Chapter Thirty Four

How dare you.

Audiat's mind trembles with the effort of maintaining even the smallest of defenses against the presence's malicious attacks. Even being near the rage tears at the fragile wall she'd constructed between herself and the beast, never mind the fact that with each heavy paw he claps against the stone floor towards her makes it more difficult to protect herself.

How dare I what? Audiat's usually articulate mental voice comes out as little more than a nervous squeak. Rescue a girl from your talons? Save her from becoming your helpless slave?

His huge ears swivel towards her, and his bright blue eyes grow round with fury. It is not your place. And all rebellion against me shall be punished.

Now only feet away from Audiat, the great beast rears up on his hind legs. Time seems to move in slow motion as he splays his magnificent white wings, baring their true glory against the rainbow colors of his stained glass windows.

Audiat screams with agony as he slams his paws back to the ground, shaking the tiles beneath her feet.

Do not disobey me, fragile wishing star. I do not like being slighted…

"Why do we have to go so far from them?" I pant, almost jogging to keep up with Bryon's brisk, long-legged strides. "I mean, Raffe only can hear so far, right?"

"Besides my mild case of agoraphobia?" Bryon's eyes flash comically. "We were not the only ones in that stretch of woods. We seldom are. Though… perhaps we can slow down a tad."

"Thank you," I sigh in relief and relaxing my pace to a peaceful stroll, lulled by the swaying black trees swallowing us and the winking stars beyond their inky canopies. "So, what's so secret that we have to be so far from everybody, anyway?"

"First thing's first: I lied." Bryon smiles dryly. "It's not technically a family secret. A secret between Audiat and I, yes, yes it is – but my parents and yours have no more idea about this than you do."

"You and Audiat?" My curiosity waxes. "What do you mean? What do I have in common with the two of you?"

Bryon sighs heavily. His eyes roam the surrounding forest, as if constantly searching for eavesdroppers. "You've got a bit more in common with Audiat. But… well… it is difficult to explain. I'll try my best. You remember White Wolf and Black Wolf, yes?"

"Yes."

"There's more to them than the common stories tell, things that a very few are aware of – things like the fact that White Wolf honestly doesn't care about the Clockwork Angel anymore or that Black Wolf is out for her blood. It's hard to keep from Hugo, but – I make do. But enough of that; it has nothing to do with the dilemma at hand. Unbeknownst to the public eye, White Wolf and Black Wolf occasionally take pity on a pair of people, sympathizing with their plights and favoring them above all others, occasionally even fighting for them. That is my secret."

"…I don't understand."

"I haven't finished. White Wolf tends to favor ones that look or act like monsters, but have a soft heart inside, a gentleness beneath their scaly hide. Thus White Wolf is my patron." Bryon lifts a hand to silence my questions. "Black Wolf tends to favor those that look or act innocent, but have a sliver of ice in their souls, a hardness and a desire to do what's right, no matter the cost. Thus Black Wolf is Audiat's patron."

"Having a patron." I tilt my head to one side. "What does that mean?"

"It means they… well, they favor you," Bryon explains simply. "You aren't their champions or anything grand like that. It simply means they empathize, and they help in little ways to assist you on your journeys. They also walk with you in your dreams."

I halt completely, jarred from the slow pace we'd been travelling at. "Do you mean…?"

"I mean," Bryon concedes, nodding his head sagely. "I suspected it when I met your sister in the Garden of Eden, but now that it is confirmed, I can begin to teach you more about this world around us."

"The Garden of Eden?" My brow furrows. "What was Paige doing in the Garden of Eden? What were you doing in the Garden of Eden?"

"Ah, yes." He leans on his staff, smiling knowingly at me, eyes warm as melted butter. "There was a bit of a mistranslation in the bible you use today – an angel with a flaming sword was not sent to guard the gates of heaven. A white wolf demon with a blazing heart was. The two have certain domains, places that don't truly exist anywhere but inside our minds – you could say that they don't exist at all. Black Wolf reigns over the Halls of Memories – it's a place where, on their journey to be judged for Heaven or Hell, a person must walk through a long corridor, with stained glass windows on either side of them of all their memories, good or bad. All memories reside there."

"That explains the flashes of the past," I whisper. "But – but if the Garden of Eden only exists in your mind when you sleep, how did Adam and Eve… I don't know, even happen?"

