Outside the shipping crate, Mystica turned to his newfound “friend” and extended his arm forward, beckoning Jessica to walk with him for a bit – at least until they exited the shipyard. The fire-haired girl shot the Ancient One a quick but grateful smile, and began to stroll with him across the fenced-in yard toward the exit. It was so strange, she thought. This man had suddenly appeared in her room at Arkham in a flash of…well, how could she describe it? There were tentacles, she remembered that, but all that other stuff that had disappeared behind Marcel LeCourt as he had stepped through the makeshift portal was far beyond her human comprehension. She had never seen anything like that stuff before…

“So tell me, Jessica…” began Mystica, interrupting Jessica’s train of thought, “…should my best laid plans come to fruition – and they will – what might you plan on doing afterwards?”

“Are you askin’ me out?”

“What?!” Mystica replied, genuinely horrified. “No! Goodness, lass! I’m 13.89999 and so on years your elder. I have no interest in matters of the heart.”

“I didn’t say nothin’ about the heart,” Jessica replied with a scoff, and perhaps a half-wink toward Mystica.

“Ugh,” the Ancient replied in disgust, “have some dignity for yourself, sweetie. I don’t have time for distractions.”

Jessica shot her newfound savior a joking sneer and a light chuckle, enjoying his horrified response to her advances. It was amusing to watch him squirm a bit. It had certainly struck her that he was far beyond her usual means of getting what she wanted. Heck, he was all but handing over the revenge for which she ravenously hungered. But there was something about the way the one who called himself “Mystica” handled his personality. In times of seriousness, he was all business – properly dressed, that weird French-English accent refined into a posh sensibility. And yet, outside of chaos, in times such as this one, there was an otherwise absent warmth to his presence. There was almost an endearing awkwardness to the way he spoke – as though he were somewhat insecure of nearly everything he said.

“You’re a busy man?” Jessica joked, elbowing Mystica a bit too hard in the ribs. He flinched, albeit unnecessarily. It hadn’t really hurt. He just wanted to make her believe she had strength. That, above all else, was vital in earning her loyalty. To earn her trust, he had to empower her – make her feel as though the agency, which had been stripped away from the poor girl by her treacherous family tree, could be regained and, dare he imagine, augmented.

“Busier than you could ever imagine,” Mystica replied with a shake of the head. “But it’s all one big adventure, you see. I come, I go, I leave destruction in my wake.”

“Sounds like un bon moment.”

“You speak French?” Mystica asked, surprised by her sudden transition into one of the many languages in which he himself was fluent.

“Growin’ up ‘round the bayous, I learned a little sumthin’ here and there,” explained Jessica with a slight shrug. “Frenchies and Cajuns, y’know?”

“Ah, the bastardization of a beautiful language,” Mystica mused, a hint of ire weighing upon his words.

“I wouldn’t call it bastardized,” replied Jessica. “More like…evolved lingo, I guess. It's kinda beautiful, in a way.”

“C'est de la merde,” Mystica shot back under his breath. “But whatever you’d like to believe, luv.”

It was at this point in their seemingly banal conversation that the two finally exited the shipyard, passing the empty guard booth and strolling right past the perimeter fence. Mystica bade his ginger associate farewell for the time being, and assured her that, like he would the governor, he’d “text her the deets.” In response, likely in an effort to unnerve him, she delivered a quick, polite peck upon his cheek, explaining that it was custom around these parts. However, this time, he didn’t flinch, and instead bade her another friendly goodbye. Still smiling as though she had attained victory, Jessica turned on her heel and strode away down the semi-paved road leading away from the shipyard and into some unknown future. For a short while, Mystica watched her go, somewhat mesmerized by the way her wavy red hair bounced with each stride.

“You lied to her.”

Mystica emitted a low sigh, but didn’t bother to turn to face the owner of the feminine voice that had disturbed his observations. He merely lowered his head, inhaled deeply, and shrugged.

“What ever could you mean?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. There, about ten feet behind him, half-hidden in a small bit of shrubbery, stood his apprentice, Annie. She had dropped the usual façade of innocence and gentility which she utilized masterfully around everyone else. Long ago, she had learned that Mystica did not fall for that false demeanor. His means of perception could see beyond her otherwise masterful act of playing the small-town, happy-go-lucky teenage girl.

