Despite the assumption that Ireland was an island always doused in rain, mist or drizzle, the evening was balmy, a little too warm for the season, and it had been mostly dry the last three days. There had been one quick shower, but that had passed within fifteen minutes and it had been nothing but breezy winds and sunshine after that.

Not really the kind of weather to be expected at the end of October, but Marc Spector wasn't complaining. It made his job more comfortable, though he didn't really have to worry about being cold or suffering wet clothes. The ceremonial armor was water-proof and rather warm, just like it kept him from drowning in his own sweat while in the middle of the desert and fighting gigantic demon-god serpents.

Their lives had been almost normal for the past six months.

Well, normal when it came to who and what Steven Grant and Marc Spector were. The Fist of Khonshu, the avatar of the moon god. Two souls inhabiting one body.

For Marc there had been almost sedate jobs that had Steven co-front the whole time, keeping Marc company throughout long stake-outs. In return, Marc spent some of his time with Steven at his alter's museum job, which wasn't as boring and mind-numbing as he sometimes groused that it was. It relaxed him, gave him time to unwind, to calm down.

And Khonshu was always there, with his avatar's two souls, be it as Moon Knight in the middle of a brutal battle or as Steven Grant sorted through the archives and asked him about whatever was on his mind.

It were their lives.

There had been no unexpected or even expected visits from other avatars; especially anyone of the Ennead. There had been no magical items blowing up in anyone's face, let alone a hot lead on an Unholy, which was as aggravating as it was bothersome. Layla's informants had had little, but they followed every tiny piece of evidence.

Apophis had been suspiciously absent and even his avatar hadn't popped in unannounced. If Naf was watching them, neither Konshu nor Moon Knight had been aware of it. Steven thought it was to give them time to deal with the changes as of late.

It also meant that Marc had the leisure to spend time with Layla as she hunted stolen treasure in Egypt. Bringing those looters and their clients of questionable nature to justice was right up his alley and Khonshu approved immensely. For Marc it was personal time with his wife, spending more than a few hours here or there with the woman he loved so much. They squeezed in a few 'personal days', just being husband and wife, while Steven was one happy camper just because he was back in Egypt.

XXX

Currently, Moon Knight was surveying a wild party in the middle of the Irish capital of Dublin. Hundreds of people were moving along with a parade that was winding through the streets. There was police presence that kept the more drunk party-goers in check.

It wasn't why he had come here anyway.

It's actually quite beautiful, Steven commented, enjoying the lights and the whole atmosphere.

The parade truly was a beautiful spectacle. It told a whole story, with fantastic creatures brought to life, with actors involving the audience along the streets, and with happily smiling kids and adults, who were either taking pictures, making short videos or just enjoying the show.

"It is," Marc murmured, crouching in the shadows, high above on a roof like some otherworldly gargoyle. "Sorry, but we gotta keep it short."

Steven nodded. He knew they had something far more sinister to take care of. Across from them, standing tall and unseen by everyone but them, Khonshu was watching. He was haloed by the lights from below, looking like he was part of the performance.

"It's time," he stated, voice dark and low.

"Yeah, yeah," Marc replied. "You're pushy today."

The moon god just stared at him, the rags of his tattered cape and the loose bandages wafting around him.

Below, children happily danced with the performers and parents took pictures. The parade was moving on.

"We waited long enough," Khonshu snarked. "This is not the time to frolic."

"Pushy and impatient. I'm getting this 'good old times' feeling." He smirked behind the mask. "Relax, Khonshu. We'll get them."

The entity was now right next to him, the mummy wrappings curling along Marc's armor in an almost-caress.

"You are wasting time! They need to be stopped," Khonshu growled in a complete contrast to the gentle contact.

"Quite aware of it. And we'll be there when the ship comes in, before they get their cargo cleared. I can hang out in a boring shipyard or I can enjoy some sights before introducing those traffickers to your justice."

It got him an almost subsonic rumble, but Khonshu's presence along the bond was close to sedate. He wasn't really as impatient as it might seem. The bond gave Marc a direct line into the mind and very essence of the other-dimensional entity, and currently Khonshu was brimming with the hunger for justice.

It had been a weird sensation in the beginning, to feel Khonshu's emotional reactions, to experience these alien sensations that were and weren't emotions to begin with. His human mind had needed some time to work through it all, to more or less translate it, but ever since the soul mark had come into existence, he had adjusted more easily. Part of Khonshu was forever within Marc Spector, permanent, never to removed or even removable.

And the primary emotion was always there. It was something neither could voice and still both understood.

