—— About half an hour later…

Something was wrong with Morgan’s truck. The engine control software, unable to keep up with the way the she’d had to throw the steel behemoth around, between, and sometimes through traffic had left the transmission in a place where the engine had red-lined for much longer than it had been meant to. The shocks, too, seemed like they hadn’t been up to the task. Something in the rear clanked and squeaked, protesting every bump and roll on the unpaved road. That was, of course, beside the broken window, blood-soaked passenger seat, and several holes in the truck’s roof, cables and upholstery fluttering in the breeze. She hadn’t even tried the radio - some unknowable ichor had pattered down from one of the holes, and the display now only showed something that could be an eldritch symbol, or nothing more than dying electronics.

Malone had regained consciousness, one of Leon’s masks still perched on her nose. Malone’s wound had finally stopped bleeding, but not before Morgan had sacrificed the tee she’d been wearing, wadding it into a makeshift pressure bandage. She still had a jacket - zipped, now - but the inside of the car was chilly enough to make her skin prickle. That she’d managed the entire process of pulling her shirt off, ordering Leon to hold the shirt against Malone’s shoulder, and putting her jacket back on at well over highway speed had led to at least one quirked eyebrow, but Morgan hadn’t offered any explanation.

After all, she had other things on her mind. The way Leon smelled, adrenaline and clean sweat; the coppery smell of Malone’s blood, the almost electric sensation of her bare hand touching the woman’s skin, the way her mind was utterly unprotected. They were both temptations on the order of a fine cigar to a terminal nicotine addict - no, worse. They were a syringe and tourniquet, the way to fill an emptiness she could barely describe, and she only needed to reach out and take them, and everything would be all right.

But she already knew that for the lie it was. So Morgan let out a low growl and piled the truck though a puddle that reached to the lug nuts and she shivered under her jacket, trying to ignore the way Leon’s eyes were boring into the back of her neck.

In the back, Holt - or Tragellan, via Holt - had remained quiet, but her eyes still burned with the ferocity of Eleanor’s jade-green eyes rather than Holt’s watery orbs. Morgan hadn’t said anything, either about or to Holt-Tragellan, but the sight made her stomach turn. She caught a look at the woman though the rear-view mirror, swallowed, and turned her attention back to the road.

“Turn left, Manny,” she said into her cell phone, the little device warm against her left breast, “There’s a short road, and then you’ll see…a house,” she sighed.

Morgan hauled her own wheel over, eliciting another chorus of squeaks and groans from the truck, and another jounce from something on the roadway. A moment later, the truck passed between what had once been tall, wrought-iron gate posts, reddish rust catching the last dying embers of sunset. The gates themselves, once imposing and ornate, lay ahead, fallen into the road, the designs and bars bent and twisted, and served only to pull more squeaks and rattlles from the truck.

Ahead, the road widened out into…a large and stately country house, the kind that you would otherwise see in baroque period romances. The walls were stone, the windows tall and narrow. Fallen branches and the first golden leaves of cooler weather skittered across what had once been a smooth stone roundabout in front of the building. No lights were on inside, but all the windows still had their glass. The large double doors were battered and weathered, the finish damaged around the doorknobs and with splinters around the hinges. A chain was wrapped around the handles, secured with a large combination lock, below a very faded sign that did its best to ward off trespassers.

Morgan pulled the truck up close to the doors, then reached over and turned the car off. The engine clattered to a halt, coughing and wheezing its way to silence. A moment later, the second truck pulled up behind, and Morgan turned to look behind her at the headlights. The movement bought her gaze across Holt’s again, still with those blazing green eyes.

She watched them for a moment, and fist of anger punched from her stomach though her heart, and she felt the hot sting of fury against the back of her throat. With a twist of her body, Morgan wrenched the door open, taking a moment to glance back at Leon and Malone.

“Malone, can you keep pressure on the wound yourself?” At the woman’s nod, Morgan turned to Leon, “All right, I’m going to have a…talk with Tragellan. I need you to watch Holt. I don’t know what’s going to happen when she gets her brain back.” Her voice was clockspring-tight, each word bitten off.

With that, Morgan stalked toward the other vehicle, the doors opening while the others members of the Group untangled themselves. She saw Eleanor step down from the car, her expression distracted, and Morgan’s long legs devoured the distance between them in a few long, swift strides.

With a viper-quick movement, Morgan slammed the door shut behind Tragellan, the hollow boom echoing off the stone wall of the house. Her hands balled around Eleanor’s lapels and shoved her against the steel, not quite rough enough to injure her…probably. Morgan leaned close, pinning Tragellan against the car. This close, she could still feel the strange, erotic thrum inside the woman’s mind, but for once, she found the sensation almost trivial to ignore.

“Let her go, Eleanor,” Morgan said, her voice an icy snarl of barely-contained fury. She leaned in close, and whispered in Tragellan’s ear in a voice she knew would not carry, “We both already know you’ve hurt her, but if you don’t stop this, by all the gods there ever were I will make you stop.”

Kennedy found it hard to breathe. She wasn't new to the paranormal activity. Hell, it was why she was part of this group in the first place. However, it didn't mean she liked it. And when that...thing attacked, Kennedy could only stare in stunned horror. It wasn't until Manny told her to take the wheel that she was transported back to reality.

Some quick driving allowed her to maintain a solid speed and avoid most damage. Thankfully, the others seemed to handle whatever that creature was. She would be asking questions later. LOTS of questions.

Manny came back in and resumed driving which allowed Kennedy to sit back and observe. She remembered something. It was a small detail, but one that caught her attention. A small decal on the van. It looked like waves. She would research it later when she had access to her computer. It screamed corporate to her. Did that mean some corporation was after them?

In all her thinking, Kennedy didn't realize they pulled into somewhere. She stepped out and took a look at the building. Instantly she recognized it. "This is the Lachallan Society’s headquarters. I remember reading about it. What are we doing here?" Kennedy could also make a faint 'No Trespassing' sign. The house itself looked very old, but otherwise decent enough. She had to wonder what the plan was.

As she stepped forward, Morgan charged over to them and made a beeline for El. It was a fury she hadn't expected from the otherwise level-headed woman. She could almost see the rage coming off of her. Eleanor had to have done something to warrant it. Kennedy backed off. She didn't want to get involved in this little drama, plus it seemed the others were in need of her attention more.

She ran over to the others, noting the sign again had information about the FBI being involved. Perhaps she would need to cash in another favor? She looked over to Leon and Malone, "Are you ok Leon? Need me to grab anything to help?"

