced his worn hiking boots with the dead man's footwear.

*Shit, shit, shit!* Blair thought. *Now, Lash will be popping up all over this whacked out world trying to avenge his brother's death *and* get these shoes back.*

Blair tried to move behind Megan, but her steely grip on his arm prevented it.

"Don't be afraid, Blair, I told you he has no power here," she whispered quickly into his ear. "Those sneakers must be very powerful indeed if he is so keen to get at them. Never take them off your feet. The sorceress will know what to do with them when you meet her." Raising her head, she cried out to the infuriated warlock.

"Bugger off, now, Davie-boy. That hat, those clothes, what were you thinking? Your kind is not welcome here."

Not listening to her, the demented man pointed his finger at the anthropologist.

"You'd better be careful, Warlock Blair," Lash warned. "Her powers cannot protect you all the time. When you least expect it I *will* have my revenge on you, and your little ape, too!"

Blair hugged Larry tighter to him, shivering at the hate in the madman's words.

"Begone! Before someone drops a Corvair on *you*!" Megan cried out.

The warlock turned a frightened face towards the sky, then glared at Blair a final time. In a flounce of chiffon and another black cloud of smoke, Lash was gone.

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"*That* *really* *sucked*, man," Blair muttered as the smoke dissipated from Lash's dramatic departure. He was shaking slightly, and found himself breathing in and out deeply to calm his frazzled nerves.

"No worries, Warlock Blair. As I told you, my powers will keep you safe here, as well as a good portion of the way to the city of Owz."

"Owz?" Blair repeated.

"Yes, Owz. It's what we call our entire kingdom, as well as being the name of the capitol city. Back when our land was new and unnamed, the great scribes of the time excelled in epic tales of brotherly love and great heroism, which contained many accounts of heroic injuries, commonly known as ‘owies’. We became so famous throughout the known lands for these stories, our kingdom was called Owz in honor of those magnificent tales."

"Hurt/comfort, eh?" Blair offered. Megan gave a little shiver, her face suffused with pleasure.

"Oh yeah," she murmured in a low voice. "My favorite kind of stories."

*She'd just *love* my life in Cascade, the 'most dangerous city in the world',* Blair thought with a shake of his head, the hazy memory of numerous hospital stays flitting through his brain. He could have made a life's study on the Florence Nightingale complex, to which so many of his female friends ascribed. Sure, it made his frequent convalescence periods much more pleasurable for him, but was a mystery to the anthropologist in him.

"So, you think I should head to the city of Owz?" he asked Megan aloud.

"It's where the great and powerful sorceress lives. We've all heard rumors of her extraordinary achievements throughout the years. If anyone can get you home, it's her."

It was on the tip of Blair's tongue to ask Megan what kind of extraordinary achievements this sorceress was credited with. Everything else in this universe seemed a bit off, and if this woman was famous for card tricks or something, he'd rather look for a Plan B. Before he could speak, though, a somewhat older member of the brightly clothed denizens of Uni approached them, holding a piece of paper in his hand. He introduced himself simply as Dan, Uni's Medical Examiner, as he handed the paper to the Good Witch.

"I checked out the body, and this makes it official," he spoke in a soft, soothing voice. "Kincaid is dead."

"You're sure?" Blair asked hesitantly.

"Yup."

Blair blinked at the man, half-expecting Dan's reply to be a bit more long-winded. The pony-tailed man might have been soft-spoken, yet his words carried to the others hovering near them. The news was rapidly whispered throughout the gathering, and the tension that had permeated the air since Lash had appeared finally lifted, and smiles broke out once again.

Again, before he could quiz Megan about his upcoming journey, a break in the crowd appeared and several of Uni's citizens approached the anthropologist. A group of three young men on rollerblades stopped crisply in front of him and tipped their helmets at Blair. One of the boys held a duffel bag.

Megan smiled benevolently at the students and nodded her head at them. The boy with the bag rolled closer and introduced himself as Alec, Chief Brain of the Genius League of Uni, and held out the pack, a gift from Uni's citizens. Inside, he found several changes of clothes, as well as food, water, camping gear and all the miscellaneous survival tools he would have brought on an extended hiking trip. Several pouches of food appeared to have been prepared for Larry as well. He smiled and thanked the young men for such a thoughtful gift.

After the youthful geniuses had rolled away from him, Blair looked up to see a group of four women in front of him. They were all extremely attractive, and the same nudging in the back of his head that he knew these people assaulted him as they moved closer. In one young woman's hands was a satchel which looked suspiciously like his backpack from home. Each woman in turn moved forward to offer their most heartfelt thanks to him for eliminating the threat of the Wicked Warlock of the East. Iris, Amber, Maya and finally Samantha (‘call me Sam’), each graced him with a tonsil-scraping kiss of pure gratitude. The women all wore skin-tight t-shirts with the words "BITE ME" emblazoned across their chests. He raised his eyebrows and grinned widely at the bold phrase until Megan leaned over and whispered that "BITEME" was actually an acronym for "Beautiful, Intelligent, Talented, Enigmatic Man Eaters." The smile died quickly from the anthropologist’s face, and he moved a few steps back.

The backpack, presented to him by Sam, contained notebooks, writing implements and several musty books he promised he would explore later. The pack also contained a map of Owz, as well as its surrounding districts and principalities. After another long kiss, this one a bit more feral than the others, Sam moved away, grinning satisfactorily at the panicked expression on the anthropologist's face, and ignoring the hateful stares she was getting from her friends.

