---

Time: Midnight - 3 Weeks Ago
Location: Lost Haven, Maine

The call for work on the back of an irritable Jacque, the glow of her phone telling her he called a total of three times back to back. While her time with the Duchess was relatively short, it was not short enough for the Parisian gangster. The Ambassador arrived to Lost Haven, one of the many discreet locations where The Shroud Syndicate cleared. Deep within the French Quarter, open to the sky an abandoned ball diamond, weeds and patches of grass grown over the sandy lot. Several black SUVs parked at the alleyway entrances, streets cleared of any curious bystanders.

Several pickup trucks towing trailers waited in a lineup, The Ambassador stood several feet in front of the line up - it was damnably humid in Lost Haven and a haze lit up by streams of headlights. The moon hidden behind banks of clouds. The perfect night to smuggle a weapons order over international borders.

Dressed in her light and dark gray chiffon pleated skirt, white low neckline tank and black quarter sleeved blazer, her asymmetrical diamond studded headband tucked above her ears, The Ambassador looked hilariously misplaced among the stern brows and darkly dressed gangsters surrounding her. They needed a large enough portal door to fit a vehicle through.

Lifting her hands slowly to the sky, she began her incantation.



A fine mist of blue light lifted up from her the tips of her fingers trailing along her hands, flowing down her arms to her torso. Several feet above her head, a sliver of light appeared slowly lengthening to the ground and growing wider at each pass of the incantation. Her brow furrowed, eyes closed, warm dark boards of wood materialized from the ground up connecting to the arch frame, a large golden ring appeared in the center, finishing the door with it’s golden hinges to the left hand side. Light filtered its creases.

Without a word she approached the door, tugging easily on the ring to swing the door wide open to the other side. Briefly sticking her head through to check if the way was clear. As the door opened the Arcane Stream’s energy flooded the area, the grass became greener and grew taller, crickets reacted by chirping louder, those familiar with her smuggling operations breathed a sigh of delight - uncontrollable hair raising across all those present. Strange, pleasant and invigorating - magic saturated the air all around them.

“Après vous.”

Stepping away from the portal, The Ambassador retreated away to watch over from a building’s rooftop, allowing her fellow criminals to do their work. She knew her presence often unnerved them. Bach stood silently upon her shoulder, arms crossed - clearly stewing on something. They would have time to talk about whatever he had on his mind. For now he remained small.

---

Time: Shortly before midnight - 3 weeks ago
Location: Lost Haven, Maine

A sinister figure stalked the night, almost invisible as it dashed across moonless rooftops, barely making a sound.

David had to admit, his newfound powers had grown on him. Wearing what he had affectionately dubbed as his ‘Shadowplate’ not only made him a hell of a lot tougher, but also faster, stronger and nigh invisible in the right conditions. This was particularly true on a night such as this, where there was no shortage of shadows for him to hide in or, if needed, call upon.

In truth, the thief barely understood the extent of his abilities. His partner in crime, the elusive meta-hacker Deep, had begged him not to get involved in anything dangerous, at least until he understood them better. He had a point, considering recent events, but if he spent one more moment in hiding he was certain he would lose his mind. After all, with or without powers he was still the greatest thief who ever lived (haters be damned), and there were very specific reasons for him to move to Lost Haven: it was a hive of opportunities for one such as he to step out of the shadows and make a name for himself… ironically enough.

Besides, his time in the Maine countryside had been… less than delightful. What should have been a quiet getaway to recover and experiment with his newfound powers had turned out to be some of the most hectic (not to mention dangerous) months of his life. But those were memories he preferred to keep buried for now, and was glad to be back to civilization… or at least a semblance of it.

Of course, David firmly believed in making his own luck. He had long heard accounts of the Shroud Syndicate and their solid record as Lost Haven’s number one criminal organization. An impressive claim, to be sure. It didn’t take him very long at all to decide he wanted in on that action, and their reputation practically forced him to make a grand entrance… so he had devised a devious plan.

There was very little the thief could not accomplish with Deep’s aid, who had, of course, been reticent at first, and even gone as far as calling his plan ‘ridiculous’ (the gall). Fortunately, David knew how to nudge him the right way, and the digital magician had ended up caving to all of his desires.

As it turned out, the Syndicate’s peeps were clever enough to keep most of their shady and personal businesses outside the internet’s grasp. Whilst not a massive surprise, it was a little disheartening, and it did mean it would take some time for them to get a solid lead on one of their operations. Less tough, however, was finding some dope with noble intentions and low-grade super powers to assist David with his theatrics: enter Counter-Balance.

Like so many others, Counter-Balance had been part of the first, honest to the Gods wave of metahumans to be created by what was arguably this generation’s biggest fuck-up. Steve Cook had been (debatably) blessed with the ability to locally increase the mass of a given object or person: in other words, he could make stuff very, very heavy, but with the caveat of being able to focus on only one at a time.

Truth be told, there had been other candidates who might’ve maybe been more appropriate for what David had in mind. Cook was a low-tier hero at best, and was better known for his flashiness than his effectiveness. However, he was a self-proclaimed punk, and had decided to use his superhero persona to further push his ideology. Armed with a ‘thunderball,’ a pinned up vest and a flashy spike mohawk, he could hardly contend with other more powerful metas out there… but he could definitely screw someone’s day up.

When Deep asked him why he was so insistent on picking him, Noir went on a considerable rant denouncing the plethora of punk ideologies which had been born out of the original movement, and explained in great detail why he thought most punks were a bunch of “silly tossers who cannot make their mind up.”

So, evidently, he couldn’t help but screw with him.

Under the pretense of being an anonymous ally, the thief had been feeding Counter-Balance information on the Syndicate’s operations. Nothing major, of course, but feeding him little morsels of intelligence had proven enough to both earn his trust and make him a minor nuisance to the Shroud’s thugs.

Tonight, however, was the big one. Deep had finally managed to locate one of their major smuggling operations thanks to a small slip-up by one of their underlings. All it really took for the tech-genie was a poorly worded text and they were in business.

The shadowy avatar finally settled on a nearby rooftop, taking a privileged place to watch the scene unfold, removing his Shadowplate to access a slim, virtually flat backpack beneath it, where he carried the bulk of his tools. As his shadow returned to its rightful place, it revealed a simple outfit, all in black, of course. Most notably, the thief wore some kind of ‘tactical turtleneck,’ lifted all the way upon his nose, allowing only his eerily blue eyes and the top of his head to be visible, pitch, curly hair moving lazily with the wind. The thief produced a pair of small binoculars, grabbing onto them with a couple of tight, leather gloves.

“Why, hello there… There’s a blue haired lady here, looks like she’s in charge of overseeing the operation,” he commented as he spotted the lady who seemed in charge, her outfit sticking out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of the muscle moving the weapons, “I’m confused, though. I see the trucks, but I don’t see any airplanes, or tunnels, or any way to actually smuggle a damn thing. Are you sure this is the right place? Or a weapons smuggling operation, for that matter?”

“Positive,” Deep replied simply, “These people are extremely secretive, I wasn’t able to get very much in the way of exact details... and you forget, pretty much everyone who’s important in the organization has some kind of superpower. You’ll just have to wait and see what happens, I suppose.”

“Fair enough. I wish you could see her outfit, though. Seriously, what is up with all these super powered people? Did Pax Metahumana just totally impair their ability to wear discrete clothes?” he asked, barely able to contain his amusement, “I mean, she’s not even wearing a mask, I can totally see her face!... Her very, very pretty face.”

“Would it kill you to focus?” Deep came in through the earpiece.

“Oh, please, the game hasn’t even started yet. Would it kill you to relax a little?” he countered, “You’re just bitter that you can’t enjoy the eye-candy.”

“Well, it’s hardly my fault that creepy thing you do with your shadow rejects those tech-lenses you invested a fortune in. I’m lucky I can hear you when you remove it,” Deep pointed out, “And I must insist, this is not a…”

“Hush! She’s doing something… Talking to thin air, she is,” David interrupted him, observing with interest, “Wait, what the…”

“What? What is it?”

“... I’m not sure, mate. Hold on, what is… oh, my days…”

“Seriously, what is it?” Deep insisted, slightly unnerved that he could not see the events unfolding for himself.

“Well, I’m still not a hundred percent sure what I’m looking at, Deep, but if I was a betting man I’d say she just opened up a bloody portal… Wait, scratch that. That’s definitely a portal. Large enough for those bloody trucks to go through, I might add.”

“Seriously? That is remarkable… and perfect timing, too. Our man’s GPS says he’s closing in on the scene. You should head to the ground,” the man in the chair advised.

“Ooooh, seriously? Where’s the silly wanker?” the thief asked excitedly.

Deep gave him the man’s coordinates, and soon enough, David spotted the flashy hero. Ordering his shadow to embrace him again, the man clad himself in darkness, and proceeded to very carefully crawl down the building’s side. He had recently learned he could actually stick to surfaces if he wished to… but it did very little to ease his vertigo as he looked straight down a dozen stories.

“Easy now, easy…”

---

In Counter-Balance’s defense, he did try his very best to be stealthy as he infiltrated the small plot of land. At first, he followed him in the shadows, making short work of whatever gangster the amateur hero hadn’t spotted himself. As it turned out, the stress of multiplying someone’s weight several times was usually enough to make them black out, but the thief still saved the young hero from getting a bullet or two up his arse, knocking or choking out the men he missed before they knew what hit them.

Unbeknownst to the youthful vigilante, his approach was sloppy and why sneak when one was as close as he to taking the biggest gang in Lost Haven down a peg. Lifting a leg, sticking out a tongue for better accuracy, Counter-Balance aimed his makeshift weapon at the closest gangster and threw with impressive amount of strength, far more than what the gangster expected receiving a knockout blow from an 8-ball only grazing under his chin, the gangster staggered a bit before falling onto his back. Counter-Balance pumped his fingerless gloved fist, quickly running over to check if the gangster was still breathing. Blood leaked out the side of his mouth.

Finding a pulse, the punk stood back up pleased as ever to not have missed - for once. He grinned, pressing himself up against the wall eyeing the scene before him.

Thankful for his generous tip, they were right once more. It was a huge operation, the vehicles would be easy but the gangsters with guns was another problem all together. He approached the ball diamond, crouching low, eyes on the trucks at the front of the line before the portal. Small cars were easy but the bigger trucks would take more effort and concentration. Looking left and right, his mohawk flat and tall peeking above the bank of fog.

At the edge of the ball diamond, he came to a stop crouching low lifting a hand to the truck, he closed his eyes focusing on the body of the vehicle willing his powers to drag it down. Several moments passed without anything happening, slowly a creek of metal began - steel complaining against the sudden new weight. All the cargo in it’s bed pressed down further and further, the driver popped out of the driver’s side watching in confusion as the truck crumpled under the weight into the ground, tires bending out of the wheel wells. The driver turned to her fellow gangsters, they nodded warning others of possible metahuman interference, as another vehicle began to do the same.

Gangsters from all sides fanned out, guns levelled in front of them - mounted flashlights clicking on creating hazy beams of light searching for the vigilante. Sweeping through the grassy patches of weeds.

A text message was sent to The Ambassador asking her to standby, warning her of interference. She sat forward with some interest, scanning the ground below. It wasn’t very often anyone got close.


Counter knocked another thug out with his thunderball. His partner turned around to shoot but was met with an intense force, his body feeling incredibly heavy all of a sudden as his vision became patchy.

“Feel that? That’s the weight of the establishment weighing down on you, dude!”

The gangster barely heard the punchline as he blacked out under the equivalent of 6 Gs of force. Counter-Balance didn’t much care for this, mentally congratulating himself for his efficiency and, as far as he was concerned, well-delivered punchline.

David, on the other side, found himself a bit busy avoiding his premature death. Gunmen disappeared in the long grass without as much as a sound, an unseen stalker prowling in their midst. There was only ever a warning of his predatory approach, their flashlights flickering nervously as he got closer, but they never knew any better, their numbers dwindling at a speedy rate.

The thief had to admit, as much as he’d detested the use of violence in the past, this was kind of fun, in a twisted way. Using his powers gave him a thrill, not unlike that of stealing a priceless object, or walking out of a door with a big haul without anyone being none the wiser. The gangsters’ obliviousness to his sneak attacks was gratifying, to say the least, and almost comical as he lifted their own firearms to smack them in the face, or jumped on their backs like some kind of jungle cat, quickly putting them to sleep.

Soon enough, the punk found himself with very little in the way of a defense, unaware of the flashlights disappearing around him, some pointing briefly upwards before joining the rest of the fallen weapons; and men.

The Ambassador watched on, clear as day to her were the lights disappearing her phone lit up with increasing urgency. With a sigh of resignation, she knew it was time to put a stop to the meddler. Taking several steps back from the edge of the building, tucking a bit of hair in vain behind her ear. A click of her heels she took off at a run leaping off from the edge and arcing through the air, gracefully landing atop of a van - the enchantment softening her touchdown toes first then standing flat-footed. The quake of the vehicle beginning to crumple beneath her feet The Ambassador scanned past the portal for the culprit, spotting a ridiculous punk with a mohawk approaching.

Counter-Balance laughed with triumph, spinning the thunderball in a perfect circle. “Boss Lady finally came to see what all the noise was about, huh? Nothing can stop a revolution!” He shouted, sticking his tongue out he took aim for his final target. Remaining gangsters around him shouted aiming anew, while The Ambassador hadn’t batted an eye, a tell tale bit of blue light surrounded her right hand.

The cue ball suddenly stopped spinning, a befuddled look crossing the punk’s face, the chord twirling in an almost silly manner along his side. An unexplainable sense of dread seemed to suddenly rush through him, and on instinct, the vigilante turned around.

“Boo.”

“Yow!” Counter-Balance fell on his backside. He could swear he’d seen the shape of a man holding his thunderball, his outline barely visible in the dim light… but when he looked back up, the figure was gone. Along with his weapon of choice.

Odette saw Counter-Balance fall, she peered into the haze. There was a murmur passed among the gangsters, they were holding their ground - listening for movement looking to The Ambassador for instruction. She stood just above the windshield on the vehicle.

“That is enough,” She called out, whispering the beginnings of a ward spell pausing only to finish her warning. “Your meddling has gone on far too long as it were.” Her accent pronounced as her tone was sharp.

Looking to the gangsters she waved her hand to signal them to move forward. They spread out in a semicircle inching closer. While she had only wanted to launch the ridiculous revolutionary into the ocean, small-time metas still had a circle of friends, connections. The Shroud Syndicate operated under the radar, respecting the status quo the metahumans had over Lost Haven. They would always proceed with caution much less itchy trigger fingers.

The punk stood up, his eyes widening as he saw the gunmen approaching. Fear kicked in, coupled with confusion, and he raised his hands, ready to go all out in a haphazard fashion.

However, the fight was not fated to happen. Something grabbed him by his ankle, pulling strongly enough to make him fall, his face getting more intimately acquainted with the ground than he would’ve liked. He panicked as the dark beast dragged him along the ground, crawling, a screech filling the night air as he disappeared under one of the trucks, a trail of fingertips carved unto the ground in their wake.

The punk could barely focus, on what was attacking him, and before he knew it, the dread shadow-man’s weight was upon him, impeding any use of his powers, lest he wished to be crushed under the weight. On instinct, he threw a punch, blindly connecting with the ominous figure’s chin. Several of his knuckles popped with an unpleasant crunch.

There was a moment of silence, a few long seconds in which not a thing could be seen, or heard. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the punk’s limp body flew across the air, landing on the truck’s hood, mere feet away from Odette. A preliminary inspection would show that the anti-hero was out cold, but still breathing.

“Your security sucks,” came a deep, ominous voice, its location hard to pinpoint.

Almost as if on cue, a shadow tendril shot out of the dark, taking a hold of one of the gangster's weapons and tossing it far from his grip. The rest of the gunmen starting aiming around wildly in search for a target, but then a second tendril whipped another gun out of nowhere. And then a third. This went on for a few moments until what remained of her entourage found themselves weaponless, too unnerved and surprised to act without instructions from the lady in charge.

“Case in point,” the disembodied voice gloated.

Shaking her head, glaring at her unarmed cohorts, “They will be dealt with later, as for our star punk for tonight. . .” Odette stepped off the roof of the vehicle, landing once more with a soft touch to the ground she snapped her fingers and those who still had their wits about them jumped to picking up Counter-Balance, dragging him out of the way.

The sorceress turned from left to right searching for their unseen helping hand, a few theories running through her mind as to what or who decided to stick their nose into their business tonight, she safely guessed it was a man - most likely metahuman by the sound of his voice and ego to match.

“We would like to thank you in person, preferably. Nobody really goes out of their way to help our operations unless they want something.” She said, beckoning impatiently, “While the night is still young.”

“Very astute,” the thief commented as he appeared by her side. Even out in the open, he was hard to see, his outline only visible by the contrasts in the light, his form blacker than the darkest of nights, “I want a job,” he told her simply, “I’m new in town, and you people don’t exactly have a platform where one can just drop their CV,” he joked, “It… came to my attention that our resident idiot here had been causing some trouble for you, and I’ve been following him around in hopes of meeting someone in a position to get me in,” he elaborated briefly, not wanting to give away too much just yet.

Pursing her lips momentarily as she looked the shadowy form up and down, sidestepping to get some perspective, not a flinch at his sudden appearance, “Work? We are always recruiting competent… metahumans? Our organization’s ranks have been slowly expanding to those with unique abilities.” She said, curiosity settling her gaze on the opaque outline of his body, “A request I can easily fill in return for your help here tonight.” She squinted at where his face was supposed to be, quietly noting, “Boons are always repaid in kind.”

“One moment,” Retrieving her phone from her purse she called Jacque, speaking in French calling him to this side of the portal.

A tall, sharply dressed man appeared from the portal’s light, a black scarf covered the lower half of his face with just a pair of dark brown eyes over the edge of the cloth, a wide brimmed hat sat atop his head. Shiny black loafers without a scuff, navy blue suit, Jacque - much like the other leaders in the Syndicate were mysterious figures.

“What do we call you?” Odette asked turning her attention back onto their shadowy meta.

David raised a brow behind his shadowplate as the well-dressed man appeared, but did not express his surprise, “You can call me… Noir,” he said, after a moment’s consideration, quite pleased with his chosen moniker.

Bemused by the name, Odette smiled, “How appropriate, you may refer to me as The Ambassador.” Lifting her hand to shake, “This is Jacque, he leads The Shroud Syndicate’s operations in France.”

He nodded a heavy gaze on Noir scrutinizing him before looking over the damage left by Counter-Balance.

His hand took her own, the shadow enveloping it unpleasantly cold to the touch. Moreover, depending on her own personal fear of darkness, she might’ve felt a sense of discomfort beyond that of mere cold, “A pleasure to meet you both,” he noted as he shook her hand, his touch gentle to avoid crushing her hand. He turned to the other foreigner, offering his hand to him in turn. Jacque kept his hands in his pockets, nodding again.

His touch sent goosebumps up her arm to the nape of her neck, it was entirely strange. Retracting her hand, it slowly grew warm once more traces of the arcane stream from her earlier ward chased away the cold. Very curious.

Adjusting her sleeve idly, “You can clearly move through the darkness, where do you specialize in? Security, intimidation, thievery, smuggling?”

She commented resting her chin against the palm of her hand, looking to the portal, “You may have some stiff competition in smuggling ops against myself.”

“Not that anyone could really compare to what I offer.”

“Okay…” the shadowy figure said to himself as the silent Frenchman made no attempt to shake his hand. He then turned to regard the Ambassador, a cheeky smile playing on his obscured lips.

“Why, I’m just about the greatest thief who ever lived,” he stated smugly, his deep, muffled tone matter-of-fact, “There is nothing I cannot get my hands on if I put my mind to it. Nothing. And no one’s even gotten close to catching me, so far,” he bragged as he walked over to one of the trucks the punk had allowed to sink into the ground, observing it for a moment with his hands upon his hips, “Though I suppose all that other stuff you mentioned comes with the job. I’m not shy about pulling my weight around.”

With that, he kneeled, grabbing the truck from underneath. It took everything he had, the man clearly straining as his obscured form tensed. Of course, the loaded truck was too heavy for him to lift on his own, but with a little knowledge of physics, and the aid of the wheels, Noir managed to budge it just enough to roll the front wheels out of the ground. The thief grinned to himself, slightly surprised he’d actually managed.

Jacque nodded once more, finally speaking up, “Alright, good enough. I’ll draft up a contract, Noir you will be working under my direction.” He walked up to Odette patting her shoulder, “You, Mademoiselle. Please see to getting this mess cleaned up.”

“Of course.” She replied about to move but he kept his hand on her shoulder, she shot him a cold look.

“Please also note while you are responsible for his recruitment, he is working for me - any issues or misconduct will be dealt with by me. Understand? Do not take it upon yourself to punish at your whim.” Jacque said, while his tone was neutral he squeezed her shoulder to emphasize the boundary he set.

She sighed shortly through her nose, irritated, “Fine.”

Jacque released her, out of his pocket he tossed Noir a burner cell, “You’ll hear from me soon enough, Noir. Good evening.” He turned walking over the threshold back to Paris.

The thief snatched the phone out of the air, smiling to himself, “You too, ‘boss.’”

Her irritation evaporated as Jacque disappeared, the Parisian Syndicate leader was allowed to draw his boundaries even while the chaffed with Odette’s. She turned back to Noir, “A thief, the greatest one the world has ever seen. I’ve never known a thief not to have an ego to match, regardless you will have the opportunity to prove yourself.”

“Lost Haven’s resident thief had been recently vacated. They are big shoes to fill, as I had known them personally.”

“Mhm, whatever you say, ‘Mademoiselle,’” the avatar mumbled in an almost dismissive manner. Now that the power dynamics had been established, he was not as concerned about impressing her or even staying on her good side. From what he’d heard and seen, it seemed like she had some kind of history taking matters into her own hands, and a slip on her behalf might prove a boon to him, “So, what’s his deal? You know…” he flourished his hands, though the motion was hardly visible, “What can he do?”

Locking her hands behind her back, business returned to usual the remaining gangsters went to work dragging their unconscious coworkers to be propped up - first aid kits being opened. Cleaning up the product. “Good leadership and impeccable taste in fashion.” She answered, laying a hand against one of the crumpled trucks - various pairs of eyes from local Sidhe appeared in the shadow of the truck looking up to their Ambassador.

“All you have to worry about with Jacque is following his instructions, you get paid for the work done,” Odette said, not unkindly making a point that it would be fruitless to ask anything else about him.

“You will be seeing more of me before Jacque.”

“Understood,” the man shrugged, locking his own hands behind his back in a similar fashion as he walked next to her, his shadowplate making it impossible to discern where his eyes fell, “Well, there’s something to look forward to, at least,” he commented, his natural disguise and neutral tone making it very hard to tell whether he was mocking her, flirting, or being entirely serious.

Looking to Noir, gazing at his face her curiosity turning over the mystery of his powers, his body language obscured by shadow with his face - his tone was the only clue to discerning what he was thinking let alone what he meant. “My company alone is a gift,” Changing tact, mirroring his tone, “Or a curse depending on who you speak to.” Letting that comment hang before moving onto the other side of the truck. Sidhe followed behind her, invisibly taking up positions around the tires - ready to lift the machine.

It began to shake, the Sidhe went to shuffling the pieces back together, smoothing the earth back in place. Grass growing anew, they happily fed off the energy pouring out of the portal.

Noir observed the strange phenomenon with interest, invisible forces beginning to fix the damage done with remarkable efficiency. So she was not only capable of opening portals… he made a mental note, intrigued by the development.

“Is that why the boss-man feels the need to babysit you?” he poked, “I have to say, he doesn’t seem very confident in your ability to control your temper,” he mused in an almost idle fashion, “Don’t worry though. I don’t mind a spanking every now and then,” he added, biting his tongue immediately. Sometimes, he just couldn’t help himself, and the anonymity and protection his shadowy armour provided made him a bit too cocky. Something that would need fixing, he thought to himself.

Gangsters nearby froze, looking up from their work only to watch. Bach broke his reverie of thought snapping to attention as well. Eyes narrowing.

Odette saw his attempt to get a rise out of her, she didn’t need to read his body language to know that. While it was a barb it proved he was willing to play. Poised, she rubbed the little grit between her fingertips, “Jacque and I have worked together for a long time, while he believes and likes to assert his control he knows he only exists today because of me.”

Looking to him again over the hood of the truck, “Never underestimate the power of a loophole, Monsieur.”

The men’s reaction did not go unnoticed by the shadowy figure, who admittedly revelled in having an audience for his performance. It took him all he had, however, not to let out a sonorous “hah!” at her choice of words. Was he not, after all, a breathing, living loophole? He could practically taste the sweet irony in his mouth as he smiled.

“That so? I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Mademoiselle,” he began, starting to walk up the truck’s side, hands still behind his back, “Indeed, it would seem to me that you speak and carry yourself with an authority beyond that of a common smuggler. And judging by how your men soil themselves every time you so much as glance sideways at them, I’d say I’m correct,” he congratulated himself, now on top of the truck, and about to make his way down, “So enough about Jacque. Why don’t you tell me more about yourself? I assure you, you have my undivided attention,” he stopped short of the ground, his body standing fully horizontally at face level with her.

She raised her brow at him, “Do you want my CV?” No small amount of sarcasm, “I do not think you would believe me if I told you anything about myself. I deal in the strange and fantastic. As for the men and women here tonight, they know what my expectations are. None of which have been met.”

She tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, it was time to gauge Noir as he tried to do the same to her, “Unless you are open minded to the things that linger at humanity’s periphery.”

This was all apart of the verbal gymnastics.

David screamed internally at this. He was not, under any means, willing to discuss the true nature of his powers, partly because he was certain that explaining that bleeding out on top of an ancient bauble had prompted the primordial Greek God of Darkness to bring him back to life as his superpowered avatar sounded as crazy as it was a mouthful. No, Pax Metahumana was a much more convenient story. And still...

“Are you serious?” he asked, allowing the incredulity to ooze in his muffled voice, “Were you spaced out earlier when I took out a metahuman without anyone actually seeing me? Or when my shadows disarmed your men? I know you were checking me out when I bench-pressed that truck, don’t even try to deny it,” he raised a finger and gave it a little shake, fist on his hip, “And that’s not even… wait, why am I justifying myself to you? I’m standing on the freaking side of your truck! But no, no,” he seemed to change his mind, arms crossing and turning slightly around, which led him to be looking straight up into the sky, “You’re right. I’m a total skeptic and will be absolutely close-minded about the ‘strange and fantastic,’” he added, perfectly mimicking her French accent.

She watched him opaquely pose like an energetic shadow puppet, and slowly her eyes lit up with mischief, “I love skeptics.”

She tapped her chin, eyes floating to the left trying to remember what she could show. He was amusing, egotistical and thought he was smarter than everyone else in the room. With the ability to sneak and blend into the darkness, she smiled at the prospect of a perfectly good pawn Noir would be.

She gestured to him, rolling her eyes, “To check you out would mean being able to see more than an opaque mass of shadows,” She grinned rather slyly, “Unless that was your true goal, to peacock about and get my attention. I certainly would not mind if you were to drop your concealment and show me your face.”

Sidhe moved on from the truck, heads bobbing beneath the haze onto the next vehicle, setting to work. The Ambassador turned her back to him, walking on to inspect another vehicle. “Tell me, Monsieur. What is difficult to believe in the portal’s existence? Life spills out of it, making the very air vibrate with energy.” she paused facing the light, “That I willed that rip in time and space to appear where I wanted it to, to guide us to another place of my choosing. Exerting pure control over a component of our reality.”

“If I were to get poetic about it, of course.” She waved off the sentiment with a flick of the wrist, “Regardless, for not only helping my operation tonight and providing some entertainment. I have a gift for you.”

“In my culture, we tend to repay favours tenfold.”

Curious as he was, this gave Noir reason to pause. The thief had led a wild life even before he obtained his powers, and recognized the underlying danger in her offer.

“...I think I’ll keep my face concealed if you don’t mind terribly. Besides,” he flipped off the truck, landing gracefully on his feet before returning to her side, “What would life be without a little mystery? As for your generous offer, I already got what I came looking for,” he pointed out, “And I would just hate to impose,” he lied.

The Sidhe turned at his refusal, the last vehicle’s reparations freezing in place. Turning her head from him, she bit the inside of her cheek. “I really do insist, Noir.” She said, “Allow me to show you what it is.”

Popping the pin on her clutch purse with her thumb, she cradled it with one hand while the other reached deep inside well past her elbow, feeling around for what she was looking for. Strange sounds of wood creaking, the skittering of glass, a long whistle from an instrument sounding like it had fallen.

Noir noticed the trucks ‘stopping in their tracks,’ so to speak. Understanding it as a sign of her displeasure, he decided it might be best to play along, after all, “Well if you insist...”

She brightened when she found what she was looking for, “Excellent.”

From deep within her purse the top of a lantern appeared first. Rough, hempen rope knotted and crisscrossing over a clearly handcrafted cylinder of amber tinted glass. No visible openings. Imperfections, age and the odd scratch down the length of glass showed The Ambassador was not it’s first owner. The hempen rope wrapped tightly down to its base, a handcrafted ornate wooden base - polished, smoothed, there were some words written on the base along with the artisan’s signature - legible to only those who could understand Common Fey. The glass was not entirely opaque but moss could be seen growing inside of it, to Odette she could see a sleepy spirit crouched - insect-like wings folded against it’s back, it’s body spotted with large spots. The lantern, on its size alone, could not under any normal circumstances have been able to fit in that clutch purse. By the time she finished pulling it out of her purse she set it down, the height of it alone standing just above her knee.

