Saffir regained consciousness in a single instant, breathing heavily.  The last thing he needed was another nightmare!  He then winced and rubbed at his sore shoulder, then hissed in pain.  That’s right… Jaspis attacked me, he thought, remembering the older man shouting, “Kathetos!” as he swung his broadsword.  Saffir hadn’t been expecting that – his rival had been well-known for his inability to get a handle on battle magic.  It looked as though he’d found a way around that, giving him an advantage over the Blue Prince.  “Verdammt,” he growled, looking at his body to take stock of his injuries.

His chest, it would seem, wasn’t as badly damaged as he’d thought – his arms had taken the brunt of what had gotten past his hastily constructed shield, leaving him with a few gashes that required stitches.  His right shoulder was badly scraped from its forceful introduction to pavement, but the wound had already congealed.  His left shoulder had required even more stitches than his chest had, and both of his forearms were heavily bandaged. 

Despite this, he actually felt fairly good – but then again, compared to the energy Jaspis had stolen from him, he’d gotten off lightly.  Frowning, Saffir took an internal stock of his power levels and winced.  Jaspis had taken not only what he’d need to jump a thousand years into the future, he’d also taken what he’d need to get back to Nemesis!  The Blue Prince knew that if he hadn’t utilised the Third Eye when he had, Jaspis likely would have left him as powerless as any human, a notion Saffir did not cherish.

His self-assessment out of the way, he turned his dark blue eyes on the room he’d awoken in.  It was fairly obvious that he was in a hospital of some kind – after all, the policewoman who’d found him had called an ambulance --  but he seemed to have a single room.  There was also a police officer in there with him, but the man was asleep, leading Saffir to believe it was early morning, perhaps near oh-three-hundred hours or so.

The Blue Prince had absolutely no problem with this – he needed to get a look at his records.  Checking to make sure he wasn’t being observed, he raised his left hand and stretched it out towards the clipboard on the back of the door.  As soon as he had a firm mental grip on it, he gently eased it from its holder and pulled it back towards him.

As soon as it was in his hands, he relaxed his magical hold on it and began to puzzle out what it said.  It had been awhile since he’d had to read Roman script, but he quickly grew re-accustomed to the strange alphabet and puzzled out the attending doctor’s handwriting.  He was amused to find that the doctor could give no good reason as to why he had lost consciousness – he hadn’t lost near enough blood for that – and suggested peripheral fatigue as the culprit, which rather impressed the Blue Prince.

The symptoms aren’t too different, after all, he mused, putting the papers back in order as if he had never handled them.  I wonder why they filled in my name as John Doe…

With a sigh, he floated the clipboard back to its resting place and proceeded to stare up at the ceiling.  He would have to feign unconsciousness again if his energy levels didn’t replenish up to teleporting-level before dawn… then again, his room had a window.  He might not be able to keep up the act against that damned sun, and then he’d have to deal with all kinds of questions that he didn’t want to answer.  Which means lying.

Thus decided, he turned his gaze on the policeman sleeping just inside the door of his room.  Saffir was an accomplished liar, especially when given time to plan out his story in advance, but he didn’t need the man waking up while he created the necessary identification.  His eyes narrowed to slits, then widened as he opened his Third Eye and turned it on his watcher.  A nearly-invisible beam of light shot from the mark on his forehead to the policeman’s sixth chakra.  Gently, the Blue Prince deepened his sleep, then withdrew, the black moon crescent reverting to its normal state as he did.

Next he turned his attention on the Earthling’s wallet, carefully easing it from his back pocket – after all, he had only shifted the man into delta sleep, from which he could be wakened – and bringing it to his hand.  Now came the hard part – fabricating an identification card from the sample he now had.

It took him the better part of two hours to do this, three times during which he had to feign unconsciousness when a nurse came in to check on him.  He also had to alter the policeman back to delta sleep after one of those visits.  By the time he had replaced the ID and returned the wallet to its former place, he was completely exhausted.  Using the last of his strength, he moved his new identification card to the hidden pocket in his pants, then let sleep overtake him.

 

—‡—‡—‡—

 

Saffir fought his way back to consciousness some hours later, and immediately took internal stock of his magical energy.  He was relieved to note that he had passed the minimum needed for a teleportation, though he suspected he would pay for wearing himself out at a later date.

