Notes: this one is a straight-forward follow-up to episode 8, which also ties up the loose end from my last piece regarding Daphne's leftover nightmares from Maldor's sleeping curse.

With Marcella captured, there had been just a few more loose ends to wrap up—namely, Vincent needing to reverse the blunders that the Brewski Sisters had pulled with their reckless spellcasting earlier. With that done, and with the three witch sisters having retreated into the woodwork, it was time to leave Stonehenge and return to Tibet—plus one, as Vincent had brought Idesvigg with them.

The gang had been confused at first by the little creature's presence, knowing that Vincent had gone to the Zone of Eternal Darkness alone, and yet, had somehow returned with Idesvigg on his shoulder.

And Idesvigg joined them at the dining room table, partaking with them in the meal that had been interrupted by Marcella and the Brewski Sisters, and then further joining all of them for an after-dinner talk in Vincent's study. Sensing the gang's confusion as to why Idesvigg had been given such a warm welcome, Vincent now got around to explaining the concept of xenia and that, somehow, caused him to launch into a history of the fae's somewhat tenuous relations with mages, and why a warlock hosting a member of the fae was such a big deal now, particularly after Idesvigg's mistreatment at Marcella's hands.

"The fact of the matter is, I regret to say, there was a great amount of distrust between mages and the fae," he explained, as Idesvigg nodded in agreement. "…In fact, it grew to the point that each side considered the other their greatest enemies, and it led to the start of an all-out magical war that could have wrought great destruction, with innocent mortals getting caught in the middle of it."

"Did you have to fight in the war, Vince?" Flim-Flam asked, his eyes wide.

"Thankfully, no—this was nearly 1500 years before I was even born," Vincent said, slightly amused as he saw them silently trying to calculate just when that was. "Nearly 3500 years ago—Agamemnon was ruling Greece, Hatshepsut was on the throne of Egypt, and here in the South Asian subcontinent, the Vedas were being composed. Mortals had their hands full, and would have suffered greatly had the war gone on any further."

"And… what stopped it?" Scrappy asked.

"The elves had been a neutral party in the struggle," Vincent recalled. "They were of fae origin, but their magical abilities were more akin to witchcraft—it was as though they were a hybrid of the two factions. They reached out to both sides to plead for peace, and, eventually, the hostilities ceased, for the most part."

"Most part?" Shaggy asked, with a gulp. "There are still fights?"

"Well, as mortals, you know about that—your kind fights among yourselves all the time. Mages and fae aren't above such sentiments, either, but, as with you mortals, the majority of us want peace, just like you do. The actions of a few, like Marcella, shouldn't define the rest of us. That goes for the fae, as well. And so, when given a chance to help bridge the gap between a mage and a member of the fae, I took it—it was the least I could do, considering the help he gave me."

Idesvigg chattered something in agreement.

"Once peace had been declared, the majority of the fae and the elves eventually returned to their own realms—though a few remain here, in this world," Vincent said. "…I imagine poor Idesvigg accidentally ended up in the Zone from the world of the fae, much like how Marcella ended up there unintentionally."

Idesvigg nodded, sighing.

"Rhou wanna go rhome?" Scooby asked.

Idesvigg nodded fervently now, and looked to Vincent, as though silently asking if he could help.

"Of course I can send you home," Vincent assured him. "We thank you for the pleasure of your company—and extend an invitation for you to visit again at any time."

Idesvigg chattered away eagerly again; he went from one mortal to another, shaking hands and paws goodbye, and, within moments, he was back where he belonged, in the realm of the fae.

The conversation went on to other topics for the rest of the night. One by one, the mortals drifted off to sleep where they sat, cocooned in blankets and pillows that Vincent had conjured for them. He then occupied himself with a book in the nearby armchair, allowing his thoughts to stray.

They had earned themselves a good, long rest, after all of the successful stalling they had pulled off, he rationalized. Sending them up against the Brewski Sisters had been a calculated risk; true, the youngsters had no mana, but they'd willingly used all of their guile and ploys against Nekara, who had been a far greater threat than the Brewski Sisters could ever hope to have been. It had been a slight miscalculation on Vincent's part, however, that Marcella had been able to help and intimidate the sisters into some degree of competence. Even then, the youngsters had still held their own long enough for Vincent to arrive and help them after Idesvigg had helped him escape the Zone.

