Life fell into place. An almost sedate place.

Layla was spending a lot of time on her laptop or phone, while Steven did his own research while she tried to get the information they were hoping for. They were working seamlessly together, Steven's almost bottomless knowledge of all things Egyptian mixing well with Layla's more hands-on experience and her very thorough education as an archeologist.

Marc watched them fondly, enjoying his more passive role. Khonshu was always there, either visible or just as a general feeling for both Steven and Marc. Whenever he did show himself, Steven would start questioning him about certain artifacts, much to Layla and Marc's amusement.

Layla had more or less moved into the flat for the time being, but both Marc and her were under no illusion that she meant to stay permanently. Steven didn't comment, but Marc knew his alter wanted her to stay come around more often. All three knew that living together wouldn't work.

This, the way they were now, was perfect. There was enough distance and a lot of closeness, and separate places helped.

"Four's a crowd," she had once told Steven as they watched a documentary on pharaohs. "This between us… Marc and I… we are so much closer now. It's working."

"If you're sure…"

"Very. This is what we want. I know you want us to be happy and we are. I am very much."

Because the way they loved each other was still strong and unbroken. And it felt right.

It was always Marc who slipped into bed with his wife and who also woke up again. Steven was happily oblivious throughout the night and mornings, though he had once co-fronted throughout a shared breakfast of eggs and bacon that had him sigh.

"My morning, my breakfast," Marc muttered, grinning at Layla, who had rolled her eyes.

It was a perfectly imperfect little world for them.


It took almost a month to have a possible first lead, then find another for a vague second and third. Layla's contacts had only a few sketchy leads or they weren't willing to get too deep into black magic items without the exchange of money over information. But she was persistent and she really did know a lot of people.

One of those vague leads panned out to be quite close to them.

"The British Museum?" Marc frowned.

I can't go back there! Steven immediately argued. Neither can you. You trashed that washroom! Pretty thoroughly I have to say! I'd be arrested on sight! They have my face on their most wanted list, I'm sure!

Marc chuckled and met his alter's wide-eyed look in the mirror. "They wouldn't arrest you, Steven."

Layla looked up from her laptop, eyebrows raised, and Marc gave her a quick run-down concerning the washroom situation. A very intense, possibly lethal situation with a jackal that had ended with thousands of pounds worth of damage.

"I can see where that's a problem," she commented wryly.

Of course it's a problem!

"Aside from giving you a really good disguise? Not just a fake mustache and a cap, that is. How about I pay the museum a visit and we can decide what to do next?"

"The item isn't on display," Steven argued, fronting smoothly and without a second

of a transition phase. "At least its not on the inventory list for what they are showing of that era."

"Maybe a listing error?"

"Hardly. They're pretty much accurate to the last splinter."

Layla went to the museum's website and clicked on their online ticketing service. "I'll have a look anyway, talk to the guides and whoever might be interested in giving up some information. Then Marc can do his own stuff." She grinned at them.

Steven frowned. "Breaking and entering?"

The very same.

He sighed and shook his head. "I'll end up in jail."

"If it's any consolation, Marc's good at what he does."

Steven scowled. "Unless it's some Egyptian monster trying to eat us."

She walked over to him and gave the man a light hug. "It's a simply recon mission."

Famous last words, Marc joked.

"And you have the suit," Layla added cheekily.

"Cheers," Steven just muttered.


Steven was along for the ride as Marc broke into the museum – without triggering a single alarm!

You're good, he mumbled.

"Bonus of the suit," was the equally low reply. "And some skill."

Yet you had to walk out of the washrooms, staring full frontal at the cameras, and get me fired!?

He grimaced under the mask. "I was in a bad place back then. You fighting me wasn't helping."

Steven huffed. And whose fault was that?

Marc cracked another lock and slipped into the depths of the basement where all the items not on display were stored. "Yours," he teased.

Steven rolled his eyes. So you got me fired because you scared the living daylights out of me and I tried to make sense of it all? Really petty.

"Didn't think they'd fire you."

You absolutely trashed the washroom! There wasn't a sink intact or a mirror uncracked! The water damage alone was more than I make in a year!

"Did they sue you?"

No. Gave me a glossy little brochure on mental health and kicked me out.

Steven had never wondered why the museum hadn't sued him for all those damages, and he wouldn't start now, but it had been the end of his gift shop career, especially since his life had been completely turned upside down not much later.

He sat back with a muttered complaint about framing him for things he hadn't done, though it had been his face on camera. None of it had been serious and wouldn't ever be again.

This is amazing! he exclaimed as Marc made his way through the basement. So many things made him want to stop and study them closely. Not all was wrapped and boxed up.

"We're not window shopping, Steven," Marc said under his breath. "This is a mission."

Right. Right. Awesome things here. Really awesome. And I can see that eyeroll!

Marc laughed fondly.


They struck out on finding a possible Unholy. The item was as mundane as they came, not a lick of magic around it. It would have been too good to be true if the vague reference had panned out, that a sought after, spelled item was truly in their own back yard.

Marc had surrendered control to Khonshu, who had used his avatar to chant a soft, brief spell, repeating the words several times.

Nothing had happened.

Can we be sure? Steven asked tentatively, watching from a distance.

