The House Of Whoosher... ;-)

[Scrappy Amazon]

Scrappy was about to speak when she felt a chill run up her spine. She looked over her shoulder but didn’t see anything. She shrugged it off, turned her attention back to Guru and continued. “ You said that you had. . . “ She paused as a draft blew across her arm. She looked behind her as Phalon’s sword went sailing past and stuck in the wall behind her. She looked up and started to stand, as Phalon shot across the room.

There it was again. Warm breath on her neck. Gooseflesh rising up to her ear. A barely heard whisper. Deep and menacing. “I missed you once, child. It won’t happen again.”

Cold fear settled in her chest, an unwelcome and unusual sensation for her. She knew that voice and the recognition brought back tactile memories. Memories of his breath on her neck as he tried to hold her down. Fetid and warm from too much alcohol and unattended rotten teeth.

His hand was on her shoulder now and something sharp was in her back. Scrappy attempted to stand again but the cold energy from the hand slid to her neck, holding her in her chair. She tried to scream, but his calloused fingers squeezed the breath from her throat. The voice was whispering in her ear again, “Now, now, no struggling, this will all be over soon.”

The sharp object at her back penetrated her ribcage, thrusting through her chest, just below her heart, with mind numbing ease. She looked down at her chest expecting copious amounts of blood, but there was none; only the shiny silver tip of a sword protruding from her chest. Pain rose in waves shooting to the ends of her fingers, nearly paralyzing her. Gasping for breath, she attempted to grip the end of the offending object and push it from her. Her fingers slipped through it like warm butter. She tried to talk herself through it. “Get a grip, Scrappy, this isn’t real, this isn’t happening.”

“Oh, but it is.” he laughed.

She attempted to free herself from his grasp once again as Phalon came flying across the table, catching her attacker by the neck and sending them both to the floor in a heap. The sword still stuck, somehow, in Scrappy’s chest. As his hand left the hilt, the in-between threatened to take her. The memories flooding in. . .

[Scrappy Amazon]

As the in-between took her and the memories overwhelmed, Scrappy tried to focus her vision. The pain was almost too much to bear. Her chest felt like it had been split open and her lungs burned like she had inhaled napalm. Her hands and legs gone numb from shock. She let it go and allowed the memories and visions to pull her in. She was there now, fully in the in-between, she watched, standing on the edge, waiting for the events of her past to unfold like a movie. Unable to move or prevent the horror she knew was about to occur. And knowing she must let it.

The three of them were standing in a clearing in the deep part of the woods just outside the estate. Her mother, beautiful and strong. Long dark hair, golden eyes, and a will that could outlast the very mountains. Her father, fair hair that glowed in the sun, steadfast and loyal, willing to live and die by her word alone. Their ten year old daughter. Red gold hair, eyes like her mother and a happy innocence that was about to be destroyed.

They had spent the morning picking spring flowers, chasing butterflies and being happy to have each other. Believing in the perfection of the universe and forgetting for a few hours that the universe by its very nature is Change. That God is a cruel joke, invented by man, to subjugate and ensnare.

Scrappy closed her eyes on the scene. She did not need to see it to remember what happened. She had replayed it every day in her mind. She could still smell the grass and feel the warm breeze on her skin. The sun on her face was like the Ravens in old Fairytales. A trickster come to lead her in to the darkness of despair. The laughter from these people she had loved turned to an ominous din as the scene changed from one of happiness to one of terror.

Scrappy looked to the point in the tree line where she knew he would appear. He did not fail her. He came crashing through the overgrowth swinging his blade like a scythe. Screaming words of unintelligible intensity, telling them all that her mother was a witch and should be destroyed for the good of mankind.

Her father, ever the hero, ran to intercept the threat, weaponless. Scrappy watched with blinding clarity as the shining sliver of death removed her father’s head in a spray of crimson. Cleanly cut, her father crumpled in a heap mid stride, his head rolling across the dewy grass. The sun shining on his hair turning it to liquid gold.

The murderer turned toward her mother now, covered in her father’s blood, as if it were a war trophy, fairly won and to be displayed proudly. A feral grin running across his features. “You are mine now witch. I will have the secrets you withheld.” He leveled the sword at her and advanced, sure of her imminent capture.

It was the first time Scrappy had ever seen fear on her mother’s face. With an iron grip her mother grabbed ten year old Scrappy’s wrist and hurled her toward the forest. “Run! Run, honey and don’t come back!” Her mother whirled back, knowing she would be obeyed, and faced the on-coming threat. Like a mother bear protecting her cub, she rose up to her full and commanding height. “Stop!” she screamed at him. He skidded to a halt, sword point inches away from her throat.

“Tell me what I want to know and I will spare your child.” He cooed.

“But I, will not spare you.” She leapt at him, fingers arched, claws out. He staggered back caught off guard by her sudden movement, his sword grazed her neck leaving a thin angry line under her jaw. Her nails removing small trails of skin from his face around his eyes. They fell, with him landing on top of her, straddling her waist, pinning her arms to her sides

He held the sword above her head ready to strike, “Then you will take your secrets to your grave.”

Scrappy watched. This was the moment that would change everything. She couldn’t just stand there and do nothing and yet she knew there was nothing she could do. She sprinted across the glade her heavy motorcycle boots decimating the tender blades of grass as she ran. She watched as her ten year old self ran across the glade from the other side, wielding a tree branch, the end of which revealed a long sharp break.

Scrappy was too late and too far away. Split second actions that would take a lifetime to erase from memory would unfold as they had. She continued to run as she watched. The murderer lifted up his arms ready to plunge the sword into her mother. The child holding the branch as though it was a bayonet reached her mother’s attacker the instant before he could accomplish his goal. With as much force as she could muster, the child ran the branch through the back of the man astride her mother. His eyes widened in shock as he reached down with one hand to try and remove the offending stake. His hand came back bloodied as he fell forward, the force of his descending body driving the sword through her mother’s chest.

Dual voices, one older, one young, screamed in unison. “NO!”

The child pulled the man’s body off her mother as Scrappy came to a halt. As he rolled off and came to rest on his side he had a few last words for her. “You will die by my hand someday, child.”

“Yes. But not today.” The golden eyed child replied.

The child approached Scrappy as she fell to her knees. “You must go now.” She said quietly. The child reached for Scrappy’s chin and tilted it up slightly, golden eyes meeting golden eyes. “You must go and fight. Be strong. This wasn’t for nothing.”

“I understand.” This last part, the interaction between her and the child, she knew had never happend. But she also knew that it was what she needed to get back.

Scrappy stood and headed for the treeline. . .

Scrappy’s eyes snapped open as she came to. The ethereal sword now gone from her chest. She bolted out of her chair like it was on fire. Scrambling backwards away from the table, the chair slamming to the floor behind her. Seeing Phalon’s sword still stuck in the wall, she grabbed for it, waving it in front of her as if to ward off any more unseen demons. Reaching for her gun she pointed it at the nearest person.

“Where is he!?” she screamed. Specks of blood coming from the streams running from her nose and mouth sprayed across the table. She reached up, still holding the gun in a death grip and attempted to wipe away the sickly warm substance. She only managed to smear it across her cheek and chin. Making her face look gruesome in the firelight.

“Where did he go!?” The others around the table attempted to approach her. “Stay away from me!” The tears were flowing now. Blinding her to the room around her. Exhaustion took over, both emotional and physical. Scrappy’s legs gave out and she collapsed on the floor, sobs wracking her body.

[Joxcenia]

Joxcee noticed Guru and Scrappy glancing at a window off and on. They were up to something, it was obvious, even though they tried to make everyone believe they were at odds. Lord, keep me safe. And thanks for helping me not end up like the roasted turkey on the buffet table. Amen.

“Holy Crap!” Joxcee screamed, as a chair went scraping across the floor and fell against the table. She watched as the chair bounced and creaked as though someone were stepping on it. Then Scrappy went pale and started having some type of convulsions, and when she seemed to come to, she threw her arms around like she had a weapon. And then she did have a weapon. Note to self: Remember to have Kym set up a metal detecting device next time. Sheesh! I’ll have to live through this to give her that feedback. And I won’t be back here again, if I make it out alive this time. Joxcee backed up against the wall behind her, weighing her options. Okay. There are only two ways out of here. The doors behind Scrappy, or the fireplace, which has a blazing fire in it once again. What to do… What to do… think… think… think…

[guru]

'It's happening!'

Guru barely had time to think those words as his body sprang into action. The chair crashing next to him would have made anyone jump, but the sword stuck in the wall meant only one thing - the fight had begun. And this time he was prepared to fight.

Without even rising from his chair he partially slipped the Ion Gun from its secret pocket inside his jacket and aimed roughly for the rushing image crossing the table. There was no time to uncoil the grounding cord, so there wouldn't be a maximum discharge. He had to hope that whatever the gun could shoot through the air would be sufficient.

The target settled into position behind Scrappy ... slightly to the side ... just enough to allow for a clean shot. It was the woman from upstairs - the one with the sword. A slight fuzzy vagueness to the outline, she was looking more like an early television image than a real person. And Guru didn't know of any human who was less than absolutely solid. Decision made.

Then one finger gave a little squeeze.

Cries of alarm all around. One voice was frantically asking questions. Guru thought he heard his name called out from down the table. Was there a scream? Still, in the midst of tumult he remembered to be an island of calm. He knew the most important thing to do was observe ... but observe what? The woman had completely disappeared!

On the other hand, Scrappy was very much solid flesh and blood. And on the floor where she sat she obviously needed flesh and blood help. Something had paid her an emotionally wrenching visit. Earlier she seemed to be in a trance while holding that black pot, but the experience hadn't left her shaking and sobbing like a beaten child.

Maybe she had seen the face of the enemy. Maybe she just learned the answer to the most important question. But it would all have to wait until she calmed down. The enemy was something inhuman, so to Guru's mind badgering her and otherwise acting inhuman to each other felt ... dirty.

All attention went to Scrappy. And not just for the fact of being someone with a gun screaming and crying. She seemed to be the only casualty in this conflict. Guru slowly edged around the table taking soft, measured steps. He wanted to radiate an aura of calm and gentleness. That should bring Scrappy back into the fold.