“When she mentioned her hell-spawn cousin,” Annie explained, deadpan, “you said that one of your siblings might have had a hand in it. We both know that’s bullshit.”

“Calling me out on my little white lies…” Mystica chuckled, finally turning to face the assistant he adored most. “Annie, you never fail to amuse me.”

“No,” replied Annie with a roll of her eyes, “but what does amuse me is that she described this little monster relative of hers as having tentacles. That’s your trait, isn’t it? You had a hand in creating that whatever-the-fuck.”

“Oh, Annie…” snickered Mystica, “you’re not jealous are you?”

“Jealousy is not the word for it. More of…intrigued. You helped create a monster. Part Ancient, part human. Is that really possible?”

“Oh, quite,” Mystica explained matter-of-factly. “I could do it through a number of means. In this particular case, I didn’t have to get my hands…dirty, if you catch my drift.”

Annie scowled at the thought. Yes, she had to admit: at this point, it certainly was jealousy that fumed behind her tightly pursed lips. She had been raised – from birth – just to serve the Sleeping God, but in this circumstance, he had gone behind her back and done…something…to imbue some run-of-the-mill human fetus with his power of the cosmos. She now stood apart from him, arms tightly folded across her chest.

“All for what?” asked Annie with flames biting at her tongue. “So you could recruit this loser chick obsessed with fire?”

“Precisely,” Mystica replied with simplicity as he began the long trek back toward their temporary headquarters back in town. It would be a good 5 miles of walking, and the sun had already begun to set. Annie hesitated for a moment, but in the end, her sense of duty spurred her onward and after her master. Before long, the duo was joined by an unusually large crow, which, upon spotting Annie, fluttered over to perch upon her shoulder. Settling in upon her small frame, the avian creature was careful not to unintentionally injure Annie’s shoulder with its large talons.

“Look, even Locke has come by to reprimand you,” Annie joked, using her free hand to pet along the crow’s head.

“Reprimand me?” Mystica exclaimed. “Annie, what I’ve done over the past six months, including instilling cosmic energy in that unborn child, was all in an effort to instruct you.”

“You’re doing grandly,” she replied in earnest. “Sometimes, I think my upbringing just gets the better of me.”

She furrowed her brow as the words escaped her lips. Now, it was her opportunity to lie. Most unfortunate for her, as Mystica was, perhaps, the unofficial King of Lies. Still moving at a brisk pace, the abomination in a man’s body leered over his shoulder at her. A crooked smirk spread across his face.

“It’s your nature that gets the better of you,” he said, “and it’s going to get you killed if you don’t overcome it.”

Annie sighed. He was probably right. But she couldn’t erase the recurring, anxiety-inducing thoughts that filled her with such fervor. Had he done something like this before – been a part of creating a child? Were there more little versions of the Ancient One out and about on Earth, wreaking havoc with the aid of their cursed blood? And why, she thought in the midst of her emotional brainstorm, was she herself never an inclusion to these bloodlines?

“Stop,” Mystica ordered, his voice dropping to a harsh tone. “Those thoughts will kill you, too.”

“Dammit,” she grumbled in response. “Even after all this time, I keep forgetting that you’re constantly hearing my thoughts.”

“I am, and I don’t much like what I hear. Miss Annie, your rearing was a human mistake. I, of course, do not object to being worshipped, but for the sake of all that is good in my eyes, you must understand that I have bigger plans for you than just being the bearer of some perfect Antichrist. You, my dear, were not made to simply rear a child of chaos. No. You are so much more. And I will shape you into your perfect image.”

He halted his stride and turned to face her. His former visage of facetiousness had melted away into an almost parental look of concern. Those icy blue eyes, the ones she had seen in dreams since she was five years old, now looked upon her with what she could swear was genuine concern. Yet, she could not be sure, as no one had ever shown her compassion before this very moment. She shifted awkwardly, kicking up some dust from the dirt path beneath her sneakers. Her free hand snaked up her arm and began a gentle rubbing motion; it was only an instinctual response to this strange new feeling that someone – let alone the very god she had been raised to serve – was showing genuine compassion for her well-being. Failing to hide the warmth in her cheeks, she resorted to the old escape.

“So what’s the plan, then?”

Mystica shot her a sideways smile and raised his arms in dramatic flair.

“We have a party to attend, Miss Annie. And you and I…well, we have the honor of bringing the party favors…”