Perhaps, deep down, that was truly why he'd been so grateful to Idesvigg—not because the little fae had saved him, but that he'd helped him save the others…

His thoughts trailed off as both his emerald pendant, which he hadn't removed yet, as well as his brooch, began to glow slightly, and his heightened sixth sense now became aware of a faint—but evil—influence of mana coming in from outside.

…And that should not have been possible—not with the protection spells he had cast upon the castle!

Furthermore, after concentrating for a moment, he realized that he recognized the mana. It was that of Maldor the Malevolent—and that, too, should not have been possible, for Maldor was in the Chest of Demons, the first of the 13 Ghosts to be recaptured… So how was Maldor's mana able to breach the castle!?

A shrill gasp from Daphne jolted Vincent out of his thoughts; as he turned to look at her, he saw her sit bolt upright, a look of pure terror on her face for a moment. She blinked and relaxed as she realized she was in the study—and Vincent now took note that he could no longer sense Maldor's mana.

"…Daphne?" he asked, quietly, so as not to disturb the others.

"It's… nothing; I'm fine," she insisted, also quietly. "Just a bad dream, that's all." Sheepishly, she stood up, her face blushing bright red. "I guess I'd better go—I don't want to disturb anyone."

She practically ran out of the study, utterly embarrassed, before Vincent could ask her to stop. He then paused, trying to put the pieces together as to what had just happened.

He had sensed Maldor's mana, and then Daphne had woken from a nightmare—and that had ended it….

Vincent now consulted a book on curses on the shelf, paging through it with some amount of urgency.

"Here it is—'The Sleep of the Centuries,'" he read, quietly. "'This curse places the victim in an enchanted sleep; while asleep, the victim remains in stasis, and is forced to dream whatever dream is determined by the spellcaster. There are only a few known countercurses for the Sleep of the Centuries, the most widely-known being the kiss of a Great Danish Prince…'" Vincent sighed in midsentence; that loophole had been the only thing that had allowed Scooby to break the curse. He pushed the thought aside and continued to read. "'However, even after the curse is broken, the spellcaster can still influence the victim's dreams if their mana is not purged from the victim's mind.'"

Vincent closed the book, now trying to find where Daphne had gone. Her reaction upon awakening had suggested this was nothing new to her. More than that, the encounter with Maldor had been months ago—why hadn't she said anything about the nightmares!?

…It was a painful reminder of the disconnect that existed between mortals and mages. Though he had gone and gotten himself attached to them, it was too much to hope that mortals would also get attached to a warlock in such an unconditional way. Even though these five youngsters treated him with politeness and respect, he could never truly hope to be one of them.

He found Daphne in the kitchen, glumly waiting for the coffeepot to percolate. She glanced over as he entered the kitchen—only to look away, embarrassed again.

"Look, I'm sorry about disturbing—" she began, but Vincent cut her off.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"Because it's just a bad dream—it's no big deal," she said. "People get them all the time—I'm sure you have, too."

"It's one thing to have a bad dream. It's another to have recurring nightmares for months, brought about by a sleeping curse and influenced by the one who cast it on you," Vincent said. The sharpness of his voice was a smokescreen to hide the guilt he was feeling—guilt that she had fallen under the curse because he had sent them to deal with Maldor unprepared and hadn't offered much in the way of help…

Daphne blinked as Vincent mulled over his thoughts, and she looked aside before looking back at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, at last.

She had looked him straight in the eyes and lied to his face, just as she had back in New Orleans when she had pretended that she and Shaggy had been out partying, and it hurt just as much now as it did then to know that he did not have her trust. She was ordinarily so responsible and mature, so why was she behaving like this?

…But, wait…

Vincent looked away now, recalling one important factor—that her lies back in New Orleans had been for his sake, not hers. …Was that what was happening here?

He looked back at her now.

"Why, Daphne?" he asked again, deciding not to even address her lie.

The cracks immediately began to appear in her façade. And as it fell away, he saw the fear in her eyes—fear and something else that Vincent couldn't quite recognize. She quickly tried to cover her expression with a neutral one.

"I'm… it's not important," she said. "I'm sure you've got a million things to do without worrying about something so trivial."

And there it was—the lie had, indeed, been for his sake once again. Vincent found himself simultaneously relieved and concerned—relieved that this wasn't due to a lack of trust, but concerned that she was still hiding just how much she had been suffering these past several months on account of Maldor.

