A/N: We really don't know what was in Belle's favorite childhood novel insofar as plot specifics, but I thought a dash of King Lear/the Perrault "Beauty and the Beast" might be in order.

Chapter 52

It didn't come from the Enchanted Forest; Rumple was quite certain of that much. And there was no indication that the knob hailed from any other realm either. He'd checked his ledgers and, so far as he could tell, the object had just appeared in his shop on the day that Storybrooke was created, together with any number of knickknacks, novelties, and odds and ends that—he assumed—might be found in most pawn-and-antiquities shops in just about any other locale.

He studied the knob again. Nothing remarkable there; it was solid brass, likely Victorian—antique but hardly uncommon; had it still been attached to the bed it came from, it would likely be worth a good deal more—depending on the bed's condition, of course. As it was, he doubted it was worth more than fifteen dollars, and likely a bit less, seeing as a previous owner had seen fit to deface it by etching their initials on it. With a penknife, from the look of it—and not a very sharp one.

It had never occurred to him to test it for magic before, but perhaps it was time to do so. Not that he expected to find any—not in any object native to this realm, particularly not one whose existence predated Storybrooke. Still, the procedure was simple enough, and he might as well get to it, if only to rule out the possibility.

He was shaking his head as he carried the knob into the back room and set it on his worktable. Next, he took an elaborately-carved mahogany box down from a shelf, set it down beside the knob, and flipped back the lid. He removed a cobalt-blue blown-glass bottle with a narrow neck and removed the cork stopper. Then he tilted the mouth of the bottle slowly forward and allowed a single drop of an inky black liquid to fall on the knob.

The next thing he knew, his back had made the forceful acquaintance of the wall some five feet behind him and he was half-sitting, half-sprawled on the floor, the shattered fragments of the magic detection potion bottle beside him, where it had dropped from his hand, the rest of the liquid pooling about it.

Wide-eyed, Rumple stared up at the innocent-looking bed knob, still reposing on the worktable. His mouth gaped open. Without taking his eyes from the brass ornament, he fumbled for his cane, finding it mere inches away. Once on his feet, he inched his way to the doorway and backed out to the shop floor. Then he dug his phone out of his pocket and texted Emma.

The shop. NOW.


Belle wouldn't have thought that missing one class could make such a difference, but her muscles were stiffer and sorer than she thought they had a right to be by the time she left the gym. She almost decided not to stop by the hospital, but she knew she'd just spend the day feeling guilty if she didn't.

As she made her way to her father's room, she could hear a commotion in the distance. A moment later, an ashen-faced Tinkerbell emerged from the room and, spying Belle, approached at a run. "I'm sorry," the fairy said, almost as soon as she was close enough to talk without shouting. "I-I've put my foot in it, I'm afraid!"

Belle took a breath. "What's happened?" she asked, forcing herself to sound calm.

Tink brought a hand briefly to her forehead to cover her eyes. Then she withdrew it. "Your father woke up in the middle of the night, really woke up, I mean—not just in and out of consciousness. By the time breakfast came, he was a lot more coherent. And when I put his tray down, I started telling him how good it was to see him alert and that if things went on this way, then Dr. Whale was sure to get him started on physio and…"

"And…?" Belle prompted.

"And then it wouldn't be long before he could go home," she added with a guilty twitch.

"And…?" Belle asked again, more than half-suspecting the answer.

"And I… think I probably said something about how the request for a full-time nurse to accompany him had been approved. Belle, I'm sorry! I thought you'd said something and then I remembered that until now, he probably wasn't alert enough to hear or understand, even if you had. I didn't mean…"

Belle winced. Her father was still ranting and she wasn't certain if his voice was growing louder or just angrier. "It's fine," she said heavily. "I-I'll try to calm him down." She took another breath. "Right after I calm me down."


"Okay," Emma said, as she pushed open the shop door. "What's up?" Then she realized that Rumple wasn't behind the counter. Instead, he was pressed to the wall next to the door, pressed so tightly against it that Emma wondered if he was attempting to pass through it. "Gold?"

