Morgan glanced at the sky above them one more time, storing up the sight of sunlight against the darkness she knew was down there. She might not see it, not like Aladdin and Maria could, but she thought she could almost smell the dark rukh fluttering through the air, like a ghost of memory.

Bitter. Like tears. Like blood.

The tower top was featureless, built of closely-fitted stones the same granite-gray as the tumbled walls that laced the woods here. Only a wooden trapdoor broke the surface, weathered nearly as gray as the stone.

Morgan bent low to sniff the edges of the door, searching for any trace of electronics or plastic. "Nothing." She took a deeper breath. "I think... there's wiring deeper in the tower. But not close. And..." She hesitated. "I smell nothing. Just stones, and a little dust."

"What do you mean, nothing?" Aladdin frowned.

Maria was looking around the tower top, eyes wide. "No bird droppings." She dropped onto her knees, poking in corners. "No spiders. There are always spiders."

"Nothing alive," Morgan nodded, ice tickling along her nerves. "Bugs should get past that door. But I don't smell them. Just... dust. Like things died and dried out, years ago."

"Not even rats?" Dark eyes went wider. "There are always rats, if there are even dead bugs to munch."

"Not even them," Morgan agreed, grim.

"That makes sense," Aladdin said, voice uncharacteristically tight. Held his wand over the edge of the doorframe, moving it slow and steady as a slug racing for the damp grass. "It feels like Magnostadt. The 5th Authorization District." He swallowed. "Rats couldn't live there, either."

Where everyone's magoi was drained, Morgan remembered, Aladdin's tales from another life whispering in her mind. "Will we be able to stand it?"

Aladdin nodded. "I'll just reinforce the antivenom spell some more. Any magoi drain will yank energy off that first." Finished tracing the edge, he frowned. "No alarm wards."

"Makes sense," Morgan observed.

"...How can that make sense?" Aladdin objected.

"It's a trap," Morgan said levelly. "The best traps don't look like traps. Not on the outside." Bracing herself, she yanked the trapdoor open.

Oh, definitely a trap.

She leaned on the edge of the doorframe, lips quirking in wry amusement. No stairs leading down. Of course. But there was a very obvious trapdoor on the floor below, leading deeper into the windowless tower. "They want people to come in. And not get out." She took another sniff. "I think we'll be safe until we try to open the next door."

Aladdin glanced down, then at the open trapdoor leaning on the roof. "So... should we wreck all the hinges as we go through?"

"That depends." Morgan glanced at Maria. "Do you think something might get out behind us?"

"...Maybe?" Maria managed.

"I believe you," Aladdin said gently. "Okay. So we'll just have to get creative on the way out."

Morgan grinned, rubbing her hands in anticipation.

Aladdin saw her look, and chuckled. "I knew you'd like that." Straightened, and held out a hand to each of them.

Light as feathers, they dropped into the room, hovering inches above the floor.

Morgan took a breath, and narrowed her eyes at the trapdoor on this floor. The light in here wasn't the best, even with the door over them open. But it was enough to see a darker spot in the darkness of the fine line between trapdoor and frame. "Pressure sensor in the door." At least it looked like one, from Uncle Tiburon's lessons. "It's meant to set off an alarm if the door opens."

"If you wish to catch a rat, know when the cheese is bitten," Maria got out. "And, there is... black in the door?"

"Gravity magic wards." Aladdin sounded almost too cheerful. "I bet it's set to yank the door closed when people go through."

"...No." Maria blinked, as if she were trying to see through fog. "No, it - it closes when there is no one here. In this room."

Morgan glanced at her, weighing the scent of fear versus the pale determination on Maria's face. "You remember?"

"It is like looking through the highland mists." Maria swallowed. "I think so. But - not clear. Nothing is clear."

"So we're going the right way." Morgan held out a hand. "Gum."

One hand reached for her jeans pocket before Maria stopped, and gave her a look. "Gum will not stop magic!"

"Aladdin can handle magic," Morgan said calmly. "I'm going to handle the sensor." I hope.

Luckily, the little bits of tool and wire she needed now had been in a pouch in her sweatshirt pocket, not her backpack. After all, when he'd taught her and her cousins these tricks, Uncle Tiburon had been very, very clear.

"If you need to breach a security system, you need this on you. Don't worry about what the cops will think. Be polite, be wide-eyed and innocent, give them no trouble at all, and they probably won't even bother to search you. If they do? We can always bail you out.

"But if you need this, really need this - cops are the least of your worries."

"Huh."

About to reach for the sensor, Morgan froze. "Aladdin?"

"Oh! No, it's not the door. Exactly. It's something in the spells on both doors, old magoi... just keep doing what you're doing," Aladdin said thoughtfully. "I'm going to ask the rukh here a few questions."

Morgan raised an eyebrow; then shrugged, and went back to work, ignoring the whispers he traded with Maria and the wind. Aladdin had been in on breakouts before. She trusted his judgment. If he saw something she needed to know, he'd tell her.

Bit of copper in the gum to bridge the circuit, and... there.

One pressure sensor, cheerfully reporting it was closed even as she eased the trapdoor open. Slowly. Gently. Smoothly; Uncle Tiburon had always stressed that, because someone who used one sensor might use more, and why set them off by accident? "This one's set."

Aladdin let out a relieved breath, and then laughed. "Oh, awesome. Maria, look at that!"

"It is- but how-?"

Rolling some tension out of her shoulders, Morgan eyed them both.

Maria blushed. "It is... there is fire on the trap spells."

Morgan frowned, worried. "Alan was brought through here?" That didn't seem right. Why would the Toolmakers risk bringing someone as dangerous as Alan by way of a tower trapdoor? That gave him far too many chances to get away.

"No, it's old fire," Aladdin said quickly, bobbing up and down in the air a quarter of an inch as he stifled a laugh. "Something that happened here a long time ago. It's like - you know how a crocodile's jaws are meant to clamp closed, so they're really hard to open?"

"But the muscles are weak the other way, so keep their jaws closed and they're easier to fight," Morgan nodded. "The trap spells are like that?"

"A little," the magi agreed. "Well, the way the stones here still grumble a little about fire - Alan was here. Years ago. At least as far as this door. And I think he kind of talked the spells into thinking they might be open when they weren't. And then..." He moved his hand just above the floor, whispering. "The rukh here remembers you, Maria. And it felt you trying to get out, and - it remembered the pattern-of-fire."

