Kermit was the only one in the security office when Peter arrived.

"Not going to the party?" Peter asked with a grin. He had no intention of showing his anxiety as he walked around the computer to take a look at what the hacker was doing. It looked a bit complicated, but maybe Peter wasn't the best judge.

"Keep the champagne chilled for me."

"My father thinks there's going to be grave robbers on the guest list. And despite the weird wording... he might be right."

"Oh yeah?"

"There's a man I thought I saw... Blaisdell told me to come up here and see if I could confirm it. Goes by George, specialist art thief. Given that this is a Chinese exhibit, he might be working for the Triad, but he's also the kind of guy who runs his own crew, so he could be here for himself."

"Say no more." Kermit stood and led Peter over to a bank of monitors. "Command central," he said.

"Shouldn't there be people monitoring these?"

"Budget cutbacks," Kermit joked, then paused. "Actually, museum security went off for a patrol. Routine procedure but..." He checked his watch. "I'll call it in after we check for this George of yours. Where did you see him?"

"A couple of hours ago in the main entrance hall..." He looked at the screens, peering through the grainy footage to find a few that seemed correct. "This one. Not sure about the view. And these two— I followed him through these halls."

"Hm..."

Peter watched as Kermit began messing around with the various dials and knobs on the console. "All right, I can see you and Ms Carlson..."

Peter nodded. "Yeah, not close enough. Look, you can see someone walking down the escalator here, but I can see even less now. Can we get another angle?"

Kermit frowned and pressed more buttons, getting more passing shots of the back of the man's head, another of a profile from far enough away that even his hair color wasn't quite visible. "You don't avoid cameras like this unless it's intentional..." he muttered.

"Can't you clear these up?"

"This isn't Star Trek, Peter. I can't just zoom in and see what we're missing... if the data's not there, it's not there." He shook his head in frustration. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

"Wait, what's that?" Peter pointed at one of the monitors. "That storage room... the boxes were closed a second ago."

"Professor Leffolen's crates. They were closed?" Kermit looked at him sharply, then hit a few more keys. "Ah, crap. The cameras were on a loop— it got reset when I went for the backup feeds. So what was in those crates...?"

"We'd better call—" Without warning, the monitors began to turn to the snowy static. "What's going on?"

"Interference," said Kermit shortly. "Damn it— Static in my ear—" He raised a hand to turn his radio off. "Our communications have been cut." He stared at the consoles, then flipped through the pages of a very large binder. "Circuit's overloaded... museum backup circuits inoperable—"

Peter grabbed the nearby walkie-talkie. "Captain Blaisdell?" The burst of static made it obvious that the message hadn't gone through.

"Good try, the handheld's on a different frequency... Someone is using some very sophisticated jamming equipment. Damn it."

"It'll take half an hour to get back to the party," said Peter. "We should check that storage room."

"Oh, yeah."


"What is going on?"

To say Paul Blaisdell was concerned right now would be an understatement. Comms were down, the museum phone wasn't dialing out, nor was it dialing up to the security office where Kermit should have been monitoring things. His officers were on-edge, and he had no orders to give them beyond keeping the people at this party safe.

He pressed on the phone plunger a few times. If he couldn't dial out, he needed to leave and call for backup—

"I see the phones are dead," came an amiable voice from behind him. He could feel the press of a gun into the small of his back. "Isn't it always the way, Captain."

"So Caine was right. I take it you're George?"

"You knew about me already? I am disappointed."

Paul turned to look over his shoulder. George was blond, handsome, and had ice cold eyes to go with his crocodile smile.

"Well, luckily for this Caine, whatever he said to you did not derail my schedule, so he will not have to die— unless, of course, you force my men to hose the room."

Paul scanned the room. He could see two of George's men right off the bat. The men were strategically placed; obvious professionals who'd done this before. Former military, most likely, setting themselves in relatively defensible positions. If they opened fire right now...

"I hope we have an understanding?"

Paul nodded shortly, even as he noticed a woman being escorted over, struggling slightly in the hands of one of George's goons.

"Ah, there she is. The woman who knows the exhibit like the back of her hand— just what we need. We're leaving the party now, Rebecca."

"George—" Blaisdell grabbed the curator's arm. He wished he had a talker right now. "Why don't you let the guests go? You can hold me and my men as hostages."

"Noble!" He grinned. "But foolish. You are paid to be heroes." He looked at Paul, and his smile began to fade. The Captain imagined this man could see it in his eyes: for some people, it was about more than payment. It was about doing what was right. But then, George shook his head, and Paul could see that it was about more than money for him, as well. "Ah, Captain, you should also know: there is dynamite wired somewhere in the building, wired to explode if anyone should leave this room."

"Why the hell should I believe that?"

George shrugged. "You can't afford not to."

Ms Carlson looked at Paul with a sort of terrified indignation. The gun was now in the small of her back, and there wasn't a damned thing that Paul Blaisdell could do about it without getting a room full of people shot and possibly destroying the building. "You'd blow it up while your men are still in here?"

"They are also professionals, Captain. They know there are risks." George smiled again. "Come along, Rebecca."

Paul watched as the man left, then tried to get the lay of the land. There were the two he'd spotted, and another keeping the guests in the area... Exhibits are closed, my foot. That one definitely wasn't one of his, and he was sure it wasn't a museum guard, either. Dressed similarly to his own officers, so the guests wouldn't make a fuss.

