Rebuilt Anew Epilogue

I awoke around midnight, when the shutters on the Library window blew shut suddenly and startled me. I'd been sleeping fitfully in the leather recliner anyway, my skin adhering to the surface by a layer of fine sweat.

It was a balmy summer's evening right before a storm, and the humidity had drained every ounce of energy I had left in me after spending all day flipping, climbing and dangling as part of a gruelling training session. I'd been trying and get used to a new, slightly larger model of backpack.

Peeling myself out of the chair, I walked over to the window and fastened it closed, looking up at the foreboding clouds gathering outside. Lightning flashed on the horizon some distance away. I watched for a few minutes to see if I could spot it again – my father always said it was good luck to see a bolt when it struck – and then gave up when the wait proved futile.

I had been on my way back to my room when I spotted a lamp still on in the tech room.

I stopped to peer over the banister of the hall promenade. It wasn't unusual for Zip to still be up at this time of night, but whenever he was up I'd know from the other end of the house because there would be tasteless American music blaring at full dial.

Rather than black dreads, I spotted a blond head bent double over something on the circular desk.

Curious, I headed down the stairs to have a look at what she was doing.

Cigarette smoke hung in the air as I entered through the glass doors, waving irritably at it to disperse it. I hated it when she smoked inside, but I suspected that that was half the reason she would so deliberately do it. It was also harder to escape now since she'd managed to crack Zip's campaign to quit and get him onto them again. Well, it was their bodies, I figured. They could destroy them in whatever manner they saw fit. Since they were ordinarily the only ones who used the tech room, it was of no concern to me what they did here.

"You're up late," I observed, wandering over to her and peering over her shoulder. She was perched on the edge of a stool, and had a loupe held up awkwardly to her eye as she leant against the display of a portable microfilm storage unit. The position looked rather uncomfortable.

"Well," she said mildly, "if those assholes at Cambridge could find a measly two grand in their enormous pockets to order a digital microfiche scanner, maybe I'd be in bed by now."

I raised my eyebrows. "I see."

She was wearing a white ribbed tank top, and in the heat her sweat had made the straps a little transparent. I placed my hands at the base of her neck, wondering if I'd get in trouble for pushing the straps off her shoulders.

She sighed, relaxing the loupe away from her face and lifting her head. "Yeah, good idea, I could really use one right now," there was gratitude audible in her voice, and I realised she thought I meant to give her a shoulder massage.

Smiling to myself, I obliged. She sat up in the stool away from the storage unit, relaxing into my hands. "I was this close to being able to publish," she said eventually, referring to our escapades in Helheim some weeks before. "If only I had that stone."

Privately I thought my Doppelgänger's decision to hide the Thrall stone prior to leaving had been a very wise one; but, then, I was biased. Amanda didn't share my opinion at all, and had spent a good two weeks turning my house over looking for it, until I pointed out that my Doppelgänger had been well able to cover large distances quickly and it could be hidden anywhere in England. Then, deciding my brain was the best link she had to where my Doppelgänger could have hidden the stone, Amanda had proceeded to grill me relentlessly until I'd very nearly thrown her out of the house. I managed to get her to stop by pointing out to her that if I'd been my Doppelgänger, I'd have made sure to hide the stone somewhere where I wouldn't guess it would be.

Unfortunately, without the stone Amanda had no artefact on which to base her research, and she'd been unable to convince any of the universities that would otherwise have been interested to fund and host her.

Instead, they had her trawling through cratefulls of old microfilm, looking for a link between Scythian mythology and Neolithic Germanic polytheism. It might have been something she would have done herself given the motivation, but she certainly wasn't interested in hypotheticals while she had actual ritual to report on. The only reason she'd agreed to do it at all was because she was convinced if she found a strong enough link, someone would sponsor her Power Rune research.

"Mmm," I agreed neutrally. If I made any further comment, I'd fire up her anger at the situation again.

After a few minutes of brooding, she commented. "So you're still in one piece."

She was referring to my new backpack. "Yes, thankfully." I reflected on my training session as I kneaded her muscles. "I didn't really notice how big it was until I put the weights in it, though." I stopped for a moment to show her a bruise on the inside of my elbow. "Still plenty work to be done getting the hang of it."

When I didn't start again, she glanced back at me, a grin visible. "Hey, I didn't tell you to stop."

"You don't tell me to anything," I reminded her, smiling. If she tried, it was a sure-fire way of making sure I wouldn't do it.

She spun the stool around to face me, snaking one hand around the back of my thigh and using the other to pull down the front of my top and expose the chasm between my breasts. While she buried her nose in it playfully, I kissed the crown of her head, and wrinkled my nose. "You smell like smoke," I complained.

