_{Afternoon, Wednesday, 27 October 2004.}

The fall in St. Louis was a rather pretty time. The leaves were scarce on the limbs of the many Oak, Burch, and Elm trees of Cornerstone’s wooded grounds. They created a multi-colored carpet throughout the yard. Red, yellow and brown bits of color shifted and danced as the wind played with them.

The flower garden had been prepped for the first frost. Sparse in its appearance, it still had a tranquil beauty as nature made ready for its slumber. Soon the blanket of crystalline white snow would cover the grounds. Only the many Evergreens stood resistant to the changing climate.

_{Wednesday evening, Oct 27th 2004}

Raven was standing in what used to be the small storage room off of the library. She had converted it into an office, and now that the scented oils had cleansed the area, it would also function as a ritual space.

On the eastern wall was a small wooden table. She placed the red and green candles on the table, one of them in each of the back corners. Between those two candles she placed the black one.  The candles would represent Fire. She had already lit her hand-crushed incense. The delicate aroma drifted from the antique brass censer and began to fill the room. The incense represented Air. In the center of the table was a flat, circular stone which had a pentagram etched on it. The stone pentacle would represent Earth. She had collected water from the creek that bordered Cornerstone’s property and placed it into a small bowl that she now set upon the table. This would of course represent the element of Water.

Raven looked out the window and watched as the lunar eclipse turned the full moon from a pale-white to a pumpkin orange. She waited for the color to deepen to an eerie red as it plunged even further into shadow. “The blood moon,” she whispered. “It’s time.”

She placed a bowl filled with a murky liquid on the altar. As she lit the red candle, she said:

“I invoke Gangida, great protector!
May we look after your treasures, as our bodies are your treasures!”

Raven sprinkled a couple of herbs into the bowl with the murky liquid. She lit the black candle and said:

“Nullify disease as it approaches his body.
Arm his blood with guards to slay all intruders!”

She added a few drops of Pieran’s blood to the strange mixture, and then Raven lit the green candle as she said:

“Gangida, grant protection from all imbalances in the heavens.
From the earth, from plants, from air;
From his past and from his future.
Protect him from east to south, from west to north!
May his body be rendered healthy under Gangida's protection!”

Raven took a white object and placed it in the bowl. She watched it sink below the dark liquid, and then covered the bowl with a deep blue cloth. “28 days,” she whispered to herself. She hoped Pieran had that much time left.

The eclipse came to an end, and the moon returned to normal. Raven felt restless and knew she needed to clear her head if she was going to get any sleep tonight. She made a batch of her favorite tea and took it with her to keep herself warm while she went on a walk around the grounds.

Pieran’s pain had reached an all new level in bad and he was exhausted beyond anything he’d ever known.  He spent ninety minutes getting dressed, taking care to look his best.  He even took a shave and with his straight razor in trembling hand, performed the most meticulous personal hygiene in his life.  Not a nick.

It was late but that didn’t guarantee there’d be no owls in the mansion.  Avoiding his neighbors would be tricky since Iain didn’t need sleep and Johnny kept chronic watch.  Alexis was an insomniac of sorts so he’d have to creep past her as well.  He planned his exit through the kitchen; if he was caught wandering he could claim a craving for classic PB&J with milk.  Nobody would doubt the word of a boy scout, even an overdeveloped one - except possibly Iona with her damned telepathy.  It was frustrating: there were just too many gifted people in Cornerstone to make his departure easy.

On the other hand that was a good thing.  Pieran didn’t have any really great gifts himself which meant that Cornerstone didn’t really need him.  Therefore: adieu Captain Dunsel? No great loss.

Fortunately, reaching his beloved panel truck was easier than expected since his left arm was now fully paralyzed and the pain searing through his nervous system threatened to topple him.  Even his analgesic self-disciplines were running on fumes.  He fumbled with the keys, fighting away the blurs, but a familiar aroma of spiced tea in the cool air made him freeze.

“Careful. You go sneaking off with the truck without permission and you’re liable to find yourself grounded.” Raven rounded the corner, her ever present thermal mug in hand.

“There’s somewhere I must go,” Pieran said, “something I must do now and alone.”

“You should be in bed, you’re in pain.”

“Pain is a thing of the mind, doctor. The mind can be controlled.”

