The Wardens of Avalon

Introduction

Bailey York

Have you ever entered and room and had the thought, “something feels wrong.” or hit by the sensation best described as a large clawed mammal on your chest? Have you ever met someone and been hit by a subtle sweet oily scent? It's kinda somewhere between fudge and olive oil.

I'm sorry to have to tell you this, dear reader, but if you can closely identify with the above paragraph, you are likely a Warden. By nature anyway. It's not a totally bad thing, but the sense has a way of making things considerably more complicated. Don't worry about it too much. In all likelihood, this knowledge will not change anything. You can put your book down and go on with it like as you always have.

For we unfortunate few, those born into Families in-the-know, life is slightly less kind. “The Citadel must be manned” Grandpa used to say in his old man's baritone. “Who keeps the world safe from the dangers of wild Magic? We do! We Yorks, Adanks, Shultz'es, Apastolos...”

It would be around that time when someone would tell grandpa that, not only would listing all the major Warden families be unnecessary, it would likely lead past nap time.

I like the way one of my uncles said it.

“There are things out in the world more destructive then you could hope to ever comprehend. We're here to kick um in the nuts.”

Of course there are some draw backs. But I better not get ahead of myself.

Chapter 1

Linda Yeoman

“Linda, have you looked over those old recipes I assigned you?” Master Plantagenet called out from a few isles down in the library of the Lower North Tower. His deep cherry oak voice reverberated off the old walls and book cases.

“I'm sorry. Not yet, Master Plantagenet.” I shouted back, startled. I looked around briefly, located the folder he gave me a few hours before and placed them over the book I had been reading.

“Why not?” He called out, his voice echoing as I heard his approach. His hard souled boots thumping closer and closer. “Normally, you would have had them read, and tested with examples on my desk.” His boots shuffled for a moment then paused. I tried to stifle a snicker but it squeaked out. “Blast it, girl. Linda, where are you?”

“Level 3, Ally Four, Isle X.” I shouted back down to him.

“Ah!” He said in understanding. His boots made their way closer and with direction. “Now back to my original question. Why you are not your normally prompt self.”

“I got a little side tracked.” I admitted, feeling a blush cross my face even though no one was around to see it. “I found a book while looking some of the ingredients up.” I could hear him bellow as he stopped at a point below me. A deep breath for preparation. Then I heard him make his way up the ladder, causing the sound of boots to be replaced by clattering of steel rings on wooden rungs and the creaking of old boards bending against weight.

“Understandable.” Master Plantagenet said between breaths. “Happened to even the most focused of us. Including myself.”

I credit the health of many of the senior staff in Sanctuary to the existence of the ladders in the library. Being short cuts through the library in places that were a ways from the stairs, they provide good cardio for men who sit around and read for the majority of their lives. Master Plantagenet must be over ninety but acts like a man in his forties. I'm sure there is some magic involved in his youthful behavior, but you shouldn't dismiss the benefit of a healthy life style.

“I examined some of them,” I said skimming over the illustrations that were still visible on the book as I talked. “Samples of number three are on my desk.”

“I saw. I...” Magester Plantagenet huffed as he came to my level. He rolled onto the floor and made attempts to catch his breath. “I need to make some levitation spells. These ladders will kill me one day.

“I'm glad you came.” I said to him as he sat up. I rotated the book to him to look as I removed the folder. “There are some symbol and terms in this that I don't think I've seen before. Maybe you have.” I lifted the tome to him as he came to his feet and he took it from me. He dropping his spectacles lightly on his nose and took a few deep breaths as he read. He caught his breath soon. He took a deep breath in, sharp and concerned as he took off his glasses.

He muttered something about wishing “someone had cleaned the library when we took it”. Then he spoke with deep clarity. “Linda, where did you find this?” He asked in a tone of deep disappointment and concern. He looked me half in the eye, then at the ground.

“Just back there.” I said, pointing to the dark row behind him.

“What would bring you to look in a dark row?” He tapped his glasses on the table.

“I thought it was dark because no one had changed the bulb.” I said looking down to row. “I suppose I should have checked for lamps.”

“Linda Yeoman.” Master Plantagenet said my name, first and last. I felt the pang of Will he exerted. It wasn't much, not enough to do anything, but it was enough to make a point. As my Master, my teacher in the Arcane Mysteries, he knew my Name, my whole name. I would not make him use it.

“The book spirits lead me.” I said hesitantly. He rubbed his old eyes with one hand and scratched his balding head with the other.

“Linda, when have the “book spirits” lead you to anything you wanted to know? Anywhere good?” Master Plantagenet took a seat across from me.

“They led me to the grimoire of Nathan that one time.” I chimed. He shook his head. “And they showed me where to find the Chronicles of the Archmage of Chicago.”

“Besides those two isolated,” I tried to interrupt but Plantagenet kept going, “albeit remarkable finds, what else have they lead you to.” He adjusted his robe and shuffled in his seat, “by my remembrance, the brought you to the Sorcerers Hand book, a book of Necromancy, A bonafide copy of the NECRONOMICON and a tome titled “My Notes That Should Not Ever Be Read Out Loud.”

“By Horus Ahmadabad.” I added meekly.

“Yes.” Mg. Plantagenet sighed. “Now, I am not admitting to wholly believing in your 'book spirits'. A girl brought to Sanctuary so young is not uncommon to develop imaginary friends. But, let's run through what they could be, should they exist.” He paused. I waited. “Spirits of knowledge comes to mind.”

“Oh.” I said, “I had thought about that. Fits well enough.”

“Don't care what the book contains, just that it Knowledge.” he held up the book and slowly closed it, losing the place where I had got to. “Some knowledge is best forgotten.”

“Will you at least tell me what they mean?” I asked

“No.” he said like a brick to the face

“Will you tell me...?”

“No” he said louder

“Just so...”

“No!” He shouted, leading to an echo of “NO No No no no.” hanging in the air.

“So I can avoid it next time.” I pushed through with barely intelligible speech.

He paused and looked at me intensely. He clenched his jaw so hard it popped and then he looked away. He had a deep look of uncertainty on his face as he said two words.

“Fae Magic.” He tapped the book as it sat on the table. I felt cold suddenly. He looked down, jaw still rather clenched and then up at me. “When I agreed to take you as my acolyte, I asked you to promise me three things. Do you remember them?”

“When you ask me to do something, do it as far as I can by myself before asking for help.

“Yes, and...” he held my hand.

“When you give me exact instruction, follow them to the letter. No short cuts.”

“And lastly.

“To trust you have my best interest at heart when you say something is too dangerous and to leave something alone when asked.”

“Linda.” He said to me dead in the eye, with a look that reminded me of the few memories I have of my father. He squeezed my hand. “Fae Magic is dangerous, and you need to leave it alone.” He rubbed my hand, his dark and ashy skin over my pale pink. “Every Magic user has the itch and looks into Fae magic at some point. Promise me this is the only time you look into the subject.”

“It was an accident.” I said, feeling a little hurt in his lack of trust.

“You will want to again.” He said, “I promise you that. You'll want to know more.” He paused. “Linda, Promise me.”

“I promise.” I said, punctuating with a nod. “This will be it for me.”

“Thank you.” He said with a smile. “You're a good young woman. One who went into Healing and Spirit Magic over Flashy stuff like the elements or combat?” He leaned back, “I went further than this before I stopped looking into Fey magic. As someone with the same expertise, I can tell you there is nothing for you down that path.” With a smile, he stood up and walked away with the book under his arm.

“Where are you going?” I asked him as I tilted my head.

“Somewhere that I can put this thing where an inexperienced Acolyte can't stumble on it.” He turned to face me, “That's a generalized statement, not just you.” Then he resumed his direction.

“I meant, you're going the wrong way to get down.” I pointed to the ladder a few feet away from me. He lifted the book, with was almost three inches thick and large in the rest of the measurements as well.

“If you think I can climb down a ladder with this thing in my hand, you underestimate the effect of age.” He laughed, “I'm taking the stairs.”

Bailey York

It’s always good to be home.

It had been a while since I had been in my apartment. It's almost remarkable how often “Just a few days” leads to me running around a foreign region on assignment. This time “Just a few days in the villages around Madurai” became seven weeks running all over the Tamil Nandu region in India looking for a slippery sorcerer named Tamal and his apprentice Glen. I feel the need to note that Glen was also very much of Indian decent. I suppose his parents wanted to name him something “exotic”. Let’s you know these things go both ways.

I shambled through my apartment in the Citadel. The light from the window, which was reflected off the once white stonework of Sanctuary, was too much for my burning exhausted eyes. Half blind, I stumbled to my bed and fell sideways into it, my mouth letting out a sound that was half “Ah!” and half “Ugh”.

As my body unclenched, a sound of pattering and scrapping quickly approached me. The sharp sound of a grateful sigh rushed out from in front of me. The warmth of hot breath rushed over my face. It did not smell minty, instead smelled of stale dry biscuits.

I lifted my hand as I cracked my tired eyes open slowly. I smiled as I saw a weepy pair of happy big gray eyes.

“Howdy, Reginald.” I laughed weakly as I scratched the furry head of the BBD whose head rested on the mattress just inches in front of me.

The shelter used the term “BBD” on paperwork when I got him. They said with a scoff that it meant “Basic brown dog”. I like to think it means “Basically breed-less Dog.” Either way it means “Mutt so thoroughly mixed, to tell what he is will require blood work”. The later just works far better for Reginald. For one, he's not really brown. He's more of a marbling of wiry brown, black, red, and white hair sprinkled evenly through the coat to make a greyish auburn. Second, He had whiskers, like a schnauzer, and the head and neck like a bully breed. The rest of him was Heinz 57.

He looked at me.

“I know. I said I'd be back in a few days.” I said to him, laying on my left away from the light of the window.

“You should know by now what “a few days” means on a report.” I told him

He placed his paw on the bed.

I turned my body to lay on my back and patted the area next to me. Reginald hopped up and lied next to me, resting his head, wiry mustache and all, on my chest. I limply rested my arm over his shoulders. He sniffed me for a bit and then sneezed in my mouth.

“Missed you to, buddy.”

It's amazing what fifteen minutes does when you just crash. I felt much better, though far from completely refreshed, when the knock rapped on my door. The knock was rude thumping of “Shave and a Haircut, two bits.” I knew that knock very well.

“Come in, must you.” I groaned as I sat up, displacing Reginald's pillow.

As the person turned the latch, Reginald shot a 'this better be good' look at the door. Harrison turned into the door and saw me.

“Good to see you back.” He smiled a big chinned smile. He turned to see Reginald look. “Hey, don't give me that. Who's been feeding you for the last two months?”

Reginald sat straight and panted happily.

“Better,” he said then turning to me as he closed to door behind himself. “So, how was India?”

“Ugh!” I shouted to the heavens.

“That good, huh?” he responded glibly.

“Yeah. Pretty much.” I said laying back again with my eyes open, “It wasn't too much hotter than home in Texas. The food was good and spicy. The people were nice enough as long as they weren't trying to sell you something. In all, not to bad and I accomplished the mission. Glad to be home, though.”

“Good.” he said taking a chair that I had folded behind the door. He sniffed the air. “What is that smell?”

“From what I can guess given the fact I haven showered yet. I will say you’re getting a whiff of the distinct scent of “India”.” I said sniffing myself. I didn't smell anything, but I was sure after seven weeks I had gone nose blind to it. “As to its ingredients, my thoughts are a mix of salt, cane sap, curry and burning flesh from the crematoriums.”

“And how precisely did this scent get on you?” Harrison laughed.

“It's in the air man.” I stated in a tired tone, speaking with my hands. “After the first week I stopped noticing it."

“Its stuff like that that makes me glad I went with Blades instead of Inquisitors” Harrison said.

“And your mountains of paperwork make my choice to go Inquisition so much sweeter.” I answered.

“To each his own.” Harrison said. Shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“How'd Reginald do?” I asked closing my eyes.

Reginald panted.

“Reggie did great.” Harrison said stretching out in the chair. “I can certify he's a chick magnet.”

“Not that I need that.” I said calmly. “And his name is Reginald, Not Reggie.”

“Such as I spend more time taking care of the Dog then you, I'll call him what I damn well please, thank you” Harrison said forcefully. “He's more my dog than yours at the moment.”

“Well.” I said looking at Reginald, who seemed to be aware he was the subject on conversation. I scratched his chin. “I think he's old enough to start doing what I got him for.” I looked to Harrison, “I would have taken him on this last mission but Capt. Schultz said that Indians don't do dogs. I asked Watchman Raj and his constant glare at Reginald through the whole of our conversation was answer enough.”

“Talking about Missions.” Harrison sighed as he leaned over and pulled a large yellow envelope out of his bag. “Dad told me to give you this.”

“Really?” I groaned and took the envelope. “Man, I just got home.” I looked to Harrison. “None of that was directed at you.” He lifted his hand.

“I know,” He said softly and dismissing it with a gesture.

I pulled the papers and silently glazed over them. Harrison got up to leave. Reginald walked to the door.

Reginald glared at Harrison. Harrison smirked and scratched the Dogs head.

“Harry.” I called out, “Thanks for taking care of Reginald for me.”

“No problem.” He said, “I already took six of Travis’s home-brews as payment.”

“Fair enough.” I said flipping a page.

“Rachel is doing well too.” He said before walking out the door. He didn't close it. I would be out shortly.

“Shit.” I said as my head shot up. With considerable speed, I took long strides to the night stand and grabbed the leash.

Reginald spun around.

I didn't connect it, Reginald would behave, but the rules required one at hand. “Come on, Reginald.” I said on the way out. The hound hopped happily to my side. “We've got to go see, Mommy.”

Chapter 2

Linda Yeoman

I stood in the court yard of Sanctuary. It was on the north edge, at the place you see how abruptly the Ground of Avalon ended and, if you were brave, the distance down. There was a fence to keep people from accidentally getting that close

I sat down in what many called the Yard of Circles. It was exactly what it sounds like. A large slab of cement with Circles carved out and bronze rings set in them. There were thirteen of them. Not far away was a similar sized slab with small holes drilled in the ground so you could make your own circle.

I didn't feel like going through the hassle just now. I probably needed more practice with drawing my own circles but I have no plans of doing any summoning in the field.

I took out a few iron rods. Pure iron, cold rolled and hammer stamped for the runes. When you deal with spirits, you try to have as much cold iron equipment as possible. Then I pulled out a wooden rod. Some would call it a wand, but that word sounds silly to me. Some rods are made of magic conducting metals. I've heard people say they can handle a lot more power through them then the wood ones and with less resistance. The problem with doing that is that the metals are silver or gold. Also, only a woman can use a silver wand and only a man can use a gold one. You can imagine a solid silver, pure silver mind you, no sterling allowed, rod can set you back quite a penny. Even more so on an acolytes allowance like mine.

So I took my inexpensive and perfectly workable wild pine stick and placed it in the circle. I set the iron rods close at hand but away from the circle. I began to focus. I tried to concentrate on the circle. I closed my eyes and focused. Then I felt a wash of power in the circle, like the ripping of a water balloon.

“You constipated lady?” asked a high pitched gravelly voice.

“Your name?” I asked. I opened my eyes to see a small being in the circle.

“You couldn't pronounce it.” he said.

“I'm fairly good at these things.” I said smirking at him.

“Good for you.” He said smiling back from under a nose that I feel it would be no overstatement to say was more than half his face. “Quarkenlebo.” He said.

“Well, good to meet you Mr. Quarkenlebo.” I said, “I suppose you know the drill.”

“Better than you, I'd think.” Quarkenlebo said leaning back and stick his thumbs through his suspenders, “Been trading with student and acolytes in this Sanctuary since before you people took it over.” He looked around with his four fingered hands on his hips. “Good to see the old haunt still standing.”

“Good enough to charge the stick for me?” I asked.

“Hehe.” He chuckled, “Not so much. What ya got for me?”

I smirked and brought out a box. He looked the rod over.

“I've got some bread.”

“Blech.” he spit, “You people forgot how to make real bread. Bread that don't need no butter, you know.” He pinched his fingers. “Student used to trade me fresh rolls. Still steaming fresh.” He sniffed the stick and smiled. “Wild wood. Good for ya girl. A couple weeks ago an acolyte asked me to charge one of those perfectly round stick. Dowels you call them I think. Had no life to it. They milled it all out.”

“So you refused?” I asked.

“You kidding? He had a bratwurst bigger then me to trade.” He laughed, “I charged it, and it will work fine. Still, your stick will work better. It's still got that spark of nature to it.” He sniffed it again holding it under his huge nose. “Even got fat wood on the back end here. Yeah, treat this twig well and it will get you far girl.”

“So my wonder breads no good for you.” I nodded, “okay, I got some cheese.”

“Honest cheese?” He asked, “Or that yellow falsehood in the plastic singles?”

“Well,” I said pulling out a single, “It's supposed to be cheddar, but it is in the plastic packing.”

“Let me see it here.” He said reaching out a hand. He was trying to hide it, but I saw how eager he was.

“Do we have a deal?” I asked, holding the cheese back.

“I have to test it first.” He said, “Need to know it's the genuine article before I make a deal.”

“I'll hand you a corner.” I said, “If you like it, you will charge the wand and then I will give you the rest of the slice.” I said smirking. “And, if you're good.” I pulled out a second slice, this time a circle of Provolone. Take note that if scaled to him, each slice would be like an average human with a five pound block.

“Ya got my number, girl.” Quarkenlebo said, “Half up front, then the rest after.”

“After you have charged the rod to capacity and my approval.” I said, “I got a wand with bubbles once. You know what that can do to even a simple spell”

“No bubbles.” He smiled, “Grumpkin's word.” I nodded and put the corner of cheese on a wooden spoon and passed it through the field. He took it and chewed. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. “I wish I knew what magic it was that you humans us to make this substance.” He gulped it down.

“I see you like it.” I said, “Then fill your end of the deal.”

“Patience girl.” he said, “I'm getting there.” He scoffed and he sat down and took the rod into his hands. He sat down with his legs crossed and closed his eyes. Before my eyes, the grains in the wood began to glow and shift. The darker grains grew bright and overtake the lighter.

“Done.” He said, standing. He rapped the wide end on the ground a few times, causing sparks and burps of color to shoot out the narrow side. “And no bubbles.” Politely, he handed the rod through the field. I took it and felt it though. I sent a small channel through it, aiming at a pimple on my forehead. It worked flawlessly.

“How do I look?” I asked. He blinked at me.

“Please tell me you didn't interrupt my day because you needed to remove a zit.” He stared at me blankly. It didn't answer. He groaned “You looked fine, for a human.” He answered, “Though I think you looked better with the zit. I’ll never understand you humans’ beauty standards.” He tapped his foot and grumbled. “My cheese.”

I picked the two singles up and placed them on the spoon. He took them, folded them a few times and tucked them under his arm.

“If you're done with me here, I have a life to get back too.” He looked at the cheese, “I think I know whose going to host poker night in the warren this week.” He smiled proudly.

I said some distant words and he popped out. I started to pack things up when I saw some boots in front of me.

“What was that about?” Asked a tall man with a shadow of a beard already growing.

“I needed to have my rod charged, Warden.” I said carefully, stuffing my things haphazard into my bag. He kicked the bag away, causing things less seated to fall out. Another man came and looked through it.

“Why couldn't you do that yourself?” He asked. “Seems to me to be far less work then to summon a creature.”

“I'm not very good at Internal Magic yet.” I said, keeping my eyes low and on his boots as I stood “I've been practicing but my specialty is in...”

“Speak up!” he shouted. I reeled back.

“I do Healing and Spirits!” I squealed. I braced to be hit. When neither of them did. “I lack the aptitude to charge the rod under my own power without significantly weakening myself, so I have an Elf or a Grumpkin do it. I trade bread or cheese, sometimes a slice of sausage, for the service.”

Then he hit me. A back handed slap. Compared to some, it wasn't that hard. I would never say that out loud.

