Chapter Ten: Closer to the Edge

Eschcolex eyed his apprentice coldly and folded his demon arms across his chest. Several moments passed before either spoke; it was in those moments he sized up his worth. If he continued to fail abysmally, surely the world would not suffer to see him gone. After all, he subsisted only thanks an ever dwindling patience. Once his soul was devoured, typically the demon washed his hands of humans and fairies. Their emotions revolted him and their overabundance nauseated. Sometimes, he thought he should like a large fly swatter to crush them to the ground they desiccated with their presence.

"You have still not procured the rest of the fairy's soul for me," Eschcolex remarked coolly. He stood in Lorenzo DeMedici's former mansion, now vacant except for the two of them. He found he quite enjoyed the evil resonances as well as the misery he keened from the "training room". While they were but echoes of the past, they titillated him.

"I know, my master," the child formerly known as Remy Buxaplenty murmured, blonde bangs concealing hollow azure eyes. Overly polite in death, but a welcome change from his living, sniveling human personality, he decided. At least animated corpses served dutifully, usually. Yet it appeared this one had not gained any brains in the transition. Pathetic.

"A two year old could defeat this one, yet you disappoint me, Remy. In the past, I would have had your head, lackluster though it is. You would not mind- after all; you have no emotions or will to live. In fact, were I to slit your throat right now and end your miserable existence, you might offer a plaintive cry then immediately desist. You are nothing, yet you manage to accomplish less than mortals. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Remy stammered, but he held up a hand to cease him. Dead yammering rarely interested him. The poor dead child had no concept of the rhetorical. Before, that might have amused, now it irked him. He thirsted for souls, especially a fairy's. He had not feasted upon a succulent one in millennia and now his bumbling corpse could not carve out the remainder. This called for drastic measures.

"But perhaps you wish to fail. Perhaps you wish to acquire the soul for yourself, instead of feeding your master. I do not know if thoughts pass through stagnant matter, but I know this. I will give you one more chance to seal the fairy's fate, and then I will intercede. Are we clear?"

Under his breath, Remy muttered inarticulately. Eschcolex ignored him and rose gainfully from his throne. Glaring contemptuously, he strode from the room. He awaited Remy's renewed failure. It would arrive adroitly and then, perhaps, he would have more than what he'd bargained for.

Demonic inner eyes perceived the fairy's wife moving to protect him and he sneered, recognizing a two for one deal. Killing both would not only be easy, but enjoyable. He relished their souls on his tongue. Soon, he would be appeased. Soon…

(Timmy Turner's kitchen, 8:45 a.m. PST)

That could have gone better, Tootie thought bitterly, prodding her half frozen waffles half heartedly with her fork. Beside her, Timmy scowled at his soggy oatmeal, Sophie picked at her doughy pancakes, and Gary, eating nothing, flipped Timmy off under the table. Wanda was nowhere to be seen and due to arguments cropping up, their breakfasts tasted significantly poorer. In fact, if it weren't for the fact she didn't want attention through leaving, she'd chuck her pitiful excuse for waffles straight where they belonged, in the trash.

"This sucks," Timmy snapped, kicking Gary in the shin. Gary retaliated by snatching Tootie's free right hand and shoving their linked hands in his face.

No sooner had he done this than Tootie wrenched hers from his grip and shot him an incredibly dirty look. She had no plans of being a tool in his enduring war against his creator, despite having kissed him the night before. Now that she thought about it, she wasn't entirely certain why she'd done it in the first place. It certainly hadn't made her feel any better in the long run.

Sophie, nose buried in another book, commented minimally. Occasionally, her left hand would fly to her fork, lower a half done product to her mouth, and return to her book. Their argument had disrupted her cooking, causing the fryer to shut off while Gary argued pedantically that Timmy couldn't prepare scrambled eggs. Unfortunately, the imaginary friend happened to be right; the ceiling bore Timmy's ill attempts. Sophie had restrained herself barely from acting out.

