Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and I don't own this story.

LOUD AND CLEAR! I DO NOT, HAVE NOT AND WILL NOT EVER OWN THIS STORY!

This story is the property of Tang Guangzhen who was kind enough to give me permission to post this here. Any flames about that will be used to fry your ass.

Thank You


"'Cerridwen's cauldron is in Annwn,'" Megare declaimed, reading from a recently published book. Recently, at least, compared to the huge, ancient tomes, the scrolls in all manner of states of repair, codices and monographs that densely occupied the broad, polished wooden tables in the library. She continued "'Under the whirlpool, below the sea, across the sea, over the sea, under the sea, over the hill, between one thought and the next, between everything and betwixt every between.'"

Harry was sitting in a bay window seat; it couldn't have been real, this being basically an underground mansion, but Megare had done a marvelous job with the illusory aspects. His eyes locked with Bob's, as they both remembered the offhand comment Harry'd made in their dream last night. "Betwixt and between," Harry murmured. "Not like, feeling confused--it sounds like…it's the feeling I get from Cruachan."

"That is it, that is exactly," Megare said, whirling to point at Harry, making her long red woolen skirt flare. "I think you do not communicate with beautiful not-so-dead man, you do not send, do not receive--I think you are on the same…the same…" she sighed and slumped into a leather-padded hardwood chair at one of the vast, polished wooden tables. "Is why I look for what I mean, then try to find in new book, after I find in old book. To make easy to understand. My English…"

"It's not only your English, Megare," Bob said gently, laying a hand on her shoulder. "We understand that you don't communicate that well by verbalization--your ability to communicate with almost anyone, or anything, nonetheless, notwithstanding."

She quirked her mouth, looking up and sideways at him. "I make to look Greek so no one stares. Perhaps is wasted on you, as to most deceiving." She sighed.

"You make to look Greek?" Harry wondered.

"This face, this body," she said offhandedly, waving a listless hand at her general person. She did look Mediterranean, at least--quite beautiful, with olive skin; heavy, fine, straight black hair; full lips; large brown eyes; and a proud nose. Her face was heart-shaped, with prominent, slanting cheekbones.

"That's not what you really look like?" Harry puzzled. "I've never sensed anything…"

"I have looked like for so long is nothing now to sense, Harry. But. I find new translation--translations--of older words in these--" she indicated the literary accumulations across the tables. "I could not make English of, of words, of language so old."

"We do speak a number of different languages," Bob offered.

"Bob speaks a number of different languages that would be useful here," Harry said. "I speak most of the magical languages in question, but as far as translating ancient to modern…you'd have to ask Bob."

"This is why I look for modern translations. Is danger in being, sometimes, translations of translations of translations--" she made fluid yadda-yadda gestures with both hands, "--words are twisted, by translator, by time--but I know from where. You see?"

"You can follow the paths of the translations," Bob said. "So that if something dead-ends, or becomes nonsensical--or, if it becomes entirely inaccurate--you can backtrack."

"Yes, very good," Megare nodded. "Backtrack. I have found some new things, things I can show, read to you."

"Please," Bob said, with a short nod-bow in her direction. "Let us not delay you any longer."

She got up to lean across the breadth of the table she was sitting at, grabbing ineffectually for a book that was out of her reach, which Harry hopped up and pushed into her grasp.

"Thank you, sweet Harry. Here…"

"The book of Ballymote," Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "Fionn's window."

"Your intuition is indeed uncanny, my darling," Bob observed, taking a few casual steps to reach over and trace a line down Harry's back. Harry controlled a shiver and gave Bob a "later" look. Bob smiled a bit smugly, but desisted.

The "sun" was at their backs, shining through the huge bay windows, and their own shadows controlling the light level made the pages easy to decipher, though they were handwritten and recopied.

"That's Book of Ballymote 313--and that's it, Fionn's window," Harry said, pointing. "Most of the rest of that are different systems of Ogham."

"With a few exceptions," Bob said, indicating a number of other diagrams and notations. "But yes, that's it."

"I know why I point out. Why do you?" Megare asked.

