Scrooge McDuck, Magica reflected with a scowl, was hard to kill. He remained unconscious, slumped on the floor, behind a curtain. His great-nephews were in the same room-they just couldn't see him. She had no plans to let them have a family reunion, either. Once she had disposed of Dewey and Huey, she could move onto her true objective. Dear little Scroogie.

He still wore the dime on a string around his neck, but there was a magical protection on it. Try as she might, she couldn't even touch the damned thing without shocks running through her body. She needed to call her assistant in...even though the idea of working with him made her clench her beak in irritation. Flintheart Glomgold was the means to an end, but he seemed to think he had a chance with her. He also thought the same of Goldie O'Gilt, so she supposed it had more to do with the man's ego than anything else.

Glomgold was busy inspecting the treasure he'd stolen from Scrooge's hands. She discovered him sipping wine from a goblet in her waiting area. The Mount Vesuvius lair wasn't terribly polished and since she'd been trapped in a dime for all those years, she could hardly say she'd had time to redecorate or clean it up. As a result, the waiting area had dusty couches and equally dust wine bottles held in a rack on the wall.

If the older man was perturbed by her cleaning skills, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he raised his eyebrows at her when she entered and then put his goblet down on the coffee table near the sofa. Not near the coaster, of course. She hissed. No wonder he and Scrooge hated each other. She hated him too, though admittedly for far pettier reasons.

"Maggie," he said. He might've been intending to make a pass at her or proceed with that sentence. He soon found her staff at his throat. Her eyes blazed anger and loathing and she pushed the staff further, choking off his air supply. He pushed at it and she used magic to hold it in place. The staff burned with her suppressed rage.

"Never. Call. Me. That. Again."

"Sorry," he choked out. "Won't...do...that...again."

"Scrooge might tolerate being called 'Scroogie'," she sneered. "But I do not appreciate nicknames. Got it?"

He nodded, swallowing past the staff against his throat. It was up against his Adam's apple and she smirked, lowering her weapon. Shoulders sinking, he glanced at the prickly sorceress. Magica glowered back. Glomgold ought to show her the proper respect. Yes, she'd been imprisoned for fifteen years, but that hadn't been her fault.

"Now that that matter's settled, I need you to procure his number one dime from around his neck."

"Why can't you do it?"

He was whining. She slammed her staff into his head. Any minute now, Scrooge would rouse. Unconscious people didn't stay that way forever. Fury and loathing raced through her and she considered whether it might be more prudent to end their partnership. At least, before she ended up murdering him. Of course, if he had a death wish, she'd be more than happy to oblige him.

"Because I can't touch the blasted thing," she hissed. "Do you have any more stupid questions?"

Glomgold opened his beak and then closed it. Perhaps her recent threat weighed on his mind. Perhaps it was possible that he could learn from his mistakes. If so, there might be hope for him yet.

Scowling, glaring back at her, he shuffled off to do her bidding. Hmm, already more obedient than Lena. It was a good thing she'd killed that shadow. Laughter bubbled in her throat. "Lena could never be your friend because she was never real!" Stupid Webby. She should have done more than blind her, but time had been of the essence. She hadn't had full control of the spell that she'd unleashed on the children. It'd been enough to impair them and prevent them from hobbling after their great-uncle. Magica laughed aloud. Literally hobbling in Louie's case.

Come to think of it, she wasn't sure how permanent the spells she'd cast had been. They might wear off. Oh, well, that was a problem for future Magica.

Magica sauntered back into the ritual chamber and scowled again. Scrooge was awake and fending off Glomgold. He kicked the younger man in the stomach and sent him rolling away due to his lower center of gravity. As Glomgold rolled, he pulled the curtain back, revealing Dewey with a head wound and Huey flipping that stupid book to find treatments for him.

"Magica de Spell!" Scrooge roared and then his gaze fell to Huey, who was speaking but couldn't hear himself. His anger changed into concern. "Huey! Dewey!"

"Oh, he can't hear you," Magica crooned. "He's deaf. Dewey is mute. And I dumped Webby and Louie somewhere, but don't worry. They're not coming anyway. Your stupid Webster is blind and Louie is lame."

