Chapter Ten: Summoning

Klavier slouches down in the passenger's seat, his wounded shoulder held close to his center of balance, his blue eyes slitted as he stares out at the road.

Ema tries not to watch him too closely. She tries not to notice the differences in his body posture—the way he sits more ferally now, as though ready for attack at any time. She tries not to notice the way his eyes dart towards any motion, as a dog's would. She tries not to notice the smells that fill the car—blood and gunpowder and adrenaline, both hers and his, and every breath she takes only seems to make the adrenaline smell stronger.

(She tries not to think of the way he snarled, a show of teeth and fury that was like nothing she has seen from him before, and placed his body between her and the monster leaping at them. She tries not to think of the way the gun kicked in her hand, and the relief she felt when Klavier flung the clearly beaten werewolf away. She tries not to think of how much she felt, in those few seconds—not just herself and her own body but his, the burning of his hip, the pain of tooth and claw digging into flesh, and—)

"Fraulein." Klavier has turned his head to stare at her. "Ema. Are you all right?"

"Of course." She snaps out the response, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

Klavier opens his mouth, closes it without making a sound, and instead slowly reaches his right hand into his pocket. Pulling the magatama out, he dangles it between them for a moment before depositing it into one of the cup holders.

How many locks had he seen? How hard had it been for him to set aside the talisman that let him see them—to give her the benefit of trusting her words more than what his own senses told him?

"I'm..." Ema's fingers roll around the rubber of the steering wheel, leaving sweat traces in their wake. "That's the first time I've actually shot anyone."

"Danke." Klavier's eyes are wide and guileless as he looks across the car at her. "For protecting us both."

"Well, it's my job and you were trying to protect me, so..." If she keeps talking words will just start spilling out of her, so Ema forces herself to stop, to put them into some semblance of order. "It was... intense."

"Violence usually is." Klavier sits up a bit straighter, his right arm moving away from his body—his posture looking more human, and Ema shouldn't be as grateful for that as she is.

"Not just the violence, though that... I'm going to have to tell Edgeworth what happened, finagle an explanation for the missing round into a report somewhere." Ema bites down hard on her bottom lip. She had known there would be lying involved in keeping this secret, but somehow she hadn't expected it to bother her so much. "But... during the fight... I could..."

"You could feel me?" Klavier arches an eyebrow. "My emotions?"

A faint flush creeps across Ema's face as she nods. "Yes. Not just you, but you were brightest. How much you wanted to protect me—protect the whole pack. How much you hurt. How much you wanted to—to Change."

"Like what happened yesterday, but worse. More intense." Klavier frowns, resting his head back against the seat. "Because we are closer to the full moon? Because it always becomes more intense the more it's used? We have so many questions and so few answers."

"We do and it..." Ema blinks, refusing to let her eyes tear up. She is stronger than this. She has been through worse than this. "It's... really weird. I knew what I was getting into, I chose this, but for the first time today I wondered..."

"You wondered if it was really the right thing to do, becoming a werwolf." Klavier's lips turn up into a faint, sad smile. "There is no shame in that, Fraulein Wissenschaft. I think I would have been more surprised if you never doubted at all."

"But we haven't done anything wrong." Ema grits her teeth, trying to keep her attention focused on the road—trying to keep the car moving as fast as feasibly possible, because they are heading from one disaster right into the next. "You didn't ask to get shot. You didn't do anything to warrant us getting attacked in there. Terran didn't do anything to your bastard of a brother—sorry, I just..."

"Don't apologize for insulting him. Especially not if he really has done something to Clay." Klavier's lips pull back from his teeth, a very canine snarl on a human face. "Clay has done nothing. Apollo and I did nothing other than show what was really there. For Kristoph to do what he is doing..."

She can feel it again, a sharp lance of anger and a deep throbbing ache of grief, and Ema can't quite keep a whimper locked behind her teeth as her knuckles turn white.

"Ach, Ema—I'm sorry." Klavier reaches towards her and then pulls away. "We'll figure out what's going on. Apollo and I did not have this problem before... I'm sure either Agent Lang or Navon or one of the others will be able to help us. There's no need to worry."

