Night's Omen

"Now that we've dispensed with the formalities and pleasantries, please speak freely, Stefan," Justinian said, spreading one hand open palm up to gesture that the air between them was his. Stefan was presumably the last individual he and Iloquil would have before them that night, and so while he was ready to be finished with the task, Justinian was also not pressed for time before they saw another. That, and there was obviously more on the young man's mind than they'd addressed with the ceremonial portion.

"Thank you, sir. Ah, sire," he said, correcting himself. Justinian made no indication he'd even noticed, and merely waited. "I offer no challenge to your rule, of course, and have sworn under your laws, but I..."

The young vampire trailed, as though searching for wording. Given how everything had gone down, particularly the situation ending with Niall and Verity both very dead, it was understandable that even a seasoned soldier would be nervous under the gaze of the King and Queen Who Would Rule, which was what was happening. Justinian took pity on him.

"You were unfairly used as a tool, and you do not wish to be any longer," he finished for him knowingly. "The unicorn had a potent effect on you, boy. I was there, I remember."

Iloquil had not been there, but she did not look more than politely curious at this revelation, even if Justinian knew there was much more interest behind that gaze. Stefan had a reputation, and Niall had pushed him to further heights, but they had already wondered if it was too far. It had merely been a question of whether he would snap and need to be removed, or if he would withdraw. They had their answer.

"Precisely, sire, though I would have worded it less...accusatory," he offered, hesitant. Stefan had lived under Niall's rule, and while Niall presented a gentleman's air most of the time, his closest operatives had learned otherwise on more than one occasion what the Nightmare King was capable of. "My heart lies elsewhere."

"Nonsense, justice has been dispensed with, but wrongs haven't been forgotten," Justin said, honestly glad that more people hadn't been witness to the end. It left their imaginations to come up with many different variations on how Niall had been slain and by whose hand the final blow had been struck (the Monster Hunter was the most popular, though Alexander and Justinian had both featured in the tales), but none could truly fathom the horror of the truth. Justinian didn't offer anything to confirm or deny any of the stories. "So tell us, what would you desire instead?"

Here, Stefan hedged once more, obviously worried that he'd incense the new leader just when he'd found himself with something resembling hope for the future. "I was asked to join Nicolas Santos in his travels, to learn under him. I would like to say yes."

That made Justinian pause, sitting back thoughtfully and sharing a look with Iloquil, who was no longer 'politely' interested. It was full-blown intrigue, and while she didn't necessarily let her mate make all of the decisions, she was pleased to let him address it. He thought on it, regarding Stefan and letting him sweat a bit, even if the young vampire made no attempt to explain further or backpedal, and finally smiled, actual amusement slipping over his features as he teased. "Well, if it's your heart that desires this, how could we argue? We grant you leave, and hope that perhaps this will help destroy some of the mistrust between the old hunters and our people. Train well, Stefan."

It was after the young vampire had left, presumably to go give the old bastard his answer, that Justinian sat at his desk, Iloquil lounging over a chaise with a handmade book written in flowing script that he frowned over his paperwork. "Who are we still missing of those active in the area?" he asked, glancing up at the young mortal assistant.

"I've made up the list, sir. Most have returned with some sort of response to schedule, this is the only one who has outright refused to swear fealty from this round," he said, pointing to the name with an asterisk and note beside him. Justin hummed, looking over the names and nodding.

"Contact the guilds, I think Frost would do nicely for this one. The usual account, and," he paused, looking up. "What do you think, my dear? A donation to each? I know it's irregular, but it may help with morale."

"Considering the work you're about to put on them, it's only fair, my love."

"Yes, you're right." To his assistant, he nodded once more. "Repeat our annual donations to each guild, call it a Christmas present for all that they do."

"Of course, sir. Is there anything else I can help with before I leave for the evening?"

"No, once the accounts are prepared, you may go. Oh, actually, I'd like Jeremiah and Scarlet scheduled, separately."

Another look was shared with Iloquil, who raised a fine, perfect brow, and he smiled. It was time to bring the wayward children under heel.

Sylvia had been of two minds about returning to the city. On one hand, it was good to see Chad again. He was her family, as was Gareth, and they had been for as long as she had been made whole by magic. But on the other hand, she knew that the move would also put her closer to the epicenter of Recent Bad Things, and she'd taken a firm stance on keeping out of such affairs in order to maintain her inner peace. She figured it was probably important if she'd been asked back. Chad kept her abreast of most things that would interest her, such as a new girlfriend - and good riddance to the old one, honestly. She hoped this one would work out, or at least end far less horribly than the last one. Sylvia had the same strong beliefs that Gareth held regarding Fae in general, though Chad warned her that Dawn was at least part Fae, he assured her it was negligible. She'd asked how Gareth got along with them, and went with that. He was often her gauge for where she drew and re-drew her tolerance line in the sand - depending on the situation, of course. This one certainly meant she needed to draw it pretty far out. She was very aware of how her dislike of Fae came off, and she made no effort to hide it.

Of course, Chad had under-promised and over-delivered in the case of Dawn. When Sylvia had met she and her sister for the holiday cookie decorating session, a first meeting she abhorred the idea of, by the way, she had been raised hackles despite her friendly outward appearance. She'd expected far more magic than she found, and she was pleasantly surprised that the girls were latent at best. Sure, there were tinges of their magic all over, but it was their living space and that was to be expected. It wasn't the kind that she was used to, though. They'd been raised human, had a healthy mix of human blood, and at best seemed mischief makers. At worst, well - they were either Pixie-type or Muse-type, and that could potentially cause problems, but she couldn't see any evidence of them using that craft to lull anyone around them in, so. She'd just watch the situation carefully and make a decision further on down the road.

The Seelie, though. Sylvia hoped she'd catch her in an unattended alley someday.

Dinner a Gareth's had gone well; Nicolas was stealing the show by telling stories over wine. Sylvia could only take so much of his narcissism, though, and excused herself after the third version of something for which she was present had begun anew with a completely different embellishment. She went into the kitchen to wash her hands, and found Jillian in there, a thousand-yard stare on her face as she looked into the fridge.

"See anything you like?" Sylvia prompted.

Jillian blinked, the voice snapping her back to reality. She closed the fridge and turned to look at Sylvia, a wry smile on her face. "I was a million miles away," she admitted.

Sylvia laughed. "I could tell," she acknowledged. "Of course, Nicolas' stories often send me into orbit, too, so you can hardly be blamed." She went to the sink to complete the task she'd originally gone in there for, and as she dried her hands off on the towel, she noticed that Jill lingered. Maybe it wasn't just Nic's stories after all, then. "Penny for your thoughts?" she asked, her voice still light and sweet.

Jill looked like she was about to say something, but she made a face and shook her head. "No, just unsure how many times he can tell the same story with a different ending. And why they're so captive to it," she answered. She noticed Sylvia's eyes narrow every so slightly, and she knew that the woman didn't believe her, but she'd roll with it. She realized it probably wasn't best to confide in the third Triste from this group. She didn't trust that something she said in confidence wouldn't get back to Gareth, and though she would mostly be right, Sylvia had been known to keep a secret or two. Of course, the whole point of being good at it was that nobody knew that, so.

"Ah, yes. They're humouring him. They go way back. Like, way. I can't comprehend that space of time, to be honest, so I don't try," she said with a laugh. The remark seemed innocent, but it was double-edged: one hand, making a jape about how old they were, but on the other, reminding Jillian that while she played with all these things, she wasn't one of them. Still, the way she smiled and laughed about it made it hard to tell, and it wasn't something Jillian would think about until much later. "He'll run out of stories eventually, then he'll just eat everything in your home and leave."

"He already eats everything here," Jill said dryly.

"Some things never change," she chirped. "I'm gonna get back. Should I tell them you'll be long?" she asked, gesturing toward the door to the dining room.

"Ah, no, I'm right behind you. I may as well grab the dessert while I'm in here," she said. She turned toward the fridge as Sylvia nodded and left, then made a face into the icebox as she reached in for the pie. She really didn't feel like listening to Nicolas for another two hours, hopefully this would shut them up.

Later, on the drive home, which was mostly quiet anyways, Sylvia suddenly reached over and turned off the music. Chad glanced over at her, arching a brow. "Do you take issue with old Zep suddenly?" he asked. He looked back at the road, but he was definitely interested in whatever had prompted that.

"I don't like her," she said bluntly.

"Whoa, what?" Chad said. Her answer caught him off guard, and he pressed the brake a little harder than he meant to as they rolled to a red light, causing Sylvia to give him a Look as she leaned forward from the force. "Sorry - that's really surprising, though! What's your reason?"

"Well," she began. She stopped short as she realized that she couldn't quite put a finger on it. It was everything about her, but one couldn't just say "I don't like the look of her" and expect to be taken seriously, could they? Not in present company, that was for sure. "The way the whole hit on Bacchus came about," she said finally. Yeah, that had been explained prior to dinner, just to catch her up to speed, but she felt like there were details missing.

"What about it?" he asked. "I'm not playing stupid here," he said, raising his hand defensively to stop her, because he heard her open her mouth. "I just want to know what you think."