Bryon shrugs. "Commonly debated. People believe that humans were just mental forms for the longest time, and because of their extended time being only collections of thoughts, your kind became so intelligent. I'm not sure what to believe, or if Adam and Eve ever really existed. Much before my time."

"Does that mean there is a God, then?" I shake my head, trying to clear it. "I mean, if the Garden of Eden exists, and Heaven and Hell exist, and the wolves are these entity things with the ability to take on favored people… There's got to be some force behind it all, right?"

"Exactly my point," Bryon approves, his smile touched with mystery. "But, unfortunately, I can't really share that perspective in debates without indulging on certain facts that must remain secret. By the way, you can't tell anyone about this – there is rumored to be a way, amongst other preferred people of the world, for one of the favored to compel its patron. If there is such a way – it must be kept secret. The sort of power that they possess is not something to be meddled with. The only person you may speak with this about is me or your sister, and only in utter privacy. Is that understood?"

"Yeah." I rake a hand through my hair. "Yeah, I guess. Hey, why was Paige drawn into this? It's not like – she doesn't exactly fit the 'monster on the outside, goody-goody on the inside' persona very well. She's good all the way around."

"For a while there, many would consider her a monster, regardless of what was blazing in her soul," Bryon points out, drawing in the dirt with the tip of his staff as he thinks. "She appeared far before you reported having strange dreams, around the time I assume the experiments were conducted. Not actually being conscious in the Garden – just like you were seeing visions of the past, she was seeing the future."

I tilt my head to one side. "The future?"

"Yes, the future, White Wolf's time zone. It, in a way, reflects their personalities, the time they reign over – Black Wolf is caught in the past, remembering the brilliant angel he used to be, remembering how sweet his life with the Clockwork Angel used to be, remembering the days when he was revered instead of feared. White Wolf views his transformation under a much brighter light – he is excited for the future, and eager for the moment when time becomes new even for him. Rebirth was a blessing. He forgets the past and the creature he used to be, instead focused on the one he will become. I'm not saying he's not utterly insane – because he is – but I do like looking forward rather than looking back."

"So… just like I see the past, you see the future? Like, prophecy and stuff?"

"Yes and no. Whereas the past is set in stone, the future is very volatile. Anything can happen. One future that was possible yesterday may not be possible today. I don't really pay attention to any of the 'prophecies' anymore."

"Oh." Worry gnaws at my heart. "Did… did Paige see anything that could've… scarred her? I mean… she's okay, right? If she saw herself die…"

The moonlight wreathes Bryon's head, something I'm now not utterly certain is a coincidence. "She didn't see herself die," he consoles. "She saw you die, of course, killed by that angel you wrestled with in the lab, but – well, you're still here today, aren't you? Don't worry. I wouldn't have let her suffer."

"Thank you." Thoughts still on Paige, I wonder, "So… if you and Audiat resemble both sides of the spectrum and then Paige and I, too, does that mean there's a sort of pattern? A symmetrical sort of thing? Opposites attract, maybe?"

Bryon lets out a long puff of air, looking down at the ground and the squiggles he'd carved into the soft dirt with his staff. "That's a good question, Penryn. Is there a method to their madness? I honestly don't know, Penryn. White Wolf allows me to wander the Garden of Eden every so often – I'm not his consultant."

"Oh." I nod. "Okay." After a hesitation, I add, "I was going to ask you why Black Wolf chose me, but… I guess it's pretty much the same answer, huh?"

"No, actually, it's not." Bryon shrugs, as if struggling for words. "Black Wolf stands for loyalty, courage, and strength. All three of those qualities are found in you, Penryn. You're persistent and will do absolutely anything if you believe it's for a good cause. You stormed an aerie to get your sister back, even though she was most likely dead. You posed as an angel's whore to get information. No, there's no question to it, in hindsight. You are Black Wolf's favorite."

My cheeks flush with heat. "Oh. Alright. I can… I can accept that."

"You sure?" Bryon teases, grinning playfully.

"Now that you mention it, I do not accept that at all." I grin back at him. "In fact, I deny any of that actually happened."

