Adam remained still as Veti stepped to him, as she took his hand. He was immovable when he chose to be, but now was not such a time. The golem watched and let her grip his dark heavy hand without resisting. It was not often that other sentient beings risked to willingly touch him. He had been built for intimidation, after all. For breaking bones, pulverizing stone, for murder of the most violent sort. Not to receive gentle touches. He privately marked the moment in his mind. Something to tell his feline companion about later. A red-headed human woman had held Adam’s hand for a moment. Although, Adam imagined Optimus would remain characteristically unimpressed.

The golem simply nodded slowly at the expression of thanks given. Veti. He had not decided to seek the ankh to acquire any gratitude, but even he could still feel rewarded by such a seemingly heartfelt gesture. As Veti moved on, Adam stared at his empty hand some seconds longer, until the phantom impressions of another’s warmth faded. Then he let his large hand drop and felt a vague sadness that he had forgotten to give his own name. The touch had distracted him. And the moment had passed.

Battling a golem’s sense of disappointment in himself, Adam slung his hands deep into his coat pockets again and turned sight to the rest of the happenings. There was plenty to see. The large canine with Veti -- which Adam hoped for a chance to pet at some point. Also, a man as grey as death. There again was the one called Nestor and the man’s disembodied woman voice, whose antics Adam was finding a strange affection for. Many of the others gathered blurred in the golem’s mind. They were all… different, yes. Different from those humans that roamed the world obliviously. But Adam had yet to meet many of them, and not all had distinguishing marks that set them incredibly apart.

The child with pink hair did catch Adam’s eye momentarily, though. She reminded him of the female children that seasonally came to his door, peddling their cookies. The golem wondered if she was such a seller of sugary baked goods, even if she appeared drastically grumpier than those he had seen before. Adam always purchased the Do-si-dos for Optimus, but he would wait for a more appropriate time to ask her if she was a merchant of the peanut butter sandwich or not.

Before the golem could further scrutinize the Bain & Hoyle band, Isis came.

Adam did not know how he knew her name, but he did. It sprung to mind without conscious recollection before she had even introduced herself. A name like a deeply buried identifier written in his enchanted makeup, one he had never had reason to wield until now. Something for him to puzzle upon later -- he knew so little of why and how he had been created.

The golem was not exactly awed by Isis, or her words, but her presence affected him, and he remained deeply attentive to the higher-order being. He even removed his sunshades, revealing solid black eyes as sleek and glossy as oil. Then he reached up to remove his fedora, holding it to his chest, as he had seen men do in the black and white movies. At least until he saw from the corner of his eye a creature that stood taller even than he -- and with antlers (Raleigh).

Adam blinked once, twice, then glanced around to see how others were reacting to the goddess and the giant horned nature-beast standing calmly in their midst.

Atticus watched Sethan merge seamlessly back into the knot of the others following their conversation. Despite the mummy’s assurances about his intentions in Egypt, concern still itched in the back of his mind. He respected and trusted Sethan, but Atticus had the distinct impression that the mummy desired much more than answers in his ancient homeland. Atticus ran a hand through his dark hair. There was nothing for him to do about that now, he had given Sethan his word, and more importantly, the matter of Reginald Hoyle’s mission was at hand.

Atticus brought his fingers to his lips, about to whistle once more for attention when Raleigh stated his intentions for following Atticus to help Reginald Hoyle. The incubus looked to the dryad, his jaw tightening with the sting implicit in the statement of them being “old friends.” His eyes drifted away from Raleigh without a word. He had asked the dryad here to mend what had happened so many years ago, as well as for his talents, but if the dryad was unwilling to attempt the first then Atticus would concern himself only with the latter. Atticus resumed his whistle, bringing silence to the circle, the dryad forgotten for the moment.

“Thank you to all of you who have offered your services in Max’s name. As we are under the constraints of time, we must get under way. Before that, I will bring you all up to speed on Reginald Hoyle’s mission. Those of you seeking the ankh will be returning once that is completed to help us with this matter.”

His eyes flitted to Veti for a moment, the only werewolf amongst them. “The Veiled World is nominally at peace following Decima’s defeat. However, her abrupt rise to power was not without consequences. Many of the nodes of power in this world have grown paranoid and anxious of enemies both real and perceived. The werewolf clan government, the Lupus Naturae, are no exception. For those of you not aware, in the past the Lupus Naturae have often culled clans from their ranks that they deemed as threats, or otherwise unworthy of having their bloodlines continued.”

“Reginald Hoyle’s clan,” Atticus continued, “the Teachglach Mac Tíre, was one such clan. They hail from these very hills.” He swept his arms to encompass the dark Irish lands, “And most thought that he alone was the sole survivor of that ancient bloodline. He has informed me that there is another, one very close to him, which is once again being pursued by the Lupus Naturae.”

Atticus’ expression grew very grim. “Though Mr. Hoyle did not state this, I also fear that the Lupus Naturae is not above murdering him as well. He is arguably the most powerful werewolf in existence, and Mr. Hoyle has often spoken openly against the archaic barbarism of the Lupus Naturae. Our job is to stop the Lupus Naturae from harming either Mr. Hoyle or the remaining member of his clan, and further to make the cost so great for the werewolf clan leaders that they give up the endeavor altogether.”

With that, Atticus withdrew a piece of carved bone from his pocket. He walked past his compatriots, examining the Celtic crescent moon symbol in his hand. The bone was smooth from wear and age, and Atticus guessed it to be thousands of years old. It was thrilling to be holding an artifact with such long origins, and the incubus had been humbled to receive it from Reginald Hoyle before he had been instructed to depart for Ireland. Atticus reached one of the stone monoliths, this one no more distinctive than any of the others in the broad circle.

As Hoyle had instructed him, Atticus took the bone-moon and placed it flat against the stone’s surface.

“Le cnámh agus fola, lorg mé síochána,” Atticus recited, his voice low.

Immediately, the ground within the circle began to tremble slightly. Sharp lines began to form, tracing across the circle with bright green tongues of flame. Atticus watched in marveling silence as the lines intertwined and until the formed a great knot with a pictogram of a howling wolf’s head dominating the center. As the knot was completed with its glowing green lines, the wind picked up, whipping and tearing at those within the circle.

Atticus had to yell to be heard above the gale. “Those of you seeking the ankh, go with the goddess. I bid you farewell, and a safe journey. I sincerely hope to see you all soon.” His eyes looked about to those left who would be traveling with him to meet Reginald Hoyle. “The rest of you, stay in the circle, and prepare for an interesting ride.”

---

Isis withdrew from the circle, her silver eyes watching the Celtic magic with a respectful degree of curiosity. As her feet cleared the stones, she held her arms beside her with her fingers outstretched. The wind, so forceful inside the circle, was not but a light breeze beyond its stone borders, and the goddess stood peacefully still.

As she did, her fingers elongated dramatically, morphing as they did into the pristine white feathers of a kite. All along the length of her arms these feathers began to sprout and grow, until the goddess possessed fully formed wings that spanned almost thirty feet from tip to tip.

She looked up to those that were to travel with her, offering them a calming smile. “Please, come, gather before me and be at ease. We have much to do, and little time. My wings will bear us to our destination.”

Nestor
Though he stands some distance away now – caught up in his momentary conversation with Veti – you might notice Nestor dart a pensive glance in your direction; his eyes bear the hollow shade of a man who has seen the very precipice of his own destruction: seen it and somehow escaped alive, if not unscathed. And though you are quite certain the words are not meant for you – meant for no one but himself – his own thoughts, as it were, you fancy you can make out a few snippets:

“And what then, Nestor – when it comes to pass? Will you, too, follow with all the others?” The voice is indistinct, wavering – more a chorus of voices than a single speaker, though speaking with one purpose. The man does not appear to answer, though a shadow seems to pass over his face – he turns away from the others, draws a breath, perhaps confirming your suspicions that the voices do, indeed, come from his direction.

“They are all dead, Nestor – you swallowed us up, one by one... Will you do the same now with those who call you 'friend' here?” And then, without warning – provided you have kept eavesdropping on the aimless words all the while – you blink and find yourself... no, not yourself, but as someone else.