Why was it when she went out of her way not to be noticed, her plans were screwed anyway? She hadn't been trying anything, but she'd been punished anyway. That's what she hated about this house- nothing ever worked out for her. It sounded terribly selfish, yes, but when your whole world consists of everyone treating you either like a bug on your windshield or a bump on a log, you'd get rather sick of it too.

"You suck," Tootie retorted, stabbing her waffles. She pretended they wore Timmy's face. Half assed, just like him.

The fork scraped against the plate, but she dug it maliciously into the rapidly deteriorating waffle. Gary smirked, Sophie scowled, and Timmy thought swiftly of a nasty retort. She had the distinct impression he wanted to smack it out of her hand. Fine, let him. She'd kick him in the balls if he tried.

Images of Tootie and Gary together flitted through his mind and anger ate away at him. It was back to baseless claims and hurtful things he only half believed. However, lashing out prevented him from thinking about Lorenzo hiding in the mirror and his haunting past. She was his unwilling scapegoat.

"Yeah, right. I bet you gave Gary head last night-" Timmy accused, shoving his chair from the table and dumping the contents of his bowl into the sink. Of course, he might have done better (a), not to decide on a heated food and (b), to discard of it in the can, but he was too focused on his frustration to think clearly. Besides, Wanda would clean this up, wouldn't she? The fact remained no one had seen her since yesterday, but he was sure she'd show. She always did.

"Has anyone seen Wanda?" Sophie interrupted, unconsciously following Timmy's train of thought and finally raising her head. She'd yet to feel any real connection (she liked Tootie slightly more, but only because she sensed clawing responsibility binding her actions and pitied her)- their constant bickering grated her nerves. In irritation, her fingers scraped the sides of her book.

Distracted by Wanda's unexplained absence, Timmy absent mindedly rinsed his bowl and faced Sophie. She glared back, sullen even in the early hours. Now that she mentioned Wanda, she was suddenly important? She couldn't be important on her own?

"I haven't seen her since last night…" he trailed off, oblivious to her narrowed brown eyes. Her diminutive stature reminded him of Wanda, nonetheless. There was something in the sparks her eyes shot at him. It was actually rather unsettling, if Timmy had spared the time to contemplate it.

"Wanda?" He called, but nothing happened. His stomach clenched painfully and he recalled the nightmare. He didn't know what he'd do without Wanda…

"Aw, did my itty-bitty baby creator have a nightmare? Did he dream he went mental and killed everyone-" Gary mocked, a smirk twisting his features. Unconsciously, Tootie scowled. If Timmy's nightmares were anything like hers, they were nothing to joke about.

Especially like that…he knows as well as we do that he nearly did just that…my poor Timmy.

No! I'm not sympathetic. He's treated me like shit…and yet the little voice in my head whispers to forgive him…forgive him and hold him tight…

"It's none of your damn business what I dream about!" Timmy retorted, flushing. The tip of his tongue burned to tell him exactly what, but that meant reliving it to a certain degree. His stomach churned again at the prospect.

Wanda, where are you? Why didn't you answer when I called?, Timmy thought despairingly. Please don't ignore me again.

"Or did you dream you finally treated Tootie properly and you woke up screaming?"

Timmy trembled in rage, sneering at his creation. He had no idea what was going on- how dare he judge him. Sure, he might have acted irrationally in the past, but now he had a reason behind his behavior. It might not make much sense to anyone but him, but it was a reason nonetheless.

Not to mention his dreams involving Tootie usually included a startling lack of clothing and her velvety voice in his ear…

Tootie suddenly turned scarlet, receiving a glimpse of Timmy's dreams. Before she could stop herself, she whispered via telepathy, ((I'd love to make your dreams reality...))

Sneering back, utterly oblivious to Timmy's erratic glances at Tootie and the heat pouring off her face, Gary roped an arm around her shoulders. She shrugged him off and gazed meaningfully at Timmy, recalling just who this conversation concerned. His cerulean eyes sparkled in anguish, feeling Wanda's dream blood cloak him. Abruptly, he wished he hadn't attempted to eat at all.

