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An Urban Fantasy in Three Acts	By : Alhazred Category: Individual Celebrities > Athlete/Sports Misc Views: 1362 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the people written about in this fanfiction. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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The following is a work of fiction. It would be pretty stupid to say any resemblance to real people is coincidental, but any resemblance to real events, personalities and, yes, even sexuality of those involved most certainly is not based on fact.
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The doorbell did ring.

"That's so not funny." Michael wasn't joking, either. "Maybe they'll just go away."

It rang again, and this time, a short knock followed.

"No way," Ian half-chuckled. "They don't even know where I am."

"What if they do?" Michael started to think. As absurd as it was, it really could've been Brendan and Aaron outside his door right now. "What if it's them? What are they going to think if they can't find us?"

"Oh man," Ian rolled his eyes to the ceiling, desperate for some respite from the insanity he'd been brought into. He didn't know how Michael dealt with the stress wrought on by the things he hid. "Well, here goes nothing."

He opened the door. It wasn't Brendan and Aaron after all, and Michael secretly hoped Ian felt at least almost as foolish as he did for freaking out about it.

Then he realized that he had no idea who the lanky, skeezy looking guy standing in his doorway, chewing on a little too much bubble gum and holding his hands behind his back.

Michael's sword was out of arm's reach, still lying behind the chair. He was not okay with this.

But there wasn't really much he could do about it. Except answer the guy. "Mr. Phelps?"

"Yeah," Michael nodded.

He brought a hand out from behind his back, and while Michael was half-expecting a weapon, he saw, instead, an open wallet with photo ID and a bright, shiny badge. "I'm Detective Jenkins, Denver PD, we're investigating the homicide committed in Ann Arbor last night, would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"

"Uh," Michael gaped, completely shocked. This, he hadn't expected. It took him a few seconds to realize the detective was handing him his badge to look over his credentials for himself, something Michael did as professionally as possible. He'd been around his mother when she watched Law & Order way, way too much. "Ah...sure...not at all...we just heard about that five minutes ago, actually...freaky stuff."

"Yeah, freaky," Ian found his own voice.

"Yeah, uh," Michael handed Jenkins his badge back, figuring he might as well be polite. "Would you like to come in?"

"Nah, this won't take long," putting his wallet back into his pocket, Jenkins fished out a little notepad and pen. Apparently, Law & Order got that art right, at least. "I'm just covering all the bases, really...the bouncer I talked to earlier said they saw you and your friend here hanging around the club this went down at last night," he turned to Ian, "Mister...Thorpe, is it?"

Ian's face turned so very red, Michael wondered if he was caught between strangling the guy or just keeling over. "Crocker. That's Crocker, I mean."

"Right, sorry, thought the guy had gotten that mixed up." Jenkins made a note of this. "So, you were both there?"

"Yeah," Michael said.

"Drinking?"

Now it was Michael's turn to look incredulous. After all the trouble he'd gone through in recent days to stay out of trouble, a cop asking him if he'd been drinking was absolutely ridiculous. Very, very rarely did Michael ever complain about life being unfair (especially because he was very conscious of the fact that his life was pretty good, all things considered,) but this was most certainly not fair.

So much so that he forgot to answer. Ian caught it; "Absolutely not. He's too young and I just plain don't touch it. We should be on one of those PSAs with people saying 'this is my anti-drug,' actually."

Ian had been surprisingly smooth; Jenkins gave them both a funny look, not entirely convinced that something wasn't being hidden from him, but he seemed to think his actual question had been answered truthfully. "I see...and the question I'm here for, really, did either of you see anything? Another student you're acquainted with said you'd talked to the victim."

"Not a thing," Michael deadpanned. "We left through the back door, but it must've been before anything...happened. I didn't really know the kid, just as much as I know any of the team from coaching. Just happened to run into each other."

"Well," Jenkins scribbled something more, and then made a distinct straight motion with his pen, likely crossing Michael's name off a list of people to interview. "That's really all I need, I wasn't expecting any big revelations, honestly, just covering all the bases. Oh, and...yeah, be smart if you're outside for awhile, for all we know yet, some sicko's got it in for every swimmer in a fifty mile radius."

"Thank you, Detective," Michael nodded half-heartedly; he knew there wouldn't be any problem of the kind, but he wasn't about to say it. "We'll be careful."

Once Jenkins was gone and the door closed, Ian let out a breath he'd been holding for quite some time now. "Damn, Michael...forget what I said about you being a clutz, that was some nice...bullshit, for lack of a more tactful word."

