A/N: Sorry for the long wait you guys but to prove that I have been working on it- here's what I have so far. Also Romano is not in this chapter (I'm so sorry T.T) he will be in the next chapter tho.

I wanted to leave right at that moment but Alfred refused; keeping me in place as James finished his debut and walked off stage.

"Can we leave now?" I hissed.

He hushed me and waved for the musician to come our way. I rose but was jerked back to my seat, forgetting about Alfred's uncanny strength.

"You want to know what kind of man he is don't you?" he whispered in my ear. "This could be your chance."

Before I could argue James strode forward, greeting us with a wide grin, "you came. How did you like the performance?"

"It was amazing, you had the crowd eating out of the palm of your hand," Alfred smiled and elbowed me in the shoulder. "Isn't that right Johnny."

"Yeah. Great. Wonderful," I muttered curtly and drowned the rest of my scotch.

Alfred didn't skip a beat, "So James, tell us about yourself. You grew up in Bywater?"

"Born and raised," he pulled up a chair and ordered a beer.

They ran through multiple topics, it was hard to keep up. One moment they were talking about the city and music. From favorite places to avoid the tourists to where the best gumbo could be found. Where the jazz scene really took place; both of them howling in laughter when they heard New York tried to take credit. New York may have been the platform but New Orleans was the birth of jazz. They discussed the greats such as Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, and Paul Whiteman to the up and coming: Clifford Brown, Sonny Stitt, Charlie Mingus and Art Blakey. Next, they were discussing politics and the great change that was taking place in the country. The newly formed Southern Christian Leadership Conference and their president Martin King.

I was once again, astounded by Alfred. He had only met the man yet there they were, chatting amongst each other like old friends. It was fascinating to watch; how he was able to connect to people with such ease.

Was it because he was the nation of our country, he's somehow connected to us?

Did all nations have this ability?

Was it something they had possessed since birth?

Or something they had to earn?

Or is the bond already made?

Granted my words may not be making much sense. My vision is blurring and I can already hear my mother lecturing me for drinking too much…or was that Alfred as he carried me home?

I closed Grandpa's journal, my anxiety forcing me to lose interest in his tale. It was the twenty-ninth of December and Arthur was still unconscious; along with the other nations. We were staying at a church on the Isle of Iona, right across the fishing town of Fionnphort. The church was extremely old; founded by Saint Columba to spread Christianity and then raided by Vikings in the year eight hundred. It never died though, becoming a nunnery till 1560 and then the heart of Iona and of its community. It had gone through major construction in the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century; repairing the roofs of the four structures that stood at all sides of its wide tower.

Now, why would I know so much about a church in Scotland?

Well, I had a major enthusiastic tour guide.

Two days ago…

Donald Grant, a hunch back, old man with dark eyes dragged on with his ramblings. Explaining that Abbey of Iona was only beginning its healing process. Further back, away from the main service hall was where the nuns had slept, ate and lived for centuries. The buildings were in need of new roofs, walls and a better foundation. Causing the reconstruction to last longer than planned, well into the nineteenth-sixties.

"A fun fact that normal people never knew was that most of these nuns were witches. Finding new ways to worship and practice the craft, all the while hiding in plain sight. That's why you will find plenty of religious leaders as magick users." Donald continued. "Well… now a days, people are no longer invested in burning us so we are free to break from the church but it has been a long time. Many of us have combined Christian customs with the old Pagan ways… Well in all honesty, Christianity took our customs and made it their own."

I simply nodded along, waiting for this long-winded man to take me to my friends. My patience was growing thin, for even before the tour I was taken in for questioning. A Seeker named Hugo Kistner led the interrogation. He was a calm man with dark hair and piercing green eyes, he asked the questions and I answered, a bit irritated that I was treated as the criminal.

"Well you were the only one conscious," he stated simply, his voice laced with a light German accent. "Also… what Adrian has muttered in his sleep, the men that appeared were able to shift into dragons; only a handful of people can shift into those beasts of legend and the men you described were not in our records. My allies believe they were Fair Folk but you say warlocks… What were they? And where did they go?"

"Like I told you! I don't know! And also, I'm new to the whole magick thing, forgive me for getting my terms mixed up." I was annoyed and I used this to fuel my lie. Hugo didn't seem to be a human lie detector. "And also," I lift my cuffed hands, "are the chains necessary?"

"Yes. For you even said that the only reason you're here was because these warlocks were searching for one of our own. You were familiar with them?"

"Only one," I hissed.

"And how is that?" he asked.

"He was a friend I made in Berlin. I thought he was normal."

"Clearly he wasn't."

"How the hell was I supposed to know that?"

"I think you know more than you are letting on," he narrowed his eyes, searching for a kink in my armor. "I know about the nations… I've seen my own country and I know you had stayed with him."

I glared, "so?"

"You disappeared from Berlin and was then spotted in London. The next hour you were back in Berlin. No ticket stamps, no paper trail-"

"Why would any of you care about the nations," I interjected. "I thought you guys saw them as government property or something?"

"Oh, they are. Most are more embedded with the modern world, like mine. He does not believe in the old tales or of magick. But we do keep tabs… we were also investigating the child abductions and funny thing it was to find that you were spotted in Paris as well."

I tensed, misjudging his detection skills, "how would you know-"

"We are everywhere," he smirked as his irises burned with an orange flare before returning back to green. "We have to be, to keep our worlds separate. . . Your kind was once a bridge but you chose them over us."

"So you're following me-"

"Not entirely," he informed, "just only when we spotted you."

"Then," I hesitated, "you don't know what happened?"

He leaned himself forward with his chin on top of his intertwined fingers, "do you?" he challenged.

He smiled and I glared, neither of us refusing to back down from each other's gazes.

Our stare off didn't last long for we had received news of Saoirse, Jasper and Braden pulling through and remaining in stable condition. Having new witnesses, Hugo dismissed me and I was handed over to dear old Donald. My friends, the Council and Seekers were stationed in the back buildings, allowing us plenty of room for the wounded. One of the largest rooms were given to the nations. With three beds to the left and four on the right, all occupied expect one. Which I had a pretty good guess was meant to be mine but I never bothered to use it. A round table and set of chairs sat at the far back with our luggage placed on top. I didn't bother nor care to ask how they got there. I simply grabbed a chair and dropped it between Arthur and Lukas; where I have sat for nearly two days, waiting for them to wake up.

Both were on their backs, breathing softly through their noses. I remembered how relieved I was when I first saw the rise and fall of their chests last night. At first, I thought it was trick, conjured from my lack of sleep but when I pressed my ear to Arthur's chest. I was met with a faint heartbeat. I cheered but then covered my mouth with both palms, quickly recalling that the Council and their Seekers were sleeping across the hall.

I checked the others to find that all were breathing and carrying a steady pulse. I sighed once more and collapse back in my chair.

I didn't realize that I had fallen asleep till the sun's rays had streamed in through the window. I rubbed my eyes, hoping to find everyone up and about with Arthur lecturing me about not eating or that sleeping in a chair was bad for my back. Unfortunately, I was met with the same scene I had left last night, with everyone bedridden and out cold.

I remained by their sides not bothering to move when someone had called out for breakfast.

"Staring at him won't make him heal any faster," a familiar voice spoke from the door frame.

I turned to Adrian as he took his seat at the foot of Lukas' bed, a pair of crouches by his side. I glanced to his wrapped ankle and the memory hits me like a wave.

"Amy! Amy!" Adrian shouted as he shook me by the shoulders, "Snap out of it! They don't have time! Get me their heads!"

That pulled me out of my daze, "huh?"

"I need their heads," he exclaimed. "Help me look! Before they decompose!" He sprinted off, his leg limping behind him.