“For you, Noir. It is meant to forewarn you of danger when it glows - or so I have been told. Keep it inside your home, if you take good care of it such as polishing the glass, playing music, a view of the outside. The lantern will take care of you in turn.” She explained, “Please accept this as my gift to you.”

“Wha- where…” David started, confused, then stopped immediately. Great magicians never reveal their tricks, he thought, and that was definitely a great trick. He listened carefully to what she said whilst the back of his mind worked on it. It had to be tiny portals. He was certain of it.

The part of his brain that was focused on her took the strange device, careful not to show his wariness, “The way you speak of it, I almost feel like introductions should be made. ‘Hello Mr. Lantern, I’m Noir. You and I will be the bestest of pals, I’m certain of it!’” he joked, despite studying the item with interest, “Is that moss? Someone’s not been taking the best care of Mr. Lantern! Don’t worry, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal, we’ll get rid of that in no time!” he took one more moment to finish inspecting it, before adding, “Joking aside, it is a beautiful piece, and I do not mean to sound like an ungrateful jerk, but...How the hell is this thing meant to light itself up, or know I’m in any danger, for that matter?” he squinted behind the plate, “I can’t see any wicks or mantles…”

The Ambassador winked with a sly smile, “If only you could see as I do, Noir the Skeptic. Take good care of it and it will do the same for you,” she repeated.

He really had no idea, a thousand ideas came to her how to introduce the fey looking forward to the fun she would have.

She waved him off with both hands, dismissing the shadowy man, “Off you go, I have product to move and you are free to leave. You will hear from us soon.” Returning to business she turned on her heel, waving the criminals into moving themselves. Bach had watched on during the exchange from the safety of her shoulder, his eyes on the thief while her back was turned. Moderately curious as to how he’d treat the lantern but a curly smile formed knowingly aware of why Odette gave him that.

“Did you hear that Mr. Lantern? We are free to leave. How magnanimous of her, don’t you think?” Noir began talking to himself as he walked off, “It’s almost like she thinks we work for her. Wait, do we work for her? Oh well, it doesn’t matter either way, because you and I are a pair or rebels who live by their own rules! Like Tango and Cash. Or Starsky and Hutch. Or…”

This went on for quite a while until the man was absolutely sure he was nowhere to be seen, considering the large antique he was carrying around. Back at the rooftops, he removed his shadowplate, allowing Deep to contact him once more. Just one of the many curious side effects donning it seemed to have.

“Finally!” the metahacker came through, “That took you longer than I’d expected. Everything go according to plan?”

“It went beautifully,” Noir smiled, “Better than I’d hoped for, even. I need you to learn everything you can about a French fellow named Jacque. He’s my new boss, apparently,” he told him, before giving him a brief yet detailed depiction of the man, before proceeding to describe the Ambassador, “By the way, can you get a hold of the nearby security cameras?”

“Way ahead of you. I don’t have a direct angle on the scene, but I’m hoping I can find at least a couple of good shots of this Ambassador.”

“Excellent. Let me know as soon as you find something on them. Oh, this is going to be fun, isn’t it, Mr. Lantern?”

“I beg your pardon?” Deep asked, confused.

“Oh, never you mind. The Ambassador gave me a gift.”

“A gift?” Deep asked with great skepticism, “You shouldn’t take that with you before you scan it for tracking devices and bugs.”

“What is this, amateur hour?” Noir asked in turn, “You take care of your end of the job, I’ll deal with mine. Noir out.”

“Noir?” Deep asked… but David had already cut him off.

---

Time: The Following Day
Location: Noir’s Penthouse

“YYou are being very unreasonable, Lampy. How the hell am I supposed to clean out that moss if there’s no bloody way of opening you up?”

David sighed. He’d actually been going crazy trying to open the antique lantern once he’d polished it up. At first, he’d treated it like a puzzle, a challenge of sorts. Later, it had evolved into a day-consuming mission, the man losing his nerves several times. There was not a lock in the world that could resist, but this thing had no locks, or any way of opening it up, for that matter. He’d actually considered smashing it out of sheer frustration, just to ‘win,’ but he realized the satisfaction in that would be fleeting, at best, and followed by instant regret.

He sat in his living room upon a comfortable couch, a pleasant shade of soft grey, whilst the lantern rested on a low table made of a beautiful, dark brown wood (lignum vitae, to be precise). He wore a pristine white shirt, tucked into some dark jeans, coupled with a nice pair of velvet-like ankle boots, a similar colour to that of the table.

He passed a hand through his hair, regarding the lantern intensely as a thought crossed his head. He placed both hands on the edges of the lantern, where the amber crystal met wood and began concentrating.

Minuscules tendrils of darkness eventually spread from his fingertips, prodding and pushing until they found a minuscule gap in the virtually airtight device. A triumphant grin spread over his face as the darkness began to slip, eventually scrubbing off the moss before completely enveloping it, crushing it inside its obscure grip. The tendril thinned out again, carefully exiting the way it had entered.

The lantern’s spirit alarmed she climbed the surface of the glass away from the tendrils, tiny suction cups allowing her to scale the smooth surface with ease. Her pupiless, bulbous eyes, watching intently. Pressing her nose against the glass to watch what he did next with her bedding.

David kept his concentration as it guided it across the room to the kitchen’s bin. He lifted a second hand, a second tendril shooting out to crack the bin open and, tongue sticking out, he forced the end of the tendril to ‘chop’ itself off, the moss contained within falling in the garbage before his dark limbs dissipated entirely.

She huffed, sliding back down to the bottom pouting. Kicking her feet out.

“Hah!” he exclaimed, wiping a bit of sweat off his forehead. They were an odd thing, these powers of his. He could actually feel the things he touched, even the minuscule particles of moss as he’d grinded them up and carried them over. With a big smile, he took a hold of the lantern and placed on a slim table looking out into the city, a record player at the ready next to it: he was nothing if not committed to his jokes.

“So, what kind of man are you, Mr. Lantern? Rock n’ roll? Pop? Indie? Reggae? Please don’t say punk,” he added, smirking, “No… I think you’re into the classics, aren’t you?”

The man took out an old vinyl from his collection, extracting it with care before placing it on the record player, a number of instruments filling the air with a slow, catchy melody. David closed his eyes, hips and arms swaying from side to side as he walked backwards, ready to break into song.

“I’ve got youuuu, under my skin. I’ve got youuuu, deep in the heart of me. So deep in my heart, that you’re a part of me…”

Almost as if on cue, the tell-tale ring of Deep’s private line joined the tune in a somewhat cacophonous manner. David did a final twirl on the spot, before taking the phone.

“Talk to me,” he smiled, “Please, please tell me you’ve found something.”

“I have,” Deep replied, “I couldn’t find anything on this Jacque character of yours, but your Ambassador, on the other hand… well, she was almost insultingly easy to find.”

David’s eyes widened with glee, “I’m all ears.”

“Actually, I’m sending you the link right now.”

David’s phone beeped, the man opening it so fast he barely had time to read it:

instagram.com/fairydust

“Paris, France, with a little flag, of course,” he began reading out loud, “Fashion, beauty, lifestyle, all between some colourful stars, and… ‘Paris Opera House Ballet Soloist?’”

That last one caught him off guard, a wolf-like grin plastered on his face as he perused her instagram pictures, “22k followers? Dear Gods, is this woman not concerned at all about…” he stopped, a devious thought entering his mind, “Hey buddy, when’s the next show at the Paris Opera House?”

It barely took a moment for Deep to reply, “Three days.”

“Can you…?”

“You fly out two days from now, a full week before you return. Tickets are in your e-mail,” Deep answered simply.

“Am I really that predictable?” David laughed.

“Yes, yes you are,” Deep replied simply, amused.

“You’re a legend, mate. Thank you,” David smiled.

“I know. I...”

David had already hung up, making his way to his walking closet to choose which suits he’d be taking.

“Oooh man, that looks like it hurt.”

The sound of crinkling glass slightly drowned out the still active pop music droning over the convenience store’s sound system, followed by the slow groan of the robber that was just put through the glass doors of the milk section, the white cartons dropping from their rails and crashing into the floor around the figure slumped against the tile.

“Sometimes I forget I have to be careful with guys with no powers.” Trent continued, lowering the hand that had slammed into the ringleader’s chest and launched him across the store. “Brittle bones, delicate skin, it's really boring fighting people who don't stand a chance, you don't get a chance to really cut loose. I kind of enjoy these things more if there’s some actual threat, y’know?”

His expression changed to a cruel sneer, letting his kinetic aura flare up around him as he began the advance on the remaining two criminals. "Still...there's a certain satisfaction in smackin' around a couple of morons who've clearly made terrible life choices."

One of the burglars shrieked in a panic, leveling his pistol at the meta and unleashing a full barrage of bullets, emptying the entire clip at the unemployed mercenary. Again, the bullets all clearly found their mark as they sliced through Trent’s clothing like butter, but all that remained was the flattened bullets dropping to the floor, completely halted against the skin of the energy wielder.

“Oh right, because the shotgun was so effective you figured your pea-shooter would do better?” Trent quipped, causing the assailant to gasp and recoil in utter fear, dropping his firearm. With one step the merc dropped low, gracefully coiling his body as he stepped into the robber’s personal space with a practiced ease. Before the man even had a chance to react, War-Pulse’s body uncoiled in a swift uppercut, the horrendous crack of his kinetically-charged fist connecting with the man’s jaw echoing through the building before launching him straight into the ceiling. The body shuddered as it collided with the ceiling tiles before limply crashing onto one of the isles below him and tumbling to the floor, spilling countless bag and chips of candy across the floor.

“Uh oh, clean up on isle two!” Trent taunted, pointing at the defeated foe and motioning to the bewildered janitor, frozen in place as soon as the action started. “I mean, that’s isle two, right? You only got three isles in this place and I don’t know if you’re--”

But Trent was babbling on, the third crook was making a break for it, attempting to run by the meta and flee out the automatic doors. While making eye contact with the janitor, Trent's hand snapped out in a flash, locking around the collar of the fleeing crook and lifting him off his feet with the same ease of lifting a bag of potato chips.

“Hey, hey, what’s the rush?” War-Pulse said, slowly turning his attention to the writhing crook helplessly struggling to free himself from his vice-like grip. “You guys interrupted my snack-time, the least you could do is entertain me for a few minutes.”

The whimpering degenerate responded with the butt of his shotgun, slamming it hard into the merc’s face. To his horror, Trent didn’t even acknowledge that he had been hit, his efforts amounting to nothing more than a slight tickle against the kinetic sheath and genetically enhanced skin of the mercenary.

“Not bad, 'A' for effort.” Trent quipped, seeing the wide-eyed terror of his temporary captive through the mask. “For that, your prize is a trip to the great outdoors!”

And with that, Trent’s body twisted on his heel, gaining momentum as he spun a complete circle, dragging the poor burglar with him. With a flick of the arm, the robber was sent spinning through the air like a football, smashing through the aluminum and glass of the automatic doors as he tumbled end over end across the pavement outside before coming to a stop.

“I think may have overdid it.” Trent said, mockingly placing his hand over his eyes like a visor to survey the man outside from his vantage point. “...Buuuuut I’m pretty sure he’s still breathing though, so I think we can safely say that this attempted robbery has been...” He pointed at the knocked out thug in the milk section, a grin plastered from ear to ear. "MILKED for all it's worth!"

His quip was only met with silence as both the shocked and slightly horrified janitor and cashier gawked at their trashed store with slack jaws, occasionally exchanging glances between each other and the meta.

“Jeez, tough crowd. I'm saving your skins here, the least you could do is give me a chuckle.” Trent said, waltzing out of what remained of the shattered automatic door. “Still...sorry about the mess, I’m sure your store cams will show that it isn’t your fault, at least.”

Yet Pulse’s causal demeanor immediately dropped once he stepped outside and caught sight of the two police cruisers flashing their lights on the scene. He looked back to peer at the cashier, putting the pieces together than she most likely tripped a silent alarm as soon as the chaos started. Turning his attention back to the cars, he could see that the police were already behind their open car doors and utilizing them as cover.

“Stay where you are!” The police started, their voice ringing out in earnest as Trent could see the glint of their firearms already drawn. “Put your hands where I can see them!”

Trent let out a sigh, complying slowly with a shake of his head. “Hey, spare me the ‘thank you’s for doing your job! If I weren’t here they’d be long gone, already”

There was silence at first, clearly Trent’s calm response was unnerving to the cops, especially in such a hectic place as Lost Haven.

“Are...are you a meta?” One of the cops asked, his voice wavering slightly as he spoke.

“No, I just beat three armed criminals with good luck and charm--OF COURSE I’M A META.”

More silence, the cops sharing a quick glance of discomfort at the relaxed shoulders and casual smile of the man before them. “Identify yourself, metahuman!”

“Really? Y’all never heard of ‘War-Pulse’ before?”

“War-Pulse…” The cop piped up again, “Y...yeah, I actually remember that name, you were part of D-Day a few months ago, right?”

“Yes! Now you got it!”

“Don’t you wear one of those fancy super outfits?”

“Yeah, I don’t wear that full time.”

“Didn’t the Hounds of Humanity kill you?”

“Jesus, do I look dead to you?”

Again, silence permeated the air as the policeman scratched his head, apologetically shrugging as he lowered his weapon. “Be that as it may, Mr. War-Pulse, sir. We need to take a statement. Could you come with us to the station?”

“Honestly, I’d rather not.” The mercenary responded. “My snack was ruined and I’ve got other places I want to be rather than the polic--”

“Hey, wait a minute!” The other policeman, who had been quietly checking his dash computer, perked up with a scowl on his face. “This ‘War-Pulse’ guy may have helped in D-Day, but he’s also got a rap sheet! Assault, property damage...he took out a piece of Lost Haven’s Harbor! I think he’s got an international record , too!”

“Uh, look, I can explain--”

“Turn around and get on the ground!”

Trent gave a disparaged sigh, lowering his hands as the police continued to shout orders at him from the flimsy protection of their cars.

“Yeah, I don’t have time for you guys today.” He droned, his body slowly levitating off the ground surrounded by a humming blue aura, a consistent stream of kinetic energy lifting him into the air. “Y’all have fun with the guys I took out for you, and hey, feel free to call this in and spread that I'm not dead. Any publicity is good publicity, right?”

And before the police had a chance to respond, they were interrupted by an eruption of energy smashing into the pavement, launching the mercenary straight up in the blink of an eye.

“Well Trent-y, if you wanted attention, you sure as hell got it…” Pulse murmured to himself, propelling himself along the skyline. “Only a matter of time before someone picks up on that. Hopefully it’ll be a job offer and not a request to leave the city...”

An energy blast from his hand snapped him in a ninety degree turn, towards the outskirts. “Maybe I should lay low for a while, try and avoid unwanted attention.”

Of course, the hints of a smile crossing his face knew that was an impossibility, someone in this town would notice meta activity, but who? He could only imagine.

Since the dawn of civilization, mankind has tried to harness the power of the sun. From growing crops, to using solar energy to heat homes and eventually, producing the very electricity that would make the entire world run, the sun was instrumental in mankind's development. For centuries, mankind had toiled to duplicate the sun's power, and in some cases, improve upon it. They have strived to find a better way to power the world, with clean, renewable energy that could keep entire cities powered for generations to come. While they had made incredible strides toward this lofty goal, they had, up until this point, failed.

That is, until someone had managed a breakthrough that did just that.

Under the watchful eye of Richard Midas, engineers and scientists for Midas Industries finally made a breakthrough. They had created a device, which they had nicknamed Daybreak, which was in reality a revolutionary reactor, no larger than a standard car battery, which could produce enough energy to power an entire city for hundreds of years. The device, which Midas Industries had developed in secret was worth billions of dollars, and although the company had gone to great lengths to keep the development of the technology a secret; at least until its official unveiling, when a company as large as Midas Industries is involved, there are sure to be leaks on some level.

For months there were whispers of a secret new technology that would potentially change the entire world, though the details were typically vague. This did not pose a problem for those who had the desire, or the desperation for a sudden windfall which would be the end result of securing and then selling whatever this new technology may be.

“Alright, the convoy should be rounding the corner at 1st and Tremont Avenue in 3..2..now.” One such man, the mercenary known only as Stinger said to his partners as he watched the convoy of vehicles make their way toward their destination.

Stinger had once been a feared man. The very mention of his name would send shivers down the spines of just about anyone in the know. However, he was now less than an afterthought. After a brief run in with Icon which led to a lengthy incarceration, he had become something of a cautionary tale at best, and an absolute joke at worst. It seemed that time had passed him by, and with the emergence of newer, more efficient, and much more effective mercenaries such as War-Pulse and even the mysterious man known as The Prophet, Stinger had been quietly retired from the profession. Not for a lack of interest on his part, sadly, it was due to a lack of interest among those doing the hiring. However, once this job was finished, all of his problems would be behind him.

“And go.” Stinger instructed his partners. On his orders, there was a sudden explosion in the front passenger side wheel well of the transport truck as one of his men had blown out the tire with a single high caliber round.

With the tire blown out, the driver of the transport truck lost control of the vehicle. He frantically spun the wheel while slamming on the breaks in an attempt to regain control enough to avoid careening into other vehicles or worse, pedestrians in the roads or even on the sidewalks. Mercifully, the driver was able to bring the rig to a halt before it injured anyone. However, no sooner had the big rig come to a halt then it was beset upon by the very men who had caused it to careen out of control. The driver's side door was forced open, and the driver found the muzzle of a pistol in his face.

“Open it.” The gunman said, motioning to the back door of the truck.

“I can't.” The driver told him, nearly choking on his own words.

“What do you mean, 'you can't?'” The gunman demanded as he thrust the gun into the driver's face for emphasis.

“I don't have access to it. They loaded the truck and locked it when they were done. The only people that have keys are at the drop off location.” The driver explained in a panic.

“It's no problem.” Stinger said into the earpiece that the gunman wore. “We've got it covered.”

“Fine.” The gunman said before pistol whipping the driver, knocking him senseless. “Do yourself a favor, don't get up.”

As the gunman moved around to the back of the rig, he saw his contact, Stinger, standing at the rear doors with another man, whom he assumed was the third member of their triumvirate, who he had never actually laid eyes on before this moment. Stinger was directing the man who was attempting to cut through the back doors with some sort of torch. Suddenly, there was a sudden gust of wind, and a blue and silver blur whizzed by, and in the blink of an eye, the man with the torch was gone.

“What the-?!” The gunman wasn't able to finish his sentence before the blue and silver blur snatched him up as well.

“Oh no...not again.” Stinger cried out as he turned and started to run.

He didn't get very far before Icon landed on the street in front of him. As he looked upon the hero, his mind was flooded with memories of the last time he had crossed paths with Icon, and the long incarceration that followed. For Stinger, a return to prison was not an option. For an instant, he cursed himself for returning to Lost Haven, to the one place on the planet that he was most likely to run into the accursed hero.

Then he turned and ran.

Abandoning any sense of self respect in favor of self preservation, Stinger ran with everything he had. In fact, he had never run faster. He had managed to make it about a half a block when he suddenly felt a pair of powerful hands grip him by the back of his shirt, and then his stomach dropped as he suddenly shot skyward.

“You know, I really don't have time for this.” Icon said, before securing the mercenary to a nearby telephone pole along with his partners, and then disappearing into the bright blue sky.



The music pulsed throughout packed halls of The Hub. On the dance floor, people are moving in rhythm with the music. Bodies are grinding together to the sounds of 90's R&B. The newly reopened nightclub had seen a boon in business, as it appeared that the crowds just wanted something to make them forget about the recent events, not only in the city, but all across the country. In fact, it seemed that the Hounds of Humanity attack in this very club just over a month ago was a distant memory.

Among the crowd on the dance floor, Scott and Alexa moved together, their bodies pressing against one another as an old Keith Sweat tune reverberated through the club. As they danced, Scott couldn't help but to think back to the first time he had officially met her. It had been just after the rag tag group of heroes had ended the threat posed by Dr. Diplodoc and his “meta domes.” Scott had been talking to Eric when he noticed her at the bar, and though she was not in her costume, something about her just tipped him off to the fact that this beautiful young woman sitting at his bar was the same woman that he had fought side by side with during the crisis. Perhaps it was the way she gingerly brought her glass to her lips, or the way she seemed to lean slightly to one side as she favored her injured ribs. However, he was shocked when he approached her, and she greeted him, making it known that she had also deduced his identity.

As the song came to an end, Scott pulled Alexa closer to him and held her for a moment. After several beats the music began anew, and Scott took Alexa's hand. He looked deep into her eyes and beckoned for her to follow him. He led her by the hand off of the dance floor and across the club to door that lead to the club's office, as well as the stairwell that led up to Scott's apartment. He took her past the door to his apartment, and led her up the stairway to the roof. As they moved away from the rooftop doorway, they were met with a slightly brisk breeze. The night was clear without a cloud in the sky, and the massive super moon illuminated the city's skyline like a large night light. They walked over to the edge of the building and looked out over the city as Scott stepped slightly behind Alexa and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly to him.

The view is better from my place.” Alexa teased as she leaned back against him. Though she may have been teasing him, it was true. From the balcony of her apartment, which was located on the fifty third floor of the high rise apartment building, she could see then entire eastern half of Lost Haven, all the way to the Atlantic.

It was a breathtaking view indeed.
“Without a doubt.” Scott agreed. As he leaned into her, the sweet smell of vanilla and coconut caught his attention. The aroma was heavenly, and as he held Alexa against his chest, he found himself in a moment that he never wanted to end.

“I love you.” Scott said, breaking a momentary silence.

“I love you too.” Alexa replied.

Scott gave her a slight squeeze and then let go of her. He took a step to to the left of her and then another step forward, bringing himself shoulder to shoulder with her as they both looked out over the neighborhood.

“Hey, I have a question for you.” Scott said casually.

“I have an answer.” Alexa said jokingly. She turned to face Scott, who had gotten down on one knee and held out a small box which was open, revealing a beautiful diamond ring.

“Will you marry me?”

Once the credits began to roll, Will reached over for the remote and pressed the pause button so the next episode would start. After they had went to brunch and miniature golf, Will finally was able to convince Aubrey to head back to her apartment for the evening and order in something for dinner. For the rest of the night, the two of them enjoyed pizza while binging some of Marvel's Runaways.

“Do you need anything while I’m up?” Will asked as he stood up from his spot on the couch next to Aubrey. While he waited for her response, Will checked the several, almost empty pizza boxes and consolidated the remaining pieces into a single box.

“I could use a quick fill-up,” Aubrey answered. She rattled the ice in her glass, showing it was empty of any liquid besides some water that was melted from the ice. Will reached out to take the glass, but Aubrey fumbled the exchange. Luckily, Will’s reflexes prevented the ice from spilling all over the floor.

“Alright, but after this, I’m cutting you off from the coke. I think you’ve reached your caffeine threshold already,” Will demanded. Although Aubrey’s superhuman physiology gave her a high tolerance to alcohol, so much so that she could outdrink the most redneck drinkers out there, her spider powers came with an intolerance of caffeine. An overdose on caffeine for her would be like a normal person after having a few too many beers.

“I haven’t had that many glasses of pop,” Aubrey replied, “I’ve had my powers long enough to handle, umm, how many glasses have I had?”

“Six, going on seven,” Will answered as he stacked the empty pizza boxes on top of one another and headed toward her kitchen.

“I can handle six glasses of pop. Don’t worry about it!”

“Alright,” Will relented as he pulled out the liter of coke from Aubrey’s refrigerator. Once he filled up Aubrey’s glass, he had emptied the rest of the liter. After rinsing the container out with water, he tossed it into the recycling bin, along with the empty pizza boxes. He had also poured out a full cup of water for himself before returning to the couch.

“Take some more pizza,” Will suggested to Aubrey as he offered the remaining pizza box to her. She reached in and picked up another slice. Once he also took another piece, Will placed the box back on the nearby coffee table and pressed play on the remote.

After a few minutes into the next episode, Will felt Aubrey’s head rest against his shoulder. He took his arm and draped it over her back. This was really surreal for Will. Although he knew that this was not his Aubrey, she still acted like her. Sure, this Aubrey had her own peculiarities. But it was not like she was a completely different person.

While Will was engrossed in the show playing on the television, he suddenly heard ice scatter over the floor. When he peered down, Will noticed that Aubrey’s glass was lying on the ground. Fortunately, she had drunk most of her coke. Therefore, there was only melted ice left. He then glanced over to Aubrey and found her fast asleep. He could hear her softly breathing as she slumbered.

Taking the pillow resting next to him, Will slowly stood up while he gently lowered Aubrey’s head onto the pillow that he had placed where he had been sitting. Will quickly cleaned up the spill before he returned his attention to Aubrey. She continued to snooze on the couch.

Will then gently took his girlfriend and carried her into her bedroom so she would be more comfortable than sleeping on the couch. Once in her bedroom, he carefully lowered her onto the mattress so as not to wake her up. After Will had pulled the covers over her, he paused for a moment, just to make sure she was okay. Even though Aubrey had a healing factor, Will did not want her to choke on her tongue.

After Will felt that Aubrey would be fine for the rest of the night, he turned to return to the living room. However, as Will tried to take his first step, he felt a hand grasp around his wrist. Although he knew he did not have to look, he did so anyways. After everything he had done to get Aubrey back into her bed, she woke up right when he was leaving.

“There’s plenty of room here next to me,” Aubrey told Will as she patted the space next to her on the bed.

“I’ll be perfectly comfortable on the couch,” Will responded to her. However, from the expression on her face, he knew she was not going take that as an answer.

“Why are you so adverse to sleeping in the same bed as me?” Aubrey asked Will. “It’s not like we haven’t shared the same bed before. Like that one time after that ghost guy tried to kidnap us in his taxi.”

Will paused when he heard what Aubrey had just said. Only his Aubrey would know details like that, unless this same event had also happened in this Aubrey’s world, too. Could this be a sign that she was actually his Aubrey, just under the influence of whatever was causing her to think she was an alternate version of herself from a parallel universe? He wanted to say yes, but he could not say for sure. Since Will knew he wasn’t going to get out of this this easily, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, next to Aubrey.

“If I recall that day correctly, I didn’t really have much a choice in those sleeping arrangements. Besides, one thing might lead to the next.” Will paused for a moment as he tried to pick his words wisely, “I’m just not quite ready to—what I’m trying to say is I want to wait until we tie the knot.”

“Ready? It has been seven years! When are you ever going to be ready?” Aubrey complained when she heard Will’s answer. However, instead of going into a fit of rage, Aubrey started to break down into tears.

“Do you have any idea how humiliating it is that I get more action at the strip club than I do from my own boyfriend? And we have a strict ‘hands off’ policy. Is it so wrong to want more than foreplay from my boyfriend when all the sleazy creeps at work get an eyeful?”

Aubrey then pulled off the power nullifier and tossed it on the floor. Her arachnid legs shot out from underneath her bedsheets as her drider physique returned. Two of her rear legs yanked on the sheets and pulled them up enough to reveal part of the red hourglass design on her spider abdomen.

“Don’t you find me attractive?”

“Of course, I do. That’s not the issue,” Will responded as he inched towards Aubrey. “You have just had one too many drinks tonight. I don’t want us to do anything we’ll regret in the morning.”

“I’m fine,” Aubrey tried to convinced Will, but she was clearly still buzzed from the caffeine.

“How about this. Why don’t we sleep separately tonight and in the morning, we can discuss a romantic evening tomorrow?”

“Promise?

“I promise,” Will said as he leaned in to plant a kiss on Aubrey’s forehead. However, Aubrey pulled him towards herself and drew their lips together. Will tried to brace himself from this little surprise. One hand landed on her hip, while the other on her breast.

“A little preview for tomorrow,” Aubrey whispered in Will’s ear after they parted lips. She then rested her head back on her pillow and fell back to sleep.

Will sat there, stunned. What had he gotten himself into? His only hope was that she would not remember their conversation. But now that she was asleep, Will knew this was his opportunity to leave her alone and get back to the living room. Who knows what she would do if she were to wake up again while Will was still in the room.

After Will had pulled out the pillow and blanket he had packed in his luggage and made his bed on the couch, he laid down to rest. However, no matter how much he tried, he could not fall asleep. The uncanny similarities that the Aubrey, who was fast asleep in the other room, had to “his” Aubrey still bothered him. It made him want to believe that she was really “his” Aubrey, but he had no way to be sure.

He then sat up and stared at Aubrey’s bedroom door. Was he overthinking things here? What harm could really come from something as simple as sleeping in the same bed as her? Maybe he had been judging a book by its cover unjustly. And when would he have such an opportunity ever again? Sure, she had comically ridiculous proportions, but “his” Aubrey was also quite well-endowed, too. Will had to admit that this Aubrey had quite the—

What the hell am I thinking? Will mentally gasped when he realized what thoughts were running through his head. Even if this Aubrey was in fact “his” Aubrey, she still was not right in the head. He would not cheat on his girlfriend, even if the woman sleeping in the other room was just her doppelganger from another universe. And what was he doing metaphorically caressing her body in his head?

