Incense and Engine Oil

DAY TWO

The sun was blazing brightly and relentlessly down on them as they neared the shining white beaches. Sybill noticed that Sirius had whipped out a pair of dark glasses during the ride. Maneuvering through the crowded small streets, Sirius handled the bike skillfully. Motorcycles were everywhere as were people in various states of dress, or rather lack of dress. Finally the bike roared into the front a storied motel called The Magic Carpet.

Sybill couldn’t stop staring at all of the people. For ten years, all she had seen were the sombre tones of the school uniforms. True, many people were wearing black, but this was black with attitude.

Getting off the bike, Sirius grinned broadly as two women came out of the motel dressed in bikini tops, saris wrapped around them. He lowered his glasses and bade them good morning.

Sybill squirmed. She felt uncomfortable enough in trousers, but she could never expose herself in that fashion. Was that what was expected around here? Did Black expect her to parade her body on the streets?

“Are you coming?” Sirius asked absentmindedly as he watched the women walk towards the beach. “We need to check in and get settled.”

“I thought you were tired, Mister Black,” Sybill said sharply, nerves making her short-tempered.

“Never too tired to look, Gert,” he chuckled, opening the door for her. “And don’t use my name,” he hissed in an undertone. “You never know where those we are looking for are lurking.”

“I thought the point was not to draw attention to ourselves,” Sybill said. She dismounted stiffly, catching her leg on the footrest and tumbling to the ground.

“I would draw more attention to myself if I didn’t enjoy the scenery, Sis.” He smiled as he offered her his hand. “Are you always so clumsy?”

“And am I also expected to walk around with my tongue polishing my boots? Or is that a male prerogative?” Sybill ignored his hand and scrambled to her feet. She was furious with him, with Albus, but mostly with herself

“The day I see your tongue polishing over any man, I will eat my boots,” Sirius said a bit testily. Who would ever look twice at that bag of bones anyway? He turned and walked into the motel, not holding the door for her this time.

Sybill followed him miserably. She should never have agreed to this, no matter what Albus said. She was nothing but a hindrance. What on earth had possessed the Sorting Hat to place her with an overgrown teenager anyway?

“Mr. Eugene Smith,” Sirius said the name like he had just eaten rotten fish, “and sister,” he told the desk clerk, a short dark skinned man.

The man handed Sirius keys to room 213. “Second floor,” he said. “Room service closes at midnight and we don’t appreciate loud noises after two.”

Sybill stepped up to the desk. “Syb... er Gertrude Smith. Could I have my room key please?”

“Sorry, lady, it’s busy in case you ain’t noticed. You’re sharin’.”

Sharing? With Black? She couldn’t!

Sirius frowned, towering over the man. “I am sure there has been some mistake. We each were to have our own room. There has to be another room in a place this size,” he suggested with a smile, pulling out a leather wallet attached to his belt by a chain.

“Can’t sell you what we don’t have,” the clerk said.

Sirius made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a growl. “Thanks for nothing,” he muttered thrusting one of the keys out to Sybill.

Sybill took the key and gave the clerk a worried smile. Despite his manner, they didn’t want to cause trouble. “It’s all right, um, Eugene, we’ll manage.” A spark of defiant mischief surfaced in her. “You’ll just have to behave with some decorum for a change, little brother.”

Sirius glowered at her, turned on his heel and went back to the bike. He returned with his small bag and without a word to her took the stairs. Sybill retrieved her own luggage, glanced around the motel lobby and decided to use the lift.

The room was very pleasant, large and bright. Comfortable chairs were arranged around a small table, two double beds with bright blue flowered comforters took up most of the room. When Sybill got to the room, Black was already reclined on the bed by the window.

“Got a nice view,” he commented. “I am going to sleep for a couple of hours. You should go down and buy some more appropriate clothes,” he instructed in a mocking voice. “Gertie.”

Sybill gestured toward the sliding door. “It will probably be necessary for me to consult the heavens. It would make sense if I had that bed.”

Sirius opened one eye and looked at her. “Lady, the only way you are getting this bed is to share it.”

“Mister Black, I would not share that bed with you if my life depended on it.”

