xp_logs | Heretics: Warnings

While their plane is waiting to take off in Casablanca, Monet receives a phone call from someone unexpected.

"... and I'm not looking forward to explaining this to Joel," Nathan said. They were sitting safely on Moira's plane, waiting to take off - the Casablanca airport was a bit congested this morning, and private jets which had made a last-minute arrival already didn't go to the front of the line. "I mean, I know that he knows more than he lets on - I imagine he's had a conversation or two with Charles, but our 'other life' rarely... gets in the way quite so blatantly."

At least there had been no further complications, no phone calls or visits from the police. As far as they could tell, their involvement in the events at the port had passed completely without notice. He could only be relieved about that. The idea that Trask's idiocy could have damaged Elpis, as well as nearly damaging one of his students... he forced a faint smile to his lips and made himself look back at Monet. "But, we carry on, right?"

Only he was beginning to realize that he was not going to be able to do much public carrying on. Not if Taygetos was planning to come back at him, and not if Trask persisted in her so-beneficient kidnapping attempts. He would be putting everything they'd all been working for in jeopardy if one of these incidents happened again and couldn't be swept under the rug. He couldn't do that. The work was bigger than him.

"Something like that. At least we're not linked to i--" She stopped abruptly at the sound of her phone ringing. "What the hell?" She rummaged in her bag, dislodging a steady slew of books, lipsticks and food wrappers. "Hello?"

"Well. And here I was planning to leave you an ambiguous message on your voicemail." The Australian-accented voice on the other end of the phone sounded more than a little sardonic, as well as surprised. "According to my sources, you're on the plane, about to head home," Irene Merryweather went on. "That's very good, Monet. I'm glad to know that."

"How did you get my fucking number?"

"Research." The sardonic edge got a little sharper. "I am a reporter. With a number of very interesting sources." Merryweather paused. "He's watching you have this conversation, isn't he?" The 'he' in question had leaned forward in his seat, frowning at Monet.

"No, he actually isn't. He's busy finishing off the entire damn mini bar, and I think he's about to pass out." Sorry, but it's Irene and I don't want to tell her anything real about you, she sent. "Look, do you have a message for him? I can pass it on once he's finished being drunk."

"Mm," the reporter who was clearly considerably more than a reporter said. "Tell him I'm sorry. It was never supposed to come to this. But it has, and he'll want to be careful. I know someone like me doesn't need to tell someone like him how to do that."

"Well, what the bloody hell was it supposed to come to?" Monet snarled, never more thankful for Forge's crush-proof phone. "And that wouldn't be a threat for Nathan, would it?"

"I would cut off my own arm before I harmed a hair on his head." The quiet vehemence in Merryweather's voice was almost shocking in its forcefulness. "But unfortunately, the bastards running Taygetos feel otherwise, and the mad history professor will probably take another crack at spiriting him away for his own good if he gives her the opportunity."

"You wouldn't know when she's going to do that, would you? You wouldn't want to tell us so that we can do our best to avoid ever harming a hair on his head, maybe?"

"I'm already treading on shaky ground, Monet. In fact, you might say I've broken every rule in the book already. Just tell him to be careful. Much as I might wish differently, we don't have eyes everywhere." A pause, then a soft laugh. "And thank you for catching the bus. I honestly didn't intend to do that."

"You might want to try and avoid killing energy projectors and stealing their powers then. Those things can be tricky if you're not used to them." Monet sighed. "I'll pass the message on to Nate."

"William Moses deserved to die, Monet. Trask might have had the best of intentions, in her madness - he didn't. Don't ever make the mistake of thinking that all of her people are on the same page." With that rather ominous comment, the line went dead.

Nathan looked like he wanted to start pacing up and down the cabin. "I think I got the gist of that," he said curtly.

"Well, at least she did warn you to be careful, right?"

"Yes," Nathan said, his tone biting. "Violence and explosions and ostentatious mystery, all in the name of doing it for my own good." He folded his arms across his chest, slumping in his seat. "What makes her different from Trask? If she even is. It's a good thing there are women in this world I'm quite fond of, or I'd probably turn into a raging misogynist."

"She isn't any different to Trask. Well, she's less ugly but other than that..." Monet tilted her head back in her seat and let her exhaustion show in her voice. "I'd get annoyed at you for that last statement but seriously, between Trask and Merryweather, I kind of understand."