I am given pleasure as I witness the demon bow his head to me fractionally lowered than I had bowed my own. His respect does him credit but though I would never admit it I wish he had instead shown courtesy in choosing a place more suited to my presence and forsaken such pleasantries in greetings. I feel another gust of wind blow over me and I know that eventually it will become a problem if we spend hours milling about in this circle of human stones.

As he replies that there are no apologies necessary I accept his statement. I’m pleased that I am not held responsible for the corruption of one of my servants. But by our codes I am and it is a debt that I shall carry until it is redeemed. Smoke trickles from my human nostrils as I fume inwardly. At least charbroiled traitor was delicious even if humans were not the best quality meat. It was a small consolation.

“I will have your back Atticus. No treachery shall return me to slumber once awoken.” I say in reply as the demon’s attention is distracted and I forgive him for his straying attention. My human lips shape a small frown as I lower my head again and with my eyes still fixed on his face in respect blink to signal dismissal.

Only then do I move my eyes away from his face and I turn my head to look at the newer arrivals. Sethan the flammable pile of bones who fancied himself a king had come, so had the elvish necromancer and many others. I could smell the death on them both as the breeze swept over me again. I lock eyes with the fey that holds a rank of authority and nod slightly in respect of his position and skill for I had quite enjoyed hearing him play in the past.

I slip an alabaster hand down to pull a thin pipe from a hidden fold in my gown. Smoking makes it easier to hide that I actually exhale smoke around humans. It is old and slightly yellowed, thin and carved from bone. I know that I should use a different one when outside the mansion but there is sentimental value to this one. He did run me through in life after all.

I purse my lips and blow a tiny wisp of flame through them to ignite the tobacco in the pipe before raising it to my lips and inhaling. The smoke fills my lungs but it doesn’t have any effect on me. I do not feel the need to say anything else as I wait and watch, slowly smoking and wondering what had been important enough to rouse me from my slumber.

Atticus relinquished Sethan, only to hear a voice that sent a cold shiver across his scalp. It was one he had not heard in thirty years or more, and one that he had often wondered if he would ever hear again. It was a voice that conjured up images of shared friendship that felt as warm and cherished as the cover of an antique book, and at the same time of bitter regret that struck as poignant a quill as any into his mind’s eye.

He turned and looked into the face of Raleigh Oakwood, his face pulling tight into a thin lipped, if somewhat apologetic, smile.

“Hello, Raleigh. It has been a long time.”

The image of the wedge that had come between them, her face, transposed itself before Atticus’ vision. Lena had been her name. There were few times in his life that Atticus ever regretted the reality of his being, but what it had cost him with Raleigh had given him that twinge of self-hate. As he blinked, Lena’s face vanished, and he was again looking into the cool eyes of a once true friend. If Atticus was being honest, he knew that he had not only requested Raleigh because of the Dryad’s skill. Above all he wanted to see if after so many years an incubus could attain true forgiveness.

Atticus stepped closer to the Dryad, his voice dropping as he drew nearer. “Raleigh, it means a great deal to me that you came. I know there has been a lot of bad-blood between us, but perhaps at the very least we can come to some truce after so many years? I would appreciate…”

His voice caught in his throat as his eyes were drawn to another figure stepping into the stone circle. She had come. Even in the dim light her large blue eyes shone against the smooth china-like skin of her face. The almost silver-sheen of her fair blond hair cascaded down to her petite shoulders, and Atticus’ eyes followed the strands down her body. The memories of their night together, seemingly ages ago, flashed before his mind like hellfire, and sent a wave of evoked pleasure down his spine.

“Raleigh…I,” Atticus stammered. He looked to the Dryad, “I am sorry, we will have to talk another time. I have more apologies to make.”

Atticus slipped from where Raleigh stood, and glided slowly before Siya. His crimson eyes searched her face as his mouth searched for words. His mind pulled against itself with emotion, filled with guilt, joy, regret, elation, self-loathing, lust, and doubt. At last he was able to smile. It was a smile that split his face and drew crinkled lines around his eyes. As he looked down to Siya, the smile resplendent upon his face, he tried to force it away. Seeing what he thought was incredulity in the tiny vampire’s eyes, he felt almost ashamed to show such unbridled happiness in the face of one he had hurt.

“I have missed you, Siya.” He said, his voice low but clear in the crisp night air. His eyes cast downward, glowing faintly against his cheeks as he drew his gaze from hers. “I should have done more, should have been there.”

Upon Atticus’ skin, unseen save for the barest of images at his neck and wrists, the angels and demons fought in bloody and roiling combat. Their blows and silent cries of pain reflecting the storm of emotion raging inside their host, and Atticus pulled at his sleeves self-consciously before forcing himself to once again meet Siya’s eyes.

Sethan shook the hand of his old acquaintance and chuckled at his jokes. There was no harm in being friendly with your co-workers, and Atticus was an amiable fellow if nothing else. Demons were something of a mystery to Sethan, as he hadn't any recollection of encountering them prior to his re-awakening. Normally he would attribute this to his spotty memory, but he had memories of dealings with Djinni, fiery beings from the east that were vaguely similar in description, and so the lack of demons were rather anomalous. More mysteries of the world to unravel, he supposed. Still, he did wish a bit that the man would not touch him so casually. Sethan said nothing about it, but was still mildly annoyed and slightly disgusted by the man laying his hands on him without invitation.

Atticus introduced him to a Mr. Makarov, the balding man he had noticed before. He was just as pitiful a creature up close, and Sethan was now acutely aware of the man's undead nature. A better make than the common zombie, but still an inferior revival to Sethan's own divine rebirth. Though he couldn't judge Makarov too much; not everybody could be as great as Sethan. Atticus clearly had quite a few other people to deal with, and so he would humor the demon by chatting up this wight and keep out of his hair for a short while. Judging by the others that continued to arrive, he would need all of the patience he could muster. The man truly had a talent for assembling such pitiful creatures. Sethan himself excluded, naturally.

"Я приятно тебе себя," Sethan made an attempt to greet the man in his shoddy Russian, and held out his heavily-jeweled hand to be shaken. "I am Sethan, Son of Ra, Ruler of Souls, Twelfth in my dynasty." He felt a slight tinge of self-satisfaction from not demanding that the man refer to him as King. "Now, what is this I hear about gold? I should think there is quite much to tell, as you already seem to be a man after my own heart," He lowered his voice, just quiet enough for only Makarov to hear him. "Unbeating, as it may be."

She knew from experience, research, and a fair amount of Internet forum gossip people tended to think Reapers could not die.

It would have been nice if they were right, but Daisy was getting more than a little tired of this River-Styx-in-Champagne-Rose-Number-42 gig, and she knew it was better they weren’t.

She’d moved to Boston six months ago. Two months after leaving Florida, five months after…Max. That’s what she called it now, the whole two days of hell she just shortened into Max, because anyone who knew what she was talking about didn’t want or need to hear anymore than that, and anyone who didn’t didn’t deserve to.

Except WolfGirl. Veti fell into her own category there. Daisy didn’t know what to call it, and didn’t really want to.

It bothered her sometimes, a lot of time, actually, that she, a Reaper, couldn’t say the word ‘died’. Charades could only get you so far when half your day job was saying, “Sorry, dude, you – “ and then frantically gesturing all manner of passings. Though the few customers who’d also been victims of more explicit deaths sort of tended to have it coming, pun very much intended.

She’d received Atticus’s letter halfway down Bourbon Street in New Orleans, where she’d been pretty much since the moment Veti had vanished again. She’d tried spending those days when the werewolf was having her time of the month cramped in that awful little Bostonian apartment, but as it turned out, Daisy and Tiny Vamp didn’t even pretend to get along without Veti. They didn’t fight, really. They didn’t anything. But their truce was only really functioning when Veti was around to benefit.

If you could call it that.

She couldn’t. She didn’t think Tiny Vamp could either. Even Artie tried, though admittedly, any time he was praised for playing with endless chew toys, sleeping in people beds, and stealing scraps from the table, he thought he was doing alright. So, Daisy wasn’t sure that counted. But she could imagine Veti tipping just a little further away from that abyss she knew all too well every time he sauntered up to her as a Lab, or Shepherd, or Poodledoo or whatever the hell dog breeds they were getting away with these days.

Daisy had stood in the side alley, smelling like beignets, looking like a 20-something college kid instead of a pink-haired Reaper, holding the little spherical letter, knowing what it was before she opened, deciding what she owed Atticus, if anything.

She should never have agreed to kill him.