Raven shook her head. “That’s assuming you have one.  Right now, I’d say you’re way out of yours.”

Pieran simply turned away from her and unlocked the driver’s door.  “I… I have to go.”  He tried to pass the keys to the hand on his injured arm so he could open the door with his good arm, but the keys slipped from the limp, unmoving fingers and fell to the ground.

Raven snatched them up before he had a chance to react.  “You’re half paralyzed, you’re in no condition to drive!”

“Raven please,” he implored her.  “There’s something I must do.”

She studied his face.  With a look of defeat she said, “Alright, but I’m driving.”

---

Creve Coeur Lake looked much the same as when they last saw it, but calmer now and without demon debris.  Pieran was eerily withdrawn as his eyes scanned the lake’s placid black surface.  He moved closer toward it.  Raven tried to help him, but he shook his arm free and she let him go.  Though his gait was labored, he moved curiously well.  She remained near the truck, its headlights burning the midnight oil.  He stopped half way between the vehicle and the lake, standing silent and motionless for a long time.  “The scene of the crime…” His words were a barely audible whisper.

Raven rubbed her arms and shivered against the cold.  The dark air was chillier than at the mansion.  Pieran didn’t seem to notice.  “My father’s father was a structural engineer,” he said, his voice stronger now.  “When his son was a boy he would read to him The Adventures of Tom Swift.  Later my father would read the very same stories to me.  In fact my middle name, Thomas, was my father’s first name.”

Raven smiled slightly.  “So your love of books was born in your childhood and your tool savvy comes from your grandfather.”

Pieran looked over his shoulder and smiled a friendly smile back at Raven.  “You like knowing the origins of things.”

She nodded.  “Things, artifacts, relics.”

“That’s me,” he said.  “A relic whose time has come and gone.”  Pieran returned his gaze to the lake as he continued to speak.  “A twenty-two year old Cheyenne native called ‘Stands In The River,’ was murdered by the Whites at the Sand Creek massacre of 1864.  He was an exorcist, healer, and spiritual warrior who fought wind devils and evil spirits.”

“81 AD.  Flavia Silvanus, twenty-seven: a ‘voice mystic’ whose melodies could charm the birds from the trees.  Her speeches opposing Rome made her a criminal and she was sentenced to death.  Titus cut out her tongue and dropped her in the Coliseum where his leopards devoured her.”  Pieran paused, deep in thought.  His voice was quiet when he finally spoke again.  “So many others…”

A small zephyr stirred the fallen leaves.  They danced lightly around Pieran’s feet before resting on the ground with gathered attention.  Raven too watched and listened intently as he continued speaking.

“Pieran Thomas Swift, thirty years old; neither a wizard or a doctor, neither a soldier or a priest.  An urn containing - not the cinders, but the souls of heroes and heroines past.  From their voices he gained wisdom, strength, and character.  But one repays a teacher badly if one always remains a student.  So he became the Captain of their ship, and they were his constant companions.  Together, they made war when that was the occasion; sang, wrote poems, and smoked a pipe when those were the occasions.  They ventured on a journey to quell the evil that preyed on mankind.  Through him they fought, loved, and fulfilled destiny.  Through them he lived what some only dream of.”

Raven frowned as she took a few tentative steps behind Pieran and began to close the distance between them.  She wasn’t comfortable with the direction his thoughts and words were taking.

“Pieran sought to fuse the souls within him into one voice, one wisdom, one conscience united.  It was his Holy Grail.  But, like the champions dwelling within him, his quest was cut short.  A winged demon resembling an angel lured him with an embrace that folded around him like a feather bed - it was soft, warm, and made him feel safe.  His spiritual collective had never given him that.  But the angel was a deceiver.  Her blade struck his body and her venom poisoned his heart.  With one blow, thirteen eagles fell.”

His pain was ferocious and every word taxed him.  “Much is expected from whom much is given.  But I can’t anymore, Raven.  I lost the Grail here at Creve Couer.”  Pieran clutched the silver cross that hung from his neck.  “Hope was lost.  Only one thing remains.”  A quick tug snapped the neck-chain and, with a pained yell, he hurled the slender pendant toward the lake.  He was too weak to throw it far.  It landed at the lake’s edge with a small splash.  He whispered in a harsh, raspy voice, like reeds rustling in the wind, “If the enemy be unconquered, deny them victory.”