"I was dreaming with Harry last night, and as he was easing into a less active sleep state, he mentioned both Fionn's window and the words 'betwixt and between'. That's far too much to be a coincidence, but Harry has a deeply sensitive feel for some things--he may simply have encountered the fact, as his mind wandered the various ethereal planes, that you were going to show us these things today."

"Or could mean something?"

"That is possible as well, but we shouldn't jump to conclusions. Incidentally, where is Cruachan? He might be able to help with this, though he's probably illiterate."

"He does not like wall in east wing. Support wall, he says. He fix it, or make stronger, if he cannot all fix. I wait to see," Megare said, shrugging. "Look here." She shoved the book of Ballymote out of the way and pulled a more recent publication in front of them. "This shows--" she held her hands out, as though pulling something apart. "Stretched, looking from the side."

"An exploded depiction of Fionn's window, yes," Bob said, and leaned over her shoulder to look. He noted the publication information and made a face. "I do not trust this author, nor this publisher. This house promulgates disinformation in the interests of profit. Not only that, the author used 'The White Goddess', a self-admitted twisting of history, as a source of--"

"Not to read whole book! Just look at picture."

Bob made a harrumphing sound, which made Harry turn his head away to hide his grin.

"See," she said, pointing. "Fionn's window is end-on view. This is side-on. I am right to say that way?"

"Yes, that's how it's put," Bob said.

The image was a foreshortened square divided into four smaller squares, each labeled; lines from the divisions converged into a foreshortened circle, also divided into four sections. The lines continued down, spreading out again to meet the corners of another foreshortened square, once again divided into four sections. Each section of the three levels was labeled in what Harry assumed was Irish, this being (ripped off with whatever degree of accuracy) from the Book of Ballymote. Unfortunately, Druidic magic was not a system he was familiar with. He knew elements common to most systems existed in it, but since all of Ireland's recorded history had been done by monks in monasteries in Latin (though the monks and the Irish church, an almost autonomous organization for centuries from Rome, were actually quite accurate in the works) and then burned to the last scrap by the English who were busy destroying all Irish literature, one had to wonder what was truly Druidical in nature and what was pieced together.

Next to it, the same figure was represented, but without the labeling; instead, ogham fews in different numbers and angles extended from the lines that connected the three flat plains--square, round, and square again. "This is significant," Megare announced. "Paths around and through."

"Indeed," Boomed the room's fireplace, and everybody lost it briefly, trying to keep all the loose paper from becoming airborne. "I am named after such a place--a path around, a path through. There are many such places in Eriu. Forgive me: Ireland. Though the name 'Cruachan' is also that of the stronghold of Connaght."

Harry collapsed on the window seat where he'd been, getting his breath back more quickly this time. "How's the wall?" he asked, buying time for Bob to steady Megare, who had been holding two tomes which, together, approached massing what she did.

"I have done what I can. I am sure Wizard Megare can shore up anything I might have missed; it is not my house," Cruachan managed to boom sadly. "Wizard Megare, I apologize for being unable to repair it entirely."

"You are a hearth imp," Megare said wryly. "You think a bomb hits and the house falls--you did something wrong. The supporting wall is good. But I am glad you are here; we have questions."

"I will provide any service I can, of course; you and yours have freed me from a particularly vile imprisonment. Can you imagine being a house spirit bound to a ruin, and not permitted to improve, protect or defend it? And, far most importantly, with no residents to assist and safeguard? Or to leave offerings," he added, sounding a bit sulky.

"Ick," Harry said feelingly. He hadn't thought of that. Being trapped for who knew how many centuries was bad enough, but schist. "That must've just really sucked. Past the usual unwilling bondage to a place thing, I mean."

"If I take your tone of voice correctly, yes, it did."

"Oh, by all means, feel free to work with his tone of voice. Sometimes it's the only way to communicate with him," Bob muttered, glancing out the nearest window, where there was a view of a small but deep lake, surrounded by trees, that Megare said was not far from the right door to the surface. Harry gave him a very-funny smirk. Bob had been hassling him about his vocabulary since he was eleven.

"Cruachan," Megare said--she never had any trouble pronouncing his name--asked "Clever imp, you are Irish, you are not Brit, but do you know Brythonic story?"