Will immediately threw off his blanket and stood up. With one press of a button on his wristband, his scarlet and gray costume began to cover his body. For a moment, he paused, using his spider sense to make sure that Aubrey was still asleep. Once Will knew Aubrey was not awake, he silently leapt up onto the ceiling and opened the skylight.

“I’ll find out what has happened to you, Aubrey,” Will muttered under his breath as he shut the rooftop skylight. “I promise you that.”

---

Maddy's Apartment
Sometime Around Lunch

"I can't believe you flaked on seeing Iron Knight."

"Come on, give me a break Ter," Aleks said with an eye-roll for emphasis. "He's a superhero, not exactly an uncommon sight around SPARK."

"But...it's Christopher friggin' Arthur!" Terra exclaimed as she swerved around a corner, dodging a green turtle shell by inches. "Dude's a living legend among living legends!"

"He's a super-powered Kardashian! Seriously if I ever wanted to get a superhero to sign my butt I'd drop my pants in front of 'Caliber' and give her a pen."

"That's oddly specific, but I'll assume it's a complement," Maddy said wickedly. "Eat banana peel!"

"Fuck!" Aleks shouted as Luigi spun out of control, which graduated to a louder shout when the poor plumber careened off the edge of the map. "STOP DOING THAT!"

"Have a nice swim!" Maddy laughed as Bowser shot past and crossed the starting line for the final lap. "Can't dethrone the king!"

"Death to tyrants!" Terra shouted in defiance.

"Ter, you're playing Peach."

"Death to some tyrants!" Terra corrected herself. "Actually, that raises a good point, what would you do if someone asked you to sign their butt?"

"Do people actually ask to do that?" Maddy questioned as she zoomed across a chasm, dropping a fake item box at the end in just the right spot to blow someone off the map. "It would just wash off, and you can't even see where it was signed. Doesn't make any sense."

"Come on blue shell...damn it, green shell again," Aleks moped. "And I don't think that matters to some of the weirder fans out there. I've read that some of Iron Knight's disciples get really weird."

"Well as long as both my fans don't ask me to sign their cheeks I think I'll be fine," Maddy quipped, which turned into a yelp as a red shell smacked into her.

"So long gay bowser!" Terra said as Peach sailed by and crossed the finish line for the win. She stood up to do a little dance before shape-shifting into Princess Peach herself, spinning around in the pink dress happily.

"Show off," Aleks grumbled as the losing pair crossed the finish line in third and fourth place, coming in behind the computer player Donkey Kong. "Can't believe we lost to the goddamned monkey..."

"You mean DK or her?"

"Oh ho, a reservoir of cunning and wit you are," Terra said, every word dripping with sarcasm. "Them's fightin' words, I'm thinking a rematch."

"Oh you are so on."

"I'm picking the map though, that banana thing was so cheap," Aleks insisted. "Rainbow Road sounds good."

"See what I want to know, Mads," Terra said, continuing the previous line of discussion, "Is what exactly do you even do at this SPARK place?"

"Uh, well they have us on patrol times, where we group with one another and go out to keep an eye on things," Maddy explained. "I guess because Caliber is named and well-known I got put in as a team leader."

"Wow, congrats!" Terra and Aleks chimed in.

"Don't congratulate me yet," Maddy said weakly. "I still feel like I'm in over my head. You saw what I'm...well, you saw." She locked eyes with Terra, who gave a slight nod to show she understood.

"Hey if there's anyone I trust to keep a bunch of punk kids with lasers shooting out of their eyes safe, it's you," Aleks complimented.

"Thanks, that's...really encouraging, if a little oddly phrased" Maddy smiled. "And you know, at the very least I won't be working with a super-villain anymore."

"Preach," her two friends chorused.

"By the way, what was it you said earlier?" Aleks said as Luigi swerved in front of Bowser just before a sharp curve away from the endless void of space. "Eat banana peel?"

"NOOO!"

A few minutes after storming out of the garage, Kayla had come to a stop. All that thought of trying to act strong around people like Jai and Racheli and in the end, she felt weaker than she had ever been. Hiding in an alleyway, away from the eyes of the public, she allowed herself to breakdown and cry. Hiding behind the dumpster from the alleyway entrance, the archer had curled herself up into a ball against the wall and dumpster. Her face was buried into her knees as her wails were muffled.

I can’t deal with this, she thought, thinking back to Jai and Leila that she left behind. Out of everything he had done, why did old man Taylor give Jai the job to work alongside her? He knew her the best and knew what would happen if she broke down. So why? All the flashbacks of her getting shot were blurred between Jason and Jai, which was getting harder for her to turn herself around. Slowly, the medications she took in the garage were kicking in. Her shaking shoulder eased off as she calmed herself. The flashbacks were fading away too as her mind focused on her shot cycle. After a few moments, Kayla looked up to see if anyone was watching her.

” I can always rely on archery to get me back,” she muttered quietly, slowly getting up from the ground. She dusted off the back of her work trousers from the dust from the alleyway floor. Wiping away the rest of the tears from her reddened face, she picked up the arrow tube. Slowly, she began walking away from her hiding place towards home. ”I think some ice cream is in order,” she concluded to herself. That and binge-watching any shitty tv show that was on tonight.

A loud scraping sound echoed in the alleyway. A nearby sewer lid pushed up and slid to the side, followed by cursing mumbles under someone’s breath. In a few moments, a woman with short, brown hair revealed herself. Racheli finished pushing the lid aside before she climbed out, twisting her figure to sit on the edge. She took a moment to catch her breath.

Casually her eyes shifted alongside the alley’s interior until they rested on Kayla.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice flooded into an annoyed, unconcerned tone.

As she listened for an answer to her question, her figure was already pushing onto her feet.

Kayla had heard the scraping sounds as she walked away. Slowing down, she looked around to discern if it was the sound coming from the alley or from somewhere in the city. By this point, the unusual things in the city were frequent enough for her to know that everything is a possibility.

She only snapped into attention when a familiar voice came from behind her. Spinning around, the archer saw her friend sitting on the lip of the opening to the sewer. That explains the sound, she concluded. But even so, her emerging from the sewers was unusual. And the tone in her voice… that was something that made Kayla nervous. Despite not showing it, the earlier interaction that happened in the garage was still weighing heavily on her mind.

”Oh hey Rach,” Kayla responded in a contrasting warm tone. ”I was just making my way home from the garage. Will need some time off my feet after everything.” There was a slight pause, causing the faint smile that she had to disappear into concern. ”Rach… Is everything alright? You disappeared in a rush after the nanites healed my injuries. And why were you in the sewers?”

Racheli eyed her up then down a moment. A suspicion crossed her face at Kayla’s approach while she seemed to debate something in her head, finally relaxing some. Her right hand pulled up to the back of her neck and scratched it softly a few times.

“I needed to be alone. Sewers seemed like the best place because there was no one around to pry into my business. As for my disappearance, I need to clear my head. That’s it,” Racheli was careful to keep her replies vague as she walked over to the sewer lid and began to slide it over.

It moved easily and slipped into the hole, the grooves kept it in place. As she finished up, her attention turned back to Kayla. The eyes seemed void of any sense of recognition but it didn’t linger long. Her head tilted away and stared at the wall, her voice continued to talk.

“I hit my head on the way down so my memory is a little hazy.”

Kayla’s body remained in a neutral, non-responsive position. The pause from Racheli as she was eyeing the archer up seemed off. While the woman standing in front of her looked like Racheli, the archer’s gut feeling was hinting that this was someone else entirely. She dismissed the thought completely as she was tired and wanted to go home and rest. But the thought will remain in the back of her mind for her to process later.

The archer nodded at what Rach was saying. It did make sense that she needed the privacy as Midas could still be keeping an eye on her and anyone she’s in contact with. It also helped that Rach was also a wanted person for things that had happened in the past, though what they were was out of Kayla’s reach at the moment. As for ‘clearing her head’ after what happened in the garage, that part made a lot of sense. She didn’t take the metahuman for the sort to try and clear her head, but it might have been one of those occasions.

However, despite the responses given to her, the thought that the person in front of her wasn’t Racheli crept back into Kayla’s mind. And two things stood out to her from that. The first things: Racheli is having difficulty recalling memories after falling into the sewer, yet still have her memories when riddled with bullets? That made no sense to her at all. And the second thing? Where’s the usual tagalong that came with her with these conversations? He always had some snarky quip to fire off at key moments in the conversation.

Kayla had to test something in that case, just to make sure. ”You seem to get yourself into a right state, huh Rach? Hopefully, you still remember my name after the fall, right?” While she was tired and the suspicions were still in mind, the archer put on a show to give Racheli a cheeky grin.

Racheli swayed her head to the side a bit, her lips pinched together. She narrowed her eyes at Kayla before she answered, her tone indifferent to the question.

“Didn’t you state you needed to get off your feet? If you’re that tired, I doubt you could even recall your own name.”

With that, she flipped her hood over her head and began to walk around Kayla. She gestured for the woman to follow her as she answered back.

“The answer is Kayla.”

Kayla was a bit puzzled that her wording of ‘getting off her feet’ was misconstrued to being too tired for anything, even recalling her name. Her eyes followed Racheli as she walked around the archer. So far, nothing seemed threatening about her. When her name was actually said, she relaxed. Guess I’m just getting worked up over nothing, she thought. Perhaps their ‘friend’ just didn’t want to speak to her for the rest of the day.

The archer turned on her heels and began following Racheli out of the alleyway. ”Just had to check. Head injuries can be serious, after all.” She shifted the tube she was carrying up onto her shoulder as it began to slip down during the conversation. ”So, any plans for the rest of the day? No news from Midas?”

“Yeah, of course, you were,” Racheli wasn’t convinced.

When she reached past her friend, her head looked over her shoulder. A suspicious look enveloped her expression but quickly faded into indifference and calm. It was obvious she didn’t believe Kayla’s excuse for the question. The moment the topic changed, Racheli latched onto it.

She bit her lip in thought before she answered. Each of her weaving and twisting movements ensured she didn’t touch anyone in the increasing crowds while she walked, not appearing to be fond of brushing against anyone.

“First off, I’m heading to the apartment to get cleaned up. I’m pretty sure the cops could smell me a mile away because of the stench. After that… no idea, her nose wrinkled at the statement as she waved off the smell with her right hand.

“No one, not even Midas, has called me today. So I have no idea what’s going on with him.”

Kayla noticed the suspicious look. With everything that happened at that moment, she wasn’t sure of what to make of it. But with Rach giving her name, she just let it go as something that her fatigued state might be making.

Shaking head to delay fatigue, Kayla followed Racheli through the crowds. With her head swimming from the crash in energy, she barely noticed that her friend was weaving through the crowd to avoid touching them. ”Yeah, that makes sense,” she replied, still hiding the recoil from the stench. ”I guess we both can relax for the rest of the day.” Finishing her sentence, she yawned, covering her mouth with her left hand. ”This is despite the fact that I’m still wary of Midas not having done anything since The Hounds attacked.”

"He'll do something, but no point in worrying about it. It adds more stress than we need," she continued through the crowd.

They reached the edge, the densest part behind them, causing Rach to glance over at Kayla. She bit her lip and sighed, seeming to hide her irritation.

"So, where am I dropping you off at? There's no way in hell I'm going to let you wander off while you look like that. If you could see yourself, even you would wonder how you're still standing."

By this time, her figure had pulled to the opposite side of the street and walked in pace with Kayla. Her hands had buried themselves into her pockets. The chains swayed with each step and clanked against her clothes. She ensured to keep her hood down while she avoided making her face visible to anyone, even her friend.

Kayla simply nodded in agreement with the statement. Though she still remembers the drones that attacked Chinatown that almost got her caught up in the blast, there hasn’t really been anything from him. While the quiet is rather troublesome, worrying about it now isn’t going to help in any way. Like the saying goes, she thought. No news is good news.

Clamping her eyes shut momentarily to eke out a bit more energy to stay awake, Kayla didn’t notice the irritated look Rach gave her. She then looked at her friend, a little bit surprised with what was said. ”Though that might be harsh, you’re probably right,” the archer replied, feeling another yawn coming on. ”It’s why I’m heading home via bus than riding my bike home. Don’t want to injure myself again.” Kayla noticed that Rach had been avoiding being facially recognized to anyone, but she dismissed it due to the notion of not being seen and recognized. That’ll make things difficult for both Rach and her if people started picking up on that. ”The bus stop I need isn’t too far ahead. It’s just around a few corners.”

Rach scoffed then added, "Better blunt than a liar." Kayla chuckled in agreement.

Her words fell silent while she continued to walk alongside Kayla. The crowd dissipated leaving them alone once more. To distract herself, Rach eyes turned to the street. The traffic moved and people began to rush back to their jobs causing her to chuckle. It died down when they finally arrived at the bus stop.

"I'll leave you here and see you tomorrow. Where do you want to meet up?" Rach asked with a cool tone, her feet stopped a few feet short of the bench.

The bus, as if on cue, arrives as they reached the bus stop. Kayla looks at Rach, ”Well, with us having a day off tomorrow due to the garage being closed, I suppose we could do something in the French Quarter. Sound good?” With an agreement on what to do, the archer hops onto the bus and sits down. As it slowly makes its route, a thought crossed her mind. I guess I can invite Jai along too, seeing that he has the day off too.

The four siblings stood over a warehouse along the San Maria Bay as the customary thick, rolling fog of the night flowed lazily along the ground. Lud rolled his shoulders back and forth, clearly itching for a fight only he knew was coming. The other three had come on his request, after Art had called Clara and Bach out. While the visions of his prophetic dreams still rattled in Mozart's head, his larger brother was ready to put the frog's efforts into more tangible efforts.

"So, I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you guys to come with me here," he motioned his large, bullfrog head towards the warehouse.

"Figured you wanted a family stroll along the water," Bach shrugged.

"I was just happy to get away from fixing the water purifier," Clara said absentmindedly, her eyes trained on the building. She was always thinking. She was always working out what would happen next. "Art said something about a fight. Dunno if that's such a good idea, but hey, I'll hear my brother out."

Ludwig's eyes rolled slightly, but he continued, "Yea, there's gonna be a fight alright. You guys know the Bayside Bandits?"

"Those weirdos in the wrestling masks we ran into a few weeks ago?" Art nodded. "They're a Pinebluffs gang who are moving into San Maria. Yea I remember them."

"Well they're using this warehouse to run guns into the city," Ludwig explained. "I took down one of their dealers trying to recruit and arm a bunch of guys in an alleyway the other day. He pointed me towards this building when I asked him where the guns were getting brought in. I figured we could cut the shipments off at the source and clean the city up a bit."

"Sounds like a sweet idea to me," Bach shadowboxed, throwing a few punches. "Ever since our fight with the big lizard I've been wanting to go a few rounds."

Mozart had brought the other two here without knowing Ludwig's plan. His brother wanted to funnel Art's desire for purpose into this, and for that the eldest Frog was grateful. And this was still fighting the darkness like his dream had warned of, albeit a different form of darkness. Making San Maria safer for those that lived in it was a noble goal, and one he would happily support.

"I don't see a problem with it," Mozart nodded. "A safe San Maria is as good for us as it is for the other people who live here."

"No," Clara was unmoved. "We start doing this superhero thing, and we're bound to attract more attention than we already have onto ourselves. I mean look at what happens to all the other ones across the world. They get nonstop media coverage. They get targeted by terrorists and the government more often than not. Their lives are in constant danger. We already have some of the greatest and most dangerous science minds in the world after us. Do we really want to bring down more our way?"

No one said anything for quite a while. Clara's fear was palpable. Not of fighting a group of thugs. Art knew as well as she did they would be able to do so with ease. But she was scared that she was going to lose her family by fighting. By shining the bright spotlight onto themselves, they would be putting each other in danger. He understood how she felt. They had suffered long inside of IDRG, and they had fought hard to get to this point of freedom. But he also knew that freedom meant nothing if all they did was hide from the world around them.

"Clara, I get it," he put his hand on her shoulder. "But if we wall ourselves off from the world, what good was escaping? Having our family is great, but if we spend our lives hiding in our bunker, we're wasting our freedom. We have to have a purpose, and if that purpose is being heroes in this city, so be it."

She returned Mozart's stare, almost angry that he knew exactly what she was feeling. They were close, the two of them. They had the twin-like bond of feeling what the other did, even if they were technically not related at all. She then glanced at her other two brothers, both of which were clearly ready to jump into the fray.

"Fine," she relented with a wave of her hand. "Someone needs to make sure you idiots don't get killed anyway."

"Sweet," Bach laughed.



Dubai

The Jackal sat silently in a chair that was far too plush for his liking, though he found that during time's passage, the world had become more comfortable. Humanity thrived. Too-little food in his time had been replaced by too much. Few struggled to survive. It had made humanity weak. That made him smile. They were lambs ready for the slaughter. Ready to be swallowed by the unfathomable madness the waited to be released.

Still, they had done wonderful things.

The city that laid below the penthouse he now occupied sprawled like the galaxy shining in the night sky. The lights were infinite and the buildings were sleek and rose to the heavens as if they believed they could touch the cosmos itself. It showed their arrogance, their belief that their lives mattered. Still, he was impressed they tried. It was beautiful, their defiance in the face of certain death. A part of him admired them for it.

The apartment he now sat in, the most oppulent in the building he was told was called the Burj Khalifa, was fit for the king he was. From here he could not only see the city, but the world. Once he desired to rule all he surveyed, and had succeeded in doing so. But in the process he had learned of a far greater prize. Not the world. The power to reshape all the worlds.

All he had to do was destroy them all first.

"Is the apartment to your liking, grandfather?" a voice asked behindhim. He turned to find Kemsit, the young woman who had led his recovery. She was now dressed in a form-fitting black business suit instead of the ritualistic armor she had worn during his Resurrection. She was his final, worthy descendant, a fact he could scarcely believe. How had his line failed so?

Yet she seemed to be worthy of his blood. She had found him, after all. He could not say the same about any of his other progeny.

He smiled at her, "Yes, child. It is fit for a king."

"As you are," she bowed to him. "As you will be again."

He studied her. There was a confidence in her he admired, but too much of a willingness to please. She may have been ambitious, but if she deferred to him all the time she could not give good council.

"Tell me," he turned back to look over the city, "how did we come to have such power, yet not use that power to bring about the Eye's rise?"

He could feel her wince behind him. It was a question she figured was coming, but had hoped it wouldn't come up.

"After you were entombed, my ancestors wandered and looked for a new home, hunted by the Medjay the entire time," she began to tell the tale. "We offered our services as mercenaries, and attempted to regain our power wherever we went. We learned from the Greeks, Romans, and Huns, among others. But we were never able to get the foothold we needed to. After a failed attempt to infiltrate Egypt was repelled, we settled in North East Africa. And where we did happened to be rich in oil. As the years progressed, we leveraged that into Iris Energy. My great great grandfather had used the symbol of the Eye in a perverse way to promote his business, ending our true heritage in a mockery."

He had noticed that his family's company had a red eye as its sigul. But it did not have the power of the one he wore into battle. This was merely a stylized human eye, not the representation of the true god.

"In the past we decades we have diversified," she continued. "Two of our child companies, Northern Continental Electronics and Sundra Weapons Systems, helped to make us a player in the defense industry, which in turn helps arm our soldiers in preparation for the cleansing of the planet."

She had a killer instinct and the raw, fanatical drive he desired. That was good. But she still did not know his goals. Not his real goals. Only his priests in the ancient times did, and now they too were gone.

"And how did you discover our true purpose, child?" he asked, fascinated by what she would say. "How did you discover the glorious purpose of the All-Seeing Eye?"

The Jackal turned to face her, and he found a fire burning in her eyes, "It spoke to me. At least I believe it did. The great, red eye came to me in a dream. It told me I was meant for greater things. It told me about the book of our church that my father had kept hidden in his private vault. I read it and began recruiting for your church. Once I had our reavers, our harriers, I came to my father and uncle with an ultimatum. We use our vast resources to bring about you and your dream, or they die. My father refused. He died. My uncle quickly agreed. He lived."

The Jackal laughed. It was a deep, loud crack of rolling thunder that seemed to make the windows of the apratment shake. He couldn't help it. He liked the girl. He was proud of her. To kill ones own father was a grave sin for the sheep of this world. For her to do so and brag about it meant she was surely of his blood.

"And what is my mission, granddaughter?"

It was the question he was most curious of her answer.

"To remake the planet," she looked at him, unsure of why he was asking. "To bring about the world the great Eye showed you."

"It is so much more than that," he turned and put his strong hands on her shoulders. "It is not just to remake this world. It is to remake all the worlds that twirl on the beam."

"All of them, grandfather?" she looked up at him, puzzled.

"Yes, my dear. There are other worlds than these."



Mozart climbed down the fire escape of the North side of the building, as the other three frogs took up position on the other sides of the warehouse. As he got closer to the door, he felt his heart pound in his chest. They had never done anything like this before. Not really. Their attack on IDRG was nothing more than a desperate attempt to save themselves. Otherwise the few times they busted some of the Bandits on the street it was a chaotic mistake.

This was them tapping into the skills that were embedded into them from birth. They knew they were supposed to be warriors. That wasn't even considering their vision from the other night. No, they were bred to be superhuman soldiers in service to the IDRG for some nefarious reason. Now they were going to use those skills for good.

He had never been so excited.

The door leading in from the fire escape opened easily, creaking only slightly at the pressure he put on it. Across the catwalks of the building he could see his siblings enter as well. He motioned down to the floor below, where the men of the Bayside Bandits were moving crates from one large truck to other, smaller vehicles. Ludwig was right, they were certainly moving a lot of merchandise into San Maria.

Most of them didn't look all that important, but two of the Bandits stood out from the rest. One was a hulking individual almost as large as Ludwig. His bare, dark-skinned arms were bare, and he merely wore a tanktop and a pair of jeans, with combat boots. He looked like he could handle himself in a fight. Next to him, a smaller, skinnier man swung his legs off one of the crates and lounged back, his hands behind his head. He wore a tatty vest and a dirty t-shirt underneath. An electric orange mowhawk sprouted from the top of his head. He didn't look like a threat, but an unpredictable energy jumped off him.

Mozart caught the eyes of his siblings, and gave a nod. The four of them dropped down to the lower level, hiding in the darkness along the side of the warehouse. Mozart slid up next to some of the stacked crates. He knew the others were probably doing the same. They all knew what they had to do. It had been baked into their brains since birth.

Suddenly, one of the Bandits turned the corner. At first, he walked right by Art. But once he did, he double-taked and his eyes went wide at the big, blue frog. Before he could yell and alert the others, Mozart snapped out with his nad, delivering a dose of his paralyzing poison. The man crumpled towards the floor, but Art made sure to catch him before the sound alerted the rest of the men.

Unfortunately, it wouldn't matter. He heard a crash from where Bach had dropped down.

"Sanchez!?" the big man in the tank top yelled that way.

"Yea, man!?" Bach responded, putting on a ridiculous ice.

"Well, that's weird," the one with the mowhawk chuckled. "Sounds like you bumped your head and learned English, Sanchez!"

"Oh..uhh..donde esta la biblioteca!?" Bach responded. Mozart covered his face with his palm.

"Kill whoever the hell that is," the big guy ordered.

Art couldn't wait around any longer. Not after he heard the sound of guns cocking. He sprung off his powerful legs and flew through the air, landing in the center of all the Bandits. He rolled, grabbed the closest one by the shoulders, and tossed him into another. The two of them slammed through a crate, spilling its contents and knocking the two of them out. He heard others moving behind him, and a giant crash. He turned to see Lud smash through a tower of crates, causing them to topple down to the floor, creating a blizzard of splinters. Bach and Clara came next, trying to clean up the remaining Bandits.

"Get the merch out of here!" Mowhawk yelled to the men. Those that were still conscious ran for the trucks and sped off. Art tried to cut off the Mowhawk and the Big Guy, but before he could, Mowhawk lobbed a fiery projectile into the crates still in the warehouse. It exploded into a blaze, which quickly started to engulf the entire warehouse.

"Come on!" Lud yelled at Art. "We can still catch them!"

"No, we have to get everyone who's in here out!" he yelled back and picked up two of the Bandits and headed towards the exit. Lud gave him an angry look, but did the same.

Before long, the Bandits left behind were tied up and left for the authorities. Meanwhile, the Frogs headed back towards the hills.

"What the hell was that?" Ludwig spun Mozart around with a sneer. "We could have caught up with the ringleaders."

"We weren't going to leave people to burn to death," Art shook his head.

"They were criminals, Art," Clara added in.

"Who were laying unconscious," he shot back. "I'm not afraid to kill someone who deserves it. But I'm going to do that face to face. I'm not going to leave a defenseless person burn to death."

The four of them stood in silence, allowing the words to sink in. Art meant every word he said. He had no issue killing a human that posed a threat to an innocent or one of his siblings. But he would do it with honor. That much he was certain of.

Ludwig nodded and looked at the ground, "You're right. We're not murderers. Not in cold blood."

Mozart put his hand on his brother's shoulder, "We'll find them, and take them off the street. I promise."

Dominique was tiny and stocky, a native of Texas like the Captain, and utterly worshipped the ground the Captain walked on. Not only had she been saved from the sort of ship that only ended in blood and suffering, (and she shuddered at the recollection), but she relished the vivacity with with her Captain infused every aspect of not only her own life, but that of the crew as well. It was, however, also the source of some danger, such as now.

As the dark-skinned girl walked past the edge of the opening of the workshop, a spanner went flying past at neck level, followed by a string of curses in Creole. It splashed into the harbour waters as Dominique held up the clipboard she was carrying and ducked down to avoid anything else that might come flying out from the dimly lit niche in the wall of their home.

The harbour wasn't precisely adapted well, but it served quite nicely for the piratical purpose they had set their lives to. Situated roughly five miles east of Trou Basseux, near a small village that ignored their presence and even helped them stay hidden in return for the crew spending their idle time (and money) there, it sat in a tiny cove, mostly walled off by natural rock. Millions of years ago it must have had a sharper edge outside, catching the waves, and the softer rock in their little home had washed away, leaving a hundred metre wide, two hundred long section of water just deep enough to allow sea access to the Revenge. The rest of the outer wall not already covered by rock was hidden by way of a holographic projector. Inside, only the last twenty metres before the exit was open to the sky, the rest a sheltered cave. Large caverns, now reinforced and made habitable, lined the walls where the inevitable power of the sea had poked holes. These, in turn, had been converted into a tiny village all its own for the fifty men and women of the Revenge.

The largest of these caves, with a wide mouth, housed the main dock in front of it, and inside lay the layer of the Revenge's mad mistress. There was a small house and a huge open area covered with worktables, hoists, gantries, and innumerable half-finished projects. Racks of tools of their owners own mysterious designs stood to one side, and a pair of scrap metal, slipshod robots tottered back and forth, bringing tools to their creator or returning them to the rack, ambling over the sand like brain-dead crabs. Dominique and the rest of the crew called them Things One and Two, though the Captain had never officially called them a damned thing except for hissed insults when they were too slow. She did, however, let them recharge in her house, and aside from the insults generally treated them like stupid but faithful pet dogs. The ships cat, Lieutenant Spots, could often be seen sitting on them, displaying his obviously higher rank.

Dominique peeked over her clipboard. Normally, she could easily be heard over the rest of the crew, and held an authority that none other than the Captain dared to question, but the Captain herself held some unknown terror for the woman. She was easily five years older than her boss, but something in the girl's eyes drove dread into even seasoned criminals, and her smile was more like a sharks if she was angry. Right now, judging from her posture, however, she was just frustrated, which was generally the Captain's default state.

Her hat hung on a hook nearby, the black-dyed peacock feathers drifting merrily below the even blacker brim. Her coat, a rich scarlet with gold trim, also was hung up, leaving Captain Alice 'Black Bonnet' Rackham in her trousers and white work short, which had its sleeves rolled to the elbows. Her hair, usually left to drift around her head in a cloud when on shore, was bound back in a rough ponytail. And unusual even for her, while she stood with her hands braced on a table, leaning over some mechanical project, she was standing in a bucket of seawater. Her face lifted up, and her eyes, glittering madly like a bird's, slid over Dominique's face for a second. She had a distant gaze, but it came sharply into focus.

“Sorry, Miss Briggs.” Despite her youth (she was only twenty), her voice was rich and sweet, often described as audible honey. “What can I do for you?”

Dominique, noting that today was a good day, stepped up to her Captain smartly, handing over the clipboard. “Ah, more like what I can do for you, ma'am. We've got another order, and a suspected target.”

“Oh?” Alice took the clipboard, gave it a brief glance, and set it on the table. From experience, Briggs knew that she had already read the whole thing top to bottom and probably understood it better than she had after reading it three times.

“It does look like we're going to throw a party. Tonight. And let Mister Ribbons know that I'd like a second target if he can find one, preferably a yacht or cruise line. Got to keep balance.”

“Yes, ma'am. And the order?”

“I'll fill it by weeks end, I suppose. They know they have to wait if they want our stuff.”

“Aye aye, ma'am. Shall I inform the crew?”

Alice's face slid into the smile that most of the crew feared. “Yes, Miss Briggs, you may.”

---

The blackness was enveloping and suffocating, a blanket over the sea. The only sounds from the entirety of the Revenge were the sloshing of waves against the hull and the steady breaths of those of the crew up on deck. She might have creaked, but that Alice Rackham was a genius engineer enough to prevent even that. Those who had stations on the deck watched her warily, while she herself peered through a spyglass that looked for all the world like one straight out of the movies. With one boot up on the rail and the gentle night breeze blowing her coat back, she looked like a woman completely out of another era of history. That air, along with her incessant madness and charisma in spades, had gotten them all on her ship, and not one man or woman among them had yet to give her cause to eject them.