Rumple blinked. Then he accepted the hand that she was extending toward him and took a shaky step forward.

"Are you… okay?" Emma asked, looking concerned when he seemed to need time to think about his response. Finally he nodded.

"I-I need you to cast a protection spell," he said hoarsely.

"Um… all right," Emma replied. "On the shop?"

Rumple shook his head. Then he took a hesitant step forward, tugging her along as she fell into step behind him. He stopped nervously at the entrance to the back room and pointed with a shaking hand toward the table. "On that."

Emma looked back and forth, from the bed knob to Gold several times, half-expecting him to tell her that he was joking. "Okay…" she said finally. "Uh… when you showed me how to cast one the first time, you told me to, um," she thought back, trying to recall exactly how he'd phrased it, "think about why I'm doing it and who I'm protecting. I mean, is it just you? The town…?"

Rumple nodded. "At the very least." It was nearly a whisper.

"What?"

"Cast the spell, Savior."

Emma gave him another bewildered look. Something about the set of his eyes stilled any further argument. She took a breath, focused and, once she had the feel of it, sent a puff of Light magic toward the innocuous-looking brass knob. For a moment, a haze of energy surrounded it like a smoke screen. Then it dissipated, but although the knob looked as it had before, both she and Gold knew that the spell had taken.

"Good," Rumple said with palpable relief. Then he seemed, for the first time, to take account of his behavior and he quickly released her hand, holding up his own to stave off any further gestures or questions while he took several slow breaths and seemed to collect himself.

"Want to tell me what's going on?" Emma asked when he locked eyes on hers once more.

"I do indeed," Rumple said, a bit of his usual crispness coming into his tone of voice. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid I don't have a complete answer." He took another breath. "But you've earned the right to hear what amounts to a partial explanation." He thought for a moment. "Do you recall the first spell you ever cast?"

Emma blinked. "Uh… yeah. At least, the first one where I couldn't just… explain it away as something weird," she amended. She'd probably never know whether Ingrid had been right about that business with the lights over that game machine or whether it had been wishful thinking on her part, but the first time she'd known she had magic, "I stopped Cora from taking my heart."

"Instinctively," Gold stated.

"Yes."

He nodded. "The first time one uses magic, such is often the case. Think of it as an introduction, a… harbinger, if you will, of what lies ahead. After a good deal of study, practice, and what amounts to long hours of drudgery."

"Oh, is that what meditation's for?" Emma quipped. Then she apologized, seeing Gold's face harden.

"There are good reasons for it," he said, continuing on after a moment as though she hadn't commented. "One must learn to harness and understand the forces that are being unleashed. Should one lack such basic comprehension and control, the results can be… unpredictable. I suspect that something like that has happened here."

Emma frowned. "B-but I didn't understand the spells I was using, not then. Maybe not even now."

"I know," Rumple nodded. "But you did have more knowledgeable practitioners of magic close by to advise you." He smiled thinly. "When I chided you on the way to Neverland for not believing in more magic than what had been shown to you, in light of the challenges ahead, I was justified. But in light of your inexperience and near-total lack of instruction," he took another breath, "all I can say is that it's well you weren't given to experimentation. The results could have been fatal." He let that sink in. Then he gestured again toward the bed knob. "They also could have produced something like that."

"What is it?" Emma asked.

Rumple thought carefully for a moment. "An enchantment of ancient high power… which seems to have been cast by an utter novice."

"What does it do?"

Rumple shook his head. "When I attempted to discern the answer to that, I found myself flung bodily into the wall. Not doing that again, Dearie," he added with a forced laugh. "However, I believe that I know someone who might share the answer with us." His face grew serious again. "Mr. Castaway and Dr. Malone were in here earlier. It was their behavior that alerted me that this bauble might be more than it seemed. And while they were being rather closed-mouthed about its import, I suspect that their uncle might well hold the key to the conundrum."