He needed to talk to his men, discreetly—

"Ah! Captain Blaisdell!" He turned to see a wizened old man beside him. The Ancient, Peter's quasi-guardian. "I have not thanked you for working with our Peter."

"You're welcome," he said. 'I'm afraid I'm a little too busy to talk about him right now."

"Yes, yes. Peter is also... concerned. The graverobbers are active."

Paul stopped and raised an eyebrow. What did the old man know? "He told you about George?"

"No." The old man smiled. "But we know. His father and I. His father will help him to rescue that woman."

What? Paul blinked. "How did you know about Rebecca Carlson?" He waved a hand. "No, it doesn't matter. He can't leave, they're watching all the exits." The old man inclined his head, and Paul saw Peter Caine's father, angling himself over the edge of the balcony. "They'll see him," hissed Paul, feeling as though the situation was falling farther from his control.

"They will not see him," said the old man, quiet but confident.

"If they do, we're all dead," replied Paul, tearing his eyes away from where Caine was crawling like a lizard on the wall's surface. It was mesmerizing, and frankly, weird. Paul tore his eyes away. No need to let any of these terrorists follow his gaze. "Listen. Some of my men aren't the class of people who will figure this out. I can't talk to them directly. I'll need you to do that for me."

The old man bowed.


Kermit and Peter walked into the storage area. Each one had learned their caution in a different context, but the effect of it was relatively similar: they scanned the walls, looked both up and down, and only when they saw no one did they actually enter the room.

"Empty," said Peter. One side of two of the wooden boxes had been discarded on the floor. They hadn't even bothered hiding it.

"Whatever was inside has been taken away."

Peter examined the boxes. About the right size for a human, and George had always worked with armed men. "Or walked away. Look at this, the box says it's a trojan bull," he said in disbelief. "Who does that?" The sound of guns clicking behind them caused both men to startle and turn.

There was a moment between them all— an expression on the thieves' faces that told both the detective and his friend that their assailants hadn't thought this through, not beyond holding guns. Well, Peter wasn't going to give them the time to figure it out. He moved forward aggressively and, without any warning, kicked the guns out of their hands. A short scuffle later, and the his opponent was down on the ground. Peter turned, expecting to have to deal with the other as well, but it seemed that Kermit had taken care of him.

Peter grinned as he picked up one of the two guns, checking to see if it was fully loaded with a fluid movement that showed his comfort with the weapon. "Whoa." Peter grinned at Kermit, and the other man's face was cool as a spring morning. "I thought you spent all your time in front of a computer!"

"I learned a few tricks from Blaisdell."

"Was that before the precinct?" Peter asked casually.

"Oh yeah." Kermit bent down and picked up one of the guns.

"Must have been some good tricks, fighting like that while keeping your glasses on. I'd have lost them."

"Nah. Just takes a little practice." He handed the weapon to Peter, who pulled the firing pins and shoved them in his pocket. "And you've got some moves there too, kid. Don't sell yourself short."

"Protector of Chinatown," replied Peter with a self-deprecating shrug that hardly covered the pride he felt at the title. "The return of the Triad has put a bit of a damper on that," he admitted.

"Having trouble dealing with them?"

"I've been told I'm in a barrel, and someone's going to throw me over the waterfall soon," said Peter, looking at the guns again. "I just wish I could have cut the ties cleanly, you know? But I'll figure it out— I've already got an idea how."

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. "Listen, kid. You're part of our team. We'll figure it out. Just keep us in the loop." Peter nodded slightly. "But— I think this conversation can wait until later. We need to head to the exhibit. You up for it?"

Peter drew in a breath, and let it out in a puff. "Let's go stop a museum heist, Kermit."

Getting through the museum without catching the attention of the graverobbers was going to be something of a challenge. He had faced many such challenges before, and he felt certain that this one would be no different. Stealth was a Shaolin priest's greatest friend.

Even so... The Ancient had told him that his son was in danger. He was worried. Which left Kwai Chang wondering why it was that the old man could sense what Peter's own father could not. The flaw must be in him, in the distance he kept— unless it was distance that Peter kept. His son was stubborn, and his son was in pain, and Kwai Chang Caine had not kept him safe.

He loved his son, he truly did, as much as any man could love his child. Why was this so difficult?

He pondered this question as he opened a large vent in the wall. He thought about it as he passed by plastic explosives in a metal shaft. He was still thinking about it as he exited the ventilation system near the Shensheng Chun exhibit. He walked slowly and carefully down the hallway. Guns: he could hear them being cocked. Two men near the doors to the exhibit.

He peeked around the corner and hurried forward as he saw his son readying himself to open the doors next to one of the detectives. He caught Peter's hand as it reached for the handle. "Wait," he ordered, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

Peter and Kermit both looked at him in surprise.

Kwai Chang supposed they were both impatient. He pressed a careful hand to the door, feeling for the energy that lay beyond it. "Heat," he said. "Explosives, pressed against the door."

Kermit looked at him with surprise. "How'd you know that?"

He took his son's hand and placed it where it needed to be. "Can you feel this energy, my son?"

"I, uh... I don't think so."