In her view, the telescopic view widened out to give her a better view of her target. A freighter was chugging along, and from the information they had gotten, she was bound for Ponce in Puerto Rico, and then on to Puerto La Cruz in Venezuela, then cross the Atlantic to Cape Verde and the DNC. On her official manifests were listed normal trade goods coming out of the US, which she had left by way of the port facilities in Philadelphia. Ribbons' contacts, however, had tipped him off that also on board were a cache of illegal weapons and, more importantly, an unknown number of kidnapped victims from all over the US. The crew had growled in eagerness at that news earlier today. Many of them had come from similar situations, or lost loved ones to it. And it was known that Rackham herself hated slavery with passion enough to put it in her Brethren's Code, so they knew what tonight meant. Only a rescue of victims and wholesale slaughter were on tonight's menu, and she didn't much care how the enemy died as long as they were gone by dawn.

She muttered to the two people next to her, “No puncture shot. Load all guns with light ammunition. And bring up the deck guns with the cold rounds." They confirmed and moved along the line, passing the orders down as they went. Minutes went passed. She could hear the deck guns being brought around. Once she though enough time had passed, she stalked up the stairs to the wheel, motioning for the steersman in place to move off to another station. She stood, leaning on the wheel and glaring in the direction of their target.

Finally, it was in easy view, and the Revenge had been unerringly put on a heading that, once under power, would cut her off easily, well before they were even in decent radio distance of help. She nodded to herself, then snarled out, mouth in a mad grin, “All hands, let loose the sails and let's cut these blaggards guts out!”

A roar went up from the deck. Ropes whizzed in their pulleys, and the black sails of the Revenge snapped open to full as they rolled down the masts. Shouts echoed out through the night air as men and women went about their tasks with drilled precision and experience. Mister Ribbons' concertina began playing, keeping up the energy, and someone broke out into “Roll, Me Hearties”. Not a light was on, however, and a black ship sailed, under black sails, in the night.

The freighter easily dwarfed her pursuer, but she was slow, and not nearly as agile. As well, since the Revenge made no sound of her own, it was nearly impossible to know she was there. Except, of course, for the growing sound of shanties, the concertina, and now that they could see the sentries with their naked eyes, the crew began jeering them heartily. The sentries on the Barracuda were slow to react, and by the time the searchlights on bow and stern had come on, the Revenge had already come up broadside on her starboard. Small arms opened up from the pirates, and several sentries on deck dropped immediately. More crew turned out with assault rifles, and there was a fierce gun battle between the two ships for almost five minutes. Rackham waited as long as she cared to, noting to herself to increase firearms training with the crew for the next two weeks, and then gave another order through the PA system microphone next to her.

The big guns of the Revenge opened up with a deafening, rattling roar. They didn't need to, really, she could have easily modified them to have fired almost silently. She also hadn't needed to actively increase the amount of smoke that ejected from the barrels when they fired. But appearances were everything to her, and the night lit up as fifteen guns from the second deck and seven main guns fired a salvo. All four port swivel guns also fired off two shots each, which, loaded with grapeshot, peppered the deck and side of the big freighter with tiny steel balls, cutting down several men. The big guns had fired concussive shots, denting but not breaching the hull of her victim, though the shock wave was designed to travel straight through and deafen anyone inside. And the seven shot from the main guns flashed out in bright blue lines to their points of impact, where there was a huge cloud of mist from each one. As it was shredded away by the winds, the mist revealed patches of ice in hundred foot circles, inside of which were several crew members of the Barracuda who had been flash frozen.

Alice clicked her radio over to the right frequency and said, from both the radio and through the loudspeakers meant to broad cast it all the way across the gap, “Crew of the Barracuda, this is Captain Rackham of the Tortuga's Revenge. Cut your engines and heave to. Prepare to be boarded. Failure to comply will result in our blowing you straight to the Locker.” As she said this, she chanced to look behind her. Calypso stood there, smiling brightly. Ægir stood next to her, choosing to not make a nuisance of himself by appearing at normal human size, which meant Rán was even now pacing between the ships. Alice's grin grew fiercer.

Across the gap, several of the enemy, upon seeing the destruction wrought by the cryo-shots, threw down their guns and raised their hands. The ship kept moving, however, until a number of gunshots could be heard, and Alice watched the flashes of gunfire could be seen in the windows of the bridge. Minutes later, the ship finally began slowing. The Revenge waited until she was almost stopped before coming around her bow, cutting sails and kicking the hydrofoil in reverse to stop the ship nearly on a dime just across from the port of the Barracuda. Grapples were tossed, and she was hauled up far enough to get the gangplanks across. Alice Rackham walked aboard the freighter like a conquering queen, followed closely by Calypso, Ægir electing to stay behind for his own reasons.

She was met by a rag tag group. Some of them wore body armour, others looked like they had just woken up, and not one of them looked like they had gotten away unscathed. Most of the wounds looked like they hadn't been caused by her own crew, however. Apparently her attack had sparked off a mutiny almost as soon as it had started. One man, a huge Hispanic fellow, stood mostly straight, favouring a leg with blood on his thigh, and saluted grimly.

<The ship, she is yours> he said in Spanish. Alice nodded.

<Yes, so it is. But I don't need you.> She drew a pistol from her bandoleer, swiftly aiming and putting a shot directly between his eyes. He fell over like a board. His crewmates began pleading for their lives almost immediately. She disregarded them, signalling for the rest to dispose of them, then walked below decks to the chattering of execution gunfire.

It took her ten minutes to figure out where the victims were being kept. She cut the lock off the door and kicked it open, to find dozens of terrified women and children staring at her. Many looked to sick to move. She hissed between her teeth and pulled a radio handset out of her pocket.

“Miss Brigs, prepare as many cabins as we have for guests. They'll be with us until we can determine the best course of action.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Briggs' voice crackled over the radio. Rackham, spent a good hour stalking the halls with her crew, hunting down every last existing member of the slaver's crew members, around half of which were still recovering from the concussive rounds that had hit their ship. A quarter of the entire crew, including the captain and most of the bridge crew, had been killed by their own shipmates. She used her cutlass exclusively, as did the rest, leaving most with wounds that would only be fatal after a painful few hours. Which they would not have.

As she walked back over the gangplanks, just behind a crewwoman who was guiding a group of rescued women over to the Revenge, Calypso stopped her just on the pirate ship's deck.

“You did good work tonight, my little pirate lady.” Like any other time she had seen Calypso, the goddess appeared as a Mediterranean woman, with raven curls that floated about her head as if she was underwater, and olive-tanned skin that shone like moonlight. Rackham nodded to her politely.

“Aye, my Queen. We'll send the bastards to the bottom and let the fishes nibble their eyes.”

“That is good, but it is another matter which I need to speak to you about.” The goddess crossed her arms and pursed her lips before continuing. Alice, for her part, stood quietly. Calypso could have a temper that rivalled a storm should she feel offended. “Far north, along the mainland coast, up in the cold waters, there has been...a disturbance. I would have you investigate it.”

Alice's tilted her head to one side, then glanced around. Several of the crew had backed a respectful distance away. It did not pay to bother the Captain during one of her “episodes.”

“And what, pray tell, am I to tell the crew?”

“Oh, I'm sure you can think of something sufficient. Chalciuhtlicue and Rán will guide you once you are clear of these waters.”

Rackham nodded again, then spun on her heel and began barking orders. Calypso, behind her back, rolled her eyes and muttered, “Always so sudden. You could do with a vacation,” before disappearing back to wherever she had come from. Twenty minutes later, with all the salvage and stolen goods they could get aboard along with the rescues, the Revenge pulled away from the freighter. All the deck guns fired solid shot, and most hit below the waterline, sending the Barracuda and her dead or dying crew down to Davy Jones's Locker, there to receive the attentions of whichever god laid claim to their slaver souls. Then the Revenge set full sail and headed north, towards the American coast.

Previously on CAH: roleplayerguild.com/topics/143799-cre…

Scott remained on bended knee as he waited for Alexa's answer. Each agonizing second that passed felt like an eternity. In all of his life, he couldn't remember a moment in which he felt more vulnerable than he did in this instant, waiting on a one word answer that would forever alter his life, fore better or worse. He looked up to Alexa, who was standing frozen in place, her eyes bulging out of her head and her hands covering her mouth as she gazed at the diamond ring that he was presenting to her. The agonizing seconds continued to pass, and Scott was beginning to second guess himself when Alexa finally spoke.

“Yes.” She said. “Yes.” her words coming between bursts of tearful laughter.

Relief washed over Scott as his question had finally been answered. He gently took her hand and placed the ring on her finger before getting back up on his feet and taking Alexa in a tight embrace. He held her in that embrace for several moments before he pulled away and looked her directly in the eyes before they leaned into one another for a long kiss.



The Next Day

She said yes. Icon thought as he soared through the skies above Lost Haven. The events of the previous night kept replaying in his head, even as he flew upward, performed a vertical half turn and went back the other way.

“She said YES!” He shouted in glee, though due to his speed and altitude, no one would be able to hear him.

His thoughts kept going back to the night before: His fear, his proposal, more fear, the agonizing wait, and then, mercifully, her affirmative answer. After the proposal, they had gone back down into the club to share the good news. Jenny had been down in the back office with Eric when they broke the news, Eric, naturally wanted to celebrate and began planning a big party, which, to anyone who knew Eric should not have been a surprise. Jenny's reaction was slightly more subdued, she gave both her big brother and future sister-in-law a big hug and told them “It's about fucking time!”

However, the sounds of gunshots and people screaming pulled him back into the present. It took him a moment to pinpoint the source of the disturbance, but when he did he made a slight course correction and made his way toward Chinatown, which had had it's fair share of issues in recent months, gang wars and explosions that nearly destroyed the entire neighborhood were some of the more recent troubles that they had been forced to deal with as of late.

What now? Icon asked himself. However, as he arrived on the scene he saw what the problem was, and he couldn't believe it. He saw the new Aquilifer, who he had briefly met when he and several other heroes teamed up to bring an end to the threat posed by Nightmare. And he was not alone, instead he was doing battle with someone who looked very much like Terrance Stamp dressed as one of his most iconic roles, that of the rogue Kryptonian General in the original Superman movie. However, Aquilifer wasn't just fighting the man, he appeared to be serenading him as well.

“......UPTOWN GIRL!!!”

“What the...?”

However, that wasn't all. Once Aquilifer had brought “Not Zod” back to the ground, Icon saw the appearance of a giant animated mouse with a clenched fist and bad intentions.

“You've gotta be shitting me...” Icon said as he touched down in the center of the conflict.

---

Madalena led the expedition of three - four including Holt - through a labyrinth of alleyways leading away from Shadow of the Moon, further into Chinatown. She stumbled over nearly every discarded beer bottles and poorly stacked boxes, swearing into the journal she’d kept glued to her face.

”Maybe put the journal down for a second,” Marie called from behind, struggling to match Madalena’s pace despite being at least a head taller. ”How will you know what you’re looking for if you can’t see it?”

Madalena stopped abruptly, surveying her surroundings. They’d walked almost a block away from her store, edging closer to the flower shop where the Witchfinder and his Court held counsel. She silently hoped Charlie hadn’t noticed. If their mission drew them too close to the Winter Court, they would be ill-equipped for a fight.

Charlie brought up the rear, leisurely following behind with the sure tap of her staff hitting the ground. As they passed the odd toppled box and other things, she shuffled them against the alley walls, examining the odd piece of trash or broken item, scooping it up with her staff, transmuting it on contact, curiously examining it before tossing it. Maddi took the lead, letting her concentrate on where they were going. Charlie knew she could bring them back to the shop if either of them got lost. She knew Lost Haven like the back of her hand.

“Have some faith, Marie. Lady Hex knows what she’s doing.” Charlie assured her with a grin which disappeared as she wrinkled her nose, reacting to an upturned garbage can. She kicked it back into place with one smooth movement.

”Yeah!” Madalena replied, somewhat unconvinced.

The trio had been wandering for around twenty minutes without any insight as to the nature of their search. Maddi combed through the journal, analyzing the charcoal drawings, hoping they would somehow point them in the right direction. The first of three large illustrations depicted a large, dead tree at the edge of the frame, overlooking a flat plane. In the foreground, a trio of creatures danced around a bonfire, while the sun set in the background. She was unsure how literally she was meant to interpret these images, given the multiple layers of complexity they had already unwoven.

Looking up from the drawing, she tried to overlay the image in her mind with the alley, looking for similarities. This had been her method of uncovering the astral map of Lost Haven, and she was fairly certain the same could be applied in their current situation.

Sure enough, a few images stuck out. The alley began to open to the street, a series of closely coupled yet relatively short businesses that provided the perfect window to view the sun setting over Lost Haven. On the corner leading into the alley, a tight space between two old apartment buildings, stood a broken street lamp, whose post was slightly gnarled, likely dented by a drunk driver and never fixed. A few feet ahead, hidden behind a shoddy dumpster, Maddi noticed the singed lip of a barrel, used as a makeshift heatsource for some poor soul left to wander the streets, though no other remnants of the homeless could be seen.

”I think,” she turned to face the others, presenting the illustration to Marie, then Charlie, ”I think we’re here.”

”And where is ‘here’,” Holt queried from above, floating down from the rooftops as an ethereal raven, resting on Marie’s shoulder.

Marie chuckled, ”Puck really gave you two the runaround, didn’t he? The reward had better be worth this deranged scavenger hunt.”

“He’s been forcing us to think outside the box. I could spend the rest of the day going up and down the streets of the city and be happy ‘cause I figured out the key.” Placing her hands on her knees and turning her head sideways to view the ‘tree’ and ‘fire’, “I gotta say this is a stretch, but you know what? We don’t get anywhere without breaking a few eggs.”

Digging out the key from her back pocket she walked next to Maddi, tugging the journal from her hands and replacing it with the key.

“Just tell me what to do. Dust off a secret door, reveal a lever? Name it.” Charlie said, squinting down at the site. She noticed faint lines in the pavement and ran her fingers through the groove, gritty and still warm from the afternoon sunlight. It appeared as if it cut up and through as opposed to being drawn while the cement settled, looping in circles before touching the lamp or weaving under the barrel, disappearing behind the buildings. “Or it’s just on the surface for once.” Unaware of the reactionary start going on behind her, turning at the sound she suttered, “Hey-”

Upon touching Maddi’s skin, the key began to react, hovering just above her palm and spinning counterclockwise, producing a low hum that echoed through the alley. Slowly, it gained speed, vibrating with power, small sparks cascading down Madalena’s hand from a dim light atop the key.

All around them, something felt amiss. The air felt heavier, the walls closer, and as each luminescent spark touched the hot pavement, dust and grime began to fold back, and the world began to unfurl. Shadows danced along the walls, coalescing into a singular point near the singed barrel, becoming like a charcoal drawing of a cat. The contents of the barrel were suddenly set ablaze, a pillar of flame rising up over the alley, threatening to expose them. In that same instance, the key lept from Maddi’s hand and plunged itself into the inferno, extinguishing it.

Madalena stared, open mouthed. ”That was . . . dramatic.” she sped over to the barrel, looking up at the cat on the wall, which appeared to be peering down into the vessel. Carefully, she bent over, mindful of the sharp metal, reaching her hand into the bottom of pulling free an ornate trunk, a little larger than a jewelry box, with the alchemical key jutting out from a lock on the front.

Marie watched, awe stricken. Despite all she had seen, grand displays of Puck’s cunning still left her speechless. ”That wasn’t nearly as complicated as I was expecting.” She turned to Charlie. ”I guess this is where your test ends and ‘Lady Hex’s’ begins.”

“Seems so.” She replied, looking over the barrel, the smell of brimstone tingling her nose and the taste of sulfur settling in the back of her throat. A distinct chill ran across her arms as she looked up to the image of the cat, staring at it. Tearing her eyes away to look at the box; a little whistle of appreciation at the craftsmanship escaped her. “That’s a piece of art, but go on - open it up see whats inside.”

She gestured to the box, “The curiosity is gonna kill me at this rate.”

Madalena nodded, turning the key, listening to the tiny tumblers shift until an audible and satisfying “click” propped open the lid. Carefully balancing the box in one hand and lifting the rop with the other, she revealed two oddities resting in similarly sized indentations within a velvet-lined interior. The first was a wooden carving of a cat, roughly sized and shaped to a feline’s actual dimensions. It looked almost feral, yet held a strange regality Maddi couldn’t place. Next to this sat a sizeable brass bell, seemingly unrelated. Beneath each item was a worn placard.

”The effigy to Malkin,” she read aloud, ”and a bell from a highland cow. W-what?” she looked at Charlie, then turned to face Marie and Holt. ”Is this what I think it is?”

Marie moved closer, scanning the box’s contents with a smile. ”Well, the bell is a little strange, but the name is a dead giveaway.”

”I wondered why the Weird Trio had been absent for so long. As is often the case, it appears Robin Goodfellow was hoarding yet another collection of magical artifacts. Congratulations.”

Charlie looked between the witches and the effigy, confusion writ all over her face. “Uh. . .” She began, whispering to Madalena embarrassed by not being able to follow the conversation, “What the fuck is any of that supposed to mean? In layman’s terms if you wouldn’t mind.”

Madalena’s eyes were bright with excitement and eager anticipation. ”Malkin was a popular name for cat familiars in the 17th century, but this particular one belongs to a ‘set,’ a collection of spirits commonly found together known as the Weird Trio. I read about them not too long ago. Apparently, they served the Wyrd Sisters from Macbeth. Some even claim that they were the Wyrd Sisters, spirits disguised as witches, or were the inspiration for them in the play. This is what Puck was leading us to, his final gift to me!”

”The Weird Trio are powerful in their own right,” Marie continued the thought, ”but when bonded to a witch, they embody the essential elements of our craft. In other words, Lady Hex is about to get an upgrade.”

“That’s great!” her excitement matching Maddi’s, “I was worried for a second that we were on a goose chase.” Charlie stole another look at ‘Malkin,’ drawn into the effigy the same way she was with the imagery above the barrel.

She took a guess, “Maybe the bell is what wakes him er… her?” Pausing for a second, “Wakes them up.” She ventured that’d be the reason why the two pieces were together. It was better a bell than shaking a pouch of cat treats.

“The other two will be the last two locations, right?”

Madalena nodded. ”At least I hope so. To have the Weird Trio at my disposal, the Witchfinder General doesn’t stand a chance!” she flashed a quick grin to Charlie and Marie before pointing to the journal in Charlie’s hands.

”That invocation at the back must be the binding spell for the familiars.”

”The bell likely calls the spirit into the effigy.” Marie echoed Charlie’s comment, turning to her once again to explain. ”Familiars aren’t usually summoned by the witch, they’re either inherited, gifted by a tutelary spirit, or choose the witch they wish to serve, but with the right conditions, you can call one up yourself. They just need two things, a vessel to house their essence, and some sort of sustenance.”

”Usually blood,” Madalena nonchalantly added.

Charlie pulled a face, “Of course it’s blood. If this cat grows up to be a people eating plant that’s where I’m drawing the line.” She joked elbowing Maddi a little.

“Whenever you’re ready, lead the way to the next location. Don’t want ‘em to get lonely”

---

---

The sparse flashing of blue and red illuminated veritable yards of neon “caution” tape, a wall to protect bystanders and awestriken onlookers from the upturned pavement, broken glass, and general chaos that fell over Sherman Square like a fine mist, blanketing the surrounding area in melancholic dread. LHPD remained in their cars, a few patrolling officers daring the street a block away. But even in its current state, a sense of normalcy began to return as adjacent businesses, those left undamaged, catered to their evening crowd, some fulfilling their nightly routine on the way home from work, some lingering with a sense of morbid curiosity.

Charlie, Madalena, and Marie stood on the periphery of Sherman Center, obscured by a rough patch of greenery with budding white blossoms. A cool wind settled on the square.

”We might have a problem,” Maddi reasoned, casting a wary glance at the row of patrol cars stationed haphazardly throughout the square before returning to the second illustration in her journal.

Etched on the brittle pages was a figure dressed all in black, dawning a deer skull mask and holding an adder stone fastened to a string in one hand and a bowl or cup in the other. In the foreground, five wolves stood watch while an owl flew overhead. But one detail gave Madalena pause, a circle of stones with an odd glyph at their center, visible only through the hag stone’s signature hollow, far off in the distance, though there was no indication of how far.

Madalena gripped the key, but nothing happened. ”I guess we’re not close enough, but I don’t know how we’re supposed to just sneak by this many cops and somehow stumble onto whatever the hell this is.”

Marie moved to speak, but elected to remain silent, observing Madalena and Charlie’s expressions. Holt did the same.

Charlie listened while her eyes were on the patrols and surrounding areas. “Is it weird that I can barely remember when Sherman Square looked like before the attack? Seen it a million times before but now it’s hard to imagine it anyway else than what it looks like now. Probably going to be worse when we get to the university.” She leaned into her staff cheek pressed up against it while she thought. Eyes filled an unmistakable sadness, “There’s a few things we could do to distract them.”

Everything around them seemed broken, as the thought crossed her mind the grip on her staff tightened. “I’d need some more supplies to make something, I could always mess with their cars but I would feel bad for ruining them. Cops are assholes but. . . You know I don’t want to be an asshole either.”

Feeling their pair of eyes on her Charlie turned from the scene and looked to Marie with her brow furrowed. “What are you two staring at?”

Marie smiled, eyes thoughtful, voice pitched ever so slightly. ”Oh, nothing. Just watching the cogs turn.” She kept looking between them, then scanning the square. ”It’s just occurred to me that perhaps I shouldn’t be so quick to offer aid, given that this is your quest to complete, afterall. God, I think I know why Puck finds this so enjoyable.”

”You’ve spent too much time together,” Madalena prodded, edging ever closer to Sherman Center, stumbling over a few exposed roots and a pile of decorative rocks. From her place, she could just about make out a small park or sitting area behind the cordoned off zone.

”I think that’s where we need to be,” she pointed with only partial confidence, ”we just need to draw the cops’ attention away from us. Any ideas?” Madalena fielded the question to her compatriot, turning from Charlie, whose expression betrayed her usual brassy confidence, to Marie, who remained quite smug.

”Well,” Marie spoke up, ”I guess one more favor wouldn’t hurt. I’ll take care of them.”

Holt, Marie issued the mental command, steer their attention away from here.

Holt nodded, leaping from Marie’s shoulder and assuming the largest of his many forms, a midnight steed fitted with the witch’s saddle. Without hesitation, he sped up to the officer’s nearest Sherman Center and reared back, running around them in circles before galloping through lines of caution tape and running down the street to the other patrolling vehicles. The officers were understandably confused, some trying to corral the frenzied horse, others moving from its path and radioing their partners further down the street. Whatever course they’d decided upon, their attention was fully turned from Sherman Square.

Charlie nodded, “A shadow horse is fine too.” she said so without a hint of sass or sarcasm. Sometimes that was all that was needed.

The Alchemyst stepped out from behind the bushes, checking again for any cops before walking into the center of the square leading the way, skirting debris, hopping over upturned cement, holding her hand out to help Madalena and Marie cross back to flat ground. They arrived at the center surrounded by various sculptures, some broken, bullet holes pockmarking the bases as well as the art itself. Most of the huge billboard screens were dark and damaged. An otherwise lively center of the city was deserted of traffic, tourists and people. In spite of the good reason for being there, the surreal silence made Charlie incredibly uncomfortable.

Madalena sped past, moving toward the circle of stone benches surrounding a now capsized decorative tree. The benches were sturdy, mostly undamaged, though a few were missing their legs. She held the key at arms length, waiting for it to spin as it had previously. Disappointingly, the key remained stationary.

”What have I got wrong?” she wondered aloud, moving her eyes between the cryptic pages of her journal and the capsized circle of stones. ”Oh!” she exclaimed as she hatched an idea.

Placing the journal at her side, Madalena quickly retrieved the decorative stones from the nearby patch of green, hopping over the field of debris and trying not to trip.

”You look like a madwoman, you know that?” Marie teased.

”You know what they say, ‘Madness is divine,’ or something like that.” Madalena called behind her as she arranged the decorative rocks to match the glyph in the journal. Soon after, the key responded.

The fallen pieces of Sherman Square began to quake and rumble as the alchemic key danced, familiar embers falling from its internal compartments as before. Dust and debris coalesced at the center of the stone circle, reforming, transmuting, becoming anew. A carved creation emerged, a chest fashioned of hardened stone. The key took its place, leaping from Madalena’s hand to cleave the statue in two and reveal the wooden trunk hidden beneath the stoney facade.

Madalena stepped forward, mindful that such a display would soon gain the attention of the distracted LHPD or passersby. She turned the key, unlocking the ornate trunk to reveal another of the wooden effigies.

”The effigy to Hellawin,” she read the placard beneath a wooden carving of an owl, more refined than the carving of Malkin, but possessing the same air of wildness. Next to the effigy was a large, withered bone. ”and the bone of a goat born on Sunday. How . . . specific.”

Charlie shielded her eyes from the sight, keeping her footing against the rumbles. Peeking out from behind her hand she looked over Maddi’s shoulder at the new effigy, feeling something similar to the other effigy. She wondered briefly why such strange things had an affect on her, unable to put her finger on the feeling - the intuition. There was no logical correlation, at least not to her. She wasn’t a witch.

“Madness is divine.” Charlie echoed with a mumble. “Let’s get outta here before the cops round back around.”

Carey McClean was starting to close up shop. Ever since the Hounds of Humanity had attacked Pixy Stix and Club Morte several weeks ago, Carey’s family and friends have urged her to sell her trendy bar, the Apothecary, and find a safer line of work. But she could never bring herself to let go of her business; she had built it from the ground up. A few bigoted assholes were not going to scare Carey away.

After Carey had wiped down the last few glasses, she poured a quick shot for herself. As she swirled its contents by tilting the glass in her hand, a golden shine briefly irradiated from the drink. Once the little light show had concluded, Carey downed the drink. She paused for a moment, taking in the alcohol’s aftertaste. She then picked up a shard from a glass that had been shattered earlier that night. With the fragment in hand, Carey began to jab the palm of her hand. However, instead of bleeding profusely from her hand, Carey saw that there was not even a scratch. Carey immediately scribbled down some notes on her notepad so she could remember how she created this side-effect.

“Want a taste of tonight’s mystery brew, Tif?”

Tiffany, the only person still left in the bar, gave Carey a cross look before looking back down at her phone.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Carey.” Tiffany finally pipped in.

“Oh, come on! Last time wasn’t that bad!”

“Sure. My boyfriend was so happy to feel something hard poke him in the thigh when we were curled up on the coach.”

“Wait, did you hear that?” Carey suddenly asked.

“Hear what?”

Carey peered around the room. She could have sworn she had heard something. The clicking of the skylight. The taps of footsteps. But she did not see anyone among the empty sea of tables and chairs.

“Must have been my imagination.” Carey admitted. “Anyways, how about a little taste test before we close this joint up?”

“Fine,” Tiffany finally admitted as she snatched the shot glass from Carey’s hand. She downed the drink with one gulp. Before the liquid touched her lips, Tiffany had braced herself for whatever the drink was going to taste like. These mystery brews were like those magic jellybeans from Harry Potter; you never know if you’re going to get something normal or something disgusting. Tiffany was lucky when she discovered that the shot was rather fruity.

“Wow, you’re getting good at your mixology. Before you know it, you’ll—” Tiffany started to complement Carey’s work, but she suddenly felt a tingling sensation in her tongue. Something slimy began to roll around in her mouth. When she opened her mouth again, she watched her tongue spill out of her mouth. Tiffany could not utter a single word as her tongue kept coming and coming. By the time her tongue stopped, it was already a couple feet long.

But that was not all of it. Although her elongated tongue did not have a mind of its own, Tiffany could contort it, as if it were a third arm.

“Prehensile tongue,” Carey muttered to herself while she scribbled a few additional notes on the same sheet of paper from before. “Not really useful in combat situations, but I could earn a mint from selling it to certain cosplayers.”

“Great…” Tiffany barely mumbled because her tongue was still sticking out.

“Hey, if you hurry home now, you could have some fun with your boyfriend,” Carey winked at Tiffany.

“Gross…”

The miniature bell attached to the front door of the bar suddenly rung. Two ruffians came bulldozing through the door and strolled up to the counter. The first man through the door held a baseball bat over his shoulder. The other man was not holding anything, although that did not mean he was not concealing anything.

“Sorry, boys. We’re closed for the night. You’ll have to come back tomorrow,” Carey told the two intimidating men who stood before her.

“Oh, we’re not here for your bougie drinks,” one of the two men told her.

“Alright, let me just get you what I have in the register.”

“Girlie, we have our eyes on a bigger prize,” the other man jabbered as he and his accomplice pulled out their sidearms. “It’s open season on heroes. What you have in there is chump change compared to the jackpot we’re about to land!”

“And we can’t leave any witnesses behind,” the first man threatened by aiming his gun at Tiffany. However, when he saw her face, he contorted his face in confusion. “What the fuck’s wrong with her tongue?”

“Chill, bro. Maybe we can collect double the reward by claiming she’s a meta, too!”

“Really? You’re going to threaten two women when I’m just sitting right here?” A man’s voice came from behind the two intruders. When Carey, Tiffany, and the two ruffians turned their heads towards the origin of the voice, they saw a man wearing a scarlet and gray superhero costume. Its most prominent feature was the white lenses, outlined with a black and then a golden band, on the mask.