"I'm just... a little overwhelmed." Ema lets out a breath she hadn't intended to be holding. "And, honestly... a little scared. It's making me doubt myself and my decisions, which is silly and ridiculous."

"And very human." Klavier's smile is softer this time. "It's all right to doubt and be wary. Just don't doubt so much that you fight the transformation or hurt yourself. Trust me, it isn't worth it. And the Change... as strange and disorienting as it is, I... might well have chosen it for myself, if given the option. At least I am quite content with who it has made me."

Ema turns a little smile on the rock-star, ensuring that he hasn't picked up the magatama again—ensuring he won't know that she's lying to him. "I haven't noticed a single change in you, Gavin. Still the same glimmerous fop."

The smirk that Klavier gives her is both knowing and grateful. "Why change when you are already perfect, ja?"

"Uh huh. You just keep telling yourself that." Pressing down a little bit harder on the accelerator, Ema weaves her way onto the highway.

The sooner she and Klavier get back to the rest of the pack, the sooner they can get Clay back, the sooner there will be time for existential self-doubt coupled with lots and lots of scientific experiments.

XXX

"I can't give you an answer." Lang growls out the words to a pacing Apollo, though his voice softens when he continues. "I wish I could, Firebolt, I really do. All I can tell you is that there shouldn't be pack-bonds between all of you yet, because you can't be pack until you're actually a werewolf, and that your pack-bonds sound really intense even for a proper pack."

Sebastian sits at the kitchen table, out of the way, his fingers fiddling with the edges of his gloves.

"I'm not trying to be confrontational or accusatory, I just..." Apollo buries both hands in his hair. "We need to know what's going on, right? We need to be in control if we're going to be meeting with other packs tomorrow, and I don't feel like we are right now."

Lang sighs. "Part of that's because their alpha's about two steps away from fraying like a gnawed rope."

"I am not!" Apollo's shout fills the whole house. "And that analogy doesn't even make sense."

"You are super nervous, Polly." Trucy reaches out slowly, linking her fingers through Apollo's. "Everyone can see it, and it does make things feel kind of tingly and tense, like there's little lightning bolts all over everything. I get why—we all do, we know we need to get Clay back—but... well..."

"I'm trying." Apollo lowers his head, stops his pacing, though Sebastian can see a faint tremble start at the man's hands and thread its way through his whole body. "Believe me, I'm trying, I just—"

"You just need things to be going our way, for once." Klavier saunters into the kitchen, a grin on his face and his jacket slung over his right shoulder. He smells like blood and moves with a limp still, but there is nothing but confidence in his body language as moves up to Apollo and slings his right arm across Apollo's shoulders. "Believe me, I understand. Fraulein Scientist and I share your frustration with the current situation."

Apollo leans his head against Klavier's chest, their bodies seeming to meld against each other far too easily, and draws deep breaths. "You're okay. You're really..."

"A little banged up, but overall doing quite well." Shrugging out of his torn jacket, allowing the bloody fabric to fall to the floor, Klavier pulls apart holes in his black shirt to show the scabbed skin underneath. "See? At the rate this is healing, I should be back to one hundred percent in an hour or so. Well, other than my leg."

Lang makes a disconcerting little growling noise deep in his throat.

Apollo turns a glare on him. "Don't say it. Even if it's weird, I don't want to know right now."

Holding up both hands, Lang leans back against the wall. "As you wish, Firebolt."

Apollo gives a little huff and turns his attention back to Klavier. Reaching up, he grabs Klavier at the nape of his neck, a firm, solid hold, and bends Klavier's body down so that Klavier's head rests against Justice's shoulder. Tension eases out of both their bodies despite the awkwardness of Klavier's position, and Apollo's face shifts so that it's resting against Klavier's neck.

"We'll get him back." Klavier's voice is filled with firm conviction. "We'll keep all of them safe."

A sigh rips itself from deep in Apollo's body, and he releases Klavier. "I know we will. And I'm glad you're all right."

"Always, Herr Forehead." Klavier gives a little grin and wave and moves away from Apollo's side—moves toward Sebastian, Sebastian realizes belatedly, as Apollo moves toward Ema, greeting her in a bit more human fashion than he greeted Klavier. "Hallo, Herr Erste."