Sirius gave a dog-like laugh. “For that I am grateful. Now do be quiet and make yourself useful.”

Sybill watched Black settle back down on the bed. Despite the fact that he was brash and irritating, and seemed to despise her, she wished that he could come with her. The short ride through Daytona that morning had been bad enough. The idea of walking through those streets and interacting with all of those strangers was enough to make her faint with fear. But Firenze had faith in her and had told her to be brave, so she would be brave for him.

Luckily, the strip of land beside the beach was lined with shops as well as hotels. It should be reasonably simple to find a place where they sold the sort of clothing that would help her blend in. Sybill could barely keep her mouth from hanging open as she stared around the street. Despite the searing heat, most of the men were clad in leather outfits and heavy boots. By way of contrast, a lot of the women were barely covered, sauntering about in miniscule shorts and bikini tops. It wasn’t just the young women either. Sybill saw several who were at least her own age dressed just as provocatively. She swore that, mission or no mission, nothing could persuade her to dress like a common harlot.

A mere five minutes’ walk from the Magic Carpet, Sybill found a likely-looking shop and dived gratefully though the door. Her long hair was hanging in a sweaty mat down her back and she could feel her face starting to burn. Inside, it seemed almost pitch dark compared to the brightness in the street. She browsed through a rack of t-shirts, selecting a few at random. It seemed that she had no choice but to wear black in the hot sun. All of the shirts had slogans on, many of which were obscure or obscene.

“You all right there?” A plump, middle-aged woman leaned across the counter. “You look a little confused.”

“I suppose I am. My… brother brought me here and I don’t really have any suitable clothes.”

“Sure, well the shirts are a start but I’m guessing those aren’t yours!” The woman gestured to Sirius’s jeans. “How’s about I get you some things to try on?”

Sybill breathed a sigh of relief. At least someone here was willing to help her, rather than laughing at her ignorance. She let the woman usher her into a cubicle and accepted an armful of clothing. “Are these trousers supposed to be so tight?” she asked eventually, emerging.

“I dunno if they’re s’posed to be, but they sure look great,” came a deep voice. Sybill jumped. A huge biker was standing near the changing cubicle, a t-shirt clutched in one massive paw. The man smiled and pointed at her own shirt. “Good choice, I’ve got a Harley,” he said.

“Oh,” Sybill managed. She had no idea what a Harley was, but if this biker liked her shirt it would probably be all right with Black. She tried to smile back. With the bright sun behind him, it was impossible to see the man’s aura, and his external appearance was enough to cause anyone alarm. His size was only enhanced by the leathers and heavy bike boots that he wore. As the man turned, Sybill saw a long tail of nut-brown hair tumbling down over the painting on the back of his jacket – she could make out a snake and what looked like the word ‘grave’ but nothing more.

“Here you go,” the biker said, handing Sybill something that seemed to be more hanger than clothing. “This’d go great with those.”

Sybill took the hanger. On it was a cropped top, little bigger than the bikinis that she’d seen outside, made out of butter-soft tan suede with a fine fringe around the bottom. She ran a finger over the fabric. “Thank you,” she said, “but I wouldn’t really feel comfortable and my brother certainly wouldn’t approve. I’m a little old for this.”

“Hey, you’re only as old as the person you feel,” the man said and winked at her. “I reckon any brother should be proud to see his sister making herself even more beautiful, Miss…?”

“Oh, um… Smith, Gertrude Smith.” Sybill was relieved to remember her alias. The big biker was making her so flustered. “I… I should really get changed…” Still clutching the suede top, she retreated into the cubicle and changed back into her old clothes.

“You can come out now,” the sales woman called from outside the curtain.

Sybill peered out to make sure she was alone. A pair of girls were rummaging through the shorts, but the shop was empty of large, frightening men. Relieved, Sybill piled her new jeans, a few t-shirts and the boots that she had chosen onto the counter.

“You’re not going to take this? It would suit you.” The sales woman was holding up the little suede top. On a strange impulse, Firenze’s words echoing in her mind, Sybill added it to the pile.