“What the hell is Arachne doing here?” One of the ruffians asked aloud.

“Are you sure? This guy looks like a dude!” The other one uttered.

“How could you possibly confuse me with her! Arachne wears blue and pink, not scarlet and gray!” the arachnid hero quipped.

“Has someone turned Arachne into a dude? Or has he been pretending to be a chick this whole time?” The first ruffian pondered aloud while ignoring the comment from the hero sitting in front of them.

“I not even going to entertain such a dumb question…” the hero sighed.

“I don’t care if this bug is a he, she, or whatever pronouns people are using nowadays. Let’s put a bullet in his head and earn another 500 grand!”

Because of this hero’s arrival, Carey found a short respite from the would-be murderers, who had shifted their attention to the wall-crawler. While the men were distracted by the newcomer, Carey had pulled out another glass, larger than the others, and filled it to the brim, all while keeping glance focused on the two men. After she had applied her powers to the liquid, she waited until the right opportunity to act.

The man with the baseball bat then rushed at the arachnid hero, swinging the wooden club aimlessly. This effort was very much in vain, as the man’s target kept dodging out of the way. The man’s partner, seeing this, began reaching into his jacket, as if he were drawing something out of it. This was the moment that Carey was waiting for. Before the man could pull out his weapon, Carey splashed the man with her enhanced drink, drenching his entire back.

“You’re going to regret—” the man threatened, but he cupped his mouth with his palm when he heard his voice jump an octave.

“That one was on the house,” Carey said with a smug smirk on her face, as she watched the man fall to the ground and squirmed on the ground in pain.

“What the hell did you do to me, bitch?” The ‘man’ barked at Carey after the pain had ceased. When Carey saw him, it was like looking at an uncanny mirror of the man, or rather a mirror image of what the man’s sister would have looked like.

“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

“Why you little—” but the ‘man’ was interrupted when ‘his’ partner was tossed directly into ‘him.’ The hero who had made a timely appearance, walked up to the bar as he slid his hands past each other as if he were dusting off his hands.

“Sorry, Arachne, but you can’t blame me for whatever happened to you.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m not Arachne!” he responded in frustration. “I’m Araneus, not Arachne!”

“Are you really splitting hairs on such similar names? Plus, you’re basically wearing a copy of her costume.”

“Why am I having to repeat myself so much...” Araneus trailed off his voice as he shook his head. He then slid his fingers into a slit on the side of his costume that looked like the opening of a pocket and he pulled out a cell phone, that definitely could not have fit in such a small space. He slid his finger across the phone’s screen and tapped it a few times until he flipped the screen towards Carey.

“See! There’s a clear difference between the two of us!”

“Okay, Boy Arachne. I have this feeling you didn’t just come here to save the two of us. So, what’s up?” Carey asked. The photo that Araneus showed her clearly depicted Arachne, although she had never seen the drider heroine wearing a blue and pink costume before. Carey did not really know her that well; she has only run into her one or two times before while on patrol.

“Well, speaking of Arachne,” Araneus mentioned as he tied up the two ruffians with some spider silk. “Have you seen her recently?”

“I can’t say I have. It’s not like we’re BFF or anything. Why such a question?”

“Something weird has happened to her. Knowing your unique flair, I just wanted to rule you out if I could.”

“I really hope you haven’t been going around and asking people these questions directly.”

“I didn’t think I would have to go all Batman on other heroes and toss them off buildings to get them to spill the truth.”

“Hey, I was just checking. I would love to claim that it was my handy work, but alas it wasn’t me. You wouldn’t mind giving me some details on what happened to everyone’s favorite arachnid?”

“Err…I don’t know about that,” Araneus suggested as he looked at Tiffany, whose tongue still has not returned to normal. “I don’t want to give you any good ideas.”

“How disappointing,” Carey sighed. “But I’m guessing you’ll be heading out soon. Do you want me to cook up a concoction to spice things up between you and your girl, Arachne?”

“My girl?”

“You heard me! Partners don’t throw their arms around each other like the two of you did in that picture. So, what do you say?”

“I—um—don’t know what you’re talking about,” Araneus stumbled with his words before shooting a web line up at the ceiling. “I suggest calling the police to pick up these dumbos.”

And with that, Araneus scurried up the web line and exited out the rooftop skylight, leaving Carey and Tiffany alone with the two scoundrels. Carey immediately started to phone the authorities.

“Really, I have to talk to the police like this?” Tiffany continued to complain. “This is the last time I’m taste testing your brews!”

---

The final stop on their evening quest was the one Charlie dreaded the most, returning to Lost Haven University. With the majority of LHPD guarding and picking up after the latest damage to Sherman Square, clean up crews at the University were on a day shift. They had a clear view of the memorial as they approached, placed up the stairs toward the main entrance of the university; flowers, candles, and pictures carefully set up and undisturbed. The alchemist relit a string of dead candles with her lighter, using a little bit of alchemy to reform the melted wax.

Digging her fists deep into her pockets, Charlie stood at the front of the memorial looking over the pictures, brow furrowed. A familiar sight for Lost Haven, collateral damage from supes and their bigger enemies picking fights around civilians. Willingly she joined them, the big superheroes at Sherman Square, only having survived the attack on Lost Haven University a few days before. Charlie knew, deep in the marrow of her bones, this wasn’t black and white. With no idea how strange things would feel once they entered the school grounds, Charlie wordlessly led the way inside.

Similarly to Sherman Square, there had been pockmarks from bullets on the floors and walls. All the broken glass was cleaned up, along with the bullet casings. It was quick work, patching up the drywall; nothing had been repainted as of yet. The tiles in the floor had been removed.

The heavy smell of chemical cleaners made Charlie’s nose twitch, she made a face, bitterly remarking,“This is a sanitized graveyard.”

Can you feel them, Holt appeared in Marie’s mind as he slithered intangibly over each dimly lit memorial, their spirits are restless, vengeful even. What further mischief might befall this institution, I wonder?

Keeping a few paces behind Charlie, Marie nodded in response to her familiar’s silent comments. Not only could she feel that forlorn stare of icy desperation and panicked remembering of fear, her eyes caught glimpses of shades wandering solemnly in her periphery. It would be easy to dismiss them, those caught in the weight of their misery, were it not for their numbers, how close they lingered as a despairing mass. Holt was right; in the years to come, Lost Haven University would see even greater strife from those it left behind.

Madalena did her best to keep her chin up as she followed closely beside Charlie. She too could feel the restless dead, hear their silent sobs of anguish and rage. She shared in their hatred and lamentation, having experienced the full force of the Hounds twice now, as had Charlie.

She reached over to touch Charlie’s shoulder before turning her attention to their weathered guide, Puck’s enigmatic cypher. The alchemist patted Maddi’s hand, no smile followed but a light squeeze let her know it was appreciated.

”Where the place, upon the heath?” Maddi read the clue aloud, scanning the entryway for anything of note, referring to the third and final illustration of the set.

A giant two-pronged stang dominated the foreground, rising from the earth with a half-opened eye hovering at its center. A serpent coiled around its base, forked tongue gesturing to a pile of bones, atop which sat a single skull with a foreign mark engraved onto its forehead. Two figures danced around the stang, one man, one woman, both with features that reminded Madalena of “The Lovers” card in the Rider-Waite deck.

”Any natural places around the university that this might be? Maybe a football or intramural field?”

Charlie thought, the University was surrounded by the city, there wasn’t really any green space save for the sports fields and the empty grass field behind the science buildings, mostly where chem and bio students would go to smoke or get some fresh air out of the labs. There were picnic tables back there and ashtrays. Charlie figured that’d at least be a place to start. “Follow me, I have a place in mind that might be good to check.”

She led the way through the halls, the steady tap of her staff against the ground and their quiet steps kept them company, “You guys must be picking up something different from all this, all I’ve got is a chill and a lot of sadness.”

Pushing on a pair of doors out to the outside, Charlie held them open for Marie and Madalena to go through, continuing her thought, “Haunted places ain’t for me, but there’s a few places around the city that are. I guess. . . The University is among them now.”

Charlie pointed to the left. They followed the walking path, which looked about the same as it did inside. Little scars, upturned patches of grass, jutted piles of earth summoned by Terra Firma. “Can you let ‘em know I’m sorry?”

”They know,” Marie was quick to respond, catching up to Charlie and Madalena, walking alongside them instead of behind. ”The dead are remarkably perceptive. And so long as they receive the respect they’re owed, you should have no problem from them.”

”But neither of us are mediums,” Madalena chimed in, ”we might see the odd shadow or two, but talking to the dead is an entirely different skill set . . . not to say that they can’t hear us normally, but, well, necromancy is complicated.”

”And not to add fuel to an already somber fire, but the university was likely already haunted before recent events. Universities are-”

”Oh yeah!” Madalena interrupted, ”liminal spaces, I didn’t even think about that. It’s like a spiritual/psychic crossroads, all the people that come and go wears thin on the veil.”

Charlie considered that and nodded, grateful for the insight. “That helps. Makes sense too, old grounds like this always have a long string of ghost stories from janitors to music professors. Even had this one dude from my graduating class claim he found ectoplasm from the old rez building out back.” Charlie snorted, “Brought it into the lab to test. I believed him, but everyone else called him nuts.”

“I had gotten drunk a few times at keggers and let slip I could do alchemy but nobody believed me either. Science students are a bunch of skeptics,” She said laughing, “Who knew?”

Madalena chuckled, thinking back on her brief college career as a history student. It was a boring existence, much as she expected, and despite her generally extroverted appearance, she wasn’t much of a party girl. But there were times, even then, when she tested her skills, made acquaintances who believed, and found the ire of quite a few skeptics.

”Reminds me of this church group that wandered into Shadow of the Moon last year.”

”Oh my god, I remember that!” Marie perked up, ”It was ridiculous, Charlie. This guy comes in with a handful of pamphlets and starts passing them out to customers about ‘the dangers of Satan’s secrets’ or something like that.”

”Yeah, and his friends, like three of them, start putting little crosses and Jesus figurines in odd places. I was about to call the police on them but one of their little wooden figures fell off a table and they all ran scared.”

Marie laughed, ”You’re welcome, by the way.”

Maddi’s eyes went wide, ”That was you!? God, I should have figured.”

Charlie snorted a laugh, “If only they knew about the devilish portal in the back. Easy to spook ‘em, at least.” Scratching her nose, “I like to think I did pretty well for meeting Puck the first time.”

“’Satan’s secrets’ ain’t all that bad afterall.”

”Just wait until you meet The Man in Black.” Marie nonchalantly replied, combing her fingers through her hair, instinctively tying a few loose strands into simple braids out of what felt like habit. ”You haven’t had the pleasure yet, Madalena, have you?”

”Not yet,” Madalena sheepishly replied, considering what it means to “meet” The Witch-Father. ”I was actually starting to wonder whether or not I’d ever see him. I only know bits of pieces of lore, same with Puck, but I know it won’t compare to actually seeing him in person, or, in spectral-whatever he is.”

”Don’t worry,” Marie smiled, ”he comes to all witches following the old currents. It’s sort of our rite of passage. The Witch-Mother is more elusive, but our Father comes to us when we ask.”

The alchemist’s stare lingered on Marie, thinking about Puck and the Witch-Father. She remembered how excited Carrie was when she met the Witch-Father, but never went into detail about the experience, shuttered away with her coven to discuss it at length. Even after talking to her Gramps about it, he knew about as much as Charlie did.

“It’s a relationship between the witches and their patrons. Not for the like of outsiders to truly understand, curious as we are.” She remembered Nathaniel had said.

Her eyes didn’t leave Marie, remembering meeting her the other night speaking so directly with Puck, meeting with him privately afterward. Frustratingly tagging along, helping sure but taking delight in their test, talking about their patrons as if she knew them personally.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance to, which is fine by me.” Biting her tongue, mystery women liked staying mysterious. Charlie also couldn’t help but open her mouth. “The more time I spend with you guys the smarter I’ve been feeling about witchy stuff.” She began, “Firstly, I think I finally figured you out, Marie. This whole old soul thing of yours is probably more apparent than you can tell. How fast you’re settling into the 600 year old shoes. ”

She turned about walking backwards, easily sidestepping upturned bits of pavement as if she had eyes on the back of her head. “So much so I wouldn’t even be surprised if you told me that Puck and the Witch-Father are related. Two devilish entities working closely with witches? That ain’t a coincidence.”

”Funny you should mention it,” Marie replied, ”they are, in fact, brothers. The five brothers, the Pwcca, founding members of the Tylwyth Teg, the faery tribes of Wales and the children of former Queen Mab.” Marie let out a quick sigh, taking a moment to consider whether giving out the following bit of information would harm her in the long run. Ultimately, however, she trusted Madalena, and Charlie wasn’t involved enough in the affairs of Puck and his brothers to cause her serious injury.

”It’s also worth mentioning that Mab is my grandmother.”

Madalena stopped dead in her tracks.

”Wait, so you’re . . . you’re Puck’s niece? How many more bombshells are you gonna drop on me in the span of two days, Marie? Not that it isn’t infinitely fascinating and I’m super happy to see you again, but my God woman, you’ve been busy!”

Marie laughed and nodded, ”It’s certainly been an adventure.”

Charlie made a face, lifting her finger, opening her mouth then shutting it. Not slowing down in her backwards walking, “There’s a first time for everything, my guess being right.”

“I thought my family was old.” Charlie commented, “Time to find the final piece and put this whole treasure hunt to bed.”

She turned around once more leading them across the grounds, heading toward the old residence buildings. One stood apart from the others, sheets covering the windows, doors locked when Charlie tested it, cleared out from the summer and after the attack. It had been renovated of course to fit more students into housing who needed it, but nobody particularly liked living in this one. The ectoplasm story was only one of many strange things happening there. It was faster to go through it as opposed to going around.

Digging in her pocket for her wallet, Charlie pulled out her library card, plastic and thin enough to slip into the door frame. Jiggling it a little, she used it to slice through the steel deadbolt opening the door a second later for her witchy cohorts to enter, propping it open with her foot while she fixed the bolt back into place, cupping the missing piece to the rest of the bolt.

It seemed far darker in there than the other buildings, missing a lot of light from the moon and street lamps just outside. Charlie licked her lips, entering behind them. While there was a heavy sense of dread earlier, this felt like a vibration in the air buzzing at their arrival as opposed to oppressing it.

“I think we’re getting close. Things feel different here than anywhere else.” She said checking her arm, seeing the goosebumps raising the hair across her arm. “Weird shit is here.”

Checking her back pockets for her flashlight, “Light incoming,” she said, clicking on her flashlight. The beam illuminated the floor and a. . . tail, brow furrowing the light found the long nearly transparent body of a serpent wearing a white featureless mask. The flashlight clattered to the floor, Charlie shrieked with alarm gripping her staff, it rolled across the floor taking the light with it.

“What the fuck!”

Madalena jumped at the clattering flashlight, searching the dark for whatever Charlie had seen. ”What, what was it?”

There was definitely a strange air to the building, more tangible than the entrance closer to the front of campus. The odd ghost or wight was enough to make one’s hair stand on end, but it was rare that anything inhuman manifested so openly without being summoned. The university, it seemed, held greater mysteries than previously believed.

”I saw it too,” Marie assured Charlie, taking a few steps ahead of them, scanning the room with her eyes closed, opening herself to whatever might be lurking. Indeed, whatever it was felt excitable, jovial even.

”The effects of the final effigy, I suspect.” Holt offered, calmly pacing alongside Marie as an ethereal cat. ”There is magic in this place, or the remnants of it.”

”College kids love to dabble,” Madalena replied, taking hold of herself and moving forward with renewed confidence. ”I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few other spirits roaming around besides ghosts, called up in a botched conjuration or seance.”

Charlie patted her chest, breathing through her nose. Stooping to pick up the flashlight once more, she checked if it was still there, relieved that it disappeared. “It was a huge snake wearing a creepy white mask, Maddi. This shit doesn’t dial down ever.” She said, walking on - shoulders hunched, an iron grip on the light.

It wasn’t the last of the strange spirits that appeared on their walk through the building, crawling at the edge of their peripheries, shyly hiding behind doors and walls, more snake inspired spirits followed behind them. Much to Charlie’s dismay and increasing discomfort the more she saw but her surprise dwindled away. They passed several first floor apartment rooms, common areas like a kitchen and living room, it wasn’t a straight forward front to back. Cork boards of student council events, residence building potluck posters lined the walls outside the common areas. It was seemingly untouched by the Hounds, no students would have been found in here past graduation. Following the emergency fire exit signs to reach the other side of the building, Charlie disabled the fire alarm switch on the door allowing them to exit without an issue. The residence building backed on a wild edge of brush, a small pathway cut into it for students to make a shortcut off campus.

It was dark, nature looking ready to overtake the pathway, new grass growing in patches, bushes obscuring the way through the further they tried to see.

“This is probably the most wild place the University has.” Charlie gestured to the seemingly dense forest, it crept closer every year as if to spite the University’s groundskeepers.

Madalena peered into the night, straining her eyes on the hunt for a visible sign, some shared imagery between the journal entry and their surroundings. She could just make out a fallen limb about staff height with four dry spikes at the end. With a bit of trimming, Madalena fashioned the branch into a stang, mimicking the two-pronged staff in the illustration. She pierced the ground with one end, forcing the staff to stand straight.

”This feels too simple, but we’ll give it a shot.”

She pulled the key from her back pocket, balancing it on her index finger and waiting for a response. To her surprise, the reaction was immediate. Spinning in what was now a familiar motion, the key began to levitate a few inches above her hand, then a few feet, until it reached enough height to align itself with the central gap between the stang’s horns. A faint light fell over them, called up from the forest, ushered in on the wind, riding the whispers of leaves and other hidden creatures.

Madalena felt a strange compulsion then, an urge to dance around the staff, one she questioned only for a moment before letting go of herself, giving in to that primal desire.

Marie felt it as well, recognizing it for what it was, the pull of the Sabbath. Where witches and spirits congregate, the Sabbath inevitably takes hold. She joined Madalena, taking her hands, dancing as a pair to the invisible choir, the echo of voices long past, the air of bewitchment. And with every turn, with every leap, every strange and contorted motion, the key began to glow brighter and brighter, burn hotter and hotter, until it became like the light betwixt and between, an image of the cunning flame.

Hunching up her shoulders, hugging her staff, Charlie watched them dance, feeling as if she really did not belong there or was even allowed to watch what was happening. Nonetheless, she watched both of them exude a wildly free energy as they danced, even if Charlie didn’t understand it she thought it was beautiful. Her cheeks touched with colour.

Squinting at the light of the burning key, she shielded her eyes once more.

An eerie presence presented itself, one that loomed over the trio upon their arrival, finally manifesting itself in the form of a serpent slithering up from the earth, coiling around the stang, reaching up to the light. After a moment’s hesitation, where all the world seemed to stand still, the serpent swallowed the key, its flesh burned away until all that remained was an ornate chest, just like the others, the alchemic key protruding from the lock.

Both Madalena and Marie collapsed, though neither were injured. Instead, they laughed, as if driven mad.

”The MOST dramatic finale to this whole deranged scavenger hunt,” Maddi exclaimed, righting herself and offering a hand to help up Marie. ”Is that what it’s always like? The Sabbath, the nocturnal meetings, all of it?”

Marie nodded, steadying herself with Madalena’s help. ”And that was just a small taste. The longer you practice, the greater the pull, until finally your spirit is called away at night to join the revelry.”

Hesitantly Charlie joined them, “Th-that was a Sabbath?”

Looking over their shoulders at the chest, “This is the final one right? If you guys don’t mind, could I keep the key afterwards? If it doesn’t burst into flames again.” She poked the key and it was hot to the touch, popping the tip of her finger into her mouth fanning at the key with her other hand to try and cool it.

“I can probably make a makeshift oven mitt.” She offered.

”That was only the beginnings of the Sabbath.” Marie replied, bending down to take a better look at the ornate wooden box, not really having seen the other two. She turned to Maddi ”And I suspect you won’t need anything like that. Go ahead, try it.”

Cautiously, Madalena kneeled down and touched the key, entirely cool to the touch. Smiling, she turned it, listening to the satisfying clicking of the final piece of the puzzle. Once opened, she passed the key to Charlie, placing it at her feet to allow it to cool off.

Inside the little trunk was the third of the effigies, tucked away in the indented space, carved with the same craftsmanship, a wooden snake with a placard beneath reading “Robin.” Next to the effigy lie the tool used to call the spirit into it, a small switch fashioned from a willow tree.

”It’s been a long day, but we’ve done it!” Madalena beamed with enthusiasm, looking between Marie and Charlie.

Charlie smiled next, “Yeah! One witchy puzzle after the next but we figured it out!” Draping her arm across Maddi’s shoulders, a comforting squeeze, “We’re that much closer to being able to tell the Witchfinder to fuck off!”

The smile turned to a big grin.

”Do you have everything you need to perform the conjuration?” Marie questioned Madalena, eyeing the bag she’d used to hold the other effigies.

Maddi nodded, flashing a quick smile to Charlie before fishing through the small duffel she’d brought along with a few other mystical supplies. Along with the containers holding each effigy, she also produced a large offering plate, a small flask of high-proof alcohol, a bundle of dried herbs, and a matchbook. She arranged everything on a picnic table set up outside the residence hall, weathered and not well taken care of.

”I deciphered the invocation a little while ago, right before we figured out the map. It’s fairly straightforward. Let’s not waste any time!”

Madalena took a deep breath, drawing in each passing wind, falling into a meditative state. She placed each effigy in the order in which they were found, humming softly to herself as she recalled the words to the rite. As she spoke, she interacted with each of the offerings laid out before the effigies, ringing the bell, upsetting the bones, waving the switch, and adding the alcohol and herbs to the offering plate, pricking herself with the thorns of her cane and allowing a few drops of blood to spill onto the plate, nine in total, before striking the match and lighting it.

Black spirits and white, red spirits and grey,
mingle mingle mingle, you that mingle may.

Come, come in Malkin by chiming of bell,
bring in luck and I’ll treat thee well.

Come, come Hellawin by hollow bone,
give cunning sight to me alone.

Come now Robin by willow switch,
bring me the power to bewitch.

A part from me and a part from mine,
three times three to make up nine.

Round, around, around, about, about;
all ill come running in, all good keep out.

With the conclusion of the final word, after all offerings had been given and burned, the effigies began to shake violently, as if they might split apart under the weight of some unseen force. The wind howled, bringing in the call of each creature, the screeching of the grey owl, the mewing of the cat, the hissing of the red serpent.

And then all was silent.

Madalena opened her eyes, examining each wooden totem, wondering if her call had been heard, if everything had worked.

Then she heard them.

”Look who calls, dear ones,” Malkin’s voice came as a sharp prick on Madalena’s skin.

”Another to teach, another to serve,” Hellawin’s voice was a throbbing behind the eyes.

”For these gifts, all the world shall be yours,” Robin’s voice was a crawling chill up Madalena’s spine.

”Hail, Madalena Hawthorne!” they cried in unison, appearing from behind their effigies as elegant beasts, each with subtleties that betrayed their otherworldly presence.

“Holy shit. . .” Was all Charlie could manage, “Three full fledged familiars.”

Malkin the cat, Hellawin the owl, and Robin the snake. Packaged, no doubt powerful deal. Charlie wondered who they originally belonged to, a question they could probably answer if she asked nicely enough. While they were together they were individually giving off completely unique vibes, where she got a little taste of each as they found the chests. The alchemist turned to look at Holt then back to the trio, they couldn’t compare. There was no arguing how old each of them were.

Malkin’s coat was light gray in colour, it looked soft - impossibly soft - as if he belonged on a show stage to impress a row of judges. His eyes were pale yellow, nearly white, narrowed settled on Madalena. His shadow caught Charlie’s attention, it seemingly grew even in the dim light growing far larger than any of the humans present then it turned walking freely while Malkin remained still. Charlie dug a heel at her eye as she watched it move, passing over Hellawin next, as far as Charlie could tell a normal looking great horned owl - brown, white and black feathers smoothed down, large yellow eyes blinking - head bobbing slightly left and right. Squinting slightly at his beak, as his head moved she caught sight of teeth, serrated and hidden beneath the beak. Having enough of that she looked finally to Robin. The low light did his scales no justice, glittering bright red as he shifted, they shimmered with incandescent colours like staring down the length of a kaleidoscope.

Bumping Maddi’s elbow with her own, Charlie whispered, “You should probably say hi or something.”

Marie winced a little at Charlie’s voice, momentarily stunned by the utter lack of ceremony, the swift negation of time-honored, often necessary formalities. She quickly reminded herself that the alchemist was just as new to this world as Madalena, electing to keep quiet and hope that Charlie would mimic her silence.

Holt looked on in as much awe as he was capable. His powers alone were dwarfed by the Weird Trio, but combined with Marie’s experience, he wondered if he could outmatch them. A passing thought.

Madalena took longer to respond than she’d intended, desperately combing the ancient lexicons ingrained in her memory for a proper greeting. She settled on something simple.

”Welcome,” her voice was clear, her tone slightly elevated, scholarly, ”Malkin, Hellawin, Robin. I thank you for your swift arrival and the promise of service. May our bond last as long as your years of restful sleep. I offer my protection, in turn. Your totems will be well guarded, this I swear.”

Marie and Holt both nodded in approval.

The trio couldn’t truly emote in their bestial forms, but Madalena got the feeling they were satisfied with her response.

”Look there,” Malkin mewed.

”Look there,” Hellawin cried.

”Look there,” Robin hissed.

The trio disappeared, vanishing on a chilling wind and reforming from behind Marie, Robin coiling around her left leg, Hellawin perching on the shoulder opposite Holt, Malkin blocking Marie’s path. Their presence felt nonthreatening, more intrigued than anything.

”A creature of the old magic,” they said in unison. ”A wielder of the witch-fire, no, something more. Shall we unveil the mystery, mistress? We can see you are curious.”

Holt listened, uneasy. Of course the Weird Trio would sense the pull of the old current, recognize Marie for what she was. And yet, he too shared their curiosity.

Conversely, Marie was ecstatic, radiating nothing but enthusiasm. If the Weird Trio could reveal something else about her past, perhaps provide her with a memory, or a piece of one that might lead her toward the next of her lost possessions, it was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.

”Do it, Madalena,” Marie smiled, ”Whatever they have to say, maybe it’ll help me with my own deranged scavenger hunt.”

”Um,” Madalena stared at them, mulling it over. Marie had helped she and Charlie locate the trio without asking for anything in return, it seemed only fair that she be compensated for her time. If Maddi could aid Marie in uncovering certain truths from her past, why shouldn’t she?

”Oh what the hell,” she smiled, ”go ahead, lovelies, work your magic.”

The trio nodded, their eyes glazing over, turning black as night. Soon after, Marie collapsed, sent adrift in her memories, pulling one to the surface.

---

Gwyneth paced about her cottage, tripping over stray spools and spindles spun the previous evening by she and her cohorts - soon to be initiated into her inner circle if all went accordingly.

Tick, tick, tick

She kept a watchful eye on a diminutive orrery, a mechanical wonder offered to her by a roaming philosopher, a pitiful soul seeking the love of a Parisian noblewoman. Love was not her stock and trade; Gwyneth much preferred the fickle curse to charms and bewitchments of lust and romance, but it was not beyond her skill.

The orrery had been so enchanted to spin, matching the motion of certain celestial bodies. It was the position of the moon that held Gwyneth’s attention. The first night of the dark moon was upon them, and her plans would soon be set into motion.

“Gwyneth!” a haggard old woman cried out through the window overlooking the garden, “I’m sure she’s done it, oh she must have! I watched from over the hill, conjured up the form of a cat to peek through night’s veil. I spied her at work, she’s done it!”

“Come away from there, Elspeth,” Gwyneth motioned to the crone, Elspeth Goudie, ushering her inside. “You’ll catch cold, come here.”

Miss Goudie nodded with a toothy grin, hobbling around the front of the cottage and bursting inside with force enough to startle thunder.

“Did she speak the rhyme? Could you hear it from your perch?” Gwyneth led Miss Goudie to the hearth, sitting her down on a crooked rocking chair and offering a cup of tea, mugwort and dandelion root.

“Aye, I could feel them. When she wrapped the wee bundle up, I could hear her heart. She poured herself into it, like an instinct. She’ll return in the morning with the little one to thank you, as well she should.”

Gwyneth smiled, everything was falling into place. She turned her attention to her workspace, a table adjacent to her sewing equipment that housed the tools of her craft. Towering above it was an ashen lectern, adorned with a thick book bound in white, a serpentine pattern slithering and weaving itself around the cover to form intricate knotwork surrounding a central symbol, a dragon’s head.

As Gwyneth neared, the book fell open, flipping to the page she’d conjured in her mind, the invocation of Azazel. The language was simple, rhythmic, better sung than chanted, with power to reverse even the cruelest of misfortunes - when in the right hands, of course.

“Her child lives,” Gwyneth spoke softly, her voice building, teeming with excitement. “Our spell worked and another joins our cause. Soon, dear Elspeth, we will have all we need to keep the good Christians of Wales at bay, and our real work can begin.”

---

Marie gasped, lurching forward and gripping her head, trying desperately to relieve the pain of her sudden memory.

Madalena shot forward, taking hold of Marie’s arm to steady her.

