Author's Note: Hi guys! Sorry for the long wait, but I think the chapter will make up for it (it's a longer one). Also, I feel obligated to warn you that this one does get pretty *ahem* saucy. Obviously not anything explicit, of course, because it's me, but just so you know. It's there. Don't laugh. So...onward?

Chapter Nine

First, her wings lost their grip on the wind. Then, her talons lost their grip on Bixlow.

The blizzard hurled Lisanna away from the clutches of the avalanche just after the snow engulfed Bixlow. She tried to regain her momentum, but the wind was too strong. It pushed her down, down, down the side of the mountain. She saw the ice closing in on her, closed her eyes, and tried to transform before she hit it—but not quickly enough. She was feathers, skin, and scales when the world shattered around her and erupted in cold, dark agony.

That cold was the first sensation Lisanna felt when she could finally feel again. It was a deep cold that weighed down her bones, but it wasn't the dead numbing cold of the lake waters. Throbbing pain accompanied the chill, spreading from her head to her back and legs. The cold helped a bit, but it still felt like someone beat her with an iron bar. Perhaps someone had. She was dry, and alive—maybe Phasm found her in the lake.

Next she felt the whisper of hands rubbing and kneading warmth back into her skin, the scratch of fabric all around her. Someone was holding her tight. She felt hot breath on her head—"I'm doin' the best I can, stop naggin' me, s'not like you got any hands to help…"

Lisanna opened her eyes. There was skin and bloody gauze in her line of vision, hidden in the shadow of a blanket. She was naked but for her underwear, which was damp and cold. Her feet were tucked under a leg that was also bare, and slightly hairy. She was curled in someone's lap, her knees tucked into her chest and her hands positioned at her core. Someone was rubbing the blanket vigorously all over her body. Lisanna looked up, and was nearly poked in the eye by Bixlow's chin.

"Good, you're finally awake," he said. He stopped what he was doing for a second and grabbed her shoulders, preventing her knee-jerk reaction of trying to push him away. It was a feeble struggle—she was shivering too violently to put up much of a fight. "Relax," Bixlow commanded as he contained her. "Look, you fell into a frozen lake. I'm tryin' to save your life, here, alright? Scout's honor, I ain't doin' this for kicks."

"Wh-why are w-we b-b-both n-naked?" Lisanna stuttered, using her knees as leverage to pry them apart. The blanket flapped around them, letting it little bursts of freezing air. Bixlow scowled and crushed her into his chest until she stopped fighting and could do nothing but look up at him. He was shivering too, though not as dramatically as Lisanna.

"We ain't naked," he said. "I left our underwear on, 'cause I knew you'd freak out otherwise. Even though your lady parts are probably ice cold. But I guess that ain't much different from usual, is it?"

Lisanna blushed and tried to hit him, but her hands wouldn't cooperate. She couldn't even move her fingers.

"Anyway," he continued, "this is the best way to exchange body heat. I had a blanket in my pack that was relatively dry. All your stuff is gone. I'm rubbin' all over you for friction, 'cause if you know anything about physics, you know that friction causes heat, which is somethin' you kind of need right now. So don't worry, I'm just tryin' to save your body parts." He paused and let that sink in. Lisanna contemplated his explanation for a moment and nodded. She smirked and pressed her hands into his abdomen, earning a satisfying wince.

"You're n-not doing a very g-g-good job on my f-fingers," she said.

"I was more concerned about your organs," Bixlow replied. He began rubbing the blanket along her back again. "You can warm up your hands and feet on your own. Just rub 'em together in the blanket."

"Blanket, blanket!" the babies whispered.

Lisanna fumbled with the blanket, silently kneading feeling back into her appendages. A fire, bigger than the one from earlier, crackled dangerously close to them. Her wet clothes were laid out beside it. "Is th-that safe?" she asked.