I blinked, not fully understanding the situation till Adrian cursed and I snapped to attention. He was coddling Fiona's head in his arms, frantically trying to keep her hair attached to her skull. Yet the thick fiery locks dropped, pooling below and then crumbling into dust. I instantly jumped to my feet, scanning the area for two bodies and a pair of missing heads. I found Arthur discarded in the snow, his skin was a dark shade of gray; his hair was falling out and spider cracks were forming throughout his cheeks and jawline. I carefully lift his head but no matter how gentle I was small specks of dirt broke away, disappearing into the powder.

I froze, not entirely sure if I should move but Adrian's voice brings me back. "Find the other one!"

I spun and found him dragging Fiona's body to lay next to Arthur's. "Quickly!" he shouted at me.

I nodded, blocking out all uncertainly and handed him Arthur's head. Then I sprinted to the edge where Lukas still remained. I draped his lifeless form over my shoulder and scooped up his head; which was in the same condition as Arthur's.

I slid to Adrian's side as he aligned each nation's head with their body. I laid down Lukas and he proclaimed, "Alright I'll start with Lukas and Arthur, seeing that Fiona still has more time."

I spared a quick glance to Fiona; a few locks may have fallen but she still had her creamy complexion and bright red hair.

Adrian shifted forward, "Hold Lukas, keep his head straight," he instructed.

I did what he asked as he yanked out a single strand of hair from his scalp. His inner blue light flooded his fingertips as he straightened the strand and then pulled; a single blue string followed the end, like thread connecting to a needle.

"Hold him still," he pressed the needle to Lukas' skin, stitching the broken tissue back into place.

"That's it?" I questioned skeptically. "You're just gonna stitch him back together."

He smirked, "I'm not just stitching the skin together. I'm also reconnecting the bone, muscle and nervous system."

I blinked, "seriously?"

"Got the idea from an anime," he winked and continued his work, crisscrossing the blue stitches as they glowed and disappeared once in place. When Adrian had finished, the gray faded as Lukas' white skin returned. Granted it was pale and his hair was nearly gone but he looked better.

Then I noticed his sunken left eye, "Can you do anything about that?"

"At my state," he panted, "it would be best to focus on their necks before anything else…"

I looked to him and gasped.

His face was sporting a nasty bruise on his cheek, the colors nearly black and blue. His right arm was swollen and red, my best guess broken.

"What the hell happened to you?!"

"I can heal myself just fine but," he scoots away from Lukas and moves on to Arthur. "Others…take a lot more. I have to take away from the magick I used to heal myself to fix them."

"You don't have to," I grabbed his hands before he could reach Arthur. "They'll be fine," I huffed, forcing myself to smile. "Their heads will just grow back."

"How long do you think that will take?" he wasn't expecting an answer. "Giving their conditions and nation's stability, my best guess would be a month."

"A month!" I exclaimed in shock.

"They would have to regenerate their eyes, teeth, tongue, voice and their own brain," he explained. "Unless…" he turned to Arthur's head, "I sew their heads back on before they crumble. Unless…" he added once more, "you can wait?"

I bit my bottom lip as I took a deep breath and released his hands, "do it."

He nodded, tugging out another strand of hair and threading his aura into string. I pushed Arthur's head closer to his body and Adrian began his stitching. Lacing his aura into the nation with quick flicks of his wrist.

"Heh," he wheezed, "I knew there was a reason why my mother taught me to sew."

I glanced to him and bit back my surprise when I noticed a line of blood streaking down his face. He noticed my expression though and assured, "I'm fine. It was just a cut. A spike had-had gotten me."

His words were slurring, "are you okay?" I asked, concerned.

He nodded, "si, si." He bit at the string once he was done and crawled for Fiona. "Sólo uno más," he panted softly, switching to Spanish.

"Hey, hey!" I reached for him, "Adrian stop, seriously!" When he wasn't listening I screamed in Spanish, "Adrian por favor, no se esfuerce. Tienes dos de los tres! Es mejor que nada."

He turned back, blinking as he switched back to English, "you speak Spanish?"

"Half of my family is from Mexico, of course I'm going to learn Spanish." I gripped him by the shoulders, jerking him towards me, "You're cold and you're losing blood… just-just stop."

He shook his head and repeated, "Sólo uno más." which meant, 'just one more.'

I sighed and then asked in his native tongue, "Can you live from this?"

He nodded.

I shook my head and moved to grab Fiona's head, "do it before I change my mind."

He nodded again and created another needle and thread. He worked swiftly, reconnecting the skin and muscle with absolute focus till he screamed. His needle stopped as he gripped my wrist, squeezing with every ounce of strength. Before I could even utter a word, I heard the snap of bone. I looked over and found his leg, the one he used to kick at Mara when she had turned herself into stone. The ankle had twisted, pointing the foot at a crooked angle as blood dripped from broken skin.

"Oh my god!" I reached for his foot, yanking at my scarf to wrap his ankle in.

He didn't stop, continuing his stitches till the final one was set. He breathed a sigh of relief and fell back.

I caught him, shaking him by the shoulders to keep him conscious, "Adrian. Adrian! Is there anyone I should call for help?! Adrian?! Adrian!"

His eyes fluttered, looking past me as he smiled and whispered, "About time."

His head fell back and I turned around to find a cloaked figure looming over me. This figure removed their hood, revealing a middle aged Indian woman with a British accent, "what happen here?"

I snorted bitterly, "A lot."

This woman proceeds to pull out her phone and call in reinforcements. Well I thought they were reinforcements till tree roots spouted from the ground and wrapped themselves around my waist.

"Word of advice," the woman proclaimed, "Don't fight it."

With those final words I was yanked backward, slamming to the ground. The root yanked harder, sinking into the earth with me along with it. I clawed and kicked, desperately thrashing for the light as I disappeared within the darkness.

I didn't even have the chance to scream.

The next thing I knew I was in chains with the woman standing beside me. Her name was Annisa Dara, a Seeker who had received Jasper's distress signal minutes before he had been rendered unconscious. She was also the person who had hand delivered me to Hugo the Dickhead.

"I heard they started breathing," Adrian's voice brought me back to the present. "That's good right?"

"Yeah," I mumbled and brushed my hand through Arthur's hair.

He was quiet for a moment till I asked, "are there people here? I'm hearing a lot more voices."

He gave a tight lined smile, "they're holding the funeral for our lost. It's also the time where the families of the departed claim the bodies."

"Oh, I'm sorry for your lost," I offered.

He nodded, "thank you," then turned to the window, "but I believe your words are needed elsewhere."

I followed his gaze to the courtyard where a crowd of people had gathered. Most wore heavy cloaks festooned with stitched runes, printed patterns and embroidered animals while others were in casually suits and jackets. I scanned the group, spotting Braden in a dark suit and coat. An old woman stood beside him, clutching onto his arm as she sobbed. I glanced to the figure before them; it was laid out straight, wrapped in pink cloth and tied with gold twine.

"Is that Tadgh?" I asked.

"Yes," Adrian confirmed.

Another body lied several feet away, this one was smaller and covered in mint green silk. "Isla," I stated and he nodded once more.

A little girl, no more than five wailed. She had bouncy red curls and a million freckles on her face but she had her grandmother's ice blue eyes. She howled once more, calling out for her 'Nana' as her mother wiped her tears and soothed her with comforting words.

The last body was painfully bear with only Jasper and Saoirse as constant mourners. Few had come to pay their respects but no crowds had formed. Astrid was swathed in violet sheets, tied together with thick rope and red ribbons. Saoirse was kneeing beside her, wrapping each ribbon with shaky hands.