They could tell her, all of them – Veti, Atticus, Henry, Siya, even that old guy whose name she’d never bothered learning – that it wasn’t her fault, and objectively, they’d be right. She’d gotten Max to his destination, and left Artie with him, so he could come back. And she’d thought it would be okay. He was supposed to be able to, she was going to figure something out, she really was – because she’d seen Veti’s face when they relayed the order to kill Max. And she’d argued. Because it was a stupid fucking idea, and she wasn’t allowed, and even though Max had thrown her under the figurative bus the night before, she didn’t hate him. Not enough to kill him. Not enough to hurt Veti. She liked Veti. And Daisy didn’t like anyone.

But she’d been stupid. Proud, maybe. Riding a high off prior events. After all, it had worked once before. Getting the others back from Evil Fox Island. She’d “killed” Abacus, Henry, Max, and Old Guy, and brought them all back, and she was feeling pretty fucking decent about it, too.

But she couldn’t do it again. Maybe it was time. Maybe it was Decima. Maybe it was fucking Maybelline, the point was Max had died. Right in front of her. Like it was her job. Like he was on her list.

And he was. Because she’d put him there.

Veti could say she didn’t hate Daisy for it. But Daisy sort of thought it would be better if she did. Then at least she’d have something holding her here, on this side.

She wanted to tell Veti it wouldn’t be like she thought. Max was gone, way past the Gates, way past anywhere Daisy could get to. It wouln’t be like finding him in a crowded mall. It’d be like looking for a wisp of smoke in the middle of a thunderstorm on the ocean, and there was no moon and no stars and no way back to find a breath.

And also you were, like, really fucking blind.

But Daisy never said anything. Because if hate wasn’t holding Veti on this side, then hope was. And if she knew the truth, there wouldn't be anything left at all.

--

Daisy took the fastest route to Ireland she knew.

Well. Second fastest. The fastest way she knew wouldn’t land her in a Vampire Sex Rave. She’d had enough of those to last a lifetime.

They were easy to find, the lot of them. And make no mistake, there were a lot of them. She probably should have guessed this group would throw a massive fucking wrench in the works from the moment she’d opened Abacus’s letter. That was just sort of what B&H did. He called them “an investigation and recovery company.”

No. They were a fucking wrench-throwing company.

She could pick them out from the ones she knew she’d hate right off the bat. There were even more that last time, even without the fae and immortals, though not a single GodBird among them, so hooray fucking small mercies.

One of them reeked of Death, even moreso than she, and not in a good way. This wasn’t Death in suspension, this was death, lower case ‘d’, far past its prime. Died, rotted, fermented, then circled back around again to something admittedly very nice to look at, but ultimately nothing she wanted to have anything at all to do with.

*He’s a Mummy,* Artie rumbled at her shoulder, sounding equal parts bored and intrigued. Somehow.

“He’s an asshole,” muttered Daisy. “But he’s an attractive one.”

Wrench-Thrower number one, then.

Her eyes circled around the group, lighting only briefly on the smaller wrenches. Too many goddamn fae this time around, and if none of them were going to look like the Siren, then what was the point? A girl she couldn’t recognize from –

"Fuck."

Artie didn’t have to tell her what the next…thing was. She pulled up short, half thinking of turning around before they even saw her, and might have, if she hadn’t sensed Veti here. The only reason she was here, as far as anyone, Artie included, was concerned.

Still. She’d let her uncommonly kind and chaste soul get the best of her once and it had nearly cost her whatever remained of her life. This wasn’t a wrench. This was a sixteen-part Swiss Army knife with a Phillips head strapped to it and a live bomb strapped to that.

Artie sniffed experimentally and growled at the black pillar of smoke the Wight represented on Daisy’s side of Death.

“Great. This'll be super fun. Mummies. Wights. Why not bring in the Big Guy himself, we'll have some fucking brunch.”

That was Bain & Hoyle for you. Gorgeous men. Completely disregard for rules, order, and respect. And practically no brunches whatsoever.

She drew the exit second portal up from the water at her feet and stepped through back into life, keeping her eyes on the Wight as she did. The group was even larger from this end. She smiled briefly at Henry, gave Siya a neutral half glance, and casually ignored Atticus.

Last of all her eyes passed as briefly as she could manage over Veti, lurking far off in her corner. She suspected the werewolf did not want to be made known yet, and so made her glance short.

Yeah, that was why. Not because she was a fucking coward.

Veti tried hard, she knew, to keep up appearances, and Daisy had to commend her for that. Siya would know the wolf was crumbling. And Max, of course, if he were here. But then of course, it would be a different night, and a different group, and Daisy might not be here at all.

If she hadn’t been a Reaper, she might never have caught on to Veti's acute distress.

People were wrong about that part, too. Reapers dealt in Death.

But the dead and the dying were not so mutually exclusive as some seemed to believe.

His smile nearly did her in. His smile made the months of feeling unimportant, of being simply a momentary distraction, fall away. An answering smile lit her face from within, her tiny fangs catching the moonlight as she grinned. It was a smile that trembled with intense emotion, ranging from delight to lust to hunger. When her eyes caught on the bits of ink on his skin writhing at the edges of his clothing she understood immediately what it meant and her eyes hooded, sweet relieved happiness giving way to her predator nature as the black of her pupils chased away the white until there was nothing left but hunger. God she was hungry, so very hungry. She hadn’t done more than sip in all her months of tending to Veti and there before her was a meal that would sate her for a good long time.

She walked towards him, a sway in her hips that broadcast much, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. She felt the tingle in her mouth of the narcotic saliva that made certain no one she bit ever complained. She moved towards him, her steps as filled with grace as they were with lust. She pictured slamming him back against the nearest stone and having him, of slaking her thirst, her lust, of feeding all her hungers on his demonic flesh, of herself in turn being fed upon until neither one of them could move.

She froze, mid-step and closed her eyes, her struggle visible as her slender form shuddered in effort. When she opened her eyes the black was shrinking, the white and blue returning though her pupils remained wide and too large. She licked her bow of a mouth and smiled softly, apologetically.

“I missed you too.”

She moved towards him, her manner almost vulnerable as she reached out a tiny hand and ran her fingers over the back of his hand, brushing lightly across the edges of his ink.

“No need to apologize.” She said softly as she stepped even closer to him. In that moment she understood to her core that it was true. She had seen in his smile something that had soothed her as much as it had inflamed her.

“We have both been much occupied. Veti is….” She trailed off, despair and heartache ringing in her voice as she looked away from where her pale hand touched his and up into his crimson eyes and then around at all the others gathered, others who had fallen away from her perceptions as she’d lost herself in him. If Vampires could blush, if she’d had enough blood to manage it, she’d have been as pink as the Reaper just then.

“We should talk.” She said to him, “but later. Alone.” She shivered and a self-depreciating smile crooked the comers of her mouth. “Others need your attentions just now.”

Anastasia nodded and bowed slightly at Nestor's remark. She didn't realize how silly she might have seemed being so excited. She was here to help this Atticus fellow first and for most. She was getting to ahead of herself but it was not unlike her to do so. She took a step back from the crowd. Walking backwards slowly before she slumped down on a large rock.

She watched all the different crowds of people talking away, the expressions on people's face showing loss,love and other many types of emotions. She was curious by there faces , she had not known love or truly loss. The people here were what appeared as a large family, one who had been split and twisted in all sort of ways. It was sad to watch, but also interesting by the story it created. She was used to the feeling of being ostracized, she got used to sitting alone in the shadows watching from afar. The type of things she learned from being on the outside of all situations was unmeasurable.

With no one watching her she decided to take the time to change her cloths. She looked silly and out of place with her dress, but that being said Nestor did arrive in a hospital gown and another arrived naked. Reaching into her bag she grabbed her normal street cloths, a sweater jacket, jeans, a tank top and some dark boots. She put her jeans on first slipping them on under her dress. She buttoned the fabric up as she shifted a bit trying to get them to fit in the right places. Turning her back to the crowed she unzipped the front of her dress and let it drop to the ground pulling the tank top over her head. It was black, simple with no detailing but clung to her body quite nicely. Her jacket was the most interesting, having an elvish feeling to it she put on the jack , it was made of a type of sheep skin with a darker brown exterior. It fit around her hips and buttoned diagonally over her chest. The jacket had a large hood that wrapped around her shoulders, creating a drop over her chest showing a bit of her black tank top. The sleeves are fitted down the arms until it reached the elbow where it opened to create a drop sleeve. Intricate details in gold thread patterned over the shoulders and down the side of the sleeves. She also fixed her hair pulling her long hair down after she had kept it back. It was done in a large fish tail braid that she pulled over her shoulder. She grabbed her bag off the ground and stuffed the dress into the bag and sat back down on the rock.

