Edit: 8/25/14: If you are rereading this, I must apologize as I am going to confuse you! Since I first came up with this character, I've never really been happy with my choice of a name so I finally decided to change it. Rory is now Rory. Sorry to make such a drastic change so late in the game, but having the names Rory and Annie side by side was driving me nuts! And I like Rory much better. :)

Track 1: Sign of the Times by Three Days Grace

Totterdown, Bristol Summer 2008

It was mid-afternoon when the car pulled up outside the corner house, the sky nearly cloudless in contrast to the perpetually overcast weather they'd been having for the past couple of weeks. There were few other vehicles dotted along the street; most of their new neighbors likely away at work this time of day. As the car came to a stop, Mitchell leaned over in his seat, lowering his sunglasses as he took in the sight of the structure through the passenger side window.

"It's very… pink," he observed, pushing his sunglasses back up on the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand and tugging his hat down a little further over his eyes. It was a bit too sunny out for his liking. George marveled at how he could stand those gloves in the current heat.

"Well, it's within walking distance from the hospital and it was in our price range," he answered. "Not to mention it was the only place in town that was readily available."

Mitchell shrugged. "Well, I suppose it'll be fine for now. Come on," he said, opening the door. "Help me unload."

It was a good thing too that the house had come mostly furnished because neither of them had much to move in with. All of their possessions fit in the backseat and trunk of the car, packed in black garbage bags and a few boxes.

As Mitchell waited for George to get the trunk open, a flicker of movement attracted his attention to the upstairs window; a blur of brown and grey. He blinked his eyes and looked again, but there was nothing there. Certain he must be imagining things; he put it out of his mind.

George finally got the trunk open and started unloading bags. Mitchell paid these no mind, instead grabbing the old tube television set out of the back and hoisting it onto his shoulder before heading for the front door. Once inside, he immediately set to work trying to determine the best place for it.

George walked in loaded down with bags just as he had started rearranging the furniture in the living room. He set the bags down in the entryway and stared at him incredulously.

"Are you going to help bring the rest of the stuff in or are you too busy redecorating?"

"In a minute," Mitchell answered, shifting the couch another two inches to the left.

"Priorities," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head and heading back out the door.

Several minutes later, George had brought the rest of their stuff in himself and Mitchell was still fussing with the television set.

"You can take your stuff up to your room yourself," said George, piling bags at the bottom of the stairs. "I'm your housemate, not the valet."

"Uh huh," answered Mitchell distractedly.

George heaved an exasperated sigh and went into the kitchen to start putting dishes away.

Once he was finally satisfied with his work, Mitchell rose to his feet and crossed to the pile of bags at the bottom of the stairs. He was just reaching for them when there was a sudden crash from somewhere overhead.

"Mitchell," called George from the kitchen, sounding annoyed. "What are you doing up…there-?" He trailed off as he emerged from the kitchen to find his housemate standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up towards the top floor suspiciously. He swallowed hard. "What was that?"

"I think there's someone up there," said Mitchell, narrowing his eyes at the stairwell. "Wait here, I'm going to go check it out."

"What?" answered George. "Are you mad? We should call the police!"

"The police?" said Mitchell incredulously. "Honestly, George, I'm a hundred and fourteen year old vampire, for Christ's sake! If someone's broken into the house, he's about to get a lot more than he bargained for-"

He started to make his way up the stairs, but George blocked his path.

"What if it isn't human," he argued. "What if it's, you know… one of us? Like, a bigger one of us?"

As if on cue, there was another loud crash that sounded directly over their heads.

"I'll handle it," said Mitchell, though perhaps with a little less conviction than before.

"Hang on," George replied; reaching into the umbrella stand in the entryway where a cricket bat had inexplicably been stored. He brandished his newfound weapon in front of him, pointing towards the stairs. "I'll cover you."

Mitchell fought the intense urge to roll his eyes and began to ascend the stairs.