Scrooge might be unsteady after the blow to the head that had knocked him up, but that didn't stop him from surging to his feet and snarling, infuriated. Glomgold had managed to get himself back up again and Scrooge whacked him with his cane hard enough to send him sprawling. Scrooge paid him no more attention than one might an ant. His attention was focused on Magica and she could feel his mounting rage. She laughed.

"You should know better, Scroogie," she cooed. "I have no problem killing children. It was only expedience that left them alive."

She attempted to use her staff to extract the dime's necklace and he hit it away. The force of his blow was sufficient to send it flying across the room. She'd never seen him quite so furious. Magica's beak twisted into a cruel smile. Was now the wrong time to tell him that she'd been on more than civil terms with his niece?

Della was a sensitive subject with him and she relished the idea of hurting him further. Then she ducked, as Scrooge had aimed his next strike at her head. She bent to retrieve the staff and he struck her about the shoulders to impair her. Magica fought her way back to her feet and Scrooge hit in the head with enough power behind it to leave her seeing double. She shook her head and her vision cleared.

"What did you do to the kids?!" Scrooge demanded.

"I told you," she said, still smug. "It's not my fault you weren't listening."

It was odd. Scrooge had no magic of his own, yet she could feel his furor like a physical thing. It battered at her. The older duck rounded on her and Glomgold; Glomgold retreated like a coward. Magica held her ground. She was enjoying seeing Scrooge unhinged.

Scrooge turned his back on her, however briefly, to look at the two boys on the floor. Quickly, she scooped up her staff and hefted it, ready to blast him. She didn't move fast enough (how the hell did a 152 year old man move that swiftly?) and he slammed his cane into her staff. This time, however, she kept her grip on it.

"Uncle Scrooge!" Huey yelled, oblivious to the fact he couldn't hear himself. Dewey winced; the boy was mute, not deaf. Likely Huey was overcompensating for his hearing difficulties.

"Shouldn't you be more concerned with your great nephews than me?"

This was the "in" that she'd needed. Scrooge faltered, about to step closer to them, and she zapped him with her staff. Immobilized, she spun him about to face her. This was one reason why having someone you cared about could be such a crutch. Scrooge fought against her magical constriction, though, and she increased her power behind it.

She wasn't watching her back or what Glomgold was doing. Glomgold had no interest in stealing the dime for himself-she had known that from the start. Otherwise, she never would have teamed up with him. What she hadn't realized, however, was that he was only interested in beating Scrooge and seizing the treasure. So he didn't particularly care when a red, duckling shaped object collided with her and knocked her over. Hissing, she rounded on Huey Duck.

"Impudent brat!" she snapped. The break in concentration had disturbed her spell and Scrooge likewise fell to the floor, unfortunately unharmed. She reached out for her staff and Huey kicked it into the corner. Magica gave him a long suffering look.

Scrooge picked himself up and she hastened toward the staff with him at her heels. He knocked the staff away with the cane-what was this, a game of keep away?-and she tripped, rolled, and lunged for it. Scrooge's cane struck her in the back and then Huey flattened her to the floor.

"Where are the others?" Scrooge growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"What are you doing, you buffoon?" Magica said, not paying the slightest bit of attention to them now that the fourth player had re-entered the room. Flintheart Glomgold had seized her staff. He couldn't possibly intend to use it. To what end? As far as she knew, the man had not a drop of magical blood in his body.

Huey and Scrooge tackled her and she squirmed out from under. "Give me that back!"

Glomgold tossed the staff, she batted Scrooge's cane away, grabbed her staff, and cast a spell causing her traditional smoke bombs to rise. While the others were distracted, she waved the staff again and then grinned. She had intended to transport way, but...she had an idea. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. The lame leading the blind. And, well, it wasn't quite as poetic, but she was running on fumes here. She blasted Scrooge once the bombs had dissipated and when his cane flew out to counter her attack, the magic parted around it. The magic swept through him and she nodded, satisfied.

Now she could make her escape. Should she bother to take Glomgold with her? No, what fun would that be? Besides, he could handle himself.

Just before Huey and Scrooge lunged again, she vanished, leaving Glomgold to his fate. He was a villain. He ought to be used to being double-crossed.