“You better learn then.” He said.

“Yes, Warden.” I said, willing myself not to put my hand to the slowly warming part of my face. The other one came and thrust the bag into my chest. I took it.

“Thank you, Warden.” I said, glad that he gave me my bag back.

“She only has a few wands and a small note book.” The other one said, his shoes were a little less clean, but a little bigger. Wider. “Most of it seemed to be on the signatures and shapes of internal organs.”

“Seems fishy.” The first one said.

“I have to.” I paused I could feel them turn to me, but they hadn't stopped me. “I have to have them so that I can fix things right. Can't expect a heart tissue to be like a skin cell or the inside of liver to be like the lung. They do different things. So you have to know how to fix them.” My voice began to drift off, “So they keep doing what their supposed too.”

“Watcher Alan! Watcher Franklin!” Shouted a distant voice. A powerful voice. “What's going on here?”

“Nothing, Sargent.” They said, boots turning and clicking together. They jittered for a moment, saluting. I smiled and made a little prayer of thanks.

“Well I'd hope you be doing something.” He said loudly. He didn't so much shout as speak at a volume you could hear in Russia. “You have an acolyte here near tears and you're going through her things.”

“She was consorting with a goblin, Sargent.”

“Girl?” He said, a pair of black leather boots with white laces coming into view, “What was going on?” I don't know why, it just poured out.

“I needed to have my wand charged, and I haven't got much experience in Internal Magic yet, so I can't do it myself so I summoned a minor fairy, something little so if I did something wrong it couldn't do much damage and I traded some cheese slices from the buffet for it to charge it.” Adding. “No Bubbles.” I shook. “I'm sorry, I just wanted to get rid of a pimple. Maybe have some left to heal a few sprains and broken bones in the clinic for some spending money.”

“She has diagrams.” Said the second warden.

“Anatomy stuff.” The first said.

“Do you see her sleeves?” The officer asked, he reached down and grabbed my sleeve, I filched a little, “A Green thread, which means that she knows how to handle spirits safely. No black threads which means she hasn't been caught doing anything of major concern. And lastly,” He picked my arm up beyond the view of my down cast eyes, “A blue cord, which I will remind you because you have clearly forgotten everything, means she has a healing focus.” Even staring at their shoes, I could hear the slaps to the back of their head. “Don't beat up the healing Magicians. Numbskulls like you need them.”

“Yes, Staff Sargent.” The first two said in unison.

“Get out of my sight.” Ordered the Sargent.

“Yes, Staff Sargent.” They answered as they moved away. I heard their boots stomp away and I risked to look up a little to watch them go. The Sargent feet turned to watch them leave as well. Then he turned back and I lowered my face back to its previous level.

“Thank you, Sargent.” I said, thinking it might be better to use the term the others were using the generalized “Warden”.

“It's alright.” he said. “I'd report them if I thought it would reach anyone up the chain who cared.” He paused “You may look up.” He said.

Slowly, I lifted my eyes. I couldn't bring myself to fully lift my head, but I could get it high enough to bring his face into view. He was tall, like all Wardens. He had a short haircut of light brown hair. I thought I might have seen him around. In a sea of black hair on towering figures, the one whose hair is near blonde sort of sticks out.

“Did you really talk with a Goblin?” He asked calmly. I shook my head 'no'. “Then what was it you brought up.”

“Grumpkin, Sargent. Small, mischievous but not really destructive. The rings would obliterate it if it tried to break through. They are Seelie. Mostly benign.”

“Something going on here, Steven?” asked a female voice. I turned to see the robes of a full Member of the Faculty Mistress. Her sleeves were covered in cords from Red for pyromaniac, Brown for Geomancy, Green for Summoning, Blue for healing and Yellow for Wind control. She also had a White stripe for mastery of internal Magic. Her tone with him was oddly familiar.

“Hannah.” He said with a nod. “Some of the others were giving her trouble. She summoned a Grumpkin which they thought was a goblin.”

“Did you do your bindings correct?” she asked me. I turned to her. Her hair was vibrant red and full of curls. She was tall as well, nearly 5'10.

“I did them right. Not that the spirit tried anything.” I answered. I turned to face the warden and repeat 'I was safe' but was caught by how much his jaw line seemed to match hers. Also, I noted how in the light, his hair seemed to have a tinge of red.

“Alright.” Hannah said. “I believe you. But you probably should start taking internal magic classes before it gets you in trouble. The rings here only allow approved spirits through. You won't be able to trust the ones you summon in the field.”

“I know.” I said, “I just kind of over specialized.”

“I understand.” She laughed. She turned to the Sargent. “Are you done here, Steven?”

“No.” He said pulling an envelope from his back pocket, “She has a summons to Professor Buchanan’s office.” He handed it to me, muttering. “I'm a Sargent now, he needs to stop making me his errand boy.” Hannah took the note. She looked at me and I nodded for her to read it.

“That's in the middle of the Citadel. Are you walking her there?” Hannah asked.

“No.” The Sargent answered, “Because I'm a freaking Sargent now. I have responsibilities. She's a big girl and she will have a summons.”

“It's the middle of the Citadel, Steven. Look at here.” Hannah said. Only then did I realize I had been shivering. “Steven.”

“No, Hannah. I. Have. Things. To. Do.” He emphasized. “And before you try. No use of a childhood nickname will get me any further on this.”

“Steveo?” She tilted.

And that's the story of how I got escorted by a Watchmen Sargent to the gates of the citadel.

Bailey York

As I went through the tight halls and stairs of the Citadel, I got my phone from the clip on my belt. I held it there for a moment and sighed before I dialed the number and snapped it to my ear.

“Hello?” Panted the world's loveliest voice.

“Hey, Honey.” I said smiling nervously to myself.

“That's not a good sign.” She commented with confidence, “You only “Hey, Honey” me when you know you're imposing.”

“I just got in, do you have time to meet up?” I asked.

“Um.” she thought while panting. “Yeah, I guess.” she paused to catch her breath. “You caught me in the middle of training.”

“Your work out?” I asked with a laughed, “or is there a poor newbie who I should keep in a prayers?”

“Mine.” She laughed. Actually, it was more of a single happy toned scoff that she made when she found something mildly funny. For ease, let's just call it a laugh from now on. Her tone changed. “You sound rushed, what's the...” the line went quiet. “Those bastards.” She said in a high tone of disbelief.

“I'm going to try to get out of it.” I stated, hoping it would at least take some of the sting out. “But I looked the mission briefing over. Even on a skim, I don't know who they could pass this one on to.” I reached the floor I was aiming for and leaned against a nearby wall. I pulled the briefing papers out from there envelope. “The trail's really cold.”

“How cold?” She asked, more than a trace of agitation in her voice.

“Four years.” I said rubbing my forehead, “They lost the Questing Beast.” I added.

“Okay.” She sighed with a disappointed but accepting tone, “One question though. What's 'The Questing Beast'?”

I laughed. “I hadn't heard of it before either.” I pulled a few pictures from the envelope, “Says it's a snakes head on a leopards body and the legs of a deer.” I dropped the arm with the pictures to my side and sighed, “If it didn't have a symbol of the Beast masters, I'd think someone miss ID’ed a Giraffe.” I paused and looked at my watch. “I want to see you before I have a meeting with Professor Buchanan about this. In case I can't talk him into someone else.” I pause for half a second. “And knowing Harrison Sr., he'd pick you if I did.”

“Why the rush?” Rachel suggested, “Go to the office tomorrow and say you didn't read your mail until the morning.”

“Can't. Harrison handed it to me in person. Professor knows I am aware of it.”

“Bailey I-won't-tell-you-my-middle-name-for-security-reasons York, I haven’t seen you in nearly two months.” Rachel's tone got postured.

“Nor I you. Hence the rush for some face time.” I stood up. “Meet up at Gwain’s?” I asked.

“Sure.” She sighed, frustrated. “I'll be there in ten, after I cleanup.”

“We both know that's going to take half an hour.” I wined. I'll admit it. “Can't you just come down in sweat pants?”

“Desperation? Real attractive, Bailey.” She harped, “T-shirt, jeans and heavy perfume. That is the grossest I'll leave my apartment.”

“Deal.” I said, as if we have been haggling. I was hoping she was smiling through the phone.

“See you in ten,” she giggled, not a sound she made often.

“I'll believe it when I see it.” I joshed and ended the call. I stood for a moment, smiling at the phone.

Chapter 3

Linda Yeoman

I held the piece of paper in my hands. The summons to see a “Professor Buchanan of Dragonology” in the Citadel. Holding it tight to my chest, I crossed into the area of the citadel that the office was said to be.

‘Keep your eyes low.’ I kept telling myself. ‘Don't make eye contact.’

A few tall, dark haired men walked by. I only noticed the hair because of their reflections off of the polished floor. I could feel them looking at me, judging me for daring to enter their Citadel. I didn't mind. They left me alone.

“Can I help you, Acolyte?” asked a warden. He wore a long black coat that went down just past his knees. It had a brass magnifying glass pin on the breast pocket.

Inquisitor.

“I...” I struggled through my words. “I'm supposed to be here.” I said, shooting my hand and the paper in it out to him. Lightly, though his fingers snapped on the paper, he took the page. He looked it over. As he did, I got up the courage to look up. His hair was bright. A rosier blond then the stereotypical black mantled warden. His eyes looked heavy and tired and his shoulders slouched. When the wind shifted to pass by him, a strange spicy musk came from his direction.

“So. Linda.” He said, handing me the paper back. I snapped my face back to the ground, took the paper from him and closed my robes around myself. “You're going to see, Professor Buchanan.” He paused. “First time in the Citadel?” He asked.

“No,” I shook my head. I bit my lip and tried not to shake.

“That's okay.” He said softly. “But you need to go back.”

“Am I not supposed to be here?” I asked as my breath picked up the pace.

“Whoa! Whoa.” He said. “Calm down, Linda.” He never touched me, and kept his hands where I could see them. “No, you’re fine. You walked past the stairs.” He pointed behind me. My eyes followed to see a spiral staircase that I had missed. I took some deep breaths accidentally swallowing too much air.

“Up the stairs, down the hall to the left and the room will be on your right. Just looked for the number on the paper.” He said with a smile. “Got it?”

I nodded my head.

“Good.” he said standing straight, “Now, I need you to remember something.”

“What?” I asked, involuntarily tensing up again.

“Not all of us are the Gestapo.” I looked at him in bewilderment. “Professor Buchanan is nice.”

I nodded again.

“And tell him...” He paused, “You know what? Never mind, don't worry about it.” He smiled. “Follow the yellow brick road and have a good day.” He pointed to the stairs and turned. As I went on my way, I heard him call out a name, followed by a skittering on the floor.

I went up the stairs as he recommended and got to the eighth floor. I was passed by a few wardens on my way. I could feel their scowls digging into the back of my down cast head. One bumped me as he passed. I almost fell. I tried to think it wasn't intentional.

Soon I found Professor Buchanan's office. It was a dinky little spot. A six foot by ten foot room that's area was mostly taken by two book shelves and who I assumed to be Buchanan sandwiched between his desk and a small folding table against the back wall. On the desk sat a red leather book with a spin wider then my hand. His back turned, as he focused and doing something on a table against the back wall.

“Hello?” I squeaked out as I poked in from behind the door.

“Hello?” He turned to face me with confused look on his face. He looked down at his watch, “3pm already?” He muttered before looking up. “You must be Linda.”

“Yes, Sir.” I said, still behind the door. “You asked to see me.”

“Yes I did.” He agreed with a rapid pace. He stood and motioned to the gray folding chair's leaning against the wall. “Sit. Please.” I nodded and sat down. “Now, Master Plantagenet has told me some things about you.”

“Is this about the book of Fae Magic I found yesterday?” I blurted out, “I didn't read much and have no intention of looking into it further.”

He looked at me confused. Shifting his jaw to the side.

“What?” He asked, then before my eyes, he started connecting pieces. “Oh, yes. Master Plantagenet told me one of his students who claimed to be followed by “Book Spirits”.” He forced a smile and taped his fingertips into his desk, thus sounded the rhythm of four beats dug into my ears. “I take it they sudden influx of rediscover forbidden tomes is from you.”

I gulped. “I don't suppose you could forget I said any of that.” I laughed nervously.

He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes as a screaming sigh sounded from the back of his throat. I clinched my dress in my hands the door became suddenly important to locate.

“I makes so much more sense now.” He said. I started to breath rapidly.

“Am I in trouble?” I asked.

“Not at the moment.” He looked me in the eye. When he looked down and began to wipe his glasses on his shirt, I wasn't sure if I was supposed to feel threatened or comforted. “I'm going to try and keep trouble from happening.”

And there I had my answer.

He picked up his cell phone from on his desk and dialed a number. “Norman... Yeah, it's me... On your way here run by Gwain’s and grab York... Yeah, that York...”

A voice rattled on the other side of the phone.

“He's blond, wears the Inquisitors coat just about all the time. Thinks it make him cool. He might have a funny looking dog...”

Buchanan laughed.

“Yeah, don't say that...” There was a substantial paused. “You see him? Good.”

There was a short line of buzzing form the other line which ended resulted in Buchanan resting his face in the free hand and sighing.

“God. I bet he looks like trash. Is he alone?”

I heard a short answer, beginning with “no” come from the phone.

“A woman? Dark curly hair? Um.” Buchanan sat back and closed his eyes. “Give him a minute, okay. His last assignment couldn’t have been easy if it took him this long.”

Short response from the phone.

“No, I said leave him alone.”

I heard 'how long' from the phone.

“I don't know, half an hour. Then grab him. Gently. And no asking for stories. I high doubt he's in the mood for storytelling. Sit tight. Okay?”

A pause and the sound of buzzing questions.

“I don't know. Get a drink, nurse it for a while. It's Gwain's. Finding something to do should not be hard.” Another pause, “Yeah, just sit tight, alright. That's all. Bye.” Buchanan hung up the phone.

“Who's York?” I asked.

“Someone very different then the man who brought you in.” Buchanan answered as he put the phone down.

We sat in Buchanan's office for some time. The silence was not completely unbearable. In silence I like to think, retreat in my mind. I thought about Internal and External Magic. The art of using your own power to manipulate versus the act of knowing how to work with extra planer beings who can do thing far beyond mortal possibility. As long as you play by their rules that is.

“Is there anything not in your file I should know about?” Buchanan asked me, seeming to try to pass the time.

“No.” I said. “Everything should be there.”

“You sure?” He asked. It didn't sound threatening, but I have been wrong before.

“No.” I said, “I keep my file up to date and accurate.” He put the file in front of me.

“Could you look it over for me?” He said in a “Here is something for you to do” tone. I did as he asked. I flipped casually through them, grazing my eyes over the text. Then I hit a graph. My family lineage.

“Richard and Helen Yeoman.” I muttered. I felt the tension of a smile pulling on my cheek.

“What was that?” He asked.

“My parents’ names.” I said. “They never used their real names around me. Dad was “Dick” and Mom was “Precious”.”

“Oh.” He said nodding and smiling. He looked to the screen of his computer. “Parents do that. We don't even try. Even now I have trouble thinking of my father as Benjamin.” He lowered his head. “I'm sorry. I suppose you didn't get to spend as much time with you parents as I have.”

“It's okay.” I reassured. “I started showing magic early. I would have put them in danger.”

“You ‘might’ have.” He said, straining the middle word. “There's a wide gap between “might” and “would”, Miss Yeoman.”

“I guess they never really worry about it.” I said. “The wardens that brought me here and watch over Sanctuary.”

“I doubt they would.” Buchanan said. “I doubt they know it themselves.” He muttered turning back to the screen. I don't know if he intended for me to hear it, but I did.

I continued to look over my file. I smiled at a few things I'd done. Little things that I accomplished and forgot about. Names of old teachers. The notes they write to the higher ups. “Darling child with a good heart.” “Gifted beyond her years.” “Well behaved and little trouble as long as she understands what’s going on.” Little things you don't think about often that remind you that you were once a child.

Bailey York

Gwain’s is somewhat of a Legend. Calling it a bar seemed too basic a term. Calling a restaurant seemed too classy. It was an eatery and hangout spot for the tired and weary Warden.

The Brit Wardens called it a “Pub”.

For note, Kay's was the bar. If you felt the need to get black out drunk and get in a fight, Kay’s was your place. Percival was the restaurant. Great food, clean atmosphere, tiny proportions. Someplace many a girlfriend would like to be taken too. Rachel was not one of them. There was also Lancelot’s, which was best described as a club. Whether you put “Night” or “Strip” before club depended on the night and who came.

There was an unwritten rule that you weren't allowed in Gwain's until you'd finished your first assignment. Harrison told me that for Blades it was after your first 24 hour long stake-out alone. It's not a hard rule, given it's really hard to keep track of every single warden, but if people find out you haven't qualified you looked on very harshly. I mean that literally. When an “UNPROVEN” is found out, the whole place stops what they’re doing and stairs at them. It kind of trippy and many a student has walked in thinking themselves clever and ends up walking out when the whole place goes silent and they suddenly have around a hundred people glaring at them. Unwanted attention is a powerful thing.

I entered through the free latch-less door. Gwain’s never closed, so why have locks. There were brackets for baring the door, but that hadn't been needed in quiet some time. I kept my thumbs in my pockets as I walked in and smelled the food. Gwain’s had the smell of comfort food soaked into the wood.

“Hey!” some people at the bare shouted on my entrance. I stared at them unimpressed, but with a smirk, to show I wasn't angry at them.

“He's back!” shouted the guy behind the counter, “How was India?”

“Sorely lacking in anything in a tortilla.” I answered, looking him in the face. “I'm very tired and a bit rushed, G.C.3. I'll tell you about it later.”

“Aw!” said some people in the crowd.

“Alright.” G.C.3 settled them down, “Let the man veg.” He looked up at me, “order of Taquitos?”

“Yeah.” I said with a nod, “Fifteen should be good.”

“Oh, Company!” He remarked. “Coming up.” He said then turned to the back, “order of a Family of little Mexicans!” He shouted in the kitchen.

I must have told him that was not P.C. to say. G.C.3 didn’t care nor did he mean anything by it. When I saw the way a few Hispanic Wardens reacted, or their lack thereof, I stopped caring.

G.C.3 stood for Gwain Camelot III. His father can trace the blood line straight back to the original knight from the round table. The story goes that they are the product of a lot of second and third sons who ether made bad decisions or simple had no interest in continuing in the family business. One such “slacker” thought, “I'll make a shit knight, and this place needs a Pub”. Thus was the glorious day that “Gwain’s” was born.

I thought it was cool. Not like the other Round Table places were run by an actual Lancelot or Percival. Kay's sometimes had a Kay tending bar, but she made no claims to the blood of the knight.

I sat myself in a corner. Reginald came with and sat himself under the table. He made a point of facing me and looked oh so hungry. Off to the far end was a series of classic gaming boxes. Some PAC-man and Polybius along with some older home consoles projected onto screens.

Despite the hint of grease and some cobwebs that formed when G.C.3 and crew were too busy to dust, the place had a clean feeling. At least for us Wardens. Everything in Avalon has been touched by Elves, Fairy or Fae at some point, leaving a long standing imprint of Magic. It made me throw up the first time I came here, I'm told. You got used to it, like the hum of the Machines and rattle of cars in the city, but it was there, buzzing in the back of your skull.

Gwain’s was built after the Elves left and was built using new tools and built with carefully selected wood from tree farms and concrete. No magic signatures. It was silent. For this, even I have to agree with the rule of “No magic, Magical Beings or Gifted allowed inside.” If the rule was broken, we could feel it. The place would get slightly less relaxing and G.C.3 would have to get someone in to clean the area.

I lost my train of thought when Rachel came in. I stood to greet.

“Hey.” I waved.

