Author's Note: Thank you to Aku Maru, and Amissa for helping with this. Um, the Japanese saying Conaire utters near the end comes from Aku Maru, as does Ymodi. Claudia Moon (as is Tristian Moon, and Caleb) belongs to the beautiful Amissa. And I'll give a cookie to whoever can guess who the names on Con's wrists are? ::winks:: Peter Fechter and his death made the news in 1962 when it happened but the article is me, although the facts are accurate to my knowledge. (See you get a useless history lesson with your fanfic! Who says learning can't be fun? And I think we're good. So read, review and…don't do drugs!

Chapter Four: Glimpsing Wonderland

"Angry demonstrations tore through West Berlin today in response to the shooting death of 18 year old Peter Fechter. Fechter was attempting to cross the Berlin War, with friend Helmut Kulbeik into West Germany when guards opened fire. Witnesses say that Fechter laid bleeding in "No Man's Land," the area of the Wall between both sides for over an hour, pleading for help but spectators were kept at bay by the East German guards. Today protesters crowded the streets screaming "Murderers, Murderers, while…" Lucius Malfoy threw down the paper in annoyance and turned to his Uncle. "Why do you make me read this mess to you?"

Gideon cringed inwardly as his brother geared up for another battle with Conaire. Secretly, he too had been growing sick as Lucius read the article, trying not to identify too much with boy who had been killed. He was only a year younger then Peter and didn't like that the boy's photograph resembled him in more ways then just similar ages. Instead, Gideon turned all his attention to readjusting his grip on the rage he used to wipe down the bar till he could see himself in the light brown gloss. He stole a look at his brother between locks of his lazy brown hair. Across the room, he could see Conaire mopping the stage, quietly listening to Lucius and deciding on the best course of action.

Conaire always got that way when he was deciding things and when set against the stage of his Theater-turned-bar, he looked like one of the great Shakespearean actors who were about to move the world with their prose. Gideon liked the Looking Glass because of this dramatic air it lent to everything. It had been standing for over a hundred years by the time Conaire bought and renovated it, turning it into the restaurant/bar it was now. During the evenings, the Looking Glass was bright and lively but during the daytime, like now, it had this quiet aloofness like it's owner, where it seemed secrets were just below it's surface.

"What the Muggles do affect us all, Lucy." Conaire began softly. "You should learn to pay attention to them."

"Why should I care if they kill one another over ideas?" Lucius returned.

Conaire stopped mopping to regard the nine year old with the same sense of innocent amusement he always seemed to have around children. He was smiling in such a way his sad Irish charm seemed to capitalize on; his narrow olive green trousers, old beaten up brown shoes, and white dress shirt that had it's sleeves rolled up above the elbow, revealing tattoos that covered each wrist with names of people Gideon had never met before: on his right bore the name Kaie Emel, while his left held Caedmon Ohannes. On the inside of each, where the vein jutted from Conaire's pale skin was the same date: 09-01-1949. The tattoos and beaten up clothing made Conaire look much older then he really was, and they lent him some infinite sadness that made him appear as if he had seen more terrors then he let on.

It was one of those things Gideon had always meant to ask his uncle about but never found the time for. And now was certainly not the time, as it appeared Conaire was gearing up for another round of his favorite pastime: annoying Lucius.

Conaire spoke in a tone. "Because never forget we can be the same way or that one world sometimes overlaps with the other. Now, stop your whining and finish the article."

Lucius looked Conaire straight in the eye and glared. "If you want to know about some Wall-jumping kid- you read your own damn story."

"I can't read. My kind wasn't taught to read back home."

It took Lucius a few moments to recover from this revelation and Gideon saw he him wincing at his rashness. Then, Lucius flashed a teasing smile. "What? Old Irishmen?"

Conaire smiled at him, but when back to mopping, choosing not to continue the spar. Gideon shook his head, and looked back down. Conaire never liked to talk about his childhood or his old life, with those names on his wrists and the strange Arabic tattoo under his eye being the only indication that he had any life at all before England and Isolde. It had been Lucius to catch on first oddly enough, and only he (probably due to some assumed liberty being the youngest child and therefore allowed to do anything) ever tried to press the issue.

"Why didn't they teach you?" Lucius asked again. "Is it because you're black and we don't know it?"

"You're hiding it good." Gideon muttered.

"Not everyone in America discriminates against color, Lucy." Conaire muttered, his smile disappearing. "In fact, at Hecate all you have to do is be born a…"

"Be born a what?" Gideon asked softly, forgetting his rag. His Uncle's past was more intriguing then polishing any day.

Conaire looked up for a moment and sincerely looked as if he was willing to answer the question. But then he stiffened as if he heard something, and turned his head to the off-stage door. Instead of continuing or even telling Lucius to continue reading, Conaire asked him quietly to help Silas bring up Whiskey from downstairs. He turned as if he wanted to speak to Gideon but the door opened before he could speak and two guests appeared.