I look down, see the tears pouring from a face grief-stricken – but they weep not for the others, not even for herself... but I know they weep for me... We stand somewhere upon the verge of a grassy field, rolling hills tumbling away into a ravine just out of sight -- out of sight, but not out of hearing, and beneath the weeping comes the soft tinkling of a stream from far below...

And then the weeping woman looks toward you, frowns, gasps out in a soft voice:

“And what do you want, Death Girl? That you intrude as though nothing now is sacred any longer...”

Anastasia

Anastasia, her arms still crossed fumed over the actions of the others still. Her body engulfed in what appeared like green flames, she looked up and saw Nestor flashing her a small glance. With that contact it was as if another plane was opened. She tried to listen to the voices she could hear off the distance, making out what seemed to be a womens voice. Closing her eyes she listened in closer trying to understand what she was saying... " swallowed us up, one by one...will you do the same now with those who call you friend... "

Her eyes slowly opened, had he killed many before. He was a demon so the thought would not surprise her, perhaps these voices were of his victims. This man continued to intrigue her , was this something he wished her to help with. It seemed like a blink of an eye and she was given a sort of vision, her head slowly moving up as she looked off into the distance her eyes clouding over white...

Anastasia sees the women, weeping for what appeared to be her. She looked around momentarily seeing the fields and the hills, the sound of water humming in her ears. Then the women looks at her and whispers softly in her saddened state. She had to think for a few moments as she looked at the women, she paused and took a few steps closer to the women.

" I am sorry, I do not wish to intrude... " she replied concerned for the women. " Who are you..." She asked her softly , a look of confusion on her face.

She had been shown visions before, but one such as this was new. Normally the information given to her would allow her to connects the dots, however this one was different. Telling by the fact that she referred to her as Death girl, she knew this women was connected to Nestor in a sense.

Nestor

Wiping the sleeve of her gown against a slim nose, the woman sniffs and rises slowly to her feet – she first peers at you warily, wide-eyed; fraught with the seeming expectation that you might lunge out strike at any moment – seeing you less, perhaps, as a potential friend, more as a deadly serpent lying quietly in wait.

“I... I suppose if you are here, the reason is a good one...” Here she drops her already soft voice, taking a few timid steps toward you, head darting forward and down as she whispers: “Unless... unless -she- sent you... But no, not here!” She tosses her head adamantly from side to side at this; disconcertingly, she appears to have all but ignored your question and response – though after another moment's silence the woman speaks again:

“To know me, you must first know Nestor – but I cannot help you with that. Rather, with what I can I will...” Her words trail off into silence. She takes several paces back, slender arms stretched outward in a broad, sweeping gesture as she exclaims

"Look"

Anastasia

She watched the women take several steps back, she could feel her heart skip with nerves as the future held things she was unsure of. She watched the women intently as she moved her arms in a gesture commanding her to look.

Nestor

And you see the green hills all about – a strangely incongruous wooden easel beneath a tree just to the right (the painting you cannot make out – blurred and indistinct, as though only the first few layers of colour – here and there bleeding away into the edges of a plain sketching -- what was to be a monumental work had as of yet been laid out), and fields near at hand dotted with the creamy outline of grazing sheep, the furred expanse of several dozen head of long-haired cattle browsing contentedly away; the strange remoteness of it all does not strike you until – without any warning – you find yourself assaulted with sight from beyond: to see this tiny little island of vivid life and peace surrounded by endless seas of shifting ice and hulking floes of frozen granite. And then, just as isolation of the place begins to work its way into you, the unnamed woman speaks again.

“Listen!”

And suddenly you hear – hear the soft wind in the grass, whispering gently through the eaves of a brooding forest, over the hillocks of a downy moor, sweeping into the depth of some valley and finally to go plunging down a steep ravine... Hear the wind shatter into a cold shower and spray of shreaking ice and grinding stone, frozen waves battering themselves time and time again upon weakening shores. There are noises in the air – of pain, of suffering... but of laughter too – of joy, the distant echoes of some lost past wrapped up somewhere in the whole of it all. And then speaks for the third time:

“Feel!”

And in that moment you are overwhelmed, all but crushed beneath the weight of a pain so great that it seems almost exquisite in its beauty; of a pain so sublime that it might almost be deemed euphoric – like the instant of plunging an unsuspecting hand into a tub of scalding hot water... the instant when it all feels terribly -cold- before it burns; or the burning feeling of cold upon bare skin.

But then she speaks again, and you find yourself again in the same place – nothing changed, save only the sky – a thick wrack of clouds scudding in over the eastern horizon, the wind beginning to chill.

“You must go now – our time is short. I cannot allow her to find us here. But you...” Here she pauses, gazes steadfastly into your eyes – “But you... if friend you are, will find yourself again here. Ask her – ask the one called 'Wolf Girl' what the words mean:

“A Demon's soul, but a Human's heart...”

Anastasia

Anastasia was pulled out of her vision when Atticus called attention, the thoughts in her mind swimming around, she tried to gather all the information she could. Her attention moved from Sethan back to Nestor. She eyed him in the corner of her eye trying not the gain his attention. She had many visions before but this one... it felt so real, she could feel the pain, smell the salt in the air and the images bounced around in her mind. She felt drawn to him, wanting to learn more to return to the place she had just escaped from.

The women said wolf girl, possibly Veti, she assumed. When atticus instructed them to chose their path she decided that going with Isis would be the smartest choice for her, not only because they would be searching for someone who was dead but she needed to speak to Veti. she figured it would not be easy, she would need to speak with her alone as to not draw attention to her current situation. The reaper would be on the same adventure, she shuttered at the thought of having to work beside such a child. However, she would not be so quick to judge. It was understanding that a reaper would have such a distaste for a necromancer, perhaps people will soon too realize that as a necromancer Anastasia was not one to use her abilities lightly. Not only did she feel the effects physically when calling upon the dead, she did not favor desecrating the dead.

She walked towards Isis , bowing her head slightly " I will be joining this group to get max back" she said as she awaited the others to join. She knew of a few people who might not enjoy her company on this excursion but she played up the I don't care, facade.

Semyon's slight smile returned in the wake of Veti's greeting, nodding along with her comment. Though he had said the words for her benefit, the Library of Alexandria would still be an interesting sight. Knowledge had a tendency to travel -much like that smuggled gold- and perhaps he could find some old texts from the Motherland upon those shelves. It would make a good gift for Romanoff, who had been complaining lately that her own research had hit a sudden snag. Perhaps there'd be something to help Michael as well, though Semyon felt he had a good lead on those other caches, extra insurance never hurt.

The introduction and following greeting of a Mila... Mila... Mila Mo- Mokosch, yes, interrupted his thoughts. A recent arrival to the company yes? The name was familiar... had Miss Zoey mentioned it when he last passed through the office? Or had a comrade mentioned her? He couldn't be sure, but pondering the thoughts now would only cause him to seem rude.

"Miss Mila... Mokosch, yes? It's a pleasure to meet you." Semyon forced the corner of his lips to rise another half-centimeter as he returned her greetings, ducking a slight, polite bow as he did so. "I've been looking forward to working with you... hopefully I will live up to what others have said."

She hadn't said too much by way of greeting, so he said no more after that. Perhaps trying to continue the conversation would have been better? No, he said enough, the turn passed to her, if one followed convention. Besides... Oh...

Besides, there was now an Egyptian goddess walking through their midst to speak with them.

Semyon turned slightly to take in the figure of Isis, ensuring he remained mostly facing miss Mokosch in case she spoke again. That mollified what concerns remained in the undead soldier's head, to know this mission could essentially be considered an official request to the Company. The payment was unusual, and it was a flimsy technicality in the end, but he would take justification where he could find it.

You learned to make a habit of that, after a while.

"Never flown with the divines, before." Semyon strode slowly over to Isis as she spread her wings, stopping just close enough to be taken along. Then it was time to wait, again. Until the others would join to be whisked away together.