"Scrappy, it's okay. You're safe now. You're with us."

No sign of recognition.

Soft, measured steps.

"Can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"

No improvement. Maybe try a little positive reinforcement.

"Be strong. This wasn't for nothing."

Through her tears Scrappy saw one giant monster eyebrow spanning the entire width of a human face. So demonic. Demonic?!

"NOOO!!" she screamed as her hands flew up in defense.

Then one finger gave a little squeeze.

[guru]

Her name was Yana. She was born and raised in a little Siberian town called Nefteyugansk. Life there consisted of either working for the big oil company or drinking heavily ... or both. In winter they would fight the cold, in summer they would fight mosquitos. In school Yana would fight the bullies.

Yana had a grandmother who told stories of far-away places and long-forgotten times. And of fantastic people. Two stories especially fired the little girl's imagination. A race of brave and noble warrior women, the Amazons fought for honor and survival. They took no dirt from anyone.

And the Immortals. Who could possibly believe such nonsense? People living forever -- healing after every wound -- dying and coming back to life -- and still fighting with swords in these modern times. A romantic notion to set a schoolgirl's heart fluttering, nothing more. Certainly someone as practical as Yana could never actually believe an immortal existed.

Until she met one.

*******

They remained frozen. No one knew what to do -- it was all too much. The shock at being in the presence of a shooting gradually gave way to the realization that the "victim" began healing before their very eyes.

Barely enough blood trickled from the wound to drip onto the floor. Guru held his shirt open so he could see the damage. Through a haze of still-burning pain he focused on his shoulder and saw what he expected to see. Healing. Just like the other times he had been shot ... or stabbed ... or whipped ... or dragged behind a horse ...

If the other houseguests were standing any closer, they too would have seen the faint blue glow and wispy electric-white tendrils in the rapidly narrowing aperture. Three more minutes and the puncture would be sealed; ten more minutes and there would be no trace of damage at all.

He wondered if he should excuse himself to change his shirt before continuing the conversation. 'It just doesn't do for a gentleman to wear bulletholes in the presence of ladies. Well, ladies and that one...' At the moment, his thoughts of Scrappy were less than charitable. But he knew he'd probably get over it. 'Something happened to her, and she wasn't herself. Who knows what was in her mind's eye when she pulled the trigger? Who knows what the others are thinking? Better do something.'

"No, no, don't bother running to my rescue -- I'll be fine." The sarcasm was lost on the group. And Scrappy was still consumed with her pain. A change of scenery was in order.

"This makes two of us on the floor. I call that a party! Maybe we should adjourn for now and get some rest?" Guru never liked being injured, but he liked even less having a bunch of gawking onlookers while his body mended.

Guru rolled himself over and up, making sure to avoid putting pressure on his sore shoulder. Scrappy was being assisted as he made his way around the table and toward the door. Once again his thoughts turned to the fellowship that would be needed for these people to survive.

"I'll be back. Just gonna freshen up a little." A quick glance at the bullethole in his shirt. He didn't want to throw this shirt away. It was a gift ... in fact the last gift he ever received ... from her. His tragically departed wife.

Yana.

[Phalon]

Icy tendrils of blackness encircled her body, tightening around her until she was enveloped in it. Total darkness. She felt suffocated by it; gasping for breath. She tried to remind herself that she was already dead, and it did not matter – that none of it mattered; the sickening acrid scent of burnt flesh, muscles that were paralyzed, incessant buzzing in her ears, and the feeling of an infinite number of tiny needles penetrating every part of her. How could she feel so much pain if she were dead? She opened her mouth to scream, but her charred throat would not release the sound. The buzz in her ears grew to a roar; louder and louder…deafening.

And when she was sure that she could not endure this any longer, it ended.

Silence.

There was nothing. The noise, the smells – the pain…it all ceased to exist. Warily, she opened her eyes, and found she was at a threshold.

Behind her lay the blackness – the suffering, and along with it; that demented tormenter, those people, and that horrid house…and the emptiness she felt when she was inside it.

In front of her stood a meadow bathed golden in sunlight. The waves of grasses and wild flowers; tansy, orphine, marjoram and rue, swayed in a slight summer’s breeze. They danced in unison; the entire meadow of flowers, the dance only broken by a tree growing up from the center of the field. Its trunk was gnarled with age and its twisted branches seemed to beckon her to come, and rest beneath their shade.

She knew this place…. This was home.

[Phalon]

This place spread out before her – the meadow and tree growing in it, and it begged her to come home. It was a place where she knew love- the love of her mother, father and younger brother, and of a handsome young man from her village. It was the place of her youth.

During the day, Phalon helped out in her family's shop in the small village where they lived. She loved the store, working amongst the bottles of fine olive oils, wooden bowls filled with dried figs, herbs and baskets hanging from the ceiling rafters, stacks of linens and silks, incense and candles, and general goods. All the scents intermingled and tickled her nose with a musky, earthy smell. Her young suitor would come in to make his purchases daily. Stolen glances and sweet smiles. A feather light touch of a hand passing goods over the counter. Phalon always felt her heart would come out of her chest it beat so wildly when he was near.

Each afternoon, when the work day was done, Phalon ran to the meadow. She practically flew over the ground to their meeting place under a large tree. He would be there always, a smile on his face, and arms outstretched, waiting for her to rush into his embrace. There they would sit and talk until the bright sun of the day gave way to the moon's glow…talk about the day's events, of future plans and of their love for each other. When the moon was high in the night sky, reluctantly they would part until the following afternoon.

Smiling, Phalon closed her eyes, remembering how idyllic this time was for her. She savored the memories, for that time in her life did not last long. It would soon turn into her worst nightmare.

One day, a young boy from a neighboring village burst through the door of the shop. Out of breath from running, he explained that a small group of Roman soldiers were marching through, taking young maidens into their custody to become slaves. Phalon's father grabbed her and pulled her into the store's back rooms that were their living quarters. He quickly cropped her long hair close to her head with a pair of shears and had her change her clothing into that of her younger brother. Her stature was slight but muscular, and with the baggy boy's clothing, she could easily pass for a boy of about twelve.

The Romans came, cutting a swath of destruction through anything that was in their way. Houses were destroyed, girls and women were taken, and protesting fathers and husbands beaten or killed. They ransacked the shop, taking what they wanted and destroying much of the rest. One of the soldiers felt Phalon's mother was not moving quickly enough to get the supplies he demanded and slapped her mother hard across the face. Phalon felt her temperature rise and her face grow hot. Angrily and impetuously, she rushed at the soldier with all her might. He easily beat her off and threw her to the ground. As her head slammed into the floor, Phalon had the first vision of her life. Even as she faded into unconsciousness, she knew what she was seeing was real.

A young man in a field, under a tree, holding a bouquet of daisies; his love's favorite. He turns and looks behind him; a smile on his face, arms outstretched, expecting to see his beloved. Instead he is greeted by the venomous jeers of soldiers. The smile fades into a look of horror. The flash of a sword. Cries of protest. The sickening THUD of a body hitting the ground. Daisies; petals once the pure white of innocence, scattering in the wind, now tinged in red.

It wasn't long after that she left home. Her family was spared during the raid because the Roman's needed the store for future supplies. In fact, the entire village fared fairly well, all things considered. In time, people returned to their day to day activities, and life began to take on some aspect of normalcy…but nothing would be normal for her here again. Everywhere she looked there were reminders. She had lost her one true love. She was forever changed. She grew weary of the hushed conversions when she entered a room. The visions were becoming more frequent. She did not like seeing into other people's lives, or understand why this was happening to her.

Grief turned to anger; anger to hatred, and consumed with it, she tracked those responsible for ripping her life apart. It wasn’t difficult – their cruelty was seen in each small village she passed through. Once she found them, she bid her time patiently, waiting for the opportune moment to employ her vengeance. It came as they lay sleeping. She crept into camp and one by one slaughtered the men who had killed her beloved. With each plunge of the knife, her hatred had increased; coursing through her veins hotter and faster until the welled up rage exploded in a frenzy of killing. Only when she was finished, crumpled in a heap covered in blood, did the magnitude of what she’d just done hit her full force. And that is when her true journey into madness began.

Phalon heard the screams, and for a moment thought she was hearing her own screams of that time so long ago, in her head. She opened her eyes. There they were again…faint, but real – not imagined at all. It sounded like…

Scrappy?! Had that maniac with the sword gotten to Scrappy before Phalon had taken him down….or was it the other maniac…the one that called himself Guru, who had gotten to her? The one who had shot her with that cylinder in the back. She knew it was him that did this to her; had caused her all that immeasurable agony…for the thunderous crack and white flash of light following it were the same as in the image she’d seen when she touched him as he held the picture of the woman.

She heard Scrappy scream again, “NOOOOO!” Phalon was torn. She felt an odd kinship to Scrappy, though she didn’t really know her – knew, in fact, nothing about her except that she’d tried to help Phalon, and for that, she felt she owed her.

She hesitated and looked at the meadow stretching out before her. This was what she had wanted – what she tried to get back to ever since rising out of the sea, and it was what her heart ached for. Home. She was so close…

Another Crack; familiar but not quite the same, and it pierced her thoughts. Not again! He would not…?

She took a step backwards. And then another….and another… The sunlight of the meadow diminished with each step she took. Soon it was only a tiny speck of light far in the distance, and the images from her past faded with it, until they were once again just a memory in the back of her mind. She turned completely around, leaving it all behind her - except for the anger and hatred of that one night of madness. Those feelings she kept forefront….but now they were directed at a new target.

She dove back into the blackness, and it swallowed her whole.