Maria moved her hand to just beside his, then touched the cloth of her shirt just above the crystal cross. "You can tell? It is so... dim? Not lit?"

"Faint?" Aladdin suggested. "It is. But I've had to look for Ali- for Alan's rukh in some pretty weird places. I know what his magoi feels like, even years later."

Morgan tried not to shiver. She remembered the way her Household Vessel had guttered out; the cold fear that had clutched her heart at the knowledge that Alibaba was dead, dead at the hands of a friend he'd loved, dead and she hadn't even been there...

He wasn't dead. Not quite. He came back. It just - took him a while.

Maria rested her hand near Aladdin's again, and shook her head. "But Alan is not a magician!"

"He's a king," Aladdin told her again, face lit with patient humor. "If the rukh can help him look after his people, it will."

"He did not even know I was here!"

And Morgan could hear all the doubt in there, all the fear. What if he did know, why didn't he help, why did we suffer so long?

"He didn't know," Morgan said firmly. "He's not a magician. He has to work to see the rukh; I don't think he saw it at all until he met Aladdin. But he can feel it. Like..." She cast about for something that might be close. "He is like Han. Aladdin can see the rukh, like Jedi feel the Force. Alan just gets a bad feeling about this." She drew in the scents from beyond the door. "No one's close, but I can smell air that leads to people."

Aladdin peered through the trapdoor with her. "Stairs this time. They really wanted people to come down."

"We... should not touch them, if we can." Maria was blinking, trying to stare at the old wrought-iron railing that curled in a spiral with circling stone. "The stone and the iron - wants something we do not have. But if we only climbed the iron..."

Morgan frowned, wishing she had a magician's eyes. "It's a circuit?"

"Earth to Earth through Life." Aladdin was glaring at the stairs as if he wanted to set them on fire. "Touch both of them, and it drains magoi right out of you. But just touch the iron-"

He reached through to grab it, and Morgan felt like shaking him.

Aladdin flexed his fingers around metal, grinning. "Yeah. It doesn't latch on if you're not touching the stairs. They must have some kind of shoes or a pass that makes the stairs ignore them."

Morgan hissed. "Tell me before you do that!"

Maria flinched, and Aladdin's shoulders drooped a little. "I should have," he admitted. "But... Alan's in here. And we're running out of time."

"Yes." Morgan jerked her chin down once, acknowledging that grim fact. "Just - be as careful as I remember you."

Blue eyes lit again, seizing iron as he floated them down to the next door. "I'll watch for magic. You watch for everything else!"

"Drat it all to Hades-!"

"No go on the handcuff key?" Alan shivered in the water, trying not to listen too hard to Won't work, won't work, you'll never get free, suffer with us forever! "Figured."

Oh, he knew that ragged catch of Sarah's breath. That was someone digging into anger to keep from crying. "If you think I was going to settle for playing with light instead of a key-!"

"Easy. Easy," Alan soothed, holding onto the light in his heart like a life preserver. Morg. Aladdin. Master Tiburon. I will get out of here. "It was a good idea. Key tucked into your bracelet with the rest of the charms - your husband's a great guy, I like him already. I just mean they look shiny, but they're old manacles. Not cut to standard."

"...There's a standard."

Oof, flat fury. Not good. "Since the sixties, I think?" Alan ventured. "I, um... when Mom knew I really liked locks, well... we went out and bought some of the old ones?"

"Who wants old locks?" Matt piped up, glancing between them.

Poor kid. He knows we're in trouble. He knows it's bad. "I did?" Alan tried to put the shrug into his voice, given the water was leeching movement away. "'Course, Mom always said I had to keep them put away when I wasn't playing. People get all freaked out about the craziest things, right, Matt? I bet your teachers would have a heart attack if you built a gun out of Legos. Wimps."

"Yeah!"

Sarah groaned. "When we get out of here, young man, we're going to have a long talk."

When. She said when. Yes! Alan flicked his thumb at some of the more depressing rukh. And if they didn't get the ancient flip-off for what it was, that was their problem.

"...Domingo never said you had a lock collection."

Her breathing's better. More even. Calming down, good. "I keep it put away pretty well?" Alan tried.

A moment's thoughtful silence. "I think my husband would love the chance to see it."

Ha. She gets it.

Because if the FBI hadn't found his locks, then they hadn't found where he kept them, either. And if they hadn't found that-

Mom's notes. The ones that had the real bombshells. They're still there.

"I still don't get how butterflies can move a lock," Matt grumped.

Oh man, I remember being that young. Alan grinned despite the chill. Matt was one sparkly, grumpy lump of, Mom can do anything, so if she can't get this right, you need to explain it again!

And heck. It wasn't like the kid was wrong. "Okay, this would give your science teachers fits, so listen up."

Yep, definitely a spark of pure attention there. Wonder if Simon's interested in setting up an elementary school to go with Hancock... drifting, too cold, focus. "There's the physical world, where you can see a lot of what happens. Fires burn, rain comes down, earthquakes, the works. And then there's the world in your mind, right? Where you dream stuff up, and hear words, and tell your body to move. Only sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn't - like when you're really scared." Or freezing - try shivering a little, might help. Not much, water sucks away heat twenty-five times faster than air, why do I have to remember that...

"...I guess?"

Right. Because no way was a kid his age going to admit being scared when he had to help Mommy. "Some guy I read said consciousness might be a quantum tunnel phenomenon... um, long words, yeah, let me think." Sure, he'd read a lot of neat science news bit, but he was no physicist. And trying to fit together what he'd learned from Alma Torran magicians as his past self, and as who he was now - ow. Headache.

But I've got something. I think. "Okay, there's the big world, which we see. There's the smaller worlds we see and we guess are there, with microscopes and electrons and white-haired scientists going 'Mwha-ha-hah!' And... under that, tangled all through everything kind of like invisible spaghetti, there's energy. That's the rukh."

Matt was silent for all of five seconds. "You said it was butterflies."

"The butterflies, the birds - that's the energy magicians can see," Alan insisted. "The energy that's moving around loose, maybe not connected to anyone right this second. That's the easy stuff to tug on, if you get your mind to the right place. But there's rukh in everything that exists. Even your handcuffs. Get that to move a little, the physical stuff will move right along with it."