“Hey.” She waved back with a smile. As she came, I took stock of what she looked like, having not seen her in months. She had gained muscle weight. She looked strong, yet as feminine as always. Some guys might be threaten by that. I knew how things were and I wasn't any slouch in the power department.

She had her black hair in a big pony tail. The scrunchie strained under all her hair. Even like that, it had tight curls. Not the ribbon rings you get when it's done on purpose. No, this was the thousand tiny springs of someone who has a heroic battle in the morning when it's humid outside.

She wore lose sweat pants, black with a white stripe. She wore a wind breaker over a few work out shirts which were sweat through in the pits and down the neckline. The shirt was a mauve, which contrasted on her dark skin tone.

In short, she looked stunning.

“Beautiful,” I addressed her.

“Handsome.” She addressed me. We met with a brief kiss that lasted slightly longer then intended but not as long as my longing heart would have liked. It was easy to kiss her, given we were about the same height.

“That the Perfume I bought you?” I asked breaking the kiss. Our faces remained close.

“In the way that I returned the one you bought and got this one with the credit.” She smirked.

When you are an Inquisitor, you are trained to keep your guard up, especially in times when you would normally relax. It doesn't hurt as the son of Philip York. Public areas can be a bit of a traitorous place. Not in the “people want to kill me fashion”. But those who disagree with the Sympothist ideals tend to see me as a big bulls-eye for political debate. I get the feeling people don't like what me and my siblings represent.

I bring this up because after Rachel said the previous statement was when I noticed him. A big guy walked who walked in just after her. He was on the phone but staring directly at me. I got the feeling Rachel changed plans for him. So be it and good riddance.

“Well, you’re welcome for having a boyfriends with good tastes.” I smiled. I took her hand and kissed it. “At least in having the taste to have a gift receipt on standby.”

“Quite.” She agreed blankly with the hint, just a hint, of a giggle. When she sat down, I didn't let go of her hand. The smell of what I hoped were our Taquitos filled the air.

“How have you been?” I asked.

“Well enough.” She answered, “The cases haven't been hard.” She lifted her head to think. “One girl used sewer water to try to fight me.” Her face turned sour. “That was disgusting.” She lowered her head and looked at me. “How was India?”

“Hot.” I answered, I leaned back in my chair and tried to think of some highlights and my thumb absentmindedly rolled over her knuckles. “The apprentice was named Glen. For some reason, I thought was funny.”

“I can see how.” She agreed. She looked down to notice I was still holding her hand and then back up at me.

“These people were much more experienced than your standard wild Magi.” I remarked as I rubbed my fore head. “Tamal tried to chuck a boulder at me and didn't have much trouble. Still, they didn't seem to understand how I kept finding them.”

“All the stories talk about the wizards and never the Wardens who could sense when they sneezed.” She said, “Makes the job easier.”

“It does.” I agreed.

“Did you get any practice with your power in?” She asked quietly. I gave her a hairy eyeball.

“Not really.” I answered eventually, if in a whisper. “I tried that new symbol out. I think I did it wrong. About twenty bolts of arcane energy exploded from it. Found out later that the priest in the nearby shrine fasted for four weeks after. Thought it was a bad omen.”

“A series of lightning bolts with a blue sky will do that.” She said. The platter of tiny tacos arrived, much to my joy. They were stacked in a triangle. Rachel took the top one in her fingers. I was kind of surprised how quick they showed up.

“You don't have to give me preferential treatment, G.C.3.” I said.

“Get over yourself.” the Thin Brit said, “Everyone else was ordering drinks, you were the only order for the kitchen”

“Oh.” I said with a feeling of flush rushing my cheeks and laughing nervously, “Of course.”

G.C.3 laughed as he left.

“I'm such an idiot.” I covered my face, releasing Rachel's hand.

“Oh, Honey.” she said rubbing my shoulder. The kitchen roared in laughter as I only assume G.C.3 told them what happened. “You're my idiot.”

At the bar, the big man checked his watch. He glanced our way, then took a sip from his drink.

“I think we're about to be interrupted.” I said. Rachel shook her head.

“What?” she asked confused, “How so.”

“Big guy at the bar's been looking our way once in a while.” I said, “More than normal.”

“Do you think he's up to something?” She asked. I scoffed.

“I find it saves me a considerable amount of time to assume everyone is up to something until proven otherwise.” I took a tiny taco and bit it in half. “And for the most part, I finds it a matter of if is good or bad things their up too.”

“Don't talk with your mouthful.” She said. I raised an eyebrow at her as I chewed. “I suppose I should cut to the big points.”

“Mr. York.” addressed the big guy from half way across the room. “We need to talk.”

“No, I need a nap.” I said. “If you need to talk, I will let you. Make no mistake, however, in thinking it will stop me from what I need.” I rested my head on my fist and closed my eyes. He didn't say anything for a moment. “I thought you needed to talk.”

“Well.” He paused, “Prof. Buchanan has asked me to collect you for our meeting.”

“I know of no meeting.” I said distantly and with a yawn. “I only know of a coming mission. I didn't see any required time for briefing.”

“I'm sure it was there in the packet.” he said.

“And yet I didn't see it.” I said, eyes still closed. “Furthermore, I have no intention of looking for one at the moment. See I have not concluded my current mission.”

“I thought your last mission was in India.” He said.

“It was.” I said. “My current assignment is to get rest and spend time with my girlfriend.” Rachel shuffled in her chair on the last word, causing me to open my eyes.

“Who signed the orders?” he asked.

“It was under the order of my Mother.” I said to him. I then looked to Rachel. She looked like she had something important to say. “Beautiful, is there something wrong?” I asked quietly. She grew more shifting. I might not have shown it, but my blood felt like ice water.

“I don't think orders from your mother...” I throw my finger up.

“Give us a moment.” I said tired my forceful.

“But?”

“Reginald.” I called and snapped my fingers for effect. A growling sounded from bellow the table.

I am always surprised how quickly my seventy pound mutt can cause a two hounded and fifty pound man to wet himself. Big man backed away. “Inform the man that I will be with him shortly and to take his seat.” As Reginald showed the man back to his place at the bar, I returned my attentions to Rachel. “What's on your mind?”

“My Parents called.” She said. 'Not to out of the ordinary.' I thought to myself.

“Yes.” I acknowledged.

“We talked and the subject of ‘Us’ came up.” She said.

“Uh huh.” I said. Meanwhile, 'AHH!' was what went through my head.

“They’re not happy we've been dating so long and haven't gotten married.” She said as her shoulders tightened.

“Per usual.” I said. I waited for the hammer to hit.

“They told me that I needed to break up with you.” She said.

Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all from a woman who is very close with her family.

“And?” I asked.

“Stop interrupting.” she said, “I'm getting it out.” I nodded. “They still don't believe we could have been going at it this long without.... going at it. And you know how traditional my family is.” 'So is mine.' I thought but didn't due to already being told to shut up. “So, they said...that and I didn't know what to do. So, I kind of, sort of told them I found a ring in your dresser.” For some guys, this would have caused panic. I was just glad it wasn't a “Dear Bailey” talk. She didn't say anything for a while, which I took as her wanting me to say something.

“Did they ask what you were doing in my underwear drawers?” I asked feeling warmth return to my veins.

“Ha.” she said. “No, I don't think that occurred to them. Or they just made connections and didn't feel like bringing it up.” Then she looked at me sideways. “Why your underwear drawer?”

“That's where guys hide them in the movies. That or under the socks” I shrugged. “Did you tell them it was my spare promise ring?” I smiled.

“No.” she laughed. “Not that they'd believe me.”

“Was your father angry that I didn't ask his permission?”

“Strangely, no.” she tilted her head. “I think he was just glad to hear his little girl is finally getting engaged.”

“Perhaps...” I started, then stopped. It was a moment of when a comment starts crawling part your lips but you catch it as you realize it could lead to no good. “Perhaps.” I repeated. “What did you tell them about it?” I sat up and pulled out my note pad.

“About what?” she asked. “The ring?”

“The ring.” I confirmed.

“Simple rock on a gold band.” She said.

“Okay, round cut, Solitaire setting.” I noted. I wrote it in the notebook.

“Bailey?” She addressed. “How do you know what the terms are?” I looked up and tried to think fast, but I knew she'd see through it. She, like me, was an inquisitor after all. So I fessed up. I took a deep breath.

“We've been dating a while. Seven years.” I said with a breathy tone and a shrug. “I've looked at rings.” she sat for a bit, mouth opening slowly.

“And?” she asked in a leading, pleading way.

“And then life got busy.” I sighed. I looked at my watch. “Damn it. If Buchanan sends the paper through personal delivery and sends someone to collect me...”

“It's got to be urgent.” she finished the sentence with a sigh. She sighed and waved for me to go.

“I'm sorry.” I took her hand as I said it. She pulled it away from me. I stood up. I thought about leaning in to kiss her on the cheek, but I could tell she was upset. I took a deep breath and let it out. I felt a significant amount of the tension leave with the hot breath. It would be back, but I had cast it out for now. “Reginald.” I said in a calm voice and a snap of my fingers. The Mutt hopped from a captor’s stance to a friendly pup as he came to me.

“We're going?” the big man stood.

“Yeah.” I said. “I need to talk to Prof. Buchanan.”

“Master Normal Marshall.” He said, extending his hand. I looked at it in disdain.

“You must excuse me.” I said, “You’re currently the focus object of all that I hate about my job. I turned to Rachel. “I'm going to try and get out of this.” I walked past him. I knew I was being rude, but at this point I was nine levels past not caring. I popped my coat and we walked out of there

Linda Yeoman

There was a knocking at the door. Two men came in. One was a big bruiser of a man with a lumpy body and an oblong face. His chin seemed, at least from down at my low level, to be bigger than his forehead. I recognized the other as the blond Warden who gave me directions.

Given how quickly they entered the silent room, I looked straight at them both. Both were handsome in their own way, such as wardens tend to be.

The big man had a sort of softness to him despite his size. Like a teddy bear or a six foot nine pillow that would hug you back. Even his caramel color eyes oozed sweetness. Seeing him made me better understand the word “Adorkable”. Still, he was huge with big hands that could palm a melon. He didn't seem that much older than me. He looked to be in his late twenties, perhaps early thirties.

The other, York most likely, was on the other end. He looked mid-twenties at most. There was a masculine smoothness to him. He was lean with long sharp features and a great jawline. His medium length hair the color of polished brass hung half way down his neck. The Long black Inquisitors coat sat well on his shoulders. He looked like a cigarillo would be at home in his mouth, hanging lightly down as he peered into your soul with blue-green eyes from across a small table.

“York.” Buchanan smiled. York threw his hand up.

“Buchanan. You do know I just got back?” He said. His eyes had dark rings around them, I noticed and his jaw was not set in a happy position.

“I am, York.” Buchanan said.

“Are you aware that I have been trying to hold on to tiny scraps of a life outside of work?” Bailey asked.

“Aren't we all?” Buchanan answered with a scoff.

“Are you aware that I recently asked Rachel to marry me?” He asked.

“What?” Buchanan went wide eyes. “No, I was not.” I am sure he was about shoot to his feet and give congratulation, but was cut off by Bailey saying in a blasting voice.

“That's because I haven’t had any time to do so!” I didn't think that in such a tiny room one could get an echo going, but by damn, that Inquisitor pulled it off. “I've had a ring collecting dust in a jewelry store for nearly a year and no time to plan the proposal. I've called and canceled on her parents so many time, they think I'm a flake.”

“I take it your unhappy?” Buchanan resettled into his chair. York fumbled for a follow up.

“Yes.” He landed on. “Insanely unhappy. A result of being sent on a two month chase and then, before I can finish petting my dog...”

“Hi, Reggie.” Buchanan waved to something low and behind the door. A bark rang out from there and I jumped to my feet.

“Before I can finish petting my dog, whose name is Reginald...” York forced through clinched teeth. “I'm handed new orders by your son and dragged here by what I can only assume is newly hired muscle.”

“Agent York.” Buchanan laughed, “I see you have met Master Norman Marshall, newest raised to the inner circle of the Beast Masters. He is going to be the lead on this mission.”

York looked at the guy. He began to laugh slowly as he scratched his fore head with his thumb nail. I almost thought he might start groveling. Then he said this.

“So it's your fault.” He turned to Marshall. Marshall took a step back. “Well, oh Master of Monsters, What's the big deal?”

Marshall shook his head.

“Well, such as York has given me the impression that he has not read the briefing, I start from the top.” Marshall walked to Professor Buchanan's desk and took off his back. From it he pulled out a small ringed binder and a gigantic book.

I have been in most of the libraries of Sanctuary. I have seen books that were written in every day for years with detailed graphs on the possible laws of other realms of existence. I still have to say that the green leather book that Marshall produced from his back pack was a GIGANTIC book. Frankly, seeing it made me wonder how he fit the binder in the same pocket. “The Questing Beast has gone missing.” He started as he opened the book from the middle and started leafing through at rapid pace. “Last seen in its home forest south of Staffordshire in England on September 30th four years ago.”

“And I take it that's bad.” York stated.

“Chaos has a tendency to break out if it's seen out of the home forest.” Marshall paused flipping to say. “A sighting in a suburb of Cardiff happened just before the break out of the First World War.”

“You have my attention.” York said.

“Finally.” Marshall said under his breath. “That is if it's seen out of the home forest. We Beast Masters used to see it all the time in its forests with no ill effects to humanity.”

“Good to know.” York said nodding his head. “Any clue where it went?”

“No.” Buchanan said, “And that's why your specifically are needed for this one. You're the only Inquisitor who has a chance of following a four year old track and can be trusted to work alongside an Acolyte.” Buchanan stood up and motioned for me to as well. “Gentlemen, Ms. Linda Yeoman. She has an expertise in Spirits and the Fae. We thought that being able to communicate with possible witnesses might be helpful in such a situation.”

“Good to have you on board.” Marshall extended his hand. I hesitated but shook it. His hand was soft and warm. I was only able to get around three of his fingers. When York wasn't antagonizing him, he seemed to have a pleasant smile.

“Glad to have you.” York smiled apologetic as he stood with crossed arms. “You'll hopefully forgive me for not shaking you hand.”

“And Agent Bailey York.” Buchanan said to me, Buchanan looked to York and squinted “Who, I'm sure, is severely jet lagged.”

“True.” York nodded. He yawned. “Very true.”

“York is one of the better Inquisitors in the IBSI.” Buchanan went on.

“International Bureau of Special Investigations.” York clarified. “Like Interpol, except effective and with more swords.” He laughed.

“Don't insult other agencies, Bailey.” Buchanan said sitting down. “

“Yes, Professor.” York agreed. I was quickly starting to get the feeling that if he didn't like me, it wasn't because I'm a Magi and he's a Warden, but because he's just easily irritated by everyone. “So, what's the plan?”

“We go to the home forest and see what you can dredge up to its location.” Marshall said, “Then, from there, we see if we can bring it back.” He said standing up. “The Mission is to find the thing, preferably before anyone sees it. Once that is done, we Beast-Masters and the Demonology Department with find a way to get it back home.”

“Sounds like a plan.” York clapped. “I love how it leans mostly on me.” He stood straight. “One last question. Who are you and why have I never heard of you before?” Marshall shot a look at him. “I thought I knew all of the Beast masters with all the time I...” He snapped his fingers. “I remember you.”

“What?” Marshall tilted his head. York looked to Professor

“From the party last...” He snapped his fingers to remember, “Labor day. He was at your BBQ.” He said to Buchanan. He turned back to Marshall. “You sat most of the time at the table close to the pool, reading a book. You were studying for something.”

“The open Beast-Master Position.” Marshall said.

“He was selected.” Buchanan said, “The induction was last night at my house. This is his first assignment.”

“Ah, so you're new.” York threw his head back. He extended his hand, “Congratulations on the promotion.”

“Um.” Marshall hesitated, “Thank you.” They shook hands. “We were afraid you might be mad being stuck with me on my first mission.”

“Oh. Everyone's new at some point in their life.” York shrugged, “Most are more than once.” He yawned. “Is that it?”

“Departure is at 7pm.” Marshall said. York stared at him. He smirked.

“Not to be demanding, but if you change that to 8am tomorrow, I will be significantly easier to work with.”

Marshall opened his mouth, but then shrugged, “Whatever. 8Am tomorrow.”

Chapter 4

Linda Yeomen

The station was a massive area. I once heard someone call it “the Barn”. It was a holdover from when the main transportation in and out of Avalon was by one of the Flying beasts. The High ceiling was to accommodate the Giant Falcons, Hippogriffs and assorted fly Horses in takeoff. It was said the Kings and Queens of the Sidhe would keep bound dragons here as well, but primary sources of that are rare and not considered reliable. Fae can't lie to your face, but they can get long nosed in writing.

Now we have the buses. Not as impressive, but they carry more people and are substantially faster. The occasional tune up and top off of fuel is a lot less work intensive then grooming, feeding and mucking out cells. Also, the buses doesn’t care about how you and your partner carry on.

That's not to say that everything is gone. Off to the Citadel side is the remnants of the stables. The remaining Pegasi, Unicorns and Alicorns are all well maintained by the Watchmen Cavalry. At least that's what I'm told.

I could hear the sounds of horse from where I sat anyway. The smell of hay and muck was mixed with the scent of diesel fumes. The three of us, York, Martial and I, sat in a row on one of the benches was we waited. York was on the end, so his dog could sit off to the side.

That dog struck me as off. Not a bad off, but off. It might be the fact that one does not normally see such distinct mustaches on dog heads that big. He seemed to be a pleasant animal, though I still avoided it. My experience with dogs so far had not been friendly and having one so close made me considerably uncomfortable. Especially ones whose coat color seemed to make him blend in against any surface.

York scratched the dog behind its ear, causing him, the dog, to lean in closer. York let his own head fall back and eyes close in a half restful position.

The bright yellow wall of a bus rolled but to our location right after. York took in a sharp breath that matched the hiss of the hydraulic breaks as he opened his eyes. Martial looked at his watch and then stood. York and I did the same. The door opened to a large man behind a large wheel.

“8am to West England!” He shouted. We, along with a small group of others piled in. York offered his arm to help me up the steps of the bus and as we were shuffling passed the scowls of Wardens. Many wore long Inquisitor's coats, and others were in Watchmen tactical vests.

Martial sat in front of us, placing his large backpack on the seat next to him.

“Would you mind if I had the aisle seat?” York asked me. I looked up and nodded to him and I took the seat next to the window. “Reginald.” York snapped his fingers and pointed. The dog crawled to the place under our seat and York tied the leash to one of the bench legs.

A light came on over head with the sign for a seat buckle. I did as it ordered.

I looked to York who didn't look too hot. He had gotten a little pale and his eyes looked to the ground. The buss hand came by.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“I'm... I'm okay.” He said with a gulp.

“I'll get you something.” The buss hand stated, totting with long steps to the front and opening a case. She brought a white pouch and a water bottle. He took and smiled meekly to her. York tore the pack and poured a white powered into it. He closed the bottle then shook it. Finally, He gulped the white chalking solution quickly. “Thanks, Stacy.”

I looked for a name tag. I didn't see one before she left.

As York sipped the solution the voice of the driver came over the intercom.

“8:05 to Stafford, England leaving in five minutes.” The driver held the tiny mic to his mouth. “Hop on if that's you, jump off if it is not. If you’re not completely sure, I recommend standing in the way of the doors as they close and holding on real tight.” the driver chuckled softly to himself. A few people climbed on over the last few minutes before the doors closed.

As the doors closed with a padded snap, the driver pulled the mic close it his mouth again.

“Everyone, get your belts. Whoever brought the duty dog on, be sure to tether it to the base of your seat, which they should be under and secured not by a collar but by a harness.”

York jumped and switched the clasp from the loop on the dog’s neck to a ring a vest it wore with the words “Search Dog” on it.