One looked much younger then the other, only about 15 years old but with a steely darkness to him that turned the room sour. Gideon noticed that while the teenager looked cruel, the taller one had this sort of doleful expression to his face. The younger wore dark maroon robes and jewelry over his frail hands and around his slender neck, to bring attention to his milk white eyes and cold, menacing stare. His hair was cut short and precise around his face, and there was small stubble just teasing his chin. The robes he wore were dark and fine. The other was taller, looked older and was more pleasing to the eye. He wore his black hair long and in shag, over his shoulders, and a thick olive-brown coat that fell mid-calf. Gideon recognized it right off as a Russian military coat from their Air Force. Underneath it, the man wore a dull pink t-shirt with a Dove and olive branch and torn jeans with black jack-boots.

"Dia duit" Conaire called, reaching out his hand and presenting his best smile. "I trust the talks went well?"

"They are proceeding. Your Lord Voldemort is very cooperative when he wishes to be." The taller one said, calmly with a nod. It took a beat for a smile to blossom before the man spoke again. "But don't speak that god-awful language to me again."

"It's the language of your people."

"I'm a member of the British Empire."

"And you're still an Irishman, whether you like it or not." Conaire said, as a smile began to creep unto his features. "Will you stay for a drink, Isaiah?" Conaire turned to acknowledge the other. He made a motion to bow. "I would be honored, Master Vampire."

Gideon arched a brow, and put the rag under the bar to fold his arms and get ready to watch the show. The Vampires were far more interesting then polishing after all, and the way his Uncle was acting was curious.

The boy was staring at the doorway Lucius had disappeared too. "I am rather thirsty, Creature."

"That, I'm afraid, you're not allowed to." Conaire said easily. "But I do have Ymodi, an excellent year…"

"Do you really plan to stop me if I attempt to take it?" The boy asked, with an ice to his voice. "I am tempted to try now, I hear Creature blood can be quite exhilarating."

"Not nearly as exhilarating as our fighting skills." Said a bold voice from the stage door. Gideon and Conaire both looked towards the entryway, where Claudia Moon was standing, arms folded her chest and waited for the response. Gideon had always thought she looked formidable but in the gray uniform of Hecate Compound, coupled with the steel of her thinly veiled threat, Gideon was downright frightened.

There were two men behind her who had come to watch the show, one Gideon knew as Elisha Astor, and this surprised him. Elisha was the head of a prominent Welsh werewolf estate, and chief rival to Moon Manor. But, for his part, Elisha seemed more willing to back the wife of his rival in a fight with his kind's mortal enemies then pay homage to the subtle nuances of the money-status games. Another man, one Gideon had never seen before was watching the display interested but seemingly unprovoked into action. This man met Gideon's eyes briefly before smiling and readjusting his cane to allow him to stand better.

Isaiah was watching the Werewolf first, before glancing to the afternoon sun outside. Conaire, who had also watched with great interest, swallowed and stepped between Claudia and the Vampires. He met Isaiah gaze for a moment, cueing the Vampire to speak presently Isaiah put one hand on his shoulder. "We should be going, Daniel." He told him shortly. "There the are matters to attend to before our next visit…" He met Conaire's eyes with a warm smile. "Perhaps next time, friend."

Conaire nodded. "I look forward to it. Blasted Ulsterman."

"I will take my leave of you as well." Elisha called as he jumped from the stage to walk to the main entrance and into the sunlight. The Vampires returned to the stage door and the man with the cane, who held out his hands and clapped Daniel on the back like an old friend.

"At your leisure, Lord Voldemort requests your presence. " The caned man said before disappearing again.

"Look how they have you at their beck and call." Claudia Moon said thoughtfully, and smiled wryly. "I never would have had you pegged to remain Companion, Kade."

"I believe in what Ridd…" Conaire paused and corrected himself. "…what Lord Voldemort believes in."

"No you don't." Claudia countered as she tapped him on his cheek. "But I think you're dying to believe in something again."

"Gideon, pour me a Scotch." Conaire said suddenly, addressing Gideon and making him jump. "Want something, Madam?"

Gideon knew right off that Conaire had tried to use this to change the subject but Moon would not be stirred. Instead she shook her head, laughing to herself and glancing at the stage door again. "Your Master promises a great many things, Kade. Can he deliver?"

"I hope so."

"Is that why you cling to him so?" Her voice grew quieter. "You could return to Hecate, to us. You don't know what's happening over there. Rio has made us new again, proud. We no longer hide in shadow and in fear. She'll lead into revolution. Nothing will be the same anymore. The world is changing, and our time has come…The Angels will make war."

"I've had my fill of Angels, Claudia." He returned. "I'd rather be human then Angel."

"Even with all their flaws and faults?"

"Especially because of their flaws and faults." Conaire whispered with a sad smile. He inhaled, to compose himself and walked to the bar. "Will you stay for a drink?" She looked disappointed and stared at him in disgust before walking out. Conaire bowed his head for a long time, his body slightly shaking as the man tried to contained tears that would not be mastered.

