Chapter Five: Magic's Call

On the Friday evening of their second week in their deathtrap of an apartment, Alanna's patience reached its limit. The faucets squeaked, the plumbing creaked, the oven had blown up on them, and right as she'd been about to take an evening shower, the water had started to run brown again. She missed her uncle and their entire extended family – and she was sick of crying herself to sleep every night. She didn't care what Lance said anymore; he never should've done that stupid ritual in the first place and this was all his fault!

"How do we break it?" Alanna demanded, propping her hands on hips. "This is a disaster, Lancelot; we can't live here!"

"You think I like this any better, sis?" Lance countered, though his tone was tired, not defensive.

"I don't care what you like, I just want to go home!"

Sapphire came up. "Home was Derbyshire, Alanna."

"No! Home is where Uncle Greg and Dean live!"

"They don't even remember we exist."

Violet flashed. "Break the ritual and they'll remember."

He slumped, turning away. "It's not that simple, Alanna. I can't say the release phrase and end it just like that."

"I don't care about your honor, Lancelot," Alanna hissed, incensed. "I care about getting them back."

"I miss them, too."

"No, you don't," the redhead accused. "If you did, you never would've done it in the first place!" Hurt shone, but she didn't care. Instead, she started for the door. "You know what? I'm getting them back, with or without your help, Lancelot!"

"Sis, don't!"

She whirled, slapping him across the face so hard she accidently drew blood. Then she snapped back around and threw the locks open to stalk out. Purely out of habit, she turned to lock the door behind her.

"Well, hello there," a greasy voice purred.

Red hair flew as she turned, just in time to catch sight of a grungy blond leering as he grabbed her by the arm. "Lemme go!"

"Oh, I will," the man sneered, each word releasing a fresh wave of pungent breath. "When I feel like it, pretty one." Fear surged and her power sparked, throwing him off. He was thrust backwards, but only by a step or two. "You'll pay for that, you little hussy!" he growled, starting forward once more.

Terror overrode her anger, but instead of fleeing back into the apartment, she ran for the stairwell, instinct seeking out her true safe zone. She never saw her brother hit the rough man from the side, the force of the blow sending the greasy, unkempt man sprawling into the nearby wall. She never saw the blond rise, sneering disdain or the fight that followed, rapidly escalating from a one-on-one fistfight into a three-on-one rout.

He woke all at once, as if someone had yelled in his ear; adrenaline surged through him, obliterating any trace of drowsiness. Grumbling to himself, he sat up, night-adjusted eyes scanning his surroundings automatically. When he closed his eyes again and listened, there was nothing. No screams or anything else that might've woken him up. With a huff, he flopped back down, curling under his covers. No way was he getting up; he had work in the morning – and besides, he still had to figure out his response to the next logical question: when was the wedding going to be?

Despite the fact that he'd given Marina a ring, there was something inside him that just…didn't want a date. Not yet, not until he could figure out what was wrong. Setting the question aside, Greg Parker closed his eyes and steadied out his breathing, working to drain the adrenaline from his system. It was the middle of the night, for crying out loud; he wasn't going anywhere. It might take a few minutes to get the rush to ease, but then he could go back to sleep; after that night-long hot call that had stretched well into the day, he had no desire to go running around after any phantoms.

Trouble was, something inside of him was having absolutely no part of staying in bed; the more he sought to calm himself, the more adrenaline poured into his veins until he finally shot out from under the covers with an involuntary cry, muscles quivering and his entire body demanding movement. Parker closed his eyes, panting and straining to regain his mental footing, but that just brought a fresh surge of adrenaline crashing down. Blast it; his magic was going haywire again and he had no idea why.

With a groan, Greg pushed himself to his feet. Maybe he could call in and find out if anything was up at the barn. Had to be there, after all; nothing else would set his magic off like this, not with Dean safe in his bedroom and Marina presumably just as secure in her apartment. Trudging over to his phone, Parker checked for any calls. Nothing, but he hadn't thought there would be. If they'd called, the shriek would've woken him up. So why was his magic going nuts like this?

Rather than call, he texted the dispatcher on duty, frowning at the swift response. Nothing out of the ordinary; neither Team One nor Team Four had even had to deploy as of yet. He texted thanks and set the phone back down. He didn't understand – there was nothing wrong and yet his magic hummed within his veins, insistent that he act. But what was he supposed to do? Where was the threat? No one he knew was in trouble; all his loved one were safe, either at home in their beds or on duty at the barn. Rubbing at what hair he had left, Greg huffed annoyance. He was tired, he didn't want to go running around on a wild goose chase.

Power tugged inside his heart and the stocky man found himself moving to his dresser, changing rapidly from his nightwear into flannel-lined jeans, a knit-pullover, and socks before he left his bedroom to locate a sturdy pair of comfortable boots. Even in the darkness of the apartment, his path was sure, every movement confident as he laced up the boots and collected a warm jacket. Stepping outside the apartment, Greg locked up and turned to jog towards the stairs, unable to fight against the plea that seemed to permeate every fiber of his soul. I'm coming, I promise. But who was he promising and why did he need to come for them?

