Chapter VI - Asunder

[IamLEAM1983]

"Of course not," replied Calhoun. "I've seen your city's vista, and I now have enough landmarks to start mapping things out with a few Shadow-Walks. That's leeway enough to shake hands, meet the dissatisfied and disenfranchised left behind after Holden and Grimley's respective failures, and see if I can't offer an alternative solution. The usual Freak approach has more to do with lionesses in heat going for the head of the family than with common politics, but there's always room for what we're doing right now. Old Chicago's grown familiar with my methods, as they're the only things that keep the city's underbelly from descending into utter chaos. I think the demons aren't expecting the sight of one of my kind who can reason his way past an injustice."

Tom tapped his fingers together, forming a steeple. "If your methods are so integral to Old Chicago's survival, why come here?"

Calhoun sniffed. "Because New Chicago doesn't need Huey Francis. It doesn't need tacky Gangland reminders or leeches that talk cannolis and corpses. It doesn't need their strain on its power grid, much less their constant dragging-down of the criminal element down to a mere travesty of the ideals Lucky Luciano and Meyer Lansky offered. The real Commission is here - it hasn't been in Illinois for the past seventy-six years, ever since Alphonse Biggs first took charge in Hope."

Tom nodded, although the gesture was cold. "So, you're leaving Old Chicago's Freaks at the Pitspawn's mercy. The same stress that made Arthur snap could make the Little Boss turn into an utter monster - and you're fine with it."

Calhoun crossed his legs together at his knees. "Mister Magnus - a being without reason is a dead being, as far as civil society is concerned. I've spent my unlife surrounded by glassy eyes and vacant stares that dressed in pinstripes and flapper frills, wearing out Swing music records over the period of consecutive weeks, aping the motions of the living within the confines of a dried-out and forgotten sewer reservoir broken through by buildings half-sunken down into the Illinois marshes' muck. Tilted ballrooms, boarded-up windows opening up onto stone slabs..."

He briefly looked away. "Animals, all of them. Animals convinced they were still sapient, who were unable to function outside of their broken, jagged simulacra of the city I'd known in the last years of my life. All because someone, somewhere thought that embracing an infant and endowing it with our curse would be worthwhile."

Hannibal then drew in a breath. "I wasn't made to be ruled over by a pint-sized tyrant, mister Magnus. I was made to serve ideals that continue to exist here.
- You're still sartorially thematic, for such a fervid critic," noted the warthog. That made Calhoun grunt.

"It's a reminder of what matters to me," he said. "The self-control, the responsibility of it all - the obligations that came with ruling over a gang, being indebted to the families that make it. You dress the part in case you have to be the bearer of bad news to a bereaved mother, to show respect to your elders and to prove to yourself that in most circumstances, you'd be the last one to suggest your detractors should be gunned down or torn apart. I have fangs and claws, but they don't define me."

* * *

"I'll pay, I'll pay," replied Belliard as he walked out and joined the others, "don't get get yer knickers in a twist, love," he told Crystal, adding a lazy smile that left Archie frowning - or at least, that left him frowning inasmuch as he still could frown.

"I don't believe we've been introduced, sir," he tersely added, as Brenner worked the keypad to the space compression booth. "Archibald Holden," he said. "I do believe I recognize a compatriot..."

The pig sniffed. "Jonathan Belliard," he replied, slightly aping the Clank's more wordly accent. "Late o' the Birmingham Factory Union, currently displaced British national. England's, um, not quite right as of the invasion, I'd rather wait until travel visas matter again. That's if I don't find a suitable breadline 'round here.
- Such as?"

John glanced back at Crystal. "The Harp & Blackthorn's wide open, nobody's seen hide nor hair o' the original owner; I was thinkin' I'd step in soonish, make a legitimate offer as soon as solicitors are worth a damn again."

Zebediah shrugged as he popped a can that was festooned in bright alien script. A sticker had been applied to it before it had been put on sale, garishly proclaiming the beverage's name to be translated as Bends-B-Gone in English.

"I, uh, left a ten on the counter," he said, "I'll take the change later, if you don't mind."

The skeleton then slid his lambent gaze towards Belliard. "Just - FYI, as the youngsters say - we call them Notary publics, here."

John merely shrugged. "Thought you were British, by the accent."

Zeb shrugged. "It's complicated," he said. "Dutch on Eli and I's mother's side, English on our father's, take two centuries of hard-earned American living and you get our pidgin," he said. "My inner Yankee comes out once I've had some hair of the dog, but a charming woman with the ability to form black holes out of nothing urged me to try going sober for a spell," he said, pointedly grinning at Nasir. "Something tells me it'd be poor form of me to refuse, and the least we see of my betrothed and child, the better." 

Oddly enough, Nasir grinned back - and she actually looked amused, for once. That caused Zeb to instantly stop grinning and to settle with an awkward sip.

The booth opened with a hiss of compressed air, something making Eliphas' ears flatten against his skull. The Grayskins' manipulation of the time-space continuum wasn't designed to be harmful, unlike the Void Weavers', but it still felt unnatural to anyone who'd gone on for centuries with the shared physical laws of the material planes. There wasn't anything particularly alarming to be seen, but the group would realize how the so-called "TARDIS Effect" wasn't quite as fun as you would've assumed. Brenner and Nasir had had time to get used to it, but Lowell would feel Archie shudder against her chest as they passed the threshold. What had been the size of a porta-potty from the outside opened onto a warehouse space the size of a full parking garage's floor, the white tiles against the floor and ceiling creating a false impression of infinity. The space had definite limits, but the uniform color palette did nothing to dispel that impression.

Still, the warehouse wasn't without landmarks: row after row of shelves, several columns of what looked like collapsible hydroponic beds supporting alien plants, garden rows in the dozens that were full to bursting with what looked like otherwordly fruits and vegetables, most beds showing the ideogram that marked their contents as being unsuited for anthros or humans, a few of them showing the word LETHAL in bright red stencil letters on the bedding's side - and enough unidentifiable consumer electronics to constitute a small expo on their own.

They walked past everything from what looked like full haptic sim booths running openly pornographic demos to weapon racks that would've made Drake or Mary Jameson drool with envy, finally stopping in front of a large gray box festooned with the Alkaev logo. Brenner sighed as he pressed a button on its side.

"The module comes with its own complimentary linen micro-factory," he explained, sounding like he almost regretted doing so. "There's no real reason for it, it was just, erm, one of Doctor Suresh's very lucrative options. This way, the owner can use a replicator's base matter block to print out and produce a new wardrobe to go along with the new body. The Etheric Transference Unit is built into the box's right side, for added convenience - and cost."

As the box's central hinge worked, the left side was revealed to be filled with a foam casing. A cutout following a human silhouette could be seen, Brenner floating up to pull the top cover away. Below it and an extra sheet of anti-electrostatic sheeting waited the armature, looking very much like it came from the same designer that had built Bagley's. The same Apple Meets Googie Raygun aesthetic was prevalent, especially in how the thing's ears were suggested by what looked like two stubby Tesla coils stuck just above and behind the jaw's hinge. It looked lithe, however, and definitely lived up to the Fencer Elite moniker, with Brenner's supplied technical specs making it clear this thing was built for everything from precision motor control to Olympic gymnast-level physical capabilities. It looked simplistic, but the Pilus assured the Clank that its "Emotional Engine" could render emotions even more clearly than the average human could.

"The Grayskins simplified the setup process," he said, "but they freed up processing power for all sorts of things," he said, nervousness leaving him as he gave the ruined Clank a toothy leer. 

"All sorts of things, I tell you..."

That left Holden to groan. "If I were pubescent," he replied, "I'd be positively overjoyed, mister Brenner. As it stands, I have more pressing matters than my own libido."

He hesitated for an instant, using his nature as an automaton and its benefits for what had to be the last time: he twisted his head in a one-eighty, now directly looking at Crystal.

"You'll have to tear the remainder of my abdominal sac," he said, "and push and slide the diaphragm plate away. Twist counter-clockwise to unlock my phylactery's box, then gently pull it out in a straight downwards line. A simple latch undoes the box - the phylactery waits inside. It's pure German crystal, so please be careful. Some spells were etched onto it to solidify it, but it still is brittle by nature. It'll look like a crystal tetrahedron."

Another pause, followed by a sweet smile. "Forgive me, my love," he asked. "I shouldn't have placed you in such a position. I promise you, I'll eventually find a way to assist you in dire times that won't involve my summary destruction. I simply..."

He choked slightly, coughed and tried to regain some of his composure. "I care, Crystal. Perhaps too much so. Anjali has grown of late, I felt she was in good hands and, well... I could not stand idly by, as capable as you might be."

* * *

"Some certainly seem susceptible to it," agreed Magnus, "but others are less promising. The Orc now ruling over the southern half of the financial district relishes in its body's usurped power and intellect, while the demon puppeting its own Bugbear body in Sandhill clearly hails from Sloth. The first might never bend, the second only occasionally remembers to go for a brutish or bullish attitude. Most of the time, it has seemed far too idle to so much as bother with abusing its inherited charges. A boon for us, an aggravation for Allocer."

He sighed. "The Deputy Chief concerns me most. Knowing the locals would appreciate a familiar mixture of intuition and capability, Crystal Lowell's replacement remains female by Pride's decree. Unfortunately, the Goat has loaned the city one of his infamous old flames - Elisabeth Bathory, in possession of stolen flesh and renewed potency. She has been particularly abusive towards the local Stripling populace, perhaps in an attempt to ferret out the elders in hiding. Now that she has a body, all she would need would be for it to become undead or otherwise bolstered by Lilith's curse, to be effectively locked in."

He then grimaced. "The Reds and Blues stationed in the enclave sent me debriefs describing how she has tasked some of Central's least-savory elements with finding young women for her to amuse herself with. We've done what we could to save those she has not drained of their blood."

* * *

Demonic and Celestial strength being what they were, the Throne and her charges were free to converse while keeping a steady heading. Still, Melmoth sounded strained even whilst in mist form. 

"I'd suggest stopping Pitside, but I'm kinda knocked out for now, as far as supernatural stuff's concerned. I'll be fine once I go physical again, but I definitely gave it my all for the next few days. Considerin' who we've got in tow, Vienna seems like the safer bet in the immediate. Forsythe Holden can shack our friends here for as long as they'd like, and we'll get time enough to reconsider our options."

One of Solomon's charges sounded off, sounding a bit quizzical. "Focalor, here - isn't Vienna occupied? Apologies if I get some details wrong, I'm not Vassago."