Silence, broken only by water rippling as he shuddered.

"...I can't." Sarah's voice was quiet. Aching. "It's steel. I can't - I don't even know how to pick a lock without a key, much less-"

"I do," Alan cut her off. Don't let her doubt. Don't let her fall into that tangle of grief, we can do this, I know it! "Listen. The rukh's in everything. It's part of everyone. If I know something, the rukh knows it, and you can lean on that even if you don't know it. I swear." Think, magic's mental, if she can't imagine making the metal move, how do- oh. "Don't think of picking the lock. Think of asking someone to open it." He licked his lips, trying to wear off the lingering taste of garlic. "Like - like putting your hands over mine when I pick the lock. 'Cause that's what you're doing. Giving the rukh a little push, so it can take what I know and get the job done."

"Putting my hands over yours," Sarah said quietly. "But you're-"

"A lot more stuck than you are," Alan said bluntly. "Physically. Magically? I'm okay." Well. Kind of. For a little longer. "We get you out, then we get me out. Okay?"

"Okay," Sarah said softly. "Tell me what to do again."

There's an entire subway hidden under Boston. Hidden with magic. I've fallen into the Dresden Files.

Something Domingo had absolutely no intention of voicing out loud, as he moved forward to trade point with Tiburon, eyes searching along the rails for any tricks or traps the swordsman might possibly have missed. The madmen he was with would probably start arguing about who fit which character, and he'd be damned if he was going to be nicknamed Murphy. Drakon was better. Sort of. No matter how odd it was.

A distant rattle caught his ear; Domingo paused, waiting a moment to be sure the noise didn't grow louder. Walking into enemy territory along subway tracks was not his idea of a good time. But given he'd seen Malachy already break, mangle, and bend steel bars like someone else might fiddle with pipe cleaners, he believed the man when the martial artist said he could drag them all to safety if a train did roar through. There was something about Malachy's quiet confidence, his carefully banked fury at his niece's peril, that anchored Domingo's own rage. Let him contain it, and think, when otherwise he might have rushed headlong into deadly peril. Because he knew better, he did - but Sarah and Matt were the center of his world, and he wasn't thinking straight, not at all.

Well, if I'm insane, at least I'm in with the right crowd-

Ja'far straightened from a wary crouch, and held out an empty hand.

"What do you have?" Simon said quietly, hand on his cutlass.

Domingo almost rolled his eyes; yes, swords, he was with insane maniacs-

Except there was something in Ja'far's palm. Not quite visible, more a heat-shimmer than anything his eyes could focus on - but something. Like a glitter of dust in sunlight.

"Wings of hope," Ja'far answered, blinking as if he almost didn't believe it himself. "Alan's fighting their will in the rukh. They've done everything they can to darken it, and he's- we need to move. Fast!"

Domingo caught the man by the shoulder before the so-called magician could pass him. Grimly aware, from the way muscles bunched under his grip, that he'd probably only hold Ja'far as long as the man let himself be held. "Move fast and we'll trip alarms. Explain."

"That'd take too long-"

"Then sum up," Domingo suggested. Puss in Boots, Dresden, now the Princess Bride - Matt is going to love this story, later.

"Light rukh comes from hope," Simon jumped in. "Dark rukh - well, you can guess. It's easier for evil types to squeeze energy out of the dark stuff."

"But if you stick a king in the middle of a mess of dark rukh, one of two things can happen," Tiburon stated. "Either you corrupt the king, and everything goes dark - or you don't."

"Alan doesn't give up," Malachy agreed.

Domingo blinked. Took a breath, trying to juggle magic in his head. "They're about to have a massive power failure."

"That's possible." Gray eyes were narrowed, staring down the length of the tunnel they still had to cover before they reached the main lab. "Or it could be worse."

"Worse?"

Domingo glanced at the other three, wryly amused. So he wasn't the only one trying not to gnaw nervous fingernails to the bone.

Ja'far cleared his throat. "What happens when you kick out the bottom of a domino tower?"

Sarah breathed in, then out, trying to match the wing-flutters of silver butterflies. The rukh, Alan called them; and the flashes of color she saw, blue and red and so many more, were keys to the kind of energy they held.

The ones gathering closest to her and Matt were silver flecked with white. She might have guessed they were wind even before Alan had said so; they whispered of sky, hurtling, dancing, rattling branches in glee, tearing forests down-!

Unnerving. But tame as a kitten, compared to the black fog of wings hissing around Alan.

He's drawing them away from us, Sarah realized, heart torn. Alan was a kid, he shouldn't have to touch evil like this-

But Matt was her child, and she'd walk into hell to get him out of here in one piece.

Focus. Call the rukh to you; to the lock...

"Locks're meant... to unlock." Alan's voice was slurred. Slow. Cold. "Don' try to fight the lock. Jus'... remind it what it's s'posed to do..."

The splash of water faded, lost under the hum of incandescent lights.

Don't look. You can't help him if you panic, you have to get this right - oh god, I'm going to try magic, this is crazy-

"...Mommy?"

That warmth against her heart was the strength to do anything. For a moment she could feel the strength of wind inside the lock, feel the shape of toothed metal, feel air push- "Open Sesame!"

With a quiet snick, metal loosened. Hinges chimed against each other as the manacles fell into her lap.

"Whoa," Matt breathed. "That was so cool- Mommy?"

"I'll be okay," Sarah managed, hearing that upward lilt of fear. "Mommy's just a little dizzy. Like standing up too fast."

She stood up anyway, dropping the chains on the bench in a shudder of disgust. "We need to get Alan out. I need a stool, a chair, something-"

"Over here!" Matt ran out and pounced, then started gamely pushing a short steel stepladder over toward Alan's tank.

Sarah joined him, taking most of the weight even when her eyes wanted to see double. "Stay with me, Matt. This place was built by crazy people." Her Matt was a smart boy, but this whole lab was a deathtrap and she didn't want him poking his nose one inch where she couldn't watch it. Radioactive materials, for the love of Mary. If she got out of here in one piece, she was going to kill someone.

Better; I'll let Domingo do it, Sarah thought, deliberately using the wry sarcasm to keep herself from dissolving in panicked tears. He'll appreciate someone to tear apart. Maybe even literally.