Kwai Chang nodded, as if in agreement, but noted that his son's breathing had increased as he stared at his own hand. "There are other explosives wired to explode throughout the building." Kermit scowled at him. "Is there another way inside?"

The detective nodded. "Follow me."


These days, the Ancient spent his time at parties, or making medicines, or teaching, or in quiet contemplation, but it had been the case that he had once trained as a warrior, much as Kwai Chang Caine and his son. More than that, he had lived through times of warlords when the Nationalists and the Communists had fought each other— and he remembered the times before that when brigands and robbers impeded movement or caused chaos to the government.

That was why it was not difficult to see that the situation he was now in was likely to end with some amount of violence.

The police had picked out the grave robbers, and the grave robbers similarly were keeping a closer watch over the lawmen than they were the rest of the members of the party. The robbers were more conspicuously armed, but the police were able to more easily reposition themselves. A stalemate of sorts: both sides were professionals, and neither would fire into the crowd unless they had to.

But they were not the only sources of danger in the crowd, and it was the one that neither was watching carefully that would spark the flames of the situation. Peter's friend, Lu, had brought another friend, a young woman with sharp eyes and a light touch.

It was when he felt the power of the curse escalate that he knew things would change. The energy in the building had altered; things felt more tense, more time constrained. More deadly.

It was no surprise to the Ancient when the young woman attempted to leave the room only to be told that she was not allowed. It was no surprise that Lu Wong would arrive in between them to argue with the graverobber, nor was it a surprise that a gun was leveled at the shocked young man. It was no surprise when the police took it as a cue: as Lu and the grave robber began to struggle with the gun, Blaisdell and his officers quickly disarmed the others, and one of the officers threw a gun to the Captain, who quickly and efficiently shot the man accosting Lu.

The only surprise Lo Si felt was in realizing that the Captain had not killed the assailant.

The police were even now violently restraining the men that had held them all as hostages, while the less observant guests were trying to figure out what had happened. "Strenlich! Get backup to the exhibit for Kermit!"

Captain Blaisdell was heading towards the podium, likely to calm the crowd and take control of the situation.

The old man looked around. Peter's friends were gone. He could only hope that the pair weren't about to make the situation worse... he could not afford the distraction. He needed to go to his students. Kwai Chang Caine would need to resolve this situation.


Kwai Chang Caine followed behind his son and the police detective as they went towards a locked back entranceway. "Do you know these men?" asked the priest quietly, placing a hand on his son's shoulder.

"They're not Triad, if that's what you're asking," said Peter. "The leader's a guy named George; he worked with Tan a time or two. I could point him out in a crowd, but I never really met him."

"Too bad," said Kermit. "Would have been nice to know what this guy's willing to do."

Kwai Chang was silent at that: they knew that this George had placed explosives around the building. This man was not a simple thief— it was a question of what he was not willing to do. The man was well-enough used to violence that neither he nor his men were disturbed by the ever-present flow of malevolent energy. Kwai Chang could easily feel the power of the curse in the chi swirling around them; he could even see it in the way that all three men had their hair beginning to stand on end.

"Maybe that sophisticated jammer isn't so sophisticated," muttered Kermit as they moved closer to the source of it all.

The sense of unease, the projections of panic... the two younger men were both used to hiding such feelings beneath layers of bravado. Kwai Chang's strategy was a bit different: acceptance of the emotion, and continuing despite it. Still, his eyes turned to his son, the source of his truest fears, more often than strictly necessary.

Kwai Chang wondered if this was how Shensheng Chun's victims had felt just before he had killed them all: afraid for their families, fighting on despite their fear. This man had also been powerful and violent. He had killed many people out of loyalty to his country, and in furtherance of his own power.

It was only because he was watching Peter that he saw his son stare into the darkness, shaking his head— condensation grew around them, masking whatever or whomever Peter had seen. Sounds like from his vision rose, shouts and confusion mixing into the feelings of panic and fear. Things were falling, glass was breaking; the electricity was somehow turned into a sort of kinetic energy that sent men tumbling into men.

A scream— a woman held by a masked man.

Peter's chi blazed with yang and he burst into the room, sending a flying kick at the man, as he placed himself between the young lady and the criminals. Kermit quickly put a man in cuffs, but looked overwhelmed by the spiritual chaos that was destroying the carefully arranged exhibit.

The lightning coursed over it all— and there he was, just as Peter had described him: a blond man reaching into the tomb, about to make the situation exponentially worse.

This was what he was here to stop. If he could stop George, he and the Ancient could calm the old energy, transfigure it and end the growing curse. Kwai Chang reached forward and grabbed hold of that man's arm—

But it was too late. He could no longer help George. "You have touched the ring. You will be destroyed."

In truth, the lives of every person in this room might be forfeit. The lives of those in the building, in the entire city, might be at risk. Kwai Chang did not know how powerful the curse was, but there was power in it, energy that exceeded his own, and it was so very angry. To have reached into the tomb, to have stolen directly from the Emperor's own hand... the raw fury would have been enough to put a lesser priest on his back. Peter, his senses untrained, had covered his eyes, as if the sun shone in them.

George didn't understand it. No matter that all those within the room could see the truth of this curse with their eyes, there were none so blind as those who would not see— but then, he did not need to see in order to be affected by it. Touching the ring had put confusion and panic in those brown eyes, and as they focused on Kwai Chang, they widened.