"He dreamt about Wanda," Sophie said matter of factly, gently easing out of her own seat to discard of her wasted endeavor. Three sets of eyes burned holes into her back. Lamentably, she realized she ought to have kept that information to herself. The others already disliked her- she didn't want them to think she could read their thoughts or anything like that.

But do I care if they like me or not? I'm not sure if they treat people they like any differently than they treat each other…

"No, I didn't!" Timmy lied, not meeting Sophie's eyes or anyone else's. He leaned against the fridge and glared at everyone as if they alone were responsible. Better them than him.

Gary produced no smart aleck replies. In fact, he simply gawked at Sophie, bristling under the newfound attention. Why was it the only time anyone paid her any mind was when she uttered something so obvious, they ought to have discovered it themselves? Why must she parade around Captain Obvious and spell things out?

Silence buzzed; Sophie did not care to elaborate on said dream, Timmy prayed she wouldn't, Gary puzzled his sudden vapidity, and Tootie's arms ached for Timmy. Five minutes passed and finally, Tootie spoke.

"Hey, guys, where's Wanda? Timmy called her and she never came."

Charily, Tootie approached him until they were but a half a foot apart. His eyes widened, but one of his hands brushed hers purposefully. They both accidentally sent an image of him holding her and jumped.

"She's supposed to come, isn't she?" Sophie murmured, perplexed. She scrutinized Timmy and Tootie and finally ignored them, since they confused the hell out of her anyway. Why were people so preoccupied with protecting themselves that they blocked everyone out? It wasn't just them…it was Wanda too. Maybe she was too young and naïve to understand any better, but she thought if the problem got this bad, they should seek help.

Gary glowered at everyone and wished them (excepting Tootie) nothing but ill. If he had telepathy with Timmy, he'd show him exactly what he'd put him through if he could. Then again, that would ruin the surprise. Stupid bratty Tim-Tim never appreciates anything.

But where could Wanda be? Sophie, Tootie, and Timmy wondered simultaneously. And why leave without a word?

If they thought they would have all day to solve this conundrum, they were quite mistaken. Seconds later, angry footsteps pounded on the basement stairs and the door was flung open with gusto. All shifted in her direction. The morning had just taken another step towards the worse.

"Where's Wanda?" Vicky hissed, practically foaming at the mouth. Innately, Tootie retreated into Timmy, Sophie backed into the table, but Gary remained stationary. He didn't fear her like the others. He figured himself relatively invulnerable, thanks to his charms and general coolness. She wouldn't dare touch him.

If we knew where she was, then we wouldn't have to ask, would we? Sophie thought, but kept her mouth firmly shut. Vicky petrified her and through experience, she'd developed a plan that worked fairly well. Stay quiet and stay out of sight. It worked with most bullies, at any rate. And Vicky was by far the largest bully she'd ever had the unpleasantness to meet.

"Why do you care?" Timmy replied icily, wrapping his arms around Tootie's waist and pressing her against him. Tootie sighed happily, delighted their mutual image had come true. If only he could clutch her like this when her sadistic sister wasn't on the rampage…that might be a different story.

The funny thing was, Sophie wasn't certain Timmy knew exactly what he was doing. He'd just accused her of being a slut again and yet here he was, cradling her to him. She'd never understand boys. Maybe when she grew up, she'd have the fortune of celibacy.

Yanking a folded, battered piece of paper out of her back pocket, she slammed it down on the table (Sophie squeaked and backed into the wall). She then glared as though they understood exactly what she was furious about. Naturally, none did. She growled (Sophie imagined her snorting flames) and rounded on Timmy, since Wanda was his godmother.

"Do you know what this is?" Vicky snarled, brandishing it and shoving it in his face. Timmy's grip on Tootie tightened, but his cerulean eyes flashed defiantly.