He crept silently down the hallway; though it was broad daylight he still possessed the ability to keep his steps lighter than most. He only wished the same could be said of George. His cricket bat wielding companion seemed determined to find every creaky floorboard in the house; which he exacerbated by persisting to apologize in a loud whisper every time he made a noise. They were nearly to the end of the hall when Mitchell rounded on him.

"George, will you shut up?" he whispered through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry! I'm not doing it on purpose," he whispered back.

"Then just stop talking! Honestly, you're loud enough to wake the dead-"

Another loud crash sounded, this time coming from the room just ahead of them. Mitchell narrowed his eyes at the closed door and turned back to George, pressing a finger to his lips.

He copied the gesture almost comically and tightened his grip on the cricket bat. Pointing it towards the door, he mouthed the words, "You go first."

Mitchell rolled his eyes.

He approached the door cautiously, George just behind him, and reached for the handle. On a silent count of three, he flung the door open and the two burst inside.

Mitchell stopped dead at the sight before them, nearly causing George to crash into him from behind; the cricket bat raised above his head. In the center of the room sat a young women, curled up in an oversized armchair and examining her nails in a bored fashion as if she hadn't noticed the pair come crashing into the room.

"Who the hell are you?" George demanded, the cricket bat still held firmly in his hands.

She glanced around the room, dark curls bouncing as she turned her head, seemingly trying to determine who he was speaking to. Finally a pair of wide brown eyes came to rest on the two of them standing in the doorway.

"Can you see me?" she asked, glancing from one to the other.

"What?" said George. "Yes, of course we can see you; we're not blind- and that's not the point! What are you doing in our house?"

"You can see me!" she went on excitedly, as if he hadn't spoken. She propped herself up on the chair and waved her arms over her head. "Can you see me doing that?"

George eyed her warily, obviously concerned for her mental health, but she didn't seem to notice. "Oh, this is incredible!" she said, clasping her hands excitedly.

Mitchell had remained stock still during the exchange, glancing from one to the other as the reality of the situation dawned on him. He turned to his companion. "George-"

"What's incredible is the fact that you're still here," said George as though he hadn't heard, attempting to maintain an air of control.

"George-"

"Mitchell, call the police!"

"George, shut up," he hissed, clearly exasperated. "She's a ghost."

She folded her arms across her chest defensively. "You're point being?"

Mitchell studied her for a moment, wondering how this beautiful young woman had come to haunt this little corner house in the middle of Bristol. She had to have been in her early twenties at most. Her eyes were bright and full of life, in spite of being dead of course, and there was a softness to her features; though her gaze on him was sharp. He had not encountered many ghosts in his long years on the earth, but he knew enough about how they came to be; usually as a result of a violent death or due to some unfinished business they needed to carry out before they could move on. Eventually he decided that if he and George were going to be sharing the space with her, then they would simply have to find out more about her; and he couldn't help being curious.

"What's your name?" he asked, thinking it best to start with the basics.

"Anna Clare Sawyer," she answered, still eyeing him with uncertainty. "My friends call me 'Annie.' At least they did," she corrected, taking a sudden interest in a loose thread at the hem of her blouse.

"I'm Mitchell, and this is George," he replied, taking the cricket bat from his companion who had still been holding it defensively and giving him a reproving look. "We're not exactly what you'd call 'human' either."

"What are you talking about?" asked Annie, confused.

"Well, you're not the only element of the supernatural that exists in the world," answered Mitchell, trying to ease her into it. "You see, I'm a vampire; I have been for almost a hundred years. George here is a werewolf, but he's still a bit new to it. That's why we can see you."

"Oh, that's just great, Mitchell," interjected George. "Just go on and tell her everything. Tell the whole bloody neighborhood while you're at it!"

"Who's she going to tell, George? She's just as much at risk from the outside world as we are if the right people found out. Besides, this is her house, so we're going to have to-"

"Her house?" he cut in. "We've paid a deposit!"

"That's how it works, George-" Mitchell lowered his voice, pulling him to the side. "A ghost is usually bound to a place they had strong ties to," he explained. "The place they lived or the place where they died. So, whether you like it or not, we're in this together now."