"If you're dead from hypothermia, it won't matter if Phasm finds us. Besides, your clothes have to dry somehow," Bixlow said. His hands trailed up to her neck and scratched around her ears and scalp, mussing her frozen hair. Lisanna swatted him away, annoyed by his trademark tongue-wagging grin. He went back to rubbing her arms, and Lisanna let her tired eyes close. She rested her head on his shoulder, unable to force herself to feel uncomfortable with his naked proximity. He was too warm for that.

"What happened?" she asked after some time. Her shivering was receding, and although her limbs were on fire, she could remarkably still feel every finger and toe.

"Dunno if you caught on, but the Titania was possessed by somethin'," Bixlow explained. "She didn't have a soul. That's why I told you to run. I knew we'd lose in a fight against her—I've never been able to beat her in a duel, so there was no tellin' what would happen if she was actually tryin' to kill us. I already lost two of the babies in the fight. I had them create an avalanche, and my plan was to grab you and hope for the best. Then you transformed into that bird thing—kudos to that."

"It w-wasn't enough," Lisanna said. "I still dropped you."

"We were in the middle of a blizzard. Nothin' to beat yourself up about. Anyway, we got separated, the avalanche took me away. The babies dug me up, and then we went lookin' for you. I found you in the lake, where you must've fallen and cracked the ice. The babies went under and got you out, then I brought you to this cave and here we are." His hands slid down her back, too slowly to produce any friction. "You're bruised up pretty bad. Lucky you didn't break your spine."

Lisanna reasoned her spine was probably all over the place when she'd hit the ice, since she'd been in the middle of transforming, but she didn't say that. She let the silence continue, listening to the crackle of the fire and Bixlow's breathing. The scent of his skin was comforting, and it warmed her nose. His shoulder was peppered with slim pink scars and freckles that spoke of time in the sun. Lisanna touched the scars lightly with her cold fingertips, and marveled at the contrast her smooth pale skin made with his.

"Did you get these f-fighting?" she asked, tracing the scars. They didn't seem like they were made by a lethal weapon. They were too skinny and shallow. If they were any finer, she might have mistaken them for hair. That's how frequent they were. Upon closer inspection, she realized they ran down his arm and his back.

"You could say that," Bixlow answered. His voice was a deep rumble next to her ear. She looked up at him, and tried to meet his gaze behind the mask. She thought she saw a flash of green in the darkness of the slats, but she wasn't sure.

"Tell me."

"Ain't nothin' to tell. You had it right—I got 'em fighting."

"Y-you're a liar," she accused. "Why won't you tell? Why d-do you have to be such a mystery to everybody?"

"My business is my business," Bixlow growled. "I ain't tryin' to be mysterious. Everybody's just fuckin' nosy."

Lisanna swallowed the disappointment and rested her head on his shoulder again. Her hands slipped, folding into each other on her lap. Her muscles were still shivering, but they were finally beginning to relax. Her aches were emerging from the numbness—the throbbing of her back, the soreness of her muscles. Other aches inside her, too, were surfacing—the ache for the safety of her siblings, the hurt of Bixlow's sharp tongue.

"We're not trying to be rude," she said into the crook of his neck. "We just want to know you, that's all. We just want to get to know you." Lisanna closed her eyes. "But I guess it doesn't matter. You're our nakama, you're part of Fairy Tail, and that's all that matters. You're right—your past is your business. I won't bother you about it anymore."

Bixlow's hands paused, one poised on each of Lisanna's legs. After she stopped talking, his fingers slid one by one from behind the blanket and brushed her skin. Lisanna opened her eyes again and looked up at him, to see if his tongue-wagging grin was out, to see if it was a diversion or joke. But his mouth was a serious, straight line, so uncharacteristic on his face, and when Lisanna didn't object, his hands began roaming up the way they'd come, tracing the contours of her hips, lightly skimming over her back, flowing over her shoulders, until finally he gripped her hair and tilted her face back. Lisanna met his stare, blinking at him with her blue eyes while her heart raced in her chest. Then, just when she was sure that he wasn't going to kiss her, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. It was a fleeting butterfly kiss, lasting no more than a second before Bixlow pulled back. Lisanna trembled. She leaned after him for another, but his fingers in her hair held her head back. He was thinking about something, that much was clear, but Lisanna couldn't tell what. She felt foolish all of a sudden, mouth half open and eyes half closed, restrained only by Bixlow's hands in her hair. They were on a mission. They were saving the guild, the town, possibly the world—they'd almost just died thrice within a day—her family and friends were in grave danger of being possessed by demons—she'd just gotten her own body back from a demon—

