Episode 14: Invasive Species – Or, Utilizing a Type of Echolocation

Rory climbed out of the closet with Narma and Carmen as the police checked the house over. Her heart was beating about a million miles a minute, relieved that the cops hadn't spent any more time than they had on the girls that had been locked in the closet for the duration of the attack. She heard Mr. Rodriguez murmur about having thought he's had more girls in the closet.

Whoops. Still, he seemed to brush it off given everything that had happened.

"I'm so glad you're alright, Carmen." Rory peered over to see Carmen and her father embracing, both of the two looking worse for wear even though Carmen's dress had been saved by her transformations. The older man patted his large hands on her back. "This is a nightmare."

Carmen pulled back from the hug, and Rory could still hear them talking in hushed voices. It almost felt like she shouldn't be listening. This was between them.

"Are you okay?" Carmen asked. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"I'll be fine," Mr. Rodriguez grumbled, patting her shoulder.

Carmen whispered. "What about everybody else? Are they going to be okay?"

He hesitated. "They'll do everything they can."

Rory watched the paramedics ferry in and out of the house, praying for the people who were leaving on stretchers.


Mallory could hear the agitated chattering of police from under the bed. They would have to leave sometime, but it seemed for now she would have to batten down for a while longer. She shifted, settling more comfortably on her back.

She turned her head, attention brought back to her companion in the cramped space. Gwen stared back at her, and she felt her face flush. "Hey," she said.

"Hey," Gwen murmured. Her voice seemed loud in the tiny confines. 'It was weird to Mallory to realize this was the first time she'd spoken to her out of uniform that night. The transition between the two states was always jarring, but right at that moment, it seemed like two different worlds.

"How's your leg?" Gwen prompted after a moment. "You seemed to be walking a little funny before."

Oh, yeah. The adrenaline of running (read: hobbling) from the police had momentarily distracted her from the ache in her ankle. "Yeah," she hissed. "I think I might have twisted it while I was traipsing around those stairs. Stupid. I just need to wrap it, though."

Gwen's eyes flicked down. "Did you tear your stitches?"

Mallory froze as she realized Gwen's hand had come to her side, as if to check. Normally, it would have been a matter of just her shirt, but just then she was wearing the dress and there was no seam. Still, Gwen's touch on her side left a tingling sensation over the brushed but covered skin. Get a grip. She swallowed. "No," she said. They were still tender, but she knew they would be hurting a lot more if she had actually managed to rip them open. "They're fine." She paused, and she needed a distraction from the sound of their breathing. "You guys killed it. You did really well out there."

Gwen glanced down, "Mm, I mostly stayed out of the way."

Mallory scoffed. Um, bullshit. "Yeah right. That maneuver with the chandelier? Flawless. Way more people would have gotten hurt if you hadn't intervened."

Gwen snorted softly, and dust wisped around them. "If you say so."

It was silent in the room, and they listened to the people walking around in the other room. Even so, Mallory wasn't even going to try and deny the way Gwen's presence anchored her attention. Even in just the light filtering under the bed, she kept catching on the little details of her features. The way her nose was slightly crooked, the way the addition of mascara made her lashes look even longer, which, how? Fucking witchcraft. Even after a battle, she looked impeccable, the way the fray had loosened her hair from its bun only making it look more artfully messy. And the dress didn't hurt a damn thing.

Her gaze rose, and the heat in her face only increased when she noticed Gwen staring back. She didn't look away again, though. She cleared her throat. "You did look—you do look. Really nice tonight."

"Thanks," Gwen murmured.

Mallory was kind of glad she didn't immediately return the compliment out of obligation. She found platitudes kind of annoying in practice, and Gwen was better than that anyways.

Jesus. She actually really liked her, didn't she?

Mallory kept looking at her for a long moment, before taking a deep breath. "Do you want to go out sometime?"

Gwen's eyes widened.

Mallory jumped as something fuzzy touched her arm.

"Soldiers," Celene hissed, furry head ducked under the side of the bed behind her. "The coast is clear. It's safe to come out now."

"Thank goodness," Sylvia's muffled monotone sounded from the bedroom closet as she shoved it open, covered in goo (jeez, she'd totally forgotten she was in there!) She droned, "Any longer and these two were going to traumatize me. Thank you, cat."

Mallory had never gotten out from under a bed so quickly in her life.

They moved to the other room to regroup. Gwen didn't answer her question explicitly, but she also didn't stray far from her side, so she thought she might have not humiliated herself too bad.

They had a lot to talk about, though.

"This is bad," Rory murmured as they circled up. "They've never attacked us personally before. Carmen, I'm sorry."

"Nothing we can do now," Carmen rubbed her arm. "We just have to deal with it."

"It confirms a theory that we've had for a while." Mallory crossed her arms, not any more pleased about this than any of the rest of them. "It's safe to say they're tracking us. The fact that this guy was able to pinpoint an address is scary; I can only imagine it's because we were all here. All of us." Her other teammates looked either surprised or uneased, some both. "Even if these people don't know exactly who we are, they're tracking us better together."

"When were you going to share this theory?" Narma narrowed her eyes.

Mallory shrugged. "I wasn't trying to keep it from you. I just wasn't totally sure about it. The first place these things showed up was a ten-minute run for you guys, right?"

Reluctantly, Narma's shoulders relaxed. "Mm. Guess you're right."

Rory only looked more determined, though. "If this thing is getting good enough to find our houses, guys, we need to be extra careful. The last thing any of us needs is for one of us to get caught alone again."

They disbursed throughout the room, borrowing some extra clothes so they could help clean up the pearlescent muck coating every surface. They had a lot to think about.

"...your sister was an absolute savage, by the way," Mallory mentioned as she and Gwen scrubbed from a bucket. She turned to Sylvia, who was pretending she wasn't listening. She pointed. "You're scary."

Sylvia lifted her chin. "Thanks."


The most recent tracking effort came up with a residential address.

It couldn't have been more perfect if Erin had written it herself. She had names, she had faces, but knowing exactly where to look had been a more delicate prospect.

It wasn't needed. Just as she had originally intended, her creation did the work for her.

She knew where to look.

She needed an excuse to be there. It seemed juvenile, but she couldn't just show up and expect them to let her in.

Of course, the electrical grid in the city had been especially fickle recently, hadn't it?


Being homed at the Institute, Erin had easy access to any number of sewing machines. All it had taken was to leave a patch running on manual at the embroidery machine and a stolen janitor's uniform, and she had everything she needed.

She tied her hair back but didn't work to otherwise mask herself. She was average looking enough; anyone on the street wouldn't look twice. And it wasn't as though she were particularly known.

She approached the house with her work bag, the janitor's uniform large on her frame but not too much to be believable. She could see crews moving in and out of the backyard, though the entryway had also taken obvious damage by the way it was splintered on all edges, the door held almost comedically poor in place. The mailbox said Rodriguez.

Climbing the stoop, she knocked.

After a long moment, a harried looking man in a full suit came to the door. The handkerchief in his pocket was rumpled from obvious use. "Yes," he said shortly, "how can I help you?"