"Yes," Khonshu rumbled, sounding disappointed and displeased.

Maybe it's really locked down tight and it needs someone specific to wear it? Touch it? Maybe there's an on-switch?

The last was said with some humor sprinkled in. Marc suppressed a grin.

The skull turned to stare at his Knight. "All magic, no matter of its origin, has a baseline. It can be detected with the right means. The knife appeared normal because we didn't know. The Unholy curse woke when the blade touched an avatar, but the sinister magic was always there."

"Call it 'stabbed' and I'm on board with that description," Marc groused.

Oh. That sounds about right. So… nothing here.

"Nothing here." Marc placed the necklace back into its box.

It was a true masterpiece and Steven had been struck by how well-preserved it was. It was a shame it wasn't on display, but there were so many items down here that should be out there for the public to see, too.

There is so much down here! Such wonderful things! I haven't even heard of some of the artifacts they keep down here! Steven gushed. It's like a treasure trove!

"We're not opening boxes and look at stuff," Marc decided.

Khonshu was standing between the tall shelves, bony sockets running over the labels or studying stone statues and sarcophagi stored on the bottom. He wasn't urging his Knight on to get going. He was almost browsing the things he must have seen when they had just been created.

I know, I know. It's just so… I couldn't have imagined what the basement of this place looked like in my wildest dreams!

The Moon Knight started toward the exit. "Sorry," he said softly.

No, no, it's quite alright! This is marvelous to see and I'm actually quite releaved there's nothing darkly magical down here.

"There just might," Khonshu said as Marc passed him where he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "You never know."

"Don't," Marc muttered, wondering whether Khonshu was just flat out joking or absolutely serious. Khonshu wryly cracking jokes was rather new. And a little disturbing.

He has a point…

"No. Absolutely not! I'm not going back in there to open every single box and test the items for magic!" he snapped. "We're also not hunting for scraps of magical residue!"

That would truly take ages. And there are more promising leads on the list Layla compiled.

"Not all old spellwork is dangerous," Khonshu agreed. "There is a lot of benign magic. Protective, helpful, healing. We don't hunt for that."

Exactly! Steven agreed excitedly. Magic, or heka, was believed to be one of the forces used by the creator of the world. It was used daily by priests, though not all was probably even close to what real magic was like.

Khonshu walked a little ahead of them. "Some had an affinity."

Like the scarab locator device, Steven realized. Someone must have used magic to make it into some kind of compass locator thingy to find Ammit's tomb. It wasn't bad magic, just ill-used.

Khonshu inclined his head, like a teacher who made a student realize something important.

And you couldn't just do some kind of homing beacon magicky stuff to find the beetle. You had to really look for it.

Marc sighed. "Yeah. Damn hard to track down and even harder to acquire."

Steven grimaced. I was there.

"Only for the best parts," Marc teased, grinning.

Steven harrumphed. Khonshu's quiet amusement washed over them.

So there might be a lot of residue, the alter said after a moment of silent thinking.

"Benign residue. The dark magic is… different." Khonshu shot him a pointed look.

Too bad you can't just… uhm… sense it.

"We do. All the time. The energy around us is everything."

Marc frowned behind the mask. "So you're… blind to magic because you're always aware of it."

"Well deduced, Marc."

"Oh, don't make it sound like I just learned a new trick."

Steven snickered. But it makes sense, he threw in. It would be overwhelming for an entity who is a magic user and consists of energy to always see, hear or feel that magic. For example, we humans can see, but we need aid to see far into the distance. We use binoculars, telescopes and the like. Or microscopes for very small things. And our mind blocks out stuff, too. Like our nose which...

"I get it, I get it," Marc interrupted him. "The gist of things is: it'll take a while to find stuff containing the kind of magic we're looking for."

"Yes."

He had by now slipped up the dark stairs, heading for the roof they had used as an access point.

"Would have too easy otherwise."

Khonshu was sitting on the ledge, watching the night sky where the moon was almost full. His Knight stopped next to him, Marc's eyes flitting from the lunar body to the silent streets below, then back to the god next to him.

Khonshu just tilted his head, his presence everywhere for Marc to feel. It was still early on in the night and he could tell Khonshu was itching to go hunting for vengeance. He wasn't as pushy anymore, more subtle, and it was easy to tell when he truly wanted justice to be served to a particular person.

"Let's see what the streets have for us," Moon Knight murmured as he swung over the edge of the building.

"I have a few places in mind," Khonshu purred.

Steven sank back into the mind, slipping into semi-awareness. Not asleep, but also not co-fronting. He simply gave Moon Knight room unless he was needed.


It was almost two months after the summoning that Steven stepped off the bus and his eyes fell on a familiar looking figure. He froze in shock and was pushed by the guy behind him, who hadn't expected someone to just suddenly stop. He stumbled onto the sidewalk, apologizing profusely, then hurriedly got out of the way of the next bus.

The woman was gone.

Steven scanned the busy street, but there was no sign of her. As he turned the corner toward his home, she was there again.

Just standing there, ignored by everyone around her, people giving her a wide berth without actually being aware of it. She was dressed in jeans, a blouse and a smart looking blazer, her attire casual and still businesslike.

"Isis," he whispered.