Once on the ground floor of his apartment complex, Greg started to head towards the parking garage to get his SUV, but found himself turning instead towards the door that led right out onto the street. He tried to stop, tried to regain control of what was going on, but the more he fought, the quicker his strides became, as though his magic was overriding his free will again. Internally, he snarled a demand at the scarlet power thrumming through his body; why was it controlling him again?

Just like that, the overwhelming pressure evaporated, leaving Greg bent over and panting in exertion as he surveyed his surroundings. A street corner, just a block away from his complex. Had he won or was it just that his magic had gotten him to wherever it wanted him to be? Even as the thought crossed his mind, he felt the plea tug at him once more, crying out in a strange, yet familiar fashion. His inner gryphon keened and he felt a yearning twist his insides. Blood calling to blood, though how he knew that, he had not the faintest idea.

He could turn back, he should turn back, but… Greg closed his eyes, fists clenching as his whole being cried out, begging for him to keep going. To put right what had been put wrong and make sure it never happened again. For close to two weeks, he'd had the undeniable sense that his world was off, that he'd lost something precious and irreplaceable. Even if it was the middle of the night, he could solve the mystery right here and right now. For an instant, the sounds around him seemed to fade and he finally heard his magic's whisper. Not clearly enough to grasp the whole situation, but in between one pant and the next, conviction lodged in his chest. If he didn't solve this tonight, he would never get another chance.

Hazel opened again, dappled with his native scarlet. Impulse tugged him forwards and he let it, following that faint plea in his heart. He would not back down, he would not give up, not this time. A part of his mind objected, pointing out what had happened the last time he'd been lured to an unknown location by his own magic, but something about the plea was just so…different. Diametrically opposed to Morgana's cruel, hateful magic. He trusted it, even if he couldn't explain why, even to himself.

His magic guided him as surely as if he was tracking a member of his team. Somehow, he couldn't deny they were his team and always would be, not with his magic surging through his blood. The night surrounded him, streetlights illuminating his path as he jogged, unwilling to rush headlong into danger. His cop instincts murmured that he should go back for his SUV, if only so he would be armed, but his inner gryphon maintained that weapons were unnecessary. For the moment, at least. Besides, he was almost there.

Greg blinked at that sudden thought and came to a halt, scanning his surroundings intently. Trees rustled and even in the deep darkness, he recognized where he was. It was a small park, well within walking distance of his apartment. Mostly meant for families, but the officer knew his son had explored the park, curious about anything Toronto, no matter how insignificant. A faint whisper insisted that Dean hadn't been alone when he'd gone exploring, but Greg was mystified. Clark Lane had lived in Toronto all his life; he wasn't likely to be impressed by some tiny, rinky-dink park in the middle of a labyrinth of streets, stores, and apartment complexes. So who would've gone with Dean?

Glancing down, Greg pushed down on his watch's Indiglo button, eyeing the numbers that glowed teal-blue in the darkness. Well after eleven o'clock; his rational mind sneered. He should be home, safe in bed, catching up on the sleep he'd lost, and dreaming of life with his fiancé. Besides, he had a bad history with being lured to dark, lonely parks in the middle of the night. He didn't need to land in Morgana's clutches again, thank you.

Inside his chest, his heart wrenched with renewed grief, crying out for what was missing, what had been cruelly taken from him, but what had he lost? He had his son, he had his team, he had Marina. Who else was there? Closing his eyes, he listened, seeking to pin down the elusive tug in his soul, but the more his rational mind took control, the less he could grasp the magic's whisper. So he heard nothing but the night, coupled with the rustling of tree leaves and the constant background sounds of the city.

Scowling, Greg checked the zipper on his coat, making sure it was all the way up. Enough of this wild goose chase, he was going home and he would figure out what was going on at a more decent hour. Turning on his heel, he stalked towards the same entrance he'd come in through. Then he paused as one last murmur curled through his soul. Without thinking, he turned his head and sensitive hearing caught a tiny sniffle. Human, not animal. Wary caution flared, but… The sound tugged at him; it wasn't malicious, no, someone was crying. Sobbing as if the world had come crashing down with no hope of getting it back. Grief like that…it wasn't a threat – well, maybe a con-artist threat, but not physical.

With a quick nod to himself, Greg followed the sound, though he kept his stance ready for anything and took care to remain noiseless. No need to blunder in, possibly frightening whoever he was tracking. Besides, if he was wrong, he needed to keep the advantage of stealth as long as possible. Ahead of him, the sniffles grew louder, joined with a muted sob or two. It took another minute of walking to reach the source of the crying, but with every fresh wail, his heart twisted, fresh anguish slicing through his soul. He didn't understand; why was he reacting so fiercely to a stranger's grief? Why did the very thought feel like a betrayal of someone he loved?

