Author's Note:

Thank you so much to the people who left me some feedback on the last chapter, you all inspired me to update as quickly as I could :)

So cheers to the following folks: Ginga no Yousei, SophieQueenOfTheWorld, DementorsKiss95, XxCupcakeAssassinxX, The Yoshinator, watergoddesskasey, MayFairy, MountainLord-92, Theta'sWorstNightmare, CrimsonDelight, TheWickedHeart, FullWolfMoonGirl, irishartemis, EmmaMarie, skidney, Son of Whitebeard, CommanderHawke667, VincentH, EDZEL2, ConfusedSoAmI, Ahsilaa and Imorgen (x 2).

- CHAPTER SEVEN -

Larry followed the Doctor into the TARDIS a little bit hesitantly. He wasn't surprised by the vast console room he saw when he entered, since he had been inside the Doctor's ship before. But the last time he had been here, he and Sally had been running from four Weeping Angels, desperate to escape their lethal touch. Sweat broke out on his skin. Just seeing the blue police box brought all the terror flooding back again. He still had regular nightmares about it, waking up screaming as those cold stone hands reached for him through the darkness. Sally never needed to ask what he had been dreaming about – she had enough night terrors of her own. Instead, she just cuddled him close until his heart rate settled back down again and his tortured breathing eased. Like a couple of frightened children, they always slept with a light on. They never discussed it, but both of them knew why... because sometimes the monsters are real.

"Larry? Are you all right?"

Distantly, he realised the Doctor had been speaking to him and he hadn't heard. "What?"

"I asked if you were all right?" the Doctor repeated. "You've gone a bit green around the gills."

Larry took a deep, steadying breath, silently telling himself to get a grip. Allison Castiel was either dead or in a hell of a lot of trouble. Now was not the time to go to pieces. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

The Doctor was racing around the console, flicking switches and pulling levers. "You might want to hold on to something. The TARDIS generally isn't very keen on short hops. She can get a bit temperamental."

Larry hurried up the ramp and wrapped his hands around one of the railings edging the console platform, only too willing to do what he had been told. He didn't entirely trust the TARDIS. The last time he had been inside, the time machine had de-materialised around him, leaving him and Sally encircled by a ring of Weeping Angels. Of course, it had all been part of the Doctor's plan to trick the creatures into looking at each other, thereby quantum-locking them in place forever. But he and Sally hadn't known that at the time. He would never forget the utter, helpless vulnerability he had felt as the TARDIS left them behind; the paralysing, stomach-churning fear, as they had huddled together, the Angels looming over them, their arms raised as if to pounce.

The crystal cylinder in the middle of the console began to oscillate back and forth with a peculiar grinding noise, just as it had back then. The entire room tilted and shook alarmingly, making Larry very glad of his handhold on the railing. Across from him, the Doctor was hanging on to the console like a limpet, one cream-coloured Converse up on the console to balance himself, with the nonchalance of one who had done it many times before.

Then there was a spectacular bump and everything went still. "We've arrived," the Doctor announced brightly. "Not the smoothest journey, I grant you, but a bit quicker than the bike."

He pressed a button on the control panel in front of him and a large screen on the wall sprang to life. Larry could see some bare, leafless tree branches and what appeared to be a narrow, snow-covered lawn.

"Exterior scanner," the Doctor explained. "Looks like we've landed in Mrs Neeson's back garden."

"Do you really think Allie might be here?" Larry asked.

"I don't know," the Doctor admitted. "But it seems like the best place to start looking."

He strode down the ramp, his long, brown coat swishing around his ankles, heading for the doors. Larry followed along behind him, wishing he could borrow some of the other man's confidence. No matter what the situation was, the Doctor always seemed to know exactly how to handle it. He wondered if the other man ever got scared, and then ruefully decided he probably didn't.

"Doctor, when I told you about the word on Charlie's head, you seemed to recognise it," he ventured. "What does it mean?"

"If you're right, and the word you saw was emet, in human terms it's an ancient Hebrew word, meaning 'truth'. In actual fact, it's a lot older than the Jewish language...a lot older than the Earth itself."

"Truth?" Larry echoed in bewilderment. "But that doesn't sound so bad."

"On its own, it isn't," the Doctor conceded grimly. "It's an activation word."

"For what?"

The Doctor's jaw tightened, his brown eyes bleak. "For a golem."

"A golem!" Larry exclaimed, with a nervous laugh. "You think Charlie's a golem? Like in 'Dungeons and Dragons'? No way! You're joking, right?"

"Allie's in a lot of danger. Do I look like I'm joking?"

Staring at the Doctor's stony face, Larry had to admit that he had never seen anyone look more serious. "A creature formed from clay and then brought to life, using magic? But...they're just a myth, aren't they?"

The Doctor paused just inside the TARDIS doors and gave him a sharp, penetrating look. "Some people might try to tell you that the Angels are a myth. What would you say to them?"

Larry swallowed hard as the realisation hit him for the first time. He had been so busy coming to terms with the existence of the Weeping Angels, he had never even considered the wider implications. Because if the Angels could exist, how many other so-called myths might be real? Vampires? Werewolves? Golems? He shuddered to think. Suddenly the world was a lot less safe than he had once believed it to be.