[Freebird]

Freebird watched in horror as something was happening to members of the group, she yelled at Scrappy, Guru, Phalon no response.
She saw a chair move and asked Joxie if she had seen it also just to make sure she heard her yell and wasn't seeing things and hearing things.
Yes, she replied.
As a cold shadow came toward her she screamed "who are you and what have you done to them?"
A sinister laugh was heard, but only by her. Suddenly everything went dark, and when Freebird woke up she had a headache and found herself back at the cottage that she was at when she first arrived.
What the heck am I doing back here... How did I get back here?
The same picture that she saw in the Library was in the hall on a table with blood on it. It was a message that said "your next".
Who wrote that? And who's blood is this?
Freebird found herself being pulled into a room, she tried to fight it but couldn't.
There was a figure of a man lying on the floor.
As she got closer she realized the man was Wayne the man in the picture but how could it be him, the dates were wrong, he would have to be dead by now. He would have died of old age, or something.
Then she turned towards the door and saw something like she was watching a movie of how this man died. As the story unfolded
she saw him getting shot, she felt the pain, saw the blood on her hands as she saw herself kneeling beside him crying and holding him close to her. She didn't see who shot him.
The next thing that happend scared her even worse.
Suddenly she was back at the house in the kitchen where she had started from.
Freebird told the others "I have to go back to the cottage".
Something happend there. I have to take care of it right away.
I have to find out what's going on.
Freebird heard a voice say NO!!! It's a trap don't go. It was a voice she reconized but didn't really know who it was.
As if she had willed it the voice had a face, it was the woman in the picture with that man.
She heard the woman repeat the words" it's a trap don't go!!!"
Then the woman was gone.

[dixielandyankee]

The sequence of events was a blur. Scrappy leapt to her feet, her chair crashing backwards. There was a rush of cold air and the blurred outline of a figure flew across the room, preceeded by a sword which struck the opposite wall with a resounding thwack and embedded itself, quivering in the ancient plaster. There was movement from behind her and Dixie turned, pulling her wand from its holster as the world seemed to slow to a crawl. She saw Guru throw back his chair and stride across the room, from the open flap of his jacket she glimpsed something cylindrical and gunmetal grey and knew it couldn't be good. As this thought passed through her head there was a loud crack like thunder and a blinding white flash and Dixie threw herself to the floor, squirming under the table, between chair legs. She paused for a second, breathing heavily and feeling the adrenaline course through her. The air around her felt very cold and she shuddered, peering across the polished floor and out into the room. She could her noises and something was tickling her sixth sense, like cold fingertips fondling her soul. Then a solid form came crashing into the wall next to the table, and slumped motionless. It was Scrappy.

Dixie slid over to her, squinting out above the table to make sure nothing else ethereal was going to fly at her head. Scrappy shook her head slightly and then screamed like a woman posessed, pulling out her gun and waving it in the faces of the assembled guests. Seeing Guru standing in the middle of the room with a freshly pumped ray-gun Dixie could almost see the logic in her eyes and wasn't at all surprised when Scrappy shot him quite cleanly in the shoulder.

What did surprise her, however, was that Guru took the shot well, falling to his knees, his hand clasping the wound, but then examining it intently and seeming relieved. Through the hole in his shirt Dixie could see a faint blue glow. 'Hmm' she wondered, 'this is new. Another sorcerer? No, she hadn't got that vibe from him, with all the gadgets and the macho supersonic bazooka coming over like something from The Matrix she knew there was no way that he had knowledge of the craft. Tricky, tricky...' she narrowed her eyes as she looked at him and slid closer to Scrappy, watching his every move as he excused himself from the room.

Scrappy's body was racked with sobs and Dixie felt her pain, like something from long, long ago...she lifted Scrappy's chin to examine her bloody face. Crimson rivulets ran down her cheeks and dripped off her chin, her golden eyes were bloodshot and listless. She blinked salty tears away as she looked at Dixie and the younger woman pulled her close and felt her sag, exhausted onto her shoulder. Dixie stroked her hair.

"Its going to be ok. He won't hurt you any more, I'll protect you."
'Big words for a little witch' she thought sullenly and took a deep breath. She began to breathe slowly in and out, stroking Scrappy's blood-encrusted hair, she closed her eyes and began to feel the slight hum and vibration that always encircled her when she was working a spell. She felt Scrappy begin to breathe in time with her and she bent over and whispered in Scrappy's ear "Somnolus". She almost didn't need the incantation for Scrappy was asleep in the same split second that she recited the words. Dixie knew that this was not your ordinary cat-nap however, it was a sleep that would help Scrappy recuperate and re-energise.

Dixie pushed herself up from the floor and dusted down her jeans. Looking around she took in Freebird and Joxenia who were wide-eyed and still. Suddenly she felt the tickling again, only warmer this time and a shape began to materialise in the room. It was the woman from the vision she had shared with Scrappy, it was Phalon...very much in the flesh.

[guru]

On his way out of the room, Guru noticed something that gave him the tingling chill of deja vu. Freebird -- standing still as a statue -- had the same glazed look on her face as Scrappy did when possessed by that black pot. But Freebird had been quite animated a minute ago. What just happened to her?

'I hope this isn't catching.' But he had to wonder when he heard her suddenly say she had to go back to the cottage.

Despite his recent mishap he could not let anyone go traipsing around those haunted grounds all alone. His shoulder might still be sore, but his concern was more important than some mere physical discomfort. With that in mind ... and mindful of other eyes following him ... he approached Freebird slowly and stopped a few feet directly in front of her.

"Are you okay?"

She stared at him ... rather nervously at first, but her expression slowly relaxed. Without blinking she nodded her head. Her eyes did dart to the bullethole in his shirt, so Guru guessed there might be a long-winded explanation in his future.

"Listen... if you're going out there, don't go alone. Let me get my coat. And yours, too. I'll be right back."

With those words he proceeded into the foyer to retrieve his long coat from the coat rack near the front door. Grasping the collar with both hands, he swung his left hand in a circular motion over his head causing the right sleeve to slide effortlessly up his right arm. But before he could complete the motion he realized his left shoulder hurt like anything. It would need a few more minutes of healing time.

And he didn't know which coat was Freebird's. So... one agonized grunt later he paced his way back to the dining room doorway.

[Phalon]

The darkness that had swallowed her whole, spat her back out again; back to the house which she so desperately wanted to leave, and into the room where the others had gathered to eat. Something had happened to her there; inside the black void – she had felt it; the sensation of a presence, not threatening, but comforting and guiding her return to this place.

The pain returned when she did; tiny needles pricking every part of her, but instead of the intense stabbing, she was now left with a tingling sensation. She brought with her also the hot anger she felt towards Guru; for shooting her, and imagining what he’d done to Scrappy - but like the pain, that too was tempered, and instead of boiling over with it, a numbing warmth spread throughout her. Warmth. How long had it been since she’d felt that sensation? But she definitely felt it now, and realized it was not caused by the anger at all.

She held out her hands in front of her. Gone was the bluish tint of cold, bloodless skin. Quickly her hands flew to her face. She held them there, reveling in the heat she felt on her cheeks for a moment, before running her fingers back through her long hair which had before been eternally wet. It was now dry, as was the cloth of her robes when her hands felt that also.

She spun around, watching with fascination the folds of her robe swirl and billow out around her, instead of wetly clinging to her legs. She felt so….alive, and that is how she appeared before them….alive, and very much in the flesh.

She looked at them now; the three women standing before her, staring at her as if they’d just seen a ghost. HA! A ghost. Not her – not anymore. She was alive, alive, alive. She didn’t know how it happened, and at this point, didn’t care. She wanted to jump and run, and embrace each of them; wanted to feel the warmth of human contact again. ‘Phalon, contain yourself’, she muttered in her head. Instead she smiled, and walked to the nearest one, the tall blonde, and clasped the sorceress’ forearm in the way of Amazon greeting which she’d used so long ago in Greece. They’d seen her before, she knew, but not in this way. “Phalon”, she said, offering her name. It sounded solid and true; not the hollow, empty sound of the dead, and she welcomed the return of her own voice.

The woman returned the greeting by grasping Phalon’s own forearm without hesitation, and Phalon was grateful there was no flinch at the contact – that her touch did not cause the other to recoil from feeling the cold, lifeless flesh which had been hers just moments before. “I’m Dixie”, the woman said, gesturing to herself, and then pointing to the other two, “And that’s Joxie, and Freebird.”

She glanced around the room for those she didn’t see that were here before she’d been blasted into the darkness. She didn’t see Guru, and so be it - she didn’t want her feeling of joy diminished by the anger she still felt towards him – not yet, anyway…but neither did she see Scrappy, and her joy instantly turned to alarm.

“Scrappy?” she asked. Dixie nodded towards the end of the long table and pointed towards the floor. Phalon quickly crossed the room, and Dixie followed. Upon seeing her lying motionless, her face smeared with blood, Phalon’s first thought was that he’d gotten to Scrappy before she’d returned from the void…whether he being the demented being with the sword, or Guru with his lightening bolt shooting cylinder, she was not sure. She knelt down next to her and placed her hand against Scrappy’s cheek. It was warm, and her breathing; even and steady. She was sleeping then, and not… Relief washed over her.

She saw her sword lying next to the woman and moved to retrieve it, when she noticed something amidst the rubble of broken dishes, spilled food, and splattered blood. It was a small, clear glass jar with a lid of polished silver. What was contained inside was unmistakable to Phalon - the reddish purple stems, the downy white undersides of the dried leaves…she’d known it to be called the “Mother of Herbs” – and it contained powerful magic. It must have come from the sorceress’ bag, the contents of which spilled during the melee at dinner. ‘Hhmmm…’, she thought, raising an eyebrow.

She started to put the contents back into the bag, and Dixie bent down to help. “We should move her, you know, to somewhere where she’d be more comfortable.” Phalon shook her head, not comprehending what the other was saying. “You don’t understand, do you? You don’t speak English?”

Phalon shrugged, still not grasping the intent of words that sounded so strange to her. Freebird spoke, repeating what Dixie had just said in Greek. Her Greek was different than Phalon’s - Phalon’s being ancient; words from a time long since past, but she was able to pick out enough of what Freebird said to interpret their meaning.

As she nodded in agreement, she felt her anger begin to rise again, sudden and unexpected. She sensed his presence at the doorway, and looked up at him through narrowed eyes, seething with rage. She saw blood on his shoulder, surrounding a clean hole through the fabric of his shirt. So the second crack of thunder she’d heard was Scrappy shooting him, and not the other way around? Interesting, she thought, and wondered what he’d done to provoke her.

She handed the bag back to Dixie, but carefully palmed the jar containing magic. She’d find out what this Guru was up to…she slipped the jar into her robe…one way…then sheathing her sword at her back…or another.