”Oh my god, are you alright? What just happened?”

”The truth hides in plain sight,” the Weird Trio replied, ”and the witch’s baleful Breath holds aloft the path to each brother, where two roads meet.”

Charlie rushed to Marie’s other side supporting her at the shoulder, concerned confusion stitching her brows together. “Those memories hit ya like a seven ton truck huh?”

It wasn’t long after the trio had spoken that the phone The Ambassador gave Marie rang with a text tone, the sound of glass being gently tapped by silverware. The text read:

Thank you for making me look like a sickly fool during rehearsals, that vision could not have been timed better than when I was attempting a Grande Jeté. You are extremely lucky I did not break my ankle.

I will call you to discuss the vision when I am no longer being fussed over.

Followed by multiple angry emojis below the text.

Angel struggled with her mane of curly dark hair as her toothbrush hung out of the side of her mouth. She didn't have work today, but considering what was on the news this morning she was going to have a busy day ahead of her. She had to go near the other side of the city, but it was a nice day for the bike ride at least.

"Again, reporting out top story," the newscaster on the TV echoed through the bathroom door, "a huge five-alarm fire has ripped through a portion of the San Maria docks, destroying multiple warehouses and giving firefighters a real problem. While the blaze is currently under control, the men who were believed to have started the fire, all members of the gang known as The Bayside Bandits, claim they had no choice in the matter."

The scene cut from the studio to the outside of the blaze, where the apparent gangsters were being put into squad cars. One of them, as he was being put into the car yelled out, "I wasn't us, man! It wasn't us! We had to do it to kill the monsters! They were everywhere."

Back in the studio, the anchor smiled, "Monsters in San Maria? Could our city now be joining the countless others across the globe dealing with the superhuman situation? Or a convenient scapegoat to try and get out of some jail time? Only time will tell!"

Of course, Angel knew that monsters very much were here in the city. She had seen them with her own eyes the other night. She had talked to them. She had touched them. Now all she had to do was prove they existed to everyone else.

She threw on an old t-shirt and shorts before walking over the the map in her room. She took a line of string and ran it from the IDRG Pyramid in the middle of the city over to where the warehouse district was located. It was only one more data point, but a data point none the less. Good science and deductive reasoning never came quickly, and she was nothing if not a scientists. A scientist in the employ of crazy mad scientists, but a scientist none the less.

"Angel Aquila, monster hunter," she said to herself as she turned away from the map and headed out the front door.

---

"We have movement," the young one said to the older one as they sat in the old Cadillac across the street from the apartment building. They had been spending most of their time here, watching the girl. Not that there was really all that much to watch. All she did was go to work, return, go to class, return, and sleep. Not that they necessarily needed something more entertaining to watch, but the girl desperately needed a social live. When she turned a different way than her normal bike route, he sat up in his chair, "Whoa we gotta rogue turn on our hands, sir."

The older man took a long sip of his coffee cup, with some dribbling into his dark beard which was streaked with grey. He had grown weary of sitting around doing nothing. His superiors, well superior, had told him not to do anything but make sure the girl was under surveillance. He was to make no contact, and was to not bring her in under any circumstances. It was quite the different level of action as he was used to. But the girl was important, and he understood the reason. Still, he'd be lying if he said he enjoyed this.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" the old one asked. "Get to following her. We have a job to do."

The Cadillac roared to life and slowly followed.

---

Mozart sat on his bed, his legs crossed over one another and his eyes firmly shut. Around him the dull sounds of the bunker rolled around him. He heard the rumble of the air circulator, the drip of condensation from the pipes, and even the snoring of Bach from a room over. His siblings were still asleep. They probably would be for quite some time. He had fallen asleep as soon as they got home, while the others had decided to celebrate a little. Even Clara joined in, and she was rarely one for frivolity.

But he wasn't in the mood for whatever reason. He hit his pillow and was immediately asleep, and had the first dreamless sleep in a while. That disappointed him, as odd as it was to admit that. While they were certainly surprising initially, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved to have a purpose in life. The dreams were a lifeline, a way forward from here, and that's all he wanted.

So he was going to try and break through using meditation. He had no idea if it was even possible, but he figured it was worth a shot. The white noise helped clear his mind of all thought. The sounds started to mesh together, becoming a low hum in the back of his mind. Before long it seemed to get further and further away before it disappeared into the nothingness.

His eyes opened, revealing the darkness his mind had traveled to. None of the noises that had come to him in the bunker were now gone. All that greeted him was silence and darkness. It was not unlike the environment he often had found in the prophetic dreams. But something felt off. Instead of the warm embrace that had came with the appearance of the frog god, he now felt a pulsing malice hiding in the dark.

Art took tentative steps through the dark. He didn't really know how he got to this place, nor did he know how to get out of it either. For all he knew, he was stuck here in the impenetrable darkness. Each time his foot fell in this vast place, it made no sound. Even his breath seemed to be silenced by the dark.

Yet Art could see himself. Nothing else, but merely himself. Everything else around him was blanketed by inky dark.

"Hello!?" he called out. He expected the sound to echo in the vast empty space, but instead the sound seemed to struggle. It was as if after a few feet in front of him was a wall of water. The sound morphed and died, but then seemed to revive and travel through the nothingness. He took a few more steps and put out his hand, expecting to feel whatever the barrier was. But it never came.

He continued to walk and yell for what felt like miles, each step bringing him no closer to the barrier, and each yell making it clearer and clearer that it's still there. It was the definition of maddening.

"Hello!?" he called to no one yet again.

But this time there was a response.

It wasn't a language he understood, but he was familiar with it. He had heard it in the dreams, when the dark creature had spoken to him. The droning, alien tongue sent shivers of fear through him. As it continued to talk, it seemed to be coming from more and more places around him. It soon turned into a stampede of voices calling and chanting at him.

Around him the darkness seemed to move. It folded in on itself. Once where it had been only black, ripples of violet and navy appeared. It seemed to be swimming, showing the barrier he had knew was there all along. It frightened him. The barrier had been there the whole time, it was just moving with him like a living bubble. It began to fold out, revealing the mess of tentacles that made it up.

Behind it, in the distance, Mozart could see other swirling being of indiscriminate sizes. They were all looking at him. They didn't have eyes, just black, gaping holes of malice that were pointed towards him. He knew they were staring at him, an intruder in their dark dwelling.

He looked back to the mass of writhing tentacles, their oily black skin seemed to undulate with pain. He followed them up towards their source, which was hard to do considering how many of them there were and their erratic movement. As he traced along their malevolent path, a eye opened in the mass. It was a bright, radiant red, and while it was lidless and expressionless, Art could feel the hate and hunger radiating off of it. It locked in on Art. Its gaze froze him in place. He felt like it was going to kill him. Not with the humongous mass of its body, but merely by looking at him. It would kill him with its malice.

But as some of the other tentacles moved, a bright light began to filter through them. As it reached the Frog, he found himself unfrozen, but also pulled to look at the light. He moved to gain a better vantage point. When he did so, he saw a tall, gleaming tower floating among the darkness. The island it sat on seemed to be made of some swirling nebula of pure creation. From the sides of the tower to the nebula protruded six support beams. At least there once had been six. Merely two remained now, and the final two were wrapped in the clutches of the large creature's tentacles. It had been trying to bring the tower down, and it was close to doing so.

Suddenly, the Eye moved back in front of him, bombarding him with hatred.

Mozart woke with a start, back in the bunker, and frightened to the core.

Will had been searching all over Pacific Point for whoever was behind whatever had happened to Aubrey, but he had found himself empty handed. Voyager was off world. Game Genie was behind bars. And if Aubrey’s condition still had not changed in the morning, he could also cross off Elixir, too. He was running out of leads to follow. The only idea that Will had left was to find Arachne’s teammates, the Immortals, and solicit help from them.

However, Will had a more pressing issue. Ever since he had departed from the Apothecary, somebody had been tailing him. Although Will did not notice the tail until he had gone a couple blocks, he was sure that somebody was following him now. After every couple blocks, Will had doubled back around the block and, every time he did so, he could still sense someone was still following him.

After Will had made another circle around the block, he landed on the side of a nearby building. Standing on the sidewalk below was a frustrated redhead, obviously because Will had slipped away from her tail. Will was amused by the woman’s retro wardrobe. She wore a pair of short shorts and a halter top that were reminiscent of 40’s and 50’s Americana pinups. She even had a pair of white sunglasses covering her eyes, even thought it was nighttime.

“I’m quite flattered from the attention from a pretty redhead,” Will said after he landed on the lamppost next to the redhead and suspended from that lamppost with a web line. “But I’m already taken.”

“Arachne? Oh, God! You’ve been affected, too!” the redhead gasped when she turned to see Will, dressed in his Araneus costume.

“Jesus,” Will muttered as he released his grip on the web line and flipped himself so he could land upright on his feet. “For like the tenth time, I’m not Arachne! How can people not see it? I would think that the whole giant spider would have given it away.”

“Well, I guess that rules you out as a gender-swapped version of Aubrey.”

“Why are you so interested in Aubrey?” Will asked. However, it took “Wait, how do you know her identity?”

The redhead then lifted up her white sunglasses, revealing her identity as Emily Prichert, Aubrey’s friend and fellow model for Viera.

“Well, that does explain things. Does she know you know her identity?”

“Pretty sure she does. Back when the Hounds were a thing, while I was trying to save her butt, we were miraculously pulled out of the building. She was wearing her civies before we were pulled out, but she was all spidery and covered with spandex. How do you guys wear that stuff?”

“Well, it’s an acquired taste,” Will told Emily. “But the real question is does Aubrey know that you play dress-up and fight crime on your free time?”

“I do not play dress up!” Emily objected to Will’s statement, “Not all of us can be animal-themed superheroes.”

“That really burns.”

“Anyways, yes, she definitely knows that too. I tried playing dumb with her when she called me by name, but she wasn’t having any of it.”

“Let’s rewind for a quick second. You were worried that something had happened to Aubrey. What was that all about?”

“Well,” Emily began to explain, “There’s been reports of people acting like an entirely different person and even spontaneously gaining metahuman powers. When I saw someone wearing a costume very similar to Arachne’s, I thought she was affected. But I guess I was wrong.”

“Umm, you weren’t exactly wrong,” Will admitted.

“Wait, did she really get turned into a guy?” Emily gasped in surprise, thinking her hunch was correct.

“What? No! It’s not like that. She’s just—um, she has—gosh darn it! How can I explain this without sounding like a giant perv!” Will said. His hands were grasping at the side of his masked head.

“Do you have a picture? Like the saying goes, it’s worth a thousand words,” Emily suggested.

“Actually, now that you mention it,” Will answered, “I might have one on my phone.”

Will then pulled out his phone and searched for one of the photos that he and Aubrey had taken while they were at miniature golf. Once he found one that adequately displayed Aubrey’s current condition, he handed the phone over to Emily.

“Wow, I see what you mean. I didn’t believe she could get anymore…ridiculous.”

“And do you have any idea what might have caused it?” Will asked.

“No. I hoped you would have some answers.”

“I’m almost out of leads. I was on my way to met up with Aubrey's teammates before you showed up. Maybe they have a better idea of what’s happening.”

“I don’t have any other ideas. So, I agree that talking with the Immortals next is probably the next best plan. Lead the way and I’ll follow behind.”

“It probably would be easier if we websling together,” Will suggested.

Emily nodded before throwing her arms around Will’s shoulders. He then started to climb up the side of a neighboring building. Once he was on the roof, he shot out a web line and leapt off the rooftop.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Aubrey about our little joy ride,” Emily whispered into his ear.

“You’re not the one I’m worried about…”

Amanda James found few things more relaxing than sitting in a retractable chaise lounger while listening to the waves crashing against the shore. While today was a prototypical Southern California day, peace and tranquility was not on the horizon.

“Dude, I’m telling you, Blood Spider is the most underrated villain that Spider-Man has ever faced. He’s a truly nuanced character that hasn’t been given the right story yet.” Mike told Andy as Karen tried to ignore the conversation. Although she didn’t find the topic all that invigorating, the fact that she’s heard this exact exchange no fewer than forty times made it all the more tedious.

“Mike, you also said that Maximum Clonage was the single greatest arc ever written. That right there…”

“Kills any credibility you might have had.” Karen and Andy finished the sentence simultaneously.

“They never stop, do they?” Izzy said as she opened the cooler and took a sparkling water.

“Nope.” Amanda said plainly, “But I think it’s kinda cute.”

Izzy just shot Amanda a perplexed look, then put her earbuds back in and went back to ignoring Mike and Andy, at which she had begun to get quite proficient. Amanda on the other hand, found the entire thing amusing. While Mike and Andy were both passionate about their fandoms, Karen was indifferent to it, and Izzy annoyed by the constant conversations revolving around web slingers, sonic screwdrivers, and lightsabers.

“Hey babe, can you rub some sunscreen on my back?” Mike asked as he removed his Deadpool shirt revealing his pale white skin.

“Oh, hon...I don’t think you need any sunscreen. You’ll be fine.” Karen said sarcastically.

“Please. If I were any whiter, my name would be Casper.” Mike protested.

“I don’t know dude, Casper might have you beat by a couple of shades. You’re pretty pale.” Andy said.

“Jar of Mayo pale.” Karen chimed in.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m pale...I know. I can’t help it, I’m Irish. I have two shades, Friendly Ghost and overcooked lobster. Would you please just rub the damn sunscreen on my back?” Mike said, visibly annoyed.

Amanda just leaned back in her lounge chair and sunk her teeth into the large Italian sub that she had gotten at PacPoint Deli and Bistro on the way to the beach. Though Mike and Andy could be somewhat annoying from time to time, Amanda was glad that they had started hanging around more often lately. She didn’t have all that many friends due to the amount of time she spent at work, and that was before she became a superhero. Besides, after all the terrible things she had seen in recent weeks, a return to normalcy was just what she needed right now.

Suddenly, there was an uproar from the other beachgoers. At first, the five friends continued with what they had been doing moments before. However, as people gathered around to look up at the sky, it soon became impossible to ignore. On the blue background of the sky, the following letters had been written with the exhaust trail of a small aircraft:

Slipstream, meet @ Stern Tower

Around these letters, the aircraft that had written this message flew about. However, it was too small to be any sort of plane. Because this object was so high up in the sky, the onlookers on the beach could only see an indistinguishable speck. Once the message had been relayed, the small craft zipped away.

Amanda looked up at the message with a blank expression. She didn’t know what this was about, but she had a good idea as to who it was that had sent her this message. If Amanda were to be totally honest, this was the last thing that she wanted to deal with today. Only a few short days ago, she had been up to her eyeballs in Hounds of Humanity thugs, and had seen some things that would haunt her until the day that she died. All she wanted was a nice relaxing day with her friends without any major crises arising that needed her attention. Unfortunately, it was clear that she was not going to have that today.

She went to take another bite of her sandwich, and in doing so, she made eye contact with Izzy, who was, and presumably had been staring at her for several moments. She met Izzy’s gaze with a look that silently said “I’ve got this.” before she got up from her beach chair.

“Hey guys, I gotta run. I just got a text and I have to go meet someone about a gig.” Amanda said as she wrapped her sub in the wrapper and replaced it in the cooler.

“Oh hey, no fair. I thought you said no work stuff today.” Andy protested.

“I know, but this could be a big deal.” Amanda said as she started to make her way back toward the parking lot.

“At least let me give you a lift.” Andy called after her, but she pretended not to hear him and made her way through the crowded beach up to the parking lot and out of sight.

Once Amanda thought that it was safe to do so, she zipped away from the beach’s public parking area. She just had one quick stop to make, and then she’d meet her “mystery friend” at Stern Tower. As she was caught completely off guard by the sudden “invitation” to meet, she hadn’t brought her costume. So before she could go to the tower, she had to make a quick stop at her apartment. Fortunately, the detour only took seconds, and with a supersonic change of clothes, she was on her way to Stern Tower.

In the blink of an eye, she had arrived at the tower, and she could see the sun reflecting off of an object that was touching down on the roof of the tower, so Slipstream rushed toward the building and began to run up the side. It was a risky move, as she had only done this once or twice before, and never on a building as tall as this one. One misstep, if she lost her traction for a fraction of a second, and she would be a greasy stain on the sidewalk below. Fortunately, neither happened and she made it safely to the top of Stern Tower, where she found herself standing face to face with the very person she had expected to find: The Iron Knight.

“You rang?” She said as she waited to find out what this was all about.

“It was more like I sent you a note, but I guess that idiom works, too,” Iron Knight half-jokingly told Slipstream. “Anyways, we have business to discuss.”

“Then, let’s discuss. What can I help you with?” Slipstream retorted.

“A legion of hyper-intelligent apes are plotting to conquer the globe and I’m gathering a team to stop them,” Iron Knight explained. He was lucky that had a helmet covering his face, because he could not say that with a straight face. And he even had a hard time keeping his voice’s tone from betraying him.

“A legion of whatnow?” Slipstream said, unable to hide the shock in her voice. “And I can help how?”

“Giant monkeys who are smarter than the average bear. Of course my I.Q. is higher than theirs, but that’s beyond the point,” Iron Knight continued, not believing that Slipstream would take him seriously. “I had an emergency meeting with the big blue boy scout and we decided that we need to form a more permanent team. Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, to steal a copyrighted phrase.”

“Wait...so there’s no monkeys?” Slipstream asked before immediately wishing she hadn’t. Granted, with everything going on in the world these days, spider women, flying strongmen, and death lasers in space, a legion of super intelligent apes didn’t seem like that much of a stretch. However, the second half of his statement really caught her attention.

“A team?” Slipstream asked earnestly.

“Once you took the bait, it was too good of an opportunity to just drop it,” Iron Knight explained his false report of a primate invasion. “But I wasn’t lying about my meeting with Icon. We want to put together a team who can respond to things like the Hounds, D-Day, and the Pax Metahumana Crisis. We believe you would be a good asset to the team.

“Me? Really? I mean...I’m honored, I really am. But aren’t there other heroes who are...I don’t know, more qualified?” Slipstream asked.

“There was a brother-sister duo who were speedsters, but I haven’t been able to contact them recently. So that left you to fill that role on our team.”

“Oh.” Slipstream said, her voice conveying a slight amount of hurt.

“I see.”

“Well, I haven’t heard from those speedsters for several months now. Since we teamed up a while ago, I was able to put the good word in for you with Icon while we discussed the potential recruits.”

“I appreciate that.” Slipstream said, still not entirely sure as why exactly she was being invited to join this super team. “Well, if you’re sure you guys want me, I’m in.”

“Hey! Chin up, Slipstream. You helped out when the Hounds attacked Sherman Square. You’re as qualified as any of the other heroes who helped out that day.”

The confirmation that Slipstream wasn’t being recruited as simply a replacement was enough to bring her spirits up. If Iron Knight thought that she was good enough for this team, and said as much to Icon, that was good enough for her.

“Thank you.” She said. “I won’t let you down.”

“Glad you’re on the team. You’re going to want one of these,” Iron Knight said as he handed Slipstream a card-sized communication device that was identical to the one he had given to Voyager just the day before. “Once Icon and I think we’re ready to unveil ourselves, we’ll contact you through this device. That way, I don’t have to use skywriting again to get your attention.”

Because the Hounds had burned Chris’ mansion back in Richmond, Chris had to temporarily use the Sherman Center as a residence until he could reconstruct his home back in Virginia. Luckily it was still summer. Else, Chris would have had to deal with the headache of transferring his half-sister from one high school to another, especially across state borders. Sure, she complained a little about not being able to spend the entire summer with her friends. But Chris’ resources could ship her back to Virginia for a weekend if she wanted to hang with her friends.

Chris sat at his desk, reviewing the recent data he had collected from his equipment that had been scanning for more people affected by the weird phenomena. It seemed like for every person Chris had restored their original memories to, several more affected individuals would pop up on his scans. At this point, Chris felt like he was only placing band-aid fixes without resolving the instigating problem. Sure, Chris had helped out a ton of people, like William Kovacs, who would have been rotting in a jail cell for what his alter ego, the Game Genie, had done to Pacific Point a while back. Despite his cross-country search, Chris still had not discovered the cause of these weird transformations.

While Chris was hard a work, his personal assistant, Minerva, entered his study. He peered up from his work for a moment to acknowledge her presence. Then he returned to his work.

“So, what do you have for me today?”

“The board needs your approval for this military contract,” Minerva told Chris as she tapped a few times on her tablet before the contract’s details appeared on Chris’ holographic display. As soon as it had appeared, Chris looked over the document.

Ever since the Hounds of Humanity had launched their crusade against enhanced humans, the United Nations had begun to discuss about a potential international ban on any research aimed at creating more metahumans. Although corporations and even some governments would probably still conduct that sort of research under the radar despite the potential ban, the world governments, like the United States, would need to find alternatives to dealing with any metahuman threats.

“I don’t know about this one. Making a bunch of unmanned robots for the governments sounds like it could go south really fast.”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Arthur, just because you’ve been reducing the military contracts and weapons manufacturing, doesn’t mean the weapons will magically disappear.” Minerva told her boss. “Rumor has it that if you don’t pick this contract up, Midas Industries will. I would hate to see what he would do with this kind of contract.”

“I see I’m stuck in between Scylla and Charybdis. I’ll be damned if I accept and I’ll be damned if I don’t.”

Chris sat there for a moment, pondering his decision. Once he had made up his mind, Chris used his finger to sign the electronic document.

“If we’re going to be fighting a legion of out of control robots, I would rather have access to the kill switch,” Chris tried to reason out his decision. Once his signature was on the documents, they disappeared from the desk and Minerva turned to leave.

After Minerva had left, Chris returned his work. When he looked back on the screen, his monitor showed information on cases from Pacific Point. He could have sworn that he had just been looking at data on affected individuals in Lost Haven before Minerva had come by. In fact, there was a certain spider girl on the top of the list (that’s what happens when you last name begins with the letter ‘A’).

But Chris flipped off the power switch. He had been looking at this data for hours by now. He needed to rest his eyes. There was only so much he could do in a single day.

He also reached down and opened a drawer in his desk that contained a well-aged wine. He poured himself a glass and downed the entire glass. He was going need more than just a glass for the deal he just made.

---

The security feed from the secret underground floors of Emerson Enterprises played before Mr. Emerson’s eyes. When the security team noticed that something was consistently odd about the security tapes, they installed a hidden camera, just to check if someone was tampering with the feed. And boy were everyone surprised when they discovered that Matt’ supposed coma was quite exaggerated.

“Sir, do you want us to run tests on your nephew?” the lead scientist asked Mr. Emerson.

“No,” Mr. Emerson said, “Let’s perform some passive observations before we do anything evasive. We don’t want to blow up the city by pocking and probing the boy.”

“Understood,” the lead scientist acknowledged before turning to leave.

Meanwhile, a news report that quite interested Mr. Emerson appeared on the television screen in his office.

“Ever since the Hounds devastated the city of Philadelphia, a massive restoration project had been planned to repair the historical landmarks caught in the crossfires of the anti-metahuman terrorists,” the news anchor reported. “Although the original plans called for several phases to be completed over a couple of years, it seems that everything is ahead of schedule. Let’s turn to Amy Sullivan to see what’s happening on the ground. Amy?”

“Thanks, Jim. Reports are coming in from every corner of the city that buildings, include some of the historical monuments lost during the Hounds’ attack, have reappeared, almost as if it were magic. Most first believed that this was a hoax, but I am sure the building behind me will prove the contrary.”

Behind Amy stood a giant rectangular building made of glass. On the front of the building, there were three giant purple circles that were orientated in a shape remarkably similar to a certain famous mouse.

“It might have been nearly twenty years late, but DisneyQuest Philadelphia has finally made its appearance. I have tried to contact the Walt Disney Company about their possible involvement, but they have not answered back.”

Although the news coverage continued, Mr. Emerson heard everything he wanted to hear.

“This could prove interesting, indeed,” Emerson muttered with a grin on his face.

"So you traveled to a parallel dimension?" Clara asked with narrowed eyes pointed towards Mozart. He knew she would never believe him. Hell, he wasn't sure if he believed himself either. What he had just told his siblings was verifiably insane. But it was too important of an event to hide from them. Besides, he was terrible at keeping secrets from them. They'd have known something was up almost immediately. Plus the way he felt about the event was that it was a warning. "In your dreams. Your dreams again. Always with your dreams."

She was already annoyed with him for proving the four of them had the same dream the other night. She was even more annoyed that he was pushing with Ludwig to move them into a superhero lifestyle. Now he was here telling them he could control his dreams and travel to different places. She might kill him after this one.

"Like Freddy Krueger shit, man!" Bach exclaimed, bringing a smile to Art's face. His brother was always ready with some pop culture reference. Granted, they had only been out of the lab for a few months so their true pop culture knowledge only went so far, but Clara hacking Netflix had really helped. "You should have grabbed the big space octopus and brought him here so we could have taken care of him for good."

Art chuckled, "The thing looked as big as California, B. I don't think we'd be able to take care of something like that."

"No, but we're gonna have to," Lud added in. He looked deep into his brother's eyes. Lud may have been the one who chose his words carefully, but he was also the one who could read someone with a look. "First the dream we all share. Now this. Clara I know you don't see anything but the rational, but the universe is out there giving us all kinds of hints towards the irrational. Maybe other people are having these dreams. I don't know. But until someone else stops whatever it is they're trying to tell us, we have to assume we're the only ones who can. We need to figure out what this thing is, and what we need to do."

"It was trying to pull down some sort of tower," Art shook his head. "I was glowing. It made me feel...good. Almost as if it was made from pure light. It hurt the thing, but the malice in that red eye made it clear that it was going to bring it down at some point. I think we have to make sure that doesn't happen."

The four of them sat in silence. Mozart knew that Clara would be the first one to break it, but he let her get there. He had nothing to say that would change her mind. Not yet. She would have to see, eventually. That much he knew. Nothing else would really work.

"So you think another dream has revealed another layer of the destiny onion?" Clara asked as she looked at her hands. "I don't know if you've lost your mind or we need to get you a sainthood. I don't know what's happened to you lately, but I know you're not going to just make things up. You do truly believe all this stuff. It might all be bullshit, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Holy crap," Bach blurted out without hesitation. Everyone snorted with laughter. "I mean, I'm sorry, but I don't think any of us thought that was going to be your reaction."

"Yea, well, it's clear that no one is going to listen to me around here. So I'll go with the flow, but when all this turns out to be nonsense, just remember who told you so," she shrugged.

"Real vote of confidence, sis," Mozart elbowed her arm. "Feel like I can fly after those words of encouragement."

"Hey, I can't change too much," she shrugged. "But you were the one to get us out of the lab. You're the fearless leader, and even if I don't always agree with your line of thinking, I know your instincts are strong. So what do we do?"

Mozart saw that everyone was looking at him. He understood about as much of his dreams as they did. But still they looked at him. He had led them out of the lab, but they had been as instrumental in that as he was. Without them, he really had nothing. But still, here they were looking to him.

"We keep going out and fighting in the city," he nodded as the plan formulated the plan in his head. "We keep being the helpers Lud wants us to be. The more we're out there, the more we have the opportunity to get in the way of...whatever the hell I saw."

"Sounds like fun," Ludwig cracked his knuckles. "We going out again tonight?"

"Damn straight we are." Mozart smiled back at his brother.

---

"Come on, Jacks," Angel pleaded over the Skype call with her old friend.

Aaron Jackson smiled sheepishly on the other end. He ran his hand over his closely buzzed hair. He had never known Angel to ask about police matters before. Not that he was really involved with the police directly, but his dad was the commissioner of the San Maria force. If anyone was going to know about what was going on with the frog things, it was him.

"Ang," he shook his head, "what's your interest in this? It's just another freak show. Look at the world we live in. It's nothing all that new."

Angel shifted in her seat, her hazel eyes narrowing behind her glasses. He had her there, but hell, she had to be straight with him. He had been one of her best friends growing up, and that wasn't going to change now.

"I think those things came from IDRG," she blurted out. It was stupid to talk about this online. If IDRG was running some shady government weapons project or something, she would obviously be under surveillance. Telling the commissioner's son was asking for some men in black to show up at her apartment door. "I can't prove it. Not yet, but I'm going to do my best to do so."

"Holy shit!" his eyes widened at that. "If that was the case they'd probably either be super villain mad scientists or some black ops shit! We shouldn't be talking about this. The sniper is probably outside my window."

"Okay, I get it, you're messing with me," she rolled her eyes. "But I'm serious. They came from IDRG. Has your dad mentioned anything to you about them?"

"Listen, there's a video that's gonna drop," Jacks shook his head. "CTV footage from the warehouse. It shows the frog things fighting the gang. My dad wanted to keep it under wraps. They were planning on hitting that warehouse themselves. The Bandits were allegedly running guns and...humans out of there."

Angel grimaced in disgust at that, "Human trafficking? Seriously? Ugh. I'm glad the frogs torched the place."

"Yea...well...I dunno if you should be," Aaron cautioned her. "My dad is planning on saying they did it just to cover their own tracks. That they hired the Bandits to bring them humans. To bring them...food."

"What!?" she blurted out. Sure, the giant frogs were scary looking, but they had not harmed her. They certainly could have eaten her if they wanted to. But they had apologized for taking her card to break into IDRG. "That's nuts."

"Hey, that is my dad," he shot back.

"Sorry," she winced.

