Border, KS

“Needless to say, the vicar was unhappy!” Morgan said through laughter that edged right up to the line of being girlish and barely stopped, kicking her feet in delight. “We were in trouble for months, and it took hours to clean up—but it was so worth it.” She giggled for a few moments longer, clear and light and lovely, before she settled back down against the couch and tucked her legs back up on to it.

Walter laughed as well, shaking his head at the image. He leaned back and let it wash over him, as he finished off a glass of wine and set it aside. They had moved from the kitchen island to the couch and transitioned from whiskey to wine at the same time the Thai food had been delivered. Now they both sat with the detritus of delivered dinner on the coffee table, through the first bottle and in to the next.

Walter felt very comfortable on the couch with Morgan, and it surprised him. He wasn’t sure why it surprised him, or rather he wasn’t sure which reason why he should have felt uncomfortable but didn’t was more surprising. He was, technically, still married—although the exact status of that was sufficiently murky that some days he felt like she was on vacation, and others like he had lost her forever. And beyond that he was sitting on a couch with a beautiful woman who had been born before his great grandmother’s great grandmother’s great grandmother had been a twinkle in anyone’s eye, so a little voice in his head said he should feel uncomfortable with her. But as she adjusted herself and it brought her a little bit closer, he wasn’t.

Morgan wiped at her eyes, shaking her head. “God, I don’t think about those stories enough. We’ve been so caught up these months trying to find the bad guys—and Tania and I have been worried about it for years.” She gave a little bit of a sigh, setting her own glass aside to look at Walter. Her cheeks remained lightly flushed, and a half-smile lingered on her lips. “It’s been a rough couple of years.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Walter agreed, and his smile faded a little bit as he sighed, and leaned back. “A few years ago I would have said I never expected to live in a small Kansas town. Now…” He laughed again, this time with both genuine amusement and a little bit of exasperation. “I can honestly say that living in a small town is not the weirdest thing that’s happened by far.”

Morgan nodded at that. “The one thing that I’ve found is that life is never exactly what you intended.” She agreed, considering him. “You know, I think I’ve been telling stories for hours now, and I still haven’t really gotten one out of you. Not even the one you agreed to trade.” Walter shook his head, smirking.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. Besides, I was quiet enjoying yours. Besides, who am I to compete with eight centuries of horrified vicars.” He offered with a grin, as he reached out to nudge her legs at that, and she shook her head with a laugh.

“I’ve only horrified a few vicars, it’s not like I made a specialty of it. I horrified the enter church hierarchy—I once spooked a Pope, I am proud to admit, and made myself a particular terror to a Buddhist nun. But only because she deserved it.” Morgan clarified quickly, once again laughing delightedly as she remembered it. “But there was a story that you promised, although I may let you have a reprieve.” Walter raised an eyebrow at that. “If you tell me why you left the Army instead.”

Walter considered the offer for a moment, and then nodded “Honestly?” He offered, mostly as a stalling tactic while he decided how honest he wanted to be. “I was tired of killing. There was a lot else to it—I’d missed out on a lot of my girl’s lives, it wasn’t easy on their mother when I was deployed, and after several decades there was a desire for a change of pace.” He offered the reasons one by one on his fingers, counting them out, before he waved his hand absently. “But at the end of the day I was very good at my job, and as often as my job involved a lot of other things…it also involved killing, and I was tired of.” He reached out for the bottle of wine and poured himself a second glass, holding it out to her in offering. She consented, and let him pout a bit more in to her glass before she waved for him to stop.

“Thank you.” She said after a moment. At his look, she smiled and continued. “For being honest. For deciding to tell me that, and for this.” She waved at the discared delivery cartons, the empty bottle of wine, and the general setting. She scooted closer, laying her legs across his lap. He reached down almost automatically to put a hand on her bare knee, and she smiled. “Feeling a little bit bold, Major?” She asked, although her voice was far from reproachful.

“It’s served me well.” Walter murmured. “I give it a fifty-fifty shot we get a hilariously timed text message…” He offered, as he leaned down to give her a gentle kiss. In the movies, he thought, she would have looked surprised, not satisfied; but he also didn’t care, in that moment, what would have appened in the movies.

It was a long, still moment in the house—the quiet of unexpected but enjoyed intimacy, and when they finally pulled away both of them had little smiles on their faces. “See, there was no hilariously timed—” Morgan began to say as she leaned in, before she was in fact interrupted by the ringing and buzzing of two cellphones, left on the kitchen island. Both modern smartphones filled the air with their sounds—one the opening guitar licks of AC/DC’s Back in Black, the other the ragtime chorus of the Heat Miser Song.

Walter and Morgan shared a look for a moment before they were both on their feet.

“So it’s…always Halloween themed?” Antigone asked a little bit speculatively. The whole front entranceway to Dwight D. Eisenhower High School had been decorated liberally with wheat stalks, hay bales, and spider webs. It looked like a Hammer Horror film thew up on the set of Nebraska, Antigone thought wryly.

“Well…they kind of mix it up with more corn and fewer spiders, or more spiders and less corn.” Lacey explained as the group of them stepped through the literal archway made of wheat toward the dance itself. “We’re in a spider year, it looks like.”

Indeed, the whoe of the gym had been decked out like a spooky corn maze, minus the maze. Cobwebs and papier-mache witches and mummies hung from the wall, decorated in either black or the school colors. It gave the room a somehow intimate and yet also gloomy closeness, as did the black netting wrapping the tables and DJ’s stand off to one side, where students in the broadcasting program spun the tunes.

