About ten days after his meeting with Ann Grove, Martin was again patrolling the neighborhood around the No Mirrors Bar, this time with a young trainee.

"I think I'm old enough to patrol alone," Jan said.

Jan was very handsome and dressed in expensive avant-garde Folsom Street fashion, which still included a lot of black leather and many chains. He was also intelligent, opinionated, self-centered, tactless, and knew all there was to know about everything.

Martin eyed the younger man sternly. "You're not old enough to vote, even in Holland, let alone drink in California, which makes your inclusion in a group of debatable legality that has its headquarters in a San Francisco bar questionable, to say the least. All things considered, caution while you are gaining experience seems to be indicated."

"And that's just a stupid, arbitrary rule."

"Arbitrary, yes; stupid, not necessarily. The adolescent brain is still developing the ability to think logically and…"

"What do you do, read all day?"

"Since I can't go out easily, pretty much," Martin said.

"Anyway, I'm not an adolescent. I'm 18; or nearly."

"Everyone has a probation period." Jan seemed ready to object again, and Martin continued: "And before you carry on griping, remember that for vampires it's three years, while for you humans it's only one."

"Doesn't that bother you? Always on trial?
"It's a compliment, of sorts," Martin said. "We are so complex, layered and subtle, you simpler and more direct humans have difficulty appreciating us in any shorter time period."

"Hey, where'd all the water come from?" Jan asked.

Martin wondered what the boy was talking about. It was April, and the rainy season had ended. He followed Jan's gaze. The boy was right, water, a lot of water, was flowing down the street. It was pushing and soaking the street litter, some of which sank and some of which floated along with the flood. Under the streetlights it was almost beautiful. However, it had no business existing at 1:30 AM on a spring night. "The fountain's that way," he said. He and Jan walked up 13th Street.

"Oh, there's Edward," Jan said.

Edward Hopkins, looked like an archetypal Irish-American politician, with thinning short sandy hair and straight heavy brows over bright blue eyes. He was standing, watching, on the outskirts of a growing crowd.

The Abigail Fountain usually had an air of tired dignity. Of an uninspired and ruthlessly symmetrical design involving tiers of basins and lions' heads in granite, it had somehow managed to remain in operation despite being covered by an elevated freeway. Isolated in an expanse of pavement, between columns of cement, the fountain was beautiful only at noon during the summer, when light found its way between the east- and west-bound roadways. At the moment, the water was arcing forcefully out of the lions' mouths and overflowing the tiers in a steady flood instead of the gentle irregular veil the fountain usually displayed.

"Earthquake damage?" Martin asked.

"No idea; there hasn't been anything at all strong recently. Broken water main maybe," Edward said, looking at the overflowing water.

"Cool," Jan said. "Let's go play in the fountain."

"It's cold," objected Edward.

The six jets in the lowest basin of the Abigail Fountain suddenly emulated geysers-increasing in volume and power and shooting up three stories. Two of the jets hit the underside of the freeway, the water falling down on the surrounding crowd, while the other four arced through the median gap and fell on the late night traffic on the Central Freeway. The top basin cracked as the already stronger than normal jets from the lions' heads suddenly grew to fire-hose intensity. Two of the lions' heads broke loose and shot out, one landing against the base of one of the freeway pillars while the other crunched into a parked car. The movement of the crowd increased, as they backed up from the horizontal blasts of water and milled around for a better look.

"That's not a wading pool," Martin said.

"No," Edward said, stepping back on the sidewalk to avoid the growing flood, which now swept up much of the trash from the surrounding area. He was dressed in a conservative London cut suit in navy leather and wore custom boots. He eyed the dirty water at his feet with obvious distaste.

"Martin Stevenson," a woman said from behind the vampire.

Ann Grove stood there, and he hadn't heard her approach. Tonight she was wearing another pantsuit, in fine wool, black, over a green silk top with a deep V-neckline. Her hair was down, just fastened at the nape of her neck. Her gaze was intent on the fountain as she stepped up beside him.

"Miss Grove. Good ev…"

"There's a frightened water elemental trying to hide in the fountain. The people are scaring it."

"Scaring it?" Jan muttered.

"You three"-a quick emerald glance took in the two Folsom Street Irregulars and the vampire-"quiet the crowd and suggest that they leave before the poor thing panics."

Not heeding Edward's skeptical "Water elemental?" or Jan's indignant "Hey!" Ann Grove started across the street.

Martin touched her arm. "What happens if it panics?"

"Floods, destruction, and a lot of unexplained drownings, starting with every human here. Keep the noise down." Ann walked over towards the fountain.

"She the one you mentioned?" Edward asked.

Martin nodded.

"She know what she's talking about?" Edward continued.

"I would guess so," Martin said, watching the fountain.

"Hey, look at that," Jan said.

"I think she's making our job harder," Edward said, also looking over at the fountain.

Martin could hear the murmurs from the crowd:

"I've never seen water do that before."

"Just like The Abyss."

