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Chapter 2

"Wake up! WAKE UP, Othello!!"

The voice sounded like it was being projected through a mouthful of cotton. Othello could still only see white. He felt weightless, suspended, but crushed. Like he was trapped beneath miles of plain yogurt, or really bland pudding. He couldn't breathe through it. He was drowning.

And it felt good. Peaceful. Then he felt something being forced down his mouth. It expanded a painlessly collapsed larynx into excruciating functionality. Whatever it was continued down and filled his lungs, re-inflating them. It was air. It was Life. He hated it. It hurt. It brought his nerves shrieking back to life, like he was being born again. His sense of touch came back first. The weight all around him lifted and he felt the carpet underneath him. The air was humid. And somewhere below his waist was wet. There were lips held against his, forcing life into a body that didn't want it. Then his sense of smell returned. The breath was heavy with tobacco smoke, but the lips were firm. Not unpleasant, really. There was the unique scent of his family, his house. He'd never consciously noticed it, but it was unmistakeable. He smelled sweat and piss and found in them an additional, satisfying bouquet. It was calming.

"That a boy!" A relieved voice thundered over him. "Come back. Come on up." It was too loud. Othello tried to tell the voice to shut up and go away, but the words cut like glass in his throat, and he coughed, hard. He hacked so hard that he was thrown into a sitting position. Each cough brought a little more of the world back into focus. The colors of the the room, generalized at first, but growing less smudged with each breath he gulped down. Then the blurry silhouettes of two people, the closest was coming into clarity faster than the other. He recognized the sun-bleached blonde and sun-damaged skin of Mr. Ames. Angel was the last thing to come into view. He was curled in on himself, clutching his hands to his body. He was shivering and panting hard.

"Welcome back!" Ames grinned. He methodically checked Othello's eyes and throat and other vital signs that he, Othello, couldn't remember the names of. As he looked at the green of Ames' eyes, Othello's head began to hurt again, and he deemed it unfair that his only cognizant thought was how unfair that his head should hurt again so soon. An injustice in an injustice.

His attention went back to Angel. He tried to reach for his classmate but Angel made a guttural sound. Something between a snarl and a yelp. He bared his teeth. All told, he acted like some wounded, tortured animal. "STAY AWAY!!!" He roared. Othello froze, hand out-stretched.. Ames stood and cracked his knuckles. Othello felt... well he couldn't explain it. It was like a ripple of energy from Ames. He didn't feel it on his skin, but more like in his bones. He hit Angel. Hard. In the temple. Othello could see that same ripple leap like a charge from teacher to student, visually lighting nerves and blood vessels from within. The lights in Angel's eyes went out immediately. Angel slumped over, limp, then began to snore. Ames seemed less than pleased by his own work. He looked almost guiltily at Othello.

"It was supposed to look like I knocked him out..."

"So..." Othello said, now completely aware, "What DID you do to him...?"

"What do YOU think I did...?" Ames' eyes narrowed.

"You put him to sleep. With a glowing punch?" It sounded stupid, even before he answered. Ames said nothing, only nodded as if he were considering options.

"We should talk. But first, you should clean." Othello looked around... and realized that the urine he smelled earlier was his own.

* * *

Othello showered in silence. He tried to process what all was happening. He understood that Angel had never wanted to harm him. He kept telling himself that it was The Shard's fault... But he couldn't quite believe that. Something was out of place. He started putting together questions for the only person in immediate reach: Ames.

He scrubbed down his chest and stomach, wincing at the sour sting of his gut. He proceeded, rubbing the suds over his skin more gingerly this time. He went down, doing his crotch and inner thighs. The piss smell mixed with the soap and the steam. He inhaled it all deeply, noting that each inhalation yielded less and less pee-smell. With it washed away the emotional baggage, baggage he couldn't process. All that was left were factoids.

Fact: They are real, and can and DO effect the the real world.

Fact:They are drawn to people... Places? Why? When? How? Where from? To many questions. Come back to that one.

Fact: One of Them just tried to kill him. Because he was trying to dislodge it? Is it that aware?

Fact: Othello's world is being invaded. And he's the only one who can see it happening.

Once he was clean and dry, he slipped into a black undershirt and a pair of brown corduroy pants. Then he went back to the living room, to find it it empty, and the sounds of a scuffle emitting from the kitchen. He looked around the corner to see that Ames had Angel pinned. The two were yelling so loudly back and forth that Othello almost missed that the garbage disposal was on, growling just under the din. "NO! NO! LET ME GO!!!" Angel thrashed like some hell-beast, with Ames wrangling him with notably impressive skill.

