Horvath sat on his chair, his head on his hands, and watched Lacy with interest. She was trembling violently and her eyes were glassy. Her nose had been bleeding a while ago, but it had long since stopped. Every now and then she let out a small moan. Other than that though, she was getting the job done, or at least a precursor to the job.

Shortly after giving her the quicksilver, and once she had stopped screaming, she'd ripped into her messenger bag. Paper and pastels had poured out, and she'd started to draw at an almost frantic pace. He supposed that it was the quicksilver that made her act like that; there wasn't any other good reason for her to be drawing so much that her fingers would start to bleed. The blood had mixed with the pastels, covering her fingers with a thick, dark paste.

He leaned forward and picked up one of the pictures she had drawn. She had been doing so many that it was hard to keep track of them all. This one portrayed the flags of Russia, America, and England twisted together. He wasn't quite sure what that meant, but the numbers, or year, '1942' was printed above it. Horvath filed the information away just as he heard a slight clicking noise.

Looking up he saw that Lacy had put her pastel down and stopped drawing. She looked suddenly somewhat alert, and extremely aghast at all of the pictures she'd drawn. Without another word she grabbed a few sheets of paper what he supposed was blank paper, hugged them tightly to her chest, and moved back until she was huddled in a corner. Rolling his eyes he got up.

"You can take a rest for now," he said, waving his cane vaguely, "We'll try again with the quicksilver in another few hours."

She looked at him in horror and clutched the paper tighter. He rolled his eyes again before leaving. Once the door shut Lacy went through the 'blank' sheets of paper frantically. He couldn't have seen these two, he couldn't have or she would've been in much, much more pain than she was now.

Finally she got out the two drawings. One disturbed her; it showed two people on top of the Chrysler building. She could remember some of the vision vaguely, and that was why it disturbed her so much, as well as the rather intense undertones. Two men were standing there, one she recognized as Horvath and another man she didn't recognize very well. Horvath was standing in it. The other…man was…well…

Shaking her head she folded it and tucked it deep within her pocket. He couldn't see this; she didn't want Horvath to have any sort of advantage during his fight. Of course, perhaps he wouldn't need it. It looked like it was a pretty forgone conclusion, but Lacy knew quite a bit about how her visions worked, so there was still a chance.

Lacy looked at the other drawing and frowned at it. This vision she could remember with more clarity. She knew of those in it, and their importance, but it definitely wasn't her Arcana. She would've known if it was, and it hadn't felt any different from a normal vision. Still, Horvath would hurt her if he saw it. Lacy knew that like she knew that the sky was blue.

Tucking it in with the first one she looked down at her nails. He hadn't noticed, not yet. Lacy couldn't hide it for much longer, even with the protective covering provided by the pastel dust. Curling her fingers inwards and into fists she rested her chin on her knees. She was starting to feel-lightheaded, making it hard to concentrate on what she was doing. Lacy started shaking uncontrollably but she didn't know what was causing it; the quicksilver or fear.

.

.

.

"How are we going to approach this?"

Balthazar looked over at the assembled Merlinians. He had just tentatively started to prod the Belleclaire's defenses. While he could say much about Horvath there was one thing he couldn't deny; he was extremely thorough. Sighing looked over at the woman who had addressed him, whom he vaguely remembered as Valentina Preston. Her husband was standing next to her, as well as their eldest son.

"We're not going to do anything," he said, "And I'm figuring out what I'm going to do at the moment."

"You're going in alone?" demanded John.

"Yes," Balthazar said shortly, "Horvath who, among other things, is a sorcerer of the seven-hundredth and seventy-seventh degree. Six-hundred is not going to cut it here. Not to mention he might have some of your dispossessed locals working for him. If not properly worked, the wards will most likely cause a magical explosion that would alert him we're here and create far more problems than we need. The fewer we are; the smaller the invasion, the better the chance."

Many of the sorcerers started to look more than a little angry at being left out of their own rescue mission. He didn't blame them. Lacy was one of their own. None of them would say a word though; too many had been brought up to respect the power that Balthazar represented. John's fists clenched briefly before he breathed out deeply.

"You can get her if you do things your way?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Balthazar without any hesitation.

John nodded, although his fists remained clenched.

"Anything you need at all?" he asked.

"Well," Balthazar said, trying to ignore the dirty looks that were being shot in his direction, "the safest place I can take her after this would be the Chrysler building, correct?"

"Right."

"If you could be strengthening the wards then that would be good," he said thoughtfully, "And I'd need a healer on standby in case something…happens."

Balthazar observed John's eyebrow twitch slightly.

"Who's the best at that here?" he asked.

He watched as all eyes started to shift towards Robin. Bianca shoved him forward, although the boy continued to look at the ground. Balthazar was starting to wonder where all of his humility was coming from.

"Me sir," he murmured.

"Yes, it would be Robin," John said, "He's good at healing spells, never seen someone whip up a potion as fast at him. I've never seen anyone cast plasma bolts as atrocious as him either though. God-awful."

