Chapter Four

"Well, what was that all about?" Rhapsody demanded under her breath as Quillon unlocked the car. His vehicle, and adored prized possession, was a gleaming midnight blue Dodge Charger which seemed to feed off the sunlight and shone brighter than all the other cars in the parking space outside the Global Link Headquarters. Whether that was due to Quillon's meticulous fawning he awarded to the car or some kind of strange enchantment that ensured it never gathered dust or dirt, Rhapsody didn't know and as Quillon pointedly ignored her question and gestured for her to get inside the front passenger's seat, found she didn't much care.

"I'll tell you inside," assured Quillon but when he saw Rhapsody standing there, stone still, he softened a little, "I promise." He slid into the driver's seat and realising it'd be idiotic and pointless to just wallow in the same spot for hours on end, Rhapsody joined him. She opened the near door and beheld the car interior in the state is always was. Impeccable clean seating. Unblemished with crumbs or crinkled receipts. Nothing at all like Rhapsody's own decrepit Volkswagen back home. That Quillon's ride was far more pleasant and cleansed and less likely to make Rhapsody's nose wrinkle in disgust was just one of the reasons he did daily drop-offs and pick-ups. Especially considering what happened four months ago. Rhapsody shook her head, shunting the memory away, and got inside, planting herself down in the lovely leather seat, hand instinctively grappling for the seatbelt.

"Go on then," she urged as the seatbelt clicked into place He nodded, checking she was in properly as was the tradition, and twisted the key, the engine revving with a purr. Acting on autopilot, he flicked the switch that opened windows on both sides and despite Rhapsody's ebbing frustration, the rush of cool air was welcome.

"I don't trust him, Rhapsody," Quillon said as he stomped his foot down, rather more aggressively than usual, nearly causing Rhapsody to lurch back. Upon realising this, he seemed to mellow. "I've known Hercule a lot longer than you have."

"What? Is that it? I know him too, you know."

"Do you now?"

Rhapsody shrugged. "'Course I do."

"Pray tell then, what is it about Hercule that gets you up in the morning?"

"Wait, what?" she blanched, "Why do you have to say it like that?"

Quillon's hands expertly wielded the wheel, driving out of the car park with precision unbecoming of someone with such a childish smirk on their face. "I thought you might be…interested in him."

"No," said Rhapsody bluntly, "I've never been interested in anyone at that place, let alone him."

"Oh? Why, is he even more dishearteningly moronic than the rest of them? You seemed to get on very well just then."

"No!" she said, biting back the stutter, "No, I didn't mean it like that. It's just that well…with so few friends there, surely, it'd be best not to try and pursue the ones I do have, y'know in-in that way. Otherwise, it might be a bit, er-" She suddenly noticed how pleading she sounded and how much Quillon's face was dying to grin and cut off the rest of her speech.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"What do you mean, what?" she said, and he shrugged, navigating the car's exit through the premises' gateway, which opened automatically.

"Carry on," he encouraged but she shook her head sharply.

"I'd rather not."

"Aw," he pouted mournfully, and she glared, "but I was enjoying that."

"I don't get you at all," Rhapsody mused, "You're trying to deter me from someone, never mind a potential friend, and then you don't like it when I try and explain why and oh, I don't know!" she threw her arms out in confusion and veiled anger, any fires of rage dampened as she watched the Headquarters fade out of view in the wing mirror. It was good to be out for another day. Well, very nearly night now.

"I'm just looking out for you, Rhapsody," said Quillon, but bit his bottom lip as if he wasn't too convinced that he was doing a good job, "It's just a bit annoying that you're in there on your own for what, seven to six, half six now? I'm not just sure if those hours are good for you."

"You've changed your tune," muttered Rhapsody but sighed after a moment's silence. It wasn't wise to shun one of the few people who was actually concerned about her well-being. "How else am I going to get the chance to do two people's total work for this bloody Evaluation Day? If I don't put in the time, my stories will be chicken shit."

"I'm just worried about you, that's all. Especially because of the bloody Evaluation Day."

Scoffing, Rhapsody scraped a laugh out of her throat. "Don't ask me why it was made up. Suppose employees just need a bit of a scare every few months. Make sure they're not resting on their laurels."

"Indeed," Quillon agreed wisely, "Although it strikes me as a classic bureaucratic process. Unneeded, unnecessary and unwanted."

"Yep."

"But I am kind of relieved," he said as he drove and turned out into a busy road and the traffic lights were as merciless as ever. Rhapsody's frown returned as she peered up at the endless beams of desisting red.

"Relieved?"

"Uh-huh."

"At the bureaucratic process you just slammed going ahead on the coming Monday?"