Othello put his foot down. On Angel's hand. The shock froze Angel momentarily as he jerked his hand away. "Enough." The voice that came out of Othello's mouth rang oddly in his ears. And it resonated with Angel. Angel looked up, eyes red and tears all used up. Othello wasn't sure he liked what he was looking at. "What is this?" He felt his lip curl a bit.

"Oh! O-o-" Angel grunted and stammered, trying to stand again. "Othello! It's happened! I couldn't stop! 'Better to cut off your-'AAAAAAAATCH!!!!!" Angel's words were cut off by Othello grinding into Angel's hand again.

"Better to cut off your hand than let it commit evil or some shit like that. Mark: something or other..." Othello was getting a headache again. He rubbed his temples. "Get up! Ames? Please?" Ames glanced at Othello, then at Angel, who'd stopped thrashing, sagging in defeat. When Ames let him up and Angel stood shaking. Othello reached out and clicked off the disposal, now the loudest thing in the room.

Othello went to the living room and paced. Ames walked in, pushing Angel. Othello snickered, as the picture of a prisoner presented for interrogation came to mind. Then he just kept laughing. "This whole thing is ridiculous!"

"Othello, I know you're confused. That's why I'm-"

"Later, Sir." Othello said. "Angel? You about to tell me Daddy beat Bible verses into you?"

"No... No." Angel muttered. "Not... Usually."

Othello scoffed but was cut off before he could respond. "Othello!" Ames said. "We have more important things to discuss." Ames bleach-blonde eyebrows nearly met on a tan and ruddy brow.

"More important than THAT?" Othello, carefully staying out of arm's reach, pointed at the thing stuck on Angel's chest, forgetting that Ames shouldn't be able to see it... Except that he did see it. Their teacher looked right at it.

"Ames...?" Angel said. "What is it you two see that... that I can't? There's something wrong with me, right?"

"Finally he gets it..." Ames and Othello said simultaneously.

"You've been possessed Angel. For quite sometime, actually."

Othello looked at Ames, then at angel. "That's what a possession looks like?"

"That's what a sloppy one looks like." Ames said.

"Like... Like by a d-demon...?" Angel went green, swaying.

"Close, dear boy. By a spirit." Ames said.

"Can it be removed?" Othello almost reached for it again. "I can be straight? Normal?!" Othello and Ames were quiet for a moment.

"Astounding..." Ames muttered. "He's dense AND hollow...."

"Like a geode." Othello laughed nervously. "Geode-skull." Angel's face went red, very much like it did in class earlier that day.

"You're not possessed by a gay ghost." Othello said, trying to keep him calm.

"You're possessed by a SPIRIT," Ames corrected, "of hate."

That sounded far too... hippie, for Othello... but it made too much sense to speak against.

Or, at least it was for someone with Othello's insight; not Angel's lack thereof. "That." He began. "Is such... BULLSHIT!" Angel's eyes suddenly became that odd purple-black, and he lashed out. The Bogey had him again, but this time, it had his mind, not body, in its thrall. Before Ames saw it coming, Angel had rammed him into the wall, and dashed away with ground-pounding steps. Othello leaped nimbly over a doubled over Ames, and chased Angel, catching up just as the bigger boy flung open the door and flew into the early evening as fast as his thick legs would carry him. While he thought about giving chase, Othello had decided he'd been beaten for now. He just didn't know enough.

But now at least, he could learn more.

He returned to the living room and stooped down over his teacher. "Mr. Ames?" He said with a strained smile, "You're going to tell me everything."

"No, I'll do you one better than that, Othello," Ames said, dusting himself off. "I'll SHOW you."

* * *

Clarence Seymour Ames spent most of his growing-up years outdoors, and the sun had taken it out of his hide, literally. His once-golden hair was now bleached to sour-milk yellow, and the fair skin he had even through his teen years was weathered and rosy with damage, both skin and hair were now thick and coarse. At 40, he already carried too many wrinkles, especially around his eyes which had become naturally squinty from years of his body hoping to protect at least his dark-green eyes from its celestial nemesis. Othello thought he should be chasing critters and/or madmen through the outback more than he should be teaching high school English. But teach Ames did, at least for all four years that Othello had attended Fortuna High. He seemed perfectly normal; no one could have told whether he and Othello shared the same psychosis!

