See previous chapters for disclaimer.

A/N: I'm totally taking liberties with how anti-psychotics work. If anyone has a better suggestion for what Tommy was taking that would "treat" his symptoms, let me know. Thanks for reading.


Part Four

Thea knew the detective and her partner had talked with Everett; a contact in the area confirmed it. Yet the afternoon turned to dusk and still no word from the demon. Thea gave her plenty of time to send even a short message: hold, working an angle, not yet. But Dinah remained radio silent and Thea got fed up with waiting. She'd sent the demon three messages, requesting some type of update to no avail. She waited, and Thea was not a patient hunter.

Once night set and with nothing else to go on, Thea watched Everett. She had a duty to stop whatever was going on, before another human life was lost. The demon detective didn't care about humans, so time wasn't of the essence to her. When Thea saw a danger, she answered, and she didn't care if that pissed the detective off. Human life came first. Ollie wouldn't like her taking the risk with Tommy's vision, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him in this case.

When Everett stepped out, calling a cab to pick him up, Thea found her opportunity. She needed, and she took. She wasn't certain how much time she had. Everett could be going to dinner half across town or on a short jaunt around the block for no particular reason than his own amusement. Thea worked fast. She jimmied the lock to his apartment, much faster than Dinah could have, thank you very much. Then she scoured the place with care.

Thea wasn't an amateur. She had more experience with witches than warlocks, and not much of the former. She wore an amulet of protection and gloves. She found envelopes with cash, lots of cash, sitting in a kitchen drawer. A list of names rested under the final envelope. Thea took a closer peak and saw tenant names, some crossed off in different colors.

She picked the lock on the second bedroom door, the only locked place in the whole apartment. The door clicked and swung inward without Thea touching the door knob. Sweat and decay assaulted her sensitive nose. She found the workshop on the other side. A wood table sat against one wall, a ritual circle occupied most of the floor. Thea spotted wax dolls on the table, glass jars with hair and other samples. There was also a Bunsen burner, a metal pot, and black candles to be seen. Thea smelled sodium nitrite under the decay, and poppy. The closet contained a curio of other supplies.

Thea would've poked around some more, but she heard Everett arguing with his driver over the bill. She'd kept her hearing extended for early warning, but she still had to hightail it out of his apartment. She snapped some pictures of the workshop for evidence – she'd already catalogued the cash and list. Everett was at the building's entrance, grumbling under his breath. Thea yanked the workshop door shut behind her and scrambled out of his apartment. She was safely tucked away in the stairwell when he reached his door.

Thea leaned against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. That was a close one.

Little did she know, back in Jerry Bertinelli's apartment, the door handle she'd touched, even with the protection of gloves, now glowed a red symbol. The symbol of hauntings.

SR*SR*SR

"Are you out of your mind?" Dinah snapped the second the hunter finished explaining how she'd gotten photos of the warlock's work. A couple other patrons swiveled to look at her after her outburst. Dinah relaxed and smiled at them until they returned to their pre-dawn breakfasts. Then she glowered at Thea.

"I acted on intel," the kid crossed her arms defensively, ready to argue. Dinah cut her off with a sharp, sneering bark. "No, you reacted. Without thinking."

"I have the proof we need. Now we can take care of our warlock problem."

"You mean dispose of him, permanently, and draw the attention of the night coven behind him in the process," Dinah pointed out.

"So, what? They'll have no reason to suspect we know they're behind this."

"And they'll have no reason to stop. They own the property, the land. Do you think they'll let one death dissuade them? They'll send someone else to finish the job and they'll be prepared for us the next time."

"I don't see you offering any alternatives," Thea leaned aggressively forward on the table.

"I had a plan. One to prove Jerry Bertinelli is working with his cousins to unlawfully evict his tenants. The legal case would've kept them tied up for years, unable to act without provoking further suspicion. Better yet, since it would be the tenants suing the business, our hands would be clean. That plan has gone to the trash now, thanks to your recklessness," Dinah hissed. For a second, she let her eyes shift, to give Thea a taste of her displeasure. The hunter cringed and shifted back in her seat. Dinah sneered again.

"Bertinelli doesn't know I was in his place," Thea defended without her previous fangs.

"Warlock. Magic," Dinah ticked off fingers; "I could smell his power all over his apartment. Remember the spellnets we dealt with weeks ago, he can create his own version of those. Means he doesn't need to be in his place to know when it's been breached. You're lucky you didn't get tagged as well, a possibility with imbued objects. So, he knows. Which means he's going to disappear and take all the evidence with him, if he's smart. We can assume he is, considering how long he's survived in his family."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know," Thea deflated.