Dixie hooked her arms under Scrappy’s, and Phalon took her legs. As they carried the sleeping woman out the doorway past Guru, she said to him, “Enas tropos eite allos, Guru.” One way, or another.

[Scrappy Amazon]

Scrappy hit the floor, the pain and loss engulfing her. The last thing she remembered before unconsciousness was a warm and tender touch on her face. Blue eyes looking into her soul, a soft voice whispering that everything would be ok. An angel watching over her. Sleep, she just needed to sleep a little. She listened to the angel breathe; it lulled her, spoke to her, sleep…

Darkness. . .

Dreaming. . .

Green hills, peaceful meadow. Two figures, standing close together under the single tree growing there. Exchanging words of love and light touches.
Time passes. . .
Green hills peaceful meadow. .A lone figure standing under a single tree. Waiting for his love. Never knowing he would have eternity from this moment on to love her. Crimson rain, roman soldiers, slaves and fires. Another lifetime wasted on death and destruction.
Time passes. . .
A woman, barely more than a child, cutting a path of destruction through a field of Roman soldiers. Red on red. Rage glowing about her in raw energy waves. Only one left. His plume of blue giving him away amongst the rivers of red. She approached, cautiously but ready to finish it.

Quick exchange of swords, words unintelligible. Realization of gifts yet ungoverned. Denial of power. “I will have your secrets!” Rage boiling to overflowing. “And I will have your life!” Sword driving through flesh, parting bone as if through water. Blood spilling. Rotted teeth turning red with the dark sticky fluid. Innocence lost. She stands and surveys the carnage. “Fair trade. His life for all of yours. It is done.”


Scrappy could feel herself begin to wake. She could feel her body being jostled. She ignored it. The warm blue light played behind her eyes. Sleep it said. The angel’s voice whispered to her again. “It’s ok. Sleep. . .”

---

Edited to fix font. ~~Joxcee~~
---
Edited again to switch image link. Nothing else was tampered with. ~Mini-Mia

[guru]

"Can I ask you something?" Outside in the unsettled night air, Freebird's voice sounded like it came from a distance. Maybe a safe distance for someone who was afraid?

Guru had been through enough and wanted to salvage what was left of the night by trying to pull this team together. One at a time if necessary. So her willingness to ask he took as a good sign.

"Of course. Anything."

Then her question came forth without hint of judgment or fear. It was just a question. "What are you?"

"I'm a man ... that's all." He knew he had to give a little more than that to gain the trust he sought. "But I'm lucky -- I heal quickly. Don't even have a vaccination scar. Ummm... does that count as a scary supernatural power?"

With the slightest motion the corners of her mouth turned upward. The tension may not have been broken, but it was put on hold. She looked forward and headed toward their destination.

Walking along the dark path, he began singing to himself ... quietly so Freebird wouldn't hear ...

"On the first day of Halloween, my true love gave to me
A crypt with a skeleton key"

He glanced over to make sure she wasn't listening. Evidently the wind made just enough noise to mask his voice.

"On the second day of Halloween, my true love gave to me
Two haunted houses
And a crypt with a skeleton key"

Then they were at the door of the cottage. Freebird touched the door handle and quickly withdrew her hand. Guru observed and immediately began listening. It was time to be on guard duty.

[Freebird]

Freebird stopped and laughed at guru and said " nice song".
Guru haden't known that she'd heard him singing.
Thanks he said.
Guru we have a problem the door is strangely cold. It's cold out here he said.
I know it's cold out here but that's not what I mean, feel, how do you explain this?
By the way no one heals that quick tell me how you did that, trying to change the subject he had opened the door and said let's go in.
Freebird had noticed the house inside was very warm a fire was lit in the fireplace, she looked at guru and said that wasn't lit when I left before.
guru followed freebird as she went down the hall to the room where she saw the body, it was gone she didn't really expect it to be there anyway. Where the body was there was a puddle of blood
and a picture in the blood face down.
freebird bent down to pick the picture up and noticed it was her,
she screamed and dropped the picture, guru picked it up and it was a picture of a man. freebird said it was me! It was me!
I saw me in that picture. I'm going nuts this place is really getting to me she thought. guru said "no I think there is something else going on here". You are already nuts he smiled.
He left the room went through another door there he saw....

[Phalon]

They carried Scrappy down the long hall until they came to the stairs, where Dixie stopped and nodded, motioning with her head that this was the direction they were headed. Shifting the sleeping woman so that each of them had an arm around their shoulders, and the opposite around her waist, they ascended the narrow staircase, half dragging, half carrying her, her feet striking each riser along the way.

And still she slept.

At the top of the stairs, they proceeded down another hallway. Again, Dixie stopped, this time in front of a closed door, and resting her share of Scrappy’s weight against the wall, she opened it. A sleeping chamber; and once inside, they deposited Scrappy on the bed. Dixie busied herself with settling Scrappy in the bed, adjusting the blankets around her.

And still she dreamt.

Phalon brushed a loose strand of hair from Scrappy’s forehead, and her hand lingered there for a moment, catching a glimpse of the dream; a dream of a time long ago, of a past life shared.

She turned to look at Dixie, long, hard, and with a realization of something the other wasn’t aware of…yet.

She pulled a chair close to the bed, and gently pushing down on Dixie’s shoulders, sat her in it. Taking the other’s hands in her own, she faced them palms up, reached over and placed Scrappy’s hand within, then folded Dixie’s hands around it.

Leaving them, she slipped out of the room, failing to notice the black pot on the floor, partially hidden beneath the bed skirts.

[guru]

There he saw a rough table - more of a workbench, actually - in the center of the small and shadowy room. At the far corner an old railroad lantern waited patiently under decades of accumulated dust. Not so much as a fingerprint disturbed its pristine perfection as a picture of abandonment. Guru could sympathize.

While dusting off the lantern, he listened for the sound of fuel sloshing inside. Good. The case was solid, the glass was intact, and the wick looked barely used.

'Time to shed a little light on the subject.'

So he searched the depths of his coat pockets for an old and trusty tool. Long ago a good friend gave him a prototype of an invention that would sweep the world - the pocket cigarette lighter. Although Guru didn't smoke, he appreciated the convenience of being able to make fire at will. This model featured a reusable "match" stored in one end of the metal case where it soaked in lighter fluid. The match was then ignited by striking on the side of the lighter.

Reluctantly, as if waking from a long sleep, the old gray lantern opened its eye of fire and peeked around at still-slumbering surroundings.

[Scrappy Amazon]

A blue swirling fog enveloped Scrappy’s mind; the patterns playing in the imaginary light coming from some unseen source like cigarette smoke floating through a crack of sun in the curtains. Scrappy knew she was in the here and now but she had a sense of the past - glimpses of things only her soul remembered. The shades of lives past circling around her vying for attention and recognition...reaching out, grasping, and hoping, to pull her in, to gain purchase on this familiar soul, to remember, and to gain some piece of life again - however miniscule.

One in particular caught her attention. Scrappy watched as a dreamer does; from a distance while also participating. She knew these people; knew that she was the one on the ground in a dank and putrid cell, beaten and bloody, and even as she watched she also experienced the pain. A beautiful blonde kneeling by her side wiping sweat from her brow and cleaning wounds received for righteousness sake - wounds accepted with honor and love in the hopes that another would not share in her fate. For her sake. The blonde with the bluest eyes with gold flecks that glowed in the sun, or whenever she was truly happy. But they were not happy today. Today they were the blue of the deep ocean -calm and sad, bright with unshed tears.

Scrappy watched this life unfold. With cold detachment, but also with interest. She knew she had experienced this at some point but she also knew no conscious memory would surface.

The beautiful blonde leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “They won’t let me stay long.” One blackened and swollen eye attempted to open. “I bribed every guard I could just to get to see you. They told me I could clean you up some.” She reached down to untie the lacings of Scrappy’s blood stained dress.

Scrappy reached up to stop her hands. “Titania, don’t.”

“Oh my dear goddess. What have those monsters done to you?” Her tears flowed freely now. She looked with horror at the frail hand grasping her wrist. Several fingernails had been forcefully removed and she was sure that some fingers were broken. “Please my love, let me see what they have done to you.”

“No. I don’t want you to see what they have done. I don’t want that to be the only thing you see of me in your dreams when I am gone. Listen to me. You need to get out of this place. Out of this city. I can’t hold on much longer. And I don’t want you to see what they will do to me when I can’t resist it any longer.”

“Please. Let me go to the magistrate and explain. I’ll tell them everything, I’ll confess and we’ll be done with it.”

“No! Then we both will die. I want you to live and remember. Be a witness to the suffering their greed has caused.” The prone scrappy pressed her cracked and bloody lips to the soft white hand of the one she loved. “Go now. Go to our place and put an offering there that I will go quickly once I have lost control. And then please leave this place. Start a new life somewhere safe.”

The fog overtook the scene again. Swirling in unfathomable patterns. Blue gray faded to deep green. Large and intimidating trees loomed above her. She watched as the familiar blond haired woman knelt next to an altar. Large gray stone carved with ancient symbols. From somewhere in the back of her mind Scrappy remembered what the symbols represented. Nature, balance, grace, love……None of theses things were what she was feeling right now. As she bent to place her offering Titania felt an unusual package under her knee sticking slightly up from the ground. Leather bound and slightly damp from having spent too many days in the dirt, Titania opened it with great care. She pulled out a sizeable stack of English pound notes and a letter, lovingly written in a familiar hand.

Scrappy tried hard to keep the fog from obliterating the scene before her. The last thing she saw was Titania clutching the letter to her chest and sobbing uncontrollably.

Ocean breeze blew across Scrappy’s skin as another scene unfolded. One of Titania standing on the deck of a large ship, bundled close in a large dark cloak, holding the now crumpled letter close to her chest. Tears streaming down her face as she looked across the harbor at the acrid smoke rising from the town square. Scrappy approached the specter of a life long past and placed her hand on Titania’s shoulder. She couldn’t have comforted her then but she could in her own small way make up for that now. Titania wiped the tears from her eyes and placed a still damp hand over the one that Scrappy had placed on her shoulder. She began to sing quietly to herself.