“He's in.” York shouted

“Good to see someone with the program.” he driver remarked. “I get hit in the back of the head by another toy pooch in a purse, Fido’s being chucked out that window.” He pointed to the glass pan to his left. With the other arm, he turned the wheel and aimed for the run way. “Now for the experienced and the novices to procedure, we the staff of this buss will ask that you all open the complementary brown bags inside the dispenser on the seat in front of you. You don't need it, good for you. I just hate having to mop up after every delivery.”

Then he gunned it. What buses lack in acceleration they make up in raw engine power and torque. We weren't having out eye lids peeled back but it was still on odd feeling.

The feeling that really sent your stomach into distress was the drop off. It was at that point when the sound of heaving almost drowned out the roar of the engine. Even I felt lunch crawling up as ground ended and the buss began to tilt forward. Just as the sight of what it looks like to see straight down for seven miles came into view, the gray black portal enveloped us. Then with a bit of a bump, gravity shifted from pulling us down-forward to down-down and the sight of a free fall turned to that of an English country road.

I turned to see how everyone on the bus was doing. York looked like he had just survived a screaming match. It was then that the feeling of a dead drop with a drastic shift in gravity really hit me. I found the flowers on the road side looked great from out the window.

Bailey York

The lot where the bus dropped us off had our modes of transportation ready. The vehicle assigned to us was a mat black compact SUV of a few model years back, though far from old.

“Well, we're not going to standing out much.” Norman remarked.

“Disappointed?” I asked him as we popped the trunk.

“Not really I suppose.” He said as he dropped his luggage in. I put my suitcase and long case next to his before going around front and checking the driver’s seat. “I guess I thought that we would be traveling in style. With you being an Inquisitor and all.”

“No more style then an Interpol agent.” I said hopping into the driver’s seat and see what the car had at hand. “For the most part, Inquisitors take the role of whatever investigative organization will get the least questions and the most jurisdiction.” I looked around and felt the seat out. “I normally ride a motorcycle, but that isn't practical with the two of you.” I turned the car on and flipped the lights. We are not talking about head lights.

“Whoa!” Norman stepped back. “We have emergency lights?”

I laughed. I flipped a switch and a half second of siren blared before I cut it off.

“Just so you know, we aren't using these unless it's a real emergency.” I said flipping the lights off. “Like if the target’s on the run or one of us is in immediate need of a restroom.”

“Why does the car have lights?” Linda asked as she hopped into the back seat.

“Inquisitor.” I said pointing my thumb to my chest. “A.K.A. the Magical FBI.”

“Oh. Right.” Linda said as she closed the door. I looked at her for a moment.

“Reginald will have to go back there.” I said. “Do you mind sitting with him?”

“Sure.” She said, looking down. I looked forward and nodded. Then I got out of the car and opened her door.

“Front passenger, now.” I said.

“Okay.” she said in a hesitant tone. She shambled out. “I could have gotten the door.”

“No, you couldn't.” I said, flipping the child lock off. I whistled and Reginald hopped in the back. Closing the door, I hopped back into the driver’s seat.

“Very sure you’re going to be driving.” Norman said. I turned my head.

“Do you have a British Driver’s license?” I asked innocently. He said nothing. Instead, he got in the back with Reginald.

“Where to, Master Martial?” I asked as respectfully as I could muster.

“Here's the address where the Questing Beast Forest is.” Norman handed me a piece of paper with numbers and street names on it. Likely forming an area. I put one of the numbers into the GPS. When it comes to getting somewhere specific, I don't trust GPS, but my hope was that it would get us close enough for Reginald and me to do our thing.

“Okay.” I said as were pulled out of the lot. “While we have the time. There are some things we all need to get straight. This, as I understand it, is technically Master Norman's mission.”

“Yes, it is.” Norman agreed.

“However, you have never been in the field and Linda, I doubt you have done much practice with Spirit Magic out of a controlled environment.”

“Summoning Major spirits in or outside of Sanctuary requires difficult to get clearance.” she stated matter-of-fact toned. She wasn't getting defensive in tone, simply saying how things were.

“I understand. Still, that means that I'm the only one here who has any experience.” They both looked at me intently. Though with what intent was hard to gauge from under Normans scowl. “Norman, I will do my best to respect your finale decision when it comes to Beasts and creatures. That is, up until I am completely certain that those decisions will get us all killed. As far as I'm concerned, my job here is to get you two through this and back intact.”

“Thank you, York.” Norman said. His tone seemed lacking in feeling.

“Now, there is one piece of that I need ya’ll to hear.” I said. I gripped the steering wheel. “Don't tell anyone your middle name, if you have one that is.” They both nodded with a confused face. “I know, it sounds odd. If anyone asks you middle name, if will sound odd too. Don't do it. Do not give anyone, not even me, your middle name.”

“Because names have power.” Linda said in a shallow understanding.

“Yeah.” Norman said, “We know that.”

“Most people do, but few take it seriously.” I said. “In America and other contents, it's not a big deal. But there are things here in Britain that can do pretty horrible things if they get your name.”

There was a pause.

“Do you have any special reason for this warning?” Linda asked.

“Yes.” I said.

Chapter 5

Linda Yeoman

The earth was wet. The air was wet. The sky, being that clouds are made of water, could be said to be wet as well. The heavens were gray and threatened rain.

York walked out front with Reginald as they tried to orient the pictures of the last sighting. He wore a black hat that matched his long inquisitor’s coat. Together they made him look the part of a witch hunter. Once in a while he would stop and make a few jerky steps in I was sure were calculated directions but to me seemed odd and random. When he did this, Reginald would start sniffing around and follow him.

I walked along the road trying to both keep up and keep distance. Neither Marshall nor York had done anything to cause me concern. But they were Wardens so I remained cautious and tried not to provoke.

Marshall seemed to be off in his own world, as he compared the photos to illustrations in his large leather book. Even at distance, I could hear him muttering to himself. His second chin wobbled as he jerked his head back and forth from the book to the forest, not giving any real attention to where he was going.

Marshall wasn't Fat. Well, accurately we was fat, but he wasn't obese. His two chins were the result of a combination of a spare tire and a naturally thick neck. He tried to hide it with a dark brown beard. As you can read, it didn't work.

York stopped, looked out to the Forest, then down at the photo and then back up again. He repeated this actions a few times. Then, dropping his arms to his side and letting out a whistle, motioned for us to follow. Which we did. Marshall ran up beside him and I lagged behind from a distance.

“Come on, Linda.” York called out as he kept his eyes forward. “We don't bite.” He turned to Marshall. “You don't bite right.”

“I make no such promises.” Marshall said looking briefly up from his book. York shot him a look which from my place behind was hard to judge with any certainty.

“I'm used to wardens not wanting me too close.” I said as I tried to catch up with to two men. A task not easy with my legs so pathetically little compared to theirs.

“Normally I would appreciate the gesture.” York stated. “However, if this mission requires more long drives through the English Countryside, I would rather acclimate to your aura out here than in the car.” He turned to walked sideways and look at me. “Not that you have that bad of an aura.” He said before turning back.

“What's it like?” I asked. “I've always wondered.”

He tilted his head to think.

“It's kinda fresh with a buzz to it.” He said, “It's hard to explain things in the Warden’s sense.”

“That's what they all say.” Marshall and I said together.

“Well, when you always get the same answer, perhaps it might be true.” York answered. “It's like trying to describe to a deaf person what a Penny Flute sounds like.” He groaned then turned to Marshall. “Marshall, help me out here.”

“York, my Warden Sense rating is 1.5.” Marshall laughed nervously. “Can't help you out here.”

“Really? They gave you a decimal?” York asked with a noticeable amount of glee. “I never met anyone who got a decimal but me.”

“We’re both special cases.” Marshall said as we rounded an old growth tree. “I had to be higher than a normal human to be considered for the Beast master course but they didn't have the nerve to give a full two. They split the difference.”

“That seems rather like a long stretch to pull you through the tests.” York remarked with a skeptical expression on his face.

“My father is a high ranking member of the Wrath Core. He pulled some strings.” Marshall admitted. York scowled for a moment before Marshall added. “I qualified as a warden in other areas.”

“Cool.” York nodded. He turned back to me. “Linda, have you ever been shocked.”

“Do you mean emotionally or physically?” I asked.

“Physically.” He answer.

“I was tazed when they brought me to Sanctuary.” I responded.

They looked at each other.

“Schneider?” York asked.

“That's what her files said.” Marshall answered. York sighed.

“Well. It's sometimes like that.” York said. “Have you ever been in a room when an air purifier is turned on? Or smelled the air near a lightning strike?”

“Can't say I have.” I answer my own curious expression.

“There's this overpowering smell of ionized air. Like the smell of a thunderstorm minus the smell of the rain and humidity.” He paused. “It burns a little and makes you hair stand up but it's also clean. That's what your aura feels like.”

I scowled. “That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“It's not.” He said plainly.

He stopped us. The area was clear of trees. He looked the area over with an intense expression on his face. He lifted the pictures close to his face, give special attention to the bottom corners.

“That's strange.” York said slowly. Lifting a wrinkled forehead to the sky and lowering the picture to his side. “It shouldn't be able to do that.” York turned to Marshall. “Can the Questing beast Teleport?” He snapped his finger and drew a circle in the air. Reginald began to sniff around.

“Not as far as I know.” Marshall said flipping quickly through pages in the giant book. It seemed that he had already opened to the area about this thing. Made sense. “Nothing here about Teleportation. Why?”

“Cause I had the track and then it was gone. And I mean gone.” He pointed down the trail in which we came. “I was picking something up. Old enough to be our track with the scent of something ancient.” He motioned to where we were standing and his face got confused. “Then we stepped here and it got... complicated.” he took a step forward. “There’s a signature here.” then he stepped a few paces forward. “And then there is nothing here.” he knelt to the ground and felt the grass with his palm.

“What do you mean “it got complicated”?” Marshall asked, which I was glad because the same question went through my mind.

“I mean, like there was a huge burst of power. Raw and explosive. And I sense signatures scattered around.” He stood to his feet and started to walk around. “What do you know might be able to teleport something as big as the Questing-Beast?”

“I can't think of much that can teleport itself. Nothing in England” Marshall said flipping to the back of his book. And pulling out a pencil. “I'll see if any of the other Beast-Masters know about any of this.” I got excited.

I raised my hand. York pointed to me like a teacher.

“Linda.” York said.

“Fairies” I said. “They are known to be able to teleport or at least hide things.” They looked at me and I shot my face to the ground. “They are more Irish then English but they are still fairly common in here. There are also Angels, Powerful spirits, and abnormally strong poltergeists are suspected of teleportation.”

York short a sour look at Marshall.

“I work with Beast and Animals, not intelligent species.” He said. “Magical Zoologist, not Anthropologist.”

“Well, it can't be Angels or demons.” York resumed. “They would leave signatures I'd recognize. Stuff that anyone with the slightest bit of the sense would be able to feel for decades.” He paced around the tree where he lost “the scent”. “A poltergeist wouldn't likely latch onto something like the Questing-Beast.”

“And it be shredded anyway.” Marshall said. “Its venom has been shown to harm spirit forms. Any poltergeist formed against it wouldn't last long enough to learn to avoid the fangs I'd think”

“Well, Damn.” York said flatly and not skipping a beat. “I guess that leaves fairy or one of an infinite types of spirit.” He stopped. “Spirits.” he turned to me. “Linda, don't spirits usually stay in one spot?”

“Most do, but some spirits are of an aspect that would lend them to travel.” I said, “An oddly powerful wondering spirit might still be able to have done it.”

“Yeah, but say, the spirit of this tree.” York smiled slapping the trunk, “It'd still be here. The same one.”

“Yeah.” I said hesitantly.

“Could we talk to it?” He asked. “Ask it questions?”

A thought went through my head. 'You have never done a summoning outside Sanctuary before. Things could go wrong,’ and with that thought came all of the mistakes I could make. I could not close the circle properly. I could summon the wrong spirit. I could bring up a monster.

But one thought rang through also. 'This is the kind of thing they brought you for. What will they do if you say “no”?

I pushed those to the back of my mind.

“Yes.” I said taking in a deep breath. “I could bring one of the local spirits up.”

“Good.” he said. “What will you need?”

We got spray cans from the closest hardware store. Chalk doesn't stick on grass well. I anchored a line of string to a spot of the ground with one of my iron rods as the axle. Perfect circles are always the best they say.

“What kind of center symbol are you going to use?” York asked.

“What?” I asked in surprise.

“The symbol in the center.” He walked around the perimeter. “The mark that declares under what authority you may call them up.”

“I know that.” I said as my head scrambled. “I'm asking how you do. Not exactly common knowledge among Wardens in my experience.”

“I try to pay attention.” He said, “Keeps me alive.”

“I was thinking of using the standard pentagram.” I said, “They're easy to draw. After that you have to prove you are worthy of respect on your magic alone but...”

“I'd rather a Star of David.” He interrupted. “Calling on a common deity gives you significant clout.”

I stared at him. My eyes squinted.

“Know any Jews with the gift?” I asked. “Because using a faith symbol you don't ascribe to is a fast way to get the “Peter and Paul I know, but I know you I do not.” speech followed by a thrashing.”

He pulled out an amulet. It was small and gold. It looked like a crazy mash of lines. Then I realized it was a Star of David transposed over the outline of a Cross.

“Messianic Jew.” He said, “Or Christian who observes Jewish holidays. Take your pick. The latter is probably more accurate.” He began to stuff it back down his shirt then decided against it. He left it to rest outside and hanging down his shirt.

He took a deep breath in and used the exhale to mutter something. I didn't catch it.

Bailey York

England is a Beautiful place. I don't mind how over cast it tends to be. Bright light hurts my eyes anyway. It's the land of my ancestors. My Fathers Family, if my last name wasn't a clue.

That said, I really hate assignments in England and all the British isles. The place is insanely spiritually active. Which leads to complications for people like me. Sure things might have quieted considerably compared to previous centuries. Still it's one of the harder places to go “in and out” on missions. Even more so for those of families from here. Many a spirit remember their old blood debts to House York and come collecting.

Contrasting, America can get a bit boring, which is why it was great to grow up there. The local monsters fared about as well as the rest of the natives against Europeans. There was a beast of the Appalachian trips whose weakness was lead. They didn't last long enough to get an English name.

As Linda spray painted the six pointed Star of David, I walked around, trying to focus my wardens sense. I could feel energies gathering around. Tiny marks of brightness gathered. Then they scattered like minnows when a big fish arrived. We had something's attentions.

“Your star of David.” she said through the cloth she pressed to her mouth to bar against the fumes. “Now they know by what power we call.” she said. It sounded like a quote from something. Sounded familiar.

“Are you uncomfortable?” I asked.

“It's unnerving to do it out of the controlled environment of Sanctuary.” she exhaled. “Stuff like this was what it was built for, you know.” She turned to me. I had noted how she kept her eyes down. I'd seen it in a few of the gifted. When she made the risk of looking up at me, I tried to smile. I don't know how well it worked.

“I wish we thought up a better option.” I said.

“I think we all do.” She said, turning away from me to look at the circle.

“Are we ready?” Marshall asked, shouting from a few yards off.

“I think so.” Linda shouted back. There was rattled to her voice in it.

“Linda.” I started. “To do this, to talk with spirits. You have to have an iron will. You have to be confidant in that you know what to do.” I paused. She looked down. “I'm not sure you can do that right now. I'm sorry”

“Okay.” she said easily. A little too easily.

“I'm not saying I don't trust you to do this. I'm sure you are able some times. Most times” I tried to damage control. “But right now you’re too nervous. A lot could go wrong here and of the three of us, I think I'm the best prepared to handle it.”

“I understand.” she nodded. “Just say the words and the circle should do its thing.” She slouched and walked over to where Marshall was waiting. I heard her tell him about the discussion.

“You sure about this, York?” He asked.

“No.” I stated with a laugh. “But I face dangerous stuff like this by myself more than you'd think. I can handle it.”

“Don't get yourself killed.” He said. “And take plenty of mental notes. I plan to make an entry about this in the Cryptome.” He said shaking the massive book in his right hand. Not many people could palm that thing's spin. Marshall was apparently one of them.

“I'll do my best.” I assured them, rather annoyed but not surprised.

Then they left me alone. Took a sense of the air in, the physical and mystic atmosphere. Something twinge in it. I sent Reginald off with them.

When I was sure they were gone, I whipped out my pocket knife. I carved into the nearest seven tree trunks the surrounded the area with the circle and me. I believed Linda did her best but I trust my own wards more, thank you very much. At least until I had seen the metal of her bindings. 'Trust but verify' Daddy always told me.

Stepping inside the area I just made, I called out.

“On the authority of my adoption by the Father on high, I demand the attendance of one who saw what took place here four years ago, the disappearance of the Monster called “the Questing Beast”.”

Some people in the magic community might balk at my Judeo Christian faith. They say there are too many restrictions. They say “he's fickle”. I don't think he's much more fickle than any other god. He doesn't request sacrifices. I don't have to obtain blood. Also, He actually likes me. Lastly, I've seen and read of him kicked the asses of other gods, so “Ha!” I say.

That said with all confidence, when you’re expecting a minor tree spirit and something entirely different shows up, it can be rather rattling.

Before me was a red wolf. He stood about nine or ten feet tall on his hind legs. He wore a maroon top hat on his head. He wore a green frock coat with split tails, which his real tail shot out from between. He wore no pants. In his left hand he held a walking stick with chew marks on it. Whether it was him or something else that left them, I will not guess.

“I was in the middle,” he gasped from exertion. “of a hunt.” He said with an annoyed but elegant voice between pants.

“Identify yourself.” I demanded.

“You don't think it's that easy do you?” He asked with a tired scoff. “I'm not a simple sprite.”

“Identify yourself Spirit.” I exerted. “I command in the Name of Father God.”

“Lupis of the Dark forest.” He said with a grunt. He looked around and then down. He shook his head when his eyes hit the circle.

“You saw what happened to the Guesting-Beast?'” I asked.

He answered by laughing. A dark pedantic laugh full of schadenfreude. Then he stopped, looked me dead in the eye and said what I imagine are some of the most terrifying words a spirit can say.

“You did the circle wrong.”

Ice water rolled down my soul. I maintained the eye contact. Keeping steady was the key. I stood my ground. For a moment, I wondered if Reginald was within ear shot. I decided against it. No matter how loyal he might be to me, Wolf spirits and dogs have a connection. An understanding. What that understanding means exactly, I'm not entirely sure. I doubted it would land in my favor.

Standing in this presence was driving my Wardens sense nuts.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” I asked.

He answered by stepping out from the circle.

“Spirits are rarely allowed to lie” He said in a stately tone. His mouth moved but in a disconnected fashion to what he was saying. “An amateur mistake really. Forgetting to close the binding when summoning.” Lupis remarked in an understanding, almost forgiving fashion. Almost. “One few have a chance to make again.”

“Well, thank you for the constructive criticism.” I said looking him in the eye. “Now, would you mind telling me where the Questing-Beast might be?” I went to an “at-ease” stance with my hands behind my back to hide how violently they were shaking.

He stopped in his tracks as he stood dead in front of me. He leaned down and laughed.

“Are you not the slightest bit afraid of me?” My warden’s sense was making me nauseated. So much so I'm rather proud of myself for not hurling in his face at the moment.

“Completely terrified.” I said with blunt honesty, forcing a smirk. “To be clear, you're Lupis, one of the Lords of the Dark Forest. Brother of the Lady of the lake.”

“Yes.” he said with pride, “though I'm on less then speaking terms with that part of the family.”

“Good.” I said with a toothy smile. “Then the runes should work.” I said. I charged my right hand and slapped it onto the rune on that side. I felt a weird tingle and drain as crisscrosses of energy formed a tall fence between with the symbols as posts. The whole thing made an almost deafening set of buzzes and cracks. The effort almost sent breakfast over the edge, but I was able to swallow it down.

He snapped to look around and broke the eye contact. After a moment, he dropped his head and scoffed

“This will not hold me.” He said straight backed, but I heard the posturing of someone who lost ground.