"What? No, no! Not that! God, heaven forbid!" Quillon objected dramatically, manoeuvring through an empty lane in a way that violated no laws and yet still came off as a little roguish. "I meant what you said earlier. About new friends. Friends that hopefully aren't Hercule."

"Stop it," she said, slapping him on the shoulder but playfully, "Yeah, I met them just before I went into Twain's office. Their names are-"

"Temerity Candour?"

Rhapsody stared. "And Diego Yellowbelly. How'd you-"

"Hercule did mention their surnames as we were leaving."

"If you weren't a Recaller, I swear your power was enhanced hearing."

"I'm just observant," said Quillon humbly, "And smart. And cunning. And not deaf. I was right there, Rhapsody, of course I heard the names."

"But only the last names. Do you know them?"

"Barely," he answered, eyes glazing as he appeared to recall some distant memory, "I know Temerity Candour from during the last stages of the War. Mostly by repute. She'd been enrolled into the Sanctuary as a raw recruit and was assigned as part of a retrieval party to go out and gather some information. Nothing dangerous, just charting territory."

"She's in Retrieval department ironically enough," Rhapsody butted in but let Quillon get on with the tale.

"Well, let's just say the mission got very dangerous very fast. An ambush, most sorcerers were inexperienced in combat and were unprepared anyway. The security contingent was useless and were swept away. Only Candour and a couple others put up a fight and survived. We never crossed paths more than once or twice, but I saw her name pop up on reports every few weeks. She did only a few assignments in the War, given her young age, but was invaluable at beating back the last few waves of Disciples before the Truce was formed."

Rhapsody absorbed it all and stored the memory away. It was a routine she'd learned well. "And what about Diego?"

"Ah," Quillon teased, "On a first-name basis, already, I see."

"Shut up."

"Sorry," he grinned, "Diego Yellowbelly. To tell you the truth, I don't know him that well. Or at all. Yeah, that'd be more accurate."

"What, the great Quillon Snitch doesn't know something?" Rhapsody said, enjoying the wounded look he responded with.

"No one can know everything, Rhapsody," he said, slightly more solemnly than Rhapsody expected and she frowned.

"Sure."

Quillon shrugged, eyes fixed on the road ahead. More traffic lights. Traffic was a bitch today. "All I know about Diego is that he's not to be underestimated. I've only encountered him a couple of times both in and out of the War, but I'm just thankful he was on my side." As if the topic was draining him, Quillon breathed out did the weird thing with his tongue. Indicating he wanted to shift the conversation according to his terms. "Anyway, how'd the meeting go?"

"You don't want to know, Quill," mumbled Rhapsody, grinding her teeth, admittedly more for show than anything else.

"That's wrong for starters," Quillon laughed in that choppy, gnarled laugh of his. It was weird, how his laughs varied depending on what he was amused at. "Hence the query, Rhapsody. You've been bad-mouthing Twain for years. I've grown accustomed to it enough so that I can handle a few more bits of vitriol in her name. So, go on. Spill it."

Rhapsody hesitated. But it was the calm before the storm. She opened her mouth and like a crazed mob of murderous witch hunters, her words tumbled and tossed over each other in a mad frenzy. "Well, she called me in, and then she read it through, and I sat over in the chair and had some kind of vision shit over one of her creepy-ass books, then she basically chewed me out for not having enough info about the fucking Remnants. Remnants, Quillon! Like, you know…" She gestured wildly as if this would accurately convey what happened. It didn't, judging from Quillon's gleam in his eye.

"How do you even do that?" she rambled, discovering the words, "Let yourself get possessed? Yeah, great idea there, Verity. Brilliant. I'll just pop by Ireland to check out the Receptacle, never mind that I have jack shit in terms of money for a flight or even a bloody ferry; the Sanctuary's probably relocated where the Remnants are housed now and oh yeah, the most important part. It's a Remnant. Why in hell would I want that black monster thingy in my mouth, or y'know…Any part of me, for that matter? Why? Why, Verity? She probably wants to get possessed, Quill. Not surprised. She's a bitch like that, anyway.

"Last but not least, she tries to fob off another partner on me. As if the one before wasn't painful enough. It's the fact she tries to do it, knowing I don't like people. People at work. They're just-God…" Rhapsody breathed. Quillon nodded sagely, as he did, and clenched his jaw.

"Anything else?" he probed, "You didn't run into Flash, did you?"

"No, surprisingly. I was Flash-free, today!" she answered with mock enthusiasm.

"What about Jagged?"

"None of her, either. Not hard to miss her, you know. She's a big girl."

"She is, indeed. Hate to pry, but, this book vision thing…"

Rhapsody tensed. That was what he was broaching? "It was just a lapse. It won't happen again."