The subtle shimmer of the evening air a few paces away from Nestor announces the appearance of a shade gate; turning toward the unexpected disturbance, the Demonspawn releases a soft breath of seeming relief as his butler emerges from the shadows just beyond the edge of the portal – precisely dressed, as usual, and perhaps looking more at home behind a crisp nameplate arranged around some conference table than amidst the diverse crew gathered that night – the Vampire takes scarcely a moment to sweep his eyes over the assembly, gaze only settling for any length of time upon Isis – for whom he pronounces beneath his breath nothing more than “Hmm.... interesting...” And then turning to wordlessly extend a bulging duffle-bag toward Nestor, remarking as he does so:

“As you requested, Sir. I see you found some more suitable clothes. Hope you haven't been making a spectacle of yourself...”

“No more than usual, Ned” I reach out and accept the comforting weight of the bag, sling it over my should before offering in response: “But you are just in the nick of time; many thanks – consider yourself on Holiday until I've need again.”

The vampire offers a quirk of his lips at this, quipping dryly in response: “The last time you said that, Sir, I recall evading the better half of New York's police force in a mad dash to save you from an unplanned visit to the hospital” Leaving no space of time for a reply, Ned offers a respectful inclination of his head before stepping backward and slipping through the gate mere seconds before it blinks out of existence.

“Oh-ho! And how do you like that, Nestor? Getting a bit uppity with you, don't you think?” Comes the frozen tone of a snide comment just behind his departure. The Demonspawn simply gives a light shrug, adjusting the strap on his shoulder and muttering as he plods to take his place before the awaiting Goddess.

“About time the poor fellow grew a personality, don't you think; only took him – oh, what now? The better part of a century?”

There were a hundred different reasons Veti wanted to wrap her arms around the Reaper and hug her to her so tightly at that moment. She knew Daisy had judged Siya, and found her wanting - even if the werewolf understood intuitively that judgment wasn't entirely fair. Veti knew Daisy was defensively sniping off at the self-proclaimed necromancer too, but she really couldn't help she found it just a little funny - because "catty-Daisy" was actually just "naturally-amusing-Daisy" to the werewolf. Veti loved Daisy's surety. Her courage. Her stubborn determination.

And besides, the werewolf wasn't entirely sure how in the hell anyone could choose Captain Shang over Flynn Rider, but when they got back she'd arrange a damn Disney marathon and show her the error of her ways. It'd be a pleasure.

It didn't really dawn on Veti, the fact she was already thinking such a time even possible somehow made her brighter, that smile far wider and easier and true. "Of course you are Daisy. Never doubted that for a minute," the werewolf whispered in Daisy's ear, giving in to that sudden urge, wrapping one strong, muscular, leather-clad arm around the Reaper's shoulders, pulling her close and kissing the top of her candy pink head with a grin.

Oh, she'd heard Atticus' words about the Lupus Naturae just fine, felt a twinge of ache from all the old hurts, all the old sleights and the rounding rejection of her own kind that had weighed so heavy on her thoughts all the years since she'd been turned. And her heart howled in fury, that anyone would dare - dare - so much as think to raise a hand [claw, talon, tentacle, whatever... ] against Reginald Hoyle. He'd confided in her, the sad tale of what had happened to his clan, the Teachglach Mac Tíre. But she would join him, the only other wolf she'd ever call packmate, or even friend, very, very soon.

There was a goddess waiting on them at the moment though, and Veti had absolutely no idea if Isis was going to toss them some wings of their own, or just *fwoosh* them away in a whirlwind, or just instantly pop them near whatever might remain of that legendary Library - but one thing she did know? This sure the hell wasn't a shade-gate, and that was really all the encouragement to a bit of adventure she needed.

"Race you to the goddess. If I beat you, it's 'Tangled' first when we get back. You - or even Artie? Fine, 'Mulan' it is... " Veti whispered, all the old reservations she'd ever had about the gift Max had given her shed in an instant of pure joy, buoyed by hope. As Atticus opened the wind-tunnel portal to their boss, she turned to catch Siya's eyes, giving her dear friend a wink, and then blew her a kiss.

And then Veti cut her loose, the wolf inside. The lengths of crimson hair wrapped about her face, her neck, into a thick, muscular ruff. If she stood to her full height on her back claws, the werewolf would have easily cleared eight feet in height. Covered from the tip of her long, black-lipped, ivory fang-filled maw to end of her magnificent tail in fur the color of blood, the smile she gave the Reaper now would have sent even the sturdiest human to wetting himself.

But Daisy was made of far sterner stuff - whatever the hell that might actually be - and the wolf dropped to all fours, the wickedly curved, ebony tipped claws digging into the ancient, hallowed lands that her kind roamed centuries ago. Glowing amber eyes lit with amusement, almost as an afterthought, her gaze turned toward the necromancer. The werewolf's voice was low, thick and rumbling growl through those impossibly long teeth. "Ekki vera svo ljótan, lítill álfur. Láta forn kóngafólk án skilningi landamæri sefa meiða tilfinningar þínar. Hann er frekar sætur, þú veist ... "*

And with that she bolted for Isis, determined to - at the very least - outrun the hellhound, the tip of her lustrous, long tail brushing his snout like a naughty child's taunt. Past the golem and the demonspawn, dear Nestor whose very presence endlessly reassured her all was well - even if his demoness was feeling a touch premenstrual. Past the Rusalka and the unspeakably good-looking pharoah-type, toward the Russian wight already joining the outstretched wings of a goddess.

(( *Do not be so grim, little elf. Let the ancient royalty with no sense of boundaries soothe your hurt feelings. He is rather cute, you know... ))

Sethan pondered the "true" assignment that the group had been assembled for, as directed by Hoyle himself. Werewolves, eh? The dead king had no dealings with the creatures prior to his reawakening, and his only knowledge of them stemmed from rumors of such beasts from across the sea and to the south of his kingdom. Many questions surrounded the wolf-men from Sethan's perspective. Where did they come from? What was their purpose? What was the reason for forming their governing body, this Lupus Naturae, and what was its ultimate goal? For such straightforward creatures, there was certainly a great deal of mystery surrounding them. The reason for this goal seemed paradoxical to Sethan, though mostly because he could not read any kind of logic from the workings of this lupine high council, or whatever it was. In times of crisis, power and allies were to be consolidated, not shorn off on a moment's whim. Perhaps he was simply missing the context of their decisions, but it still seemed quite poorly-planned from his perspective as a ruler.

The red-haired girl that he had just addressed a moment before revealed herself to be a werewolf, shifting into the shape of a great, crimson beast. Studying it, Sethan could not help but admit to himself that they possessed a remarkable feral beauty, quite unlike the therianthropes that he was used to dealing with. Werecrocodiles were a most unpleasant sort. He idly daydreamed a scenario wherein he rode a werewolf into battle, but through a slip of his own imagination the werewolf was then replaced with a werecrocodile, and he promptly banished the fantasy from his thoughts.

The group bound for Egypt was forming up in front of the now winged Isis, which Sethan could not help but scoff at. He would much prefer to travel there on his own wings, if that was the designated mode of transportation, but he did not deem it worthy of causing a schism at this early point in their quest. With a quick call to his chauffeur he had his car pulled a bit closer, where he deposited his fur coat (such a thing would be truly unnecessary in the desert heat) and dismissed the driver, though telling him to keep the car until his return. As the Cadillac drove away, Sethan checked his person. Within his jacket, a diamond-encrusted Beretta with a pearl grip was holstered, loaded with a full magazine. On his other side hung an ornate leather-wrapped handle, though without a blade to designate it as a hilt. Regardless, everything seemed to be in order, and Sethan rejoined the rest of the party in the shadow of Isis' wings.

Oh dear. He had meant his final words to be kind. Atticus’ reaction -- clenched jaw, sullen eyes and silent dismissal – indicated a mishap. Perhaps the tone in his voice or the expression on his face had betrayed him, or maybe the matter was so messed up Atticus could not accept such quick and easy forgiveness. Raleigh wasn’t one to snipe and he’d come across as a bitch. Despite knowing better, it still bruised his ego. Some part of his conscious deemed appearance important, ironic given his untimely transformation.