"Ah, hm. Okay, good, because I would have called you on that bullshit," she acknowledged. "It's just - why on earth wouldn't she have just told Gareth what happened? I mean, first of all, she kept going, which speaks volumes to ego. None of those vampires are safe, and I don't care what safe passage speech anyone gives me, you don't believe that shit, ever. She's such a historian and expert on antiquities, but she thought she'd be okay? Come on," she said, slapping her thigh for emphasis.

"You're sounding dangerously victim blamey right now, Syl," Chad warned her. "We're experts on a lot and we still get into bad situations from time to time. It happens to everyone."

Sylvia shrugged. "Sure, Chad. But you know what I don't do? I don't walk into hell on an open invite and think I'm coming back out."

"Okay, so you don't like her because you think she should have been psychic," Chad countered. "Reasonable." The sarcasm in his voice was palpable.

"No, Chad, I don't like her because she 'isn't psychic'," she said, quoting him in a demeaning voice. "I don't like her because intelligence and wisdom are two different stats and clearly, you've all confused the two. She is hip to all things magic, got it. But she was still not somehow smart enough to apply everything she knows and understand that taking a hit out on an Ancient vampire has some blowback? No, I don't buy it. She's either too stupid for her own good and she's going to get Gareth involved in something awful, or she took a calculated risk and she willingly summed whatever shitstorm is on the horizon. Either way, not good."

"Jesus, Sylvia," Chad breathed. "Where the hell do you get this gloomy belief that everyone is either stupid or evil from? It's certainly not from me," he said, sounding like a parent.

"I'm telling you Chad, she's got a dark side. You guys might not see it, but I do." She shook her head.

"So do you, Sylvia," Chad shot back.

"So do you," she countered. Direct hit. She could see by the way he tilted his head and set his jaw that he didn't intend for her to respond back in kind quite like that, so she took the opportunity for his irritated silence to continue. "My point is," she said, lowering her voice and softening it considerably, "is that I don't want any of us to have to resort to using it because some human is either very bad at predicting cause and effect, or very good at it."

They were quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time, before Chad muttered, "You don't get this from me. You know where you get it? Gareth."

"I'm just saying," she began, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"All RIGHT, I get it. And - you're not wrong," he admitted. "It came up, believe me. Nicolas came for the holidays, but he's sticking around until we're sure there wasn't any critical fallout. Which, I'm sure there won't be, but if there was, we can handle it. And we'll deal with it. She won't do anything like that again, though, I'm pretty sure."

"How sure?" Sylvia asked, glancing at him.

He made a face. "Uh, about sixty-four percent sure," he guessed, shrugging. "Listen, I'm pretty sure. She's not a bad person, Sylvia. She just has some unchecked anger issues."

"Wow, I'm surprised you're not dating her," she commented dryly.

"I - okay, you know what? No more talking. We're going to listen to Zoso and be quiet, because I don't feel like arguing, and you're pissing me off." He meant it, too, she could tell from the tone in his voice - and the way he pressed the unmute button on the car stereo. She'd never seen such an aggressive button press before, and she'd seen him lose at Mario Kart.

"Whatever, Chad. I'm just trying to look out for you," she sighed.

He didn't respond, because he was a fucking psychologist and already knew that was just bait for the next argument. He'd have to actually give some space to what she was saying, though, because she wasn't wrong, and she was an outsider to the situation - which gave her both heavy bias toward not-Jill and also toward seeing a different picture. And, to be fair, he'd never seen her get jealous before, so he knew that wasn't it. Still, she did have tendency to shoulder blame on people in bad situations, and that was definitely because she didn't like to think of herself as a victim. It was more complex than he had the ability to handle at the moment, at any rate.

Sylvia stared out the window, and unlike Chad, she had said her final words and absolved herself of the situation completely. She'd warned them. The instant she saw fallout, she'd leave. Well, probably. She was all about suffering from the consequences of your own action, but it definitely depended on how big the repercussions were. Hopefully, nothing. She just didn't feel like that was the case.

Of course, somewhere on the other side of the city, Evan was about to be hit by an SUV, so they were all the worst kind of wrong.

 Dawn had actually been excited for tonight. She'd found a sleek red sequined top to go with a pair of black slacks and heels, which were still not even close to putting her to the height of her beau. Given that Dawn had been living in leggings and oversized sweaters lately, she was sure to surprise Chad when he arrived, which was -

"Oh, yeah, he said they were running late. Something about running into old friends?" Wren said, after finally tuning into the conversation between Dawn and Odin. They had gotten an Uber XL, so Wren and Dominic were in the row in front of them, with the two 'unattached' left to fend for themselves in the very back. Odin wasn't without companion though; he'd asked Sylvia if she wanted to go, and she'd said yes. And by 'he asked', of course, Wren had practically held him at gunpoint until he did so.

"What?" Dawn said, taken aback. "Why would he tell you that and not me?" From the seat in front of her, Dominic made a face and mentally backed right the fuck out of that. Dawn had been more tense than usual lately and he didn't know why, and he wasn't even about to try and find out without a few drinks in either of them first.

Wren whipped around, narrowing her eyes. "Because you left your phone at home, dumbass," she said matter-of-factly.

They were all silent for a moment, and then Dawn said, "Oh." And then, "Fuck! Did you see me leave it? Why didn't you say anything?" And the tension was immediately broken as Dawn and Wren began waving their arms at eachother.

"Pre-party ritual," Odin said, nodding to himself, scooting closer to the window to avoid the animated fae as they argued over nothing. They were always chaotic right before festivities - was it their blood? It must be. He hadn't quite figured out what type of fae they were yet, but he was thinking muses. The way they vied for attention certainly spoke to it.

"Alright, you two!" Dom finally interjected.

"Hey, don't yell at us!" Dawn and Wren both said in unison, snapping their eyes over at Dom, who fully did not expect that.

"God, Dom, don't be so emotional. We were just talking," Dawn said, her low voice edging on laughter. He caught the quiver of Wren's mouth as she suddenly found interest in the street lights they drove past.

"Oh, man," Odin laughed. "They baited you so hard, man," he teased.

"We're here," the driver from up front chirped.

"Thank GOD," Dom breathed. "Everyone out!"

As they all rejoined at the entrance of the posh location of the annual Christmas party, Wren checked her phone again. "Oh good, they're on the way. He said to go on up, but they'll meet us at the bar." And with that, the quad went inside and rode the elevator all the way up to where the show was beginning. Dawn had never been to the Christmas party before; only the Halloween one, and that had been a time.

"I'm gonna run to the ladies, I'll be right back," Dawn said. She wasn't right back though, because there was a line, which she did not anticipate. After a few minutes of waiting, she decided to just go elsewhere, and so she escaped down the elevator to the floor below them, where she knew bathrooms were. Wren had worked there, and the layout on the floors was mostly the same, except the upper level was an open floor at the moment. The whole ordeal took way longer than expected, and by the time she was done, she figured the guys had already arrived, so back up she went.

She walked out of the elevator and spotted Chad immediately. Wren was with him, and they were both talking to someone else, but his large frame obscured whoever it was. Not Gareth, then. Jill, maybe? She started towards them when Chad shifted and she spotted who they were talking to.

"Nope." That was all she said. She spun on her heel and went right back to the elevator, walking with a purpose before anyone clocked her. Nope. Nope, fuck all of that. There was a certain irony in it being Dawn's turn to see something alarming and walk out of Bonne Chance, though this time she would have no encounter in the parking garage that left her emotionally drained - nope, none of that. She was going to go home and have an encounter with a bottle of Wild Turkey, though.  Because there was no reason that she could fathom while sober that would explain why Chad and Dez were shaking hands and laughing like old friends.

Did Wren know? No, Wren had capacity in her to be spiteful, but not to this degree. Maybe a year or two ago, but now? No, no way.

"Whoa, Dawn, where's the fire?" someone asked. The figure was a blur to Dawn as she had her tunnel vision locked straight for the front doors. She could see the line of cabs. She turned, glancing up, a dumb 'huh?' all she had to say.

Sylvia regarded her curiously, a confused smile on her face. "I'm sorry, am I that late? We were at Excelsior for too long, you know how the old guys can be. Just never stop talking."

"What? Ah, no, you're not late - no, you're fine. I just - uh, you know, I'm not feeling that great suddenly and I think it's best if I go home and lay down and also do not answer my phone for the rest of the night, so if anyone asks, don't be alarmed," she said quickly, her hands flexing as she spoke, trying to figure out how she could possibly make this encounter even more awkward. She liked Sylvia, she did, but if she wanted to avoid Chad, his protege was also someone that she wanted to avoid at the moment. Fucking Triste was probably reading her like a book right now.

Surprisingly, Sylvia didn't comment to what she was seeing. Dawn's aura was all over the place. "Okay," she said, tucking some of her freshly dyed auburn hair behind her ear. "Okay, I'll just tell them I didn't see you."

Dawn paused. "Wait, what?"