“Pieran, what are you doing?”  Raven stepped into his view, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

He was exhausted.  His words came haltingly and with great suffering.  “I should have died on this battlefield.  It was my time, but she made a mockery of me.  I DO NOT ACCEPT IT!  I will not live as her crawling decrepit creature.  I will not suffer her mocking laughter through my veins.”  He shouted at the lake with a great and terrifying voice.  “Do you hear me, Erinyes?  I decide how I want to live!  And I decide how I will die.  My name is Pieran Thomas Swift and I will be damned before I let you swallow these spirits.  They belong to me; I decide their fate, not you, not anyone!  And if I should fall into hell for it, then may my teeth be forever at your throat.”  He lowered his arm to reach for something while his gaze remained fixed on the lake.

Raven’s eyes followed the movement of his hand to his boot sheath, the one he’d carefully crafted with a needle of deer bone.  The repaired sheath now housed a wicked looking, oriental dagger.  “Pieran, no!” Raven exclaimed.

He retrieved the Japanese Tanto and gripped it in his hand.  “Here now eagles, fly once more.”

“I am not going to stand here and let you kill yourself!”  Raven grabbed his hand in an attempt to disarm him.  She briefly felt the warmth of his skin and the coldness of the weapon in her grasp, and then time seemed to stand still as she was flooded with images…

Running.  She was running across a roof flooded with rain, the dagger held tightly in her hand.  Strands of dark hair whipped across her face.  The hair felt strange to Raven - too long.  The exit lay just ahead, but so did the Thing that was hunting her.  Raven crouched behind an air conditioner casing.  She needed a distraction.  She whispered something to the impassive steel of her final throwing star and, with a quick flip of her wrist, hurled it toward a jumble of steam pipes.  Her shot was perfect, slicing into rusted metal.  The pipe erupted in a geyser of steam.  She heard the Thing snarl and move toward it.

Seizing her chance, Raven raced toward the exit, only to find the door fused and frozen shut.  A glob of acrid gel dribbled from the lever and onto the roof, hissing as it spilled into the fresh rainwater.  She looked back toward the venting steam.  A monstrous shape pushed its bulky mass through the roiling clouds and would soon be upon her.  There was nowhere else to go.  Raven wiped the flat of her blade on her pants, cleaning the Tanto of the oily black blood that still dripped from it - evidence that she had succeeded in defeating one of her targets.  Now she readied herself to plunge that same weapon into her own heart.  Defeat on her terms was an honorable escape and far better than capture and death at the clutches of the demon clan she’d come to slay.  Yet as Raven lifted the blade, she saw a flash of something long and thin cross in front of her.  A slimy appendage hit her arm with terrible force.  She heard the crack more than she felt it as her arm snapped, and the dagger fell from her limp fingers.

The image abruptly shifted, as if someone had changed the channel.

She was standing on the same roof, but the sky was darker now and broken by lightning flashing in the clouds.  A beautiful Japanese woman with long, black hair hung in the ropey coil of a proto demon’s tendril, held aloft over the edge of the 40-story Tsuchihana Building.  The woman’s right hand dangled lifelessly from an arm that was bent in a painful and unnatural way.  Raven once again held the Tanto, but her hand felt different now - larger.  Looking down she saw that her skin was covered in dark scales and the fingers that gripped the dagger now resembled claws.  Raven shifted her gaze from the weapon she held to the dark smear on the woman’s pants.  The thoughts that raced through Raven’s mind were alien and hard to understand, but the emotion was unmistakable - pure hatred.  Raven shouted something in a guttural speech no human tongue could imitate.  The woman simply looked at her captor with a crooked and sardonic smile.  Raven knew in that moment that she wanted the girl to die a horrific death, now and at once.  She lifted the helpless girl into the sky and with another unintelligible phrase, shouted an unholy invocation.  A bolt of lightning shot from the clouds, incinerating the human female.  Raven savored her screams.

The images stopped as abruptly as they had started, but the feelings they brought forth lingered with Raven.  Her hand was still entangled with Pieran’s as they both gripped the dagger.  She looked at his face.  A crooked, sardonic smile formed on his lips.  Then with strength she thought he no longer possessed, he pried her loose and tossed her aside like a doll.  “Pieran, stop!”  But then Raven realized, Pieran was no longer the one in control.