"Yeah, well," Michael grinned, running a hand through his hair. It was still damp and he was actually getting close to haircut time, so when it became a challenge to keep it cooperative, he went into the nearby closet and fished out one of his hats. "Desperation is a good motivator."

"Hah," Ian laughed. "That's why I never caught you checking me out, huh?"

"Damn straight," Michael went on, fixing his cap so his hair went under it.

"Wait," Ian drawled, his voice giving off the subtlest hint of a Southern accent from his time in Texas so far. "Is...um...that why I woke up staring at myself on your dresser?"

"What? No, God, no, Ian," Michael couldn't help but laugh at the way Ian took this like a dear in headlights. He thought of that picture, it was of Ian in the pool at Athens, a replacement of what it was before last year. "I'm not that weird."

"I can't believe you just said that," Ian shook his head. "Can we go get something to eat, now?"

"Sure."

Michael took his sword with him, and he was quick to stow it in Ian's car, considering he didn't have his duster to hide it. He wasn't about to wear that again until it was fit for being in public, that much was certain. Under his other arm, he carried the laptop he'd mostly bought for school, explaining his idea once they were moving. "So, here's a thought...there's a cyber cafe on Main street, good with a wireless connection. I'm wondering if there's anything in local Magi news about last night yet..."

"Sounds good to me," Ian took the road Michael pointed at. "'Magi?' Something think they needed a vague Biblical reference to describe themselves in plural?"

"Oh, it wouldn't surprise me," Michael chuckled. "This is reality, after all...even magic users do most of what they do because they think it makes them look or sound cooler."

A little amused, and a little comforted at finally having something down to earth he could relate Michael's revelations to, Ian said, "Makes sense...y'know, the closest church to me in Texas is the stereotype, to a 'T.' It's like God as a social club."

"Oh, just let me in there," Michael said, "I'm sure I've got enough going for me to get burned at the stake."

"Michael," Ian said, slowly, choosing his words deliberately. "Have you...considered the possibility that this stuff is something you're not meant to meddle with? I don't mean God and the devil and stuff, but...what if there's something you're all missing that's going to bite you in the ass?"

"You should ask Lenny that, he knows more than I do," Michael shrugged. "It's not all that simple...there are things that go bump in the night, there are other planes of existence besides this one. Lenny's been attacked twice by demons from the underworld."

Ian took his eyes off the road a little too long for Michael's comfort to stare at him. "You're kidding."

"No, but I'm not trying to be that dramatic, either...the Underworld, the Netherworld, it's nothing new...we've all known they're there for a long time. Sometimes, something strays across and you see a news special about an unexplainable haunted house a few years later. There's not that much going on either way, really."

"I should just stop asking questions," Ian resolved. "It'd be easier to listen to the answers if I hadn't seen enough to believe you."

Michael took the power seat once they were inside the cafe, the chair of a table in the corner that put his back to both walls and his front to the rest of the room. He had his laptop set up and on the Internet before the waitress even came to take their orders.

"So," Ian scooted over so he could get a good view, "What's the four-one-one?"

"I haven't even logged in yet," Michael chuckled. For the rarity he used the underground network, Michael probably wouldn't have known the latest passwords into the system if Lenny hadn't kept him updated. The URL into it was just a string of random numbers as it was, and he almost forgot to plug in the USB drive that any page would access right through his laptop for the decryption keys.

The password hadn't changed since Lenny had last sent it to him, and once Michael had that entered in and the "Water" option checked off on the otherwise blank page, he found his browser displaying a quaint little website with an ocean motif and the word mageNET written across the top.

The bottom of the page, below a few seemingly simple options, was a poll result listing the elements: Earth, Air, Water, Lightning, Fire, Ice, Time, and Space, along with the number of magi that had logged on today. Michael was the 1608th Water mage, which sounded about right, given the time of day and the estimated number of magi at any given time.

"This seems disturbingly simple," Ian said.

"Just in case someone wanders across it and manages to crack a password," Michael shrugged. "Simplicity goes a long way sometimes. Keeping these hubs open and monitored is probably ninety percent of what local lords do...just maintaining a community so we're not alone unless we want to be."

"How bout that?" Ian pointed to the first option on the list, "Headlines."

"Nah, you won't see me on there unless I get killed," Michael's words had a certain amount of reservation; he was keenly aware that this could actually happen, and so was Ian. "I don't really know anyone around here...but it wouldn't take long for someone to point it out. Almost-celebrity discovered to have magic talents after turning up dead? That'd be quite the story."