"A piece of paper you keep forcing on me even though I don't give a shit?" Timmy fired back, one of his hands roaming Tootie's hair. She shut her eyes and pressed her lips against his cheek.

"Wrong! This is all your stupid fairy godmother's fault! If she hadn't given Mark advice, then he wouldn't be job hunting right now!" Vicky snarled, half stomping, half wobbling away. The display might have been comical if anyone had the audacity to laugh. Gary admired himself in a mirror he brandished from an inside pocket of his pocket; both looked exceedingly bored. Sophie thought she would be too if she had to look at his conceited face constantly.

I can't believe I almost had a crush on him and…I wonder if dragons get this bitchy when they're pregnant…

"Hey!" Timmy shouted, causing Tootie to wish she wasn't right on top of him. She'd forgotten his penchant for reducing hearing. At least he wasn't yelling at her, for once.

"Don't insult Wanda! She was just trying to help!"

"This is her damn fault! If I wanted Mark to get a job, I would have told him! He had no business-"

"Having a mind of his own? Using free will?" Tootie muttered, eyes narrowed. "I wasn't under the impression that was illegal."

Rounding on Tootie, she spat in her face (Timmy shook in rage) and then pivoted. If none of them were going to pull Wanda from their sleeves, she wasn't interested. She'd rather spend her time berating Mark for leaving her than deal with these twerps, anyway. Her footsteps echoed, but aside from their breathing and her muttered threats, no other sound was made.

"Where the hell is Wanda, anyway?" Timmy asked, wiping Tootie's cheek.

(Fairy World library)

Thousands of books, all useless. None of them told her a single thing other than how much they wasted time and tried her patience. She'd been here for hours and found absolutely nothing. Even as she conceded defeat with one tome, she retrieved another. If she kept searching, something had to come up. It just had to.

Fairies buzzed around; occasionally, she caught snippets of telepathy and inwardly seethed. The reminder redoubled her efforts and she was already in over her head with encyclopedias, reference books, and thousands of others. If anyone wished to spot her, they would have to dive bomb ten feet of pages. At least the pile prevented curiosity and distractions. None bothered pierce her defense.

The problem was her real answer lay in a place she'd rather avoid. No self respecting fairy library would contain such tomes, but she had hoped (rather foolishly) someone might have referenced the banned books. No such luck, unfortunately. Authors skirted the issue to the point where she thought they might spontaneously combust if they as much as mentioned souls torn asunder. Whatever the case, her patience wore dreadfully thin.

To make matters worse, some of Juandissimo's fans had popped in to discuss his death in loud, dulcet tones. They spoke as if he were a saint instead of an asshole. Though most knew only the barest details, some went as far as to condemn Cosmo for his death. Wanda had ground her teeth, dug her nails into her palms, anything to shut herself up. She honestly didn't trust herself to speak.

Growling in frustration, Wanda shoved a stack of books away to settle on another. A quick skim spell with her wand told her exactly what every other book she'd examined had- nada. She banged her head against the desk, but only produced a mild headache. Goddamn it! Would she really have to return to Lorenzo's library?

((Hurry….))

Sighing, lethargic, Wanda reluctantly waved her wand once more to return the items to their proper shelves. If she had to visit Lorenzo's mansion, then she would. Never mind that it probably attracted heinous dark creatures; she had to bring him back. She just had to…and she was going to do it by herself…

(The Void)

Free, only buoyed by the annoying tug of telepathy, Cosmo's soul lingered. The void, where all lost souls remained, perhaps for eternity, currently claimed him. Darkness pressed in from all corners, but, occasionally, another empty being materialized and clutched at him, threatening to drag him with them. Only Wanda induced the will to fend after himself. Otherwise, he might succumb to the vastness of oblivion.

Though he couldn't prove it, he sensed Juandissimo's soul lay here, along with the echoes of all the other souls Eschcolex had destroyed. When Wanda slept, her nightmares rocked him and Juandissimo crooned. Slim emotion registered within, but enough for disgust. However, while he disdained Juan, he could not pity Wanda. Only one emotion existed simultaneously with his pale figure. Sensations were taxing.