Gypsy Star

Shining stars and the morning sun
Fill us all with precious love
And our life is timeless, and one
Feels like all, and all feel like one

Off we go in clouds of dust
On the road of the shinning moon
And the songs of future and past
Take us home together soon

Time is rushing along like a creek
Taking us to the peaceful land
And we meet our loved ones and friends
Who are waiting with open hands

Off we go in clouds of dust
On the road of the shinning moon
And the songs of future and past
Bring us all together soon


Recognition of reality seeping in……damp hand in her hand. Scrappy opened her eyes and looked at Dixie sitting in the chair beside her bed. Tears streaming down her face. Dixie reached up and wiped away the salty wetness then placed her hand back in Scrappy’s.

“Hi. How are you feeling?” Dixie looked at her patient with soft blue compassionate eyes.

“Better. How long have I been out?”

“Long enough. We need to talk.” A sad smile played across Dixie’s lips.

[Phalon]

Back out in the hall, Phalon paused, wondering which direction to take. She’d really seen very little of the house and thought a little exploring might be in order. She turned opposite of the way she and Dixie had brought Scrappy, to see if she could uncover some of whatever secrets the house may be hiding in this direction. She stopped when she heard a low growling; grisly – a beastly, inhuman sound, and eerily hollow in its destitution….louder now, demanding its needs be sated.

Her stomach.

Change of course. She turned around and headed back downstairs to the dining room she’d just left in search of food. It wasn’t difficult to find the way – her hunger seemed to take on a life of its own, leading the way, and all her body had to do was give in and follow the course her cravings set.

Here… She peeked her head in the door and there it was; the thing beckoning her, willing to fulfill her desire – the long table still set with the banquet of earlier that evening, inviting her to come partake in its bounty.

Joxie was still in the room; alone and pacing worriedly back and forth. Phalon, not wanting appear rude in her urge to make a headlong dash into the food, offered a wave and a smile, while secretly wishing the woman would move a little quicker out of the path between her and the table.

Nervously afraid, Joxie backed away from the rapidly advancing strange woman, still not quite sure what to make of her. Seeing that it was the table and not her that Phalon was intent on reaching, she warily waved and smiled back at her, at the same time still retreating, putting further distance between them.

There was little left of the feast that hadn’t been destroyed; a few dishes here and there amongst the rubble of overturned bowls and broken plates. She spied a bowl a fruit as one of the remaining things salvageable, and chose an apple from it; the flushed red hues of its florid skin enticing her. She closed her eyes and inhaled its aroma; sweet and crisp like warm Autumn. She could never remember smelling a scent as wonderful as this, and she bit into it, her teeth piercing the firm skin and sinking into the white flesh below. A sensual gratification flooded her mouth and she savored the taste; both tart and sweet at the same time. Juice dripped onto her chin and she wiped it with the back of her hand, too late remembering the white linen cloths she’d seen the others use for this purpose during dinner. When she got home, she’d have to tell Zena about them - Zena who was always chiding her daughter, Gabby, for using her sleeve instead of something more suitable. When she got home… She was still stubborn in her refusal to believe she would eventually not be returning to her time in her Greece.

She pushed the thought to the back of her mind, saving the details of her dilemma to be worked out later. She saw that Joxie had been staring at her, and smiling, she offered an apple from the bowl to the woman. The smaller woman vehemently shook her head, and wide-eyed, looked as if the fruit held out to her were poisoned. Phalon shrugged and pocketed the apple for later.

Now grabbing a chicken leg, she walked to the opposite side of the table to her place at the window. She gazed out longingly at the sea for a moment, or rather, longingly at what she imagined lay beyond it. She turned from the window with a deep sigh, and began moving back around the table running her fingertips along the backs of the chairs as she went. The events of the evening that she’d missed while in the void played themselves out for her as a play would unfold while she moved from chair to chair, catching their previous occupants’ roles in this performance. Guru’s chair; she saw him strike her down with the blast from his weapon. She moved on to where Scrappy had sat and saw her wildly waving a weapon of her own, and aim it at Guru as he advanced towards her. Dixie; she saw her run to attend to Scrappy, hysterical now, and her hair matted with blood. Freebird’s chair….

She stopped here, and instead of merely running her hand over the smooth wood, she tightly gripped the wooden rods that made up the chair-back, as if by squeezing them hard it would thrust the life out of the vision in her mind.

Freebird was with Guru, she saw, out in the cottage away from the main house, and though that was alarming to Phalon given her feelings towards him, there was something else…something evil that was familiar to her in this place, and far more sinister than even she imagined Guru to be. She quickly let go of the chair as if it were on fire and were burning her hand.

Joxie was still watching her, and not wanting to leave her here, alone, like easy prey unaware of the beasts lurking all too willing to consume it, Phalon grabbed her wrist and headed towards the door. Realizing she still had the remains of the eaten chicken leg in her hand, she tossed it over her shoulder on the way out.

The bone, now stripped of its flesh, landed in a bowl of cranberry sauce, soupy in its consistency from having been left out too long. If one let one’s imagination run wild, one might imagine the bone in the sauce to be a bone of the dead protruding from a sea of blood; and wilder still, the image to represent an ill omen of things to come.

Joxie failed to see, for Phalon had already pulled her from the room and down the hall. If she had noticed the dish, the already reluctant woman would have put up more resistance to being dragged out the door and into whatever lay ahead this long night.

[guru]

The table was covered in dust. Clearing it off would leave the air unbreathable for longer than Guru intended to stay in the cottage, so he opted for examining one small area at a time.

Most of the surface was occupied by large square sheets of paper that felt like linen. A gentle brushing motion with the side of one finger revealed markings - some words in English, several geometric symbols. And directly below were characters of a script he had only seen in books. Books on witchcraft. That triggered a memory.

Yana never tired in her quest to understand the nature of Guru's condition. After witnessing several injuries heal before her eyes, she began to see the man behind the mystery. She did not fear the man. Indeed, what else was a girl supposed to feel for someone who willingly took a bullet intended for her ... then came back to life and made her buy him dinner as repayment?

But how? And are people like him born or made? One avenue of exploration led down the path of metaphysics. She searched the pages of books as old as she knew he would someday be.

The greatest sorrow in Yana's young life was that she could not live forever with her one true love. Guru was still just a pup as immortals go, but he already understood how difficult the long road of his life must ultimately be. He also knew immortality was not for everyone. But he had a century to make the philosophical adjustment and believed wholeheartedly in Yana's inner strength pulling her through the transition. If only she could.

They would have been running forever. Abandoning their friends ... making new friends ... and abandoning them as well. Everyone they care for eventually lost to disease and death. But they would have each other. Forever. The eternal love immortalized by lonely poets and hopeless dreamers would be theirs in reality. If only Yana could become immortal like him. What would that be worth?

Guru moved the page aside to see what might lie underneath. There was a notch in the surface - no, an arrow. An arrow painstakingly carved to be exact in all its dimensions. It must have been important.

And the arrow in the table pointed to an unremarkable section of wall. However there was something different about the dust on the floor directly below. Faint parallel lines ... as if something moved there ... long ago.

"The old secret compartment trick."

One finger pushing against the wall revealed that it was not solidly nailed in place. Any metal mechanism operating this panel long ago surrendered to rust, and the entire plank of wood fell off into waiting hands. On the single shelf lay a dark cloth wrapped around something the size of a fairly hefty book. No doubt this was someone's treasure of treasures.

The book was not of factory manufacture, but handmade with cotton twine sewn through one edge for a binding. The wood cover was engraved with among other things the likeness of a crescent moon. A single string served as a latch for the open side.

Pages one and two held handwritten text in English. Feeling like he stumbled upon a diary, Guru skimmed past the words and scanned for symbols resembling those on the table. He didn't have far to look.

The first one was also on the cover of the book. Moving on, he found more.

The last appeared hastily drawn. The book must have been closed while the ink was still wet - a mirror image stained the opposite page.

A message was encoded in these ancient symbols, and the key had to be somewhere on the property.

Completely out of the blue Guru began thinking whoever wrote in this book may have meditated on this light. As he studied the lantern, he wondered what visions the previous owner saw in its soothingly predictable flame.

And with its one fiery eye the lantern studied him.

---

[Edited To: Remove the banner telling readers to read Freebird's post after this one. ~~Joxcee~~]

[Edited To: Replace Photobucket's images with ones saved to this Forum's theme. ~~Mini-Mia~~]

[Joxcenia]

This Is Freebird's Post... Not Mine!

---

Freebird
Whooshite Apprentice
Posts: 222

Re: The House Of Whoosher... ;-)

« Reply #108 on: Dec 10th, 2004, 05:11am »

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Freebird walked in behind and saw the lantern, strange, that wasn't here earlier she said. Someone has been here to light the fireplace, left the lantern, who was it she wondered.
Who has been in the house today after I left ?
Suddenly Freebird heard a noise in the other room sounding like something being moved across the floor, when she turned to see what it was that had moved nothing was out of place but it had gotten very cold she looked to see if the fire was still burnning,
it was but the flames were a deep blue color instead of the orange, yellow and red that it is suposed to be.
Come and look at the flame in the fireplace she told guru this isn't
right.
What is causing the flame to burn blue?
Evil pure evil, only evil turns a flame blue there is a warlock in here
guru said.
Where is he they wondered, lets go find him he has to be near or the flame wouldn't be blue. So where do we look humm, where would I be?
The attic that's where he is. guru said wait don't go up there by yourself some one needs to go with you.
I'm a big girl I don't need protection I can take care of it myself.

---

[Edited To: Repost Freebird's post _after_ Guru's so that the two are in the order they belong. ~~Joxcee~~]

[Phalon]

The heavy door of the house shut behind them, and the wind off the water; strong and fierce now, bit them as they stepped into the night. Phalon let go of Joxie’s wrist and turned into it and towards the sea. Worlds apart – her place and this one, and still there was that constant…the sea and its wind, both steadfast in their resolution to be ever-changing. They howled, they roared, and then they sweetly whispered, changing melodies on a whim. They were angry now, and Phalon wondered if perhaps it was because the sea had given up one of its dead – her, and the wind was calling her back, furious that she wasn’t listening.