Sebastian stutters out a few sounds and eventually manages a hello of his own.

Klavier settles down in the chair next to Sebastian, sitting sideways on it, his knees almost touching Sebastian's. Sebastian's eyes keep flicking from Klavier to the blood-stained jacket on the floor.

"Would it make you feel better if I went and picked it up?" Klavier raises one pale eyebrow.

"Um... yes, actually." Sebastian can feel his face flushing, his fingers twisting together. "Prosecutor Edgeworth probably wouldn't appreciate blood on his kitchen floor."

"That is true. Herr Katze has put up with a great deal from us already. I should not burden him further with beastly slovenliness." Pushing himself back to his feet, Klavier claims his jacket from the floor and hangs it neatly off his chair before settling back down. "Better?"

Sebastian gives a little nod.

Reaching out slowly, Klavier settles a hand on Sebastian's knee. "I am sorry, mein Freund. I know this has been difficult for you."

Tears prick at Sebastian's eyes, and he blinks them frantically away as he shakes his head. "It's not your f-fault. I just..."

"I can be sorry even if I am not blaming myself, though the fact that you do not blame me is a precious, precious gift, Sebastian." Scooting forward, crowding a bit closer into Sebastian's personal space, Klavier lifts his arm and slips it gently around Sebastian's shoulders. "I felt you, earlier. I am sorry I couldn't help."

"You were busy being mailed by a w-werewolf." Sebastian shakes his head, though he leans into Klavier's embrace, finding it comforting and warm. "I should have been able to h-handle it."

"There is nothing, not even being mauled by a werewolf, that makes me comfortable with not being able to help my friends." Klavier's free hand rises, pushes Sebastian's messy bangs back into a semblance of order.

"The detective and Ms. Cykes helped me. And Mr. Justice." Sebastian's eyes flick to Apollo again, where he and Ema seem to be having a lively but friendly conversation, Ema jotting down notes in her little werewolf notebook. "And when they came back... whatever Ms. Cykes can do, making the wolf and the pain settle down, is really quite remarkable. Also another thing that Agent Lang is unfamiliar with, and may or may not be related to our strange pack bonds."

"I have rather a lot to catch up on, I take it." Klavier's hand pats against Sebastian's shoulder. "I'll trust you to fill me in. Though first things first, do we have any sort of plan about how to get Mr. Terran back from—"

Maya Fey appears in the kitchen doorway, and Sebastian has to pause and blink and stare for a moment along with everyone else. She is in what must be full ceremonial gear, long flowing robes in white and purple, jewelry woven into her hair. "All right, everyone! Pearly and I are ready to try summoning Clay, so if anyone with a strong attachment to him or desire to have him back would follow me..."

Everyone in the room starts following her. Lang hesitates, just for a moment, and then shrugs and joins the exodus.

Klavier rises to his feet, expression shifting between grim and a half-feral showing of teeth. Then he looks back at Sebastian, still sitting in his chair, and holds out a hand. "Do you want to come? If you don't want to, that's fine."

"I didn't..." Sebastian swallows. "I want him back, for the pack's sake, but I didn't... know him very well."

"He saved my life. He's becoming a good friend of mine." Klavier keeps his hand out.

Sebastian considers for another moment before putting his hand in Klavier's and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

He may not know Clay Terran personally very well, but he knows what it's like to be trapped somewhere you don't want to be. If there's anything he can do to help, he'll certainly try.

XXX

Maya situates everyone as best as she can in the living room, trying to arrange the circle so she can have a good flow of energy. She's removed most of the furniture and decorations, packing it off into various bedrooms, and hopes Edgeworth won't mind too much when he gets home. It's usually far easier to beg forgiveness than permission, though, and what she's doing right now is important.

Apollo sits to her right, a buzzing ball of tension and grief and vibrating Moon energy. (He had been getting better, finally, putting his grief to rest, and she hates seeing him torn open like this again.) Klavier sits at Maya's left hand, an attempt to keep the Moon energy balanced; he is constantly shifting, craning his neck so that he can look across the circle at Apollo. Next to Apollo sits Trucy, then Ema, then Gumshoe, then Pearly, then Lang, Athena, Sebastian, and back around to Klavier.

