Border, KS

The back room that he took them to wasn’t the one that Antigone expected to go to. They passed one that looked like it should, dark and with a crystal ball in the center. But they passed it and went back to another room, set up more like a conference room then with any faux mysticality.

“The crystal ball doesn’t work.” The man said, when he caught Antigone looking. “It’s set up to show promotional images from Doctor Who, because people expected it and I thought it was funny.” He snorted. “That’s the funny thing about humanity. I tell them I’m a fake psychic, and they still want a flaming crystal ball.”

He moved to sit down in one of the thoroughly mundane office chairs, and crossed his legs. He motioned to the chairs that were across from him, and Antigone and Siobhan folded themselves down in to them.

“So what was it you wanted to talk to us about?” Siobhan asked, challengingly. She was breaking out the semi-hostile tone that she used when she was confused or scared and didn’t want anyone to know. Annie knew, of course, but she didn’t let on that she did. It was part of the careful and delicate dance of sisterhood and friendship that they, like all siblings, walked.

“The raven in the winter wood, and the blooming dove rising in the spring.” The man said, looking between the two of them for any hint that they knew what he was talking about. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Antigone shared an eloquent glance with her sibling, during which time both of them decided on honesty as the best path. “Dreams.” Antigone answered. “That’s…we’ve both had dreams that have things kind of like that.”

The man nodded. “Hmm.” He hmm’d absently. “Gregory Shepherd.” He offered.

“What?” They both echoed.

“My name.” He repeated, slowly as if he were speaking to particularly thick children. “Since we’re discussing personal matters. My name is Gregory Shepherd. Don’t introduce yourselves, I know.” He waved his hand. “I know. So dreams.”

Siobhan nodded. “I’ve always had dreams that featured them, and I think Annie has too.” At Annie’s nod, she continued. “I think we stopped talking about them when we were children, because it weirded us out to have similar dreams.”

“It was more than just freaky twin shit.” Antigone agreed. “And it’s gotten weirder since we moved to this bizarre city. Last Friday our dad was attacked, and afterword we had a dream. I don’t remember a lot about it.” She explained with a shake of her head.

Gregory nodded slowly, as if considering. “This is a strange place, and I am a strange man.” He began.

“And an honest fake psychic.” Siobhan added less than helpfully, in a sanctimoniously helpful tone.

Gregory nodded again, his dark eyes flickering to her face for a moment. Under the intensity in his eyes, even Siobhan grew quiet.

“And you can take this as what you want.” He continued, as if the darkly dressed twin hadn’t spoken at all. “Fake psychic credentials in tact. There are things in this city that are coming to a head, and your family is not far from the center of it.”

“Our dad’s a cop.” Antigone pointed out.

“A fair point.” Gregory conceded with a little wave of his hands. “I don’t know what is coming, exactly. But I can tell you this. There is, in each of you, an essential rightness. You will know what to do when the time comes; and if you make the choices that are true to who you are, then you have a chance.”

Both teens were silent for a few moments. “That’s rather generic.” Antigone pointed out after a few moments.

“Yeah, well.” Gregory shrugged. “I’m a fake psychic, remember? If you want exact guesses, go to a real psychic.” Now he was silent for a few moments, considering his next words carefully. “Come to see me again when the unexpected night comes, when the third pillar burns in the day, and when the raven loses its wings.”

They both stared at him, before silently standing up. They walked toward the door, before Antigone paused at the door and looked back. “Why did you decide to tell us this, if you know we might not listen?”

Gregory considered this for a moment before he took out a small notepad, and wrote down some words on it. He folded it over, and wrote some words on the outside of the note now. Wordlessly he handed it to them, before he settled back in to his chair. The outside of the note said, appropriately, “Outside”. She held it as they walked out, and collected the girls.

When Antigone stepped out in to the sunlight again the junkie was gone, and the city was bathed in warmth and possibility. Siobhan reached out to pluck the note from her hands and read it quickly. She paled noticeably, and Annie worried she might collapse again, but then she handed the note over. With quick fingers Antigone opened it, to read the writing.

“We get to choose who we’re gonna be, and what we’re gonna let happen in the world.” It was signed, simply, Gregory. Antigone blinked and paled as well, recalling Siobhan’s exact words from their first day of class. She turned to open the door of the shop again and ask Gregory what the hell he was getting at, but the door was already locked. The windows reflected the lovely light of noon, and there was no movement inside.