“Perhaps not.” I agreed, standing as tall as possible. “I wasn't expecting someone of your magnitude, so I can't be sure. I do know that a spirit has a finite amount of power when held in the mortal realm. I also know that crossing that fence will shred a lot of said power. I can only hope it's enough that my colleges, who likely hear this buzzing, will be able to finish where we left off. Now, where is the Questing-Beast?”

Lupis shook his head and chuckled weakly as she shifted his lower jaw left in right.

“You’re still trapped in here with me.” He said.

“And here was thinking it was you who's stuck in here with me.” I responded in a bright tone. “But then again, I am known for dilutions of grandeur.” Lupis tisked and crossed his arms. “It is a character flaw. I should work on it.”

“You have amused me mortal.” He said as he turned his back to me. “I know not where your quarry is. A lot of things can change in a year.”

“A year.” I asked. “You saw it a year ago?”

“Saw briefly.” Lupis said. “I am, however, intimately aware of what happens in my realm.” He looked around the circle. “I assume you can return me.”

“Last time I checked.” I answered. “It a rare ability among Wardens, but I have it.”

“Warden? But I thought...” Lupis tilted his head. He shrugged. “I saw the Beast and its handler when they arrived. He had brought it to move through my realm. Not a common technique now but still effective.”

“Wait.” I said throwing my hand up. “Handler?”

“Another being led it by a leash.” Lupis said. “I assumed it was his pet, this Questing-Beast in which you speak.”

“I haven't been told about anyone or thing claiming it.” I said.

“Not my problem.” Lupis said, “You asked me to tell you what I saw. I will tell you that.”

“Okay.” I said lowering my arms.

“I came to them and demanded to be acknowledged as the Lord of the area.” Lupis began to pace. “He, the Handler, claimed to be from a “Higher Court” then me. We fought briefly. During the scuffle, the Handler lost control of the beast and it attack me. I fought it and the handler for a few moments, before they Beast made a break for it and the Handler went after it. I have no idea where either is now.”

“These things beat you.” I asked. “Aren't the Lord of the Dark Forest like Minor Gods in their realms?”

“I was not beaten.” Lupis growled, emphatic of his power.

“Whatever.” I said, not wanting to upset the sensitive nine-ish foot wolf. “Can you tell me where they went after they left? What realm they went to after yours?”

“They returned to this world from my realm.” He said with a huff. I nodded. It wasn't much. But it might be something. And I highly suspected that I was at I was reaching the end of what my amusing him would allow.

“What can you tell me of the handler? From what I've heard, one does not lightly keep something like the Questing-Beast on a leash.”

“That is precisely what he was doing.” Lupis said. “He resembled a human greatly and a glamor is far from easy to maintain in the spirit realm, so it must have been close what his true form.”

“Anything else?”

He pause. “I might say he was far too tall to be a pixie or Leprechaun and far too thin to be troll or ogre kind. Perhaps a small built Siegbarste or one of the Sidhe.”

“Thank you for your cooperation.” I smiled, then lifted my hand and focused my will. “Be gone from me spirit. Return to where you came.”

“Whatever.” The red wolf crossed his arms disappeared like a pillar of flour blown by a strong wind.

I dropped the rune field. As the face of what had just happened hit me, I fell to my knees and tried to remember another great wisdom from my Grandfather. “Puke with the wind, Bailey. Puke with the wind.”

Chapter 6

Linda Yeoman

Marshall and I sat by the road for a while, our backs to the car. Reginald decided to lie down, placing his head on my thigh. I was not entirely against this position.

Sounds were coming from the forest. A roar of thunder shot out from behind the trees. Off in the distance were heard electric buzzing. There was a change in the wind of sorts. Just because we Gifted don't have the Warden Sense, does not mean we can't gather when serious power is being raised.

Reginald stood up. He made a couple of agitated sneezing sounds. He took a few steps toward the forest and maintained a gaze to it. After a moment, I realized he had put himself between us and the forest and taken a defensive stance.

York emerged after a short while. Covered in sweat and, judging from personal experience, half way to a panic attack.

“What happened?” Marshall asked getting up.

“We caught a bigger fish than intended. Bigger than the net was made to hold.” York answered as he met us half way. He laid down on the ground to catch his breath.

“Who, slash, what was it?” Marshall asked.

“Lupis.” York groaned. “One of the Lords of the Dark forest.” I could tell that Marshall was still not feeling totally in the know, so I stepped in.

“A Powerful Wolf spirit.” I said, “He's believed to be the inspiration for the big bad wolf.” York pointed to me in agreement.

“And he was something big.” York said, “My wardens sense...” He rolled over and hurled onto the ground. As you might imagine, Marshall and I jumped back to avoid splatter. “Sorry.” York wiped his mouth with a cloth he pulled from his back pocket. He sat up. “Felt like a punch to a stomach.”

“What did he say?” Marshall asked leafing through his book and landing on a page.

“He said someone was controlling it.” York said.

Marshall clicked his pen. “What?”

“He said someone came into his realm, using the Spirit World as transport, holding the Questing-Beast on a leash.” York said. “When Lupis approached him to receive recognition. The Handler attacked and lost control of the Beast. Then the beast ran off and the handler went after it.”

“So?” Marshall asked.

“In the spirit world, Lupis is so feared, trees uproot themselves rather than be in his way.” I said.

“Oh, crap.” Marshall said.

“Did Lupis say anything to help us identify what or who it was?”

“None.” York said. “He didn't even seem to know.” York got to his feet. “Lupis said it looked human. He said it might be something called, Sidhe.”

My blood ran cold.

“That sounds familiar.” Marshall said, then started to leaf through his book.

“It's a type of faerie.” I said. “A very powerful type of Faerie.” I wiped my forehead. “They’re the ones who made Avalon.”

“Okay.” Marshall said.

“They made dimension.” I went on. “They saw the spirit world and our world and thought, “too chaotic and too boring. Let’s make our own place, jammed like a door stop between the two, with a floating island and wonky physics.” York and Marshall said nothing which let me add. “And that was done by only four of them. Oberon, Titania, Mab and King Unseelie.”

“Okay.” Marshall said. “Let's hope this Lupis guy is wrong then.”

“He seemed to be guessing anyway.” York said. He still seemed a little shock up. “But we can't rule it out, no matter how much we might want to.” He looked to me. “Does anything about “higher courts” make sense to you?”

I sighed. “The Sidhe are split between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts.” I said. “What do we know about them?”

“We know tons about the Seelie.” I said. “Their government was run by people who kept fairly good records. They ran on expression and curiosity. They were led by Oberon and Titania. From what we gather, they were practically Tolkien Elves without the discipline. The Unseelie we know very little about. During the storm of Avalon, someone went into the library and burnt most of the records on them. We don't even know who their kings was. We only know he was called “The King Unseelie”. We only know the Queens name, Mab. They liked their secrets.” I shrugged. “I don't suppose it really matters now.”

“Why?” Marshall asked. York answered.

“Because the first things the Wardens did when we got our shit together was kill every Unseelie we could find.” York said. “Red Cap, Orcus, Rumpelstiltskin, any nasty faerie you've heard of was Unseelie. They got their giggles by causing pain and unrest.” He slapped Marshall upside the head. “I'd think of any intelligent beings, you'd know at least that.” He took a breath in “What would a Sidhe want with the questing beast.” York said clearly trying to get back on track.

“I don't know.” I said.

“Beats me, also.” Marshall said closing the book and hugging it. “It’s a beast of Anarchy and Upheaval. Perhaps they just want to screw with some people.” He sighed. “I suppose that's not likely.”

“No, it's very likely.” I scoffed. Thinking about all the stories I had read. “Both Seelie and Unseelie have a mischievous nature. They prank and play all the time. Screwing with people is a common past time. The main difference between the two is that the intent and end result. Seelie don't really mean to hurt people. It happens but it's not their purpose. The Unseelie however love to feel of the warm sensation of the world burning around them.”

“I'm disliking this theory more and more.” Marshall squinted.

“I warned everyone that missions with me have a way of getting complicated, right?” York said.

“I believe you did.” Marshall sighed. “Okay. We don't have any leads to the current location besides this Lupis fellow.” He rubbed his head. “Can we talk to another spirit?” He looked at me.

“Um...” I started. I was going to say “yes” but thankfully York cut in.

“Before we risk that, let's see what we can pull up on what we know.” He said. “Lupis said that they exited out from in his domain. As I know it, realms in the Dark Forest can coincide with places in the real world.”

“Good idea.” Marshall said. “Let's go back and see what we can find. I'll call some contacts and see where they might have come out.”

“I'll do the same.” York said. They looked at me.

“I'll check to see where Lupis’s realm connects with our own.” I offered. I couldn't help but think that getting me on this mission was to keep me away from the Sanctuary while my most recent discovery blew over. “I'm not sure how I can help.”

“That sounds good.” York said. “Also, if you can do some digging into any known Fae with a connection with the Questing Beast that would be great.”

I nodded sharply.

Dropping the car off at the lot we got it from, York swung by the attendant’s booth and made sure it would be waiting for us when we came back tomorrow.

As the bus pulled up, a sinking feeling ran through my stomach. I started to wonder silly things. How much information could I dig up without leaving me room? Who could I ask about this stuff? Could I stay out of the library and get this done? If I went into the libraries, would the book spirits leave me alone?

Baily York

“How'd it go?” Rachel asked me as she sat across from me at the tiny circular table. It was eight-ish, and the dinner crowd had mostly trickled out leaving Gwain’s slightly on the empty side.

“Alright.” I said scratching at my stubble. “No one died.” Bit a third off of the taquito between my fingers.

“A whole day in.” Rachel tongue-in-cheek, taking a taquito from the plate. “That is a feet.”

I gave her a hairy eyeball. “We contacted a spirit in hopes of finding where the Questing Beast went. Someone or something is apparently controlling it.”

“And that's bad.” Rachel inferred gesturing with the half taquito in her hand.

“From what Master Marshall said.” I answered. I made a “belch” sound with my tongue. “It feels weird calling someone so close to my age “Master” anything.”

“We're old enough for peers to be getting PhD's, Bailey.” Rachel said.

“Yeah, I know.” I agreed. I looked at her, she had this deep brow look on her face.

“You didn't call the thing up yourself, did you?” she asked in whisper.

“No.” I said, pausing. “Well, not really.” I finished the small taco while staring down below the table where a set of pleading eyes behind whiskers sat ever so politely.

“Bailey?” She warned. I swallowed.

“Linda, the Acolyte with us, she drew the circle and imbued the power.” I explained quietly. “I just said the words. No more than any Warden could.”

“Got to be more careful, Baby.” She said shaking her head and taking another taquito. I huffed out of my nose at her calling me, “Baby”. But she was right.

“I'm trying.” I said. “Stuff like this is why I try to work alone.” I looked up. “I can work runes. A lot of Wardens have special abilities. They have nothing to do with magic aptitude. Using my gifts shouldn't be a big deal.” I tapped the table with two fingers. “I'm not doing anything wrong.”

“I keep telling you, that's not an option for someone who's high profile.” she said. “People will bring up your mother as start making accusations.” I looked at Rachel. She looked worried about me. I sighed, tapped the table a few times and then sat back

“I know.” I sighed. “People with make assumptions and accusations. My political positions will be called into question.” I took her hand. She tried to keep and angry look. “Let's change the subject. How was your day?”

“Nothing big.” she said taking the hand back. “A little sorceress who lost control. She didn't put up a fight once I convinced her that sanctuary was a good place to be.” She said. She took a sip of a cold colorful drink. “God, I really wish I could convince myself it was.”

“We're making a difference.” I said. “Hannah says things have gotten better.”

“I can't help but think Hannah’s just trying to make you feel better.” Rachel said putting the drink back on the table. I took a sip from a glass of root beer I had in front of me. “When I brought the girl in, I saw an acolyte. She'd been beaten pretty badly. Swollen eye, cuts on her arms.” I sighed. I wasn't shocked. Not in the slightest. I'd seen worse.

I sighed at the new subject of conversation. 'Can we go back to the old one?' I asked myself.

“We have to keep trying.” I said. “Even if it's only us. We have to set an example.”

“Johan is up for another promotion.” Rachel blurted out. “Director Hintz is becoming the Austro German Regional director and named Johan as his choice successor.” I gripped the table.

“It doesn’t mean that he'll get it.” I said as I exhaled a deep breath and feeling splinted form under my finger nails. “I don't think...”

“We both know he'll get it.” Rachel said. “Just like Javier was raised last year and Tybalt.”

“We have to keep...” I paused feeling my voice raising with every syllable. I quieted myself. “We have to keep trying. If only to show the Gifted that there are good people on our side.” I said clutching the frosted glass. “We... I.”

“I know.” Rachel thankfully interrupted.

“You’re frustrated.” I said catching my composure and holding it tight enough to cut off blood.

“Don't act like you’re not.” she stated with emphasis to the pronoun.

“I am.” I said with little hesitation. “No lie, I really am.” Took in a breath. “But losing it right now will mean losing it all.” I stuck a fork in a taquito and ate it bit by bite. “We can't give up. We're not alone.” I looked at her. She sat and smirked at me. “What?”

“You're a rock.” She said.

“I don't feel like being a rock fits me.” I said. “Maybe I can request for a transfer to the mold division.” I dunked the taquito in some sauce.

She snorted and got a sour look. It meant she was happy.

“Always laughing in everyone's face.” She said. I gave her a smirk.

“I try not to take everything seriously.” I said. “Keeps me from going crazy.” I dropped the fork, cleaned of all food, onto the table. “This is bullshit.”

“I know.” Rachel said.

“I should at least be as far up the chain as Schneider.” I griped.

“I know.” she said, taking a bored sip of her colorful drink.

“But Dad had to go and be mouthy.” I flailed my arms in ridiculous fashion. “Had to piss people off.”

“Because he beloved in something.” Rachel smiled. “Just like you do.” she left out how I'm quickly following his footsteps.

“It's a family trait, fighting for losing causes.” I said sipping my drink. “Annoying as all get out.” I paused.” Maybe I should quit.”

“You of all people can't think that way.” She said. She took my hand with long little lady fingers of odd strength.

“I know.” I smiled at her then dropped my eyes to the ground. “I just.” I paused and looked out the window. The red sky of the long Avalon Sunset poured through the old glass. “Sometimes... Sometimes I wonder if Travis had the right idea. Serve your time and get out.” I wave my hand through the hair in fluid motion. “Don't make a fuss. Just do your part and be done with the mess.”

“You know why you can't do that.” She said. “That's not the kind of man I'm fake soon to be engaged to.”

“That's right!” I snapped to a higher tone. “How are we going to deal with your little outburst?”

“I don't know.” She laughed and covered her face.

“Your Dad's going to be pissed if he finds out you lied.” I laughed.

“He's going to pop a blood vessel.” She said. I looked at her. Long curly dark hair. Built like an amazon.

“You do know that there is one major, glaring fault in your plan if you want to keep Daddy from passing on.”

“What's that?”

“I don't actually have a ring.” I said, feeling cleaver.

“Well?” She started. “I suppose that might be an issue.”

“One I'd say might need to rectify.” I said.

“Of course.” she said, tongue-in-cheek. “It was for your hide we got into this mess after all.” I stood from the table and began placing the remaining food on a napkin. Rachel shot gunned the reaming liquid in her glass. And then the rest in mine.

“I can get you, a Doggy bag if ya just wait.” G.C.3 shouted from the counter.

“No time.” I said. “About to do something reckless and silly.” I said.

“Well then.” he said motioning to the door. “In that case, I won't be in your way.”

Rachel and I linked arms in a comical fashion and skipped out of Gwain’s.

“You know, Rachel. Being fake about to be engaged to you.” I said. “I think it might not be that bad.”

“Careful, Agent York.” She gave me a smirking side glace. “You might make a girl swoon with talk like that.”

Chapter 7

Linda Yeoman

I sat on my bed. It was a cot with a cushion. The cushion wasn't too bad really. I'd slept on worse in a motel. It was small, but so was I, so it wasn't like I needed the extra foot to stretch out. The issue was the other two girls in the room.

Frieda was a bit chatty. Normally I didn't mind talking to her. It made me feel like a real person, talking about girl stuff with another girl. Unfortunately, telling her I needed to focus only meant she turned her tongue to Tonya.

Tonya was not chatty. She was nice and friendly. She smile and nod when you talked to her and she'd give you the occasional response to confirm, no she had not gone mute. I'd say it was because English was, like, her third language, but I got the feeling from the other Ukrainians that she was just quiet.

So, I saw sitting there. Trying to read a few books I was able to obtain without going to the library. Frieda rattling on about how cute some of the nicer Wardens were. Of course they were cute. Most Wardens are cute. Even Marshall had an odd “nerdy teddy bear” appeal to him.

There was a knock at the door. It was an odd beat. Tania got up and shot to the door. She opened it. The door blocked my view of who it was.

“Mistress Hannah.” Tonya said with a reverence as she straightened out her robes.

“Tonya.” A female voice, Mistress Hannah likely, said.

“How may I help you, Mam?”

“I came to talk to one of your room mates.” Hannah said. “A Linda Yeoman.”

My heart jumped as I moved the book from my lap and stood.

“Linda.” Tonya said as she looked to me.

“I'm coming.” I said softly. I rounded the door to see a tall red-haired woman. She looked familiar.

“Acolyte Linda?” She asked.

“Yes, Mam.” I said, repeating how Tonya addressed her.

“Come with me.” She said. She motioned in sort of friendly way for me to exit the room. I turned to the room mates and exited. Tonya closed the door behind us.

“How may I help you, Mistress? I asked as she stood.

“I was actually about to ask you the same thing.” She said. “I was contacted by Inquisitor York to see if you needed any assistance in the case you two are working on.” I noted an unnatural tone in her voice in saying the word “inquisitor”. Most of the Inhabitants of Sanctuary don't like the inquisitors but this sounded more like she was having to force the word in. She said it like how some people say their fathers name when their used to calling him “Dad”.

“I don't know how you might help.” I said. “Unless you know where I might find a book that will tell me exactly why and where a Sidhe would take a massive Arthurian Monster.”

“Have you tried the library?” she asked in a glib tone.

“For certain reasons, it might be ill advised for me to go to any of the libraries.” I said.

“Well that's unfortunate.” she said blankly. She paused. “Okay, why?”

“I may be haunted by spirits of forgotten knowledge.” I said. “Ones that get a kick by leading me to books best left forgotten.”

Hannah sighed.

“I suppose that would be bad.” Mistress Hannah tilted her head and scratched it.

“It's caused a considerable amount of trouble.” I said. “Especially lately.”

“I can see how.” Hannah said. It struck me that she wasn't acting like a Mistress. She seemed to be really agitated.

“You don't have to help me.” I said

“No, I don't.” She said. “I have my own research to do. Not that Bailey cares.” That sounded natural.

“Do you know Bailey personally?” I asked. She sparked to attention

“What gave you that idea?” She asked defensively.

“How distant your tone was when you called him “Inquisitor York” but how comfortable you were calling him “Bailey”. Then there’s the attitude. The “I have better things to do but Bailey asked me” vibe.” I scoffed. “It's almost like...” then things clicked. I mentally transposed his face next to her. “Oh my God.” I gasped. “You're his sister.”

“Not so loud.” She ordered. There. That sounded like a Mistress.

“Wow.” I said. I felt like I had just gotten a look into a room I wasn't supposed to see.

“Once in a while, he will ask me to help the Gifted he brings in.” Hannah said. “Tonya was brought in by him.”

“Really?” I said. “Wow. Small world.”

“Avalon can be like that.” Hannah sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Now, do you need anything, or can I get back to my Evocation Wards research?”

“Will that take you to the main library?” I asked.

“Likely.” she said.

“I guess we can go together.” I said. “If you see me grab a book that I have no business with, slap it out of my hand.”

