“What of your own heritage?” Lady Muwa asked me, glancing me up and down warily. “You hide your power well, but...” she glanced at where Ororo had been standing, “...the magic you weave has extraordinary strength.”

“Ah, mine comes from other sources. On the one hand, it is inherited from the spirits of the elements, what are called the Fey and Faerie up in the north. On the other hand, it touches upon the Underweb.”

Now her eyes widened again. “You are one of Anasazi’s?” she asked quickly, looking me up and down again.

“Not unless he’s got a really mean and predatory sister,” I half-laughed. “Why, are there Wasps about I might need to swat?”

“Mmboro’s servants are holders of ancient grudges against the spider-god,” she warned me calmly. “Once they begin the hunt, they will not give up so easily...”

“That is unfortunate for them, since I have limited patience for ancient grudges that have nothing to do with me. And as I said, the Underweb is only a portion of my power, the clever part.” I flipped a whole deck into my hand, and began to shuffle and spin the cards around in a rather distracting manner as she watched, white brows climbing in amusement.

“You do not need such toys to wield your magic,” she deduced quickly.

“Why, no, I don’t. Yet, they do help, in the same manner as putting on a weighted glove makes it easier to knock someone upside the head... and of course, while they are looking at your weighted gloves, it’s much easier to kick them in the balls.”

Despite herself, she smiled in wicked appreciation. “Clever as the spider, indeed.” She glanced around in consideration. “You wished our help in a divination, to find out what happened to her parents?”

“You have a Bloodline connection to her that will resonate with the magic, and allow it a breadth and ease that doing so myself I would lack. I have the raw power you will probably need to punch through the obfuscation the Askari have doubtless thrown up around her and her history. They did not want you realizing she was alive, I imagine, in much the same manner as they do not want to lose her.”

Her eyes flickered. “She is truly so powerful?” she asked, trying to mask her interest with her concern.

“A descendant of the god Thor and the Rain Queens. Mmm, yes, powerful is probably a bit on the low side to describe her.” Her expression was interesting to see. “On the other hand, her magical talent has been completely obscured by her natural power. If you want to instruct her in the ways of your ancestors, now is an excellent time.”

“I see.” She was trying to reappraise me yet again. “You show great wisdom for your age, and your command of magic is... formidable, to say the least.” As in, my Caster Level was totally unsettling her. The weaving of my spells was so tight and hard they basically looked solid. It was why she hadn’t even tried to get rid of the cocoon or the Card, as she knew she couldn’t. It would take all of them in a Ritual and some time to work with to do the job... maybe. They’d need to call on some extraplanar help, probably.

“This is not a society that pampers the weak,” I replied calmly.

“No, it is not,” she agreed after a moment of consideration. “We shall certainly assist you in finding out the truth of this matter.” She nodded towards her hut. “Shall we talk more on this matter?”

“Certainly.”

------------

I made sure to stay polite, but I didn’t take any condescending because they were older than I was. Older but weak meant they’d done things wrong, not right, as far as magic was concerned, and any attempting to lecture me from that position I shut down rather quickly.

Their power was naturally in weather manipulation. They actually had the power to make significant climate changes to any area they operated in, but they had far too much respect for the Earthmother and natural conditions to actually do so. Relieving droughts and keeping the cycle of seasons fairly constant and predictable in the areas they lived was about as far as they went in most cases.

However, that made the area around where they lived the most prosperous and comfortable place to live in the whole country, which meant they had a lot of friends, if not exactly of the violently protective type... although Wakanda was right over there, and they respected the Rain Queens and their ancient lineage greatly.

Ororo was the focus of the Ritual, if not the center of it. Clad in a traditional khanga of white and blue, with her hair undone with a sole ribbon, she painted a very different picture than the weather witch in black and rubies and a braid.

She was still looking a bit uncomfortable and somewhat lost, but her irritation when she looked at me hadn’t gone away. Of course, her weather powers were still Sealed; too bad, so sad, she’d have to learn to get by without them for a while.

Also, the Askari wouldn’t be able to find her just by following unnatural weather phenomena. I’d mentioned that to Lady Muwa, who’d given me another one of those looks you reserve for people who think too far ahead and are too smart for themselves.

Whatever, I was just here to provide some magical muscle to whatever they were attempting to weave together.

Her mother N’Dare’s blood existed between grandmother and granddaughter. This spell was designed to conjure up images from when that bloodline ended, and touch into the knowledge of the spirits and those who’d died, and whatever they were willing to tell the living.

When the red fog began to billow up and dispel the images, I pulled out four Aces, joined them together, and injected Silver Magic into the Ritual immediately.

The whole circle gasped as the Dispel surged through their efforts and smashed right into the obfuscation and distortion that was in the way of their efforts. Silver flames slammed into the mist and consumed it instantly and utterly, and suddenly the images coming out of the spell were nearly as sharp and clear as real life.

Each of the women got a different view to follow, but I had multiple thoughtstreams and a x15 reflexes modifier. I followed them all.

I zeroed on the mechanic working on the engine and control systems, adding something that was not supposed to be there to the machinery.