Whatever thoughts that were holding Bixlow back evidently gave in, because his hands fingers slipped from her hair and their mouths collided. Lisanna closed her eyes with a sigh. Her hands found his stomach and ran up the firm muscles of his abdomen, just feeling it out with her fingertips. With one hand Bixlow cupped her chin and deepened the kiss, while the other ran down her back and pressed her into him. His tongue lapped her upper lip and slid into her mouth, teasing around the space. The cold metal of his mask was digging into Lisanna's cheek, so she reached around his head and unlatched it. It hit the rock with a clatter. The sound jarred them—they broke apart with a gasp and frantically looked around the cave until their eyes rested on the mask wobbling on the ground. Lisanna breathed a sigh of relief and shook her head, getting ready to smile and remark on their paranoia to Bixlow. He was looking intensely at the mask, though, and Lisanna could see the other half of that contemplative expression he'd had earlier. Eyebrows drawn together, eyes dark with cloudy thoughts, sharp tattooed nose slightly wrinkled.

Lisanna didn't like it. She touched his cheek, and before she knew what she was doing they were kissing again, lips moving together at a more urgent speed. Bixlow's hands wandered down her body again, getting caught in the blanket. It wasn't the slightest bit cold inside it, now—whenever they moved, a warm wave of air wafted up from it. Lisanna wasn't cold anymore either. Bixlow's hands gripped her thighs and hoisted her onto his lap. He gripped her by the waist and pressed her close. Lisanna's breath caught as he guided her hips against him. She certainly wasn't cold anymore—she burned. Bixlow made a guttural sound in the back of his throat and leaned back against the cold cave wall, pulling Lisanna with him. He broke the kiss and buried his face in her neck, planting kisses along her throat, her clavicle, her breasts. She drew herself forward, closer, let out an involuntary keen when he nipped at her neck. Their breath came out heavy and panting, letting out clouds of steam in the air. Bixlow bit her chin and then her bottom lip, then hungrily crashed into her mouth. Lisanna clawed his shoulders with her nails, ran her hand down his arms, across his chest, anywhere she could touch him. She pressed him harder into the cave wall, smiling against his lips when it solicited a moan in the back of his throat. His hands gripped her hair and clutched her closer. They slid down her body and wrapped entirely around her waist, taking control of her movements. A cry of pleasure escaped from her when he unexpectedly jerked her forward, almost entering her.

Suddenly, Bixlow cursed and recoiled. He shoved her away from him and pressed his palms into his eyes. Lisanna hit the ground hard and pain erupted down her back, taking her breath away. She gasped at the cold air and wrapped her arms around herself as the gusts blew over her exposed skin. The blanket was draped across Bixlow's shoulder and bundled in his lap. Lisanna gaped at him as he rubbed his eyes. Tears blurred her own vision. She swallowed the lump in her throat and crawled over to her clothes. They were still damp from the frozen lake, but she didn't care. She'd rather get hypothermia than sit on the cold cave floor in her underwear for another second. She turned her back to Bixlow as she got dressed, not letting him see her tears. She wiped them away with the sleeves of Fried's coat, which was still stained with Vulcan's blood even after its dip in the lake. Her heart was still pounding.