"Even better if it's 'Celebrity Killed by Magic,'" Ian thought aloud. But he went on to noticing that, when Michael clicked the next link down, "Magi BBS," that the poll from the front page displayed its results on every page, constantly updating even as Michael was immediately prompted for another login and password. "Wait a minute. Wait. So...why are Water and Ice, like, different? They're the same thing, one's just warmer than the other!"

"Eh," Michael shrugged again. "Just the way it works."

He went about logging in to the boards; Lenny had an account set up for him last year, and though he'd only used it once to check out what the Magi scene was like in Athens (a pretty big turnout at the games, it had looked like,) he never forgot his information. Lenny probably thought it was funny; his login was "swimshady667."

Ian noticed this immediately, of course. "That's cute."

"Aw, shut up," Michael couldn't possibly have typed his password in faster. The boards were just as simple as the main page, and he had no problems following the links from United States down to Michigan and finally down to Ann Arbor.

Being a college town, there was a little more happening in Ann Arbor than there was in most other towns, even in the magic scene. A few recent posts were from University of Michigan students hanging around for the summer or at least for a few weeks before going home. Most were looking for buddies of the same primary element to get together and practice with now that school was out and they had time for such things.

It was the people posting about the murder at the Conclave that interested Michael a little more. There weren't many different threads on it and most of the discussion was on the first topic that had appeared. "Wonder if anyone knows something..."

Skimming through the posts, Michael wasn't picking up on anything worthwhile, mostly just frequent clubbers concerned for their own safety if someone could get shot right in back.

A few people were brave enough to flat out ask if anyone reading knew if the incident was magic-related or not, followed immediately by someone's post about hearing from a friend in the police that they'd found Mack's mace in the alley.

Suddenly, Ian stopped him. "Wait, go back."

His finger slipping on the touch pad, Michael corrected himself and scrolled back up slowly until Ian stopped him again. "There."

He couldn't believe he'd missed the post Ian had seen, even if it was shorter than most of the debating going on. It wasn't long after the one about Mack's weapon. The user's screen name was "zeus666," and the body of his message was, simple.

I knew the victim; he was a Water mage. I gave him that weapon months ago.

"Well, that's interesting," Michael said. According the time stamp, the message had been posted not long ago at all, and he found it a little hard to believe that a mage friend of Mack's would know less about what he was up to than his other friends. "Wonder who this guy is..."

He wondered if this person might be willing to answer a few questions...it was worth a shot, Michael figured. He clicked the "Private Message" button and sent him a message asking exactly that. Someone like that wasn't necessarily Mack's teacher, but was probably pretty damn close to him, to give him an enchanted weapon.

Curious, Michael clicked the user name, but the only other posts on the account were school related and old; apparently this person had stopped hanging around most of the university's magi, probably when his course load got so ridiculous he couldn't hang around his other friends to begin with.

Ian was noshing on a bagel by the time Michael looked up from that. He'd lost his own appetite without realizing it, too engrossed on the monitor to notice anymore. "So...that's the biggest lead, huh?"

"Oh, I wouldn't complain," Michael said, his tongue planted firmly in his cheek. "The last time I thought I had nothing, I almost got killed behind a night club. You were there."

"Yeah, you said you didn't know why you were there," Ian said. "What was up, anyway?"

"The place saw a few fights lately, it was the only thing going on in the tabloids." Seeing, once again, that he had strayed into violating Ian's ideas on how the world worked, Michael added, "Tabloids, y'know...some of them are cover for actual news."

"Well, good," Ian said, "Cause if the one-eyed baby I saw on one the last time I went shopping was real, I don't know how I'd take that. That one wasn't real, was it?"

"Doubt it," Michael laughed. "Ours are done on a more local basis. There won't be new ones out for another few days, though...otherwise I'd pick them up again."

"Check the headline news anyway," Ian suggested. "Might find something interesting."

A few hits of the back button later and Michael did just that. It was pretty simple navigation in keeping with the hub's simplicity-for-end-users philosophy.

The news for the United States was divided by state just like the forum was, and while Ann Arbor didn't have its own section, it was attached to the link for news in Detroit.

"Yeah, not much going on out of the ordinary," Michael started browsing the articles. The local lord lived in Detroit, so most of the news was about him in some way or another. "Wow, Lord Howel's an art buff."

"Art buff?" Ian's eyebrows went up.

"Yeah, I probably would've known this stuff if I had time to keep up with it," Michael said. "Says here he collects all kinds of things...he's had workers just bring in some old Magi relics he's going to donate to some local museums."

"So museums are warehouses for you guys?"