“That’s…awesome.” Siobhan said, her voice cheery and bright at the surroundings. Lacey, Monica, and Antigone all looked at her with disbelief in their eyes. “One, you two,” she motioned to the natives, “knew this was coming, and still chose to dress like the theme was Parisian Runway. Annie didn’t know, but she’ll know next year. But for me?” She gave a little bit of a laugh, that she desperately tried to keep from turning into a villainous ‘mwuahaha’. “I finally blend in.” She gave a little hop and turn that sent her dress flaring about her.

“I…” Antigone began, before she ended it with a shake of her head, and a look up to the heavens for support. “All God’s children deserve a place, even the morbid and creepifying ones.” She intoned piously, adopting a saintly pose for a moment before they all deserved into giggles—even Siobhan.

“I am going to have to kill you later, you know.” She offered after the giggling had subsided, and everyone smoothed their dresses back in to place. “Although after I burn off some of that dinner by shaking my moneymaker.”

“You didn’t bring your knives or your loaded dice, Bonnie, so I’m not sure how you’re going to make any money.” Antigone offered wryly, and was about to say more when an annoyingly familiar voice called out from behind them.

“Well look at these skanks.” Gary, he of the punched nose and occasional irritation since, came up in a suit that Siobhan thought looked like it had been put on by someoone with the whiskey shakes. When he got close enough they could smell him she thought she must be right.

“Gary, you smell like Budweiser and the disappointment of your parents, ancestors, and society.” Siobhan offered pre-emptorily. “Go stand downwind of a liquor store and everyone here might not notice that you’re wearing Eau D’istillery.” She gave the last bit a little bit of a French flair, and a smirk.

“Little bitches say what?” Gary sneered, as if he had just offered one of the greatest witticisms of history.

“Dickweasels say huh?” Antigone shot back as innocently as it was immediate, with a grin to her sister.

“Huh?” Gary answered in obliging confusion, blinking between the two of them. Siobhan nodded slowly, sagely, considering the wisdom that had just been delivered.

“Well, now that we’ve cleared that up.” Siobhan said brightly, reaching out to take her sister’s hand. “Gary, you were gearing up for a lifetime of wasted promise followed by an early death, and we were going to go dancing.”

“You think you’re so fucking smart.” Gary growled, his voice slurring from his intoxication as he took a long step forward and got right in to their space. He reached out to put a hand on Antigone’s shoulder, and she froze with wide eyes. “Well I’ve got some things I’d like to educate you on, you stupid-” He started to threaten, his posse starting to materialize out of nowhere it seemed like. He was cut off when Siobhan calmly reached out to grab his tie by the knot, and then yanked on the back part to tighten it violently against the thin collar of his ugly shirt and his throat.

“Listen to me, dickless.” Siobhan said in a low voice of very forced coolness. “Go away, now.” She emphasized the immediacy. “I’m giving you one chance to go because if I have to open up Mistress Siobhan’s Whoop-Ass Finishing School for Wayward Boys, Antigone is going to be upset. But if you don’t I am going to yell for help, and kick you in the balls so hard you pee blood out your ears. And if that doesn’t work, then we’ll…play it by ear. Now look in to my eyes and tell me I’m joking.”

She only wavered a bit when she had to think of what she would do next, but carried on through. If Gary’s buddies jumped her, she wasn’t quite sure she would make it out alright—although she suspected that Monica would throw a mean right hook. Her hand on his throat quivered a little bit, before she stilled it. She forced her features into their best poker face, and looked Gary straight in the eye.

Gary swallowed, slowly, as he looked back at her. She could see skepticism in his eyes for a moment, but just enough belief as well. He, apparently, didn’t see the little tremors in her leg, or the bead of sweat on her brow. She pushed him back with contempt, before saying simply “Go.” She said it softly, and he went.

Siobhan swallowed, bile rising in her throat as her body quaked from the just passed threat of horror and violence. She smoothed out her dress again, before she reached out to take her sister’s hand and squeeze it. “Alright, it’s alright Annie. Come on, let’s go dance.” She offered with a warm smile to her sibling. Annie seemed to shake herself, as if trying to banish the last few shocking moments.

“Thanks.” She murmured softly.

“You know he might try to jump you later?” Lacey asked as she came up to them, and put her own hand on Antigone’s shoulder. Siobhan shuddered and swallowed again, before she looked to the other girl.

“Good. Then I’ll kick his ass up between his ears, just like I promised.” Siobhan said with a smirk that was only a little bit fake.

“How worried were you?” Monica asked, and Siobhan blinked, swallowing. Lacey looked fairly shocked as well.

“What do you mean?” The blonde girl asked, stunned.

“How could you tell?” Siobhan asked with a raised eyebrow as she finally felt, her pulse slow down a little bit.

“I could see it, Siobhan.” Monica answerd with a sigh. “A shake, a sweat. Let’s just say I know what it looks like to be nervous when standing up to a bully.” She gave a wry smile at Lacey, something mysterious and just between the two of them, before she turned back.

“I…I don’t know.” Siobhan sighed. “I didn’t feel like vomiting until afterword when we were at the not-Psychic’s shop. I guess it’s because I didn’t have time to think. All this training, and sometimes all I can think about is what could go wrong if I mess up.” She shuddered, thinking about the other things she thought about as well. What it had felt like to hit the man outside the fake psychic’s business—and about dark wings and dreams of blood.