~ * ~


“So Gert, how was the shopping?” Sirius asked frowning a bit. He had been hoping she would be wearing something she bought.

Sybill thought about the big man that she had met in the last shop. How could someone be so intimidating? “Fine,” she said distractedly. “I’ll let you have your trousers back when they’re clean.”

“They’re called jeans,” Sirius said, looking refreshed. He was wearing a clean pair of tight jeans and a black t-shirt. His long hair was freshly washed, pulled back and held with a leather thong. “We have a couple of hours to kill before the first bike rally. Did you notice anyone while you were out?”

“Notice anything?” said Sybill vaguely. “It all seems so strange out there.”

“We should check out the bars this evening, follow the bikers into the most crowded ones, and I think checking out the beach and maybe some of the campgrounds would be useful.” He grinned at her. “Maybe you can use that inner eye to save us some time,” he suggested sweetly.

“The inner eye is not called at will, Mister .... um Eugene. Do you really think that Death Eaters would be foolish enough to parade about on the beach? Don’t they have some sort of tattoo?”

“Gene, dammit,” Sirius growled. “If you call me Eugene around those biker blokes we won’t get out without a fight.” Sirius scratched his chin. “Probably. I know, you can walk up to each group with similar tattoos and ask if they are part of the American Death Eater plan.”

Sybill pulled a pair of jeans out of her shopping bag. “I’m not really sure that I would be brave enough to...” She realised suddenly that Black was making fun of her.

Sirius chuckled. “Gert, you are definitely one of a kind. Now get dressed so we can get on with it. Only have a week and I do plan on a bit of fun while here,” he said staring out the sliding glass doors.

“We’re not here to have FUN,” Sybill flung at him, storming into the bathroom to change. He was insufferable. He would have been much better off with one of his contemporaries. Even Severus Snape would have been a more suitable companion than she was. She exchanged Black’s jeans for her own pair.

Rifling through the shirts, she came across the scrap of leather that she had bought. She didn’t know what had possessed her. Just because some strange and rather frightening man had commented that it might suit her. No matter. She would never wear such an article in front of the mocking eyes of her travelling companion. With a sigh, she buried the top back in the bag and pulled out a t-shirt.

No fun? We will see about that, Sirius mused, enjoying the view as he watched well endowed, scantily dressed women playing a game of volleyball on the beach. Too bad he was stuck with stuffy old Sybill. Even Stick-up-the-arse Snivellus would have been a better choice. Of course we would have killed each other by now but it would have been interesting.

Sybill emerged from the bathroom. Her jeans felt uncomfortably tight although they were nothing as revealing as some of the sprayed-on outfits that she had seen in the streets. The t-shirt, the plainest that she could find, bore the Harley-Davidson logo. She had wrapped one of her trailing scarves around her head, imitating the bandanas that she had seen people wearing.

Sirius surveyed her and he was surprised that she had managed to actually put together a look. He grunted, “I do drive a Triumph.”

“Oh,” Sybill said meekly. “There are a lot of these around. I thought it would help me to blend in.”

Sirius shrugged. “Not bad, but do you have to wear those?” he asked, pointing at her glasses. Makes her look like a damn bug.

“Unless you wish to carry me throughout the day.”

Sirius shuddered visibly at the thought. “Right,” he said. “I figure we can cruise the beach a bit and pop in on some of the campgrounds, mingle and get into the thick of it.”

“Are we going to be riding the motorcycle again?” Sybill asked.

“No, I thought we could go cruising on a nice trolley.” Daffy dame. “I’m a biker, this is bike week, we ride a bike,” he said in exasperation.

Sybill sighed again. There was no need for him to be so rude to her. She was trying. “Very well,” she said, and reached into another bag.

“Nice boots,” he said sincerely.

Sybill eyed Black suspiciously. Was he being sarcastic again? She pulled on a pair of heavy socks. It was going to be hot, but the boots looked as though they would be agonising without padding. Pulling up the final zip of her boots, she caught Black staring at her again. “What?”

“You did a good job, Sybill,” he said, “with the clothes. Better than I thought you would.” He smiled. “Of course most of the biker chicks wear halters and these really short shorts....”