"You don't know a lot, hunter," Dinah scoffed, but without her usual venom. She'd made her point, no use staying pissed at the littlest Queen. Not worth the energy, that was all.

"How do we fix this?"

"We don't. I will find a way to stop the cursing. You go back to fighting the otherworldlies you've been trained to kill."

Dinah pushed back her chair and dropped a twenty for her coffee. Then she strode for the door, leaving a confused and upset hunter behind her. She had to shove down the instinct to comfort Thea – Laurel's feelings, cropping up again. Dinah was a demon; she had more important things to do than indulge petty human emotions.

SR*SR*SR

Oliver knocked on the metal door frame before entering Tommy's hospital room. Tommy turned from the window to look at him. His friend looked paler than normal in the drab hospital garb. He didn't belong in the sterile place.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Oliver settled in the chair near the foot of the bed. Tommy snorted; "Physically, I'm better. The antipsychotics did a number on me, but they've mostly cleared my system. Up here," he rapped a knuckle to his head, "well, the visions are back full force. Guess you're happy about that."

"I would take this burden from you if I could, Tommy."

"But it's my responsibility and I need to step up to the plate," Tommy interrupted, sardonic.

"Why do you see this as a curse?"

"Why would I see it as a gift?"

"What makes you love being a doctor?" Oliver switched gears. He took a small amount of pleasure in watching Tommy gape at him a full minute in surprise. Then his friend closed his jaw and warily considered the question. Oliver waited him out.

"Helping people, making a difference in their lives, usually for the better," Tommy answered at last.

"You use medicine and your knowledge, but also tools, instruments, to do your job." Tommy nodded, though he knew Oliver was being rhetorical. Oliver continued; "Now, you have a new tool in your arsenal. One which allows you to help those in need in a different way. Your visions will change lives, they'll make an even greater difference than being a doctor."

"At what cost? My life, my sanity?"

"That's up for you to decide. But ask yourself, what's more important to you: being normal or saving lives?"

"Saving lives? I saw vision last night, one that felt like an echo. In it, a man is being tormented by shadows that aren't really real, trying to defend himself with a knife. A man watches him through a mirror, or something, and laughs. Then he makes a gesture with his hand, the way witches do, and he killed the man he was tormenting. How am I supposed to stop things like that?"

"With help, and not fighting your gift. That man who died, his name was Nick Anastas, and he died after you started self-medicating. If you hadn't dampened your gift, you may have seen the danger in time, and we might've saved him together."

With those words, Oliver abruptly left Tommy to think. He'd been giving his friend as much time as he could, but now he had to start pushing for more than just Tommy's sake. Oliver would've stay longer, had wanted to stay, to reason with Tommy, but a fluttering in his mind told him that Thea needed him more.

SR*SR*SR

After her disappointing showdown with Dinah, Thea met up with a legit study group of hers. They were all cramming last minute for a Calculus test that Monday – sometimes, Thea wondered if her math teachers were evil witches in disguise, how else could they enjoy the subject?

Her group met in a coffee shop which served awesome almond bread. Thea was on her second loaf, quizzing a friend on definitions, when she spotted the clown. Pasty face, red nose, the whole Pennywise-vibe going on. She caught the first glimpse out of the corner of her eye, did a double-take, and shuddered at the gruesome sight.

"What's wrong?" her companion asked.

"I hate clowns," Thea explained. Her friend looked over his shoulder in the direction of Thea's gaze, then turned back, confused; "What clown?"

"He just walked away," Thea fibbed, even as the clown winked at her. An otherworldly trick, though she couldn't sense any in the vicinity.

Her companion accepted her explanation since she faced the window. They focused on their studying. When she looked back up, the clown was gone. Another jester popped up while she was practicing a graphing problem. This one wore a striped suit. Then a third winked in and out wearing oversized shoes as she repacked her bag. She felt no readier for the test than before and when the fourth clown, magenta-haired this time, waved at her, she was ready to throttle the imp playing tricks on her.

Help me please, a woman pleaded softly. Half-sobbed. Thea whirled around on the street. Other pedestrians walked around her, grumbling. Straining her senses, she couldn't catch the sounds of violence nor the woman's voice again. A particularly busy man clipped Thea on the shoulder. "Umph," she stumbled back a step, then shouted at his back; "Watch it!"

Come to play little huntress?