Bryon chuckles, but, unfortunately, doesn't supply a good comeback. Perhaps his mind is too pure to tease anyone, too innocent to harass another, even if it's all in good fun. But he does, however, continue the conversation on a more serious note.

"If you have any additional questions…," Bryon trails off, shaking his head. "Before long, you'll be able to wander the halls. You'll probably be able to run into Audiat in there, and she can guide you just like I did with Paige. But if by the time that we reach the she-aerie you still haven't managed that level of dream skills or whatnot… she'll coach you in person."

"You two always seem really cute together the few times I've seen," I compliment, smiling up at him. "I can't wait until the reunion."

The reverberating chuckle Bryon emits bemuses me – it's merry enough, still warm as buttered toast, but it's spiced with a note of ambivalence, of doubt, of almost anxiety. Though I try not to shoot him a curious glance, I end up doing it anyway.

"Hey, Bryon?" I ask, keeping my curiosity lidded.

"Yes?" Open, affable, welcoming – ready to answer any question I may ask.

"Just recently, I saw something where… where you were posing as Simon." Biting my lip, I ponder on how to phrase my next words. "Well… I was wondering… how did Raffe not notice that Simon had the same face as a pesky Nephilim? He obviously knew who you were once you revealed you were half-angel, but… why not before? And why doesn't he recognize you as Simon, even now?"

"Now, here we travel into more adamant studies," Bryon murmurs, rolling back on his heels, eyes skyward. "To recognize another, humans look at a few key features – the face, the stature, and the hair. Those are what you and I are most familiar with, what matter the most. But with angels, two faces are often very much alike in their eyes."

"What do you mean?" I wonder, fascinated with this new information about Raffe.

"I mean that, because they all look rather similar with their perfect, arrogant beauty, they don't recognize one another by facial features. In fact, angels recognize other angels solely by their voices and their wings, which are most individual than fingerprints. True, a few other factors can be added in there, like skin color or maybe the eyes, but that's how they work in their feathery minds."

"How do they classify humans, then?" I question, entranced by the answers I receive.

"Mostly by the voice – they're not real keen on faces." Bryon smiles warmly. "It's why striking females sometimes go unnoticed. If they're too perfect and plastic surgery has left too many lines on their face, they look too much like she-angels for extended periods of interest. But others – like you, for example – have unique beauty, unlike anything they're accustomed too in their own ranks. You're fascinating, though of course they'd never admit it."

I blush, but the compliment implanted in his words doesn't rupture the sleek flow of my critiquing thoughts. "But – but if angels recognize each other by voice, how come Raffe didn't notice that Simon and evil-monster didn't have the same voice?"

Bryon chuckles in dry amusement. "That can be attributed to the good old golden rule: angels don't remember humans. He wouldn't have really grasped the vibrations of my vocal chords until later in our… I can't call it a friendship. Besides, it's not like we often chatted as we brawled. If we did, I growled with monster's lungs, whereas I spoke quite eloquently as Simon."

"So… if I sauntered up to Raffe talking like a southern belle… he wouldn't be able to recognize me?" I offer, smiling to myself.

Throwing back his head, Bryon laughs in the best way – the mellifluous rhythm of his rich authentic laughter is much more satisfying than his polite chuckles and chortles.

"It might throw him for a loop," Bryon acknowledges, still smirking at the thought of it, "but not for more than a second. Sorry."

"Disappointing." I don't think up a more witty response, though.

Instead, I recall the aerie where Raffe and I had celebrated a rather eventful reunion. He hadn't recognized me, not at first – he'd ogled, as if in a trance, as if there had been something eerily familiar about me. It hadn't been until I'd grunted as I'd inflicted a bloody blow that Raffe had delivered those heavenly words: "It really is you."

My reunion with Raffe brings up another thought, one regarding Bryon's with Audiat's, and the ambivalence I'd found so out of place.

"Bryon…" I glance up at him, blinking a few times. "Will Audiat recognize you? I mean… you're her husband, right? There's no way that something like that would just… slip her mind or whatever. Right?"

The benevolence pulling at his lips falters, slowly shifting into a more poignant emotion. He quits fiddling with his staff and his shoulders fall. A spider's thread is all that keeps his lips perked upwards, and the thinnest of gossamer sheets is all that separates his cool façade from the raw misery I see festering in his bronze eyes.