Erin cleared her throat. "Hello, sir. I'm sorry to hear about the...events you had to endure recently." It was only partially true; her fingers tingled with anticipation at being so close. "I won't take up much of your time, and I do apologize for the short notice. I've been sent by the county to check for any damage to your electrical circuit. Have you experienced any outages or flickering lights since the...incident?"

The man looked her over for only a moment before sighing and gesturing her in. "You might have called ahead. Come in."

She cleared her throat, gaze moving through the demolished room as she entered. She had never actually seen her Specimen's power at work before. It really was incredible; the advancements 1000 years brought were amazing. If she had access to the resources—! "Yes," she shook her head, reminding herself why she was here. "I do apologize. Short notice, you understand."

The man grunted. He took a breath. "Well, I haven't noticed anything yet."

She brought out the tool. "That's a good sign. This shouldn't take long. I just need to test your outlets to see if any of them are giving off excess electrical voltage. That will tell us if work needs doing, or if your circuit is still connected with the grid safely." She eyed him over her glasses.

"Be quick about it, please," the man sighed. "I have several other appointments today, and they called ahead."

"Of course."

It wasn't actually a voltage reader, of course. She had used the same tracking system that her Specimens used to alter an EMP reader, though on a much more refined scale given that she had an approximate location.

Mr. Rodriguez walked behind her as she worked, which wasn't ideal, but she could work around it.

She had worked through most of the house without any spikes when they came to a plush-looking bedroom. It was a nice room: there were roller skates by the desk, and a walk-in closet with a vanity. On a cork board, her heart jumped when she saw pictures of the same girl from the floral gown picture, most of them posting with the man who was tailing her. "Your daughter?" She asked on impulse before she even though about whether she should, which she decidedly shouldn't. It wasn't useful to know more about them on a personal level. She couldn't afford to care. Who knew what she might have to do?

"Yes," he said, sullen.

"I hope she wasn't...?"

"No," he crossed his arms, shutting her down. "She's fine."

"That's good." Best to end that line of questioning there. She didn't want to know this girl. She only wanted to know what she knew.

There was no indication of an increased energy footprint, which was disappointing. If the Treasure Box would have been anywhere in the house, she would have expected it to be there. That was one possibility off the table.

And she would have thought that it had been a wasted trip, except that then she spied the post-it note on the cork board.

...slowly, she packed up her bag. "Mr. Rodriguez, I believe I've seen enough. I appreciate your time."

And then she left.


It had been a weird couple of days.

After helping Carmen clean up her house after the monster had gone absolutely ham on it, Rory got home to an email from Brenda saying she was back in the city and was just about ready to open shop again. It was less notice than she would have liked, and she didn't especially relish the idea of coming in for a shift after a night of dancing and monster battles, but she figured it would give her something to do while Narma was at her internship and Gwen, Sylvia, and Mallory were busy pouring efforts into finding out who was trying to track them down. Plus, Carmen was busy trying to tape together her house.

So, here she was.

At Clarke's Convenience.

Cashiering.

She sighed, leaning on the counter. It was kind of weird. She hadn't been here since the pithos were attacking, when Brenda decided it was too dangerous in the city for her tastes and she needed a break. Brenda could have picked a more ideal time to return, though, seeing as things were as bad as they always were.

The woman had just shaken her head when Rory told her the state of things. "Well, bad news is I can't exactly afford to stay away any longer. So, do you think you could shelve these chips for me?"

Rory eyed the exit. She could see the faint orange stripe of Celene's fur at the edge of the doorway where she had insisted on coming with her. Man, was she ever going to stop being mad? She thought after all the hubbub the previous day they might have sort of made up a little, but girl didn't even trust her to go to work by herself.

The tail flicked idly through the glass.

Rory pulled out her phone.

Man, have you guys found anything yet? I'm dying here.

Mallory.

Ah, the woes of retail service. I do not envy you.

But no. I can tell you that the signal came from the north

side of the city, but that doesn't tell us much.

With all the power surges happening, it's hard

to say where they might be going to.

But we'll keep looking.

And the people who got carted out yesterday?

...

Still in critical condition.

I'll keep pestering the nursing staff to give me details.

or, I might ask Carmen to do it. They seem to like her.

Let me know.

She blew out a breath, rustling the magazines in the stand in front of her. Her team was smart; they had figured out the pithos last time and they could figure out this. She just had to be patient.

The bell rung above the door, and she looked up to see who had entered. There were two guys there, muscular, chatting with each other. Something about the guys seemed vaguely familiar, but she had run into nearly everyone in this city at one point or another. She slumped, taking another look at the time. Glancing back up for a second to see if they were still looking, she froze as she caught a glimpse of the guy's tattoo as he turned the corner.

A shark.

She was stricken for a moment. No—no way. It couldn't be, right?

She ducked down as they turned down the next aisle. Her heart pounded. They...there was no way they would recognize her, right? It wasn't something she normally had to worry about. She swallowed, clutching the edge of the glass counter with whitened knuckles. She was always disguised by her transformation, that filter masking her face.

But...they had run into her multiple times. There were other things, things that guys who lived in high-risk situations might pay attention to. Her voice, the shape of her silhouette. Anything they might be able to use to eliminate her being a problem again.

Question was, how much of that had they picked up on?

They meandered through the shop as she strained her ears to hear what they were muttering about. Her paranoid mind was already running a mile a minute, they know it's me, I'm gonna get shot at the register and I won't be able to stop it in time—

At the edge of her vision, she could see Celene standing now outside the door, sensing her distress.

But the guys continued to murmur to themselves, not in any hurry to come back up to the counter. In the overly quiet atmosphere of the convenience store, with Katy Perry playing in the background, Rory was finally able to pick up bits and pieces of their conversation as they neared the front of the aisles—

"Yeah, man, he obviously let that bitch get away. Big guy like him? Shit, it shouldn't have even been a contest."

Rory's whirling mind stuttered. Were—they talking about what had happened on the roof top the last time she had run into them? That had been forever ago.

But if that was the case, that meant that they were talking about Tyrell.

"Yeah, Omar saw him strolling out of the fucking station like he owned the place the other day. I can't believe that shit. How stupid you gotta be?"

Rory's blood went cold.

"—teach that little snitch not to mess with the roots—"

"Yeah, little bitch doesn't even know it's coming. When he shows up at the spot tonight, it's gonna be the last fucking step he ever takes. Bet he's not so tough without some glittery freak fighting for him."

"That boy had better come strapped."

She didn't know if it was pure concentration or the rush of adrenaline in her ears that let her hear the conversation with such clarity all the sudden. But—she couldn't be hearing right, right? Tyrell had been so paranoid, so careful about talking to her the last he had seen of her. No way he would have gotten caught walking out in broad daylight.

The way they were talking though—it only could have been him. Her heart pounded. Were they...were they going to kill him? They definitely sounded mad enough, nasty enough. and although she wasn't super up to date with the lingo that they used, she couldn't imagine it could have been anything else.