The shop was dark as Antigone stepped into it, and it smelled like…well, like it should. Like herbs and must, like dark and secret places, which she immediately recognized as fake. She watched as Siobhan walked forward boldly and sighed, moving to follow her.

“You know if we get murdered by a crazy not-charlatan together, Dad will be really pissed off, Bonnie.” Antigone murmured as the two of them strode into the small store.

“Sure, but then the other one won’t have to explain it.” Antigone answered before raising her voice. “Hello? Is anyone here?” She called out, her voice bold as brass. Antigone sighed a bit, although she had to quietly admit it was something she admired about her sibling. Not that she would ever tell her.

“Oh what a degraded age we live in, when callow youths so blatantly ignore our most sacred trust.” A voice called out from the backroom. “Closed signs.”

“You didn’t have a closed sign up.” Antigone pointed out evenly as she waited for the voice to resolve itself into a man. After a few moments, it did.

He was a tall man, probably in his mid twenties and cultivating a carefully scruffy look. He had pale skin and dark hair that was either casually or actually tousled, and intense dark eyes. They seemed to take in the small group of them very critically. “I thought it was implied by the by the lack of lights, and genuinely unwelcoming atmosphere.” He sighed dramatically. “Of course, I knew you were coming.”

Lacey spoke up now, stepping up beside them. “Because you’re psychic?” She asked, almost hopefully.

“Yes, Lacey.” He answered immediately, drawing a shocked looked from the girls. “But by yes, I mean no.” He replied, and motioned in to the back room. They could see it was gently lit, as if by a television or computer monitor. “NSA levels of outside cameras.” He explained. The girls all looked relieved, and then annoyed.

“We want a reading.” Monica stated.

“No, you want to get away from the Salvation addict. But that’s fine.” He sighed, looking at them for a few moments as if he was considering them deeply. Antigone noticed that his eyes were a little bloodshot, maybe hungover.

He looked to Monica first. “Your first choice of colleges is unrealistic and you will probably not get in to it.” He offered her, which drew a snort of derision from her. And, Antigone had to admit, a little bit of concerned tightening around her eyes.

The man turned to Lacey, and took her in for a few long moments. “Prom night, senior year?” He made it a question, and she nodded. “Condoms.” Lacey blinked at first as if she didn’t understand, and then colored from the collar of her blouse to her scalp, bright and outraged scarlet.

He then turned his considering gaze to Antigone and Siobhan. Annie saw contempt there, but that only lasted a moment; it turned, with alarming speed, into a look of surprise. Even amazement, as he took in the two of them.

“Ash and Oak, Holly and Yew. A raven takes flight, a dove does too. Who will see them, far too few. Sorrow will their birthright hew.” He spoke as if in a trance of surprise. He shook his head as if to clear it away, and motioned. “The rest of you can go on to meet Scotty Ravotti for burgers, I’m going to need to talk to these two for a little bit.”

Lacey and Monica both blinked, slowly, almost at once. “Yeah, no.” Lacey said, as Monica added. “Pull the other one, candy comes out.”

“I’m a perfectly trustworthy small business owner.” The man responded, scowling between them.

“You just spouted off a creepy ass poem about sorrow. And now you want us to leave them with you on your honor as, and I quote, a small business owner?” Monica challenged haughtily.

Antigone considered the man, and saw Siobhan was getting her hackles up as well. But then she remembered the poem. And the door they had passed. And the half-glimpsed dreams, the feeling of feathers, and a sudden shiver licked electrically down her spine.

“We’ll stay and talk.” Antigone said softly, causing the others to stop arguing. Siobhan stared at her with a mixture of curiosity and shock. “But Lacey and Monica will wait out here, waiting to hear you start talking about putting the lotion on our skin. Deal?”

The man scowled again. “I do run this as a business, if I’m giving you a free reading you shouldn’t dictate terms.”

“Deal?” Antigone repeated, evenly.

The man considered for a moment, and then nodded.

“Do you think he saw you?” Lacey asked once they were beyond the large glass windows at the front of the bar and grill.

“He saw us.” Both Antigone and Siobhan answered in simultaneous deadpan. “We haven’t been living good enough for him to have not.” Siobhan clarified, shaking her head. “Worst part is he probably won’t say anything at home, so we’ll have to tell him or it’ll be awkward as hell.”