This done, he opened his eyes to find that, as expected, the room was flooded with sunlight.  “Zu hell!” he cried, bringing his arms up to protect his eyes, swearing as his shoulders protested the sudden movement.  This was not promising to be a good day.

 

“Something wrong?” Murphy asked dryly, from where she was leaning in the doorway. She’d been having a word or two with the man set to guard the John Doe overnight; he’d slept all night, and what would have happened if the other man had come back?  She arched an eyebrow at the man.

“It’s too bright,” he growled, genuine pain underlying his voice.  “And my shoulders hurt.”  He didn’t move his arms from the protective shield they’d formed over his face.

Murphy moved away from the door and closed the blinds with a swift jerk to the cord. “Better?” she asked.

“Much.  Thank you,” he said, letting his arms down and blinking owlishly a few times.  “Dumme helle Sonne,” he added under his breath.

“I can’t do much about the shoulders,” she said, ignoring the foreign language; it sounded like a swear word, anyway. “You’ll have to talk to the nurses. Do you feel up to talking about what happened to you yesterday?”

He shrugged and winced.  “Not particularly, Lieutenant Murphy.”

Murph winced a bit. “Detective-sergeant,” she corrected. “But thank you for the inadvertent promotion. May I at least ask your name?”

He looked a bit startled at the correction.  “Saffir Schwarzemond. And I apologise for my mistake.  I… misread your rank.”

She shrugged. “It’s all right. You didn’t have any identification, and Harry didn’t give me your name.” She paused a moment, then asked, “Is there a particular reason you don’t want to talk about last night?”

Because you Gaians wouldn’t understand a thing about it, he thought.  Obviously he should have focused less on proper identification and more on explaining away Jaspis.  “He and I… I suppose you could say we are enemies,” he replied very carefully.  “Rivals is a bit too mild a term.”

Murphy nodded, slowly. Motive, check. “Would you be willing to work with a sketch artist to identify this man?”

“You don’t want to go against him,” Saffir said immediately, shaking his head.

“It is my job,” Murphy replied, carefully. “And I have gone up against some rather formidable foes and come out on top.” With Harry’s help, mostly, but there was no need to tell him that.

“Not like Jaspis,” the boy insisted.  “He was using moves I’ve never seen him use before.”

Uh-huh. “I need to know, sir,” she said. “Someone is walking around my city causing trouble and it’s my job to stop him.”

“You won’t be able to catch him.”  He paused, then added as though he thought he was taking a gamble, “Unless you can track a teleport, which is a feat none has ever achieved to my knowledge.”

Murphy coughed. “No, unfortunately I don’t think we’ve managed that yet. Though forensics can manage some quite astonishing things, and I’m certain one of these days they’ll work something out. I still have to try.” She let another moment of silence go by. “With or without your help.”

There was no mistaking it.  The boy definitely winced.  “You don’t understand.  If you’re not prepared, he’ll kill you.”

Ha. Score one for the cop chick--and it was probably wise to not even think that phrase around Harry, though Saffir was probably safe. “So give me all the preparation you can manage,” she said. “I’m going after him either way.”

“Deshalb viel wie Demando…,” he muttered, then said, “Not without me.”

She shrugged. “Whatever you want,” she said, having absolutely no intention of letting him come along. “I can’t sign you out AMA. You could probably do that on your own. Or else you can wait until they release you.”

He looked blank.  “Ay em ay?”

“Against medical advice.”

Now he scowled, the expression making him seem older.  “He’s not easy to miss.  Green and purple hair, black star on his forehead, cape and sword.  Subtlety isn’t his strong point.  I really don’t think you should track him down.  He’s powerful.”

Murphy produced a small notebook from her left-hand pocket and scribbled down a quick description, then arched a blonde eyebrow at Saffir. “I’ve taken on some quite powerful things in my time. Is there anything specific I should be guarding against?”

“His sword, mainly.  Energy blasts coming from his sword, and I’d love to know where he learned that particular trick, since we’re both of us bad at battle magic.”  A pause, then, “He’s rather fond of teleporting in order to catch his opponent by surprise.”

“Energy blasts that do what, exactly? Throw you backwards? Turn you into a toad?”

For answer, Saffir held out his bandaged forearms to her.  “You saw the wounds he left me with,” he said softly.  “I was shielding, and I still wound up like that.  I honestly have no idea what they’ll do to someone who can’t shield.”