When he turned around, Annie had returned to her armchair and was sitting with her arms wrapped around herself, staring forlornly into nothing.

"I don't understand," she said softly. "I thought I was finally coming to terms with my… condition, and now you're telling me that there are vampires and werewolves out there?"

"Annie-" Mitchell crossed the room and knelt beside her chair. "Look, I know this is difficult for you, but George and I both know what it's like to go through it alone. George didn't have anyone before I met him, and before that I had been travelling on my own for a long time. It doesn't have to be like that for you. Don't you see?"

He reached out and took her hand between both of his, and she gasped at the touch, staring at him with wide eyes. It was the first time she had made physical contact with anyone since she died. She hadn't even thought it was still possible.

Encouraged that she didn't pull away, Mitchell smiled up at her, squeezing her hand gently. "We can help you, Annie; maybe even figure out what's keeping you here. Either way, you don't have to be alone anymore. There are three of us now; we can make it together."

Annie sniffed, wiping at her eyes with her free hand, not wanting to let go. "You really think so?" she said.

"Of course," answered Mitchell. "No one should have to be alone; not like this. I'm not saying it'll be perfect, but we can try." He looked back over his shoulder at George still hovering in the doorway. "What do you say, George?"

He shuffled his feet awkwardly, feeling a little uncertain. He didn't want to admit it, but seeing the lost look in Annie's eyes did a great deal to remind him of those long months of solitude before a chance meeting with an unlikely friend had changed his life forever. He never spoke about it, but he knew that he owed Mitchell his life that night; and no matter how much the two bickered, he was grateful beyond words for his constant friendship. Glancing between him and Annie now, he knew he could never deny that to anyone else. As hard as it was, Mitchell was right; they needed to stick together.

"Well," said George, finally breaking his silence. "I suppose that sounds alright."

Mitchell stands on the pavement with his hands stuffed in his pockets, gazing up at the brick building before him; the sign reading Honolulu Heights swinging over the garden. His gaze flits to an upstairs window where he's certain he saw the rustling of a curtain, and he stares at it for a long time; refusing to admit to himself that there was nothing there.

Overhead the sky is gloomy and the clouds threaten rain; but he finds the contrast fitting from the last time he moved to a new place. But then the circumstances had been much different.

The house that the five of them, that is, the pair of vampires and trio of werewolves, have just rented was formerly a bed and breakfast. It was a practical choice, given that there will be plenty of much needed space for the group that has been living in such close quarters for the past few weeks; though the idea of it has taken Mitchell's mind elsewhere.

"You know I think I would have quite liked having my own bed and breakfast," said Annie.

"I could see you running a b and b," Rory commented with a grin.

She laughed. "Yeah. If anyone wanted to stay at a b and b run by Casper."

He shrugged. "Well, who says you had to cater to humans?"

"Now, there's an idea," said George. "A b and b for supernaturals. Can you imagine?"

Annie scoffed. "Oh, come off it. How would that even work?"

"Hey, I think it's a great idea," said Mitchell. "We all get along just fine, so it isn't impossible. You'd have to find a bigger place, and probably set a few house rules, of course, but I bet it could work. You know, we're lucky. Most people like us don't have any place to go; anywhere that they don't have to hide or that they can belong. It'd be like a sanctuary."

"So, what would you call it?" asked Rory, grinning at them over his shoulder.

Mitchell shrugged. "'Annie's Place,'" he responded, as if this was the most obvious answer in the world.

"Mitchell?"

The voice startles him out of his reverie and he turns to find a familiar pair of blue eyes studying him with concern.

"Are you alright?" asks Lucian for what must be the thousandth time in the past few weeks. Mitchell is beginning to think he simply does this out of habit anymore; he already knows what the response is going to be.

"Grand," he says, right on cue; with the same fake smile plastered on his face that he has adopted to appease his friends.

Lucian doesn't buy it, of course, but he has promised not to pry; and Mitchell feels the familiar pang of guilt as the older man simply nods in response.