Melmoth could be sensed waving the apology away. "It is, but the Vienna Council is ruled over by dragons, vampires and other supernaturals - the best of the law-abiding Eldritch best, minus our tentacled friends. Forsythe and the Council hosted a press conference, once cities started capitulatin'. Long story short: Holden Senior told the Damned of the Blazing Pit and all the lords and ladies of Hell that they'd regret setting foot in the tower's campus. A week later, two vampires older than Cuneiform, six dragons and five Fae banded together to lay waste to a column of possessed and corporeals."

He paused for effect, mirth perceptible in his voice. "The enemy commanders got wasted by the moderates that had been pushin' for 'em to stand back, Vienna turned into the only city on Earth where the Pitspawn defer to the locals. The last few months have been good for anyone with a foot in old Austro-Prussia and a pair of fangs or an allergy to cold iron."

* * *

The officer was obviously taken aback, not so much by their appearance as by their number. Meris would soon feel that each survivor was shifting their respective Veil's holding efforts onto themselves, largely out of courtesy towards her. Naberius had settled with decreasing his quasi-Regency Era Britain attire and had gone for a modern three-piece in the same color pattern as his regular clothes. His feathered hat had turned into a fedora, his mustache had turned less luxurious, and his bone structure had slightly changed, going from a nondescript tan-furred canine to the angular features of a Doberman with pinned ears. The monocle was nowhere to be seen, having been probably pocketed away. Amduscias and Agares had been the only two who'd required extensive changes, the Infernal muckraker having cleaned himself up, decreased his features' amplitude, removed the scales that shaded the sides of his face and hands, and tossed the visor cap and vest. A slightly rumpled black jacket waited on his shoulders. As for the former Prince of Pleasure, he'd gone for a slightly stylized black denim vest, less amplitude in his back-combed hair, and features that felt less like a deliberate mashup of Rock gods. His black nails now looked like they'd been painted on, with chipping sections exposing seemingly normal human keratin.

Seeing this, Noyes looked conflicted. "I know you lot probably want to keep a low profile," he said, "but you've been seen. If I don't call this in to the precinct at least, then you'll be in the hands of whatever idiot with a phone and a way to the Daily Mail's tip line crops up. I get that you probably won't want to speak to anyone who's politically touchy but that'll happen faster if you let things go viral."

Naberius coughed, forced the last traces of sorrow away from his features, and then looked at Meris. "Then we should proceed - posthaste. The question is, how does one draw Nodin Thorn out of the woodwork?"

Noyes couldn't quite repress a smile. "That's easy - he's been legit here since the Accords were signed. We expanded the Underground once the nocturnals started asking for a place to stay out of the sun, around the same time. Take the line to Hyde Park, then follow the park's rim westward. Kensington' Church Street's dotted with antique dealers - and Thorn's one of 'em. You can't miss it; he's just bought out Butchoff's for some extra space. I doubt he'll be willing to discuss safe passage if you just ask, though. I'd suggest spending five of six minutes in there before speaking to him, see if there's anything like code phrases or tells or-"

Three had to grin at that. "I'm part of a registered superteam from Rhode Island, officer. If someone's done harm to the people I'm supposed to protect, I don't have to bother with code phrases or tells. I doubt Meris is in the mood to pussyfoot, either."

Agares smiled at that, the gesture not looking reassuring in the least. "I'm in the news business, son," he told Noyes. "If I say Thorn's in for a bad day, he's in for a bad day - and we won't lay a finger on him.
- Layered hexes, one or two good curses," airily suggested the Steward. "Unfortunate accidents happen so quickly, these days..."

Noyes pursed his lips together. "Well, as much as I hate to admit it, he's still a legal citizen. I can't call in what looks like an accident to me as a threat, and neither can anyone else in the force - but the less I know, the better."

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn nodded slowly. "So you're offering a clarifying presence in contrast to Arthur," she noted. "Speaking of which, if you're snooping around, word will probably get back to him in some way. He's a friend of ours, so collaboration is paramount. How are you going to work with the local Freaks? Alana's the second in command, so how are you going to keep things going smoothly as possible with regard to that?" she asked.

***

"I understand. Love makes the heart do crazy things," Crystal responded with her own smile. "Regardless, I appreciate what you did, and I love you." She placed a light kiss on his lips and then nodded to him, indicating she was about to start the process of removing his phylactery.

The werewolf followed his instructions exactly. Knowing that the process might be uncomfortable at least or potentially painful, she carefully and gently removed the abdominal sac and slid open the diaphragm plate out of the way. A light counterclockwise motion unlocked the phylactery box, along with a delicate downward pull and unlatching. She gingerly scooped the German crystal in her hand and gradually pulled it out. Opting to tenderly cup it with both hands, she then turned toward Brenner for what was needed next to start the process of giving him a new body.

***

Given their ages and genders, both Nami and Miranda grimaced with disgust. "That bitch is going to be difficult to deal with, unfortunately," she said. "Even if you took her out, the Goat could put her in a new body, if he felt like. She's a particularly dysfunctional component in an already unstable system. We'd need to get the whole structure dismantled before she could be removed."

Miranda frowned and looked over at Ephesian. "Isn't there something the dead can do? She's had countless victims. She might be remorseless, but everybody's got a breaking point. Why not just make her life a nightmare and have her resign or be seen as unfit for the job, even by the Pit's standards?" she asked him.

***

Vienna seems like the best location then," Abdiel agreed. Now, as for transportation, does the wormhole idea seem agreeable?"

***

"Then we need to get to it," Meris said with urgency. She then looked to Naberius and told him,"Regardless of how Nodin's day is meant to go, we can't give the Goat any fuel to spin more lies about us, like he has in Hope. We need to be careful."

[IamLEAM1983]

Since Aislinn, Tom and the Fomorians had made their way back down, Rendell had negotiated a quiet exit, now being in need of more permanent lodgings. He intended to discuss the matter with Volker, the wolf still being Tom's Security Director. As for Protis, he'd gone snooping for a place that was both connected to the tower's campus, decently elevated and fairly dark. As luck would have it, the tower's main column of atriums was topped with a mezzanine of sorts, a structural half-floor that allowed the helipad and its carried weight to be distributed more evenly across the structure. In the gentle, musty gloom of the crisscrossing girders, he'd found the low lights, silence and myriad perches and resting beams his kind cherished. There'd be time enough to check back in on Aislinn and Tom later on.

As for Calhoun, the roane's question left him tilting his head. "I'll have to speak with her, obviously, and make it clear that my immediate concern doesn't involve my usurping Ringleader status from Holden. Our styles simply aren't compatible - the brood she shares with him is one of artistes and burnouts, light schizophrenics or emotionally sensitive sorts who had to choose between squalor and indigence or madness and prosperity. I'm not without knowing how unusually close Hope is to its own vampire contingent; Elysium brought you all closer together in a way that's strongly influenced local culture."

He shrugged lightly. "As I've said, I come from a brood obsessed with the past. Organizing such a complex illusion requires thought the likes of which Hubert and his kin simply aren't made to negotiate, so his first councilmen realized they'd have to break tradition: my Sire might be insane, but he didn't initiate me to undeath or to my brood's requirements. The other consiglieres did. The brood has orders not to touch them: the lack of physical confrontation or opposition leaves them as clear-headed and focused as our blood allows. It's made me a Cartesian anomaly in a bloodline that only pays lip service to the surface world's standards of behavior. That is ultimately what makes our styles of governance incompatible.

I can't act like Arthur, I certainly can't act like Horatio - so I'll have to do what I do best and tackle their unique challenges. This means providing Centennial Park's underground front lines with with reinforcements and getting those shell-shocked or carrying trauma out of the firing lines. It means finding a way to empower Grimley once again. The last my agents reported to me, Doctor Dickens and a few others had now chosen to answer to Alana, seeing as their old maker now hardly leaves the Circus' new, permanent office across the park. It took mortals to board up his windows, so distraught as Horatio is that he'd sometimes stumble within sight of the enemy's sniper range."

Tom grimaced. "I know - the poor man's on an emotional rollercoaster that shows no signs of stopping, with despair being the larger constant. I've tried to negotiate a security cordon to go speak to him, but Gabriel and Lucian won't let us anywhere near the trenches. Crossing the park on foot is a logistical impossibility, now."

That left Hannibal nodding. "I'd do the same, no matter how inconvenient it might be. Being confronted with us might help Arthur, but Horatio is facing a sense of pervasive powerlessness. What he needs is more concrete.
- What are you proposing?" asked Tom.

Calhoun etched a small smile. "There were some avenues I'd been considering, but none of them could be responsibly applied. On the other hand, I've heard of your yen with counter-curses: the one you stuck on Zebediah didn't last and was now supplanted by Helena Nasir's turning Buck into a via gravity well, but Eliphas is still thriving under your auspices. If the only thing stopping you from assisting Grimley is a barred route, I can take you there within the next minute, if you so desired. Grimley's native psyche has been lost under Lilith's curse for close to two hundred years, so I don't think your incubus mind would be under any undue risk of further tampering.
- So you know who or what he used to be, I'll assume," asked the warthog.

Calhoun shrugged. "I know he wasn't human, if that's what you're asking. Lilith's curse can twist the human and anthro forms in a myriad of ways, but prehensile tendrils and an octopus' skull shape? That's far too specific. I'm no Grimley, but I do have access to information brokers, and I know what you've been up against. I had some understanding of what these horrors can do, and I had every interest in making sure that further dealings in Hope wouldn't result in my agents turning feral. As far as Horatio's concerned, however, I'm sure that the depth-dwelling agent of chaos he used to be is now harmless."

Tom blinked. "You're suggesting I hack him like I hacked Eliphas?
- His psyche's changed," nodded the Councilman. "If you could curse him with clarity or renewed resolve, steal these elements from the man he used to be and apply them to the man he is, then you could bring one of the Pitspawn's greatest victories to a close. Horatio Ignatius Grimley has decimated crowds filled with vampire slayers, in his heyday. Give him his gun back, metaphorically speaking, and a target, and you'll either fracture this stalemate you're in, or end it entirely."

* * *

As expected, the armature turned limp in her arms, its real weight them reasserting itself as the weight-modifying runes winked out. With the phylactery exposed and handed to the Pilus, the transfer process began. It was largely analogous to what had occurred with Bagley, owing to both men's armatures having the same manufacturer. As Brenner had explained, however, it was generally more streamlined, only a few seconds being required before the vacantly open eyes of the armature closed, and Archie's initially soft snores began to be heard.