The stepladder thumped against the tank in her haste. Whatever thick plastic it was made of, the wall didn't vibrate; just thrummed dully, like a careless guitar player plucking strings. The water inside didn't even ripple.

The water's not moving. Alan's not moving, that darkness is everywhere-!

There! The angle was bad, she didn't have much leverage, and he was swarmed by those - horrible parts of the rukh-

But he was pale and blue and she was not going to wait. Sarah grabbed his hair and sodden collar, pulling slow when she wanted to yank. They're drawn to fear. Stay calm. Get him to you, wake him up....

"Miz Dominguez...?"

Slurry as a three-day drunk, as her husband would say. But Alan was at least aware enough to remember who she was. Good. "I'm getting you out," Sarah said fiercely. "Whatever you're doing with the dark, stop it."

"...Yes'm."

The black wings didn't stop coming. But the flutters of darkness thinned a little, enough that she could see wet hair as she dragged the teenager out of that killing water.

He's still fighting, Sarah thought, as wet hands fumbled on the edge of the tank; trying to help her pull him out, even as sickly purple thorns of energy tried to scrape their way out of the golden glow around Alan's cuffs. Stubborn kid. "Come on, keep talking to me, we're out of the water, that's got to be better- eep!"

The shivers caught her off-guard; Sarah slipped and stumbled an extra rung down the stepladder as the teen shuddered. Her shoulder smacked against the side of the tank hard enough to make her nip her tongue. Though the taste of copper wasn't half as scary as the way dark wings rustled, swarm thickening and looking at her.

Hypothermic, Sarah thought, half-slipping down onto the lab floor, trying not to crack either of their skulls as she dragged the teen over to a lab workstation. Shivering is a good sign. I hope. "Matt, get his shirt off."

"But it's cold in-"

"Wet clothes kill you faster." Damn, she could hear Matt's stifled sob, she wanted to say she didn't mean it but there wasn't time. It'd been a while since college chemistry but Sarah knew a Bunsen burner when she saw one; lousy heat source for a frozen kid, but right now it was what they had. Striker, come on, tell me one of these drawers has - got you!

Sarah pounced on the familiar flint-and-steel cup with its squeeze handles, making sure the knob was turned and the airslit at the bottom was closed before she tried to remember the exact scrape of the handles to make sparks. Come on, come on...

With a quiet whoomp, yellow flames burst up from the top of the barrel. Sarah almost dropped the striker on the black-slabbed bench, hand shaking as she opened the airslit to concentrate the gas into one roaring blue flame.

A blue flame that almost disappeared from her view, swarmed by red-touched rukh.

Red wings... the red ones are warm.

Alan seemed to be breathing easier as she got him up on a pair of chairs, as close to the heat thrumming out of the burner as possible. More of the red rukh seemed to flutter in with the warmth, circling cold skin as if drawn to the boy.

Each color is a kind of energy. Red is heat, Sarah realized. There's got to be something I can do with that-

"Mom?" Matt was waving a soaked paper notebook with a short pencil nub jammed through the spiral binding. "You think he takes notes like Dad does?"

"It wouldn't surprise me at all," Sarah breathed. She wasn't about to open it, wet pages might disintegrate, but if Alan took notes in pencil... "Where did you find this?"

"In his sleeve." Matt grinned up at her, obviously relieved that Mom was back in charge. "Weird, huh? Is he a magician? Who keeps notes up their sleeve?"

"Someone who thinks he's going to be searched," Sarah muttered, turning back to yanking off soaked sneakers, socks, and jeans. She'd figure out what she could do with the rukh and warmth after she wasn't trying to warm up half a tank of water with Alan. "Hold onto that, I'd better get his wallet too..."

His suspiciously stiff wallet. Sarah scowled at it, and felt wet fabric with her fingertips until she located the near invisible zipper. Tugged it down, just enough to get a look at what she'd suspected was in there.

Well. Now I know Domingo will love this kid. Sarah touched the fine steel picks, just once, before she zipped it back up and tucked the wallet into her own pocket. But I don't think picks will help with this.

"What are these things?" she muttered, not quite daring to poke the cloth-wrapped steel cuffs. The symbols on it... nothing about them individually looked unsettling, but the thorny vines of energy trying to sink into Alan's skin put all the hairs up on the back of her neck. "You're stopping them somehow, aren't you? How?"

Well, how was kind of obvious, she could see that heat-shimmer of gold thin and thicken with Alan's breathing. Thicker now that warmth was sinking into her bones.

Not my imagination. He's drawing the red rukh. As if it... likes him.

Better that than the dark ones, at least. Those hadn't left. They were swirling through the air. Waiting.

Sarah narrowed her eyes at them. No matter what they looked like, she knew what they felt like. "Anyone who gloats about someone failing, just because they couldn't do it, is nothing but a bully." She raised a fist - never mind this was anger, this was anger over children, over someone who'd tried to help, and there was nothing of cowardice in it. "If you're not going to help, then get out of my way!"

There was a thunder of wings, black withdrawing as red crowded nearer.

"Wow." Matt was clinging to her pants, eyes wide. "How'd you make it brighter in here?"

So Matt can see them. At least a little. "Told some idiots to behave themselves," Sarah said firmly. "Come on, let's get Alan closer to the heat." Though not so close he burned himself, the shivers were hard and fast now; a good sign, she'd heard, someone really hypothermic was too cold to shiver-

A cold hand tried to close fingers on her arm. "Where're my pants?"

"Soaking wet on the floor," Sarah informed him. "Get up closer to the fire... how do we get these cuffs off? I can't find a keyhole."

"Isn't one. Doesn't matter." Alan blinked at the flames, drawing in a breath as if-

No. Not as if, Sarah realized, wide-eyed. The red rukh is trying to help him.

"Khul ja shem-shamayim!"

Cloth tore. Steel made a grinding, teeth-gritting rasp, as if rusted bolts were being yanked apart by sheer torque-

The wrecked cuffs fell onto the lab bench, and Alan sagged against her.

"He is a magician!" Matt swarmed up onto the bottom rung of one chair, trying to look Alan in the eye. "Why didn't you do that before?"

"T-too c-cold," the teenager got out. "Couldn't... break them... and stay 'wake too..."

No, he couldn't, Sarah realized, chilled. If he got as dizzy as I did - he would have drowned.

