A/N: Thanks for the reviews & favorites, everyone! No, Collin & Day are not in the original book. If folks are looking for a fun, cheesy, grade-Z horror/occult read (especially if you've got an MST3K sense of humor), you'll want to pick up the original; the Satanic Torture Ritual alone is 100% (unintentional) comedy gold.

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Disturbed, Kris hung up the phone. The symbols that Frank had described were worrying. The Necronomicon ones were bad enough — put enough belief behind anything and it was possible to make it real — though between Frank's dead-pan sarcasm and Joe's snark, they'd skewer any attempts to use that nonsense on them. But combined with the attack on Joe…and what had happened in NYC…in the hands of someone who knew what they were doing, someone intelligent, it could turn deadly, fast.

The key, though, matched too much. Key symbolsheld a variety of interpretations, across a lot of different cultures, and Pagans tended to grab and use whatever worked. Actual keys used in spell-work could represent the buildings they were part of, or several different deities, or could be symbols for any number of desired results. Then there was the cimaruta, charms made with keys and holed stones, but those were part of Italian folk magic, not English.

Chewing on her pen cap, Kris went back over her notes, what Frank had said, what she'd told him. That wasn't quite right. Italian folklore — well, that had a solid Roman base, and Romans had taken over England, at one point. Roman myth was stolen from the Greek — the Romans had taken everything that hadn't run away fast enough — and many current Pagan groups called on those pantheons. But a key…?

It'd been a long day, and it didn't help that it was after 1 AM. But now she was wide awake, a faint something tickling the back of her brain. Back at her bookshelves, Kris pulled down every book on Greek and Roman mythology she had, along with the pamphlets they'd gotten from Chet on that so-called "witchmaster". It didn't take long, and Kris felt like kicking herself for not remembering this during Frank's call.

Too much stress, that was it. Too much running between Wings, the Center, classes, and everything she was watching as a Blade, and she'd been trying to keep up too much on too little for too many months now. And Vão. And Rafe.

No use whining about it.

At least Chet wasn't part of the "everything she was watching", at the moment. He'd gone home for Winter Break, having left the day before Frank and Joe had gone to England. Thankfully, Chet believed her excuse of needing more time with his grandmother's "Book of Shadows" and let her keep it for the holidays.

As she pored over her notes and the open books, realization finally sunk in: Hecate, the triple goddess of the crossroads and protector of witches and sorcerers. One of her titles was Klêidouchos, Keeper of the Keys — the keys to the Underworld, the land of the dead. Almost every Pagan group in the US called on her now, thanks to the Goddess chant.

Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna…

The attackers had marked Joe with blood, had marked the symbols in blood, and marked the Rowbothams' house with blood.

"…when He seeth the blood upon the lintel, the Lord will pass over the door, and will not suffer the Destroyer to come in unto your houses to smite you…"

Years it had been — nine years — and she could still hear Papa intoning the book of Exodus as he'd marked the doors of the squats and run-down apartments that they'd lived in, and he'd marked them with blood: his own, Mama's, hers. Protection, he'd claimed, and looking back on it, Kris wondered if he'd actually told the truth, for a change. Not all blood magic was evil, after all. Quite a few traditions used it, either animal sacrifice (ritual slaughter, with the beast cooked for a feast after) or self-sacrifice. Even the Blades used it in life-keying.

But if Joe's attackers had been calling on Hecate…and Joe had encountered Samedi, the Voodoo loa of Death, several times already…

That was the problem with gods. People forgot that good didn't mean nice, evil wasn't the same as mean, and that gods were just as complex as the humans who called on them, with their own agendas. The One had multiple faces, depending on what She was being called for — all gods are One God, all goddesses are One Goddess, and all are faces of the One, a Neo-Pagan saying ran — and some of those faces were downright terrifying.

Kris glanced at the clock: almost 2 AM. Joshua would be asleep. Waking him wouldn't do any good — there wasn't anything that could be done right now, after all. She could be overreacting, too. Frank and Joe weren't helpless nor naive: the CIA had learned that lesson. Still…

She headed back out to the kitchen and called the Rowbothams. Frank and Joe were out checking out the museum, but Sybil took the message to have them call Kris back.

"They said one of their friends was of the Lady. Would that be you?"

Of the Lady — of the Goddess? "Yes'm," Kris said carefully. "I'm with Coven Spiral here, one of their…um…Dianic hives. We're kinda figuring it out as we go."

She could hear the smile in Sybil's voice. "Quite. Tell me the whole of your message, ducks. I won't faint, I promise you."