Monica came up the rest of the way then, and put her arms on Siobhan’s shoulders, which wasn’t hard for the much taller girl. “I dont know if I’ve told you this, Bonnie,” she said, drawing surprised looks as she used one of Siobhan’s nickname for the first time, “But I kinda want to be you when I grow up.”

The house looked like a wrecking crew had been through it when everyone had finally left. It was also far earlier than he would have expected. Walter had texted Morgan Winters at just after 4 PM that the house was now ‘clear’, although he had to admit it didn’t resemble any kind of clear he would have used.

Walter was all but shoveling discarded pajamas and towels and the fourteen different ties that Ryan had tried on before deciding one was good enough when Morgan came in with a box tucked under her arm. She looked around at the room he was tidying, and opened her mouth.

“Not a word.” Walter said as he threw some unmentionables down the hallway toward the girl’s rooms, followed by a gentle winter storm of silk ties down the hall toward Ryan’s.

She didn’t, to her credit, say a word—but she raised an eyebrow to devastating effect as she stepped out of her own shoes at the threshold and then made her way inside. She was wearing a trendy looking short skirt in dark blue and silver, with a simple white top. It didn’t have sleeves, although after a moment Walter realized she probably wouldn’t be terribly bothered by the slight chill in the air.

“What’s in the box?” Walter asked as he made his way over to the island where she was opening it. He peered over, and she covered it with her arm for a moment, grinning impishly.

“Well, you said you wanted something to drink.” She offered with an air of mystery before she pulled out a bottle. “Something a little bit nicer from my cellars, that I thought you might enjoy.” Walter took the bottle and looked at her curiously.

“This is a two hundred dollar bottle of scotch.” Walter pointed out as he looked at the label, which proclaimed it The Macallan, 18 years old and aged in sherry oak casks. “That’s not normally something that you bring out for a social call.” He offered wryly as he moved to retrieve a couple of glasses.

“I…” Morgan began, laughing a little bit. For a moment she looked a little bit sheepish, less than the normally self assured professional. “I wanted to say thank you.” She offered after a moment of consideration. Walter took a turn at raising an eyebrow as he came back with the old fashioned glasses and set them down in front of her. Morgan sat down in one of the tall chairs next to the island as she opened the bottle, kicking her bare feet. She tapped the bottle idly with a blue painted nail.

“Thank me?” Walter asked curiously.

Morgan poured, as if stalling for time while she put a perfect two fingers of rich amber liquid in to the glasses, and offered one over to Walter. “I’ve had occasion, through the years, to tell people how old I am.” She explained as she held up her own glass in a salute that Walter returned. “I’ve had people who ran away from me. I’ve had people who tried to treat me the same, but failed. I’ve had people who did just about everything when they found out…except for ask me over for a drink, and treat me like they did before.”

For a moment neither of them spoke, silent in the appreciation of a fine drink, broken only by Morgan’s quiet kicking, as they sipped the expensive whiskey. “You’re going to get me hooked on luxuries I can’t afford, Doctor.” He offered into the appreciative quiet. But then he looked at her. “It really weirded me out.” He admitted honestly. She flinched a little bit, starting to pull back and hide behind the glass. “At first. And it took me a little bit to get over it.”

“Hence why I haven’t been back for a smoke since your first night?” She asked quietly, to which Walter nodded.

“And it was all tied in to feeling like you should have told us before we got attacked, or before my daughters got dragged in to it.” Walter continued. “But…” He sighed and sipped the whiskey again, before shaking his head. “But it isn’t fair. You get to have your shit to deal with the same as anyone else. And I figured that it couldn’t be easy. If movies and television have taught me anything about it, immortality can be kind of lonely.”

Morgan nodded slowly. She drained her glass with the practice of an old professional, or a long time aficionado, and gently laid it back down. She traced one slim finger around the rim. “I’m not immortal, not really. Oh,” she added to his growing look, “I’ll live a damn long time, but I’m not technically immortal. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t. That’s why Tania and I are still close, even though there have been decades where we were one sarcastic remark from sororicide.”

Walter nodded, and reached out to pour them both a second glass as his was apparently broken—otherwise, where had the scotch gone? “I remember the first time I came back from a deployment, I was still enlisted before I went to college. I spent three days in New York just bumming around with too much money in my pocket and too much blood in my alcohol stream. And I stood there with the crowd moving around me, New Yorkers flipping me off because I was holding up traffic, and I just remember thinking how different I felt—how much I felt like I was different. It’s hard to describe that isolation when you’ve gone and seen and done, but…” He laughed a little bit, and on an impulse reached out and squeezed Morgan’s hand gently, the one playing with the whiskey glass still.

“What happened?” Morgan asked softly, as she turned to look at him. Her eyes were the dark blue of a frosted winter evening, curious and deep. Walter sighed, and laughed a little bit.

“Tell you what.” He offered after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll trade you for it, but it has to be a good story in return.”

Morgan considered for a moment before she smiled and nodded. “Deal.”

“Do you think they fell asleep?” Walter asked in to his cell-phone as he hauled the packages out of his car, grunting at the effort. “Christ, I carried a weighted backpack in a desert with a rifle, and these girls are going to kill me with their shopping list.”

“No, I don’t think they fell asleep. They’re waiting for something.” The voice on the other end, Dr. Winters, responded with an audible smirk. Then she laughed genuinely. “Ah, it is that time of year, isn’t it.”