He ran towards him, as though the priest could stop what this grave robber had started; Kwai Chang stepped aside and watched in horror as the man disappeared into the painting. What had happened— where had he gone? Surely he could not have been banished to another dimension! And yet, it felt as it had when he'd been brought to Sun Gwai's realm.

There were two choices— save the graverobber, this George— by following him into Shensheng Chun's cursed kingdom, or save the people in this place. What power had Shensheng Chun's curse visited upon George?

What would it visit upon Peter? The others did not feel it, but his son was still reeling from the curse's power.

Kwai Chang would not risk his son. He approached the grave.

Other police officers and detectives had arrived, and were arresting the men who had committed this crime, but the priest knew it would not suffice. It would not calm the old energy that had been disturbed. It was like a hurricane in the forest: once the trunks had broken, the departure of the winds would do nothing to stop the trees from falling. The ring lay on the floor, sparking with power.

"Kwai Chang Caine!" The priest turned once more, shocked to see the Ancient. "You must put it back."

"But... my life will be forfeit."

"Only if the Emperor cannot see into your heart." Kwai Chang stared in disbelief. What did his Master expect him to do? Explain to a dead body that he was not trying to steal from it? Around them, the lighting continued to flicker. "Open your heart to him, Kwai Chang Caine. Show him that your intentions toward him are pure."

Kwai Chang looked at the ring again, the sapphire stone alight with the power of the curse. He could not open his heart to his own son, how could he do so for the Emperor?

"You can do this, Kwai Chang Caine. Let your intentions be known."

His intentions... they were set, were they not? He wanted to save his son, and to do that, he would risk his own life. He would return the ring. He closed his eyes and felt the energy running around him, pulsing and surging like rip tides under the surface of a violent ocean.

"You must not fight against it. Feel the anger," came the voice of his Master. "Feel the weight of the Emperor, his ancestors and his descendants. Embrace them."

Yes. He could feel it. Anger. Fury. How dared that man take what was not his? But, he thought, that man was ignorant, and there were so many who had worked to stop him. There was yet justice in the world, there was protection for those who were gone, and for the memories they had left behind.

This was the Emperor's honor! But Kwai Chang Caine understood the honor of the line. He had risked everything for it, even his only son's life. What was a life without one's honor? The dead could not sleep soundly without it.

He promised the Emperor that he would restore his honor. Kwai Chang bent down and put his fingers around the ring, staring at the blue and the silver.

This ring did not belong to George. It belonged to Shensheng Chun, and he was going to return it. Now.

He was aware of the Ancient watching him with all of his senses as Kwai Chang turned, chi flowing in electric blue bolts around and through him. He reached into the great coffin, touched the Emperor, placed the ring back on the finger of the dead.

The energy changed, slowly but surely, from fear and pain and anger into... into relief! Still at one with it, Kwai Chang smiled and turned to see his Master, the old eyes reflecting pride.

What had he even been afraid of? He laughed as the energy dissipated.


Peter stared up. How had Lu even gotten the damned thing up there? It was small, true, but even so, the man hadn't struck Peter as an acrobat. Had he done it himself, or had the woman he'd brought done it? She'd certainly seemed like the kind of person who could climb up a wall, or even crawl through the vents if she needed to.

Now he needed to get up there. Just get up to the top of the room and grab the shadow puppet. Of course, Lu had been right: everything that was missing had been attributed to George and his militarized goons. No one was going to know what he was doing, and he could tip the museum off later. Or he could tip them off now! Maybe he should, just let them know it had been stashed up in a vent...

He was stalling. Do it or don't. Make a decision.

He felt like his skin was crawling as he stood, getting up on a box. His hands didn't shake as he opened the overhead air supply, but he stumbled backwards off of his perch as his hands closed around the old artifact, and he fell, landing on his back.

A familiar hand appeared in front of him as he lay on the ground. "Eagleton." As if the day couldn't get worse.

"I knew it," he said as he pulled Peter to his feet. "People don't change, no matter what the Captain thinks. And don't think you're going to talk your way out of this."

"I wouldn't dream of trying to pull anything on you. Look, Eagleton I know what you must think, but—"

"Shut up, Caine. Put your damned hands behind your back."

Peter shook his head in disbelief. Was this really happening?

"You gonna resist arrest, Caine? Come on. Give me an excuse."

"Fine." He let out a breath and did as he was told; Eagleton put the first cuff on, hard enough to cut off the blood flow, and wrenched his shoulder to put the other on. "Asshole," muttered Peter with a wince. "You know this is police brutality. I'm going to explain this to Blaisdell, and when he agrees with me, I hope he tears you a new one."

"Are you on the ground getting the shit beat out of you? No? Then it's not brutality. I don't know how you think you're going to explain this. Robbing the museum under our auspices? He's going to throw the book at you." Eagleton shoved Peter from behind, the latter only barely keeping his balance.

"That's not what I was doing..." Peter turned to lock eyes with the detective, ready to explain, but was startled by the malice in the other man's brown eyes.

"You've got the right to remain silent, and anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law." He put a glove on his hand and picked up the artifact, putting it into a bag. "But you just feel free to keep flapping your gums. I'd love to get a chance to testify against you for using my uniform to cover your own ass."

