A/N: And so the final chapter of the year is finished. Now that events in Kyoto are winding down, it's time to see what characters are up to elsewhere. My thanks to those who read, reviewed and suggested. And Makuhari_Fan01, it's dangerous to make off hand remarks. You never know where they might lead.

As a reminder, Evangeline is disguised as the new middle school teacher, Ishikawa-sensei, and her maid is the demon that was caught invading Negi's dream back in 'Markham Chronicles Negima.'

Ken Akamatsu owns Negima and its characters (as if that would ever change). Hiro, Mihai, Himeiko/Lili, and Juntz Federson are products of my imagination.

The following conventions are used: "words", 'thoughts', "spells", 'reading'

The Risk to Blossom

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom Anais Nin

--

Teacher's Dormitory, Mahora Japan

A shiny brass plate was affixed to the door. Madoka read the neatly engraved words 'Room 303, Ishikawa.' For the thirty-seventh time she raised a hand to knock and for the same number of times let it drop to her side. After having embarrassed Markham-sensei in front of the new teacher, the teen had come to explain what had happened but couldn't seem to take that final step and confront the woman. Nor could she walk away.

'I feel like such an idiot,' the girl thought. 'Why is this so difficult?'

Madoka had prided herself on being more sensible than her classmates, but thoughts of her homeroom teacher left her flustered. Considering the maturity level of the boys her age, it wasn't surprising that she preferred sensei's company, especially since they shared an interest in music. However, that didn't explain why his arms around her felt so good. The teen wished the events on the school trip was the reason for it, but it had been that way since the first day they met. An unexpected lurch on the morning train had landed her against the man, and he had grabbed hold to keep her from falling as another shudder knocked other passengers off their feet.

'You're being foolish,' she reminded herself. 'Markham-sensei only thinks of you as a friend.' He had said so underneath the World Tree just a few days ago. Just before that stupid bird started squawking. Memories of her cheek held tightly against the man's chest, a gentle hand stroking her hair and comforting words softly spoken filled her head. "It's alright," he had told her.

Straightening her shoulders, Madoka raised her hand and rapped three times on the door. Scarcely daring to breath, she heard the rattle of the knob and then it opened to reveal a girl only three or four years older than herself. A white cap rested atop the stranger's brown hair and a maid's uniform covered her ample curves.

"May I help you?"

"Is Ishikawa-sensei in?"

"Please come in," the maid said while opening the door further.

Seeing mats on the floor, Madoka removed her shoes before stepping inside. "You have a visitor mistress," the maid announced.

Lowering a tea cup, the dark-haired woman she had met in Markham's room glanced up at her. Madoka thought she noticed a disapproving expression, but it was gone so quickly that the student couldn't be sure. "Good morning Ishikawa-sensei."

"Its Kugimiya-san isn't it?" the teacher asked as she pushed a pair of glasses up the bridge of her nose. After Madoka's nod, Ishikawa continued, "What is it?"

"I wanted to apologize for the misunderstanding the other day."

Lips pursed tight together as the woman regarded her. In response, butterflies fluttered about her stomach like the tiny mushrooms dancing to the Nutcracker. "Himeiko," sensei called out, causing the other girl to stiffen. "Bring me some paper and a pen."

After scribbling something down, the woman handed a sheet to her servant and told her, "Two hours. No more than that."

Taking the paper, the girl named Himeiko curtsied. "Yes mistress, I understand. Two hours." The door slammed shut as the maid wasted no time in departing.

Madoka could feel the woman's eyes rove over her, examining the girl as if debating whether to place her in a shopping cart or return her to the shelf. "You have nothing to apologize for," Ishikawa finally said. "I was the one who jumped to conclusions."

"I should have known nothing improper was going on," the teacher continued. "After all Markham-san's a mature man and well …"

A spark of anger at the implied comment caused the teen to twitch in response.

"More importantly, why are you here?"

"As I said," she confusedly answered. "I came here to apologize."

"No, I meant why are you still at Mahora?" Ishikawa asked. "Why didn't you leave when the headmaster gave you the chance?"

Madoka stared back, unsure how to respond. Back when the headmaster had given everyone the choice to stay or not, leaving Mahora had never entered her mind.

"Didn't give it a thought did you?" the woman scornfully asked. "Just followed everyone else like sheep herded to market?"