Her fingers shook. Where, when? She didn't know where they were talking about, where they were planning to meet up that they were going to be waiting for him at. She needed more information. There was nothing she could do, though! She knew it was coming, but there was nothing she could—

There was a bang on the counter.

Rory jumped about ten feet.

Looking up, her eyes widened to see the guys standing there, looking impatient. "You gonna check us out, or what," one guy grumbled, and she snapped back to attention. Crap, crap, had they noticed her freaking out? What if they realized she had heard?

She forced a laugh. "Oh, man! Spent too long scrolling through Facebook last night, I guess; practically falling asleep. Sorry about that!" It was rushed and sloppy.

The guy was apparently too annoyed to notice, though. "Just do it," he scowled, and she quickly rung their items through. Her eyes flicked up, trying to memorize as many details as she could while she had the chance to see them in the light of day.

From beneath his beanie, the guy raised his eyes, and met hers. Rory repressed the urge to suck in a breath as he narrowed them. He spoke up lowly. "You got a problem or somethin'?"

"No, no!" She chuckled nervously. "You just remind me of my—" Think, think! "—boyfriend!"

Ugh, she wanted to smack herself! That was probably the worst way she could have responded.

...well, no—as unlikely as it sounded, she felt as though saying she reminded him of her brother would be worse, even though he couldn't have possibly known the significance.

The guy's eyebrows flew up, and she held her breath. Then, he slowly smirked. "Guess you got a lucky guy then, sweetheart."

She had to work overtime to keep the disgust off her face. Ugh, why did she say that?!

Mercifully, though, the guys turned around and moved to walk out. She was not a violent person as a rule, but her fists shook at the thought that these people were threatening her family as she watched them leave. She had to repress the urge to vault over the counter (which she totally could have done) and brain him with his own bottle of booze.

The second they were out of sight and Celene were peering in at her from the other side of the glass, reality sank in. A dangerous crew of gangbangers had marked Tyrell for death. She stared helplessly into the interior of the convenience store as if it were a prison. There has to be something I can do. They...they have patterns, right? They only go in certain places. I can find them, right?

Somewhere.

In the whole of Seattle.

In one night.

And they've already shot me once, she despaired, bringing her fingertips to the place now marked by a small patch on her side. She didn't even think of that. Had they noticed her moving to avoid the sore spot?

She had to do something. Her eyes anxiously moved to the clock—2:35 PM. It would be hours before she could begin looking.

No, that couldn't happen.

"Brenda?" She called out to the woman in the back room. She moved from behind her entrapment. She had to go now. "I'm sorry, but there's been a family emergency. I have to leave."

She didn't want to think about the possibility that she might have to take bereavement sometime soon.

When she went to leave, Celene was gone.


It was an anxious thing. When she got back to the house, her mama wasn't home yet, and Rory quickly changed out of her work outfit. Her hands trembled as she wretched her maps out of the drawer of her desk. Come on...she reached up to scrub the watery feeling from her eyes, uselessness sinking into her. There had to be some kind of way to tell where they were going to be. She eyed the pictures where she had highlighted the locations she had seen the Roots in, but the routes she had identified swam in front of her vision.

Celene wasn't at home. It was the first time the guardian hadn't tailed her everywhere she went since she had come back with a bullet hole, but it just made her feel worse. It was like all the things she could count on were abandoning her.

She sniffed, eyes red. That was so stupid; she'd been the one who had left her behind in the first place! She let Tyrell run around like an idiot, she kept her friends of the loop like they didn't mean anything. What kind of idiot was she?

Before her mama had the chance to get home, she headed out, and the first place she checked was the warehouse she had gone to last time, before the old hotel. As she anticipated, it was empty, the tools and crates of supplies cleared out and the floors covered in nothing but debris. Even though it was the first place she'd checked, she stupidly felt the hopelessness sink over her, and she sunk to the floor, combing through the dust as though it was hiding the only clue.

"Rory?"

She inhaled, whipping around as her braids whipped into her face. Tears flicked from her lashes and she ignored them, staring into the blinding burst of light filtering in through the warehouse's door.

Narma stood there.

She was outside of her uniform, dressed in the more worn clothing she had worn the day they had met up to do their training session. That was scary enough; anyone who saw her could have recognized her. But Rory didn't want to see her there at all.

She stood sharply, her mind giving a wail of panic. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Narma jerked back, and Rory could hear the echo of her own vicious inquiry reverberating throughout the room. It didn't even sound like her. Narma moved out of the light, and her eyes were hurt. "Rory..."

Just then, she noticed the other form moving in beside Narma. Celene pattered in the doorway, looking stern, feline brow low on her eyes.

Narma inhaled stiffly, solidifying her stance. "I'm here because Celene told me you were out here doing something stupid." She narrowed her eyes, looking up and down at Rory's uniformed visage, and Rory felt a wave of shame come over her. She knew in that moment there wasn't going to be a way to talk herself out of this. Narma wasn't going to believe another lie. Narma said, "Obviously, she was right."

Celene's tail flicked sheepishly, despite her expression. "I'm sorry, Aurora—"

Anger bubbled up in her chest and Rory balled up her fists. Her yell was explosive. "How do you know what's stupid?" She stomped, dust kicking up around her and Narma's eyes only hardened defensively. "It's not like you know what's going on! You don't have any idea what I've been dealing with, what kind of—of real shit is going on in this city—" The swears felt foreign and ugly on her tongue. She had never spoken to one of her friends like this before. At that moment, though, she couldn't quiet her head down enough to see through the spiraling, didn't feel like she had any friends in the world.

Narma boomed back at her, "Well maybe I'd know if you woulda told me! What, did you not trust me enough to handle the 'real shit?' If you haven't forgotten, girl, I live on the other side of the street! I don't know what you think you've got that makes you able to handle the kind of stuff you're screwing with alone!"

It was like a bubble of poison popped inside her chest, and as she marched forward, she swung her arm back, so, so mad.

As she threw it forward, though, Narma caught it with little effort and the absolute pathetic sight of it was enough.

She realized that, although she was in uniform, she was alone in there. Boreas had been out of the picture the minute she had left the house that evening. There was no soldier, no battle smarts behind her.

She was just Rory, standing alone like an idiot.

Narma caught her as she fell forward, sobbing ugly as she curled against her chest. She held onto her as she blubbered into the cotton of her shirt, hugging tight as to muffle the noise. From the floor, she felt Celene rub her head against her leg.

After several minutes, Rory was finally calm enough to pull away a little, the mess of her face damp against the warehouse air. "I'm sorry," she said in a tiny voice.

"What's going on?" Narma asked quietly.

Rory told her.

She told her that she was the vigilante. She told her about her several run-ins with the Roots and the last time, where she had been shot. She told her about Tyrell.

"I don't know where he is," she whimpered, "Or where they are. I don't even know how much they know about him—what if they know about me? About my mama, Narma, I don't know what I can do."