Sylvia made a face at her. "Dawn, I'm Chad's sibling. I'm not his informant. I can see that something has disturbed you, and whatever it is, it's not for me to know. If it were, you would tell me. So," she said, gesturing to the door. "I sincerely hope that you're feeling better tomorrow. Have a good night."

Dawn hesitated, unsure if this was a trap.

"Dawn, Chad is going to come looking for you, so if you're going to go, I'd suggest you do it now. Or, you can stick around and maybe have a conversation about whatever... this is," she said, waving a hand to reference the light show Dawn was giving off (the one that Dawn obviously couldn't see, but she understood what Sylvia meant).

The elevator behind them dinged, indicating the doors were opening, and Sylvia made a face that clearly said "Time's up", but she said nothing.

Living with Bariq was challenging to say the least. The new apartment was nice, and far more spacious than the last one had been, which was good because they were people who didn't necessarily need to be in the same room all the time. As Sophia had started to come (back) into her own, finally accepting that the events that had occurred the previous year had ultimately changed her in some ways that were irreversible, she began to find her voice again. And that voice was mostly used for arguing. Loudly. In Korean.

Bariq, finally able to stretch his legs and take a load off, with the constant worry about being bound to some crazed human bent on trying to cause interplanetary chaos, had also found his voice - though, it hadn't ever really been lost. More like, he finally had the space to speak his thoughts freely without fear of being stuffed back into some tiny bottle. And that voice was also mostly used for arguing. Loudly. In Arabic. And the more passionately he argued, the older his dialect got, until Aramaic was in full stereo.

To them, it seemed normal. They were both incredibly expressive people, who came from heavily expressive cultures. And since they could understand eachother regardless of the language they were speaking, thanks to that magical cement that bound them, it never really occurred that to an outsider, it sounded like the New World Axis Powers deciding how best to attack their enemies. Currently, what was a routine "discussion" (screaming match) was ongoing, and whoever happened by in the hall probably thought that a domestic situation was about to erupt, when actually, it was far more simple.

"When you're done with the dish," Bariq said, gesturing with exaggeration to the plate in his hand, "you rinse it, and you put it in the dishwasher. You don't just leave it in the sink." He spoke clearly, loudly, in what was more or less Farsi. "You rinse the dish, and then it goes in the dishwasher," he repeated again, demonstrating.

Sophia stood in the living room, rooted to the spot she'd been in when this confrontation had begun. She still had her magazine in her hand and an unopened soda in the other, both of which had now become props for her to gesture with. She was halfway between the couch and the sliding glass door, where her intent had been to go outside and listen to music while reading, but no, she was getting a lesson in domesticity from Bariq.

"Then what is the point of having the dishwasher?" she asked, each word spoken slowly and deliberately, volume raising as she got to the end of her question. "Why am I paying for a dishwasher if I'm WASHING the dishes BEFORE THEY GO in the dishwasher?" She waved the hand with the magazine angrily.

"BECAUSE IT'S NOT GOING TO PRESSURE WASH TWO DAY OLD EGG OFF YOUR PLATE!" he exploded. "IT'S STUCK! STUCK ON LIKE BUGS TO THE FRONT OF THE CAR IN THE SUMMER!"

"IF IT CAN'T CLEAN THE DISHES THEN WHY DO WE HAVE IT?"

He exhaled through his nose, then set the plate down with a loud click. "Allah, please forgive her, she is so stupid," Bariq said, closing his eyes and making a praying gesture. "Years of television have rotted her brain."

"HEY!" she screamed. He barely had time to duck before she'd loosed the magazine at him, but he managed. The Cosmo was swatted down right before it hit his face, his muscular arm stopping what was sure to be, at the very least, closer than he ever wanted to be to J-Lo's crotch.

"YOU HEY!" he yelled back. He began to advance on her, but she stood her ground, her posture menacing. She began shaking her can of Coke violently.

"Don't do it, Sophia, I just cleaned in here, don't you fucking - "

"Wash dishes, Sophia! Vacuum, Sophia!" she said, her tone mocking as she imitated him. "I am not the maid!"

"YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WHO MAKES MESSES!" he yelled, his voice high pitched as he threw his hands up in disbelief. "If anything, I'M the maid!" He reached out for the can as she pointed it at him, snatching it from her in his large hand just as she managed to get one of her acrylics under the tab. The pulling gesture as he yanked it from her caused it to open, showering him directly in the face with cold, dark carbonated sugar.

Her eyes went wide as she put her hands to her face, in what was actually genuine shock. They were both quiet; him, stunned and seething, and Sophia, purely unable to respond.

"Don't laugh," he warned her. "Do not laugh."

"I'm not laughing," she insisted, still speaking into her hands that covered her mouth - to hide the fact that she was trying not to laugh.  Knocking on the door saved her, thankfully, but as she turned to answer it, Bariq put the hand that didn't have the can in it up to stop her. They weren't expecting anyone, so naturally, he was immediately on guard. Fortunately, she elected not to argue about that, and backed off. "I'll get a towel," she said quietly.

Bariq, still drenched in Coke, opened the door, not bothering to look in the peep hole. He'd seen too many movies recently where someone took a knife to the eye, and eye gore wasn't his idea of a good time. He was surprised, though, when the person on the other side of the door was somewhat familiar to him. Hadn't he seen him in the elevator a few times before?

"Uh... hey," the guy said, an apprehensive look on his face. "I'm Jay, and I live down the hall." When Bariq just stared at him, he continued. "Look, I - uh, I understand what you're saying when you're yelling - most of the time, anyways, you got kind of a rural thing going on with your accent, but whatever - the rest of the neighbors don't know that you're literally trying to explain to your girlfriend the importance of not eating food off of the floor and stuff, so they kind of - "

"You speak Farsi?" Bariq asked, disregarding everything else he'd said to that point.

Sophia appeared next to Bariq, towel in hand, which she just pressed into his beard wordlessly as she stared at Jay. "Do they think we're terrorists?" she interrupted. The man's shocked facial expression at her directness did not go missed by Jay.

"I mean - valid, but no, they think you guys are married and also he abuses you," he said, equally direct. He glanced at the man. "And yeah, I understand you. I definitely do not share your passion about the importance of Lysol, though."

"She hits me!" Bariq said. "Look at what she did to me!" he insisted, holding up the can of soda. "And disinfecting surfaces is very important," he added, his voice stern.

"Yeah.... look. You guys are fucking loud, and I live down the hall, so like, literally everyone in this building can hear you. Which is why they think there's some DV happening in here. So maybe quit screaming at eachother about the house work and hire Molly Maid, or something," he said flatly. "I'm sure you're very nice people who absolutely should not be living together, but I'm just here on behalf of everyone who has to suffer this."

Simultaneously, Bariq said, "What's Molly Maid?" while Sophia said, "I'm not paying for a maid."

Jay passed his hand through his long, dark hair and nodded. "Right, well I'll leave you two to figure that out. Enjoy being exhausting, let's never do this again." He gave them a smile, and then turned, nodded to himself, and walked away.

When the man had left, they shut the door and just stared at eachother for a few moments in total silence.

"I want this Molly Maid," he said finally.

"Yeah, I'll call and set it up," she agreed.

 

Bariq had never known himself to have what was considered a sweet tooth, but there was something about sugar this time around that he couldn't put his finger on. From his first taste of cotton candy fresh out of a long stint in his own personal hell to the current, where he waited patiently outside of the cafe for his tiny friend to return with something she called "bubble tea", he had found it more enjoyable than ever before. It was the artificial, amped up, and technicolor of all of it, he supposed.

He flipped through a magazine while he sat in the metal chair, dark eyes absently scrolling over horoscopes. Ridiculous. The following page featured hot pink font proclaiming FIFTY TIPS TO MAKE HIM YOUR SLAVE IN THE BEDROOM, and he let out an audible snort. He closed it, tossing it onto the table as he glanced over his shoulder to see what was taking so long. Through the glass door, he could see Sophia in line. Her expression was blank, but he saw her toss her long reddish hair over her shoulder, and he knew from her body language that she was irritated. Another second of studying the situation clarified the source of her pain - the man in front of her was ordering a multitude of drinks and asking as many questions.

As though she felt him staring at her, her dark eyes flitted from the nothing that she'd been focused on to his, and she tilted her head slightly. In a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, he saw her mouth curl into a smile. Then, she went back to looking straight ahead, sagging her shoulders as she let out a deep sigh. He sat back a little, head straightening out, and closed his eyes. He'd never met a Kirin before, but he wondered if they were all as timid as she was. Of course, Sophia was anything but timid typically, but she was handling this with a certain delicacy that was unfamiliar even to her. He could tell that she wasn't usually so reserved, but he didn't want to press the issue with a thousand questions. He knew she'd experienced something deeply traumatic, but he didn't know what it was, because she hadn't told him, and he wasn't a guessing man with such things.

At once, he felt a sharpness at his back; it was magic, and he knew the flavour of it: Fae. He glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with a man who casually slurped on something frozen and blue - loudly. The man nodded his head only just enough for Bariq to catch it, and the magic reeled back like it had never been there in the first place. At his side, talking a mile a minute, was a small blonde woman with bright blue eyes who was animated like she'd been given too much caffeine.