She wondered what was going to happen in the coming future, what this job entails. There was a large group of people who housed a great amount of power and then there was her. This is why she hated being around people, she knew a lot of the fault was hers, but she was not sure how to really communicate with people. She didn't know how to get people to like her , she didn't even know how to hold a conversation. This is where her spirit friends came, she talked to them learning to create conversation but all their moaning and groaning was

She felt a cold hand on her shoulder, and with that simple touch her hair flashed to black. It was almost instant as her silver hair was enveloped by darkness. She shut her eyes as she could feel the ghost trying to take over her being. Her eyes shooting open a green type of smoke now coming from them as her eyes blackened with darkness. She was slumped over on the rock the grass around her feet dying and twisting in pain as the darkness ate away at the ground.....

Trying to pull herself out of the darkness she fought against the spirit, sadly this happened to her more times then she like to omit, she was unsure of where this spirit had arrived from it was not one of her regulars but it damn well wanted to do something with her. Looking at her shoulder at the hand that seemed like any one she reached up and grabbed it with her hand lifting it from her shoulder with a lot of effort. The pressure that this spirit had on her was over bearing, she shook violently as she was finally able to get the ghost off her shoulder.

The shock of the change knocked her back off the rock her feet hanging over the top of it. Her eyes had stopped glowing green, now that her powers were not needed. Looking up at the sky she caught her breath.

" what the hell was that..."

She said to herself, it may have just been a strong omen one to warn her what the future brings. She felt a bit scared now ...

Mila didn't quite know what to do with herself and watched as others arrived. Some of them made quite the entrance. One man in particular drew her attention due to the fact he was well, completely naked. Her hand shot up instinctively to cover her eyes, a very coy gesture and quite strange gesture for someone who was over a century old. One would think after a hundred years living you'd seen it all. It would be less strange to someone who had familiarized themselves with the Slavic lore about the Rusalki. Most if not all Rusalki were young girls, this due to the nature of their creation. They were spirits giving corporeal form but much of their personality they had in life was preserved. Mila was born in the 19th century were girls her age rarely witnessed a man in all his glory. On the other hand she was very much aware she now lived in the 21th century were it was a whole lot more common. It would be a mistake to think of her as innocent, her demeanor and behavior wasn't crystallized in the 19th century mindset. Though sometimes an out of place reaction could not be avoided. Averting her eyes from the bewildered man she turned to see the man or rather the demon who had sent for her by letter. Atticus Mac Cléirich a name she knew only by reputation.

She brushed her hair out of her face, attempting to lock it behind her ears, while she watched many of the group walk up to Atticus to greet him. He seemed to already know some of them. Mila wasn't quite surprised, he held a high reputation as well as position within Bain & Hoyle. It was obvious he'd worked together with most of them which made her wonder why he'd invited the others. herself included. Maybe Mr Hoyle had asked him to, or maybe he needed some kind of particular expertise. Whichever was the case Mila felt like she was intruding upon something. They had history together no doubt. She would have been living under a rock these last two months if she hadn't caught any info on what happened. Well she had been occupied with her research but she wasn't that out of the loop. They had been rather vague about it during the company dinner. Mila could tell it was a sensitive subject and she had no idea what had happened or when. She felt it wasn't her place at the time, but now she was going to work with these people. She wouldn't mind an explanation. Henry never mentioned anything about what happened. Maybe his silence spoke volumes. It could very well be something horrible, so would she still want an explanation then? Probably not. She thought with a shudder.

Now Henry he was such a grinning idiot! A cheeky smile spread across her face as she spotted the Siren talking to someone she didn't recognize. He'd always seemed to have that annoying grin on his face around her. Knowing she was the one who caused made it even worse. He was so pleased to have survived her attempt at drowning him which in turn really made her want to wipe that smirk of his face. It had been one of the most embarrassing moments of her life and she didn't want to pain herself by remembering the details. Henry would bring them up sooner or lather, she had no doubt. After he got her in contact with Bain & Hoyle they had spoken only a handful of times. Still that handful made him the one most familiar to her in this group. More importantly he'd kept his promise, allowing her access to the library of Bain & Hoyle.

Mila approached the kindred water spirit with a small smile on her fine features. "I see you're still breathing" Her tone of voice made it obvious she was joking around. "Somewhere I'd hoped you'd be at the bottom of a lake somewhere" She said touching her hair playfully before she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Henry would never let her hear the end of it but Mila was just waiting for an opportunity to get back at him. They would get even eventually, she'd see to that.

“Oh you wound me Mila.” Henry chuckles at the Rusalkas comment. Oh she was playing coy and he could tell from her eyes they were gonna do their usual dance of words. Fine by him, he could use something that lift his spirits among all this dread. For dread hung in the air something thick, it was mixed with all kinds of impressions sure, but it was there. It was just natural after a such a sudden reunion. Never the less, Henry knew he had come this far for a reason, and seeing his old friends had helped lift his spirits, and Mila further helped it. He just hoped his fears for this mission wasn't going to be proven true.

“Sadly, I have not had the time to take any trips to great lakes of Europe. Came here straight from Brazil. Shame to, I hear eastern Europe have some great spots for swimming.” He winked at Mila at the last part before turning to Veti again.

“Veti, this is Mila, I am not sure if you two have met. I recruited her to the company a few months ago. ” Henry took the opportunity to introduce the fellow water spirit to their admittedly gloomy werewolf. He didn't mention Vetis plight just yet, it was not up to him to bring such a painfull memory forth. Instead he focused on keeping it somewhat factual and still have the charm intact. There was also the fact that he knew Rusalkas voice to be very pleasant, and it might be double so to a werewolf with such a sensitive hearing. Henry was nothing if not terribly clever and thoughtful. Besides, Rusalka was new, and Veti was one of those people that you really had to get to know as early as possible.

“Apparently.” He spoke lightly, choosing from one the more pleasant memories and conversations. “I still owe you the reading of a grocery list?”

Veti had tried to retreat back into the shadow of the standing stone as Henry approached, taking a step back as her eyes dropped to the ground, suddenly ashamed that she'd somehow made a spectacle of herself when she'd meant anything but. The siren was dear to her, he always would be - though her face reddened with the realization she hadn't said not a single word to him since the memorial service.

The genuine, undeserved warmth in Henry's smile told Veti all she'd ever need to know, about what a shit friend she really was. She'd tried, God knew how she'd tried to keep up appearances for her old roommate and the her new one. Still smiling and showered, clean clothes and eating [however dubiously] whatever Siya put in front of her, playing endless games of fetch-the-squeaky-toy with Artie in exchange for whatever bits she'd sneak him from those [dubious-but-well-intentioned] eat-in meals. Sometimes she'd even laughed, like when labradoodle or great Dane Artie rolled in the bits of torn up squeaky toy blissfullly, big ol' tongue hanging out. The best part was always the little game she played with herself though, seeing if she could catch Daisy smiling too.

But Veti just didn't have the heart, the strength to keep up the pretense beyond the walls of their apartment - so what in the hell was she doing here now? How damned useless would she be to whatever Reginald Hoyle might need, the only werewolf she'd ever known who'd been kind to her, treated her with respect, dignity... What in the hell was she doing here, if she couldn't even find the courage to say hello to an old, dear friend?

Veti took a deep breath, and fought the urge to pull the hood of her sweatshirt all the way down to her chin and just... Pray to disappear or something equally as ridiculous. She beat the shit out of that urge, and stuffed its broken body somewhere deep inside. Instead, she wiped the tears from her cheeks irritably, swiftly with the palms of her hands before pulling the sweatshirt's hood back as she met the siren's matchless gaze.

"It's good to see you too, Henry," the werewolf said softly, and meant it, before she wrapped her arms around his shoulders swiftly, pulling him into a quick embrace, stepping away just as quickly before he could protest. A pretty little copper-headed girl, scented to Veti's delicate nose like lake reeds and driftwood, seemed to be vying for his attention at the moment, and the werewolf wouldn't keep the siren's attentions from the lovely creature - not even to read a grocery list. "Stereo instructions though, and it is wonderful to meet you Mila. Henry is a wonderful guide through labyrinthine company bureaucracy - and friend. Especially friend." she added with a small, sweet grin. She bowed her head respectfully to the young-seeming woman, years of intercultural, interracial, and interspecies work for Bain & Hoyle coming back to her in mere moments. Veti knew well in the Veiled World, that appearance and reality were often much at odds, particularly when it came to guessing at ages.

And then Nestor passed.

It was really more than the demonspawn's breathtakingly unconventional dress that held her attentions, of course. Her lover hadn't had many friends really, beyond Siya and, on occasion, Atticus - and sometimes even Henry, though the two were just as likely to bang heads and chest thump than talk like civil... Uh... Sentient beings? Veti laughed to herself, just a little. In general, most people seemed to think Max was a bit of a crass dickhead, truth be told. Beyond his parents, Veti felt sure she just might be the only one who ever saw Thad beneath, and even then for her, the warlock's true soul had only ever been a tantalizing whisper until the very end. But for whatever blessedly grand reason, the demonspawn and the warlock had hit it right off, become fast friends in the last days before death took him. Even the cold, straight-up crazy demoness that passed for Nestor's soul seemed strangely fond of her man.