He looked around to see if anyone was looking at him, the others now several inches lower. He saw the dark man in the trench coat blink at him but it was impossible to say what his reaction was, emotion locked behind a granite visage. He was clearly not human even before glimpsing his internal spirit, lustrous jet black skin shimmering slightly under his black eyes. Raleigh even doubted whether the figure was organic. This fascinated him, as well as the uniqueness of the spirit that shone within him. What is that?, Raleigh wondered. He saw that the being had sadly sided himself with the Egypt team and hoped that he would be able to glean more from him when – if – they saw each other again.

A whistle drew Raleigh’s attention from reverie. It was time to learn of Mr. Hoyle’s circumstances and Raleigh swivelled his cervine ears towards Atticus. He was well aware of the savagery of the Lupus Naturae and its bloody past and despised them for their disregard of the laws of nature and lack of compassion for other creatures. Much of their killing over the centuries was prudishly sanctimonious, and in fact was selfish and indulgent. They had constructed the stereotype of werewolves as a barbaric, wild and uncultivated race; in great contrast to the character of Mr. Hoyle. He didn’t know why the Lupus Naturae were like this, what their motives were and are, but whatever the reasons they were bad news and needed absolution.

It was always good when Raleigh felt predisposed to a mission’s objectives. He knew he performed far better when he was passionate about his tasks. He would happily confront the werewolf organisation even if it wasn’t personal to Mr. Hoyle. Of course, that was a huge bonus.

Raleigh flicked away a horsefly with a lazy swish of his tail as Atticus briefly paused. The mists were encroaching again, dispersed momentarily by Isis’ presence. It curled around his hooves, dampening his hairs. The cold came back with it, biting at Raleigh’s exposed torso. He shuddered as Atticus brought out the unusual bone implement. It was as if the land was groping for it with cloudy fingers. Raleigh recognised its shape from aeons gone by. It wasn’t just the cold now that made him shiver and his hairs stand on end. It is no coincidence I was brought here, he feared.

A full moon rippled in a silent lake… No – now was not the time. Raleigh repressed the vision.

Atticus brought the artefact to the monolith he had leant against and spoke in a tongue Raleigh hadn’t in years. His first language. “Le cnámh agus fola, lorg mé síochána.” He had heard it before, somewhere.

The release of ancient magic enveloped Raleigh in jade light. The flames sprung to life like ghosts of old awakened from deep slumber. Raleigh watched in awe as they connected the individual stones to form a circular wall of green fire, a howling wolf head in the centre crooning to the night. The violent wind whipped at his coat and he tottered a little from hoof to hoof to maintain balance. He looked to Dr. Kinnon and smiled before tilting his head to the heavens and stretching out his arms for deliverance.

Siya stood in the circle of Atticus’ arm and beamed past pink-tinged tears. Walking away from Veti was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Harder than watching Max get pulled back into the underworld because it had been a decision she’d made. She knew she’d have to live with the decision for the rest of her days, live with the decision and the doubts that would plague her. Had she done the right thing? She didn’t know that she had but she knew that watching Veti die wasn’t something she could survive through and if the months that had preceded this moment were any indication, Siya wasn’t any comfort to Veti.

But just then, there in the circle of Atticus’ arm, bathed in moonlight, glowing with happiness, she thought maybe, in some small way she’d made a good decision. It felt good, right. She’d been her mother’s little pupped for so long, dancing to her mother’s tune, living her life so that her mother could vicariously have her dream fulfilled. But then just as she’d begun to snip the strings and dance to her own tune she’d been killed, taken by force into the veiled world. She’d been taken by a blood descendant of Morpier, one of the eight. More than that though, it was revealed that not only was she of his blood by the unnatural blood that flowed through her veins but by the mortal blood that had been hers. She was his blood twice over. It made that “random assault” that had taken her life anything but random.

That was significant, though as of yet no one had told her why. She suspected her employers knew and would deign to tell her in their own good time. Which she supposed was another reason to work on behalf of the werewolf part of the equation. Which made her wonder where the Vampire part was, why wasn’t he helping in this situation? She was pulled from her thoughts by Atticus speaking and then the figure that moved from the shadows to join them. Siya’s skin prickled and her eyes widened and had Atticus’ arm not been around her she would have fled. She could feel something coming off of the woman that unsettled her, a warmth that pressed against her and made her itch, like the way sunlight felt on her skin through the UV protective glass that Veti had put in the car for emergencies. Bearable but not pleasant. She shivered and stayed where she was, only barely hearing the words the goddess spoke over the rushing of blood, of power in her ears. Fight or flight instinct filled her and she fought it with all she had.

She was still shaking from her reaction to the goddess and her efforts not to flee when the bald man with his aura that even in her distracted state Siya could only call yummy, arrived and pulled Atticus aside. She watched, her eyes wide at the painfully familiar sight of Atticus walking away from her. The night was cool enough that his heat didn’t stay with her for long but even so her shivering subsided since it hadn’t been about cold it had been about fear and now something stronger than fear filled her. She closed her eyes to the familiar sight of him walking away from her and took several steps backwards until she felt the almost imperceptible warmth of the moonlight, light that had left the sun and been changed by the moon, leave her skin as she stepped into the shadow of a stone.

She stood with an unnatural stillness watching as people spoke, moved, embraced and changed. Her eyes were the only part of her that moved and she took it all in silently. She watched as sides were picked and counted up the teams. So many people going to get Max. It warmed her and made her ache all at once. She moved, tightening her arms around herself as she felt her lip begin to tremble. Max, she was afraid to hope. Because if he came back, Veti would too and she’d have nearly everything she wanted. Nearly.

Atticus’ words pulled her out of her sulk, or brood. It was certainly a brood as it was against vampire nature to sulk. She listened with interest as he laid out their mission and watched with fascination as he summoned green fire with words that made her head spin just before a gust of wind nearly knocked her off her feet. It was only her preternatural speed which kept her upright and she moved forward in a blink to stand closer to the center of the circle, in a patch of shadow that somehow, inexplicably existed despite the presence of the green fire, ready for what was to come. Brooding, not sulking.

Adam’s mind blanked at Isis’ words. He forgot the wonder of witnessing a dryad for the first time, forgot the shocking transformation of the red-headed woman Veti to a gargantuan red-furred canine, and set aside the curious sight of a pale child moving faster than the golem’s eye could follow. He stood there motionless, his carefully sculpted jaw slightly ajar, glittering black eyes wide as he regarded the goddess.

My wings will bear us, she had said.

If a golem was not created for gentle touches, one was most certainly not created to fly. Adam was heavier, far heavier than he looked -- and he looked rather heavy to begin with. What if Isis dropped him? What if he fell in the ocean and was trapped there for all of time, just two futilely kicking legs protruding from the unlit mud miles beneath the surface? What if a giant whale swallowed him like Jonah? What if Adam fell on a bed of rock and shattered to a million pieces? How could he ever rebuild himself?

There appeared to be no choice, though. Adam had given his assent. It was not in his nature to revoke such agreement, nor to provide an alternative for an unfavorable path. It was in the golem’s nature to protect and enforce … and to serve. And “to serve” now meant helping a red-headed werewolf named Veti recover an artifact that would return her lost Love.

He breathed in slow and deep. He had noticed humans did that when faced with a troublesome bargain. The golem had never understood the magic in such gestures, though, but somehow the routine made his broad shoulders go from slumped to squared.

Ponderously Adam stepped toward Isis. He tucked his hat and sun-shades in an inside pocket of his trench -- he didn’t want to lose them while in flight. When he was with the group, he slowly raised his huge hand and covered his eyes. If he was going get accidentally dropped into a volcano somewhere, he didn’t want to see it coming.

Daisy wasn't sure what she'd expected, but this night was turning out to be about as much of a shit show as any Bain and Hoyle jaunt she'd ever been on.

Mummies, and wights, and bitches, oh my!

Even without Siya ditching Veti for no kind of reason at all (or at least one mildly shitty reason), things were weird. Random sexy goddess lady making eyes at Atticus and his new friend. Sprouting wings like that was just something people did. And then Atticus's announcement that Team Max should just casually remove themselves from the abrupt maelstrom that had joined them, completely unbidden as far as she could tell, in the middle of their mini Stonehenge. Which was lame, because even though Daisy sort of resented Atticus for letting Max go -- or maybe for letting her let Max go -- she wanted to see what happened next.