Cruachan appeared as his usual shifting in the air, across from Megare. His eyes were not only visible, but glowing more brightly. "I fear I do not know anything of depth, but I am versed in the basics."

"You wear translation. Say anything, anything in…Cymric, I might know of."

His grin that appeared out of the air (and could still put Harry on the verge of wetting his pants until he remembered it was just a grin) showed up. "I shall do my best, Wizard Megare." The grin moved no more than ever when Cruachan spoke.

"Grant, oh divine, thy protection,

and in protection, strength; and in strength,

understanding, and in understanding,

knowledge; and in knowledge,

the knowledge of justice; and in the knowledge of justice,

the love of justice--and in that love, the love of all beings;

and in the love of all beings, the love of the divine, for they

are one and the same."

Bob had risen slowly. "That's the Druid Invocation at the Thirteen Stones. How do you know it?"

"I am what you call Goidelic Celt; but not entirely ignorant of the Brythonic. At least…in my home, there was such knowledge."

Megare applauded softly. "Very good. You will be great help. I show these two why they are like they are--if I am right. That is what we find. I show them connections which are not connections; connections which are perfect communication, already knowing--perfect travel, already being there. You will help me?"

"Of course, if I can."

"Then do you have something to do with that, milady Megare?" Bob inquired politely. "It's true we encountered you and Cruachan at near to the same time on this trip. I don't think we can afford to ignore the possibility that your…unusual affinity with communication other than the verbal may be associated with Harry's and my current situation."

"Such as not knowing where Bob's skull is?" Harry grumped. "Did you find anything, Cru?"

"As you have described the noncorporeal signs to me--I fear not. I would detect a magical treasure of such power even asleep in my own chimney, were it in any part of a house even temporarily in my charge. Perhaps you and Wizard Megare will have greater fortune."

"Okay, here," Harry said, getting up, "why does it matter that Cruachan has some familiarity with Brythonic Celtic? Welsh, in this case, right?"

"Cymric," Megare said, for her, rather sharply, and fairly clearly.

"Sorry. Cymric." Harry smiled in genuine apology, and she couldn't help but smile back.

"Not important. Only that there are--is--were--sensing of the world which is not a sensing of this, of that, of ties between them--but a sensing of them as the same to begin with. Do you see? Perhaps he can help explain. Hear what he said, the Druid invocation; it did not say that one quality leads to another, but that one is inherent in another, and all are inherent in each other, yes?"

"Yeah, I got that," Harry nodded. He was interested, but the itch of Bob's missing skull was making him impatient, though he did his best to hide it. Megare was doing everything she could to help them, which was more than one could expect from most--practically any--wizards, unless there was something in it for them, too.

"In Ireland too," Cruachan said stentorily (as per usual), "when delving into the legends and lore, one is struck by the omnipresence of the Otherworld--the Celtic definition of it, that is. At any time, in the most unexpected places, the Otherworld can break through and envelop some hapless hero, carry the poor man or woman off to a parallel plane. I imagine it's actually quite inconvenient. Were my people heroes and not Druids, I would have cautioned them against approaching certain raths, springs, mounds, hills, and the like. Not that they would have listened." They were treated to the sound of Cruachan sounding disgusted. "Celtic heroes were brave and mighty, but had a bit left to be desired in the common sense department."

Harry dropped his head and chuckled.

Bob was pacing slowly, his arms folded, tapping the fingers of one hand on the other elbow, looking distant. "The concept does come very close to the ideas of certain physicists, regarding the presence of other physical, geometrical dimensions coexisting in a parallel reality with our own perceived human dimensions." He nodded at the disturbance in the air with red eyes that currently represented Cruachan. "Our friend here travels between many of them quite freely, where we would be at a loss even to visualize such a geometrical space. Humans, wizards or otherwise, would simply have to work with what we knew was there, and trust our knowledge--"

"Fly blind?" Harry asked quietly.

"In short, yes. We have no direct senses, and no means of direct access to or through these planes, naturally present in us. It would be similar to--expanding on your analogy--being confined to instrumental flight rules, rather than being able to use VFR."