“Thank you,” Sybill said, surprised. “But if you think I am going to expose myself in that fashion...”

“Merlin forbid,” he said in mock horror. “You look fine, just like one of the guys. Are we ready to roll?”

“Roll? I assume that you mean leave?” One of the guys?

“That’s right, Gert,” Sirius said picking up the keys. “Time to caress the pavement, feel the rubber beneath us.” He pulled on a black leather vest with ‘The Dawg’ emblazoned on the back. A tough looking bull dog holding a beer and wearing a cap with the Union Jack stared at her. Sirius watched Sybill fiddle with her wand. “Stick it in your boot,” he suggested.

Finally they arrived at the bike, Sirius rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses as Sybill stumbled once again.

Who could have known these boots would feel so heavy once they were on? Sybill was used to wearing sandals in the comfort of her tower. She dreaded having to swing her leg over the back of that enormous motorcycle again. “Is it always this bright in America, Eugene?” she asked, squinting against the strong light.

Sirius lowered his glasses as a woman walked by wearing a very revealing thong bathing suit. “Gene,” he growled softly, following the woman’s progress to the motel’s pool. “I really don’t know,” he admitted, sighing softly as the woman disappeared into a door.

“I am sure that if that woman had any incriminating tattoos, they would be apparent. There is no need to stare in such a vulgar fashion.” Honestly, he was just like a slavering dog.

“That reminds me Gert,” Sirius turned to look at her. “I thought we should set a couple of ground rules for the room. Should you see the ‘Do not disturb’ sign on the door, I would advise you to stay out, as I will be ‘interrogating’.” He gave her a very wolfish grin.

“And where am I supposed to go?”

“Go on the beach and consult the heavens or whatever. You can come in if you like, but don’t blame me if you see ‘Uranus’ up close and personal. Ready?”

Sybill managed to get onto the bike on the second attempt, narrowly avoiding kicking Black’s legs. “So do you have a plan, or are we just going to look around?”

“First we’ll cruise the beach front. Keep an eye out for biker gangs. If you see anything suspicious signal for me to slow down and maybe we will chat them up,” he yelled over the roar of the engine.

“Chat them up? You want to chat up biker gangs?”

“You know, find out a bit about them, act interested in joining,” Sirius explained loudly.

Thank Merlin! For one horrible moment, she had thought that Black wa her her to flirt with people. “Oh, of course,” Sybill said meekly, trying to calm her raging pulse.


~ * ~


The streets were overrunning with bikes of every make and model. As varied as the bikes were those riding them. Clean cut college students to old grey long beards. Sirius drove down the main drag where a myriad of shops, restaurants and saloons flashed by. He relished in the feeling of freedom, of the bike vibrating between his thighs, the wind whipping his hair. If it weren’t for the woman trying not to touch him as she kept her hands lightly against his sides.

Crossing one of the many bridges that linked the beach to the mainland, Sirius followed the signs to several of the campgrounds. He had a hunch that the group they were looking for would hide out in one of these instead of at a motel. For the next hour they cruised in and out of campgrounds surveying the many gangs. One in particular at the Moonshine Campground caught Sirius’s eye. All women, they sped by on matching red Harleys, their skimpy halters and shorts revealing tanned, luscious skin.

Soon all the motorcycles began to head towards to the beach and Sirius merged into the crowd. He understood when they stopped on the bridge. A huge banner several hundred yards ahead was being held up proudly proclaiming ‘Daytona Beach Bike Week’. Slowly the bike parade went forward through the main thoroughfare. People had gathered on the streets to enjoy the show of bikes. He saw some point and laugh, others look in envy at a particular decked out engine. A group of girls yelled suggestive comments as they went by, one pulling up her shirt and shaking her breasts. What do you think of that, Gert? Sirius laughed inwardly.

The parade ended on the beach at a Midway of booths and bandstands. Music vibrated the ground as hard rock music echoed across the sands. Sirius chuckled as they passed a man sitting on abench with a big sign which read ‘Free breast exams’. A man with a bright pink Mohawk was busy tattooing a man that was large enough to be Hagrid’s kin. The man already was covered in head to toe in tattoos and Sirius vaguely wonder where he had any skin left to put another.