Eventually, Narma pushed back, still grasping tight to her shoulders. "Aurora Grace," she said. "If there is anything you should have figured out about me in the three years of us being friends, you should know by now that I am ready to ride or die with you at any moment. Just say the word."

Rory choked, but Narma kept going, her gaze burning hot. "Now. We're going to track these guys down. We're going to kick their ass. And we are going to get Tyrell's dumb ass out of there."

Rory's chest ached. Stepping out of Narma's hold, she wiped her nose. She felt more like a kid wearing a Halloween costume than a soldier. "I didn't want you guys to get involved in this. It's too dangerous. You could get hurt."

Narma slapped a firm hand on her shoulder, expression no-nonsense. "I was already involved the moment these guys decided to fuck with my family. Okay?"

Rory gave a sob.

Celene had apparently decided the moment had deescalated enough that she could come back into it. "Aurora," she said, and Rory looked down at her. She stood in the patch of sundown light pouring in, ginger fur painted red and gold. "When I left your place of employment this afternoon, I was trying to figure out what about those men upset you so. I needed to make sure they weren't going to be a threat."

Rory inhaled sharply, attention fully on her guardian. She couldn't possibly...?

Celene narrowed her eyes. "I followed them," she said, "to an old power station on the outskirts of town. I know where they are. I can show you."


There were only so many places in the city that could put out a signal far enough to reach the old Miller house. These weren't walkie-talkies—this was a sustainable signal that was not only strong enough to break through to a radio tower in the middle of a forest on a mountain, but had also previously been draining enough of the city's power grid to knock out blocks at a time, specifically. It was targeted. It was precise.

It was brilliant. Mallory had never before seen such bullshit.

Gwen leaned on the desk beside her, watching her riffle through papers like a mad woman. Her sister and Carmen were sitting crisscross-applesauce on Carmen's bed chatting like goddamn civilized teenagers, and she was no further to pinpointing where their geological sniper might have been shooting from.

"North is a lot," Gwen shrugged sympathetically.

"You're a tourist," Mallory shot back. "Don't tell me how big the city is."

North. Now, approximately, northeast. She had checked radio stations, cell phone manufactures. She had looked up if there had been any purchases lately for the types of parts that would have been needed to build the tower out in the woods. Made some calls—no local purchases.

"Maybe they're from out of town," Gwen suggested.

Maybe they had bought them online. Anything was possible.

You needed a permit, it turned out, and so she'd looked for any new licenses granted by the city. It turned out Creepster McGee didn't have a permit. She might have expected that, but she was running out of options.

Gwen stood back. She leaned her hip on the desk as Mallory revisited the list of all the places they had gotten hit: the bridge, the hospital, the street, the boat, the bus, the pier, the old Miller house.

Carmen's house.

"What I don't understand," Gwen said, "is if this guy has the technology to generate tectonic energy, why does he need to drain people? Seems like you could get a heck of a lot of power just with that."

Mallory nodded. "True, and that's probably how they have enough juice to make their monsters. But..." she paused, pushing away from the desk for a second. "...the last guys—" she sent a glance at Carmen; she'd come in late in the game, so it was possible she didn't have all her facts straight. "—came into town looking for our souls."

"Souls?" Sylvia piped up from the bed, suddenly looking interested. "Souls souls? That's a bit more secular than I would have expected."

Mallory tsked. "Yeah, well, they were. Apparently, souls have this really specific type of power, and ours have some kind of high-octane soul energy besides."

"Poetic," Carmen said flatly.

Mallory brought a hand to her chin. "...my guess is that this person is coming after that kind of power. That's why they need people. Of course, that raises questions about what's going to happen to all of the people in intensive care right now. Do they even have souls anymore, or were they completely absorbed? Alternately, is there some kind of critical output of soul energy that any one person can withstand before their bodies just give out? It raises a lot of questions."

Carmen glanced towards the wall. "Not exactly questions I want to think about." She shuddered.

Mallory blew out a breath. "No joke." Still, this line of questioning was at least raising some interesting points. Hm. She turned around in the chair, crossing her arms over the head. "...why didn't we ever pass out?"

Sylvia lifted a finger. "The jelly monster—"

"No," said Carmen.

"—was definitely doing the power sucky thing whenever it had the opportunity."

Gwen shrugged. "Maybe it's just because we have that big soul energy."

Carmen narrowed her eyes. Sweeping a glance at the others, she flipped out a hand. "Then why didn't they capture us?" Acknowledging their confused expressions as they wrestled with the logistics, she clarified, "I mean, they never tried. The monsters would fight us, but only when we got in their way. They never tried to get a hold of us specifically. Wouldn't the smart thing to do have been to try and pin one of us down somewhere?" She flicked the hand again. "Renewable resource."

Mallory furrowed her brow. "Shit, you're right." Well, that sort of put a dent in that theory. Dang, she thought they might be getting somewhere for a second.

Her eyes moved back to the maps on the table. Her gaze lingered back over the list she had made, and she paused.

The first place. That bridge, didn't Rory and Narma say it was ironic at some point?

She grasped the corner of the street map and took a closer look at the area. Oh yeah, the name. Aurora Bridge.

Her eyes lingered on the faded text, a sudden chill working up her spine. She'd brushed it off at the time as a coincidence, but what if it wasn't?

She sat back. What if whatever tracking method their foe was using was using information about them, without the user necessarily knowing the significance? If that was the case, then that person would have had to have Rory's name before this whole thing started, to know that name was connected to them. How could they possibly know that? Places they frequented, she'd thought about that, or places where they were seen together? If they wanted to capture them, why not just capture them?

Unless that wasn't the goal.

She frowned sharply, a sudden suspicion growing. She swiveled back around, eyes pinning on the documents obscuring Carmen's desk.

...why would this person need them free? To know places they went, places they were around.

She sat up abruptly, gazing around the room they were in.

A person's movements throughout the day was one good way of figuring out where they lived.

...what if the point wasn't to find them, but to find their houses?

But why?

One strong possibility occurred to her, and she turned to the others. She eyed Gwen and Sylvia. "Is you guy's place locked up?"

The sisters looked at one another (or, almost, in Sylvia's case.) "Yeah," Gwen said, eyes suddenly guarded. "Why?"

Mallory pulled out her phone, briefly glancing to the window. It was pretty late in the evening. Getting dark. "Do you guys know where Rory and Narma are at? I haven't heard from them."

Carmen straightened. "I—no, I haven't. Rory's still grounded, right? So she's probably at home."

Mallory listened to the dial tone. "Hm. We need to speak with them ASAP. Something's rotten in Seattle."


Rory slowed down as they neared the building, the last light of sundown snuffing behind them. The building loomed like a monolith above them. On the other side of the street, it was worn and unassuming—broken windows, entry boarded up, exterior cement trailing patches of moss to the road. No sign of life anywhere.

But there was a van parked around back. Rory could just see the bare edge of a taillight from the road, but it was enough to confirm that there was someone there with them.

She swallowed. "This looks like the kind of place they'd shack up in," she confirmed to Narma and Celene, who were watching for confirmation.