The array wasn't quite done, however. The right side of the box quietly whirred to life, a gentle synthetic voice piping up.

"Neural core scanned. Extrapolating new wardrobe elements and printing for easy reference. Base matter block detected. Beginning nano-weave process."

A number of articulated arms then gingerly extended forth from the right side of the case, bending around to reach the still foam-encased armature. Tentatively, it began sketching out lines of what looked like spider silk at the onset, and slowly took form. Gray morning suit pants, pinstriped in black. Synthetic patent leather shoes, black nylon-wool socks. A black leather belt and a white shirt, weaved and stitched on and already tucked through the still-glistening belt and underneath the pants. A broad grey Ascot tie done in the more rigidly-constructed British style took shape. Then, most arms retracted, with only two now seemingly working on a new top hat and two more slipping through the shirt's starched cuffs to seemingly inject nanites directly underneath the armature's alloy plating. Slowly, details were extruded along the top lip that evoked a mustache chiseled into shape out of pliable tin, while delicate paisley whorls and Celtic knotwork bloomed across the back of his hands. With his chest covered, there was no telling if the nanites had worked to evoke the old details that had once adorned his chest.

With that done, the same voice piped up again.

"Advisory: etheric package contained no memory engrams of prior android armature experience. Alkaev Albert OS assistant is activated by default. Subject may appear disoriented while AI package establishes communication channels. Research shows that 76% of Albert OS users offer a derogatory nickname to the AI assistant within 3.06 hours of activation. Use of profanity is not to be seen as a sign of improper transference or resulting cognitive instability."

Zebediah grimaced lightly. "...and now the poor blighter's got an AI stuck in his head. If I know him well enough, he's in for a ruddy bender..."

Archie's new eyes fluttered and winked on, showing yellowish expanses that were curiously emotive despite their lack of irises or pupils. His voice sounded slightly different, the speech synthesizer stripping it of the old voicebox's sometimes rigid delivery, but replacing it with a metallic, slightly electronic buzz.

"Wha-Who?! Who said that?!"

"If someone answered, nobody could hear it. The AI package wasn't connected to any outer speakers for now, and consequently couldn't be heard.

"Nobody told me I'd be sharing space with a bloody algorithm - I demand that you turn yourself off right this instant!"

He waved someone away and then glanced at Crystal. "Apologies, darling - this'll only be a moment - no, I don't need help to walk, I can-"

The android tried to make a graceful show out of stepping out of its foam enclosure, only for the warehouse's lit floor panels to slam into his forehead - or was it the reverse? Holden angrily muttered something about the wonders of technology before stifling a yawn and attempting to refocus on the task of getting up. A few seconds in, he apparently relented to the AI assistant, his gestures turning fluid and practiced once again. Archie looked stunned.

"I thought you'd meant to do it for me," he told the assistant. "That didn't feel quite like it..."

A pause. "So when are you going to stop capturing and interpreting my commands?"

Another pause, Archie's eyelids lowering in an almost  cartoonish pose of angry dejection. "Grand," he flatly said. 

* * *

"I'm no Warlock," noted the goat, "I'd need to have Bathory within line of sight - or ideally, close enough for physical contact - to allow her victims to home in on her. I could torment her, but I couldn't effectively remove her from office, or at least not in any capacity that I'd be able to guarantee."

His eyes gleamed slightly. "I serve Justice, and simply inflicting pain and suffering on her wouldn't quell her victims' own turmoil. She and all the usurpers in town must stand trial."

Haraldson nodded. "They will. I have a plan in the early stages, one I think you'd all be able to assist us with."

He walked back towards his desk and picked up a file, which he handed to Nami. Stapled to it was the face of an almond-faced brunette with dark eyes, stylishly thick eyebrows, an almost Latin nose and a secretive mouth, corner upturned in a smirk as she waved at someone.

"This is Quinn Harker," he said, "Alexander Ruthven's illegitimate daughter. She happens to be of a rare breed; the genetically active offspring of a live vampire breeding with a consenting mortal. Vampires from the Ordo Dracul or Carmilla bloodlines can sire children the way mortals can, although the result usually is a normal child, with a small percentile giving rise to blood anomalies or other chronic illnesses. What's rarer still is what she is: a healthy human woman, alive and well in all the ways that matter; but nonetheless possessed of her father's thirst for blood, as well as his strength, speed and dexterity, with telomere degradation suggesting her optimal lifespan is more in line with her father's than her mother's. Psych profiles indicate she doesn't carry the propensity for monomania or infatuation with power that often marks those of the Blood of the Dragon - but her past still is notably checkered, especially since the Vienna Accords' induction."

If Nami opened the file, she'd find police reports in a dozen languages, rooted in over thirty cities across the globe over the past century. "She's a slayer," continued the Draugr, "a hired assassin specializing in undead and supernatural targets. The Vienna Council and Interpol both have lengthy files on her, as well as an uneasy stance on how to handle the threat she poses: she's killed mere striplings whose only fault was of getting in her way, but also destroyed six targets Vienna had wanted to see apprehended since its inception. Unconfirmed reports suggest she's ended dozens more, from Southern Vitellians in league with Phineas Sharpe to high-ranking survivors of the Gelehrte von Thule - Nazi Germany's high-ranking occult researchers, a unit that comprised liches, Warlocks, vampires and even some of your Void Weavers of which we've heard reports of. Her records stretch out to 1888 and include everything from alleged collaborations with the French resistance during World War Two, all the way through the murder of Jared Temple, in 2021."

John blinked at that. "Jared Temple? You mean, the let's use predictive analytics and medical databases to build a live map of blood types so leeches in need know who to spy on guy?
- The very same," nodded the living corpse. "WIRED Magazine's pick for Person of the Year, back in 2019, who used his self-help psychotherapy app to build a case for a hematological counterpart. A textbook Cabal stripling: bold, foolish and ambitious beyond decency. He wasn't missed or mourned by anyone, but murder still is murder."

Haraldson sighed. "In any case, if you look at the back of the folder, you'll find a final draft for a full pardon. We'd like to bring her in, but the incursions have limited our resources. My men reported that Bathory had been receiving strange phone calls and letters, of late - all of which suggested that a slayer was trying to get an active bead on her."

He then handed Nami a pack of black leaflets, all of them advertising an Industrial Goth venue called the Witch House. Allocer's enclave was safe enough for something like a nightlife to be resumed under close scrutiny, and it stood to reason that a hedonist such as the fabled Blood Countess would want to balance out her new professional obligations with at least some measure of fun...

"One of the Blues spotted Harker shopping in the enclave," the Draugr finished. "She's preparing for a soirée. If anyone's interested, you'll need something in black."

* * *

"So long as you don't take a wrong turn at Albuquerque," teased the Broker.

* * *

Naberius' returned gaze carried his unspoken assent, with a few last words with Noyes sending the group on its way. The only chatterbox in the group was Isaacs, who seemed intent on discussing demonic physiology with anyone who'd care to listen. Unfortunately for him, that amounted to precisely no-one. Three, Naberius and Amduscias kept the scientist on a metaphorical leash, his prosthetic hand having been thoughtfully Veiled to appear human.

Hyde Park was as scenic as could be expected, but they weren't here to gawp or take in the sights. As had been suggested, finding the one antiques dealer with three times the space of its competitors on Kensington Church was easy enough. Thorn Antiques was as stately and regal as the rest of its peers, but stepping past the threshold came with a slight arcane tension Drake knew Meris would recognize: there was Winter magic in the air, but its nature or purpose wasn't immediately obvious.

Row upon row of luxury and refinement spanning the last three British centuries had been neatly organized in the open space, with small theme-specific zones helping those in search of vintage living room, bedroom, bathroom or lobby fixtures, with recovered construction materials waiting for anyone looking for vintage Edwardian windows, imitation Medieval stained glass or framed genuine Art Nouveau posters.

As could be expected, Thorn wasn't so readily available as to stand at the cash register. There stood a Eurasian beauty with high cheekbones and what had to be bleached hair - if you didn't know your Winter Fae well enough. Three knew enough to avoid focusing on her eyes or her smile, so he settled with staring at the point between her eyebrows while stapling a polite smile on his own features. Isaacs didn't know better, however, and it took Three pinching his right trapezius and eliciting a yelp of pain for the tinkerer to break out of the siren's trance.

"B-But I only wanted to go speak to her!" he protested. "The sooner we can go home, the sooner I can get back to my work!
- Speak to her," softly warned Three, "and you're liable to pick up the first heavy object under her command to try and bash our brains in. From here on in, Isaacs, you're out of your depth."

Rupert fell back, looking sullen. "Barbarian," he muttered.

"And you're crazy enough to be Freak material," groused the soldier. "Either you hang back, or we'll make you."

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn appeared thoughtful as Calhoun suggested this and then looked over at Tom. "How would you do this, though? Eliphas was grateful for his curse because it balanced both of his sides. How are we going to convince Grimley that clarity or renewed resolve would be a beneficial thing? He loves his inane approach to existence, so how do we work with or around that? It'd be preferable if it was willingly done, so..." she trailed off, not liking the idea of cursing the squid vampire by force.

***

Crystal placed a hand on his shoulder. "As annoying as the AI might be, I'd listen to it. You're essentially starting from square one, after all," she noted.

***

"Finding the right outfit shouldn't be too much of a problem," Nami opined as she looked over the flier. She then glanced over at the Fauness. "However, I'm leery about Miranda attending. She's sixteen, and I have a feeling neither of her parents know she left Magnus Tower," she commented, her azure gaze sliding over to the teenager, who gave her a sheepish smile.

"Even if we put gothed you up to look older, you'd look like one of the baby bats," Nami observed. "Plus, there's the issue of getting a fake ID, so is there some means of her helping without being noticed? It cuts down on the risk of Bathory making a beeline for her."

***

Abdiel concentrated quietly on the space in front of them and manifested a dark portal that seemed to go on forever. It was just large enough for their energy shield to pass through and transport them to their intended location. "Here we go!" she exclaimed as they were sucked into the vortex, which closed behind them with no trace.

Melmoth and the demons would feel like they were being pulled along on a mostly dark roller coaster ride, the only visible light being the occasional streaks of white or neon hues. It might've reminded them of the disorientation visitors felt when they visited the Pit. Their journey would be somewhat exhilarating, but they would otherwise be safe.