Antigone nodded as they walked along through the trendy shopping district. Some blocks had buildings so close to one another that they shared walls but between others, and in gaps where buildings once stood or between blocks, there were long and shadowed alleys. Some wended away straight through to the other side, while some of them took interesting turns so their endings couldn’t be seen.

Siobhan paused for a moment to stare down one. It was straight, and seemed to go back half a block back before ending in a blank brick wall. The only distinguishing feature was a wooden door, brown but with flecks of green like it had once been painted. The frame held a little more of the paint and had been carved with leaves of some sort. She recognized some of the leaves as oak, but the others…something made her think Christmas.

“Yew.” Antigone spoke from beside her, her eyes on the door as well. “It’s oak and yew.” Siobhan nodded.

“I thought it might be ash, like the old saying, but.” Sibohan shrugged. “Weird door.” The two gave each other a shared nod, before they looked back to find the others staring at them. Antigone blushed slightly and looked away, while Siobhan just raised her eyebrows in a small challenge.

“You two done with your freaky twin shit?” Monica asked, crossing her arms as she met Siobhan’s eyes evenly while the other girls watched.

“No.” Both twins answered simultaneously, their tone and cadence exactly the same. Lacey let out a surprised laugh, and then covered her mouth. Even serious and somewhat un-amused by their presence Monica let her lips quirk in to a bit of a smirk, as they resumed walking.

“Come on, we’re meeting Scotty at the Burger Smack.” Lacey offered as they joined the others. They continued walking toward the corner. It was occupied, on their side at least, by a large store proclaiming ‘PSYCHIC’. The sign beneath it promised, rather than the usual, a litany of overly honest claims: “Cold readings, false reassurances, vague generalities. Credit cards accepted.” Now it was Antigone who gave a startled laugh.

“I’ve always wanted to try that place.” One of the other girls, the brown haired Jeanine, commented.

Siobhan nodded. “I hate psychics or tarot crap, but I’ve gotta admit…that one tempts me.” She said with a laugh as she kept walking, before she realized everyone else had stopped.

They were standing stock still, staring at a man kitty-corner to them. He was crossing the street diagonally, heedless of traffic, with his hands raised like a preacher. Moses parting the sea of traffic, Siobhan thought to herself as he walked toward them. But from Lacey’s intake of breath, she could tell the other girl was worried.

“Is he on something?” Antigone asked, looking the man over. When Siobhan looked again she had to agree. His hair was greasy and wild like he hadn’t washed it in a few days, and the hands were shaking. But it was his eyes that caught her attention the most. He irises were a pretty shade of blue but they were so small; his eyes were as wide as he could make them, and the whites seemed like they were going to swallow not just their blue centers but his whole face. And there was something in them, like he was seeing a whole world beyond what she was.

“Salvation.” Lacey answered with a nervous shake of her head. “It’s…I dunno. A super special local bit of crap.” She said, her voice high and tight. “Like meth, but way stranger. Some people just get really happy, and some get violent and angry.”

Siobhan nodded. She could see Lacey and Monica trying to decide what to do, and Antigone was deciding which way they would need to run if he started toward them. Siobhan just started grabbing hands and backpack straps, and tugged them toward the admittedly false psychic.

“Scotty can wait, my inner eye is telling me we need to see an honest fake mind reader.” She declared, as she hustled them in to the shop.

Cop bars tend to have a universal feeling to them, even if the decor is completely different. Walter had been to one in Los Angeles that was all brushed steel and glass, but it had still felt the same. Solid like the ages itself, and quietly cynical like a twenty year beat cop. It might have amusingly named hot wings, but it was never going to go in for flashy promotions or live bands. The moment they walked into Bosch, Bottles, and Bailey, he immediately liked it.

“They were cops.” Andre explained. “Wilfred Bosch, Ambrose ‘Bottles’ Bartleby, and Bailey Lawrence.” Andre said. “They were detectives in the 20s. Bailey was one of the first black detectives in the state. They were injured in a race riot, and used their retirement to open up the bar.”

The inside of the bar could be described using only two words, brick and wood, and leave very little out. It was narrow but long, with the large wooden bar taking up half of the walking space for a while, and Walter could see more seating past it. On the walls were pictures of the town as it had been over the years, and of various officers. Behind the bartender there was a picture of the President, the Governor of Kansas, and the Marshal of Border. Beneath all the pictures, as if offerings to pagan deities, was a deeply impressive array of hard liquor and taps.