"I wonder if she's got it with her. Do you think she carries it on her person? I mean, I would, but I don't know what her motivations are," she was saying, moving her hands as she spoke. She looked like she was auditioning for Broadway.

"Don't know her motives?" Link echoed, a sneer (different from his usual sneer) flashing across his mouth. "Are you dense? She's probably wishing the bitch that put her in a coma is burning in hell forever right now," he countered. "And besides, maybe she just took it for safe keeping. The way Taro talk about her, she's not the type to just run off with an artifact for world domination."

"It doesn't matter why she took it, Link. It just matters that we get it back!" she said, punching his arm and nearly knocking his drink out of his hand. "Before she summons the djinn."

"Yeah, that would be a real tragedy," the Fae said flatly, stepping out of her reach before she tried to hit him again. "I'm just gonna sit here and enjoy myself. You have fun canvassing the block. Hope your GPS tracking is right, otherwise we're out here for nothing and I'm missing my stories." And with that, he dropped into a chair at a single table next to where Bariq sat. It was painfully obvious that he had already spotted the djinn; it was also becoming obvious that he had no dog in the fight at hand, and was merely along for the ride.

Nicolette rolled her eyes. "Fine, stay there. You're useless anyways. I'll find her myself." She spun on her heel and went in the opposite direction of the cafe.

As Bariq assessed the situation, the Fae finally spoke, though he didn't make a point to look at him while he did so, not wanting to attract the attention of Nicolette back their way. "This should go well," he said, his facial expression punctuating his feelings perfectly. He leaned back in his chair, loudly slurping on his drink. He figured that where the djinn was, Sophia would be close by, and he was right. He saw her at the register, paying for whatever she'd gotten inside. He let the chair drop back down onto all four legs, the sound loud as it slammed back down onto the concrete. "You've got about two minutes before she realizes what's going on and comes back this way," he said, now looking over at Bariq.

"Why are you telling me?" he asked, arching a brow. He appreciated the warning, but he was naturally distrustful of everyone. This man was no exception - his kind were always deceptive.

Link nodded, understanding the skepticism. "Because I like Sophia. And I don't like Taro. And the longer she's in the wind, the more it drives him crazy, which only benefits me, because he plays shitty poker when he's upset, and he bets a lot more than he should." The Fae offered a smile that didn't meet his eyes, then raised the drink back to his mouth and took a long, loud slurp of it.

Bariq chuckled, the sound a rumble in his chest. That was perhaps the most believable thing the man could have told him. He nodded, sucking his teeth as he considered things. "Alright," he said. He stood, the chair scraping against the ground as he got up. He was a big dude - he wasn't stupidly tall like Gareth was - but he was Link's height at least. He was just somewhat more broad, and the casual shirt he wore looked like Sophia might have deliberately dried it on high heat (she had).

As Sophia came out of the cafe, one bubble tea held close to her with the other extended to Bariq, a loud, "A-HAH!" came from across the street. Sophia looked up, since she had no idea what had transpired in her absence, her dark eyes widening considerably as she saw the Therrayan storming towards her. She winced as a car slammed on its brakes, then winced more as Nicolette slammed her hands down on the hood of the Mercedes and yelled something vulgar at the driver.

"Shit," she said. She shook the tea at Bariq, finally looking over at him and nodding for him to take it. "What do I do?"

He took the tea from her, his hand clasping over hers for a brief moment. "I'm not going back in that bottle," he said, and his tone suggested that "what do I do" meant "whatever you have to do". Some understanding passed between them that Link didn't recognize, but he perked up in his chair, waiting to see how this would play out.

"You!" Nicolette said, finally on the sidewalk. She marched straight up to Sophia, a mixture of anger and hurt on her face. "You thief! I trusted you!" She reached out, jabbing at Sophia with her index finger.

"I'm not a thief - OW, hey!" Sophia said, finally slapping Nicolette's hand away in a surprisingly aggressive gesture. "You can't steal something that didn't belong to someone else to begin with," she said, her voice firm. "And we - magical creatures - aren't property," she hissed, waving her tea hand at herself and Bariq to indicate they were the creatures in question.

"Yeah yeah yeah - listen, I get it, and I sympathize and all that, but - I really need him," she said, pointing at Bariq, "to get back in the bottle, because I've got an archive that thing needs to be in, like yesterday. There can't be an unbound djinn just loose in New York. Loose anywhere, really. Didn't you learn anything when you were staking out our artifacts room? They're too power, and - no offense - way too amoral."

"I'm not unbound," Bariq said, phrasing the statement like he was confused as to why she'd think otherwise. "How could I be standing here if I were?"

"You're not unbound?" she asked, and there was something in her tone of voice that said plainly she didn't believe him.

"No, of course not. That would be impossible," he said. He squinted at her like she was crazy, then put his arm around Sophia (which comically made her shoulders look more like an arm rest than anything else). "Who is this crazy friend of yours? I think she's been in the sun too long," he said, deliberately dropping his voice as he spoke to Sophia.

"We're going," Sophia said flatly. "Leave us alone."

Nicolette was utterly dumbfounded as they walked away. She ignored Link's quiet laughter, feeling mixed emotions colour her cheeks. She couldn't ever really understand what Sophia was so mad about because, well, she just wasn't in that endangered exclusive club. And she had liked her, but she had a mission to be a Therrayan first - whatever the cost. "I think they're lying," she said quietly.

"Nicolette, I've been around a long time, and if you ask me, there's some stuff you should just let go," Link advised. There was no venom to his voice; it seemed he was actually trying to give her good advice, for once.

"Well, I didn't ask you," she snapped. Did she go back to Diamond and explain that she'd failed? Or, worse, lie and say that she hadn't exhausted every avenue? What had the book said about binding? She could remember the words, couldn't she? She closed her eyes, reaching back to the text, and her mouth began to move, reciting the words from memory.

Bariq's hand gripped Sophia's shoulder hard suddenly; he felt that sensation again at the back of his neck, but this time he hadn't been expecting it. It had been the Fae again, but this was different. Not probing - a warning. "Hey!" Sophia cried, nearly dropping her tea. She danced out of his grip, turning to face him with an annoyed expression. "You trying to cave my bones in?" she asked. Her shoulder was throbbing.

"That bitch is trying to bind me!" he hissed, glancing over his shoulder at the blonde. He looked back at Sophia, studying her expression, which he found he couldn't read. It was against every fiber of his being to tell her to do something, but he also didn't want to go back into that stupid bottle.

"Do it," he commanded.

"What?" she crowed.

"You know."

"No, I don't" she said, stepping back from him. He reached out and caught her by the wrist.

"You do," he said, tone firm. "Do it," he said again.

Because one night, when she'd finally fallen asleep in the chaise lounge of the hotel room she had been staying in - because she'd graciously given him the bed, and she hadn't told him she had an apartment (or that she was scared to go back to it), she had learned the trick to bind him. Because, unbeknownst to Sophia, she talked in her sleep, and that night she'd said simply, "I wish you didn't have to go." It had been in response to him saying he was going to the lobby for a snack, as stupid as that was. He'd gone to sit by her, quiet for a while as he debated the validity of her request. The magical laws that governed him compelled him to speak, and he'd leaned over and whispered to her: "All you have to do is say my name," and then told her his name - his true name, not what he went by - and all the while, she was completely asleep, and didn't remember a thing. It wasn't his job to bring it up, either, and so he didn't, thinking that maybe he'd needed a little humbling by the stupid way in which it had all come about.

The truth was that Sophia didn't want to bind him. She didn't want to bind anyone. It was part of the reason that he had been so relieved that it had been her who had come across his little ornate prison and set him out on the world again. She wouldn't abuse it, because she didn't want it. He reckoned he'd been slave to many who had wanted him only for what he could give them. It was strange, being in the service of someone who didn't want him at all, but it was oddly liberating in a way. He could stand a little humility, anyways. As far as his kind went, he was well-regarded, and he knew it.

She looked past him at Nicolette, then saw Link waving his hands at them as if to tell them to figure it the fuck out, and sighed. Without any further protest, she raised up onto her tip-toes, pulling her wrist towards herself, and by extension, pulling her friend down to her height. She leaned forward to his ear, tilting her head. The scent of cotton candy filled his nose as she drew in closer than she'd ever been before. She whispered something into his ear - the same thing he'd whispered to her that night, when she'd been asleep.

  Not even a half second after, he felt a tickling sensation as a spell bounced off of him, missing its mark. Then, of course, came the frustrated cry of defeat. He didn't bother to turn around, instead focusing on Sophia. "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you've got poor delivery skills," he said, all of the seriousness drained from his tone. She didn't meet his eyes, looking at her shoes, her nails - anything else. She clearly had not taken the decision lightly, and she did not appreciate being backed into a corner, which he could appreciate. But still - there were worse alternatives. One such was being led away by the arm by a dark Fae who was interested in going home, presumably to win more money off a lovesick vampire.

