Keats' dreams were blurry, viewed through a fog of pain. There was a mesh of colors and familiar screams –perhaps he was the one screaming. Then there was an ocean, an endless blue that swallowed up the horizon. The waves lapping at his feet brought him to comfortable numbness.

The next dream was that he was with Ellen again. She seemed older, more confidant, than before. Also more concerned. That dream gave way to white, and he was…

"Herve! I can't believe how you've grown up."

Someone was tying his tie for him. All he saw of the face was a smile, and the voice…whose voice was that? It was a voice he knew, but…

"Oh don't mind me. Just dust in my eyes…ah, my little boy…"

Okay, he had to be dreaming. Considering that he wasn't Herve, and wasn't anyone's little boy. Well, he might technically be Ellen and Livane's, but…

"Keats?"

Who was that? This voice sounded far more real…

"Keats!" Someone was shaking his shoulders, and the pain in his side returned full-force. He jolted awake with a gasp, as his dreams faded into nothingness.

The first thing he realized was that Ellen was the one shaking him, but once he opened his eyes, she was smiling. "Oh, good. Scared me for a minute there."

Keats groaned, sitting up and examining his surroundings. First, he was in a small bed, with bandages wrapped around his torso. The room itself was also small, with pale walls, a few generic nature paintings, a window, and a few pieces of furniture. The sounds of trains and traffic drifted through the walls.

"Still not the Netherworld, I assume?" Keats muttered. In a way, it looked like his office, but noisier and with less clutter.

"Nope. We're in Oakland, California." Ellen was now seated on the edge of the bed, and Keats finally got a good look at her. She didn't look much older, though her hair was far shorter, and she wasn't as pale as she'd been in Doolin. She didn't look as lost, either. In fact, though she still had that dreamy look in her eyes, she seemed…stronger, somehow.

Or perhaps it only seemed that way because Keats…wasn't at his strongest at the moment, to say the least.

"Oakland. Got it. Why Oakland, of all places?" Keats adjusted his glasses and added, "Last I checked, California was a far cry from the U.K."

Ellen smoothed out her skirt. "…Suzette's here. She asked for my help. I've yet to find her, though."

"Because you're not used to a big city?"

"Because I had to make sure you're alright." Ellen's smile was chased away by worry. "Speaking of which, why are you here? I thought you were staying home at the office."

Keats winced, as he remembered what occurred at the office. "Seems my office is being swallowed up by Oblivion. Almost took me with it."

"But why?" There was a sudden, sharp hiss. "Oh! The tea…I'll go get it."

Keats smirked as Ellen darted off to grab the tea –some things never changed, did they? "Not sure. Perhaps since I was the only one in my realm, it was deemed…unnecessary." He shrugged, which caused him to wince again. "Didn't realize it was at all sentient. Or had tendrils, for that matter."

Ellen was quiet as she poured two cups of tea. She gave one to Keats upon returning. He'd never been a fan of tea (he honestly preferred ale any day), but at least the smell cleared his head.

"Since you're here…" Ellen muttered, "And since you can't go back to your office right now…"

Keats shook his head. "I know what you're going to ask. You want me to come with you."

"You are my guardian, after all." Ellen's smile returned as she sipped her tea. "Besides, it won't be very long. Probably a quick trip to the Netherworld, and we'll be done."

"This is Suzette we're talking about," Keats argued. He tentatively sipped the tea, careful not to spill it –especially since he realized that his shirt was gone. Granted, it was bloody and torn, but…

There was another pause; Keats wondered if, perhaps, Ellen was still timid as she was two years ago. "It was nice. When we went through the Netherworld together." She looked up at him. "I'm not asking you to come as my Guardian, if that's what you're worried about. I know how to care for myself now." She took another sip and finished, "I want you to come as my…friend. My friend who always searches for a new story."

Keats smirked –he figured she'd pull the 'friend' card on him. Though he had to admit, the story bit was a nice touch. However, he had to say-

"An adventure? Someday we'll go on an adventure, Cecelia. I promise."

The remembered words were accompanied by the gleeful thanks of a young girl, barely intelligible amidst her laughter.

Keats mentally groaned, but before he could stop himself, he replied, "Can't argue with that. We should get started –I don't suppose you know where I can get a shirt?"

Ellen smiled, and Keats remembered –"No, imagined, this isn't your memory" –Cecilia smiling as well, with a wide grin and large green eyes. "Already picked up a spare. Sure you're ready to go?"

"Now's as good a time as any," Keats responded, setting the tea cup aside and climbing out of bed. Sore, but not too bad off; he'd probably feel better after absorbing some energy in the Netherworld. Which, it seemed, he had no choice but to travel to. Why did he even agree to this?

Oh well. Too late to back down now. Ellen handed him a shirt –green, just like his old tie- and he shrugged it on. He found his coat on the back of the chair, alongside a suitcase and a few notes on the table. Before he could examine the notes, Ellen was already waiting by the door.

"Ready to go, Cecilia?"

"Her name's Ellen now," Keats murmured under his breath. He felt a twinge inside, like there was something wrong with that statement. He shoved the thought aside, and joined Ellen at the door.

"What do you mean, you don't have her phone number?"

Ellen shrugged, as her fingers fumbled with the map. Without a vehicle, she was relying on the bus system to get her through Oakland. If only this map wasn't so confusing…

"How do you expect to find her if you can't contact her?" Keats asked. He was leaning against the bus stop sign, as did an old man with three trash bags full of cans. Each looked ready to burst, reminding Ellen of a bloated Mnemosyne. Did they look the different here in America, she wondered? Did any of the folk?

"Ellen? I asked you a question."

"Oh. Right." Ellen sighed, returning her attention to the map. "I was going to ask around. Figure out where the Halflives dwell here, see if they know anything."