In a distant place elsewhere, a mock control panel lit up, and dark hands readied on the joystick. Images showed a target...

The engines blew theatrically, the pilots lost control, and the plane plunged from the sky, right into the Continental Hotel... exactly as was intended.

In the rubble of the investigation, a team of men in the uniforms of the police calmly gathered up the technology from the rubble that was out of place, and it was never listed in the official reports of the accident.

Ororo Munroe was buried under the rubble next to her dead parents for two days. She was six or seven years old...

I could see where that might be a little traumatic. Pointedly, there weren’t any Caucasians involved anywhere in this, except as victims.

---

When the spell finally faded away, all the women there gasped together, sweating visibly at the strain they’d been under.

They also gave me many wary looks, because I’d been holding that spell steady the entire time, preventing any interference with it, and I looked completely unaffected.

I coolly flicked up the face of a scarred young African male in front of Ororo. “This is the man who guided the plane into the hotel. Do you know who he is?”

The horror in her eyes made it plain she did. “N’Jadaka...” she whispered, aghast at the revelation.

The name meant nothing to me. I just glanced around.

“We have heard his name associated with the Askari. He is also known as the Killmonger,” sniffed Jamila. “An outcast from Wakanda and enemy of the Panther King. Were it his will, Wakanda would turn its power upon the rest of the world and subjugate it before the Panther Throne.”

I made a face. “That sounds like a very good way to get The Great Bear angry at you,” I mused, “not to mention the Tribes, who get very irritable about the subject of foreign conquerors.”

“Amusingly enough, the Askari seem wary of conflicts with either power, always using pawns if they must act against them. The Widows of Russia in particular have a formidable reputation here,” Lady Muwa half-smiled.

Killmonger. Now there was a name with some history in the old universe. A man as gifted as T’Challa, but with one of those lousy upbringings that he had turned into blaming on the rest of the world, particularly Murica and Europe.

Russia’s colonial efforts had ended very abruptly with The Great Bear’s rise, and his contempt for the Great Game of empire-building of the 1800’s and later on was well known.

So was the fact that he was on good terms with Wakanda, which was by far the most-admired nation in all of Africa. Were they not so reclusive and so low in population, they would have literally been a superpower of Africa, and could likely have taken the rest of the continent by force.

I had no doubt that the Wakandans had a very healthy respect for The Great Bear and the Golden Hag, too. It was their direct pressure that had brought Wakanda to the UN’s Security Council as one of the core members.

Ororo’s relationship with Killmonger was literally non-existent in the original stories, but I doubted it was the case here. Likewise, she probably had no experience with T’Challa here.

She had some hard thoughts ahead of her, which I could do little about. Perhaps family could ease the hate in her, perhaps not.

The key thing was... T’Challa was not the Black Panther yet. I considered that point, and something else.

The power of a glowing red ruby that had been fueling that blocking mist.

I considered a certain phone in my possession and sighed.

=============

Time for my own little Ritual!

If you're not reading this on Royal Road, you're helping pay a thief. Please read it in its original home, it's still free! You get the foreword and afterword, author comments, and comments from people with questions! I have not given permission for this story to be posted ANYWHERE ELSE.

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“This is T’Chaka.”

The stern male voice on the other end was naturally a little suspicious. I had no rep or ranking or rating among those who owned such a phone, and yet I was daring to bother the King of Wakanda?

“Your Majesty, this is The Dealer. This is not a call for danger, but for great potential for your country. I am calling on a matter that affects your son, T’Challa.”

“Concerning, Miss Dealer?”

“A woman who, in another time, might have been his future queen... and fully worthy of that status, and far more, as she is a goddess aborning.”

The man on the other end was silent for a moment. “An intriguing opening, Miss Dealer. Where might this woman of destiny be?”

“Her name is Ororo. She is currently located at the Rain Queen’s compound here in Kenya. She is the youngest member of their bloodline.”

“The Rain Queens...” the dignified voice broke off. “Most interesting. There have been reports that the Askari might have turned one of them...”

“Oh, they certainly did. Did her the favor of killing her parents and blaming it on the Crux to do so, too.”

“Ah.” Games of intrigue and state were of course nothing new to the Panther King. “And how did you come by this information?”

“I just finished a divination ritual with the Rain Queens that the owner of the Ka-Stone attempted to interfere with.”

The silence on the end was that of caught breath, sudden and dangerous. “You... are certain of this?”

“Yes.”

There was a long, drawn-out sigh from the other end. “So... it is the Sphinx...”

“His involvement in something so involved with the Askari is rather suspicious, yes, Your Majesty.”

He was silent, pondering. “What exactly are you asking, Miss Dealer?”

“I would like to change this young woman’s destiny and correct the misinformation that has been fed to her about Wakanda, its royal family, and its responsibilities to the people of Africa. I think introducing her to a noble Wakandan would be an excellent way to do that, and your son’s reputation precedes him.”

“I will consider this,” he said slowly, naturally promising nothing.

“As Your Majesty wills. Thank you for your time.”

“Good evening, Miss Dealer.”