That said, she wasn't feeling especially charitable to Old Hipster Wolf, either. She held him in just slightly more contempt than she did Abacus, and just slightly less than she did Dickhead Boss Vamp. She was, at the very least, glad the latter wasn't here, because she'd lost her temper enough for one night, and she didn't have any witty ripostes ready for the person who'd essentially given the command she kill Max in the first place.

Why her? Did it have to be her? Max just had to be dead, and then taken to the right spot. She could have carried him there, made sure his soul eked past the Gates alright, hunted down Decima's raggedy-ass soul, and taken the two of them right on back to the land of the living. Except then he would have really been dead, instead of just Reaper fare. And she would have been her responsibility, anyway. She still would have been the last to see his soul disappear over the falls, all stoic and shit, like he didn't mind dying.

Daisy didn't buy it for a second. Everyone minded.

Veti pulled her back to the present with an awkward, if entirely too affectionate side body squeeze thing, to which Daisy fought to urge to say, "What is this? What's happening? Why are you squeezing me with your body?"

And then the goddess was sprouting wings, and Veti was putting forth a challenge, and being entirely wrong about every Disney prince that had ever graced the silver screen, and Artie was growling deep in his throat, springing after the changed werewolf, tearing into a wolf form of his own as he did.

Daisy watched, stoic, or trying to be, because she was totally over all of this, anyway.

In the end, about half their group had amassed outside the circle, in front of the walking billboard/sex goddess, who suddenly, for whatever reason, had wings. Maybe it was an Egyptian thing. She forced herself not to stare at the underwear model who'd sought either to comfort or molest the annoying elf to check to see whether he, too, had sprouted wings. Then again, it was entirely possible he'd had them all along, and she'd just missed them, as the rest of his body was, quite frankly, distracting.

She joined Veti and Artie -- who'd actually won their race, she wasn't sure in the slightest; she'd known better than to race a werewolf on all fours, though she was, perhaps, just slightly more eager to join than she might have been otherwise -- and the elf and the underwear model, and a giant silver-ish dude who might have been hewn of pewter or graphite for all she knew. She stared at him for a moment, bored and disgusted by yet another one of Henry's hires who just refused to abide by the normal live-and-die rules of humanity.

Whatever. She was so not about this right now. She was going because she didn't trust any of this people-shaped creatures to get Veti back alive, and if Siya wasn't going to watch out for her, then Daisy would have to. She was going because she'd made a promise to Veti, and another promise to Max a year ago, and she'd fucked that up, and this might be her only chance to fix things. She was going because they were retrieving someone from Death, and that was her wheelhouse as much as she had one, and leave it to a necromancer to fuck things up in any given language. She was going because she had to.

Also, she was going to stare at the mummy's ass.

She was only human. Or something.

MAX

Another change in the fog, another snap from some damn misty half there half not beast, at the edge of some cloudy swamp. Shit, what wouldn’t Max give for some blast of color. This gray crap was getting boring. Before he smacked another hound in this hell with a stick he pulled from some bone guys clutches he looked down at the darker mist below him.

Jump. Why the hell not? He had sat in this creepy broken down tree for oh hell he had no idea how long. The only reason he hadn’t already drove down into the deeper parts of death was because they expected him to. They wanted him to. They called him. Fuck them all. They wanted rid of him. Go save the world and then do the right thing. Since when had anyone counted on Max to do the right thing? He was just gonna hold on and wait right here by this gray gate.

But he had done the right thing hadn’t he? He let that sweet talking boss man and all his groupies talk him into this. No, no, not all of them. Not all of them. It was Thadd more than anyone that had dumped them both in this gray world. He wanted to save Veti and Siya and that freakin’ Nestor. How did that drunk dude wiggle into this mix? Must be that chick that stole his boots. Oh yea, Max was a hero. Fuck heroes.

Max could just let go of this spot he carved out in this colorless tree by the gate and just fall. He could go now into the depth of things swinging and fighting. Not a bad way to end, really. But there was some unexplainable tug from the lifeless Thadd that told him to hang on just a bit longer.

For how long? Max was getting antsy.

Truth was he had no idea if it had been a day, a year, a decade. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t like anything here kept track of time at all. Thadd sure wasn’t counting the days in his pleasant encased slumber. Figures he would get to just lay there and Max would be in some god damn tree swinging at invisible gray things. It’s payback, just fucking payback.

The warlock prince charming never did like the fact that Max won Veti. The happiest that shrilling little magic worker ever was, was when he was Max. Max snorted and his own mist of gray clouded his vision. Who was he kidding? Max wasn’t anything without Thadd. He was nothing now. Just some shade of charcoal hitting shit.

Thadd was dead. Was Thadd dead? If he was why wasn’t he falling through this grey shit. Max was sure that dude was not heading in any other direction then this when he finally let go of that tiny little all brain body. But then Max never did get this two bodies in one thing. Max wasn’t real, right? He was just some image Thadd made to fuck Veti.

And the only smile Max had in this fog was when he thought of Veti. Damn that bitch was a hot wolf. Damn if she didn’t mess up everything for Max and Thadd. Pleasantly, surprisingly, sexually. And when the hell did he begin to care so much about what that piece of ass thought and felt? Thadd never expected anything so...so...hot. So hot Max was burned into the warlock. Not that either of them minded all that much as long as Veti was the reward. And it wasn’t as if it didn’t burn her some too. She was a damn sexy chick but even a hotter wolf. Wonder if she regrets it? Max doesn’t. Thadd doesn’t.

But he should, shouldn’t he?

Ah well, all that is just shades of gray like another piece of housewife porn. Put that in a book and smoke it. Most likely some other freak has found Veti and pulled her out of her sorrow. If its been more than a day, more than a week maybe. More than just another misty fade to black by a gate that never opens.

Mila was surprised Mr Makarov recognized her. As far as she could remember they hadn't met before. The Rusalka had been so absorbed in her research the past month, it didn't leave much room for socializing. Bain & Hoyle did have some interesting faces around, ones worth meeting. Her research had just been more important. Seymor Makarov was a an undead as far as she could tell. She didn't know what kind, if his name was any indication he could be of Russian origin. Russia was a good distance from Bulgaria but still part of Eastern Europe. For some reason the fact he was from Eastern Europe made her feel like she could trust him more easily.

"I'm convinced you won't disappoint" She said with a slight bow, which made her hair fall over her shoulders in waves of red copper. Whoever invented that brush shaped hair dryer was a genius. With a final polite smile to Mr Makarov the Rusalka made her way to the others gathering underneath the wings of Isis. Her wings were magnificent and strikingly beautiful as was the rest of the Goddess. Mila almost caught a sense of envy only to realize comparing herself to a Goddess was ridiculous.

It had seemed inevitable for the group to spilt up after Atticus made his proposal. For some the decision had been easier than others. The way they split was quite the spectacle. A rush of green fire spread across the lines appearing on the ground after Atticus had inserted the mysterious artifact into one of the stones. Mila quickly followed Mr Makarov to the Egyptian Goddess, wings outstretched ready to whisk them away to the lands of the deserts. Butterflies were fluttering wildly in her stomach, not so much at the prospect of flying but more so at the scorching desert sun. It had been a long time since she'd traveled to a land such as Egypt. Her memories about her previous "vacation" weren't all that pleasant.

"I much prefer the depths of European lakes, I tend to get a sun burn quickly" She joked. While that was largely true, Mila had spent most of the last century at her lake in Bulgaria. A change of scenery and company would be good. It filled her with a sense of reality and purpose, instead of the dream like existence she sometimes slipped into. Bathing, combing her hair and dancing with strikingly handsome young men was incredibly fun but not enough to satisfy her, not anymore.

Her green-blue eyes passed all of the employees in team Ankh as she dubbed it. She realized with a hint of panic, Henry wasn't there and she couldn't remember him stating he would join them either. She had expected he would. The desert probably wasn't his favorite place either but he was part of the team who knew Max right? A troubled look played across her features and she crossed her arms in front of her chest. She wanted Henry to go too. Who else was she supposed to joke around with? She wanted to make a bet to see who would dry out first. Henry probably, since she had her comb with her and could summon water anytime she needed to. Hopefully he didn't know that, besides it wouldn't be cheating. She called it making use of your resources.

