Author's Note:

Ahhh. Another break, another chapter. Slowly but surely it's getting done. Thank you everyone for your continued patience and comments, your love gives me strength.

There's a few tidbits I wanted to drop before we delve into the chapter. Words of wisdom, you might say, to do with as you will. First: just because you make the rational/logical choice in a situation doesn't mean it's the right-or even best-choice. It all depends on the circumstances and individuals involved. Second: unreliable narrators are just that. Unreliable. Third: obsession is not the same as love.

And if it seems like the Guardians haven't been in this story much, I promise they get more involved. Right now we're setting the stage for a whole lot of shit to go down.

Enjoy!

It hadn't been that long at all since he'd made his latest offer, and already he was being summoned to his beloved's realm. Had Morsoi been a younger spirit he would've rushed to return to the Americas, but as he wasn't so young and was wiser for it, he forewent the uncouth display of overzealousness and travelled at his usual pace. He didn't want to come across as too eager; such would only arouse alarm or stoke suspicion or, worst of all, make him appear repugnant in her eyes. Nothing annoyed Cassandra more than a spirit who overstepped their bounds where she was concerned. It was therefore imperative he restrain his enthusiasm.

But it was difficult.

He left his sprites outside Burgess, as was custom, and carried on alone. He felt the slightest magical disturbance as he passed the Cadejon's realm, but ignored it. The beast was next to worthless now that it'd sealed itself to the earth, forever trapped within its pathetic little shanty.

Morsoi could destroy it, if he wanted. That puny realm and the Cadejon which guarded it. He wouldn't, though. The mortals had named it after his beloved and she was fiercely protective of it. Destroying it would give him the brief satisfaction of seeing the Cadejon eliminated but would also cost him any chance of ever having Cassandra.

The things I do for you.

He entered Cassandra's realm and located her without difficulty, seated in the shadow of her revolving, lightless globe. After that Barb woman and Bennett man-child died there were none left to tell stories of Cassandra Fisher, the girl who'd left the human world to walk amongst spirits and protect those who were frightened and lost. The children at the Fisher House who knew the tales inevitably grew up, and with none left to share her name Cassandra's globe grew dark.

It would remain so forevermore, a constant reminder of how she'd been forgotten yet again.

Morsoi had never had believers of his own so he couldn't say that he knew what being forgotten was like. He'd also never been close enough to anyone for their loss to burden him with pain or sorrow. But he'd heard enough lamentations from other spirits, both existing and long gone, to know that either event on its own was quite upsetting. To endure both within a relatively short period of time had to be difficult, especially for one who'd already experienced great personal loss. Morsoi tried to picture, sometimes, what it was like for his beloved to be forgotten as a spirit when she'd been all-but forgotten while she was still human.

He didn't dwell on that now, though. What mattered now was keeping appearances, making sure everything went smoothly so that he could finally—finally—get what he'd been waiting for.

Smiling benignly from the foot of the dais, he greeted her.

"Cassandra."

"Morsoi."

He waited. While on the outside he seemed as calm as ever, inside he was nearly vibrating with gleeful anticipation.

But the words "I'd like to barter with you," were not at all what he'd expected.

He blinked. Just once.

"Barter?"

He couldn't see her face, not with her cloak on, and the realization that she was wearing it in his presence pricked him with annoyance. He very nearly curled his lip but caught the expression just in time. Why was she wearing it? She hardly ever did anymore, and certainly not around him. She'd told him once that she didn't want to grow too attached to it, too reliant on its power, and that was just fine with Morsoi. He didn't want his beloved wearing another spirit's gift, even if it hadn't really been a gift at all and said spirit was long dead. Seeing her in it stirred something hot and acidic in the pit of Morsoi's stomach, something he refused to label as jealousy.

"You are correct in that I need the services you offered," Cassandra told him. "But it is also true that I am unable to give you what you want in return for them. I asked you here because I believe that I've found an alternative solution that would benefit us both, provided you are amendable."

There was a moment of time—brief but monumental—when Morsoi felt nothing but rage.

It flowed molten hot through his veins, doused the core of his being and churned through his every pore such that he was certain—so very certain, in that moment—that he was going to kill her and every last living thing for miles around. It was a maelstrom, his umbrage and loathing and betrayal in that moment, one which would certainly destroy them all and leave naught but ash and dust in its wake.

The moment passed.

Everyone and everything were still alive and Morsoi breathed.

His beloved wasn't some petty, selfish creature. She would never use his affections for her against him. Though she hadn't accepted any of his prior gifts her refusals weren't borne of some twisted desire to play coy, nor were they vain attempts to try and weasel nicer things out of him. She refused because he hadn't offered the right gifts, because he hadn't proven himself worthy of her affection, and because she wasn't ready.