“Why is it so late?” Walter asked, holding the cell phone between his ear and his shoulder as he put a big shopping bag under each arm. “Also this ‘We reserved it at the store, just go pay for it and bring it home’ bullshit is…well, I pretty well covered it.”

“Homecoming? It’s when they’ve always done it, mid-October. Saves on the expense, I suppose. Besides, harvest festivals and all that.” Morgan answered. “I will admit, I do appreciate a good harvest festival myself. It was more fun when the Aztec did it, but.”

“You’re a little bit sick, you know that?” Walter asked, grunting as he waddled his way up to the door. “If they’ve got their shoes…” He began as he nudged the door open with his hip. Low and behold there was a pile of shoes in front of the door, waiting to trip the unwary. “You’re all dead to me unless you come get this crap right now.” He called out to the house.

Antigone and Siobhan both came vaulting in to the room from their side of the home. “Finally!” Antigone exclaimed as she padded up to him. Both girls were in pajamas despite the fact that it was approaching two in the afternoon, because apparently that was what one did.

“Given the amount of money I just paid for these things, you both need to come to grips with the fact that you will never be bought new clothes again or go to college.” Walter proclaimed as he gave them the packages. “Also, I had to sell your brother, who will also have to wear my old suit if we can pawn him back before the year is over.”

“His sacrifice will be remembered.” Siobhan intoned solemnly as she took the package that she had been handed and peeked into it. “Ugh.” She proclaimed, and handed the package out to Antigone. Antigone had just looked in to hers and rolled her eyes.

“You know there are other colors besides black, right?” Antigone asked as she exchanged garment bags with her twin and peeked in. “Perfect!” She said as she pulled out a dress that she had insisted was called a ‘Coral lace and chiffon sequined high-low strapless dress’, which to Walter meant ‘improperly finished, pink, and expensive.’

“Your dress ran out of fabric in the front.” Walter opined.

“Just because you happen to like the dress equivalent of a pink mullet doesn’t mean I do.” Siobhan answered as she inspected her own second mortgage. “Perfect.” She said as she unfolded what looked like entirely too much black dress with netting for her to wear.

“Uh-huh. Fortunately I won’t go to prison because I stole the curtains from the Edgar Allen Poe museum, so I’ll make sure to visit.” Antigone whipped back as she returned her dress primly to the bag.

“I had them close up the slit a little bit, Bug, because I’m not sure you don’t think you’re four inches taller than you are.” Walter complained, drawing a gasp immediately followed by a noise of exasperation from the girl.

“You ruined art!” She huffed, pouting a bit before she inspected the damage. She had insisted that hers was called ‘a long, black, cold-shouldered dress with a slit’, which Walter had interpreted as ‘It’s black and I can freak my father out by how high this slit is’. “I suppose it isn’t too bad, it’s about as high as Annie’s skirt now.”

“Yeah. And I’m not likely to have to murder high school boys by the job-lot now, not,” he amended quickly as she began to break out one of her most powerful glares at him, “that I don’t trust you to tend to your own affairs and make your own choices.” He said honestly. “But I’m pretty sure I can come down on a half inch less slit without tip-toeing into patriarchy or over-protection, at least when it comes to my own daughter.”

“You know I’m still on the phone, right?” Came the voice from Walter’s shoulder, where his cell phone delivered the voice of Morgan Winters, who was not even trying to restrain her laughter now.

“Yes, laugh at the travails of modern single fatherhood.” Walter grumbled as both girls scampered off back to their rooms and makeup and, Walter imagined, other ways to cause him to go gray-haired to an early grave. “What were we talking about?”

“Besides homecoming, and your risk for a cardiac incident?” Morgan would have been very upset if he had classified her as snickering, but that’s what it was. “What our friends Ninja Grandpa and Professor Gloom are up to now, and why they’ve waited for so long.”

“Right.” Walter sighed. “Well, once Ryan is set up in his suit and off on his own way then you can come over for the shadowy cabal planning meeting.” Walter said with a grin. “But you better be bringing something alcoholic, because I get the feeling I’m going to need it.”

“Mmm, I’ll come up with something.”

“No. We don’t know where Excalibur is, although it is an actual sword we knew as Caliburn.” Morgan answered with a sigh. It was most of the working day later, after everything had quieted down sufficiently that they could discuss what had happened.

Siobhan and Antigone had waited mostly out of sight with Tania, and had proceeded to pester her with questions. Morgan had mostly spent her time tending the wounded that hadn’t needed hospitalization, before she relieved her sister from the unrelenting questions. Walter noted, as he came in and out, that they didn’t answer them so much as they re-directed. They would have made good politicians, he reflected.

“But you did lose this…Fraggle Rock?” Antigone asked, which even she clearly knew wasn’t the right word for it, but that she also couldn’t remember the real world.

“Fragarach, also known as Retaliator.” Tania answered with a very sour look at her sister. “The peerless blade of Manannan mac Lir that no armor could stop, kept safe since long before we happened to come along. And now it’s in the hands of whomever Walter,” she offered with a look over to the man himself as he settled himself in to the break room seat, “calls Professor Gloom. Are you sure you can’t remember his face?”

“I remember having the tar kicked out of me by what looked like tar, and waking up feeling like I wish someone hadn’t done that to me.” Walter responded with a sigh and a shake of his head. “So I take it Fraggle Rock is important?”