The world blazed in thousand fold relief. Ellie, through her new eyes, could see things with a clarity that was almost painful. Information poured into her mind from two sets of eyes, two sets of ears, two senses of touch but rather than overwhelming her with a glut of information it synergized into a crystalline perfection. Afterall she did have to minds with which to process it, and the additive effect was greater than the sum of its parts. Most of two minds anyway, sealed away in a corner of her consciousness, Madeline existed in a gentle reverie walled off, for the most part from what her erstwhile employee was using her body for. Ellie thought she was probably happier there, safe from the grief of her dead sister, segregated from the fear of a new and alien situation. Madeline’s lips curled with Ellie’s smile.

“Let me take a look at the wound,” Ellie-Madeline said. Unfamiliar fingers reaching out to examine Malone’s neck. There was a lot of blood and it looked extremely painful.

“Obsidian cuts cleanly, minimal crush trauma,” Ellie-Madeline noted, pressing the profilers head gently to the side. There were some surgeons who operated with obsidian scalpels as the stone could be fractured to a keener edge than even surgical steel. Malone was probably lucky that it hadn’t cut any major arteries.

“She left her bag… That is I left my bag at the terminal,” Ellie-Madeline continued. A frown touched her lips at the momentary slip up in control. Was there something wrong with the spell? That seemed unlikely, if a spell failed it usually did so during the opening moments due to some error or lack of focus. Ellie-Madeline banged against the chair beside Malone as her muscles moved independent of her own command, her head striking the window with a dull clunk. There was no pain, That particular aspect of Ellie-Madeline remained Madeline’s. Ellie-Madeline reached a curious finger to her lip where she had bloodied it against the glass. She peered at it for a moment perplexed. In the corner of her eye she saw the figure of Morgan slam Ellie into the side of the SUV. Focus fell away like a collapsing sand castle.

“What…” Ellie’s focus crashed back into her own body with the suddenness of ice giving way beneath a reckless skater. There was sudden intense vertigo as her mind struggled to adjust to two sets of inputs without the mental processing to handle it. Morgan was holding her against the side of the van and was snarling something at her. She blinked her eyes as the spell crumbled, one blink to Madeline’s blue and then one blink to her own green, her pupils dilating till they were nearly completely black. The world steadied and she heard a choked scream from the car in which her other self had been tending Malone. The door opened and Madeline tumbled out lip bloody and eyes wild with panic.

“Eleanor, Eleanor come back!” the woman whimpered her voice that of a scared child whose mother was nowhere to be found. Covering her eyes with her forearm, she shivered for a moment and then turned and vomited onto the grass beside the parked car. The effort seemed to drain her and she toppled to the side and curled into a fetal position. There was a sudden shocking vision of Madeline and Cassandra playing in a park as children, golden light streaming down from a sky Ellie had never seen. With and effort of will she blinked back psychic bleed from the aborted spell. The loss of intimacy was like a shock of cold water after making love and it twisted at her on a level below that of conscious thought.

“Miss Blackwood,” Ellie enunciated the syllables perfectly, her voice devoid of all expression but her emerald eyes smouldering with suppressed anger. From her fetal position Madeline also spoke the words in exactly the same tone and at exactly the same time, resulting in a disconcerting, almost ritualistic echo. It seemed Ellie wasn’t the only one experiencing bleed through.

“Kindly control yourself and remove your hands from me so that I might see to Miss Malone.” The backlash of the magic she had worked washed through her like a tropical evening, her skin prickling. Morgan knew enough about magic to know that both the binding and the possession would damage Madeline’s mind. All geas tore at the psyche, at an instinctive level the ensorcelled victim knew what was being done to them was a violation of their own free will. Given enough time, or a clumsiness practitioner it might lead to mental break down or worse T-Syndrome. Madelines voice faltered midway through the sentence and she shuddered, the last of mental entanglement fading.

“I’m sure you have your own business to which you should be attending,” Ellie concluded, laying unnecessary emphasis on ‘own business’ to make her point abundantly clear. She cast her gaze around her team, making the statement a general one after the fact.

Malone swam into consciousness.

"Well, hello there, sleeping beauty." Ku's voice welcomed her back.

"Ku...?"

"Yeah, it's me. Do you have some other demon mask stuck to your face?" The grumpy tikki responded.

"What happened?" Malone sidestepped his barb and asked.

"You fainted." Ku deadpanned.

"I lost consciousness." Malone corrected staring down at her shoulder. There was a bunched t-shirt covering her wound and a male hand holding it in place.

"Sure, sure, tough guy." Ku laughed in her head and Malone couldn't help but join him at her knee-jerk 'tough guy' act.

She felt fingers on her neck, pushing her head aside and a familiar voice asked to take a look at her wound. For a moment she felt confused. Ellie was in the second car with Manny and Kennedy, wasn't she? Suddenly Malone remembered Madeline speaking with the voice and inflection of Eleanor. It was Madeline's fingers touching her right now. Their decidedly non-medically trained client was offering her first aid, spouting medical jargon like the best of them. This was not right. An unknown force drove Malone's body to sway sideways outside of Madeline's searching hand's reach.

"You're welcome for that too, by the way. How's about you pay me what you owe me now?" Ku's voice sounded in her head resuming his spiel about payment and Malone was reminded of a lyric from Rihanna's song 'Bitch, better have my money'.

"Yeah, yeah, pipe down, Rihanna." She uttered, grinning at Ku's pinched face at the barb. The demon mask had obviously felt something off about Madeline and had made Malone move to protect her. If Ku had reacted like that, something most certainly was afoot with their client.

Suddenly her attention was drawn away from her chat with the demon mask. Morgan was speaking to her and Malone heard something in her voice she hadn't before. The profiler didn't have time to respond before the other woman stormed out of the SUV. Seconds after Madeline sobbed something that sounded like 'Eleanor, don't leave me!' and promptly stumbled out of the car, spilling onto the ground like a puppet that had its strings cut.

Malone opened the door of the SUV and exited the car with a grumble. Her gaze fell on their client. Madeline was laying on the ground in a fetal position. A pool of fresh vomit next to her. The profile crouched down beside her, but her head turned to what was happening near the second SUV. Morgan had Eleanor pinned to the side of the car, rage telegraphing through every movement of her body. Malone's attention was pulled back to Madeline when their boss demanded that Morgan let her go as she needed to take care of Malone and followed up with what sounded like a veiled threat. All of this the ex-FBI agent heard in a freaky stereo as Madeline was speaking the same words in unison with Eleanor.

"Guys..." Malone spoke to Manny and Leon. "Would you mind helping our client inside? We don't want the bad guys to catch us with our pants down right after all that effort to evade them."

Malone tried to stand up, but was abruptly brought down hard on one knee, dropping her makeshift bandage to brace her good hand on the ground to regain her balance. She gave herself a couple of moments before the dizzy spell passed and carefully stood and approached Morgan and Eleanor with determined steps. When she reached them, she shifted her body so she was looking at Morgan and managed to get her left hand up and place it on Morgan's forearm with effort. A new wave of nausea hit her and she struggled not to sway. Don't you bloody dare faint right now! She summoned all of her Irish ancestral stubbornness. Cuz that would be such a terrible cliché.