"Shit," Bixlow swore. Lisanna could hear the scrape of metal as he picked up his mask. "That wasn't…I didn't mean to—"

Lisanna wasn't ready for his excuses. She stood up and walked deeper into the cave, refusing to look at him until she'd pulled herself together. Lisanna knew there was no cause for her to feel manipulated and stupid—not to mention utterly confused—but that didn't stop the flood of emotions from running their course through her body. The shock of Bixlow's abrupt rejection combined with everything else—everything that was more important, everything on which she should have just remained focused—it wore her down.

The cave was silent for a while. Lisanna heard Bixlow get dressed, but she didn't turn around even after the noise stopped. She watched her shadow do a horrible jerky dance on the rocks of the cave wall, like a purple puppet.

"My Figure Eyes are hard to control," Bixlow muttered from behind her. "That's why I wear the mask all the time. Usually it's not a big deal. On a normal day it's easy. But when I get drunk, or I get distracted, like during sex, sometimes it gets away from me. I panicked. I didn't want you to think I was tryin' to…" He sighed. "I didn't mean to push you down like that."

"It's okay," Lisanna whispered. "I understand. Magic is hard to control sometimes. I understand better than anybody." She remembered that day so many years ago, Elfman's rampage, his big red eyes looking down at her without recognition, his giant lizard claw swooping down and knocking the breath out of her, hurling her far, far away, into that distant world. Edolas. Lisanna took a deep breath and wiped her eyes one last time. "We should stay focused on this mission, anyway. We can't afford to be distracted while Erza and the others are wandering around, possessed by demons." She kicked a pebble into the wall, watched it disappear into the rocks.

There was a blunt pause. "Right," Bixlow said.

Lisanna frowned, and took a step forward. She looked for the little pebble among the rocks, but she couldn't find it. The pebble wasn't just camouflaged—it had really disappeared.

"What is it?" Bixlow stood up and walked over.

"I…I don't know," Lisanna said. She edged toward the wall and pressed her hand against it, but didn't meet any resistance—her fingers just sank right through the rock. She blinked. "It's an illusion. That means…"

"This must be an entrance," Bixlow finished. He grinned his trademark grin. "You just found the entrance to Phasm's lair."

Lisanna turned and grinned back. Her stomach did a little flip, and she blushed vividly, quickly looking away. That was a bad idea, she thought, reflecting on their intimacy only minutes ago in the cave. They'd have to put it from their minds if they were going to save the guild. She steeled herself and turned around, this time meeting Bixlow's gaze head-on. "Let's get a move on, then. We've got a world to save."

"I think that's putting it a bit melodramatically," he responded. Lisanna rolled her eyes and made to shove past him to put out the fire and collect their belongings, but Bixlow grabbed her arm as she passed by and turned her around to look at him. "I got them when I was a kid," he told her. "The scars, I mean. I grew up travelin' with a circus, and whenever we got in trouble the animal tamer would whip us with his switch. Me'n the other kids."

Lisanna gaped at him. Then she smiled. "A circus, huh? I should've known."

"You'd've fit right in," Bixlow countered. He let her go and whistled. The three remaining babies levitated into the air. Lisanna stamped out the fire while Bixlow gathered the supplies. He dug a light lacrima from the bag and activated it, then tied it to one of the babies with a piece of twine. "Popo, lead the way."

"Aye-aye, cap'n!" the babies chirped. The one with the light lacrima went first. When it passed the barrier, the cave went dark. One by one, the other two followed it. Lisanna took a deep breath.

"Ready?" Bixlow asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Lisanna replied.

Together, they stepped through the barrier and into Phasm's lair.

Makarov was reading on his sofa by the light of a lamp when he heard the knocking at his door. He set the papers aside—a brief summary of the information on Phasm and Spyrodon that Levy had kindly provided—and rubbed his eyes, stifling a yawn. He glanced at the clock ticking on the wall—it was nearly midnight. Who would visit him at this ungodly hour?

He opened the door to find his grandson slouched in the shadow of the porch, watching a moth circle the light. "Laxus? This better be important. You know better than to disturb an old man when he's sleeping."