He thought that through. While he was terrified. While he was freezing to death. "Alan - who are you?"

Alan wrapped himself around the burner, an impossible silken thread of red energy spinning from gas flames to his hands. "Just a guy trying to look after his people." His voice was less slurred, but still exhausted. "Ma'am. Can you hear the red rukh?"

Flowing chewy air om nom nom, were the nearest whispers, when Sarah tried to focus on reddened wings. Human/not-human/elemental-bound? Poke! Ally, knows us; help him help us...

Sarah swallowed dryly. Creatures that seemed to be pure energy saw Alan as someone who knew them? "I... think so."

"Good." Alan's teeth didn't quite clip the edge of the word off; he shuddered, skin goose-pimpled even as the water started to dry off of him. "He doesn't feel that far, if I just knew which direction to reach... ask them where there's a really big concentration of fire rukh."

Concealed under the lip of a subway platform that Drakon's maps swore didn't exist, Ja'far peeked out just enough to get a second look at the armed guards inside and outside of reinforced doors big enough to take a whole van through. Six I can see, and the doors are between us and three of them. Direct assault? We're fast, much faster than anything they've ever run into. Drakon doesn't have a magoi boost but he's still faster than most... no, no good, we'd only have one ranged fighter, Tiburon doesn't have a distance weapon without his Vessel. Even if Malachy and I rush them, they'd have time to set off an alarm. And I've never been good with sleeping spells. Illusions, maybe; but we don't have a handy magi with us for a recharge, and power I spend on that is power I don't have to swat more drugs. Besides, what illusion would make them ignore the five of us? "We have a problem."

"No, really?" Tiburon muttered.

"Can't believe this," Drakon breathed, eyes wide as he took in every damning detail; lights, bulletproof glass doors, all the machinery needed for a freight-handling subway car. "I've seen Chicago air terminals with less security. How could they have hidden this so long? And don't tell me magic. Magic can't hide power bills!"

"Bribes," Malachy shrugged. "Leave a bit off the map. Offer a job. Dig up dirty laundry. Doesn't take magic."

"Hmm." Simon didn't quite glance past the edge, face still in a way that usually meant he was blocking out scene directions in his head. "So. We need to get in there. But we can't get in there without drawing attention?"

Ja'far scowled toward the platform. Trust Simon to put his finger on the problem- wait. Wait, what had he just said-?

"Without them setting off an alarm," Tiburon started.

In one fluid motion, Simon flipped up and over the platform edge.

For a split second Ja'far was frozen. Because Simon couldn't have done that a week ago, you'd have to be a practicing ninja-climber to get that much strength into a hand-grip-

"Good evening, gentlemen!" Simon strode right up to the nearest incredulous suit as casually as he'd stroll the red carpet. "Can you tell me how to get to the Kingston Line from here?"

Drakon made a choked noise.

Ja'far groaned in utter and total sympathy. "Murder him later, back him up now."

Flipped up and over himself, Tiburon fast behind him, both of them ducking by sheer instinct as they heard something metal screech and tear.

Malachy's ripped-up bit of rails whipped an inch over their heads, paired prongs crashing through bulletproof glass like an unwieldy javelin.

Ja'far grinned fiercely, leaping through shattered glass to leave blood and swearing minions in his wake. Oh, I've missed fighting with a Fanalis!

Tiburon was one bare step behind; laughing, low and unnerving, as he put down the last of the guards on this side of the glass with the blunt side of his sword. "Oh, I've missed that. Hello, it's us!" Wrenching the most conscious man's hand behind his back to tie him with his own belt, the swordsman glanced out past the glittering edge, where Simon and Drakon had cutlass and gun cornering the last standing guard as Malachy casually cracked the other two's skulls together. "Nice!"

"That actually worked." Simon's eyes were shining, a hint of sparks dancing on his blade. "See? What were you worried about? They didn't get to-"

Which, of course, was when Ja'far spotted a shadow in the corridor beyond the freight elevator. Damn it! Have to-

Rope-knives whipped out, lightning-fast. The stray minion didn't have time to squeak, muscles flung into bone-breaking spasms as he jerked against the wall. But one finger managed to find something on his belt, and jab home.

Sirens started blaring, and four irate Generals glared at the man responsible.

Simon spread his hands, one still full of steel and magic. "...Oops?"

The only warning Aladdin had was Morgan's smile.

Then the whole air was yelling, louder than the bus station fire alarms, rukh fluttering in surprise and anticipated violence.

Red hair blazed as Morgan leapt, bringing down the door to the first sublevel and the armed guy behind it in one heavy-metal clang.

She skidded off the door as it tilted, already leaping for the guard's partner in a flurry of fists and one ominous crack.

But it was a crack, not a gristly crunch, Aladdin realized, jumping in after with his wand out to slash up the stone of the walls into snake-like manacles and a sandy gag on guard number three. Arm bone; painful, sure, but not the quick kill of a broken neck.

And he knew that just by listening. Even through a shrieking alarm. Maybe he'd been around Fanalis a little too long.

A soft gulp hit the air behind him. "...We were being quiet?" Maria tried to whisper.

Morgan thumped once more on her groaning opponents' heads. "Stay down." She straightened, lean and fluid as a sand tiger. "It would have taken too long to sneak past them anyway. I can smell Alan. He's close." Her nose wrinkled as she glanced down the long corridor. "And I smell other hurt people. Behind those doors."

There were a lot of doors.

I don't want to know. I don't want to know, I already know too much, I could tear this whole place apart and I wouldn't ever feel sorry until later, and that won't help anybody-!

Aladdin raised his wand, and slashed it down in a cutting wind.

Just the doors with life. Only open the doors with life.

Three doors. Only three. One of those had armed men, staring as they looked up from some kind of meal out of boxes-

And then Morgan was in the midst of them. There were screams.

Aladdin rushed in after her, wand swooping in a rope of stone-made-sand to catch and entangle anyone who looked like they were going for a weapon.

This isn't like fighting pirates, or even bandits. They're hurting people. We are not fighting fair.

A few more seconds, and Morgan had cracked the last pair of skulls together. Aladdin locked the hands of anyone still moving in stone, and took a breath. "Are you okay?"

Morgan tapped her toes on the floor, gaze flickering over the guardroom to be sure there wasn't some poor dumb idiot crazy enough to try hitting them. "I'm fine."