Yet he'd longed to cradle her in his arms and kiss away her tears, hidden though they were. If only he could hold onto such emotions, then he might not lose himself completely. If only he remembered what it was like to live on the surface, without darkness pressing in. If only he remembered what life itself was like…

At once, voices clamoring for escape sobbed, caterwauled, and pleaded for salvation. Voices echoed and reverberated, inducing unpleasant shivers when he'd first arrived. Then again, when he'd first arrived, he'd not the faintest clue what was going on. He thought he was dead…although even now, he wasn't sure if he wasn't, in fact, just like them.

He'd soon lost count of time, but they repeated at odd intervals. Since his emotions ebbed when Wanda was particularly far away, he'd learned not to pity them. Most of those crying deserved this fate. They'd damned themselves.

"Remy…Remy…I have lost you too…Curse you, Cosmo…"

A poignantly familiar voice rang out and Cosmo scowled dimly. He couldn't remember why (because Wanda was in Fairy World and the bond strained), but he disliked him immensely. Like the others, his voice irritated, but Cosmo disliked him only as long as he could contain that emotion. It lasted less than a minute and left him more hollow than before.

He wondered idly if Wanda would succeed in reviving him. Would he be too far gone to live again? Would he even remember her by the time she accomplished it? How much longer did he have?

"My Cosmo-lolo…"

Mama Cosma wailed, having died mysteriously two years previously (The Other's flux in power had triggered magical bursts destroying random fairies Timmy knew). Out of the emptiness beside him, a translucent hand latched onto his arm. Cosmo tugged back viciously, more terrified of losing his bond with Wanda than he dared admit. Wanda kept him centered in the real world, not purgatory.

I guess I don't really want to die…

((Wanda!))

Telepathy scorched her and she retreated with a hiss into the shadows. Magic burned here- the positive in a world of negatives. Cosmo himself was scarcely positive because he was barely alive. All the other shades, conversely, maintained the negative status of purgatory.

"Timmy…"

Two spirits screeched into the din, the pearly versions of Mr. and Mrs. Turner. The instant he relinquished his mother's grasp, they journeyed past; they too quested for a way out. Yet as time passed (and stayed horribly the same), he began to doubt its existence. Maybe Wanda would never recover him…maybe he was doomed to rest here eternally…

"Vicky! Vicky, come back!"

A girl with long, plaited braids down her back and the every nuance of an older Tootie drifted aimlessly by, a scythe buried in her back. Vestiges of power clung and gave off a faint glimmer. Cosmo was almost sorry to see her vanish- the light reminded him there were other worlds out there. There were other people, too…and creatures like Wanda who loved him deeply. He only wished his thoughts wouldn't teeter back and forth to doubt then hope.

"He wasn't human…"

Translucent like the rest, a rather befuddled Principal Waxelplax meandered away. She continued to mutter about fairies, evil creatures, and demons until he no longer heard her. Cosmo shrugged, caring little. Everyone had a story to tell, but none had presence of mind to describe themselves adequately. They simply hadn't substance to either speak or listen.

"We never told her we loved her…"

"Did we love her?"

Vicky and Tootie's parents ambled along the same path as the others and continued their diatribe until they too floated from earshot. Apparently, somewhere along the line, they forgot exactly who they were discussing, because neither recalled which daughter was the "evil" one. In fact, they started to doubt whether they had children or were married in the first place. The void wreaked havoc on past lives and memories. Soon, the spirits themselves became their surroundings. They succumbed to the darkness they traveled listlessly in.

"Dirty, rotten bastard!"

Disfigured, half of his face scarred beyond recognition, Gifoalski irately blithered onward. Though he'd long since forgotten most of his life, he remembered his death and the circumstances surrounding it clearly. Names faded, but he knew this much- he'd been murdered. Unfortunately, he no longer recalled he was powerless, he randomly struck the air. Cosmo narrowly avoided a cruel uppercut.