So when that eternal gentleman passed, his kind words ringing in her ears as he moved to change into something far more fitting for mixed company, Veti nodded and averted her eyes, instinctively giving this decent man as much dignity as could be mustered in the moment. "Not nearly so well as I, Nestor. Thank you," she said softly as he passed. Siya was talking to Atticus now, the little vampiress long since gone from glowing to luminous in his presence, and Veti was content to see it so. Her skin prickled slightly, and Veti knew from some long experience now, that Daisy had arrived. Unexpected considering the Reaper's antipathy toward the company since Thad had died, but the werewolf still found her presence strangely comforting. Veti didn't question small blessings. Not anymore.

The werewolf wasn't surprised in the least to hear a frigidly cold voice whisper in her ear, a bitter arctic wind in the voice of Nestor's demoness soul. “Yet when the weight of the heart becomes too great to bear, the strings will snap... one by one...”

Veti's jaw set tightly, a small, sardonic smile chiseled on her face as she crossed her arms over her chest. She sighed, lifting her sapphire gaze patiently toward the main body of the assembled group. "Bitch, don't you know it."

"Indeed, I've been helping narrow down where they might have hidden the other treasures..."

Semyon spoke easily with his employer, until the arrival of more called duty to pull Atticus away. A pity -the Incubus spoke well- but he returned almost instantly, briefly introducing the recognizable Henry.

"...And to you as well." His words echoed politely in response to the siren, trading grips with the man's hand, turning away a moment after the Siren did the same. He was alone for more than just a moment now, and it gave the Wight time to observe the others. They arrived one-by-one, in degrees of surety and... eccentricity.

A coat. He should have packed an extra one, or two. There was always the possibility a comrade would find need for it. Already that was apparent, and Atticus displayed the foresight commanded of a leader in producing one for the gown-clad gentleman. Others seemed considerably better prepared, however, so Semyon did not need to berate himself to much over his lack of planning.

Nor did he have as much time to observe as he first believed, as a dark-skinned man approached and introduced himself. If centuries of undeath hadn't dulled his movements down to only the barest motions efficiency allowed, Semyon would have arched an eyebrow in surprise at the man's title... and his last whispered words.

"Добрый вечер Sethan, Son of Ra, it is an honor to meet you." He accompanied the words with a low bow, mouth managing to quirk a slight smile in response to Sethan's comment on the state of their hearts. Surely there were those here who knew what Semyon was, but it had never been something he bothered to make a point of.

He was hard to kill, no need to go into further detail.

"Friend of mine thought he'd found something. Hidden cave smugglers might have used, maybe a thousand years ago. He was hoping to salvage some silk, find old texts. Just prove people had been there." He gave a shrug, eyes catching the towering form of... what appeared to be a golem, among their comrades...

Another set of eyes fell on him, then, the gaze tugging subtly at his essence. Semyon felt the urge to seek out the watcher, to discover their intent, but held it back. His comrades were varied, and likely another knew him or knew of him. If so, they could speak later. Now, however, he was still conversing with a king.

"Instead, we found gold. Statues and coins, more than that one could carry. Evidence there could be more caches too. Scattered across Siberia." He paused for a moment, thinking both that there was nothing more to say, but that something should be said. This man was a king. His love of wealth apparent from the gold adorning his figure, a simple explanation alone would not suffice. Something more must be said. Something... something...

Wait. He had spoken Russian in greeting. Roughly, as someone learning the language.

"You are interested in Russia yourself? Forgive me for presuming a king's interest, but... I can share what I've found after this job. And whoever finds the gold, gets to decide how much they're due."

Mikhail was going to regret making that concession.

But he would outlive the embarrassment, as he had all the others. Semyon's main concern now was hoping he had said enough to satisfy Sethan, Son of Ra. Talking to a king you did not know was difficult, even if he was serving as comrade for now. But he had given the best answer he could give, and so would have to content himself with the outcome. Whatever happened, good or ill, for the rest of this mission, he would outlive it.

Unlike Mikhail, however, he did prefer to avoid the ill.

(("Добрый вечер" = "Good evening"... roughly...))

Siya’s reaction was more than Atticus could have dared to hope. The look that passed her eyes and the fluid sway of her body made his demonic nature roar inside of him, and he let an involuntary growl gurgle in his throat. The characters of his tattooed tapestry were now writhing in tormented combat, with the angels trying to restrain the demons as they bucked and howled in response to Atticus’ sudden flush of desire.

He tried to force the thoughts from his mind, blinking away the flare in red color from his eyes and slowing the pulse of his demon heart. What Siya brought out in him was unlike anything any other creature had ever done, and that very knowledge almost pushed him to the edge of lustful control. The tender touch of her hand to his thankfully helped bring his inner demon back from the brink.

Atticus reached back to her, and gently squeezed the small vampire’s fingers and followed Siya’s gaze to where Veti sat, half-hidden and downhearted. His elation from just moments before fell now as he looked at the once proud and vivacious werewolf. Guilt crept into his thoughts, and once again the image of make being swallowed by the death’s murky waves flashed before him.

The thought of talking to Veti for the first time in so many long months was a daunting one, but the prospect also allowed him the chance to explain to her more about what he had discovered in Egypt.

He gave Siya’s hand a final squeeze. “Yes, later. And alone is even better.”

With a parting smile, he left Siya’s side and stepped towards Veti. Henry beat him to the werewolf, and in that instant he decided that it was best if everything was explained all at once, and to all those who had answered his call.

Atticus looked about, silently counting the faces in the now crowded stone circle. They were all here, though some less clothed then others he noticed. Such instances no longer phased the demon. He had long ago forgotten how to be surprised by the strange happenings of the Veiled World.

Pushing his way through the crowd, Atticus pulled himself up onto one of the stones, and whistled for attention. It took a moment for everyone gathered to face him, but soon enough there was quiet in the growing Irish gloom.

“Welcome, and thank you for coming. It means a lot to me, and more importantly, Reginald Hoyle, that you have shown such initiative to be here. Unfortunately, Mr. Hoyle could not be with us this evening to explain the situation himself. On the other hand, his absence gives me the opportunity to pursue another matter, one that is very near and dear to me, and one that is completely out of the hands of the Bain & Hoyle Company.”

Atticus scanned the group, gauging the reactions to his proclamation. He continued, undeterred. “First, before I continue to Hoyle’s mission, we will begin with my own. Many of you knew Max, and others have only heard of the sacrifice he made to save our world.”

His eyes dimmed as he spoke of Max, his gaze falling to Veti. “He was a man that laid down his life with the hope and faith that he would one day return to those he loved. We failed him. When he came back to deliver us Decima’s soul, we could not transfer his own soul back to the realm of the living in time. He was swept away, back into death.”

“The last eleven months since Decima’s defeat I’ve spent my time roaming the world for a means to right that wrong.” His expression grew more hopeful, more confident then, “I think I have found it, locked away deep in the lost archives of the Library of Alexandria.”

Atticus reached into his back pocket and withdrew a folded piece of copy paper. He flattened it, straightened the edges, and held it up for all to see. Even in the dim light the picture was clear and distinct. It showed a sandstone tablet of hieroglyphs transposed over a rough oblong shape with many radiating lines running from a center triangular marker.

“This,” he said, “is an ancient map that marks the location of the god Osiris’ ankh. Literally, this object was the key of life, the very ankh that was forged when Isis brought the pieces of the dead Osiris back together, allowing him to ultimately be resurrected as the god of the underworld.”

Atticus handed down the page to Henry so the Siren could pass the map around. “I have confirmed the existence of this artifact through several sources. The challenge lies in actually finding it after thousands of years of it being lost to the world. It is our best hope of at last being able to pull Max from the realm of the dead.”

He jumped down from the stone, and moved easily into a slow walk. His steps took him amongst the crowd once more, and he turned to look towards each individual gathered. “I will say that I cannot carry out this journey personally. I owe my life to Reginald Hoyle, and I have already pledged my service to him. So, I must know, before I tell you of Hoyle’s mission, who will volunteer to find the ankh, and bring Max back to where he belongs?”

As he said this, Atticus leaned to Henry, his voice dropping to a whisper so only his friend could hear. “Henry, I know I just asked for volunteers, but I need you with me. You’ll understand soon enough why.”

Anselm Dunn - Giant of Albion

Dunn stood quietly in the background next to a stone, with his bag firmly held in his left hand and a cigarette in his right. He often drank and smoked excessively, but it didn't bother him as the weakening of his curse several hundred years ago had also seemingly allowed him to once more use substances without becoming addicted. Previously, during the middle ages and early renaissance, Anselm had been somewhat of a raging alcoholic, no doubt something that had impaired his research. In fact, he often wondered whether the alcohol might be the reason he still hadn't been able to lift the curse. Nevertheless, he kept drinking even after his addiction left him, partly because he wasn't as enthusiastic about lifting the curse as he once was. No, shake that fuckin' thought.