Though, by now, Othello was starting to doubt either of them were crazy.

The two drove through the city in Ames' jeep, cutting straight through Downtown Fortuna. Looking up, the glass of the skyscrapers took in the setting sun's light and blazed right back, looking as if each pane was made of frozen fire. It was as dazzling as always, even becoming more so as the lights of stores and restaurants and billboards came to life, making the whole place glitter like a prism, even casting splashes of reflected light on the dingy asphalt and concrete of the ground below, making what shadows there were that much deeper.

"Ames?" Othello turned his eyes away from the daily light show that is Fortuna at sunset, and demanded of his teacher yet again: "Where are we going?"

This time, Ames opted to answer. "We're going to a nightclub." Othello balked. "A club? With you? Ugh...."

"What's wrong with that?" Ames demanded. "I go to clubs!"

"I bet." Othello rolled his eyes. "And how often do students go with you?"

"Never. But I do get offers around midterms and finals." Ames joked. Othello tucked his upper lip into his gum, crossed his eyes and made a sound that was something between a barking laugh and in imitation braying. Ames looked him over. "And that was....?"

"... My 'I'm with a jack-ass' face."

"Cute." Ames snorted. "You okay, Tell?" Older folks called him Tell, when they were too lazy for his real name. Or when they want to handle him delicately.

"No, why?" Othello said with a bite of ironic indifference, looking out the window again.

"Because you usually treat me with more respect." Ames said.

"Well?" Othello rounded on Ames. "You let me think I was crazy for the last four years! THEY are fucking real, and are messing with people's LIVES! SOMEONE other than me knows this SEES this and is, thus far, doing NOTHING. ABOUT. IT!" He didn't even realized he was yelling by the time he stopped for air. But, the trooper that he was, he resumed on point and kept rising in volume from there. "... AND, MY friend STORMED OUT PLOTTING GOD KNOWS WHAT TO HIMSELF!! TO WHOM DO I OWE ANY RESPECT!!!!?" The last word echoed as a roar through the tunnel that Othello didn't see coming.

After that, there was a huge sighing silence as they drove through the latter end of the tunnel. Ames chuckled at first, but then laughed harder and louder. "Very nice! 'To whom do I owe any respect?'..." He chuckled again as if at a private joke. They both drove in silence. Othello was so mad he couldn't think. Not even a little bit. He decided long ago that if he couldn't think, he shouldn't act. He just watched the lights fly by, falling into a hot, bitter, fizzy haze.

"I am surprised, though." Ames said, "I thought you and Angel hated each other?" When Othello didn't respond, Ames went on. "And it seemed like you had trouble saying he's your friend. Oh, yes, I caught that." He said as Othello shot him a look. "But you're genuinely worried about him. Why?"

"Because I need him. I can see how They work." Othello was confident that he sounded sure of the answer, but actually, he wasn't sure at all. He thought for a moment and remembered that feeling of oneness he shared with angel. Then the kiss. Then the begging. The power he held over the other boy. He felt his nostrils flare as something primal and forgotten stirred in him. He tried to cross his legs inconspicuously. The truth was, he just wanted Angel. He couldn't say why, or how. He just wanted him.

* * *

Be Tempted. Not just a turn of phrase. It's the name of one of the hottest dance club/bars in the city. It's housed in an abandoned and remodeled warehouse complex. The offices thereof made up the first couple of floors. Those were converted into the VIP suites and offices. As Othello past, he noted that each of those windows was covered by a deep purple curtain. Ames walked passed all of that and led the way to a fire escape where a line of people waited, zig-zagging through the metal scaffolding to the third floor. A bouncer, thick in every sense of the word, stood guard at the entrance, wearing jeans one size too small and a mesh vest at least two sizes too small. His belly was round but looked firm as it poked out between an undone zipper ans atop too short to be tugged down all of the way. Othello had a hard time not staring. In fact, Othello was so busy tracing the man's happy-trail with his eyes that he he hardly noticed the trail of unhappy people he was cutting in front of.

"J!" Ames greeted the big man cheerily. The two hugged, and for longer than is merely friendly. When the two parted at last, Ames ushered Othello forward. "This is the kid I told you about. The seer." The bouncer, J, lay his head on Ames shoulder and regarded the young man intently. The whole time, he fondled the front of Ames' jeans. Othello tried to hold eye-contact, trying to pay attention to neither Ames' loins nor his own.