"No, Penryn," Bryon says softly, his voice trembling slightly. He swallows with difficulty much difficulty, looking skyward and slowly closing his eyes. "No, she won't. She won't remember what I'm like at all."

"That can't be right," I protest, not appreciating the sudden melancholy turn the conversation has taken. "The Watchers remembered their Wives, right? Down in the Pit?"

"They did," Bryon acknowledges fairly. "But all they had were their memories to pick through – no one could see anything in that dank darkness, so it was easy to envision their wives' faces, simple to remember the vibrant colors of happier times. And they helped one another, too. It's only Audiat up there, and all the colors of her paints laid out before her to distract her mind."

"Paints? She's an artist? She could be painting pictures of you, then!"

"She tried, Penryn." His smile becomes brittle. "But she never got it quite right – faces were hard for her. She didn't even get it right when she had me right next to her. Most likely, she's tried, but her paintings have only grown more and more unlike me. Maybe she connects my name to a face that isn't mine at all."

"Right, but, she can look at memories with Black Wolf's help, right?" I smile hopefully. "Maybe that's all the jumpstart she needs to get her mind ticking."

"Penryn, since when do you remember your dreams well enough to paint an accurate picture of them?" Bryon shoots me an exasperated glance. "Trust me, Penryn, she won't remember a thing about me."

I can see that my attempts at cheering him up are beginning to poke in tender areas, and that, though he tries to remain collected, Bryon is beginning to become irritated with my poking, but I try one last jibe.

"She saw you as a Nephilim, right? Dragon-mode? There's no way anyone could forget that."

Bryon blinks twice, staring at me first with surprise, then with consideration. Before he shields his emotion again with its sheath of welcoming warmth, I catch a blaze of hope flaring in those brilliant eyes. As he smiles at me, it feels authentic, not just some wall thrown up to defend his inner turmoil.

"That is true," Bryon chuckles, wringing his hands around the staff. "I suppose need be, I can just storm up to the she-aerie in my scaly suit, can't I?"

"See? Not nearly as bad as you'd first thought."

"We'll have to see," Bryon hums indifferently, but he still seems optimistic beneath his nonchalant skin. "Now, I doubt we need to hang around here forever – do you have any more questions for me about Black Wolf, White Wolf? It's a lot to take in, and we can have another Q&A session after you've had time to mull over it."

"Um, well, have there been other 'favored' people? Are there others right now, living in breathing? Or are we just freaks?" I shake my head quickly, eyes widening. "That came out harsher than I meant it, but you get the picture."

"We most definitely are freaks," Bryon acknowledges, cocking his eyebrows wryly, "but that's not the reason why. There's none other than Audiat and I at the moment, but there have been some in the past. All gone now, unfortunately, but all led brilliant lives. I expect you will be no different."

"What are we supposed to do? I mean, like, what was the point of us getting this specialness or whatnot? Do I have powers or something weird like that?"

"No. No, you don't. Very sorry to tell you. And being favored doesn't have a point, either; it's as if I told you that I favored you above any other in our party. Does that change your goal, who you are? No, it doesn't."

"Okay… what's Black Wolf like? I mean… should I avoid him? Should I be afraid of him? Should I respect him?"

Bryon shrugs. "I have no earthly idea. He's an ass for selling me on that plan to only send the he-angels off, but other than that, I've got no clue. You'll have to wait for Audiat. I highly advise keeping him at a very far distance."

"What's the Garden of Eden like?" I wonder, eyes wide.

"Magnificent. Imagine my full-moon blossoms, except everywhere." He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, as if recalling the perfume of his flowers. "All the plants light up with many, many different colors, like a rainbow. The sky is always dark – the sun never shines there, but you don't need it, because the aurora borealis shines just as bright as sunlight, not even mentioning the moon closer than it ever is on Earth and the stars that burn like diamonds. Fluorescent creatures wander the thick woods, like nothing I've ever seen – things that weren't tempted by the fruit on the willow trees in the center of the gardens, and thus have never left. Even the smallest streams are deep like abysses, but you can breathe underwater there, and the coral and fish glow, too. It's beautiful. I love it there."

"That does sound magnificent," I agree, eyes wide, picturing a moonlit jungle. "Are your blossoms there, too?"