It's not perfect, but she can already feel the unity of their desire, falling into a usable pattern against even the few Kurain artifacts she and Pearly were able to set up, and Maya hopes that it will be enough to work with.

"All right." Settling down at the head of the circle, Maya looks around at the assembled people. All the blinds on the windows have been closed, allowing most of the light to come from the lanterns that she and Pearly hastily put up. "This is what will hopefully happen. I'll try to summon Clay's spirit from wherever it's being held captive. If it works, he'll possess me, and then be able to step out of my body and join us like he normally does. We'll all have burgers to celebrate, and it'll be great. If it doesn't... we'll come up with another plan."

If it doesn't work it means that either they have him bound more tightly than Maya can summon—a frightening proposition—or there is no Clay Terran left to summon. Neither of those is an outcome that Maya really wants to think about.

Closing her eyes, Maya loops her fingers together in front of her magatama. "All right, everyone. Quiet from now until I say it's all right to speak or until I start talking like Clay. Concentrate on what you know of Clay Terran. Concentrate on bringing him home."

It is always frightening when she first dives into the spirit realm—though it's more frightening when she can't, more terrifying when a lack of practice makes a place that has been her second home for as long as she can remember a land she can barely glimpse, let alone visit. Everyone glows, a fierce, vibrant energy. It is their spirits, Maya knows, the essence of who they are, still encased in their human bodies. She couldn't call one of them—the connection of flesh and spirit is stronger than the pull of any medium in all but a few rare instances.

She doesn't want one of them, anyway. She wants one of the drifting ones, the lonely ones—the ones who gather around any time there is a medium offering a doorway, eager to take it. Not just any drifting spirit, though. She needs Clay Terran.

She needs the astronaut that Ema pictures, sparkling eyes and a quick tongue that speaks eagerly of what he is doing and what it will mean for the future.

She needs the stalwart support that Klavier envisions, a man who does not have to be there but extends the hand of friendship anyway.

She needs the friend that Apollo aches for, grieves for, desperately needs, and if he is anywhere out there, if he is within reach at all—

There is a flicker, a brief flash that is almost a connection. It is familiar to Maya—she felt it so many times during her first year working with Nick, when they needed Mia's help and she could only sometimes reach her sister. Before Maya's consciousness can fade back, leaving room for Clay to step into her body, something red and fiery snaps up between them, and Maya is left blinking and shaking and very much still herself.

"Mystic Maya!" Pearl sprints across the circle, skidding to a halt in front of Maya, one of her hands settling on each of Maya's shoulders. "Are you all right? What was that?"

"What happened?" Apollo's voice is a half-octave too high, barely controlled fear that wants to turn into anger. In someone with Moon blood—someone who is a Moon alpha—that is dangerous, and Maya forces her body to work as it should.

Straightening, she pats Pearl on the shoulder and faces Apollo squarely. "He hasn't been destroyed. He's still out there. But something's keeping him away from me, preventing him from coming."

"What is it?" Apollo's lips pull back from his teeth. "How do we overcome it?"

"I... don't know." Maya hates saying the words, disappointing all the faces that are turned to her for answers. "I've never experienced something like this before. It has to be one of the other bloodlines keeping him tied down. I can't imagine what else it would be. But unless we know who it is and what they're doing... if we knew where they were keeping him, we could try to get closer, and that might help, but..."

"There's someone else you could channel." Klavier frowns down at the floor, his words slow and grating, sounding as though they burn his throat. "Someone else who knows where Clay is and what they have done to him. Someone who is working with them and is thus likely not guarded against your attempts."

"No!" Trucy and Apollo speak in unison, and Klavier cringes back, his head turning to the side.

Trucy shakes her head at Maya. "You can't, Aunt Maya. If Kristoph's been told about how your bloodline works—if he has control of your body—"

Maya looks into Pearly's eyes, biting down on her bottom lip as she does. "Do you think you could do the Spirit Severing Technique if you needed to? If he tried to..."