He shoved again; this time, Peter was ready for it. The walk to Eagleton's car— Peter couldn't help but wonder how the cop could afford the blue Beamer— was more of the same: a hand on his back, or his arm pulling him one direction, then the next without notice, a shove when the detective thought Peter wasn't paying attention.

The ride to the station in the detective's car wasn't particularly pleasant, either. Eagleton had made some definite modifications to the luxury vehicle to make the back seat pointedly uncomfortable. It felt like he was sitting on rocks as the car bumped and jerked over what seemed to be every pothole between the museum and the police station.

"Hope you had a nice ride," Eagleton said with a nasty little smirk as he pulled Peter out of the car, hands still bound behind his back. Peter said nothing, his face made of stone as the detective walked them through the double doors. "Tell the Captain I want to see him," he said to Broderick as they passed by the front desk. "And Griffin's gonna want to hear this, too."

He pulled Peter through the station, past various officers that stopped and looked at him. This was worse than the last time he'd been brought in. There hadn't been handcuffs then, hadn't been this... this outright antagonism. Of course there hadn't been, it was Kermit that had coaxed him in for an interview. He'd been a person of interest.

This time he was a suspect. In Eagleton's eyes, he'd been caught red-handed. He tried to keep his head up and his gait steady, but he knew he was in real trouble this time.

Eagleton unlocked the cuffs as he brought Peter into the interview room, but pulled his hands around and locked them in place against the table. He pushed the chair away from the table. "I'll let you cool your heels in here," said Eagleton.

Peter glared as the man left. The position was awkward; unable to sit down, but his hands were too close to the table to stand straight. Maybe if he knelt? What would he have done at the Temple?

"Master Lowry took the brands today," said the young Peter. A memory of a time long past, trickling into his head as he stared at his restraints. "I saw Master Ping Hai was caring for them."

"Yes," said Kwai Chang Caine, the edges of his yellow robes fluttering in the wind. "We will celebrate tomorrow."

"How can he celebrate, father? He's hurt. He can't enjoy himself."

"Discomfort and pain are signals from the body," came his father's voice. "But when we know the cause, and we know that the signals are not to alert us to harm, we can still enjoy ourselves."

"But... knowing that we're not in danger doesn't stop it from hurting. When I take a hit wrong, you said the pain is to remind me that I made the mistake." Peter shook his head. "The brands have to be a hundred times worse. Is there some trick?"

The priest smiled at his son, and raised a hand. "The... trick... is not to mind," he said, smacking his son lightly on the cheek.

"Easier said than done," he muttered. Not that this was anything like as painful as the brands probably were, but it was still uncomfortable and a little bit painful to remain in this stooped position.

It got more painful as he half-stood, waiting. He rolled his shoulders, tried to do some modified squats, shook out his legs as he tried to keep himself limber. A clock on the wall let him watch the minutes pass. Almost two full hours after he'd been left inside, he could hear yelling on the other side of the mirror.

A few minutes more, and Blaisdell walked inside, Eagleton stalking in after him, a look of glee on his face for a few seconds before he pushed the seat towards Peter. By the time Blaisdell looked at him, he'd schooled his expression to quiet professionalism. "Sit down," he said.

Gingerly, Peter took the seat. There was a sense of relief as his shoulders and back were finally able to relax at the same time. "You should probably get a lawyer," said the Captain.

"I know what it looks like, but I wasn't stealing it," said Peter quickly to the disappointed face. "I wasn't."

"I caught you red-handed, Caine," said Eagleton. Peter huffed. "I watched you staring at that vent for five minutes before you went to retrieve it, so don't try to pretend you didn't know."

There was something in the way Eagleton spoke that made Peter unwilling to tell the truth. "I— I was trying to figure out what I was seeing," he said defensively.

"Come on, Caine, you think anyone's gonna buy that? You'll need to be a bit more creative than that," said Eagleton. "You couldn't even see the opening from that angle. No, Caine, you knew exactly what was up there. You got up on those boxes knowing exactly what you were going to find. When did you have the time to snatch it? While the squad was dealing with the bombs?"

"I didn't grab it! I— I just..." He lapsed into silence.

The Captain sat down heavily beside him. "Peter, abetting a museum heist is still a criminal act, but we can work with it. Just tell me who put you up to this."

"Captain... Paul. I wasn't going to steal it. I was going to take some pictures, that's all. Put it somewhere safe, and—" He shook his head. "I was going to get a copy made."

"A copy?" Peter nodded cautiously, then glanced at Eagleton. "Tell me what's going on. We'll make sure things go the right way."

"I— The-the Triad wants me to kill someone."

"Who?"

"I don't know. Probably not someone important, they just-just want me to be... tied to them. But there's rules, they can't just-just force that sort of thing. But I'm... I'm in some debt, and, and..." And his hands were shackled to the table. The Captain was not being nice, he was playing good cop.

As if on cue, the bad cop came at him again. "You expect the Captain to believe that sob story? You've got some nerve. If you don't want to kill someone, you just don't."

"They'll arrange something," said Peter, eyes on Eagleton. "You don't understand, if I don't pay them off—" he shook his head and looked at Blaisdell again. "But I wasn't going to steal it, I was going to get a forgery made and give them that. There's a guy off seventh—"

"And I'm sure he'll confirm that."