An old lady, fragile and feeble, followed like her predecessors. For some bizarre reason, seeing her made Cosmo think of stuffy rabbits wearing monocles. When she drifted by, he wondered idly why she felt so alone. There was a second half she didn't have and momentarily, he puzzled over it. Many spirits idled singularly- why should this one strike him as unusual? And who on earth was Mr. Herriman, anyway?

The bewilderment (as well as his attention span) drifted and he found himself face to face with a pale, shimmering version of his Wanda. Blankly, now confused more than he'd ever been here, he stared. Nothing clicked; he stared endlessly. Why was she here? What was going on?

"I am the part of Wanda's soul she cannot retrieve. I am what Juandissimo has rampaged, pilfered, and trod upon. Call me what you will, I believe I can help you.

"You have thus maintained a feeble link to her and it must improve drastically or you will fall to the darkness beyond. Your request for her aid means nothing without your guidance. Only you can identify the proper spell for your return- she cannot by herself. You must rise and become less than a ghost, but more than the soulless child.

"You must help her…you are her shining hope."

The figure faded, replaced by an urgent shove. Cosmo felt himself being propelled upwards, to what he could not say. Darkness above and darkness beyond, he might not be going anywhere at all. He had no way of knowing.

"Remember- the dead never truly leave us. Purgatory is for those souls who deserve to remain shadows, forever doomed to haunt our nightmares and for those who refuse to pass on, not the living. Unless you wish to share the fate of the shades, you will help your beloved. She needs you more than can be expressed through words alone."

(The employment office)

Mark Chang absent-mindedly pounded on the back of his chair. The others awaiting an interview cast him dirty looks, but he was far too nervous to care. They were normal, boring humans. He was an alien outcast from Yugopotamia who couldn't distinguish South Park from the Powerpuff Girls. They'd grown up here and knew nothing else- when it came to experience, he was sunk.

But it was better to try and be turned away…than to spend the rest of his day in Vicky's company, listening to her toss threats and insults out like crap at a garage sale. He wondered if she was supposed to hate him this much now, or if there was something wrong. Part of him thought it was the typical Yugopotamian courting ritual (Tootie and Timmy helped those thoughts), but then…he didn't know. He really had absolutely no idea.

"Chang?"

It took him several seconds to recall this was his human name and a few more to rise. He hoped he would succeed; he wasn't sure he could endure much more of Vicky's taunts and insinuations. Alien or not, there was something unsettling about them.

"You have made a grievous error, fairy," a voice echoed around the seemingly empty library and Wanda unconsciously clutched her wand to her chest. Though the words held no liveliness, it was this absence that most troubled her. An insurmountable fury quaked her body, but stilled her tongue. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.

Poofing to the top shelves, she scanned the titles furtively, hoping against hope she'd find exactly what she sought and in post haste. Sure, Remy was basically an animated corpse, but if he worked for Eschcolex, she had to expect tricks up his sleeve. Demons never played by the rules, especially if they were as enraged as Wanda was willing to bet he was. Failure sickened them to no end.

Footsteps sounded at the end of the aisle; she poofed away, her normally humming wand silent. In fact, the poof had depleted her energy more than she dared admit. Eschcolex had not needed to implement any new magical devices because Lorenzo's defense against fairies had been renewed. Magic would only pain her here.

Biting back a sigh, she scanned the perimeters for a hiding spot only to come up dry. Perhaps if she transformed herself, but then that bit of magic would probably be her last until someone rescued her. Only in a dire emergency would she utilize magic, even if it meant protecting her in the short run. Supposing no one realized she was here (and, quite frankly, who would?), she'd be signing her own death warrant. No, if she were to outmaneuver her opponent, it had to be thoroughly non magical.