"Oh, yes," Bryon agrees eagerly. "Yes, lots of mine, with all sorts of different colors. I didn't learn how to do my thing there – my dad taught me – but I did learn a few other tricks." His eyes light up. "There's this one golden flower that's always blooming there. It looks a bit like a lily. It detects Godly energy, which means that although it blooms constantly in the Garden, it hardly ever shows its face here. Only when God comes through the Holy Fire – or the burning bush, as you may know it."

"I think I saw one of those in the Chaza," I realize, brow scrunching. "How is that possible?"

"I did pray to the lord for guidance in one of the churches one night, and the honorary bush there did flicker with fire for a few meager seconds." Narrowing his eyes, Bryon tilts his head to the side, like a confused puppy. "I didn't think that would be enough, though. Maybe someone's prayer got answered." Abruptly, his face lights up again. "Do you want to see something?"

"Uh, sure." I lean back against a tree, enjoying the cold bark against my back. "What is it?"

Because of his towering height, Bryon doesn't have to reach far to pluck a single leaf from one of the mighty trees we dwell beneath – the one he chooses a broad maple leaf, healthy and supple. He balances it perfectly on the palm of his hand. After glancing once excitedly up at me, he glares at the leaf.

The veins burn to life with the same gentle glow as his flowers had, simply this time in lavender. It lasts mere seconds, but it's fascinating, to see the leaf stained black by the darkness webbed with lilac veins.

"Hey, that's cool!" I exclaim, watching as the leaf drifts to the ground. "Why can't you show other people that?"

"Not sure. Never really felt like it. There's always more pressing matters than a pretty little leaf." He scratches at his neck, eyes downcast. "Actually, there's probably more pressing matters right now. We should head back, see what's going on. You can ask me about other things on the way back, but no more about Black Wolf and White Wolf, you hear?"

"Got it." Hesitating, I smile timidly at him. "One last possibly stupid question. Do they actually have names, the mutts, or do you just identify them by color?"

"They used to have names," Bryon sighs, shaking his head slowly. "I doubt they can even be considered as the same souls, though, so no. I'd say that they wouldn't even register their names nowadays; I'd say they wouldn't even register their past selves, either. They're not the things they used to be. Not at all."

I glance up at the moon, shivering beneath its lazy gaze. "Do you think that either one is good? I mean… you said Black Wolf is out for the Clockwork Angel's head, but White Wolf was the one that got them in the situation in the first place, right?"

Bryon halts abruptly. Expression hardening into bitter steel, Bryon almost glares my direction, his lips pricked. Between his narrowed eyelids, I see the black line of his slitted pupil flickering up and down my figure.

"No." There's a gruffness in his voice. "No, Penryn, neither one of them can be considered good. In fact… don't you dare get close to Black Wolf, don't tangle with him. He is less vicious than White Wolf, but much, much less complicated. If you tick him off" – his eyes blow wide as coins, the snakelike pupils quivering slightly – "he will kill you."

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. "I – I thought you said that I was favored by him."

"I don't know what that means, Penryn." He looks up at the moon, and the glare of the starlight in his eyes almost making it look like tears. "I know that being favored by White Wolf means that he is reluctant to kill us. I don't know if that's the same for Black Wolf. And I can't protect you from him like I can protect your sister."

"Okay." I curl my arms up in a hug around myself. "But… it doesn't make any sense… why would he…?"

"He doesn't make any sense, Penryn." Sighing heavily, Bryon looks to the ground, long lashes batting. "Think about it. He's spent thousands of years fighting the epitome of insanity, resisting White Wolf's vicious powers. All it takes is one slip and then Black Wolf's undeniably crazy. In my humble opinion, that's why Black Wolf is so furious with the Angel."

"Because he's crazy?"

"Because he's absolutely bonkers."

"Don't disturb her," Ariel whispers, slamming her hand up into Josiah's chest, halting his brisk approach. "She doesn't get like this often."

Ripping his gaze from where Audiat sits cross-legged on the ground, babbling to herself while dipping her fingers in the open cans of paint carelessly strewn about. Shocked, Josiah stares dumbfoundedly at Ariel, cocking his head.