***

Aspasia resisted rolling her eyes at Rupert's behavior and settled with falling into a scenario not all that different than what you'd find on Paradise. Not even eyeing the woman at the counter, she passively had her hands behind her back as she perused the shelves and the wares on them. Thankfully, Meris had created a veil to hide the Chimera's rifle, bow, and quiver, along with her new set of battle gear. While it might have been an effect of Issacs' genetic tweaking, her silvery white hair likely stood closer to a Fae ideal.

Her time with the Urakawas had taught her how Winter fae, even the good ones, behaved and allowed her to adjust accordingly. In some ways, it wasn't too dissimilar from how she might act in a Paradise market.

Meris milled about the area and casually glanced around the area, avoiding the shopkeeper's gaze directly.

[IamLEAM1983]

Tom aimlessly looked about for a few seconds, then shifted his weight in his chair.

"Sanity and clarity are subjective by default," he said. "Eliphas was easy because I was up against the shackled will of a man confronting a beast born out of a curse - the State of Nature versus magic having been used to pervert it. Grimley's been what he is for too long for me to just try and bring him in line with Rothchild or what I know of Nereus Marinos, so I'll need him to suggest to me what his idea of normalcy implies. He probably won't be collaborative, which is why I'll be glad to have you two around," he said.

He then stood up, heading for the bookshelf he'd reserved for his own notes and legal copies of arcane and forensic resources. "I'm not a Void Weaver, so I can't take a deep dive inside his mind and fetch what I need, nor would I want to. The last ritual I used that allowed for a close communion of minds is something I'd rather remember as a fond memory between Aislinn and I, so you'll forgive me for not wanting to adapt Hieros Gamos to him. I might have been a raging pansexual once upon a time, but I have my limits..."

Calhoun's eyebrows shot up slightly. "Hieros Gamos?
- The Principle of the Sacred Union," replied the warthog as he opened books on the kitchen's island and started leafing through them. "It's not happening," he said, being unable to fully repress a shiver of disgust at the thought of getting close to the insane Squid.

Calhoun was still surprised. "Sex magic is what freed you from your master?
- We're not getting into this," warned the Infernalist. "What Grimley needs is a different union, a meeting of the minds that wouldn't involve the basic channels I could use as an incubus."

He pushed a book aside. "No, I need to be thinking like a Seducer. I'm not trying to dull the pain, I'm trying to heal a wound..."

Tom then clenched his teeth in apparent triumph a few minutes later. "Yes! There it is - Rites of the Inner Light, the Roots of the Torchbearers - stolen figments of what God used to bring about the Lightbringers - if I bring Raguel up here to assist me with the Enochian, he'll flat-out refuse to let us go, I know that much..."

He drew in a sharp breath. "I need a stable seed, one with commonality with the subject. It says here the Seed and the Bearer of Healing can be the same person if the attendance is limited. This isn't a curse, though, not a hex - it's a blessing. We could hack it with a little work, though... I supply the power, I think I'm far enough from my old self now that empathy and compassion wouldn't be too much of a stretch... I'm no Sariel and my bad boy cred is still well in place - but I'm not heartless either..."

He then looked back to Aislinn. "Start packing things, hon - you'll need something that's close enough to you without it being your pelt, something that links you back to the Orkneys, or at least to your folks' seafaring heritage. Grimley's an ex-Weaver, his native species is aquatic, so's yours - that could work for commonality - and I'll need you stable and focused as can be. I'm going to try and work on a reverse link, to pull Grimley into your mind. The curse left him emotionally unbalanced even before all this, but that unbalance of his is his norm! You'll have to find a way to make the Shetlands or the Orkneys or wherever look worthy of a circus or carnival - we don't need to average him out, we just need to tip the scales back in the other direction! You'll have to stay centered up until the very last minute, but then I'll need you to focus on every single scrap of merriment you've got in there!" he said, tapping his own temple.

The Warlock then clicked his tongue and looked at the book. "That's High Seraphic magic - if this works, it'll act like a second dinner bell to Lucifer, or a really appetizing call to Uriel. Either way, there's going to be some fallout."

Calhoun looked at the sprawl of books. "This is all assuming Grimley is collaborative. What if he isn't?
- That's where you come in," noted Magnus, "and where my fireballs and Aislinn's lightning might come into play. If he's aggressive, you'll have to drain him to the point of physical weakness, just short of torpor."

The Councilman's eyes hardened. "This might be difficult, mister Magnus. I might be saner than most when it comes to the Freaks, I'm also younger than Horatio. I'm willing to give it a shot, however - the right opportunity pending."

* * *

"I suppose you're right," agreed the android, independently testing his own balance for a few seconds, then letting the agent take him back to a dignified and centered pose. His right hand's fingers flexed over nothing, and he looked down on it in slight dejection. "Blast - my cane more than likely went up in flames, as well..."

Nasir flashed Brenner a look, which prompted another toothy grin from the Pilus. "Not to worry, Milord!" he said, bounding closer and then back away from him. "I've got the finest selection of Voykros & Anders transeuranic weaponry, all for the discerning Paradise gentleman! We've learned so much from our extended guests in the Depths - form and lethal function in one package! I think I've got something sleek enough to fit your new looks without going too far away from your roots, either!"

They entered a row of weapon racks, the android casting a dubiously-raised eyebrow at nearly everything - it all either looked ripped out of Star Wars or seemed like a weapon prop befitting a Chronicles of Riddick sequel - up until they reached a large rosewood case that was propped up against the weapons rack's grill. Following Brenner's gesture, Archie bent down and opened the case, which unfolded into six articulated segments, each of them holding up a small drawer. Inside each one waited plush red damask covering and a descriptive golden plaque - and objects you would've been hard-pressed to call weapons, to begin with.

"Pull the top-most one closer, here..." said the gas bag.

Whatever it was, it was beautiful. A long, thin shaft that looked almost too slender to support any weight, with large brass rings separating long segments of polished ivory. A sapphire-inlaid thumb switch enticingly waited near the wavy curve of the upper handle, which was made both straighter and more ergonomic, to enable it to serve as a weapon's butt. Other cutouts and folded segments waited along the shaft's length, suggesting the trigger and its guard could both collapse along the weapon's length, with three more brass segments waiting closer to the handle, cut off-center from the other ones.

"Gravity well-assisted heat-sinking technology, 8X zoom capabilities, one base spindle sustaining thousands of rounds all its own, with three distinct firing modes - all of it in a frame that would've made one of our sleeping poachers swoon with envy!"

Archie couldn't repress a wonder-filled smile, but something made him switch to a more circumspect look as he glanced back at Crystal. "This is obviously so illegal as to make the District Attorney erupt into spurts of uncontrollable laughter of pure derision at the thought of anyone wielding this from a position of authority, but..."

Nasir shrugged. "Consider it a gift from the Vanguard - to your health. I have no say as to how you would choose to use it," she said, feigning ignorance.

Holden smirked. "This does not change the fact that my love - and the one who used to sign my paychecks - could deem this to be excessive."

Belliard shrugged. "We've all gone lawless since it all went to shite, you won't be the only one with illegal knickknacks once things get back to normal. Plus, with Infernal and Celestial weaponry goin' 'round the blocks, laws are bound to change. We're in for a few months of not knowing what is and isn't legal anymore, anyway." 

Zeb drained the last of his withdrawal-negating drink. "I'd rather listen to the one with the badge over the one who kept possessed in cages, instead of putting them out of their misery..."

The pig obviously glared at the lich, in response.

* * *

Leonard pouted lightly. "I'd have heard from Aspasia or Wormsworth if her mother had returned. Being that I've been the sole adult with Miranda for the last several hours, I feel responsible for her."

He then gave the chiefly interested party a light shrug. "Nami is old enough to attend," he said, "but I've put you under enough strain as-is. Besides, you have a martial arts master to watch over and a young friend back at the tower who's likely to be worried."

Haraldson smiled. "I can reach her mother, let her know she's with me. In either case, I can have her back home before dinnertime."

He then looked at Miranda. "The choice is yours, young lady."

* * *

Oddly enough, Abdiel's noncorporeal self would feel as though Melmoth had clung to her, almost as though he wasn't the type to exactly enjoy rollercoaster rides. They'd emerge above the black arch of the Koëningstrasse and in front of the Vienna Council's tower. Banking up and then through the helipad and upper floors, they soon reached the front lobby, the tower's visitors instinctively letting their mass enough space to reassert itself. One second, they weren't there. The next, the entire group burst into being with a tiny flash of superheated air, Melmoth having materialized while tightly holding onto Abdiel's hand.

As could be expected, the nearest guard barked an alarm in German, while the still-shocked onlookers dispersed. "Easy, easy!" said the Broker in Goethe's tongue, "we're good guys - look, we've got a Throne with us!"

His attempt at defusing the situation was ignored, gun-toting guards packing both Celestial and Infernal ordnance at the ready, the badges belonging to all stripes of the supernatural world. The demons Abdiel had rescued tensed up, power gathering around them-

A clear voice, young and accented with a bit of Middle-Eastern flair over a precise Estuary delivery, rang out. "Would the youngest among you be shocked if I said I trust my nose, in regards to this lot? I'm smelling fear, but no malice. Stand down, men."

They lowered their guns, the group parting before a human in his mid-thirties, burnished by the sun and showing Middle Eastern. He was wearing beige cargo pants and a black tee-shirt festooned with the Vienna Council's logo, the word Security adorning his chest in white. He smiled, showing almost dainty fangs.

"Welcome to Vienna," he said. "You'll have to excuse my colleagues for not having my olfactory capabilities - few of us make it to over two thousand years. I am Enlil, the Council's Chief of Security."

Melmoth blinked. "Enlil? The Enlil? King of Nippur, Father of Air, Lord of All Lands, brother to Anu and Enki? You're... a vampire?"

The man's dark eyes twinkled. "There aren't thirty-six ways for a sickly prince to reach godhood, especially if you're not keen on actually dying. Lilith allowed me to flesh out a myth. After a while, the Lord of All Lands decided he needed to see more than the Fertile Crescent's expanse. I made friends, cured allies, shared my blood with the worthy few who became a small multitude - and the Carmilla rose.
- I know I shouldn't be surprised, what with my being a minor Principle of Greed and whatnot, but how did you survive this long?"

Enlil smiled. "Lilith didn't curse me with undeath, she didn't use it to fix a character flaw of mine. Even after all this time, I'm still amazed that this is how she chose to reward simple empathy. So, through me, the Carmilla feel. They grasp and understand."

He shrugged. "They care, like I do. At least, those who survive do. I hid for over two millennia, but posting my resume for the Council to consider was easy enough."