"Let her go, Morgan!" She rasped infusing her voice with as much calmness as she could muster. Her own insides were churning with quiet anger. She was no expert in magic, but she was no fool either. She could put two and two together well enough to understand Madeline had just been violated in some magical way by their boss and she could not, would not stand for that! But this was not the time for infighting. They needed to show a united front against an unknown enemy that exhibited a distinct cult mentality. And cultists were known for their blind devotion to their cause. And so they possessed the very unity their own team desperately needed right now as they had inadvertently dipped their toes in a pile of shit.

"Morgan." Malone insisted again but this time her voice was not but a whisper and she was more leaning into her side as attempting to pull her arm off Eleanor. She couldn't have even if she wanted to. Morgan was taller and heavier than her on top of being full on raging at the moment. The profiler didn't think she had ever seen the mysterious Miss Blackwood exhibit any such strong emotions whilst in the company of her team mates. This was something that she would dissect later in her mind. Right now she needed to diffuse this situation sooner rather than later.

"Morgan..." She made one last attempt. But this time her voice was so quiet it managed to be somehow almost intimate. As if she was speaking only for Morgan to hear, her blue eyes pleading. For what even she herself didn't know exactly. "Let her go." Malone finished and turned to look at Eleanor. "This is not over." She said, dropping the polite tone and the friendly 'Ellie' she always employed when talking with their boss. Her blue eyes burned with anger and disdain.

He quietly walked over to Malone and set a hand on her not injured shoulder.

“I need the glasses back. Consider it a senior order for you to go inside now.” Leon instructed, “Kennedy you can help her or help with Madeline your choice.”

The whole time one thing E said was echoing in Leon’s head. It bothered him perhaps unnecessarily, but he couldn’t contain the thought now. He stepped up beside Morgan and stared down his boss.

“This is our business, Tragellan.” Leon said, using his boss's last name for the first time as far as he remembered, with the same deadly seriousness as when he placed the mask on Malone, “Or did you forget that our job is to deal with people who harm others through paranormal means? I certainly didn’t join it as a social club.”

Leon sighed and looked down towards Madeline. The woman looked broken. The experience was certainly going to be chasing her for the rest of her life, and that was the last thing someone on the outside needed. He wasn’t sure there was much he could do for the immediate or long-term effects.

Leon turned to Tragellan again, “Honestly, what went through your mind that you had to pull something like this? Morgan and I have been doing this for years. Malone’s catching on as fast, if not faster, than anyone else we’ve brought in. You couldn’t just leave it to us? I don’t care how long you’ve been doing this. I don’t care if this is insubordination. You trust us to do our jobs, and you do not cross that line except in the absolute most dire of circumstance. Because once you cross that line you’re the kind of person we hunt down. And I certainly don’t get any pleasure from hunting down a friend, but like I said I don’t do this for fun.”

“Manny, help me move the client. I’m a witch doctor, not a doctor doctor.” Leon sighed trying to figure out what he could do to help the woman.

The telltale click and chuck of the opening and closing truck door announced Manny. He let out a long breath, shaking his head at the scene before him. Morgan and Ellie were at one another's throats, with Malone and Madeline on the ground or sick. He could feel the tingle of magic in the air, and it turned his stomach. In his experience, magic was on a 'need to use' basis, manipulated to combat the creatures and people that abused it. But his team was rank with the preternatural.

"I need a cigarette," he said to no one in particular. The car chase along with this drama wasn't what he'd signed up for. At some point he'd go back to freelance work. But maybe it was too early to call this case a failure. They could pull this off as a team if they could work as a team.

Not that you're much of a help.

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed, making himself move. He saw Kennedy fretting, and called to her. "Yo, see if there's some bandages in the house. Or even paper towels will work. Best thing we can do now is stop some of these girls from bleeding." He gave her a nod, showing he trusted her. His long legs carried him to Madeline, and he leaned down to help pick her up. "You know I aint a doctor neither." He replied to Leon, hauling the client up and helping to carry her inside.

He'd deal with what was happening out here as soon as Madeline was on a soft couch. He didn't know what was happening with those women, but this was getting far too occult for his liking.

Kennedy didn't know what to do. She felt the panic set in. She didn't feel she had the authority to stop the fight, but she didn't know what use she was otherwise. Just what the hell was that thing that attacked them? She had known going in this would be no easy ride, but if that was what their enemies were capable of, perhaps she was in over her head. She wanted to pack up, get back to the airport, book the next flight home, and curl up in her bed and await herself losing her mind. She could feel the tears welling up.

And then he spoke.

She didn't know why and couldn't place the feeling, but when Manny spoke, just the tone of his voice soothed her. It was a command, a suggestion, but perhaps he could tell she was battling inside her mind. It was busy work but needed. After all, they had injured. She nodded her approval before she set for inside.

She wasn't expecting much. The house itself wasn't barren, but it was obvious by the amount of dust that it hadn't seen visitors for a few years. It was almost like everyone disappeared in a puff of smoke. Still, she searched the first room. She was hoping for the basics of supplies: some bandages, maybe some tweezers in case there were bullet wounds, antiseptic, pain meds. She found bandages in the kitchen, but the bottom floor held nothing else of note. She made note of the rooms in case it became important later. She wasn't sure if they planned to spend too long here. Given this was a former cultist's house, it would be good to investigate.

She set for upstairs. The stairs creaked at each step. She hoped she wouldn't fall through and have that be the end of her. Thankfully, she made it to the top. She cursed herself for wearing heels, opting for flats or gym shoes on her next go around. She took the first door and found a closet. There were more bandages there.

As she made her way to the next door, a growing sense of dread set in. She didn't know why, but as soon as she opened the door, she got her answer. She held in what scream wanted to be let loose.

On the bed, were three skeletons. Judging by their frame and size, they were no more than 14 years old.

She had seen dead bodies before. She had been in the morgue with a cadaver cut open. She'd seen skeletons even. Still, it wasn't expected. She took a few deep breaths before she calmed herself down. She walked inside. The paid the bodies little mind, they could sort that business out later. Instead, she went into the bathroom and found most of the supplies she needed: some pain medication, some antiseptic, even some tweezers (though smaller than she hoped). She scooped it all up and left the room, putting the bodies out of her mind for now.

She rushed back outside and set the supplies down. "I know some basic first aid, but if someone with more experience could help, that would be great. After, we'll have to talk about what else I saw in the house."