Darting into a pile of books Lorenzo must have used to train Timmy to murder them (she shuddered involuntarily); her pink eyes peered out at the rapidly approaching incubus Remy. She held her breath, praying his sight decreased due to his prolonged half life. Beside her, her wand died entirely, sputtering, fizzing, and then spitting to halt. Grand, so she was defenseless against a demon protégé, in enemy territory, and armed with a body the size of a ten year old human. She was screwed.

But why come after me? While I'm here, Cosmo's unguarded. Unless he's figured out the final link to his soul is in our telepathy…

Remy paused dully, straining to listen to instructions only he could hear. Up close, she noted Eschcolex maintained his body carelessly. His complexion was ashen, his eyes glazed, and his steps jerky, like a remote controlled robot. Now that she thought about it, she actually pitied him. While she could hardly say she made acquaintances with reanimated corpses on a regular basis, she knew Eschcolex pulled all the strings here. Remy was no more responsible for stealing Cosmo's soul than she for breathing.

"There!" a low gravelly voice announced, annoyance etched in its declaration. The color drained from Wanda's face as Remy pivoted in her direction and peered unseeingly at her hiding space. She wondered just how much information his stagnant brain processed- he continued to stare for five minutes.

Irritated, the demon materialized, toting a wine glass in his clawed right hand. At first glance, she deemed it Chardonnay, but then its fluidity assured her otherwise. Ugh- was he a demon or a vampire? Did it really matter right now?

"As usual, you have managed to bungle even the simplest assignments. Spare me your drivel; I have your work to attend to."

Attempting unsuccessfully to staunch her anxiety, she swiveled her head a fraction of an inch. A presence, not like anything she'd ever met, settled beside her. Whispery fingers stroked her cheek, but the effort of touch cost him a physical shape. She swallowed hard, unable to determine whether this was Cosmo…or someone far less welcome. That'd be the straw that broke the camel's back.

Leering at her woeful protection, he spared her a moment before shoving the books to the floor. They clattered, papery pages protesting. A cold chill coursed down her spine, but beside her, the presence seemingly stiffened. Light poured in from an open window and aided her only slightly in her perception. He was too wispy for a ghost, yet too structured for a gust.

"I might have thought you'd come here," he intoned, gesturing towards the shelves stocked full of information she longed for. A nearly inaudible growl escaped the being, its focus upon her wand. Wanda swiftly switched it to her other hand, whereupon the creature whispered objection.

"My apprentice was supposed to procure the rest of your soul mate's," (he spat the last two words), "soul. Yet he has failed me once again and he shall be justly punished. You, on the other hand, will not live to see your godchildren again."

((You can't fight him…you have to get out of here.)) Cosmo whispered and she froze, a thousand questions soaring through her mind. She wanted to ask why he hadn't spoken before, where his soul was right now, and why he'd chosen this moment to appear. Was he the spirit beside her? Was he here to protect her?

((Cosmo! How-))

((Never mind that! I'll explain later! There's a gap in the barrier right behind the next bookcase- float there and poof out.))

((I-))

((I don't have enough energy to waste talking to you,)) he snapped, uncharacteristically brusque. She sighed, recalling her own reactions when her memories and indeed part of her soul had been missing. She didn't begrudge him a little coldness, but it troubled her nonetheless. Mentally, she noted to ask him later.

An energy ball sizzled the air around her and, without further delay; she floated swiftly away, ducking behind a stack of books. Never before had she felt quite so exposed, especially with Eschcolex practically breathing down her neck. At least with Lorenzo, for the most part she'd been armed with her wand or Cosmo. Being trapped without magic felt like losing an appendage. She was floating in enemy territory and she outnumbered, unless you counted a semi spirit.

"I do not play cat and mouse like that insipid anti fairy. Come out and come out now, before I decide to snap your neck now and ask questions later."

Sweat trickled down her neck; she threw herself headlong into the section feeling slightly more amiable than the rest of the room. Cosmo, scarcely a phantom, managed a feeble nod and she raised her wand. Eschcolex and Remy, sluggishly meandering, approached from either side. She only hoped she had enough magic to transport herself out of here.