No you're not, Aladdin knew, seeing the fire in red eyes. But she wasn't hurt, and Alan wasn't here, which meant they didn't have time to stand around and worry-

Doors away, Maria gasped. "I have found someone!"

Morgan glanced around the room once more, and headed that way.

Aladdin paused in the doorway. "They might have keys-"

"We don't have time for keys."

And this was a hunt and Morgan knew hunting in this world and he was not going to argue. Not when he could hear dark rukh whispering all through this awful tower, angry and venomous and... confused.

Why isn't he failing? came the hiss of dark wings. Why isn't he dead?

"Oh, don't be silly," Aladdin muttered to passing darkness. "He's Alibaba. Don't you know the Sinbad fairytales?"

Some dark wings swirled in confusion. Others seemed to hover, like a dazed blink of darkness. But a few-

Augh run away run away!

Aladdin didn't watch them scatter, busy helping Morgan and Maria break chains and drag two emaciated bodies out of their prison cells, back to the stairwell. The alarms were a little quieter there, muffled by stone and distance. "There's going to be more fighting. If we make you a door, can you get them out?"

"Make a door?" Maria said shakily, supporting a youngster who had to weigh barely half of what she did.

Morgan grinned, bounced up to the ground floor landing, and drew her leg up for a kick.

Fanalis bone and muscle versus antique stonework. Swooping his turban under their rescued kids, Aladdin had to grin too. Poor stones.

Knocking out a few blocks on each side to widen the hole, Morgan reached over to help Maria and her charges through. "Going up!"

Even down on the third sublevel, Phaenomena felt the tower tremble.

Shays dropped stubborn steel on the table as the alarms kept ringing, head snapping up at glints of power Phaenomena knew she couldn't see. It should have clattered on the table, but she couldn't make it out through the blaring noise. "The intruder alert? But who - how-?"

"I suspect that would be your new guests," Callimachus said dryly. Carefully - obviously - stepping back and away. Drawing all the eyes in the room with his utter, casual nonchalance. "Were I you, I would start worrying. Now."

"Worry?" Shays' lip curled. "About mere hedge magoi-users?"

"Hmm, no," Callimachus mused. "I was more referring to..."

Fire roared up from steel, white-hot and angry. The center of the table disintegrated, fiery steel dropping to the floor and snarling its way through tile and bracing wood.

"That," Callimachus said dryly. "And also, this."

Smiling, Phaenomena unsheathed the blade she'd snatched, and drove in for the kill.

"Simon-!"

"Right, right, annoying noise anyway," Simon said hurriedly, poking at various controls on the monitor station near the elevator that looked promising. "Come on, this button is obviously an on, there has to be an off!"

"Not necessarily," Tiburon shot back, searching the station just as frantically, scooping up anything that looked like a stray bit of data storage that Drakon didn't get to first. Though the FBI agent had hauled out a few of his own flash drives, and was pulling something on the nearest computer that Simon sort of doubted was entirely legal. "This isn't a standard setup-"

Ja'far's hand slapped Tiburon's away from one particular button. "Trapped!"

Tiburon swore. "They've mixed tech and magic all through here. You probably need a magic key to turn the bloody alarm off-"

Malachy's hand rested on Simon's shoulder. "They know we're here. Give us an advantage."

Me? But what can I do? I'm no security expert, I'm not a soldier, I'm just-

:You were never "just" anything, my king.:

...Oh.

Malachy grabbed Tiburon and Drakon as he moved, hauling them clear of anything metal.

"Bararaq Saiqa!"

Lightning struck with his cutlass, stabbing deep into the heart of the security station before lashing out like a spiderweb of sparks. Lights and sirens flickered, screeched-

Died.

Hmm. Dark in here.

Beside him, Simon felt Ja'far's deep sigh.

"Shield your eyes, Malachy." A click, and Tiburon had a small, red-lit flashlight on. "Oh. And just breathe, Drakon. Breathe."

Numbly, the agent took what was left of his flash drive out of the computer port. "What - what was that?"

"Our advantage," Simon said confidently. "Let's go!"

Immoral, incompetent, insane magicians!

Amon shaped stored magoi with his will, burning his way through the rock and other paltry barriers between himself and his king. Fortunate that the youth had kept the Vessel on him as long as possible; unlike some of the early days with Alibaba, when a hidden prince had sometimes been unnerved enough by what had taken refuge in his treasured steel to consider leaving knife and all in the wandering dunes. Rashid Saluja's third son had wanted wealth to restore his homeland, yes, but a Djinn's searing power?

As Alan might say, Not so much.

It probably wouldn't have done any good to blame Judar for shutting the dimensional gate and cutting off the time they should have had to explain kings, contracts, and exactly what Alibaba had won by surviving a dungeon with his body and heart intact. Not when Amon himself had been less than amused that the Lord of all Djinn had brought him a king candidate with low magoi, low self-esteem, and no sense of dignity whatsoever.

...Well, not entirely true. Alibaba had been raised as a prince for a few years, so he did have a shaky idea of what dignity was. Sort of. He just didn't consider it nearly as high on his list of priorities as, say, making sure everyone around him scraped through the next disaster in one piece.

As we have done before, Amon thought, reaching out toward that sense of his king. No matter that steel was not touching skin; with his king's skills, they only had to be close. As we shall do again-

"Amon!"

He wrapped power around his king as a second skin; steel unfolding into the young man's favored sword, flames clothing them in gold and silk and lava. The third eye opened-

Ah. So this is where we are.

Hmph. Darkened stone walls, tainted Life Magic, stolen magoi, and a viciousness in the rukh Amon hadn't tasted in centuries, held at bay by the swirl of hope around his king and the two humans he was bent on rescuing.

Or, for a king, Tuesday.

A young Wind Magician, and a magoi-strong boy, Amon judged, seeing the wonder in the Matt's eyes, the amazed caution in his mother's. Evidently whatever horrors Sarah already witnessed had not prepared her for the reality of her rescuer being able to dwell in the heart of fire. Give the boy a decade, he might be a King's Candidate himself...