Both Tania and Morgan glared at him, while Siobhan giggled amusedly. “I told you, inveterate nicknamers.” Siobhan offered, apparently to some earlier conversation. It didn’t stop the glares, although Morgan at least smiled and shook her head after a long beat. But then her face grew serious again, and she sighed.

“There is a reason that we set it aside for protection. For…well, protection.” Morgan pointed out. “It is a powerful artifact, and like all powerful artifact it can be used to pull in even more for a time. With it they could theoretically do…many different things.” Morgan explained. “The problem is they took everything. Which unfortunately means they aren’t idiots, because if they’d only taken specific things we could figure it out.”

“How much in trouble are we?” Walter asked seriously, as the others filtered in to join them. There had been a number of tasks that had needed doing and taken them out through the day, even things as simple as figuring out where extra desks were. Those were the light duties, and unfortunately there were more serious ones; Marshal Alexander had spent most of the day making sure that the injured were being properly taken care of in the hospital.

“We’re not not in trouble.” Morgan said seriously. “A group of murderous and unknown madmen have powerful artifacts the leaders of our people would really have preferred them not to get. And with them, we don’t know what they could possibly do—but there are some rather chilling possibilities. The best option is they want to sell them or trade them for favors and muscle, but I don’t think that’s it.”

“Then what are they doing?” Andre asked as he too settled himself in to a chair, and sighed. “And is there any chance the answer is going to rate a little bit closer to the normal end of the scale then anything else today?”

Tania and Morgan shared a look. “No. None of the options are normal. Those artifacts could allow him to rearrange the Faerie world if used right. Remake it in their image, disrupt the political balance. It’s not enough power to, say, end the transfer of seasons from Summer to Winter, but it is not inconsiderate. Especially if used correctly.”

Walter nodded slowly. “So how do we stop them?”

“That’s the problem.” Tania answered with a grumble, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. “We won’t know until we start seeing the signs. Almost anything they could do besides random acts of terror and mayhem would require more buildup then just having what was in that chamber, and if we are on our toes we may be able to see what is going on. But it’s going to require us to pay attention and stop fu—” Tania paused in her heated sentence to look at the two teenagers, “messing it up. We need to—all of us—right now decide that we are going to stop letting these people run rough shod over us.”

Walter nodded in agreement, looking at the others in the break room. “I don’t think any of us want to keep getting out balls kicked in at every opportunity. So what do we do?”

“For now?” Morgan said with a sigh that made it clear she wasn’t particularly happy about it either. “We wait, and we watch.”

CHAPTER 8: FORWARD

There are hungry things in the world that demand satisfaction, and will keep pestering you and hounding you until they are fed. Hungry children and teenagers, sharks and large predators, and the media. Only one of them was waiting for them outside of the Border PD headquarters when they came back from whatever odd basement dimension Morgan had led them to, and it wasn’t teenagers or sharks.

They weren’t quite beating down the doors, which was good—as was the fact that there were still large doors standing and keeping them out. But it became obvious that they knew something had happened, because apparently lights flickering off and windows being black from the outside in the morning light wasn’t normal.

“I don’t suppose you have a secret degree in media relations you want to whip out right now, Major?” Alexander asked, drawing a snort and a shake of his head from Walter.

“No sir, and I’m not sure I don’t plan to drink all your whiskey and be apocalyptically drunk by the time you get back.” Walter informed him, looking at his daughters and co-workers. And the sturdy, gigantic metal armored dog that had placidly walked up the stairs with them and was contentedly nuzzling at Siobhan’s hand even as they spoke.

“Damn.” Marshal William Alexander cursed, turning toward the doors with a sigh. “What’s the standard line, Leah?” He asked the woman as she came up next to him, having stopped to grab a notepad off of the table.

“Gas leak and gang violence, sir. The number of wounded should be coming up here in a second, I asked Shaw to get it for me while we passed through earlier.” Leah answered. “Assuming we were only down there for a normal amount of time, relativistically speaking?” She asked, with a look toward Morgan and Tania.

“It’s very close, so it shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.” Morgan answered. “You may not eve have to adjust your watches.”

“That’s why you just use cell phones.” Tania supplied helpfully, pulling out a smart phone in an expensive case from the purse she had managed to keep…somewhere. “And…it already updated itself, good as new.”

Walter stared at that exchange for a moment, before deciding he had no desire to make his brain hurt that badly this sober. “Is the dog going to eat anything while we wait?” He considered it for a moment. “Or crap an ingot all over this nice, rust-free floor?”

“No…if it has bonded to Siobhan then it should be fairly tame.” Morgan said with a shrewd glance at the happily panting beast. “Fairly. Uh…probably let’s keep it out of sight though, unless you have brochures for a canine renaissance festival to hand out.”

Everyone paused for just a moment to consider that, before they shook their heads and moved back in to the station once again—everyone except the Marshal and Leah, who went outside to face the ravening hordes and sate their hunger.

Their hunger turned out to last thirty-seven minutes on the nose.

“I get that, but it still doesn’t make any sense.” Walter was saying as the Marshal came back in, rubbing his head. “They could have killed us by the job-lot if they wanted to, but they decided not to…out of charity? The same group of people that have been carving people up like steaks? Freaky, naked, cult-y steaks?”

