[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/xPfAC72.jpg[/img][/center] [b]The Shrine In The Time Before Time 10,000 BCE[/b] The boy came to the river with the loaded wicker basket in both hands. He was still called boy in his tribe, but he was rapidly outgrowing the name. He stood almost as tall as his father and would one day stand taller than the chief. “Tobet,” boy whispered under his breath. In the middle of the river was a raised mound of earth, a sandbar, and on top of the mound a tiny figure carved out of wood. Since as long as anyone could remember, this is where they would come and delivering their offering. The basket in the boy’s hands was filled with vegetables and meats and fur, the best offering that his tribe had to offer. The boy waded into the cool waters of the river with the basket held shoulder high. He stopped when he was waist deep. The slow and easy current at this part of the river was in no danger of sweeping him away. Looking towards the shrine on the sandbar, he repeated the words the old man of the tribe had drilled into his head. “Tobet,” he said again, this time louder and with more confidence. “God of the water and the river that gives us live, we present to you this sacrifice. May you take this and favor us with health and happiness, until the next harvest.” The boy laid the basket into the water and watched as the lazy current started to pull it away. He stayed until the basket had disappeared beneath the waters of the river, which wasn’t long at all. The boy breathed a sigh of relief. Tobet had taken his offering quickly, a good sign that he would favor the tribe this year. The boy waded to the bank and started on his journey home. This was his first time giving the offering, but it would not be his last. The boy would come back for many years. From boy, to man, to father, to warrior, to chief, to elder, he held many titles over his life. But regardless of his station in life he always came to these muddy banks with a basket full of his best, always asking for Tobet’s blessing in the time to come. Even when he was stooped shouldered and unable to carry the weight fully, he took his grandson with him to the waters and taught the boy the ritual. And the year after the old man had died, the boy came to the river with the loaded wicker basket in both hands. --- [b]Boyle Heights 11:34 PM[/b] “James Saint,” said John. “Sounds like he could be the lead singer of a prog rock band.” “I’ve heard of a Jimmy the Saint,” Ray said from the backseat of Rembrandt’s car. Along with Rembrandt, they were parked in his unmarked police car just a block away from the 4th Street Bridge. They met at a Du-Par’s an hour ago, John still in the process of waking up while Rembrandt still seemed to be running on the same energy from last night. Ray was… Ray, eating a healthy portion of omelet and pancakes before they headed out. “Doesn’t matter if it’s not his real name,” said John. “We got no power over him.” “So that stuff about names having power is real?” asked Rembrandt. “Oh yeah,” said Ray. “A half-talented caster gets a hold of your real name and that’s it for you, squire,” said John. “They can make you into their own personal voodoo doll, brainwash you. Killing you is the least dangerous thing they could do. It’s why you have to be careful who knows your name.” “Ray Browder isn’t my real name. My [i]nom de magick[/i], if you will.” “You and Ray are the only two who know my real name,” said John. “With the rest of the Good People I… have a nickname.” “What’s that?” Rembrandt asked. “Conjob,” Ray said before John could reply. Rembrandt laughed and shook his his head. “Fits you like a glove.” Ray checked his watch and started to move towards the passenger door. “We need to go, John. It’s almost midnight.” “Just yell if you need me,” Rembrandt said as they climbed out his car. “Appreciate it, Charlie,” said John. “But I’m afraid if anything happens to us, there’s very little you’ll be able to do.” John led the way towards the bridge, Ray walking in his wake. He could feel the call as they got closer and closer to the 4th Street Bridge and the L.A. River. It wasn’t as loud as other places of interest in Los Angeles, but it was strong and deep. It was old, older than anything else in the city. “There’s the gatekeeper,” Ray said as they approached the bridge. He stood at the entrance to the stairwell that led to the river below the bridge. The pedestrians who passed by never did a double take or even a first take. They couldn’t see him, only John and Ray and the others with the Sight could see through his cloaking spell. He was dressed in a baggy purple zoot suit, decked out to the nines with a matching floppy hat. He looked directly at them, he knew that they were fellow travelers and that they were headed his way. “Welcome, gentlemen,” he said with a slight Spanish accent. “Are you two people of good intent, people of good ideals, people of good character, people of good magic. Are you Good People?” “Yes,” said Ray. “Sure,” said John. “Then you may enter.” He stepped aside and they started down the stairs towards the river. John could hear soft whispers growing louder as they descended. The words were in a language he could not understand, a tongue that had long since gone extinct. He didn’t know the words, but he knew the cadence. A prayer was a prayer regardless of the language. A group had assembled in a semicircle on the concrete bank of the river, or what passed for a river these days. A few select torches illuminated the area, but left plenty of shadow for the Good People to hide among. “I think that’s her,” John said under his breath to Ray. A figure dressed in all black stood in front of the semicircle, an engraved mask on their face. The clothing was baggy enough to hide their body, but John caught a lock of blue hair around the corners of the mask. “Welcome,” she announced. “We gather here tonight, on the unluckiest of days in a time of the month were the light of the moon an be of no comfort. We gather here, this ancient place of ritual. A place that people worshiped gods whose names have been forgotten, but whose sacrifices can still be felt and heard. By accepting the call and response of the gatekeeper, you all entered into a covenant to follow the rules and rituals of this gathering. To wit: Any and all grudges, bitterness, or blood feuds shall be put on hold for this gathering. All sales are final, no names are to be used or recorded, and there can be no coin or paper money used for purchase. All the items brought before you tonight all come with a disclaimer: Purchase at your own risk. Bring the first item." --- [i]"In local news tonight, a Southland homeless man was the winner of last night's giant two hundred million jackpot. Gerald Wilkins was quoted by local--"[/i] Charlie changed the station on the radio and tried to find something worth listening to. He settled on a classic rock station and leaned back in the seat. Constantine and Ray had been gone about twenty minutes. He had no idea how long this auction of theirs would last, but he figured he could get some sleep. He had been running on little to none since the night he and Bonnie were called out to Wilshire Division. He was just getting settled when he saw the man looking at him from across the street. He didn't seem out of the ordinary. A Latino man in jeans and a t-shirt, an olive drab jacket on. But he was staring towards Rembrandt's car with an intensity that made Charlie pause. The man started towards the car. Rembrandt found his sidearm, keeping a hand on it while he sat up in the seat and rolled down the car window. "Jimmy the Saint says hi," the man said as he stood in front of the car. This close, Charlie could see the blue glow in the man's eyes. "Jimmy the Saint also says you need to leave well enough alone." "Or what?" asked Charlie. "Or he'll take care of you," said a voice from behind the car. An Asian woman came around the side and looked down at Charlie. "He can get inside anyone's mind, detective. He can be anywhere at any time. You're only off-limits because Jimmy the Saint's boss thinks it's bad for business to mess with cops. So call your piss-ant mage friend off." Both the man and woman raised their hands and snapped their fingers. Just like that, the blue glow disappeared and the eyes of two very confused people took its place.