"But if Tony and Tia aren't talking," Emma said slowly, "do you think that the Apprentice will?"

"Well," Rumple admitted, "as to that, I can't say. But if you'll do me the favor of accompanying me to his house," he smiled hopefully, "at least we'll be better able to ascertain if whatever he chooses to relate to us will be an honest accounting." He picked up a drawstring pouch and tugged its mouth open. "And with your protection spell cast, it should be safe to transport the thing," he added.

All the same, Emma noticed that he handled the knob gingerly, as he slid it into the pouch. And if he gave another sigh of relief when he pulled the string closed and knotted it, she pretended she hadn't heard it.


Belle paused outside the door to her father's room and took a moment to mentally prepare herself. That done, she squared her shoulders and walked in. Her father was berating some hapless orderly who was trying ineffectually to calm him down. The orderly caught Belle's eye and she winced at the hopeful expression that lit across his face.

Heroes do what's right, not what's easy, she told herself firmly. She forced herself to smile at the young man. "I'll take it from here," she murmured. So far, her father didn't seem aware of her presence.

The orderly mouthed a grateful 'Thank you' and exited with a mumbled farewell. Belle took another breath. "Father," she said, keeping her voice level.

Moe French turned his head toward her. "It's about time you got here, my girl," he snapped. "Do you have any idea what they're saying?" Before Belle could answer, he barreled on. "They're arranging a nurse for me! As though I haven't family in this town! But rather than consult you, they just up and decide to send a nurse as though you can't be depended upon to do your duty by me! With this sort of incompetence, it's a wonder I even woke up!" He took a breath. "But now that you're here, you'll tell them what's what; they won't listen to me."

Belle chewed on the inside of her lower lip. "I've already spoken with them, Father," she said. "And I really think that you do need the nurse. I haven't the training for the care you need and I-I'm not that strong. If you had a fall, I'm not sure I could move you without making things worse."

Moe's angry glower eased slightly. "I suppose," he conceded grudgingly. "But you'll be there to supervise. I'm not having some stranger about who doesn't know how I take my oatmeal or where to set the thermostat or—"

Belle shook her head. "But Father, I don't know how you take your oatmeal or where to set your thermostat." It was true. The servants had taken care of their meals in the Enchanted Forest and she'd never lived a day with her father after coming to this realm.

"You'll learn."

"So will the nurse."

Moe's glower was back. "You'd leave my care to strangers… outsiders?" The glower fell away. "I thought I raised you better," he said heavily. "You're my only child, Belle. I barely see you, as it is. I know we have our differences, but I thought you'd be there for me at a time like this." He shook his head. "I guess I am a difficult man. Bull-headed, even," he admitted. "But you always bring out the best in me. I don't want some… interloper in the house rearranging things and saying fool things like," his voice took on an almost syrupy quality, "'Now, what do we want for breakfast, Mr. French?' or 'Did we enjoy our time outdoors, Mr. French?'" His lip curled in disgust. "Even in our castle, I never used a 'Royal We,' damn it! I don't mean to start now!"

"I-I'm certain it won't be that bad," Belle murmured. At least, she hoped it wouldn't be.

"I'd be certain too," Moe said, "if it were you looking after me. Belle, daughter, I'm begging you. I want you, not some paid employee."

Belle lowered her eyes. "Surely you understand I can't leave my husband for weeks on end while you recover," she said, hating the pleading note that crept into her voice. "And you won't be happy moving in with us."

"No," Moe admitted. "I won't be, but I'll endure it if I must. If you won't leave that beast you married to do your duty by me, well, I'll—"

Something cold seemed to wash over her then. "—Manage with the nurse," Belle cut him off, fighting hard not to snap or cry or do anything juvenile—like stamp her foot, especially now that she was wearing flats and didn't have to worry about breaking a heel. "I really do think that will be easier, Father."

His eyes narrowed. "For me or for you?"