“Those people were all at least half faerie.” Tania pointed out. “So not exactly innocent bystanders as far as freaky, naked, cultist sidhe are concerned. Not that there’s anything wrong with a freaky, naked cult from time to-”

“Children. In the room. Protective father. With a gun.” Walter pointed out, gritting his teeth slightly. “We don’t need to play four hundred years of Real Sex, please.” Tania, for her part, pouted, but didn’t say anything else. “Not like shooting you would work anyway. Should I just trade in my gun for a freaking crossbow?”

“A slower projectile? Sure.” Morgan replied primly, sipping tea calmly. “We used to catch them for fun.” Walter rolled his eyes to the heavens.

“My dog isn’t going to die, is he?” Siobhan asked suddenly, as if the earlier conversations had just sideswiped her train of thought and left her staggering.

“Your dog? You can’t bring him in the freaking house, Siobhan; he probably catches cars and eats them.” Walter protested.

“No.” Morgan answered. “It’s…frighteningly rare, but when it happens that a creature of our world bonds to a mortal out of our realm, it becomes somewhat linked to them. Ma…” She began to say magic, but then looked at Walter. “Quantum entanglement.” She offered politely, with a smirk that said she was just placating him.

“I’m a soldier, not a scientist—quantum entanglement is pretty much the same as magic to me, and my earlier objection stands.” Walter said with a sigh. “You mentioned that these things sleep in the darker parts of Faerie. Can you put him to…” Here Walter looked at Siobhan, and the wide eyed horror she was breaking out at the phrase ‘put him to sleep’, “…ah I mean put him do…nap. Let’s go with napping? And my question still doesn’t have an answer. Why didn’t they kill us all, when they could have really easily? Professor Gloom could have slit all of our throats without trying.”

“Yes, we can store him.” Morgan said, drawing a bright smile from Siobhan. She went leafing through her purse until she pulled out, of all things, a dog collar.

“Do I—” Walter began.

“No.” Siobhan answered simply, and reached out to attach the dog collar around the dog’s neck. When it didn’t fit, she sort of tucked it around a pauldron as best she could and patted it. The eisenhund looked inordinately pleased, and licked her hand.

“I want a scary magic dog.” Antigone said with a bit of a pout, drawing stunned stares from everyone else in the room.

“If you’re good, for your birthday, instead of a car.” Walter said. “No take-backs.”

Before either girl could protest their desire for a car, Morgan interrupted. “I think they didn’t kill all of you because you’re mortals, and they don’t want to kill mortals…they want to rule you.”

If it was possible, Morgan and Tania seemed more confused than Walter did—shock was genuinely etched across their features at the sight. They stood there watching as if made of ivory and paint as the dogs lowered themselves down like obedient puppies.

But the person who looked most shocked of all was Siobhan. She kept staring at the one hound she had made eye contact with, never looking away as she slowly walked toward it. No one even breathed as she stepped up to the beast, and laid her hand on its’ head. It…well, it made a sound that it probably thought sounded pleased—in actuality it sounded like something else. It reminded Walter, absurdly, of a comedian’s observation about French making hatred sound like love, and German making love sound like hatred. It was like someone threw a band of nails into a wood-chipper, yet it was distinctly pleased.

“Uh…I know you wanted a puppy, Bonnie…” Antigone began, more to have something to say than because she had something to add—and because Siobhan always got in the good sarcasm.

It was, apparently, not a good thing to say—or more accurately, speaking was not the right thing to do at that time. The silence shattered, and Siobhan’ eyes flicked up for the briefest moment from the dog she was touching. That seemed to be enough.

The other two dogs shuddered as if drawing themselves out of a deep sleep, and immediately bared their hideous fangs once more. Their bodies moved from a relaxed seat to full on aggression in a heartbeat, and within a second heartbeat they were both within a single stride from his daughter. She froze in panic, her eyes luminous and wide with the sickening flood of fear.

Walter, with all his years of training, was able to do three things. He took a single long, loping step forward. He brought his gun up and fired a single hasty shot. And he called out futilely “Bug!” His eyes were wide, and icy talons of fear ripped at his heart as he could do nothing else but watch.

But two heartbeats were apparently enough for Morgan. In one heartbeat she was next to the dogs, her odd and slender blade out and gleaming wicked sharp in the low light. She hit the first hound with her shoulder, low in the body, and fell into an absurdly fast roll. Within the space of the second heartbeat she was coming to her feet again under the second attacking hound, her blade driving up directly into the soft belly that she had as a target.

The blade bit deep into the unprotected flesh, and a spray of ichor guttered over Morgan in a spray. She kept rising, her blade biting ever deeper, until her gore soaked shoulders caught the dog in what used to be its torso. The powerful motion threw the dog out of the way so that even its massive weight wouldn’t crash into Siobhan, although enough blood did that even Walter’s Gothic daughter looked suitably shocked.

“WHAT THE FU-!” Siobhan began to shout at the top of her lung, having sufficiently lost her cool to shriek instead of quip. It was quite a banner moment, had Walter been able to enjoy his normally unflappable daughter’s moment of flap.

She was only interrupted by the attacking hound landing and turning around with a growl and a click as he started forward again. But this attack was interrupted before it even started as the Eisenhund that Siobhan had touched lunged. Iron resistant they might be, but the would-be killer hound was distracted and its flanks were exposed. Powerful ripping jaws tore into it, and it died in a hideous spray and a death scream like an explosion in a metal works.

Once more the room fell silent, save for the quasi-panting of a very pleased and apparently thoroughly in love Eisenhund, and the hissing of the other dog’s blood whenever it touched a piece of the very iron that had contained it moments before.