Morgan glanced at Malone, her hands still balled into fists and gathering in Eleanor’s jacket with white-knuckled anger. She was used to living a life of suspicion, but this particular betrayal cut much deeper than she had expected. The Group, its members, and even its mysterious benefactors were supposed to be helping mortals, to defend them when they didn’t even know that something was with an intent to do harm. That was the reason she had sought them out in the first place - well, one of the reasons, at any rate. That was the trouble with being a monster with a conscience; you knew all too well what monsters were capable of.

And now here she was. Eleanor had crossed the line that Morgan had strained against for her entire life, and she’d done it without needing to, and now someone who didn’t deserve it might be damaged forever. Not only that, but the Group was in danger, and no matter what was going to happen, they would need the skills of a Practitioner of the Art. That meant that, at least for now, they would have to work together, they would have to be side by side. Or, at least, two sides, side by side. Malone turned to walk toward the house, and Morgan pulled Eleanor an inch closer.

“You’re supposed to be better than this, Eleanor,” she said in the woman’s ear, her voice a velvet-lined hiss, “You’re supposed to be better than me.” Then she stood and straightened, letting Eleanor’s jacket go and turning away herself.

The Lachallan House stretched into the darkening sky above her, the locks and chains on the door already having been bypassed by someone else in the Group. There were others already inside, the doors gaping open and showing the dust of at least a decade over every surface in the house. Morgan put her hands in her pockets and made her way up the stairs, trying to suppress a shiver that ran down he back that had nothing to do with the rapidly chilling air.

She felt herself coming a little unraveled, the tight control she kept over herself shaken not only by Tragellan’s behavior but by the scope and depth of whatever had been waiting for them at the airport. These...sorcerors, or whatever they were, had managed to tap into some kind of real power, something with a depth that she hadn’t expected and hadn’t seen in so long that she’d hoped to never see its kind again. The car chase alone - what would people think? And, for that matter, why weren’t there any police cars coming or a helicopter hovering over the house? The implications were more than a little troubling.

Morgan nudged the door open with her foot, keeping her hands resolutely in her pockets. She already felt like there was too much to process and the last thing she needed to do was touch something in here, at least for the next few minutes. Through the door, she sawfootprints in the dust, but it only took a moment to see that they were only those of the Group’s - or, in other words, nothing out of the ordinary, or at least nothing that made footprints.. She closed her eyes, shook her head, swallowed down a thick feeling in the back of her throat, and turned back to the car, making her way to the others clustered around Holt.

“Let’s get her inside,” Morgan said, “There’s a parlor off the main room here, with a fainting couch. It’ll get her off the ground and in the light, somewhere Tragellan can take a look at her. Then maybe we can figure out what’s going on.”

She looked at Kennedy, and saw the worry on her face, “This place isn’t…it isn’t good,” Morgan said after a few moments, “I think I know what you saw. It’s much worse than that, but if we stay on the first floor, there’s a lot more that’s…well. Not normal, but safer.”

Malone was standing, which surprised Morgan a little - whatever the totem mask had done seemed to be working, anyway. She thought about offering the woman an arm to lean on while she made her way into the house but - no. Morgan didn't need the after-images of whatever the tiki had done to Malone in her psyche and right now, she wasn't entirely sure what would happen if she touched Malone's skin, accidentally or otherwise. She was, suddenly, aware of the thinness of the jacket she had around her shoulders and her skin prickled in reaction to something that had nothing to do with the chilly breeze.

She watched Manny and Leon carry Holt with all the care they could manage, which was more than Morgan thought. Running on memories and with almost automatic steps, she guided them to a door that hadn’t been opened in decades, pushed it open with a creak. The parlor beyond had been painted in tones that, over time, faded to various shades of ‘alarming,’ but the springs and cushions could still manage. Eleanor fit on a fainting couch and only overflowed it a little, and there were pillows to prop up her head, her eyes open but unseeing. Morgan moved back to the door, and gingerly flicked a light switch, standing well back. With a pop, a crackle, and a couple of fizzles of instantly-blown bulbs, lamps came on in the parlor and filled the place with the warm glow of incandescent light. All the dust, spiderwebs, and everything else a neglected property accrues were thrown into warm relief, but nothing leapt or scuttled out to attack them.

In the light, Tagellan moved to examine Holt, and Morgan turned away from the woman - or, rather, everything she reminded her of at the moment. She could feel the other members of the Group’s eyes on her, the questions that were hanging in the air, drawn tight and incandescent.

Morgan drew in a breath, blew it out slowly. She didn't turn around to face the other members of the Group, her eyes closed, memories from decades ago flowing back through her mind.

"All right. We probably shouldn't stay here long, although I can't imagine who might come to look for us," she said. "This place was the headquarters for the Lachallan Society, and it's been in evidence with the FBI for...a very long time. Officially, it's still in the custody of the Bureau, but...well. There's been some mistake with the paperwork, and while the bills are still getting paid and someone comes in once every so often to check on the place, I should expect that almost nobody at the Bureau knows that this place is still on the books." She cleared her throat, "I should know, because I'm the one that did it, and I'm very thorough when I want to be. We'll probably be safe here for a few days at least, but I also don't know if we'll want to stay here that long."

"Most of the worst things that happened here were upstairs. I'm not going to guess which one Kennedy found, but I will say that what's up there...well. There's are reasons that-" Morgan's voice hitched, and she swallowed, "that the Bureau - that I - got involved."

There. That was it. The closest she'd come to admitting the truth, and the closest she'd come to telling anyone in so, so long. She felt her shoulders tense up, felt tears burn at the corners of her eyes. Not tears of shame or anger, but of frustration of what she was certain was going to be a drowning inevitability. Someone would ask, and she'd long since resigned herself to telling the truth: She was one of the things that went bump in the night. She was the kind of thing that the Group - and the Bureau, and the mercenaries - hunted down. There would be consequences, and a long life had told her to prepare for the worst. So far, she hadn't been disappointed.

Would she run? She didn't know. She wouldn't hurt them, certainly. There were other things at stake here, and the Group would need one another far more than they would need Morgan, she was sure. But she also had no intention of being killed by a Tiki mask, no desire to return to the crushing void behind the mind of mortalkind. She flexed her fingers, and closed her eyes.

"I don't know what happened on the highway," Morgan said, "That...thing that chased us. It attacked Malone, and I'm going to guess that stabbing her wasn't the only thing it did. And we need to find out how they knew we'd be here, how much we've been set up." Morgan turned her head a little, just enough to put Tragellan in her peripheral vision, "I'm concerned that this may not be the first time Holt's mind has been invaded. Whoever these people are, they had Holt's sister. They had her blood, and they clearly have a Practitioner among them, or something that's channelling power through them. Making a link wouldn't be out of the question, even while we were on the plane."