"Well, come on then," he says. "Let's get the rest of the stuff inside before we get dumped on."

Mitchell nods absently and follows him to the car where George and Rory are gathering boxes and hauling them inside. He stacks a couple of boxes and follows suit, allowing himself to be distracted by the mundane task. They barely manage to finish unloading before the sky opens up and the rain starts coming down in buckets.

Once everything is inside, the group set about moving their personal belongings to each of their respective bedrooms, all of which are on the second floor. Rory has taken up residence in the last room towards the back of the house, across from the bathroom. Beside him and just at the top of the stairs is Lucian's room. This is the smallest bedroom in the house, but it suits him just fine. He figures he sleeps less than anyone and will likely be using it as a place to store his belongings more than anything else. The next room belongs to George and Nina. This room is probably the largest, so it is the best suited for the couple and their combined belongings. In the front corner of the house, sharing a wall with George and Nina is Mitchell's room. From his window, he has a clear view of the front door and the street below, and it puts him at ease somehow to be able to so easily monitor anyone who might approach the house. But that isn't entirely why he selected this particular room.

Next door stands an unoccupied bedroom with a single over-sized chair in the center of the floor facing the window. In Mitchell's mind at least, this is Annie's room. In it he places all the things that remind him of her, including a single cracked tea cup on the mantle; one of the only items he managed to recover from the wreckage of the house.

While the others are busy unpacking, he slips inside and takes a seat on the floor, leaning his back against the chair as he often did on the occasions when Annie was feeling down and would shut herself up in her room. Sometimes they had talked, other times they would just sit in silence, but she had always seemed to appreciate his presence either way. When he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine her there now; and it's like they never left.

George watches Nina out of the corner of his eye as she sorts through their clothes, putting things on hangers and arranging them in the closet; all the while humming a little tune to herself. She seems content now that they're finally settling in, and he feels a tremendous amount of relief at that. Her current mood is certainly an improvement from a couple of days ago. When they first came to see the house, she had been less than enthusiastic about the whole thing. After the real estate agent had given them their initial tour, Nina had been quick to pull him aside.

"So, it's the five of you then?" the agent asked.

"Six, actually," Mitchell corrected. "A friend will be joining us."

"Well, that's not... definite," said George.

"No, she should be here pretty soon," Mitchell affirmed. "I can't imagine what's taking so long."

The woman shrugged. "Do what you like, as long as the rent gets paid," she said.

They were interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing and the woman dug through her purse to retrieve the device.

"Yeah?" she answered. "Yeah, they're looking at it now." She excused herself with a wave of her hand and made her way to the front door. "I don't know, English or something," she told the person on the other line as she stepped outside.

"George, why don't we go and take a look at the, um, the basement gym we saw in the advert?" said Nina, giving him a pointed look.

George looked perplexed, and she took him by the hand with an exasperated sigh, half dragging him toward the basement stairs.

They came to a small square room with a single piece of exercise equipment in the center and Nina closed the door behind them, rounding on her boyfriend.

"George, what are we doing here?" she said.

"We're… looking at a house?" he answered uncertainly.

"I know we're looking at a house, but why are we looking at a house with them?"

"I thought you liked Rory," he answered, sounding put out. "And anyway, he can help us. He has been helping us."

"Rory isn't the problem. I'm talking about Louis and Lestat upstairs," she responded, pointing over their heads.

"Oh, that's very nice," said George sarcastically. "And what have you got against Mitchell and Lucian all of a sudden?" he demanded, folding his arms across his chest.

Nina laughed darkly. "Would you prefer that list chronologically or alphabetically?"

"Mitchell has only ever tried to look out for me, and for you. And Lucian's done a lot for us too, you know," he countered. "None of us were prepared for what happened. They're the reason we've been able to get back on our feet so quickly-"

"They're the reason we got into this mess in the first place!" she shot back. "None of this would have happened if Mitchell hadn't stirred up trouble with the head vampire."

"Herrick tried to kill him," he said angrily. "You saw him at the hospital, you know what happened. Herrick would've Turned half the city if we hadn't stopped him."