Antigone looked like she was about to faint, and moved over to lean against Walter. “Your insurance covers therapy, right?” She asked unsteadily.

Antigone’s hurl was more graceful, with the elegance of a dancer. But it was also significantly less effective than Siobhan. Walter had heard the description from Julian Shaw about how she had reacted when given the chance, and he had believed it 100%—he had just never seen Siobhan given an opportunity to act with the years of skill and training he had paid for.

Antigone hit with her shoulder, and moved the beast far enough away that its stumbling attack missed Walter’s fleshy bits by a few inches. Siobhan hit the beast low, using leverage to negate the weight difference between them. She grabbed it by the legs when the Eisenhund was in mid-stride and took it off its’ feet. With a sound like the shearing of metal and a cry that sounded like a hound interpreted by a Transformer, it went down to the ground. Siobhan rolled with it and ended up on top as it crashed to the ground.

Walter stopped with a skid on the dusty stone floor, coming to brace himself on a pedestal. He whipped around with the pistol out. “Dammit, the point was for you to not get chased!” He cursed as he squeeze the trigger. The firearm barked loudly, echoing in the dusty and empty chamber and mingling with the aggravated howl of pain from the Eisenhund that Antigone had bumped. The bark was joined by several others, as bullets from the Leah and the Alexanders impacted. They all shot low, targeting parts of the monstrosity that weren’t armored and may be susceptible to pain. It staggered the hound back and drew a baleful cry from it.

In the back Walter could barely see Tania and Morgan fighting theirs, but they had their swords out and were circling their prey like they were hunting a boar. They tried to stay on opposite sides, and reached out to strike when their prey’s back was turned. They moved in balletic coordination, each one not just knowledgeable but supremely confident about what the other could do. It, as much as anything else he had seen, showed him how long they had been working together.

He turned from the one his fellow marshals were covering while Antigone fled back, and brought his weapon around on the one Siobhan had expertly hamstrung. He expected to see his daughter fleeing. He expected to have to save her.

What he did not expect to see was Siobhan a few feet away in a crouch, where she obviously had rolled away in to a ready position, with a hand out in front of her. And he definitely did not expect to see the Eisenhund considering her with a quizzical expression. The whole area around them seemed to still, with even the gently floating motes of dust that had been kicked up in the rest of the chamber resting light and still on the ground.

Slowly and somewhat unsteadily, Siobhan rose to her feet. She kept her hand out in front of her and slowly walked toward the hound. It took one step back and pulled back its lips in to a slight snarl, as if it were going to attack, and Walter tensed. Siobhan didn’t seem disconcerted at all and continued to stare at it with a steady gaze. She squared her shoulders and took another step forward, keeping her hand out. She met the dog’s eyes, and Walter’s breath caught—but a moment later the Eisenhund lowered its gaze and sat back on its haunches like any chastised puppy across the world.

“Stop.” Siobhan called out. Her voice was strong but not strained. It was a voice of command and control, the kind of voice that could bring something or someone to heel. He didn’t know if it was directed toward the shooting cops, the fighting fey-folk, or the snarling hounds—but it worked on all of them. The whole room drew back as if unsure what was happening. The two faeries looked at Siobhan with wide eyes as if they couldn’t believe what was happening, which Walter sympathized with. The assembled police looked concerned but kept their pistols ready if they wanted to be shoot something. And Walter just kept his eyes on his daughter so he could be ready to bolt if she looked like she was going to get mauled.

But Siobhan continued to walk forward confidently until she stood in the middle of the room. The armored eyes of all of the Eisenhund tracked to follow her as she walked, until she stood between all of them. One by one she turned to meet eye contact with the remaining two hounds, both of them wounded but not seeming to mind overly much. She met them stare for stare in the silent darkness.

“Sit.” She said, and to the astonishment of everyone, they sat.

Walter cursed and spun, gun still in his hands as the two other Eisenhund advanced from the shadows. They were slightly smaller than their leader, but that still left them more than large enough to be scary as hell. “What was in here?” Walter asked as he trained his pistol on the advancing beasts.

“Some things we didn’t want the bad guys to get.” Tania answered as she stepped up beside him, her blade glowing lightly in the dim room. She seemed to have recovered from her shock at seeing the beasts, as did Morgan—the doctor stepped up next to Walter’s daughters, who seemed more than happy to shrink behind the woman in light of the advancing predators.

As they got closer and Walter had a chance to see them, he could see that what adorned their front haunches and head was not unadorned iron, or randomly rusted. The rust swirled in patterns of triskelions and knots that screamed ‘Celtic’ to him, and it would almost be pretty if it wasn’t attached to a snarling death beast advancing on him.

“Do the designs mean anything?” Walter asked as they all took slow steps back.

“In the iron?” Morgan asked, drawing a nod out from Walter. “It’s the magic that creates them and gives them their immunity. But shooting it won’t help.” That drew a long suffering sigh from the man.

“Is shooting things ever going to be really effective again? Because it’s kind of my wheelhouse.” He says as he eyed the advancing beasts.

“I’ll let you know.” Morgan murmured softly. “We still have the one trying to come up behind us and ambush us, right?” She asked, her voice almost conversationally light as they kept on a slow retreat.

“Yep. If I leave one for you and Tania can you stab it with your steely knives?” Walter asked and quoted.