"Like Terminator II, you mean."

"How do we get people out of here?" Jan asked.

"Sewage," Martin said.

"Back flow," Edward agreed.

"OK," Jan said.

"Sewage," Martin said, walking over to the nearest members of the crowd. "It's so thick and contaminated, it can't flow like water."

"No shit, man?"

"Just the opposite, actually. The biohazard level is extreme."

"Ugh."

"Don't you notice the smell?" the vampire suggested.

"Yeah, I do. Wow, that's foul."

Behind the vampire, Jan and Edward turned the other way. Jan was saying: "Heavy metal contamination. It's reacting to the magnetic flux of the earth and all the steel in the overpass. Really unhealthy, worse than X-rays or the old fashioned cell phones." Beyond the boy, Edward's suit was getting wet as he spoke to the crowd under the freeway. Martin wondered what he was telling them, but even Martin's vampire-acute hearing couldn't function at that distance with all the crowd and traffic noises.

No one in the crowd seemed to be noticing Ann Grove anymore, which was fine with Martin, since he hadn't figured out how to spin that aspect of the situation.

The crowd was strangely agreeable to dispersing, and in less than fifteen minutes only Martin and the other patrollers were still in the area.

"You guys get out of here, too," Martin said.

"What about you?" Jan demanded, always ready to argue.

"Vampires don't drown. I'm going to see if she needs more help."

"Check in," Edward said.

"Right."

Martin walked around the fountain until Ann could see him. The nearest column of water, now coiling around her, turned to follow him. Somehow, it conveyed an impression of alarm and suspicion. Martin stopped, and remained still.

"That's Martin," Ann Grove said, very matter-of-factly. "He's not a magician; or even an air-breather, for that matter."

The water expressed doubt.

"He's a vampire, which means he's a little resistant to my magic, so he wasn't very affected by my riot act, unlike all the humans. He has no designs on you."

Indecision.

"Come over here, Martin." Ann sat down on the wide rim of the fountain, ignoring the water still overflowing the basin. The jet of water shifted to an upright posture in front of her.

"Hi," Martin managed to say, sitting beside Ann.

This close, he could see that the jet of water was flowing through and around a figure, which remained before them. It really was like The Abyss, Martin thought. The figure within the jet kept shifting: a transparent nymph changed into a triton, who shifted to a slender dragon, which became a long crystal eel. Whatever its form, Martin perceived it as young, and frightened.

"Martin and I were wondering what scared you," Ann said.

Martin caught something involving a swimming pool.

"Ah," Ann said. "I see. Well, some water, not elemental water necessarily, doesn't mind being contained."

A girl, screaming.

"Oh. Why?"

A male human.

"I see," she said again. "And when you refused to help kill this girl, you tried to leave?"

Yes.

"What stopped you?"

"Hey! That's my elemental!"

"It belongs to itself," Ann said, rising to her feet. Her dignity was not impaired in the least by standing in water up to her knees.

Less gracefully, Martin stood and turned.

A human boy, younger and much less attractive than Jan and carrying a stage magician's black and white wand, was walking toward them from a cream colored Porsche Boxster pulled up any-old-way on 13th Street and left with its lights on and its driver's door open.

The jetting water sank to gentle bubbling as the elemental cringed. Ann reached out and stroked its crystal form. "Stay here with Martin," she told it and stepped out of the fountain.

The water disappeared up Martin's sleeve and coiled around him under his shirt. Martin noted that it didn't seem to be getting him any wetter than he already was. He stepped out of the basin and watched the woman approach the boy, who pointed the wand at Ann and opened his mouth.

Ann waved one hand at the boy, who froze, mouth open and wand extended. She glared at him, and said firmly: "That is really stupid. You don't even know who or what I am, what I'm capable of, or what my temper is like. People have been killed outright for acts of less egregious stupidity!" She held out her hand and the wand left the boy's hand and drifted over to her. She resumed walking toward him. "And despite J. K. Rowling, wands are neither appropriate nor necessary for every spell!" The wand turned to dust in her hand.

Martin felt the elemental bubbling along his ribs. Laughter surrounded him and he whispered, "Hush. You're hiding."

She put her palm on the boy's forehead. The boy's eyes darted around and he seemed to be struggling to avoid her touch, although he remained motionless. Ann removed her hand, then inspected him, from expensive cross-trainers to salon haircut. "I see. This stops, all of this stops." She appeared to think for a moment, then touched the boy again, one fingertip between his eyes. "Logan Powell Turner, you will do no more magic. You are on probation for the next five years, during which time you will stay away from Gillian Ferguson and from that little magic shop on Grand. In five years, if you haven't managed to get yourself killed, report to me." She waved at the boy, who vanished.

Well, hell, Martin thought. Neat, in both senses of the word-tidy and well performed-not a pile of dust nor an over-the-top thunderclap.

Turning back to Martin and the elemental, she smiled. "He's gone," she said, holding out her hand.