"What was the book about? Yeah, the Monster Hunting guides aren't a hundred percent accurate, but they're not that-"

"It wasn't them."

"Oh. Well then, what-"

"Can we talk about it later?" requested Rhapsody, although it was no request, "I'll be all yours to talk about work and shit later but for now, forget it. I just want to relax and hit some people."

She didn't need her Sensitive powers to sense Quillon's desire to press her, to push the subject more and learn about the book, prickled. It was written in his face. The face was the key to one's emotions, next to the mind. It was the eyes that told her. But he blinked and the desire faded away and he seemed to accept her reticence. "Very well," he said quietly, already scheming when and where and how to bring it up again tomorrow or perhaps later than that, "I'll respect your…anyway…" Quillon rallied himself. "I know you said you weren't in the mood, but this Remnant dilemma…"

"Yeah?" said Rhapsody, uncertainty evident in her voice, "It's a real pile of shite, huh?"

"I might be able to help."

This time, she didn't bother keeping the uncertainty away. "You can?"

"Yes."

"No offence, but are you taking the piss? I know you've seen all kinds of horrors and terrors and all stuff like that, in fact, you never shut up about it, but you've never been possessed by a Remnant, Quill. You told me that ages ago. And you might be an expert on history and magic, but nothing like that. Not as in-depth as this. That stuff's for nutters and scholars."

"Or scholarly nutters," Quillon mused, "The point is, I know someone. He might be able to help you with some of the info. Enough to show you've done research."

"Enough to impress Twain?"

"Most likely."

"Huh," Rhapsody steepled her fingers, before realising it made her look like an old widow or indeed, a scholarly nutter and just tapped her knees, "How soon can we get a hold of him?"

"Not right now."

"Of course, I meant-"

"I know. He's very, uh…antisocial. For good reason. But I'm sure I can persuade him to see us. Tomorrow, perhaps, but don't expect anything."

"It can't be at night," Rhapsody said as a memory flared, "I'm going out to the Wyrmling's Nest with Diego and Temerity."

"I see," Quillon said with a ghost of a smirk, "Rubbing it in, eh?"

"No!" she snapped, despite knowing she'd fallen into another of his traps.

"Jesting, Rhapsody, jesting," he assured.

"Yeah, I know, Quill."

"But that's great. Hope you have a good time. As soon as this business tonight's over with, however, I'll get right on that lead. We'll show those fuckers in the upper echelons on Evaluation Day, yeah?"

"I guess so," smiled Rhapsody. She relished the genuine feel of the smile. It was nearly overtaken by Quillon's beam in response to it. There. That was the good feeling she knew he'd bring her after a day of hell.

"So, what's the agenda for tonight?" she said after a silence that was by no means uncomfortable.

"I've been in contact with another old friend who lives around here. One who's a bit more talkative and mobile. He promised to let me know about anything strange or suspicious in the area and he called me this morning. Apparently, four people were carrying several heavy packages into one of the houses on a 'Hurndall Street'. One of them matched Nikt's description. And his pet. And the woman. And the big guy."

"All of them, then." Rhapsody sighed.

"Yes, madame."

"We're heading there now?"

"Yep."

Silence, as the car engine droned on.

"What are their disciplines?" asked Rhapsody, but Quillon picked up on the forced casualness she'd injected in the question.

"You know them."

"I meant Temerity and Diego."

"Does it matter?" he answered, "If all goes well, you won't need to fight alongside them at all. You work with them, Rhapsody. At a journalist news centre. You're not soldiers."

"I know, but-"

"What is important is that we're possibly about to enter an entirely different fight all on our own." Quillon bit his lip as he steered the Charger into a new road, one that was lined with run-down houses and abodes that blocked out the setting sun, casting a thick shadow over the street. The car slowed. It trundled along slowly, the only moving thing in sight. No flocks of birds, no passers-by, no wandering stray cats. Even the clouds seemed to freeze.

"We're here already?" said Rhapsody, aware her voice had gone quieter. Quillon nodded and didn't look at her.

"Yep. This is it, Hurndall Street. We're on the watch for Number 47-"

"There!" Rhapsody nodded to her left, refusing to point. Pointing felt like it made her more visible somehow. Carefully, she opened up the compartment to the left of the audio screen and inside, next to all the piles of CDs and rock 'n roll albums, was her gun. She snatched it up and tucked it inside her coat pocket. Snapping his head in her direction, Quillon braked and the Charger hovered in the middle of the road. No other cars were approaching either way. It was deserted. Empty. The perfect environment for drug dealers.