Had he not promised that he would wait until she was ready?

Morsoi opened his eyes. Though his brief but stupendous flux of magic hadn't done any physical damage to his beloved's realm, metaphorical damage had most certainly been done. Nightmares filled the room, not attacking but rather shielding their mistress from him, ready to defend her to their very last. Her three favorites had congealed into their Pegasus shape and stood guard beside her, wings spread wide as though to fly forward at a moment's notice and flay him with hooves and teeth. Morsoi could barely see his beloved through the ambulatory mass of sand and shadow, and could not see her face at all due to the damned cloak, but her posture was rigid. She'd never been so tense around him. Always comfortable, calculating. Exactly, unapologetically herself, precisely how Morsoi liked her. Her lack of emotion now was purely artificial, produced by the magic of the cloak, for although she hadn't moved an inch it was very clear that Cassandra was prepared to fight—or flee—if needs must.

And she still hadn't ordered her Nightmares to stand down.

Which meant Cassandra felt threatened.

Something odd, unexpected, coursed through Morsoi then. Not shame, for he'd never done anything in his long, long existence to make him feel shame.

Regret?

That was probably what it was. He regretted reacting so poorly to her suggestion.

This was a test. He saw that now. His beloved still wasn't ready to accept him and his gifts, but was nearly so, and with her objections wavering had decided to see just how amendable Morsoi was. How cooperative. How dedicated he was to making her happy and keeping her safe, even when they disagreed. Promises and sweet words meant nothing at all if he wasn't prepared (or willing) to adhere to them, which meant Cassandra only wore her cloak in his presence to be sure she judged him fairly.

She was testing him and he'd very nearly failed.

Still…the situation wasn't unsalvageable. He merely needed to proceed with care.

In a neutral tone, he inquired, "What do you propose?"

She let out a quiet breath and replied, "I have information in my possession that I believe will be of use to you. In fact, you've already conveyed interest in one portion. I would part with this knowledge in exchange for each of the three services you offered to gift me."

Had she been any other spirit he would've said no. Unequivocally no. To be honest, if she were anyone else, he would've destroyed (or at least seriously maimed) her for even suggesting such a ludicrous, presumptuous deal. He would not know if this information was at all of use or interest until it was imparted upon him, and anything worth knowing that could ever be worthy of one service, let alone three, he'd already acquired long ago. So why would he risk giving up services—services from the Guardians no less—in exchange for something that was unlikely to compare in worth?

This was the sort of foolish trick spiritlings like Frost tried to pull, one that insinuated Morsoi was too stupid to realize he was being tricked.

But his beloved wasn't a fool. Naïve at times, yes, but such was the ignorance of youth; she'd grow out of it with time and experience. Nor had she ever considered Morsoi to be a fool, which meant the insult to his intelligence was both intentional and not. A necessary evil, one might say.

A test of trust. A test of patience.

Morsoi searched his memory, carefully examining all of their recent conversations for a hint of what she may be offering. He soon recalled that he'd recently asked his beloved how she'd convinced Issitoq to keep his Watchful Eyes out of her realm. He supposed an answer to that question would be no small thing, even if he couldn't make much use of it. It was probably something unique to Cassandra, just as Morsoi's success in this regard was unique to him.

Issitoq's minions knew better than to enter the deadlands. The very nature of Morsoi's power was to sicken, decimate and destroy. As such, the formidable magic of his ancient realm overwhelmed any lesser spirit that dared venture there. It was not a thing he could control, nor did Morsoi want to control it. It simply was. And if the spirit happened to be powerful enough that they weren't stricken dead immediately upon arrival, then they were driven from the realm by Morsoi's sprites, who possessed no tolerance for intruders. But even that minimal exposure embedded a deep, painful sickness that would never quite heal, even with magical intervention.

(Precisely how painful depended on how much the disturbance irritated Morsoi.)

In short, if one wished to speak with the spirit of pestilence and plague, they asked for him, and Morsoi decided whether or not the invitation was worth the bother. No one came to him. He went to them. And didn't it work out better for everyone that way? They avoided falling ill and he maintained the privacy of his home.

Issitoq and his Eyes were no different in this respect. When Morsoi was a younger spirit, the Watchful Eyes had come and gone from his realm as they'd pleased. He'd allowed them, of course, as was expected of him, until Issitoq inevitably caught onto the fact that his spies were dropping dead far faster than they should. Morsoi had been summoned to Ikiaq—had spent nearly four days there, far longer than he'd spent in another's realm before or since—but ultimately there was nothing the Adjudicating Eye could do. Morsoi could no more control his nature, his so called "center", than anyone else. If Issitoq didn't want his Eyes to sicken and die then he shouldn't send them to Morsoi's realm.