She took in another breath, but blew it out in a slow stream instead of speaking further. What came next would be...what came next. They were safe, for the moment, and together, for the moment. There were too many questions, the air was too thick with secrets, and there was too much that wasn't what it seemed to be. Maybe with a little time, they could see a way forward. Maybe they'd find that way together.

Or maybe the next thing she knew, Morgan would have to contend with a silver spike in her spine.

It wouldn't be the first time.

Manny gave a wink of trust to Kennedy when she set the items down. She was quick on the draw, he'd give her that. He cleaned up Madaline as best he could, disinfecting where he saw she needed it before attending to Malone. He'd known Malone for awhile now. "Here," he said simply, dabbing her wounds with the antisceptic and bandaging her where he could, before giving the ex-agent a nod and a pat on the shoulder.

He and Leon then lifted Madaline up, and set her down after shifting through some odd angles they had to pull while navigating through the halls of the uninhabited manor. The floors creaked every so often under their boots, and the dust tickled his nose. Even so, he could smell what Kennedy had alluded to earlier. There was something off about the place. Something he felt in the crown of his head. A taint he had been vaguely aware of for awhile now.

Setting Madaline down, Manny placed a hand on a knee and lifted himself up to his full height. As she began to speak, he waltzed to the side, taking out a tic tac and slipping it into his mouth. He made his way to the wall, and lifted up the window curtains to let some fresh air in, only to reveal a brick wall where the window would be.

Lazily tonguing the tic tac, he closed the curtains.

He hadn't even turned around fully by the time Morgan let slip a hint of just what she was. It caused Manny to halt his turn and blink, gazing inwardly. His body was still, but his mind moved like a jaguar on an empty freeway. His eyelids twitched once, and his gaze fell downward, and he sighed. Manny turned around, suspicion and open judgement on his face as he stared at Morgan, looking her up and down in a single glance.

He didn't move. He didn't move because his greatest urge was to go for his gun.

But that was just habit speaking to him. He knew Morgan, and he knew otherworldly beasts. There'd be no way she'd reveal anything about her true nature now that could benefit her other than a heartfelt confession, though why a demon would have such a compunction he couldn't tell.

Whether the others had drawn the conclusion he had based on what she said wasn't certain. He was a detective after all, and he'd never really known what spells Morgan had wrought to give her that sensual aura he saw around her everywhere she went. The spells that even effected her movements. The spells that weren't spells at all. He'd been sensing something entirely different. The musk of a demon succubus.

He let a few more moments pass as he thought for a moment. To most people's probable surprise, he instead walked out. "I'll be outside," he told them, his eyes lingering on Morgan for a moment, and then Kenney, and passed over the others before he strutted out of the room into the early evening, the heat of the day still somewhat lingering as the sun was lowering in the horizon. It would have been a lovely sight if the day hadn't been shit.

If he had a cigarette, he'd be smoking it. He would cast a ward around the house, and would feel a disturbance as soon as he was finished. As if something was softly pressing upon his mystical senses, only to break into a thousand pieces after a moment. Which meant someone had been watching the house through magical means.

He leaned against the walls now, spitting out the now white and tiny tic tac, and breathing out as he leaned his head back. "Fuck." he breathed.

Tension was still high within the group and not thanks to the car chase from hell. At least Morgan wasn't on Eleonor's throat anymore. She'd reluctantly let her go and now all of them were heading inside with Leon and Manny carrying their client between the two of them. Malone trudged along, her shoulder pounding and Ku droning in her head his usual spiel about blood compensation and how he was a war god and how dare she call him Rihanna. She was ignoring him, mostly. In her current condition his constant griping was beginning to get on her nerves. Well, since Leon had requested him back she would be most elated to comply once they were inside the house and she had her but firmly planted on a piece of furniture. Manny had provided some basic first aid on her shoulder. He'd cleaned the wound as best he could with the materials Kennedy had brought to him and left her with a pat on her good shoulder to help Leon with Madeline. Malone muttered a raspy 'thanks' to the man, glad to know he really did come through for his teammates when it mattered.

As the group entered the house and spread out to explore rooms and take care of the injured, which would be Malone herself and their client Madeline, Morgan started explaining about the house and how she knew to stash the team there. Listening to her the ex-FBI completely forgot to remove Ku and even to sit. This somehow felt more important than her waning strength and diminishing stamina. Was the secretive Morgan Blackwood finally going to reveal something about herself to the group. And why did it feel like she was almost fearful to do so? Like whatever she shared with the team about herself would lead the others to turn away from her somehow.

Malone tried to peace together what little she knew about Morgan and fit in any new info she might have pilled up, but it was increasingly more difficult to do so with her disappearing strength and Ku's constant droning in her head. Morgan was talking about the history of this place and what Kennedy had discovered on one of the upper floors upon her first cursory search of the house. Apparently this used to be the headquarters for the Lachallan Society. Wait? That cult Morgan spoke of during our first meet with Madeline. But how could she have been involved on behalf of the Bureau back then?!? Didn't she say that that case spanned the late thirties and the early forties of the past century? Malone's brain stalled. But how could that be possible? That would mean that Morgan is... That she isn't... That...

The profiler looked over to the person in question. Morgan had an air of resignation of sorts about her. Almost as if she were thinking: There, I've said it! Do with it as you must! But what could they do? It's not like she'd told them anything specific. Her words only alluded to something... something potentially big. The proverbial big reveal. But it was as if she was letting the members of the team make whatever they may of the information bomb she'd just dropped. And right when they were in the middle of a shit storm. Ambushed at the airport, indicating the moves of the Group were closely watched and followed. Or those of their client, Madeline. Chased down by thugs and then an unknown disgusting demon thing that had even managed to tag her with some nasty-ass dagger of shorts. As if on cue, her shoulder throbbed with a dull ache, followed by a slight pull and an answering mutter by Ku. "Oh, no you don't. Not while this war god is on the job!" The pull dissipated and Malone regained her lost focus.

This was so not the time for big reveals. God damn it, Morgan. Could you not have waited until we were done with this shit bag of a case? Malone grumbled internally and Ku chuckled in her head at the gripe. For some reason the ex-FBI did not feel threatened by Morgan's little share moment though. Sure, the conclusions that had to be drawn from the information presented proved that Miss Blackwood was not entirely human, if Malone's math was correct. And she would be the first to admit that it often wasn't. But not in this case. Out of nowhere she flashed back on her first encounter with evil. Her first face to face with the supernatural world. The day she became convinced that pure, unadulterated evil really did exist. She'd stared it in the eyes. She had come to know it. Understand it. Delved into it's twisted physique. To the point where she could recognize it. She felt none of that when she looked at Morgan. A mysterious person, without doubt. Someone who keeps to herself and others at arms length. Sure enough. But nothing twisted. Just a ton of restraint and guarded privacy. No evil!