A cruel, cool voice whispered behind her ear, sending shivers up her spine. She knew that voice. The owner was dead, long dead. Yet even now, she could hear the soft cackle which had nearly preceded her beheading. Thea hunkered her shoulders and walked on. She didn't know what was happening, but she was going to find out. Then whatever otherworldly was causing this, well, they picked the wrong hunter to torment.

A clown with a giant, yellow bow tap-danced in front of Thea as she started across the street. She refused to acknowledge the disturbance, looking over the clown's shoulder. More whispers echoed in her head.

You did this to me, you killed me! Thea clamped her hands over her ears at the reverberations of a scream. She hadn't realized she'd stopped until the horn blared. She looked up. A truck was baring down on her, hitting the brakes but not fast enough.

Then arms wrapped around Thea and swung her out of harm's way. She blinked and there was nothing. She blinked again, and she stood five feet from her previous position, but safely on the sidewalk again. Pedestrians skirted around her with minor scowls. Thea pivoted to face her rescuer. "Ollie, that was risky of you. Someone might have seen."

"No one saw me. What's wrong with you, Thea? What were you thinking?" her brother frowned as he looked her over for obvious injuries.

"I don't know. I'm seeing things, hearing stuff. I need to find the cause."

"Not here. Let's get you somewhere safe."

Safe was home, the mansion. Ollie winged them there once they were out-of-sight of any bystanders. Thea found herself in her bedroom with Ollie ordering her to sit. She begrudgingly obeyed and he took the chair opposite her chaise lounge. He had her go over her symptoms and when they began.

"Are you still having symptoms now?"

You saved my brother, why not me? Another ghostly voice accused while a child-sized clown hopped on her bed in a rainbow wig. She grimaced. "Yes."

"Then it can't an otherworldly, all of their gifts require close proximity," Oliver stated matter-of-factly. He was more likely to know than her. So far, she'd only dealt with two types of otherworldies who had the necessary abilities and both were dead. "What have you done in the last twenty-four hours?"

Thea thought back. Well, she tried to but then she felt an unexpected biting pressure on her arm. She yelped and yanked back her sleeve, but the skin was unmarred. Another chomp followed, but this time on her shoulder. Ollie was at her side in an instant, wanting to help. "Thea, what is it?"

"Pain, like someone's biting me with razor sharp teeth," she gasped as a phantom mouth clamped down on her thigh, hard. Tears stung her eyes.

"This sounds like magic," Ollie rubbed soothingly at the arm she'd exposed.

"A warlock, I broke into his place, part of a case I'm working with Dinah," Thea muttered as several whisper-voices chuckled at her pain.

"Stay here. Lock yourself in and don't answer to anyone. Your symptoms are only going to get worse. I'm going to Lyla, I'll bring her here directly with a cure," Ollie instructed. It was a sign of his concern that he didn't berated her. She nodded in agreement and understanding. She didn't miss the worry in his eyes before he winged away. This was really bad.

Thea strode to her door and turned the lock. If she started hallucinating too much, then she'd be a greater danger to others than herself. She tried not to think about the fear she'd seen in Ollie. Her brother tried to protect her as much as possible. He helped her train, learning new fighting styles until the moves became muscle memory rather than instinct. He instructed her on the otherworldlies; giving her clues to research, to help her identify creatures she hadn't encountered but might one day. Still, there were things he couldn't shield her from – her destiny to die, for one. Magic was another of his weaknesses.

Another clown joined her, sprawling lecherously on the bed. Voices moaned for help or with indictments. Teeth scraped and bit every inch of her skin. Thea curled up on the chaise lounge, willing it all to stop. Reminding herself she'd been through worse, even if things didn't feel that way in the current torment. Hours passed, the agony growing worse. Then, suddenly, everything stopped. No more teeth against her skin, no more haunting echoes of those she'd fought or couldn't save. A peek between her fingers revealed the clowns had vanished too. Thea uncurled warily – had Lyla cast the cure from afar?

"Did you miss me?" a too-familiar voice cheeked. Thea spun. There he sat with a mocking grin on the chair Ollie had used earlier. Her ex-boyfriend. Chase.

"You're dead," Thea informed him. She stalked forward, towering over him. He was just another hallucination, wasn't he? A blonde-haired, pointy-eared prince with an assassin's charlatan smile.

"Thanks for that," Chase fingered the stitches along his throat; "But didn't you listen when I told you, I'm not that easy to get rid of?"