What? If he tries to what? Maya has heard all about Kristoph's many and varied crimes. (It took her years and a very good bottle of wine from the Kurain cellars to get the whole story, but Nick can never keep a secret from her indefinitely.) What will he think to do with her body if he overcomes her will and the boundaries she will put on his actions while in control—a possibility not because she is weak but because he is a vicious, ruthless, amoral spirit whose goal in death seems to be torturing three people, two of whom are currently in the room with her?

Pearly thinks long and hard before nodding, her hands clutching Maya's tight. "I can do it. I won't need to—you're strong enough to handle any nasty old ghost, Mystic Maya—but if I need to I'll be able to banish him again. I promise."

It's not a promise Pearly would make lightly, Maya knows. Drawing a breath, Maya looks around the circle once more. "It's a good idea. I talked about it with Nick yesterday." Nick had been adamantly against it, but again, easier to ask forgiveness than permission, and the situation has changed since she and Nick last talked. "Anyone who doesn't want to be here while I do this is welcome to leave."

Her eyes track to Klavier first, and he finally raises his head, giving it a little shake and her a sad smile. "He is my brother. I am not going to suggest this and then walk away, leaving you to deal with it. Besides, it will be somewhat nice to face him when I am not half-dead and can actually articulate my accusations and defenses."

Maya's gaze slides across the circle to where Apollo sits.

Apollo's mouth sets in the stubborn, mulish expression that means he isn't going to be budged. "I'm going to be here. He owes me explanations, and I owe him a punch or three for everything he's done, to me and Mr. Wright and Klavier and everyone else."

Both Maya's eyebrows arch up. "If you could not administer them while he's in my body, I'd appreciate it."

"Right. Uh. Well." Apollo turns slightly red, rubbing at the back of his head. "I'll be good. Promise."

Maya's eyes slide to the young woman next to Apollo. Trucy gives a little shrug. "I hate him, sure, for what he did to Polly and Daddy and Klavier, and for using me when I was little. But I doubt he even remembers me—I didn't even rate on his need-to-eliminate list—and I'm smart enough not to let my emotions cloud my judgment."

She is far too smart for her age, and Maya sees too much of her own reflection in Trucy's eyes and stubborn, shining cheerfulness. Trucy is someone who won't be broken, who wears her love and her happiness like a shield to cloak herself and those she cares about, hoping it will be enough to stave off the horrors of the world at large.

Turning her eyes to her own hands, Maya blinks away tears. Damn, but Nick's managed to build a good family around himself.

And Maya's not going to let anyone hurt that family, not if she can possibly help it.

Resuming her summoning posture, Maya smiles at Pearly. "Back to your position. And let's see about getting some answers here."

XXX

Klavier can feel the energy building in the room again. It's a different type of energy than what he feels from the other wolves, more a shimmering, shivering sensation, like a note just on the edge of hearing, and it makes the hairs on his arms stand on end.

Sebastian's hand finds his, and he squeezes it tightly, trying to give as much comfort as he can. Apollo and Trucy are both watching him from across the circle, and he smiles at them, steadying himself on the firm hull of Apollo's defensiveness.

This isn't something Kristoph is making them do, some ploy of his brother's that they're walking into. This is something they are choosing to do, so that they can get answers. This is something they are in control of, and Klavier isn't going to be afraid.

(He can smell his fear, a faint, subtle tang in the air around them, but maybe none of the others can, and if no one else notices then it isn't really real.)

Watching Kristoph possess Maya stops Klavier's breath in his chest. It is strange to see her features shift, becoming far too similar to what he sees in the mirror every day—to see Kristoph's face surrounded by dark hair, when it has always been light—to smell the change in Maya's scent, a cloying, dank undertone joining what had been airy and light—

Kristoph's eyes fly open and he looks around the room, disbelief and confusion evident for one long second before he bursts out laughing. "You didn't—really. Oh, how very kind of you. I've wanted a body so very badly, you know, and though this one isn't quite what I had been thinking of, I suppose I can make do. It's—"

"Kristoph." Klavier cuts his brother off, his ears almost bleeding with the dissonance that he hears—Kristoph's voice, Kristoph's low tones, but also Maya's voice, Maya's body stretched into unfamiliar shapes. "What have you done with Clay Terran?"