Her last-second word swap hadn't escaped him, either.

She hadn't hesitated to accept his help for easing Scooby's nerves after his breakdown, and she hadn't hesitated to put her life on the line to save him from Nekara.

But Heaven forbid she ask anything for herself or prioritize herself in any way.

Little fool, Vincent silently chided. You're acting just like…

His train of thought came to a screeching halt as he realized that she was behaving the same way he had when he had been pushing his old gang away—putting their safety over his happiness, and bearing that mentality of I should be the only one to suffer.

Voudini had been right all along…

…But, no—this wasn't about him. This was about Daphne, and Vincent wasn't about to see her stumble into the same spiral that he had spent so long in.

"I don't consider the suffering of one of my apprentices as something 'trivial,'" he quipped, at last. He caught himself, and his voice softened when he spoke again. "Daphne, I can help you."

She looked away again, and once again, Vincent found himself wondering if he still didn't have her trust yet. But then she spoke—

"You shouldn't have to," she said, sounding frustrated. "I'm not a child, like Flim-Flam or Scrappy. I'd expect them to ask you for help. But I should be able to handle this so you can focus on more important things."

She was scared, Vincent realized. And she was ashamed of it—she, the leader of the mortals, was supposed to be setting an example, and what kind of example would she set if nightmares made her suffer as they did? And so, she couldn't admit to needing help, even if she'd wanted to.

"Perhaps you are not a child, but you are still very much a youngster," Vincent insisted.

"Someone your age would think that," she sighed. "But, technically, I'm 19, so—"

"So you automatically gain all the wisdom and experience you need upon your eighteenth birthday—is that how it works with mortals?" Vincent finished, unable to stop his sarcastic side from showing itself again. He mentally chided himself once more as she gave him an unreadable glance, and once again spoke in a softer tone. "No, I imagine you are merely thrown into the world and are expected to find your way in it. And, I suppose, for the mortal world, you were doing quite well—your travels have given you experiences that most mortals wouldn't have. But you have no experience with this—with dealing with monsters and magic—and yet, you expect the same from yourself." He sighed. "Daphne, you simply cannot expect that for something that you are so unprepared with. The forces of evil prey upon your weaknesses. And Maldor especially is a sadist who enjoys tormenting others for his own sick amusement. …And so is Marcella."

Daphne's expression changed as the realization of his words sunk in.

"Is… is that why you were late meeting us at Stonehenge?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "…Oh, my gosh—! Are you alright!?"

The night-and-day difference in her behavior was jarring for Vincent; concerning herself and her troubles, she was utterly unforgiving towards them. But the mere implication that Marcella had done something to him had seemingly flipped a switch in her brain.

"What did she do to you…?" Daphne asked.

"That's of no importance," Vincent insisted, with a wave of dismissal.

He then froze, the full irony of his words descending down upon him—for he had practically echoed her sentiments from only minutes ago. As he glanced back at her, awkwardly, it was clear that she was thinking the same thing. Their mindsets were so similar, despite their different lives and backgrounds, and they were both letting pride, honor, and a clearly extreme form of selflessness get in the way of their necessary healing.

Irony soon gave way to the sheer absurdity of the situation. Partly brought about by the stresses they were both carrying, Daphne began to have a fit of giggles just as Vincent started to chuckle. Daphne's giggles then broke out into full-fledged laughter, eventually accompanied by Vincent's distinct cackle. This went on for a few minutes, until they both managed to get a grip on themselves, each of them lapsing into a quiet sigh.

"…I was a victim of my own pride and overconfidence tonight," Vincent confessed, after a moment. "When I found Marcella in the Zone, I taunted her. She then did what I should have done in the first place—take the initiative and cast a spell of magical bindings." He held his hands out in front of him. "Being able to cast spells without a wand or staff is highly advanced magic, but it doesn't matter how powerful or skilled a mage is; if their hands are restricted, they're unable to cast any spells at all. Marcella also took my pendant—it allows me to travel between dimensions, and, without it, I was stranded in the Zone. As for what she did to me… it was nothing. She was content, at first, with letting me stay trapped there for all eternity—and that is a truly terrifying prospect for an immortal. However, I think she feared that I would still find some way to free myself, and decided to let the many monsters that dwell in the Zone to finish me off instead, when I was unable to defend myself. Idesvigg managed to recover my pendant from Marcella and then free me just in time…"

He trailed off as he noticed that Daphne now had tears slipping down her face. He awkwardly conjured a handkerchief in his hand and handed it to her, which she accepted.