"No, it's just his thing, he prints the tabloids we get our local news from, makes good money off of it, and spends it when he gets bored," Michael said. "He probably has influence over the places he donates to, just to be safe...and not all of these things do anything, just lost history without a textbook to tell you what it means. Says here he's giving some stuff from Europe to the University's museum...the Arrow of Apollo, the Staff of Ra..."

"Sounds like he's seen Indiana Jones a few too many times," Ian chuckled.

"You could be more right than you know," Michael answered. "This stuff is worth more than both of us multiplied by a few times. The stuff he probably keeps in his own collection, I mean. Magical artifacts are like platinum on the black market, especially if they do something."

"That's funny," Ian said. "So the only thing comparable in scandal to you getting killed would be this guy's basement getting raided."

"Yeah, makes me feel a whole lot better," Michael sighed. "Guess that's all there is...still not much to go on."

"Okay, so," Ian rolled his eyes, trying to think. "Maybe...you said some of this old ancient crap like what this guy is buying lately is...important, right? Maybe something's important to someone? Important enough to kill you over?"

"That'd be really twisted, Ian," Michael slumped back into his chair. "He's the social type, lives expensively, has money...for him to be involved in something like this from any angle would be crazy. Not impossible," Michael realized he had never bothered to announce his presence to Lord Howel, let alone meet him, "But I'd be surprised."

"Well, what's the harm in looking into it?" Ian suggested. He swallowed the last bite of his bagel shortly afterward. "Who knows? You're the magical dude here, do any of these things mean anything?"

"I don't know," Michael confessed. He shoved his laptop back a few inches, giving himself enough room to cross his arms on the table and stare at the screen intently while resting his chin on them. "I'd have to look it up...not the most readily available information. I know we have a section in the local library for 'our' books and such, though...we could dig through the history. I definitely can't think of anything more productive to do."

"Sounds good to me," Ian stood up, Michael closing his laptop and following him in short order, after he'd saved a copy of the list Lord Howel had released of his various artifacts.

The ride to the library was surprisingly uneventful, if a little long, given it's location between the center of Ann Arbor and Detroit. Despite the ever-lingering bruises Michael had, and the not so subtle way they all throbbed, he couldn't help but feel normal again. He was hanging out with Ian, he wasn't keeping secrets from him anymore, and heck, his life was on the up, provided he got out of his current situation with his life, and before Bob gave up on him totally.

Michael actually laughed, just as soon as he and Ian got out of the car again. Just enough of a chuckle for Ian to notice. "What are you smiling about?"

"It's funny, Ian," Michael's eyes met the handle of his sword through the back door's window; it stuck out from underneath Ian's travel bag where he'd hidden it. But he only looked at it for a second before turning his eyes up towards the library building and the sky. "I haven't felt this alive since Athens. It just took getting into a life or death situation."

"I always thought you were weird, Michael," Ian shook his head, "Just, y'know, fruity-weird. But who am I to tell you what's normal when someone wants you dead?"

Ian was allowed into the 'restricted section' of the library without a fuss; the door was subtly guarded by six magi, strong enough, like Lenny, to sense ability of their own elements in someone. Their disciplines weren't obvious, but Michael was nodded to by the one that must've been the Water mage, and Ian was apparently perfectly allowable because Michael was dragging him along.

There weren't that many books; magi just didn't like to keep that much physical evidence laying around. But what was there in the small basement was still properly categorized, and with no aisles, just shelves on the four walls, it was a simple matter to find the shelf marked "History."

"How bout this?" Ian said, putting his hand on one of the thinner books. It was more like a photocopied study guide bound by glue instead of a professional looking tome. "'History of Magical Events in the Mundane World?'"

"Nah," Michael shook his head. "That's things you think you know about but we know more about. It's actually a lot less thrilling and conspiracy-filled then it sounds like. Is there anything on that side with the word 'artifact' in the title?"

"Uh," Ian kept looking. "Ah hah. 'Encyclopedia of Relics?'"

"That works," Michael said. Ian slid the book out and brought it to over to one of the only two tables in the room. A young man reading the library's copy of the Codex Fulgur occupied the other table. Seeing that he was about his own age, Michael figured the guy was a neophyte, probably not too far off from his own skill, unable to afford his own copy of his element's handbook given the exorbitant prices at the printing press for these secret things. Sitting next to Ian, Michael set his laptop on the table and waited for it to boot.

Just for laughs, Michael went through the list he'd saved randomly, while Ian flipped through the book to find an entry each time. After the first five of them turned out to have at least a page of information, sometimes a nice little artist rendition, they stopped on the Arrow of Apollo.

"Next?" Ian said.