Kristoph raises a hand to stroke along Maya's long dark hair. "Is that what this is about? You'll give me Phoenix's little vixen in return for information on a ghost? I thought you, at least, had more moral fortitude than that, Justice."

Kristoph's eyes cut across to Apollo, who is sitting frozen, horror and rage both written across his features, into his smell. (Into the pack bonds, Klavier can feel it, how hard Apollo is hanging on to his humanity and his control, and he wants to help but he doesn't know how. This is terrible for him, seeing his brother possessing a young woman he respects but doesn't know all that well yet; how much more terrible for Apollo, seeing his fallen mentor in the body of a woman who is close to him and Trucy and Phoenix?)

"Kristoph." Klavier puts all the demand of a younger brother into his voice, and Kristoph's eyes swing back to him, away from taunting Apollo. "What have you done with Mr. Terran?"

"I warned him, you know." Kristoph leans back, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. "I told him to stay out of it if he didn't want to be hurt—if he didn't want to possibly be destroyed. He didn't want to listen to me, though, and now the people that I warned him about have him."

Apollo lets out a low, rolling growl. "What are they planning on doing to him? Why are they interested in him?"

"They have no interest in him, per se." Kristoph flicks his fingers in a dismissive gesture. "He's just one more ghost—one more echo of despair and frustration created by this world. But you, Justice—they have a great deal of interest in you. You never seem able to let things go, you see—it's actually a defining characteristic of your bloodline—and that could be problematic for them."

"What do you know about bloodlines?" The voice is unexpected, coming from Shi-Long Lang where he lounges at seeming ease next to Pearl Fey. His tone is condescending, dripping scorn and disbelief, and his eyes as he looks at Kristoph are the eyes of an alpha staring at a rotten piece of meat, disgusted and disdainful.

"More than you'd think, old wolf." Kristoph has never been one to tolerate insults well, though his face shows his fury more openly now than it ever would have in life. "You'd think the Moon, of all people, would acknowledge that the dead can hold power, but perhaps you're too busy chasing your tails to notice."

"What kind of power?" Lang sneers, leaning forward and resting his head on one upturned knee. "The power to scare children and little old ladies?"

"The same powers we had when alive, but without the limitations of the flesh. Yours isn't the only or the most interesting bloodline, wolf." Kristoph tosses his head back, his eyes blazing bright blue in Maya's face. Raising one hand, he begins to sketch runes in the air.

"Stop it!" Pearl yells the command, her voice shrill but certain, her hands moving in a complicated series of gestures.

Klavier and Apollo both move, each grabbing one of Kristoph's arms.

Kristoph turns his head, looking from Apollo to Klavier. "Really? What are you going to do? Hurt me? Damage this body that's been so beautifully gift-wrapped for me?"

"Tell me where Clay is." Apollo's voice booms into the room, filling every nook and cranny, and Klavier finds himself dropping Kristoph's arm, pressing his head to the floor, trying desperately to come up with an answer that he just doesn't have.

Kristoph laughs in Apollo's face. "I'm not part of your pack, monster. Tear their minds apart all you'd like looking for an answer you'll never get. You can't force me to give you anything. That was never our relationship, now was it? I was the leader, the mentor, the master, and you were the pathetic pupil with the overblown sense of morality who didn't recognize who really had his best interests at heart, who could really help you succeed in this miserable, forsaken, twisted—"

Klavier has managed to push himself back to his feet, but Sebastian is faster, lurching forward in a drunken stumble to press his hand over Kristoph's mouth. "Stop it. You're an evil, terrible man and if all you're going to say are lies and salivaries, we'll send you away again."

Kristoph glares out of Maya's eyes—eyes that are a darker blue than Klavier's, right now, that don't quite match what Klavier sees in the mirror, and he doesn't know if that's good or bad.

Putting a hand on Sebastian's shoulder, Klavier glances quickly around the room. Lang hasn't moved, maintaining his calm, relaxed pose—and it is just a pose, Klavier can't tell how he knows but he does. A pose that has worked, drawing at least some information out of Kristoph, but not enough.