"What? What do you mean?" He smacks Ariel's hand away, but hesitates in the doorway, heart leaping with uncertainty – true, Audiat's actions frighten him slightly, but why should he stay away from her…? The tears dribbling down her porcelain cheeks are an exclamation of pain. In what world would Ariel wish to prolong her good friend's agony?

"She doesn't do this," Ariel whispers, shoving Josiah back another foot. "Look, look at her art! Most of the time, when she sleep-paints, it's of things in the past, things she can recall – but that? That's scarcely ever happened before."

Josiah blinks. "So? What does that mean? Why should we care so much?"

"Look at it." Ariel's voice subdues to an awed whisper, like a child entranced by something the likes of which they'd never seen. "Look long and hard, Josiah. What do you see?"

Bewildered, Josiah studies the art she paints on the wall – it's not fully finished, with mere outlines all that defines the shapes of the two grappling creatures. But on the floor surrounding Audiat are other murals, ones carrying more foreboding tones – a black wolf and a dragon with bronze scales brawling, teeth aimed for one another's throats, a lion with its beard stained red sitting on a tiny rock crag in a sea dead animals, a she-wolf and a viper locked in bitter combat, a lamb bleating in pain as vicious creatures clamp onto its back legs and hinder any escape, and a beheaded monkey slouched over the body of a dead dog, its coppery eyes shining dully.

"Explain to me what's so aweing about a bunch of animals." Puzzled, Josiah meets Ariel's dark gaze with confounded interest. "Is there some code behind it all?"

"Maybe," Ariel whispers. "But can't you see, Josiah? It's an omen, a warning of things to come. We just need to crack the code, to figure out what's headed our way and stop it."

"You mean, other than the Horse?"

"Other than the Horse. Even a Horse of the Apocalypse wouldn't trigger this. The last time this happened…" Ariel trails off, shaking her head. "The last time this happened, she was predicting her own meeting with her husband, one of the most powerful chess pieces on the playing board – at the time. Now…"

Scrunching his brow, Josiah first studies the murals on the floor, wondering why some creatures are drawn with fine fur or scales whereas others are crude and malformed, as if monsters. Then, his eyes rove up to the one Audiat dabs at now. Breathing in sharply, he watches as she takes her thumb and mottles over the weary eye she'd sketched onto the wall with bronze scales.

"I think I know what might be coming this way," Josiah murmurs, pointing to the picture of the great bronze dragon splayed awkwardly in a way that can only point to one thing, and the shadow of a man standing over it.

Before Ariel can respond, the sharp trill of a cell phone going off rattles through the sleeping chamber, and awakens Audiat.

"Okay, the good news is, Ariel is willing to take us in now that Raffe has his wings back on." As we enter the clearing, Hugo snaps shut the lid to his silvery flip phone. "She likes this whole 'no one knows we're there' crap. A whole lot."

"When you start something out with 'the good news is', you always have bad news, too," Bryon sighs. "What is it?"

"A couple of things." Hugo tosses the flip phone to Ogden, leading me to believe that it'd been his. "For starters, there will be no male angel backup, because it's too damn risky. Hell, she's not even letting Josiah know, and he's the only real one she… sorta trusts? Oh, I don't know, I think she's bipolar with her alliances. Anyway, Audiat is also going with Josiah on their mission away."

"Oh?"

Raffe lifts his head, as if he, too, had detected the strained note in Bryon's otherwise indifferent voice. Finding his gaze in the mass of shadows, I smile at him to distract his train of thought, and Raffe smiles darkly back.

"Uh-huh. I heard her crying on the other end of the line – not sure what was going on, but whatever it was, it was traumatic." Hugo looks Bryon up and down. "Don't worry, bud, we'll have a nice little get-together soon enough, but she had to leave, had to attend her duties as her diplomat-ambassador thing and expose Uriel. We might run into her, who knows?"

"It's alright," Bryon soothes, eyes twinkling. "I'm not a complete lovesick puppy. I can handle myself."

"Lovesick…" My mother cocks her head, halting her rocking to and fro on her heels. "Lovesick puppy? War dog… war dog…"

"Of course," Hugo approves thoughtlessly, as if her words had utterly escaped his notice. "The last thing is that if the Horse gets within a fifty mile radius of the aerie, she threatened to take Pigeon-Bat by his scruff and throw him to the monster. So, in other words, we're going to need someone to fend him off if it draws near." He shoots a meaningful glance Bryon's direction.