She wanted to deny it, to shout back "You're wrong!" but the more Madoka thought about it, the more she realized Ishikawa-sensei was right.

"It's not too late you know? You can still decide to go."

"No!"

"Stubborn baka!" The derisive tone hit her like a slap across her face. "What good can you do here?"

"I don't know! But I'm not going to desert my fiends!"

"Are your friends worth your life?" Though Ishikawa's expression seemed to soften a bit, the woman's voice remained stern. "Because if they are, you need to stop being dead weight and start learning how to protect yourself and them."

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't the headmaster say that each of you had a talent?" At Madoka's nod, the teacher continued, "Then doesn't it follow that each of you needs to discover what that talent is and how to use it?"

"But how do I do that?"

The older woman smiled and Madoka suddenly felt like a mouse caught with the cheese in her hands. "I'm so very glad you asked."

--

"Practi bigi nar ardescat," the girl chanted again. Madoka's voice was growing horse and her eyes were crossing from the strain of staring at the star-tipped wand. "Practi bigi nar ardescat."

"Take a break Kugimiya-san," the dark-haired woman said.

Madoka set the wand down and rubbed at weary eyes. "Maybe I'm just not cut out for this sensei."

"It takes a great deal of time and effort to master even the simplest of spells," the teacher replied as she glanced down at her watch. "More than 40 minutes at least."

Before either could speak further, there was a knock on the door. As the woman opened it, Madoka heard a cheerful "Good morning Ishikawa-sensei."

"Sasaki-san?" she exclaimed as her classmate bounded into the room. Normally energetic, the little gymnast seemed barely able to contain her excitement, bouncing about like a hyperactive chipmunk on a sugar rush.

"Kugimi," Makie responded in surprise. "Are you taking lessons too?"

"Lessons? What do you mean lessons?" she asked. "And don't call me Kugimi."

"Enough chatter you two," Ishikawa cut in, causing both girls to quiet.

"Sasaki-san is learning how to cast spells," the teacher explained. "Show Kugimiya-san the spell for producing a flame."

A pleased expression crossed her classmate's face as she produced her own wand and brandished it forth. After Makie cleared her throat, she began the incantation Madoka had been attempting. "Practi bigi nar ardescat."

A tiny flame instantly sprang forth and hovered above the wand's tip. Fascinated, Madoka gazed at the magical fire. Suddenly, it flared larger, drawing a fearful "Eep!" from its summoner.

Makie dropped her wand, extinguishing the flame, and let it clattered on the floor. "That's never happened before."

--

Mahora, Japan

"So what exactly is one supposed to do on a holiday?" the white-haired boy asked.

Kotaro paused and scratched his head in thought. As a mercenary, he was too busy scrabbling hard for a living to worry about holidays, while last year was spent either fighting Negi and the boy's students or as a prisoner of the Kansai Magic Association.

"Uh, you hang out with your friends and do stuff."

"Stuff?" Mihai asked. "Like what?"

Mihai Dragomir, Mahora Elementary School's newest student, wasn't Kotaro's first choice to spend Golden Week with, but it seemed everybody else had plans. Negi and three of his partners were off in Kyoto. Kaede was working on some super, secret project while Sakura-san and Goodman-san were tied up with club activities. Even chibi-Yue, old forehead of doom, was too busy. So when Takahata-san suggested he show the other boy around, he didn't have any reason to refuse.

Of course, it didn't help that the kid looked like Fate Averruncus' little brother. Even when they were both working for Amagasaki-san, he disliked the coolly distant mage. Though Kotaro had to respect the boy's capabilities; Fate was an arrogant jerk, but he could fight. Privately, he wondered how good Mihai would be in a scrap. 'Naw, forget it,' he told himself. 'The guy looks pretty clueless; about as thick as a brick.'

"Play video games at the arcade, maybe watch a martial arts tournament," he answered. "Even kick around a soccer ball."

In response, the white-haired boy pointed at a group playing on the soccer pitch. "You mean like that?"

Before Kotaro could answer, a blonde-haired girl ran up to them. "Hello Mihai-kun," she called. "Who's your friend?"

"Hello Yuki-kun, this is Kotaro-kun," the boy replied. Turning to Kotaro he explained that the girl was in his class.

The newcomer stared at Kotaro. "What?" he asked. "Do I have a smudge on my face or something?"

"Sorry, but I've never met a celebrity before."

"Celebrity?"