“I can do that.” She said. She scratched her head. “Yeah, we can do that.”

Bailey York

I'm sure we looked ridiculous laughing and skipping through the street. Rachel was probably a little drunk for her to be acting like that.

I stepped away for a moment to make a phone call. Coming back, she stood in mock annoyance.

“Who could that be that was important enough to warrant braking away from getting me my bling?” she asked, turning her Jamaican half up to eleven and lifting a bare left hand to wiggled unadorned fingers.

“Why your father of course.” I answered with a dramatic motion. “For how could I call myself a stuck up and old fashioned man if I did not request his blessing for the hand of his Beautiful.” I stepped forward. “Intelligent.” A sweeping dance twirl in her direction, “Elegant and Dare I say.” I place my hands on my chest. “Refined tasted Daughter.”

Rethinking that scenario, I wonder if G.C.3 might have spiked my root beer.

“You’re a goof.” She scoffed happily and playfully slapped my hand.

“Only for you, my dear.” I stated, hopping and clicking my heels in the air.

It was around this time that I heard a muffled clicking. Around the corner came a tall man. He walked with a dignity brought from years of proud service and a weakness brought from recent battle. The suit he wore didn't fit badly, but it had seen better days. He leaned on a crude cane that moved like an extension of his hand.

He didn't seem to be going anywhere besides forward. His face had a faraway look to it of someone with many things currently being considered. That changed when he saw us. The moment he locked eyes on Rachel and I, he pulled himself up, adding about three inches to his height. His new posture also lead to a few flash backs for me. Things like Birthdays, Christmas and Easter.

“Grandfather.” I said shedding my silly tone and bowing.

“Bailey.” he said in a deep wheezing voice. His eyes slightly bulged out. I had always known him to be thin, like his son and like me. His face used to be called angular. The latest battle with Cancer had turned that adjective to “Sunken”.

“You’re looking...” I was going to say 'well', but he'd call that bull before the second “L” left my lips. I went with a slightly less complete and absolute word. “Better.”

“Quite.” He said with a high London accent. He leaned on his walking stick, the shaft made of yellow magnolia and the bulb made from red cedar. Dad made it for him after the first round of Cancer. As I remember, Grandfather never thanked him. He used it all the same. “I'm feeling better.” He said with a polite smile, his tone was defiant, like saying “you should have seen the other guy.”

“Good.” I said and smiled back politely.

“Hello, Lord York.” Rachel said finally. She did a sort of half bow, half curtsy.

“Hello, girl.” He said back, nodding his head to her.

“Might I ask, Grandpa? What are you doing out so late?” I inquired.

“Clearly, Bailey, I'm Walking.” he said with a lick of his dry lips and looking down the street he had been strolling through. “Just as you, I assume.”

Rachel and I exchanged a look. “Yes, Grandpa.” I said turning back to him. “Out for a walk with my lady.”

“Uh huh.” he said the skeptical tone in his voice only distantly restrained. He switched a few time looking between Rachel and me, shifting a sunken jaw back and forth with his eyes. “Well, far be it from me to detain my Grandson on a simple and uneventful, soon to be forgotten, completely irrelevant walk in which no one will hear the result of,” He coughed into his hand, causing the empty cheeks to flap like sails, “In the morning.” he grinned mischievously with and “Ahem”. We parted. He cut between us, tapping the walking stick to support the leg that had a hole in it. He sniffed me, getting strangely close to my face. He nodded in an approving scowl. Only after he'd gotten some distance did it occur to me he was likely checking my breath for alcohol.

“Well.” Rachel began. “He seemed more pleasant than usual.”

“Didn't mention Mom once.” I agreed. “Perhaps it was his meds.”

“Do you think he picked up something suspicious?”

“I think he knows what we’re doing, and which store we'll go to.” I said turning around. She followed.

“Do you think he will tell the rest of the Family?”

“In a few minutes.” I shrugged. “He has to finish his stroll after all.”

“That will put you in the same position as me.” She said.

“Not an issue.” I said. “My family loves you. Grandfather most of all. We'd be the closest thing to a power marriage since his time.”

“But.” She started.

“Not an issue.” I said smiling and lifting a finger in assurance.

The jewelry store was nothing really to write home about. It had four walls, thick walls, and a lot of sparkly stuff inside.

“Hey...” the Owner started. I quickly moved my finger to my lips. He stopped and nodded. I don't think Rachel saw. “We’re about the close up.”

“Mind if we browse until you lock the doors.” I asked.

“Sure.” He said. “Want to look at anything,” he added a weighted pause, “in particular?” His eyes moved to the back as Rachel leaned over a glass case of Pendants.

“Maybe.” I said, leaving Rachel to scan the Plexiglas box counter. “I think I left something here a few months ago. Under the name Bailey Yaga.”

“I think I know what you’re talking about.” He said walking into the back. Rachel looked up.

“You've been here before?” She asked.

“I needed something repaired.” I said. “Family Heirloom my Mother gave me. I was told this guy was the place to take it.”

“Really?” She stood straight and looked at me, hands on her hips. “What was it?”

“Something from my Great-Grandfather.” I said. “Brought from the Motherland after they fled to America.”

“Cool.” She sparked up. “I thought you're Mothers family lost everything. That's why they came to America.”

“Everything that's wasn't on them.” I said. “But Great Grandma apparently was able to hold onto one piece of jewelry.” The man came out.

“Here it is.” He placed a small long box on the counter. I opened it to show a necklace of Gold, brass and, somewhat creepily, polished bone. The dull hum of quiet Magic permeated the last one. I hooked it over two fingers a lifted it from the box

“Wow.” Rachel said. “What is it?”

“I'll tell you later.” I said putting it back in the box. And looking at Rachel “It was supposed to go to Hannah.” I glanced at the shop man. “But she's not in a place to have it right now.”

“I hope she's okay with that.” the shop man stated as he walked to the back. “My sister would go nuts if I have a family heir loom that was supposed to be hers. Especially if it's from the old Country.”

“Let's say that she has entrusted it to me.” I said with a scoff. “Do you have the other thing?” I asked.

“Yes, Sir.” He said smiling slyly. He strode off to the back, coming out, holding something small in his hands.

“Bailey?” Rachel turned to me. I didn't answer as I took a small maroon velvet bag from the man. “Bailey, what is that?”

“What do you think it is?” I asked reaching in. I smiled at her. “I can't have hidden it that well.” I produced a small ring from the bag. “I know you're a better investigator then this.”

It didn't look like anything super special. A .6 carat stone with three circles making a figure resembling a Celtic Trinity, one white gold, one yellow gold and one rose gold. Seven tiny diamonds set in each circle.

“I had it special ordered a while back.”

“You can say that.” The jeweler said. “That work of art been sitting in the storeroom for close to a year.

“The band is made from Grandma’s wedding band, Dad's mom.”

“Oh, Bailey.” she gasped.

“So.” I said taking her hand. “Hold on.” I turned to the jeweler. “I already paid this off right.

“Six months ago.” he said. “I'd have resold it if you hadn't.”

“So.” I said leading her outside. Under the red sky of the long dusk of Avalon I looked her in the eye. “Rachel Katsaros, I think you know I like you a lot.”

“I've had hints.” she nodded with a smile as she wiped a tear from her eye.

“We've been dating for seven years. Which I realized was a year too long.” I said looking at the ground. “I trust you too let me be Bailey, not Inquisitor York. You help me remember who Bailey is.” She nodded and sniffed. “So I wanted to ask you.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you hold onto this for me?” I handed her the ring, still in box. “You know, until we're ready to get married.”

She looked at the ring and gave it back to me

She crossed her arms. “Try that again.”

“Okay.” I laughed. “Rachel. Would you do me the great honor...?”

“Less formal.” she said, “Try it again.” she motioned a circle with her finger.

“Alright.” I took a breath in. “Then we’ll go with the old words of my ancestors.” I got down on one knee. “Ti viy-desh za me-nyA”

“For the love of GOD, Bailey.” she scoffed and covered her mouth, but not before I saw the smile.

“I get it.” I said completely serious. I got up from the kneeling position. “I thought about this. We have always been equals. Where I falter, you stay strong. So, with neither of us bellow the other, I want to ask you. Will you marry me?”

“Perhaps.” She said smugly. She deftly took the ring from the box and placed it on her finger. The ring on her hand, she crossed her arms and scowled at me “With all that, you killed the mystique.” She said looking at the ring on her finger. The yellow gold flashed on the Mocha tones of her skin.

“I'm sorry.” I said taking her shoulders. “I love you. I have for a long time and any future where I don't love you anymore is a nightmare.”

She looked up from the ring and into my eyes. “You should have said that.” She chuckled as I wrapped my arms around her waist.

“So.” I said kissing her on the cheek. “Will you marry me?”

“You should get my father's blessing.” she remarked.

“I did.” I scoffed.

“When?”

“The phone call. “I laughed. “It's amazing how you can state the truth to someone’s face and if you give it a sarcastic tone, they think you’re joking.” She turned and faced me.

“Sly dog.” she smiled. I smiled back.

“I can't help making puppy eyes at you.” I baby talked. Then I kissed her. She smiled and with a smiling face said.

“That sentence may have just given me diabetes.”

Chapter 8

Linda Yeoman

Library. My old friend. He always knew what to say, as long as I was patient enough to find the right question.

Hannah walked with me as we wondered the hall. Every tower of sanctuary had a library. Most were on the small size, a very densely packed fifteen by twenty room was fairly standard. They had the more common references and a few Grimoires of the current Masters and Mistresses, on a locked shelf, so they didn't have to store their books in their own rooms. Given the common compulsion to take notes when doing research, by the time a Gifted had reached the level of master, they had an impressive collection of journals.

The North Tower was 'The Library', with capitalized letters. A great amount of the shelves still were notebooks of the Elves and Fae that lived in Avalon before we mortals took over. The Seelie may have loved to keep records but, I assume, between the nightly dances and daily plays, no one felt the need to organize. Any librarian who attempted to organize often found that objects made by Fae tended to be just as mischievous as their creators.

Thus is why the Fae section is often described in words like “Rat's nest” and “Black hole”.

“Check all the books open and on the ground.” Hannah said as we walked through the allies.

“Sound like as good an idea as any.” I agreed, bending over to flip through a book.

“Fae books have a way of trying to hide in plain sight.” She said. “If it were a snake it would have bit you kind of places.”

“How would you know that?” I asked. “Isn't it against the rules to read Fae books?”

“It is.” Hannah said. The lack of continuation spoke volumes.

“What is the big deal with Fae Magic anyway?” I asked. I slammed a book down onto a close by table.

“It can get nasty.” She said, tucking a book under her arm to dust some things off.

“Doesn't all magic have the chance to get nasty?” I asked flipping through the tomb. The stiff pages crackled as I turned them. The prospect that a page might snap off as turned it made me a little nervous to continue. I did, ever so slightly more gentle.

“It does.” Hannah said. “The issue I found is it's insanely hard to control. It's kind of a bridge between using your own Magic and accessing the magic of a higher being. You can do incredible things with it like call up a freak hurricane from a blue sky or transmute organic matter into gold but a ton of things can go wrong. You’re fighting the laws of nature more than normal and they fight back.” She looked at me. “Do you know what the world of science calls taking an atom apart? Fission, as in nuclear fission.” She dropped the book she look was looking at. It slammed flat to the ground and slid under the shelf like an outside force had pulled it back. It was eerie.

“I think we need to focus.” I laughed. I look straight down and saw a book had somehow found its way to being right by my foot. I picked it up and saw pages with illustrations. “Snake, would of bit me.” I flipped through the book and muttered “Do you have anything on Lupis?”

The book tore itself from my hands. It bobbed in the air and pages flew back and forth. With a crack and pop, the book snapped open and a voice rang out



“The Journal of King Oberon of the Seelie Court.

“(The following is translated from Irish Gaelic)

“It is a black night in Avalon. A rare thing in this land. The loss of our eternal dusk heralds poor tidings I fear. Titania and I will be setting out for the heart of the land to see what is wrong on the morning, but at the moment the lesser Fae must be brave.

“I fear that the leader of the Unseelie, the one they call simply “King Unseelie”, has been gone for some time. I do not know where he went or why he left. My first instinct goes to the thought that this is somehow his doing. He was always a greater fan of darkness then I or my Beloved Titania. It is his influence that we have night at all in Avalon. His and the Vile mistress, Queen Mab.

“I know that I should trust them more. I am not sure if my dream would have become a reality without their aid. Still, the things I've seen him do make me shutter. The Mortals look on my acts and call me cruel. They are but pranks to entertain my bored eternal mind. They know nothing of the full capability of my kind when we wish to cause pain. I may show my displeasure by filling a man's cheese with Maggots, but never have I turned a knight’s sword on him and used it to kill his family.

“Onto lighter news. We had a guest come to Sanctuary. A gallant Red wolf, who likeness I will include. He calls himself Lupis. If his claims are true, he hold sway over land as far south as to the Lombard’s encompassing the land of the Franks. He even claims to have lands far to the west of Hispania.

“I heard Puck regale his personal attempts to see the other side of the waters. He tried to row by boat, but it capsized on a wave. He tried strapping wood to his feet and walking, but a fish tripped him. Lastly, he made a wooden sled, proofed it with resins and tied Dolphins to pull, but they soon grew unhappy and dragged him down to the depths. He remark that our guests inspections of those lands must require quiet a swim. The Guest then went into an explanation on the difference of how things work when resuming land from the Sprit Realm to the Mortal. I had heard it before and it bored me.

“Mab was absent from the dinner. Not a matter of surprise. She and her people do not share the same love of visitors we Seelie do. Here, in the privacy of my personal journals I will admit that I'm glad that she did not attend.

“However, I was forced to play host to a Member of her Court, Rumpelstiltskin. He over drank my wine and even went so far as to bring a Red Cap and claim the beast was a servant. Gladly, my guards are not the level of fools I sometimes am led to believe. They stopped the thing and ordered it back to the Unseelie lands”

“



“Well” I said as the book dropped to the floor. “That's... Convent.”

“Did it say, “Journal of Oberon”?” Hannah asked in disbelief, walking up to the book.

“I think so.” I said. She leaned down to pick it up. It shot under one of the bookshelves like someone kicked it.

“Son of a bitch!” she shouted kicking the bookshelf.

“Quiet, Please.” called out a man’s voice that echoed. It sounded familiar.

“Marshall?” I shouted out. “Master Marshall?”

“Yeah.” he said back. I walked to the end of the ally to find the lumpy Beast-Master sitting at a table. He dwarfed the Chair he sat in and had a rather impressive wall of books stacked in front of him. It was like a palisade of intellect.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“We came back to do research.” He said briefly looking up from his book. He immediately looked back down, clearly feeling like he said all that was needed to be said on that matter. “I found a book on known Lords of the Dark forests.” He looked back up. “Lupis is apparently the Brother of a few Prominent Lords. He's also listed as having a known distaste for Fae, Leprechaun's in particular.”

“He also holds land somewhere In France and perhaps somewhere in the Americans.” Hannah said

“What?” Marital stood up. “How do you know that?”

“We heard it from a book.” Hannah said. “Just now.”

“You mean you 'read' it in a book.” He tilted his head.

“No.” I shrugged, “She means 'Heard'.” Martial looked silly as his head shook and he scrunched his forehead.

“Freaking magic.” He said sitting back down.

Bailey York

That morning, I felt a buzz about me. An energy I hadn't known for quite some time had come back to me. I had the inherit feeling that I was about to have a good day.

I met Marshall and Linda in the courtyard of Sanctuary. Neither looked like that had gotten much sleep. I would have felt guilty, having clocked out at 11pm after dropping Rachel off at her apartment, but I didn't. I'd had more than my share of all-nighters.

Linda wasn't a tiny woman but next to Marshall she looked like a child.

“How did the research go?” I asked as I walked up to them.

“Well.” Marital started. “Lupis's realm connects to France and, possibly, parts of America.”

“Well.” I said. “Part of a continent is something.” I said half serious. “Can we assume North east Coast?”

“We can.” Marital said. “We might be wrong.”

“Noted.” I said. “Anything else?”

“No, there was surprisingly little on the Spirits of the dark forest.”

“It's hard to get to.” Linda said. “The trip can take a lot out of you and the Dark forest is not a place to be in a weakened state.” Linda added. “Those strong enough to go there and get back to write about it are usually smart enough not to risk it.”

“What she said.” I agreed.

“What did you accomplish?” Marshall asked

“Um.” I paused. “I got engaged last night.”

He started at me for a moment.

“Congratulation.” he said hesitantly. “But did you get any research done?”

“Nope.” I answered. He began to glare. “What? Did you think that any investigation I did would provide anything other than redundant info?” I answered. I crossed my arms. “So I went, Picked up the ring, and proposed proposed to my longtime Girlfriend. It was magical, and isn't magic what brought us all here.”

Marshall shook his head. “You're right. You would not have gotten anything Linda and I wouldn't turn up.” He sighed. “Though, we could use your eyes to look through the mountain of books we still can look through.”

“I'll help out with that.” I said. “But I think I might be better used chasing what we have.” I paused. Marshall motioned for me to explain. “So, the Beast might have reappeared in ether France or America. A Monster thought to possibly bring chaos with it if it leaves its forest. I can looked through books with ya’ll. Or I can use my inquisitor connections see if there was any spike in Chaos in the last four years in those two places.”

“Okay.” Marshall perked up a bit. I think I might have just impressed him “You do your thing, we'll do ours.”

I smirked. I knew exactly where to go first, even if really would rather not.



I walking into the Cafe. There was a clicking of plates in the back. It was three-ish in the Rouen afternoon. The place was empty besides the two men sitting at a tiny circular table.

Going left to right, the first was a sizable fellow. He wore a black and white pinstripe suit with a grey shirt and purple tie. He had a wide, shaven head and strong jaw. Imagine what a bulldog would look like as a person. I knew him. Lafite wasn't really that bad of a guy. Not to say I wanted to trifle with him, he was dangerous alright, but given the chance to present his good side, he was decent people. I'd have a drink with him any day.

I couldn't say the same about Javert. He was a thin man with a lot of angels to him. He wore a solid cream suit with a red kerchief tucked for effect in the breast pocket. I wanted to grab the kerchief and rub of the pencil mustache on his face.

But I wouldn't. Jevert was a Regional Chief. In the rank structure he outranked me significantly. I knew that poking at him would be a bad Idea. Just as he knew the whole Rank system was slightly more complicated then what a glance at our official positions might entail.

“Chief Javert.” I said approaching.

He didn't even look at me. “Sit, York.” he said as if my last name tasted bitter. I took the seat.

“How are you today?” I asked, not wanting to be rude by jumping straight to business.

“Fine.

“And you, Lafite?”

“Good.” He nodded with a cute smile. I tried to remember he could crush my skull and would if Javert ordered.

“I am short on time, Inquisitor. Make this quick.” Javert said, finally turning to my direction. Still his eyes skimmed around like I wasn't worth his attention.

“I sent the File.” I said as I pulled a folder from my coat. “But I brought this encase you lacked the time to look it over.” I handed it over to Lafite who handed it to Javert. “The Mission I'm working involves searching for a monster from Arthurian myth, The Questing-Beast. I'm asking for any information on possible spikes in activity in otherwise calm areas. It might be a sign of the beast’s presence.”

“And why would I help you?” Jevert asked.

“Because this is a mission assigned to me from the Inquisition in tandem with the Beast-Masters.” I said, leaving off 'and helping me without asking for payment might lead me to reconsidering my belief that you are a complete anus'. “It shouldn’t matter the political differences we have, Javert. We are both inquisitors. If you have any information to this case...” I didn't need to finish the sentence. He knew.

“You would rat me out, Huh?” he said leaning in back of his chair.

“'Rats' a strong, strong word.” I said. “The Inquisition does not inhibit itself.” I left the air the sit and percolate. “Any Inquisitor, from agent up past the Directors and The Commandant, do not withhold info.”