Megare said "But some humans did work with such things, yes? The Celts of all sorts, once the culture had become…" she struggled a moment, frowning, as everyone tried to think of a word that might help, but before they could come up with anything, she came out with "…become enough similar, those that reached the islands. Those Celts that reached the west of Europe as well, but mostly the first I say, the islanders."

"Yes, the Druids certainly understood how to work with such things, and the various Celtic peoples seemed to have an innate understanding of the cosmological view--ability to actually walk through dimensional portals or not. The question is how we get an innate understanding of it, and then, if we can, figure out how to do something along those lines--at least well enough to verify what's happened to us, exactly," Harry pointed out. "We're trapped here until we do. I won't leave if it means anything might…" happen to Bob, of course, but that didn't need saying--everyone heard it.

"I may be of assistance," Cruachan offered, "but I would urge caution. I am not human, nor a Druid; you of wizardly persuasion--particularly Wizard Megare--would have to provide the plans, and instruct me carefully. I would not wish to injure any of you."

"No, we don't want that either, Cru, don't worry," Harry said, smiling at the clawed miasma that was somehow managing to project concern. "Don't be worried about that. No one will blame you for anything."

"That is not what concerns me," Cruachan grumped.

"Very good then, beautiful not-so-dead man, we must begin to find a way to find a way," Megare said firmly.

Bob grinned at her, bowing deeply over her hand. "I am at your service, madam, as always."

"What about me?" Harry wondered.

"Oh, we'll need you and Cruachan as well," Bob said offhandedly. "It's simply that Megare and I have…well. We've a great deal more experience than either of you in general, and I suspect--" he cut his eyes sideways to a wide-eyed, fake-innocence-projecting Megare, "--that our charming hostess knows many of the magical and physical facts Cruachan--who operates in these other dimensions on instinct, not by created and deliberate design--would not be able to adequately describe in a fashion we could use to create the necessary spells and energies."

"I'm sorry I asked. Okay, I'm the gopher," Harry smiled easily. "When it comes down to it, I do trust you guys a lot more than myself in something like this; you're right, you've…oh, you know. Been around a while."

"I think that is his way of saying we are aged and feeble," Megare said, raising her eyebrows.

"No, no, really, I mean you're wizards after all, and Bob's been dead--and you're totally fucking with my head, aren't you," he suddenly yelled, grinning and charging Megare to swing her up in his arms, threshold-carry fashion this time.

"You are so easy, sweet Harry," she sighed, rolling her eyes. Cruachan's teeth flashed terrifyingly and affectionately, and Bob was half doubled over controlling his laughter.

"I'll get you guys," Harry muttered.

"We're quite sure you will, my darling," Bob said, annoyingly patronizing, yet with the soft note in his rich voice that made Harry go all wobbly. Fortunately he remembered to put Megare down this time.


"How long are you going to be up here?" Bob asked quietly, as he stopped a few paces away. It was full dark; there was some light pollution near the horizon, but the zenith of the sky was dark and clear. Harry was sitting on a rock at the edge of that small, deep lake Megare had recreated so beautifully as a view from her library windows.

"Not sure," Harry said, throwing a rock out across the water. In the distance there was a soft plunk.

"It's not kind to Megare, you know. The actual location of her home is a secret to almost every magical personage alive, and you--"

"Do you see me calling down a storm?" Harry asked, turning in the dark to where he knew Bob was. The crescent moonlight glinted off that silver-bright blond hair. "I can, if you want."

"I know. I taught you how."

"You taught me the basics." Harry began juggling three little balls of werelight; he'd learned juggling early, from his father, of course. The little lights blurred into a cascading five-light pattern that was unbelievably intricate, too fast to follow. "Bob, you are the person I know the best and care about most in the world, and I am therefore gonna be a major, major asshole to you right now if you don't get the hell away before I get even worse, so go. Now. That's not a request."

"Harry…" Bob sighed. "I can go back inside, but there's only so far I can go from you, and you'd probably best try to relax about it, as it might take a bit to find out--"

"I hate that, Bob! So I thought I'd come out here and…" he sighed, muscles going loose, head lolling on his shoulders. "…and be a bastard to the fish, I guess. Big help." The little lights plopped one by one into the lake, fizzing out, probably not even waking the fish.