She took another breath. "For all of us," she said steadily. "Really, Father, you've never let an opportunity slip to malign my husband, so how could I ask you to stay under the same roof with him? Or he under the same roof with you?"

"I'll… keep my tongue in check," Moe said slowly.

For a moment, Belle dared to hope that her father might just be coming around. Maybe, if he gave Rumple half a chance, then… She shook her head. "For how long, Father?" she asked sadly. "You couldn't restrain yourself from taking a dig at him that night in the elevator, when he wasn't even about."

"Well, he didn't hear it!"

"But I did. He's my husband, Father. Do you really think I'll stand for you lashing out at him constantly?"

"That was a one-off," Moe protested. "I was worried about you."

Belle blinked. "Sorry… what?" she asked in confusion.

"It was just the one time," Moe repeated. "I thought… When I heard what had happened, I rushed to the house and when he told me you weren't there, I thought he was keeping you away from me and I wouldn't stand for it so I—"

Lashing out, Belle realized. I meant figuratively, but from what I'm hearing… "You hit him?" Belle shrilled.

Moe flinched back in shock and for a moment, Belle thought she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion. Of course, her father wouldn't have actually struck… But then, he blurted, "He didn't tell you?"

"No," Belle said, nearly whispering. "He never said a word. He… He…" He didn't want to influence my decision. Whether I relented and agreed to have Father move in or not was always going to be my choice and he didn't want to say anything to sway me one way or the other. Belle shook her head. "While you can't pass up a chance to try to drive a wedge between us," she finished her though aloud. Her chin lifted. "I'm sorry, Father. But you won't have another opportunity. You can go home with a nurse or you can convalesce here. Either way, I'll visit. But if you say one word against Rumple, I promise you, I'll walk out. My husband may not be perfect, but he's trying to be better. And you just keep trying to squash him back down. Well, I've had enough, Father. Say what you must about him when I'm not around, but in my presence, I'll thank you to find other topics for conversation."

She pivoted sharply, pleasantly surprised at how much easier it was to keep her balance in these shoes.

"Where are you going?" Moe demanded.

"Away from here. So, I suppose you can rant about the both of us to your heart's content. I'll come back tomorrow," she said tightly. "Once we've both had a chance to calm down. I think we both need that. Good day, Father."

There was one disadvantage to wearing flats, she realized, as she strode briskly out of the room. They didn't give nearly enough voice to her fury as they clomped along on the terrazzo floor.

She managed to make it to the ladies room and lock herself in a stall before she broke down and wept.


Rumple watched the Apprentice carefully, gauging his reaction as he held up the brass knob. He wasn't disappointed. The old man's mouth gaped partly open and he started to reach for the object, then withdrew his hand. "I think it best that you hold onto it for now," he said, almost too calmly. "And keep that spell about it."

"What is it?" Emma asked.

The Apprentice turned to her for the first time. "It's…" He smiled self-consciously. "Of course," he turned to Rumple. "You didn't just bring her here for companionship. Well." He smiled at Emma uneasily. "I'll do my best not to trigger your… non-magical power. But I'll take it as a courtesy if you don't share this with too many people, as of yet."

Emma frowned. "I'm not promising that until I know what we're dealing with," she replied.

For a long moment, the Apprentice regarded her, unblinking, his face unreadable. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. I believe that your Mr. Booth informed you once that this realm has always had a bit of magic tucked away in odd corners?"

"He…" Emma thought back. "He said it had more magic than he'd thought. And since this is supposed to be a 'Land without Magic,' I guess any magic would be more, right?"

"Just so," the Apprentice nodded. "Your son is studying science at his school, is he not?"

"Uh…yeah."

The Apprentice massaged his forehead, briefly. "Forgive me. I'm not certain the curriculum. At his age, would he have begun physics already?"

Emma thought back. "Uh… not exactly. I mean, they're not calling it that. It's more of a general overview."