He had quietly looked on as the others spoke. Dunn had little reason to mingle. He often found himself too bitter, resentful and slow-minded to gain anything from casual conversation with supernatural being. And Dunn was the only natural being there. The only supernatural thing about him was the damned curse. Moreover, the only folk he had met of those gathered at the stone circle was Atticus Mac Cléirich and Raleigh Oakwood. He respected Atticus. Despite his demonic heritage, the man had proved just and surprisingly honest. Not that these were traits Dunn could claim to possess himself, but he respected them in others. Yet Atticus' powers were unnerving to Dunn. The idea of an ability to tamper with someone's mind, making them do things they otherwise never would have thought of unnerved Dunn, and was the reason he would never really trust Atticus.

Raleigh Oakwood, however, was the sole person assembled whom Dunn did trust. He had first met Raleigh thousands of years ago, when Dunn was yet anything but a giant, and knew Raleigh as a protector of the natural, and someone who had fought a human invasion of Albion much like Dunn had. Unfortunately, with the same ending, too. They hadn't met after those ancient years until they both found themselves in the employ of the Bain & Howle company, in the 1800's. Since then, the two had on several occasions been paired on assignments, Raliegh providing intelligence, cunning and charm as the lead, with Dunn providing brawn and vast amounts of knowledge about the Veiled World. Personality wise, Raleigh was on most accounts the opposite of Dunn, and Dunn appreciated him for it.

The two knew where they stood, and merely nodded to each other in recognition as the assembly formed. As the mingling settled and Atticus spoke up, Dunn listened intently. A personal matter? What the hell? While respecting the man, Dunn felt no obligation to Atticus. Disinterested, he gazed at the map and passed it on. It was not a company mission, he didn't know the bastard they were asked to risk their lives to save, and he stood nothing to gain from doing so. As such, he presently held no intention of volunteering for this farce, unless something changed. Dunn flicked his cigarette and looked at Atticus. Bluntly, as always, he spoke up.
"Give me a tangible reason to follow, and I will."

There was never a choice between the two options Atticus posed. Not for the werewolf, at least.

Veti's eyes widened almost as far as her jaw dropped, her stupefied glance leaping from the map to Atticus almost as quickly as her emotions vacillated between self-recrimination, unbridled gratitude and spitting fury. She should have found this, this map. It was her job, research, uncovering and recovering the ancient and the long-lost but she'd given up hope - too soon it seemed. Far too soon. She should have known. It wasn't pride or arrogance that informed her, for all her relative youth, there were precious few - beyond perhaps the demigod Muninn - who could match her mental abilities or the depth of her esoteric knowledge. She should have searched far and wide for the way to bring Thad back, instead of wallowing helplessly in rivers of despair, regret and sorrow...

Gratitude. God have mercy, but the wave of gratitude that washed over her for the incubus damn near made her weak in the knees. She loved Atticus, she did. No, not like Siya loved Atticus - oh hell no. Veti might have ninety-nine thousand problems, but at least screwing her boss had never been one of them. Still she was sure, for all Atticus' silence nigh on a year now, that he was at least fond of her too - in his own way, yes.

Which made that silence, punctuated only by the arrival of Siya's flowers weeks ago, all the more baffling. And then suddenly infuriating. Atticus knew damn well what her skill set was, her absolute and abiding interest in the subject at hand - why the hell didn't he say something!? Did he think she was too close to the subject matter, to be the consummate professional she truly was?

Or worse yet, too broken?

That thought made Veti bristle inside, red-faced and embarrassed and only just bringing her torrential thoughts back to self-recrimination all over again -

And then the giant spoke from behind his ancient human mask, his words to her ears as thick and heavy as layers of sediment laid over millenia on a lake bottom.

Heh. Fine. Fury it would be then. Thanks for the target.

"Tangible reason?" Veti snarled, sapphire eyes turned a golden amber - rarely a good sign. "The fuck Henry, has Bain & Hoyle taken such a nose dive in the past year, we're defaulting on contracts? What's happened there big guy, didn't you get paid?"

Veti gave a good damn whether this complete stranger wanted to help find Max... Thad... and bring him back to the realm of the living. The giant didn't know Thad, didn't know her - and she didn't know him either. No investment there at all. Fair enough, no hard feelings, even if Thad did give his life to save this entire damned world, Veiled and 'natural.' In truth, the werewolf harbored a small, secret hope no one at all would step up to go after him but her, no matter how unlikely that wish might be. If Thad didn't come back, Veti knew well she wouldn't either, a year and a day be damned. And if she lost another one of the few people she loved before her very eyes, her tiny pack sliced smaller still...

She'd go mad. She just knew it.

Veti stood to her full, naturally-impressive height, her sweatshirt hood pushed back, crimson hair falling about her shoulders like rivulets of spilled blood. She rubbed at her temples with an angry hiss of her breath, wiping away all the horrible, unthinkable sights her imagination conjured from her mind's eye with an impatient swiftness.

Fuck him. She didn't need some reluctant giant to find Thad. But Reginald Hoyle wasn't just their boss. He was a damn good man, and if she didn't have the slimmest, precious glimmer of hope of seeing her lover's face again this side of breath and beating heart, she'd have been at the elder wolf's side in an instant. Maybe she was overreacting, deliberately misunderstanding the giant's reticence to help. But the werewolf was stretched as thin as too little butter over too much toast, and in no mood to deal with ancient, greedy, disinclined and unhelpful pains in her occasionally red-furred ass.

"Or do you mean tangible as in, oh... Say, Yap islander currency, a few rai to fiddle with in your pockets? Oh! Or maybe you're just looking for a mountain of your very own to hump? Tangible companionship? Heh, I'm sure Henry can write it into your next contract. He's pretty damned amazing like that."

She let the map pass to whoever might look at it next, knowing damn well it'd come back to her eventually. "You know where I'm going, Atticus," she said easily, surprising even herself with how steady her voice actually sounded. Still, Veti was unable to bring herself to look anymore around this enormous group, to see anymore reluctance or indecision or - worse still - pity. "Mr. Hoyle is a good man. The best. But I think he'd understand... This. And you know I'll join you, just as soon as Max comes home."

There. Confidently said. Not if. When. That was really the only option anymore.

Henry listened, and in truth, he marvelled. That was Atticus for you, always thinking, always one step ahead. It made sense, and the old pharao amongst their ranks suddenly made perfect sense aswell. He if anyone, should be a expert at what Atticus was trying to achieve. Cheating death, indeed it was no small task that Atticus wanted them to undertake. But Henry was obviously used to that part by now, and he was not gonna let his friends down. Although he had a nagging feeling he would regret this. But the way things were escalating, he had not time to dwell on Atticus whispers.

When Veti bristled, like he imagined she would in face of such news, Henry had to take a deep breath. The werewolf was going off on a tear and she pulled Henry into this with such ferocious conviction that he found himself grinning. Fire was good, He could only try to imagine what was going trough the werewolves brain and heart right now. Of course, that was when someone decided to speak against it all. While Henry could agree that it seemed like a strange request to those not privy of the recent events and that Atticus would have been better off not mentioning it as a “private” matter. Regardless of such a little misstep he didn't quite understand the giants words. Surely he could see why it was in the companies interest, the ones that employed him? So, in the way only Henry could, he took Atticus side. His motions fluid, quick and with grace afforded to him by a newfound strenght he had not felt in forever, he was soon at the base of the stone Atticus stood by. He faced the others.

“Ladies, Gentlemen. For those who do not know me, I am assisstant Director and Manager of the the Boston Branch. Henry Grimm.” He spoke, his voice empowered by the magic that rested deep within him, bolstered by the closeness of Irelands many rivers and lakes. “I do not need to tell you that this company care for their own, every single one of us are a valued member. Well, as Atticus explained, we lost one a year ago. Causalities are no unknown to us at this point, this job is not without risks.” Henry paused for effect, taking in the reactions. “But know that the founders would move mountains if they could save either one of you. What the company ask in return is for us to do our job. A ankh can bring back one of our own and its within our expertice to find and use it to return Max to our world again. The company benefits, you benefit and we increase our strenght for further missions.” He smiled, eyes staring straight at the Giant.

“You are a employee of the company, so is Max. Max gave his life to save all off us from enslavement or a worse fate then that. Without his efforts you would likely spend your life living under a darkened sky, in eternal night and under the rule of a deranged vampire queen. You may not think this concern you, but if you have sense of loyalty towards the company you will treat it as a job at it's still within company structure and it's a internal matter. You can hardly find a better reason, speaking from a company logistic and logical. Questions?” His voice was factual, without a single pause now. It left no reason to argue.