"Sure, they're still talking about your first day in school," Yuki replied and then turned to her classmate. "Would you believe he beat up thirty of the worst bullies on his first day?"

"Thirty? That's quite a lot isn't it?"

"It wasn't that many," he protested. "That's an ex-a-ger-a-tion."

As the new kid in the pack, er class, Kotaro had to establish his dominance right off the bat. His intention was to only rough up a couple, but as soon as one went down another popped out of the woodwork.

"No it's not," the girl replied. "I'm the class health and safety rep and they made us sit through a really long meeting about it."

"Hey Yuki-kun," one of the players shouted. "Do they want to play?"

"How about it?" she asked. "If you two join we can make teams."

Before either could answer, they heard another shout, "Give it back!"

A group of boys from the middle school had grabbed the football and were busy tossing it back and forth in a game of keep away. Glaring at the older students, Kotaro felt the short hairs on his neck rise and a low growl start in the back of his throat. Moving so fast as to seemingly appear from nowhere, he intercepted a pass.

"What the …"

"Where'd he come from?"

"Sorry I'm late guys," he replied grinning widely.

"What do you think you're doing?" the biggest middle school student asked.

"I'm here to play soccer. You wanna make something of it?"

"What if I do?" came the belligerent reply.

Both had their chests puffed out as a quiet voice interposed itself, "So what are the teams?"

As one the pair turned to the little, white-haired boy with the mildly curious expression. "If everybody wants to play, shouldn't we choose up sides?"

The middle school boy looked on in disgust. "We got better things to do then play with a bunch of losers."

"Sure," Kotaro added. "Besides their reputation would be flushed down the drain if they got beat by elementary students."

"Don't make me laugh," the boy replied. "We're not afraid of losing to children like you."

"I didn't say you were afraid," he quickly replied. "You're showing good sense and walking away from a humiliating drubbing."

"Pretty big talk for a little kid."

"Yeah. But I can back mine up."

--

Students engaged in the never-ending struggle with school work thronged the parks and athletic fields around Mahora. Content to let Sunday remain a day of rest, most felt that a free Friday was criminal to waste sleeping in. Shouts of joy and laughter in the company of friends sounded all around the soccer pitch, but the players caught up in the impromptu grudge match battled in deadly earnest.

Kotaro deftly moved the ball up the field. He had egged the middle school boys into the game and now was faced with how to win without spilling the magic beans. While nothing would give him more satisfaction that to beat those showoffs, spending a few years as an ermine was too high a price to pay for it. Noticing that Mihai had an open shot, he passed the ball only to have one of their opponents swoop in and steal it.

One of the defenders, a dark-haired boy named Haruki, rushed to intercept however his larger opponent slammed into him at full speed and knocked the elementary student sprawling. The little blonde-haired girl waited in the goal box as the charging player took a shot. Hands moved too slowly as the ball struck the goalie a glancing blow to the face and bounced back. A second kick and the middle school team had a quick 1 – 0 lead.

Kotaro gathered his teammates around. One side of the little girl's face was red from the impact. He had thought being in the box would offer some protection for her, but obviously that wasn't the case. "Okay Yuki-chan you take a breather."

"No," she protested. "I want to stay in."

Seeing the puffiness of her cheek, Kotaro was going to argue but something in the set of her chin reminded the boy of Chizuru when she had her mind made up. When that happened, nothing he wanted really mattered. "Okay then, Haruki-kun, I want you at forward with me," he said to the boy that had been bowled over. "You change with Mihai-kun."

"Got it."

Looking at the white-haired boy, he said "That big guy doesn't score again. Understand."

Although his expression remained unchanged, Mihai nodded once in agreement. Advancing the ball past mid-field, Kotaro intentionally passed the ball and had it intercepted. As the opposing attacker raced down the field again, the new defended moved to block.

Kotaro' senses tingled from a subtle flow of magic, bringing a wolf-like grin to his face. His teammate calmly stood in place as the forward attempted to run him over. Only this time, it was the older boy who kissed the turf while Mihai cleared the ball past the center line. A defender rushed towards the ball but Haruki got there first and with a sliding kick knocked it towards the hanyo, whose shot went just beyond the goal keeper's outstretched hands.

Ten minutes later, with their team down 5 to 1, the middle school students scrambled across the field as the "little kids" passed the ball around in an elaborate game of keep away. The score could have been worse, but after the opposing captain took the goalie's position, Kotaro found it more enjoyable to bounce shots off of him instead of scoring. As people on the sidelines began counting down the seconds left, he passed the ball to Mihai. "Shoot!" he shouted to his teammate.