He took the blade of the Tanto and wiped it across his pants, in a gesture that looked all too familiar to Raven.  “I will not let you kill him!  This is his life, not yours!”  She aimed her fist at Pieran and shouted, “Epausa!”  But nothing happened.  “Damn it!”  Raven felt helpless as she watched him press the point of the deadly blade against his heart.  “Rakurai!”  The Japanese word for lightning screeched from her lips, a scream of desperation and rage.

Pieran froze and looked back over his shoulder, sudden fright filling his eyes.  Then, all at once, whatever had seized him vanished.  His knees buckled as he fell to the ground and the dagger dropped from his hand.  Raven rushed to his side, taking the weapon and throwing it as hard as she could outside his reach.  But she needn’t have bothered.  His last reserve was spent and he collapsed against her, racked with heartbroken grief.

“I am going to find a cure to this hellish poison and you are going to stay alive long enough to let me do it.”  Raven sounded almost angry as she held him in her arms.  “So everyone lurking in that head of yours better be paying attention, because I don’t want anymore trouble out of any of them.  No more noble self-destruction. You people want more opportunities to slay demons?  Then you leave him the hell alone and let me do my work!”

His sobbing diminished and she could feel the tension leave his body.  He relaxed against her and she spoke gentler, mopping his brow of icy sweat.  “As for you, Pieran Thomas Swift, here is a test to find whether your mission on earth is finished:  If you’re alive, it isn’t.”

Pieran turned his head to look at her face, his tired, wet eyes wide with surprise.

“From the book Illusions, by Richard Bach,” Raven said, almost smugly.  “I go to a bookstore everyday.  Did you really think I would not look up the book you quoted me?”  She smiled at him and, as he nodded, he couldn’t help but give her a weak smile in return.

The clouds in the sky that covered the moonlight, and the lack of decent street lighting, gave a spooky air to the outside of the abandoned warehouse.

A blond man in a long leather trenchcoat jumped down the roof of the nearest building, and followed the wall until he reached the warehouse's entrance.

"Sorry pal, this is a private party." The large, bald night watchman seemed to have appeared out of nowhere right behind him.

The man turned around: when he smiled, his fangs shone in the darkness. "I got an invitation."

Two of the three men inside the building protested loudly as the guard at the door introduced the newcomer, but the fourth one, a tall, thin black man dressed as a pastor, replied to their angry comments with a tranquil voice: "You must stop thinking of what you can get, and begin considering what you can give: only then will you be truly strong. Forgive them, brother, and welcome, to my humble house. Please, sit down and feast with us."

With an ample gesture of his arm, the pastor pointed at a big wooden table: three girls, all about fifteen, had been tied to as many chairs; a fourth one, naked from the waist above, had been bound to the four legs of the table. All of them were too terrified to speak, scream, or even cry.

"Don't go all 'prodigal son' on us, father: there's only enough for the four of us." Grunted the red-headed fat guy on the pastor's left.

"Yeah!" Nodded the black-haired man on the right, walking to the table and pulling the girl's hair so hard her neck seemed on the verge of breaking: "Sorry, bro, no young sweet lambs for you. Check in the back, there's usually some drunk guy sleeping there."

"Now, now, Matthew. Do not forget the prayer, before you eat..."

The man rolled his eyes, but then he let go of the girl's hair and took a cross from the table, lifting it above her. Well, not exactly a cross: its arms were twisted at unusual angles, and the bottom end was pointed and sharp.

He vamped out and began: "Help me, oh Lord, for I'm about to sin. In this second life you donated us, we..."

As the pastor and the redhead vamped out and joined in the prayer, the blond vampire slipped a hand inside his coat.

The guard, who had also vamped out, caught the movement and leaned toward him to whisper quietly: "Pay attention, bro... This is the best part."

The blond vamp whispered something inaudible in return.

"What'd you say bro?" Asked the guard, his eyes still pointed at the black-haired vamp, who was now pressing the sharp edge of the "cross" on the girl's naked torso, where a red drop had already appeared.

"I said..." Replied Iain, taking his katana out of his coat and decapitating the bald vampire in a single move: "I'm not your bro."

The remaining three vampire stopped praying and turned to him. The red- and the dark-haired ones were clearly furious, but the pastor had a sad look: "You disappoint me greatly, brother."