She hissed through her teeth. “Right. I’ll make a stop with our consultant before I do anything further, then. Anything else?”

“He might just decide you’re not worth bothering with and take your energy.  It’s an ability unique to his bloodline.  It’s what put me out, not my injuries.  Can’t you see this is folly?” he cried, his accent growing thicker in his distress.

“I’m a monster cop. It’s my job to engage in folly.” Well, it wasn’t strictly in the job description, but generally people in SI were prone to folly. “And I’m experienced at coming out of it intact.”

Saffir murmured something that might have been a prayer, or a curse, or both.  “Do as you will,” he said at last, a trace of resignation in his voice.  “I won’t stop you.”

Game, set and match. “Thank you,” she said, and put the notebook away. “Do you want to be checked out of the hospital, or would you prefer to stay?”

He eyed the window darkly.  “I’ll wait until nightfall.”

She nodded. “I’ll let the nurses know.”

 

—‡—‡—‡—

 

Jaspis tilted back the brim of the ball cap he was using to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked up at the hospital where he’d tracked the Blue Prince’s presence to.  “The next move is yours, erbeprinz,” he said softly, smiling.  “Make it an interesting one.”

He stepped back into the crowd as the blonde cop who’d spotted them last night vacated the building.  Making a split-second decision, he flicked his fingers and planted a tracking spell on her, then turned to walk away.

 

Murphy stopped, frowning.  What the hell had that unusual feeling been?

 

—‡—‡—‡—

 

Saffir, it seemed, couldn’t be arsed to bother with paperwork.

As soon as the far-too-bright sun (which he would need to accustom himself to sooner or later) went down, Saffir teleported outside.  He swayed a little, putting a hand against the building to steady himself.  It was possible that he should have waited a bit longer before teleporting, but he was not patient enough for that right now.  That policewoman could be getting killed by Jaspis right now.

Frustrated, he ran a pale hand through his blue hair.  How the hell had this gotten so complicated?  All he’d wanted to do was test a time-jumping technique.  But now Jaspis had managed to replicate his research, a feat that caused Saffir to grit his teeth and wonder how the other scholar had gotten into his laboratory – and just where he’d picked up that particular bit of battle magic.

Then Saffir sensed it – someone equal in power to the Sailor Senshi, though there was something much more… divine about it.  “A paladin?” Saffir murmured as he realised that if he could sense this particular mortal, he in turn was probably more than detectable.  Making a split-second decision, Saffir teleported a second time, this time moving to the roof of the nearest skyscraper.  Even though most of his magic energy had restored itself, he was still below the minimum required for a time jump to his present.  He didn’t have the energy to waste explaining possible misunderstandings to a paladin.  Divine magic, as Rubeus had learned the hard way, had a bad effect on their people.

“This is getting out-of-hand,” the Blue Prince muttered, looking down at the city below.  “I’ve got to get home.”

 

—‡—‡—‡—

 

 “So you’re saying that he will destroy us if allowed to regain his strength?” René asked the oddly garbed figure floating before him and Alisaunder.

“Yes,” it growled in a layered voice, as though two mouths were speaking at once.  “I have foreseen it.”

Alisaunder spat.  “And why should we believe you?” he sneered.  “I don’t put stock in fortune-telling.”

The man – the ‘voice’ was masculine, at any rate – gave the impression that he was arching an eyebrow behind the shadows created by the cloak’s hood.  “Did I not predict the feast you and your brother have just partaken of?”

René glanced down at the bodies at their feet and shrugged.  “He has a point.  And if that man is as powerful as he says, well…”  The vampire cracked his knuckles.  “We would do well to feast on him now, rather than wait for him to regain his full strength.”

Alisaunder snorted.  “Count me out of this one,” he told his brother.  “I’m walking.”  He turned on his heel and began to stride out of the alley.

Two orbs, at a level where eyes would be, glowed to life within the hooded cloak as the fortune-teller raised his crystal slightly.  “Do not turn your back on me, boy!”  A black bolt of energy shot out from the sphere, heading right for the departing vampire.

“Alisaunder!” René cried as the blast hit.

The vampire screamed in pain as what looked like black lightning played over his body, his back arching while every muscle in his body spasmed.  Then the attack ended, and Alisaunder collapsed.  René ran to his brother as the cloaked figure chuckled darkly.  “Get rid of Saffir of the Black Moon clan,” he ordered, “or the pain you feel shall be tenfold!”