"We both know you weren't sleeping," Laxus replied. "It is important. Bad news. About…" He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "You should probably let me inside. It's going to take a while to explain."

Makarov narrowed his eyes. Something felt wrong. "What is it?"

"I don't want to say out here in the open."

"Rest assured, the entirety of my house is warded against eavesdroppers," Makarov said. He crossed his arms. "What is it?"

Laxus ran a hand through his yellow shock of hair. "It's Bixlow. He…he's taken Lisanna."

"What?" Makarov balked. "What do you mean, he's taken her? Taken her where?"

"We don't know. According to Mirajane, Lisanna was complaining of all these side effects from her coma—amnesia, headaches, the like. Bixlow offered to check out her soul, see if she was all there, you know? But he said he had to take her to his house to do it. Said he didn't have the right equipment at the guild."

"I've never heard of that," Makarov said. "I know that Bixlow can see people's souls inside their bodies, but…can he really assess the state that the soul is in?"

Laxus shrugged. "That's what he claimed, but he did say he needed equipment. I don't know what he meant by that. Anyway, he told Mirajane it wouldn't take long, but he never came back. She got worried, so Fried and Ever and I took her to their house. When we got there, everything was wrecked, and there was blood all over the place. Lisanna and Bixlow were nowhere to be found."

Makarov gaped at him, absorbing the information. He ran through all the scenarios in his mind, and none of them were good. "Phasm must have attacked them and taken them both," he decided. "That means…the task force. What's happened to the task force?"

"I thought that, too," Laxus said. "Until we found…something strange. In Bixlow's room."

"What do you mean by strange?"

"We found specimens. Demon specimens and spirit specimens, all kept in these glass containers. There was a girl's doll, too. And…" Laxus closed his eyes. "Lisanna's clothes. They were all torn to shreds."

Makarov was stunned into silence. He could understand why a seith mage of Bixlow's caliber would collect spirit specimens, but demons? Demons were strictly forbidden by the Council. Any tomfoolery with demonic entities was black magic, and punishable by life in prison. He didn't even know what to make of the doll, or the clothes. As queer as Bixlow was, Makarov couldn't imagine him partaking in such dark voodoo, or committing violent atrocities like Laxus implied on his fellow mages. Don't forget Fantasia, a voice whispered in Makarov's head. Laxus had orchestrated that, though, not Bixlow, and the seith mage had seemed to genuinely regret his actions. All of the Raijinshuu had changed after Laxus's expulsion.

"It doesn't make sense," Makarov murmured, scratching his chin. "Why would Bixlow do any of that? He's a good kid. He's rambunctious and weird, but he's always been a good kid since he joined."

Makarov remembered it vividly. The summer night was sweltering when he came across the boy huddled under the sheltered bus stop. He was on his way home from something—he couldn't remember what—but he recalled that it was the quiet part of town by the canal, the romantic spot where young love blossomed like the window-box gardens in the spring. Makarov had originally thought the despondent little boy was waiting for his date, and had gotten stood-up. That's why he'd gone over to talk to him.

As Makarov neared, however, he realized this wasn't the case. The boy was sobbing into his hands, lean muscles quaking with the effort. He wasn't wearing a shirt, so Makarov could see the inflamed red lacerations all over his back. They looked days old.

There was blood on the boy's hands.

Makarov slowed to a stop and reached out a hand to touch the boy's shoulder. Then he retracted it, and pressed it to his chest as he cleared his throat instead. "Child?"

The boy gasped and scrambled away from Makarov, cowering in the corner like a caged animal. There was a turgid black brand on the bridge of his nose and forehead, the shape of a man with his hands raised in the air. It reminded Makarov of the little paper figures Ivan was so fond of. The boy's eyes were wide and reeling with terror, his face streaked with bloody fingerprints. Makarov had never seen a creature so frightened.

"Get away!" the boy shrieked. "Get away!"

Makarov raised his hands in the air, but he didn't move. "It's alright," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you. Please, will you tell me your name?"

