Joshua hoped that his choice of meeting place wasn't foreshadowing danger--Sacramento's parks had, so far, not been kind to the Awakened. But Crocker Park hadn't been on anyone's radar yet that he knew of, and he hoped it would be a far cry from Granite Park.
He pulled in to a parking spot and sat there for a few moments as he watched traffic pass on I-5. He had a few minutes before Ariadne was due to arrive. Joshua spent it preparing:
Hands gripped the wheel as he closed his eyes and breathed slowly, trying to get in to a rhythm. The rhythm would help control the pain. The pain would help bring some juice. The juice could make a difference. The rhythm achieved, Joshua's hands tightened and the knuckles went bone-white as he concentrated hard and felt something alight inside of him, a burning throughout his body. He sagged as enervation hit him and he released his breath in a low stuttery moan. Joshua felt tears wanting to form at the corners of his eyes; he tried to knuckle them away but his hands were cramped around the steering wheel and didn't want to release.
But all the effort felt off. He could feel it, inside. That glow of mana. It was a canteen of cold water after weeks in the desert, it was a shower after months of being caked in dirt and sweat, it was relief from years of pain.
All right, good. Now: A glance around to make sure he was unseen, then hands began to form practiced mudras. Each position of his fingers and wrists sparked a memory of knowledge and unleashed Atlantean secrets. Within moments he could feel armor around him, long unused but still trustworthy, like dusting off an old overcoat and slipping it on. He fed mana to the spell and felt it slide into place over his body.
Almost done. Reaching into the back seat he brought forward a bag and began putting its contents into the pockets of his jacket. Half a roll of duct tape. A lighter, the convenience-store price tag still stuck on the side. A large bottle of water that jutted from the pocket--he had to zip the pocket half-closed to help hold the bottle in place. A makeup compact. A flat-head screwdriver and a handful of nails.
The items went into pockets, were moved into other pockets, shifted around until he got an arrangement that was an not-bulky and weird as he could make it. He patted himself down, reminding himself where everything was. He couldn't walk around downtown wearing web gear; this would have to do.
That was that. He sat and waited for Ariadne and prayed the day would go well.
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