"You want me to be free," Bob said softly, "but you're feeling that your own freedom is in jeopardy--at least in the back of your mind, where you've shoved that thought so you don't have to look at it. Makes one feel a bit selfish, doesn't it?"

"Ah, Bob--" Harry broke off, slumping, running his fingers up over his scalp, hiding his face. "I just--the whole thing is--"

"Harry--my darling--" Bob touched his shoulder, and Harry shivered. Bob began to pet him, as he'd been doing since becoming (in whatever way, and whether in dream or waking life) material. An embrace might have been too much for Harry to take, might have felt confining enough to make him pull away, but this only made him slump back against the source of the soothing, rhythmic touch.

Bob murmured "It's all right. You only wanted a bit of room to breathe…I'm sorry I can't give you much of that right now."

"But it's only been a couple of days! Why…why?" he finished, looking the question up at Bob.

"Because you know that unless we can find out what's happened, our choices will be either my destruction, or your permanent joining to me. I can get a good deal farther from you than I could from the skull, at least, which I find a relief, but I can see how that might not be good for much cheering up to the one in your position."

"Greetings, Wizards," boomed the nearby trees, sending them both right over in surprise. Birds in the trees in question squawked and rustled.

"Shit on toast," Harry mumbled, making Bob stifle a laugh as they got back upright from their now-horizontal positions, off the rocks and in, thank providence, the grass, not the lake. "Hi, Cru," he called. "Let me guess. Megare says it's time for us boys to come inside now."

"Wizard Megare has news," Cruachan said, and they could see his slanted red eyes, grinning teeth, and flashing claws bouncing around the dark, forested area; it looked like a trailer for a horror movie (except with no blood), and by now they had learned it indicated great good spirits on Cruachan's part. "We have completed the first part of the puzzle! Not to minimize the Wizard of Bainbridge's contribution, of course. Or yours, Wizard Dresden--"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, does this mean she can unhook us without it killing Bob? Or…" Harry swallowed. "…worse?" Bob was lifting him effortlessly by the elbow. Stars, he was strong. This one, at least. Though the one Harry saw in the dreams looked like he'd been an athlete, too. "I mean--if we just…unbind him from me, without his skull, he'll…"

"I'll simply die, Harry," Bob said gently, "as I would have, on being executed centuries ago. I would not fear it, save that it would part me from you."

Harry reached for Bob in the dark and hung on.

There was a still moment, and then Harry backed up a bit, locking eyes with Bob, begging the question in the faint light--he could feel his own eyes filling, and hoped it wasn't obvious, and hoped Bob would say the thing he needed to hear--and then damned himself for hoping it, knowing what Bob would say, knowing what it would entail, and prayed he'd say the opposite, though he might not be leaving alone. Bob was his only family, in every way. Harry's life had never been, and aside from Bob was not now, such a meaningful and spectacular thing that it needed to continue--with him all, all alone, searching, failing to find, failing again. Helping people would be all he had. How long could only giving be enough?

"Oh, darling," Bob breathed, pulling him in close; Harry's head fell to his shoulder as he hid his face in Bob's neck. Bob cradled him with an arm around his waist and one hand threading through his hair. "Don't, don't look like that, I can't bear it. I don't…I don't know. I have learned a great deal. As you say…" he smiled into Harry's shoulder. "I do have a way with life, death, and the states which are neither, precisely. If there were any way--and there may be--I would not leave you. But I will not take the power of a living soul to give earthly life to one dead and crossed over, ever again."

Harry managed to lift his head, remembering they weren't alone. Cruachan had stopped bouncing, and his teeth were not in evidence. His claws weren't either, but Harry wasn't sure if that meant anything. In the darkness, he could be tracked--barring sorcerous help--only by his eyes, which were stationary at about Bob's waist level. "I had hoped the news would be more welcome," he said, controlling his voice. Sometimes he remembered; sometimes he didn't. "I beg you to consider that the specifics of the Wizard of Bainbridge's 'curse' are new to me; we had only the single discussion on the subject, mostly on how it affected the way the curse was controlling the raw material it was receiving from Wizard Dresden."