"Ah. I'd suspected as much," the old man smiled. "But perhaps, I can still use the analogy." He nodded to Rumple, then turned back to Emma. "So, in this rudimentary science program, would it be fair to say if he's learning anything in that branch it might be such things as Newton's Laws of Motion, perhaps something of magnets and magnetism?"

Emma shook her head. "Not that I've seen, but maybe he'll get that later in the year. I think I was about his age when I covered it, but that was in a different school system; they might not teach it here until he's a little older."

The Apprentice nodded, looking a little disappointed. "Very well. But even if the material is not currently being taught at his age, you can see that it might be, at least at a rudimentary level."

"Sure," Emma nodded, frowning a bit as she tried to guess where he was going.

He didn't keep her in suspense for long. "But one might speculate further that a branch like… nuclear physics, say, would only be touched on in his curriculum in the vaguest detail—perhaps just enough so that your son might be able to understand what the field encompasses in theory, but without any instruction in the practical application?"

"Of nuclear physics?" Emma gaped at him. "My son's barely thirteen!"

"I'll take that as a 'no,' then," the Apprentice nodded. "Very well. The knob you've brought me today is, well, if it were an object of science instead of magic… Let us call it an example of nuclear fusion. It could be fission, if you like; for this explanation, it scarcely matters, but why don't I just say 'fusion'?"

He paused, waiting for an answer. Emma and Rumple shared a glance. Then she shrugged. "Okay, sure, whatever. The knob's… fusion."

"Fusion," the Apprentice repeated slowly, "if it had been created by a student of science of roughly your son's level of proficiency. I believe," he added, "that when I walked down Main Street the other day, I might have seen in a shop window a… chemistry set for children?"

"Uh, I don't know… probably," Emma nodded. "I mean, it wouldn't surprise me."

"Well, let's say I did, then," the Apprentice was still smiling. "Could you hazard a guess as to what chemicals might be included in such a set?"

"Uh…" She shot another, more-frantic glance in Rumple's direction. "I never had one of those and I really sucked at science," she muttered. "I don't know… I mean, there'd be test tubes, maybe a… a Bunsen burner. But chemicals?"

"Borax," Rumple suggested. "Cobalt chloride, perhaps. Ferric ammonium sulfate?" He gave Emma a slight smile. "I may have brought magic—or perhaps, more magic—to this land, but spell components are harder to come by. Some I've been able to reproduce. Others, well, let's just say that I've had occasion to purchase several such sets. While their contents aren't always suitable for magical purposes, I've had some modest success in adapting them."

"Just so," the Apprentice nodded. "And while some of those chemicals might be dangerous if mishandled or ingested, they're relatively safe in the hands of older children and youths. On the other hand, I'll wager that such substances as… Uranium 235 or, say, radium would not be included in such kits."

Emma's jaw dropped. "Seriously?" she demanded. "Are you kidding me? If some… middle-schooler… got hold of that stuff, it would probably kill him! Or her," she amended.

"Just so," the Apprentice nodded. "Now. This device you've brought me is… well, it's very much as though a rather precocious student in your son's class had somehow managed to procure both an advanced nuclear physics textbook—one with practical applications—and the components needed to realize some of those applications. Only in this case, the precocious student was a novice of magic, not science." He paused for a moment. "I believe you've heard that 'a little learning is a dangerous thing'?"

Rumple's mouth went dry. "That much power," he said hoarsely, "contained with little more than… than," he glanced at Emma, "I suppose in terms you're familiar with? Cardboard, Scotch tape, and a bit of baling twine."

The Apprentice nodded again. "That's very close to accurate," he replied.

"What does it… do?" Emma asked, swallowing hard.

"Well, to continue with Rumpelstiltskin's analogy," the Apprentice said slowly, "you might say that the tape and the twine are so thoroughly knotted and tangled up with each other that it's difficult to be certain. I can reassure you on one point, though: whoever this novice was, they did have some appreciation for the forces they were manipulating. There are safeties and protections wrapped up in this… mess. Unfortunately, to analyze the device properly, I'd need to unravel them, and I'm sure you can appreciate that I'm loath to do so."