Armed with those thoughts and conclusions Malone approached Morgan. If the woman feared what she'd just revealed might pit the Group against her, Malone needed to demonstrate she, at least, still trusted Morgan. And she did. It was largely instinct, but padded with a fair amount of deductive conclusions based off of tangible information and facts.

She drew closer to Morgan pulling Ku off her face with the words: "You can have Rihanna back, Leon. Too high maintenance for my taste." Then she turned towards her intended target. "Morgan..." She started, but as soon as the glasses left her face, her body lost all cohesion and she dropped ungracefully on the nearby armchair unresponsive.

Universes swirled all around her, in her, part of her, until she was the universes. All of them and none of them. They existed, but they didn't. She was the universe and she wasn't. Lights, sounds, darkness, silence. Everything and nothing swished and sloshed. Ebbed and withdrew. Pulsed. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. The incessant, rhythmic thrumming of the pulse. Her pulse. The universes pulse. It's pulse. It throbbed. There and everywhere. But there first. There foremost. Always there. Now always there. Now and forevermore. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum! It was a language. Or a code. Or a language-code. She understood. It spoke. To her. Her alone. It was her language. And its. Hers and its alone. She listened. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum! It spoke.

Suddenly she found herself in a stuffy closet of a room. She was a man, skinny, almost emaciated. But she felt no hunger. Only fear and elation. She-he was entrusted with a task. They were to spy on them. The sister had to be acquired. But she'd brought others with her. And not just some random helpers. These were powerful defenders. He could sense it. A which with a power beyond measure. And there were others who held power as well. He dared not delve too deep to find out lest they sensed him. He needed to inform the Master. The Master should know of this.

Malone was pulled out of this universe and thrust into another. Distorted. Vile. Gruesome. Disturbing. Familiar. Sought after. Welcoming. Beckoning. Alluring. Inviting. She melted into its fabric. Purple. Pulsing. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum! Yes! Her language. And its. Hers and its.

"You were not to touch them!" A chilling disembodied voice cut through her mind, their mind, like a hot knife through butter. They shattered with fear. "You alerted them to our involvement."

"No, Master!" They protested weakly. "We only meant to follow..."

"WE!" The voice interrupted. "You merged with one of them?!?"

"We... I... tried, Master... Failed... Was expelled!"

"Yet you return to our sanctum with this bleed through! INCOMPETENT INSECT!!!" The voice terrorized.

Before Malone was deconstructed from the vile universe she glimpsed a face. But not a face. It could not have been a face. It was no face she'd ever seen!

"Cthulhu fhtagn!" Malone shouted, suddenly blinking awake, springing on her feet to stare at a mixture of concerned and shocked expressions. She opened her mouth to speak and darkness enshrouded her as she lost consciousness for the second time this day.

Ellie's skin buzzed with the aftermath of Morgan's contact even as her lips curved into a tight smile of controlled contempt. None of them really understood what was going on, none of them had seen what she had seen. Still dizzy from the prematurely terminated spell she headed into the house, her sinuses tensing from the sudden dark dustiness of the interior. The place fairly reeked of Power, old rituals but still potent hung in the air dancing on her witch senses like rain on a tin roof.

As she stepped across the threshold, Kennedy came rushing down the stairs with an armful of first aid supplies. A stab of pain at the loss of her well stocked medical bag ran through her as the lawyer reached the floor.

"I know some basic first aid, but if someone with more experience could help, that would be great. After, we'll have to talk about what else I saw in the house," she declared. Ellie nodded mechanically, giving herself a moment to order her cascading thoughts. Malone didn't seem to be in immediate danger but that was no guarantee.

"Talk to me," Ellie told Kennedy, steering her by her motion towards where Madeline Holt lay mumbling quietly to herself. Kneeling beside Madeline Ellie lay a gentle hand on the womans forehead, then touched the womans pulsing artery, feeling the erratic thrum of blood beneath her fingertips. It was fast an arythmic to her touch, Ellie frowned darkly at Morgan's arrogance. She should have known better than to disrupt a spell so complicated. Whatever had possessed the woman, normally one of the steadier of her subbordinates, to do such a thing. Perhaps, Ellie thought, it was more to do with Morgan than it was with her. And Leon, did he really think 'things had been undercontrol'? Dear Goddess, Malone had been stabbed in the neck and it was only by the grace of fate that Manny's bullets had done the job.

"Are you ok?" The words dragged Ellie back into the moment and she realized Kennedy had been speaking to her.

"Tell me what you found," Ellie said, wiping Madeline's face with a sanitary wipe to remove the vomit that still clung to her lips. Then, carefully she pressed her fingers lightly against Madeline's temples.

Eleanor. I'm here Madeline. I was so scared. I know. Someone broke our connection. Who. It dosen't matter I'm back now. Will you stay with me? I can't Madeline. Please I don't want to be afraid anymore. It will be better this time, I promise. Please...

The mental conversation took only a heartbeat and as Ellie lifted her fingers from the other woman and her breathing visibly relaxed, sighing into unconsciousness. The taste of violets flooded Tregellan's mouth as she closed the spell correctly, smoothing the ragged edges of the earlier disconnection. There was damage done to Madeline's mind, neuromancy was like a drug, particularly if the victim was scared or traumatized bot of which were true of Holt. Still the woman had said she was willing to do anything to get to the bottom of her sisters death hadn't she? Ellie might need her again and once the connection had been made it was easy to reestablish.

...Meanwhile...

"That is not good enough," the speaker declared in a voice that could etch glass. He was a tall powerful man with a handsome open face. The years had been kind to him, touching his black hair with the faintest trace of silver at the temples. His subordinate, a younger man in a business suit with a sky blue tie and a small silver crucifix pinned to the lapel, shifted uncomfortably.

"I spoke with Tom Wade in Chicago and he says there isn't much on them," The subordinates voice was steady although slightly tightened with the strain of bringing bad news to the Pastor. The subordinate, like all those who had received grace, didn't feel fear as such but to displease the Pastor was a worse fate than death.

On the ornate desk of polished wood a handful of personal items sat, along with glossy full page surveillance photos of each of the interlopers, both of which had been acquired from the airport. In central pride of place was an expired FBI badge identifying an Agent Blackwood.

"Blackwood appears to have some connection to the FBI, its not a forgery, though Tom said that the first female FBI agents werent commissioned until the mid 80s. There was some older black programs though, out of the old Office of Naval Intelligence, that went underground with the Church committee." The subordinate tapped another photo as he spoke.

"Sadhbh Malone former FBI profiler, officially removed for misconduct, might be partnered with Blackwood. The other woman Tregellan, has some connections to the CIA but its hard to tell if they are more than social." The Pastor's frown was deepening with each passing moment.