Webby was frustrated. They needed to explore their surroundings and mount a plan for escape, but Louie could barely put any weight on his leg without yelping in pain and she could barely see her hand in front of her face.

"Maybe if I help support you, we can make a quick tour of the place and figure out where the exit is?" she suggested.

She stood and then offered him her arm. Louie reluctantly put his weight on her shoulders and leaned on her. He hissed when he moved the wrong way and when she attempted to walk off at her normal pace, he yelped and cursed.

"Webs, lame leading the blind means that the lame can't walk that fast," he snapped.

"Is there anything in our way?" she asked. Louie panted, putting more and more of his weight on her shoulders. She didn't mind. She could carry heavy loads-she'd once carried Scrooge McDuck over her shoulders. Louie wasn't a lightweight, but he wasn't as heavy as a full grown duck. Maybe he was a little pudgier than his siblings, but the slight different meant very little.

"No….not that I can tell. You could totally carry me in your arms, couldn't you?"

"I might jar your leg."

"Right. Almost forgot about that."

Louie was half walking, half hopping around. They shuffled along, as a result; Webby had to trust Louie wouldn't knock them into anything. While she wouldn't have trusted him necessarily if money were on the line, she did trust him a great deal regardless. She knew he wouldn't lead them into danger.

Louie cursed again and they almost walked headlong into a wall. Louie kicked at it and stumbled. He would have fallen over if Webby hadn't been taking most of his weight already. This prompted another round of cursing and she wondered briefly whether she ought to wash his beak out. Where had he even heard of half of those words?

...not that she was one to talk. She knew how to curse in several different languages. She just didn't, since she had the strange sense that regardless of where in the world she was, her grandmother would somehow know and reprimand her for it.

"There should've been a door here. There's an outline of a door and I know I'm not crazy," he snapped once he'd ceased his tirade. Webby reached out tentatively, brushing her fingers over the area in question. There was a slight recess, indicating that the door or whatever it was wasn't quite flush with the surface. Frowning, she let her fingers skate along the wall.

"It feels like one of those doors where the doorknobs retract into the door," she mused.

"Great. So how do we open it?"

"Hang on."

"I literally can't do anything else but hang on," he huffed, exasperated. "Could you speed it up a bit? I'm having problems balancing on my left leg."

It was Webby's turn to curse, albeit mildly. "Crap. The way the doorknob was installed, we can't get out without someone on the other side. We're trapped."

"You're kidding me. You're effing kidding me right now, Webs."

"We have to find a window or something. We're not getting out this way."

"There are no windows!" he exploded. "This is the only thing vaguely resembling a door and now you tell me that only if someone's on the other side can they let us out?! How are they even supposed to know there's someone inside if there are no windows or other doors? We're trapped. We're gonna die in here. We're gonna die and I can't even walk and you can't see where you're going and I don't know where Uncle Scrooge, Huey, and Dewey are."

Louie groaned. "We're gonna die and I'm only eleven."

That reminded Webby of a quote from a cartoon. "Hey, you lived a good life." "I'm only ten." "I said good, not long."

"We're not going to die," she said. Louie collapsed against her and she ended up taking all of his weight. Suppressing a sigh, she scooped him up into her arms and held him against her chest. She was careful not to jostle his right leg.

"This is the last time I go with Uncle Scrooge anywhere. Crap. This might really be the last time I went with him anywhere. LET ME OUT!"

"You just said there were no windows or other doors. Who do you think is going to hear you?" she asked, nonplussed.

"I don't know! But if we're trapped in here, that means we only have a finite amount of oxygen. And that means that we'll die of asphyxiation."

"How big is this room, anyway? You never said."

"Big enough to suffocate in."

That wasn't a useful description. Webby rolled her eyes. If Louie was going to panic, then it was up to her to figure out a solution to their problem. They had no tools at their disposal, she assumed, which meant that you couldn't use a plunger to suction cup the doorknob back out. Her bow was just that, a bow, unlike her grandmother's chopsticks in her hair. Their phone was dead or else she could have tried to figure out a way to possibly force the doorknob to unlock on its own. No, wait, that was too far-fetched even for her. Huey was the one with the computer skills.