"Oh, and Mitchell wasn't allowing the others to make more vampires after he took over?" she accused.

George swallowed hard, suddenly regretting just how much he had shared with Nina on the subject. "That was different," he answered weakly.

"Oh, I'm sure," she said sarcastically. "And what about the way he's been acting lately?"

"Nina, we've just lost Annie. It's going to take some time to-"

"So that's why he's always glued to the television watching news coverage on recent murders when he thinks no one's around? Why he listens to every report about the Box Tunnel Massacre almost obsessively?"

"Maybe he's investigating," answered George, "trying to determine if there were vampires involved. That's what Lucian's always been about, as far as I've gathered; policing the vampire community."

"Then, why not tell us as much?" said Nina. "Why try and hide it? What doesn't he want us to know?"

He stared at her. "What are you saying? That you think he was involved somehow? Nina, this is Mitchell we're talking about. He's my best friend."

"Look, George," she said slowly. "Whatever your past history with Mitchell, I'm telling you something's off. He's hiding something. Now, as far as Lucian is concerned, we barely know him, but he is extremely close with Mitchell. I've got a pretty good feeling that whatever this is, he knows about it, and he is much more concerned with protecting Mitchell than with the impact this it's going to have on the rest of us."

George heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses while he gathered his thoughts. "Nina," he began. "I understand that this has been difficult for you. This world, this life, is a lot to adjust to. It isn't easy knowing that there are monsters out there; and that is exactly why I think we should all stay together. At least for now. I feel much safer knowing that we're not alone in all this. Can you understand that?"

She contemplated this for a moment, weighing her options, before finally releasing a defeated sigh. "Alright," she said. "We'll try it your way."

"Thank you," he answered, looking relieved.

"But if this goes south, we're getting out of here, do you understand?" she warned. "We'll move to Scotland, America if we have to, but I'm not getting dragged into any more of their shit. Not again. You and I have lost too much."

"Nina," said George, placing his hands on her shoulders. "We're not going to have to move to Scotland, or America; or anywhere else for that matter. We're going to stay right here. It'll be fine, I promise."

"It better be," she muttered under her breath.

"It will," he assured her. "Just trust me, okay?"

Nina sighed. "I do trust you," she answered, moving forward into his outstretched arms and wrapping her arms around his waist. It's the others I'm not so sure about, she thought, but she decided to keep it to herself.

"Then stop worrying," he said, releasing her and turning towards the door. "Come on. Let's head back upstairs."

"And just what do you think you're staring at?" asks Nina, snapping George out of his reverie.

"Only the most beautiful woman in the universe," he replies with a goofy grin.

She rolls her eyes, but returns the smile. "That is so cheesy," she answers, wrinkling her nose at him.

"I know. That's why you love me," he says, leaning in and giving her a quick peck on the lips.

"Quit flirting and get back to work!" she chides, chucking a rolled up pair of socks at his head which he dodges easily.

"Alright, alright," he answers, setting about hanging the rest of the clothes.

Nina bends down over the box where she had retrieved the pair of socks, suddenly trying to remember why on earth she had packed them that way. She picks it up and sets it on the bed to get a better look; it's too heavy to contain only socks. Peering inside, she catches a glimpse of porcelain and suddenly remembers.

"Nina?" asks George, concerned over the way she stands frozen, staring down at the box with a hand over her mouth. "Nina, what is it?"

She reaches inside and gently lifts out the object in question; a teapot, hand painted with a design of white and purple flowers. "It was for Annie," she explains. "She was always complaining about how plain and boring that old teapot in the kitchen was. I bought this for her just before- As a way to say 'thank you' for everything she did for me; for being a friend from the beginning. I never got to give it to her. I'd forgotten about it until now." She crosses the room and sets it on top of the bureau gently, taking a step back and wiping at her eyes.

George moves to stand behind her, slipping his arms around her waist.

"We've got to find a way to get her back, George," says Nina after a pause, turning around to face him. "There has to be something we can do."