"What about the others?" The Pastor asked spreading the photos of the remaining team members before him.

"Kennedy Carter, a lawyer until fairly recently. Manny Rockerfeller, Leon Smith, both ciphers, not much on them." Real anger showed on the Pastor's face for the first time.

"Damnit there must be something, tax returns, parking tickets?" The Pastor was on his feet now stalking back and forth.

"All filed as contractors working for a shell corporation, some of the people in accounting are trying to get to the bottom of it." The Pastor strolled over to the window and peered out into the gathering evening.

"Very well, we must assume they are some sort of FBI black team. Get some people over to the old Lachallan Sanctum, we need to acquire the sister at all costs. If the feds really are sniffing around, then we need to move up our timeline. Begin gathering the faithful for Service."

"Yes Father," the Subordinate all but purred as he strode purposefully from the room his face split in a rapturous grin.

Leon wordlessly collected his glasses from the floor. They stuck fast to his face when he put them on. The voice of Ku returned to the back of his mind where it quickly began to laugh.

“You mortals always trying to be clever. Still, maybe you should have made sure your friend knew the bargains only count while I’m still around.”

Leon didn’t reply. He simply emptied his bag of his totems and got to work. He headed off to all the major doorways of the house and set a small totem with massive eyes at each. He left a shield totem in the parlor with the group and set the rest aside. This still left issues with the second floor and some windows that might be out of reach, but it was all he could have brought. If he knew it was going to go to shit this fast he would’ve brought plenty more and probably some better firepower too.

Leon looked over the group and felt guilt pulling at him when he really got a good look at Malone. He’d mostly overlooked the injury hoping Ku would have done enough to deal with it, but clearly, he’d overestimated the tiki. Berating the deity wouldn’t help the issue now. So one person injured, a civilian, and everyone else was emotionally unstable. Even Leon couldn’t deny he was compromised. These people already knew way too much about them if they knew they were coming. Did they know about the group? Did they know about him? About Maria? Sure the group kept everything extremely confidential with shells inside lies behind false names, but that didn’t make them invisible. Calling could expose them even more so Leon just had to trust his mysterious benefactor to have done their job correctly, and worse Ducky if they had not.

“We aren’t gonna last with what we have on us right now. That hunter friend of mine keeps caches in a few places. There should be one in a cemetery not far from here.” Leon began telling the group just sort of announcing it to everyone, “I’m going for that. If all goes well should be back within an hour.”

Leon pulled his revolver from his coat and double checked that he had the blessed bullets loaded. Six shots that typically did a good number on demonic entities. Leon took a deep breath before holstering the weapon again. With that, he was out the door and heading for the van. He’d be less conspicuous on foot, but he’d be too slow. Even if he just got closer with the van it could make a difference. Tactics and planning could do plenty, but the others absolutely needed better weapons to get by.

“Ku, I hate to admit this but you’ll enjoy this.” Leon sighed as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Please, I already know the bloodbath will be glorious. Perhaps I’ll finally get yours.” Ku laughed.

“The moment that happens there’s not gonna be anyone else left to pick you up,” Leon replied as the van peeled out.

The cemetery was thankfully very empty when Leon arrived. He parked the van and began heading for the mausoleums. Leon had met Jaklo while tracking a vampire in Kentucky. Jaklo had long worked as a hunter of the paranormal, but unlike those on TV, he used firearms instead of cameras. His methods weren’t quite to the Sunday Group’s liking, but he had found his own little group up here in Maine. They didn’t do as much with mysterious circumstance investigation as much as search and destroy. Having caches stashed around the place made getting weapons around borders much easier. The cemetery just was a great place to hide them. Buy a place in a mausoleum and you have a safety deposit box that no one wants to look in.

Leon found one with the name “Wight” on the plaque. He smashed off the lock on the gate and went in. In the back corner was a plaque with the name “Gunther Wight” on it.

“Bit on the nose, but whatever.” Leon mutter.

On either side of the plaque were handles. Gathering his strength Leon began to pull until he removed a sizable stone slab from the wall. Setting it aside he began to pull out the coffin, a plain gray metal box with no discerning features. Upon removing the lid Leon couldn’t help but grin. The entire coffin was filled with weaponry. A two Remington 870, a Spaz-12, two .45 revolvers, a silvered longsword, and an M79 thumper grenade launcher. It was clearly more for Jaklo and maybe two or three other people, but it’d have to be enough.

“The grenade launcher seems a tad much in most circumstances, but right now I’m not so sure it is,” Leon muttered to himself.

“Do it,” Ku whispered.

“Remind me, how useful are explosives on demons?” Leon said picking up the launcher and holding it up to his shoulder.

“In my day gods were entirely immortal, but if nothing else you mortals do keep finding more and more wonderful ways to obliterate each other.” Ku laughed.

“Bit of science versus religion then.” Leon sighed, “Let’s get these all back.”

Kennedy could only stare at El as she worked on the sister. She had been holding back what emotions she had been feeling all this time. Though she had a moment of clarity, seeing those remains brought her back to the reality that was hers now. Still, it wasn't as if she was terrified of the bodies. Nor that tentacle creature. That didn't traumatize her (she saw something she considered worse before).

No, what scared her was...uncertainty.

It was obvious that they were now being targeted. Possibly hunted and that they weren't just going to be arrested and thrown in prison. This spelled worse things. Was she ready to die to find out the truth? That was the question she had to ask herself. Could she just walk away from this, from getting a step closer to finding the truth, to helping a woman find out what happened to her sister, to protect and serve the general public?

Damn right she couldn't.

"In one of the rooms above, there were....are remains. Three skeletons. They aren't fully formed yet by initial observation. I would guess early adolescence. I also felt...dread I guess? I felt that when I got upstairs. Like, I could almost physically feel it." Kennedy managed to steal a glance at Leon as he left. It pained her a bit he didn't stay nearby to hear her out. Or comfort? She shook her head, not the time for that now.

Leon opted to get supplies and before she could insist someone go with him, he was gone. She returned back to El, "I'll admit, I've been feeling like a fish out of water in all of this. I know most, if not all, of this group, has dealt with things of this nature before, but I haven't. I would be stupid to lie and say I wasn't afraid. I'm terrified, actually, but if this means answers and it means helping those that deserve them," she gestured at Madeline, "Then I'm all for it. What needs to be done?"

The detective had not sat idly by.

Fashioning a toothpick from a twig he'd found with his small pocket knife, Manny felt restless as the sun continued to set in the distance. The cold wasn't making him feel anymore sluggish, instead giving him a crisp feel for his surroundings he sought to take advantage of. Wiping his hands on his trousers, he made his way toward the other side of the house, hearing the door open. Manny squinted as Leon walked out, but said nothing. There was something else.