Number 47 was in view. It seemed like just another house, but neither Quillon nor Rhapsody were fooled. Behind that scratched, beaten door and tinted windowpanes were criminals. Mages. Dangerous ones. Ones that they'd need to fight if they wanted to apprehend. And they wanted to. Very much so. Rhapsody and Quillon had been after them for months, though it seemed like years. Countless raids and countless battles and countless times they'd slipped away like rats. As for what they'd committed that warranted such determination, well…

"Smell it?" Quillon asked, twisting the key and shutting down the car. The windows were still open. Rhapsody picked up the familiar scent of putrid ozone and strong pine clashed into one. It was all too familiar.

"That's Molten Drip, alright," muttered Rhapsody, waiting for Quillon's signal to act. He gave it. They exited the Charger fast and with purpose, each action sharp and succinct. They closed the Charger's doors as they usually would. The neighbourhood was decrepit but it wasn't abandoned. Mortals lived here, even if their choice in housing was poor. Slamming a car door wasn't a suspicious sound. A door being shut as if it was trying to be done quietly would. It was complicated, but Rhapsody had suffered the steps of sneaking up on a quarry enough times so that she'd near mastered it by now. Not that it meant their targets were any nearer to being caught, unfortunately.

They walked to the house's front door, grass patches on either side of the cobbled path. The grass wasn't freshly cut but it wasn't bundled in thick untidy piles either. This time, the Pistols were really putting effort into keeping inconspicuous. It was paying off. There weren't even any tell-tale signs of inhabitance or drug use, apart from the scent of Drip which was growing stronger as the two approached the door. It was sickening. Rhapsody fought the urge to retch. It wasn't natural. She didn't understand how any sane mage could be willing to imbue it. Drinking, injecting or snorting it, the methods varied but it was all the same. The result was a boost in a sorcerer's magic for a brief period, tests suggesting a likely peak in magical effectiveness and power for three or four hours. Perhaps the worst part of encountering the Pistols, for that was what they named themselves, the Magma Pistols, was that Rhapsody never had any idea whether they'd decided to ingest any of their deadly parcels or kept their beaks out of it for their employer's sake. Ultimately, they were just couriers but occasionally, decided to slyly sneak a bit of Drip out of the box and partake in it. It seemed there was no honour amongst thieves or druggies. But although that made them unreliable to their employers, it made them equally as unpredictable in combat. Which brought no end of dangerous possibilities for her and Quillon.

There was a face at the window. Quillon spotted it, too. They locked eyes with the face, and it vanished as suddenly as it appeared. Like smoke, or a blurring bullet, or an opportunity. Not good. "Quick, get to the door!" ordered Quillon, hand searching inside his jacket for his lockpicking tools. Obeying, Rhapsody did so and pressed against the door, drawing her gun. She cursed when she remembered she hadn't checked the bullets. She did so as fast as possible and breathed out when six bullets filled the chamber. Quillon must've reloaded it for her. As for Quillon, his tools were out and he was picking at the door, murmuring under his breath. Whilst he cracked the invisible code, Rhapsody glanced around. If anything, the lack of encroaching attackers or gunshots whizzing past made her even more nervous. All the action was going to be inside, where space was limited and so was the chance to properly capture the Pistols. It was two against four and this was the gang's territory. It wasn't exactly a good deal.

"Got it!" grimaced Quillon as with a final twist, the lock clicked and he pocketed his tools, flashed out his own firearm and shoved the door open in one fluid motion. Often, in times like this, Rhapsody just let him take the reins. They entered, guns out and safety off. No one in sight. The living room was just on the left and the kitchen on the right. Quillon tilted his head and made for the kitchen, whilst Rhapsody headed the opposite way, stealing a glimpse of the stairway to the second floor. Everything seemed normal, if a little dilapidated. Just like the street the house was on. It was a good disguise but hiding in plain sight was a veil Rhapsody's eyes had become accumulated to tearing apart when it came to these criminals. They tried too hard to blend in. She could taste it, even. Or was that the air? It was, and she winced as she scoured the living room, empty and messy as one expected. A rickety armchair and a torn sofa caught her attention. The sofa was ripped apart, bits of fluff strewn every which way, something resembling claw marks scratched into the surface. That wasn't good. Not good at all. It was evidence that the Pistols were here, but it meant that their greatest weapon was also hanging around. Rhapsody peered down to get a better look at the table and saw a couple piles of crushed powder, the colour of dried blood. Molten Drip. Unmistakable in both colour and stench.