"Of course he won't confirm it, he forges art!" Peter tried to stand, forgetting about the table until his hands jerked him back. Eagleton pushed him back down into the chair.

"I can already guess who put him up to this, Captain: Lu Wong. Wasn't Caine in here just yesterday, telling you what a good guy he is?"

"No!" Peter rattled his chains, but all he got was a bit of skin caught in the metal. "Lu didn't put me up to anything. I decided it on my own. If Li Sung wants something, he'll get it whether I'm helping or not—" Peter shut his mouth.

The Captain reached out, putting a hand over the cuffs. "Did they threaten you, son?"

Peter shook himself. "That's not how it works. I'm not some third party, I'm not just some shop keeper on the strip. I'm Peter Caine, son of Tan..." He wanted to put his head in his hands, but all he could do was let it droop. "Uncle Li has been talking about doing things for family lately. Something was coming. Just because I don't know what it is doesn't mean it wasn't coming."

"So you needed to pay him off," said Blaisdell. "Before he asked for an alternative payment scheme."

"Yes." Peter looked at Blaisdell plaintively. "That Tibetan shadow puppet wasn't going to leave the building. I swear it wasn't. I was going to sell him a copy. He wouldn't have known."

"Do you really expect us to believe that?" asked Eagleton. "All on your own, you grabbed this... what did you call it, a shadow puppet? And you shoved it in a vent for safekeeping? Why? Why not just make a copy, if that's what you were going to do?"

"It was noticed. It's in the newspaper as being stolen. If that didn't happen, Li Sung wouldn't believe it."

"But—"

"Eagleton. Outside."

Peter watched as the pair left the room, leaving him still cuffed to the table. That hadn't gone well. "Should have got a lawyer," he mumbled to himself as he lay his head between his arms.


Paul Blaisdell shut the door to the windowed room, watching as Caine lay his head down. He sighed. "What do you think, Kermit? Is he too close? Debts to the Triad... Uncle Li."

"Uncle Li," repeated Kermit with a shake of his head. "Of course it bothers me, Captain, but we knew we were getting someone with family connections. It's like hiring a kid from the Mafia: there's always going to be some tie."

"Cut the tie loose," said Eagleton. "We don't need a crook on our team, especially not one using us as cover for his nefarious deeds."

"Nefarious?" Paul could probably hear Kermit's eyes roll. "He's a working informant, Ed. He's given you key details on three of your cases. We've got to give him some slack."

"Slack..." Eagleton stared in disbelief. "Griffin, an informant is one thing, but you're bringing him in on security details. What's the public going to think if this gets leaked? Sir, I caught the man red-handed trying to get his loot out of the museum. We can't give him a pass!"

"You've got to admit, though, making a copy to bring to the Triad isn't a bad idea."

"Captain! Don't tell me you believe that ridiculous story of his."

Kermit sighed. "I think we'd be dealing with a hell of a lot worse if it wasn't true." Eagleton's head turned, his face confused. "That exhibit? The whole place was lit up like a transformer. You know I'm not prone to exaggeration. We've seen some crazy things out there, but this was..." Kermit frowned. How the hell did one describe something that made so little sense? Nothing he'd seen had been like this. "I don't know, Paul, but it was something else. Electricity sparking off of everything, fog without a whiff of condensation... And there's Kwai Chang Caine, cool as a cucumber, walking through it all like it's just another day at the office. He throws a guy into a wall— a guy we haven't managed to find hide nor hair of on any of the cameras as leaving that day— picks up a ring from the floor, and turns off the light show."

"The guy Caine was working with disappeared. Convenient."

The Captain sighed. "Peter's the one that brought George to our attention. We still haven't managed to ID him. It's all just a little..."

"Unbelievable. I know," said Kermit. "But we've seen things. Remember Cambodia—"

Blaisdell held up a hand. "Let's not rehash it, I remember well enough. And it's one of those things you have to experience to believe," he added with a glance at the third wheel in the room. "Let's say I believe him. What's next?"

Eagleton's mouth dropped open.

"We don't rely on Peter's contact," said Kermit. "We use our own people to make sure that it's a damned good copy, and we control the original. Peter gives that 'Tibetan shadow puppet' to his contact, and we see where it shows up."

"And what happens if they figure out he's brought them a fake?" asked Blaisdell.

"They'll kill him," said Eagleton quietly. "He's selling to the Triad, not some rich kid with more dollars than sense."

"They're related," protested Kermit. "He's not going to kill his own nephew. Besides, if we blow it off the right way, say the museum didn't verify properly? If we get a friendly prosecutor to sign off on it, keep it all hush-hush as a sting, Eagleton, you could get the head of the Triad off the streets with a simple raid."

There was a calculating expression on Eagleton's face suddenly as he turned to look at Peter Caine. "It is all upside," he said quietly.

One down, thought Kermit.

Paul tapped a finger on the desk again, then shook his head. "You know, I don't like this plan. Caine is a civilian, no matter that background of his."

"It's either that, or putting him away for his own protection," said Kermit. "I won't deny he's become something of a friend over the past few months. I'm not going to burn him, and I'm not going to leave him out to dry. And let's remember why he said he did this: to stop them from asking him to kill someone. He's got a good heart under all that grime, Captain."