“Damn.” Walter said with a whistle as they made their way to a table toward the back, against the protruding wall of the kitchen. Walter and Andre both instinctively put themselves up against the wall, and gave a chuckle.

“You two need a minute?” Leah asked wryly as she sat. While her voice was teasing, she sat off-set to not block their view out to the street.

“Well, you don’t want to stand in the way of a blossoming bromance.” Walter offered wryly as he looked around. “Nice place; what should I get?” He asked as he perused the beer menu for later. Andre and Leah both rattled off a few good choices while he continued to get a feeling for the place. It smelled like beer, and people, and history. The dark wood and the red brick gave it an old quality, while the flat screens also gave it a bit of modernness. He could instantly tell he would like it.

He and Andre were both looking up at the same time when a familiar face edged out from the side of the building and looked in the front window, before disappearing in an instant. Andre looked over with raised eyes as Walter just laughed.

“That…” the other man began. Walter nodded.

“Speaking of. So it turns out this is where they like to go?” Walter asked, as a waitress came by and they put in their food orders.

“There’s a lot of popular restaurants down here, and the mall isn’t too far away.” Leah agreed, looking over her shoulder. “I take it we had a sighting?” Walter nodded again, in deep amusement. “That should be fun when they get home.”

Walter’s grin was cheshire like, enigmatic and self satisfied. “Oh, I might play it cool, we’ll have to see.”

“You’re having too much fun.” Andre announced, as if it was a momentous decision he had just made, full of import and meaning. They watched as a small group of girls walked by nonchalantly, talking so casually it was obviously an act to cover the two girls the farthest from Walter, who were obviously Siobhan and Antigone.

“Oh no.” Walter countered as he waited for his soda to arrive. “I am having exactly as much fun as I should. So, really now tell me…what the hell hat are we talking about?”

Chapter 4: Progress

The weekend passed in blissful and uneventful ease. Antigone and Siobhan went to their extra-curricular activities, and Walter spent most of the weekend trying not to pick at his stitches. Monday came and, despite the Marshal’s protests he did not have to, Walter was back in to work at 7:30 AM.

By 11 AM they had not gotten any word on the identification of the body, so they decided to hit the streets on the theory that while it was unlikely anyone would have any information, it was even more unlikely that they would have the solution just drop on their desks. The parts of the Old Market that bordered the river were the first to have been rejuvenated, and they showed a bit of aging. But it was an aging they bore well. The smell of the water and the crispness it brought to the air fit with the feeling of the shops, the chic restaurants selling lunch, and the trendy bars shut down until far later in the day.

The three detectives walked through the growing crowds of meal seekers, walking from shop to shop with pictures of the victim in their hands. Andre walked in crisply pressed slacks and a white oxford shirt, similar to but even more precisely laundered than what Walter wore. Leah was the only one who wore any kind of defining garment, a dark green polo with the Border PD badge on the breast.

“So while we’re down here…” Walter began as they stepped out of a record store, which had caused him to shake his head. “You both went to High School down here, right?” He asked as they walked along to the next block.

“Yeah?” Andre answered with a shrug.

“So where do high schoolers like to ditch?” Walter asked. Andre raised an eyebrow, and Leah laughed—apparently she understood. “If you can convince your children that you have psychic powers and know everything when they’re young, they’ll believe you know everything when they’re older.” He offered with a wry smile. “So if I know where they’re going to ditch and can just be there, they’ll do it less.”

Andre let out a snort. “You and my uncle really are cut from the same cloth, Walt. You figure they’ll skip a lot?”

Walter shrugged as they finished crossing the street and approached the next row of red brick shops. “Not really. Siobhan will do it when she’s too bored, and Antigone will figure out exactly how many times she should ditch to balance expectations from her teachers and the other students.” This drew a reaction from Leah, who blinked slowly. “It’s her thing. Ryan won’t ditch except for on a couple really nice spring days.”

Andre looked at him as they walked to the door of a shop. “Then what are you worried about?”

Walter gave him a grin as he entered. “I’m not. They’re good kids. Mostly, I just want to mess with them.” That drew a round of laughs as they entered. Inside, Walter stopped and blinked. “A milliner? It’s a hat shop?”