"Is the ribbon supposed to mean something," I queried, genuinely curious.

"Each ribbon represents a year the two were together," Adrian replied, his eyes growing dark with grief. "Red is the color of Saoirse's aura, while purple was Astrid's."

"Oh god." My heart cried out for Saoirse, the loss of a loved one was always painful. "Where's Astrid's family? Why is it only Saoirse and Jasper?"

He sighed, "Astrid was born to a normal family. Blood does not decide on magick ability. Many believe so but it all relies on the aura. The strength and will of that person to take control of their aura, to understand it…to understand oneself. Anyone could be a witch if they truly tried to open their senses, ones that have been closed off either through ignorance or fear.

"Like any Sight wielder, Astrid was born with her senses open. Not like other children who are taught to either experience these sensations or fear them. Her parents never understood the things she saw and they never tried to." He smiled, but it was sad and forced, "she told me once that… Saoirse was her only family."

"But…compared to the others-"

"Astrid may have found acceptance when she had found the witch community but," he grew silent, closing his eyes as he looked away from the scene. He inhaled deeply and continued, "Witches, warlocks, sorcerers, whatever you want to call us… it makes no difference. We all use aura to invoke our magick. Aura is our life blood, our chi, our very soul leaking from our bodies. It belongs to you. No one has any control over it."

His jaw clutched before he spoke, "do you know that there are not many Sight wielders? Including Astrid there are three. One in the east, an old monk that lives in a hidden temple and the other is a woman, a Voodoo Queen in the south of the US. Now there could be others, but most have kept to themselves."

I knitted my brows in confusion, "why?"

"Because we're afraid of them."

"Afraid," I repeated, irritated with his grim tone. "How can you be afraid of people that see colors? I saw your auras when we were fighting-"

"Because I allowed it," he countered. "Aura is not just about colors, these colors are our energy, twisting and churning within us. They are our feelings, our power and our vulnerabilities. People put up walls to hide their insecurities, their weakness. Some try so hard to build a facade, most taking years and…for someone, a complete stranger to take one look at you and break each one in seconds. To strip you completely naked and see everything that you are and can never be. Terrifies most people."

"So, get over it," I chided. I know; I was being incredibly insensitive but all I could think about was Blake and how even in a community of flying, fire conjuring, animal human hybrids he would still be considered an outsider. "So, they can see that you're a liar or like to watch gay porn, who cares? They're still people."

He gave a genuine laugh, "if only there were more people like you."

I blinked, taken by surprise as he added, "But that is not the only reason. They have an ability, one only they possess; to turn a person's aura against them."

"What do you mean?"

"Think Star Wars…you know when Darth Vader would strangle people with the Force? It's pretty much like that expect it's your own soul strangling you from the inside."

My eyes widened in shock, "That… can't be-"

"Oh, but it is; have you heard of people spontaneously combusting? When a soul overheats it destroys the body and Sight wielders can make a soul overheat."

I rubbed my temple, trying to absorb this new information, "but why didn't Astrid use this against the immortals?"

"That kind of magick can't be done from a distance," he breathed in once more, "she was trying to get close."

I dropped my head into my hands as a slow, reckoning throb began to form in the back of my skull. This shed a whole new light on the Sight and what it could mean for Blake. To control another's aura, another's will to destroy themselves… It was almost too much to process. Should I tell Blake? Should I tell him of this intense power that lurks inside him? He deserves to know but would I only end up scaring him?

A hand squeezed my shoulder, jerking me back from these dark thoughts. "Come on," Adrian gave a small lopsided grin, "you should join us."

"I-I-" I stuttered, "Are you sure that's okay?"

He nodded and gestured me to follow him.

Once we entered the courtyard, large men were carrying the bodies on top of a huge pyre. Spacing each one a few inches apart as members of the crowd moved forward to place flowers, stones and herbs with the bodies. Logs craved with runes were added, circling the departed as they were doused with gasoline.

Donald stepped forward, "I've known Isla and Tadgh since childhood. They were skilled, filled with great power and they used it with a clear mind and sound heart. Granted I might be talking more of Isla than of Tadgh." That earned him a small round of laughter. "Tadgh was a little more reckless, I mean the fool tried to shift when he was eleven to prove point. That man always preferred to be in the skies… he was never meant for the earth."

He blinked back tears and turned to face the pyre, "Now you can soar to your heart's content. Do not worry about us old friend… I'll watch over your family…both of your families, that is a promise."

He fell back, allowing Saoirse to take the center. She sniffled, wiping her face with one hand. The golden band around her ring finger glistened for a moment before dropping to her side. She inhaled a shaky breath, "The first time I met Astrid… she was a student at the university Oxford. I was starting out as a Seeker, searching for a professor that was using his students as power sources."

She paused as a small, grief-stricken smile formed on her face, "She was in the library late at night…with piles and piles of books beside her. She was so lovely… I could not keep my eyes off her. And the only time she bothered to look up at me, was when that bastard was trying to attack me from behind." She huffed, "If that doesn't scream romance what does?"

The crowd snickered and she continued, "She refused to leave my side that night… and every night since." The tears returned and she looked away, rubbing her face with the back of her hand. Silence filled the courtyard as the crowd watched one of their leaders tremble before the pyre. She inhaled through her mouth, "She has told me countless of times that she never had a home till she met me…" Her voice cracked, the heartache too much, "our home…our place was at each other's side…and now I…"

Her voice trailed off, no longer functioning as a ball of fire sparked from her palm. She tossed it forward and the wood caught the flame. It began with small crackle but once the fire had tasted gas, the pyre lit into a blaze.

It was custom that the pyre would be watched over by the next of kin, but Saoirse assured that her fire would not perish as the crowd was guided into the dining hall. Where an Irish Wake was waiting for us; a band of men and women pulled out a range of instruments, from string to brass they began to play. Drinks were handed out as food was catered in from the kitchen, my eyes immediately went for the door. I know; it would be terribly rude to leave but I needed to check on my friends.

Adrian reached for me, "seat with me?"

I hesitated at first, glancing to the exit one last time before following him. He hobbled to a far off table and dropped himself into a chair. I sat beside him as Jasper came forward with food, tea and hot chocolate. He wasn't as bad off as Adrian but he did have bandage wrapped around his forehead.

"Here we are," he placed the tray down, "eat up."

Adrian grabbed a plate, filled it with food and slid it in front of me, "you can't leave till you eat every single thing on your plate."

Before I could object, Jasper cuts in, "Annisa says you barely touch the food she brings you."

"I eat some of it," I argued.

"But not all of it," he concluded, "you need to have a hardy meal. Now eat."

"Fine," I gave up and scooped a spoon full of mashed potatoes into my mouth.

As I ate, I took in my surroundings, of the music that thrummed and the laughter that followed. Men and women were drinking, taking shots of hard liquor as they told stories of the deceased. Braden was among them, giving me the chance to see his hands and arms; both were wrapped in tight bandages. His eyes flickered to my line of sight and he gave a slight nod as he took a sip. I smiled but it didn't reach my eyes. I found Saoirse with Tadgh's widow and Isla's family; each member gave their condolences as the young red headed girl sat beside her and held her hand.

Jasper sighed and pulled out a flask, "it's gonna be a while…but she'll get back on her feet."

"But what are we gonna do?" blurted Adrian, "We lost two members would this mean another selection?"

"Most likely," Jasper shrugged and took a swing from his flask.

They grew quiet and I finally asked a question that has been eating at me since the beginning of the pyre. "Why did you burn the bodies? I thought-with the whole Druid thing you all wouldn't want to go out like that."