Against her better judgement, Rhapsody edged in closer, her malachite eyes devouring the room around her. No dancing shadows. No sudden clomping footsteps. Not a vicious snarl within earshot. She sensed Quillon leave the kitchen and approach her from behind and sure enough, his steps began to reach her ears. Confident he was on vigilance, she crouched slightly and observed the scene left behind by the Pistols. They were getting less messy. That was one thing that she noticed. There were three piles of Drip powder laid out, one less thick than the others. Cautiously, Rhapsody dimmed her vision and let the strong memories that tugged at her skull enter. Recollections of anticipation, relief, ecstasy and sudden panic called out to her, begging for sanctuary. She refused them harshly, slamming a mental door n their non-existent faces and sharpened her vision again. Faint traces, but recent. The Pistols were here. They were still here.

"What is it?" Quillon asked. He was close to her and she didn't turn. She kept on watching straight ahead. She felt his presence, keen and eager.

"Traces," Rhapsody replied quietly, "They were right here. Less than five minutes ago. They were about to snort a pile each. Doing dares. Snort it in one go. One of them, Nikt I think, started but another saw us and raised the alarm. He forced himself to stop and they scattered. They've gone now."

"Evidently," said Quillon drily, "They can't have got far, though. We'll have to check upstairs, just to make sure."

"Did you text Buzzard? He and Ruth might be able to-"

"I did, indeed. Just then. In the kitchen. Reinforcements should arrive at any minute."

Rhapsody nodded. "You realise it would've been better to do that before we came in here?"

Quillon returned the nod. "Yep."

"Excellent," she sighed, "Well, now what?"

"I just said. Upstairs we go."

She blinked. "That never ends well."

"What does?"

"Going upstairs!" she spat, taking the biggest care not to let her voice travel more than an inch as Quillon began to move off and walk to the stairway.

"Hey," Quillon shrugged, not looking back, "We've done it before, and we're alive, aren't we?"

Despite the peril pressing in on them, Rhapsody scoffed. "Sometimes I just don't know anymore." Nevertheless, like a dutiful hound, she followed Quillon, eyes lingering on the devastation of the sofa as she departed. She had a feeling she'd be facing death pretty soon, judging from that. They found the staircase, and side by side, they trudged up, keeping their steps light and elusive, and hands firmly clamped around their weapons. Once again, the key was to try and remain silent whilst not tiptoeing. It was an agonising routine and bloody hell…How many steps were there? As they neared the top of the stairs, Rhapsody's legs were already aching a little and she tried to spot activity through the banister rails, but there was nothing. A creak. Not on the stairway. She looked at Quillon. Quillon was looking at her. No. No, he wasn't. He was staring beyond her, over her shoulder. She didn't even frown. She didn't turn her head. She just ducked.

Quillon did the same and the silence was shattered into a million splinters of noise as a throbbing ball of crackling red energy, roughly the size of a football, whizzed past where Rhapsody's head had been and smacked into the wall, burrowing through it, and spitting out a hundred chips of broken plastic as it devoured all obstacles in its ravaging path. Quillon muttered a curse and kept low, darting from spot to spot, zeroing in on the attacker. Risking it, Rhapsody followed suit, although she kept her own journey distant and unpredictable. There was a door on the immediate right. Shut. As she opened it, she glanced left and saw Quillon squashed up against another door, sucking in his gut as he kept his cover. At the other end of the corridor, Rhapsody saw the Energy-Thrower who was bombarding them, as he readied another death sphere.

It was Devilry. Of course, it was Devilry. He hadn't changed in the month or so they'd last fought. His stocky figure nearing seven feet tall still towered above her, hair black as tar falling in tangled cascades was no less greasy than she recalled and his thick muscles that pulsed with every movement were, if anything, even thicker and bulky with the promise of destruction. He was a sight to behold. He was also ugly as sin, a face that made Rhapsody think someone had stepped on it. A crooked conk, dull eyes scrunched together, and yellowed teeth reminded her of a Troll, although she'd met Trolls better looking than this druggie. Although none were more murderous. Oh, Devilry was murderous. Excessively so. But, luckily for her, she knew the angles and methods of how he committed that murder.

She'd encountered his energy attacks enough times by now to know he needed time, patience and concentration to muster enough power to deliver an attack of that level and from the way Quillon rolled out of his hiding place and leapt into Devilry with a grunt, Rhapsody guessed that her friend wasn't allowing a second's chance for the giant ruffian to gather his wits. The precious little he possessed, anyway. Devilry toppled and thrashed around, Quillon on top and the two traded grunts, elbows and fists. They rolled and Rhapsody wanted to throw herself into the fray, but knew she'd get in the way of Quillon's flurry of techniques. He was like a hurricane of violence, each punch and jab hitting its mark, cutting through Devilry's unrefined defence and lack of technique smoothly. Soon enough, Devilry left an opening wide enough for Quillon to sneak in and shoot a kick into the big guy's knee. It buckled.