"I just want to go home," she said finally, after they walked in silence for a while. She hadn't wanted to hold his hand or poke at his sides the way she usually did, or ask what he thought about the tea - in fact, she'd tossed hers in the trash almost immediately after "it" happened. Now, the relationship they had was purely plutonic, but Sophia was a very affectionate creature, and this was - well. She was humbling the fuck out of him right then, more or less.

"Alright," he agreed, tone light. "You know, this is happening to me, too," he said. He was too patient to chastise her, but he felt it would be worth reminding her at the very least. He hadn't known her for long, but he had observed a huge tendency to retreat into her own head, which was unhealthy given the things he was learning about how she'd gotten to where she was. She stopped walking so suddenly that he almost got a few feet on her before he realized it, and had to back up to where she'd been rooted to the spot.

"You're right," she said. "You're right," she said again, covering her face to hide the mixture of emotion running across it. She removed her hands, offering him a forced smile. "I'm sorry. Let's go home. I'll cook." And with that, she took his hand, completely altering her disposition. That wasn't what he'd wanted either - he was aware that now he had been bound to her he could 'see' a lot further into the range of feelings she had, and it actually shocked him how much she had actively repressed up until now. He followed wordlessly, chewing thoughtfully on the tapioca "bubbles" inside his drink, trying to figure out how to uncomplicate the next chapter of his very long life.

Link sat in a tall chair at the kitchen - table? Counter? It was white marble, contrasted starkly against the darkest wooden accents that money could buy. He shifted uncomfortably, if only because his traveling companion was bouncing around the kitchen freely instead of sitting where the ancient mage had told her to sit - and stay. Link noticed he hadn't issued such orders to him, and he supposed that perhaps their reputations had preceded them both. Nicolette was currently standing in front of a decorative wine rack that boasted a small selection, picking each bottle up, mispronouncing the name, and asking repeatedly "Do you think they'd notice if I took this?".

"Yes, Nicolette, I think they'd notice," he finally snapped, slamming his palms down on the pristine white counter. His posture had shifted briefly; from relaxed to angry, and then back to relaxed as he moved to lean on his elbows. "Sorry," he said, the apology terse as it escaped his clenched teeth. "But you're kind of fucking driving me crazy."

The blonde shrugged. She'd jumped when he'd reacted, but it was more the sound than his irritation that had caused her reaction. "I'd hate to travel with me, too," she said in response, her voice smooth and girlish as she shrugged, and with the roll of her shoulders, the shock was forgotten and she went right back to snooping. "Do you think - "

"I swear to Christ - " he warned.

She paused for effect, glancing over her shoulder and throwing him a smirk. "Do you think," she started again, "that the big bad is actually gonna come for her?"

Link inhaled, leaning back in the chair. Wasn't that the fifty-thousand dollar question, though. The way he didn't immediately throw something derisive Nicolette's way was taken as an invitation for company, and the woman stopped her ransacking of the kitchen and went to the chair next to him. She didn't climb into it, but she rested against it, eyes attentive as the Fae visibly considered his answer.

"I've been around a long time, kid," he said finally. "And I've had more than one occasion where I wished I could run across a particular this or that."

"So, is that a yes or..."

He smiled, but as usual, the smile did not meet his eyes. "He's absolutely going to try," he replied finally.

The usual humor wasn't present in her face; it had faded when Link had given her that carnivorous grin. It wasn't that the fake smile was off-putting; on the contrary, she was used to that. It was that he'd actually considered what she'd asked, and answered based on his own experiences and feelings. And, while she couldn't rightly say what his feelings were most of the time, she knew that he had a history that she'd purposely avoided because she had to work with him, and some things she just knew that she didn't need to know. That and Eithne had quietly warned her if she wanted to work around him comfortably, she wouldn't dig.

"But that's why we're here," he said, noticing the change in her expression. "So that trying is as far as he gets." He placed his hand on the chair next to him, pushing it away from the counter and inviting her into it by the action. "It's going to be fine," he assured her, dragging the "i" in fine out like one would do with a worked up teenager. "Trust me, it'll be in capable hands after this."

Boy if she only knew. Link had dealt with Marcus a few times over the years. He was formidable in almost every incarnation - and the ones where he was not, that woman of his had no issue stepping in to fill the shoes. He didn't go out of his way to avoid them, but he tended to do his darker business in a corner of the Earth that they weren't. It was just easier that way - they both had a bone to pick with Fae, and Link wasn't interested in getting caught in the politics of it all.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," Gareth said, finally coming in. The other man was with him, not quite in tow, but tagging along all the same. While Gareth looked darkly serious (as he usually did), the other man looked interested in the same way a cat does when they notice their toy sitting in the hall minding its own business.

"So what is this message that had to be delivered in person?" Nicolas asked, gliding past Gareth. He somehow exuded more ownership of the space than the Triste did, if that were possible. It was the way he moved. He paused in front of the wine rack, then pulled two of the bottles out and swapped them around. He didn't say anything, but it was obvious he knew they had been moved. He did not miss when the Unseelie turned slowly and glared at the human, or the fact that the human stared straight ahead with a smile plastered on her face like she had no idea what was happening.

"Well, you already know about Ta-"

"The Dark Man," Link interrupted. If Taranis was really out and about, saying his name was just as good as summoning him, and as much as he'd have loved for that audience, he didn't think they'd keep the upper-hand for long. Especially not if he was searching for his lost bauble, which to him, Deja absolutely was.

Gareth rolled his eyes. "Yes, unfortunately. I know the ugly story in its entirety," he admitted. He hadn't spoken to Jill since she'd fled, which was doing wonders for his stress. He knew that Rebecca wasn't with her, at the very least, and he trusted the psychic to tell him if anything new developed, but he somehow doubted that Jill would be telling anyone anything besides Ben for a while. At least Ben was capable. He could rely on him to keep them both out of the blast area, at the very least.

"Well, I don't," Nicolas said, holding his hands up. One of them clutched a bright red apple, which he would've shined on his shirt had he been wearing one, which he of course was not. Instead, he bit into it, glancing around the room. He caught Nicolette staring at him and winked at her, which nearly sent her straight out of her chair. The human sighed, a dreamy look on her face; her dark Fae companion rolled his eyes.

"I'll fill you in later," Gareth said, holding a hand up before Nicolas got the opportunity to play catch-up. He'd ask a thousand questions and they'd be there all day. "What was so important that you had to fly all the way out here and tell me to my face?" he demanded.

Link nodded, sitting up. "Ah, there's that directness I've heard so much about," he said. Every word he spoke sounding biting - or maybe that's just how he was. Gareth knew who he was in a vague sense, but he couldn't recall ever having run into him directly over the years. Still, he had an immediate distrust for him, and it wasn't just because he was a dark Fae. He read Changeling, but the energy around him said Trickster - and in Gareth's opinion, that was worse.

"On with it, boy," Nicolas said, spitting a seed into the sink as if to punctuate the order. Of all the men in the room, he was probably in the best position to call Link "boy" and it be true in proportion to age.

"Deja said that your third is here. Malachai. He's at the Excelsior Hotel. He's going by Marcus this time, and he's already found his lady love, so he'll be ripe for fighting. I guess Deja has known this entire time, she just didn't feel it pertinent to tell you because - well, I mean," he said, gesturing vaguely. They all knew what he meant - she was fucking crazy. It was useless to predict the why.

"What?" Gareth said. His blue eyes grew wide, and he snapped his head to look at Nicolas. "Did you know about this?"

Nicolas, who was brushing bits of apple off of his muscular chest (which Nicolette did not miss), looked up, surprised by the accusatory way Gareth spoke to him. "What? No! Why would I have known about this? I just don't do 'shock', Gareth, it's not very attractive," he said blithely. He turned to look at Link, brow arched. "How sure are you?"

"Very," he said. "She's not in a position to lie. He's coming for her, Nicolas. Or, she thinks he is, which is still a hell of a motivator."

"We're going," Gareth said, cutting the social gathering short. "Nicolas, find a shirt. We're going now."

"Aw," Nicolette said, deflated as the greying man shook his head and left to find said shirt. She slid out of her chair. "Well, glad we could be of service, Mr. Rivers," she said to Gareth, tilting her head up to look at the ridiculously tall man. "And now, Link? Next task. I gotta go see a bitch about a bottle that doesn't belong to her," she said, straightening her shirt.

"Best of luck," Link said, giving a tip of his fingers to the Triste, who half-nodded in response. He could see the wheels turning in the man's head, and did not envy him the undertaking that was coming. He'd rather supervise Nicolette every day for the rest of his time with Diamond than deal with any of the shit that was about to hit the fan this time.

"After you," he said, opening the door and allowing Nicolette to pass. This was the first he'd heard about a bitch and a bottle; he planned exactly how to annoy her with the questions as they got into their rental car and backed out of the driveway.

Deja heard the door of the home she and Aaron shared open, and got up from where she had been laying, as usual, by the pool. She saw him through the glass doors from the patio, and smiled at him - which was not usual. He smiled back, but she could see his head tilt and his expression change to one of curiosity, because Deja was typically in a moody sort of mood, not a good mood. In fact, he couldn't recall the last time she'd been happy to see him. It was incredibly fucking tiring being bound to her at times. When things were good, they were wonderful, but when they were bad, they were horrid.

