Wings of Somnus
an excerpt

Chapter One: The Prophet Who Reads Coffee Leaves

It always hated when it had to do things like this. Being sent on menial errands wasn't so bad--it was always proud to be the only one of The God's creatures to be asked to travel beyond the realms of the Sleeplands--the problem was when the tasks didn't make any sense at all.

After all, unless things on that particular material plane had changed a great deal since its last visit, coffee was definitely not made with leaves, and the people here didn't believe in prophets anyways.

It was staring down on the city from the roof of an apartment building, its eyes stinging with the chill strength of the wind at that height and a delicate frown creasing the skin where its eyebrows should have been. It wished it could have some say in where it landed while traveling; that would have made its jobs much easier. Its lord, Somnus, never thought about things like that; he simply chose a sleeping mind to send his acolyte through, and it didn't matter who the sleeper was or what inconvenience might be perpetrated by the abrupt arrival of a skinny, sexless creature that resembled an underfed young man who never reached puberty. It couldn't criticize The God, of course, but it did occasionally yearn for less traumatic movement between worlds.

This time, it had materialized in the bedroom of a young woman who lived near the top floor of the building now under him. That wouldn't be so bad. She had slept soundly through the process, and it could even have taken a few hard-to-miss articles of clothing if it had been careful--and, of course, if it had found itself alone but for her. No such luck. The woman's lover, a man with scruffy stubble, and a comically squashed French bulldog were also occupying the bed, and adding one more couldn't have gone unnoticed long. The dog jumped to its stubby little feet and made an odd noise that must have passed for a bark, and then the man had jumped like he'd been electrocuted and just stared at the intruder with his face arranged in an expression of pure shock. It had run quickly, dashing out of the apartment and into the first available door--which had proved to be the staircase--and from there up to the solitude of the roof. It hoped it had been mistaken for a ghost; the mix up was an easy one that occurred quite often. It was, after all, pale and thin enough for a spirit, and with the way its white skin glowed slightly in the night and the strangeness of a human-looking face and body bearing not so much as a single hair of any kind, being taken for a dream was a frequent accident. It didn't want to be taken for a dream--the Dream Keepers were, after all, the enemy--but it was too grateful for the opportunity to escape unscathed to argue with the inaccuracy.

It had bigger things to worry about.

Its colorless eyes scanned the cityscape, the night time skyline, looking in vain for some hint at where to start looking for the supposed Prophet it had come to find. Sadly, no great glowing signs unfolded to point its quarry out. The city didn't even notice it. It didn't have time for strange little scraps from other worlds.

It was only its third or fourth trip to planes besides its own, but it was getting better at blending in with every errand. It even had the added advantage of having seen this version of the place called 'Earth' before; it knew what it needed to become inconspicuous. The first, and most pressing, thing, was clothing. It was a cold grey November, and it needed to cover its frail body both for the sake of going unnoticed and to keep itself from freezing. It tugged open the door to the stairwell with one last wary look around in case it had missed that sign pointing straight to the Prophet who reads coffee leaves. No such luck.

It tried the elevator; but as it reached the top floor, the monstrous machine gave a horrible lurching sound, and even though the door did manage to scrape its way open, it didn't dare step in. It didn't like the look of that elevator. It would take much longer to descend on foot, but as it stepped back and heard another sickening crunch from the equipment running the thing, it was grateful to be anywhere be inside.

It descended several flights of stairs, deciding not to risk running into the couple it had inadvertently surprised, and chose a door halfway down the hall that had a lonely, unoccupied feeling. Its narrow hand touched the bright brass knob and the door clicked welcomingly open in spite of the dead-bolt its owner was sure he'd locked. The teenage college student who lived there wasn't home; he was out, away, downtown at a party maybe, just as it knew he must be. It had a knack for knowing when people were around, and was glad to know this one wasn't. It needed, after all, to rob him, at least a little. The boy must have been an art student; the clothes it found in his closet were all either effeminate or paint-splattered. The jeans were tight and might have been made for girls; the t-shirts were similarly small and definitely designed with a flat-chested female in mind. That didn't matter. They would still keep the cold off, and keep the notice he might attract while naked at bay. The shoes were too big for its slender feet, but it pulled out the clearly least-worn pair, track shoes that would have looked new if not for the dust, and tied them firmly in place anyways. Armored in the shoes, black jeans that sat low on its narrow hips, and a grey turtleneck sweater whose sleeves engulfed its hands, it nodded approvingly at its reflection. Just a hat to find, now.