Both Adrian and Jasper raised their brows to their hair lines and after sharing a look, Adrian answered. "We used to bury our dead but thirty-some years back a witch traveled from every corner of the earth, digging up bodies of powerful witches. Even in death, our blood, our bones and our flesh still carry magick. This witch would then conduct experiments… such as chimeras and summonings."

"Summonings?" I questioned, "Like what?"

"Creatures of darkness, faceless demons and murderous spirits," Jasper named a few and then shrugged, "the usual."

"The usual," I huffed sarcastically, "yeah, this is so normal."

"We sent out our best Seekers to capture this witch…we even had the added help of the Iron Council's Berserkers. Apprentices sent in from the Americas, Voodooists from Africa and Warriors from the east." Adrian sighed through his nose and gestured for Jasper's flask, "Even with our combined power, we couldn't capture the son of a bitch."

"So, he's still out there?" I remarked, "Grave robbing?"

"It was over thirty years back," Adrian waved it off.

"But we are still on the lookout," Jasper added, "but all we can do is give him less of an opportunity. We took a page from the Greeks and took on the tradition of the pyre. Not many witches were thrilled with the idea but it was a secure way to have their loved ones rest in peace."

"And the Irish Wake?" I questioned, "I mean, wasn't Tadgh the only one Irish?"

"We prefer to celebrate life rather death," Jasper stated as his eyes glanced to a group of children that were spinning each other in a dance. "It's easier on them…giving the life we live."

"But why? It's not your job to save the world," I remarked.

"But we are in charge of witches that we bring into this world and if they gather too much attention, for whatever reason," a spark of pink lightening flickered in his eyes, "they have to be put down."

Jasper's words followed me as I walked back to my room; his last line was nearly haunting. His tone was neither hateful nor sorrowful, purely neutral in his verdict. I rubbed my eyes and released a tired groan. I needed sleep but any attempts these past few days were met with nightmares and anxiety. I briefly remembered a hot plate and kettle inside and noted that another cup of hot chocolate might help.

As I reached for the door, I heard a muffled grunt, "ugh…bloody hell."

My heart jumped and I burst inside, "Arthur?!"

Instead of the blond Englishman was met with a half-naked Scotsman.

He smirked, "wrong brother love."

My rush of excitement lasted shortly, "oh…sorry."

"Oi, no need to sound so disappointed," Alistair quipped and then asked. "How long have I been out?"

"Two days," I answered and added, "Why isn't everyone else awake?"

"Well," he dragged out the word as he rubbed the back his neck. "That depends upon their injuries. I know Killian took a claw to the throat before everything went dark. What about them?" he gestured to his siblings and I summarized.

"Dylan was hit with spikes and everyone else got…" I swallowed and subconsciously reached for my throat. "Beheaded."

Alistair's eyebrows rose in surprise, "That can't be… these three would still be headless if it's only been two days."

"Adrian sewed their heads back on," I declared. "He used these blue strings and reattached their skin, muscle and bones back together."

"That's amazing," he stated.

I nodded, "yeah."

He released a tired sigh as he opened a duffle bag, digging for a new shirt. "That certainly saves us a couple of weeks but they were attacked with a direct form of magick. It will still be awhile before they wake."

"What do you mean?"

"Magick is conjured from our aura, our soul-"

I nodded again, "yeah."

"Our soul is what gives humans magick and it leaks out giving them an aura-"

"Uh-huh."

"Everyone has an aura; all living life does. Which goes to show that all humans are capable of magick but only to a certain degree-"

"Yes, I know that too."

"But," he hissed in a warning, "When magick is used to harm someone, it not only effects the body but the soul."

I blinked, confused, "okay, now you lost me."

He smirked, "then don't interrupt. It's just like a person experiencing PTSD. Even when the event has passed and the wounds have healed, it still leaves a mark on the soul. Humans that survive from an attack will heal, but if they died, well they don't come back. I'm sure you're aware that rule doesn't apply to us."

I bit the inside of my cheek as a glimpse of my death at the hands of Klipto nudged at me from the back of my brain, "yeah."

"We don't see a light or anything like that, we simply go to sleep. Well, I wouldn't call it sleep, it's more like a cut. Our death cuts us out and then when we regenerate we cut back in. How long we're out for depends on how we were killed. Not even counting the status of our countries, it could take hours to a day to a week to a month-"

"A year." I added.

"Now that only happens when your country is in a real shit hole," he remarked.

"Huh," I hummed and sat back next to Arthur, "so how long?"

"My best guess, later on tonight or tomorrow, estimating that Adrian did his sewing right. Even if he didn't," he glanced to Fiona as a soft, tender smile formed across his face. "They got better odds, growing back a head is difficult no matter the injury."

"Why?"

His smile fell as he turned to face me, his expression was cautious, "did anyone tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

He sighed in frustration, "of course not. I bet he didn't want to bring it up."

Now I was irritated, "why does the head take longer to heal," I repeated and then guessed, "Is it because of the brain?"

"Partly, I mean even if only a section of it was blown off, it would still heal faster than a nation with no head. Now a nation would not only have to regenerate their brain but their eyes."

"What?" I chided, "Okay, I get that a brain would take some time, being it pretty much controls everything, but our eyes? What makes them so special?"

He chuckled, "they really didn't tell you."

"Tell me what?" I exclaimed.

"Our eyes, unlike the rest of our bodies don't crumble into dust when injured or torn away from us. Instead they form into jewels."

"Jewels?" I inquired skeptically, "like diamonds and rubies?"

"How else to explain our strange eye colors," he quipped.

I recalled Matthew and Gilbert's eyes; one pair were nearly violet while the other was crimson. "So, our eyes are gems," I huffed in good humor, "what else should I know? Are our teeth made of wood? Is our hair grass? Oh, and I am assuming that the dirt we bleed comes from our native lands, so does that mean Egypt bleeds sand?"

Alistair laughed, "no, no and yes."

"Ha! Got one right!"

"Yes," he fell silent, allowing the good mood to fade. "But you are familiar to how gems are made?"

"Um. . . I know diamonds need pressure to turn into one," I replied.

"Yes, but it also needs time and depending on what type of gem and of the emotional trauma, it could take months; a year even."

He took a seat and leaned back to stare at the ceiling, "Back when I was young…nations used each other's eyes as a way of dominating other nations. Wearing their eyes as jewelry or presenting them to their rulers as treasures was the ultimate form of control." His voice had lowered into a soft whisper yet there was an edge; a harsh reality to his words. "It was also one fucked up mind game. Crowns, scepters, royal necklaces and rings, most if not all of their jewels had been ripped out of a nation's head."

My back twitched as a cold shiver ran down my spine, "that's horrible."

"Not all were unwilling," he stated nonchalantly, "I mean, Arthur had purposely gouged out his own eye for his queen."

"Elizabeth," I asked and quickly added, "The first?"

He tilted his head to the side, giving me a lopsided smile, "you're catching on." He faced the ceiling once more, "it wasn't that uncommon…but they weren't given lightly. Purposely tearing out one's eye for their leader was the highest form devotion and respect."

"Yeah; no. I'll just stick to thank you notes," I muttered under my breath.

Alistair didn't hear me as he added, "that's why most of his portraits back in his pirate days have him with an eye patch."

My eyes widened in surprise, "Wait. Arthur was a pirate?!"

"Yup."

I pointed to the sleeping lump beside me, "this Arthur."

"Yes."

I glanced to the blond in question; the one that always proclaimed of his gentleman standards as he sipped his tea with his pinky finger lifted. "Really? Him?"

"Yes," Alistair proclaimed.

I giggled, "I still can't see it."

"Maybe that's why he didn't want to tell you about our eyes," his voice became harsh once more. "Of the pain and destruction he left in his wake. Tell me, do you know anything from his colonization days?"