Harry raised his head. "Bob, he's right--I assumed you were…material, or…something, that just because you seem to weigh what a man your size would, and you're so strong, it couldn't be me that--I wanted it to mean you were a real human being. But you don't need to eat--at least, not as long as I do every now and then--you don't, uh--"

"No, I don't, at least not yet."

"And when we, uh, when you, erm--"

"Yes, that seems to be the curse capitalizing on what's available as well," Bob said, smiling and stroking Harry's back.

"So that's it, really," Harry muttered. "The curse has changed--somehow, something--you're attached to me, a living man, not to a skull, and so now the specifics of the curse are creating a far more complete simulacrum of a human. But you aren't. Aren't…human--physically, I mean--" he hastened to finish, but Bob caught his shoulders very gently.

"No," he said, softly. "Not truly human. But I am still fortunate beyond any reasonable expectation."

"This is part of what Wizard Megare wishes to discuss," Cruachan boomed, taking the opportunity to jump in. There was a panicked rustling all around; then, sensing no predators, disgruntled day creatures crawled back into their dens and frazzled nocturnal ones got over their fright and continued their business, and Harry desperately tried to keep from laughing his ass off. Only a pinch from Bob, who was also fighting a grin, saved him.


"News is good, and news is not so good. My lovely not dead lord of Bainbridge, I think your skull is…"

"Gone," Bob sighed, slumping in the chair he'd collapsed into after they came inside. Cruachan had conducted them to a sitting room off of Megare's own bedroom; she was wearing a red satin nightgown that, speaking in terms of skin coverage, was modest enough, and it didn't seem to occur to her that either of them would give a damn what she was wearing. She had books, papers, and scrawled notes scattered across a low, heavy, mahogany coffee table; a fire burned in the fireplace--how did she keep this place so well hidden when it had so many chimneys?--and Cruachan was comfortably ensconced therein, his eyes glowing happily.

"What you said, Harry, that it--came apart--"

"He asked rather sarcastically if it'd suddenly lost its molecular cohesion," Bob supplied, while Harry, sitting on the floor, leaning against his leg and the overstuffed chair, gave him a look.

"It wasn't sarcasm," he muttered. "It was panic. I was a little worked up at the time, as you may recall."

"What you have been doing--the dreaming, I mean--must be part of it, must be why there is connection at all," Megare continued, poking a particular open codex closer to them with one small bare foot. "There is no record of it exactly that I can locate--and I can locate many, many things--but I am of the opinion--here, look, this one, and these…"

"Of course," Bob said finally, nodding slowly as he caught up with her thought process.

"I'm kind of young here," Harry said, waving exaggeratedly for attention.

Bob said "Forgive us, Harry. If, after taking the specifics of the curse and the spells that would be necessary, the power and where its source would be, one may extrapolate from what happened in these three cases--you see here in the first one, in which the instrument of entrapment, a heirothica, was damaged, but not destroyed, by some creature; it's recorded here as a catoblepas--" Bob rolled his eyes, "--though I doubt that rather strongly--they were chimeras of Ethiopian derivation, and I believe Pliny first described the--"

"Nobody's young enough for this."

Megare lowered her head to hide a smirk. Harry's tension was not funny, but Bob's verbosity was.

"I'm sorry," Bob said, smiling sourly at his own ability to digress, and stroking Harry's hair and shoulders. "In short--though we will be going over the specifics later; this involves things you need to know--the purpose for the preservation spells on my skull ceased to exist--the skull's purpose itself had been transferred to you. With nothing to…maintain it's portion of the curse, it literally fell to dust. Human bone simply doesn't last that long without some form of preservation. Certainly not being dragged from pillar to post for centuries and ending up bouncing along in a satchel, even on the back of an exquisite young man."

"Well I know that--um," Harry finished, hearing the last part through his impatience, and grinned briefly at the floor. "Don't do that to me. Okay, so…we did something that there's no record of, but it's not like we made a record of it. Because there's no record doesn't mean it never happened. Neither of us would ever have told anyone that I would allow you to do that--it might give them ideas about me, about what they could use me for..."

"You say to me," Megare pointed out, sipping from her wine glass. They were all similarly served with the wine and substantial, nutritious hors d'ouvre trays Megare seemed to favor over sit-down dinners, but so far she was the only one partaking, and she was only picking at her food. Her wine was going down a little faster, at about the same rate as the frown lines on her smooth forehead deepened.