"I was wondering what had happened to you," she said, her voice cracking as she dried her tears.

"…I heard you," Vincent admitted. "From the Zone, I could hear you calling for me."

"…You did?"

He nodded.

"It's… funny, in a way—I wasn't even worried for myself at that point," he recalled. "All I could think about was how I couldn't help you and the others when you needed me the most…"

"…But you did save us," she reminded him. "You made it back just in time."

"Yes, thanks to Idesvigg," Vincent sighed. "There is plenty that I would have done differently, if I had the chance to do so."

Daphne listened, and then sighed again.

"…Do you think you can help me now?" she finally asked. "With the nightmares?"

"Only if it's what you want," Vincent replied. "If I was being practical, I wouldn't even be giving you a choice. As it is… my personal code of magical ethics forbids me from doing that. But, yes, I can help you—if you'll allow me."

Daphne blinked. Sometimes, it was easy to forget just what Vincent was capable of—that he had the same power to manipulate her mind like Maldor did, or, as Shaggy had been worried about in the beginning of their association with him, the power to rearrange every atom in her body and turn her into a frog or some other creature.

Capable of it, yes—but she understood now what Byron Befuddle had meant by saying how assuming such a thing would be doing Vincent a disservice. Because he never would. And even for something like this, which was using his magic on her solely to help her, he was asking for her permission first.

She looked him in the eyes again and nodded in affirmation.

"Yes, this is what I want," she determined. "Please—help me."

Vincent nodded, as well, and placed his crystal ball on the kitchen table as they both sat down.

"Place your hands on the crystal," he instructed. "Close your eyes, and begin to describe to me just what is it that you see in these dreams. This will allow me to see into your mindscape—and find Maldor's mana."

She did as he instructed, though she shuddered as, with each recollection, the images returned, fresh and terrifying, to her mind's eye—the monsters, leaping out of their corners of the maze, chasing after her. Her heart was in her throat again, and she stopped midsentence.

"Daphne?" she heard Vincent's voice ask.

"I'm so scared…" she choked out. "They're going to catch me. They're…"

She trailed off, seeing the wolf fur grow back on her hands in her mind's eye.

"They're waiting for me to join them…" she realized. "They want me to be one of them!"

She gasped as she heard Maldor's laugh as he materialized in front of her.

"You will only find peace as one of them," he declared. "Accept it. Embrace it—"

"Temporal Chains!"

Vincent now materialized between her and Maldor, a furious expression on his face as he restrained Maldor in magical chains of green light.

"You will not torment her ever again!" Vincent vowed. "DIAGA!"

Two large pulses of light magic shot out from his hands, the first one consuming the crowd of monsters, and the second one consuming Maldor himself. As Maldor roared in fury and then vanished, a feeling of relief washed over Daphne, and the wolf fur on her hands now disappeared.

She blinked, and suddenly found herself back in the castle kitchen with Vincent.

"Is… is that it?" she asked.

Vincent nodded.

"Maldor's mana can't stand light magic; he can't harm you or influence your dreams anymore."

She responded by running over to him and hugging him tightly, and Vincent realized just how much she'd been suffering by keeping all of this a secret from everyone. His concern for her overrode the awkwardness of being hugged—he was not a tactile person, as his reaction to Shaggy and Scooby clinging to him earlier that evening had shown. But that seemed so unimportant now.

"Go on, then," he said, firmly but gently. "Go get some sleep—a peaceful sleep. You need it."

She drew back, slightly embarrassed again, but gave him a sincere thanks before leaving the kitchen.

Vincent sighed, contemplating what had just happened. Indeed, she had trusted him to allow him into her mindscape like that. But there was that underlying issue regarding her extreme selflessness—but that, he decided, could be addressed another day.

He returned to the study, and was surprised to see her back in her blanket cocoon like the others, rather than having gone to her room in the turret. Perhaps she just wanted to be with everyone after that.

Very well, then.

Vincent sat back down in his armchair with his book, keeping a watchful eye over his little crew for the remainder of the night.