Enlil burst out in a short scoff of amusement. "I just hope mister Holden didn't mind a two hundred-page resume."

* * *

Naturally, there came a point where vacant smiles and empty nods demanded a response. Soon enough, there came a point where Meris would find herself separated from the others by just a few meters, it being enough for the white-haired Fae with her blue dress and black high heels to simply appear beside the Archmage, seemingly from around the corner of a group of items.

She looked childishly wholesome, with her hair kept in a short pageboy, her forehead cleared by a single dark blue hair clip. Clear blue eyes with barely-visible freckles along her milky cheekbones. Her lip gloss was subtle, her smile disarming, and her posture exuded good-natured patience with a smidgen of an ingénue's well-meaning innocence.

"I'm sorry," she asked, "is there something I can do for you? Is there anything in particular you'd be interested in?"

Meris might've been centuries older than the girl, she'd still feel the pull she elicited, the way she looked almost deliberately engineered to inspire sympathy...

Three spoke up from behind another isle of clustered items. "The Yelp reviews for this place are kind of interesting," he noted to nobody in particular. "Nothing below four stars and even these look like the result of tremendous efforts of will - and almost nobody says anything about the merch. Everyone has something to say about the one cashier, receptionist and sales agent, though. There's this one lady from two blocks over who says she bought a nice little inkwell just as an excuse to see Siv here again. I don't even do calligraphy, she says..."

Siv smiled at that. "Oh, is that Claire? It's so nice of her to say that - but you didn't come here to Yelp us, did you?"

Drake sidled into view, still keeping his gaze on the point between her eyebrows. "We're still browsing," he said, slipping back behind cover so he'd be able to peer at the girl from behind.

"Let's say we're looking for doors," airily added Agares, as he fingered what looked like a small display of Fabergé eggs, behind the girl. "Really old doors."

Siv looked a bit puzzled, which allowed Drake to take her back into view. The dress she wore exposed part of it, the skin looking like she had trouble keeping it hydrated. The lines reminded him of young bark. Slipping back out of view, he mentally reached out to Meris.

"I think she's a Huldra," he sent. "She's trying to make it look like she has some sort of skin condition that's under control, but there's definitely a localized Veil affecting her back - Sam and I can sense it."

He reached out to the others. "Can anyone magic a lump of coal into being? If we can offer something like it to her, the Oaths Morgana swore with mortals should compel her to help us - truthfully."

The group responded with a vague sense of powerlessness, Three shifting gears as he sensed that. "Whatever you do, stay polite. She's the bark-bearing type, not the ladylike tail-bearing kind. Bark-bearers are from the Norwegian arm of Scandinavian folklore - they steal people away to Morgana's Wilds, kill them or stick people with Mylings. I do NOT want to get stuck weaning an undying corpse-baby for the rest of my life!"

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn went silent as she considered items that would fit the arcane criteria, when the right objects came to her. "I'll be right back; I know what I can use!" she said, hurrying back to the bedroom she shared with Tom. She had managed to bring along quite a few possessions from her apartment she had shared with Ciaran. One item she had brought with her was an old chest, the box somehow carrying the scent of sea salt air. She quickly opened it and fetched out the items in questions.

The vampire and the warthog would see the selkie return with small objects in her hands. "These were some of my dad's toys when he was a boy. Neasa played with them, and so did Ciaran and me," she said, putting them on a table. The toys were made of driftwood that had been expertly carved. One figure was of a seal with a little wooden wind-up key that somehow made it move its flippers in a rudimentary way and likely putter in the water. The other was a sailboat with a small canvas sail and selke whorls along the hull. "They haven't been used in years, but their sentimental value didn't let me get rid of them."

***

Crystal shrugged with some frustration. "We're all unfortunately in a morally gray area here," she admitted with some regret. "Some of the materials aren't legal to be sure, but nobody's checking. It'd be sorted out after things manage to calm down. An ivory inlaid space cane versus a couple of werewolves who have had to steal food to help themselves and others get by. Keep that in mind, dear."

Andrea had been quiet up until then, but she commented, "Besides, couldn't you have some of your Squid friends tweak the material sligthly to make it not illegal, if you wanted?"

***

Miranda appeared torn at her options. "I want to check in with Shen Long and make sure he's alright. And you're right, Anjali's probably worried, especially if her dad's not back yet. And I'm frankly not sure about fighting with vampires or slayers."

Nami chimed in. "I think it's for the best. I know you still have some resignations about what happened with the sword, you are stronger than you think you are, Miranda. Shen Long knew that, so that's why he gave it to you."

"But-" she objected, then sighing with the same uncertainty.

***

Abdiel offered Enlil her hand. "I'm Abdiel, and this is Melmoth. I'm pleased to meet you, Enlil. I apologize for the unannounced arrival, but it was necessary. The gentlemen with us are some of the the members of King Solomon's Court. Their palace was attacked by the IDF. Some of their peers were able to escape with their Queen to London, but the unpredictable situation directed us here."

***

Aspasia obviously couldn't aid in the creation of coal, but Meris could. The Archmage cupped her hands together and focused on the process of calling sooty bits of carbon to coalesce. She sighed with a but of relief that she was able to make it.

Meris approached the suspected Huldra and discreetly presented the lump of coal for her to see. "Miss, I think you might be able to help us with our inquiry about those antique doors my friend mentioned?" she asked politely, albeit without saying it explicitly as to what they wanted.

[IamLEAM1983]

As Aislinn returned, Tom took a few steps towards their bedroom and gestured strangely, crooking his fingers as he did so. Tiny flecks of brass and silver-colored light shot out from the bedroom and slipped onto his fingers, while the blackened branch that was his staff paused halfway and then surged towards his opened hand. "Keep them in their chest, darling - I'll do what I can to make sure Grimley can't damage them, but I'd rather they weren't completely exposed. You'll only need them as mental foci; you won't need to hold onto them."

He then gestured towards the front hallway, applying a minor hex to the light switch and making it flick downwards - less damaging, but also something the couple's light fixtures could recover from, as opposed to Calhoun's entrance.

"After you," noted the warthog to the vampire, who proceeded forward. As was typical with Shadow-Walks, darkness swallowed them, deathly cold briefly washed over them, a strange sense of movement ensued, the disquieting notion of moving between dark spaces without the fetters of the Material - and they stood someplace else.

The battlefield's lurid sunlight shone in through the planks nailed across the windows of what had once been one of Hope's oldest office spaces, with its faceted beige marble flooring, Art Deco pillars and high Neoclassical ceilings. This had been intended to serve as the Grimley Circus' new permanent offices and some time ago, the bustle and industriousness of mortal workers had been enough to temper the place's slightly off-kilter appearance. Lightbulb-festooned posters adorned the walls at askew angles, the cubicle clusters were irregularly spaced, making any straight path to any point in the lobby and floor-level offices impossible, with gumball machines or mechanical fortune tellers posted here and there. Loose papers, popcorn kernels and small toys littered the floor, which had been made sticky with what probably had been some sort of massive Slurpee spill. Light from outside briefly illuminated the ceiling, showing that someone had managed to splash brightly-colored paint on the ceiling's white stucco.

"The last time I saw Horatio, the place hadn't been quite so disorganized," quietly observed Tom.

"He'd still had his troupe to direct his energies," reminded Hannibal.

From somewhere above, mad laughter rose, quickly transitioning into wails and sobs. It resonated through the still and ornate elevator cages. Hannibal's gaze turned oblique as he focused on it. "Fourth floor," he said, then guiding the couple back into and through the dark. 

The fourth floor looked to have been largely dedicated to Horatio's private office, satellite cubicles having been busted through with desks, quite possibly thrown with bare hands using the Freaks' extensive undead strength. The main space's walls was irregularly punched through with holes, the Art Deco wallpaper having been torn off in patches. Random words covered the walls in black marker, almost as through Horatio had tried to will the concept into being by writing it as largely as he could - words like Gladness, Lights, Laughter, Children or Hope.

Drawing a breath, Tom stepped out of the shadows. "Horatio!" he called out. "It's Tom! I know you're distraught, but it's been over a month, now! Centennial Park needs you! Alana and Arthur need you! Hope needs you!"

Shrill laughter descended into bombastic lower tones, then recovering in a wheeze. Grimley's voice sounded as if it came from nowhere and everywhere in particular. "Need?! They NEED me?! Ah, but the question is, O Ur-Unglate - do I need them? What does a Ringleader need when the midway's closed, when the lights have winked out, when the children have gone and their laughter ceased; when the candy's gone foul and the calliope's guts adorn the floor - WHEN ALL THE CLOWNS HAVE DIED?!"

Wails rose back into laughter, their tone menacing. "Oh, but I know what you're really worried about: my insight, my lore, my safe of secrets - but you really shouldn't. You see, I whispered bits of it to those who came before you, all the hellions who tried to finish what they started. I gave them my insight and I took their throats. They died with what was mine. I'm not so hopeless as to drink from them, but my beautiful visage has its perks... A few tugs and - whoops! Where have their arteries gone, their bones, their flesh?"

A whisper. "They'll have nothing to tell by the time they reach Hell. With gladness gone, insight might as well burn, burn like hope, burn like love, burn like the Tree. All of it can burn."

From directly behind them, deeper in the shadows. "Did you come here to burn? They've learned and they've stopped coming, the hunger gnaws at me, and there's nothing out there for me, in this wretched light. The only lights I have left are dim memories - and an old lighter. Everything is so dry, here - it'll go up like kindling."

Tom looked back towards the shadows. "You know we can't let you do this to yourself, Horatio."

Almost quiet laughter. "Then... Then I suppose I won't die thirsty, and you won't die in pain. Farewell, fairest of fair-weather friends..."

One second, Aislinn would've been within egress of the shadows. The next, a pale blue cannonball of flesh, red fabric, tear-streaked white grease paint and streaking gobbets of saliva slammed into her like a speeding car, shrieking laughter following.

"AISLINN!" screamed Tom, throwing himself to the side like a tennis player reaching for a wide shot. He pointed his staff at the pair as he arced towards the ground, a lance of force knocking the Squid off of the roane. That didn't negate the momentum Grimley had imparted, however, and McConmara looked to be set on a path towards a painful collision with the opposite wall. Calhoun was already gone, the arms of his suit re-appearing in the gloom along the floor as they latched onto the Ringleader's legs.