So Issitoq didn't. Hadn't in many, many centuries. Not that Morsoi had ever told anyone this. It was enough to gloat in private while Issitoq seethed in equally solitary irritation.

Besides, Morsoi didn't want other spirits to cotton on. He rather liked being the only one to enjoy such unprecedented privacy.

Which brought him back to Cassandra. Somehow, someway, without Morsoi providing even the hint of a suggestion that his realm lay beyond Issitoq's Eyes, his beloved had also succeeded in ridding herself of unwanted attention.

And it had taken her a fraction of the time.

So no, Morsoi had no need for her method per se, but he was immensely curious. Curious to know just how intelligent, how creative, how bold his beloved was.

(The rest of what she would tell him in exchange for the services mattered little. His acceptance of her little bargain would earn her trust, which was critical to solidifying their relationship.)

"I would have refused under any other circumstances. However," his voice smoothed into something very near a purr, "I know you do not tarry with useless gossip. If you say this information is something I desire, then I believe you. I accept your proposal and will trade with you."

As one the Nightmares jerked, startled. Heads cocked and some glanced at each other with incredulous whinnies.

Cassandra remained still, as was expected. What wasn't expected was the long silence that followed his declaration. As the moment stretched it became telling:

He'd surprised her.

Was it due to his acceptance, given how negatively he'd reacted initially? Or was it merely the fact that he seemed genuinely happy to accept?

It mattered not. Morsoi smothered a smile, his elation returning.

Almost. She is almost ready to be mine.

Finally, his beloved said, "Very well. We are in agreement."

There followed a subtle, almost gentle surge of magic, like a small swell of water caressing the shore. Such delicacy belied the importance of the event, the binding of their agreement. The three services were now hers, and she owed him her knowledge.

Sitting back in her seat, his beloved waved her Nightmares away. They went reluctantly, casting Morsoi scathing looks as they disappeared one by one into the shadows. Only her Pegasus remained, a silent sentinel at her side. That she did not send it away too didn't go unnoticed, though neither of them commented on it.

Was it not the nature of their relationship to leave so much unsaid?

"I told Issitoq that it was prejudiced of him to spy on me within my own realm. As I have not committed any crimes, nor have any grievances been filed against me, there's no justification for his Watchful Eyes to constantly keep tabs on me. That he watched me more closely than the Guardians when there was no reason to do so cemented my case."

Warm, delicious admiration blossomed to life. That was it? Such a simple, unambitious plan had actually gained her a victory over one of the most powerful and ancient spirits in existence?

What she could accomplish when she actually put her mind to something!

"This next thing I will tell you has two parts," his clever, precious beloved told him. "Each part will earn me one of the services, for while they are not insignificant on their own, they are only made whole in combination with the other."

She gestured to her globe. Morsoi dutifully turned to look at it. Lightless, useless, it was a relic of the past and naught much else. Over the years he'd brushed it with his magic to see if there was something more than met the eye, but the magic it contained was subdued. Uninspiring. Boring.

And yet she's kept it all these years.

Morsoi sent his magic forth to surround the globe. Brow furrowed with concentration, he meticulously picked apart each and every tendril of magic to examine closely.

Ah.

There it was.

The globe possessed far more power than it should, given its purpose, but the magic was so subtle, so intricately and expertly woven into the unassuming physical structure, it was impossible to notice without significant effort. And even then Morsoi failed to identify what, precisely, he was looking at.

He'd never seen anything like it before.

"What is it?" he asked, hushed with the awe of new discovery. "What am I seeing?"

At his beloved's command that strange magic bubbled to the surface. Before Morsoi's eyes the globe flared to life, little glowing emblems of all shapes and colors appearing scattered across its surface. Some moved freely, as if at will, and Morsoi tracked several in turn before zeroing in on one of the brightly colored spots up near the top of the globe.

"You track the other spirits. You see them move and meet and battle. You have marked their realms and know when they enter them and when they leave."

He saw North's, just there, and Aster's and the fairy's and the leprechaun's, and so many, many others.

"This is how you knew I was with the Guardians. Your mares were not spying on me. You do not need them to spy. You see so much without them, and with Issitoq no longer in your realm he is none the wiser…!"

And with her mares largely inactive he had no cause to start spying on her again.

"Such a thing…" He ascended the dais steps—slowly, so as to not alarm his beloved or her still-watching Pegasus—and stood before the globe. He reached out a hand to touch and marveled at how very warm and alive the thing felt beneath his fingers. "You must have invented it."