"Point taken. But...but you can't seriously believe in magic?"

The Doctor shook his head impatiently. "No, of course I don't. But it's all relative. As one of your famous human writers, Arthur C. Clarke, said: 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.' If you went back to the Stone Age and showed a bunch of cavemen a microwave oven, or a television set or a computer, they'd probably think you were magic too."

"But that's just science! Using a single word to animate a clay figure and make it serve you – how is that in any way possible without magic?"

"Not all science is based on mathematics," the Doctor replied. "There are certain species throughout the Universe, such as the Carrionites, who prefer to use linguistic technology, or word-based science. I don't pretend to understand it either, but it's pretty powerful stuff. The right word in the right place can be enough to reshape reality. And, throughout the ages, some of that knowledge has filtered back to Earth in various forms. Charlie isn't the first golem to show up in human history. And, unfortunately, he probably won't be the last. Which is all fascinating stuff, and great for a chat, but it isn't helping us find out what he's done with Allie. So, are you coming or not?"

"Right, yeah, 'course I am!" Larry retorted, a bit stung by the Doctor's curtness, only to find that he was talking to thin air. The Doctor had already disappeared outside.

When Larry poked his head cautiously out of the doors, he found the Time Lord was already a fair way ahead, traipsing determinedly through the ankle-deep snow towards the large period-style house at the end of the garden. Larry hurried to catch up. In one of the tall, bare trees, a robin chirruped softly to itself, the only sound to be heard in the still surroundings. The snow had stopped falling, but the air was frigid, with just a hint of a breeze that sliced right through his clothes to chill the skin beneath. Annoyingly, the cold didn't seem to trouble the Doctor at all, since he was pacing along without even a single shiver.

It was hard to tell what the garden ordinarily looked like in the summer. What he assumed to be flower beds and bushes, low walls and birth-baths, garden furniture and ornaments had all been transformed into a series of featureless, indistinguishable lumps by a heavy, white blanket of snow. Somehow the blankness of it all bothered Larry, although he couldn't have said why. Quickening his steps even further, he managed to rejoin the Doctor, just as the Time Lord reached the house.

It was obvious that Mrs Neeson was very well-off. The garden was long and narrow, but it was still very elegantly-proportioned. The house itself appeared to be a period-style property, two or three stories high, constructed of warm, red bricks. The back was almost fully-enclosed in a beautiful glass conservatory, which was probably surrounded by an outdoor paved area, under all the snow.

The Doctor tried the door leading into the conservatory. It was apparently locked, since it wouldn't budge, but it didn't stay that way for long. Without hesitation, the Doctor reached into his pocket and drew out a long, thin wand-like device. He pointed it at the door and the tip glowed blue, while emitting a high-pitched buzzing noise. To Larry's astonishment, the lock clicked and the door swung open. He looked around nervously, expecting someone to shout at them, or for an alarm to go off. But nothing happened.

"Wow," he said shakily. "You'd make one hell of a burglar."

"Nah, that's nothing," the Doctor replied with an unrepentant grin. "You should meet my friend, Lady Christina de Souza. She could pinch your underpants while you were wearing them and you'd be none the wiser." He glanced down at the device in his hand. "The sonic screwdriver is picking up some unusual energy patterns in the house. There's something in there that isn't human. Looks like we might just have struck jackpot."

Allie had got tired of trying to talk to Charlie. She had worn her voice almost down to nothing begging, pleading and threatening, but nothing seemed to do any good. After those first few words, he refused to respond at all, just standing there, watching her from the shadows, as if he truly was the ordinary statue she had first thought him to be. If it hadn't been for Mrs Neeson's twisted dead body sitting across from her, she might almost have been able to persuade herself that it was all a bad dream.

After that, she tried to loosen her bonds, but with the same lack of success. However he had managed it with those clay fingers, he had tied her much too tightly. Her back was already stiff from sitting in the same place for too long, and the ropes chafed her wrists. She hadn't managed to get around to getting that bagel from the bakery this morning and she regretted it badly now, as her stomach growled irritably for the fourth or fifth time. Her throat was dry with thirst and she would have killed for a glass of water.

Despite her best efforts to be brave, panic rose in her throat. Charlie said he wanted to protect her and - from what she could tell - he didn't seem to be threatening her with any kind of physical harm. But he wouldn't say what he was protecting her from, or why he had killed Terry and Mrs Neeson. And he showed no sign of letting her go any time soon. The worst part was, Allie wasn't convinced that a living statue properly understood what a human required to stay alive. Did Charlie realise that she needed food and drink? Not to mention the occasional toilet break to relieve herself. What if no-one came? What if she stayed here, trapped in this cold, dark room with a silent, psychotic statue and Mrs Neeson's slowly-putrefying corpse, sitting in her own bodily waste, until she died painfully and horribly of thirst? The chilling thought made her want to scream and scream uncontrollably, to somehow let out the fear festering inside her. But she had already tried that, yelling until her throat was raw, and clearly there was no-one to hear.