* * *

Holden canted his head in allowance. "There is this, yes, but I would rather avoid tapping into the Prometheans' offered resources quite so blithely. They are our allies and some of Tom's dependents when lodgings are concerned; not handy Eldritch craftsmen to put to work at the first occasion. I would prefer to take this up to Whitney's Gentlemen if circumstances permit; they've been more than willing to ply their tools to assist us."

Eliphas ponderously kept pace on all fours. "What are you plans for now?
- Now?" questioned Holden. "Now, I would go back home, face my daughter's wrath and then hug the woman and two girls without whom I now could scarcely function," he said, smiling at Andrea. "I've had enough excitement for the nonce, I would prefer to see to things with mister Hart and miss Galbraith, ensure that Herr Geier has all that he needs to assist us."

He paused, then allowing himself a lopsided smirk. "Oh, and I've got above-average teeth, now, and a fusion reactor to furnish with organic material! How convenient, seeing as I've spent the better part of the last two years pining for a tough steak or a bar of peanut brittle..."

The android's eyes rolled and he groaned in both relish and expectation. "This wretched contraption may lack character but - oh, to have teeth again, and not pithy porcelain molars that would condemn me to porridge or diced vegetables! Out with the oversized shrew in tailcoats and hullo to the family gourmand!"

Holden went on for a few seconds, chest thrust forward, one hand on his new cane's handle and the other arm bringing Crystal closer. He'd been about to ask Brenner if he had any alien carrots in stock and if he could purchase one, when Zeb was heard using a bit of magic to turn an uncertain toss of his can in a matter converter's maw into an Eldritch swish.

"I hate to be a buzzkill," he said, "but the tower is still under rations. I don't know that the locals would appreciate seeing the once barely-noshing local figurehead suddenly turn into a foodie."

Holden blinked. For maybe half a second, his eyes looked like they'd taken on an orangeish-red hue. One blink later, they were back to their previous yellow. "I suppose you're right," he allowed with a shrug. "It would be in poor taste of me to indulge after Crystal, Andrea and mister Belliard will have spent several weeks in even more dire straits."

Off to the side, Brenner hummed thoughtfully. "Did you already figure out how to customize your LED arrays, mister Holden?"

Archie looked surprised. "I can? Come to think of it, I haven't so much as looked at myself, yet! Is there a mirror somewhere I could borrow?"

* * *

The Draugr chuckled knowingly. "Don't worry, Miranda - I'll come to your defense if your mother objects to your newfound abilities. I know enough to know she's the would-be sensitive of your two parents, so it stands to reason that she'd know a thing or two about martial arts as a creative pursuit."

Hands behind his back, he approached Aldergard's axe and gestured to it. "I envy you, you know," he said. "I only ever learned to cleave and gore as quickly as possible, you're one of a rare breed with bards of the blade and poets of steel and sinew at her back. Your sword is your dance partner, while the battle axe I've inherited from Old Odin elicits only fearful respect."

Shou shrugged, hands in his pockets. "I've been around the block often enough to know Vikings weren't exactly brutes, you know.
- True enough, but none of us exactly danced with our hand axes, mister Shou," candidly opposed the vampire. "We locked shields and advanced, hoping beyond hope that we wouldn't expose our neighbor's flank, or our own."

He then pressed a button on his intercom. "Get me Aspasia Robertson, please," he asked of his secretary. She came back a few moments later, sounding surprised. 

"Networking says we've been soaking up her excess data on her plan for the past twenty minutes. Her LTE locations make no sense, sir. Ten klicks south of Jerusalem, off the grid for a few nanoseconds, then back in London, near Hyde Park."

The vampire raised his brows at the young fauness and then shrugged. "Put her through nonetheless; see if you can't have Overseas Roaming charges placed in our accounts - she deserves compensation for what I doubt is a turn of events she exactly planned."

* * *

Enlil's features turned taut with concern. "Turning in old favors for his new vision of America, I see," he noted, obviously referring to the Goat. "That much was anticipated; we've been putting together crisis cells in all affected countries. You probably know that Walpurgis now serves as the rightful President's seat of command; we've sent some of our eldest to Texas to try and mediate or protect - whichever happens to be needed in the moment."

He turned back to the Council's guards, motioning for the group to follow him. "Mister Holden is in India, Gluttony's Rakshasas were on the verge of a successful coup to reinstate a British Raj-esque institutional monarchy. Pride also freed and pardoned a few dozen Djinn - we've all but lost Dubai to the sands, now. North and South Africa's demons are ravaging the continent. It's down to a few good men in Europe and America, I'm afraid. London's resistance went underground on the first hour of the city's capitulation..."

Enlil sighed. "The Spokesman, mister D'Aubignier, retreated to Innsbruck with a few other MIT and Planck Institute leaders, to work on what he calls a final solution. I barely remember the details - something about locking in on a viable exoplanet and initiating a worldwide and Etherium-based teleportation of all non-demonic lifesigns. The Akari's offered flight logs had to be good for something, or so he told me. Doctor Crane left Israel without notifying his former party and Shadow-Walked to Crimea. A group of science-oriented Freaks are working on a bacteriological agent that would decimate the Pitspawn's numbers while being asymptomatic to everyone else. No word on whether or not they'd spare allied demons, though."

Melmoth kept pace. "Any good news?
- Ahriman and the Sammaelites are here with us," he said, "and most of the surviving drakes are here, as well. This isn't a usual meeting and it isn't their usual fare, but they've put their differences aside for everyone's sake. The one called Cordatus is trying to supervise things and to keep those who aren't too decrepit focused on helping, but the Wyrm and the Jabberwocky occasionally hijack the proceedings. The Black dragons cost us some Warded rubber bullets and carbon fiber riot shields and the Jabberwocky are making this place feel like a giant daycare center, but the Europeans and Orientals are collaborating as well as ever."

The Broker blinked. "So who's leading?
- The Western dragons relay information and my men and I act on it," replied Enlil with a shrug. "That's when I'm not disciplining striplings or having one of my men called in because one of the narcoleptic Addled decided to sleepwalk up to the radio tower. They're all flightless, I'll remind you. For now, I'm taking you to Ahriman, Cordatus and Amaterasu."

He then caught himself and rolled his eyes, a fang showing in annoyance. "And the Jabberwock, technically. I wouldn't call him a leader, though. He's a bicentennial chemist and savant that's been turning Council briefs into paper dolls and spitball ammo - but definitely not a leader. Just about the only good thing he's done is make an entire section of Wrath's berserkers squirm and coo on the floor like cats tripped out on catnip."

* * *

Siv's eyes locked on the lump, recognition, frustration and a sense of obligated kindness making her tense up rather visibly. Her smile turned terse, but there was no denying her people's traditions. The huldra of Norway used to watch over miners and anyone who depended on burning coal, Morgana's ties to the Troll race making her well aware of her own minions' risk of carbon monoxide poisoning, even centuries before the condition would be understood. So, the very same supernatural maidens who would curse onlookers or kill them outright also happened to paradoxically end up either looming around mining sites, or as the wives and husbands of miners.

The short of it was that in the old days, burning coal kept these Eldritch women's more wild and murderous passions at bay.

"I think I might, yes," she replied, sounding like she very much didn't want to help them. Still, Aspasia's phone started ringing at that precise moment, the brief wave of surprise that passed through the group allowing Siv to go for a desperate attempt at freedom from her geas. She pressed in close to Meris, raising a pen's tip to her throat in a way that would both leave an angry mark on her as well as a nasty splotch of blue ink right under her jaw. Three had his pistols out even before she repositioned herself to try and shield herself with Meris' body.

"One move and she dies!" she seethed, while Three kept his Weaver stance solid and assured, weapons akimbo steadily raised. "I hate to steal from the greats," he said, "but you've got two career soldiers, a handful of demons packing several thousand years of experience combined and an Archmage that's probably thinking this is tickling her. Do you honestly feel that lucky, Siv?"

The young woman looked infuriated. "Do you honestly think I have a choice?!
- You do," noted Drake. "If Thorn's put you on an Oath, you're in luck: I'm a Fae Knight. I get to make Oaths, too."

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you planning to have me do?!"

Aidan drew in a breath and gathered his will. "Upon my will, Siv, thrall of Nodin Thorn; you are to lower your weapon."

The girl gritted her teeth and tried to resist the pull of the endowed human's declamation.

[TennyoCeres84]

The roane wasn't able to entirely stop herself from colliding with the wall, but she did cushion the impact with her telekinesis. What might've left broken bones would now only be sore bruises. She got up, shook her head, and hovered above the ground.

"If we were only fair-weather friends, then why would we come all this way to help you?! Another thing; since when did undeath give people the right to become mopey edgelords?!" she snapped, her frustrated tone turning to one that was more pleading. "If you're wanting gladness, hope, lights, laughter, and children to return, you're not going to find it in burning yourself, us, or this building, Horatio! I remember seeing your circus as a kid; I don't want it to die out, please! If you give up, it will! You can't let that happen! This world's in rough shape as it is; someone has to carry on and bring joy in the dark!"

***

Andrea pulled out a small compact mirror from the confines of a cargo pocket on her shorts and handed it to Holden.

"Are the colors of his LED arrays supposed to correlate to emotions?" Crystal asked as she watched her daughter pass the reborn automaton the mirror.

***

Nami quirked a brow at the particular locations Haraldson mentioned. "Jerusalem and London? I don't know what their intention was, but that's a rather long jaunt," she mused.

Miranda just shrugged as they waited to hear a response from her mother, equally puzzled by it.

***

"Ah, the Finfolk's curse," Abdiel recalled with a sigh as she followed after Enlil. "However, the Jabberwock's nature as a savant is a better outcome than if he had continued to build weapons, especially if it wasn't for our side. Someone with that type of cunning might've made for a special skillset for Valefor, Belial, or whoever else chose to use them."

***

Aspasia glanced at the number and recognized it as belonging to WySec. Why would they be calling her now and here? She quickly pushed the button, "Aspasia speaking, but you're going to be on speaker phone at the moment. I'm a little busy."

"A pen? Really?" Meris grunted as the tip pressed against her neck. She concentrated and imagined the small object melting like a piece in a Dalí painting. Siv would feel the plastic and metal writing instrument wilt pathetically in her grasp. Without the pointed tip at her throat, she brushed the Fae woman's hand away from her and bolted away from her. She rubbed at her throat as though it been an insect sting.

"What we meant by antique doors is safe passage to Faerie," the Archmage groused as she pointedly eyed the shopkeeper.