"The Lady... She expecting you?" J. Asked, and Othello felt his dick go limp.

"We had to move up our time-table." Ames lowered his voice, but Othello could still hear him. "The can smell him now..."

The bouncer smiled, "So can I..." He nodded to the door. "You're both welcome, to Be Tempted." He let Ames pull away. But held on to the teacher until the very last moment. The whole display made Othello tingle, but creeped him out at the same time. He followed Ames, brushing past the bouncer and growling in annoyance at being delayed. In that brief moment of contact, J. rumbled a deep baritone purr. "Nice shiner, Sir..."

The door opened, as Othello touched the corner of his black eye, to pounding rock music, loud talking and air that was thick with sweat, excitement and something dirty. They walked a narrow path between a massive bar that framed their floor and a dance floor that dominated the room. The pulsing ebb and flow of the dancing bodies, the fleshy tide was only barely kept dammed by a felt guard rail that strangely, people only came close to touching. Othello looked up and saw the dance floor rise in ever smaller tiers with a DJ at the top of the shallow pyramid, keeping adrenaline pumping and moods high. Every so often, someone will body-surf down the tiers back to the bar.

Othello looked over the scene where They danced with equal fervor, looking like bubbles, ribbons, or flashes all made of light. Some were almost too bright to look at and others were shimmery and translucent. As he noticed Them, They turned madly ecstatic grins to him. His heart started to pound. He felt an unbridled joy rise in him like a fever. He tasted laughter like bile on his tongue. All around, They were starting to flock to him, calling to him with giggles alone.

Suddenly arms turned him roughly away from the stage, with a sharp yell: "DON'T look at Them!!!" Othello's only response was to giggle at him, blinking tears from his eyes. He took a moment to catch his breath and managed to chirp out an apology between chuckles.

Ames led on, keeping a closer watch over Othello now. Ames pushed Othello up a spiral staircase that wobbled precariously with two people on it. Othello emerged on a running track that made a sort of standing lounge that overlooked the main floor like a halo of relative peace over the tempest. Whatever vibes buoyed The Bogies downstairs didn't reach this high. They'd scattered back over the crowd by now, bouncing in revelry. Ames, unable to hold Othello's attention finally took Othello's hand and dragged up one final set of stairs and through a door, into actual florescent lights. The door closed and shut out the part atmosphere entirely, with a sobering, muting effect. By the time the two reached the double doors of some sort of conference room, Othello had climbed down from his high.

Ames opened this final set of doors to reveal a conference room, as suspected, but furnished with only couches and big puffy cushions. People languished there in various states of near-dress. Nothing full frontal, but all anyone seemed to wear was sparse amounts of silk wrappings so little was left to the imagination. Othello noted that most of these were men of various supposedly legal ages, builds and colors, and all of them, man, woman, or "other" wore a collar with the silken cloth of their choice. None of these people paid the two more than a glance. Their attentions were kept by Lady Norn, who was dressed similarly but she wore a leather corset and leather jeans under the silk. She lay on a couch as a college-aged boy painted her toenails with worshipful care.

Othello's mood darkened at the sight. Who WAS this woman?

Norn watched Ames approach with that welcoming smile of a mask she wore. "Ames, Kaard, welcome to My club."

"My name isn't-" Othello began.

"- For the moment, it is. In our world, handing out your real name too freely is a... dicey thing." She wrinkled her snubbed nose slightly as if not totally satisfied with her own wording. She moved on anyways, gesturing to the assembled servants who rang out in chorus: "Glad to have you back, Sir Ames. We welcome you, Lord Kaard." Then half a dozen of them stepped forward; three to Ames' side and three to Othello's.

Othello glanced at Ames. "So... Ames' not your real name...?"

"Ames" simply shrugged his shoulders. Othello watched as one took Ames' coat and the other offered him a cigar, which he took. The last, a slip of a man, held on to Ames' arm like an adoring girlfriend. Othello turned to the three at his side as each offered a cigar. He passed his hat to one that was youthful and twink-ish. Then he took his cigar from a more athletic one. That only left a bear, similar in build to J. the bouncer. He shifted in place nervously. When Othello offered an arm, the bear grinned and clung to it firmly, but not heavily. Ames smiled at the apparent "selection".