"Which wouldn't take long at all, in a city such as this. If she's even still in Oakland at all…" Keats shrugged. "Personally, I'd suggest hitting the clubs."

"You probably shouldn't drink too much, you know. You're just getting better."

Keats managed a rueful laugh. "I didn't suggest it for me. Young adults like Suzette frequent clubs, and it's easy to lose people in a crowd." Adjusting his glasses, Keats added, "In fact, Suzette is probably listening to some start-up punk band as we speak. Bet she's in the middle of a mosh pit."

Ellen raised an eyebrow. There was an odd note of humor to Keats' voice, as if this was typical of Suzette. "I didn't know she liked punk."

Keats blinked, before clearing his throat and adjusting his tie. "Well, she seems the type, I mean. And I swear she mentioned…" He shook his head, then glanced up the road. "Say, that our bus?"

Quickly turning to her map, Ellen nodded. She barely got the map folded and her money out before the bus stopped. For evening, the bus was surprisingly full, with all seats taken. The old man wrestled his bags into a corner, as Ellen and Keats stood in the middle of the bus.

Ellen kept her eyes peeled for anything strange outside. Not everyone could see Halflives, so they sometimes wandered around towns unnoticed. In fact, Ellen reminded herself, there were those who probably couldn't see Keats. She glanced at him; he was scribbling down notes on a pad of paper he'd "borrowed" from the hotel, so she couldn't catch his expression.

As Ellen brought her gaze back to the city, something caught her eyes. A woman dressed in nothing more than a white dress stained with red, her hair and eyes both pools of black. She weaved in and out of the way of pedestrians, never blinking, never wavering. If Ellen watched her closely enough, she could see wisps of smoke trailing from her skin.

"Found one." She practically slammed the Request Stop button, and was out the door as soon as the bus slowed to a halt. Keats yelled after her as she ran past civilians, who also began to shout. Just ahead, the woman in white turned down an alleyway. Ellen quickened her pace. She had to catch up.

The alleyway was empty.

Ellen stumbled to a stop, as someone shouted after her. Her eyes darted around the alleyway. Bricks with spray paint. Trash cans. Shards of metal and glass.

A hand rested on her shoulder. "If your plan was to get Suzette's attention by making a scene…"

"I saw a Halflife." Ellen caught her breath before turning to Keats. "A lady in white. I swear she turned this way."

Keats hummed, as he strode into the alleyway. He slowed his steps around some of the graffiti signs before stopping.

"Ah. Ellen; over here."

Ellen wandered over, as Keats pointed out one particular sign. Unlike the others, which looked spray-painted on, this appeared to be painted in. The picture itself appeared to be a mask, but the lines were actually tiny symbols.

"Recognize them?" Keats asked. "They're in the same language as the Netherworld picture books."

"Oh?" It took a moment to dawn on her. "Oh! Er, can you read what it says?"

"Let's see…" Keats bent over to read, occasionally mumbling under his breath. "If I'm not mistaken, it's a refuge for Halflives. As for getting in…" He turned to Ellen. "Have any mementos of the dead on you?"

"…Does it have to be recent?" Ellen lifted the pendent she wore around her neck. The one her mother, Ingrid, had left her with years before. "Or do you think this will do?"

"It's worth a shot."

Ellen slipped her necklace off, and pressed it against the wall. The words began to glow in red, before fading away –along with the wall.

"After you." Keats glanced at the sidewalk to make sure no one else was watching, as Ellen ducked into the hole in the wall. While she wasn't sure what this building normally was, the room she entered was another pub, like the Bridge House in Doolin. This one was filled with swirling red smoke, the silhouettes of the Halflives barely distinguishable. Despite being unable to see them well, however, they could apparently see her. The forms started shifting, and Ellen caught a few glowing lights aimed at her.

"Thought I told you to shut the door," growled a voice. Once he spoke, the other voices began to fade away.

"I did," retorted the second, a woman's voice. Ellen assumed that was the woman in white.

Keats stepped in moments later, having to duck in order to fit. The bricks began to rebuild behind him. "Hope we didn't interrupt the party," he muttered to Ellen.

"You there!" Called the growling voice. "Who do you think you are, stumbling in here?"

Ellen tried to see where the voice was coming from, but to be honest, it seemed to come from everywhere. "My name is…Ellen. I'm a Messenger to the Netherworld. Accompanying me is my Guardian, Keats." When no one responded, she continued, "May I…speak with whoever's in charge here?"

"You may." A door creaked as it swung open, and a figure marched forward in the mist. Up close, the Halflife was slightly taller than Ellen, humanoid save for his two extra arms and finned tail. His skin was turquoise and black, contributing to an amphibian appearance. He didn't wear much aside from a t-shirt and jeans, and in general, he didn't seem to fit his voice. It was like an Annwn with the voice of a Barghest.

The other silhouettes turned away as Ellen began to speak. "Thank you…sir. You see, a friend of mine seems to be followed by something related to the Netherworld. I've…yet to find her, but I was wondering if anyone had seen her, or what was following her."

One of the Halflife's hands began to stroke his chin, as two others rested in his pockets. "Usually, I'd refuse you. But you sound…foreign. Like someone else who came by. Who's your friend?"

"Our acquaintance is named Suzette," Keats answered, once again placing a hand on Ellen's shoulder. "We're all from Ireland. Don't suppose you've stumbled across her?"

The figure's face tightened. He turned back to the crowd and called, "Angel! Get to the meeting room!" Returning his attention to the duo, he lowered his voice. "We need to talk someplace more…private. Let's just say, we think your friend has attracted something dangerous."

Ellen's heart dipped into her stomach. She put a hand on Keats' before following her informant through the ruby-smoke room.