"That doesn't tell me anything. Breathe, Louie. We're not going to die here. If there's a door, then we might have to bang on it...we don't know where the others are, but they must be nearby. Magica wouldn't have scattered us too far. She's after the dime-she's not focused on doing anything more than knocking us out of her way."

"Your shadow's going under the door."

Again, Webby whipped her head around to look and again, remembered she was blind. This was getting to be seriously vexing. She scowled.

"I think...I think it's unlocking it."

"How can you tell?" she asked. "We can't see under the door. I can't see anything."

That also begged the obvious question of how her shadow had autonomy, but she thought that might be better left for later. They heard a click and a door handle popped up below her hand. She turned the knob and then Louie sighed. Wherever they were, the wind was blowing hard and rain pounded at them.

"What do you see?"

"Not much. It's too windy and rainy to see anything. We might've been better off inside the room."

"I thought you said we were going to suffocate?"

"Well, we can't walk across to wherever. It's all muddy."

Webby thought this through. The footing would be treacherous enough for her without adding the instability of loose soil. Shaking her head, she charged forward anyway. To hell with it. She was Webbigail Vanderquack and she didn't quell before anything, regardless of how much the odds seemed against her. Louie was just along for the ride.

Unfortunately, her grit and determination superseded her ability to traverse the muck. She stumbled, caught herself before she fell, and then tripped, sending Louie flying and herself sprawling in the mud. Louie screamed when he hit his broken leg and guilt swamped her. She pushed herself to her feet and fumbled in his direction.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said.

The cursing that followed was both profuse and impressive. She reached his side and he was gasping for breath. She brushed her fingers along his cheek.

"We're not doing that again," he said when he'd gotten his breath back. His hand caught her wrist. "What did you do, fall face first into the mud?"

She nodded, chagrined.

"There's a shed with a busted window and broken roof ahead of us and some weird magical altar in the distance. And...there are people moving on it! HELP!"

The wind whipped away his voice and he struggled to stand, forgetting about his leg. He crashed back down and splattered her with more mud. She sighed and curled up against him. Maybe she ought to try heading in that direction and seeing if she could manage to find the others.

"I know what you're thinking. And you'll just trip again."

He was holding onto her too and smearing mud on her arms. She didn't mind. Shuddering, she pushed herself up again and he clung to her. When Louie meant she shouldn't move forward, did he really mean he didn't want her to leave him behind? She could see him in her mind's eye.

"I'm not going to leave you," she promised.

He didn't reply and she scooped him up again. They were both liberally splattered with mud by now and his hoodie had mud in the pouch. It was hard to tell quite how dirty they were, however, considering that they were also soaked now.

"Webby! Louie!"

She thought she heard that, but she wasn't sure. Maybe it was her mind playing tricks on her. Whatever the case, it didn't repeat and she sagged, disappointed. It was impossible to see anything in this deluge anyway. And with the wind howling, almost impossible to hear anyone unless they were right beside her, as Louie was.

"Kids!" That sounded like Uncle Scrooge.

"We need to get out of the storm," she said.

Something blurry was heading their way and it was moving rather fast. She didn't have time to be surprised before the figure grabbed her. She spun, readying an attack, and Louie grabbed her.

"Webs, it's okay. It's Uncle Scrooge."

"I know it's raining hard, lass, but you cannae see me?" Scrooge said and then tilted her head. "Curse me kilts."

She felt him glance down. "And Louie too. That blasted sorceress! Ye cannae stand, can you, lad?"

Louie shook his head and she felt his head loll against her arm. He was holding onto her tightly.

"And Huey cannae hear and Dewey cannae speak…" Scrooge mused.

"So, you were right," Louie said to her. "Don't you ever get tired of that?"

"What do we do now?" she asked, ignoring him.

Scrooge coughed and stumbled, lurching into her. Louie opened his beak, perhaps to utter another epithet, but a glower from Webby convinced him otherwise.

"Whelp. We're dead," Louie said as the rain poured upon them and the only relatively well and capable person in their group passed out. Something glowed in her vision and Louie snatched at it. He cried out when it seemed to burn him and he reluctantly released it. The glowing something flew through the air and she watched it, such as she could see (bright white in a grey background) until it disappeared.

"We're dead and Magica has the dime," Louie said. He hissed, apparently out of swears. It was okay. Webby knew more than enough to cover him.