He put his hand up, " 's Okay. I don't necessarily agree with the idea. But he doesn't want the city turning into Lost Haven. Wants to nip this out right away. Figures turning the city against the creatures is the quickest way to do that."

It made sense. People would buy it. It also would lead to people looking out for the things. Could lead her to them quicker.

"Hey, I gotta go," Jacks said apologetically. "Be safe out there, Ang. If your hunch is right, you're about to be in the middle of a mess. I don't want a lose a friend to mad scientists."

"Thanks, Jacks," she laughed. "But maybe they'll turn me into a lizard or something instead."

---

"Should we be worried?" the young man asked the older one as they sat in a corner booth of a sandwich shop, listening into Angel's conversation. "She's looking for monsters, sir. This has disaster in the making."

The older, bigger man took a huge bite of his sandwich before taking a swig from the bottle of beer that sat in front of him. As he worked the food down, he shrugged, "Looking for monsters is what she's supposed to do. Who are we to stop her?"

"Yes, sure, sir," the young man nodded along with the other's line of reasoning. "But if she gets herself killed before the correct time we're in deep shit. We're all in deep shit. And whatever these frog things are, they're clearly monsters. They're dangerous. Drawn to crime and violence. Just like all the rest of them. Monsters, and the person we're supposed to keep alive until the proper moment is following them around."

"We're keeping an eye on her," the older one shrugged. "I don't know what else you think we can do about it."

"We can make contact," he protested. "I know it goes against orders, but if we can get her to trust us-"

"No," the older man shook his head. "We stick to watching until we get the go-ahead. And only until we get the go ahead. I've been doing this for decades, kid. I've been fighting for it as long as I've lived. You're new to the gig. We do things by the book. The world has waited for eons. We can wait for a little longer."

The young man merely grumbled and went back to his sandwich.

---

Jordan Dyer sat in his office watching the news report. It showed his creations taking down the common thugs of the city with ease. That part of it made him smile. They were performing admirably out in the field. Their imprinted training was obvious. Of course they were still horribly disappointing in the obedience factor, but that problem was still nagging the project.

What worried him was the fact that the police were trying to pin crimes on them. He knew they weren't capable of that. They seemed to be unrepentant do-gooders. But them being the target of a police hunt meant that the trail, however unlikely, could lead back to the lab.

"This is going to be a problem," Myles Dyson warned. "Somehow they'll get us wrapped up in this. And then this will all have been nothing."

Dyer rubbed his pointed chin and considered what to do. The way forward was obvious. Easy, even.

"Not if we offer the police support," he smiled wryly at Dyson. "Give them all the help they need to fight both the gangs and the creatures. And in return they hand over the creatures when they capture them."

Myles smiled broadly back at his partner, "That's brilliant. I'll start up an aid package."

"No, I'll take care of that," Dyer waved him off. "I need you working on the neural link and the transport device. We need both working. I feel like time is no longer on our side."

"Yes sir."

---

The van bumped over an unevenly paved street, and Crash hear the muffled yell of whoever was in the crate in the back. Granted all they did was yell. He hated this job. Didn't have any real idea why the boss had taken it in the first place. Money must have been good. If his raise for agreeing to do it was any indication, that was the case. Still, delivering people in boxes to the creepy old blind man did nothing but give him the willies.

This seemed to be the life of a criminal in today's world thought. As the superheroes kept popping up, criminals were forced to get more creative with revenue streams. He didn't like it. Hell, he thought about getting out of the grind a few times in the past few years. Didn't know if it was even possible. Was probably in too deep at this point, and he had no idea what else he could do. Been in this life for too long for anything else.

"Would you shut up back there!?" Burn yelled and slapped the side of the crate, causing a muffled whimper. His wiry arms folded back over his chest and he rolled his eyes. Burn was the opposite of Crash. While Crash was thoughtful and not necessarily onboard for what they were doing, Burn was enthusiastic, sadistic, and confident in everything he did. "Can you believe we had to ditch the truck because of those freaks? Never had to hear them before in the truck."

"Well, that's what happens when your truck ends up on national news," Crash shook his head. "We're lucky they didn't get our faces on the CTV footage."

"And what if we were? Would give me an opportunity to waste some cops," Burn shrugged. "Nothing wrong with that."

Crash shook his head. Burn was a psychopath. He knew that. But his partner had always had his back, and gotten him out of a lot of tight spots. Crash fell into the life of crime after his career ending injury. Meanwhile it was like Burn was born for it. He had been in prison by the time he was a teenager. Killed his first man inside there. Somehow he got out, and has been tearing through the country ever since before signing up with El Bandito and the Bandits.

"Whatever," Crash responded. "At least this is the last one we have to drop off."

"Don't like dealing with the old loon, huh?" Burn chuckled. "I do have to admit that he even gives me the creepy crawlies sometime."

The fact that their customer scared Burn was enough to send a shiver down Crash's spine. Burn wasn't scared of anyone. He was too crazy for that. But this guy...this guy was different. H was some sort of cult leader. Was probably eating the people, for all they knew. But there was a fanaticism in his eyes that confirmed he was dangerous.

The van pulled up into a dark, dingy alley on the industrial side of town. The old smelting factory had been abandoned for decades, but the old man and his followers had moved in a month or so ago. The Bandits had made three other deliveries to them in that time, and all were the same cargo; A clearly-terrified individual in a light-tight box. They were never told the reason for it, but neither had they asked.

The rusty, creaking door in the ally swung open and out walk the old man flanked by two followers. He was clad in a sharp, black suit with a black shirt underneath. The darkness of his garb made his pale skin and eyes stand out even further. He was like a skeleton in a suit, you could see ever contour of his skull under the thin, cracked skin. He smiled at the two gang members as his followers wheeled out a dolly. The smile on a normal person would have been considered warm, but from him it seemed to sap the warmth out of Crash's blood.

"Thank you gentlemen," he smiled his bony smile at them. "What you have done will help change the course of history. For that, you will be rewarded in the new world."

"Whatever you say, padre," Burn saluted to the old man. "As long as our boss gets paid and it trickles down to us day laborers, that's all the reward I need."

The old man smiled broadly, almost predator-like, and slapped him on the shoulder, almost like he could see it, "Well said, my young friend, but there is a great change about us. Surely you can feel it! And in the new world, our dark lords will spare you."

"Cool beans," Burn rolled his eyes.

Then the old man's eyes, as dead as they were, turned to Crash. Their milky whiteness unsettled him, not because he was scared of a blind man, but because in that moment he was sure the old man could see him.

"What about you, son?" the living corpse asked. "Are you prepared for the world of shadow? Of the coming of the true state of the universe?"

"Man, I don't have any fuckin' clue what you're talking about," Crash grumbled, not all that convincingly.

"You will soon, my son," the grimace somehow got wider. "You will soon."

---

Time: Evening - 3 Weeks Ago, days after the Hounds attack
Location: Paris Opera House, Paris



Rehearsals carried on through the night, the pianist huffing away over a bottle of water while listening to the director’s notes - rising in frustration, slapping a leaflet of paper against the palm of his hand, dancers rolling their eyes as they rolled their shoulders. Reiterating none of them were ready for curtain, sloppy footwork and dancing lacking in anything genuine. They were by his words, not ready to perform their respective roles in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

The soloists and principal dancers shared the stage with their director in the audience, while the leads that were cast were first, their understudies lingered in the left and right wings of the stage watching on. Stretching, keeping their muscles warm. Odette among them, squeezed her elbow with her other arm watched Manon tiredly work through the steps of Helena, a demi-soloist who eagerly picked up the role when Odette abdicated for ‘health reasons’ to be the understudy. Manon’s first time playing Helena, she was young and much like everyone else in the company - she lived and breathed ballet. Manon shot nervous looks Odette’s way, where she shrugged - her notes wouldn’t do well against the director’s building ire.

Her hair was pulled back into a tight small bun with a hairband pulling back the stray hairs. She wore black backless leotards with her wispy white romantic tulle tutu and soft pink pointe shoes.

Manon missed a step and the director huffed angrily waving them all off the stage, calling angrily for the understudies to come out. The dancers retreated for a breather, some water and freely roll their eyes.

Odette took the lead from the left-wing out to the stage, standing in the first position waiting for the music and the director’s signal to start. The pianist began the movement, Odette began to dance, arms opening outward she imagined Helena opening her arms toward Demetrius’s back as he runs away from her. As a dancer, a powerful imagination fuels the performance as much as the technique gives it shape, she allowed herself to feel the imagined pining for Demetrius’s love, allowed the emotion to course its way into her muscles and form. Ignoring the sharp glare of the director, eyes trained to correct anything that could mar his depiction of the classic.

She knew the steps, pirouetting as she did gently stepping out of the spin toward the back of the stage she prepared herself for the jump, fluidly without hesitation she bent and leapt into the air feeling a tingling sensation spread over her scalp, the edges of her vision began to blur away then darken completely.

She landed, just not on her feet.

Crumpling to the ground, Gwyneth’s vision overtook her at that moment - mind racing to her words, her memory. Gasps of surprise followed by calls for medical attention, the director - exasperated pinched the bridge of his nose.

Deep in her mind, Odette saw Gwyneth speak to Miss Goudie, a crone of a woman discussing a new mother and her baby girl. She experienced it as if she was at Gwyneth’s side watching as they spoke. Everything was real, the sounds, smells, the floor beneath her feet, the warm beams of sunlight against her ballet shoes. Just as quick as the vision overcame Odette it dissipated, from the stage the sorceress shot up with a gasp, her head pounding. Pressing the heel of her hand to her temple, she groaned at the back of her throat.

Dancers around her jumped. Back to her senses, she took the hands offered to her to stand up - an ugly throb from her leg taking the brunt of the landing but thankfully nothing was broken.

Manon was at her side holding her elbow, “Can you walk? Do you remember your name?”

“Yes, I am fine - my leg is sore but I can walk. I did not hit my head.” Odette said with a hiss of irritation, Manon frowned sadly.

“Let me help you to the medical ward-” She began gently,

Odette sharply replied, “No. Pass me my phone and let me sit down, I’ll text my doctor.”

To the director, she said, “Pardon me. I will not be able to continue rehearsals tonight.”

Sighing, he softened, “Rest, Mademoiselle Favre.”

With help from Manon she walked behind the stage to the dressing rooms being sat down, she hurried off to bring her phone and water bottle. Odette drummed her nails against the vanity, frowning over the vision, Manon returned shortly with the quick tap of her shoes placing her water bottle down and her phone next.

“I’ll go and get you an ice pack.” She promised, holding Odette’s hand.

Odette feigned gratitude, sweetly thanking her, squeezing back appreciatively. Manon smiled before disappearing again. Odette rolled her eyes at her back, turning to her phone.

Sending an irritated text to Marie, she wrote “Thank you for making me look like a sickly fool during rehearsals, that vision could not have been timed better than when I was attempting a Grande Jeté. You are extremely lucky I did not break my ankle.

I will call you to discuss the vision when I am no longer being fussed over.”

Glaring at the screen she hit SEND, opening up the emoji panel she tapped the angry emoji several times sending that off afterwards. Angrily she huffed, tidying stray hairs around her head in the mirror. All was quiet, the voices and music of the rehearsals far away as Odette’s thoughts drifted far past that.

The small sound of a bell ringing brought her back in a blink she paused looking to her periphery, the temperature in the room seemed to climb quickly. In her reflection standing directly behind her was the grinning mask of a bright, ruby-gold glittery jester - the apparent source of heat. In his hand he gently held an ice pack, he shook it for good measure as a way of saying hello. Odette didn’t bother to turn, she resumed her task at fixing her hair. Rhys had no respect for boundaries no matter how often she threatened to drop him into the middle of the Atlantic. Flamboyant, jewelled, painted and the equivalent of a walking-talking roaring fire Rhys was neither faerie nor mortal. He Who Consumed the Fire.

“Darling, My Lady Ambassador.” He began, his voice pitched high and English enunciation clear. The small bells hanging off the long bits of hair artfully twisted to keep shape and form around his sharp angular facial features, pulling up then back against his head. Sauntering to her side, he placed a bottle of red wine on the vanity. Two glasses appearing at both sides of the bottle, an invitation.

Odette looked to the bottle then up to Rhys, into the mask he held up. Not much time had passed since their last party to appease him, she hoped she wouldn’t have to host another one amidst everything else she had on the go. There was no time for revelry.

Removing the mask, he dropped the ice pack on the vanity and pulled up a chair, “Manon is such a sweet young lady.”

“Rhys, please. Wine or not, you cannot be here at the Opera House.” Odette snapped, “As I have said many times in the past.”

Rhys amused, he smiled, “Come now, My Lady at least try to sound menacing in your delivery. No one would believe you are upset to see me.”

She held her glare for a few moments before dropping it, relaxing, “Please tell me why you are here.”

Rhys pulled the stopper out then poured the wine, “I am here for you, Ambassador. I have heard the strange and frankly quite concerning quest you have taken on from Mister Robin Goodfellow. It’s truly an affront, this instrument of destruction.” He spoke with an airy solemness that was uncharacteristic, picking the glass up by the stem he swirled it to breathe in the aroma. Without looking up, he commented, “I am surprised Bach would allow it. The staunch purist bending your ear.”

There was a reason why The Ambassador had been charged as Rhys’ keeper, he moved among the fae but was not bound to any rules. He was among the few allies she had who did not recoil at her mortality, he was chaotic as they came but there was a level of equal ground they stood on. A measure of mutual respect. Had Rhys the mind or interest to worm his way into any Court, Odette believed he would do well. Rhys at least got along well with Captain Esen, the pair of gossips.

Odette pulled the glass of wine close, running the tip of her finger along the rim - making the glass sing, “It was not an easy discussion, truthfully I wholly believed he would refuse to help,” She admitted, Rhys looked into the mirror as well mimicking her by fixing his hair, “It is too good of an opportunity to have simply passed up.”

---

.......Shortly after a night spent in The Red Devil

Parting with Marie after sharing a night at The Red Devil, The Ambassador was able to mingle among the strange, enjoy herself to some degree, Bach had inevitably noticed something was on her mind after her meeting with Puck. He was on her heels through the apartment door, Odette removed her hat with a sigh combing her fingers through her hair.

Bach removed his jacket throwing it to Vienna who took Odette’s hat, then huffed at his jacket. When their backs were turned she dropped it in favour of gently taking Odette’s hat away.

Bach followed behind her, yellow eyes narrowing at the back of her head. He adjusted the sleeves on his dark olive green shirt up to his forearms dark yew bark visible at the center of his arm, familiar flesh formed around it. Nails long and dirty, bits, bobbles and an assortment of necklaces hung around his neck, familiar leaves formed throughout his hair across his head, small horns poking out from beneath his messy mop of hair. Pointy elven ears a signature for the likes of Bach.

“Odette. What did Puck have to say to you in private? Another prophecy?” He guessed, knowing it was certainly something else, she lost all composure at the first whisper of the future. He saw how it terrified her, the fear hung off her decision making like an anchor. He closed the distance between them when she stopped. Her body language seemed to tighten, shoulders pulling back, he could see her controlling each intake of breath.

It frustrated him beyond words could articulate how she held onto such pointless things, when she was so close to being free, to blossom with nothing to stop her, to stop them from getting what they wanted. It was akin to silently suffering through a harsh winter, wrapping burlap around the tree’s trunk. Placing your hope in the strong roots as the tree bent to the strong winds of a blizzard, pouring oneself into the tree’s survival. Praying for the quick arrival of Spring, a new beginning to thrive.

While his eyes burrowed into her back, willing with his thoughts, I can see you thinking about lying, Odette. You won’t and cannot lie to me.

“He offered me a job in exchange for three, honest, straightforward answers.” She replied, finally after a moment, half turning to now watch Bach in turn. His brows lifted in mild interest.

There was certainly more to it than just work.

“That is a hefty payment, what is he wanting in exchange? Something quite valuable I assume.” Bach said, neutrally, the tension was palpable.

Those watery blue eyes locked with Bach’s as she nodded. “Invaluable, I would say.” He saw her jaw work through the side of her cheek.

“Odette, what is it.”

“You will not like it.”

“But you agreed to it without me, knowing I would not approve?”

She hid her hands behind her back, turning to face him fully. He had no doubt she was gripping them tightly right now. So, so many bad habits. It was a wonder how they were able to get anything done anymore. Emotional, physical tells were the easiest to spot.

“What did you agree to?” He asked again, sharply.

“To fetch Puck the Fomorian Blade. Three pieces to collect for three answers.” She answered quickly, casting her eyes down breaking eye contact. In another blink, she straightened looking him square in the eye - bracing herself.

Bach’s eyes grew wide with shock, aversion, then filled with anger. He knew exactly what the blade was. “You are right! This is horrible. What were you thinking of agreeing to such a weapon? It is an affront to all faerie! If the Summer or Winter Courts find out what you are doing, they will shut their doors to us!”

“It does not matter if it is Puck who is searching for it.”

She countered, “Perhaps it is good that neither summer nor winter could be trusted with the pieces! It could mean my freedom from mortality, Bach!” She said stepping forward, “Puck is going to use it against The Witchfinder General, more importantly-” Bach saw ambition wash over her, as he had seen so many times before.

She pointed to her chest, “I want it. It cannot be stolen, it can only be willingly given.”

His brows furrowed, was she suggesting to double-cross Puck?

“What of me?”

Confused, she asked, “What about you? What do you mean?”

“What would happen if you were to turn the knife upon yourself? Severing your mortality, what do you think that would do to us?” Bach said, his hand closing over hers, “Odette, that would kill me, remove our connection and render me mortal instead.” A pleading note under his words.

She hesitated realization dawning on her, gnawing away at her cheek, “Then- then we disconnect before I do so.” She looked up and into his eyes, Bach saw it all - she would do it for herself and herself only. Shed him like an old skin. “Once Puck is done with the knife I will make my pitch to be its keeper.”

Bach scoffed with disbelief, “As if Puck would trust you with the blade. I am so happy to hear that you would disconnect us so easily, Odette.” He snapped, venomously, she flinched at his tone, “You have conveniently forgotten in your single-minded quest for immortality, that we are together until the day your ashes are tossed into the wind.”

“I know that!” She snapped back throwing his hand aside, “It would not be easy! This is the closest we have been to a solution if disconnecting from you means we can be together for the rest of eternity. . . So be it! There are loopholes in the contract. It would never feel like home again, sacrifices must be made!”

“Loopholes, yes.” He looked to the side, appearing hurt.

Moments passed in silence, Odette gently took his hand - slowly bringing it to her face, when she spoke it was soft, “Bach, please I need your help. We can both be free, we would never have to say goodbye.”

Bach hated it, hated how she spoke stirred up conflict throughout his body, he said what she wanted to hear, “I’ll help you, My Lady. Who is to say where this path will bring us?” Pressing his forehead to hers, with a weak chuckle he added, “Or at least a less risky route.”

“You and I belong together, I will never leave you.” She attempted to reassure him.

“Nor would I leave you.” He said opening his eyes, seeing how hers were closed, they narrowed, “I swear on your life.”

---

Rhys had finished drinking his glass, busying himself with refilling as she spoke, “Betraying Puck would come at a heavy cost. Even I would not consider it, the Pwca are not to be trifled with.”

He took another long sip, “The odd prank would be alright I suppose-”

“I have a great deal of respect for Puck, it is a decision I will not make without a lengthy measure of thought.” She cut him off, “Until then I can focus on finding the actual pieces first.”

Rhys held out his hand, without a word Odette placed her injured leg in his palm. A resonating warmth spread through her bruise, easing the soreness. His hand lingering as the spell was complete, Odette lifted her leg away to stand.

“You know where the next piece is, that is why you are here.”

Rhys giggled folding his hands over his mask, “My Lady, allow me to be your guide. I have spent time in the Spring Court, opened doors, been with lonely spirits - I have found misery loves company.”

Odette smiled then nodded, “I accept.”

Location: Unknown
Time: Unknown

---

A crow shot off into the air. The sense of magic disappearing in her wake, leaving a sense of absence and lure in her wake. Its feathers rustled with dust as it rushed higher. Gradually it drifted even before it rested alight upon a twisted branch overhead. Its strong claws gripped the gnarled texture easily while it flipped about. A feathered head twisted right then left, observing the creature below.

The glossy black eyes seemed to study intently for several moments then emitted a harsh caw.

Around the figures were a small forest of trees. Their bark appeared to bleed magic creating a thickness in the air, adding to the atmosphere. Gnarled branches twisted into menacing shapes to leer at trespassers. Their surfaces appeared to be burnt, but no true fire had ever touched them. Unseen eyes stalked them from secret hiding places while the mist closed in. Again, another harsh caw cried for the vampire to follow before the bird took off flying.

“Ngh…” Katarina grumbled and muttered profanities in German to herself as she roused her form painfully from the ground, and took a look at her surroundings. And they were some surroundings alright. This was no Nevada any longer, that was for sure - or if it was, then it was a long way away from where she and Ben had been- wait. Katarina glanced about, concerned and confused. Where did he go? Where was she?

“Benjamin?!”

Her voice echoed into the forests, into the inky mists that swirled and broiled about her... There was no response, except for the cawing of a crow... Katarina scowled at the bird, which appeared to wish for her to follow. Kat, for her part, now very irritated and unhappy at whatever bullshit she’d been dropped into this time, unsheathed her rapier in response, and looked about for any other path. “Hm. Natürlich, there’s only one way, and it’s the way of that damn bird-”

It cawed again.

“Shut up!”

Katarina also unslung her assault rifle from her shoulder… she didn’t think it’d be too useful in this land of magical mystical misty forests, but it couldn’t hurt, right? Scowling once again at the bird, she slowly followed it down the path, looking about for any sign of… whatever was in this forest. Internally, the desire to become the Gheist in the face of this danger began to claw at her thoughts, but she was able to suppress it… for now.

The bird fluttered off the branch. Its wings caught the air and drifted into the sky, the dark shape glided along the warm draft it caught. It seemed unfazed by Kat’s shout as it lead the way through the burnt forest. Its shape wove through the branches, mindful never to brush the tips.

After about an hour, a large set of stairs came into view. The arches that covered the pathway appeared made from thick, black thorns. Each one entangled each other at the very top. They shortly melted away to greenery the farther back it went to the front of a large, stone wall. It gave off an ancient and dangerous aura to anyone that passed by.
Smoothly the crow swept below the arches on its path toward the door. When it finally reached its destination, it tilted its body. It landed on the empty lantern hook outside. The head jerked to the door, an obvious indicator she should knock or open it.

Its wood came from an apple tree. A black iron knocker at the center, celtic sigils encircled it. Each of the grooves filled with vines and grew from within. The knocker took the shape of a crow’s head grasping a ring in its beak. Its eyes glinted with unnatural life, while it dared her to knock.

“You want me to knock on the door? Well… here goes nothing.” Katarina took a deep breath to steady herself, ready to spring into action at the first sign of hostility… and rapped on the door, three… slow… steady… raps. “Gott only knows what’s on the other side of this door…” Katarina slung her assault rifle back over her shoulder, but her rapier remained bared and ready to strike, whilst her left hand fingered her crucifix…

She waited with bated breath.

The door creaked then shuddered. Slowly it pulled open to reveal flickering candle light torches. Their light chased the darkness down a long tunnel. Promptly the crow cawed its warning before it darted from its perch. It flew past Kat, gliding toward the roof where it vanished from sight. Feathers were left in its wake like a small trail on the stone floor.

As Katarina entered, the sensation of being watched would creep along her spine. White orbs intently watched her from a distance. Their owners shifted in the darkness and gave no clues to their true size or shape,. They continued to disappear and reappear in various areas, never very far from her.

An elderly woman stood at the end of the hall. She fell short to Katarina’s height by nine inches, but seemed indifferent to it. Along her willowy form she wore a forest green gown without sleeves and an open front. She wore a white shirt underneath to provide modesty. In the front it was tied up in a corset design to hold the fabric to her hourglass figure. Embroidery covered the pleated skirt's bottom and revealed the white underskirt peeking out.

The light danced along her swirling tattoo near her right eye. Their light illuminated the design etched across the cheek and the whole right side. Her irises were milky white but she still studied the vampire approaching her. She seemed hold an air of displeasure in her face. Grey and black curls spill over her shoulders where they hung off the curves of her wrinkled face.

“It took you longer to arrive than I expected it would,” she finally spoke.

Katarina cocked her head to one side, her hand now on her hip. So, this was the denizen of the land in which she found herself - perhaps the creator of this demi-plane. This creature- no, woman, radiated, pulsed with power just standing there, regarding Katarina with a curious, displeased eye. Inwardly, Katarina seethed - how dare this old woman regard her, the Red Countess, who put the fear of God into her foes, as merely more than an annoyance? Who did she think she was?

Evidently someone who either was strong enough to match her - few lived to this woman’s age with such reckless bravado as Katarina would expect from one who would fall to her. Or perhaps this was what the woman wanted Katarina to think- Stop it. This was one of the fey’s tricks, to bind oneself in skeins of misleading trains of thought, confusing one so much that you barely knew what you were saying, let alone what you were agreeing to. Enough of such thinking. The Gheist’s presence once more made itself known, straining at its proverbial leash, demanding to burst through Katarina’s flesh and strike down the crone that stood before her. Katarina, once again, forcibly suppressed it with a slight grimace.

“I apologise for the brief delay, I had some... urgent matters... to attend to. You know, figuring out where in the hell I am, why that bird was making such a ruckus all the time...”

“Why would you want to focus on such trivial matters like that?” Morrigan asked, genuine confusion seeped into her voice.

She promptly turned to the right and opened a door, her figure stepped into a gothic drawing room. Her feet slipped onto the carpet while she quickly lite a candle stick for additional light. She gestured to the nearby chair for her guest to get situated.

“The bird is actually Ambrose, I sent him to retrieve and ensure the Fae Wilds didn’t eat you. It’s a nuisance when it does,” Her tone held a hint of amusement at the thought.

“Eat me? I wouldn’t advise it do that. Necrotic flesh tend to add a bit of a sour taste to the meal… not to mention what it would have done to the magicks surrounding us.” Katarina sheathed her rapier as she sat down - the chair was a welcome relief after the trudging through the ‘Fae Wilds’ that she’d done to get here. “Excuse the mud. So… doubtless you know who I am, so you have me at a disadvantage.”

“You would be surprised at what types of creatures it has devoured over the centuries. Undead to even fae, there’s little off limits to its wild magic." Morrigan pointed out as she wrapped up her task, her visage turned to face Katarina.

She raised her hand then guided her own chair toward her. Casually she lowered her rear onto the cushion and placed her right leg onto her left, comfortable at last.

“You can call me Morrigan,” she let the word soak in before dropping a bomb next.

“How is my great-grandson, Benjamin?” She asked, her serious tone melted into a far more pleasant one.

Aaaah… Scheisse. Play it cool, Katarina. “Well, if you’re so concerned about his welfare, perhaps you could summon him here yourself? As you did to me?” Kat gave a rueful half-smile. This was a surprise, to be sure, but perhaps not a wholly unwelcome one. After all, perhaps she could use this to not just find out more about him, but perhaps she could assist this ‘Morrigan’ in protecting him?

“Well, suffice to say, he is still finding his feet. More than once have I had to, ah, what’s that charming phrase... pull his boots from out of the fire? But still, to be expected for someone his age and inexperience.” Katarina leaned back in the chair, hoping that Morrigan would at least be placated with the answer. She had to tread very carefully… in some respects, she did not see Morrigan, but rather the old, corpulent Pomeranian Duke Boguslaw Gryf. It was 1585, and the two of them were discussing the future of Thorn… and Katarina, just as now, had to walk a fine line between strength and conciliation.

Morrigan looked at Katarina a moment. The words sank in then she suddenly broke out into laughter, her arms wrapped about her middle. After a few long moments, she wiped her tears from her eyes over the ‘joke’.

“My dear Red Countess, isn’t it obvious? I would’ve,if I could. Sadly his mother and I came to an arrangement. I can’t get into contact with him until he seeks me out first,” Morrigan yawned as if the memory of the deal itself bored her.

She leaned into her seat, her legs provided a lopsided stand for her elbows. Her fingers twined together then she rested her chin onto them. Her Cheshire smirk broke through her wrinkles as she then straightened up in her chair.

A brief frown broke her antics when Katarina mentioned Benjamins’ difficulty. She nodded, and again her demeanor altered back. She sighed before she replied.

“It’s a pity preventing it would’ve ruined things. Werewolves tend to more pests than anything.” She made little effort to hide the disgust and disappoint.

Another thoughtful moment and Morrigan snapped her aged fingers. It sounded like a dried twig breaking. A soft glow abruptly appeared as it floated over to her. She smiled at it while she put forth an order.

“Could you bring us some mead and Cornish pasties.”

The little light bowed and zipped off into the hall.

“You must be hungry after the trip at least,” Morrigan’s tone indicated she wasn’t going to take no for answer.

Kat snickered in reply. “I will politely decline, my tastes are… more discerning.” She looked about at the room - it was almost as though she’d been taken back in time, to a time without all of the glass and steel constructions of the modern day - it was more familiar to her, in a way. Stonework walls, open fires, dim lighting… candles. Perhaps it was calculated by Morrigan to put Katarina in a position of familiarity? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t going to mention otherwise.

“I think, if I may, add my own outlook on werewolves? Untamed, they are little more than animals, more of a nuisance than outright useful. However, were he to be able to harness his power, and utilize it fully, he would be a potent force.”