The Captain leaned against the mirror, looking out at Peter.

Kermit waited. Paul Blaisdell was not a man whose decisions could be rushed, but he could be counted on to make the right decision. It was what made Kermit so loyal to the man, no matter that he'd had other commanders in his more mercenary days.

Eventually, Paul nodded. "All right. Get the prosecutor to okay it, then let Caine out of the cuffs. I want him close until we can get this done, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Captain— about my other... long-term case..."

He held up a hand. "Make your calls, Kermit," he said. "Okay, Ed. I'm all ears." Whatever else was said was lost to Kermit as he closed the door behind him.


"What exactly are we doing?" Detective Ed Eagleton looked out from the shadows in the dark park area. "There's so much filth around here. If the 101st had more manpower, we'd be able to clean it up properly."

"We're here so you can learn a lesson." Federal Agent William Jorgenson rubbed his ringless finger. "Fear can be a resource. Taken, used... My teacher doesn't want me using the arts right now, but there are things I can do without him. Things I can teach." He smiled, adjusting his black trench coat. "Is there anyone on the force you particularly dislike, Ed? We'll need to take something of theirs."

The detective looked at the other man sidewise. "I'd never hurt a fellow cop. But..." Jorgenson looked over at Eagleton questioningly. "I wouldn't mind making Peter Caine squirm."

Jorgenson laughed. "The Shaolin's son? You know how to pick them."

"Ah, shit. He's got you under his little con-artist spell, too. I swear, he's got some sort of crazy charisma—"

"No, no! He's simply... under my teacher's protection. To do this right under the old man's nose... I like it. My teacher is one of the worst sorts, and Caine... I've sent Peter Caine more than a few dark dreams... he's... quite sensitive. An easy target. Which is good for you."

Eagleton smiled. "He deserves it. Bastard sent the mayor at me for doing my job— yet somehow, my Captain's been there protecting that son of a bitch for the better part of a year." He shook his head in disgust. "He's even got Griffin mentoring him. I should be the one getting mentorship."

"I'm not good enough for you?"

Eagleton threw him an annoyed look. "Of course you are. I can't deny things worked out better for me. But it was my opportunity, not his."

"Envy's a boy's emotion, Ed," said Jorgenson with a click of his teeth. "You need better reasons to hate someone. But... watching you kick the Shaolin's son in the teeth amuses me. Here."

"What's this? A voodoo doll?"

"No. The principle might be the same, though I'm hardly an expert in their work... this was created using a little ritual, a little bit of him. It's not connected to his physical body, it's connected to his soul. And we can use it to channel what we want in or out. You're going to hold his soul in your hand, and you're going to douse it in someone else's fear." Jorgenson's eyes scanned the area as Eagleton turned the little doll over a few times, examining it. "Her."

"The working girl?"

"Don't let her see you. Get her over to the water, where it's isolated. Terrify her. Make her think she's about to be killed, then let her run."

Eagleton nodded. "When I'm done, she's going to want a new line of work."


"Your eyes are bloodshot again. Bad night?" Lu asked. Peter sat down at the table with a shrug. "Oh, I get it: you're feeling guilty."

"I guess I am," he said, and not for the reasons Lu thought, but it would explain his nightmares. "I got your... gift bag." Peter looked around uncomfortably as he pushed the package across the cafe table. He could feel people looking at him, as if he didn't have a right to sit across a table and give someone a gift bag from the museum.

Did they know? Did they know what Lu thought he was getting?

Xiaoli was shaking her head at him from inside the bakery, and he had to turn away to the street, scanning the road for any signs of the police. It had been a hell of a thing to dodge Kermit and Blake. They wanted to record this interaction as evidence, in case they could catch the big fish, but Peter was not going to put his friend in their sights if he could help it.

The man across from him was eating a sticky bun and sipping some coffee, seemingly oblivious to it all. "A gift shop bag. Did you keep the receipt in case I need to bring it back?" Peter scowled, and Lu sighed. "Stop looking at me like that. You know I'm doing this for you."

"Yeah, I get it. It's still messed up."

"Maybe... maybe you should try seeing this as a wake up call." Peter's brow descended in confusion. "Look, you're never going to stop being Tan's son, but the man is dead and buried. Visiting him at the fortune teller?"

"She's a wu."

"A wu. For heaven's sake, Peter. This isn't some kung fu movie. It's real life." Lu took a drink of his coffee. "And it's time for you to step up. The Tongs would have supported you then, and they'd support you now. You just have to reach out and grab it." Lu pushed a small gold marker across the table. "Jimmy Ma is willing to support you, straight up."

Peter looked at it, then pushed it back. "I don't want to grab it, Lu. I don't have the ambition for it."

"I know you don't," Lu sighed. "I really wish you did. You know, part of me thinks that's why Li Sung didn't kill you outright, but I just wish I didn't have to take care of you like this."

"I can take care of myself."

"Sure." Lu looked at him for a while, not saying a word, then pushed the bun into his mouth, and put a gift bag on the table between them. "Almost forgot. A present for you." Peter looked at it cautiously. "It's a cell phone."

Peter huffed and pushed it back. "I don't want it. And you know I can't afford it."