Athena leans forward, the fingers of her right hand moving over thin air, Widget glowing a bright red on her chest. "Mr. Gavin. Would you mind speaking to me for a moment?"

Pearl looks between Athena and Kristoph and settles back into her spot, her face still pinched and worried, her hands clearly ready to continue their series of gestures if need be.

At gentle pressure from Klavier, Sebastian removes his hand from Kristoph's mouth. Kristoph looks at Apollo, and eventually Apollo releases his arm, though Klavier can hear a rumbling growl percolating in Apollo's throat as he does.

Straightening his clothes, dusting himself off, Kristoph looks down at Athena. "Ms. Cykes, isn't it? Exactly what are you hoping to do with your little toy there?"

"Just to have a conversation." Athena smiles brightly, but it is a smile of barbed teeth—a shark's smile, ready to move in for the kill.

Does Kristoph recognize that, or has he gotten so used to barbed smiles that they appear normal now?

Settling back in Maya's place in the circle, Kristoph glances around. "I really don't know why I should humor you when all of you have such dour outlooks on myself and my work."

"It lets you breathe again." Ema's whole body is held rigid and tense, and Klavier wonders what demons from her own past Kristoph is reminding her of. "You said you wanted a body. Really want us to kick you out of it so quickly?"

"All right, then." Kristoph smiles, and it is also a shark's smile, not nice at all. "Ask your questions. See what answers you can get."

It's a good idea, actually. Kristoph's biggest weakness is his love of performance, of drama and flare. If he had not been so quick to describe in vivid detail the scene when he killed Shadi Smith—if he had kept his cool during Apollo's final interrogation of him instead of spilling everything—

Perhaps it is something they will be able to use against him here, as well.

"We'll start with the simple questions, then. Who are you working with, and why?" Athena's voice is strong, sweet, seeming to hold impossible harmonies with itself, and Klavier finds himself leaning towards her, wanting to answer. It's a different type of impulse than what he felt from Apollo, but very real nonetheless.

Does Kristoph feel it? Is that why he starts talking? "I'm working with people who are going to change the world. They have such grand plans, such long-laid schemes. I find it both fascinating and a little sad, all that they've architected and worked towards. As for what they've offered me—well, what I've got right now. A body. A life. Everything you people took away from me."

Kristoph's eyes flash to Klavier, loathing, accusing, and Klavier looks away, not wanting to protest and break whatever spell Athena is weaving.

"I can see why you'd want that." Athena somehow manages to give a more genuine smile, though Klavier can still feel her horror, her revulsion at everything that Kristoph is. "And in exchange for somehow giving you another body, they want you to... kill us?"

"Eliminate you, if I can, which also aligns nicely with my goals." Kristoph crawls towards Athena, his voice falling to a lower, almost congenial tone. "Spy on you if I can't eliminate you, which would be easier if you weren't all deciding to turn into monsters on me now."

"It seems a little unfair, you calling the Moon bloodline monsters when it definitely sounded like you were claiming a bloodline for yourself earlier." Athena arches an eyebrow, her hands flying over Widget's interface surface, that same ringing harmony still in her voice.

"Does it?" Kristoph crawls even closer to her, and Klavier finds himself following behind, wary and uncertain of what Kristoph's plan is. "It depends upon the bloodline, you see. The Moon makes you into beasts, as does the Star. Others, though, make you into more than human. Make you the predators that prey on humanity, the lovers they hold close even as you drain them dry, and that is something I can get behind."

Athena leans back, putting a little bit more distance between herself and Kristoph, but her voice maintains the same cool melodiousness. "Did you help them capture Clay?"

"I did." Kristoph laughs, a bright, grating sound against Klavier's ears. "I gift-wrapped him for them and delivered him into their lair, and they were so grateful. But don't look so horrified. I'm really quite certain they'll give him back, once he's had a few modifications."

"Modifications?" Athena's voice shivers, just slightly, a vibrato to the harmonies. "What do you—"

Kristoph acts, faster and with far more focus and determination than Klavier had expected. He doesn't go for Ema, as Klavier had feared he would, trying to wrest Ema's gun away from her; instead he shoves Pearl down, earning a shriek of surprise and pain from the young woman, and when Lang reaches for her snags the hilt of a knife that had been tied at Lang's belt.