"So..." Narma cracked her knuckles, but Rory could tell that she wasn't exactly raring to go. "What now?"

The wideness of her eyes gave away a nervousness Rory had never witnessed on her friend before. She remembered that feeling—it was a whole different beast going in to fight people.

Rory took a breath. "Now, we try and get a view inside. We don't want to do anything before we know who's in there." And there's not a point in throwing ourselves into danger when we don't even know if Tyrell is in there.

Her pulse picked up. Tyrell, the reason they were there. How were they even going to do this? Even if they got in, and he was there, what if they...couldn't save him?

The real possibility of watching her older brother get shot to death made her stomach turn. Equally, the idea of Narma or herself getting shot to death.

But there was one possible casualty she could eliminate entirely.

She knelt beside Celene, looking their guardian in the eye. "Celene. Thank you for bringing me here. This was more helpful than you could possibly imagine."

Celene narrowed her eyes.

She knew what was coming, probably. Rory inhaled. "I know you don't want to hear this, but I need you to go home."

Celene bristled, her fur puffing up real big in a way that would have been funny in any other scenario. Her eyes were hard. "Absolutely not."

Rory brushed a hand back over her braids. "I know you want to stay. But in this situation, you've already done the most helpful thing you can do. There's no reason for you to stick around and risk getting killed. We could probably take a hit, worst case scenario. You'd be done for."

That was a fact. But she also didn't want to risk the possibility of Celene being around to watch her die. Again. If she died tonight, it was all on her. She couldn't let Celene carry around that weight again, didn't want her to have to see it.

God (sorry God, Rory thought,) this was really freaking scary.

Celene pursed her...lips? Mouth? Cats didn't really have lips. She looked away. Cautiously, Rory reached out, stroking a hand down her back. The little guardian didn't relax, but her stormy eyes softened. "Thank you. Really. But with everything going on, with someone able to find Carmen's house? We can't risk leaving our homes unguarded."

"My parents are at home," Narma offered. "But Rory's mom works nights."

The bright orange tail whipped along the concrete, agitated. "...fine." She didn't look at them, and she still looked upset. "I will keep surveillance over your home." Sharply, she looked up, eyes watery. "But you two had better come back."

Rory nodded stiffly. "We will."

Narma threw an arm lackadaisically over her shoulder. Rory could feel her shaking. "We'll watch out for each other! Now that this dummy isn't trying to go it alone, I mean. Don't worry. If things get too hairy, we'll get out of dodge."

Celene eyed them for a moment, then straightened her posture into something more determined. "Well then. Good luck, Sailor Soldiers! I believe in you girls. Kick ass, and don't die!"

Narma laughed, and they saluted. Rory thought it was probably real.


There was an order of business. They looked for an entryway first—they needed a way to get in without immediately being noticed, or at least not being noticed fast enough to stop them.

The building had a skylight. Rory had to Gust Narma up, and would probably need to Gust them down when the time came, but it allowed them to see down into the building.

Rory inhaled to see crates and crates full of arms—mostly smaller 44-calibers, but there were several longer boxes packed full with assault rifles. It sent a shiver through Rory to think about where those assault rifles might be going. Other gangs seemed unlikely, except maybe to...'take care' of them the way that the other Crimson Roots had implied before. Big-time criminals? Terrorists? The possibilities were terrible and endless.

She leaned away from the window, not wanting to cast even a moonlit shadow down into the room and call attention. This had to be it—their main base. This was the hub from which they spread violence and anxiety to new levels all over the city. Before, there were certain neighborhoods you could avoid, marked territory. If one group got a strangle hold on the whole city...would anywhere be safe?

What she really wanted to do was call the cops to this place before Tyrell ever got here. Not knowing where he was, though, that presented the possibility that these guys, already suspicious, might have someone watching him and might just shoot him on principal. So, that option was out.

She looked to Narma. "This is what he was waiting for," she hissed. "He was trying to find where their main base was so he could start checking into how their network operates."

Narma furrowed her brows. "That's not going to help anyone if they take him out in there." Seeing her own expression, Narma mumbled, "Sorry."

She was right, though.

"So, now that we know how we're getting in, what do we do?"

Rory sat back. "We wait."

Narma blinked at her, "What, really? That's it?"

She sighed. "That's it."

An hour passed. They watched vigilantly, Rory's stomach in knots the whole time. The area inside wasn't a big open space the way it had been when she had encountered these guys previously—the old power plant was smattered with pipes and giant generators that sat throughout the room like giant metal barrels. She didn't like that she wasn't able to see exactly what was going on; knowing the theatricality of these guys, she expected there would be a scene when they went to do it, but she couldn't be sure.

Until she was.

Narma's eyes glittered with the light from inside as she peered down into the plant. "...do they look like they're circling up to you?"

Rory nodded slowly. "Yeah. They do." She peered over. "They've done this before—some kind of formality or something." She nodded sharply. "But it does mean something's about to happen."

They stood over the glass-covered opening, ready to move.

Rory hated that they weren't actually able to hear what was being said, though she could pick up some raised voices.

Actually...

Rory got down, but held up a hand when she saw Narma about to do the same. "You stay there," she whispered; "I'm going to crack the window."

Narma looked askance. "...doesn't that defeat the purpose of the..." She mimed smashing through a window with her fist against her hand.

"I'm just going to open it enough to hear." And pray it doesn't make any noise.

Kneeling, she gently pressed to the latches holding the skylight closed. They came undone, protesting as they ground against the rusted metal, but the sound was nigh imperceptible. Wincing, she slowly lifted just the tiniest gap in the window.

And then, she could hear.

"—appreciate you boys showing up. I know you got work you got to get done, so I hope this won't take up too much of your time."

There were murmurs from the group as the lot of them acknowledged the words. They shuffled idly as Rory pressed her ear to the gap to try and make it clearer.

The guy (she couldn't really tell much about him; he had his back to her) kicked at the box of assault rifles. "Our deal with the arm downtown looks good, and we are just about ready to move in on the other morons who think they got a claim in this city. As soon as we get the final okay, we're going to make that final move, and then we can move on to Portland. That should be a damn walk in the park."

The were some chuckles, and Rory narrowed her eyes as a few guys came forward to share their recent progress and setbacks. She tried to memorize as many details as she could so she could pass them on later. Above her, Narma tapped her foot nervously.

"One more thing," the guy said. He began to pace, and Rory tensed to see it was one of the guys she'd seen in the shop. Shark.

She tapped Narma's ankle frantically. "Narma, that's the guy. From the shop."

"Shit," she hissed.

She kept listening.

"Trey. I was wanting to talk to you about your running."

A voice. "Oh. Me?"

Someone stepped forward.

'Trey.' Of course, Tyrell wouldn't be going by his own name. "Narma," she whispered.

"Just tell me when."

As Rory stumbled to stand, she caught the beginning of a sentence. "So, you thought you could snitch on us and there wouldn't be consequences?"

They jumped through.