“You were always an idealist, Bailey.” he said with a scoff. “You always acted like the rules ordering things to be make them so.”

“If no one believes in a better world, how can we hope to have one?” I answered. “If all you act on is the worst, it is all you will find.”

“Bailey.” He laughed. “How can I say this?" he stood, buttoning his coat. “Get out of my country.”

“You do know that this form of action only increases my suspicion that you know something.” I remarked, remaining seated. “I don't know where this hate comes from.”

“You stole my woman.” He spat. Lafite suddenly looked very intrigued into the conversation.

'Ah,' I thought to myself. 'This again.'

“Javert. We've been over this.” I tilted my head. “I didn't steal anyone from you.”

“You knew I liked her.”

“We never talked. Ever.” I said. “How was I supposed to know you liked Rachel?” I held my tongue back for a moment.

“You’re the 'blood hound'.” He said, I smiled at my old Academy nickname. “You should have known.” I shook my head.

“She didn't even like you.” I said. I knew it was a bad idea, but I couldn't help it. I thought I was being considerate by not saying exact Rachel's thoughts on this subject.

“I was wearing her down.” he said. “She would have been mine.”

“I see your mistake there.” I laughed. “While you were trying to ware her down, I was building her up.”

“Lafite!” He said calmly, “Throw him out.”

I knew this wasn't going to go anywhere, so I said what I wanted to.

“Bitch all you want, little French fry.” I scoffed at him as Lafite pick me up. I kicked but tried not to hit Lafite, “While you sulk over a relationship that will never be,” I threw up my left hand, “she's wearing my ring!”

Lafite was a very literal man. Very literal. You know the statement “I don't trust him any more then I could throw him”. Lafite must trust me greatly.

Chapter 9

Linda Yeoman

Martial and I sat in the Library, pouring over old books with a bad habit of randomly deciding you were done with them. Oddly enough, most of the time we were about to be.

Martial kept his massive tome close. The one he kept in his back pack. Occasionally, he would crack it open and flip through and make notes. Once in a while, I heard scratching. Martial would stare at it while that was going on and wait for it to stop before looking in the back and reading.

“What is that?” I asked

“A correspondence between me and Beast Master Duncan.” He answered. “I was asking if any of the others could help me out here.”

“Correspondence in a book?” I asked

“Yeah.” He said. He smiled and paused. When he realized I didn't understand, he laughed. “It's a Cryptome. An enchanted book.”

“What does it do?” I asked.

“It's an encyclopedia of sorts.” He said. “When someone adds to it, it's copied into the other ones. Once you close the book. The scratching is someone making a note.”

“Other ones?”

“There are fourteen of them.” He hesitated. “We think. Thirteen are in the hands of we Beast-Masters and we have strict guidelines of what can and cannot be done with them. But once in a while, notes will be made and no one claims them. Someone will make an assertion and they will be blacked out with the words “wrong” written over it.”

“And so the Beast Master suspect someone has a book.”

“A Cryptome.” He said. “Sometimes the notes will be signed with a letter initial. “G” or something.”

“How do you contact the other books?”

“It's kinda like posting on a forum. You start a page and ask a question. Eventfully, the other Beast Master will answer.”

“And if they don't.”

“Well, if you want to hear from a specific owner, you write their book number in roman numerals.” He said flipping back a few pages. “Right here. See the wear on the page. Someone was trying to contact the owner of book VII, book seven.”

“Why roman numerals?” I asked. I briefly thought about how we should probably get back to studying, but my eyes hurt.

“It's easier to feel the different between XIII then 13” he answered. “Or at least that's what I'm told.”

'Makes sense.' I thought. “Has anyone tried to contact book fourteen?”

“Once or twice.” he said closing the book. “Usually doesn’t work.” Some scratching came from the book and it jostled a little of the table. He looked at the page and sighed.

“And that's everyone.”

“Try contacting XIV.” I said, saying XIV instead of fourteen. “Maybe they know something.”

“They won't answer.” He said.

“Try it.” I said. “What can it hurt?”

“My pride.” he said. “And the fourteenth book is not considered a valid source anyway. The majority of the beast masters distrust it. It's why all forms of personal contact are forbidden from the Cryptome. He or She that...”

“Martial, in magic “It” is also a possibility.”

“He, She, IT. We don't know who or what it is and it often blacks out information.” Marital said, as if the action was a crime worth beheading. “Theories have been lost due to the fourteenth book. It happens so often, that there is a separate book for when a theory is black out without argument or note from the original writer.”

“You can ask.” I said. “Even if they lie to you, how someone tries to misdirect can say a lot about them.”

Martial scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I'll think about it.” he said.

Bailey York

I stood staring at the door. The length of a hallway extended to either side. A large window looked into to the next room, paned with safety glass. I raised my hand for the second time then sighed and dropped it to my side.

In any job you meet some assholes. Some are minor. Some are gargantuan. Some are Schneiders.

With a deep breath and a groan, I turned the knob.

“How my I help you?” the nice enough lady said.

“I'm here to talk to Commandant Schneider.” I said, “I made an appointment.” the woman looked at me skeptically and then turned to her computer.

“Name?”

“Floater Agent York.” I said.

“Rank?” She looked at me

“Floater Agent.” I answered. The receptionist stared at me. “It's a real thing.” I asserted.

“I know.” She looked me up and down. “I'm just trying to think if you’re brave or stupid coming here. Being who you are.” She turned to type a little on her keyboard.

“I am feeling the latter at the moment.” I muttered, straightening the tie I wore.

“You're not on the list.” She looked up at me, a little sour and self-righteous.

“Are you sure?” I asked pinching the bridge of my nose again. I knew the answer.

“Oh, excuse me, it’s right here.” She said sarcastic, quickly saying. “Yes, I'm sure it's not there. What made you think that the Commandant would take time out to talk to a... Floater Agent?”

“Ms. Waltzki, I'm just trying to follow proper channels.” I said flatly. “I've been through this enough times to know he wouldn't see me. I just had to give him the chance so I can go one step higher.” I smiled and tipped my nonexistent hat. “Good day, ma’am.” I turned to walk out of the office when I heard the buzz a speaker.

“Send York in, Mrs. Waltzki.” a voice with a German Accent addressed. I stopped in my tracks, bowed my head and sighed. 'So close.' I spun slowly on my heels to see her scoff and point me back.

Schneider's office, I will admit, was nice. His office wasn't a huge space but he had more than enough and did wonders with it. It might seem like a bad idea, but somehow he made peach colored walls look professional, precise and intimidating.

Schneider himself was a demanding presence. He was over six foot four with light brown hair he combed back and restrained with what I can only assume was a half can of spray that gave it is glossy sheen. He wore a black great coat with gold Magnifying-glasses on each of the four pockets. My Inquisitor's glass pin was copper plated pewter. His was solid gold.

Under that was a military style dress uniform in black and white. He wore shiny dress shoes you could comb your hair in. He was clean shaven and whether he sat or stood, Commandant Schneider's uniform was never creased unduly.

Schneider sat behind a sizable wooden desk. On it he had a few loose things organized with typical German discipline. He had two matching chairs set in front of the desk and one to his left.

“Agent Bailey York.” He said to me as he sat at an angle away. “Is been zume time.”

“Two years.” I said. “The Manhattan case I worked with your son, Johan.”

“Yes.” He nodded with a smile. “Well, it is alvayz a pleazure. Come. zit. Tell me what brings you zree ranks above yourzelf.” He motioned to the chair on the left.

I sat in the chair. The back was short and straight. Also the chair was far too close to the desk, leading to the edge digging into my side. My bull headed nature made me sit in it like it was instead of pulling it out.

“I am currently working a case for the Beast-Masters.” I explained. “We're looking for the Questing Beast.”

“Vhat iz zis Questing Beast?” He asked leaning in. I knew he could pronounce his Ws and “th”s correctly. He rarely sounds this German unless he’s actually talking in his home language. So I could only assume he did it on purpose. As to why, I cannot guess. I just rolled with it.

“I looks kind of like a Giraffe from hell.” I said. “It from Arthurian Legend and is thought to be connected to major cataclysms when seen out of its home forest.”

“I sake it ez no longer in zis Forez.” He infered.

“It is not.” I said. “I, and the team I am working with, have reason to believe that the beast may have ended up somewhere in France. When I asked for Chief Jevert for information to help locate it, he refused.”

“And vhy do you sink he refuzed.” Schneider asked sitting back. “Did you, perhapz, not ask nizely, rudely even? Chief Jevert is two levels above you in rank and you are not even part of his command. I cannot imagine you demanded it from him.”

“He holds a grudge against me.” I said, trying to remain calm and collected.

“Over vhat?” Schneider said lighting a cigarette.

“Over his fancying my Fiancée.” I said. “He said so himself. Lafite, his Body guard, heard it.”

Schneider puffed from his cigarette a few times. He blew it in the air above him.

“I know.” He said dropping the accent for a split second. He turned breifly to tap the ash from his cigarette into the tray. I wanted to ask what he planned to do about it, but I bit my lips and held my tongue. “As you said, Jevert has not been subtle in ze matter.” He returned to the accent again before pausing to smoke. “Certainly not a zubtle as I vould like. Jevert vill be ordered to releaze ze information to you.”

“Thank you, Commandant.” I said readying to stand.

“Did I dismiss you, Agent?” He asked dropping the heavy German accent for a more subtle hint. I stopped and sat back down. “You should not thank me. My job as Commandant of the Inquisition is to clear things like this up. Chief Jevert has acted poorly and disgracefully and will be reprimanded.”

“Will you be demoting him?” I asked, trying not to sound happy at the thought.

“OF course not.” Schneider scoffed, “What purpose would that serve me?” He crushed the burning end of the cigarette into the tray and left it crumbled there. “His public record will be given a strike on it and he will be removed from all honors applications he is currently being considered for.”

“That's a slap on the wrist.” I blurted out. I bit my lips again but the words were out.

“Yes, it is.” Schneider said standing. “York, now you are dismissed.” He said motioning to the door.

I left the office. Jevert sat in the waiting room. He starred at me for long enough for the rest of those there to join in.

“Chief Villifort Jevert, Please come in.” Schneider called over the phone speaker. Jevert got up and straightened his coat he approached the door and I moved to exit the room entirely.

“York.” He said with a snarl. “Stay out of France.”

“I try.” I said leaving the room.

Chapter 10

Linda Yeoman

Marshall sat writing in his book. I had already run through the books I pulled out. I turned to skimming through a few of them again to pass time and avoid getting up again.

“What time is it?” I put the book down. Marshall paused in his writing to pull up his sleeve. On his wrist he wore a steel banded watch.

“3:47 pm.” He said “We've been at it all night.”

“This is the second night in a row and we haven't found anything.” I said leaning back in my chair. “Has the fourteenth book answered back?”

“No.” He said in a tone that added 'and I still don't expect them too'.

“I hope York has something tomorrow.” I said.

“Aren't you having fun?” He asked with a straight face. I frowned.

“You are?” I asked.

“Yeah!” he exclaimed. “I've spent the last few days pouring over old and forgotten Fae tomes. I'm learning things the Faerie knew centuries ago and sharing them. Haven't you seen how many notes I'm taking?”

“I have.” I said. Then a light clicked in me. “Forgotten!” I gasped and bolted to my feet.

“What?” he asked.

“Forgotten Knowledge.” He said to him as I pulled my bag up and slammed it on the table. “If they are spirits of forgotten knowledge, they might help.” I rummaged through my bag until I landed on a small stick of chalk. “Yes.” I stated as I hurried to an open area on the floor, dropped to my knees and began to draw.

First a circle about two feet in diameter, then a star.

“What are you doing?” Marshall asked.

“You'll see.” I answered as I pulled a tube from my bag. In it were four small objects: A Match stick, a plastic plastic vial with a cap small enough to be filled with a single drop of ocean water, the twig from one of the trees of Avalon, and a quart sized seal-able bag which I opened and inflated with warm breath before resealing. I placed each at the points of the star in proper order as they were to me: The match for fire, twig for earth, Vial for water and warm breath for air. I took my place at the empty point, providing the last element object, me. “Spirits of things Forgotten. Watchers of knowledge lost, come and show yourself to me.” I said, closing the summoning with a clap.

I felt a small sapping from my energy as I poured power into the circle. It began to glow. From the dust on the floor rose an amorphous figure. It floated in the air taking the form of only a head and shoulders, small like a child.

“You called, seeker of knowledge.” It said in a soft voice, like someone whispering in a library. “Long it has been since one was able to sense our presence. Longer since one listened to our cries.”

“Oh!” Marshall said fluttering through his book.

“Stop!” It shouted in a voice that dug in the mind. “Stop now!”

“What?” Marshall said. Holding his hand over a blank page.

“Son of Marshall, it could be writing about our existence, we will be diminished. A note about us in a book such as that might destroy us completely.” It said again in the soft voice.

“Oh!” Marshall said pulling the pen up. He blacked out the few marks he made. “Um... okay.” He capped the pen. “Would speaking to the other Beast-Masters cause a problem?”

“Not enough to speak of.” the Spirit said. “But it might be the more that is known about us, the weaker we grow. It could be that even revealing this much pains me, but I know it must be said so nothing horrible is done.”

“Weakened how?” Marshall asked impulsively.

“We might be finite in number. Or we might not.” It said. “Every soul that knows of our existence might remove from our population. Perhaps, once the one who knows dies, the individual reappears.”

“So what does talking about yourself do?”

“It causes a wound in our existence.” the Spirit said in a strained voice.

“Stop asking it questions about itself!” I shouted. Marshall jumped. I turned to the spirit. “They might be compelled to answer any question asked of them.”

“You may be wise to think that way.” the Spirit said.

“Alright.” Marshall said. He nodded. He started hopping on the balls of his feet. “Oh, this is so cool, but I can't write about it.” He muttered to himself. Now he was the one who sounded in pain.

“Lady Yeoman.” the Spirit turned back to me. “You have called on us and I have appeared. What is it that you must know?”

“We are looking for Books on the Spirit Lord Lupis, The Questing-Beast and any connection the Questing-Beast has with a member of the Sidhe.” I said clearly.

“One... One subject... at a time... Lady Yeoman.” the Spirit flickered.

“A book with information on were Lupis's Territory is in America.” I said.

“At once, my lady.” It said floating from the circle and past me in a cloud of dust. It left behind the smell of old paper, like honey and the woods.

“Whoa.” Marshall said. “Did it just pass through the binding?” we followed the cloud through the allies.

“Guide spirits.” I said. “They can pass through magical bindings like a sharp knife.”

Marshall chuckled in glee. “I am so glad I met you, Ms. Yeoman. This is so cool!”

The Spirit took us through what seemed like half the library at a jogging pace. My short legs struggled to keep up and I got the feeling that was why it was going that slow. Marshall simply took long strides.

I wasn't sure where we were when the cloud of dust stopped at a shelf and reformed into the head and shoulders look. I noted that the spirit’s mass seemed less than before, but not by much.

“Here, Ms. Yeoman” the Spirit said. “Moloistis'es Notes on the Lords and Ladies of the Spirit Forest.” Marshall pulled it off the shelf, covered in about an inch of dust.

“Wow.” Marshall said as he opened it up. I heard the creaking and snap of the old paper from a few feet away. “Is this printed on Vellum?”

“It is, Master Marshall.” the Spirit confirmed.

“Oh. Sorry.” Marshall flinched.

“No worries.” the Sprint said. “We spirits of forgotten knowledge are likely to live to spread such things, we grow in strength by doing so. We may only harmed by discussing facts about ourselves. It is a possibility”

“Good.” Marshall said. He carefully turned the pages. “Here.” Marshall lowered the book so I could see. Still, I had to stand on my toes.



Moloistis'es notes on the Lords and ladies of the Spirit forest

Sec. 17: The Wood Lords: Lupis



I had been told much about a massive red furred wolf by the spirits I have spoken to in the past. They describe him as a wild spirit, one whose allegiance can be less then reliable and, most important, as someone to keep on their good side as his taste for mischief can lead to fatality.

I was not misled. I found him near the edge of the forest. He has a grand stature on his hind legs, I estimate him to stand somewhere between eight and twelve feet in height. On four legs he makes the tales of Dire-wolves far too real. He seems to have a love of the colors green and brown, not to unusual for a Wild Spirit, and Red which is to be expected of a predator. However he also seems to carry an affection for the color Yellow as well, which shown by his complementing of the color of my canary vest.

We spoke at some length. He invited me on a hunt which I felt would be rude and ill advised to deny. We chased a Jackalopes down as well as a Great Stage. Both of which he did his own scent tracking on. He seemed to find my sword and bow quaint.

I can now attest that Great stage is some of the finest meat I have ever tasted. Even raw, it was sweeter than any flesh to grace my tongue, even Unicorn.

In our discussions, he brought up a claim to lands on the other side of the great ocean. I told him Pucks story of his attempts to seek Atlantis. He claimed to have heard it before, thought he still laughed at it. He described the area in which he connects as being “Along the coast where the Pawpaw grow”. I hope that I will sometime be able to understand what he was talking about but I fear I never will…



Marshall and I stopped reading after that.

“Thank you, Mr. Spirit.” I said.

“Your welcome.” the Spirit replied. “Will that be all?”

“Do you know what this means?” I asked. “The land where the Pawpaws grow.”

“I can't tell you.” the Spirit said.

“What?” Marshall and I asked.

“That knowledge is known.” the Spirit said, “You only need to ask someone who knows it.”

“So you can't tell us something if it is already known?” I asked.

“Correct.” the Spirit strained. Some of the dust composing its form sprinkled to the floor.

“Sorry.” I jumped. I sighed. “Can you tell us of any connection between the Questing Beast and a member of the Fae?”

“I can.” It said, “The Creature was made as a failed experiment by the Lord Unseelie.”

“What?” I asked.

“The Creature was made as a failed experiment by the Lord Unseelie.” The Spirit repeated with the exact same tone.

“Could the being lead it be the Lord Unseelie?” Marshall asked.

“It is possible.” The Spirit answerer. “The higher Sidhe would all be able to control the beast.”

“Out of curiosity, what would happen if a lower faerie tried?” Marshall asked with a smirk.

“Indigestion.” The Spirit said. “For the Questing-Beast.” Something in the spirits voice seemed to hint it was making an attempt at humor.

“Can you tell us who is leading the Beast?” Marshall asked.

“No. That information is known.” The Spirit said.

“By who?” I asked.

“I can't say.” The spirit turned to me. “That information is known.”

“Worth a try.” I shrugged.

“Obviously the person who knows who is leading it knows that they know.” Marshall said. “And of course the person leading it knows they are the ones leading it.”

“Yes, they do.” the Spirit said. “But the one commanding the Beast is an immortal being. Those who are Immortal do not figure into what is known.” Marshall and I looked at each other. “It would not be fair.”

“So, you're saying that a mortal knows who is leading the Questing-beast.”

“Yes.”

“God, damn it.” Marshall said.

“Does the person who knows who took the Beast know that the one leading it is in fact an Immortal.” I asked, it occurred right after how winding of a question that was.

“No.” The Spirit said.

“What do they think it is?” I asked.

“That information is known.”

“Wait.” Marshal cut in. “You said the Questing-beast was a Failed Experiment.”

“That information is known.”

“I will take that as a yes.” Marshall began to pace. “What were they trying to make?”

“A weapon of mass destruction. A creature that could make disorder by its presence on the battle field.”

“And it was considered a failure?”

“That information is known.”

“How did it fail?”

“It could not be confirmed to cause the chaos desired.” the Sprit said. “While it often found itself close to moments of cataclysms, often it would be present and nothing would happen. It became thought that it may simply be attracted to the chaos instead of being the cause of it.”

“Does it cause the chaos?” Marshal asked.

“That information is unknown.” the Spirit said.

“What?”

“You know what I said.” the Spirit said.