"So, basically, we're sitting on a bomb and any attempt to disarm it might just start the timer?" Emma demanded, looking wildly from one man to the other.

Each one nodded slowly. "Another apt metaphor," the Apprentice answered at last.

Emma sucked in a breath and exhaled noisily. "It just keeps getting better and better," she muttered.

"Well," the Apprentice said, smiling a bit, "at the moment, those safeguards are intact and likely to remain so if we don't worry at them. So. I'll contact my niece and nephew. From what you said earlier, they probably know more about this object than any of us. Meanwhile," he rose from his chair and began walking in the direction of the kitchen, "I'll put some tea on. Would either of you care for some biscuits with it?"


I guess we should have expected him to reach out to you, Tia thought ruefully. She tried to feign interest in August's conversation, but it wasn't really that necessary. He and Tony were getting along just fine, leaving Tia free to continue her mental exchange with Uncle Bené. She took another sip of her milkshake. I know we should have been more low-key in the shop, but I never thought we'd find the knob there.

Uncle Bené's response was immediate and good-humored. What's done is done. But you'd best get yourselves back here. He's looking for an explanation and I think you're better equipped to furnish one than I am.

The theme from Star Wars blared from Tony's hip pocket, startling her and Tony murmured an apology to August as he half-rose and fished out his phone. He turned it on and then passed it to Tia with a raised eyebrow.

Tia looked at the screen. Tony's initial email had been a single character—a question mark—and the photo of the knob sent as an attachment.

The reply beneath it was also a single character. An exclamation point. Tia gave her brother a quick nod and added mentally, Uncle Bené needs us at the house now. Can we cut this short?

Tony sighed. "I hate to be rude," he told August, "but that call was important. We're going to have to head off."

August looked a bit disappointed, but he recovered quickly. "Not a problem. How much longer are you guys hanging around?"

"I don't know," Tony replied. "But maybe a little longer than we thought."

It's the right knob, he thought to his sister.

Which means that things have just gotten a little more complicated, came her mental reply.


Belle neither knew nor cared where she was walking. There was a chill in the air, but her pace was brisk enough that she was actually perspiring after she'd gone four or five blocks. It was one thing to know that there was no love lost between her father and Rumple; it was another to actually know it.

This was a man who'd been ready to have her wandering lost and alone in the Maine forests with no memory of who she was or where she'd come from rather than see her with the man she loved. He'd had her kidnapped and handcuffed to a mine cart on her way over the town line until Rumple had pulled it back.

Belle was still shaking her head. Nearly two years ago now, after the first curse had broken, that first night awake and at home with Rumple, he'd tearfully apologized to her for not searching for her. "She told me you were dead," he'd said hoarsely. "She told me your father shunned you for your association with me. Th-that he had you locked in a tower and sent clerics to cleanse your soul until you hurled yourself from th-the…"

"And you believed that?" she'd asked. At the time, she'd been dumbfounded. Her father was a hard man, certainly. And she knew that when his mind was made up, he could elevate stubbornness to an art form. But she'd known—even if Rumple hadn't—that he'd never have gone so far as to have her shut up and tortured for loving someone of whom he disapproved! He loved her! In fact, as happy as she'd been to finally be with Rumple once more, she'd realized that deep down, she'd been just a bit angry with him that he hadn't seen Regina's lie for the travesty it was. (She hadn't known until recently that Regina had made matters worse by arranging for her father to break into Rumple's home. Nor had she been aware that Rumple had beaten him badly enough to land him in the hospital.)

