Strange Aeons [Book 1]

2.Sylvan Manor

Sylvan Manor was, to be fair, not a Manor, at all. It was the name of one of the newest tall buildings in risen in the center of the city, quite a marvel of glass and steel, projecting to the sky like the hands of a pilgrim. It had a strange form indeed, with a stable prism central structure that had a sort of external tubular added structure that made it resemble a sort of giant corkscrew, filled with windows and little balconies. It had fifty floors, transparent external lifts and one of the most luxurious suites in town, with a garden, a pool and a tennis court on the roof, right under an elevated helicopter pad.

The suite, and the last five floors belonged to the D'Yves family. Or, rather, the Longbottom family, as the concierge downstairs would have been delighted to inform you, if you showed him the invite to the prestigious party upstairs. While the suite was dedicated only to the living quarters of Miss Eva Longbottom, the five floors right under it were listed as "business offices", and that was all the concierge himself had to say about them as well. Right before projecting his mind in a telepathic call, had someone snooped too much around the subject, of course.

The Longbottom parties were legendary, and for that informally dubbed "The Longbottom Smashes". Eva invited guests from all over the world, and nearly nobody dared miss one appointment. Managers, bankers, socialites, European nobility, they all mingled together with intellectuals, music and movie stars.

This party, taking advantage of a strangely convenient spell of good weather, was taking place in the rooftop garden, with fantastic catering, tasty live music, an entire theatre play was to be staged for the guests by the best Bostonian theatre company. Special effects, water games... Eva Longbottom knew well how to party.

Now, the evening was in full bloom. Smooth jazz music was flowing in the air, guests were arriving and being welcomed by their smiling and cordial hostess.

«What the hell Chico! Yer the worst waiter in the world!» Banshee's voice sounded loud and clear in the Mexican's mind.

«Damn it, could you keep it down? You almost broke my eardrum! Why didn't we use magic instead of these blasted auricolares?» he whispered, trying to look inconspicuous while pacing the party with his eyes wide open.

From the roof of a nearby building, slightly taller than Sylvan Manor, Banshee and Vopros were comfortably sitting near the roof's border. Vopros had brought a fold-in cloth chair and was sitting there, his hands buried in his pockets, two bottles of vodka by his side. Banshee was dressed up in an urban camo outfit, her red hair collected under a black beanie hat, her hands, too white, clad in black op gloves while she held her sniper rifle, using its gunsight as a binocular.

«Because if the damned D'Yves or any of his underlings came to this party, don't ye think they'd feel magic? They're probably expecting us to do something, so we fuck 'em with tech, as always. Now, get waitering! Ask people if they want something to drink! Come on, yer embarrassing!» she answered, taking a sip from her whiskey-corrected coffee. It was just like old times: staking a crowd for a mark.

«If you think you're a better waitress, why don't you come here and do it yourself?» he muttered, smiling to a well-dressed and tall woman with grey hair skillfully arranged in a very fashionable hairdo, who didn't even look at him before taking a glass and downing half of it in one sip.

«Because I'm a five-foot-nine red-haired muscular woman and I tend to stand out in a crowd. On the other hand, yer Mexican. Nobody would even watch ye in the face once. Ye've got the perfect disguise.»

«Which is?»

«Racism. Now move that ass, you have to find a way to get in!»

«Hey, don't get mandona now! I already have a boss here!» he hissed, looking around himself to find some ideas.