"Are you going to tell me now?" Lucius asked as he returned from the storeroom with Silas trailing behind him. Both were carrying cases of different liquors that they proceeded to stock the bar with. Gideon, now reminded of his chore, began to polish again. Deciding that his Uncle was unwilling or unable to contribute, he turned and gave Silas his most fearsome glare.

"Have you finished Madam Wyvern's summer assignments?" Gideon asked, and feeling a slight pang as he spoke her name. Having graduated from Hogwarts last year, he would no longer have the same conformity or security that Hogwarts and the Illuminatti had afforded him. Instead, he was going to Hecate Compound, to study and become an Auror and a future that promised the quickest method of acclaim and achievement.

But one that also had mixed results: unless you were an established "military" family like Moon or Snape, going into law enforcement was something black sheep or second or third sons did to support themselves. It was certainty not the fate a first-born son of the Illuminatti was expected to have. Which actually made it more appealing to Gideon.

"I'll do the week before school starts." Silas said, smiling. "Like everybody does."

"You'll never make Prefect."

"I'm not going for it." The second year rejoined. Then he smiled. "You're just jealous I have a life outside of my homework."

Gideon reached over, and swatted Silas head, and dodged the punch Silas sent towards him. He took another swing then threw himself into Silas. He felt Conaire pull him off a moment later.

"You two never quit, do you?" Conaire asked, as he studied Gideon, and then Silas. "Behave both of you, fight on your own time. Not when I'm paying you. Silas, finish sweeping. Gideon, back to this bar and Lucy…"

"I'm reading! I'm reading!" Lucius called as he walked back to his newspaper. "Don't get mad at me because dumb and dumber are at it." He had to duck as Silas took a swing at him.

Conaire laughed, and reached over, tickling Silas' cheek playfully. "Please behave, darling boy."

"Yes Uncle." Silas said in his mock-sincere voice that made Gideon roll his eyes in disgust. Conaire smiled and bowed lightly as he left the room, like he always did, and walked into the actor's lounge. Silas frowned and crept closer, touching the door and recoiling as the Charms placed over the door scared him off. "What do you think Riddle talks about in there?"

"You missed the Werewolves and Vampires." Lucius chirped, flipping through the book. He looked up with a wicked grin. "And Claudia."

"Aha," Silas countered, with similar smile. "Villains of the world." He gave Gideon a taunting look as he began to sweep. "I bet you were just itching to do away with all of them, weren't you Navy?"

"Behave." Gideon warned from his perch. "It wasn't that kind of meeting."

"Sure it wasn't." Silas rolled eyes, and looked down. "Voldemort is just bringing the biggest names in the underworld here…to talk."

"Claudia is hardly a villain."

"But she's a Kaga." Silas said, knowingly. "So is Conaire. They're mercenaries, fighters-for-hire. They are honor bound to do whatever their boss asks of them."

"And how do you know this?"

"Severus told me. He said that Hecate had them everywhere, working like slaves."

Gideon looked up, frowning. Claudia's words came back to him, as he began to fix together the images in his head. Conaire's silence made sense if you believed he had been a slave before he came to England. It would explain that incident at Kaiser's funeral those years ago, and the hundreds of other incidents that came after them. But in the back of Gideon's mind, he rejected the idea. Hecate Compound would never employ the use of slaves. They were a community of Aurors and their support staff who monitored the world stage for possible threats against the general welfare. They were all heroes.

"Severus was five last time he stepped foot in the Compound." Gideon began, cursing himself for talking bad about Snape but choosing that was easier then acknowledging that may be he was right. "A lot has changed."

"People like Aurors don't change, Gid." Silas said, coldly. "They just learn to hide things better."

"I'm going out boys." Conaire's voice interrupted them as he reappeared. He was rolling down his sleeves over his wrists and buttoning them to make himself appear dignified. He tugged on his suit jacket- a beaten olive that matched his pants- and jumped off the stage. "Go on and head home. I'll see you later tonight."

"Where are you going?" Silas asked. Of all of them, he was closest to Conaire and sometimes displayed this childish need to know where he was to be all at times.

The older man turned every so slightly, to barely catch Silas's form out of the corner of his eye. He had a smile that could put the Cheshire cat to shame and eyes that twinkled with uncharacteristic mirth. He put one finger to his lips as he strolled out, "Sore wa himitsu desu."

"I hate when he does that."

Gideon smirked and threw his rag at Silas. "That's why he does it. Come on, let's go home. There's nothing that will happen of interest."

Gideon trailed behind his brothers as they filed out, to stare at the wonders of the Looking Glass before shaking his head quietly to Lucius' statement. He knew even then, somewhere in his bones, that this place would unleash something that had been brewing in one form or another for a long time. He knew from the way Claudia and Conaire had talked, from the way the Vampire had warned them and the way the word "revolution" had been thrown about. There was a mood in the air of preparation and change. Voldemort was planning something, but what he didn't know and History had taught him that when powerful people gathered together in Beer Halls or hidden away buildings with such tightly coiled passions like the people he had seen tonight; thoughts rarely remained in that form, turning instead into talk and talk becoming philosophies that tried to change the world.

Or made it bleed.