Exploding like a rocket, the ball sailed into the goalie who wrapped his arms about it. The boy's look of exultation turned to shock when he realized the ball was still moving, and he with it. Kotaro couldn't keep the smirk off his face as he watched the goalie land behind the back of the box.

"Three! Two! One!" chanted the crowd. "Game!"

Mobbed by his schoolmates, Kotaro let himself bask in victory. But fate cruelly snatched the moment away as he noticed Chizuru at the far end of the field. Numbness stole over the youngster as she walked away, arm-in-arm, with another boy.

--

Stealthily, the boy in the black uniform had trailed the couple from the park and down city streets. The sick feeling of fear alternated with a desire to tear the other guy apart. Kotaro wanted to believe Chizuru was being forced somehow, but the way she was acting with her companion made that difficult. Hands cupped her face as the high school boy leaned forward, and their lips mashed together. That simple act left him feeling both outraged and disgusted.

"So what do you call what they're doing?" a voice behind him asked.

"Not now," he sharply replied to the white-haired boy. Pain waxed stronger as Kotaro continued to watch the drawn-out kiss. As his breakfast began to rise, the youngster became aware of a burning sensation in the back of his throat. The couple broke their kiss and walked up the steps into a building as he battled to keep from being ill.

"What's a love hotel?" Mihai suddenly asked.

"What do you mean 'love hotel'?"

In response, the boy pointed to a garish pink sign adorned with little hearts that hung above the entrance the couple had just walked into. Kotaro had heard that some of the high school and college-aged boys used them when they 'entertained' their girlfriends. Though he didn't know what sort of entertainment went on, the sixth year student was sure they weren't playing Smash Brothers on a video console. "I think I'm gonna puke," the youngster muttered as he turned away.

Silently, with downcast eyes, he shambled along the busy streets. Kotaro felt Mihai's following behind, but his insides ached too much to tell the kid to get lost. In a way, his white-haired shadow's presence was reassuring. The hanyo didn't feel like talking, however he didn't want to be completely alone either.

They had been aimlessly walking for some time when Mihai piped up, "Isn't that the girl you were just following?"

"Huh?" he gasped as eyes followed where the other boy pointed. Seated in front of the Star Books, sipping from green and white paper cups, were Chizuru and Natsumi. Instead of the short skirt and halter top, the taller girl was dressed in jeans and long-sleeved tee-shirt. Natsumi spotted him and both girls waved him over. "What's going on around here?"

--

Military Club Compound, Mahora Japan

Yuna warily eyed her enemies. Two poles sheathed in matching blue vinyl covers stood on the opposite side of the training room. Thrusting upwards like twin spear points, they were the source of a number of bruises and bouts of ego deflation these past few days. Her coach has set them as her first challenge, implacable foes to be overcome. Muscle she hadn't even known existed tensed in anticipation of Mana's signal.

A quick glance in Zazie's direction showed the corners of the acrobats mouth slightly lifted. It didn't look like much of a smile but it sufficed for encouragement. 'I need to show how grateful I am for her help,' the girl though. 'Maybe Zazie-san would like to watch some movies with us.' Focusing again on her challenge, Yuna replayed each step in her mind until she heard Mana's simple "Go."

She charged forward, the mock pistol tightly clenched in her hand, and leapt. Vinyl covered foam gave way as the ball of her foot struck. Knee flexed and straightened, propelling her upward and to the right, then left, then right again. Before she knew it, Yuna crouched at the top, gun at the ready and heart pounding wildly in her chest.

"How's that?" she asked, a slight tinge of bravado in her voice. Her coach had set a task and she had conquered it. The student wanted to crow in triumph.

"Not bad," Mana opined. "Now for your next exercise …"

"Not bad," Yuna repeated, her face clouded by puzzlement. "What do you mean not bad?"

"You accomplished a task I knew you were capable of," the mercenary replied. Her dark-haired classmate's cold and calculating expression reminded Yuna of coaches that demanded nothing less than all their players had to give. "If you expect a celebration for that, perhaps you need to find instruction elsewhere."

Shoulders slumped down in dejection. "No," she said.

"Rest assured that if I praise you Akashi-san," Mana remarked with the barest trace of a smile, "it will be because you exceeded my expectations."