A tap on her shoulder interrupted her thoughts, and she turned to see Joxie nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot, wondering, Phalon was sure, why she had been brought out here. “There”, Phalon said, pointing to the cottage, and started down the path towards it. Joxie hesitated, turned to look at the door once more, unsure of what to do, then sighed and hurried to catch up to Phalon.

As they approached the cottage, they saw the windows shining with light – not a warm glow welcoming them in from the night, but instead, it shone an ominous blue. Eerie shadows danced from within; flickering as if cast from flames. The eternal flames of Tartarus? Phalon wondered…

Apparently, Joxie wondered too…how wise it was to be out here, away from the house, and with the odd woman from another time. She balked, and looked back towards the house again…the house where the light from the windows was shining normal hues of yellow and gold, where there was food, people, and a nice bed to huddle under should the need arise.

She then directed her attention to her self-appointed protector. Protector? HA! The woman was barely taller then she….although she did have that sword strapped to her back, and it was obvious from the previous events this night, she was not afraid to use it.

Phalon watched the other woman weigh her options, and then laughed as Joxie sized her up. Slight in both stature and frame, she was used to having her strength underestimated…in fact, there were times she counted on it and used it to her advantage, surprising her opponents with the force of her counter-attack.

And from the hard glare her laugh received, Phalon realized that Joxie’s strength; whether physical or inner strength it be, or if that strength was even yet to be tapped - was not to be underestimated either.

Now was not the time for a showdown of wills though…and neither was it a time for indecisions. Freebird, and even Guru, could be in real danger inside the cottage, and Joxie’s fear was keeping her from finding out what the danger was. Phalon still felt Joxie was safer here with her then she was wandering around the house alone, with the demented spirit with the evil leer lurking unseen. She also knew Joxie’s fear was real…but how to deal with it? How to get her to follow her and not stand out here in the wind, possibly wasting precious time?

A smile played across Phalon’s lips as an idea formed. With great exaggeration, she began to examine the glass vials on her belt, attached there among the other trinkets and baubles that clinked together, making soft tinkling sounds when she moved. Finally, she found the vial she was searching for – the contents of which really did not matter. It was a trick – one she’d used often, and one she thoroughly enjoyed; playing the role of great mystic, sorceress or even a gypsy fortuneteller – whichever best fit the needs of the situation in which she found herself. The various roles had gotten her into places where she otherwise could not have gained access, and out of dilemmas where logical reasonings had failed.

The vial she chose was crimson in color, cylindrical in shape, but tapered to a rounded point at the bottom. It was attached to her belt by a thin strip of leather wound around the vial and knotted to secure it in place. She undid the knots, pulled out the glass stopper, and sniffed the vial’s contents, wincing and crinkling her nose at its acrid smell. She then passed the vial beneath Joxie’s nose, whose reaction was similar to her own, drawing a step back and away from the peculiar scent.

Turning with flourish, her robe dramatically swirling with the move, she strode towards the bluff, stopping just before its edge. With a great sweeping motion, she spread her arms wide, the vial in one hand, the glass stopper dangling from the leather strip in the other, and she raised them towards the sky as if summoning the gods themselves. Her hair, like her robe, flowed and whirled about her, lending her a wild, untamed appearance.

She began to recite, the words coming slow at first, then faster and with more emphasis. She counted on Joxie not understanding Greek, or at least the roar of the wind making the words unintelligible – for her ‘chant’ was merely a list of her family members. “Kaisa is my mom – and though I don’t let her know often enough, I admire her greatly…then there is Gelasuis; my brother, and his wife, Damaris. They have nine children…Apollo, he’s five and what a character...next comes Alida, Vania, Lyndara, Thaddeus, Cassandra…” Her voice grew louder with each name ticked off the list, and when it reached its crescendo, as if on cue, a low rumble seemed to stem from the earth and pass over them, followed by a crack of lightening striking off in the distance on the horizon of the sea.

Her improvised ritual finished, she walked back towards Joxie, her green eyes bright with excitement and presented vial to her, the cork back in its place. “Take it, take it”, she gestured with her hands and waved the potion in front of her. Joxie managed to look slightly amused, perplexed, leery and afraid all at the same time. Damn this language barrier, Phalon thought. She hunched her shoulders, drew up her hands under her chin and wiggled her fingers to represent demons, monstrous creatures and whatever else went bump in the night, then made shooing motions and pointed to the vial to indicate that this would drive them away. Amazingly, Joxie seemed to understand and reached for the potion. Phalon tied the ends of the leather cord together and placed it around the other woman’s neck.

That taken care of, Phalon again took Joxie’s wrist and opened the cottage door. Together, they entered; Phalon with her sword drawn, and Joxie clutching the talisman at her throat, praying the charm worked, and evil would pay her no attention.

[Freebird]

Freebird was trembling as she wandered through the house, not of fear but of a chill in the air.
Her thoughts go back to a time long, long ago when the house was alive with cheer and warmth.
This can't be real I have never been here in that time.
She had forgotten that guru was still in the other room she goes to the mantel and sees some weird symbols and writings.
She yells out come look at these writings.
Guru comes in the room and tells her that the same kind of symbols and writings were also on a table in the other room.
They are the clues to the mystery I think, freebird tells him.
What do they mean? What are they?
I don't know just yet guru said, but I have an idea.
These symbols are different than the ones on the table.
I think they tell a pretty wild story though, Freebird says laughing.
Lets see if there are anymore in the house.
I'll look for them and you can translate them for me.
We need some paper and a pen to write them down.
For a brief instant freebird thinks about the others in the main house, I wonder what is going on at the house she tells guru, then goes on about the bussiness at hand.

[Phalon]

Joxie and Phalon entered the cottage and were greeted by a fire on the hearth. The room was small; it’s over-stuffed furniture gathered around the fire-place to create an intimate setting – a gathering place for friends and family to visit, or for one, alone, to curl up under a quilt with a book and enjoy a quiet evening to themselves. Cozy and quaint it must have been once…. Once - but not now. Now it was all wrong. The fireplace, though lit, did not emit any warmth; the fire’s icy blue flames doing nothing but enforcing the feeling of coldness that settled over the room. And it was cold; colder than it was outside in the wind; and Phalon did not know if the chill she felt was from this physical cold, or from the sensation that there where things here that even a blazing fire and the bright light of day could not make feel warm.

They heard voices in another room towards the back of the dwelling. Freebird and Guru? Joxie started to rush towards the sounds, eager to be around other people, but Phalon held her back. “Shhhh”, she put her finger to her lips, not wanting to announce themselves just yet. She could not shake the feeling that something was wrong; something that would be best not knowing of their presence here.

Phalon quietly moved across the room, and at the threshold into the hallway, carefully stepped over a pool of blood that was not there. Joxie followed, and although she saw nothing, she did not doubt this woman saw things others could not, and so did the same…wondering exactly what it was she was stepping over and at the same time, wondering if she really wanted to know.

The hall was short; only about ten paces separating one room from the next, but once out in it - in between the shadowy blue light of the fire from the room they just left, and the light coming from the doorway that was their destination, was a strip of darkness. And Joxie hated darkness. She was practically stepping on Phalon’s heels in her rush to get to the next room. Phalon stopped and motioned her to slow down. Looking back over her shoulder, past Joxie, she saw him, advancing towards them. She spun around, pulling Joxie with her so that they traded places; Joxie still at her back, but now Phalon stood facing him.

He reached towards her and she raised her arm to block his. Her arm passed right through him as if he weren’t there at all. This confused her for a moment before she realized that because she was not like him anymore, she could not physically effect his movements. It had not occurred to her when she came back from the void, and why should it have? Why should she have let the joy of feeling alive again – of feeling whole – be ruined with thoughts of him?

His hand found her and took a lock of her hair, twisting it as he ran his fingers down the length of it….in exactly the same way she had a habit of doing, absent-mindedly, while she was thinking. It seemed he knew so much about her…how could that be? She knew nothing of him, did she?

“Phalon…” Again, the mocking way he said her name, and she cringed when she heard it. He saw. “Ah, you don’t like the way I speak your name?” His next words were spoke in a language she understood – and one, she now realized, she’d heard him use such a long, long time ago. “Phalon – an odd name for one born Greek, isn’t it, and I wonder how you came by it? Odd, yet intriguing….almost musical if spoke in a certain manner. Would you like to hear, Phalon, how your young lover screamed it, alone out in the meadow that day? It was the last word he spoke, you know, right before I ran my blade through him. Listen to me, Phalon, and I will tell you if you’d like.” He threw his head back and laughed, revealing a mouth full of rotted teeth.

She felt her blood rise and stared hard at him through eyes that saw only red. The memory of the sweet sound of her beloved’s voice calling her name had just been raped; defiled with the image this vile being put in place of it, and she loathed him for it.

She moved as if to strike him again, but instead, plunged her hand inside him, in his stomach. Reaching upward…her fingers felt their way inside what was once his body…dead and cold now – so cold her fingers grew numb, reaching and searching through his consistency - coarse…grainy; like sand on a beach that had not been warmed by the sun in a very long time. She was up to her elbow now, her frozen fingers aching, barely able to grasp what it was that they sought…his core – the core of this thing’s being - and they closed around it now. So brittle it was, that she felt if she tightened her grip much more, that it’d crumble in her hand to nothing but dust.

He stood there…rigid; the surprised expression plastered to his face, as if he’d just revealed something held deep within his soul without meaning to. And he had.

A barrage of images flooded her mind, flying at her in fast motion; images of his life – the things he had done…the people he’d destroyed. She saw herself, standing over him; his life ebbing as she wiped his blood from her blade. “Fair trade. His life for all of yours. It is done.” But it had not been done. Somehow he’d come back, over and over again to torment others through the years….through the centuries, until he’d ended up here, in this place, just as she had. And now he tormented her once again - and she would not have it.

She drew close to him; so close that the stink of his breath was in her face. She hissed her words, her lip curling with disgust, “No, you listen to me. You will not touch me again”, referring not only to the physical contact, but also to the hold he had on her mind, and she knew he understood the intent of her words. She continued, “You told me once, that you’d have my secrets, and I took your life…" She squeezed her hand tighter and his eyes grew wide; a gasp escaping his mouth as it twisted in pain. “…and now I take your secrets. Fair trade. My memory of him for all of yours.”

