Author's Note: We apologize for the extremely large plot caravan that runs rampant throughout this chapter. Please deal with it, as otherwise you'll probably miss out on a lot of the background information that will be important later. Much thanks to Erin and Ana, our wonderful betas without whom, the plot caravans would most certainly drive off the twisted highways of our warped minds. By the way, everyone say thank you, as we are going to post two ,count them *TWO* chapters today.

Ciao,

The Nightrunners

Dreamer, Teacher, Soldier, Spy

Soundtrack: The Stone (Dave Matthews Band)

I've this creeping
Suspicion that things here are not as they seem
Reassure me
Why do I feel as if I'm in too deep?
Now I've been praying
For some way to show them
I'm not what they see
Yes, I have done wrong
But what I did I thought needed be done
I swear

Unholy day
If I leave now I might get away
Oh, but this weighs on me
As heavy as stone and as blue as I go
I was just wondering if you'd come along
To hold up my head when my head won't hold on
I'll do the same if the same's what you want
But if not I'll go
I will go alone
I'm a long way
From that fool's mistake
And now forever pay
No, run
I will run and I'll be ok
I was just wondering if you'd come along
To hold up my head when my head won't hold on
I'll do the same if the same's what you want
But if not I'll go
I will go alone
I go a long way
To bury the past for I don't want to pay
Oh, how I wish this
To turn back the clock and do over again
I was just wondering if you'd come along
To hold up my head when my head won't hold on
I'll do the same if the same's what you want
But if not I'll go
I will go alone

I need so
To stay in your arms, see you smile, hold you close
And it weighs on me
As heavy as stone and a bone chilling cold
I was just wondering if you'd come along
Tell me you will.

"...and so, the high content of magnesium in the Tablelands of western Newfoundland makes them quite unique. During the next few weeks, in preparation for our trip to Gros Morne National Park, we'll be studying the Tablelands and other geographic points of importance in the area."

"Golly sir, this trip to the middle of nowhere sounds like such fun!" The voice came from the back of the classroom amidst much snickering, but the teacher simply rolled his eyes and grinned.

"Stop trying to suck up to me, you know it won't work."

The mock-subdued voice of the student returned. "Sorry sir. You know we love you dearly."

"Thank you. I love you all too, in a purely platonic, big-brother type way. Now if I might continue?"

There were no further objections, so he went on. "Due to this high elemental concentration, plants are rarely found there and the rocks have highly preservative qualities."

Professor Gabriel Gleason, currently of Princeton University, paused to take a breath, at which point, the bell rang. "Well, in that case, that's it for today. If anybody has any questions, I'll be in my office until four o'clock this afternoon. Don't forget that your term papers are due by next Friday, and no amount of whining, complaining, or outright bribery are going to make me change the due date this time."

This final statement was met with groans from the assembled students, and Gabe smiled. "Come now, I doubt any of you are such cretins that you will bomb the paper entirely." His broad grin and cheerful voice showed that he was joking with, rather than mocking his students.

Most of them chuckled as they filed out, amid shouts of "Thanks, sir!", "Great lecture!" and "Later, Professor!".

He sat down, shaking his head. "Kids today," he laughed, despite the fact that at thirty-six years of age, he could hardly be old enough for such a statement. He readjusted his horn-rimmed glasses and attempted to gather the forgotten papers on the floor.

Gabe was well aware that he could have easily afforded the surgery to correct his vision, or even paid a magic-user to charm his eyes. He was not afraid of surgery, but magic, on the other hand, he would not use. In his case, the simple charm might melt his eyeballs, or cause a host of unpleasant side effects that Gabe would rather not think about. Truth be told, he enjoyed the "intellectual" look his glasses gave him.

He wasn't a vain man by any means, nor one who cared much about what others thought of him. He was, however, a full Professor of Geosciences at Princeton University, and that position demanded a certain, how to say it, style. Gabe was well aware that with his compact, muscular frame, short brown hair and goatee, he would not look out of place as a bouncer in a nightclub. Or a member of a motorcycle gang. Or a soldier.

Gabe winced. No, he did not want to be seen as a soldier. Never again.

During the war, he had been a "volunteer" with a top-secret government initiative. Their primary goal: to create a magic-resistant soldier, one who could fight the terrorist-employed mages and win. Just before the war, a secret call had gone out to a minuscule demographic of North America: the minority on whom magic had wild, unpredictable effects. And young Gabe, perhaps foolishly, perhaps heroically, had answered that call.

He had known, even as a child, that he was different.

At the tender age of seven, his best friend, a boy with magic potential, had attempted a simple hovering spell on Gabe. One of the easiest spells to master, the seven-year-old should have lifted several feet into the air, hovered momentarily, then gently floated back to the ground. Simple, really.

Hardly. The supposedly-benign spell had snatched Gabe, hurled him into the air, and then had slammed him repeatedly against the ground until he had lost consciousness. His best friend, almost incoherent from shock, had found an adult to get Gabe to the hospital, where he awakened three days later with a compound fracture in his left arm, several broken ribs, a terrific concussion and lots of internal bleeding. The shaken boy had asked his white-faced parents why he hadn't been magically healed (standard procedure in any hospital that employed medical witches and wizards) and he'd been told that the medical spells had absolutely no effect on him.

And so began Gabe's lifelong avoidance of magic. It was a brutal first lesson, as he spent four months recovering from his injuries. Later, he discovered that only spells, charms, and curses directed specifically at him had any effect. Magic in the general area wouldn't harm him at all. But if he were targeted, a spell might do nothing, might multiply itself a hundredfold, or backfire entirely.

It was this unpredictable group of people that the had government sought. Gabriel Gleason had been a bright university student, finishing his Master's degree in geology. He had volunteered for the program, along with one hundred other young men and women with the same magical resistance.

The program had been harsh. The soft-spoken young man from New Jersey had been transformed into a lethal soldier; not a mindless killing machine but a resourceful fighter, armed with youth and all the training imaginable. Even now, Gabe had nightmares about the torturous sessions he had undergone to become what he was. He still remembered it all: exercises in weaponry, several forms of hand-to-hand combat, basic infiltration, hell, he could even fly half a dozen different types of aircraft if pressed.

The government had tampered with his genetic makeup, as well. Gabe wasn't exactly sure what they had done and didn't want to know, either. Ninety percent of spells, he'd been told, would either have no effect or would ricochet back on the caster. The unknown doctors had taken his innate magic resistance and somehow augmented it. The other ten percent of the spells...well, Gabe didn't want to think about what could happen if one got through.

One hundred people had volunteered for the project. Twelve had made it all the way through. Gabe had been one of them. He knew that he had been one of North America's secret weapons during the five years of war. They had used witches and wizards, true, magic versus magic. But when you could use your enemy's own magic against him, well, that was an enormous advantage.

Gabriel didn't like to think about that time in his life. He had survived it, that was enough, and he didn't have a damned clue if any of his eleven companions were alive.

Now, he was doing what he had always loved, teaching, not of war and its horrors, but of rocks and the planet, which would always exist. The professor of geoscience looked up from his reverie, surprised, and glanced at his watch. Nearly an hour since the class had ended! He rose swiftly and hurried for the door.

Trying to forget a past that wouldn't leave him alone.