Emboldened by Meris's escape, Aspasia focused on the Huldra with her will and said, "Siv, thrall of Nodin Thorn, you will provide us with safe passage to Faerie and do so truthfully." Having also been Knighted, the Fauness didn't know for sure if it'd actually work, but maybe things might work out in their favor, right? It was worth a shot at least.

[IamLEAM1983]

Horatio stood up from his impact with the wall that had been perpendicular to Aislinn's. "Here it is: the grand joke, the cosmic jest, the smiling act of cruelty - to claim that you could relight the midways, restart the candyfloss machines, find peanuts in a bag somewhere - when it's all gone!"

Calhoun emerged from the ground, more leaping from it than simply rising out, and slapped Grimley's lighter out of his reach. "This is a waste of time, Grimley!" he said. "You wouldn't have focused on this kind of morbid nonsense if someone hadn't planted it in there," he groused, gripping the Ringleader by his torn lapels. Horatio giggled sardonically at that.

"And here comes one of the Chicago Wiseguys, the speck of putrescent clarity in our blessed breed! Would you really lecture me, triggerman? What have you lost - nay, what have you gained of which my own losses couldn't possibly eclipse?!"

Calhoun gritted his teeth, showing his fangs. "My friends and my life, you dolt! I thought I could play by Chicago's rules, and the city played me! I was never dealt out of the game - a man I'd thought dead picked me off of my deathbed in O'Banion's flowershop and made me into this! I never asked for this! If I reacted the way you did, I'd be no better than Huey's goons! I'd be another caricature, another sham - pretending that what we send out to the Vitellians is gin or rum!"

Grimley's tentacles flared. "Ooh, I love a good sanctimonious rant - it always makes my guts tickle! Let's see if yours are ticklish, too!"

Blocking the Squid's wrists and trying to arch away from the questing, drooling and quill-festooned tendrils, he looked back to Tom. "MAGNUS! NOW!"

With no circle or other geometric pattern already inscribed on the floor, the Infernalist had to quickly tag features in the room and mentally project barriers between them. With an upturned desk, the two far walls and a discarded rubbish bin forming four rough corners, he quickly glanced at the roane and vampire. "CLEAR!" he screamed, as he outstretched his staff, syllables in Enochian immediately following in the wake of his shout. No chalk had been used and the enclosure wasn't symmetrical, but the weak barriers that formed were enough to weakly glow blue-white in the gloom, and to send Horatio staggering back with a yelp and a hyena-like titter.

"Magic! Do my eyes deceive me, do you think the forces of this unjust, ungrateful Universe could still save me?! Don't - Don't do this to me, Tommy old sport - it's too much of a corker!"

Tom grimaced as he came closer, flicking his hand against one of the coarse protrusions atop his staff, using it like an arcane striker for an equally Eldritch match. Hellfire soon rose atop it, and he carefully drew a circle around the perimeter his spell had already created. "Yeah, laugh it up, you son of a bitch," he groused. "That's no mere depressive slump, Horatio Ignatius Grimley wouldn't have bruised Aislinn like this. He's insane, but he's got insight - and you're as blind as a bat."

He stopped in front of the imprisoned Freak. "You're pulling his strings, playing his fiddle - but you don't know the dance or tune, don't you? So close to Infernal rifts and with a mind already so malleable... How long did you resist, Horatio? Did you try telling us?"

A spastic grin adorned the Squid's mouth. "Horatio isn't here..." he seethed, sounding both teasing and menacing. Tom raised his snout at those words, his eyes hardening. 

"Bullshit," he said. "We're bringing him back."

He looked back to the Chicago native. "Calhoun?"

The former triggerman nodded, bled back into the shadows and reappeared inside the containment square, latching onto Grimley from behind. The addled Squid tried to go for a frontal projection or something that vaguely looked like a Judo throw, but Calhoun knew enough to block his opponent's legs with his own. That done, he bit down on the Squid's neck and drank deep, squinting intensely as he focused on the blood flow, ensuring he wouldn't drain too much of the undead's life-sustaining substance. Homicidal glee gave way to fury, which shifted to mute despair - and finally Horatio slumped into Calhoun's arms, who gingerly parted from his throat.

Bleeding back through the ground's musty darkness, Hannibal reappeared beside Tom. "You'll still be able to reach him like you planned, but I'd hurry if I were you," he said. "Seeding his mind with some of Aislinn's memories might become difficult if he starts to sink into torpor, and I've brought him just short of it."

In the square, Horatio's head lolled towards the group. The spastic grin was gone, replaced with something that almost looked natural. "I tried to keep the lights on," he weakly said, tears of blood welling, looking as though he couldn't really see them. "I really tried!"

Tom put a knee down and lightly shushed the Squid, trying to soothe him. "We know, Horatio - we know you did. We're here, now. Everything's going to be okay."

He then looked back to Aislinn. "If you're not too comfortable about getting close to him, you can bring the desk chair back over here and sit at the desk. We'll explain things to him later if we have to. If you can come close, though, that'd be for the best."

* * *

"Thank you, sweetheart," said the android with a nod, pausing to flick the compact open and hold it a ways away from himself. The gesture might have looked vain, but he at least could look at more than just his face, by doing so. He was clearly impressed, shock and pleasure touching his features. "Dash my buttons!" he whispered, smiling slightly as the agent seemingly showed him how to access his LEDs' settings. His ocular panels shifted color gradients a few times, a few wild variants popping up as Archie experimented with things. They then transitioned to a deep verdigris tone, which was more in keeping with his former painted-on irises.

In the meantime, Brenner frowned lightly at Lowell, and then back at Archie. "No, not that I know of... It must've been a glitch of some kind; first-time modern armature users have an accidental knack for bringing out the software and hardware's kinks. I remember a few years back, I half-expected Bagley to show up here or to hear about him showing up at an Alkaev service point with a bevy of questions. He never did, or I would've heard about it. Not that our Maurice is the same type of man - I suspect he digested his armature's manual cover-to-cover as soon as time allowed."

As he handed the compact back to Andrea, something made Archie's head tilt. He raised a quizzical eyebrow at the warehouse's door, noticing how something glinted on the floor, next to it. He took a few steps and stumbled, catching himself on one of the shelves. Exasperation had given way to amusement now, and he chuckled at himself. "Mustn't' forget my own onboard magnification capabilities," he said to nobody in particular as he recovered his gait and stopped by the door, pausing to consider how he might pick up the glinting object. On a whim, he opted to wedge the coin between one of his shoes and the tip of his cane, then giving the slight disc a sharp tap, flicking it upwards. His right hand shot forward, precise gestures etching themselves before he finished conceptualizing them in his mind. He caught the coin, his hand's servos then quietly and smoothly working to bring it up and through the space between his ring finger and pinky. Fingers and knuckles then moved, folding the coin over his knuckles until he held it between his index and thumb. That done, he considered being a tad more focused and actively observing the object of his attention, but instead ended up hooking his cane on his right forearm, passing the coin from hand to hand in inhumanly precise gestures. As he returned next to Crystal, he gave the coin one last toss, catching it in the arc of the V-shape formed by his right index and forefinger. Only then did he actually look at it.

 "Hm," he said, optics narrowing. "I've seen this crest before, I'm sure of it... The Latin is passable, most definitely a transliteration: Nostra nobilis sanguis non potest effundet. No Gentleman may spill Our Blood."

That made Holden smirk as he handed the coin to Andrea. "Ladies, gentlemen - I do believe we were followed..."

He then headed back to the door, shaking his head in amusement as he realized that, for now, they were all trapped in the portable warehouse. The door's switch didn't work, and touching the doorframe made the outer threshold's juddering motions perceptible.

He looked back to the group. "From the look of things, someone's absconded with us - or to be more precise, with the portable space we find ourselves in."

Brenner looked panicked. "Hey, hey - nearly everything in here's expensive! Christ, Holden, you're expensive! I can't have just about anyone carry a space-compression booth around, containment barrier failures could be catastrophic! I can't make an insurance claim if we're all disintegrated!"

Archibald pointed at the coin he'd handed to Andrea. "Oh, we're not being schlepped around by just about anyone, mister Brenner. As it stands, I'd worry more about untimely revelations or developments to come than anything resembling summary non-existence."

The Pilus blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?
- Please, don't think of it as an insult," noted the android with a grin, "but I admire your relative non-importance in the greater events, mister Brenner."

The alien looked back to Crystal. "I take back what I said about glitches - I think he's gone loopy."

The Queen of the Vanguard looked supremely amused by all this, and simply hung back with her arms crossed and her hips rested against a steel table.

* * *

Hearing Robertson, the Draugr cleared his throat and opted to keep it short. 

"Magnus Haraldson, here - with a small update. Your daughter has been on some few adventures, of late. You'll find her with us at Wyvern Securities, should you worry. There are some cuts and bruises, but she is hale and hearty, for all intents and purposes. I should let Miranda catch you up herself, but you seem rather pressed for time..."

He affected a slight hesitation out of politeness. "Call us, perhaps? I've already taken care of your Roaming charges, by the by. Your poor husband would have died a second time after seeing that bill."

* * *

"I think everyone here is well aware of it," agreed Enlil, "but it doesn't make most Addled particularly easy to handle. I know one or two here who look like they only caught the outer edge of the curse's radius, but one overpowering derangement is one derangement too many, in my book. The Freaks tend to embrace their insight each in their own way, this is..."

He shook his head. "I'd call it cruel and unusual punishment, and it's almost as old as the country it sprang out of. The almost-sane ones look like they have it the worst, as far as I'm concerned."

Elevators weren't featured, as the group was taken deeper inside the Council facilities' ground floor. Corridors were a bustle of orderly supernatural activity, the Infernal incursions having only diversified the activity therein. Waiting areas unfolded, where allied Fiends looking to begin the long process towards obtaining a legal visa. Vampires and Fae in Council slacks sat patiently, listening to outbursts from disoriented and frustrated Pitspawn or trying to turn restraining grasps into hugs, when tempers flared. The more typical clients hadn't stopped coming, with the incursions having pushed many illegals past the brink. Frustrated leeches who looked to be fighting the urge to snap a form recipient's desk in two, clusters of almost-human Fae Commoners who were huddled together, finally giving in to exhaustion after the fear of their unsanctioned Gate cross... Ad-hoc kitchens had sprung up in study or waiting areas, German ringing in the air as calls for more bread were made; more ham, more cheese and coffee. In another corner, exhausted Council workers sat and quietly sipped on tea, coffee or blood mugs, doing what they could to drown out the din with headphones or the noise of a wall-mounted TV's news broadcast. Someone complained of being down to hematological substitutes, while someone else barely worked up the urge to be tart: "If you want to lose your job, ask for someone's wrist."