Raleigh Oakwood + Dr. Kinnon Blair + Nestor Grimsley

Raleigh had listened in silence as Atticus talked to him. He stared deep into his eyes, vaguely perceiving his inner spirit, his sixth sense dulled in human form. He felt the genuine anguish and guilt, yet he still couldn’t bring himself to forgive the incubus. He had loved her, he still did. The thought of Lena plunged his heart into an abyss.

He remembered the flowers she’d wear in her hair: daisies, snowdrops and peonies. She was blissfully ignorant of the anthousai that consequently nestled in her golden locks, poking out of tresses, giggling with childish mischief. They took a shine to Lena unlike any other human Raleigh had seen; she had a peculiar magnetism for the supernatural, fairy and demonic.

Raleigh was here for Mr. Hoyle, not Atticus. He’d skimmed over that detail in the missive upon his first reading. On the drive down from Dublin, Raleigh had had second thoughts and pulled over into a layby. He retrieved the crumpled letter from his blazer pocket and read it again, rain pinging off the car roof. It was unforgivable he had not properly read the details. His own problems were immaterial. Poor Mr. Hoyle. He had met the gentleman a few times during his tenure at the Bain & Hoyle Company and struck Raleigh as a kindly yet tragic soul. Raleigh could relate. A dull throb resonated inside as he reread.

Mourning is a gluttonous monster. It devours everything you have. Like Mr. Hoyle, Raleigh imagined, immersion in work was the easiest coping mechanism. The Company saved me once again, he reflected. The Amazon business had been a break from a greater exploration that had been on and off for the last half century. It had been a worldwide search, from the arctic tundras to the deepest networks of subterranean caverns. The quest was top secret. Raleigh hid his true intentions by collecting and transferring any specimens of interest on the way. Since Lena, Raleigh had redoubled his efforts to the point of severing any contact for a whole twenty-one years. He returned unsuccessful but the sorrow had numbed. When it reared its ugly hungry head again, Raleigh took the job in the Amazon. Now he had come back from there—the work would never truly be finished—Rayleigh was confronted with his grief again. There was no escaping it.

He studied Atticus’ face. You did this to me, he thought.

Atticus turned, distracted. It was fortunate as Raleigh was finding looking at him harder and hearder to bear. Taking advantage of the disturbance, Raleigh walked towards an unoccupied monolith. Atticus’ final words were lost in the wind, and quite frankly Raleigh didn’t care what he'd said. He rested against the stone, cold and sobering. From his pocket he took out a small white flower, crinkled with wear. Raleigh held it in his open palm, staring at it. The breeze tugged at it and he clenched it tight. He closed his eyes and sighed.

He was aware of more people arriving but took no interest. Raleigh concentrated on the sounds of nature around him, the wind on the gorse bushes, a buzzard shrieking from a tree, the sea washing onto the far shoreline. It calmed his emotions and after a few minutes he opened his eyes. Just as he did so, someone he knew well materialised in the centre of the stone circle. Butt naked. Raleigh laughed aloud, snapped out of his foul mood.

“Dr. Kinn! Long time no see. I see you dressed for the occasion.”

* * * * *

After the shock of being completely naked in front of a group of his peers had worn off, Kinn took it all in his stride. He smiled with good natured humour as a short haired man with a lyrical quality to his words made a joke about what types of fairies Kinn should be making a deal with in future.

His eyes locked on to the man who had called this gathering. Atticus was not a man Kinn had met, he was not even sure he had ever spoken to the Incubus, but there was definately more than enough rumours and interesting documents circulating the company that Kinn knew were more than likely true. He nodded his head in greeting, not wanting to disturb the man.

"Dr Kinn! Long time no see"

Kinn turned at the sound of a familiar voice, one he had not heard in a few months but he recognized nevertheless, Raleigh stood there with a smile of genuine warmth on his face and Kinn had to suppress the urge to give his long time friend a brotherly hug. It would not have been so awkward if he had some clothes.

"Raleigh, you are looking well. I am glad there is someone here I actually know, I was worried that I would be a little out of my depth. As for my lack of clothing, I had a run in with the Aziza's in Africa, they accepted my offering of tobacco but I knew it was not going to be enough to get me passage through their realms, I just wish they had left me with some dignity".

Kinn was indeed happy to see the man who he had known for just over 200 years, the Dryad was one of the only living people to have witnessed Kinn at his best, and his worst.

"Oh before I forget, the last clutch of eggs you sent us back at the Sanctuary have all hatched, you will be pleased to know that you now have several sons and daughters, unfortunately they are all some hybrid basilisk creature that nobody has been able to properly study due to them turning to stone if the little guys look them in the eyes."

Kinn's sense of humour may not have been that great but he knew that Raleigh would appreciate the attempt and the news that the eggs had arrived safely. Their's was a friendship based on a mutual love of all animal and plant life. Raleigh was one of the best of the team at Sanctuary for retrieving rare plant and herb specimens or even more importantly in some cases, retrieving a species thought to be extinct. Kinn and the rest of the team, took care of them as well as something Raleigh held very dear. It was that very item that had allowed the two to meet.

He did not know why but there was a sadness to Raleigh that the Dryad never used to have, at least not one that Kinn had seen before.

* * * * *

A light shone in Raleigh's eyes at the news of the hatching. The clutch had been a nightmare to find in the scorching Sundarbans, Bangladesh. He had searched for days in forty degrees centigrade and above heat through the jungle, conferring with the spirits for sightings and information, following tracks, navigating round leech-infested rivers. The nest was situated in an underground pit, identified by the burn marks around its entrance from the basilisk's venom. The hardest part was calming and negotiating with the mother, a colossal serpent whose eyes it was unwise to stare into. She had offered five eggs and a vial of her venom in exchange for twenty full-grown goats. It left a bad taste in Raleigh's mouth but he agreed.

Raleigh was greatly indebted to Kinnon in more ways than one. Not only was he a brilliant and devoted work colleague and doctor, but a dear friend who had helped him through many tough times. More than anyone else he had ever met, Raleigh trusted the druid and felt secure in knowing he kept his most valuable item safe. He should have really confided in Kinnon the whole story about Lena, but never could bring himself to resurrect the memories in front of a man he truly respected.

"It might be nice to have some statues around the place. It needed a touch of interior design anyway." The sanctuary and research centre was a haven for wild and sometimes magical plants but it lacked decor. The flora was practically growing from the walls and the place stank of damp and exotic herbs. It was a glorified greenhouse.

"What are you feeding the basilisks out of interest? Is there still some crocodile in the storage freezer?" He'd hunted the crocodile whilst in the Burraga Swamp, Australia eight months ago. A very rare and parasitic moss had germinated in the roof of its mouth which frenzied the poor creature, its spores a potent neurotoxin. Raleigh had no choice but to put it out of its misery. He collected as much moss as he could extract, blessed the crocodile for an easy passage into the afterlife and diced the uninfested parts of the carcass for storage.

"Oh, how rude of me; you're stark bloody naked! Put on whatever you fancy from my bag, you'll catch a cold." Raleigh unslung the fake leather satchel from his shoulder and unfastened the buckles for Kinnon's perusal. Inside were some bare essentials: a change of underwear, socks, jumper, tan jeans and toiletries bag. It was a good thing Raleigh had taken it from his car; the rest of his provisions for the job remained in the boot.

As Kinnon thought, Raleigh looked around at the congregation. He'd never seen such a wide variety of supernatural beings in one place before. They all looked like they had a story or two to tell. He recognised the pretty elven girl he believed he'd seen at the London Branch once, the peculiar Professor Nestor Grimsley from a museum gala many years ago, and, oh, Anselm was here. Nodding to his old acquaintance in recognition, he couldn't help wondering why Atticus had invited so many Company agents though, especially some of major repute. What kind of job could possibly warrant such a large team? It was practically unheard of. He shuffled nervously and looked to Atticus, their leader, instantly regretting it. A pang of anger shot through him, mixed with heart-wrenching sorrow. His brow tensed, casting a dark shadow over his eyes. For Mr. Hoyle, he thought.

* * * * *

There was a strange scent in the evening air as I came to a halt just beyond the verge of the gathering; a private enough spot to change, I deemed – though something about the strange 'Death Girl' had disquieted me. Time and again I could not quite help but reach a hand to my face, to feel at flesh and bone that seemed solidly corporeal enough.