"Kaard" simply shrugged his shoulders. Othello took his arm candy and sat next to Norn on one side while Ames sat on the other. Ames pulled his twink into his lap. Othello shifted, trying to make room for his... host?... but the big man only grinned more and knelt at his feet, whispering. "Please, it's fine, sir..." and lay his head on Othello's knee.

Othello settled back and turned to see Norn staring as if at a picky child unwrapping a carefully selected gift. Her grin was genuine... and that was unsettling for him. "Well?" She asked "How do you like it?"

"Like... What now?" Othello tensed and the man at his feet rubbed his calf in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture. Norn only nodded at the man. Othello thought about it and had to admit that the calf-rub felt good. "Yeah... This..." Othello took a breath and sat up straighter, resting his boot on the man's thigh. "This is something I could get used to."

"Good. Because starting now, this is part of your life." Norn's smiling mask was back in place.

"How now?" Othello grimaced. The man suddenly squeezed Othello's calf hard enough to give him a charlie horse. Othello yelped and sat forward, snarling at the man's face.

"I-i-I'm sorry, Sir..." the bear shivered, bowing on the floor.

"Punish him." Norn said softly."You've been curious about it. This way of life... It speaks to you, doesn't it?"

"I don't have any such Bogies following me..." Othello said. "How do you know that...?" But even as he spoke, he rested his boot firmly on the back of the man's head, rubbing dirt into his hair. The bear shivered harder.

"Because what I see is different from what you see." Norn whispered. "You see the attracted spirits, but I see what's in the hearts of men that attracts them in the first place."

"And what's in my heart. Norn?"Othello growled, feeling that something, that was starting to feel familiar, inside stir.

"Conquest." Was her only answer.

Othello listened to the blood pound in his ears before finally standing. "Get up." He growled. The bear stood in at-ease, hands behind his back and legs shoulder width apart. A horse-crop was handed to him and he flicked his wrist to hear it swish. The bear shook and started breathing hard. He looked at Othello with pleading eyes, watery with dread and excitement."Sh-shall I c-count?"

"That'd be best," Norn said. So Othello nodded.

He gripped the meat of the large man's left pectoral and squeezed and pulled on it, taking care to dig his thumb under the muscle, ensuring pain. The breath caught in the man's throat as he swallowed a whimper. Then Othello let go and swung the crop, lashing it over the man's hairy chest. A yelp ripped from the man's throat but he never moved. "ONE!" The man cried out. Othello hit him again. "T-T-TWO!!" Then again and again. "THREE!! F-FOUR!! FIVE!!! S-S-SIXXXX!!!" By now he was red-faced with strain and equally red weals were forming on his skin. Othello lashed until fifteen before he threw down the crop and pushed the bear over. "I'm done. My leg doesn't hurt anymore."

Othello sat down, breathing hard and basking in a sort of euphoria. The submissive bear crawled over and sobbed into Othello's lap. "Thank you! Oh, THANK you, Lord Kaard!" He kissed Othello's thighs through his jeans, dampening them with spit and tears and Othello let him, even running hands though the man's thick dark hair.

"Well done, Kaard..." Norn cooed.

"What do we see, Norn...?" Othello said, feeling centered and focused. "WHY do we see...?"

"You see spirits because you are connected to them." Norn answered, staring through him at something he couldn't perceive. "Exactly how you have this connection... I can't say. But you have it to do great and wondrous things. You have untapped power in your gift. Power over Them. Will you let me teach you to use it?"

"You mean that this," Othello muttered, gesturing to his adoring whipping-boy "has something to do with my gift?" "

Yes. You see, most spirits only recognize two things: Opportunity, and strength." Norn said

"And where strength is neglected or misused, there is opportunity." Ames added. "They are becoming more aggressive towards you, are they not?"

Othello nodded. "Why?"

"Because they want your power for themselves." Ames said. "Because they've recognized your power before you have." Othello sat back to internalize all of this. The more he thought, the more afraid he became. He thought about the spirits on the dance floor. They'd almost gotten him. They were going to attack him, and he was just going to smile and take it.

"How do I defend myself?" Othello asked, trying to hold on to his center. "How do I use my power?"

"Conquest." Norn answered again, this time with a wicked grin. "You Dominate them. Take your place among them."

"It sounds like you're suggesting I declare war." Othello chuckled. Norn considered this before responding. "Think of it more as playing their games. By their rules."

"But I don't KNOW their rules."