"Fairy!" The demon growled a split second before she vanished and snatched only thin air.

Safe…for now.

In front of the "mysterious" downstairs mirror

Lorenzo DeMedici loathed confinement. Naturally, he found himself imprisoned constantly by an infernal mirror. Lorenzo DeMedici loathed distance from his beloved. Naturally, he was forbidden to touch him. Lorenzo DeMedici was barricaded within an invisible shield barricading him from the rest of humanity. Naturally, he found a way through.

Now he glared at his jail for so many months and, pausing only to flip it off, sauntered happily through Timmy Turner's front door. Wanda, usually quite thorough in magical defenses, had slipped up. She'd left a great gap in the end, between the walls, and it only took someone of his slim stature to ease his way through. Of course, he hardly wondered why she'd neglected it. As far as he was concerned, one never looked a gift horse in the mouth. It was time to see how the town took his disappearance.

The heat was blistering, but it served to remind Lorenzo he was alive. In fact, the warmth from the sun on his black turtleneck and his cloak pleased him greatly. (Though his all black, winter attire did cause raised eyebrows and snickers.) He might get a sun burn, but he was alive and out of that damn mirror. Exhilaration raced through him and, childlike, he ran through the streets.

By the time he reached the playground, however, he found himself desiring a break. He descended upon a swing and watched a small group of girls discussing their latest crush. One, throwing her long hair back from her face, he recognized instantly. He craned his neck and, being a nosy busybody, listened in.

"Did you hear about R.D.?" Pauline murmured, donning a hat with his face on it. The other girls nodded eagerly and, after casting a surreptitious look at Lorenzo, adroitly stepped several paces further away.

"Doesn't that look like our old principal?" one muttered, to the nods of the others. "He's so creepy."

"I can't believe I used to like him." Pauline replied, gathering her girls and trooping them almost out of earshot. "I must have been overdosing on cold medicine."

Though he knew they'd thought him dead and thus moved on, it upset him to hear them discuss in such careless tones. They continued on, whispering excitedly about R.D.'s new album and his love song to apparently no one. They wondered who the girl was until Lorenzo, sick of their insipid gossip, strode by them. He hadn't come out to listen to annoying teenagers (nor to hear how no one cared for him).

"Loser!" Pauline shouted after his retreating figure and he resisted the urge to flip her off. Instead, he shuffled off, walking the familiar path to his mansion. Somehow, he sensed dark magic transpiring inside. Though he no longer participated in it, he knew who did.

He found her outside, unconscious and accompanied by a pesky spirit who threatened to bite his hands despite possessing no actual figure. The voice, echoing, he recalled instantly. Though he would have liked to ask what the hell was going, he refrained. Wanda wasn't going to escape her on her own and if she remained, Eschcolex would track her down and destroy them both. (He had to remind Cosmo he couldn't drag her away himself).

Then, with a sharp gust of wind, Cosmo vanished, leaving Wanda and Lorenzo alone. Wanda moaned, tears forming in her eyes; he swooped down, cradled her in his arms, and carried her home. He personally didn't care if Cosmo never appeared again, since he was competition anyway. Although Wanda's personal happiness weighed heavily on Cosmo's subsistence…

She rolled over in his arms and he pressed her lightly into his chest. She was so soft, like silk, and a giddy thrill coursed through him. He forced himself to focus on returning home, not what he'd like to do to/with her in this state. Wanda wouldn't like it if he used his newfound liberties to cause the same trouble. But she was so close…

She wouldn't notice if he brushed his lips over hers…

And Lorenzo did just that.

And the plot thickens! Heh, this was not what I had in mind for that end scene.

I'm still not in the mood to respond to reviews (or am I lazy, hmm?). So I'd like to thank MisterBlue, "towo", Sentra, ahhelga, Ruby, Acastus of Thessaly, and Wanda Wish.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed and please continue!

Until we meet again…