I crossed my arms, growing defensive, "he purposely got my natives sick."

A couple of beats passed and he stated, "Is that all?" Then he gave a mean chuckle, "that's not even the tip of the bloody iceberg; more like a chip on top of the tip." His voice fell deeper as he began his tale, "he went around colonizing nearly half of the world, and we were his firsts." He spread out his arm, gesturing to his siblings, "our dear little brother tore out our eyes without even a second thought. Every country he claimed had their eyes added to his queen's crown. Every country he defeated in battle, he made sure to grab at least one."

His words chilled me to the bone, keeping me in my place as my thoughts swirled. Memories of Arthur swam; of him drinking tea with my mother and grandmother as they gossiped. Of him discussing the superiority of rugby over football with my father and brother. Of him dancing with my kid cousins and lastly, of him humming a lullaby to Raiden as the babe cried. That was the Arthur that I knew and called family, but the image of the blood thirsty, one-eyed pirate refused to disappear.

I squeezed my eyes and acknowledge, "He's changed."

"Yes, he did," Alistair admitted, "all because of Alfred."

I furrowed my brow and he continued with a cruel smirk, "Arthur ripped out the eyes of his family, of his enemies and even of his lovers. Yet," he paused, turning to me with unwavering eyes, "he couldn't bear the thought of hurting his precious baby brother."

I blinked, absorbing his words, "he spared Alfred..."

He closed his eyes slowly, tired from the weight of his story. "He may not have had magick, but that boy had a gift. He was able to turn a beast back into a man." His gaze finds mine, "I wonder has his gift been passed down to you?"

I hesitated, not really sure on how to answer till I realized that silence was my best option.

I spent the rest of the day by Arthur's side while Alistair joined the wake below. It was quiet, peaceful till my phone rang again and I ignored it…again. The only calls I did bother to make were to my family, making sure that they were safe and that they had no run-ins with a pissed off witch. It's not like I wanted to avoid Francis and Matthew, it's just I didn't know how to explain the situation or where to begin. It was easier to keep it to myself, with people that already knew. It was also easier to just lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling.

Within the next hour Alistair returned with two bottles of alcohol, "hello love." He winked and shook the bottles, "want some?"

"No," I remarked, "I'm good."

He shrugged, taking his seat and placing his feet on the table, "more for me." He poured himself a cup of rum and raised it, "for Isla," he announced and drowned his drink.

I raised a brow, curious about their relationship but after seeing his sad, tight lipped smile I decided against it.

Another hour passed till Lukas stirred, waking with a dry moan and fluttering eye. I jumped to my feet and leaned in close, "Lukas."

He groaned, "Amy…?"

"Shhh," I combed my hand through his hair, "it's okay; you're safe now."

"Why…" he breathed, "why can't I open…" he reached for the bandage that covered his left socket.

"No, don't," I gently grabbed his hand but he pushed it aside and rose, ripping off the patch with one tug.

His face was lowered, hiding his expression as his fingers roamed his face frantically. His shoulders began to shake and his spare hand curled the sheets into his fist.

"Where is my eye…" he asked, his voice low and hard.

I took a deep breath before answering, "One of the immortals, the little girl took it. I'm sorry Lukas, I tried to get it back-" I reached to place my hand on his trembling back but he slapped it away.

"Don't touch me!" he snapped and leaped off the bed, heading straight for the door.

Alistair reacts swiftly, cutting him off from the door, but that didn't stop Lukas.

"Out of my way!" with a wave of hand, he threw Alistair to the wall and pinned him there with his unseen power.

Alistair wouldn't submit so easily, fighting against the hold but that made Lukas push harder, nearly crushing Alistair. The Scotsman gasped painfully and I cried, "Lukas! Stop!"

My voice broke through as Lukas' hand dropped to his side. Alistair had taken a sigh of relief but he was still pinned to the wall.

I stepped forward, "if you are planning on going after her, it's too late. You were out for two days, they're gone-"

"Silence!" his voice bounced off the walls, causing me to tense. He craned his head to the side, revealing his empty eye socket. I froze at the sight of the black hole and my eyes instantly found the floor. In two strides he was before me, gripping my face between his fingers and thumb as he forced me to look at him.

"Don't you dare look away."

I swallowed, "I-"

"No," he interrupted coldly, "you don't get to talk. You don't get to say 'I'm sorry'. They don't change the outcome." He fell silent, his one good eye analyzing every corner of my face. "You will never understand this kind of pain…this kind of humiliation. You were born into this world but have you been born into ours…" His thumb reached up, slowly caressing the bottom lid of my left eye. "These pretty eyes would be sitting on top of a king's head."

I tried to speak but no words came, my throat had grown tight and my jaw had clutched.

Lukas continued, "I wonder…what kind of gems you process? Are they aquamarine? A softer shade of sapphire like mine or are they blue diamonds?" His fingers twitched, digging into my skin as his index and thumb circled around my eye, "let's find out."

Instinct kicked in as I threw an upper-cut; the blow making a loud, resounding smack as the hit knocked him off his feet. He fell to the floor; unconscious as Alistair was released from the wall.

Before either of us could even comprehend the situation, a young man with strawberry blond hair and amber eyes swung the door open.

"Found them!" he announced in a heavy eastern European accent. He gave a wide, friendly smile revealing sharper than usually canines but that smile faltered as he took in the scene. "Did I interrupt something?"

Alistair was the first to speak, "Romania? What the hell are you doing here?"

Romania didn't miss a beat, "they asked me to track you."

On cue Mikkel slipped inside with Toris and Feliks in toll. The familiar blond was prepared to greet us with a huge grin till he found Lukas on the floor.

"Lukas!" he cried out in alarm and kneeled beside him. "Hey, hey, are you-" his face paled once he had a decent look at Lukas' eye. He turned to me, his blue eyes wide and worried, "What happened?"

I didn't know where to begin. All I could do was look everywhere but Mikkel's gaze.

"Amy," he asked once more, his voice rising, "what happened?!"

My voice had left me, my throat constricting, causing me to gasp for air. Toris noticed this change and stepped forward, "Amy-" anything else he tried to say muffled due to the blood rushing through my eardrums, becoming white noise. He got closer, his hand reaching for my shoulder and I jerked back, avoiding his touch.

"I-I-" failing once more at human speech, I darted for the door. Toris called after me but Feliks stepped aside, not bothering to stop me.

I slammed the door behind me but the hallway was no better. I inhaled short, quick breaths as my heart pounded and my body trembled. I reached for the window, needing air but my hands fumbled; failing at the simple task. I growled in irritation and slammed my fists on the stained glass before dashing through the hall. I rounded the corner and headed for the stair case, taking two at time. I hit the bottom floor with a stomp and inhaled, hoping the distance was enough.

It wasn't.

Music thrummed from the dining hall as I scanned the corridor, searching for an exit. The witches paid no attention to me as they continued to sing and dance while drinking and laughing their pain away.

I ignored them and sprinted for the door ahead, swinging it open with a shove. A blast of icy air filled my lungs, forcing me to take in deeper breaths but it wasn't enough. I treaded through knee deep snow, not at all bothered by the cold as I raced through the field; tripping twice but the snow was there to cushion each fall.

The third fall on the other hand was much harder, due to falling off a two foot cliff and landing on frozen sand. Pain shot through my right side as I slowly peeled myself off the ground. I sat up, massaging the ache out of my shoulder and spitting out any bits of sand that were grinding against my teeth. I shut my eyes, forcing myself to inhale through my nose to end my thrashing heart. Then I briefly recalled Toris' exercises; breathing in for a count of three and exhaling for another count.