“That is what a milliner does.” Leah answered angelically, to which Walter gave an appropriate glare.

“So after Andre and I get our top hats and you get your pretty floral bonnet, should we go to the haberdasher?” He asked.

“Sure, it’s a block further from the river.” Leah responded with a completely even face. Walter stared at them both for a moment before he shook his head to clear away wonder.

“The milliner has been run since the founding of the city.” Leah continued. “The haberdasher is a hipster thing, I think; opened up last year by a young man with more beard than business sense.” Andre snorted at that. “But he does good work.”

Walter walked to the front counter, where an older man and woman were working on what Walter assumed was either a hat or witchcraft. “Good afternoon.”

Both of them looked up at the same time, which Walter decided could either be super creepy or a cute gesture from an old married couple. He filed it away under the second one.

“Ah, the new deputy.” The man said, his weathered face breaking out in to a warm smile. “We heard you’d been hired.” He said, before he reached out and grabbed Walter’s head.

“Hey now…” Walter protested, mostly for something to focus on so he didn’t respond automatically by cracking the old man in the face.

“Got to measure you for the hat.” The older woman said pleasantly as she took a fabric tape and wrapped it around Walter’s head.

“What hat?” Walter asked, looking down at the counter. It was old wood with a glass top, under which had been put generations of pictures of men and women obviously from the same family. The resemblance was too strong, all high brows and big noses.

“Rupert, Jane, we’re out canvasing. Do you happen to know who this gentleman is?” Andre asked in his best ‘talking to old people’ voice. Walter could see him from about mid-chest down, stepping up and showing the picture of the victim.

“Oh my.” The old woman, Jane, said as she pulled the tape back and made a note. “Well that’s old Mr. Arthur. We send him a new fedora every year, like clockwork.”

Walter stood up, and exchanged surprised looks with Leah; this hadn’t been supposed to work, after all. It had just been better than bouncing a ball against the wall. Walter looked between them. “Sent him a hat?”

“Oh yes. He’s got a house up on Spenser Hills. Don’t see him about town, he’s a bit of a recluse. Dear, do you have that address?” Rupert asked as he made a few more notes, and then disappeared in to the back room absently. They waited for a moment to see if he would come back, but then Jane shrugged and fished it out.

“Here you go, officers. And the hat should be done in a day or two.” Jane explained, before she too disappeared in to the back room and did not return. Walter wondered, briefly, if they were about to overhear an AARP afternoon delight, before he looked at the address.

“Spenser Hills is clear on the other side of the city, up in the hills.” Andre explained as he checked his watch. “What do you say to lunch before we go? We’ll show you the cop bar.” He set off as if it were a done deal, and Walter shrugged. It didn’t occur to him until he got out the door he still had a vital question unanswered.

“What hat?”

A few hours passed and the house was pulled into a different kind of quiet, that of restful sleep punctuated by occasional snoring. Antigone and Siobhan pulled their mattresses to the single door that separated their room and slept, if not side-by-side then as close as possible. In their dreams they saw the rings of a faerie circle beneath the richest verdant forest ceiling. The sky beyond it was filled with so many stars, like watching eyes waiting to see how the world below them fared.

They dreamed of the dark and the light, of the sun and the moon. One dreamed of ravens and one dreamed of doves, and they both dreamed of wingless crows beneath an endless sky. They would not remember, but in their closeness and shared dreaming there was a comfort.

Ryan had laid down in his bed and simply fallen asleep. While he was concerned for his family and the weirdness of his new home, he was also tired. He was asleep almost instantly, an ability which his father had claimed was him shutting down his robot brain for the evening. Ryan had rolled his eyes, and hidden the amused smile he always had while thinking about it. He dreamed of the things that teenage boys dream of, which would cause his father to laugh and his sisters to punch him for being a pervert, and which do not bear any sort of repeating in polite company.

Walter sat on his bed in the low light of a single lamp. When he closed his eyes he could almost smell her perfume, or see the little half-smile she liked to give him when she was particularly pleased with herself. He held her note in his hands carefully, as if crumpling it would cause it to be real but if he kept it in pristine condition it might not be. His other hand held an old fashioned glass heavy with ice and bourbon, sipping it for the burn and the comfort more than the intoxication. Even in the long hours of the night with stitches in his shoulder and bruises on his body, he had no desire to overdose on whiskey and vicodin.