Lang snarls, curled fingers and teeth reaching for Kristoph... and then stops abruptly.

Kristoph waves the knife back and forth in front of Lang's face. "Tut tut, Agent. Do you really want to dismember her, the poor helpless little girl who's trying to help you? Or, worse, infect her? I've heard that the Priestess and the Moon tend not to get along terribly well, with rather gruesome results for those caught in the tug."

Athena stumbles to her feet, her voice shaking even more as she holds out a hand toward Kristoph. "Come on, now. You don't really—"

"Don't really what? Don't really want to hurt anyone here?" Kristoph throws his head back and laughs again. "Good try, little Strength, but you're nothing compared to a Chariot. Push and prod all you want, you're not going to convince me to do something that I don't want to do. And I really, really don't want to help you people."

Pearl's hand begin moving again, a swift, sure rhythm as she whispers words under her breath.

Kristoph raises the knife to his throat, kneeling down so that his face is level with the girl's. "I really wouldn't, little one. I slit my own throat to get out of prison. There's no reason I won't slit hers just to spite you all."

Pearl falters, her pupils wide, her whole body seeming to shake minutely with fear and rage as tears begin to collect in the corners of her eyes.

Klavier's vision blurs out, his breath sounding loud and ragged in his ears as something else takes precedence. He can feel them—all of them, Apollo and Ema and Athena and Sebastian and Gumshoe and Pearl and Trucy and Lang, so tired, so slow from exhaustion and jet lag, so furious with himself for letting this happen.

Not just the pack, though it works along the same lines as the pack-bonds, but everyone.

Kristoph.

If he reaches he can feel Kristoph, rage burning so hot it comes back around to cold, gloating, vicious satisfaction at having managed to do this, at being able to hurt them like this. And he will hurt them, he will kill Maya no matter what they do, and—

"Brother, dearest." Kristoph turns around, the knife still to his throat, his eyes piercing through the haze over Klavier's vision. "Careful what you do. I'd hate for my hand to slip before I'm ready."

As soon as Kristoph's eyes are off her Pearl begins moving again, desperate to finish the technique before they lose control of the situation completely. Klavier doesn't see it, his gaze staying locked with Kristoph, but he knows it's happening anyway.

Knows he needs to keep Kristoph focused on him, and that's easy enough. "Why are you doing this? Why are you haunting me like this? I loved you. I didn't want to have things turn out as they did. I—"

"You betrayed me, for a system and a public who are nothing to you, who turned on you as soon as your shiny veneer was shown to be the least bit smudged!" Kristoph takes a step forward, the knife still held to Maya's throat. "You chose the weak over the strong. You didn't even have the fortitude to help me kill myself after you finished ensuring I'd hang, more content to come and watch me suffer, week after week, waiting for the wheels of a justice system that we both know is bullshit to grind me to dust instead!"

Kristoph's hand slashes down, opening up a glistening red trail along Maya's left arm that doesn't quite look real even as the smell of blood stings Klavier's nose. The knife immediately returns to Maya's throat. "But oh, yes, it's such a mystery why I would want to see you or Justice or Wright suffer, so inconceivable—"

"Do you just want a body, brother?" Klavier pushes against the bond that he can feel with his brother, letting in the fury and the bitterness and the maddening need for revenge. "Because I don't think you'd be content with the medium's form. You have always liked your image too much—a foible I can relate to. Wouldn't it be better to take one that is almost like what you left behind? Let her live, and I won't even fight you. It will be just like you wanted when you tried to kill me, you in control and me as your—"

Kristoph doesn't let him finish talking. He doesn't even laugh again, his eyes wide with so many of the deadly sins—greed and envy and pride, so much thwarted pride.

It isn't the desire for vengeance that is foremost in Kristoph's mind as he flows from Maya Fey's body along the bond between them—the bond of brothers, of mirror images, of family and history and choices—and claims what he really wants.

It is joy, pure, unadulterated, vicious joy, and it's the most sickening thing Klavier has ever felt in his life.