Before he could continue, Iain charged at the redhead, slipping under his guard and dusting him with a single left-handed hit with his stake. He spun, ducked below the other vampire's punch, and cut his head off.

As the dust settled around him, Iain pointed the sword at the pastor, who shook his head: "We shouldn't fight amongst us, brother. I can feel your hunger, and I can feel your pain. Let go of human morality, join us in the brilliant darkness, let your true spirit soar high, unimpeded by the weight of your soul. Ah, yes, I can sense your soul... I don't know how that could happen, but I do know that you were not meant to carry such a burden. I can help you, brother, I can make the pain go away."

Iain lowered his sword and lowered his eyes, taking one tentative step toward the priest.

"Yes, brother, come to me. Let me help you."

"Thank you, father..." Replied Iain, taking another step forward. And another, and another, until he was at arm's length from the pastor, who raised his hands to put them on Iain's shoulders.

Then Iain looked the vampire in the eyes and continued: "Maybe another time."

"I forgive you..." Breathed the pastor as he went poof, leaving only Iain, with his stake still raised, and four terrified girls.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:44, Mon 12 Dec 2005.

"Hey Lex."

Alex blinked her eyes open, sitting up from her prone position on the floor.  Looking around she had no idea where she was; the floor was wooden, the walls a featureless magnolia and there were no furnishings to speak of.  Getting to her feet, she turned to look at the speaker; a short young woman with curly blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and an amused twitch to her lips.  Alex stared at the image in front of her, before regaining her ability to speak.

"Sarah.  You're dead."   She stated bluntly.

Sarah grinned in response.  "And you're dreaming."

"Oh.  Right."   Alex looked around the plain room, slowly turning on the spot to take in the lacklustre surroundings.  "Dreaming, huh?  And you're...  What?"

"I'd go with a figment of your imagination."

"So I'm talking to myself?"

"Seems that way."

"Huh."

A silence descended while Alex processed this information, quietly wondering if dreaming about talking to yourself was a similar qualification for madness in that same way that such an action was in the waking world.

After a while, Sarah cleared her throat.  "You could imagine a couple of chairs up, you know.  Maybe a sofa.  A sofa would be good."

"I can do that?"

"Sure, give it a whirl."

With a shrug, Alex glanced across at the centre of the room and thought of a ridiculously luxurious, expansive couch - the kind you sit on and then promptly get lost inside of for days.  Barely had she thought of it, and a deep green semi-circular sofa appeared, at which point Sarah sighed in contentment and dropped into its plush cushions.  At a loss of really what else to do, Alex followed suit, taking a seat at the opposite end and stretching out her long legs across the seats.

After another long silence passed, she finally spoke up.  ”Is there any particular reason for this visitation?”

“Yes, there is.  How shall I put this…?  You were given a second chance.  One that none of the rest of us were given, and you’re wasting it.”

Alex threw the other woman a sceptical look.  “How do you figure that?”

“Oh please.  First you go off on your own and nearly get yourself killed, which is why you’ve been dragged to whatever the heck this place is.  Technically you’re now on your third chance, and you’re just doing the same as before.  Trying your hardest to shut everyone else out and go it alone.”

Folding her arms like a petulant toddler receiving a good telling-off, Alex scowled in return.  “I am not.  I’ve made friends here.”

Sarah laughed incredulously.  “What, the dead guy and the dying guy?”

“Sarah!”

“Come on, Lex.  Seriously, take a look.  Pieran’s a safe bet, because you don’t really think he’s going to last much longer –“ she waved off the protest forming in Alex’s mouth before continuing, “so you can go through the motions of a friendship knowing that chances are, you’re not going have to risk any real kind of connection with him.  He’ll die, and you can be content in the knowledge that at least you tried.”

“I like Pieran.”

“I know you do.  But you like Johnny too, and you don’t go and have chats over cups of tea with him.  You keep him at arms length, just like everyone else.”

Uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken, Alex swung her legs off the couch and leant her elbows on her knees, avoiding Sarah’s gaze and examining her hands.  The last point was one she really couldn’t argue with, and she couldn’t bolt out of the room either, since no matter how hard she tried, no doors were forthcoming.  Trapped with a straight-talking figment of her own imagination.  This really was a nightmare.