A small, fleeting twitch lurked near Morrigan’s mouth. She looked ready to object when her attention was stolen and her head jerked to the side. Another individual appeared in the room.

The man walked without a sound, his hand placed firmly on a cane and his gait fell into a casual one. He stopped beside Morrigan’s seated figure. At first glance, he appeared to be a man in his early twenties. His worn hazel eyes drifted into Kat’s direction as he shifted his wavy, blonde hair from his vision. Through he looked older, his features still held strict connections to the boy he used to be.

“She’s not going to poison you, Kat. It wouldn’t be in her best interest.” A maturity and experience laced Benjamin's chosen words.

“You know, I had hoped you wouldn’t reveal yourself this soon,” Morrigan said with a pout.

“Hrm… Well, things just got a lot more interesting. You must be a Ben from the future… yes, I recognise him in you. So then, the point of this meeting has been laid open - perhaps sooner rather than later is more beneficial to you and this world of yours, actually. I’d hate to see what happens if you leave an agent of undeath in the world of the fey for too long.” Katarina sat back in the chair, a pensive air about her as she considered her next course of action, and line of questioning. So Morrigan had brought her here to discuss something about Ben - aye, perhaps his future? Maybe something was endangering the future? Katarina had little time for the games and riddles of the fey when it came to Benjamin… she decided that a direct approach would yield the greatest answer in the shortest timespan.

“So, then, fey… what is it you want from me?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.” Benjamin pointed out. He then looked to Morrigan who lightly at the name fey given.

“She’s not familiar with your past, grandmother. Not yet." He rested his free hand on her shoulder in a kind gesture, but it seemed to hover above it. In fact, on closer inspection it appeared like he wasn’t solid at all to the surroundings.

His words seemed to have done the trick as the woman abruptly relaxed then continued.

“Yes, ahem. As you aren’t aware, you’re the only one that can see him besides myself and anyone who’s died before. Mentioning this to my grandson could very well alter his future for the worst. Maybe even wipe him out of existence." Morrigan stated, her tone hinted with annoyance the fact. Like someone who talked about a minor issue at the supermarket.

“Eventually I’ll be meeting with him to get him back on the right track of things. I rather you pretend and lie that you don’t see him lingering behind me. Due to my history, I’m very close with Death himself.”

“Hm. Death has a personification now? Well, I suppose that’s the least surprising thing I’ve heard since my awakening. And yes, naturally, explaining what may happen in the future has an unhealthy way of devastating the paths of the present, leading down an entirely different path which may, as you say… lead to unfortunate consequences. But you say that only people who have died may see him- oh. Of course. I suppose I have a tendency to forget about that time in particular…” Katarina shuddered involuntarily at the memory of the leer of the filth Lithuanian pagan that her parents forced on her as a ‘mentor’. He was at fault for everything that happened… Perhaps a sword through the back was too quick a punishment for him.

“So why bring me here? What is it that you expect me to do?”

“I thought it was obvious?” Morrigan’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Can you imagine me having this conversation where prying ears or eyes could witness it? What better place to reveal a secret than in the Fey wild?”

“No, that’s not what I’m…” Kat sighed in exasperation and leaned forward, her head in her hands. “Yes. I know why you’ve brought me to this location, it’s so you can tell me what it is that you want me to do in secrecy so nobody like the fucking Hounds or whichever anti-magical hit squad the mortals have cobbled together this time can hear us, but you seem to be missing the question I’m actually asking.”

Kat looked up at Morrigan directly, meeting the fey’s eyes with her own. “What do you want me to do?” And then a thought crossed her mind. “Or is this just a conversation, a… head’s up, as Ben would say, and I’ve been completely oblivious this whole time?”

Morrigan looked at Ben.

“Yes, it is. You’re usually around me. If I knew you could see something behind my grandmother, I would want to know and that could very well affect what I do. She is asking you to let whatever happens, happen. And never reveal that I exist.”

Benjamin sighed, “She’s not going to tell you anything other than what you need to know. When the time comes, she’ll reveal more when it’s important and influences my future.”

“Like I said, I thought it was obvious. I did ask you to lie and pretend you don’t see him.”

“A-ah. R-right… Yes, of course...” If blushing with embarrassment was possible for a vampire, Kat would have turned beet red. “My, uh… my apologies…”

Ben chuckled and nodded, “It’s alright Kat. Sometimes it’s better to be absolute in an answer when dealing with those of magic. It’s a lesson we will all learn eventually.”

He jumped when Morrigan clapped, her lips curled into a wide and pleased smile.

“Now, with that out of the way… shall I show you to your quarters? I expect you to be staying with us for a little bit and know your way around the castle.”

Kat snapped back to Morrigan’s attention at the sound of the clap, and then hurled into a state of even greater confusion as she heard the words ‘staying with us for a little bit’. Oh. Oh dear, that was not in her plans.

“You mean.. You… you want me, an agent of undeath, anathema to your very existence and the existence of the world around you at this present time which currently probably most definitely is not happy at my presence… to stay here.” Kat blinked. Vampires never blink.

“Ach. Scheiße.”

“She’s… eccentric,” Ben stated as he watched his grandmother jump up onto her feet.

“My dear, I’m not actually a fey. Besides, you are my guest and my followers will respect that or suffer my wrath,” she explained.

“Besides, you’ll need to help my grandson when he arrives. Currently I am waiting for my messenger to return with news and you will want to hear it. Now, no more delaying.”

Benjamin shook his head then gestured for Katarine to go before him. He kept his body subtle and postured in a gentleman fashion.

“After you.”

---

Time: Three days later, opening night of A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Location: Paris Opera House, Paris

Hundreds of patrons made their way into the Opera House that night for an evening of classical Parisian culture, a night to experience the ballet. Luckily for those attending would be treated to A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Everyone streaming in had their tickets torn or scanned, they were handed pamphlets listing the dancers performing that night, their names, black and white portraits with their roles in the ballet and position at the company. Principal Dancers had a small description of their career prior to the current performance.

Sadly, very sadly for poor Manon the demi-soloist, her opening night and first time performing Helena live was shunted by a terrible flu - leaving her bed ridden. For her caretakers they could not tell if the tears on her cheeks were from the fever or her apparent disappointment. Regardless, the show goes on. Especially for her senior dancer and understudy for the role, Odette Favre the blue haired review-darling. Rumours were spreading like wildfire of her health in and out of the company. Tonight’s performance would act to squash those concerns.

Backstage - runningcrew raced around, clutching tablets, headsets around their necks, radios on their hips, dodging through performers - sliding past costume racks that were dreadfully late delivering alterations.

The Stage Manager shouted in French overheads, “Curtain in less than fifteen minutes people! Hustle!” Their assistant managers echoing that sentiment up and down the lines of people. It was a well oiled machine the seemingly chaotic movement of people.

Odette sat at her vanity, gently patting her cheeks with loose finishing powder setting her makeup where even sweat couldn’t ruin it. Chaos carried on around her as the other soloists to her left and right were desperately patting away their makeup. Somehow their costumes were late but Odette’s arrived without any need of last minute alterations. Lifting her brow with a pinky, the tiny brush straightening the hair. Helena’s light red dress complimented Odette well, the hand sewn layers of fabric neatly falling below her waist, free flowing in their abundant layers. Her hair tucked in a tight bun pinned securely with plenty of bobby pins, her hair band decorated with white flowers and green vines. The bodice fit snuggly at her torso, the dress itself was long, embroidery telling a story of its own only highlighted the craftsmanship found within the company. At the beginning of the ballet each dancer started at their heaviest costumes, as the story progressed, they would all slowly shed the layers. It was narratively important, equally important weight the dancers were relieved of as the ballet neared its end.

Odette heard the call for curtain, she saw Victor, the Principal Dancer playing Puck that night. Focused, ready, and she caught his eye before he was escorted by the stage manager. Watching his back she returned to her vanity smiling at her reflection, personally knowing and meeting the mythological creatures that populated A Midsummer Night’s Dream was a secret she would always relish in having. Bach was nowhere to be seen, he rarely came to watch her performances (having seen them plenty of times before). Happily keeping the Opera House free of faerie influences, try as she did to draw boundaries - create her own sanctuary, she knew they couldn’t resist being in and around such a lively, old building.

They did well to hide from her eyesight some even took great joy when they found The Ambassador on their tails to chase them away.

Curtain in five! Another call came and many of the dancers, the Corps de Ballet streaming toward the left and right wings of the stage. One final check and the assistant stage manager guided Odette and the other soloist playing opposite her as Hermia to their marks. Waiting in the wings, they could hear the orchestra begin.

---

Elsewhere…

“DEATH TO THE USURPER!”

Noir frowned, his punch hauling the fanatic into another with a little more strength than was warranted. “You guys are going to make me late! And I abhor being late!”

He had no idea how the Obscurati* had tracked him all the way down to France, and frankly, he did not much care. Ever since he had acquired his powers they had become obsessed with taking him down, and they were very much starting to become a bit of a thorn in his buttocks.

Still, the black-robed loonies were barely a threat to his shadow-plated might: the Brit dashed back and forth at incredible speeds, so much so that he had to pull every single one of his punches to ensure he didn’t kill any of the gullible suckers. A broken bone or two, however… now those were warranted. Luckily for him, they preferred to attack him in secluded spaces with little to no human traffic, and this alleyway was no different.

He grabbed one of the hooded figures by his lapel, proceeding to weaponize him as he swung him against his deluded companions. “I’m wearing a very expensive suit underneath this thing, and I SWEAR if there’s a SINGLE wrinkle on it when I’m done with you schmucks, there’s going to be HELL to pay!” he threatened as the man’s legs clobbered another fellow in the head, knocking the living lights out of him, “I mean, even more so than now!”

Soon enough, the quasi-invisible figure was done with the small army of assailants, a gaggle of black-robed figures barely breathing at his feet. Noir, on the other hand, felt like he could’ve kept going for a while: it was an empowering sensation, he had to admit, and felt little to no shame at the extra tightness he felt in his nether regions.

The euphoric moment lasted little, however, as his shadow retreated to its god-given place to reveal a slickly dressed man, looking down at a silver-plated hand watch.

“Shit!”

A few minutes later...

David readjusted his tie as he entered the Opera House’s reception area. As feared, the doors were just being closed, and he was all alone except for an usher wearing a red velvet vest, along with a bow-tie. He turned around and looked him up and down with a small smile that David found none too pleasant, recognizing the look of a man searching for a flaw.

Alas, the thief would not allow himself any, even after a spirited fight. His dark blue suit barely had a wrinkle in it, nicely paired with an immaculate white shirt and a matching tie and handkerchief in a lighter blue that pulled the whole ensemble together, his black oxfords so well polished that he could swear he could catch glimpses of his own smug smile in them… at least when the lights did not flicker: a side-effect of his powers to which he was still getting used to.

The man raised a hand as David approached, speaking in french.

“Excuse me, may I help you?” he inquired.

David smiled knowingly at him as he produced a ticket, reproducing the language perfectly. “Evidently. I’m here to see the show. I know I’m just in the nick of time, but if you would be so kind as to...”

The man passed his hand beneath a small poster hanging on the door, written in his mother tongue. “My apologies, Monsieur, but ‘no-one shall be seated after the doors are closed,`” he read out loud, before kneeling over slightly with a rather condescending look, hands upon his knees, “It helps maintain the illusion.”

David frowned at this. “You do not understand. I’ve come all the way from America explicitly to watch this performance.”

“Then perhaps next time you shall be on time, oui?”

David’s eyes widened at the gall, before he gave the man a deadpan glare, producing his wallet. “Fine! I’m sure we can reach an agree…”

“Shhhh,” the man interrupted him as he began countings euro bills, a finger raised to his mouth, before making the same hand motion under a second poster, which read in French: `Quiet please while show is in progress.` The usher then gave him a look that said ‘no luck,’ shrugging as he gave him a little hum.

David’s jaw could’ve just about hit the ground, weren’t it firmly affixed to his face. “Listen here…”

The man hummed again as he ran his index and thumb along his lips, then a third time as he shooed him away with both hands.

David could feel the vein in his forehead pulsating. The lights in the reception began to flicker with more intensity, one of them actually dying out entirely. This caught the usher’s attention briefly, a brow raised in confusion as he regarded the dimming lights and their extinguished brother. And just like that, the flickering stopped, the man turning to find himself completely alone.

Yet another few moments later

David fumed as he sneaked through the vent, muttering things that were most unbecoming to a gentleman of his station. Something about opening doors with frog heads.

It was fortunate that all bright lights were focused on the stage, as no one saw the dark figure sneak out of the ventilation system, and indeed, few except for a couple of inside ushers registered the young man entering a private balcony close to the stage: one of the best seats in the house, to be sure. The man graciously accepted the pair of vintage-looking opera binoculars, and sighed with relief: the show had only just begun, and his ‘heroine’ had yet to make her entrance...

To David’s eyes, the sequence introducing King Oberon and Queen Titania drew to a close the dancers exiting stage left and King Theseus’ and his court entered along with the blue clad pair of Hermia and Lysander, lovingly tucked into each other’s arms heads tilted toward the other. Demetrius burst from stage right, in red he kneeled at Hermia’s feet taking her hand in front of King Theseus. The three dancers pulling back and forth, clearly fighting.

From the back of the stage, came Helena following her true love, Demetrius. Dressed in the similar reds to Demetrius Odette stepped in a similar fashion quick one-two steps before leaping into the air landing just shy of Demetrius to tug on his arm - distracting him from Hermia. Distraught, he pulled his arm free of Helena. King Theseus sharply threw his hands out to his sides, silencing them on cue as the four of them dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. Levelling a sharp gaze he shook his head, spinning away en pointe, his councillors did the same spinning and following him as he exited the stage. The fairies flitted on in the background, watching the scene as they did while the Athenians were unaware.

Helena shared a look with Hermia as Lysander was the first to stand holding Hermia’s hand, they danced together a pas de deux, where Hermia and Lysander happily shared in each other’s embrace, lovingly Hermia drew the back of her hand against his cheek gently caressing him before exiting the stage, arm in arm.

Demetrius set to follow the pair to win Hermia and was dogged by Helena, with one final throw of his arm to shake her off him Helena stood center stage burying her face in her hands standing en pointe, stepping on the spot - anxiously. Fairies gathered around her in concern dancing left and right trying to comfort her in her apparent pain. The music sadly lifted as Odette’s solo began. Crossing her arms over her face, she stepped in a circle while the fairies watched her move. Throwing her arms open she looked to the audience, before spinning away allowing the pain of the man she loved being in love with her dear friend show as she gritted her teeth. Odette could feel herself as Helena, tall, unwanted and desperate for only requinted love. Dropping to her knees she spun back up to en pointe quickly entering one of the more difficult parts of choreography she’d be doing on her own for the performance. It took endurance and strength, a movement that would stomp on all rumours of her health.

Widely taking the stage, spinning once before moving to her next foot - one after another spinning her way around the stage not losing a single bit of momentum. Crimson material flowing around her as she spun, the fabric unable to keep up. Once she arrived back where she started, ending with a jump, landing she fluttered her hands down over her body, taking deep breaths - she looked sharply to her left fuelled with determination to follow Demetrius she padded away after him. The fairies behind her watched on, joined by elves and eventually Oberon. The audience clapped their approval.

As she exited the stage, her fellow dancers patted her on the shoulder as she fanned her face.

David smiled slyly as he saw ‘Helena’ dancing her way into the stage. The smug satisfaction he felt as he saw the Ambassador in her civilian identity, none the wiser to his presence, was second to none… or so he thought.

Her movements soon pushed all self-congratulatory thoughts away as he became enthralled by the performance, finding himself on the edge of his seat as the solo arrived. It wasn’t just the finesse, the dedication, the strength needed.... It was the emotion he felt, the empathy with her plight, the sense of...solitude. By the time she had finished, he found himself genuinely surprised, clapping as fiercely as anyone in the room.

Mildly embarrassed with himself, he returned to enjoying the spectacle. As a well learned Englishman, there were few works of ‘the bard’ that he did not enjoy, and this entirely physical representation of one of his most magical plays, particularly as performed by such a talented cast, was a true treat to the senses. However, the thief couldn’t help but deny the slightest hint of anxiousness he felt as he waited… waited, for her to return to the spotlight.

The ballet carried on, Oberon called tricky Robin Goodfellow, The Puck to his side - handing the green garbed Imp a large pink flower pointing and dancing. Puck nodded dancing away to the far end of the stage while a sleeping Queen Titania was rolled in on a soft pink bed of a clam, Puck danced around gently waving the flower over her eyes. The sequence with Titania and Bottom began, Odette had quickly stripped the top most layer of her dress removing some padding. It wasn’t long before the next scene commenced, Hermia and Lysander danced in the glade eloping as they did unknowingly with Demetrius on their tail and Helena shortly in tow.

They found a place to sleep with Puck carefully watching on in the background. Demetrius and Helena entered next, dancing a sad pas de deux - Demetrius pushed her away, rejecting her confessions. Try as she did to win his love. He crossed his arms as Helena danced around him. The parallel of the affectionate dance of Hermia and Lysander juxtaposed to Helena and Demetrius.

The ballet was true to the story as the play, eventually the four Athenians fell asleep in the forest to have Puck visit Lysander first mistaking him for Demetrius. When Lysander woke up his eyes fell upon not Hermia but Helena - the magic of the flower compelling him to fall in love with her. Much like Hermia rejecting Demetrius, Helena rejected Lysander’s advances. The confusion, drama and magical shenanigans charmed the audience. Puck, seeing his mistakes tried again with Demetrius to Helena’s apparent distraught having the pair of men fight over her - believing it all to be a mean spirited jest. Not missing a step, the on stage chemistry between the four was clear - each of them having performed the roles before. Odette fed off the energy of her fellow dancers, always exhilarated by performance especially when it all went so well.

The characters fought, the magic flower employed once more - the energy of the cast held as the ballet reached its climax of comedic chaos. All the moving parts coming together. Set pieces changed, costumes transformed as the characters did, huge numbers of ballet dancers joined the Soloists and Principal Dancers - the orchestra swelling with classical sound. Act 1 ending and Act 2 arriving with the wedding sequence. When the ballet drew to a close, curtain fell - all the dancers stood hand in hand bowing. Beaming, sweat sheens across their brows, opening night a clear success. Odette among them grinning happily, the final curtain falling slowly.

Even after it did, David stood, clapping furiously. He was amongst the last to stop, and even once he did, he remained in his seat a good long while, reflecting on what he’d just seen. It took an usher clearing the space to remind him there was a cocktail party to attend. David gave him a generous tip, and made his way.

The party itself was… what one might expect. Most of the audience members who’d made their way there drank the free booze, snacked on the extremely fancy and, in David’s opinion, diminutive catering items and exchanged opinions regarding the performance.

David himself nursed a glass of whiskey on ice, and whilst he, for once, did not particularly feel like mingling with the upper crust of France’s society, the men and women there had ideas of their own, many of them naturally drawn to the solitary figure. There was not-so-subtle flirtation and, of course, a healthy amount of cultural dick-measuring. David remained charming as ever, but was sure to shut all attempts to steal his attention swiftly, sometimes with polite excuses, yet often by subtly suggesting their company bored him.

This went on for about an hour until the cast finally appeared, and time froze for a moment as the room’s attention shifted to them. They were almost instantly accosted by reporters, but David did not much mind. Patience was a virtue for a man in his line of work, and he revelled in observing his blue-haired prize from afar, studying her. She was an entirely different woman from the one he’d met but three days earlier, exquisitely polite, exuding joy and charming naïvette, only the occasional twinkle in her eyes giving away the sinister intelligence behind them: David’s heart soared, for it was only for him to know.

Once the reporters had dispersed, he gave her some time to mingle with her fellow cast members, although she often seemed to prefer her own company. He even stood aside as two different fellows approached her, no doubt with romantic intentions. Both were perfectly fine looking and respectable men, but he was not entirely surprised when she politely, almost subtly shot them down. No doubt, this was a common occurrence for her, and all the better for him: it was best to allow mediocrity to give way to excellence.

Finally, she moved away from the crowd of her own will, staring out of a large window that gave a magnificent view of the city, a perfect spot of isolation in an otherwise populous space. He approached her slowly, measuring his anticipation, admiring her.

She wore a pale pink tulle dress with interwoven white flowers, bluebirds down the length of the gown as well as cursive, black writing in places, spelling out short yet evocative phrases. The flowers tapered into the partially transparent top, seemingly having no beginning nor end as they gathered at her shoulders and down her waist, wide, see-through sleeves stretching down her arms with soft, small buttons at her wrists. She accesorized the outfit with diamonds, wearing light handed make-up and having styled her hair classically, with easy waves topping it off.

She was breathtaking, like something out of a fairy tale.

He, on the other hand, donned his best smile as he walked up behind her, one hand in his pocket as the other swayed a second, fresh glass of top-shelf whiskey. Stopping at her side, he looked out the window, taking the shortest of sips from his drink of choice.

“Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. Believe me love, it was the nightingale,” he cited casually.

Poetry, a line from Romeo & Juliet - tonight was a night for Shakespeare. As she had hoped to get a break, one more in the sea of faces decided to insert themselves by her side. The reflection in the glass of the window showed her a handsome face, blue - true blue eyes, a well fitted suit, a formal cut with the navy blue of his pants and coat, a much lighter sky blue tie. It was a unique greeting, among the more notable ways anyone had approached her.

Turning her head, she acknowledged him with a bow of her head, responding in English, “Good evening to you as well, Monsieur.” Making eye contact momentarily holding his gaze, before drifting back to the view of the city.

She continued, keeping him in her periphery of the reflection, “Well read with Shakespeare I see, I truly hope you enjoyed tonight’s performance of the classic. The choreography changes subtly depending on who directs, fresh take that audiences both new and old can appreciate.” She gestured behind herself, “I believe the director is free to speak to, I would not pass up the opportunity to pick through their mind.”

A small part of her wanted the stranger to move on to leave her to her own thoughts but did not want him to be so easily deterred as the other two were.

He held her gaze as she turned to look at him, his smile soft yet confident, that of a man who knew exactly who he was and what he wanted, at peace with his place in the world.

“Whyever would I want to do that? So that you may steal this view for yourself?” he asked, taking another short sip, before ‘explaining’ himself, “I came here tonight to feel, not to listen to others wade in self-gratification, and as I’m sure you already know, there’s no shortage of people here willing to engage in a rousing round of circle-jerking,” the man noted, smiling at his own reflection, “Besides, I don’t think anyone here can really compare to what you have to offer.”

If she had a reply in mind, it would’ve been abruptly cut off by David’s attention shifting elsewhere, his hand rising to snap a finger at someone, “Garçon!”

The waiter raised a brow as the man beckoned him: the snap might’ve well been a thunder strike, the way it had gotten his attention, “Oui, Monsieur?”

David returned to his perfect French: “The Mademoiselle here would like a…” he turned to regard her for a moment, feigning thought as he seemed to size her up, “Cosmopolitan. Grey Goose. Make it snappy,” he added, giving him a friendly, yet knowing look.

The young gent nodded, “Right away Monsieur.”

Satisfied, he returned to his view, seemingly disinterested in reigniting the conversation.

Odette blinked, slightly, the tiniest bit impressed by how he guessed the drink. Wondering briefly if she was easy to read…? No, there was no way. Pure dumb luck.

Flattery was certainly lovely to hear, genuine or not. It warranted a response, “That is… wonderful to hear,” Fluidly switching to French, hearing his apparent fluency - comfortable enough to converse, “What did you feel during the performance? Whisked away to the glade itself? Evoked by the pure fantasy?”

Watching his expression, settling on his hand wrapped around his drink. Smiling easily, well-practiced and pleasant.

David gave her a sidelong glance, ample lips thinning as his smile stretched. “Oh, it was a wonderful performance, but I don’t know that I would call any of the Bard’s works ‘pure fantasy.’ More like… shadow-truths,” he concluded after a second’s thought, unsure of whether he’d heard that somewhere before, “You have a very talented troupe for companions, but if I’m being perfectly honest, none of their performances were terribly surprising. I enjoyed the highs and the lows, moving through the motions just like I would with any other performance of this caliber.”

He looked down to his drink, allowing it to swirl around the melting block of ice. For a moment, it seemed like he had nothing else to say, but then his expression grew serious, eyes still set on the amber whirlwind, “You, however… you made me feel alone. Desperately so. And when it was all coming to an end… no, even as we speak I feel… cheated,” he confessed, finally allowing the liquid to settle for him to take an earnest sip, before smiling softly at her, “Frankly, it’s quite refreshing.”

Furrowing her brow, curiosity pulling her in she turned fully to him, his words tumbled over in her mind. “Cheated? You’ll have to elaborate, Monsieur…? You haven’t introduced yourself, whereas my name is printed in the program brochure.”

The waitstaff returned promptly with his tray, balancing the freshly made cocktail. Gingerly lifting it, cradling it in the palm of her hand not taking a sip. She thanked the server, raising the glass up, the server smiled at David then bowed his head to Odette before skittering off.

“Blackwood,” he offered after palming a bill in the waiter’s vest in return for his service: not as much a concealed act of kindness as a way to show off to himself. His attention returned to Odette, the man drinking her in with his eyes, “David Blackwood. A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Favre.”

The man then decided to switch back to English, as if to better express himself. “As for feeling cheated… well, I’m afraid that has to do with my conditioning as a spectator. On one hand, you made me feel happy. No, not just happy…” he pondered, choosing his words carefully, “In bliss. Almost as if I were truly in love myself, and that love were returned in kind. And still, I know that it is only due to Oberon’s concoction that Demetrius fell back for her. She will never have the chance to realize he’s a fuckwit who does not deserve her, nor will I ever be rid of this bittersweet feeling. It is as perplexing as it is vexing, really,” he mused.

Pursing her lips with thought, who exactly did he think he was? Momentarily squinting at his cursing, she brought up the rim of the glass giggling at him, “Poetic aren’t we? Helena determined as she is in her love, was as blind if not the most among the four. A mess of a person, entirely flawed.”

“As far as I am concerned they deserved each other, bewitched by a flower or not. I would suppose that is why Helena is compelling, her plight as the story’s heroine.”

Finally taking a sip of her drink, it was good, tasting a double shot of vodka in it - she tapped the pad of her thumb against the glass, “Monsieur Blackwood . . . David,” She began, “Thank you for the drink, I am -” She searched for the correct word, pushing back on his charms and magnetism, “Flattered you enjoyed my performance as you have, appreciate the nuances in what I conveyed,” Fluttering her hand at the party, “I… I often hear that it is too much. It is refreshing that it is just enough, even for one member of the audience.”

Glancing away, smiling as she sipped again. He seemed willing to play. Something changed in her body language, full attention on David an unmistakable glint of mischief in her eye.

David had a rebuttal fully loaded for their little theatrical discussion, but she then changed the subject, and he raised a brow slightly as he noticed the shift in her demeanour, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Well, contrary to popular belief, I don’t think you can get too much of a good thing,” he remarked, eyeing the collective, “And if they can’t appreciate you, well, that suits me just fine,” he noted, his piercing blue eyes settling on her, “More for me.”

He offered a cheeky smile to go with his equally cheeky addendum, taking a sip of his drink.

Purposefully glancing away as he flirted, seemingly flustered by his comments, “Sharing is caring, so I’m told.” She said, “You clearly enjoy a night of ballet, but there must be other things you enjoy?”

Taking a small step toward him, closing the space, “You are a man who knows what he wants, smarter than the next handsome face to waltz into my company, and charming enough to hold a conversation that wasn’t ripped directly from the wikipedia page.”

She shrugged casually with one shoulder, “I would go so far as to say that is all impressive.”

There was certainty in telling a charming man he was charming and smart, it was just reiterating what he already knew but validating it was as technically sound as telling a pretty woman she was pretty. Both parties were well aware of what they were.

“Why, Mademoiselle Favre, if I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re trying to make me blush,” he smirked as he turned to face her fully, their proximity dangerous, “And there is a great many things I enjoy in life. Good whiskey. Nice views. Pleasurable company… and so much more. Alas, it would be a shame to spoil it all straight away, wouldn’t you agree? One does not start reading a book by its last chapter, after all,” he pointed out, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, smiling only out of the right corner of his mouth, “I assume you’re familiar with ‘le Bateau le Calife’? Silly question, of course you are,” he dismissed his own advance.

He did not ask for permission as he took her free hand in his own, nor did he bow or kneel as he brought it up to his lips, his gaze never leaving her own, “If you truly wish to learn more of me, the boat will be undocking at 8:15 sharp tomorrow evening. I would recommend not being tardy,” he noted, giving her hand the softest of kisses, holding on to it for just a moment longer, “Enjoy the rest of your drink, Mademoiselle. I would wish the same for your evening, but I doubt you’ll be able to.”

With that, he released her and began walking off, free hand returning to his pocket as he downed the rest of his glass in one fell swoop, casually placing it on a waiter’s tray as he passed him by.

He was good, had done his research. The sorceress considered their conversation and his offer as she watched his back disappear into the crowd, sipping more from her cosmo as she did. Unaware of how strangely the shadows moved around him. Where was the harm in having a mild distraction in the form of a ‘mysterious’ gentleman? It was easy to justify the time she’d be spending on neither faerie, witches or ballet. She felt a distinct feathery tingle against her hand where he had kissed it. She smirked in spite of herself, turning back to the window.

Having a final amusing thought, I wonder how quickly he’ll come to regret tonight?

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* Confused? Read Noir’s origin arc! Coming soon(ish)!