"I did."

"Why?"

"I was bored. I needed a way to keep an eye on things without making myself too obvious. I wanted something that I could call entirely, completely my own." She shrugged. "Take your pick."

"You cannot see lackeys," he noted, for there were no markings for his sprites or Issitoq's Eyes or any other lesser being.

"There are far too many. The magic grew unstable. Most rarely leave their native realms anyway."

His beloved then coolly informed him, "I know that you paid Lorcán a visit. I also know that shortly thereafter, the pair of you had a little rendezvous with Bunnymund out in the middle of nowhere."

"I did not kill him."

"Obviously."

"You should be proud that I did not. I so dearly wanted to." How glad he was, now, that he hadn't given into temptation. There wouldn't have been any way for him to deny it, for she would have known without a doubt that it was him.

Green, glowing eyes scanned the globe greedily, searching for something in particular.

There. There it was.

His realm.

"You have not been there yourself," he murmured, "but you have seen me return there oft enough to know where I dwell. Ahh, Cassandra, how very cunning you are."

"This brings us to the second part of the exchange. For the last service, I will tell you how I created and maintain this magic."

This was far superior to everything and anything Morsoi had anticipated when he agreed to the trade. Not only had his beloved succeeded in surprising him tonight, she had discovered something entirely new to him and was willing to share.

To share with him and no one else!

Morsoi was so very, very pleased with this development. He thought for sure the night (begun so poorly) could not get better.

But then…

As the globe turned on its axis the island nation of Japan passed by. Morsoi spotted there, in the yousei's realm, an unfamiliar symbol. Laid upon a plain, pale brown background were two flawlessly merged runes, the significance of which were not lost upon him.

Nor was it lost upon him that his beloved made no effort whatsoever to hide this from him.

Morsoi had determined the general nature of his beloved's plans long ago, but he hadn't realized until now just how close they were to full fruition. He had to step up his own game, and quickly, if he didn't want to be left behind.

Had he not promised to stand beside her and support her?

"I should never have doubted you, not even for a moment," he said earnestly. "Forgive me."

He'd never asked anyone for forgiveness before. Morsoi simply did not live in a world where anything he did warranted forgiveness, nor did anyone else's clemency (or lack thereof) hold any sway over him or his decisions.

For this…for her…he'd ask forgiveness.

"Do not ever threaten me in my realm again and I will consider it," Cassandra replied crisply. It wasn't exactly what Morsoi wanted but he was willing to accept it.

"I shall take what I can get," he said with faint amusement. He bowed smoothly to her and added, "In the meantime, I would be delighted to hear how it is you managed this."

And so, she took him to her study and showed him the maps that adorned her walls, the ones covered in pins and colored pen marks. She explained to him what all of it meant and how it all worked. Morsoi listened with rapt attention, greedily committing every single word to memory, and delighted when partway through the conversation she removed the damnable cloak and stored it away.

Jack was tired. He'd been busy the past few days: flying, making mischief, hanging out with some of his younger believers. Just having fun. "Lollygagging" is what Bunny would've called it, but Jack thought of it as a mini vacation. A well-deserved one too, given the stress he'd been under recently. A break for some good old-fashioned fun always made him feel better, and this time was no different. He returned to his latest hidey-hole (which wasn't really a hole at all, but a ledge on the side of a glacier) wind-swept and whooping with glee. He perched on the ice and looked out over the frozen landscape, grinning at the beauty of a sunrise which made everything around him sparkle.

He'd loved being with the kids. Even though Jamie and Sophie and the others were all gone, he could find just as much joy with his many other believers.

Even if it wasn't quite the same.

Grief was like that, North told him once. It'd been shortly after word got around that Jamie had died, when Jack was miserable for days and days and couldn't stop snowstorms from brewing around him. It'd felt like there was a huge, gaping hole in his chest, and countless tears froze to his cheeks as he wept for his first believer. His best friend.

The other Guardians had all tried to console him, of course, each in their own way. But it was North that got through to Jack, just as he had years before when Jack was a lost spirit looking for purpose. North had told him in a quiet, rumbling voice thick with sorrow that grief would make things different. That life would never quite be the same, because no one could ever replace Jamie. But he would live on in all their memories. They, the Guardians, needed to continue serving and protecting the children of Earth, just as Jamie had served and protected them in his own way. He'd been a teacher, counselor, a well-known figure at the Fisher House. He'd been an advocate for all kids, no matter their age or propensity for belief, and so the Guardians would honor him by fulfilling their duties with dignity and pride and memories of Jamie Bennett.