“Could it truly be the time now...” I mused softly, casting away the hospital gown with a relieved sigh, reaching beginning to pull on the pants just as I noted something out of the corner of my eye. A scrap of paper. And without warning she was there, leaning down and snatching it up with a mischievous glint in her icy eyes; one leg partially within the pants, the other still out, I gave a grunt and called out:

“Eh, and is that yours to take, I wonder?” She offered no words in reply, only a wink before prancing a few steps toward me. I half walked, half-hopped in an attempt to close the distance between us. She gave a chilling laugh and danced just out of reach, before bowing in overemphasized grandeur and then straightening to her full height, holding the note up between a pair of slender hands and beginning to read:

“Ill gotten gains of death's desire;
thoughts so broken, crushed in the mire...” She seemed as if she might continue, but – in that very moment – the Demonspawn manages to get his errant leg into the pants and, with a sudden leap, go diving toward the unsuspecting demoness. Issuing a shriek, she goes darting to the side before unexpectedly vanishing, leaving the note behind. After having brushed a bit of dirt from his new pants, Nestor bends down and grabs the scrap of parchment, shoves it into a pocket wordlessly without so much as reading a line. Finished with his dress, he turns and allows swift strides to take him back to the assembly; he pauses upon the verge of the clearing – eyes scanning over the gathering, before suddenly locking upon a pair nearby whom he seems to recognize.

“Doctor Blair; Master Oakwood! I had not expected to find the two of you here...” he trails off for a moment, allowing himself to catch up with his words, only speaking again as he comes to a halt nearby.

“A strange coincidence, as it were – though I am ahead of myself... perhaps we have met before, perhaps not – but I recongise the both of you, at least; something leads me to believe it was a chance introduction at the Museum Gala of... where was it? Oh, bother – eighty-three, I think? Eighteen-eighty-three, to be precise. No matter. Two hundred years, four hundred, all the same, eh?” Here Nestor pauses, wets his lips and adds:

“Nestor Grimsley; I think I preferred 'Professor' at the time – it was during a stint with Oxford – but anything will do really. I did have an intriguing bit of... information... I was interested in obtaining an equal's professional opinion upon – in the realm of academia, or Cryptozoology more accurately I suppose. If I'm not intruding on anything, that is.”

* * * * *

Kinn nodded his head at Raleigh's question, the young basilisks were already weaned from fluids and had developed their first set of razor sharp teeth which had no trouble chewing through the tough crocodile meat. Raleigh was hiding something from him however, Kinn would not pry, if the Dryad chose to confide in him then he would do so.

"The statues would be a nice addition, however I do not think the families and friends of those that were turned to stone would appreciate us not trying to restore them back to flesh and blood" He said it with a wry grin as he knew Raleigh would undoubtedly know that they had every intention of restoring the afflicted workers.

When Raleigh mention clothing Kinn was a little relieved, he had already made a spectacle of himself without meaning to so at least he could try and scrap together what was left of his pride. He took the clothes and began dressing just as he heard his and Raleigh's names being called.

As the man, Nestor Grimsley, spoke Kinn was trying to piece together where he had met the strange fellow. Eighteen- eighty three had been a particularly boring year if he recalled it correctly, the only excitment was the Museum openings he had attended, bringing new findings to the populace was always a pleasure, mankind seemed to think they ran the planet, it was a small reminder to show them that they did in fact share it.

"Ah yes, I believe I spilt my drink on you. Sorry about that" Kinn added the last part rather sheepishly.

"If there is anything we can do to assist you with our combined knowledge of all things living then I for one would be delighted to help."

Kinn could have mentally and physically kicked himself, he did not know why he was acting so strangely. If he stopped to think about it, he was nervous. Raleigh was the only one he knew here, trusted here, and he was definately out of his league when it came to the muscles department. He did not know who outranked who, Atticus excluded, so he made a mental note to let Raleigh speak first and then follow his lead. That way he hoped to save himself any further discomfort.

* * * * *

Raleigh listened in amused interest to Nestor's rambling. The man was bananas, refreshing in a world so rife with banality. He remembered their first meeting well, there had been a particularly good exhibit on that day on mammalian dentology and the fiasco with the Doctor's drink cemented Nestor in his memory.

"Why yes, I remember as it if it were yesterday, Professor. It might as well have been. It is good to see you again in good health. How did the research on... sasquatch evidence, was it? turn out?" Cryptozoology was a keen interest of Raleigh's, and it led him onto Nestor's query. "Of course, of course. In fact, we were just talking about a clutch of basilisk eggs we successfully procured which recently hatched. Truly fascinating creatures. What are the specifics of your enquiry, Professor?"

* * * * *

The Demonspawn offers a secretive kind of smile at that, not immediately answering Raleigh's question, instead remarking toward Doctor Kinn:

“Spilt drink? Why yes! And I was especially fond of that vest – there's no saying, another two centuries and it might have been back in style again... as for that research...” Here Nestor ticks his attention back to Raleigh before continuing:

“You are rather close – it was the Yetis, actually, and an attempted link between their earthly form and the possibility of a demonic origin; some had attributed their appearances to coincide with the expulsion of a certain sect of Hellish residents; well, all the little details are irrelevant now – at the end of the day all the evidence -seemed- to point toward supporting the theory, but quite suddenly it all got very hush-hush and funding dried right up.”

Here Nestor pauses, seeming in thought for a moment as he rubs absently at his chin, then adds:

“As for my current enquiry – I'm afraid this is neither the time nor the place to go fully into detail; suffice to say it concerns a creature of unknown history and origin, one who's main trait seems to be the collection and assimilation of disparate personalities: almost, you might say, as though its manner of feeding was to consume not blood or or flesh or souls or anything of the more 'usual' nature – rather, to swallow up personalities whole and make use of them in a kind of collective.”

Silence following the Demonspawn's words is almost instantly filled by the quiet whisper of an invisible presence somewhere between Kinn and Raleigh:

“He's being obtuse for a reason, you know? Let's just say I hope you fellows aren't opposed to games of the most dangerous type; Dear Nestor here – he never asks anyone's for help unless there's a good chance of someone dying...” The words die away into silence, and the speaker – as of yet – doesn't seem intent on showing herself.

* * * * *

The two men, Dryad and Druid, shuddered simultaneously at the sudden drop in temperature. Before either could comment or even begin to address the situation a sharp whistle drew their attention to the centre of the circle.Atticus was addressing the group.

Kinn listened with a look of indifference plastered on his face, inside however he was screaming to tell them how much they were overstepping their bounds. Bringing someone back to life was against nature. Even as he heard that thought he knew too the absurdness of it. Looking around he saw the kind of company he was now in, most of these people were not natural creations, and if his long life had taught him anything, it was that even those beings that were not part of nature's original designs deserved a chance.

He looked at Raleigh to see what the Dryad would choose, Kinn had already decided he would stick with the Dryad.

* * * * *

Raleigh froze as the ethereal voice crept down his spine and stood his hairs on end. The shock was exacerbated by the start of the announcement the gathering had all been waiting for. He listened in stunned silence.

Max? Raleigh did not know this man but the mention of his name seemed to pain some of those around. What is dead is dead and he was unsure of how he felt about this endeavour. Uneasiness settled in his stomach. The ankh was a slippery slope; one should not disturb the dead. Lena…

No. Unlike Max, Lena died naturally. He would meet her again in time, he was sure. It was selfish to pluck one from death so sanctimoniously. She may be happy in the afterlife finally.

Anselm’s reaction was as anticipated. The giant was not a bad man but he could be brash and self-centred. He could rub people up the wrong way, and it was no surprise he had done that now. Henry’s mediation was logical and eloquently put, but Raleigh still had his doubts.

Raleigh stepped forward, the concerns niggling away at him he felt needed to be voiced. “Hello everyone, I am Raleigh Oakwood and I’ve been with the Company for just over two hundred years now. I understand what you are saying about your friend Max, but there are some issues I and I’m sure many of the others feel need clarification. Say we find the ankh and successfully retrieve Max from the realm of the dead, what happens to the ankh thereafter? How do we know there won’t be serious repercussions for the mortal realm in disturbing the dead one? Because of one act which benefits the few, many may suffer. Thank you.”

I stand and watch as the gathered crowd continues to mill about and talk amongst themselves and I note that Atticus did not acknowledge my dismissal, instead appearing to fixate on one who smelled strongly of human blood. I am not blind and to me it was clear that there was tension between the two of them. I choose to file that away as I continue to puff slowly at the pipe in my mouth and a cloud of smoke begins to filter up and out of my nostrils and mouth.

My eyes focused on Atticus again when his voice was raised and he called to the crowd to get everyone’s attention. He speaks of the honor of our presence and I dip my head slightly to acknowledge the honorific but my eyes widen slightly when he speaks of a personal agenda that he would not pursue if Hoyle himself had been present. He summoned us with the company’s resources for a company mission and now he reveals an outside agenda?

I feel disdain begin to rise inside of me. He seeks a worthy cause, revival of a fallen comrade who fell in the battle that I was kept from. But he does not seek it properly and the founders would not approve, he had even admitted that tacitly. My eyes narrow and I begin to open my mouth to reply and speak on the impropriety of his mannerisms when another spoke before I could.