Wanting to head off any further distractions, Megan skillfully placed herself between Blair and the clearly smitten females, and held out the map for him to examine. She showed him where Uni was, and traced the path he would take towards the great city in the west. Blair was pleased that he would be traveling along the unmistakable brightly colored road for the entire journey. His map-reading abilities -- or rather the lack thereof -- had gotten him into trouble before.

"Here," she said, her finger resting on a bright yellow blotch on the map, "is where Lash's castle lies. Avoid this at all costs, Sandy." She glanced over at him quickly with a smile on her face, ignoring his groan. "You don’t mind if I call you Sandy, do you? Good," she stated before he could voice a protest.

"As for that bugger of a bloke, Lash, he cannot lay a hand on you as long as you are within the reach of my powers. That would end here." Her finger rested on the edge of Uni's hot pink colored part of the map.

Assuming the miles listed on the map were equivalent to the miles in the world of Cascade, Blair knew he had roughly a two week journey ahead of him, a very small portion of which would *not* include looking over his shoulder for suspicious puffs of black smoke. An inner force was driving him, though, and the need to return to his own world was foremost in his mind. He knew that whatever was waiting, as vague as it seemed in his mind right now, was worth the trials he would likely encounter. Every beat of his heart urged him to start off, so he could get to where he was meant to be as soon as he could. Blair turned to face the anxious faces surrounding him. They were waiting for him to speak.

"Thank you, Megan, everyone, for these gifts. I wish I could stay and enjoy your hospitality longer. . ." He threw a quick glance to Samantha and her friends, who seemed to be appraising him as cats would a particularly tasty mouse. Suppressing a shudder, he continued. "But I really do have to get going."

The students began murmuring among themselves while Megan spoke to him one last time.

"Travel safely, Warlock Blair. If you ever find yourself in desperate need of help, all you need do is call on me, and I will be there to help you. Only call out in direst need, mind you." She waited for his nod before she continued. "But know this: if all goes as I imagine it will, you will eventually have no need for my help at all." She held his face between her hands and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Blair wondered absently if her words about not needing her meant that he would meet an untimely demise, or that he would reach his goal and return to Cascade before that madman Lash got another chance at him.

His drifting attention was caught by the lovely Australian-accented woman waving her silver wand in a large circle around her body. A dim glow in the shape of her bubble appeared for a moment, then coalesced into a firm casement surrounding her, which then carried her up above the crowd and off into the distance. The students streamed past him, cheering and waving at their departing protector. Blair waved as well, though half-heartedly. Why she didn't just take him in her bubble and whisk him off to the city of Owz was another question that would remain unanswered. She seemed adamant that he traipse through this odd land, so traipse he would. All he needed was a shove in the right direction.

When the good witch's bubble was too far away for anyone to see, Blair found the brightly-dressed student whom he had met earlier at his side. He introduced himself as Daryl.

"So, dude, you ready to hit the road?" Daryl asked him.

"Just show me the way," Blair said around a gusty sigh. He had been ready to go home since he woke up in this madcap world.

"Let's get busy, dudes!" Daryl called out to the students around him. The citizens of Uni fell into place behind Daryl and Blair, who had shouldered his two packs and was prepared to walk out of the town. He jumped a bit when a young woman at his side sprang into sudden action.

"Follow the golden brick road! Follow the golden brick road!" She was singing loudly and merrily, skipping awkwardly forward on said brick road. "Follow, follow, follow, foll… mmrrrph!" The happy song was cut off abruptly as two of her fellow students grabbed her, one roughly clamping a hand over her mouth.

Daryl looked sheepishly at Blair.

"Sorry, man, that song is way outdated. She must have missed the email. Watch these moves, my brother." At a signal from Daryl, someone switched on a boom box and an upbeat tune floated through the quad. Blair caught the refrain and grinned as the words "ease on down the road" registered. It was a highly appropriate song for the start of his journey. A strong female voice sang the catchy song, and Daryl informed him that the voice belonged to Owz' premiere R&B singer, Angie Ferris. Blair ignored the stab of memory the name and voice rendered. Everything in this place was familiar, and at the same time not familiar at all. Shrugging in confusion for what had to be the hundredth time that day, he turned his attention to the students.

Blair watched as Daryl and several of the other students began a funky series of moves which brought them closer and closer towards the curling tip of the golden road. The moves of the dance were comprised of a deep sideways rocking of the hips and some hand motions, followed by a few half-skipping, half-strutting steps and some more hip thrusts. The overall effect was forward movement along the path, albeit a much more lively motion than simple walking. Blair found himself clumsily trying to follow along. After the third full repeat of the song, Blair was grooving along with the rest of the students, well on his way towards the border of Uni. He and Daryl were side by side at the front of the dancing mass of students, singing along as they danced, with Larry darted happily between them. He was startled to feel a sharp pinch on his butt, and looked over into the grinning face of the man-eating Sam.

"You've got all the moves, baby," she purred, and sauntered away.

Panicking a bit, Blair doubled the pace of his movements and soon found himself dancing well in front of the others, thankfully far away from Sam and her cohorts. Daryl soon mimicked his actions and joined him.

Bit by bit, the music faded into the distance, and after sharing a quick hug with Daryl, Blair found himself 'easing on down the road' on his own, with only the Barbary ape for company. Abandoning the dance moves in the absence of music, he readjusted his packs and continued on toward the city of Owz.

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