"Now our next stop is the armory," her instructor said. "We'll sign out your revolver and practice at the range."

With renewed eagerness, Yuna followed the taller girl into the weapons room only to stop in her tracks. "Aaahhh," she cried in joyful recognition. The other girls stared at her as she gushed, "It's beautiful."

"That's a Machine Rifle 42 isn't it?" She pointed at the World War II era machine gun. The 1.2 meter long barrel was help up by a tripod while the wooden stock rested on a pad. Turning to a confused Zazie, the girl nearly squealed in excitement, "It struck so much fear in the allied armies that they had special training classes on what to do if infantry units faced it in the field."

"Please let me touch it!" she pleaded with Mana. "Just once in my life! Please, please, pretty please!"

"We don't have time for your fetish Akashi-san."

"But …"

"But nothing," Mana said sternly. "If you want to train get your things, otherwise we're finished."

Wordlessly, Yuna gazed the machinegun one final time and then walked over to the pistol racks. Meanwhile Zazie gave the mercenary a questioning look. "She needs better control of that impulsive nature," Mana softly answered. "When she has that, then we can indulge it every once in awhile."

--

After training was through for the day and everything returned to its place, Yuna and Zazie walked back to the train that would take them back to the dorms. "I don't understand why Tatsumiya-san wouldn't let me touch it," the brown-haired girl grumbled to her silent companion. "It's not like it would hurt her any."

"And I don't have a fetish," she continued complaining. "Whatever that is."

Zazie stopped and turned to the side. Yuna followed the other girl's gaze to find their classmate Misa a few paces away. "There you two are," the cheerleader declared in an exasperated tone.

"What's up?" Yuna asked.

Misa balled up her fists and placed them on her hips. "We were supposed to plan our class activity," she reminded them.

"Oh yeah," the basketball player responded as a sweat drop the size of the hope diamond condensed on her forehead. "Well we're here now."

The planning committee leader let out a sigh. "C'mon, we'll meet Hasegawa-san at the library," Misa told them. "By the way, what were you talking about when I walked up?"

"Oh, it was nothing."

--

Thaumasian Plateau, Mundus Magicus

Used as he was to jet travel, Hiro gazed appreciatively at the whaleship's interior. Though it hardly looked it from outside, it had the same space as a small cruise ship back in his world. The cabin he and the professor shared was as big as a hotel suite, and even had an enclosed balcony. Granted, once past the limits of Megalo-Messembria there wasn't much to view, but this was a luxury airlines couldn't match. Unfortunately, the part of the continent they would pass over was considered bleak by its inhabitants. According to Akashi-san, the truly spectacular sights of the Noctis Labyrinthus and Olympus Mons were to the south.

Another thing that confused the young man was although this flight was called an express, they would make several stops along the way. Most ships travelled continuously around the Magic World, making scheduled stops along the way and putting into their home port for maintenance. Express flights just followed a shorter route. No matter what peculiarities the transportation system had, a 24-hour buffet and full-service longue on each deck more than compensated for them.

Since the professor was engrossed with reviewing a text book on Mesophysics, whatever that was, Hiro decided to scope out the aforementioned longue. Of course it was all in the name of information gathering, or so he assured Akashi-san. Although the look he received was dubious, the assassin knew if people were in a relaxed environment, they were apt to speak more openly.

Even this early in the day, the longue was doing a brisk business as any number of furred, finned, scaled, feathered or normal, more or less, customers crowded the room. Next to the packed bar stood what he guessed was a juke box. At least it had a listing of what looked like artists and song titles as well as a slot for 1 Drachma coins. Not surprisingly, none of the names were familiar until the assassin came across 'We are the World' by a group called Damashi.

Curious, he fished in his pocket for change when a voice behind him asked, "Can't you wait for an old man to finish his drink before you start playing that racket?" Turning about, Hiro found he was being addressed by a human with thin, white hair. The stranger's clothing was rumpled as if he had slept in them, and his face showed patches of whiskers as if they were haphazardly shaved. "I swear if I wanted to listen to that music I'd have dropped in a fiver already."

"Sorry oji-san," Hiro replied.

Glancing up from his half-finished drink, the old man studied him for a moment and then mumbled, "No, I should be the one apologizing."

Noting the empty chair at the man's table, he asked to join him. "Go ahead," the stranger answered. "As long as you don't mind a crazy old man for company."

