Michael was falling. The dark world tumbled out of control for an instant then time seemed to slow down. He saw Aunt Fiona falling near him and, just below her, Troy flailed helplessly. Then Fiona's form blurred like a smeared spot of ink. It condensed, became feathery, then became a raven that flew up and out, away from the collapsing sign.

There was no time to think about what just happened. Michael just acted. He grabbed hold of Troy's nearest arm and shifted them both to the ground. It wasn't the easiest of landings because he didn't correct for the speed they were falling at and he'd never tried to take someone else with him before. They hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from Troy and temporarily stunning them both. Michael recovered quickest, scrambling to his feet to survey the situation. The giant H leaned precariously up against the O. The ladder and part of the side of the H were on the ground. Nearby, Pieter was tending to the triplets, helping them up and checking them for injury.

"Where are the others?" Michael wanted to know. "Kerri? Dawn?"

Troy pushed himself up off the ground and looked around as well. He was quite a sight, covered in dirt. There was a smear of blood on his lower lip. Michael didn't look much better at the moment. His black velvet coat was ruined, and his hair was a mess.

"There!" exclaimed Troy, on spying a tattooed arm sticking out from under the collapsed ladder. He hurried over and shoved it off with some effort. The two missing women were underneath the twisted metal wreckage, both covered in blood and dust.

"Are they all right?" asked Michael as he came over.

"Shit. I think they're both dead," Troy said, trying to find a pulse on either one. "Shit! What the hell happened up there?"

The raven returned, alighting on Michael's shoulder with a rattle of black feathers. "Aunt Fiona," he acknowledged. "I didn't know you could do that."

The bird fluffed her feathers in a huffy manner. "There are many things I can do that you're not aware of," she said. But Michael and Pietre were the only ones who understood her. The rest only heard a raspy caw.

"Are you going to change back?" Pieter interjected. His tone and expression were knowing, bordering on smug.

"When I'm ready," Fiona cawed, flexing a wing to show how unhurried she was.

It was then that Michael began to suspect she couldn't just change herself back, but it wasn't the time to dig into the matter. "Alec? Are you all right? Yes? Good. You and Troy grab Kerri and Dawn. We need to take them back to the hotel and prepare them for incineration."

"Incineration?" squawked Fiona. Her claws dug into Michael's shoulder. "We're going to resurrect them!"

"No," Michael said firmly.

He pushed his arm up under his aunt's bird body, forcing her to step up onto it or else be shoved off. Once she was on his arm, he brought her around so he could make eye contact. Even though she had raven eyes, he could still see the keenness of her personality showing through clearly.

"We're not resurrecting them," the young man said. "They are payment for Evangelina and Jeremiah."

"Is she saying something?" Troy muttered to Tisi, who gave the tiniest of shrugs.

Alec was already pulling Dawn from the wreckage, so Troy went to grab the other girl. Kerri's oil slick hair was matted with dirt, blood, and grass and her pretty face was marred by a visibly broken nose.

"I didn't agree to that," Fiona huffed.

"We both did when we performed this ritual," said Michael, unperturbed by his aunt's ire. "My Father takes what He is due."

The raven's feathers puffed up again, but she didn't argue the matter further. Michael transferred her to his shoulder again and headed for the cars. He noticed as he did that the ghosts had left. He had wanted to speak to them, but it could wait until the dead witches were dealt with. He knew where to find the pair.

…

"Holy shit," Violet said once she and Tate were both in her bedroom back at Murder House. "What the hell was that?"

She sat down on the edge of the bed. Tate sat down beside her and collected her nearest hand for holding.

"I think…it was the root of whatever drives this place," Tate said hesitantly. He chewed on the cuticle of his thumb and then shifted to the index finger, nervously gnawing.

"Yeah, well. I hope it doesn't want to come over." The dry joke fell flat. Violet swept her hair back from her face with her free hand. Then she looked at Tate. "Are you okay?"

He pulled his finger from his mouth. "Yeah. I mean. No. Can we never go out again?"

Violet smiled crookedly. "You never want to go out of the house again?"

"That'd be okay with me," Tate agreed.

"Why?"

He looked down at their clasped hands. He noticed her cuticles were ragged like his, but he never saw her nibble hers. "Every time I go out, bad things happen. I'm sick of it. The world's a literal shit show, Violet. There's nothing out there I want to see."

He expected her to chide him but her smile inched wider. She squeezed his hand.

"It was always a shit show," she reminded. "Since long before us. I don't think anybody understands what's going on. Not even that big thing, whatever the fuck it was."

When Tate looked at her, he still looked unconvinced but there was a sliver of hope in his eyes. "Yeah. I guess so. I wish somebody did, though." He gave a short laugh. "I used to hate rules, you know? Now I kind of wish there were some."

Violet squeezed his hand again. "There are. Not just here. Out there, too. We just have to figure out what they are."

Tate wrinkled his nose. "Shit like that should be in a book."

"Like the Bible?"

"Fuck that."

Violet laughed. "Maybe you should write the rule book then."

"Nobody would listen to me," he waved aside. "Maybe you should."

"I don't want to write a new Bible."

"Somebody should."

"Maybe Michael will."

"Nooo," Tate balked. "Not him either. Definitely not him."

"Then who?"

Tate thought and thought but he couldn't think of anyone qualified to lay down the rules for the world as it stood. "There's got to be somebody out there that's qualified. Somewhere."

...

Author's Note:

It's October as I post this, a very busy month for me typically, as a prop-and-costume maker. It's been even busier than usual with everything that's been going on in my personal life (business selling, house buying, etc.), so updates might be a little patchy till Halloween-month is over. I've got a bunch of stuff written for this fic, as well as for the Asylum-based one I've got going. I've got another couple of things too that I'm itching to share once things have settled down here. So keep your eyes peeled!

Next time: Michael gets what he wants! Or does he?