Once my heart was no longer ramming itself against my ribcage. I opened my eyes to the crashing waves of the ocean. Due to the cloudy sky there was no moonlight; no reflection of light bouncing off the blacken waves, just darkness and for a moment everything was silent. Till an image of Lukas formed before my mind's eye. I tried to shake the thought away but it was relentless; his teeth bared as he snarled at me and his hand, rough and unforgiving as his fingers dug into my skin.

My eye twitched at the memory and I subconsciously curled into myself, running my hands over my face and hair reassuring myself that he wasn't there. Yet, his image would not leave me alone. His one eyed gaze burning into me, that empty socket pulling me in as his words resounded:

"You don't get to say 'I'm sorry'…"

Then what do I say?!

"This kind of pain…this kind of humiliation…"

I-I-

"You will never understand…"

"Maybe I don't want to!" I screamed out loud, the words echoed as my voice fell into a whisper. "I don't-I don't want…"

I caught a blur of movement from the corner of my eye and I threw a fist, more in surprise and fear than of anger.

Braden snatched my hand and held me back with his spare, "It's alright," he soothed, "It's alright."

I dropped my hand and moved to sit back on the ground. A blanket was thrown over my shoulders and slowly, I released the tension in my shoulders and curled into the soft wool; pulling my knees to my chest to conceal the little warmth I had.

"I don't know if your kind can catch colds but you can get frostbite," Braden gestured to my hands.

I glanced down, finding that the skin was forming a sight bluish hue around the nails. "Huh. I didn't even feel it," I remarked honestly.

He cursed in response and turned to scowl at me, "you didn't feel it? You decided to run out in negative degree weather without a proper jacket and you can't feel the cold?"

"It happens okay," I snarled harshly and used his own words against him. "If you haven't notice I'm not entirely human."

He was silent after that and I smirked, winning this round but he wasn't done.

"What happened?" he asked calmly.

I cocked a brow in question and he sighed, "Annisa said four more nations arrived. I know the spiked blond and the brunet… let me guess the blond is Denmark and the other is Lithuania… that's what he said he was from."

"Yes," I said curtly, "Toris is Lithuania and Mikkel is Denmark and short blond-Feliks is Poland and the new guy, I just found out he's Romania."

He nodded, "Annisa said something fell before they entered and someone was shouting-"

"You want to know what happened?!" I snapped, "Lukas woke up and when he found out that his eye was gone he-" I closed my eyes, "he got mad-he-" I shook my head, not sure on how to proceed.

"I thought you can heal-"

"Oh yes we can but eyes take longer it seems, cause unlike the rest of our bodies our eyes are jewels."

"Jewels-"

"Yes jewels! Diamonds and sapphires and rubies and emeralds-they're all there! Inside our fucking skulls!" my voice fell into its default setting: sarcasm. "You see, our bodies are made with dirt. We are walking piles of mud and clay and the only shred of worth we have is our eyes. But there's more to it than that; taking another nation's eye was like a power trip for most of these sadistic assholes and Arthur's one of them. Did you know that most of the crown jewels were made with gems from colonized nations? I had no idea, did you?"

I wasn't looking for an answer, instead I continued, "Taking another nation's eye was also another way to dominate them, leaving them blind and disfigured. And Lukas said, I wouldn't understand." My voice cracked, becoming even harsher, "I wouldn't understand the pain and humiliation and then he tried to gouge out my own eye."

Braden didn't say a word, his face perfectly expressionless.

I panted after my rant and turned away to look at the ocean, "I just couldn't be there anymore. I just…I just…" my train of thought was interrupted as Braden's final words at Church Allen resurfaced:

"What I've learned from all my years of being a Seeker is that you always trust your gut, and when it's telling you to run like hell. You run."

A broken laugh escaped from me, "I bet you're not surprised. After what you saw…" I bit my bottom lip to stop it from quivering, "you know, after you left, I saw myself in a mirror… and I agreed with you. If I had seen myself I would've run as far and fast as I could." My eyes watered as my shoulders began to shake, "I mean who does that? Who bites a woman in the neck and then rips off her head with their bare hands. Who does that?!"

I looked to my trembling hands and I swallowed, "I did that."

"I did that," I repeated as I laughed once more, letting the realization hit me. "I'm just like them." I allowed the sentence to linger, forcing them to become real, "no matter what I said or did…trying to make myself believe that I wasn't totally like them. That I was different." Flashes of a giant alien head came into view as I tore into it with its own tooth. "That I wasn't like them." Klipto was on his knees as I stood before him, my finger on the trigger; only seconds away from blasting his head open. "That I was…above them…" The taste of Abigail's flesh resurfaced as blood streamed from her detached head and down my arms.

Tears finally fell, "I'm a monster… I'm a monster…"

Braden grabbed my shoulders and forced me to look at him, "you are not a monster."

"But you said-"

"I know what I said," he snapped and inhaled quickly, trying to calm himself. "I just didn't understand, not then. But now I see…a monster wouldn't go out in a blizzard to find her friend. A monster wouldn't cry and cling to a priest over a nightmare. A monster wouldn't fight tooth and nail to protect her friends. A monster wouldn't bother to travel hundreds of miles to warn a man she barely knew and was also a complete ass when he left."

I huffed, shutting my eyes as I tried and failed to control my sobs.

Braden sighed and added, "What I do know from history, is that all nations have done horrible things. I might not know their personal demons but they've made mistakes and in all honestly who hasn't. You're going to make mistakes and you're going to have regrets and its okay. What's important is to not let those mistakes hold you back and make you believe you're something you're not."

I blinked slowly, absorbing his words as I wiped my face and slumped against his shoulder. His hand found the side of my head, stroking my hair as we allowed a comfortable silence to form between us. Minutes passed and exhaustion finally took its toll; plunging me into a dreamless sleep.

Lukas groaned; his head foggy due to a rueful sleep and a throbbing ache from the back of his skull. He blinked, adjusting to the harsh light and quickly noted that his jaw was sore. His chin pulsed with every subtle movement, sending a tremor of pain throughout his entire face.

"You're awake!" a familiar blond excitedly leaped to his side. "How are you feeling?"

He immediately registered Mikkel's voice and sighed, "Sore."

"Yeah, taking a punch from Amy can do that to ya," the Danish man remarked casually.

A punch from Amy, he thought curiously till a flood of memories slaps him in the face. Lukas waking with the young girl by his side. That same girl trying to comfort him as he shook uncontrollable; from anger or pain he didn't really know. Before he knew it, he was at the door with Scotland pinned to the wall. Amy cried out for him and he turned on her, his words sounding foreign even to his own ears.

"You will never understand this kind of pain…this kind of humiliation. You were born into this world but have you been born into ours…These pretty eyes would be sitting on top of a king's head."

Amy's eyes grew wide at the comment, her irises filled with shock and fear as her bottom lip quivered. He closed his good eye, attempting and failing to scrub the image away but it was unforgiving. Refusing him the luxury to forget and shining a relentless light on his actions as his fingers curled around the girl's eye.

He shot up, wishing with all his being that Amy was unharmed. "Where is she? Is she alright?"

"If you call running as far and fast as she can away from you alright," Poland chided from the table as he slipped his tea. "Then yes."

Lukas raised a brow and finally felt the restraints around his wrists. He didn't bother to ask why he was tied to the bed, he knew the reason. He then took notice that Lithuania and Romania were also in the room. "Vladimir? Why are you here?"

"Uh, he called me," he gestured to Mikkel, "he wanted me to track you cause you weren't answering your phone."

"And I informed him we were dead for two days," Alistair added as he poured himself glass of scotch.

"All of us?" Lukas asked.

"No. Amy survived," the Scotsman replied as he drowned his drink.