Grunting, Devilry fell and clutched at his broken limb, allowing Quillon a clear opportunity to knock him out. But Quillon seemed to have a different idea. He drew his gun and aimed it at Devilry's humongous head. Rhapsody counted the blinks in her head. What was he doing? She was about to call out, but she noticed Devilry leaning on his arm, one hand obscured from view. When it became visible again, it was glowing red. Quillon only realised when the hand was splayed and a beam pierced the air, shooting into his shoulder and bounced off into the wall. Like an astray bullet, it danced and darted around. Rhapsody managed to escape the ricochet, but the impact had shoved Quillon into the nearest door. Thankfully, the energy hadn't been strong enough to cause any damage to the skin or even the clothes. But it'd still bruise, Rhapsody knew. She gazed at Devilry locking his knee back into position with a mewl of suppressed agony and glanced down. Rhapsody did the same. Quillon's gun was up for grabs. Devilry went for it.

His hands encircled the chamber and fiddled with it for a split second before Quillon stomped on it. A yelp of pain and Devilry shoved his elbow out into Quillon's chest, shoving him back slightly. Unperturbed, Quillon watched Devilry fumble for the trigger and as soon as he found it, Quillon lunged and grasped the giant's hand just as the shot rang out. Rhapsody clamped her eyes shut. It was loud. When she opened them, Devilry was pushed up against the banister, Quillon pressing in on him, duelling grips over the gun. They both headbutted as they vied for the weapon, Quillon's teeth bared and Devilry's lips pursed in exertion. There was a creak and the banister shattered, both men going overboard. Rhapsody swore she heard Devilry squeal as they plummeted and as they vanished from sight, Devilry screamed out.

"Nikt! They're here!" There was a thud as the bodies hit the floor below, which made Rhapsody wince.

"Typical men," chuckled a voice behind her, "Can never keep their feet on the ground, can they?"

Rhapsody turned and tried to avoid the fist that came her way, but it smacked against her cheek and rocked her head back. She raised her hands in blind defence but someone batted them away flawlessly and just as the silvery lights cleared, another fist crunched into her nose. Hot, throbbing pain flushed through her face and she fell back, one foot losing ground. Then the other. Impact on her back and she was lying there on the floor. Vulnerable. Her eyesight swam but she kept it dim. Vibrations in her surroundings told her that two people were walking around her. One's breathing neared. They must've been crouching right over her body.

"Huh. Didn't expect her to go out so easily," the woman said. It was met with a scoff of scorn from a deeper, more severe voice. Male.

"Seriously? All it takes is a good punch, Hazel. Just because she's some fancy Sensitive doesn't mean she's omnipotent."

"Yeah, yeah, spare me!" snapped Hazel.

"Where's Devilry?" the man asked. Rhapsody recognised the voices now and mentally, matched them to names and faces.

"Gone overboard," Hazel quipped with a chuckle, "With Snitch. They're probably fighting each other to a standstill."

"With us on the losing side," the man muttered, "Well, I suppose I'd better aid him, then. Make sure he doesn't obliterate himself. Again, eh?"

Hazel chuckled prettily, a stark contrast to the ugly killer Rhapsody knew was within. "I think you'd better."

"What about Caesar? Where's my pet got to?"

"Don't let him hear you call him that, he'll go ballistic."

"Ballistic? Him? Never. Now answer the question, for God' sake! Devilry's probably getting smashed to an ugly pulp down there. Well…uglier."

"God knows. Last I saw, he was getting all the Drip and supplies packed. Always on the move, right?"

"I swear if he wasn't dead, he's the biggest hypochondriac ever bloody conjured."

Another pretty, lilting chuckle. "Oh, he had a message for you."

"Who?"

"Devilry."

A breathless pause. "Well? Spit it out."

"He said 'They're here'." Hazel replied with no small amount of incredulity. It was met with another pause, one that exhibited disbelief and just a slight bit of distaste.

"No. Fucking. Way." Footsteps, clumping. "I'll help out the idiot before he gets himself killed. You deal with Gossip. We can use her as a bargaining chip if all else fails."

"It usually does…" Hazel murmured. "Wait, so we can't kill her?"

Rhapsody was unnerved at the answer. "Not yet." It wasn't anything new. The threat. In fact, it was utter cliché. But the smile was so evident in the guy's voice, it shook her a little. She rallied. Steeled her nerves. She wouldn't get out of this alive if she let herself get unnerved by a petulant and domineering thug. As the stomps gradually lessened as Hazel's accomplice journeyed down the stairs, Rhapsody risked one eye opening.