She felt the cold orb in her hand begin to come to life; pulsating and grow hot as he recovered from the shock of her intrusion into his soul and his anger with her took over. How dare she. “Ah, but I will, Phalon”, he sneered, laying the back of his hand against her cheek, caressing it, and she recoiled from his touch, withdrawing her hand from him as she stepped back. “I can touch you in ways you can not imagine…touch you like I did so long ago, when I took him; your Athan.” He spat the name, and she knew he had her in his grip again. “I can affect you, Phalon, by touching those around you - those that mean more to you then you have yet to realize.”

He took another step towards her. Hands grasped her arms. She felt herself being pulled backwards. A putrid stench filled her nostrils, gagging her and nearly causing her to be sick. She was enveloped in swirling, thick blue smoke, and he disappeared from her sight, and she from his.

[Phalon]

It happened quickly, and she barely had time to register what was taking place. The hands on her upper arms pulled her back away from him and into a screen of heavy smoke. She sharply inhaled from the surprise of the retreat, the smoke burning her throat and lungs. A vile, offensive odor hung in the air, and it was choking, sputtering and gagging that she was drawn out of the fumes, only briefly glimpsing through watery eyes the cause of it – a lantern placed in the doorway, billowing out blue clouds of the noxious gas. Then, she was dragged into darkness.

“Wha…..? A hand covering her mouth cut off her words. “Shhhhh…”. A voice whispered in her ear – a man’s voice; Guru’s, and though she felt an urge to bite down on his hand, she didn’t. The voice was calm; his touch non-threatening and she felt through the contact no traces of whatever may have caused him to shoot her earlier. She felt the others’ presence also – Freebird’s and Joxie’s, and feeling them here, somehow gave her some relief – relief that she was not alone in the dark with someone who had proven he meant to do her harm. She unclenched her muscles a bit, which she’d held poised and ready to lash out at him. Guru felt the ease in tension, and let go of her.

She heard a faint click, like a strike of stone against metal, and a tiny flickering light appeared, erasing the total darkness. She saw it came from some type of small mechanism Guru held in his hand, and wondered what other type of gadgetry he possessed. He seemed to have an endless supply of them; his gadgets, and she remembered one in particular – the big lightning bolt shooter. She thought she’d do best not to let her guard down around him, unsure of his intentions.

Freebird handed him a book of some sort; leather-bound and old, and as he moved to place it in his pocket, a flash of silver hidden under the bulk of his coat caught Phalon’s eye. She immediately knew what it was – that lightening thing – and her muscles again tensed. He caught her watching, and shrugged his shoulders; a gesture she was not quite sure the meaning of, and she in turn, glared at him.

Joxie interrupted by stepping in front of her, and smiling wide, handed her the crimson vial. It was empty of its contents; only a thin film of yellowish colored dust remaining on the lip of the glass. Phalon raised her eyebrow, and Joxie smiled wider, beaming with her own ingenuity. Then it all came together for Phalon – the source of the blue smoke and the vile stench. The vial had contained sulphur – an element used for various medicinal purposes by the healers of her time. Joxie must have recognized its tell-tale rotten egg-like scent when Phalon had passed the vial under her nose outside the cottage, and nearly everyone knew that if sulphur was thrown on a flame, the smoke it produced would be thicker than any dense fog a sailor would ever have to try to navigate through. So Joxie’s amulet had worked like a charm….Phalon almost laughed aloud at the play on words in her head, and remembered too a time when she’d used sulphur in the same way; to escape a Roman camp under a blanket of the heavy smoke.

But the diversion wouldn’t last long, and soon the demented ghost from her past, (and perhaps from her present companions’ pasts also?), would most likely figure out where they were. And where were they? She looked around and saw they were standing on a small landing at the top of a very narrow, steep stone stairway, the bottom of which was not visible. There was no door which led into where they were standing – only the rough stone wall of the cottage separating the place they were from the room they just left, and she wondered how’d they got in here. A secret passageway then? There was nowhere to go but down the stairs, and Guru led the way, followed by Freebird, Joxie, and then her with her drawn sword, bringing up the rear.

[Scrappy Amazon]

Scrappy woke up grasping Dixie’s slightly damp hand, the fog of past life dreaming still clouding her already iffy brain function. Mentally she grasped at the fading visions of a past only her soul could remember. The acrid stench of burning flesh swirling in the back of her nostrils, leaving a stain like old blood on her consciousness.

She looked up into familiar blue eyes. Scrappy didn’t yet know the face well but the eyes had been part of her life and lives since time began. A blue the color of the deepest ocean, with gold flecks that glowed in the sun….

“Hi. How are you feeling?”

“Better. How long have I been out?”

“Long enough. We need to talk.”

Yeah, I guess we do.” Scrappy extracted her hand from Dixie’s with some reluctance. “Mind if I get cleaned up first? I’m feeling a little crusty and a lot exhausted.”

“No problem. I’ll be here.”

Scrappy sat up and threw her long lanky legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll just be a minute.” As she attempted to stand a wave of dizziness gripped her chest causing her to sit again on the bed.

Dixie stood quickly and reached out to grasp her elbow. “Let me help you.”

“I’m ok, really. Just stood up too fast is all. I can handle it.”

She reached around with her other hand as she stood again and gently removed Dixie’s hand from her arm. Even through the ever present motorcycle gloves Scrappy could feel the warmth and compassion radiating from this woman whom she barely knew. She squinted her eyes slightly and tried to focus on the space around Dixie. A slightly pink energy came into focus around her a little blue mixed in for good measure. Passion, compassion, honesty. It was a good start.

Scrappy’s stomach began doing summersaults as a thought occurred to her. Reaching up she brushed a stray golden lock from Dixie’s cheek. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

“My pleasure. Go get cleaned up. I’ll be right here when you are done. A gentle squeeze of Scrappy’s hand set her legs in motion.

She grabbed her black duffle bag and headed for the adjoining bathroom. With a tired grunt she tossed her bag on the floor by the shower/tub combo and flipped on the lights. With a flick of her hand she shut the door then leaned on the marble counter to examine herself in the mirror.

“Damn Scrappy. You’re looking pretty rough tonight.” Dried blood smeared in dark patches from her nose and mouth. It spread across her chin and ran down her neck where her t-shirt soaked up enough to make it stick sickly to her chest. Hair stuck out at odd angles due to sweat and more dried blood. “Gruesome hair gel for gruesome work I guess.” Scrappy laughed at her analogy.

She reached up und placed her finger tips on her face just under her eyes, pulling down slightly until she could see her blood shot whites to full effect. “This is going to take a little more effort than a wash cloth. Guess a shower is in order. This shirt has got to go. Damn, it was my favorite. Oh well. Stop talking to yourself and get in the shower.”

She went through her usual routine of examining herself for unseen injury as she disrobed and waited for the shower to heat up. Nothing sexy or erotic about this. Combat taught her to be cautious. Shock and numbness can hide all sorts of life threatening injuries. She laid her gloves and shoulder holster on the counter and having determined nothing new to be found, other than a few bruises and scrapes from hitting the floor, she stepped into the insanely hot shower.

She let the water sooth tired and sore muscles and watched as the grime sloughed off her body and circled the drain before disappearing as she replayed the day in her head. Had it only been a day that they had been here? It seemed like a lifetime already. What had she learned today? This Sword wielding Maniac had a connection to both her and Phalon. Apparently Phalon could kill Romans with ease. She and Dixie had been lovers in a previous life. And quite possibly could develop into lovers in this one. So much information all in one day, she needed more. She needed to find out what exactly Dixie had seen while holding her hand and she still needed to find out how she managed to stop the searing headaches the last time.

Scrappy rinsed the remaining film of soap and shampoo from her body then exited the shower. She wrapped a large fuzzy towel around herself and examined her face in the mirror again. “Better. Not quite the grim reaper look from before, definitely an improvement.”

She grabbed some fresh jeans out of her bag then fished around for a t-shirt. She pulled on the clean clothes with practiced ease, slid her gloves around her fingers then entered the darkened bedroom ready for what ever her conversation with Dixie would reveal. When her eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness she looked over at the bed and noticed Dixie laying across it like a child finally succumbing to the much dreaded nap. A quiet purring (beautiful women don’t snore) issuing from her lips.

Scrappy sighed, “I guess we’ll talk tomorrow.” She pulled a quilt off the end of the bed and gently covered Dixie up. Closing her eyes Scrappy bent slightly and touched her warm lips to Dixie’s soft brow. “Good night Beautiful.” A barely audible sigh escaped, but one which spoke volumes to Scrappy ears. Pulling up one of the high backed chairs she unceremoniously flopped down into it propping her feet up on the edge of the bed. Staring out the window across from her she watched the moonlight glowing off the softly falling snow as she fell into a peaceful sleep. A dreamless sleep for a change.

[Freebird]

Freebird laughed Phalon what do you plan on doing with that sword?
You can't kill a ghost, freebird said not quite understanding what phalon could do.
Guru led them to a room at the bottom of the stairs.
this room was warm and confortable to be in, even though it was under the cottage.
Where were they, what was this place? Freebird asked if anyone knew why this room was so warm Joxie said there must be a fire burning but no one saw a fireplace anywhere or a light from a fire.
Guru went on ahead of them to find out the mysteries of the house
and solve the puzzels of the writings.
Phalon still had her sword out ready to use it if the need arises knowing that freebird couldn't understand what she had seen upstairs she didn't try to explain...not just yet, unless she asked.
Freebird was looking for more writings as she walked along the room trying to get a feeling of what this room held.
Freebird gets feelings from objects and can see the future sometimes but not often, not often enough to count, so she doesn't rely on them like she should. She doesn't know how to make them come at will, but now would be the perfect time to have one she thought.
Looking on the wall beside her she saw what she had hoped to see, those symbols again. Guru came over to see what Freebird was talking about, going from top to bottom of the wall. All Guru said was interesting then walked off writing them down on the paper with the other symbols.
Joxie and Phalon went in seperate directions to see if they could figure out the mystery also.
Freebird had a "vision" of a woman sitting in a chair with a cup in her hand and a book.
Suddenly she saw a man in front of the woman and Freebird heard him say "it's your turn to die". The woman went right through Freebird running upstairs screaming. Then the "vision" was gone.
The next thing Freebird saw was Phalon, Joxie, and Guru standing over her, she haden't relized she was on the floor. Her head hurt she must have fallen or was knocked down. Are you alright they asked as they helped Freebird up. I think so what happend? Ouch my head hurts, how did I get on the floor? She wondered.