Her frown quickly turned into a hearty smile at the sight of the tall stone man. She'd glanced at him during the meeting now and again. She had thought him to be all dark and mysterious which made his gesture all the more endearing. He was covering his eyes with a large polished hand. The Rusalka walked over to him stifling a giggle, a playful gleam in her eyes. The top of her head didn't even get to his chest so she couldn't reach the hand covering his eyes. Instead she took hold of his other hand, tugging gently at his arm. If he was truly a stone man, he must have had a beating heart somewhere since his "skin" wasn't cold like real stone, not as cold as hers. Her skin never regained the warmth it had when she was alive.

"She's not as scary as she looks" She said with a amused giggle. Mina couldn't quite tell why he was covering his eyes, but people tended to do that when they were scared and e seemed to be quite human. She couldn't say the same for the rest of her team. Veti had transformed into a magnificent red wolf and a dryad was towering over them a little ways away. It was awesome, she had never seen so many supernatural beings free of their humane disguise. Even she housed a somewhat monstrous transformation.

Atticus had to brace himself against the wind. It had grown in strength until the gusts threatened to lift him from his feet, and the dust that whirled around the circle soon came to obscure the group clustered around Isis. The wind howled in his ears, and though he tried desperately to keep sight of Siya amongst the debris, she and the others became lost in the darkness. The green glow from the circle at his feet grew in intensity as well, until it dominated his vision.

He opened his mouth to call to those around him, but the words were robbed from his throat. What seemed like an eternity passed, and the wind blew so loud that it seemed to repress the ability of his mind to think. Then, as quickly as it had come, a black, utter calm came over Atticus.

No sound reached his ears, and no light shone to his eyes. For several long moments he stood frozen in place, his feet firmly on ground, but as yet unseen in the enveloping gloom. Slowly, almost tentatively, color began to seep into the black like ink onto the edge of a page. Atticus could see that the rest of the party was gathered around him, just as they had been in the Ardgroom.

They appeared to be in a high ceilinged cavern, illuminated warmly by several glowing orbs placed at where the cavern’s walls met its floor. Atticus looked around to each of the group in turn, nodding to them in a gesture of reassurance that everything was as it should be.

“Welcome to Alaska,” came a guttural voice from just beyond the orange sphere of light.

Atticus turned on his heels towards the voice. Out of a cut doorway in the stone came the hulking form of a werewolf with handsome mottled gray fur and eyes of rich amber. As the creature stepped fully into the light, and amongst the group, it began to rapidly shift until all that remained was the short, round figure of Reginald Hoyle, fully clothed and sporting his signature bowler hat. Atticus let out a soft sigh of relief before moving to shake the man’s hand.

“We’re glad to be here to help, sir.”

Reginald smiled to Atticus, and then to the others of the company. “I trust the journey through the Deep Wind was not too unpleasant?”

Atticus snorted and smirked, “I think even after what transpired last year I’d prefer a Shade Gate.”

“Quite so,” Reginald said with a twinkle in his eyes. The werewolf turned and beckoned for them to follow. “Come along, my friends. We’ve much to discuss,” and with that, the small man disappeared into the darkness.

Atticus fell into step behind Reginald, but not before quickly turning to those around him. “Mr. Hoyle didn’t inform me we were to be coming here directly. Just a heads up, we’re about to meet his sister. Whatever you do, be mindful of your body language. Keep it calm and clear.” He glanced to Siya, “Try not to show your fangs. And Henry…” He pointed to the Siren, “for our sakes don’t let your magic slip into your voice, or it will be the worse for all of us.”

The wind howled around him like the call of an ancient, powerful beast. It seemed to bite at Raleigh’s skin with a hunger that threatened to claim him at any second. He opened his eyes as the discomfort increased and saw colour – the swirling green flames and the overcast sky – drain from the world to black oblivion. I am dead, he thought for a split second, hurled into the abyss of Tartaros to await judgment if indeed there was any. The darkness lingered.

He knew he was in transit but he didn’t think it would be so slow. Panic prickled at the back of his mind, jading his thoughts against his better logic. What if he was stuck here? What if this was death? Ridiculous thoughts of whether he’d done enough good in his long life to escape this false purgatory eked out from his conscience.

Raleigh’s eyes had been swivelling around blindly in the nothingness all the while, not even seeing his own body. It was there, he validated by flexing his hands and shuffling on his four legs. He pinched his arm and felt a sting of pain. If this was the end, why was he still corporeal? This hope was his lantern in the darkness.

There! Out of the corner of his eye, Raleigh saw. A patch of colour, though dull by normal standards, beamed through the pitch black and spread like wildfire across the blank canvas. Another patch, then another, and another. It was like God had taken up his old paintbrush and started anew. The patches grew and merged and finally put together the jigsaw scene.

Raleigh stood in a rocky cavern, limestone by his reckoning, arched high and wide. Glowing orbs on the floor revealed there was or had been a sentient presence here and they were versed to some degree in magic.

Lichen coated the walls in large yellow splodges, indicating rich oxygenation. There was an exit then.

The air was indeed fresh, and cold and moist. The cavern was fluvioglacial he predicted, sculpted by meltwater seeping into the bedrock and eroding the alkaline sediment. They were somewhere glacial or postglacial, alpine or tundral.

He could smell damp, fur and a bestial musk. Wolf.

Raleigh focused in on his immediate surroundings. Atticus was ahead of him and gave him a curt reassuring nod. He reciprocated.

The voice from the darkness made Raleigh bristle. It was not human. A grey stooping lifeform came into the orb light. His nose was never wrong.

Raleigh knew the glinting amber eyes. He relaxed as the werewolf morphed into human form, wind- and age-burnt face contoured magnificently in the orange luminescence and a rare white beard that put Atticus’ to shame. Typical that he’d be in that bowler hat. Mr. Hoyle.

His smile gave Raleigh’s heart warmth against the Alaskan frost. It was hard to imagine the man could ever die despite his advanced age, the youthful twinkle in his eye ever present. Raleigh smiled back, proud he was there.

Raleigh stepped after Atticus’ lead and hearkened to his caution. Werewolves could be unpredictable creatures. Perhaps it was best to shift back to human form.

He transformed again and felt the cold on his genitals. Wait – what? He’d forgotten his untimely and incompletely warded metamorphosis had shredded his clothes. Dr. Kinnon wasn’t the only butt of this joke. Cursing under his breath, Raleigh relievedly found his satchel was still intact and tottered to the side. He opened it to reveal a toiletries bag, now remembering Dr. Kinnon had all but stripped it bare. For fuck’s sake, he swore.

“Sorry, but does anyone have any spare clothes I could borrow?” Raleigh stood facing the group.

Dr Kinnon Blair

Kinn had been watching the proceedings with care, he did not want to miss out on anything, the god woman's transformation was not entirely unexpected. Neither was seeing a eight foot tall red furred werewolf go running past. However when the green light started swirling out of the ground, Kinnon was fully enveloped in a not unfamiliar sense of...What?.. He could not quite recall, it was like a rich aromatic blend of his favourite herbs and spices woven into a blanket.

Which was abruptly pulled away from him as they all plummeted into a darkness so complete it went beyond the absence of light. He felt his pulse quicken at the unexpected means of travel, he thought to himself, at least this time there are no fairies. Somehow that manage to ground him, He understood how many portals worked, this was not something he had much experience with, he tried to break through the blackness, trying to glimpse anyone or anything. It was a futile practice but one his mind was now fully engaged in.

A sudden intrusion of light, a blend of colour, a breeze carrying with it the scent of a dog, no a wolf. Kinnon's feet were touching solid ground, he knelt to examine the floor, gingerly touching it at first just in case. Limestone, he thought.

He stood up and looked around, he could make out the outlines of others, especially Raleigh, who was still standing a good nine feet tall.

Mr Hoyle stood before the group, He was looking his usual self, except Kinnon noted that he looked somehow older. Kinn did not understand the Lycan bloodline fully, he had been allowed to take a few blood samples from a couple of werewolves that had been infected with a mutant strain of rabies. He knew that the constant breaking and reshaping of bones would eventually take it's toll. But this was different.