The woman lurking above her was Hazel Spice. Serial Drip dealer, witty mercenary and purveyor of cruel, exotic punishments and torture devices. Thin and spindly, there was no mistaking the muscle in her arms and lower shoulders, flexing as they were as she readied a pair of shackles. Her head was shaven, her amber eyes glittering in the half-dark of the dull lighting and the setting sun outside. Those same eyes were locked onto Rhapsody's. Time froze. Rhapsody forced a rush of energy through her bones and sent her forehead slamming into Hazel's face. Time broke and everything seemed to be moving too fast to handle. The shackles cluttered to the floor as Hazel reared back, cursing.

The brief shot of agony Rhapsody felt wash over her vanished instantly as she tucked it away, the dull ache on her cheek fading too. That was one perk of being a Sensitive. You could manipulate minds and she knew none better than her own. She knew how to fool herself and her physical form into ignoring pain, concealing it away where it didn't stop her in combat. It always came back later on, but by that time, the danger had passed. It was useful, and for now, at least, it was something in her favour. Hazel, who was now rubbing her bloodied nose and scuttling into the nearby room, was no Sensitive. That much was obvious. But she was dangerous, and Rhapsody didn't let the lack of erupting agony deter her from the side of caution. Too much, that had resulted in the Pistols' elusiveness and freedom.

"So you want to party, do ya?" spat Hazel, as she wiped a trickle of blood away from her nose, which Rhapsody noted, was wrecked, "Fine then, let's- Shit!"

Rhapsody didn't allow Hazel to finish, as she pounced and invaded Hazel's space, giving no room to fight or even flail. She just infiltrated Hazel's defences, lashing a knee into her ribs and stomping on her foot. Brutal, but it got results. Quillon taught her. But Hazel was adjusting. She threw a palm that missed Rhapsody, but a stray elbow whacked her in the ear and Rhapsody's head rocked back, falling onto the double bed that was lying neatly in the corner of the room. It was comfy, but if Rhapsody didn't get up, she'd be comfortably numb for eternity. Especially with an insane madwoman leaping down on her with an outstretched elbow, resembling an insane super wrestler.

Hesitating just a bit because of the near laughable pose Hazel was attacking in, Rhapsody rolled to the left, toward the plain, spotless white pillows, as Hazel landed hard on the mattress and bounced off away from Rhapsody to the bottom of the bed, falling off and jabbing her shoulder against the dusty ottoman there. It looked and sounded painful. Rhapsody scanned around for potential weapons. There was a cup, which she grabbed and threw half-heartedly but Hazel ducked and it smashed against the wall. She didn't want to draw her gun just yet. She'd need it for Nikt's secret weapon that wasn't so secret anymore and didn't want to waste it on the slippery bitch who was regaining her footing. Hazel's eyes blazing in anger. Oh, well. Pillows it was, then. Great. Wielding it like a…pillow, she guessed? Rhapsody got on her feet on the bed and waited until Hazel was up and then sprang, putting everything she had into the thrust and the pillow hit Hazel squarely in the face, chucking her back further than Rhapsody even expected.

Crushing the urge to laugh, Rhapsody kept her guard up as Hazel stumbled back and slammed into the door, smacking her hip into the golden knob. Ouch. The pain was so vivid, Rhapsody was dead certain she sensed it in Hazel's mind. Or maybe that was just the woman's eyes boring into her own, resembling all the fiery cauldrons of hell. Hazel growled and leapt. Rhapsody swung the pillow again, but Hazel was fast. She swerved the deadly cushion and snatched Rhapsody's legs, taking her off her feet. The pillow escaped her grip, tumbled onto the window ledge. As Rhapsody hit the bed with her back, she whirled her limbs around in a tangle, one of them catching Hazel in the mouth as she attempted to climb onto her. It was worth it, almost, for the murmur of suppressed stunned pain, but Hazel redoubled her efforts and reached for Rhapsody's throat.

They fought. Hazel's wandering fingers found Rhapsody's neck and tried to squeeze, but put both her hands into it, leaving her face open to yet another attack. Rhapsody seized the chance, scratching at Hazel's eyes, cementing the encounter as a 'catfight'. She could almost imagine Quillon sauntering in and remarking so. Well, he wasn't here and now Rhapsody was a few seconds away from being choked into oblivion. She wondered how Quillon was contending with Devilry downstairs, and now he was likely fighting off two men. But she quelled those thoughts. She'd worry about him later, when she wasn't in mortal peril herself. It seemed Hazel was whipping her head all over the place to avoid Rhapsody's struggled but eventually, the grip lessened in its intensity and Rhapsody heaved her off, sucking in lungfuls of air. It was musty air, and just a tad drenched with the scent of Molten Drip, but at least it was feeding Rhapsody life once more.