"She picked up Liet's bad habit of not picking up her phone," Feliks remarked.

Toris sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose, "Feliks, please."

"Not now," he held a hand at the brunet and proceeded with his rant. "I mean come on, we all want to know what the hell is going on and the least Amy could've done was give us ten minutes of her 'busy life' to explain. Instead she just leaves us hanging and we have to call the vampire to fetch you."

"I'm not a vampire," Vladimir stated, his voice tired from the centuries old joke.

Feliks either didn't hear him or ignored him, "and here we are-in the middle of nowhere-"

"You're on the Isle of Iona," Alistair informed.

"Like I said, nowhere. In a church filled with witches and with news that immortals have pretty much declared war on them."

"What?!" Lukas and Alistair exclaimed in unison.

"Didn't they declare war when they were fighting you?" Feliks questioned.

"They were only after Abigail's head," Alistair countered, "They didn't say anything about war."

"They attacked the Grand Council, that's a declaration of war right there," a new feminine voice was added as a figure rose off the bed.

Mikkel cracked a flirtatious grin, "Fiona, good to see you're awake."

"How could I possible sleep with everyone shouting," she muttered.

"Still," Alistair moved forward to hand his sister a cup of tea, "for three immortals to go up against not just the Grand Council but every coven in Europe. They have to be either suicidal or completely mental."

"Or they have goal worth the risk," Toris proclaimed and turned his gaze on Mikkel. "Remember what Abigail said, about a nation's soul having power. The kind of power to grant a wish or change the world?"

Mikkel nodded slowly, "yeah, but if they were after nation souls why didn't they take any of theirs?"

"Hold up, Abigail's collecting nation souls?" Feliks interjected.

"It seemed so," stated Toris.

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"We thought it didn't matter giving to the fact she was dead."

"Was," Lukas remarked.

Both he and Mikkel sighed, "The church came on the news the night you all had left."

"The church had been vandalized," Mikkel proclaimed, "at least that's what everyone believes. A hole was dug up at the end of the aisle, before the statue of Mary. A hole where we buried Abigail…no body was found."

Fiona cursed in her native tongue and abandoned the tea for the bottle of rum.

"So, they are working together," Feliks concluded, "yet if they have the same goal-why didn't they take your souls?"

After taking a swing from the bottle Fiona proclaimed, "Because they can't simply contain a soul. It needs a body…was she going to eat them?" she asked Mikkel.

He shrugged, "it seemed like it…but in all honestly everything was spotty, I don't really remember."

She nodded, thinking to herself before proceeding, "When an immortal devours a soul, it becomes a part of them while the identity of the soul, along with its power fades. That's why they need to keep eating souls to live. Eating our souls is not an option for them; if what they are after is all of us, they can't retrieve us one by one."

"Unless they have vessels or… make us into their pets, to keep us near," Toris added grimly.

Mikkel shuddered, "is that what she would've done? Cloak us in that disgusting blood worm armor?!"

"Blood armor?" Vladimir raised a curious brow, "what was used in the ritual?"

Toris gave a tired sigh and raked a hand through his hair, "strange runes, some I haven't seen since I was young. There was a circle, an upside down triangle and these swirls of knots."

"What materials did she use?"

"Blood from the cats and dogs but she also had a hyena-wrote the circle with its blood first. Used a crescent blade," the brunet paused, inhaling and exhaling through his nose. "She spoke in Latin…maybe?" He shook his head, "I really don't remember much."

Vladimir nodded understandingly and faced Fiona, "That's some ancient blood magick right there. Abigail is only what? Three hundred? This kind of magick must be thousands of years old. She must be working for someone older-way older."

Fiona shook her head, "it can't be… we don't have any record of an immortal thousands of years old. Well expect us. How could a human immortal live for so long without detection?"

"No offense to your detective skills, but you guys didn't even know where Abigail was for fifteen years," Feliks quipped.

Fiona glared and Alistair laughed bitterly, "He has a point."

She sighed massaging her temples, "something's missing…it's just not adding up."

The room fell silent and Lukas sighed through his nose and clutched his jaw. The shift of movement caused his chin to throb, reminding him of his hideous actions.

"Did I hurt her?" he asked in small voice, low enough for only Mikkel to hear.

Mikkel rubbed the back of his neck, "if you mean she had both of her eyes, then no."

"Her eyes?" Fiona knitted her brow and took a moment to scan the room, "where's America?"

"Oh, funny story," Alistair smirked, "Our friend Lukas here threw me up against the wall and almost gouged out little America's eye."

Lukas was slammed back into the mattress with a pair of hands curling around his neck. He gasped for air as his vision blurred but he was able to register a messy blond with green eyes.

Arthur's gaze burned with a murderous gleam as he pressed his entire body on Lukas' jugular. Blotches of black spotted in his vision as he fought for each breath and tugged at the restraints. Another pair of hands appeared, twisting Arthur's wrists and hurling him to the side. When the pressure was taken off, Lukas wheezed, choking on his air.

Noise erupted but it was all muffled as Lukas blinked away the spots and rose; meeting with Arthur as he struggled out of his older brother's hold.

His face twisted in a snarl as he cursed, "if you ever touch Amy again, I'll tear out your other eye and shove it up your ass!"

Alistair chuckled darkly, "now there is the England we all know and love."

"Fuck off!" Arthur shoved him off and Mikkel instantly stood between him and Lukas.

"Touch him again and your head will be flying," he threatened.

Vladimir stepped forward, "now, now, let's all just take a deep breath and-"

Both Mikkel and Arthur snapped, "Shut up Romania!"

"Okay," he drew back as the door swung open and before the frame was an Indian woman. She strolled in stepping aside for Braden to follow, with Amy coddled in his arms.

Immediately the anger and hate vanished from Arthur's gaze; replaced with worry. "What happened? Is she alright?"

"She's fine," Braden scoffed, moving pass him to tuck Amy into a bed beside Arthur's.

"The lack of sleep finally caught up to her," the woman spoke with a smooth British accent. "She wouldn't leave your side for two days."

Arthur's eyes softened, "silly girl," he whispered and combed a hand through her hair. "I would've been alright. It's not the first time I've been beheaded."

Mikkel crossed his arms, "And it certainly won't be your last."

"Enough Dane," Lukas sighed, exhausted from this entire ordeal.

The Danish man raised his eyebrows at him, "he just tried to kill you."

"It's not like I didn't deserve it," he muttered.

"Well if all of you are done," the woman added, taking center stage, "The Council and elders have a message for you all." She paused, waiting for their full attention, "We ask of you to pack your bags and leave, a boat is ready to take you back to Fionnphort"

Another silence fell as hesitant looks were exchanged and Lukas felt his blood run cold.

Fiona's jaw dropped slightly, "What do you mean? You need us-"

"No, we don't," the woman remarked in a professional tone. "You are the reason why they attacked the Council. The immortals are after nations, not us."

Mikkel furrowed his brow, "this room's bugged."

The woman gave a tiny smile, "the walls have eyes." Her honey irises flashed indigo as bright, animated eyes appeared throughout the room. Dozens popped through the walls and ceiling, aligning in checkered rows and blinking at random times.

"Well," Feliks' voice dripped with sarcasm, "this isn't creepy."

The light in her irises vanished, along with the added eyes, "Don't misunderstand, we appreciate all that you do for us Miss Ireland. Unlike most nations you still try and keep the bridge alive but in all honesty some bridges are meant to burn."

Lukas caught Fiona's fists at her side, shaking as embers sparked in and out of life.

"The magickal and the ordinary were never meant to merge and most of the personifications have chosen to leave the old world behind. We don't blame you, after all you been through, you deserve to enjoy the modern era."