“Anna, where the hell did you go?” He asked as he stared at the letter, her careful handwriting rushed with emotion. He finished the glass and set it aside, putting the letter back in the desk and its special space before he laid down in the bed and turned off the lamp. Night reclaimed the room as the painkillers kicked in, and the dark reclaimed his mind. His last thought was of her, the perfume and that smile, and a flight of dark birds before a massive tree.

He was as unaware of the pain as he floated in the night as he was of the eyes that watched his home in the dark and the humid heat of the summer night.

END OF CHAPTER 3: THREADS

There are many kinds of silence a house can have. A still silence of emptiness when all the residents are gone, or the heart-broken silence of a loss. The tense silence of a fight, or the warm silence of a quiet night when all is right in the world.

The police brought an ambulance with them, and for a time the house was filled with the sounds of questions and useful noises. Walter was bandaged for his stab wounds and had his ribs taped, while the girls were treated for the minor cuts from their madcap scramble. Finally the room was mostly empty, occupied only by the family, Morgan, and Marshal Alexander. The silence in the house was one of conversations avoided, as each tried to think of the questions they wanted to ask. Or how to ask them.

Alexander sat with Morgan on one of the couches. “I think we can probably cancel the new hire training tomorrow, Major.” Alexander commented, as he sipped coffee. “Although if you wanted a day off there were less interesting ways to do it.”

Walter chuckled, which drew a wince. He was seated on the other couch, brown leather overstuffed and comfortable as hell that they had brought from their old house, flanked on either side by Siobhan and Antigone. Each was sitting comfortably while being carefully not to hit his ribs.

“Did your son check in?” Morgan asked, drawing a nod from Walter.

“He texted me while I was being wrapped for delivery.” Walter responded, motioning down to his ribs. “Skating, no issues. Apparently it was just us.”

Everyone in the room nodded at that, and the silence came back over as if everyone wanted the conversation to start, but no one wanted to be the one to start it. Finally, after a few moments, Walter spoke up again.

“I’m not sure I’m smart enough or drunk enough to comprehend what the hell happened tonight.” He put out there to start the proceedings.

Alexander let out a little laugh, and shook his head. “Even for Border you’ve gotten in the deep end of the weird crap. We’re a little more Twin Peaks and less…I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Meth head vision quest Fight Club?” Everyone gave a tired laugh, which drew a moment of gritted teeth from Walter.

Siobhan sounded hesitant when she spoke, and looked at her father sheepishly as she did so. “Did somebody test the…uh…water, at Lacey’s house?” She asked. At her father’s dry stare she blushed. “Somewhat…fermented water. But it’s still water. As a base.” She pursed her lips. “Kind of.”

“We took some samples, but most of the kids were drinking ‘water’ from sealed cans labeled ‘Budweiser’, so it isn’t likely to be something there.” Alexander looked at the dark dressed young woman seriously.

The room was still again for a moment save for the occasional noises of a house; the ticking of an air conditioner turning on, and a creak. “I know what I saw.”

Walter nodded, reaching out to put a hand on her knee and squeeze it reassuringly. “I believe you. We might all need to check the tap water to see if we’re high out of our minds, but I believe you.”

Alexander looked at Siobhan for a moment, as if deciding what to say. “If it hadn’t turned out to be right, I’d say you were crazy. Even so…” Alexander looked at Walter for a moment, who shook his head vigorously. Morgan sipped her own coffee, waiting to see how Walter responded.

“She wouldn’t make it up.” He explained firmly. “If she says she saw it, I believe her. And it did happen. To my ribs, among other things.” Walter sighed. “So what do we do?”

Alexander was quiet for a moment now, as if they were all taking turns. “Well we’re putting a unit on your house to start with. And probably arming them with fireplace pokers.” Walter nodded. “We’ve got some metal shards from that knife, and you both gave pretty good descriptions. We’ll be careful, and see where it goes.”

Again there was a silence in the room, for a few long heartbeats.

“It gets less stabby, right?” Walter asked, for which no one had an answer.

“Get back!” Walter shouted as the man came at him. The man was so fast all he had time to do was get his hands in vaguely the right place to move the thrust. As the other man bowled in to him Walter managed to push just enough that when he was slammed back into one of the kitchen counters, the blade buried itself in the counter to the hilt.