He struck without warning. He shot off the chair and caught her midriff, plucking her off her feet. With inhuman strength, he tossed her onto her coffee table. Pain lanced her as the wood cracked beneath her back. Thea rolled off the broken furniture and kicked at Chase's shins. He snarled and danced back, then darted for her door. He grinned wickedly: "I think it's time I tell your mom what you truly are."

"Don't you dare!" Thea shrieked and chased him into the hall.

He dashed down the hall and around the corner. Thea pursed. When she rounded the corner, Chase had almost reached the stairs. Thea shouted wordlessly and picked up speed. Chase swiveled around to look at her, pausing. His mistake. Thea caught him and rammed him into the nearest wall, her hands on his throat. Chase grabbed at her hands, fearful. "Thea, stop" his mouth moved, but Thea heard her mom's voice. She smelled her mom's perfume and loosened her hold in confusion. She blinked, and the image of Chase dissolved. Her mom stared fearfully back at her, Thea's hands around her throat. Thea let go immediately, stumbling backward.

"Thea, what's wrong?" Moira reached for her, concerned, but also afraid of her.

Thea didn't know if she was real or not. She didn't stick around to find out. She fled down the stairs and out the mansion.

SR*SR*SR

Dinah pounded on Quentin's door for a good ten minutes before he answered. She heard him growling under his breath as he slid back his chain and unbolted the lock. He glared at her, almost sober for a change. Pity. He was easier to handle when he was drunk.

"I told you to leave me to rot," he said gruffly as Dinah shoved her way into his apartment; "I meant it. Go, live your life, forget about me."

"You also 'meant it' when you confessed you wished it was Sara who lived and me who died. And that I was dishonoring Mom, using my first name as a cop," Dinah brought up some of his more memorable drunken rages. Ones he'd quickly apologized for once he came to his senses and Dinah had absolved him of any guilt. Though the real Laurel would've been cut to the bone, she also would've forgiven her dad's pain.

"I'm a monster to you, yet you keep coming back," Quentin grumbled as she checked his fridge and cupboards, ensuring he had enough food to last another week.

"I've met worse," she drawled, how little he knew; "Face it, Daddy, we're all we've got left in this world. You aren't getting rid of me that easily."

"What do you want?" he asked tiredly, resigned to her continued welfare checks.

"I think it's time you move. Maybe some place closer to me?"

She originally talked him into this apartment because it was closer to her old precinct. Made it easier to check on him during her lunch break and to collect him from the barstools after work. With the witches and warlock onto her investigation, she needed to get her father out of harm's way before she made another move. She'd be of no help to anyone until then.

"If this is about Everett, don't bother. He can bully me all he likes, I'm not leaving unless he puts me in a body bag." That was what she was afraid of happening.

"The crime rate's ticking up in this area," she tried a different approach.

"I know how to defend myself. I own a gun." But no bullets, because she'd removed them all and he'd been too inebriated since then to check.

"Ever think I'd like to have your closer to me," she went for the emotional appeal. She hated emotional attachments.

Before Quentin could argue, Dinah's phone range. Oliver. She answered. And cursed.

SR*SR*SR

Thea could've run into town. She had the speed and stamina, but she drove. She had enough of her faculties to know she needed to conserve her strength and energy for the fight ahead. She also knew to come prepared with defensive and offensive objects. She couldn't wait for Ollie to bring the cure. She needed the hallucinations to stop, pronto. That meant going directly to the source.

She parked next to the apartment. Not caring if she got towed. She located the warlock's place from the outside. She didn't bother asking for an invite. She climbed to the window ledge and kicked the glass in. She dropped into his bedroom – the king-sized bed the giveaway. The warlock wasn't sleeping. Thea stalked out of the room in search of her prey. He exited his workshop, a smile on his face at the sight of the hunter.

"What do we have here?" he cooed.

"Whatever you've done to me, undo it."

"And if I don't?" his gaze hardened. The murderer peeking through.

"You die," Thea answered. His magic, even the imbued portions, couldn't survive without him. Kill the warlock, kill her problems. Simple; straightforward. Thea liked her plan.

"We'll see about that," the warlock held out a hand.

A black cane flew into his hand. He grabbed the handle and a sword slid free of its sheath. You're going to fail, a voice taunted Thea. Then Chase was behind her, reaching for her neck. She ducked Chase and drew her daggers. She charged the warlock even as teeth nipped at her shoulders. Their blades clashed, metal clanging. The amulet around Thea's neck burned, telling her that the warlock was using all the tools in his belt. Clowns gathered around, hemming them in. Thea gritted her teeth and swung again.