Jack had cried for two more days. Then he'd stopped.

North was right, he'd realized. Jamie wouldn't have wanted him to be sad forever. He wouldn't have wanted Jack to despair. He would've wanted Jack out there, in the thick of things, bringing fun to the children of the world. Being a Guardian. Being himself.

So…Jack did.

It still ached a little, deep inside where he missed Jamie. But the pain was old and familiar now, and made Jack smile a small smile.

"You see that, Jamie?" he whispered to the no one, to the wind and snow and eternity. He touched a cold, pale hand lightly to his chest, over his heart. "You see how all those kids laughed? They loved it. Best day ever."

He sat, legs dangling over the edge.

"I miss ya buddy."

He remained in silence for a long while, enjoying the view and the stillness of the world.

Until it was shattered by a sprite.

Jack reared back, staff aloft and pointed threateningly at the creature. The sprite looked like it would've scoffed if it'd felt inclined to bother. It chittered at Jack in its strange, eerie language before shooting off.

Dread settled hard into the pit of Jack's stomach. He hadn't understood a word the thing said but the message was clear nonetheless:

Morsoi wanted him.

It was a very confused Jack that landed on the shore of one of Alaska's Aleutian Islands. He had no idea what Morsoi wanted him here for; there were no humans around for hundreds of miles, and it was so close to North's realm they could practically hit it with a sneeze. The spirit of pestilence and plague wouldn't be able to kick up too great a fuss without the Guardian of Wonder noticing. And North himself couldn't be a target as the Guardians were safe from Morsoi's wiles, at least in this.

But the sprite had brought him here, so Jack waited, even after the foul thing scampered off.

Shortly thereafter, Morsoi arrived. He stepped from a cloud of dust and locusts onto the rocks, as smug and aggravating as ever.

"Frost," the dark spirit said silkily.

"Morsoi."

"Do you know why you are here?"

Not one to beat around the bush when he wasn't in the mood to play, Jack said stiffly, "I suppose you're wanting your service."

"Not quite." Morsoi leered at him, looking creepier than a short man in a suit ought to look. "I will have your power now."

"Now?!" Jack squeaked, alarmed.

"Now."

"But—"

"Ah, ah. Remember the stipulations. Assist me without question, young Frost. As promised."

Jack bit his lip. He didn't want to do this. He really, really didn't. But he'd promised. He'd made the deal to protect others from suffering the same fate as Bunny and the yetis and the fairies.

For them. Whatever he makes you do, just remember that it's for them.

"Alright. What do I need to do?"

"Conjure your wind."

"Excuse me?"

"As strong as you can make it from as high as you can fly."

"Uh…I'm not really good at that sort of thing. Snow and cold are my gifts. And fun. Wind mostly does its own thing and I just go along for the ride."

"I know."

Jack was beyond confused.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to fly way up there—" he pointed skyward "—and make as strong a wind as I can even though you know darn well there's other spirits out there who can do it better than I can?"

"Are you complaining?"

"No! No of course not. Just making sure I understand so I don't get accused of not holding up my end of the bargain."

Morsoi smiled at him. Smiled and smiled. He lifted an arm and, slowly, without once turning his unblinking gaze from Jack, pointed out toward the open sea.

"That way," was all he said.

Jack heaved a sigh. It still didn't make any sense, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If this was all Morsoi wanted of him as repayment for the one deal then he'd count himself lucky. At least way up in the atmosphere, and without the backing of his snow power (and Jack wasn't going to use his snow powers; Morsoi hadn't asked him to and Jack wasn't stupid enough to do so voluntarily) any wind he conjured would be fairly weak. That meant there was no possible way anyone could get hurt.

Hefting up his staff, Jack launched himself skyward. He flew until the air grew thin and he struggled to stay aloft. Then he summoned his strength and blasted air in the direction Morsoi wanted. It came out cold, as expected, but was free of snow and ice. It didn't make it all that far before dissipating, also as expected, but Jack did as commanded and held out as long as he could. A couple of minutes was all he managed before he petered out. With a shrug, he descended, hoping it was good enough to satisfy Morsoi.

When Jack landed, Morsoi was smiling congenially, which was both a good sign and not.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Jack said dryly. "Let's not ever do this again."

"I doubt we shall need to."

Morsoi vanished, taking his stink with him. Jack waved a few lingering gnats out of his face before setting off for home, relieved that one of his debts was paid.

On the Canadian west coast, a cold front formed. Fueled by an unanticipated burst of cold air from across the bay, it careened across the country, gathering strength as it went.

By the end of the week, a massive winter storm was bearing down on Nova Scotia.