“And then, of course, there’s Iain.  What’s up with that?”

Alex sighed.

”Well?  The only person you’ve spilled your guts too is a vampire, for crying out loud!”

”He has a soul.”  The Slayer-That-Never-Was protested weakly.

”Yes, yes he does.  Along with fangs, a bumpy forehead and general lack of a pulse.”  Sarah rolled her eyes.  ”Who am I kidding.  What are the chances you’d fall for someone normal, anyway?”

Alex’s eyes widened.  ”Oh, no.  No.”  She said firmly.  ”Its not like that.”

”Its not?”

”Its not.”

”Why not?”

”Why not?  What do you m - what about the fangs, bumpy forehead and general lack of pulse?”

”You can’t have it both ways, Lex.  Either him being a vampire is a problem or it isn’t.”

Sullenly, Alex remained silent, examining her fingernails with renewed interest, hoping that perhaps ignoring herself was the way to go on this issue.

”Want to know what I think?”

”If I answered, ‘No, for the love of god, no.’ would you keep quiet?”  Came the dry response.

”Don’t be daft.  I think that should things go past your comfort zone, you can just play the vampire card, back off, and save yourself any potential heartache.  Someone else you can play at being friends with, without risking actually getting close to them.”

”Well, thank you for that, Sigmund.”

”You should be pleased.  There are people out there that pay good money for this kind of thing.”  When no further response came from Alex, Sarah clambered over the cushions with a adorably clumsy gait and sat down next to her, resting her head on the other woman’s shoulder.  Almost on reflex, Alex followed suit and leant her head against Sarah’s.

”You’re a mess, Alexis Scarlett Taylor.”

A faint smile crept onto Alex’s face at the invocation of her full name.  ”No more scarlet woman jokes.”  She murmured.

Sarah grinned.  ”I’m not sure there’s any left.  But seriously…  We both know that you’re lonely.  I mean, you’re conjuring up imaginary people to talk to!  Go out for dinner with someone, or have a cup of tea with someone other than Pieran for once.  And you’re going to have to decide if him being a vampire is really a problem.”

”Now?”

”Not now.  But soon.  You don’t want to be leading another guy up the garden path, intentionally or not.”

Alex nodded slowly, staring ahead at nothing in particular.  ”I miss you, you know?”  She whispered softly, an admission she could barely stand to make, even if it was only to herself.

”I know, sweetie.”  The blonde replied, slipping her arms around Alex’s shoulders and squeezing.  ”But you’ve got a life to live and you’re not betraying any of us by doing that.”

The pair sat there for a short while, then Sarah spoke again, this time with a grin.  ”Actually, there is something that I want you to do…"

Raven opened the door part way and spoke in a quiet voice, “Pieran, are you awake?” She didn’t want to disturb him if he was resting. That trip to the lake had been a draining experience for both of them. Raven wrestled with whether she should tell the others about what had happened. If they knew, they could help keep an eye on him. But most of the house was doing that already, and Pieran had asked her to keep it between the two of them. She decided to respect his privacy - for now. That could change if she saw signs he was slipping again.

“Raven, it’s okay,” he groaned.  “Come in.”  Pieran’s body shook like an old engine as he rolled to face her.

He lay in his bed, circling the drain.  If he’d been sleeping it was too hard to tell, for sleep was a fair-weather friend to him now.  Yet in spite of it all he managed to keep his room tidy.  Only a half-finished flute atop his writing desk, together with the shavings of African Blackwood, small hand tools, oils, and polishing cloth betrayed his imperfection.  Two aborted attempts lay in their final resting place in his fireplace.

Raven stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind her. “I have something for you.” She walked over and sat down on the bed next to Pieran. She handed him a scarf that was wrapped around some small object.

Pieran sat up as best he could and with his only good arm, shaking now as his left had done before it died, took the packet in hand.  “What is this?” he asked, gently shaking it loose from its wrapping.  It dropped from his hand onto the bed.  He recognized it instantly: his slender silver necklace with the silver cross attached, bearing a broken setting at its heart, like an unhealed wound.

His shoulders slumped and he smiled sadly, lifting the pendent from its chain and dangling it before himself.  “This is the third time you’ve brought an antique back to me from that watery grave.”

“It seemed too important to you to leave it behind.”