Glass splashed up around them and she buffered the impact and the fall with a gust. Shark and a nervous-looking Tyrell stumbled back from one another to avoid being caught in the splash.

Shark yelped, "The shit? Two—"

"Typhoon Strikedown!" Narma poured water down on the alarmed gangsters as Rory grabbed Tyrell's hand. "Come on!" She yelled and took off. Narma was fast behind her, and she could hear yelling and the sounds of guns being drawn.

Bullets rang out behind, and Rory gritted her teeth, holding a whirling barrier up behind them.

"What the hell?" Tyrell sputtered, but kept up the pace, seeming to catch onto the fact he was not in a good position just then.

"They knew about the police," Narma huffed, struggling to keep up. Running? Not Narma's strongest point. "They want to kill you."

"Oh, shit," Tyrell squeaked.

"Shh," Rory tugged him around one of the generators and stopped. She held a finger up to her lips, and they tensely watched as the group passed them, breathing hard. They waited a long second, Shark's yells ringing through the metallic surfaces of the building. "We have to get you out of here."

Rory took a step forward and then immediately snapped back as more guys ran past. They must have thought they were still running.

"What are we going to do?" Narma hissed. "These guys are going to think to look behind eventually."

Suddenly, Tyrell's brow furrowed. He turned to Narma, and Rory shocked straight as he said, "Do I know you?"

Crap! Narma's accent was pretty distinct. Her round vowels and perpetual snark—of course, Tyrell might recognize it!

Narma tensed. "No! Never seen you before."

Rory grabbed Tyrell's other arm, dragging his attention away. "We've got to get those guns away from them. If they have them, we don't stand a chance."

Tyrell shrugged, wide-eyed. "I don't know what you expect me to do about it!"

"Uh. Guys."

Rory looked over to see Narma pointing towards the ceiling. She looked up to see what looked like a giant metal disc looming above them.

Narma said, "Is that a magnet?"

"Yeah," Tyrell said, though his voice didn't sound any more excited by this fact. "The construction workers who were in charge of taking this place apart moved it in over there—" There—more than one skylight! "—so they could unhook the generators and carry them out. Ditched the place before we ever got here, though. Just saw it on the plans."

Rory's eyes widened. "If we can get up there..." Before she let her excitement get to her, she gave a tiny side-step that let her see between the generators. This place is huge...

She could see guys meandering around. It was a miracle that they hadn't been caught before then, to be honest. There were maybe thirty guys tromping around, pissed and ready to take them out on sight. She took a breath. "I don't know. There's so many guys."

Narma shrugged at her weakly. "We could just...leave?"

Rory shook her head, her voice hardening. "If we just walk out of here, they'll just keep coming. I want to get out of here." She turned to the others, eyes narrowed. "And I want to never see these guys again."

Narma blinked, then grinned. "That, I can get behind."

Tyrell sighed, tipping his head back. "I'm never working with superheros again."

Bang. They dropped to the floor as shot burst beside Tyrell's head, scrambling back. Rory fired off a gust, sweeping a breeze out and around the corner as the they struggled to find somewhere to not get shot.

"Watch me on this side!" Rory gestured to her right, and Narma flanked in beside her as they rounded the circumference of the next generator. Tyrell shuffled between them, apparently willing to admit that the two of them were more capable of handling this. Rory peeked back around to see more guys heading their way—she fired a gust, sending them back into the metal vat before swiftly turning back around. Quiet.

Narma gestured them out and they darted over to an old circuit board, a space against the wall beside it that made it an ideal spot for hiding. "Okay. What now?"

She didn't want to say what she was thinking—we need freaking guns. No, she didn't want to make that turn. Her attacks were powerful, but they obviously had more of a punch with soul-based enemies. The Gust could stop the people, but they couldn't stop the bullets.

She sighed shakily. "There has to be a better way here. We can't just keep running—they're going to corner us eventually."

Tyrell sighed.

And then reached for his waistband.

Rory watched, disheartened, as he revealed a pistol. "I don't want you to have to use that," she said.

Tyrell blew out a breath. "I know. No undo harm, right? Inn't that how superheroes work? I don't know."

Rory frowned, leaning back against the circuit board. That ain't it, Ty. "I don't want you to have that on your hands."

"Might have to," he said grimly.

Beside them, Narma was eyeing the space above them, where the crux of the upper walkway lay. "You think you can Gust us up there?"

Tyrell shook his head. "No way. They'll shoot us down like ducks."

Scanning the upper floor, Rory noticed a discarded sheet of metal. "Hey," she said. "That could work."

Calling on her gust, she gently wrapped air around the sheet, sliding it under the guard rail. As she got it about halfway under, she heard a "Hey!" ring out and the bullets started flying.

Narma thrust her hands down. "Typhoon Strikedown!"

The geysers sent the thugs to the floor and they moved, struggling to hold up the enormous metal sheet. Luckily, her gloves were pretty good for gripping. They moved, darting for the space between two generators a bit closer to the stairs. Agh, we're almost there!

With a shout, metal pinged into the metal beside her head, grazing her cheek as it ricocheted. They yelped, turning the sheet to face the other side only to leave the original exposed. Rory wanted to scream. Oh, come on!

A voice reverberated through the building. "Do you really think you guys are getting out of here?" She heard Shark call. "You punk-ass little freaks? You guys are dead. You're already dead!"

"You're messing with the wrong crew," grumbled a new voice, harsh enough to carry. Rory's eyes widened as she recognized the deep rumble of Harlo. He was the local leader, wasn't he? When had he gotten here?!

"Oh, shit," Tyrell whined.

Harlo boomed out, "Trey, you're a dead son of a bitch!"

"Concentrate," Rory hissed. She eyed the stairs and the place around them.

"Hold," Narma said before dropping her side. "Typhoon Strikedown!"

Rory's eyes widened. Wow, she's getting faster with that! She grunted as Narma gestured for them to back up the stairs, sweat beading on her brow as she kept the water flowing, creating a barrier.

Still not enough to stop bullets.


Narma heard a bang impacting to the metal sheet behind her, and then a pop. In an instant, she dropped the barrier, hand flying to her head as a sharp pain racketed through it.

She gasped, and vaguely she noticed the others turn to look at her. Rory pulled her back up the stairs as Tyrell strained to hold the sheet by himself.

Her head throbbed, that piercing pain still ringing through it. The tone seemed to drown out everything around them, until she turned to look at her teammates.

"—Egeria?" Rory's voice became audible; she could hear the blood rushing in her head. "You good?"

"Y-yeah," she said, though she kind of felt like she was going to throw up. They moved just far enough to create a little bunker in the machinery. The room was spinning a little, but she could see the magnet crane right over there.

She stumbled. Rory caught her shoulder, and Tyrell peeked over the barrier, firing his pistol. Again, she heard it, but more like it was happening on the other side of the room.

Rory's expression twisted up, and Narma knew she hated her brother getting involved in all of this.

Harlo scoffed, yelling, "You really going to try and hold off all of us?"

"How are we going to get to that?" Narma said, and she slurred, Rory curling over her as if to shield her. "Can we even—can we even make it work?"