The god was also tightly interwoven with his soul bonded avatar, thin tendrils of moon light permeating the human body, and Marc felt the silent urges to get going.

"Been too long, hm?" he ribbed playfully. "You need to get out more."

The glare was fearsome, but the caress tightened into a quick hug. As much as Khonshu despised wasting time on mundane human matters, he also appreciated it to a degree. Marc was sure his soul-bound moon god would rather be banished to stone again than confess to enjoying Steven's quizzes about everything Egyptian. Marc had been privy to their little study sessions more than once and he could feel Khonshu's delight, as well as Steven's excitement.

Now he shot the entity a quick grin, then Moon Knight slipped through the shadows, unseen, and he soon arrived near the docks with their many freighters and ferries anchored for the night. He made his way over the walls and fences, invisible to the cameras and evading guards and guard dogs, until he reached his target: a large freighter that had come in a few minutes ago, flying a South American country's flag.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road."

Above, the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, the light silvery and cool. Marc smiled to himself as the echoes of the moon resonated deep within, the fine lines of Khonshu's energy winding through his very soul.

Have fun!

Steven moved back into the mind-space as Marc entered the freighter. He would be there if needed, but he didn't expect there to be any necessity for Mr. Knight.

An hour later, matters had been dealt with. The captain of the freighter was dead, though it hadn't been the Moon Knight who had taken him out. One of his own men had shot the guy while trying to hit the Fist of Khonshu. Five men were in various states of consciousness and general health. All were bleeding, all had broken bones, none of them were innocent.

Marc had found several trapped girls and young women, smuggled into the country to be sold or worse. There had also been a lot of contraband of another kind, which was currently burning merrily in the belly of the ship.

The whole dock was alight with police, ambulances and the fire department. Flood lights bathed everything in white. The trafficked women and girls were taken care of, though their future was an uncertain one.

Steven felt for them. He also knew there was nothing either he or Marc could do. At least more than they had already done.

Marc himself was currently sitting in a pub, far away from the scene of the crime, nursing a pint. He had already eaten and was now just watching a game, blending in. Yes, he stood out as a tourist, but he blended in with the tourist stereo-type, which was just fine with him.

He left after the game, walking the still busy, dark streets.

"We'll spend the night," he said, heading for a small hotel.

We can jump home.

They were training their new skillset to jump from one location to another, which saved on travel costs, though doing too many jumps in a row left Moon Knight and Mr. Knight a little bit on the light-headed side and rather hungry.

"You are still adjusting to the energy drain," Khonshu said almost conversationally.

Steven, scarfing down a bowl of vegetable stew and half a loaf of really good bread, just gave him an evil look.

"You might have bloody mentioned that sooner, you know."

The entity, sitting rather leisurely on the counter of the 24-hour diner, leaned a little toward him.

"I warned Marc."

He glared. "Because Marc listens so well."

Hey, came the tired protest.

"Oh, shut up," Steven replied, though not unkindly. "You didn't listen. Now I'm the one with the hunger pangs and you need to rest."

He got himself a second serving. It was bottomless soup day, which served him just fine, and at this hour of the night, there was hardly another patron. Most were shift workers coming off their respective shifts, in need of a quick, cheap meal.

Not that anyone could see the ragged, mummy-wrapped Egyptian deity now lounging next to the empty salad bar.

Steven finished his second bowl, stuffing more bread into his mouth. He was seriously considering dessert at the moment.

Which he had ten minutes later, in shape and form of three donuts in a doggy-bag.

He kept glaring at Khonshu all the way back to their lodgings.

Yes, the ravenous hunger was a problem, but they were getting better. Carb-loaded food helped. The whole food group helped, actually, though a dozen donuts did the trick, too. At least it tided him over until he could get a better meal.

"Sure, we could leave right now, go home… or you can have your day at the museum." Marc shot his alter a quick grin as he passed a dark shop window that reflected his other. "I know you googled the National Museum and its collection of all things Egyptian."

Steven shrugged, a little self-conscious. They do have a very large display. Close to three thousand pieces. And they have the gilt and painted cartonnage case of the mummy Tentdinebu. It's dated to the 22nd Dynasty.

Marc chuckled at the explosion of words, accompanied by the bright, bright exhilaration and happiness that was Steven Grant. He shook his head with a fond expression.

"There's the answer. Let's get a room and some sleep. You can geek your heart out tomorrow."

Steven scowled, but the humming excitement was hard to miss. As was Khonshu's chuckle along the bond.