"I'm paying," said Lu, annoyed, pushing both the phone and the little gold mark back to Peter's side of the table. "You need to be able to call someone if Li Sung decides you're not doing enough for the Triad. Those kinds of decisions affect the whole community— or do you think we aren't part of the community?"

"I don't want it, Lu," replied Peter. "I don't need this kind of protection. I don't need your help!"

"Then why are you making me clear your debts?"

"I didn't ask—"

"I know you didn't. That's what's so frustrating about you! You don't even know when you need help." Lu took out a cigarette, lit it, and blew smoke in Peter's face while Peter scowled. "I don't care if you want it. You're going to keep it with you."

"Or what? You won't come by and ask me to help you with another museum heist?"

"Idiot. If you had any idea what Li Sung wanted— You keep it on you, or I'm going to have to come join you at every meal," he said. "Imagine, me having tea with the Ancient and you, talking about fucking up that drug dealer. Or at dinner with your dad, talking about smuggling people into the country. Or that coffee date with that police buddy you have—" Peter made an annoyed noise and grabbed his 'present.' "Thank you. And you might as well take Ma's token, because I'm not taking it back." Lu stood up and took the bag with his fake shadow puppet.

"I'm not calling you if I get into trouble," said Peter.

"Fine. Deal with the psychopath on your own. Don't say I didn't warn you." Lu shook his head and walked out the door. The bell rang overhead to mark his departure. Peter looked over at Xiaoli and decided he'd better make himself scarce too, before she came over to talk to him.

He just didn't want to deal with it.


A few hours later, Peter was at his father's apartment, practicing, and losing rather badly to the priest. His father raised his hand, and Peter knew he was going to be too slow. He braced himself for impact.

The expected blow didn't land.

"You are not concentrating." Peter turned, somewhat sluggishly, to look at his father's hand, positioned very precisely, less than an inch away from a position that would certainly have broken his cheekbone if Kwai Chang Caine had continued the strike that Peter had failed to dodge. The priest frowned and dropped his hands abruptly. "Peter— You are ill. We should have addressed this before we began— why did you not tell me?"

"I'm not sick," he muttered. He was just tired. Peter closed his eyes. "I'm just having trouble sleeping. Bad dreams."

"Your chi is..." Pop stared at him as though he was confused, trying to puzzle through the enigma that was his only child.

"Can we just get back to practice?"

"You are unwell," he repeated.

"Is an enemy going to stop hitting me because I'm not feeling great?"

"Is there an enemy in this room?"

"No," replied Peter sullenly. He turned and sat down, sliding his back against the wall. He'd already screwed up, and Pop wasn't going to start again. "But there could be." He took a deep breath and let it out again. "Someone could come at any time, try to kill someone around me, or hurt them, or... or worse. All because of me." He rubbed his wrists. "I have to be ready for anything."

His dad sat down next to him and took Peter's hands in his own, inspecting the bruises that seemed to have lingered. "Does being prepared not include... taking care of yourself?"

"You sound like Lo Si." Peter offered a half smile.

The elder Caine smiled back, then stood and went to a cabinet, returning with a small jar. "You were... arrested," he said, opening it and rubbing a bit of salve onto Peter's wrists. "But they did not charge you."

"Yeah." Peter shrugged as if it didn't matter. "Does everyone know?" Caine shook his head mutely and Peter let out a sigh of relief. "Last night, I dreamed they locked me up and threw away the key. It was dark, cold... a dungeon like you'd see in some picture of ancient China. They told me they'd let me out if I killed Lu. I told them where to shove it, so they left. The worst of it was somehow knowing that I was going to be there forever. Alone and forgotten."

"It is a frightening thought," replied Caine. "Do you feel alone, my son?"

"With the whole community watching me? No."

"Trapped, perhaps?"

"Yeah, maybe that." Peter looked at the herbs on his wrists and smiled, wryly. "Probably just an after effect. They did the whole good-cop-bad-cop thing. You'd think knowing what it was would stop it from affecting you, but... Paul Blaisdell was being so understanding, and Eagleton was being so... Eagleton."

"What did you do to warrant such treatment?"

"Mostly a misunderstanding," he replied, and launched into the story, this time not leaving out Lu Wong's part in it. "I'm not really sure they believed me. There really is a guy, though. I made sure it wasn't with my normal contacts..."

"I believe you," replied Caine.

Peter stared at his father in confusion. "You do?"

"You are my son. Should I not believe you? Besides, if you had had bad intentions, you would be cursed." His father smiled, but it faded quickly. "Is your debt... settled?"

"As long as he doesn't figure out I tricked him," said Peter with a tired grin. "I think I'll go home, hit the hay. Maybe I'll get some sleep."

"If you would like," he said tentatively, "you can sleep here. Perhaps you would feel less... alone?"

"I don't know," said Peter quietly. He didn't want to impose. He didn't want to look weak, either.

Caine looked at Peter's wounds again. "I would feel better if you stayed, my son."

The old fatherly guilt trip? Or, new fatherly guilt trip, in their case. Kwai Chang Caine hadn't asked anything of his son before now. He wasn't going to deny his father's wishes, was he? "I guess it would be okay. But just for tonight, dad."


A/N: question: is it better for people on this site to have two shorter chapters posted the same day, or one longer chapter like this? Let me know if it makes a difference to you.