The art student didn't have anything good to cover its smoothly bald head, so it closed the door with the lights off and selected another apartment on the next story down. This one belonged to a boy of similar age, who might even have been at the same party, and he was a skateboarder. He had plenty of suitable toques. It picked out a plain grey with a single stripe of caramel color, and, suitably attired, continued down the the ever-looping staircase to the ground level and the back door of the tall building.

It was still chilly, but not like it had been on the roof. It would be dawn soon enough, and it was glad. Finding ways to occupy the still nights on first arrival was always inconvenient. The first coffee shops might even have been opening by then, and where else would it start looking? It turned clumsily on the oversized heel of its stiff white shoes, and started down the wide, quiet, pre-dawn street.

It passed several Starbucks. It didn't trust those, and didn't think any prophet in their right mind would hang around in cookie-cutter shops like that. Better to find somewhere less common; somewhere with personality. It walked without anywhere particular in mind. Usually, fate managed to guide its steps well enough to reach its destination whether it realized where it was or not. Down along a wide street called 'Cathedral'--though there was no such thing in sight--and then it turned on a whim to follow a smaller road that ran one way the wrong way for cars. 'City Cafe'? No, that wasn't right. A few more blocks of other shops of vary disinterest followed, and then it turned again without knowing why, this time up 'Saratoga.' It found a man in a yellow vest reloading a newspaper dispenser with the latest news, and decided to ask him where it might find a coffee shop. The man studiously ignored it as it approached.

It cleared its throat delicately and asked, with absolutely as much courtesy as it could muster, "Do excuse me, sir, but perchance might you know where I could find a coffee proph--shop? A coffee shop? I find myself in need of such a thing."

The man glowered uncertainly at him. "Weird art kids." he muttered, before cutting the binding on a bundle of papers and then pointing with his knife down further along. "There's a Starbucks down there. Or, if you're into that vegan PETA shit, there's a place called Bean There over on Broad." the man told it in a gruff, smoky voice. It smiled jovially at him, though he was clearly appalled by such cheer so early, and thanked him profusely in its flowery words for the help before continuing on to the second place listed. It was really a wonder it didn't get shot.

it reached the quirky little shop about thirty minutes or so later. The building was a small, dingy one huddled between an office and another tall building of apartments, barely noticeable between the architectural behemoths. Yet it survived; it had its place in the city, too. The art students and other odd characters needed somewhere to congregate, after all.

As it walked into the dingy little shop, it found itself subject to the overwhelming scent of decades of tea leaves and coffee beans. If there were coffee leaves involves, it didn't know the smell to pick it out among other olfactory signatures. The only other person present so early was a scruffy, groggy barista who wouldn't have looked out of place in a deep woodland commune. She had particularly rough dreadlocks, desperately gauged ears, and appeared to be the fourth or fifth owner of her dark green t-shirt, which had a printed design of a complex tree stretched across her small breasts. She seemed startled to have an apparent customer so early, and stared bemusedly at it.

It shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as it looked around. It needed to be less conspicuous, and it wanted to get out of the way quickly--one delicate hand dove into its stolen jeans pocket, and fortune smiled on it as slender fingers wrapped around a ten dollar bill. Disappearing was easy, with a bit of money in hand; it read the name of some fancy drink off a board that boasted that everything on it was all-natural. With some of the cash exchanged for the beverage, it was freed at last to go take a seat in a dilapidated armchair in the corner. From this vantage point, it could easily observe its fellow patrons until the one it needed might present itself.

It held its chai coffee latte cordial expresso-thing between its long, narrow fingers, feeling the heat from the mug but never bothering to take a drink. It didn't think it particularly liked the smell of the concoction, and it had no earthly idea what might be in it.

The drink cooled, and the acolyte of Somnus waited.