"You'll even have a guide," Marc teased, shooting the god crouched on the other side of the narrow alley a grin.

It got him a harrumph, but not a protest.

Done deal.

If there was one thing Marc Spector had never liked, it was haunted houses. He had never understood the thrill of running around one of them at Halloween and he had evaded fun fairs throughout his teenage and young adult years.

That he had ended up with his very own nightmare in shape and form of a temperamental, mummy-wrapped Egyptian god with a bird's skull as a head and a lot of issues up his non-existent sleeve was quite ironic.

Steven Grant had never gone to a fun fair either, let alone a spooky house or seen a horror movie. Still, he didn't like them, thank you so very much, because, well, yes, he was socially anxious, had no friends to speak of, and his colleagues had kept their distance outside work.

He had faced a lot worse than staged puppets and actors portraying monsters not too long ago. It had been so much worse than anything anyone could have come up with. This had been real horror, true nightmares, and ancient deities stalking him. He had faced Ammit and her avatar, but he still didn't get the whole fascination with haunted castles and zombies.

His, their, life was supernatural enough.

"Figures that we'd end up in one," Marc sighed as he walked around the mansion that had a decidedly creepy feeling to it.

From the outside, the residence had appeared silent and peaceful. The lawn was undisturbed, the windows and door lock unbroken. Marc had had no sense of something amiss.

That was actually the first clue.

It was too silent, too perfect, too peaceful.

It might be the influence of the magical artifacts in here, Steven supplied. There are a lot.

Marc grunted. There were. It was hard to miss the continuous tingle across his skin, as well as the tension radiating through the connection to the moon god. There were too many for his liking, and somewhere among them was the one object they were looking for.

The lead had come in through Layla's informants about three months ago. Marc had been carefully running right to where their lead had been pointing. He had investigated further, together with his wife and alone, and they had finally deemed it safe enough to go where they had been pointed to.

Which was an unassuming mansion in New Hampshire that probably went for over ten million on a good day and more on better ones. It belonged to one Norman Wyckhoff, heir to the fortune of his family, art lover, owner of a dozen or more exclusive galleries all over the world, as well as a man who liked his privacy. He funded artists, bought and sold sports teams like hot cakes, and had his fingers in so many deals and businesses, Layla's list had been endless.

The New Hampshire mansion was just one of his many properties. It was rather modern, with perfectly a bright, open floor plan and the clear touch of an architect's influence to the whole décor. Nothing reflected any kind of personality, anything personal.

It was also so very quiet.

There still wasn't a single sound. Not even from outside. No whirring or humming of electronics, no ticking clocks, and not a single creaky floorboard. Even while walking up the driveway, Marc had been aware of the quiet everywhere. No birds, no humming insects, nothing at all.

Magic, Steven murmured, sounding careful and slightly apprehensive as they cleared the first few rooms. This is really weird.

There was movement to his left as Khonshu came into view.

"You feel it?" he asked the taller figure.

Khonshu gave an unhappy grunt. He appeared unusually tense, almost like he was expecting an attack… unlike any other time before when he had been with his avatar. His fingers were curled tightly around the moon staff and he was carrying it as if he expected to use it.

"Yeah," Marc breathed, eyes tracking over every inch of surface of the vast living area. "Let's see where in this creepy museum the Unholy is. If it's here. But from the whole vibes, something is here. A lot of things, probably."

XXX

Holy moly! Steven breathed. Look at that! That's amazing! An incredible collection!

Marc nodded, eyes tracking over the countless figurines, vases, cups, plates, jewelry, books and more. There was even a collection of weapons, mainly consisting of daggers, old pistols and guns, with one long sword in the middle. The whole room was filled with elegant shelves and displays, and Marc had no doubt they were the real thing.

Marc!

"What?" he asked, instantly alert.

There's an ushabti! Look at who it is!

He narrowed his eyes as Steven nudged him toward a single display, showing an intricately worked funerary figurine. It was about eight inches tall and it had no colorful decorations, yet it was… special.

And he had seen something very much like it before. Exactly like it!

Of another god.

His god.

This wasn't Khonshu. This was…

Anubis… Steven breathed. Look at this beauty! This is a masterpiece!

It was. So very much like Khonshu's. Or Ammit's, Marc added darkly. The coloring, the size, the intricacies of how it had been created, it was eerily all the same!

A tingle ran down Marc's spine and he shivered a little. The sensation grew stronger the closer he came, and he approached almost hesitantly. It was like a faint static whisper in the back of his mind and faint electricity crawling over his nerve endings.