[Joxcenia]

Joxcee wished she were still hidden in the dark, secret passageway, she only had her imagination to fear there. Here, she didn’t know who to trust and who not to turn her back on. She was stuck in a twilight zone, ghost story, murder mystery, spy thriller, and no clue how to get out alive. She was only supposed to observe and then present the prize to the winner of the contest, not join in on the escapades. How she could have allowed herself to get caught up in all this is anyone’s guess. She had had the intention of wandering off and hiding when this strange speaking person she had never seen before came and drug her off with her. Somehow she felt safe and protected by this one person. Strange too was how she felt as though she had known this person from another life.

A soft chuckle caught in her dry throat. A dry tongue and throat is a side effect of leaving the mouth open for far too long. Something she was only just aware that she had been doing. Sheesh! I’m surprised I haven’t eaten a ton of bugs as yet. Joxcee closed her mouth and chewed on her tongue to get the juices flowing once again. She had thought herself the only sane person here. That was until this strange speaking person touched her and she felt a connection. It was then that she realized she was as strange and insane as all the rest, with their “powers” and such. Even the ones she could understand made no sense. “Blah, blah, blah,” they would drone on in their mumble jumble, and Joxcee could only look from one to the other wondering when a translator was going to join the group.

[Phalon]

They reached the bottom of the dark staircase and entered a room; small, windowless and dimly lit. Phalon wondered why, if this room were as well hidden as it seemed to be, it was still lighted and felt warm – much warmer than the rest of the cottage, and who had occupied it most recently? She also wondered why the others did not seem overly concerned about the same.

And while she was doing all this wondering, she might as well add a curiosity to the list in her head about ‘what in Tartarus they were doing?’ Instead of coming together to plan an escape from the cottage and the vile apparition upstairs, they fanned out across the room, searching for something - and from the way Guru was making sketches as they moved through the room, she judged the thing they were searching for was not the way out.

She found a place in the room where she could observe them and have a full view of the stairway, lest anyone – or anything, emerge from its darkness. She sighed, and leaning her back against the wall, waited for them to finish whatever it was with which they were occupied. Thunk, thunk, thunk. The heavy, silver ring she wore clanked as she tapped the back of her hand against the wall while she waited. She was tired, and growing impatient – all she really wanted now was to get out of here and find a place to sleep….how long had it been since she slept? It felt like centuries.

Leaving Freebird, where it seemed they found something, Guru crossed the room, sketching as he walked, and stopped near to where she stood against the wall. He seemed quite absorbed in his drawing; his writing implement working furiously against the paper, and she craned her neck to get a glimpse. Symbols of some sort, and he precisely drew each one out, intent on getting all the details correct. Thunk, thunk, thunk. Absentmindedly, she still tapped the wall. The writing implement ceased its movement; his concentration broken and he shot her a look that meant, ‘That is annoying. Please stop.’ Sheepishly grinning, she did.

Continuing her wait, she realized she was not only exhausted, she was still hungry. Ah….the apple. She withdrew it from her pocket and took a bite. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Annoyance was clearly etched in his face now, and there was no “please” in the look he gave her. She, in turn, was growing irritated with him. She was hungry. Apples made noise – no matter how politely one chewed them, and if the noise bothered him that intensely; why not move? Or - she thought mischievously, and with the intent to irk him further because she was now as annoyed with him as he with her - why not join her in a bite to eat? She tossed the apple into the air, swung her sword in a sweeping underhanded arc, and pierced the apple as it started its downward descent. She turned to present the skewered fruit to him.

The offering was not appreciated. She had no chance to react and before she realized what was happening, she found her sword-arm slammed against the wall; held there at her wrist with the flat of a sword that was his own. He angled the blade slightly, and though not piercing her skin, applied enough pressure to ensure any move by her would result in the letting of her blood. Now where had that come from? she thought to herself, and wondered what else he kept hidden under his coat.

Her eyes flashed to his, and she was surprised to see - not the anger she had expected – but fear…and she could feel it was not fear of what he thought she may do to him that made him do this, but instead, fear for the safety of the others in the room. Concern for others before himself; compassion, and it did not at all fit with her previous perception of him. She softened a bit, and looking deeper into his eyes and past that protective alarm, saw what she’d seen the first time she saw him…and had forgotten in light of everything that had happened since she entered the house. Far beyond the present fear, and carefully concealed, she knew there was intense sorrow; an emptiness that would not be filled, and she wondered what it was that could leave him so hollow inside.

She thought just as she did then; it would just take a touch…a slight brush of her fingertips on his shoulder…and she would know. With her free hand – the one that wasn’t firmly pinned to the wall by a blade excruciatingly biting into it, she reached up and laid her hand on his shoulder, never removing her eyes from his. He flinched slightly from her touch, and she then remembered the blood she had seen on his shirt as she and Dixie dragged Scrappy out of the dining room. Thinking she may be hurting him, her role as healer took over and she wondered if the wound had been properly tended to.

Tentatively, she slid her hand under his coat, slipping it off his shoulder. He didn’t move to stop her from doing this, but neither did he release the pressure against her wrist. Quite the predicament she was in, and she gave him her best don’t-kill-me-I’m-only-trying-to-help smile, realizing it was a look she should have flashed him earlier this evening, before she’d leapt across the table at dinner. Still, he didn’t move, almost challenging her, she thought. She took a breath, and though she felt she might be taking a mortal risk by trusting her sense that he really did not wish her harm, she lowered her eyes from his, and moved them down to the wound on his shoulder.

The red-black stain on his shirt still shone wet in the dim light, and was slightly sticky to her touch, indicating the blood had started to dry. Good, she thought, at least the injury was not bleeding profusely then. Whatever it was that had caused this had left a rather large hole in the fabric – at least large enough that she should have been able to see the wound beneath. She saw nothing. Puzzled, and her brow furrowed, she unbuttoned enough of his shirt to slide that off his shoulder as she had done with the coat. She saw nothing…because there was nothing! No blood…no gaping hole…not even a scratch! Only a tiny and slightly raised circle remained; lighter in color then the rest of his skin, like a scar that had long since been healed over, and it diminished even as she ran her finger over across it.

By the gods, he was healing himself!

Her face was frozen in disbelief. Tearing her eyes away from that small circle of skin that now was less visible than it had been a moment ago, she looked up at him and in a barely audible whisper, uttered, “Poios blepe be esy?” What are you?

His eyes revealed nothing, his expression unchanged. But he let his arm drop to his side, releasing hers from its place against the wall. Again she passed her fingers over the place where the wound had been; now only smooth skin, and caught a blurred glimpse into the man’s life; hidden secrets that were revealed to nobody…save one, long ago.

THUD

Any images she may have received from the touch were erased as they both swirled around in unison towards the noise. Quickly, they crossed the room to where Freebird lay on the floor; passed out cold.

[guru]

Twenty-four years ago along Washington's Kalama River, a demon began possessing people and driving them to murder. For some unknown reason its weapon of choice was a sword. Good friends lay in pieces on the ground as Guru desperately searched for his wife. He was too late.

In his grief and horror he wanted to put his arms around her and cry himself to sleep ... hoping he could wake up and find it was all a nightmare. But there was the problem of gathering enough pieces of her to hold.


Phalon's image was razor-sharp this time ... just like upstairs with her sword drawn. She seemed to know the difference between a weapon and a playtoy then. 'So what's wrong with her now?'

The carefree swinging of her sword finally snapped Guru's last nerve, so he crosschecked her sword with his own and pinned her arm to the wall. Understandably they had once again become the center of attention.

Guru was six inches taller than Phalon and used his height advantage to add emphasis. He wanted her to know this was not playtime. If they weren't careful, they would die in this place. If they weren't careful...

He was not being careful. One quick jab to the solar plexus and her sword would've been his. Then he wouldn't have to worry about someone in the house getting possessed and chopping heads off with it. But the longer he looked at her, the more difficult it was to raise a hand against her. So he looked at her. Standing there wearing blue. Yana liked blue.

The shocked look on her face told him he would probably have more explaning to do. And Freebird was probably expecting a better answer than the one she got.

Phalon was a healer, but she never saw healing like the wound on Guru's shoulder. Her touch was purely inquisitive, but it was also warm and gentle. She looked up at him and whispered something that sounded like a question. He let his arm drop to his side, releasing hers from its place against the wall. Their eyes met and held. It had been a long time since he had stared into a woman's eyes.

Twenty-four years, to be exact.

[LoyalMinion]

He watched from the tiny window as they entered the house, his house, infected his sanctuary like a cancer. The tall blond with her guns and leather, a child in a woman’s body with the cold pain filled eyes. The blonde whose fingers shot with energy only he could see, like lightning held in the palm of her hand. He wondered if she knew how much potential she had. The man who hid behind his equipment like armor, hoping the others wouldn’t see the intelligence he possessed and the secret he wielded with experience. The dark headed woman who faded between this world and the other unknowing and unaware. The one who was called here to bring them all together and help them play the game. And then there was the one who was not invited. The one with the power to destroy everything his master had planned. She was a dangerous unknown. But the Master knew what to do with her, how to keep her from unraveling the intricate tapestry he was weaving.

The Master had told him their names. But their names were unimportant. They would all be dead soon and the Master would have what he had been waiting for. Waiting lifetimes upon lifetimes, for the family lines to become concentrated and powerful. Powerful enough to finally grant him his wish, life, immortality, power. Aiden’s job now was to watch. Quietly from his unobserved perch in the attic. Watch and report, keep track of their whereabouts and prevent them from finding that one piece of the puzzle, the one thread in the tapestry that would pull the whole thing down around them and keep the master from his goal.