Ignoring him, Michael shook his head to clear his thoughts, rubbing at the bridge of his nose once he was done. "This guy's stuff is worth a fucking fortune, Ian. Conscious of the fact that they weren't alone, Michael lowered his voice. "With this kind of collection, he must be worth more than our entire team multiplied a couple of times."

"So," Ian blinked, stretching the word out. That adorable, vaguely Southern accent was audible in his drawl again. "What's it got to do with you?"

"I...don't know," Michael answered. "Maybe nothing. I don't know. Except that he's got some of it over in Detroit and some of it right here in Ann Arbor, at the college museum... "

"Yeesh," Ian leaned back, giving a yawn. "I wish you guys made more sense...I'll be right back. You, uh...you don't think they'd mind if I left to use the bathroom, do you?"

Unable to stop from chuckling, Michael said, "Nah, I doubt it."

Ian got up and walked back up the stairs to the doors, followed shortly by the kid who'd been reading his codex. He bumped into Michael's chair putting it back on the shelf. "Ah, sorry."

Hardly noticing, Michael nodded vaguely in his direction and slid the book over to himself. The article on the Arrow of Apollo was a good read, an actual magical relic instead of an old piece of junk that some ancient mage had on his wall for the hell of it.

Once Michael got onto the second page and stated reading about how the artifact was supposedly the key to another, better artifact (as these things tended to go,) Michael snapped out of it and realized Ian had been gone for a few minutes. He wondered if the door guards gave him trouble after all.

He took the stairs two at a time...and was more than a little surprised to find that Ian wasn't heckling with the guards after all. It would've been funny, really...Michael thought those guys looked an awful lot like the guards that stood in front of Buckingham Palace, just without the funny hats.

Especially the way they didn't concern themselves with how Michael looked slightly worried as his eyes found the 'Bathroom' sin on the far wall. He headed for it, expecting fully to end up cracking some jokes about falling in and drowning at Ian's expense.

Maybe Ian was just feeling sick, he thought.

But Ian wasn't in the bathroom. And it was, when Michael ran outside only to find their car still parked nicely at the curb, with no sign of Ian down the street either way, that he realized something was wrong.

And then he jumped, because something was moving inside if his pants pocket, and he couldn't remember the last time the words "moving inside" described his pants except for the last time his girlfriend had grabbed him and he just closed his eyes and thought about Ian.

"Jesus fuckness!" He half-shouted, garnering some fair share of attention from passers-by and some fair share of laughter when anyone who'd noticed looked at him long enough to see him yank his cell phone from his pocket. "Dammit, vibrate..."

And then he noticed the caller-id was blank. Please be Ian, he thought...be Ian or be Lenny. Lenny would be pretty good right now, as far as Michael was concerned.

He answered the phone. "Phelps."

"Want to see your friend again?"

What Michael would've given to see his own face, that very second. "Who...who is this?"

"You'll find out...no more games. The pool at the high school closest to your house, midnight. Be on time or he dies."

The line clicked off.

It was the longest minute of Michael's life, as he stood rooted to that spot, that one step out in front of the library. And then he looked at his watch; he had plenty of time to kill.

It was just as well, since he couldn't drive. He couldn't take the risk of being stopped and incarcerated; he would just miss the time. And he didn't really have any other choice.

If Ian was already harmed, or...if Ian wasn't okay, Michael wasn’t entirely sure what he would do. He was sure that whatever he did, it would involve very, very mean things done to the guy who'd called him, things that would probably leave him with blood on his hands.

As he dug through the back seat of their car to wrap his sword in one of Ian's shirts before he started walking away, Michael tried not to think about wanting to torture someone with a blade. Every few minutes, when he remembered Ian might be dead as he walked right now, he couldn't help it.

It took him an hour and a half to get back to his house, but that was fine. There weren't that many high schools in Ann Arbor, and he knew the closest one to him was about a thirty minute walk away.

That left him five hours before he had to leave. Five hours of nothing but worry over Ian, five hours of being antsy and a complete head case. So Michael decided he would try to sleep. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to, but then again, he was pretty sure he should be freaking out right now and stabbing himself over the idea that Ian might be hurt and it was his fault. But the knowledge that he would soon work to change this left him in a complete, total calm. He couldn't help Ian unless he stayed in his right mind, after all.

Setting his alarm, Michael laid down on his bed, Ian's picture staring back at him from his dresser. No more games, be on time or he dies. No more games, be on time or he dies. No more games, Michael, don't fuck up...don't fuck up...

"I'll be there," He thought aloud before consciousness left him. "I'll be there, Ian..."
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An Urban Fantasy in Three Acts