Harry was quiet a moment, and so was Bob, and Harry finally said very softly "Well, Megare…it's only you."

"And it was only me," Bob pointed out sharply. "Harry, you are too trusting, you have always been too trusting."

"I didn't let Megare in my brain, in my mind--I only told her it happened, and only when it became something of what you have to admit is an emergency. I've known Megare since I was, what, fifteen, sixteen, something."

"And you knew Justin even longer than that," Bob growled.

Harry stood and turned on them. "What are you guys trying for here, anyway? Are we gonna work on this, or are we gonna talk about how I'm the kind of grinning dink you could sell a perpetual motion machine to?"

Bob sighed. "You have a point. That's an argument for another time; our situation now is more important."

"Indeed," Megare said. "Is very important. You cannot leave here as you are, and there is no skull now to even try to fix you back with."

"Wait--if there's no skull, why can't we leave? Except for the--well, isn't he bound to me now? That would matter, in terms of…other people…monitoring the state of his…binding. He's still bound."

"He is bound to you," Megare said, "because you partly took place of skull, in some of parts that matter. I know some about Brythonic universal view. You bring him, there, imp sitting with his big fuzzy behind in my fire--" (Cruachan grinned a moment at this) "--and he knows some more, about some different things, but similar. With Bob, and me, and all of us--Harry, we are upset because…it was close. It was close that I thought in time, it was close that I was watching, thinking of you because you were coming to the continent, it was close--you are very, very lucky this happened when it did," she said, staring him right in the eyes and speaking very clearly--it sounded odd coming from her, unless she was talking to Bob; it made one pay attention, especially when her deep, rumbly-to-clear voice went even deeper like that.

Harry got up and went to sit next to her on the couch she was half-reclining on. She bent her knee to make room, then straightened her leg, just propping it across his lap instead of rearranging herself. He rested a hand on it absently and continued "Why is it so lucky?" His voice was quiet and careful. "I get that you were watching me, you were available when I called you--and thanks for the cell number when I turned twenty one, by the way. I bet there isn't a service in the world that could trace you, or knows how you fit in to their switching systems."

"There's not, and it is lucky because--since what you have been doing, this would have happened eventually, yes? But you were here, and no one will find you here. I do not know if your Council in Chicago know the skull is gone. I do not know if they know if not-dead man is still contained by curse. But my thought is they may know both things. They may be finding where you went--not hard to trace, even for the non-sorcerous. But they will not find you here."

"Megare is as old as I am, at least," Bob said quietly. "Including my time spent…less substantial than I am now. Or older; I've never had the poor manners to ask. But I do know that the Council we deal with has no power over her, though they know of her existence; in fact, I know of no Council that considers her under their jurisdiction, nor that she considers to have any authority over her. They are all annoyed that they cannot control her…but they do not particularly fear her--at least, they never have. They do not regard her as a threat, which is unusual; Wizard's Councils generally regard anything they do not control as a threat."

Megare shrugged and had another slug of wine. "I am not a threat," she said. "I live my life. I do my help here, my changes there. I harm no one. But biggest reason they do not fear me? I am dead, most believe. Some believe I may be alive, are not sure. But none know, for certain true, that I live."

"It probably took many centuries--I won't speculate any farther than that--for the oldest and most powerful wizards to realize that Megare, despite being very powerful, and--judging by her ability to accomplish new things that no one could track or explain, was apparently working to expand that power-- seemed never to do it in any manner that could be construed as…dishonorable, even for the mundane race of humanity."

Megare nodded toward Bob. "Thank you, beautiful not-so-dead man. When they realized I was a fool and an unreasoning idealist, they put me in the same category as tornados and shark attacks. Never know; if it hits, problem, but odds are it will not. Then I plan my own death. They stop worrying much at all. The end."

Harry was staring at her. "Uncle Justin doesn't…I never…we didn't talk about you, and I never thought it was weird at the time, because I loved you, I couldn't talk about you enough with Bob. But I never…he didn't send me to see you. While I was in Europe the first time--it was you."