She was remembering all of that now and mentally shaking her head. Yes, her father loved her. But he'd been ready to strip her of her mind and memories, knowing that in all likelihood, she'd never recover them. He'd attacked her husband in his—in their own home. When Rumple had come home, the others had been wary, uncertain whether he was truly trying to be a better person or just fooling them as he had so many times before. Belle had to confess to herself that she'd still harbored a few doubts of her own (even if some of them had been doubts that he'd be able to find his way without her in his life). But bit by bit, they'd been convinced. She'd been convinced. Even the people who were still on their guard about him had noticed the difference; she'd heard the talk around town. Even if she pretended not to listen to idle chatter, she'd still glowed when she'd overheard it.

But her father still refused to acknowledge it. He still thought that Belle needed to be rescued or shown the 'error of her ways'. And now, she found herself suspecting that, if she had gone straight home from Rumple's castle instead of joining that yaoguai hunting party, her father might well have done exactly as Regina had told Rumple. An irrational tide of anger surged up within her. Her father probably would have turned her over to the clerics if he'd had the opportunity. He loved her, but he could only accept her desires when they aligned with his own. He'd never respected her or her choices…

…And she still felt like one of the horrid married sisters in Her Handsome Hero who would have happily seen their father go begging in the streets to raise the tax money, were it not for how it would reflect upon them—at least until Charlotte took it upon herself to appeal to Lord Gideon Dumont for relief. No matter what he'd said or done, he was still her father.

Rumple should have told her everything. No. It wasn't Rumple's fault. Well, some of it was, but he'd at least tried to make amends for it and…

And she didn't know why she was trying to figure out where the blame lay in any of this. She knew she'd made the right decision, even if it felt so much like the wrong one. But she'd known she'd made the right decision when she'd banished Rumple, too.

She couldn't trust herself anymore and she didn't know who she could. There were plenty of people who would support her decision, no matter what it was. There were plenty of people who would offer well-meaning advice that would be colored by their own perceptions and biases and Belle didn't know that she'd recognize them for what they were. It was her own choice, after all. Nobody else had Maurice French for a father.

Part of her wanted to step back and let someone else make up her mind for her. Only, wasn't that exactly what her father always tried to do? How did that bit from Flower Drum Song go? When I want your opinion, I'll tell you what it is! Or something along those lines, anyway. That was her father, all right.

"Heroes don't do what's easy," she told herself under her breath. "They do what's right." But if something was easy, did that make it wrong? If it was hard, did that make it right? Was she even a hero? Or close to it? Was she doing the right thing?

She didn't know. She just didn't know.


Interlude

"I am trying to be patient," the Lord of the Underworld said evenly. "Maybe you've forgotten that time flows differently outside your realm, but it's a precious commodity to me and I wonder how much more of it I'll have to waste before you fulfill your half of our bargain."

The Black Fairy raised a languid hand at the image that had supplanted her reflection in the mirror. "Be patient just a bit longer, Lord Hades," she said. "My timetable was dependent upon another event—one that has only recently transpired. And now that it has, you might expect matters to progress quite a bit more swiftly."

Her uninvited guest considered her words silently for a moment. Then he nodded. "Very well," he said in a tone that might almost have been thought pleasant to the ears of one who didn't know him. "I will forbear for now. But don't strain my good nature too far. You won't enjoy what happens when it snaps."

Her mirror went dark for a moment. Then her reflection returned to its rightful place.

The Black Fairy smiled softly. "I think you'll find the results worth the wait, Hades," she murmured, no longer feeling a need preface his name with a respectful title in his absence. A wave of her hand banished her image once more and brought the picture of a weeping brunette into sharp focus. Excellent. While she'd initially rolled her eyes at her son's choice of bride, she had to admit that the chit wasn't without potential. With the proper incentives, she'd play her part quite admirably.

"When first I learned that you'd shed your Darkness, my son," she murmured, "I must admit I worried about the outcome of the Final Battle. But in the end, you will stand by my side. Perhaps not willingly. Perhaps not eagerly. But to save your wife—or the child you'll learn is coming soon enough? Yes, I think you'll fall into line. And if you do fail me? One of those two will suit my purpose just as well…"