Ames smiled warmly. "And that is where we come in."

"But I don't know you either!" Othello said. "Tell me who you are, really." If he didn't get a straight answer this time, he was done with the both of them. No more lies. No more games.

"We're mages." Norn said. Ames balked, having been cut off. He opened his mouth to to say something but was cut off again by Norn. "He will only accept the truth now. No more lies. No more games. Those are his terms, Ames."

Othello sat back, stunned. There it was. The bush that everyone was beating around. Magic. Real, capital "M" Magic!

"Mages..." He tested out the word, tasting it. He turned to Norn and Ames. "Am I one, too?"

"No." Ames said.

"Can you teach me to be one?"

"No." Norn replied. Othello's heart sank. He'd always been in to magics of all stripes. He knew the names of several "Wise" men and women in several languages. People who could twist the fates and warp realities. Now he'd found it, was talking with two of them, only to be denied... it was like hitting a glass ceiling, and Heaven was on the other side. "Why not?!" He demanded.

"It's been tried in the past," Norn explained. "It's just that without a Supernal connection, it's impossible to work spells, or grasp Higher concepts..."

"But we CAN teach you about the spirits, and to strengthen your spiritual self." Ames said. "Sleepers, er... Mortal men, have combated the spirits for over a millenia. And you have a significant advantage over them. Who knows, maybe you can Awaken with just the right bit of knowledge." Norn silently kept her mask carefully in place.

Again, Othello digested new knowledge before speaking again. "If I'm not Magic... What am I?"

"As I said," Norn began, "You're a spiritual being."

"What's the difference?" Othello asked annoyed.

"Scope?" Norn thought for a moment before amending. "Scope and mundanity."

"Meaning...?" "Meaning that all men could be spiritually attuned if they wanted, but generations of 'reason' and 'logic' has nearly killed off the sensory and mental faculties for it."

"Think of it as a recessive gene." Ames chimed in. "Both of your parents probably carry some sort of spiritual prowess in their blood, but it's been diluted. In genetic recombination, you got the right balance to reawaken BOTH lines' sensitivities... Get it?" With his head for biology, Othello did, but that was way too... clinical...

As if on cue, Norn answered his thoughts: "The link between blood and mysticism predates genetics, Kaard."

"Fine." Kaard said, brushing that aside for the moment. "What are spirits? We talking animism?Ghosts? Tulpa?" Ames blinked and Norn smiled wider.

"Animism." Ames said. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"No. Just considered it a few times." Othello said, puffing up a little. "So... a spirit is born of things... like an inner soul-"

"Stop. There." Norn said. "The first part is right. Not the second. Not every specimen has its own spirit, just the potential for one, and once born, the spirit need not stay bound inside its physical reflection the way a soul does in a living body. In the Spirit World-"

"There's a Spirit WORLD?" Othello's excitement was building again. "Where is it? I bet it's all around or some BS like that...After all, how else would I be able to see them? Unless... Can I actually SEE INTO THE SPIRIT WORLD?"

"Okay! Okay!" Ames put his hands up as if to shield himself from the barrage of questions. "We'll answer all of your questions, and more, I promise. For now, just... stew. And take this." He passed Othello a small round bell, completely clear and made of crystal with a soft glow inside.

"What is it?" Othello shook it and smiled at its clear, chuckling ring. "A charm... to keep tabs on me?"

"To protect you." Norn giggled. "The glowing inside is a spell. It can protect you from even moderately powerful ephemeral entities."

"So that's it then...?" Othello asked, "Magic is real, the Things I see aren't figments of my imagination, and, oh, yeah! I'm going to be a pervert for the rest of my life!?"

"Pretty cool, huh?" Norn said happily.

"There is a lot to teach you, Kaard," Ames said, better reading Othello's mood. "And we have plenty of time to do it. For now, though, you have what you need. Knowledge. Seeds of real Truth."

Othello nodded, tired but wired at the same time. He was about to ask for a ride when his phone rang.

"'Thello...?" A panting voice huffed.

"Angel. You okay?" Othello could hear that something was wrong.

"I need to see you, man. I.... We... Can we meet at your place?"

"No, my fam' will be home by now."

"'Thello..." He sounded... not scared, but off somehow. Disturbed.

"The Y," Othello said. "Asap, 'kay?"

"..."

"Answer." Othello snapped.

"Yes sir." Angel said, but quickly amended himself. "Okay, man..."