“But, I thought...” Marshal started. I cut in before he made the spirit reveal something.

“Maybe there is three times of information.” I said. “Perhaps there is Knowledge Know, Knowledge that has Been Forgotten, and Knowledge that has never been learned, things that are Unknown. Perhaps.” I strained. “Perhaps Spirits of Forgotten Knowledge can only work in the second one.”

“It may be wise to think that way.” the Spirit said.

“And perhaps they only work in certainties.” I strained. “Things that have been confirmed. And that unconfirmed speculation does not hurt them.”

“Ah.” Marshall said. “Okay, so whether the Questing-beast actually does anything is unknown. Why would someone who knows that want to take it then?”

“To make it known.” the Spirit stated pleasantly.

“Thank you.” I said. “I think we are done with you now.”

“Please don't dismiss me.” the Spirit whimpered. I stood and paused.

“What?” I asked. “Why? I thought spirits hate being summoned”

The Spirit didn't say anything. I simply floated in the air.

“How much damage did helping us cause?” I asked, tear welling up in me.

“I am known.” It said. “You know about me specifically, both of you. I appeared. I have become known, no longer forgotten.”

“And now, my summoning spell is all that holds you together.” I said covering my mouth

“It might be wise to think that.” the Spirit said. “I might not want to die.”

“Um. Wow.” Marshall covering his mouth. “The circles in the middle of the floor and I think that floor is a fairly common traffic area. The circle would be disturbed.

“It is known.” the Spirit said

What do we do?” He asked.

“Um.” I tried to think. Then an idea sparked in my head “Marker! I need a marker!”

Bailey York

I sat on a bench in Sanctuary's Courtyard green. A small pack of ravenous Pigeons were starring me down.

“You can't deceive me.” I told them. “I know your ilk. You pray on the weak willed, overly generous and the lonely.” I threw a small handful of dry bread that had sat too long on top of my mini fridge. “Continue the good work.”

“York.” Bellowed Marshall from a ways off. He had his backpack lung over a shoulder, likely with that monster of a book crammed in the big pocket. Linda was with him, white Acolytes robes and everything. She had a funny looking book that from the good fifty yards off I could feel a tingle from.

“You have something?” I asked as I stood from the bench.

“Maybe.” Marshall said. “We have found some info about Lupis and the Questing-beast.” the big man said as he strode towards me and Linda tried to keep up. He paused in front of me. He muttered under his breath, “Information that now occurs to me may be extremely hard to verify. Even more so to prove.”

“Well what is it?” I asked.

“Well.” Linda caught up and opened the book to a place she had marked with her finger. “Read this entry.” It took the book and shuddered. It was like touching a gag buzzer. After a second I began to read.

“'Along the coast where the Pawpaw grow'.” I read out and pondered. “Like 'way down yonder in the pawpaw patch' Pawpaws?”

“What?” Linda asked.

“It's something my parents used to say when something was further away then they'd like.” I handed the book back to Linda and rubbed my palms on my shirt to reduce the tingling. “I think Pawpaw is a fruit native to North American. Something that grows down the east coast and throughout the swamps.”

“What?” Marshall asked. “How do you know that?”

“My Mother's side of the family are Farmers in Georgia.” I said. “Such as everyone else was growing Peaches and Pecans, Grandpa Travis used to talk about planting a Pawpaw patch and seeing if they'd sell.” I rubbed my hands together. “Don't think he ever did though.”

“So we have it narrowed down to the entirety of the east coast.”

“Most of the east coast.” I corrected, “Florida is too hot for them. Also, most of the east coast of the U.S. is better than the entirety of the west hemisphere.”

“True.” Marshall said. “It's still a very large area.”

“Also true.” I said. “But it's more defined and I we can work in an area like that. I know who to contact.” I felt a tingle in my side just before I heard my phone ring. I don't usually have special ring tones but I do have three, all instrumentals. “You Raise Me Up” for my parents. “Brown eyed Girl” for Rachel. And an old Soviet Death March for all of the Schneiders and most of my superiors.

Also my grandfather. Dad's dad.

I picked up.

“Inquisitor York.” I answered.

“York, there is a mission for you.” Said the voice on the line.

“I know.” I said. “I'm in the middle of a morning briefing.”

“According to this you have no active investigations.”

“I'm working with the Beast-Masters under order of Professor Buchanan, Carl.” The other side laughed.

“This is a quick one.” Carl said. “Only...”

“Don't you say only a few days?” I warned.

“If it takes you that long I have vastly over estimated your talents.” Carl said. “Name's Diana Walker. We know where she is. A group of Watchmen have her pinned down in Houston. We just need someone to go in and get her out.”

“In and out. You swear.”

“I have every faith that you can escalate the situation, Bailey.” Carl laughed. “Yeah, it should be fast.”

“Okay, tell the watchmen a negotiators on his way.”

“See you there.” He said.

I ended the call. Holding the phone in my hand I looked up to Marshall and Linda.

“Apparently, I need to run down and be an Inquisitor for a moment.” I put my cell back in my pocket. “See what you all can do while I'm gone.” I pointed to Marshall. “I recommend you get in touch with Chief Kenneth Donnell. He's the Inquisition chief of the East U.S., he might know something.”

“Okay.” Marshall rushed out. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Linda.” I turned to her, looking down considerably. “See if you can find Mistress Hannah. She might know more about where Pawpaw's grow.”

“Hannah, alright.” Linda said, getting a twinkle in her eye like she was trying to initiate an inside joke. I didn't get it. That made me nervous.



I coasted up to the warehouse. All round were men in HPD Uniforms who I knew were not local police. The TPW truck purred down as I turned it off and the rumble rolled down.

“Agent York?” a lead man walked up. He wore the black uniform of the Houston Police department with a sergeant’s chevrons on his upper arm.

“Aye.” I answered existing the cab. Reginald followed. When the watchman reached me he offered his hand for a shake. I took it.

The air was wet with magic. It was savage and crackled on my insides. A lot of practiced magic feels like points of energy or flows of water. This was a rock slide. Brutal but desperate, only happening after being pushed over an edge.

“Sir Walter.” He said. “Took your time getting here.”

“And here I thought I made good time.” I answered with a laugh. He smiled back politely.

“Bailey.” Warned the passenger who stepped out from the other side. “Be nice to officer.”

“Yes.” I paused. “Bobbie.” The named tasted wrong. The short women with red hair sprinkled with white strands came from around.

“Who's this?” Sir Walter asked with a small bit of spit in his voice.

“Someone I thought might be able to help the situation.” I said. “She has a unique perspective I think would be invaluable.”

The Watchman looked her over and grimaced. He said nothing.

“What's the plan, Inquisitor?” He asked, keeping his eyes on Bobbie for a few moments before turning back to me.

“I intend to talk to her.” I stated simply.

“I don't recommend that.” the Watchmen warned. “This woman is volatile and has already hurt a few of us.” I looked over to see a man with savage burns on his arm. Another had shrapnel shooting out of his arm which bent unnaturally at the elbow.

“She's likely scared.” I said. Bobbie agreed with a firm nod. “Have you made any attempts to communicate?”

“No.” He said. “We got her here and once we realized she wasn't budging, we dug in and called for a negotiator.”

“Not a bad idea.” I said. I was playing nice. “Well, let’s see what we can do.” I offer my arm to the little woman. We walked up to the building.

“Dianna!” I shouted out. “Can you hear me?”

There was a loaded pause.

“Yes.” a woman's voice answered. I felt an aura up in a second story window.

“My name is Bailey York.” I shouted. “I'm here in hopes that we can convince you to come with us.”

“Says the Man in Black.” she said. “Who are you people?”

“Well, I'd love to talk to you about that.” I said. “But it's not something I would feel comfortable shouting out in public. Can we come in?”

“No.” She said

I sighed and extended my sense to focus on the closest door. It was barred with an Arcane Barrier. Crude and simplistic like throwing a large rock in front of a door. Just about as difficult to get out of the way. A lot of energy went into putting that sucker up.

I conveyed the note to Bobbie.

“Can you handle it?” I asked.

“Can I handle it?” she scoffed as if insulted, “Of course I can, but I don't think storming in is going to make her feel any safer.”

“I agree.” I said. “Just checking options.”

“What are you two talking about?”

“We know you’re scared.” Bobbie said. “I know what it's like to wake up one morning and suddenly have powers you thought were only in stories.”

“How could you possibly know?” she asked.

“Second story window with the stickers.” I softly told Bobbie with my head down and lips out of Diana sights.

“How do you think?” Bobbie asked lifting her hand upward. She formed a blue ball of energy. She left it float up to the window and focused her attention into it. I felt her aura extend like a stretched water balloon to the orb. She closed her eyes and whispered. “Firsthand experience.” I was sure that Dianna heard it more from the orb itself.

“We're like you.” I said. “We just want to talk.” Putting my hand over my heart. “We're not super villains, I swear.” Bobbie elbowed me.

There was a pause. I looked at the door again, examining it, sensing it. Calculating how fast I thought I might be able to knock it down and get through the bearer. I didn't want to do that, but she'd hurt people and clearly didn't have control.

“We just want to talk, honey.” Bobbie pleaded.

There was a loaded pause.

“Okay.” Dianna said. “But just the lady.

Bobbie smiled and went to the door. The watchmen all tightened at seeing her go in alone but I stared them down. She came out about an hour and a half later. Dianna was with her. She was a fiery redhead with blue eyes and a nervous smile.

“Are you ready to go?” I asked from just to the right of the door.

“Yeah.” Dianna swallowed. “Bobbie explained things.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Sign in, find Hannah and try to do my best to get control.”

“Once Hannah and Plantagenet tell me you have things under control, we'll go from there.” I said before standing up. I got to my feet and walked them to the truck. The watchmen kept a close eye on her as I opened the door and let her in. Bobbie and I hopped in ourselves.

I turned the key.

“Thanks.” I said to Bobbie. “Couldn't have done it without you.”

She smiled and sat silently as I backed out and we started down the road.

“You only call when you have work.” she said blankly. I groaned

“Damn it, Mom.”

Dianna burst out laughing.

Chapter 11

Linda Yeoman

Marshal and I walked up to Chief Donnell office. Marshal knocked on the door with the back of his knuckles. The hall smelled dusty and overly clean at the same time.

“Yes?” asked the receptionist over the intercom.

“Beast-Master Norman Marshall here to speak with Chief Donnell.”

“You have an appointment?” She asked. Marshall shifted.

“I'll be quick.” He answered.

“That didn't answer the question.” She asked. “Do you think a regional chief has nothing to do beside talk to random people?”

“This is where I was told to go.” Marshall scratched he head. “I'm on official business.”

“Not so official that you can make an official appointment apparently.” she answered. “What do you need?”

“I need reports of heightened unrest from any area along the west coast.” He answered.

“Boy, you new?” She asked. Marshall fidgeted. “You come to bother the Chief over stuff like this. Go down to the Blades office and make a request for the information. If that don't work, call back and make a dang appointment.”

The intercom clicked.

“The blades office, why didn't we go there first?” Marshall said. “So stupid.” Marshall thumped himself against the head and turned back. I followed.

On our way to the Blades office, we made our way through a large space between buildings. Besides the main castle keep this its ancient white spires, Sanctuary had massive open spaces. The largest is called the Courtyard Green which was basically an open field with a spattering of Gazebos and rings of trees that made the maps of it looked like leopard spots.

The Citadel was far more tightly packed. There were alleys closed in by three or four story buildings. Most of the buildings were some form of brick or mortared stones. Then there were the main fairs. This one was called “Lancaster Lane”. I remembered that the six main fairs were connected by a closed loop called “Pendragon”. In the center was “The Citadel”, a Massive red and grey stone Bastion.

Marshall caught me gawking at the buildings. I felt myself blush. It all seemed so full of life somehow and yet so enclosed. You felt like, even when the roads were empty, that things unseen could be going on just around you.

“This way, Linda.” He said.

We passed a newer building. It was made of cinder-block and stucco with a modern roof and the word “Gwain's” stamped in a large sign over the front entrance. I could smell food and alcohol coming from the welcoming draft existing the place.

“Mmm.” I let out involuntary. Marshall turned.

“You Hungry?” he asked, placing his hand over his stomach.

“I could eat.” I said. “You?”

“Same.” He said. Briefly he looked at the cinder block building, then too me. Marshall turned and continued down the road.

“Can't we eat here?” I asked.

“No, “we” can't.” He said, emphasizing the “we”.

“I'm banned?” She said.

“Not you in particular” He said. “Gifted and any form of magic.” He said.

“Well...” I started but stopped myself. “That makes sense.”

“There's a nice deli down the road.” He said in a light way. “They have Subs like you wouldn't believe. We'll get some”.

Bailey York

Dianna sat in a cheap gray chair. I sat next to her filling out paperwork.

“Birth place?” I asked.

“Like the hospital?” she asked turning to look at the page.

“It would be nice but just tell what you know.” I answered

“Raleigh, North Carolina.” She said.

“Raleigh, North Carolina, U.S.A.” I read out loud.

“You have to note Country?” She asked.

“Hey, Rajesh!” I shouted out. A dark skinned Indian man turned.

“Yes, Agent York?” he answered in an Indian accent.

“Thanks, that's all I needed.” I said. He kind of rolled his eyes at me and went back to work. “We're worldwide.” I said to Dianna. “We operate everywhere. Even Antarctica, where I thank God I haven't been sent.”

“Why, is there some really dangerous monster?”

“Yes.” I said. “It's called the south pole.” I chuckled. “Me in the coldest place on earth? They’d have a redneckcicle in a day.” I returned to the form. “Mothers name?”

“Felicity.” she answered.

In the door came a man. He wore a coat like mine with a pin like mine. Our similarities ended there. He dragged a woman behind him. She was bleeding from minor cuts around her face, which were circled by bruises. The woman wore a once white shirt and blue jeans, both of which had been splattered with the red of blood. Now had been added the shiny silver of steel hand cuffs. He dropped her on the ground, unmoving as he approached the counter.

“Damn.” I said under my breath. I had flashes of red run through my mind. Scarlet thoughts of dropping the clipboard, running over and showing that man who wore my uniform what it felt like to be treated that way. I felt the heat fill my bruised knuckles, the ache of my hands as the struck his face, over and over. I laughed as years of watching injustice finally released.

Then I felt the cool as took a deep breath in. I shoved the anger down, into the pit of my soul where the furnace of passion burnt. I would later use it like coal, but not now.

“Oh, my God!” Dianna grasped and covered her mouth. I felt the raise in the atmosphere as she drew in power. The deep pot of my belly went into an uproar. Still, I grabbed her hand firmly, getting a feedback similar to touching a live wire.

“Calm yourself.” I said, slightly harsher then I intended but soft enough I hoped. She looked away from the bleeding woman to the floor and at me. “That won't help you or her. Breath and release.”

“What?” she said, a small spike of power lifted involuntary. “Oh, Oh!” she looked around and saw everyone looking at her. “What? How Do I?”

“Breath and unclench.” I said. “I've heard it helps focus on an image of your hands letting go of something.” She took in a long breath. As she let it out I, and I'm sure everyone else, felt the slow dissipation of power.

Harrison showed up as she was letting do. He wore a loose fitting brown suit and carried a black file box under his arm.

“Harrison.” I stood. Tightening my shoulders for preparation, I offered Dianna my hand to help her up. Harrison approached and I handed him the clipboard. He grabbed me and gave me a back cracking hug.

“Bailey, you have to stop asking me to do this for you.” He muttered as he let me down. Harrison took a half second to find where we were. “Dianna Walker, Born March 13 1992. Raleigh, North Carolina.” He paused and motioned for us to follow. “Father's name?”

“Don't know.” Dianna said. “Mom only knew his by his last name.”

“Which was?” He asked.

“Walker.” she answered in a “duh” kind of tone.

“Oh, of course.” Harrison answered. He wrote it down as we walked.

Martial led us to a cubicle with a computer and a small stack of neatly squared papers. It had pens and pencil in a glass jar that I know for sure was a cleaned Nacho cheese jar. I knew because I was other one whose trash he took it out of.

“Sit, please.” He motioned to two cheap chairs like those back in the waiting room. He walked around and took a place in an old, and broken in, swivel chair. He absent mindlessly taped a key on his computer and a shine reflected off his face to show it had come to life. His desk was bolted to the ground with heavy lug nuts and a large iron loop was mounted in a similar way on the desk top.

Harrison Buchanan cracked his knuckles only looked straight to Dianna.

“Welcome to the wonderful world of the Magical Bureaucracy, I will be your Guide, Harrison Buchanan.” He said in a singsong type of voice. “First thought paper work ally.”

Rachel Katsaros

Space was at a premium in the Citadel. It was a big deal to be given clearance to live on sight of the Citadel. It meant you were considered valuable. It meant having you on hand was important.

It meant you were going to be very cramped.

My father's shed in Greece was bigger than this apartment. My bathroom was a toilet and sink with the shower head place above the mirror. My sink had three nobs above it, turn the wrong one and you better hope that you didn't have your phone in your pocket.

It had happened to Bailey a few times. He'd get sprayed, scream and come out with his long black inquisitor coat soaked with this “Did I really just do it again” face. The first time was certainly an accident as was the second. Every time since seemed to be timed around when I was in a bad mood.

Everyone thinks Bailey York is a Bad-ass. Really, Bailey's a dork. My dork.

I came out of the shower and dressed. When I turned to the mirror to see what insane direction my hair had gone this time, I saw him. A small built Mild Eastern boy in his later teens, maybe sixteen or seventeen. I turned to him. He wore yellow and white cloths with a red shawl over his head. He wore a sword on his left hilt. The details on the hilt and scabbard were made from gold so pure it was almost translucent.

“Timotheos.” I said nodded to him, holding my hand in-front of me. He looked on my, through me, with eye that had looked God in the face and not blinked.

“Darkness comes for Bailey.” He said clearly and with a straight face of warning. “Darkness come for you soon after.” the air grow a clear smell and then was filled with a faint, indescribable incense.

“What can you tell me of this?” I asked trying to keep my head clear as the Wardens sense blared around me with a feeling like the smell of a charcoal fire and the touch of silk. The essence of angles.

“I tell what I know.” He said straightening but gaining an air of compaction. “The long silence of an old foe is ending and York will finish the mission of his ancestors. You must choose to help him or to let him face it alone.”

“How can you expect me to leave him to face something you, the angle Timotheos, call darkness, by himself?” I shouted.

“We do not.” He answered with a smile. “But it will cost you. It will cost him. The fires he has face before were in forging and drawing out the steel. He has not been quenched. That is the most dangerous step in the making of the blade. The steel grows tight, a wrong strike with shatter the blade.”

“What can I do?” I asked. “What does any of that even mean?”

“Hey, Rachel.” he coked his head to the right. “You know how this works. I just repeat what he tells me.” Timotheos motioned to the air.

“Right.” He rubbed my nose. “What if Bailey shatters?” I asked. The angel dropped his smile and looked to the ground.

“It is better to die the hero.” he muttered, “then to live long enough to become the villain.” He took a breath, something I knew had to be a habit from his time as a human.

“How can I help him?” I asked.

“You must prepare him for the quench before it comes.” He said looking at me straight. “After, you will not be able to help. Another must come for the temper.”

“How do I do that?”

“I cannot say” He shook his head. “I do not know.”

“I guess I should thank you.” I laughed. “Not that I know any more than I did before.”

“We will meet more before Bailey will know of me.” Timotheos announced.

“I still don't know why I can't tell him about seeing Angels.” I asked.

“How strong is my presence?” he scoffed. “Mere words about us have a scent. We come when we are spoken about. It would burn Bailey to be in our presence. That is why he must be strengthened. He will know us soon.”

“What is that quote from “Voyage of the Dawn-treader?” I scoffed. “The one at the end when they asked Aslan what he means by “soon”

Timotheos smiled.

“It was “I call all times soon”.” he answered.