The water elemental slipped down Martin's arm, then flowed into her hand, where it rested like a mirrored ball for a moment, then shot up in the air in a wide spray that seemed to catch more light than the street lamps gave off.

"You're welcome," Ann said, as the ball reformed on her palm. "I'll keep an eye on him, but he shouldn't bother you anymore. I charge you, if he calls you again, come to me at once. Are you ready to go home?"

Agreement.

"Child of water, depart, and return safely to your home."

The water went, leaving Martin and Ann as dry as they had been before the fountain exploded. "Thanks," Martin called, looking around, then shrugging. He looked over at Ann and said, "Elementals?"

"Sentient, sometimes intelligent, embodiments of earth, air, fire and - water. Occasionally mentioned in modern fantasy fiction and prominent in many religions. Yes, they really exist. They're elusive, but you can find them, if you have the power or the right tools." She turned to the fountain. "Let me fix this." She put her hands on the rim of the lowest basin, then raised them.

The Abigail Fountain, lacking the patina of age that it had had earlier that evening, was whole. Martin surveyed it critically. "I think the flow was a little faster."

"Oh? Like this?"

"Looks right."

Ann looked around, then waved her hand at the mess of standing water and wet litter, which disappeared. The little triangular plot under the freeway looked almost pleasant.

Martin nodded. "Good job. It deserves a drink. I know I want one."

"Your adrenaline surging?" she laughed.

He ignored that and asked: "Miss Grove…"

"I said to call me Ann."

"Ann, are you a witch?"

"No. The No Mirrors Lounge all right?"

"Fine, and besides, it's handy," Martin said.

She nodded and lightly covered his hand with hers, which was noticeably warmer than he expected. Abruptly, they were standing on the second story landing in front of the door. The transition was smooth and silent, and they arrived on the same level in relation to the landing as to the street they had left. A very professional job from this perspective, too, Martin thought.

"I didn't realize it was this handy," Martin said, and held the door for her. "Do you do this sort of thing often?"

"It's my job," Ann said. "I tidy up after magic-users; rather like litter patrol."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Magicians can be incompetent or ignorant or just plain sloppy, sometimes with dangerous, sometimes with simply annoying consequences. I clean up the ambiance-straighten things up, smooth things over."

"`Magicians' wives clean up the mess that demons leave behind,'" Martin quoted.

"One of his most felicitous phrases," Ann agreed.

"Does this pay well?"

"Not really."

"So why do you do it?"

"There are some compelling reasons," Ann smiled. "You have an interesting habit of arriving just where things are happening. What brought you to the fountain this evening?"

***

"So what did you say?" Edward asked.

"That I was out for a walk and saw the crowd; which is true." Martin took a sip of coffee, then continued: "It just wasn't the whole truth."

"Did you ask her if she dealt with elementals often?" Jan asked, putting one of the ejected lions heads on the table. It was a little smaller than a basketball, with a patinaed copper tube sticking out of its mouth. One ear was broken.

"No, but she knows about a lot about them. I'll tell you something else: I think she was telling the truth when she said her blood might be poison to us."

"I thought you said that was an attention getting mechanism?" Jan asked.

"I changed my mind. I don't think she lies, even though what she says may not be the whole truth either."

Edward looked at him, then nodded and turned to Jan: "Why'd you go back?"

"I wanted to make sure it really happened," the boy said. "I guess it did." He rapped the granite head on the table. It made a solid sound, and Jan smiled.

"Does Galley remember her yet?"

"He thinks she was in a couple of years ago, but he can't pinpoint when. Karelle's no help either. I haven't found anything about her in last year's books, which means either nobody noticed her, which seems unlikely, or she didn't come in last year. I'll start on 2000, I suppose," Martin said unenthusiastically.

"Um. Are you seeing her again?" Edward asked.

"I said I'd buy the drinks next time, and she said sure, no hurry, she was probably going to be here until at least 2015. Then she disappeared, which I guess is teleportation."

"Was there noise?" Jan said. "There should have been a sonic boom."

"None, neither as luggage nor as witness."

"Well, there wouldn't be if you were moving, but I'm surprised there wasn't any when you watched."

"She probably considers thunderclaps poor technique," Martin said.

Edward gave a short laugh. "Still, we seem to have a new player in town. If the occasion arises, find out more about her."

"She's listed in the phone book," Jan said. The two older men turned to him. Martin spoke first:

"How do you know?"

"Last time, when you told us her name, I checked new listings, on my lap top."

"Got an address?"
"15 Compass Place, off Chestnut, near the reservoir on Russian Hill."

"What are you going to do with that?" Martin asked, nodding at the lion's head.

"I'll think of something, maybe my mother would like it. Tonight's going to look weird in the books."

"The rule is everything gets written down," Edward said. "We never know what will matter."

"Cahiers are so old fashioned."

"Perhaps, but these notebooks don't depend on batteries," Martin said, taking out his pen and starting his report on the night's happenings.

Go to Part 1c

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