The delicate necklace measured time like a gleaming pendulum, hypnotic and beautiful.  He considered her remark while a rush of conflicting emotions filled his brain.  Desperate chances, fallen hopes, warm hearts, cold graves; crosses adorned them all.  It fit him to wear it.

His eyes shifted from the floating crucifix to Raven’s remarkably lovely face and for an instant --the alignment of her face with the cross--  was like its missing diamond had returned to the empty setting. “You mind helping me with this,” he asked?

Raven hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help Pieran. So far, she had been very careful to not come in contact with his necklace. It was obviously an item of significance to him, and after that night at the lake, she really didn’t want to handle another object that had strong emotions attached to it. She didn’t trust her mental control to suppress her psychic ability right now, so she pulled out her gloves and slipped them on. She’d gotten very adept at doing most tasks, including ones that required precision, while wearing her gloves.

Pieran leaned forward as she deftly manipulated the jewelry into place.  “In nothing do men so much resemble the gods as in giving help to their fellow creatures.  Thank you.”

She put the necklace around his neck and fastened the clasp. “There’s always hope, Pieran. You may not always be able to see it, but it’s there.”

Of those words he could say little.  For him, hope was like a rose, a thing of sinister beauty.  'T’is true nature gives the rose its bright attraction, yet, ‘neath its enchanting petals ready the deadly thorns.’  He thought better than comment, changing the subject to something that lent impish glee to his lips.  “You’d better be careful; all these kind visits.   People might talk.  Already, word on the street says you’re carrying on with a handsome young Spaniard sporting a right manly shank of hair.  Should I have cause for jealousy?”

“Perhaps he’s the one that should be jealous of you.” Raven returned Pieran’s impish grin. “His name is Marco Pelayo. I first met him shortly after we were brought to Cornerstone. He was shopping in an antique store and he had a couple of questions about a piece that the owner couldn’t answer. I just chimed in to help. He’s in town working on his next CD. There’s an old recording studio here that has unique acoustics that he wanted to experiment with. It turns out that this studio is a short walk from that bookstore that I’ve been visiting everyday. Marco takes his coffee breaks there.” Raven spoke as if she had discovered a rare treasure. “He likes old books.”

“Anyway, I helped him with the translation of a poem and he bought me coffee to say thanks. Before long, having coffee together at the bookstore became a regular thing that we both looked forward to. I’d love for you to meet him. I could bring him by sometime, if you’d like. The two of you could swap stories about your childhoods in Spain.”

“I would like that very much.  Bring him.”  He started to say more but a fresh wave of pain spread into his chest, cutting him short.

Although he tried to hide it, Raven saw the pained expression briefly cross face. “Well, I should let you rest,” she said as she stood. “I’ll check on you again later to see if you need anything.” She made her way towards the door.

“Oh, one more thing.  I don’t think  she  will trouble us again any time soon. That’s the good news,” he smiled.  “The bad news is:  I’m always wrong about everything,” he smiled again, a helpless smile now.  “That trick won’t work a second time,” he warned.  “She is probably the most dangerous of them all; ferocious, independent, powerful, and very cunning.  She is Kitsune for a reason.  Raven, I know you are working hard for me, and I love you.  But you must succeed.”

Raven gave him a very confident look. “Don’t worry, I will.”

Dren turned toward the van toward downtown, normally he would have preferred to drive the cool car but for a job like this it was best to take something more, generic, less detailed and much darker. So far he’d been pretty tight lipped about the plan, telling Johnny just enough to let him know it was a quick B&E… for what and for why were still up in the air and as they drove past a police station Dren flicked his clove out the window, almost defiantly ”We’re gonna ‘ave a small window t’pull this off.”

Johnny nodded, nothing to himself that there was something Dren wasn't quite letting him in on. He wasn't quite sure what that meant, but it was quite positively not a good sign. "And exactly where do I fit into this broken window of yours?"

Parking the car down an alley, about a block away from his destination, Dren pointed toward the city hall annex saying ”Yer th’decoy.” hopping out, he went to the back of the fan and opened it up to open the two duffle bags that were stashed under the seats.

A quick look around and he unzipped some black rope, goggles, a lock pick set and a shoulder holster with a gas powered dart gun. ”Dinna ask t’many questions… but ‘ere’s th’plan...”