Ah, so that's where it came from.

"Mr. Steed, I'd appreciate it if you'd shut the hell up," Bianca snapped.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd learn your place," he snapped back, "Robin, get in the back of Balthazar's car. Just in case you are needed then you can go and try to make yourself useful."

Robin looked up and glared darkly at him, but turned around. Balthazar watched him go for a minute and gestured to John.

"Can I talk to you in private for a minute?"

Without a word they walked until they were some distance away from the rest of the group. Once they were he asked;

"What's going on?"

"I don't know what you're-"

"Is he your apprentice or something? Some sort of disappointment to the Great John Steed?"

There was a tense silence.

"Not exactly," snorted John after a while, "His master died two years ago, natural causes. I'm just trying to finish up his education."

"So why so hard on him?" he asked.

"Don't know why you need to know."

"My life might depend on him having his act together in a few minutes," he said, "And we both know Horvath probably didn't ask Lacy nicely to take the quicksilver. I'd be surprised if she didn't need a healer once I get her out."

There was a slight pause.

"He's known Lacy since she was eight. Our circle isn't exactly big after all. He was with her a few minutes before it happened," he said, obviously angry at having to answer the question, "Went with her and some friends to the pictures. He was the last one to find out, and he should've been the first."

"Yeah, but unlike his cousin there I'm not getting a 'strong magic' feeling from him," Balthazar said, "Like you told me, no real talent at offensive spells. I can't see what he could've done except bandage Horvath to death."

John snorted.

"And he's a friend of hers," Balthazar said, "So I don't see why you have to act like this to a boy who…"

Realization dawned.

"Oh please don't tell me-" he moaned.

"Yes, yes he has a crush on my daughter," snapped John.

"Lord in heaven," muttered Balthazar, "She like him back?"

"…yes."

"Well that makes it that much worse," he said, "Any other objections to him?"

"It's like you said," John said, waving his hands around wildly, "He's weak. If this is what happens now when I've got the best there is protecting her, what about when she's with him?"

"You're thinking a little far ahead there. You're acting like they're going to get married or something!" Balthazar said, aghast.

There was a pregnant silence.

"No shit?"

"She drew it about two years ago, an either or prophecy," he said, "She was older in it, probably around twenty. He was wearing a military uniform, although I can't imagine why. I took it from her before she could see it though; it wasn't the type that she remembers. Not good for her to know too much about her own future."

Part of him wondered if all fathers were this protective of their daughters. Briefly he was reminded of Merlin's eye-rolling when he and Veronica started out together. Merlin was, since Veronica's father had died when she was nine, the closest thing she had had to one and acted accordingly. It didn't stop with the eye-rolling though. There had been extra chores and slightly more sadistic lessons. He had thought that that was bad. Now he saw that that was nothing.

"An either or prophecy?" asked Balthazar, feeling that he shouldn't be getting mixed up in it.

"A black line around it," he said, "It means it'll happen or someone in the prophecy will die beforehand. Either or."

He took in Balthazar's shocked expression.

"I've learned a lot since she started her prophecies," he answered, "Different colored flux lines mean different things. That's the advantage to her drawing visions instead of writing them out."

John stopped and rubbed his hands together.

"As much as I don't think he's good for her," he said, "I wouldn't want either of them to die to prevent it."

Turning he faced Balthazar.

"You're not a particularly moral man, and before you say anything I'm not either," he said, "So I know you'll understand what I'll say next."

Swallowing air he looked at him as though he expected him to deny it. Balthazar had lived too many centuries to believe that he was perfect. He'd done too many things to survive and killed far too many people that sometimes he wondered if he even deserved the term Merlinian attached to him. Seeing that he wasn't going to interrupt John went on;

"I've fought in two different wars and I haven't felt the better for either of them. My brother died next to me and my parents died thinking I hated them. People have done things, both Merlinian and Morganian, in front of me that shouldn't be done. I've found that in the end people don't have the morals that they're supposed to have, that I don't have the morals I'm supposed to have. Human goodness is generally just a phrase used because we don't want to believe that we're horrible people. These things show; leave a mark on you that everyone can see."

He stared defiantly at Balthazar and said;

"And knowing this I went on a simple errand thirteen years ago. And she just gripped my coat and looked at me with wide eyes. If the world can still produce children that innocent, then I know there's something good left. Lacy's the reason I can still manage to drag myself out of bed in the morning. My daughter, the best thing I've got in my life."

Folding his arms across his chest he sighed.

"I'm not a moral man and neither are you," he said again, "But we're both good men when it comes down to it. That's the only reason I trust you to save her. I'm telling you this so that you understand what exactly I'm letting you do."

He fixed Balthazar with his glare again.

"And if you screw this up, seven-hundredth and seventy-seventh degree or not-"

"Then I'd probably deserve to die," Balthazar finished for him, "I quite think I understand."

"Good," nodded John.