"Hey," he called to her as she came inside, setting her sunglasses down on the counter and taking a position across from him as he unloaded the small selection of groceries. "You seem like you're in a good mood," he said, electing to hit it head on.

"I am," she confirmed. "I've had a good day. A good week, actually." She stopped, considering what she'd said, and then forming a surprised look on her face, nodding and looking back at Aaron. "I know, hard to believe. But... I am trying. I want you to know that. I want to get better. I will get better. For you - for us. Okay?"

The sudden confession robbed Aaron of any predetermined response he had in his index for her. He had (incorrectly) assumed she'd dig into him for pointing out that she was in a good mood NOW, which was language he'd learned that she could randomly consider inflammatory, but he used anyways. Oh, he'd seen therapists over Deja, and he was learning exactly how to deal with her little outbursts. She couldn't be bothered to see one, so he had to be the bigger person and see one for the BOTH of them. It had actually given him some pretty handy tools to cope with her outbursts. Honestly, he'd been thankful that Chad had suggested it to him. Unfortunately, Chad was the Diamond psychologist, and as such, he was a little too close to the situation, but he'd given Aaron several names to check, and Aaron had found one that worked well for him.

"That's good, hon," he stammered, unable to hide his surprise. He had learned to tell when she was being sincere and when she was fucking with him, and he assessed rather quickly that she was being sincere. He set the oranges he had in his hand onto the counter as she came around it, wrapping her arms around him unexpectedly.

He resisted the urge to ask if she was drunk, knowing that would be a genuinely shitty thing to do, but he was curious. "What - uh, what brought all this on?" he asked, pulling back from her. He couldn't help that he was stiff in her arms; Deja's volatility had caused him to build shields up that would take years of consistency to break back down, regardless of the highs. It wasn't the highs that his apprehension and walled-offness was for, it was the inevitable low that followed. Even bonded, he'd managed to negate some of that pull she had. She couldn't refuse his commands, but he'd learned to power over some of hers.

She didn't negatively react when he pulled away from her, which was good, and instead took up a casual posture, her arms still wrapped around him, but more loosely. "Well," she began, a thoughtful expression on her face. In truth, she'd had a pretty ragged conversation at the Excelsior with Sal and Marcus that had given her plenty of room for reflection. That had been a while ago, far before Lucifer had been placed into a new body, but still, the thoughts had lingered. When all was said and done, she realized that she was lucky to have found Aaron when she had, and that, especially given her sordid past, he was probably one of the better things that had happened to her. The things he brought to the table as a bonus, such as his impervious nature to outside magical influence, were just that - a bonus.

"Well?" he asked, and she realized she'd trailed off into silence. He laughed at her a little, the smile he had finally meeting his eyes. When she just smiled and shook her head at him, he nodded. "Alright then, keep your secrets," he said. Without thinking, he leaned forward, dropping a kiss on her cheek. "Now, off with you, unless you want to help me with dinner?" he asked, opening his arms to release her.

"No, I don't," she admitted, laughing. She let go of him, hand dragging across his hip as she stepped away; she didn't have to look back to confirm she'd given him a shiver, she knew him well enough by now to know that she had. She saw a shadow at the glass by the front door, and tilted her head. "Did you order something?" she asked, already walking that way.

Aaron thought nothing of it. "Maybe? I don't know. Amazon delivery has been really fucked up lately. I've been getting credits online if I get things delivered later, but my smooth brain can't keep track of it all. Maybe it's the new toaster?" he called, going right back to putting away the rest of the groceries. Cabinets opened and closed in succession as he put in item and pulled out cookware. He'd felt like stir fry tonight initially, but maybe he'd do tacos instead. Did he buy shells? He had, hadn't he? He went to the pantry, calling absently over his shoulder as he heard the door close and something being opened. "Is it the toaster?"

When he didn't hear anything from the hallway immediately, he didn't think anything of it, but then he heard Deja saying something. "What's that, love?" he called. He paused, hearing the sound repeat itself - quietly at first, but then it got louder, and he could finally understand it. She was saying, "No". He heard the sound of something connect with the wall in the foyer, and rushed in, thinking that someone was in the house - but all he saw was Deja sitting on the tile, a small box on its side on front of her, with something small and shiny on the ground. She clutched a piece of paper in her hand, and was rocking back and forth, her back brushing the wall as she moved.

"Deja!" he cried. There was audible alarm in his voice, because, as used to her mood swings as he was, he'd never seen this before, and Aaron had more or less seen it all from her. He dropped down in front of her, looking with adrenaline-fueled and jerky movements at the scene. Box? Note? He reached for the thing on the ground (a gold metal button?), but her quiet and subdued state CHANGED and suddenly she was screaming, grabbing at him and pulling him away from it like it was radioactive.

"NO! GET AWAY! HE CAN'T FIND YOU, HE CAN'T KNOW ABOUT YOU!" Her hand was fisted around the paper tightly as she swung her limbs at him, and the screaming stopped only when she'd gotten him what she felt was a safe distance from the object. She had been crawling, but rocked back on her knees, again she stopped, both hands now to her face as she began to rock back and forth again. "He can't know, he can't know where I am, he can't, he can't, no no no no..." She folded down on the ground, crying, and continued to chant.

Aaron was fucking unsettled. He didn't know what to do, but he damn sure didn't want to go near the metal thing on the ground again (he was pretty sure it was a button, but he couldn't tell fully) and he didn't want to touch Deja because he didn't know what the fuck was happening. He could see that she'd let the note go in favor of covering her face as she bent towards the tile, looking almost in agonizing prayer, and he reached out for it, thankful that he didn't hesitate. He snatched it up and turned it over.

He didn't know whose handwriting it was, and he definitely didn't understand the context of the quote, but fortunately, the note had been signed with an ornate J. That he did know - from having been at Chad's house and having seen a Christmas card on his counter that winter before. It had been from Gareth, Nicholas, and Jill. J. He got to his feet immediately, hating to leave Deja on the cold tile alone, but not knowing what else to do at the moment. He didn't understand anything that was happening right now, but he knew that someone would. First order of business, though, was to ask what the FUCK.

"Gareth - hi, sorry to bother you. Listen, I'll make this fast. Do you have any idea why Jill would send Deja a box with something in it that would make her go catatonic and then leave a note telling her that 'knowledge is gained through suffering so this gift is intended to remind her of her wisdom'? Does that make any sense to you?" He spoke quickly, panic just on the edges of his voice as he stalked through the house. He didn't know what any of it meant, but he wouldn't wait for Gareth to confirm the threat. He was grabbing go bags; they'd go to Diamond for the time being. He could figure it out later.

"Aaron, listen to me closely," the Triste said, his gravelly voice somehow more serious than it usually was. "Whatever was in that box, don't touch it. Get Deja, and get out of there. Go somewhere warded. Heavily warded. Fae wards. Do you understand me?"

Well, at least Aaron had guessed correctly. "What the fuck did Jill do?" he demanded. He had two bags on each shoulder as he rushed back to where Deja was, still on the floor. "Why would she do this?"

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, but then Gareth spoke. "I intend to find out."

Aaron didn't bother replying; he took the Triste's parting words and thanks for letting him know what was happening, and hung up. He slid the phone into his pocket, needing both hands to coax Deja up. "Come on, come on, we've got to go," he said gently, trying to move her without startling her. Christ, but she was practically dead weight. He got her to her feet, managing to get her by the chin so he could look at her directly. Her eyes were - dull. It was like she had retreated into herself, and only left the porch light on instead of keeping the entire house lit up.

"Okay, let's go, to the car, come on," he urged, guiding her outside. He stepped around the object still on the floor, leaving the box where it was, and stuffing the note into the same pocket the phone was in. It would be useful if he knew what the fuck was going on, but he'd manage. He texted ahead to Murphy and told him to be ready - when Murphy asked for what, Aaron just replied with, "Nothing good. Will explain when I get here." And that was enough for the Fae to get his ass moving. Aaron was thankful he knew Fae, as wards by them weren't super commonly come by - and honestly, he rarely worried about such things. Magic didn't work on him. He got the feeling, however, that whatever Deja was scared of, wouldn't be deterred by a pesky little thing like ineffective magic. He had a pit in his stomach that he hadn't felt for a long time, and backed out of the driveway, trying to mentally steel himself for whatever the way ahead was.

Jill distinctly remembered several times when Kyle had told her that she had anger management issues. She'd thought that was hilarious coming from him (which was fully ironic given that Kyle had actually attended therapy for years, which Jill wouldn't know about due to her repeated absences throughout their relationship, and actually knew quite a bit about healthy emotional management and coping mechanisms because it was critical to him not wolfing out and killing everyone around him), and had dismissed the idea altogether that anything she did was unhealthy besides perhaps working too much. Unfortunately, because she was significantly good at channeling her rage into her work, her severely unchecked issues went unnoticed for a very long time to those around her. It wasn't until she was pretty deep into her learned behaviour that anyone even realized what was going on, and it was alarming what they'd learned.