"We will," answers George, holding her tightly. "We'll think of something." Though he has no idea what.

Mitchell rises late the next morning, having not managed to get to sleep until the predawn hours- and even then his dreams had been wrought with nightmares. He pads barefoot down the stairs in track pants and a loose fitting t-shirt, only interested in the coffee he can smell brewing in the kitchen. He wanders in with a yawn to find Lucian and Rory seated at the kitchen table. George is standing at the counter, pouring himself some coffee. On Mitchell's approach, he wordlessly hands him a mug.

"Cheers," says Mitchell, taking the coffee pot once George has finished. "Nina gone to work already?"

"Yeah," he answers. "Early shift. I'll be heading in a little later."

George and Nina had an easy enough time finding work at the local hospital when they relocated to Barry Island, and Mitchell is happy for them. It's good that the two have been able to get on with their normal lives so quickly. At least, as normal as two werewolves could hope for. For Mitchell, he has decided to hold off. Between him and Lucian, there is still the problem of Wyndam, though he has been mysteriously absent for the past few weeks. That, and they still have heard nothing from the Council. He never says anything, but Mitchell can sense how anxious Lucian is getting with each passing day. He knows he's going to want to make a move soon. Lucian has never been one to remain idle for very long.

"We're going to have to find a place to transform tonight," says George with a sigh, taking a seat beside Rory at the table. "But I don't even know where to start-"

"Already taken care of," says Rory, setting down his mug. "Lucian and I took the liberty of scouting a few areas early this morning. I think we found a pretty good spot; wooded area, seems far enough removed from any of the usual campgrounds."

"Oh, thank God," answers George, looking tremendously relieved. "I'd been thinking that we might be able to use the room downstairs if it came down to it, but it would've been a tight fit for the three of us."

"It's always better to be out in the open if you can help it," says Rory. "It can actually be harder to maintain control if the Wolf feels too confined."

Mitchell takes the seat to Lucian's right, just across from George, and takes a long drink from his mug; thankful to finally get some caffeine in his system. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the older man watching him and he sets it back down, offering a weak smile by way of greeting. Lucian appears about to say something, but seems to think better of it; instead giving a short nod in return before shifting his attention back to the mug in his hands.

"I guess all we have to do now is figure out when Nina and I need to meet you," says George. "How far is this place from-"

He is cut off by the sound of a ringing phone, and reaches into his pocket to retrieve the offending device. He glances at the display with a frown. "It's Nina," he says, rising from his seat. He moves into the doorway, meaning to take the call in the other room, and lifts the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"George- is Mitchell there?"

George stops short, turning back to face the others who look up at him curiously, his gaze coming to rest on Mitchell.

"Yeah, he is. Why?"

"Put him on the line. I think I may have found a way to get Annie back."

And so we begin again…

Hello, my lovely readers! And welcome to the final installment of The War Chronicles series! I'm sorry it took so long to get this up and running. I'm starting to think I just suck at prologues and I still don't think I'm 100% happy with how this one turned out, but I hope you enjoyed it! Feel free to deliver as much criticism as you like. I'm really trying to improve my writing…

If you haven't already, I hope you'll check out the Untold leg of The War Chronicles. It's a series of one-shots and drabbles set within this universe that I plan to keep going indefinitely. If you're interested, it may offer you a bit more insight into what I've written in the past as well as what's to come.

I wrote an obscenely long A/N at the end of the last chapter to Untold, so I'll keep this one short.

Unfortunately, I'm down to my last day of vacation and will be returning to work on Thursday. I'm hoping things have calmed down with how busy it's been by the time I get back, but please bear with me if I take a little longer between updates. If there's one thing I've learned from this time off I've been able to take; it's that I'd give anything to be able to write full time. I think I've finally found my calling and have already begun some of the pre-planning and character development for my first original novel, which will feature our friend Lucian as the main character. If you'd like to know more about that, take a look at the last A/N on Untold. ;)

So thank you for your patience! I hope you all haven't forgotten about me for how long it's been…

Please review! Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. :)