How many drinks his new companion had already, Hiro couldn't tell, but he felt the old man was sizing him up and may not have been as far in his cups as first appeared. "You're a Vetere aren't you?" he was asked.

"Excuse me."

"You're from the Mundus Vetus, the Old World."

"That's right."

"And you're not a mage either," the other declared.

"How can you tell?"

"You aren't arrogant enough," the man explained, "not pretending it's a huge effort when you deign to speak to a mere mortal."

"Surely not all are like that?"

"And that comment means you haven't been here long."

While that was true, Hiro wasn't sure what to make of the conversation. If Tosaka and his buddies were representative, he would have to agree. Yet Blaze and his partner, the trio of mage knight cadets, even Speaker Karkolova didn't fit that mold. Deciding not to antagonize a possible data source, Hiro remained non-committal. "No, I haven't been here long."

"I thought not," the old man remarked and then finished his drink in a single gulp.

An attentive waitress appeared almost immediately. "Refill?" she asked. Pointed ears stuck out at a ninety degree angle from the girl's head and light glinted off a small lock attached to a collar encircling her neck.

"Sure thing sweetheart."

Hiro placed several bills on the tray. "Make that two."

As the elf girl walked away, his companion asked, "Are you old enough to drink?"

"I'm old enough to keep my mouth shut if they don't ask."

"Good answer. What's your name?"

"Oishi Kuranosuke," he answered. "And you?"

"Federson. Juntz Federson," the reply came. "You're that kid who saved all those people at the arena aren't you?"

Hiro's response was a curt "Yes."

"What's the matter? Not fond of the spotlight?"

"Not really."

"Notoriety will fade soon enough," Federson told him. "I'm proof of that."

"I don't blame you for doubting me," the old man continued. "One can scarce believe I was the media's fair haired boy."

Federson's face took on a detached expression as if reminiscing about somebody else. It was a trick Hiro's grandfather used when the old assassin spoke about his past. "For years I studied the effects of the final Battle of Ostia, and at last presented my theories to the world. And everyone listened. I was a bestselling author, appeared on all of the talk shows and was invited to all the best parties. My university even created a new department to make me the head of."

"So then what happened?"

"Just like authors, university professors need to publish too," Federson answered. "Only my next theory didn't sit well with certain people and I suddenly found myself the target of an orchestrated media assault. All those talk shows that fought to host me before were equally ferocious in getting my detractors on. It seemed every magazine had an article on 'Federson's Folly' or 'The Scientist Who Cried Wolf'. By the time the university quietly suggested I step down, I was only too happy to retire."

"I would have contentedly stayed an obscure question for a quiz show if some blogger hadn't started plastering my old papers on her web site," the former scientist continued. "Now everyone wants to talk about Azrael's Sword."

"Azrael's Sword?"

"The name was my publisher's idea, but the concept is simple," Federson replied. "Concentrate enough magical energy in a small enough area and it will release explosively, like a star that becomes a nova. The resulting wave sucks the energy out of anything it encounters, rendering it inert. That's why the area around old Ostia was barren for so long."

"What do you mean by inert?"

"I mean incapable of supporting life. That's why the reference to the Angel of Death."

The elf-girl returned and set their drinks down. "Keep the change," the assassin told her and received a smile in response. "So you decided to take a cruise and get away from it all?"

"No, I was invited to speak at a conference in Phoenicis."

"If you don't like being the center of attention, why jump back into it?"

Picking up his drink, the old scientist grinned. "Because I'd like nothing better than to look 'em all in the eye and say 'I told you so'." Holding up his glass, Federson said "Cheers."

Hiro took a swallow and grimaced as the liquid burned a path down his throat. "Dear God," he gasped. "What is this stuff?"

"They make this in my home city of Antigone; it's called burning wine," the old man replied as his grin grew broader. "Good, isn't it?"

--

A/N: The chapter heading and title are from the poem 'Risk' by Anais Nin.

Azrael is one of many names for the Angel of Death. This figure appears in Jewish, Christian and Islamic traditions.

Burning wine is a term for strong spirits that appears in several European languages, but in this case it refers to a clear, vodka-like liquor. Judging from Hiro's reaction, it would be safe to say it was greater than 80 proof.

I'll be celebrating a merry Christmas this month, but no matter what holiday you celebrate, I hope it's a happy and safe one.