"Thanks, Aaron. Yeah. I'll be in touch," Gareth said, his back to Jillian as he took the call that she knew had been coming. She was curiously still on the couch, wondering how Gareth would choose to proceed. He was no longer on the phone, but kept his back to her for a minute to hide the sheer shock in his face as he attempted to process what he'd just been told. He was trying to put together exactly when Jill had set the bar so high for quiet, psychotic behaviour, and how to even approach this. He turned to her finally, and the way he looked at her was intense.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He wouldn't say that he'd never been rendered speechless before, but it happened so rarely over his incredibly long lifespan that when they did come, they were nothing if not jarring. Even worse - in most situations, the Jill he knew would have probably attempted to speak first, to offer an explanation before he got the wrong idea (which had been known to happen on occasion, but typically with chaotic creatures like Nicholas, NOT Jill). This time, though, she only stared at him, and the expression on her face was at best blank, and at worst, unconcerned.

Gareth knew, right in that moment, that nothing he was going to say would matter. He could feel the impassive way in which she felt. If he looked, he could almost see a hint of satisfaction, but it disturbed him in a way that he had not yet known from Jill. He took a deep breath, folding his arms, and trying to approach this as best he could without going full on. "Jillian," he said. "I trust you understand what that call was about."

"I do," she said, looking at him with her cattish eyes.

"Can you... please... explain what motivated you?" he asked. He wasn't so much as struggling not to lose his shit on her as he was trying to remain objective. He was the monster hunter - he was known for being level-headed - but that didn't preclude his vision from being coloured when it came to considering someone he trusted.

Without missing a beat, Jillian said, "They get away with too much for too long. I saw an opportunity, and I took it." She spoke matter-of-factly, like she was telling him something that he already knew. Of course, to her, he did know. But the truth was somewhere in between, as was typical of a situation where stunted communication occurs - Jillian had been holding on to emotions so tightly after traumas that they manifested themselves as, apparently, psychotic tendencies.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, an expression crossing his face that said he knew where this was going but he didn't want to believe it.

"Chad was attacked, and his whole life was up-ended, and nobody lifted a finger. I can't say I'm surprised, but when I saw a chance to return the favor, I took it," she said, shrugging. She stood, moving to walk past him and into the kitchen. "I don't see what you're so upset about. Nothing happened that she didn't deserve," she said glibly.

Gareth grabbed her by the shoulders, ignoring how started she looked as he did so, and spun her to face him. "Jill, are you fucking crazy? For multiple reasons, there is so much wrong with what you've just said!" he exclaimed. "Do you understand what you could re-ignite all of the bullshit that we just put to bed? And in the middle of a much larger conflict?" He let her go as quickly as he'd grabbed her. None of what he'd done was aggressive, it was more like - worry. "Jill, nobody lifts a finger? That's just a fucking personal attack. I - we, all of us, including Chad, have bent over backwards attempting to help you move past whatever trauma you're still holding on to. And - let me be clear, you can hold on to whatever you want for as long as you want, but to say that nobody was lifting a finger? You being unable to cope doesn't negate everything we have done to try and help you cope."

"She deserved it," she said. She hadn't moved from where he'd spun her, and despite the high tension running through the room at the moment, Jill herself seemed impervious to the outburst. She just stared at him, electing not to respond to anything else he'd said. Unfortunately for her, her unwillingness to see herself as a responsible party to any tragedy she may have caused was only going to take any sympathy Gareth may have had for her away.

He stared at her for a moment, blue eyes fixed on the whole of her. He seldom used his magic to intrude on her, but he was reading her at the moment, and he could see that there was precious little he could say or do right then that was going to do anything except cause a further implosion of their relationship, and if he was honest with himself, which he was, it had already suffered a bit of degradation from the last few moments of the exchange alone.  "Being a martyr is overrated, Jill," he said, and he said it with a finality to his voice that told she had hit a hard limit with what he was willing to accept in terms of blame. He said nothing further, merely stepped around her and walked to the foyer.

"What will you do?" she asked, following him.

"I'm going to go see Chadwick. The person for whom you so valiantly championed while simultaneously having zero regard for," he said, not bothering to turn back. "And now we, as in he and I, will have to figure out how to clean up yet another mess of your doing because you chose to hide things from me." He snatched his keys off the table by the door and slammed it behind him, the sound punctuating the severity of his words.

Jill stood alone in the foyer for a moment, completely still - and then grabbed the first thing she could fit in her hand and threw it as hard as she could, screaming with anger as she did so. She stilled again for another long moment, thinking, and then reached for her phone. But who would she call? It wasn't as though she had gained any favors lately. Gareth may have been wrong about her attempting to martyr herself, and she'd deal with that aspect of it later, but he may not have been wrong about fallout. Much like before, Jill's plan had worked, but in a vacuum. She hadn't considered what the aftermath would be. Gareth obviously saw a pending future that she did not. She denied the fact that she was too consumed by anger to see the outcomes, but she'd accept that she'd made decisions with immediate thought and didn't think about the long game.

"Ben?" she said, speaking into the phone as she hurried up the stairs. She may have been on a manic high before, but she was currently being crushed by possibilities of what the future would bring, and it was not a good feeling. She grabbed a bag and began throwing clothing into it. "Ben, where are you? Nevermind that, leave the auction house right now. I need you to come get me. Where is Rebecca? No, don't call her. Don't tell her anything. Just come get me. I'll explain when I see you."

Sophia stood on the subway platform, clutching her oversized bag tightly with her fist. She hadn't thought any of this through, really, and that was apparent now more than ever to her as she realized the only thing keeping her awake was pure adrenaline. She hadn't had a moment this bad in a while. Glancing to the digital clock on the wall behind her, she tried to force herself to count the minutes until the train would arrive. Where was she going? She hadn't gotten that far, really. She just knew she had to keep moving, but she had no true direction in which she wanted to go. So she'd done this - circled the city endlessly on the main loop, for a few hours now.

It had all started when Nicolette dropped a box in front of her in the archives. She hadn't really told her what it was, just said to make sure nothing happened to it, and went about her business. Nobody really tried to talk to Sophia anymore. They had, at first, but quickly realized the only person she felt comfortable speaking with was Taro, and even then, that was tentative. It depended on nothing anyone could discern from outside appearances, and solely rested on how crowded he made Sophia feel. Lately, it had been very.

She had looked inside the box as soon as Nicolette was gone, because she was traumatized, not stupid, and jerked back like she'd been bitten by what she'd seen inside. Genie lamp. The hand-written notes stuffed into the packing peanuts gave her a brief acquisition history of the lamp - Jinn, undetermined age, probably pre-Ottoman at least, with a short-hand account of the trouble they'd had getting it, and a list of (supposed) hands it had been run through prior to ending up where it had. She stood, circling the table as her mind began to race. Why would they need a jinn? Oh, Sophia knew what one was; she was a kirin, so she was keenly aware of other stupidly powerful creatures that existed. She'd never seen one, nor had anyone else in her family that she knew, but then again, it wasn't like they spoke about their time on the earth outside of what to keep away from, so she couldn't really be certain, could she? Still, why would Diamond need a jinn?

She didn't even realize what she was doing until she'd done it. Honestly, she hadn't planned to abscond into the night with the artifact, but something in her refused to leave without it. She'd called Taro and told him she wanted to go back to her apartment, which she hadn't been to since the attack - and it had been months, but he wouldn't refuse her. He did argue with her, so she'd gladly taken the invitation to fight and accused him of treating her like glass, telling him to leave until she called for him again. That had gone over swimmingly, and she'd been left, suddenly, very alone outside of the door of her apartment, lamp stuffed into her shoulder bag. Taro had no idea.

She couldn't stay, though, which she quickly found out as she had a panic attack as soon as she'd gotten as far as the dining area. There was still the scent of cleaning chemicals in the air from where Taro had gone through the apartment with Ash and tried to get rid of all the blood. They'd replaced the carpet and some of the furniture, hoping it would make the transition easier, but she still couldn't feel safe there, and so she'd been staying with Taro in the meantime. Now, she couldn't go back to his place, and honestly she didn't want to, feeling some anger inside overtaking her fear. She grabbed a few things and stuffed them into the bag, glad to have purchased such a stupidly large purse, and headed back out, not even bothering to lock the door behind her. She didn't plan on coming back.

That, of course, had led her to the present - as she boarded the train that was sure to burn a few hours time, she felt fatigue replacing the fear that had been driving her. She needed time to think, and she felt obligated to stay moving while she did so. She'd expertly discarded her phone, breaking the sim out and dropping it in a trash can outside of her building and then flinging the other portions of it along the way to the subway entrance. She had cash, so she could reasonably get a room for a night or two, but she didn't know precisely where that would be. Everywhere she could think of was connected to someone by only a few degrees. Really, what was it with this fucking place and all the people in it?