If Sybil was implying she was Wiccan, from what Kris knew of the British traditions, I won't faint was an understatement. The other end of the line was quiet as Kris went over what she'd found, careful to stress that it was just a guess on her part, but given some of what had happened to Joe…and there Kris paused, unsure how to explain Samedi and New Orleans, or even if she should.

"I know the American paths are different," Sybil said slowly. "You're immigrants in a land not your own, and you combine many disparate paths into one. Not so here. The Greeks have little power in this land."

"Um…but I've got stuff from that group near you. They're using a mash of Gardner and Crowley, with a lot of our stuff thrown in. Our stuff's a lot of Roman and Greek and the Romans were there way back, right? And Gardner's group called on Diana as their Lady."

"That is a point." Sybil sounded thoughtful. "A shame you didn't come with them, cheel."

Before Kris could answer that, Sybil had hung up.

Kris spent a restless night. She'd moved Purr-oh and Frito back to her rooms so she could keep a better eye on them while Frank and Joe were away. All three kittens were comfortable, purring weights on the bed — when they weren't playing pounce-on-feet-under-the-blankets, anyway — and Shell tucked herself under Kris's chin in a warm, furry curl. But even the kittens did little to allay the odd dreams and tossing and turning.

At dawn, Kris finally gave up the fight and got up. After a shower and her usual bowl of Cheerios and bananas, she went down to the commons to wait, and when Joshua showed up at his usual eight a.m., he stopped on seeing her.

"You look terrible. Bad night, chè?"

"We need to talk." Kris got to her feet and followed Joshua into the war-room.

Technically, it was the Blades' office, but Joshua hated the word "office". The filing cabinets had been moved to an unclaimed closet, and Joshua had bribed Jamie into doing stained glass windows, then installed shelves as a weekend group project, and commissioned a large map table from a local artisan, along with worn sofas, area rugs over the floor and fabric art on the walls to deaden sound, a fridge stocked with sodas and local beer, and one of the new automatic coffeemakers. The net result was a comfortable space where the Blades could talk and not worry about the dangers of other Center residents overhearing.

No serious discussion could start before Joshua had gotten his coffee. As Joshua cussed out the recalcitrant coffee-maker as proof of the reality of Hell, Kris snagged a tamarind soda from the fridge and settled into the sofa to wait.

Coffee finally in hand and looking much more awake, Joshua listened as Kris went over what Frank had said about the attack, showing him the pamphlets, the symbols, the key drawing, what she'd found in the books, and her own reasoning. When she finished, Joshua sipped his coffee for a long moment, studying her.

"I wanted to send you with them," Joshua said finally. "But if I send you over there now, right after they've reported an attack, it'll look like I think they can't handle it."

Kris hadn't said anything about going over there. She'd been thinking it, true… "It's not that. It's…um…you know how the feds took over the peace movement?"

Joshua nodded.

"We think they're doing the same with us. The pagan groups, I mean. A lot of Spiral folks are into grass roots stuff and…um…some of the UK groups finally went public, too."

"You're wondering if MI5's taking a page from the CIA's book."

"Yeah, that. That stuff Chet had…" Kris shook her head. "They have to be watching them. They'd be stupid not to. And…um…if the feds tapped Fenton's phone, they'll know where Frank and Joe are. And they could use their connections with British Intel…"

"— to slip in a US operative to track possible subversives. I know how the game works, darlin'."

"But they'll be focused on Frank and Joe. If I go over now, I'll be under the radar. I mean, they won't know we've got someone else watching them for tails and they won't know that we know they don't know, especially if I stay low and Frank and Joe don't know I'm there — what?"

Joshua was grinning. "You're learning. Keep it up. Problem, though, is that Americans stick out over there. And I'm not sure the feds are tailing Joe. Especially since Frank hasn't reported anything. There's been no word from our moles."

"Um, if Pickenbaugh's group has us in it, they won't. Our feds, I mean. Um…won't stick out, I mean. He's been recruiting over here. Frank said they're aiming for rich and bored people."

"Rich, bored, and lacking anything resembling sense," Joshua said dryly. "I hate saying it, darlin', but your crowd seems to get more than its fair share of fruit loops."

That rankled. "Jim Jones was Christian. And Manson said he was Jesus. And the Moonies are Presbyterian. And Shiloh and the CoGs and the Friends Fellowship and Divine Man…" Kris paused. "Um…does Nixon count?"

Joshua laughed. "Touché." Then he was studying her again, his head tilted.