After being informed of where they were and who they were going to meet, Kinn wished he had been more prepared, he wondered if he would be able to make a detour back to the Sanctuary, to pick up some things they might need. He did not even have the luxury of a field kit. He looked over at Raleigh, now in human form. Just as the Dryad spoke. Kinn smiled. At least this time he was not the one standing naked after a spot of magical transportation.

Isis waited for the group to gather within the span of her wings. She sensed many different feelings amongst them, and the colors glowing from their energy were of every shade and intensity. She wondered how their colors would change when they reached the archives, and the vaults beneath them. A smile curled the corner of her full lips. Surprise and awe would be the prevailing colors, she thought, and the goddess looked forward to seeing the light show when they arrived.

With the swift and tumultuous departure of Atticus’ lot from within the stone circle, all was calm and quiet in the Irish night air. Isis closed her silver eyes, and with a gentle motion, she encircled the group with her wings. As the white, gray, and black feathers closed around them all, a warm darkness enveloped them. The goddess immediately felt a slight tug upon her back as she initiated the jump through time and space.

To those encompassed by her wings, there would be a strange and detached feeling of satisfaction, of quiet joy, and towards the end, a distinct wave of tingling euphoria. The journey was a pleasant and calming as Atticus’ had been frightening. In just scant moments, earth could be felt beneath Isis’ feet, and she opened her wings. The darkness was lifted from around the group, and rich golden light met them gradually like a new sunrise.

At first glance, Isis had disappeared, and the group was met with the sight of a gargantuan vaulted library, built of copper colored sandstone columns, and lit with dancing sconces of magical fire. The columns rose to almost a hundred feet high, and each was painted and decorated in the style of ancient Egypt. Hieroglyphs and the effigies of innumerable gods and heroes marked the columns, and the ceiling so far above.

Suspended amongst the columns were giant rows of carved stone shelves, all packed with books, manuscripts, scrolls, tablets, and all manner of medium for the keeping of knowledge. Creatures and beings of every form and figure moved through the stacks, reading and browsing through the most comprehensive treasure of information in the Veiled World. This was the Library of Alexandria. The true library.

Isis appeared suddenly then, this time as a large swallow-tailed kite, perched regally upon the massive shoulder of Adam. Somehow, even in the form of a bird of prey the goddess still appeared beautiful and timeless. Her still silver eyes flitted about the group, marveling in their reactions to the library, and the splendor of its presence. She allowed them several minutes to take in what they were seeing, and to acclimate to the thick, musty air.

“Welcome to the Library of Alexandria,” she said, her voice filling their minds instead of their ears. “You are in halls that some say are the most treasured in all the realms, and I think you can see why.”

Isis tilted her head to the side and clicked her sharp beak. “I suspect however that the majesty of this place is only a novelty to some at this juncture, which I can fully understand.” Her eyes affixed on Veti, and she blinked her large eyes several times, studying the colors of emotion coming from the werewolf.

“Let us begin then.” Isis swung her head, and indicated that the group should follow the target of her gaze. Her eyes were looking deep into the library, down through a massive opening in the columns, to a stone wall that possessed a tall, pointed archway.

Though no doors barred the archway, no light seemed to filter into the space, making it impossible to see inside. Flanking the entrance stood a pair of gigantic stonework statues, each depicting a humanoid jackal, with ears alert and pointed forward, strong muscular bodies, and menacing Khopesh swords. At the moment, the statues stood utterly still, their eyes lifeless and blank.

“There is where your journey begins,” Isis said, indicating the archway. “Through that gateway lies the vaults, and somewhere in those vaults we will find the ankh.” The kite’s feathers bristled. “Those that guard the path are servants of Set, and you must find your way past them. I regret that I cannot help you with my magic beneath these walls, but take solace in knowing that I have faith in your abilities.” Her eyes moved back to look to the group once more.

“Be mindful, once you engage the cronies of Set, the Guardians of Alexandria will not take kindly to you threatening these hallowed halls. You must be as swift and decisive as possible, for once you are through the gateway and into the vaults, the guardians will not follow. That is the only way we shall survive this encounter. I must say, that despite your collective might, no being has yet to best the Guardians of Alexandria.”

Siya didn’t like the traveling, it was too black, too still after the howling wind. The unrelenting black which had nothing to do with sight, was too like deep sleep for her. Sleep that was death for the little vampire. But like sleep the black ended and color slowly moved back into her awareness like “life” did back into her limbs. Then, in the blink of an eye she found she was in a cave in the exact same configuration she’d been in before. She looked to the others and then to the cave, blinking her dark eyes and trying to not be unsettled. It seemed wrong to her that they could have moved and yet not been moved. At least in the shade gate one walked in and one walked out, there was some physical exertion, not this simple relocation. She shivered and tugged at the ends of her soft grey scarf, tightening it around her slender throat.

She jumped when the voice spoke and even emitted a little “eep!” of alarm which annoyed her to no end. She was a vampire, the last scion of a powerful line and she simply shouldn’t eep. She scowled which was an expression that did lovely things to her doll-like features, though it was never as intimidating or brooding as she imagined it was. She leveled that adorable ire at the figure whose voice had made her react so strongly and held her tongue. She liked the werewolf elder largely for Veti’s sake. For all that she found him hard to read, people she liked and respected, liked and respected the man. So she followed suit. Besides, things with him were considerably less complicated than when dealing with things involving the Bain end the company.

She had moved to follow Atticus into the dark after Mr. Hoyle when the incubus turned and offered his advice to the lot of them. Her scowl flickered into hurt surprise and then tightened back into a scowl which was most certainly not a pout. Vampires did not pout after all. When had she ever been untoward? What had she done to require such a caution? She had always done her best to hide her nature, to be as human as possible because at heart, she hated who and what she was. She stopped and scowled and wondered if she’d made the wrong choice, if she’d gone with the wrong group? But it was done, she had no means to correct the mistake if a mistake it was. There was hurt no matter which way she went. This hurt, little needles of doubt and neglect was surely less damaging than having a chunk of her heart ripped out, surely.

She took yet another step, trying to force her face into something like cool, detached professionalism, unsuccessfully, when one of her companions spoke.

“Sorry, but does anyone have any spare clothes I could borrow?”

She turned and felt her mouth twitch in a grin as she beheld the sight behind her. A tall, red-headed man with lovely pale skin dotted with ink in Celtic style runes stood nude in the cave. Not as impressive as Atticus’…. Ink… but it was not exactly a hardship to look at either. She seemed to recall Atticus speaking with him before they’d left. Maybe the mission hadn’t been a mistake after all.

She bit her lip and walked towards him, her small fangs out, pressing into the soft flesh of her lips in bratty defiance of her orders. Her steps were graceful, hinting at the dance that was in her blood and even her hands as they rose to her neck and untied the soft grey scarf seemed to be part of the dance. She removed it just as she stood before him, tiny and fragile next to his height. She stood on her tip toes and looped the scarf around his neck and adjusted it so it was snug against him. It smelled faintly of lilacs but was cool to the touch as it settled against his skin.

“There you go.” She said, “All set.” And then turned and with mischief in her eyes and sauntered into the dark after Atticus, lips curled into a grin which covered her fangs but somehow the presence of fangs was conveyed in the motion of her hips and the proud cant of her head.

Floating weightlessly in the ether of a space caught between time, Nestor found himself exuding a peaceful smile for the first time in a dismally long while; he did not seem inclined to so much as open his eyes, rather quite willing to let the feeling wash over him: the gentle lapping of waves on a quiet shore, and just time enough to contemplate the thought that this indeed might be death – and perhaps death then would not be so bad after all...

And then her laughter cut through his thoughts, a girlish squeal dying away in the vast expanse of formless nothing:

“Ahh, but isn't it lovely, Nestor Dear? Perhaps they renamed this particular Goddess Molly – after a few thousand years of hiatus... and now...”

“If you so much as -think- it...”