"I will not abandon the Council!" Fiona snapped.

The woman remained calm, "We are not asking you to; we are asking you to leave it to us. We will find them, but we can't have you near. You are their targets and we prefer to keep our distance."

"Um, okay, but wouldn't it be better for us to work together," Mikkel suggested.

"In all honesty Mr. Denmark, we don't need you. We have handled worse situations than this," she stated simply. "You have twenty minutes to gather your things, the boat will be waiting at the bay."

"Annisa," Braden called out, "can't they at least leave in the morning? Three of their members are unconscious."

She sighed, "The Council and our elders agree it's for the best. No worries nations, we will stop them."

"No offense, but how?" Feliks asked, irritation nipping at his tone. "Three magickal immortals want our souls. Two of them were able to kill three of your people and that was with our help. Sorry if I'm little doubtful."

"Mr. Poland when was the last time you dealt with magick?" Annisa inquired, her tone matching his. "When was the last time you discussed magick with a witch?"

Feliks clutched his jaw and she continued, "You chose their world, leaving us to roam in the shadows, left to our own devices. Before then most of Europe tried to burn us. We got the message loud and clear, you prefer to leave us in myths and stories and we have grown to prefer that you all stay out of our business."

With those final words, she struts out the door with an apologetic Braden following right behind.

Ella Chasse sketched another design; adding vibrant colors and asymmetrical patterns becoming more like a cartoonish costume than an elegant ball gown. She tsked at the result and crumbled the sheet between her hands. She threw the crushed wad to the floor, a force of habit brought on by stress and lack of creatively. She brushed a hand over the new sheet and began the outline of the model; picturing a curvier figure as the dress took on a fish tail.

A clearing of a throat jerked her away from her drawing and forced her to look up. A dark haired stewardess narrowed her eyes and handed Ella her discarded paper ball.

"Please, madam," she hissed, "stop tossing your trash in the aisle way."

Ella huffed in annoyance, it wasn't the first time the stewardess had to inform of this. "Yes, sorry," she snatched the ball and shoved it into her tote bag. She tried to get back to her model but the stewardess tapped her on the shoulder. "What?" she snapped.

"We will be landing in five minutes, please buckle in," she insisted.

She sighed, losing the spark and closing her sketch book.

Once the plane landed and the gates were in place, Ella swung the strap of her carryon over her shoulder and merged into the crowd of aisle. She crossed the grate and headed straight for the lobby, searching for her name. She found it written in graceful print on a sheet of paper. The sign was held up by Albert Voclain; a middle aged man with tan skin, dark eyes and graying dark hair. He stood tall with a dazzling smile and a well-dressed suit; he was quite the contrast against the avenge jeans and sweaters.

"Miss Ella," he gave a soft wave, gesturing for her carryon, "how was your trip?"

She sighed, handing him her bag, "the stewardess kept bothering me."

"How dare she?" Albert quipped playfully.

Ella pouted, knowing full well that the man was teasing her, "it wasn't all my fault. I was going to pick up but after I had five new sketches."

"And did you?" he raised a brow.

"No," she answered, "she kept picking them up and pestering me with them."

"The nerve," he chuckled, escorting her to the front doors and popping open an umbrella. "Wear your coat Miss, the cold is bitter this year."

He was not exaggerating.

The doors opened and a gust of wind came; the cold sinking deep into Ella's bones. She curled into herself, stuffing her hands into her pockets as she took long strides for the Lincoln Sedan. Albert walked at the same pace, pulling out his keys and clicking the doors open. Ella immediately slides in and Albert closes the door, sealing her inside with the heater turned up high. She relaxed into the leather seats as Albert packed her bag into the trunk. He then climbs in behind the wheel, maneuvers them out of the parking lot and onto the A16 highway.

"How was Miss Daniela's family?" Albert asked, striving for conversation.

Ella smiled, it was genuine and warm; "they're wonderful. Great Aunt Adalia showed me how to make churros."

Albert smiled back, "that's nice."

"Yes," she sighed through her nose, "yes, it was."

She closed her eyes and instantly she was back in the sleepy town of Collado Villalba; inside the Aguero's family home. It was a simple gray brick house on a large plot of land with patches of trees and wild flowers. The house was itself was filled with the scent of pastries and hot chocolate as Dani's parents, Esteban and Isa Aguero cooked together in the kitchen. Her younger brothers, Amelio and Izador were always outside; the older of the two would be in town while the younger would be found on a football field. Adalia Puga preferred the indoors, the cold being too much for her 'old bones'. It's the phrase she used dozens of times as she watched her soaps in the living room with Pico, the fat orange tabby laid about on her lap.

It was always crowded; either with extended family or close friends, all were boisterous and brash but she didn't hate it. She even wished to stay well after New Year's but with a single phone call from her father, she was on a morning flight back to Paris. Delmar Chasse, a chairman on the Nightingale school broad was hosting a party for his peers and he needed his recently graduate daughter to promote more sister schools in Africa. Of course, those weren't his exact words but Ella knew the subtext. Her father wasn't the kind to call 'just to check' on her.

Refusing to waste her time on irritating thoughts, she pulls out her sketch pad and redirects her frustrations on her designs. Possibly hoping that it would spark a new fire of creatively.

Nearly two hours passed and the floor of the car was littered with wads of paper. Albert says nothing, placing his focus on making calls with carters and florists. Ella's mother always preferred to have fresh lily bouquets, no matter the season.

When they entered the city, Ella raised a brow curiously, "are we making a stop?"

"Yes Miss," Albert answered as he turned onto the main road, "just a pickup of extra indigents for your favorite dish, chicken fricassee."

The corner of Ella's mouth twitched into a half smile; nodding her thanks she subconsciously glances outside her window taking in the view of a dark, murky Paris. Gray clouds covered the sky, showing no sign of sun today. The rain, once a soft sprinkle was now splattering against the glass. She watched indifferently as people propped open their umbrellas while others that weren't so lucky; tourists no doubt, scattered for coffee shops, boutiques or book stores. A stop light approaches and Albert slows to its command.

Ella sighed, annoyed with the rush hour traffic, "could we listen to some music, please."

"Of course," Albert switched on the radio and an old Coeur de Pirate song thrummed from the speakers.

The soft melody helped sooth her agitated nerves but she was restless. She didn't have the energy to deal with the city today; it was loud, crowded and all she wanted was her bed. She sighed once more and tilted her head against the window. That's when traffic began its shift, favoring her wishes. It was also the moment a figure caught her eye. He was familiar, with auburn hair, brown eyes and a swimmer's physic.

She knitted her brows in confusion, "Ethan?"

The young man fell to a knee, tying his shoe while a young girl with long raven hair held the umbrella.

The car advanced; putting distance between her and the pair. She spared one final analyzing glance before turning forward. No, it can't be, she thought to herself.

Giselle watched as the black Sedan disappeared into traffic.

"What you looking at baby girl?" Edward grinned as he rose to his feet and took back the umbrella.

"One of your friends are here," she titled her head slightly down the road.

He blinked, confused for a moment and then cursed, "Oh fuck. I think I know who you mean. I thought she was in Madrid?"

"Now she's here," Giselle quipped, "Which means she has a bigger role to play."

Edward raised a brow, "does she get in our way?"

"Yes," she answered bluntly.

"Hmm," he paused and then shrugged his shoulders, "it can't be helped. Heh, in all honestly I never really liked her." He offered her his hand, "come on, we still got a lot more to see."

Giselle gave a tiny smile as she took his hand and hummed a Russian lullaby to herself.

Behind them an ancient sigil illuminated from the ground, scorching into the cement; lying in wait for the main event.

A/N:

Romania: Vladimir Lupei