For a moment his vision wavered, and Amon frowned. :My king. Do not fall asleep.:

:But I'm warm...:

:Alan!:

Right. Falling asleep in the middle of Equip, bad, Alan told himself groggily, shaking his head. At least this time he wasn't surprised by the sudden weight of hair, or the warm pressure of the golden torque at his throat, or the odd shimmer of, well, everything, as the third eye let him see the rukh clearly. It was familiar as a favorite t-shirt. Comfortable. So nice and toasty warm...

Argh.

He let Amon's Sword dip into the flames of the gas burner, drawing in all the fire magoi they could. Tame stuff next to a volcano, but he'd take what he could get. "Matt? Mrs. Dominguez? You okay?"

Son wrapped in her arms, Sarah swallowed. "You're on fire."

"Cool!" Matt chirped.

"It's kind of a long story," Alan said shyly. "Short version - this is something a few people can do, with a lot of rukh. And a friend. My friend's Amon." He shrugged. "But I'm going to need your help. Amon can only help me do this if I'm awake."

Sarah glanced at the tank, water shimmering in the firelight, then at the shattered cuffs. "You're... tired." Shook her head. "Of course you are. But if we can't touch you-"

"You can." Alan straightened, trying to look as confident as Aladdin always thought he was. "I know what it looks like, but I won't hurt you. The fire's mine... um. How long have the lights been out?" And where's all the dark rukh go- uh-oh.

He moved, swift as flame, snatching up Sarah in his free arm as pulsing dark power shattered tanks in a flood of fluids and snarling flesh.

Set spell, don't know what the trigger was, but it's still driving them-!

The impact was a surprise. It didn't hurt, but Sarah couldn't quite stifle a yelp as stone and plaster shattered off the protective aura of flames around them.

Oops. Alan shook rock dust off as they soared into the next level. Short ceilings.

"Awesome!" Matt flung up his arms. "Do it again- eek!"

Big as a polar bear. Shaggy, between rhino-horns scattered across a thick hide like oversized porcupine quills. Four hot yellow eyes, and tusks that could have come off a cranky hippopotamus.

I don't have time for this! "Amol Berka!"

The flame wall curved and arced with his will, fires gnawing through stone and plaster in a rumbling roar.

Alan flicked his sword up as he dodged the mass of angry monster, will tugging flames just a bit hotter. "Going down!"

With a howl, half the floor collapsed.

Peering through the darkness as she ran down the stair railing, Morgan breathed in the faint scent of smoke like a benediction. "Alan's loose."

"Is he ever." Aladdin's grin was wide enough to glint ruby as dim red emergency lights flickered on, one over each stairwell landing she could see. "And someone's tossing Lightning Magic, too. Let's go find them-"

The wail cut through her ears like a knife, almost knocking her off the railing. Morgan kept her head enough to grab onto Aladdin as she wobbled, wrapping her other arm around her head to try and cut out some of that killing noise...

Phaenomena's blade sank into the bespoke suit without at trace. No blood. No jar of steel on bone. Not so much as a flinch on Franklin Shays' face. As if he wasn't even there.

Because he's not, Callimachus realized, chilled as if he'd slipped into a lion pit. He never was.

"Ah. I see you finally noticed." Shays' image flickered a little, as Phaenomena flinched back - then flung herself at their all-too-present guard, teeth bared. "So few of our victims do."

Callimachus dodged the vicious struggle and the smoking hole in the floor; snapping his fingers to loose magoi stored in a ring, hissing words that would bring clarity to his senses, no matter what spell had latched its claws in. Shays' image wavered a little more, like a shaken camera-

"Holography," Callimachus snarled. Technology mixed with magic; just enough Life Magic to blur the edges in our minds, so we took the image as real. It's a damned green-screen! "Why?"

There was a final thump, and the flutter in the rukh of an escaping soul. Callimachus raised his hands in first pose of a casting out of spirits, standing between Phaenomena's bloody blade and the angry ghost that sought to lunge for her.

But the ghost seemed to shiver, and shattered into dark rukh, sweeping out and away.

"Don't die here," Callimachus ordered his companion, horror sweeping through his soul. "They're consuming deaths for power. Do not die here!"

"You are quicker than most," Franklin observed, steepling translucent hands before him to shadow a small, smug smile. "A pity we couldn't have persuaded you to our side." A casual shrug. "Really, you didn't think we would let you this far into our secrets and let you go, do you? After that incident at Heunischenburg? You have a reputation, Magister Callimachus."

The insane Life Mage? But... all I did was to mark the place as dangerous-

Which would have been more than enough, Callimachus realized. The Toolmakers depended on an influx of unwitting victims. If there were any warning loose in Boston - any with magical sensitivity would flee, or band together to swarm the tower with lead and fire. Either way, the Shays' lives would become less than comfortable.

"Locked!" Phaenomena swore from the door. Glanced up, and rubbed at her ears, as if a sound were shivering on the edge of hearing. "And there's something-"

The image of Franklin laughed, and fingered his ID badge. "Of course there is. We've dealt with would-be rescuers before." The smile widened. "Even Red Lions."

Domingo put his shoulder under Malachy's, helping the redhead keep moving when the man obviously wanted to keel over and stuff a whole mountain over his ears. He could almost, almost hear the high-pitched sound tormenting the man, like the faint trill of singing mice from one of Matt's nature shows.

The man can hear in the ultrasonic range. That's insane!

Though what was really insane was the fact that they were heading toward whatever had just exploded, in the dark, following Tiburon's red-lit flashlight. Because of course any youngsters related to the madmen he was with would be near something that went boom.

And I have to go, I have to know, if Sarah and Matt are there I have to be there - if they aren't we still have time to find them!

And he was not freaking out at the Latin script and ominous symbols above the more prosaic lab warnings on each of the doors they passed as they raced down the emergency-lit corridor. Even if he was pretty sure Aqua was water, Lux was light, and next up was Fulgur, lightning-

Something gleamed above in the faint red light, and Domingo yanked them both backwards.

The slam of the steel wall down almost made his heart stop.

Ja'far has Simon, Tiburon's right by him - we're okay. We're all okay.

And even with all his fear for his family, that was a rush of relief. Which... he wasn't going to think about. They were here and they were help and he'd worry about it later.

Simon was already knocking knuckles against the slab of corrugated steel. "Hmm. I thought I'd killed the power to anything like this... oh. Huh." He cocked his head, as if listening to someone unseen. "Baal says it has its own power source. Linked to something that reaches elsewhere through - oh, that's interesting. I think it's radio-triggered."