I know that the giant spoke wrongly it is obvious as I listen to his words and query. It was a noble cause that needed no justification but it had been done wrongly and that was the problem. The smoke trickling from my nostrils and mouth became darker and thicker, more obviously something other than the smoke from my pipe. As the werewolf lover of the deceased warlock called out insults and drenched the gathering with another level of improper behavior I grow still more frustrated.

This group is dysfunctional and so many do not know proper respect. I feel anger as the slights fly back and forth but again before I can reply to address them another steps in. This time it is Henry the Fae Siren and I remind myself that he greeted me properly when he arrived. But he disappoints me as well for he only speaks of the commitment to the company and how this mission is in the company’s interests to try and shame the giant.

Then the Dryad Raleigh stepped forward too and spoke. I approve of his words because he understands the risks but he still doesn’t speak of the issue that bothers me the most and I continue to stew as I wait.

But at last when he falls silent it is my turn to speak and I step forward with my head held high and my bearing regal as I step from the cloud of smoke that I had generated in my annoyance. “I am Aethelreda and you doubtless know what I am.” My voice is resonating and clear as I speak. “Raleigh speaks truly of the risks and I agree that they must be considered. But I have served the company longer than many of you have lived and I know the importance of proper authority.”

My eyes lock on Henry’s as I speak again. “You speak truly that it is a noble and worthy struggle to free the soul of Max from damnation. I regret deeply that I was prevented from aiding against the very vampire that you speak of by treachery. But a worthy task is not enough alone.”

With some regret that I will shame one who has done great service over his life I turn to Atticus again, locking my eyes with his but not lowering my head this time. “This mission was not ordered by the Founders like all missions this major must be to be official. I regret that I cannot aid you in freeing his soul for I would to absolve my debt of slumber. But I was called by the hierarchy and the rules are clear. I must decline this ‘personal’ mission.” I put stress on the word personal to emphasize my point though my tone is clearly one of regret.

When the cigarette had burnt its course, Adam casually extinguished the dying cherry in his large dark palm and slipped the remains into a pocket. He settled with both heavy mitts buried in the pockets of his trench while he watched the denizens of Bain & Hoyle. He casually eavesdropped on conversations, often puzzled by the undercurrents of speech and posturing. Unmoving, Adam listened while Atticus revealed the “personal matter” and asked for volunteers, then he regarded the subsequent confrontation over the one called Max.

The golem had no stake there in Atticus’ personal matter. The name Max meant as much to him as the ancient and worn stones that presently circled the crew, which was to say -- it meant nothing at all. Nothing more than a passing curiosity, a tidbit of knowledge to be filed away and pondered upon at length later, perhaps. It was the reactions of others, particularly the woman with bright red hair, that kindled something in the golem, however. A sense of loss, the ache of longing for the unattainable. The golem could empathize there, for as much as he was capable for empathizing.

Adam had lost his own love not long after he had joined Bain & Hoyle. He had been mostly rudderless in those days, searching for balance, for purpose. Reconciling the life of service he had led with the one he had agreed to join. He would wander, lost in thoughts, and it was during one such wandering that he first saw Her in the city streets one night. He named her Eve. She stood alone in a window, the most beautiful creature Adam had ever seen. Hair that shone like the sun, lips red as ruby, eyes that consumed him. She had seemed so sad at first, but then she had smiled. Smiled only for him, and none other. For weeks, he had come night after night to visit her, standing before her with only a fragile pane of glass to separate them. Both of them motionless, even while Adam’s enchanted heart threatened to tear from his mighty chest. Staring at one another, silently longing, uncertain how to express the affections that Adam was certain they both felt.

Then one night, she was simply gone, and another stood in her place.

Adam kept returning, hoping to find Eve waiting. She never was. He even entered the building she lived, asking after her, but uniformed humans came and chased him away with confusing questions.

Every window that he passed, Adam still looked for her. He always would.

The questions of personal motivation did not concern him, nor did the ramifications of what the ankh could mean for all life. Nor did any other factor enter play, not even the ensuing squabble. Adam understood what it was to long for lost love, and for that reason alone, he found himself ponderously stepping forward, the ground seeming to shudder subtly with each purposeful step until he stood near center of the stone circle, a towering edifice of sheer strength and undying resolve. His shaded eyes regarded Atticus.

“I will seek the ankh,” said the golem in a voice so low and forceful it thrummed in the chests of those nearby.

Anselm Dunn - Giant of Albion

Dunn listened to the werewolf's heated response, and was about to give answer when Henry Grimm interjected. Dunn didn't like the impression he got from Grimm. First of all, he knew the man to be a Näck, a being with abilities not unlike those of Atticus. And much like with the case of the incubus, Dunn was not overly appreciative of those persuasive powers. Clearly Grimm wasn't using them on him now, however, as Dunn didn't agree with what the water spirit said. Perhaps the man had more decency than his race was known for, after all. As soon as Henry finished talking, Raleigh spoke up. Dunn listened to the dryad voicing his concern about ethics and morals. While Dunn could understand the sentiments, he didn't care more about them than the werewolf, Atticus or Grimm seemed to do. He felt that part of the discussion was above his level of competence, and referred from taking sides. He did, however, have other concerns, and when the cave dragon spoke up, he felt them being voiced. It was not a company mission. It was not Dunn's obligation, nor did he feel it was in his interest, to participate in the resurrection of Max. He decided to clarify himself.

Dunn felt tired. He often did as a human, while boiling in his giant form. First, he looked to Henry Grimm, meeting the spirits gaze.
"I have been with the company longer than you have existed. You need not lecture me about how to best serve the company, nor what lies in its interest. I do what I am payed to do. I hold no grudges, and in return I offer no favours. The company knows this and has respected it for as long as I have been in its employ. I would hope this remains the case. And no, the company would not drag me back from the dead were I to die in a mission, nor has it ever done so, to my knowledge, in the past. Like the dragon says, this is no internal matter. It is personal and emotional, and unless I am payed, I will have no part in it." Dunn had spoken with calm and probably looked as tired as he felt. He then turned to the werewolf, whom looked as if she wanted to rip his throat open.
"I know you and others cared for Max. Yet I did not, nor did I know him. I am aware of the great sacrifice he made, and I wish you the best of luck in your endevours."

Dunn lit another cigarette. He knew his opinion wasn't gonna make him any friends, but he couldn't claim he cared. He had done his best to be diplomatic, and it would simply have to do.

Anastasia sat up as she held her arm tightly. The feeling of death lingered over her, she was used to it but this time ... this time was different. She used the rock by her feet to help her stand up. Hearing atticus's voice talking to the crowd of people she decided to walk over to ensure she didn't miss anything important.
Anastasia hair now black from the spirit, and her newly changed into clothing she joined the crowd blending in more then she did before with the others around her. She stood quietly listening to the others banter about which job was the more important one to take part in. She agreed with most of the things said, she could feel the werewolf's pain in her words. Not having experience in that department she could only imagine.

While she allowed the others to voice their opinions she decided to speak up. It was not something she would do in any other situation. " um...excuse me?" her koy voice tried to call out during the arguments " Excuse me!" she shouted again finally gaining the attention she wanted. "Hi... my name is Anastasia...I am the elven necromancer...been known to talk to the dead.." she said ducking her head down as she could feel the eyes on her. " I have not been with this company nearly as long as anyone here... and I have not had experience with Max or any other relations with the journey that caused his death. It is fair for everyone to have their opinion and i do respect them. However, if you like it or not we... we are all a team here, and max was apart of that team. You should be more sensitive to that fact. " She looked up at the crowed of people " We were summoned to help and ensure the protection of people in our worlds and the human world... so why was max's life any different. I for one would say its not. We need to respect each other and work as a team and frankly some of your anger is off putting." She took a moment to take a deep breath " Just moments ago, i was visited by a spirit. It was a strong spirit not one i have ever encountered before. Wither or not this spirit was that of Max or just a strong omen...it was bad...meaning, no matter which path we choose we will have death lingering not far behind us all. It is more important then ever that if this is the case, we need to work together like a cohesive group... like a team that B and H would be proud to call part of their company...." She was afraid her words will inspire to much backlash, but frankly she did care. Some of them were acting like children and yet they were over twice her age.

"As for myself " she looked at the heated werewolf " I would firstly like to extend my sincerest of apologies for your loss. I will personally offer my service, to where ever it is need and required. I will swear on my life to protect any one of your lives with my own if that time comes. However i do not feel safe traveling with some who would not protect mine. Leave the past in the past, all the old quarrels should have ended the moment we were called to action. I know bringing max back will bring up demons from the past, but it does not change the fact he was apart of this team so that means i will give up my life, to help save him... if that is where my destiny so chooses for me to go. "

She took a step back in the crowed she could hear the voices of spirits buzzing in her mind. She tried to shake them off, her aggressive undertone attracted the attention of more then one to many.