Scrambling, Walter reached out and grabbed the closest item from the counter to use as a weapon, and with a wet thunk slammed it into the attacker’s head. The bunch of bananas burst with a splurt, and for a moment the other man and Walter just stared at each other. The man had blue eyes so pale they could have been gray, almost a match for his gray hair—although he obviously wasn’t old. His features were as sharp as a knife, although not apparently as sharp as his knife, since the counter was marble.

Walter and the man shared the look for a moment before Walter shrugged, which seemed to be the signal to resume. The man, who Walter dubbed Ninja Grandpa (for his gray hair and distressing speed), drew his blade out of the marble like he was the true King of England, as Walter reached for another weapon. Ninja Grandpa pulled his arm back and began thrusting it forward again for a killing blow. Walter shoved against the man and grunted at the rock solid muscle the thin man kept somewhere, but managed to throw him off just enough that he missed his stab. After which Walter clobbered him on the side of the head with a frying pan from the sink, leaving the man with traces of breakfast on his face as he reeled back and away. He followed it up with a kick to Ninja Grandpa’s knee which should have put him on the ground but felt more like he had kicked a statue; all it got him was a couple inches of room when the would-be killer stumbled back.

“Welcome to pan’s labyrinth, dick.” Walter grunted at the man’s apparent shock and pain at the kitchenware smiting, although the fact that the attacker was still standing at all was really starting to worry him.

“Walter!” Morgan shouted, drawing his eyes for a moment. She had grabbed the fireplace poker and thrown it at him, apparently trusting him to catch it. With a grunt of effort he did, barely, and stumbled back and away from his attacker. The man hesitated for a moment but then came in a blur of speed. His first two attacks were just to cut, apparently, as the sliced through cloth and drew blood at the shoulder and the leg, before he once again lunged for the kill. Walter brought up the poker in a desperate warding motion, hoping only to move the strange knife far enough he could survive the next wound.

He was completely unprepared when instead of meeting resistance the poker shattered the knife in a spray of metal shards. It left the attacker unbalanced but still moving in the thrusting motion, which resulted in Walter being punched in the chest. He heard a rib crack, and the force of it sent him to the floor with a gasp of pain and a curse. The other man stared dumbstruck at his knife for a moment before he looked toward Morgan in outrage and anger. He started to take a step toward them until what had to be the fourth oddest thing Walter had seen all night came in through the door.

Antigone and Siobhan burst in the still open door, both still dressed for the party but neither of them wearing shoes, panting heavily. Their eyes were wide with fright, almost too wide as they took in the scene.

Ninja Grandpa stared in shock himself, as if seeing something wholly unexpected. Walter could sympathize as he pulled himself up to his feet.

“Not everyone at once.” The man said, although whether it was to himself or to the group at large was impossible to tell. All at once he ran. Not toward the door but toward the broom closet, opening the door and closing it behind him. All at once there was a sound of flapping wings and when the door to the closet swung open, it was empty save for a fluttering pair of black feathers drifting down.

Almost at the same moment seven cop cars, lights blaring, roared up on to the lawn outside and started disgorging police like they were clowns. Walter just stared; at his house, at Morgan, at his children, and at his apparently magical freaking broom closet.

“Does anyone have any idea what the hell just happened?” He asked, to thundering silence from all.

Morgan paused at that, still as a statue while Walter finished putting the coffee into the single cup maker and set it. “I’m sorry.” She offered. For a moment the only sounds in the room were the coffee maker, and the background noises of all houses. “It was…important to the two of you?”

Walter nodded as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “As a saying it meant a lot to us. It was also how she took her coffee. She got a similar tattoo when I got mine, except hers has a quote I used in my wedding vows.” Once the cup was full, Walter took it and handed it to Morgan. She walked over to take sugar off of the counter and start pouring it in. “So how did you know her?”

Morgan let out a little laugh at that. “We could both know the saying.” She offered, but before he could say anything she shook her head. “We’re distantly related, and I knew her when she was a kid. I picked up the phrase from a friend who was Turkish, and she loved it. I never knew whether she liked her coffee like that because of the phrase, or if it was just destiny.”