The boy closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. Makarov took a step forward. "Listen, child. I can help you. Tell me what's wrong. Where did all this blood come from? Are you injured?"

"I said get away from me!" The boy's eyes flashed brilliant green, and Makarov felt his body move of its own accord, his feet backing away so rapidly that they tripped over themselves and he fell to the ground. He was too discombobulated to immediately recover, but when he could finally move he sat up and stared in disbelief at the poor boy, who'd gone back to sobbing into his hands. "I'm sorry," he kept saying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Makarov said. He stood up. "Look, I'm fine. No harm done."

"Just…just stay away from me," the boy whispered. He shuddered and curled up into a ball, burying his face into his knees. "I can't control it. Stay away."

"You can control it," Makarov said sternly. "It's magic. Seith magic, I think. I'll have to get a second opinion."

"It's a curse," the boy wailed.

"It's magic," Makarov said again. "If anything, it's a gift. All you need is some proper training and you'll be able to control it." He took a step forward. "I'm the master of a guild here in town. Fairy Tail, have you heard of it?"

The boy nodded, still refusing to emerge. But he was only sniffling now.

"Good. Then you know we're pretty powerful. We've got plenty of strong mages to teach you how to control your magic. Come join us, child."

"I can't," the boy said. "I'll hurt someone. They won't like me. I can get inside their heads, make them do stuff they don't want to. No one will trust me."

"You're right. Trust is earned, not given. But I tell you what, I will personally train you until I think you can control it well enough to join the guild. Until then, here." Makarov undid the tie around his neck and set it on the bench next to the boy. The kid peered at it from under his arm quizzically, and glanced at Makarov for a split second before hiding again. "Tie that around your eyes," Makarov explained. "I'll guide you to my home. It's only a block away."

"Creepy old geezer," the boy accused.

Makarov made a face. "Look, you don't have to. I'm just trying to help. I'm offering you training, and a roof over your head, and food. You look like you could use all of those things. I'll take you to a healer for your injuries, too, if you'd like. She's the best in the business."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't," Makarov shrugged. "I don't trust you. But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to help a troubled soul. And I think you should accept that help."

The boy contemplated it for a while. Then, his trembling, bloody hand reached out and took the tie. Makarov smiled as the boy blindfolded himself. When he was finished, Makarov took his hand. "Come, I'll lead you. What's your name?"

"…Bixlow."

"How old are you, Bixlow?"

"Twelve. Almost thirteen."

"I have a grandson about your age. I think you'll quite like him. He's moody, too."

Makarov blinked as the memory faded. He hadn't thought of that particular introduction for a while. He never did learn where all that blood on Bixlow's hands came from. He'd never learned much about young Bixlow, not even a last name. The boy had made remarkable progress under Makarov's supervision and with Laxus's encouragement. It wasn't long before he'd joined the guild and completed Laxus's little gang of friends, the Raijinshuu. By then, Makarov had known better than to bring up the past.

"Gramps," Laxus began, "I know you don't want to hear this, and I was reluctant to believe it, too, but…Mirajane thinks that Bixlow could be part of it. Part of Phasm."

Makarov shook his head. "Impossible."

"I don't like it either," Laxus continued, "and Fried still refuses to see reason, but Mirajane makes a good point. The facts are the facts. From what they've told me, Bixlow's been acting weird since Lisanna woke up. I think it's because he knew she wasn't supposed to. Then he lured her away from everyone else, and they suddenly go missing? Her clothes and the demons parts all on top of that? Gramps, it just fits together. Bixlow is part of Phasm. He's working with them."

Makarov sighed. "Let's not jump to any conclusions yet. Where are Mirajane and the others?"

"Fried and Ever took Mira home. I told them to stay with her until we get this figured out, in case she tries to do something rash. Elfman and Lisanna are both gone. There's no telling what she's capable of."

"Right," Makarov said. He shuffled inside and grabbed his coat. "Take me to Bixlow's house, then. I'll need to see this for myself."