Tyrell ducked, speaking up as artillery fire spit out over their heads.

"There's keys," he said, "in a locked box by the desk over there. There's other keys too, but the one for the crane is in there for sure." Muffled.

She heard Rory said, more clearly, "Which color are they?"

Tyrell hesitated. "I...I don't know."

Rory said, "Then we'll just have to get them all."

Narma's vision had finally cleared, although she was still having trouble standing up. She didn't know if she'd hit her head or what, but she knew she'd become somewhat of a dead weight. "R—Boreas. I'm sorry."

Rory tsked. "Don't apologize. We're going to make this work."

"Alright, that's enough."

The three of them jerked back as a large guy in a tank top was suddenly right on top of them. Moving faster than Narma could keep track of, Rory called a gust to yank the gun from the guy's hand. He barked a protest, but just as quickly reached out and grabbed Rory by the neck.

Narma's heart leapt as he hauled her up, and several guys filed in behind them. Narma threw her hands out, and just before she could call a Typhoon, Tyrell reached up and punched the guy in the face.

No one had been expecting that, it seemed. Guys who had been ready to fire on them faltered as their boss stumbled back, not willing to fire on him or each other. The space was too small. Unwittingly, they had eliminated their advantage.

Bedlam broke loose.

Narma stumbled up, and leaning her hip on a generator for support, she cast a Typhoon on the guys around them, packed in so tightly more than three of them were cast to the ground.

Tyrell powered forward, lugging the sheet like a riot shield to bust through the guys in front of them. Harlo was forced back, and then into the open shift manager's office.

Narma stumbled forward and locked the door. Angry yelling resounded from within, Harlo pounding on the door to be let out.

"Rory, are you okay?"

Narma was so disoriented, she didn't even think about it at the time.

Her leader stood, rubbing her neck, and turned to look at her.

"You have to go now!" Narma yelled. "We'll hold them off! Just get to the crane!"

Rory turned, where beside them the lockbox full of keys was pried open. For a second, Narma thought she saw her fiddle with something on the desk, and then she was off.

"Help me keep these guys off her," Narma yelled back to Tyrell.

She didn't register the pause before he responded. "Ye-...Yeah."

She still wasn't totally with it. But she heard the clap of Rory's boots tearing away. Why that, though? Half of everything in the room.

It was her right ear, she realized, as the furious gang members set upon them, crashing forwards to grab at them.

That's why.

She couldn't hear out of it.


Rory...no, Boreas booked it along the upper floor of the building.

Some guys had noticed her leave, for sure. Whole body tense, she zigzagged along the walkway, not wanting to give these guys any opportunity. Turning to run backwards, she rapidly yanked the guns from their hands, throwing them to the lower floor.

They still kept coming.

She grit her teeth, pumping her arms as she neared the crane. At least she'd gotten a head start.

Spying the crane door (which, by the way, how the heck had they gotten this thing up there in the first place? A second crane? Agh, no time to think about it!), she slapped it open with air and leapt inside, jamming her knee into the stick. She hissed, but closed the door behind her, locking it.

She let her hands open, spilling keys into her lap. She grabbed the first set, jamming it into the ignition. Nothing.

By then, the two guys who had been after her were upon the crane, slamming their hands into the windows trying to break it. She grimaced, heart pounding.

The second—no, wait, that was it! Having chosen well, the crane hummed to life, and she immediately pressed the button to lower the magnet.

Then...

then she...

...crap! She stared at the other controls, suddenly realizing that every other control in here was way less obvious. She didn't know how to drive a crane!

There was a thump and a form suddenly came barreling past the window.

She exhaled at the sight of Tyrell, having knocked the guys unconscious with his giant metal shield. She unlocked the door at his prompting. "Let me in," he said. "I know how to operate it. Good job finding the keys."

Rory climbed out, a panting Narma coming up beside her. "How did you guys make it over here?"

Tyrell shot a thumb at Narma. "She shot them to the bottom floor."

Girl looked ready to pass out on the floor. "Turns out falling ass flat on the floor can turn Typhoon into a water cannon."

Rory's hands were still itching, knowing they only had a short window to make this work. "Nice. Now let's do this. We don't have much time."

"What are we doing?" Tyrell asked, his hand on the controls.

"Just move the magnet over the weapon's stash," Rory nodded. "We'll take care of the rest."

Tyrell stared at her for a moment. Then nodded.

He began to move the crane. She looked at Narma and said, "Wait for the signal."

"What is the signal?!" Narma called behind as she took a leaping vault over the railing.

She swung out to grab the cord of the lowered magnet, then lowered herself down. "Hey," she said to the guys who were running back towards the stairs, where they promptly turned back around. "Were you looking for me?"

They roared collectively, charging back towards her as the front-most guys drew their guns. With a flick, she disarmed them, but instead of throwing them away she blew them back towards her, where the magnet was waiting. As they neared, she threw her weight back and forth.

The magnet began swinging.

"What are you doing?!" Narma screamed from above.

"Wait one sec," Rory called as she drew on a Gust. Lightly, she nudged the magnet, until instead of just swinging back and forth, the magnet became a vicious pendulum, moving circularly around the room.

The magnet was stronger than she had hoped. As the guys neared, the guns were smacked out of their hands—where they stuck to the magnet.

But the magnet wasn't done. She stood on one side or the other as she swung around, aiming the magnet to grab up the guy's inventory. They grabbed at the magnet but had lost the option of firing on her.

"Egeria!" She called out. "Vortex!"

She was stealing her own move from the previous night. If that attack could destroy a nigh impervious blob monster, how would it do on something decidedly breakable?

Only one way to find out.

"Oh," she heard Narma shout back, recognition in her voice. "Got it!"

"On my mark," Sailor Boreas shouted back, beginning to spin the magnet too fast for any of the gangbangers to interfere without getting knocked into next week. "1, 2, 3—"

They shouted at the same time.

"Extreme Slashing Vortex!"

The Gust that had begun to evaporate beneath her suddenly picked up, caught in the whirling cyclone. There were loud metallic pings as the shrapnel inside gained effectiveness—the weapons trapped inside, the pistols, the rifles, were being cut to pieces. Honestly, it was a bit of a miracle they didn't explode—they must not have been loaded, except for the ones grabbed from the gangsters, which were only a few in the bunch.

The gangbangers shouted, flinching back from the sputtering of wind, metal, and water. Straining, Sailor Boreas compelled the attack to rise up, surrounding her and guarding the other two. "I would stay back," she shouted over the ruckus, not sure if anyone could hear her, "unless you think a blender sounds like a fun time!"

A couple of the guys had realized that the pair above were still causing part of the problem, and she watched through the haze as Tyrell evacuated the crane to barrel down the now gunless assailants with the metal sheet.

Just one last move. Rory prayed that this would work. Otherwise, she was about to be stuck with some very ticked off gangsters.