Someone had to come, didn't they? One of Mrs Neeson's relatives would miss her, surely, and come to see what had happened to her? Or even DCI Bell, chasing up his witness statements for Terry's drunken behaviour in her shop? The thought heartened her for a moment. The police would figure it out eventually, that was their job. But then her eyes slid sideways to Charlie's impassive stone face and all her hope vanished. Oh god, even if someone did come, Charlie would probably just kill them too. After all, who the hell would ever believe her that the statue was a murdering monster? Charlie would easily be able to pick off whoever turned up, before they even realised what was happening, and then there would be more bodies crowding this miserable little room.

Tears of despair welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Then, just as she was about to give up altogether, she saw the door handle start to turn. Choking back her sobs, she gathered her voice, ready to shout a warning to whoever it was to run and run and never look back. But then the door creaked open and she saw the one person she had never thought to see again. It was the Doctor, still dressed in his long brown coat, his sonic screwdriver buzzing in his hand. Allie's joy and relief was so great she nearly passed out. She didn't think she had ever been so glad to see anybody in her life.

"Doctor!" she cried. "Watch out for Charlie!"

But the statue was already moving, much faster than Allie expected, charging lithely towards the newcomer through the shadows like a guided missile homing in on a target.

"DOCTOR!" she screamed, terrified that he was about to be slaughtered in front of her eyes.

But to her surprise, the Doctor whirled around and pointed directly at the oncoming statue, yelling loudly, "By the potency of my will and the compelling power of thy purpose, I name thee...GOLEM!"

Charlie screeched to a dead stop just inches from the Time Lord's outstretched hand, his entire body quivering and his red eyes blazing like live coals.

"That's better," the Doctor said, his hand still extended in front of him, as though he was holding the golem at bay through sheer force of will. "Hello there, I'm the Doctor. We haven't been properly introduced yet. You must be Charlie."

His voice was perfectly calm and reasonable, as if he was merely chatting to a new acquaintance in the street, but there was a tense edge to it that warned Allie that the danger was still far from over.

Without removing his eyes from Charlie's face, he asked, "Allie, are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" she answered tearfully. "But I couldn't find you and Terry's dead, and Mrs Neeson, and I have no idea what's going on."

"It's OK," the Doctor soothed. "I'm here now. Charlie and I are just going to have a little chat and we'll sort everything out."

Slowly, he lowered his hand. Charlie didn't move, but he looked like he wanted to, poised like a predator waiting to pounce.

"Now, golem, speak, I charge thee," the Doctor commanded, his tone ringing with authority. "Reveal unto me thy emet. What is thy truth?"

Allie found she was holding her breath, waiting to see what Charlie would do. She had no clue what the Doctor was talking about, with his strange, lilting, old-fashioned speech, but obviously the statue did. Emet was the word written on his head. Somehow it had to be very significant.

"My...truth...is...to...protect," the statue replied in his slow, grating voice.

"Who are you charged to protect?" the Doctor asked.

"My...master."

"And who is your master?"

For a moment, there was silence, as if Charlie was refusing to answer. But the Doctor wasn't about to allow him to get away with that. "I have charged you to reveal unto me your truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth," he said in a voice as hard and as sharp as a steel blade. "Who is your master?"

"Allison Castiel...is my master."

The shock was so great that Allie nearly cried out aloud. She hadn't even known it was possible for statues to come to life. How could this...thing...for one second consider her to be its master? But before a single sound of protest could pass her lips, a large, warm hand clapped over her mouth. Glancing up frantically, her heart pounding, she was astonished to see Larry Nightingale looking down at her, his finger raised to his lips in a gesture of silence. At the other end of the room, the French doors leading into the garden were slightly ajar, the curtains stirring in the cold breeze. She had been so busy concentrating on the Doctor's conversation with Charlie, she had completely missed Larry sneaking into the room. Once he saw that she was going to stay quiet, he slid his hand from her mouth and produced a Swiss Army knife from his pocket. Quietly flipping out the blade, he began sawing away at the ropes that bound her to the chair.

"What is your purpose?" the Doctor was asking, keeping the statue's attention centred on him. "What are you protecting Allison Castiel from? Why have you brought her here?"

"My...purpose..is to...protect her...from all...harm," Charlie rasped. "I...will...safeguard her...from humanity."

The Doctor frowned. "From humanity? Why? What does that mean?"

"All humans...carry the seed...of violence...within their hearts," the golem said steadily. "This...I...have...seen. All humans...are a threat...to Allison Castiel. All humans...must be...eliminated."

At that moment, Larry managed to cut through the final rope and he put his hand under Allie's elbow to help her to her feet. But she had been in the same position for so long that her legs had gone to sleep and she couldn't help letting out an involuntary gasp as her knees buckled under her.

The sound was tiny, almost inaudible. But it was enough to make Charlie turn. The golem's fiery eyes blazed as he saw Larry holding Allison's arm firmly in one hand, the naked blade of the knife in the other.

"NO!" the Doctor shouted in alarm. "WAIT!"

But it was too late. The spell holding Charlie had been broken. Like an incarnation of Death itself, the golem whirled away from the Doctor and ran smoothly towards Larry, his hands poised to rend, crush and destroy.