Bryon groans gutturally, more in annoyance than actual reluctance. He kneads his palm into his forehead, wincing, as if the ghosts of scars long past inflicted ache once more. "Don't tell me," he mutters bitterly. "Don't tell me I have to not only fight with one of those things but keep it at bay, fend it off."

"Alright." Hugo stuffs his laptop in his duffel bag. "I won't tell you. I know it'll be difficult, but, need be, I'm sure Ogden will volunteer as reserved forces. Isn't that right, high and mighty?"

Ogden nods vigorously, his expression gentle as warm silk. Limping across the clearing to pat Bryon consolingly on the arm, he grunts affectionately, glowing with pride. It's as if I can feel the two of them communicating telepathically – as if their mental presences weigh down the air in some palpable sense.

"Thank you," Bryon murmurs gratefully. "I hope you know I'd do the same for you, any day."

Chuckling rambunctiously, Ogden claps his hand on Bryon's shoulder one last time before releasing it, his eyes twinkling as if the thought of Bryon returning whatever favor he'd offered is amusing. I get the sense of a grandson talking to his old, old man – they have nearly the same camaraderie, and, the more I think about it, the more sense it makes.

"Keep dreaming," Bryon laughs, rolling his eyes. "Now, Hugo, I see that you went ahead and packed up camp, despite my telling you that it was unnecessary. Care to explain why you're not letting everyone fill their daily beauty sleep quota?"

Hugo holds up his hands in surrender, ducking his head sheepishly. "Hey, don't look at me, I was on the phone. It sort of just happened around me."

"Hmm." Bryon raises his eyebrows skeptically, but doesn't press the matter further. "Well, now that we're all packed up, we might as well get this show on the road. Paige, hon, how are you holding up?"

"Fine, thanks for asking." She smiles sweetly at him, blinking with eyelashes nearly identical to his. I wonder how it'd taken me so long to spot the similarity.

"Any of those new muscles giving you fits?" Hospitality practically oozes from him. "Anything worthy of reporting? Did you sleep on a rock?"

Paige giggles, cupping a hand over her mouth. "I did, actually, but I'm fine. Really, Uncle, I'm okay."

"Alright, so long as you say so." Bryon's eyes roam over the mismatched group, grazing each and every one of our botched party until they find another suspect. "Belle? You alright?"

The adorable Nephilim yawns mightily, curling up around Scruffy's saddle horn. She mewls quietly, almost like a genteel goodnight. I could be imagining it or perhaps the darkness molds his expression into things it isn't, but Raffe seems to smile just as warmly at her as Bryon does.

"Just checking," Bryon chortles, shaking his head in amusement. "You, too, Scruffy?"

The wolf yips enthusiastically at the sound of his name, tail wagging ferociously and paws skittering excitedly about in a happy little dance. The wolf grins brightly, throwing his head up and down gleefully.

"And you, Raphael?"

Both of Raffe's eyebrows shoot up. "I'm after the monster and wolf? Seriously?"

Why? As the sun's first golden rays of light filter through the lacy curtains, patterning the ground with flowery designs, Audiat looks up at the unfinished painting she'd scrawled sloppily on her wall. Why show me this?

Despite her question being angled towards the rays of light, she hadn't expected an answer from the cruel, booming voice she knows all too well.

Those who disobey must be punished.

Without breathing a word in response, Audiat flings herself at the closest can of paint – it's a beautiful azure color, pure, undiluted, and nearly full. Staggering to her feet, she pitches the can of paint at the foreboding omen on the wall, covering up the sadistic art. When that can of paint is empty, she reaches for another one.

Audiat doesn't stop until there's not an inch of the dreadful painting showing.

Just between you and me, Bryon's not spilling everything to Penryn. He knows a lot more than he's letting on.

Also between you and me? So does Belle. She might even know more.

Can't trust anyone with a "B" name, can you?

I'd like to send you lovely little readers a short apology for last chapter's poll, I wrote it really, really late at night, and I was at the stage where literally anything is funny and everything makes sense in some strange mangled way. Please forgive me – I beg it!

POLL: In apology of last chapter's confusing poll, let's go with something more laid-back… Scruffy, character analysis, go!

Ciao,

~wolfluvermh