As the vortex died and the guys got the guts to try and approach the crane again, Rory, blood pounding, called the Gust back up. There were spots in front of her eyes from trying to hold the attacks one right after the other, but she didn't want to know what happened if she failed. In a last-ditch maneuver, she held on to the crane for dear life—and pushed.

The monstrous slab of the magnet circled the first floor, slamming into anyone stupid enough to have stuck around. Shouts rung out as guys were thrown to the floor. As it slowed down, she saw a couple guys headed for the door, apparently realizing they were outmatched. Yeah, she thought, panting. Take that.

The room was chaos, but she climbed back up the magnet cord back up to the second floor. "Come on, guys," She said, and she saw Narma look kind of confused before looking directly at her.

"What?" she said.

Rory lowered her brows. "We need to get out of here."

Tyrell piped up. "Wait, what's to stop those guys outside from coming after us?"

Rory listened to the air, very carefully. After a moment, she heard a clunk.

"I think we'll be fine. I'll show you."

Despite enormous protest, she Gusted them to the roof. She hadn't been this exhausted in a long time, and everything she'd just done suddenly piled onto her tiredness from yesterday, all if it swooping in at once. She panted on the top of the power plant, the other two waiting over her anxiously until she was able to drag herself up. "Look," she said.

Exactly what she'd been hoping to see.

About 5 police cars sat outside the building. The guys who had run outside were being cuffed, and as she watched, Rory could see them head into the building.

Tyrell gaped. "Wait, how did you know?"

"Also, why did they just now show up?" Narma grumbled. "Seems like really convenient timing."

Yeah, a repeat of yesterday wouldn't have been good. She was just hoping they managed to keep some of these guys under wraps—gangbangers trying to hunt them down for destroying their biggest export in the city is not something any of them wanted.

Rory wiped her brow. "There was a phone at the manager's station. You know, where keybox was?" She sighed. "There was a landline. I dialed 911 and left it off the hook when I went to grab the keys."

"Holy shit, good job," Narma murmured.

They watched the guys be taken away. Only time would tell how effective they had been here; whether they had put a kink in the Root's plans, or whether they were going to get shot heading out for a mission some night in the future. Guess we'll just have to wait and see.

But, most importantly right then...

Rory turned to look at Tyrell.

Tyrell rubbed the back of his neck. "You...you girls really saved my ass in there. Thanks, I guess. For coming to the rescue."

He was looking at them sort of oddly; Rory couldn't decipher it. It was almost as though he wanted to ask something, but he didn't.

Maybe best to just let it go.

"Just doing the right thing," Rory said, although she couldn't have been happier to know her brother was safe. She had seriously been convinced at the start of the day that there was no chance she could save him. That hopelessness had been crushing, even though it had only been for a short while. She could hardly believe they'd done it.

She turned to Tyrell. "You should go. It might be nice to put in your report with the police when there's not so much going on. Stay out of the fray, you know."

"Yeah," he said. Waving, he lowered himself down by the fire escape. "Thanks again."

The moonlight blazed down on them, and like the opposite of the Miasma, it seemed like the only thing that was keeping Rory upright. She turned to Narma, who was wiping blood from the side of her face. She knew they'd gotten her pretty good, but at least they weren't any worse than they were. "You okay?"

It took Narma a long moment to look up, and when she saw her looking, she seemed to realize she'd been spoken to. "What? Oh, yeah. We should get home."

Rory frowned. "You sure? You seemed pretty out of it before." She gestured to the side of her face, where the stain was just a blood smear now.

"Hm? Oh, no. I just got a little disoriented by the noise. I'll be fine."

Rory eyed her. Stepping forward, Rory hugged her. "Thanks for coming out here with me. I would have been done for."

Narma squinted at her for a second, before throwing an arm over her shoulder. "Just try not to make a habit of it, okay? Now, let's get home."

Rory was glad they lived so close together. She could make sure she got home. They both deserved a long rest.


Narma parted with Rory on the street, back in her civilian attire. Her head still ached terribly, her right ear in particular. She wasn't sure if it was temporary, or if something had permanently been damaged by the gun shot, which scared her. But she couldn't tell Rory. She knew girl had been worried about anything happening to her in there, and if this was something that wouldn't go away, she couldn't imagine how that might make Rory feel.

She just...had to keep quiet about it.

But it throbbed as she entered her house, all the lights dark. She was expecting some kind of riot act from her parents, especially after the night at the arcade, but her locked door must have actually fooled them.

Even so, Narma knew the moment that she crept to her room that something was wrong.

Mostly because the door was unlocked.

She placed the bobby pin she'd brought back in her pocket and pushed the door open. Did they open it while I was gone?

She stopped in the doorway. Eyes scanning the room, she felt that something was out of place, but she couldn't quite pinpoint what. She was stiff, the same way that you got after watching a scary movie—the familiar shadows of your own space distorted into horrible possibility.

The first thing she was able to pin down was her bed sheets. Narma had never thought of herself as particularly regimented—and in fact, she prided herself on not being. But she did have a routine, and she always made her bed in the morning. It was part of her Ayurveda, a sort of clean-space-equaling-mental-clarity type of deal.

But the corner was folded back.

Extreme paranoia compelled her to look under the bed, but...nothing.

Krishna, she hated the void of sound in her right ear. She kept feeling like something would sneak up on her.

But it wasn't the only thing. In a minute's time, one thing led to another, and another, and another. Her closet was shut. Her shoes were not in the same order at the bottom. Like someone had been riffling.

Narma straightened. Oh, she realized. Oh, shit.

She fumbled for her cell phone, dialing Rory's number. She had to hold it in the opposite hand as normal so she could actually hear it. It rung a few times before she heard Rory pick up. "Narma?"

"Rory," she whispered into the receiver, spiraling about her room as not to let her back face any open spaces. "Rory, where are you?"

She heard her pause. "...grabbing some dinner before bed? What's up? Why are you whispering?"

She heard Rory open and close her cabinet door on the other side of the line.

Narma's eyes hunted in the corners of her room, convinced she was going to see someone there. "Rory, someone was in my room," she hissed, cradling the cell phone with both hands.

She heard a fumble, like Rory had re-adjusted the phone. "Huh? Why do you think that? And anyways, are you sure it wasn't your parents?"

Narma shook her head, even though, stupid, Rory couldn't see it. Shit, she was so on edge! "No," she insisted. "Somebody went through my stuff. Rory, they were looking for something."

A long pause.

Sweat beaded on the back of Narma's neck. "Rory?" Silence. "Are you still there?"

The phone was quiet for several moments. Narma swallowed, sure at any moment she was going to hear some kind of horror-esque scream from Rory's end before being murder-death-killed herself.

But it was quiet.

Then, a fumbling noise, like the rearrangement she had heard earlier but louder, more urgent. Rory came on the line. "Narma," she whimpered, and Narma could hear the panic in her voice. "Someone's been here. Celene's...I shouldn't have sent her back."

Narma's eyes widened. "...Rory?"

"She's...she's hurt. And the box—the Cosmos Treasure Box. I can't find it."

And that's when the day went from bad to worse.