A few corridor bends and short steps later, they came in front of double doors marked Auditorium 1C in three languages. Opening them allowed the inner din to pour out from the forum-shaped space. A slope of seats and tables arched down towards the ground floor's small central space. In it waited a single table, large enough to sit three along its length. There waited Ahriman, Cordatus and Amaterasu, with the Jabberwock sitting cross-legged on the floor, a ways away, happily fiddling with the gears and electronics of what looked to be a large clock.

In front of the table, the raising desks and chairs had been occupied in a wide arc. As expected, people had clustered together based on their breed or provenance. The Sammaelites took the left, showing just how diverse in shape and build they were. Bob sat near the ground level, pausing to fish worthwhile arguments from the din. Next to them were the Wyrm, who seemed more intent on arguing with one another than on offering any solid assistance. Latin, Greek, old Slavic or Teutonic roots flew angrily in the air, with the odd sight of a Draugr in parade regalia among the lot, going back and forth between what sounded like Icelandic and the typical English Shetlands burr. Then followed the Quetzalcoatl in their small numbers, barrio gang tattoos, gold and colorful plumage and scales flashing as they made demands and tried to but in for speaking time. The one who seemed to be relaying their comments was curiously Veiled in a human form, looking like a Chicano Mark Margolis if his bright lapis eyes were excluded. Spanish, Nahuatl, Navajo and Portuguese were added to the mix, with the odd occurrence of a feathered former shipwright sprinkling in dabs of Japanese.

The most well-behaved were the Western and Orientals, who flashed looks of quiet exasperation at the others and watched as the small Mac Loch clan below them stewed and angrily waited for the right time to speak up. Melmoth and Abdiel would recognize a few faces from Hope in that particular group: Seamus Mac Loch's bushy eyebrows stood out against his phocine features, tweaking up and down as he collated comments and relayed them to Cordatus. Above him, English rang out in a wide variety of accents, along with the Orientals' bursts of Mandarin, Cantonese, Japanese, Urdu and Farsi, along with the singing consonants of Indian dialects.

At the opposite end of the assembly waited a cordon of exhausted Accords staff members, then followed by the myriad shouts, cackles, cartoonish snores and falsetto sobs of the Jabberwocky. They argued and sang, cried for plights they didn't understand, or went the other way and furiously jotted down notes, impossibly trying to take stock of everything that was being said at the same time.

Near the ground floor, one of their number was slumped over a collection of notepads and Post-It notes, a laptop open nearby. He looked utterly exhausted, shaking his head in a way that revealed he'd shucked on a fez on top of an old-fashioned night cap, his oddly floppy ears on his almost Western visage making him almost look like a reptilian Eeyore.

"Useless," he moaned, trying to cover the din, "all useless! It's all useless if you won't give me time to write it down! I'm this close to giving in and falling back asleep, I swear!"

Cordatus drew in a breath, his gold-and-copper eyes flashing in exasperation - and he closed his eyes and re-centered himself. "Keep calm, Mr. Seward; all we need is a rough sense of the meeting's minutes! We -"

The sound of a cane tapping resonated impossibly loud in the space, Ahriman's usually frail voice projected in the open air.

"SILENCE!"

They all stopped, the only noises left belonging to the snorers or the oblivious chatterers in the Addled's ranks.

"Ah," contentedly noted Seward, "I can write that down, at least."

Ahriman's blind gaze swept across the space. "We stand against a common enemy, gentlemen! There will be time for reparations, for justice done and for old slights to be righted - but that time has yet to pass! Unity calls to us, and I implore my Sammaelite brothers and students to lead by example! Vienna might be safe under our auspices, but the world bleeds as we argue! We can choose to fight all wars to arise and lose them all; or fight decisively and as one, in one single conflict!

Surrender your borders, you of Mexico and Japan! Sisters of India; lead your warriors West! Swim home, O Mac Loch - for the Dawning Rises!"

He turned to Bob. "Can't you hear him? Can't you hear Lucifer's wings blazing?!"

Bob shrugged. "Kinda hard to hear jack shit, sir, what with Looney Tunes Central over there playin' with their imaginary friends."

Seward groaned in response. "Insults, insults - always more insults and jeers! A few more and I'll see about finding a quiet spot to lay down away from you lot!"

Cordatus extended a hand at that, perhaps just a tad too much hurriedly. "NO - I mean, no, mister Seward, let's not be too hasty; we wouldn't want to pluck you from the radio dish again, with those frigid winds!
- What do you mean, a radio dish?! I'd found myself one of those nice treehouse hotels, out in the Alps, and I was all nice and snug - until your lackeys came and woke me up."

The newcomers would only see the Welsh dragon's back, but something in the way his neck was set suggested he was trying his best to resist the urge to go throttle the appointed scribe. Melmoth took that moment to step forward and cough lightly.

All eyes turned to meet him. 

"Hey," he said. "We're, um, pals of one of the few Archmages still alive, and these guys' home just got blown up. Wouldja mind if we, you know, sat in for a bit until you give us some space? Or we could wait until Team Smaug requests tax-free havens in exchange for grudgingly shoving their housekeepers in with their billion-dollar Monet originals in the proverbial panic room - at which point I'd be well within my right to wax Fire and Brimstone."

He then stepped aside. "Or I can let one fourth of the Elemental Thrones act like the much-needed adult in the room, at which point I hope you're packin' SPF three-billion sunscreen."

As he turned around, Tanner looked like he was desperately repressing the urge to throw himself at their feet in thanks for bringing what had to have been a pointless slog to a close - at least for now.

* * *

Back in Hope, the two girls would see that the Draugr seemed strangely amenable towards witnessing the defusing of a hostage situation via speakerphone. "Please, take your time," he'd replied, sounding as though Aspasia had been just another polite receptionist requesting an equally polite response from him. Judging from the way he kept his fingers threaded together in his own lap and tapped his thumbs together to some inner melody of his, she might as well have placed in on Hold.

As for the London group, they'd obviously witness Siv straining against Aspasia's own command. Coupled with Aidan's, it was almost enough. Almost. What clinched it Agares slipping in, a paper clip pinched between two fingers and pushed against the girl's throat. It was barely enough to put a dent in her skin, but the clip was evidently high enough in iron content for the poor girl to flinch and squirm, an angry moan of rage and pain following. Whatever struggling forward steps she'd been taking ended, and she soon gasped, surrendering to the demonic muckraker's firm grasp on her arm.

"Now, that's not an Oath," he started, "but I'd call it morbid curiosity: you're in a lotta pain, you clearly have more going than just plain fealty - I'd like to know what makes you tick, sweet young Siv..."

The girl's breath turned into a shudder. "I'll help you," she gasped, the words turning into a quiet sob. "I'll - I'll help you, I swear. I'll need your help, though."

Three nodded as he holstered his guns using the tattoos along his wrists. "A favor for a favor," he said. "A fair exchange, as far as the Sidhe are concerned. You can let her go, Agares."

The demon removed his hand and slipped the paper clip back in his pants' right pocket. "My family are held captive," she said. "They're his bargaining chip against me, what allowed him to hold me to such a solid Oath that I was willing to attack you. The bark-bearers of old might've used the arcane version of highwayman tactics to get by, but most of us are gainfully employed, now. The old reputation sticks to us, even if we're trying to adapt."

She slipped back behind the counter to gather a few things, which included her purse and something that looked like a handgun if the object had become petrified in a Dryad's entangling vines over centuries of growth. "He'll know I've broken my bonds, so he'll cut off the way to his office. We'll have to proceed through the Wilds, but I know the paths we need to take to make the trek short."

Three warily watched her. "Do the Wilds work like Mab's wastes?
- Yes," confirmed Siv. "I could ensure you'll die in their depths, lost forever, with a few steps. Turn around the right tree stump, and you'll find his Gate in Tönsberg, Norway - and his office beyond. 
- So we'll never know if you'd be willing to abandon us there."

Siv's blue eyes locked with his. "Do you swear to help me?
- On my honor," replied Drake with a nod.

She nodded back. "Then so do I. This is one bond I'd earn nothing in breaking."

The huldra looked about ready to go, but something made her stop and look to Aspasia's handset. "You'd better handle this now," she told her, "you'll lose reception once you cross our threshold into the Wilds."

[TennyoCeres84]

Andrea caught the coin and looked at the crest impressed upon it.

Crystal pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Archie, dear, it's been a long day already. I know you're allowed a certain amount of crypticness because of your new armature, but who and/or what are we dealing with here? The Gentlemen? Angels or demons? Vampires who have been given some new boon by Lilith?" she ran through the list of potential candidates.

***

Aislinn approached the circle. "It's just some bruises; I will be okay. I can be near him. Let's get started with the ritual," she said as she centered herself with some calming breaths.

***

Miranda ventured closer to the phone. She wanted to at least fill her in on what had transpired. "I'm sorry for leaving Magnus Tower, Mom, but I felt I needed to do something helpful.. The tl:dr version I was helping Mr. Ephesian with stuff, and I defeated a demonic dragon with an ancient magic sword given to me by Shen Long. I'll be okay, though. I will be finishing up here and returning to the Tower soon enough."

***

Abdiel looked somewhat relieved at the quietening of the enormous crowd for the time being. However, her keen hearing had picked up a particular name coming from Ahriman.

"Pardon, Ahriman, but I believe you said Lucifer? Did someone actually manage to summon him after all this time?" she asked him with concern. It didn't seem she was worried about the return, as so much as the fallout that would likely happen afterward.

***

"It's alright, kiddo,"Aspasia spoke softly. "I'm just glad you're safe. We will talk about all the details after I am back. I've got to go to Faerie to get something that will help us with the coming battle. The Goat is becoming more brazen with his aggression. He is starting to influence other countries and taking resistance. Aidan, Meris, and I were lucky to make it out with a few others, and about a dozen Court members, after the IDF attacked. Pretty sure Abdiel and Mel might have helped with other survivors, so we saved some of the Court. We will have to reassess once things settle down partially."

She glanced over at the others. "However, time may not be on our side, so I'm going to get going. Stay safe, Mira. I will be back ASAP. Love you."

The teenager was heard saying, "Love you, too, Mom. Please come home safely. See you soon!"

She hung up and pocketed the phone. "Let's go. The sooner we get done with Faerie, the sooner I can get back to my daughter."