Bodies were pressed so tightly in the Midway vending area, Sirius doubted he could find out much. Steering the bike through the crowded parking lot he headed back towards the Magic Carpet. The motel was close enough to the activities he could walk back. He had a feeling that Sybill was probably close to fainting, what with her cloistered nerves, and Sirius wanted to be rid of her if he was to get anything done.


~ * ~


“I think we should check out the bars tonight,” Sirius told her, as he changed his t-shirt. The hot Florida sun had caused him to sweat bullets.

“But I don’t want to spend the evening in a bar,” Sybill protested. “I don’t really drink much.” It was true. Making such a spectacle of herself in front of the whole school had put her off alcohol. “My Inner Eye gets confused in the presence of so many people, I find it difficult to concentrate.”

Rolling his eyes, Sirius tried hard not to laugh. “We can’t have that Eye getting too dizzy, can we?”

“I shall stay here and balance my aura,” Sybill said. Seeing Black’s sceptical look, she played her trump card. “Of course, it may be useful to get the women’s view on the biker gangs. Maybe I would be more suited to talking to them.” She could almost see Black’s libido giving his brain a nudge.

Women, those beautiful women with their long legs and barely covered breasts. “You are right of course, Gert. It would be beneficial if your ‘Inner Eye’ could help us. I think I can handle checking out a few of the bars,” Sirius said quickly, not wanting her to come after all.

Sybill gave a sigh of relief as Black finally left the room. He was right, that was the worst of it. She wasn’t really any help to him. All that she had managed to do so far was get on his nerves. She struggled with the buckles on her boots. The things certainly helped her to look the part, but they were restrictive and heavy, and they made her feet sweat in the Florida heat. In a pointless gesture of defiance to Black, Sybill also exchanged her jeans and t-shirt for the familiar comfort of a gauzy dress. Turning off the light, she sat cross-legged on her bed and tried to centre herself. She would have been much better off by the window, she felt, but that bed was tainted now by her companion’s negative energies.

It wasn’t working. Every other guest at the motel seemed determined to slam their door or shout down the corridors. Each time Sybill managed to calm herself enough to approach a receptive state, there would be another loud bang or shrill giggle. Finally, she took her small bag of essential accessories down to the beach.

It was still noisy out there. Groups of young people were having music and alcohol-fueled parties at regular intervals on the stretch of sand. Oddly, though, the presence of others didn’t seem so intrusive as it had been in the motel room. Sybill found a reasonably secluded nook where she lit her candle and a pair of incense sticks. A warm breeze wove the scent of the ocean and an acidic hint of motor oil through the threads of sandalwood. The smell of home brought an ache to her throat, and the brightness of the candle flame blurred suddenly.

What am I doing here? Sybill asked herself. I know Albus has his reasons, I know Firenze told me to be brave, but I just want to go home. Black’s right. I am useless. She swallowed against the wave of self-pity. She would not cry. Fine, she wasn’t any good pretending to be a biker and infiltrating Death Eater gangs, but she could use her talents. There were the stars, laid out before her, familiar, comforting… a mystery. Sybill knew that most people considered her art to be nonsense, but she did have flashes of insight that she felt were too accurate to pass off as coincidence. Tonight, however, the heavens were a closed book. This final act of betrayal was too much. Sybill put her head onto her knees and sobbed.

Much later, her face feeling hot and sandy, her throat sore from crying, Sybill wandered back to the motel. At least one of her prayers was answered – the room was still empty. Black, no doubt, was still out carousing, regaling burly bikers and giggling women with tales of his exploits. Sybill changed into her flannel nightgown, far too warm for the weather but she had nothing more suitable, and crept into her bed. An hour or two later, as she slept fitfully, she was vaguely aware of the door opening and a shadowy figure bumping heavily against the bed as it made its way to its own. She didn’t say anything. Tomorrow was time enough to be brave.


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Disclaimer: We don’t own Sirius or Sybill. We don’t own Daytona either. The Magic Carpet is a real motel!