Bob nodded. "Megare contacted me; we arranged your visit here. Afterward, I told Justin we had met with Megare, in a location of her choice--I could lie to him so long as I did not technically break the truth; that's very easy to do with an egomaniac, they never suspect--and that I learned nothing significant from the meeting. After all, I was supposedly almost completely disempowered at the time. To forestall his further queries--and threats--I told him Megare had surprised us, which would not, by that time, surprise him; and that I knew nothing more of her now than I had before I met her, save what she currently looked like, which was already known. I also dropped a few technically-true hints about the false death she was arranging at the time."

Harry smiled at Megare. "He probably thought you tried to subvert me--take advantage of my disgraceful bloodline."

"I did," Megare said, and finished the wine in her glass. Harry reached for the bottle, and she held the glass out for him to fill, continuing "I hoped what we talked about might make things easier for you, help you with your uncle, without getting you in trouble, and without your losing…you. The soul I saw in you." She smiled a little, then sipped from the glass. "I am sorry I lacked the power to…arrange a way to take you from him, then. But so much depends on circumstance."

"Still…you told me to contact you if I needed you--if I felt like the…the soul-searching was all too much."

"That would have been through me," Bob interjected with a gentle smile. "We did have a plan for that much."

"So, you spelled me not to mention you to Uncle Justin--to blank you out when it came to him, give programmed responses," Harry eyed Megare. "And I know you did the responses thing, because I don't remember any of it."

She shrugged again, nodding a mea culpa. "Sorcerous hypnotic suggestion. It did not change your memories--only added some things about what you would say to Justin Morningway. Morningway, that--that--" she whirled, hair flying, and spat into the fireplace, then immediately looked horrified. "Imp! I am sorry, very sorry, not used to people in my fireplace. Especially with fire in it. Very sorry, helpful imp."

"No damage was done," Cruachan boomed. "Please, continue. This is quite fascinating--involving not only my rescuer, but magical systems to which I have no exposure."

"There isn't much left to say," Harry sighed. "Bob's skull may have fallen to dust--but there was no dust..." he looked quietly thoughtful.

"By now, Harry, there was likely no real skull, just a facsimile created by spells and stabilizing forces. Any true matter left probably dissolved very nearly the way you said, near the molecular level. But the forces, the manipulation--the skull didn't disappear. Along with the guidelines of the curse…I am the skull, my darling."

Harry stared.

"In part, at least. It's the reason I'm more than a visible nothingness that could see and hear--the forces that made the skull 'real', respond to gravity, to the pressure of touch, to texture, why I could feel through it in a manner. I'm considerably more than the skull, but those aspects of the curse--such as the ones that use you to create for me a body that I cannot tell from my real one--are likely what is holding me together. Some of my senses, of course, are coming from you, and I'm using your…hardware, if you will, to process them."

"If we leave--if we go where they can--can tell something is very, very different, and that you have at least some of your power back…"

"Yes, they will know. The local Councils, and then our own. I don't know what they'll do, but it's certain they'll do something. My 'punishment'--and, more to the point, my control--are considered their responsibility."

Harry looked back at Megare. "That's why you said there was good news and bad news."

She nodded, gazing into her wine glass.

"Bob has a real body--okay, it feels real to him--um, and me--just like the skull felt--was, for all practical purposes--real, even though it was a creation of artificial manipulation of--the relevant physical forces, whatever the hell they are. But you're still bound to me, like you were to the skull. And if we free you--"

"I will most likely die, in the natural course of things," Bob said quietly, expression at rest.

"That ain't an option, Bob."

"Not while you live, my darling, no. It isn't, for it would separate us."

"And if we leave here--"

"If you leave here and do not find someplace Councils and their wardens cannot find you, who lives and dies when will not be your choice no matter anything," Megare finished morosely, and had another swallow of wine. "I…do not like unkind people."

"I'm not real fond of 'em myself," Harry sighed, rubbing her satin-covered leg idly, eyes focused in the middle distance. He sighed again. "I'd better eat before I make Bob hungry."

She moved her leg so he could get up, and the rest of dinner was a quiet affair, Cruachan enjoying his cozy flame-filled stone chamber, the other three speaking idly of this and that, but mostly just pondering.