“We can kill the beast.” Morgan agreed with a nod, and a little smirk. But then her face went serious, and she spared him more of a searching glance. “What are you planning on doing?” She asked. Walter reached down and grabbed one of the loose rocks strewn across the floor, and tried to give Morgan a reassuring smile.

“Ain’t no stupid like Border stupid.” Walter offered wryly. “Just…come and save my ass, alright?” He asked, to which she nodded. Walter turned back to the two advancing Eisenhund, and chucked the rock at one of them. Before the rock even hit he had his pistol up and fired two shots at the rear legs of the second dog, the bullets punching heavily into the unprotected flesh and staggering the beast. The rock hit the first one with a low resounding ring, and both of their heads turned to stare at him exclusively. “Go!” He shouted, before he followed his own instructions and took off running at a perpendicular angle from the hounds.

He didn’t see what Morgan and Tania did, because before he had even taken four steps the dogs were howling their fury and pounding after him. They sounded like a rolling armory, the flesh and metal banging against one another in a never-ending clank! But he had judged right, and they were far slower than magical hunting dogs should be because of all of the iron clad about them.

That only meant that they were really tremendously fast. Walter could say honestly, if challenged, that he did lift (bro)—he wasn’t slow, but he wasn’t supernaturally fast either. By the time that he got to one of the first low pedestals and vaulted over it the dogs were close enough that he could smell them. By the time he got to the second obstacle and launched himself over it they were close enough he could feel the fetid heat of their breath.

One of the dogs lunged at him, and it was only dropping in to a roll that saved him from the gnashing iron teeth. He could see them as he rolled, and when he came back up to his feet he had spun and brought his pistol back up to bear.

He was about to yell an expletive at the top of his lungs and then probably be reduced to so much chunky salsa when he heard a war cry come from off to the side. “WHAAA-PAAA!” It wasn’t exactly the best war cry, and he recognized it as Antigone. A second later she flew in to the vision from his side, throwing a petite shoulder in to one of the dog’s sides a split second before Siobhan did the same for the other one.

What came out of the curling darkness was a dog…technically. Walter would have said it was canine-ish, and that was a good description. It stood the height of his waist on powerfully muscled haunches, and it strode forward with a steady gait. It was a dark brown with reddish spots sprinkled liberally across it, like rusting iron. Which was appropriate enough given its front shoulders and skull seemed to be coated in a plate-like armor, which explained the impact in the door. And as it stepped forward in to the torch light and snarled, Walter also saw that within its mouth were rows of razor sharp and rust flecked iron teeth.

“Super double balls!” Morgan cursed and immediately took three steps back. She brought her hands up in front of her and the air shimmered, warping like a black hole in a movie. When it passed she was holding a long and slender blade made of a gleaming black…metal? That looked like obsidian, but with an edge that seemed like it could cut light itself in half. Tania, in her own moment of shock and fear, moved back to stand next to Morgan and made the same gesture—but the blade in her hand looked like fire caught mid motion and made solid.

“What…the significant…fu-” Walter began, but then cursed as Siobhan reached down and grabbed a rock. Before he could react, before any of them could react, she threw the rock at the beast and pelted it right in the head. The clang of iron filled with corridor, and the beast staggered as if stunned.

“In to the vault!” Morgan called out, as everyone who wasn’t a Faerie or a teenager pulled out their guns.

“What if there’s something in there?” Walter asked as he sighted on the hound and fired, more pro forma than out of a hope that it would actually do anything. It hit the monster in the head but at an angle, and the metal plating sent it ricocheting with a harsh screech of rending metal.

“We need room, and it’s better than in here!” Morgan responded. She and Tania charged forward with their swords, but the hound had recovered. With a cagey move like a boxer it pulled back and away, snarling with its saliva covered fangs. It lunged forward but Tania slashed at the skin of its face with the blade and it withdrew with a hiss, watching them warily as the policemen shuffled away behind the two Faerie women.

They moved in to a vault that was as large as an auditorium, with a number of pillars scattered through it at irregular intervals. There was no symmetry, no clean lines, and the whole room smelled like old air and abandoned dirt—but also sharply of the rain, and the jangly sharp copper smell of too much blood and other things. It was poorly lit, glowing a sickly green-white with the light of some kind of luminescent lichen and a few of the same ancient torches that guttered in their own hands.

“What the shit is that thing?” Antigone asked, deploying a rare curse. “It’s got a mouth like a frigging knife block!”

Morgan and Tania immediately moved to their sides of the door and held their blades up, waiting for the beast to charge through. “It’s called an Eisenhund.” Morgan explained. “It’s German, it means ‘Iron hound’. They’re very rare, and one of the only creatures from our world that I know of that’s partially immune to iron.”

“Partially? It’s freaking made of it.” Andre said as he sighted his pistol at the entrance.

“It is, and that iron will kill it. The few I’ve ever seen were kept in sleep in the darkest, lowest parts of faerie until they were needed. When awake the iron slowly poisons them.” Morgan continued. “But while awake they have enough iron, cunning, and viciousness to take down even one of our most powerful leaders in the right circumstances. I saw a pack…” Morgan began, before her pale skin went even more white as the blood left it in horror. She exchanged one terrified look with her sister.

“What?” Antigone asked, her voice quaking with fear. She hadn’t caught it, hadn’t seen what set the other sisters eyes wide as dinner plates—but Walter had.

“Pack?” He asked, as two more grating growls, like the hiss of a rusted blade in a rusted scabbard, filled the dim chamber behind them.