There was something odd about the way Leon walked at one point. A slight misstep in his gait that piqued Manny's curiosity. Noticing it was gone once Leon passed a certain threshold, Manny went over to investigate and noticed a small impression in the grass. He crouched, reaching into his pocket to draw his knife out again, gingerly slipping the blade into the soil for a moment, feeling the dirt loosening a bit too easily.

"Huh."

He tried the ground a few feet back, and it looked to be much thicker. The smallest suspicion began creeping into his head, one a few of his colleagues would consider a bit too paranoid. But in this world, there was no such thing to Manny. Counting his steps, he moved from the side of the house to the front lawn and checked the soil with his blade again, before checking the other side of the house, and then the back. His theory seemed to hold up the way the grass felt. He even felt a solid mass below the back of the house, feeling the distinct texture of concrete within his fingers after he ripped off a bit of the grass.

"Figures," he said, and made his way inside. His booted footsteps would be clearly audible to Ellie and Kennedy, as would the creak of the door as he (somewhat) slammed it shut. He walked into the living room, cleaning his knife of dirt as he did so. He didn't quite look at them, lost in thought and routine. "This house was built on a crossroads." Manny said professionally, making his way into the kitchen to see just what supplies they had on hand. His voice could still be heard from the other room, as could the sliding drawers and the jingle of containers. "Probably covered up completely a few years ago. Feds might have thought to keep this house under wraps in more ways than one."

A few moments later, he entered the room with salt and some ornaments. "If only silverware was actual silver," he grumbled, plopping down on the couch. Next he spoke, his voice was louder, as if continuing his previous thoughts. "Which means more than likely, someone wanted to cover up the fact that a demon has been summoned here at some point." He dropped a few .45 shells onto the table, the projectile clanking and rolling about. "And one can still be summoned, with the right spells."

He popped the top off of one with his knife, pouring out a bit of gunpowder and replacing it with salt. He would do the same to another five shells. "There's also a bit of sulphur on the drapes I saw earlier. All this next to a graveyard? Probably shouldn't stay here for much longer." He broke a small ornament on the ground, shattering it with his foot, the brass likeness of a Greek Neoclassical Olympian now reduced to rubble. He let out another stomp, breaking it further. He began to put the smaller pieces into the rest of his bullets, and with the small pile of gunpowder he'd accumulated, he'd pour the rest of that into the salt shaker.

The telltale click of his gun cocking brought his gaze back to the women. "I did ward the place. Can't be looked at as long as we're on the premises via magical means. At least for a short while." He winked to Kennedy at that last statement, before addressing both of them. "So...we got a plan?"

Ellie gazed across the room at Morgan, the weight of the revealed secret settled across the group like a blanket. The flickering anger at the womans interference in her spell sputtered inside of her mind. Strange to find one such as her so self righteous. This was a poor time for such a revelation, when the job was already so complicated and dangerous, far more so than it had seemed when the group had agreed to take it own. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, letting the slight spike of pain focus her on the present situation, bringing her mind to meditative calm.

Malone cried out and collapsed into an ancient armchair, the impact of her body elicited a puff of dust which tickled Ellie’s sinuses. Madeline sneezed violently in response to the impulse, though whether due to bleed over from the link or merely a similar response to a similar sensation there was no way to be sure. Her body hung limply on the furnishing like a blanket, as though the very life had been snatched away, leaving her a nerveless boneless things. The subtle whiff of magic curled in the air like distant powder smoke.

Ellie was at Malone’s side in a moment. The former profilers skin was cool and dry to Ellie’s fingers as she probe for a pulse. It was there, erratic but strong and vibrant beneath the other woman’s skin. The wound in the other woman’s neck was serious but didn’t appear to life threatening. In any crisis situation there was always more information than you could process. It wasn’t so much a matter of what you saw or heard, but how much mental energy you could devote to sorting out a baffling tide of inputs.

“We need to regroup,” Ellie declared, her words putting her fragmented thoughts into the skeleton of a plan of action.

“Even if this place is secure we need supplies and food, get a team together and grab the basics. I’ll need an emergency first aid kit, as much as you can get without raising attention.” The wound in Malone’s neck shimmered slightly. There were pieces of the ensorcelled weapon still in the wound, she could sense them writhing and burrowing, trying to work their way deeper into Malone’s neck. Standing abruptly she rushed outside to the van to grab her hand bag, inadequate to the task though it may be.

“Get moving,” she directed as she uncapped her lipstick and began to scribe a circle around Malone and her chair, smearing the dark black pigment into the desired shape. The old carpet made the task difficult but not impossible. The rough fibers were a poor surface for such a task, but the sooner she was able to purge the magical taint from the wound the better it would be for everyone. Part or her didn’t want to attempt even the most basic magic here, there was something rank and oily that lurked behind the veil. SHe looked up at Morgan, what had the place been like in its prime? What was the other woman going through to even return here. Better they were gone and gone soon.

Manny couldn't help but give a satisfied smile as he listened to Ellie making a plan on the spot. It was simple but needed. Since it took the others a bit of time to digest the information, Manny clapped his hands and gave an impressive whistle. "Alright, you heard her!" His voice rose a few octaves, exposing the small bit of charisma that he never really used. "Let's get going. Kennedy, you're with me. Same with Morgan if she wants. The rest of you hold the fort down until we get back, make sure you give us a good list of things to get and try to see if there's any holes in our defenses we might have overlooked."

Manny gave Kennedy a subtle wink. "C'mon. Hope you got your walking shoes. I don't think our banged up cars would be subtle out there so we'll need to hoof it." He awaited everyone to have their say, guessing correctly that people began jumping into action. Manny wasn't sure if Ellie would tell someone else to join them or if Malone or Morgan wanted to stretch their legs, but there definitely needed to be a few competent guns that stayed here. Whatever Demons that had attacked them on the road would want another piece of them at some point. It'd be better to risk less of them than more.

"Actually..." he said, having a thought.

Next thing you knew, Manny was unloading a box of tools he'd found in the shed out back and he began to work on the truck, fixing a few of the fender benders and making it more or less presentable to the outer public, at least at a glance. With a metallic 'snap' he took off the back license plate, and he smacked on a shoddily made stamp that said in marker "tag applied for." He snickered as he put it on there, more for the fact that he was certain it would work than the fact he did something that seemed such an obvious lie.

"You might not need to huff it in those shoes after all." He teased Kennedy, the next noise that followed being the 'cla-chink' of the opening truck door and the revving of the engine. "We'll be back in a sec. Don't worry!" he called to Ellie, smacking the car door for emphasis as they drove off to grab some supplies. "Alright..." he said to whoeever in the car had data.

"Where am I going?"