Kris said nothing. She knew that expression: Joshua was making a decision.

"Before they left," Joshua said, "you were pretty set against going over there. What you're saying is true, but I get the sneaking suspicion there's more. Talk to me, partner. What's changed?"

She didn't answer.

"Vão and Rafe bothering you?" Joshua leaned forward. "I know they're hanging around. They've been pretty blatant with the chicks. Lori's crowd. Don't think I haven't noticed."

Face hot, Kris shook her head. Bothering? Not really. Pointedly ignoring her while surrounded by chattering, infatuated girls — that didn't count. Not like Joshua meant it, anyway.

"Got your passport updated?" Joshua was carefully not looking at her.

"Last month."

Joshua looked up at one of the paintings: the Archangel Michael, glowing blue, red, and gold in a patch of sunlight. "I'm wondering if I should go with you. I'm not sure I can handle a couple weeks of people touching my hair, though. Rowbotham oh-so-carefully made it clear that Griffinmoor was…how did he put it…old-fashioned."

"Touch your hair?"

He blinked at her, then cracked up. "Jesus wept…chè…thank you. Thank you. That father of yours, and you still surprise me. Thank you."

He'd explain, eventually. Kris waited. Papa had ranted about Black folks being the sons of Cain and other nonsense, though Kris had never seen anything like what Papa claimed. After she'd run away, after Mar had brought her into the Center and Joshua started his campaign of befriending the little runaway, Kris had been fascinated by Joshua's Black-Power afro — he hadn't worn dreads then — but she'd never tried to touch it. She hated anyone touching her without asking. It'd never occurred to her that anyone would want to.

But she'd still said a lot of wrong things to Joshua back then, in total ignorance. He'd been very patient in explaining how wrong they were, but this had never come up.

"I mean, I could kind of see it with Cari," Kris said slowly, trying to figure out what she meant and unsure how to put it; Cari was another of the Blades. "She's got that really cool 'fro. It's like me and Shell — I can't not touch Shell, I mean, 'cause she feels like a bunny. But…I mean…it's someone's hair…"

"That's exactly it, chè. Like you and your cat. It wasn't that long ago that folks like me weren't considered human and folks like you thought it was their God-given right to do whatever they wanted to folks like me."

Kris finally figured out the words. "Um, you mean…like the grown-ups did, when I was a kid. Because they thought they could. They always wanted to touch. And they got angry when I wouldn't let them. That's what you're saying?"

Joshua fired a finger at her. "Exactly. Something about being in power gets you thinking that other people's feelings don't matter. Only what you want does."

How had the conversation gotten on this line… "Um…about Frank and Joe…"

"Maybe I could put up with that crap for a couple weeks. I could wear a sign: Meet A Black Person, a Dollar a Touch.I'd clean up."

"Um…"

"I know, I know. I'd stand out." With a sigh, Joshua stared out the window.

"That's not what I meant!" When Joshua raised an eyebrow, Kris went on hurriedly. "I mean, we can pull a double blind. Like we usually do. If we think the feds have caught on, let them see you, and I'll still be in neato —"

"Incognito."

"Yeah, that. C'mon, Josh. You need a break — you need to stick your foot in. You told me that."

Joshua was grinning again. "You mean keep a hand in."

"Um, that, too. So take a vacation and just kinda be taking it where Frank and Joe are kinda working. I mean, Frank said that you said the groups over there were thinking of starting up something like us. So you need to be there, because you know what all the Blades get into and all the other stuff and all that —"

He held up a hand. "No, chè. As much as I want to, I can't. A double-blind won't work if I'm not hidden to start with —"

"Mouse-trick! You're hedging, Josh."

"— and it'd really look like I didn't trust them to do the job, if they realized I was there, too. Not just them, but the UK folks."

"But we're not there to do their job! We're there to do our job. Um, keeping the feds from the Gifted, I mean. I mean…how would it look if Frank and Joe got nailed by the feds because they're concentrating so hard on the job they're supposed to be doing? Or if they can't do their job because they're too busy dealing with the job they're not watching for?"

Joshua just looked at her.

"That'd really look bad," Kris said. "Like we don't care about our own. And it'd give them a chance to see that side of it. The UK folks, I mean. The fed side. Um. Like that."

"All right, all right." Joshua held up a hand. "Even when you're not making sense, you make too much sense, partner. And that's a definite symptom that I've been warming the desk too much." He looked around the war-room, then sighed. "Hopefully Downs won't mess things up too much while I'm gone."