Walter shook his head as he considered that, and took a long sip of the whiskey he’d brought in from the outside. The ice clinked in the glass as he finished it, and he opened a cabinet to pull out the bottle. “I didn’t realize you knew each other.” He offered neutrally as he poured himself another glass.

“We were fairly close before she left. I’m the Morgan in Siobhan’s name, I suspect; I got a letter right after the twins were born.” Morgan looked down at her coffee and considered it, before she reached out to take the bottle of whiskey to pour a measure into the dark brew. “When she left she wanted to be gone, and that meant very little contact. After the twins were born she sent a letter, and I understand her parents visited you once.”

“They came to see us when I was in the Army, and they visited us once in Kansas City, right before.” Walter sipped again and then looked at her. “To be fair she didn’t talk about this place much.”

“She couldn’t wait to get out. There was always something about the town that bothered her, and college was her escape.” Morgan answered, shaking her head. “And there are things I’d change too, but I think we all hoped she’d come back; not just be gone for college and never return.”

Walter nodded. “It surprised all of us.” He said with a sigh. “But ultimately its what brought us back here. I’d hoped that something here might comfort the girls; they were particularly hard hit, and having their grandparents near will be good for them.” He said in a way that made it clear it might not be the best for him.

Morgan was about to question that when there was a crack from porch, and a roll of thunder. It drew Walter’s attention immediately because the night was heavy with humidity but clear and pleasant. He turned in time to see a man step through the open front door of his house. He was tall and slender, his eyes and hair pale in the light. And in his hand was four inches of some sort of metal, silvery and wicked and sharp.

“Hello.” His voice was like a rasp on metal, and a moment later he was a blur of motion lunging for Walter.

The sounds of music left the front porch of the Richards house like smoke on an evening breeze. Smoke also left the front porch on an evening breeze, as Walter reclined on a chair with a cigar in an ash tray next to him. A glass rested next to it, water condensing on the outside from the ice in the amber liquid and the sticky heat of the summer evening. He was just reaching out to take a sip when a car pulled up to park on the curb.

Morgan Winters exited the white BMW with careful steps, raising an eyebrow as she saw him on the porch. He set his book down while she walked up. “I didn’t realize you were a smoker, Deputy; should I make a medical comment?”

Walter shrugged. “Seems a little rude to come to a man’s house and tell him to stop. I so rarely get to have one.” He gestured to the seat next to him. “But if you stopped by for a chat and it bothers you, then thats a matter of hospitality.”

Winters shrugged as she slid down into the seat, and slid a pack of menthol cigarettes out of her bag. Walter barked a laugh as he offered her his lighter. “I didn’t realize you were a smoker, Doctor; should I make a medical comment?”

The Doctor waggled her eyebrows as she took a puff. “I so rarely get to have one.” She smiled, and it made her lovely face look less serious, and much younger. “I take it you don’t smoke around your children?” When he nodded, she returned it. “I approve. And please…as cliche as it sounds, if you saved my life you can call me Morgan.”

“Well I have to complete the cliche to be polite.” Walter offered with a chuckle. “You can call me Walter. What brings you out my way?”

Morgan paused for a moment, the two of them lighting the warm darkness of the night with the glow of their poisons of choice. “I wanted to come and get to know you a little better, Walter. After today.”

“Well, if you plan to offer me a Wookiee life debt, I’ll have to politely accept.” He said, drawing an amused smirk. “Can I get you a drink? Coffee, something stronger?” She paused for a moment, before she nodded.

“I would love some coffee.” When he stood, she did as well. “I’ll come with you, if its alright with you.” He shrugged, and led her into the house, and over the pile of shoes. Those drew a look from the doctor.

“Their mothers habit originally, growing up in an Asian family. We all got into the habit when we were posted in Japan.” He explained as he stepped to the kitchen. “How do you like your coffee?”

Morgan smiled. “Black as hell, strong as death, and sweet as love.” She answered, before she raised an eyebrow when he almost tripped over his own feet while reaching for the small sealed cup of pre-packaged coffee. “Did I say something wrong?”

Walter shook his head. As he reached for the coffee it exposed a tattoo high up on his bicep, a black band almost an inch wide that would be hidden under most shirts.

“You’re the second person in my life who ever said that.” Walter explained. After he put the cup in the machine, he rolled up his bicep to reveal the full tattoo. Inside the band of black were letters formed by the negative space. “They were the first words my wife ever said to me.”