“Too late!” More laughter; the unintelligible gibberish of words caught up in the fabric of space as things begin to grow more corporeal around us. I could not help but admit – even if keeping the thought spitefully to myself – the lurid play of feeling and pure emotion did have a markedly druggish feeling; but there were other things to think about – for one the remarkable nature of our new surroundings. I felt a bit embarrassed to admit that I had, in all this time, never once visited the great library at Alexandria – though still I took some solace in the fact that I had personally sent more than a few priceless books and rare artefacts into the care of its guardians. For all I knew my name was engraved somewhere on a shiny little bronze plaque, but I didn't really care to ask; this was a place Demonspawn had never been especially welcome, even if they'd always been more than happy to ask -my- help in obtaining. And as much as there was the distinct urge to go off strolling through distant aisles of ancient lore... well, the present – quite unfortunately – was calling.

Though Nestor appears to take several long moments to scrutinize his surroundings, exhibiting an almost childish interest in the endless accumulation of information arrayed all about, his attitude takes on a far more businesslike demeanour the moment Isis gestures toward the awaiting statues and the vault beyond. He wastes no time, carefully sweeping a jumbled pile of books to one side of the nearest table, disentangling himself from the dufflebag and plopping it atop the newly cleared space.

The Demoness, however, seems far more bent on giving rein to her curiosity – and without so much as a glance to her surroundings snatches up the nearest tome at hand, cracks open the cover (without seeming to notice the title) and begins rifling rapidly through the pages, ice-veined hands a flurry of activity.

Paying her no mind, Nestor continues to swiftly empty the bag of its contents; acting for the moment as if no one were there – as though he were not, in fact, in the centre of the largest and most distinguished library of the entire veiled world – he nonchalantly begins divesting himself of the clothes borrowed from Atticus; the replacement is far more utilitarian in nature. Having just finished lacing up his boots, he stands and frowns to finally take notice of the Demoness: she has by now commenced walking in slow circles around Adam, periodically 'hmming' to herself, now and again pausing to peer at the book, then back toward the Golem.

“Oh, Nestor! Look! Vastly intriguing “The Anatomy of the Golem and his Kind”...” Here she pauses, places a wickedly clawed finger against her lower lip, draws her brow and lips together into a displeased moue before remarking: “But I'm quite afraid it's rather fake... fake or very much behind its times. A shame, really. I'd only just been getting to the part on 'Golem Mating Habits'” Another pause, a wink and a sultry kind of smirk in Adam's direction as she impishly states – “a whole new meaning to the term 'Rock Hard', don't you think?”

Nestor grunts gives a noncommittal grunt at this, scoops up his leather harness and begins strapping his various bits of equipment down – the better part of the objects seem ambiguous in nature, all sleek leather and polished bits of steel – all quite hidden from view by the time he has finished and pulled his jacket over top. Leaving the bag to lie where it his, he pads over to where the Golem stands – one hand rubbing on his chin, he eyes the distant statues critically, before remarking aloud to Adam:

“Well, what do you say, Master Golem? A sword seems marginally... insignificant... but I think between the two of us we could deal with one. If you're willing to lend me a favour or two...” Here he pauses, squinting, then turning to size up the Golem beside him; the Demoness closes the book with a snap – laughs manically at the cloud of dust that billows upward, before flagrantly sending the thing whizzing into a random corner, narrowly grazing some poor scholar's unsuspecting head as she claps her hands together delightedly.

“Yes, yes, Golem-Who-Smokes! A favour... though it involves nothing rock-hard, I'm afraid...” Nestor snaps his fingers irritatedly at the woman, butting back in.

“I need for you to hurl me – as hard as you are Golemically capable” Here he pauses, cocking his head to the side and gazing up at the creature with a lopsided quirk of his lips – “And do not worry, Master Golem – I may not be built as you, but I much tougher than I look. Afterward, get ready to catch -him- before he falls into anything... expensive...” Here he gestures toward the statue before continuing “And don't worry yourself about me... just do be warned! – I can only promise he won't be conscious. Not for how long.”

“Nor how righteous-pissed he'll be upon rousing in the arms of a Golem!” She shrieks directly afterward, clapping her hands together again as she adds “Four centuries Nestor, and you're still coming up with new ways to injure yourself!”

Nestor shrugs lightly in response, addressing the Golem once more: “I imagine you can handle things from there; if not, I shan't be far.”

The transportation left Sethan just slightly shaken. The act itself hadn't been unpleasant, but the idea of it still bothered him. His entire person had been enveloped in Isis' magic, left completely at her mercy. The implied subservience to her whims was what upset him the most. Sethan was a king, and he bowed to neither men nor gods. There was also the matter of her teleportation trick, which to Sethan chagrin, he could not replicate. He would have to make an effort to learn such a feat, once more important matters were attended to. Still, his feeling of shame was short-lived, as he was soon overcome by the sight of the Library of Alexandria. Though he had never before visited this particular location, its construction made for a familiar sight. The dry, cool air of night enveloping him, and the countless stars in the sky were calming and reassuring to the dead king. Without a shadow of a doubt, he was home. Sighing softly and shutting his eyes, he allowed himself a moment of quiet relief, a few stray tears streaking silently down his cheeks.

Alright, that was enough of that. Sethan wiped his face with his handkerchief and cleared his throat. There was work to be done. Striding ahead of the group and into the library, he studied the arrangement of materials on the massive shelves. After only a moment's consideration, he was able to discern the method by which they were organized. Time and space, date and location. Not a terribly complicated system. Isis had noted that their goal was through the large and obvious doorway, so it would be easy enough to link back up with the group once he had obtained what he needed from the library.

Still, he couldn't risk being delayed any further than his task would require. The various things lurking in the library would have to be kept at bay somehow, and Sethan knew an elegantly simple means of doing so. His shining golden aura was in fact something of a cover produced by his current, a glamour atop a glamour, meant to conceal the true nature of his presence. To give him a bit of breathing room, he let his true aura shine through. The difference was apparent almost immediately. No longer did he appeal to the third eye as a glorious God-King, but as one of the Deathless. Something without death, not wholly divorced from it, merely beyond it. Shadows near him warped and twisted, whispering secrets of eternity in half-forgotten tongues. To look upon him was to know the futility of mortality. All would be dust in the winds of time, but his works would not. Death would come to every thing on this Earth, but not to him.

So as to not infect his party with the Sybaris, the sickness of the mortal, he quickly broke away from them, speaking hurriedly as he delved into the library, "I have personal business to address. I will rejoin you shortly, do not wait for me."

Sethan was very soon out of sight, hidden by the library's darkened depths. He scanned Hieroglyphic labels on the shelves furtively, trying to find the object of his desire. Pacific Isles, Indo-China, ah, here it was, Asia Minor. Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh and, yes, good, Eighth Century, Anno Domini. He let his intuition guide him as he searched through this particular section, before eventually stumbling upon a weary tome with a distinct Arabic title. Al Azif, the sounds of night. The mating calls of a particular breed of nocturnal desert insect, long believed to be the howls of tormented demons. While his superiors at the corporation did not know, he had quietly been seeking leads to learning the fate of his lost kingdom, and several had referred him to this particular grimoire. Very few copies still existed thanks to the Crusades, and most rested within the hands of either B&H Co. themselves or their close affiliates. This would likely be his sole chance to obtain what could very well be the original printing of the book.

Preferring to leaf through it in privacy, he gave a hard glare to a nearby soft jelly-thing, which then dejectedly slithered away. Sethan flipped through the book's yellowed pages, skimming over the book's contents. This was an antiquated Arabic dialect, and so he wasn't able to comprehend all of it, but he could already tell that this was indeed the book he had been searching for. The recollections of a particular Arab scholar who had managed to sleepwalk into a set of Iremite ruins, and returned to society a year later, well out of his mind after learning much that mortal men were unprepared to know. A particular couplet stood out to Sethan, which after translation amounted to:

"That is not dead which can eternal lie.
And with strange aeons even death may die."

He would have to study it more carefully at a later date; for now he tucked it away within his suit jacket for safe keeping. His first order of business complete, he reigned in his aura and once again disguised it, before hurrying along to the doorway at the far end of the library. With what he could so far discern from his companions, they were likely to get caught on some contrivance or another (most likely each other) and take up a great deal of time in doing so, and he was thus likely to meet back up with them there.