Hours back, Kitty left a message: 'Jack, it's Kitty. John's awake. He'll be fine. Details later, because I'm /not/ awake.' /That/ was left ten hours ago. Now she's trying again, curled up in a chair and nursing a cup of coffee sleepily, but not too sleepy to remember where she programmed Jack's number into the autodial. And he, presumably, is doing much the same on his end. Presumably. If he managed to sleep. Kitty squints at her cellphone, and this time remembers to tell it to /call/ the number she gives it. Ring, ring... His voice is as crisp as ever, if a bit rusty sounding. "Miss Pryde. Hello. How's Constantine?" "Up and around when I left him," Kitty replies, and /she/ sounds downright chipper. "He's got a terrible cough, but he'll be fine - the healer took care of his lungs while they were at it, so John's hacking up about twenty years' worth of tar now." "Good heavens. I imagine they've used it to pave a new set of streets around his house," he returns, the smile audible. "Has he admitted just how he ended up in that state?" "Divination spell went haywire," Kitty replies, sounding mildly pained, but still far too bright and aware for someone that recently awake. "He was trying to learn more about Claire, and apparently he learned a little more than he could actually handle." The sound of an indrawn breath. "I would imagine so. Did he learn anything of use?" "Yeah," Kitty replies simply at first. A brief pause. "He remembers seeing the tower in Sera's dream. He's read - bits and pieces about it. Hints. Nothing explicit. He thinks it's important. He's going to talk to Sera about some of this." Another pause. "And - Jack - whatever that thing is that was talking to you at Caritas - it's real. It killed somebody last night, to keep her from getting to Claire. John was tapped into what Claire sees when it happened, and I found the news article today - it's real." He's utterly silent for a long moment - not even breath comes over the line. "Which is, unless this thing is out for random chaos, a sign that we are getting close, in some manner or another. I almost wish I could come up against Him again, even if it were only for more of the same that we got at Caritas. It's almost like that child's game of 'Warmer, Colder' - the harder this thing fights back, the more we know." A shuddering sigh. "And yes, this tower matters very much, though I don't know how. It's the center of something. Who died?" His voice is oddly cool, and remote, like a bad recording. Kitty's voice doesn't acquire remoteness, but it's quieter for a moment. "A thirteen-year-old girl. Her name was Faith St. Thomas." "Her daughter, then?" His voice is still flat. "Yeah. Her baby girl. It was a car non-accident, a hit-and-run." Another rough breath. "I see. We shall all have to be especially careful, then, if it can posess others at random, like those agent things in that film." A pause while Kitty parses that, but a brief one. "Oh, man. /That's/ an unpleasant thought. I hope not." Another, briefer pause. "It's got to have some limits, though; if it could possess /us/, I think it would've by now. Unless it just doesn't know who we are yet, which seems unlikely." "Very true. It knew me well enough to speak to me, unless it's somehow set traps or triggers out in this world for those who would seek the Tower. It also may not be able to attack us directly. I'm still here, for instance, and of late I'd be one of the easier ones to get to." Even though I've pawned my gun, against just that sort of eventuality. Like kitchen knives wouldn't do just fine. "But indirectly seems to work just fine. Poor Faith. Poor /Claire/." Kitty shifts, the rearrangement half-audible over the cellphone, a soft and staticky sound. "The pieces are starting to come together, though. We don't know /nothing/ - we know a lot, and we're starting to figure out how to interpret that. Jack, think I could talk you into taking me out to the Point sometime?" Which is why he doesn't have those about him, either. "All to well," he agrees softly. "And yes they are. As for the Point, I am entirely at your convenience, if you're willing to ride pillion on a motorcycle." "Helmet and all," Kitty replies. "It's shown up a couple of times, talking about this. Might not be important, but ... let's not take any chances we don't have to, huh?" "Precisely," he murmurs. "Let me know when, then?" "Will do." Kitty's quiet for a moment longer. "Jack - anything we can do for you? Just to check." "I think," he replies, after a moment's pause, "at the moment, no." That terrible weariness is back in his voice. "I simply hope that we can finish this one as swiftly as possible, in sh'allah." "Same here," Kitty agrees. "/Same/ here." Because she is /not/ going to be explaining to Rabbi Cohen that the wedding had to be postponed on account of a recurrence of mass coma, or anything like. "If anything comes up you could use a hand with - give a yell, huh?" "Shall do," he concurs. "And the same for you, and Wisdom." "The way things are going," Kitty answers wryly, "that might be sooner rather than later. Look both ways when you're crossing streets, huh?" He gives a short laugh. "Of course. Automobiles are terrifying at the best of times, let alone now." "You know," is the bright reply, "I never thought that till I came here. But boy, do I now." "I confess," he notes, "I always have found them so. But..." "Since I've got here," Kitty replies, "a phantasm of me has gotten hit by a car, /I've/ almost gotten hit by one - twice - and at least three other people I know or should've known have gotten hit, two fatally. I'm having fond thoughts of moving someplace that doesn't have paved roads." "How dreadful. And that would make sense. Really, when this is over, I should seriously look into moving somewhere remote from here. Like Tucson. Or Kathmandu. No paving there. In Nepal, I mean." "Seishi was making noises about North Carolina," Kitty muses wistfully, "but I think they still have roads there." "Yes, they do. And I'd prefer the desert, myself. But we'll see. At the very least, we'll have earned a respite and maybe a holiday. Gods hear me." Kitty says cheerfully, "Very far away from anything occult, alien, or otherwise weird. I could /deal/ with being shot at by, you know, just plain /human beings/ on occasion." "In which case, we'll be wanting Chechnya." There is a slight thump; then, on the far end of the phone, the faint sound of Kitty trying desperately not to choke on her coffee. It's particularly faint because the cellphone's evidently been dropped onto her chair. His voice emerges, faint and tinny. "Miss Pryde?" When she manages to get the phone back, the coughing has subsided to be interspersed with quiet giggles. "Sorry. Sorry. That was /awful/, Jack." It sounds like a compliment. Blushes aren't usually obvious over the phone. This one is. "Thank you?" "Well deserved," she assures him. "And the sad thing is? That /might/ be a vacation." "In all honestly, I would positively relish going up against a mundane opponent. Something that bleeds when I shoot it." "Well," Kitty assures, "if the opportunity comes up, I'll give you a ring." "Thank you," he grins.