She was sitting on a park bench, right under a street light. A good, strong one that illuminated not only the bench, but the area around it for almost a meter in every direction. Good girl; harder to take someone unawares in a well-lit area, even at night. As Parker approached, he cataloged her out of habit. Teenager, good coat, nice jeans, a pair of boots instead of sneakers…funny, she wore the same brand as he did. Getting closer to her sixteenth birthday by the day – why was he so sure of that? Long red hair, flowing down to her shoulders, though it looked like she'd left home without styling it – unusual, she always had her hair in that half-wild, half-tame look she'd perfected… How on Earth did he know that? Eye color unknown, not with the way she was curled up on the bench with her face hidden by her hands and knees. Ignoring the little voice at the back of his head helpfully offering up a likely shade, Greg shifted his stance to make noise as he walked.

Her head whipped up and around as soon as leaves crunched underfoot, staring up at him with wide, tear-stained violet eyes. Disbelief and hope so impossible it was painful. Her lips moved, forming words, though he could only hear the second. His name? As he reached the teenager, he crouched down to talk face-to-face. "Hi there."

The redhead's expression crumpled, but she gamely replied, "Hi."

"Kinda late to be out all by yourself, isn't it?"

Tentative, she nodded.

Deliberate, he paused, studying her again. "I'm sure your parents are already worried about you, sweetheart." Sweetheart? Getting a little personal there, aren't you, Parker? he thought wryly to himself.

She shook her head, tears budding. One hand fiddled with the hem of her coat and old grief rang. "They're dead."

Greg cringed at his inadvertent faux pas. "Sorry to hear that."

Red hair frothed as she looked down, sniffling anew.

"Did you run away from home?" Blunt, blunter than he'd intended.

Again she shook her head. "Can't," she whispered.

"Can't what, sweetie?"

Fresh tears ran down her cheeks. "Can't go home."

Gentle, he coaxed, "Could you tell me why not?"

Curling in on herself, the girl shifted back towards the bench, trying to shut him out of her grief. The renewed sobs sent daggers through his heart and he fought the urge to pull her into his arms. She wasn't his daughter, wasn't related to him at all; he had no right to comfort her. Yet his soul keened and he found himself reaching out anyway, resting a hand on her shoulder. Violet snapped back, a single droplet flying as she stared at him, torn by grief he couldn't comprehend.

"You can't stay out here forever," he chided. "How's this sound; you tell me your name and we'll get out of here, get you all warmed up, and then we'll figure out how to get you home. Does that sound good, sweetheart?"

Her eyes widened for an instant, right before her face fell, utterly crushed, though by what, he had no idea. Drawing breath, she focused on him, longing and heartfelt plea lacing every word. "It's me, Uncle Greg. It's Alanna."

Uncle? Shock engulfed him, even as his magic fairly sang with triumph. Blood calling to blood, overriding whatever held his memory of her prisoner. Even through the confusion, he grabbed her, pulling her close and cradling her as she wept into his coat, half in sorrow and half in relief. It felt right, as though he'd been missing a piece of himself without her. He still didn't understand, but he knew he'd never let her go again. And maybe, with her help, he could solve the mystery of why he didn't know her when he did.

"All right, sweetheart, let's go," he murmured. "Let's get you home and then I can call my fiancé and we'll figure things out from there."

The sobs cut off, her tear-stained face rising with horrified incredulity writ large. "Your fiancé? Marina?"

Surprised, he nodded.

Her face crumpled all over again and to his shock, she yanked herself out of his grasp, fresh tears falling. "Marina? You're engaged to her?" How could you?

The frown was automatic; this girl – Alanna – she didn't even know Marina, how dare she take offense to the love of his life?

She read his expression, despair joining the grief. "You know what, Uncle Greg? Just forget it." Scooting sideways, she scrambled off the bench, lifting her chin as he rose to a standing position. "Just go back to your apartment and your son and your team and your fiancé. We've made it this long, we'll be just fine."

"Alanna," he protested, everything inside him objecting loudly to letting her go again.

"No," she hissed, outrage ringing. "You came back, but you came back for her, not us."

Came back…? Chills ran up his spine and instinct forced out words his conscious mind didn't understand. "You're wrong, I came back for you and Lance, too. I would never ever leave you behind."

"But you did! You left without telling us anything," Alanna cried. "You made us think you were drinking, that you'd abandoned us without a second thought!"

"I had to; I couldn't let Castor Troy find out about either of you." Pure instinct and he knew better than to let anything else have control; if he did, he was going to lose her.

"Got a funny way of showing it," Alanna spat. "Every time we go out, it's Marina this and Marina that and don't tell me about it now, wait till Marina can help us out. Well, that's great, as long as your last name is Parker! 'Cause if it's Calvin, well, so sorry, but you're gonna get left behind again and nobody will care!"

"I care."

Drawing back, she snorted. "If you cared so much, why'd you let her do it, huh? Why'd you let her push us out of your life? We can't even go to the museum with you anymore without her taking over and leaving us behind!"

He froze, his mind's eye bringing up the picture from his, Dean's, and Marina's trip to the museum. Two figures that should've been there, but hadn't been anywhere in sight.

Defiance shone in the girl's eyes at his mute stare. "Just go!" she screamed. "You never loved us anyway!"

With that, she fled, but not before he saw the utter betrayal on her face and knew, with everything in him, that he was the cause. And worse, that he'd chosen one path over the other, thus forever parting ways with those he'd loved long before he'd ever met Marina.

What have I done?