She surfaced for a moment to comment dryly, "Yeah? Well, you taste like dirt."

Wasn't much I could say to that, seeing as it were probably true. I shut up and glanced up towards the door that lead to the wing that Winston and Zip slept in to check it was closed. Satisfied we were probably safe, I pulled my singlet over my head in one single movement, discarding it somewhere on the floor nearby.

"Looks like Metaphysics isn't getting my update tonight." Amanda's hands had already rounded my back to unfasten my bra, which quickly joined my top on the floor. Cupping my now bare breasts, she leaned up to capture my mouth.

I let her, running my tongue along the inside of her upper lip while I pushed her singlet down around her waist. She had a reasonably new tattoo on the side of one of her breasts, and it was gagging to be kissed. I broke away from Amanda's lips and leaned down, putting my mouth over the technicolour ink.

She laughed, and I looked up quizzically over the curves of her breast at her. "You do know that's a Polynesian Tiki for the God of Fire, right?"

I didn't, but it hardly mattered. "How fitting," I circled my tongue on it. "He tastes hot."

She smirked, threading her fingers through my ponytail. "We're going to end up with a pile of ashes where your manor used to be if you keep that up."

I snorted. "Nonsense. He's probably fetched a beer and is enjoying the floor show."

I strummed her other nipple with a fingertip and watched her face as she reacted to it. Abandoning her angry Tiki, I dragged my lips sideways and sucked one of her areola into my mouth. Her eyes fell slowly shut and her lips parted.

My hand had been resting on her bare thigh for support. I transferred my weight to my legs and slid the flat of my hand very slowly up her thigh to the hem of her shorts. When I dog-nosed my fingertips inside the hem, she spread her legs a little, breathing heavily at the suggestion.

I let her breast fall from my mouth, and positioned my torso between her hips, an elbow on either of her knees. I spent a few luxurious moments grinning up at her as she opened her eyes, leaning back against the table and gaping at me with mute anticipation. Her chest heaved, her breasts sitting back against her ribs.

I had only just breached the waistline of her shorts – she'd let her head tilt back towards the ceiling – when there was a loud knock on the main door.

Amanda's eyes flew wide up and she sat bolt upright. "Goddamn it!"

We waited a few moments in silence, staring at the door, hoping nothing would happen.

Unfortunately, another series of knocks was then followed by a man's voice calling, "Hello?"

"What on..." She stood up crossly, nearly knocking me over. Storming out of the tech room on a warpath to the front door, she pulled up her singlet on the way. She wasn't wearing a bra, but that wasn't so unusual, given the heat. I felt uncomfortable about her answering my door looking somewhat indecent, though. If it turned out to be paparazzi, I'd be in for it.

Speaking of indecency, I searched about the floor for my own bra and top, hurriedly fastening them up as I followed her.

Amanda had wrenched open the door, beginning a tirade of abuse about bothering us in the middle of the night. The words died on her lips.

As I rounded the door, I spied a figure crouched subserviently in the doorway, and for a moment didn't recognise him.

"Mistress..." he began, reaching out and trying to hand something to her.

A light bulb switched on in my head: it was the Mercenary thrall Amanda had created in Helheim.

Amanda took a step warily away from him, holding her hands upward so he was unable to present her whatever he was offering. "You!" she accused.

On closer inspection, I saw he was trying to give her a lily. At that, I had to laugh aloud. In my experience, if you exploited magic by using it for your own purposes, there was always a price to be paid. Amanda was getting her comeuppance for exploiting the Thrall stone and the look on her face was absolutely priceless.

"I did as you asked, Mistress," he declared proudly, still persisting to try and bestow her with the flower.

I raised an eyebrow at Amanda, crossing my arms and waiting for her explanation.

She had a trenchant scowl on her face as she gave up and accepted the Lily, holding it onerously away as if it might infect her with something. "I told him to go away and do something I'd never thought he'd finish."

As if prompted, he then announced, "There are fourteen million, eight hundred thousand, three hundred and seven rocks spread across all beaches of the Svalbard archipelago."

Mission complete, he went back to grovelling.

Amanda and I both stared down at him on the doorstep, at a loss as to how to handle his appearance.

"You know," Amanda said thoughtfully, "I really hate my life."

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Acknowledgments:

I'd like to thank the academy... well, there are several people I'd like to thank. A number of readers have been kind enough to point out typos where they notice them, and since I get swept up in the scene and am terrible with little details, that contribution is great.

Primarily, though, I'd like to thank Tirah for being a ruthless slavedriver and constantly hounding me to update and finish this (as well as not skimping on the criticism when she felt something was out of character). Tirah, your soul-destroying emotional blackmail is most appreciated, in the end.