Apparently, Hazel had decided to change tactics and stayed down near the ottoman, behind cover and cutting down on the up front and personal attack. Which meant one thing. Rhapsody needed a shield. Anything. Mind scattering, instinct took over and Rhapsody grabbed the first pillow that she could get her hands on and held it firmly against the oncoming rush of magic. Hazel's body froze and her eyes glazed. Glazed, and glowed. Soon, her pupils were gone, and it was pure white, peppered with tawny edges that mirrored her eye colour. She unleashed the energy. It came out in twin beams, piercing and deadly and Rhapsody launched the pillow, regretting not lunging for cover beforehand. The pillow exploded in a thousand strands of feather and linen and the eyebeams knocked Rhapsody off the bed. Suddenly, Hazel smirked and narrowed her eyes, causing the twin beams to elongate but thin. Which meant they were even more lethal. Bloody excellent.

Panting, Rhapsody crawled alongside the bed, away from the encroaching eyebeams, but what had Quillon once told her? About when one mage's senses were out of action to perform their chosen discipline, the other ones were enhanced to another level. Which, considering the inescapable fact that magic boosted a human's senses anyway, meant that now, Hazel's hearing quality was nearing superhero boundaries and whenever Rhapsody shuffled her body along the floor, the madwoman picked it up and followed the path, directing her beams dangerously close to wherever Rhapsody was. Not good. At all. Luckily for Rhapsody she had a head start. Unluckily for her, it was waning as Hazel closed in on her position. The beams seared a corner of the bed and singed linen fluttered above Rhapsody, who was veering round the ottoman. Bits of burnt duvet were trapped in her hair and just for now, on account of a homicidal drug dealer trying to end her life, she could afford not to gag and unlock the floodgates to puke town.

Symmetrical lines of broiled carpet forged a path next to her and didn't dare flinch an inch as Hazel's path carved its way beyond her. Any movement might've alerted the woman to her presence. Footsteps neared. Rhapsody tried to peek through her peripheral vision and saw Hazel walking past, eyes still shooting energy, but frowning in confusion. She'd lost track of Rhapsody. That gave Rhapsody the opportunity to end the fight there and then. Locked in place, she waited agonising seconds for Hazel to pass by. The quietness alerted Rhapsody to the sounds emanating from the ground floor, sounds of sizzling energy and fists hitting flesh. When Hazel did pass by, Rhapsody exploded into motion. Expertly and yet with not holding back on the force, Rhapsody tackled Hazel around the legs and waist, pulling her down to the floor with a thud.

Wasting no time, Rhapsody clambered onto Hazel's spine and pinned her down. Hazel's legs were rampantly whirling around but found nothing to hit. Hazel's arms were flapping around madly but found nothing to injure. Hazel's head was turning, trying to wound Rhapsody with magic, but Rhapsody allowed the ruthlessness and hardness to overrun her judgement and gripped Hazel's shaven, smooth crown, trapping her whole head and forcing her to kiss the rug. The eyebeams were still active, but they were burning into the carpet, wisps of smoke rising out. She couldn't keep up the beams forever, and when they faded, she'd be blind as a mole. Rhapsody's panting slowed, before stopping altogether. It seemed victory was Rhapsody's, as far as Hazel was concerned. There were still three other enemies in the house, but Quillon was keeping two of them occupied. Gradually, Hazel's struggles ceased as her magic spluttered out and she groaned as her eyesight was undoubtedly weakening. She'd be sightless for a good five minutes, maybe ten if she wasn't allowed to sharpen her thoughts. Victory, indeed. For once, Rhapsody had one of the Magma Pistols under wraps and it wasn't a bluff. Hazel Spice was down for the count. Then everything changed.

It was less of a realisation and more of a suspicion. One that mounted. Grew. Bloomed into pure, unbridled terror. Mental waves snaked into Rhapsody's head, thoughts of blood, death, messy slaughter and shattered bones and more blood. Puddles of it. Oceans of it. It made Mistress Dread creep into her heart and clench it with her cold fingers. Rhapsody turned and ignored Hazel's bucking and frantic attempts to escape. She ignored the noises of toil and fighting below her. She ignored the slamming of her heart against her ribcage. She just turned and beheld the man in the doorway. The man who was gazing down at her with an expression so calm, so disturbingly statuesque, for it betrayed none of the turmoil and sheer evil within. It shrouded the raging, passionate urge to destroy, to drink, to kill. Rhapsody just looked and held the gaze, not daring to blink. The face at the window. The lookout, the watcher. Watching, always watching. Nikt's pet. The vampire, Caesar.