Still, she couldn't risk anyone using whatever was inside that lamp for their own purposes. She knew what it was like to be strung up with wire for your abilities, and she couldn't abide it happening to anyone else, regardless of what they were. She'd have lost her mind if she'd known that Midnight had briefly held a unicorn, so it was probably better that nobody had told her. She looked up, scanning the list of stops on the route, and fixed her eyes on one in particular.

"Fuck it," she said aloud to the empty car. "Fuck it, we're going to Coney Island."

 
It was an easy mistake to make, to think that the matriarch of the Quattrone household was just some nobody mombie who was super out-of-touch with the day to day life of her children and husband. It was the common assumption, even among friends, and the reason was because it was exactly what Mike and Andi wanted people to think. Mike was an Arun, Miranda a Vida. They were not known for weak bloodlines, and they were absolutely not known for being dialed out of their own lives. Mike, out front, was the protector of the family - and just about everything else, honestly. Cook, chauffeur, homework-helper, alarm clock, grocery shopper - whatever needed to be done in the name of domesticity, he did it. And he did it with a smile - because he wanted to. All his life, he'd never believed he could have things like a stable house, family, children (three!) and so he happily cared for them as the doting, attentive father and husband. Mike was the face of the family. But he was certainly not the powerhouse of the duo.

He sat, tied to a chair in his living room, reflecting on that fact. He'd taken a few blows from the man that had eventually stuck him to the chair, but it was only because the man was using blood magic, and as an Arun, Mike just didn't fuck with anything in that direction. It was fortunate that the man had said repeatedly that he wasn't trying to hurt anyone, he was just looking for something, and he'd made good on that by putting all three kids on the couch and tying them together across from Mike.

"I just need to know where you put it," he said, pacing back and forth through the room. He was growing increasingly more and more erratic, like he knew he had only a certain amount of time with which to accomplish his task, and time was not on his side.

"Put what!" River yelled, trying his best to shield his sisters as he shifted around beneath the ropes, putting himself at the forefront of the triangle they'd formed. Behind him, Stormy maneuvered to put Dreama at her back, stacking behind River in the event her brother decided to try and make a break for it.

The man turned, movements jerking and strange, and got right in River's face. At that, Mike jerked forward in the chair, yelling loudly for him to get away from the kids.

"THE LAMP!" he yelled back, hands flying to his face for emphasis. He jumped back, spinning on his heel and got in Mike's face next, ignoring the man as he screamed.

"Tell your kids they're BAD LIARS!" he shouted. He was going from zero to a hundred and back so quickly that Mike thought he might genuinely be mentally ill - or he was going through some sort of magical ordeal. He didn't know which, but he knew that blood magic made you fucking crazy, and this looked to be no exception. "Just - just tell them to tell me what I want to know, mate, and I'll go away," he said, hands still moving as he spoke.

A noise from the kitchen made everyone look up, and the man's eyes grew so wide the whites were noticeably visible. "I thought you said that there was nobody else in the house," he hissed. "I told you I don't want to hurt anyone - but that doesn't mean I won't."

"Mike?" Andi's voice came from the kitchen. She sounded drunk. "Baby, I lost my key again! Sorry, I think I broke the fence getting into the backyard. Girls night was great, though! Are you still up? Honey it's late, you didn't have to wait up..." her voice got closer as she could be heard stumbling through the kitchen and down the hall. She rounded the corner to the living room, green eyes going wide with shock. "Who the fuck are you?" she slurred, looking at the man, clearly confused.

"Look man, she's drunk, she's probably not even going to remember this tomorrow, just tell her to go back into the kitchen, I'm sure we can figure this out between us," Mike said quickly, turning his head to look at Andi. She looked at him for a moment, still wobbling, but then began to wind her hair up into a bun, and he glanced back at the man. "We don't have whatever it is you're looking for."

"Come here and sit down," he said, ignoring Mike, and missing the shift in his voice. He also missed that the blonde, whose hair was now up in a taught bun, had one of her high heels in her hand, and wasn't wobbling anymore. He reached out for Andi, who swayed back from him.

"No!" she said, holding the hand without the shoe up. "What're - what're you doing in my house?" she asked. She stumbled forward, still appearing drunk, and as the man put his hands up reflexively to stop her from hitting the ground, the act was dropped. He took the heel from the shoe directly in the face, and the kids winced as the sharp heel buried itself into the soft flesh of his cheek. He screamed, but he was too surprised to use magic in response to such a violent first attack.

Miranda, though - she could do both. She drove her elbow down as soon as he doubled over, contacting hard with his spine, and giving the added spike of her harsh magic with it, dropped him to the ground. She reached down with one hand and grabbed him by the collar, yanking hard enough to hit him in the windpipe with his shirt. It served the purpose of knocking the wind out of him and also strangled him enough that he was still off his guard, and she dragged him that way, roughly, across the carpet the few steps it took to get to her husband. She pulled the small fillet knife she'd stuffed in the hem of her stocking while she'd been in the kitchen, ignoring the massive run she'd given herself, and cut nimbly at the rope around the chair until he could get up, all the while her other hand still firmly on the man.

"Get the kids, and then call Papa," she instructed.

"NO!" the man yelled, suddenly able to breathe enough to both speak and struggle. He kicked violently at the ground, but found it was useless as the woman continued to drag him through the house, and out the front door into the lawn. He yelped as he felt himself go down the concrete front steps, and then was sent rolling as the hold on his neck broke in favor of a sharp kick to the ribs. He landed on top of a sprinkler head that sprang to life, drenching him as it did so. "Don't call him, I'll do whatever you want!" he protested, holding his hands up at the menacing approaching figure.

"I'm sorry, maybe I missed the part where you tied my family down in the living room and terrorized them?" she shouted. Lights in the neighborhood flicked on, and gradually, a front door or two opened.

"Hey, Andi... is everything good?" a male voice called from across the street. From his porch, Nick could see Miranda in evening wear, with no shoes, standing with her foot planed on someone's neck in the yard, yelling and getting soaked by the evening sprinkler cycle. It was... different, but not the most unusual thing he'd ever seen.

"Oh, we're great Nick, thanks for asking! Yeah, I got it under control, just go back inside!" she said, laughing and giving a wave. She turned back to the man on the lawn, then applied pressure to his neck with her heel. "My husband is calling your boss right now," she advised him. "Give me one good reason why you shouldn't be here when he gets here."

"Hey, Miranda, Bob wanted to know if you were okay!" came a female voice from the dark. She looked up at Nica, who stood at the edge of the property, still dressed from their night out and smelling heavily of gin. "Or - do you have this?" she asked, a cursory glance at the beaten man on the lawn suggesting her friend might've had control.

"Yeah, I got it," she said, waving her off. "Thanks, though. Love you!"

The rate at which her face changed when her smile instantly vanished back into the smoldering rage told Hamish that she hadn't forgotten what she'd asked him, and the sudden wallop he got when she decided to hit him to prompt him caused him to wince. At the moment, he couldn't figure out who he was more scared of - Papa, Ethan, or her.

"Your kids - they have a magic lamp. Or bottle. Or something," he said quickly, trying to dodge the next well-aimed slap she had for him. "Hey! I'm telling the truth!" he grunted. "Look, I had it, I lost it, they picked it up and they wouldn't give it back. It's got a jinn in it, like a real one, and I was supposed to be lining up a buyer for it. Aristide doesn't know, and has nothing to do with this. Your kids have it, and it's basically like a magical bomb, so I feel like - "

"Shut up," she commanded, but she took her foot off his neck. "I know what a djinn is." She was silent for a second as she stared at him, seeming to weigh her own options. "Alright," she said. "Get up, right now, and go. I'm going to tell Aristide you ran when he gets here, and however you meet with him again is between you and him. But if you ever come near my family again, gypsy? I will fucking burn you alive. Do you understand me?"

Something on her face said that she was dead serious, and Hamish nodded as he scrambled to his feet. "How do you know? Who the fuck are you people?" he asked, backing away from her.

"Us? We're nobody," she snapped. "Just a nice normal family on a nice normal street. Now get the fuck away from me."

Hamish obliged.

Andi went back inside, aware that Mike was in the process of comforting her children, and wasn't having any of it. "You two, right now, get your asses upstairs and bring me that fucking lamp." She pointed at them, snapping, then jerked her hand to the stairs. Mike opened his mouth to protest, but something on her face told him not to, and so he picked up his youngest while the two teens ran up the stairs, practically climbing over one another, to get the aforementioned lamp.

Once back downstairs, they handed it to their mother, who was radiating with anger.

"What are you going to do with it?" Stormy asked, willing herself not to cry.

"Getting the fuck rid of it," Andi said bluntly. She walked straight out the front door and flung it into the recycling bin that had been set out for the next day. "And you two are going to sit here until that gets picked up and make sure it's gone."

"Mom, we have school tomorrow!" River protested.

"Do what she says, River," Mike said, finally cutting in. The way he spoke was definitive that nothing else would be heard on the matter, and he nodded to Miranda. "I'm gonna take her up to bed," he said. He leaned in for a kiss, surprised when his wife held her arms out.

"I'll take her," she said, uncharacteristically maternal. "You go relax. I got it," she added.

"Yeah," he said, smiling a little. "I guess you do."