Steven's eyes were wide and his mouth opened in an 'O' of surprise.

"Magic," Marc said softly, voice so low, it was barely even a noise. "This is …"

Familiar. Like kin. Something he had felt when he had been inside the Council Chamber, with the other avatars, with the power of the Overvoid echoing around him.

"It can't be!" Khonshu suddenly exclaimed, his voice loud and booming. "It cannot be!"

"Damnit!" he hissed, wincing a little.

Not that anyone could hear the other-dimensional entity, but the voice had arrived directly in his brain, by-passing his ears, and it echoed around his mind.

Khonshu was leaning over the figurine, beak almost touching it, and he reached out with one hand as if to pick it up. He couldn't. His interaction on a physical level was limited.

"It is… real," he rasped. "It is his!"

Steven gaped. Marc knew he was doing the same. Something shivered through him.

"Real?" he echoed. "How can it be real?! You don't hide all of these things around the world, do you? Ammit I understand. She was a nutcase and needed to be hidden. But anyone else?"

The moon god stared at the piece as if it was offending him by its mere presence. He straightened and Marc almost heard his spine snap into place. Wind whipped around, the rags and bandages twisting and flapping.

"This is real!" Khonshu snarled. "A real ushabti! It's sacrilegious!"

"Fuck…" Marc whispered.

How can it be? Steven asked almost anxiously. How can it be here? Ammit's was placed somewhere so it wouldn't be found, but Anubis…?

"He wasn't placed here," Khonshu snarled. "This was stolen and sold to a human!" He sounded disgusted.

"Someone broke into another dimension?"

Khonshu growled, the whole room filled with the static of an approaching storm. Marc felt the other's very essence wind closer to the two souls that anchored the powerful entity, seeking that stabilizing safeguard as if not to fly off the handle. Khonshu was deeply moored within his host, avatar and partner, and it showed throughout such emotional spikes.

"No mortal soul can 'break in'!"

"What about immortal ones?" Marc raised his eyebrows, making a point.

It got him a dark, hard stare. "No god would dare…"

"But what if?"

"No god!" Khonshu roared. "None! No one would dare! No one would even think of such a crime!"

His Knight didn't look impressed. "What. If," he repeated slowly.

The god reared back, clearly in upheaval over the very idea of any of his kin taking what was effectively a convict within their prison and selling them of. It was an outrageous idea, even to his human mind, but there was the 'what if' hanging over it.

"No one would dare," Khonshu repeated, calmer this time.

"But somehow the ushabti left its other-dimension storage place and ended up here," Marc said reasonably, gesturing at the item in question. "Somehow means there was someone. Maybe an avatar?"

Another spike. "Avatars are trusted! They are carefully chosen by their god and we trust them!"

Marc met the hollow sockets, saw the glow deep inside that was barely more than a pinprick, and he felt the resonance deep inside.

Khonshu had chosen him for a reason all those years ago. He had served the moon god, but trust hadn't been something either had talked about. Until after the whole nightmarish near-disaster that had been Ammit and her deranged servant. The matter of trust had been a big topic then.

"I always trusted you, Marc Spector," Khonshu said softly.

He briefly closed his eyes.

"My choice was instinctual. For the first time in my existence, I trusted an instinct and not logic."

"Other don't go by instinct," Marc replied just as softly. "There might be mistakes."

Khonshu leaned closer. "No. Never a mistake. Our choices are never mistakes."

Marc stared at him; hard. Finally: "Harrow."

The moon god snarled and something flickered over the bond.

"You trusted him, too?"

"Yes."

"He was a mistake."

Khonshu hissed. "No. He found a calling in his servitude to me, but his mind was already broken."

"Which you missed."

The god glared some more. "I did not make a mistake. I misjudged the magnitude of his… change through my power."

Steven had hung back, watching the argument like it was a tennis match. Is there another option? he asked.

Khonshu stared at the figurine. Long and hard. His fingers tightened reflexively on his staff.

When there was no answer, Marc turned back to the delicate relic. "Now what?"

We need to bring it with us, Steven said. We can't bloody leave it here!

Marc nodded slowly. He checked the display case, which wasn't even locked, and opened the door. He thought it weird that there wasn't a lock or any kind of security. The whole house was filled top to bottom with more valuables than he had ever seen before, but there wasn't even an alarm system for the property itself.

There was a flare of energy, of something very powerful, and everywhere around them strings of orange crackled to life. They interwove, formed intricate patterns, twisted and twirled.

Magic.

Oh bollocks! Steven blurted. That's not good!