Radio- "It's a trap," Domingo blurted out, as another steel wall slammed down behind them. "It's - why - this makes no sense-!"

"No, it does," Ja'far said grimly. "Anyone with enough power to break in, is enough power to be worth harvesting." Steel gleamed between his fingers, as he raised his arms. "If they have us pinned, the next step is disable-"

"Don't." Malachy shook his head like a lion shaking off water, and lifted himself off Domingo's shoulder. Stalked to steel, and gripped it, fingers denting metal to catch red light like pools of blood.

Crouched, and heaved.

The bastard locked in with us didn't have keys, I didn't bring explosives to let me blow out the ceiling, and the Magister doesn't have enough power to cut through the lock. Phaenomena took a deep breath, and crouched at the edge of the still-smoldering hole. One way out. "Give me a five count, then jump!"

Not waiting for his reply, she dropped.

Oh, I didn't think this place could get any spookier.

She stepped carefully as she glanced around the dark room, trying to avoid shards of shattered glass and plastic. And hoped her shoes held up against whatever fluids were on the floor. If she had her orientation right, the Ryans' kid's tank should be that way-

Above her, something roared.

Phaenomena scrambled back as more of the ceiling gave way, parts of sublevel three shattering as they hit the fourth floor, spreading splinters of fiery debris. The crackle of red and yellow flames almost swamped the yellow-blue fire of an unsteady gas burner still burning on a lab bench, together casting just enough light to be sure Alan's tank was empty.

That's not the only tank that's empty!

She ducked at the twitch of hairs on the back of her neck, calling to the spirits within her as she dodged the talons of a huge body in the dark. Not human, don't know what it is besides angry- "Magister, below!"

:We come!: Souye exulted, the ghostly warrior-maiden adding strength and bloodthirst to her blow. :For war calls, and the ancient Enemy rises. Let us meet our foe!:

Give Drakon credit, Tiburon thought, he only wasted a few seconds staring before moving in to give Malachy a hand with the rest of them. Not that it was their strength that lifted and crumpled steel like cardboard. But every bit helped.

One more pair of doors on either side of the corridor, and one massive pair just ahead. Where the explosions had to be...

Explosions? Tiburon blinked, sniffing something that didn't fit in the air, trying to sort out how he'd gotten into a corridor he'd never seen before in his life. What explosions... wait, something's wrong, why is everything so foggy, where am I-?

Violet and amber flared around them, burning against something coiling out of the air itself. "Gas!" Ja'far snarled, pencil-wand in hand as he went back to back with Simon. "Enspelled!"

Fighting for where and when, Tiburon's blood ran cold. Enchanted or not, gassing people was something you didn't do if you wanted victims alive. Everybody's drug tolerances were different, everyone's body weight was different-

And Drakon told us about the firehouse, they just don't care about bystanders - and we've shown we may be too much trouble to take alive...

"No you don't," Simon growled. "We've fought for who we are. Bled for it. Died for it. You will take nothing from us!"

Lightning blazed about them all, sparks crackling through gas and spell to sting their skin. Tiburon shook his head, suddenly awake-

Thunder roared.

Simon fell.

:They will not have you!:

Baal's voice rang like thunder in his ears, as Simon whirled in a flurry of darkness. This... it wasn't the Toolmakers' corridor. Though it had even more of that eerie sense of age, of times past and gone...

"They're all in danger out there. And you don't know enough to save them."

Simon twisted about, hairs prickling on the back of his neck at that voice. It sounded so oddly familiar-

Robes of white and violet, edged with figured gold. Rings and necklaces glittering, as Sindria's king in all his glory folded his arms with a knowing smirk.

"I have to hand it to Ja'far," Sinbad reflected. "For a man who never was comfortable about spells in that life, he's done an admirable job of learning how to protect what he cares about. But Aladdin has a habit of overdoing things - happens, when you've got all a magi's power to draw on. Throw in malevolent mind-tampering magic and a cranky Djinn trying to counter it on top of that..." A fluid shrug. "Here we are."

Here we are, Simon reflected, and I know that smirk. That's "I've got the upper hand and I plan to be generous when I use it-"

No.

Simon dove straight in, using every nasty trick he'd picked up from Malachy and Tiburon and Ja'far in a violent mood. Because he was up against a lethal warrior, a magoi-manipulator, one of the strongest kings the ancient world had ever seen-

And that can't matter, I won't let it matter, I won't lose here!

Hits connected; Simon saw stars, and tasted blood. But he had his opponent's arm twisted up and around; and if he couldn't force the fight any farther at least he had Sinbad stalemated-

I can't win with force. And I don't want to.

"You," Simon gritted out. "You made Ja'far sad."

Muscles went slack against his grip. Simon tensed, ready for ambush.

"Of all the arguments you could have made," Sinbad murmured, "you had to find that one."

What? What is he trying to-?

"Don't ask," Sindria's king said quietly. "Don't argue. Just look. And remember. He deserves it."

Look at-

Bloody footprints in the snow. A child's soul, split in half, as Ja'far tried to reconcile the desire of every human to go home with the horrible knowledge that he'd been made to kill his own family...

Simon wiped away tears, all too aware Sinbad could have moved in that moment of pure anguish. And hadn't.

"You're right," Sinbad said quietly. "I held his soul in my hands, and saved it... and then I dragged him into deeds as dark as anything the Sham Lash ever ordered. I failed him." His voice sank, almost inaudible. "I failed all of them."

"You tried." Simon felt that ghostly hug, as a much younger Sinbad gathered Ja'far's warring soul to him and gave it a place to rest. "You loved him. It matters."

"I pray it does." Sinbad took a breath, and let it sigh out, in this place-that-wasn't. "If you need me - if you ever, truly need me - I'm here. Until then..." Amber eyes danced. "You beat Sindria's own king, and fairly. I'd be a poor loser if I didn't give you your prize."

Simon shook his head. "I didn't ask for-"

"I know." Sinbad held out a hand, open and offering. "But I think you might need this. I won it from David when he wasn't looking... and I suspect it's one of the things Solomon never got the chance to give his own son." A wry, so-familiar smile. "What's that story you love? 'The hands of the king are the hands of a healer.'"

A/N: Yes, Return of the King reference. Because The Lord of the Rings is one of the best stories, ever, of all time.