I'm not good at finesse. Little finnicky magic isn't really my thing. It's part of why my illusions are so bad, I just don't have the right sort of mind for details. I'm a hammer, not a scalpel. You need someone to hit something really, really hard? That, I can do. Even before I got the godlike boost in oomph, I could hit like a freight train in a pinch when I wanted to. And I really wanted to hit Crapsack the Deathless in his smug, prick face.

I hated his laugh. I hated his patchy beard. I hated his creepy clothing. I hated his attitude. I hated his stupid sword. I hated his legendarily creepy attitude towards women, including Mab – Hell's bells, this guy was so skeevy that I was getting protective of the freaking queen of Winter – and especially including Ivy. Hate leads to anger, and anger is one heck of a metaphysical link for offensive magic. And much as I wanted to play the Jedi in my day to day life, there were a couple of moments where a wizard just had to let himself indulge in the dark side.

Because a god sized wallop of anger was going to lead to a godly amount of suffering for the prehistoric jackass.

Koschei virtually teleported though the solid stone ceiling as the blast connected with a quarter sized spot under his chin. I half expected to see a cartoon outline in the ceiling as pulverized rock rained down on me, ten feet of solid stone turned to dust by the immortal's sudden change in altitude. I was reasonably certain he'd actually pierced the tower roof judging by the sudden pillar of sunlight illuminating the ground upon which I stood.

I flipped him off for good measure. It didn't do anything to improve the spell, but it made me feel better. Sometimes I just have to do things for me, you know?

My brother looked up the hole in the ceiling, squinting at the dull light of the sun's light through the ensorcelled clouds. "I don't suppose that killed the pensioner of doom?"

"No." I replied, adjusting the improvised covering around my waist as I leaned on my staff. My posture had relaxed reflexively as my fingers caressed the carved runes and sigils, ambient magics comforting to me in a way no words could describe. I might have been just one step short of naked, but I didn't feel naked. Not with a wizard's staff at my beck and call, even as the hissing cries of hunting vampires started to echo through the sudden aperture. Vampires were moving down the tunnel I'd made, their tiny rubbery black bodies moving through down towards us. I pointed my staff upward and shouted, "Fuego!" to send a white-hot ball of flame up the tunnel.

Vampires screamed piteously as my magic hit them. I kept the torrent of flame going for a good minute to be sure that nobody got a fresh idea about coming down the hole before I let go of the spell, as Nanami and her wardens caught up to me. I pointed at the hole in the ceiling. "Dickless went on a little trip. Vampires are going to keep trying to get through the hole. You're going to need to post wardens on it to make sure they don't get through while I'm talking to the Archive."

"I don't take orders from you." Warden Nanami scowled.

"Fine," I replied as hissing screeches echoed down the improvised aperture. "I'm sure that the vampires will wait for us to hash out a proper chain of command. They seem eminently reasonable about that sort of thing."

Nanami's eye twitched. She swore in Japanese, pointing to four of the men and directing them to stand underneath the hole Koschei punched in the ceiling. She was proud, not stupid. The wizards tossed offensive magic up the tunnel in sequence, frost, fire, fulmination, and force pummeling anything foolish enough to try advancing on us. An additional two Brute Squad wizards watched the hall behind us, ready to attack anything that approached.

I turned to where I assessed Kincaid to be behind the barricades he'd erected, cupping my mouth behind my hands as I shouted. "Kincaid, I'm coming in. Don't shoot me."

"The hell you are." Replied the merc as he pointed an all too familiar weapon my way, one of the air guns containing the darts previously used to disable me. "You're already too close for comfort."

"Kincaid – I'm trying to be a good sport about you drugging me, stripping me, robbing me, and trying to kill me. I really am. But if you don't point that gun somewhere else right now I will take it out of your hands and ram it up your ass sideways." In truth my bitterness at the man had a lot less to do with him trying to kill me and a whole lot more with the memory of Murphy giggling on the phone in Hawaii than even I was willing to admit. But even external to temporal hoodoo and a number of complicated feelings relating to Karrin Murphy I had more than sufficient cause to want to put boot to ass. The man had tried to kill me. "So, cut the shit before I make you cut the shit."

Kincaid was unimpressed. "Oh, I'm sure you could kill me without much effort. But you wouldn't get me before the Russians get the other two guns. A single dart from a single gun and you're down and we're gone. So… respectfully, your worship, go fuck yourself. I'm not letting you in."

It was as I was considering the merits of fire versus force in disarming Kincaid – Hey, don't give me that look. The scion was tough enough to take a bit of fire – that a little girl's voice came uneasily from the room beyond Kincaid. "Let him pass."

Kincaid never took his eyes off of me as he replied to the Archive. "You sure about that? You were pretty adamant about killing him."

"If you disable him long enough Koschei will come back and either kill or cripple him, in the event that the vampires don't find him first. Either way the red court gets to feast upon an ascended Goa'uld Lord. I am disinclined to discover what that would cause." Replied the distant child's voice dispassionately. "Provided that he swears to enter here under a banner of truce and do me no harm, allow him entry."

Kincaid grunted in assent, clearly disinclined to execute his employer's orders but unable to find error in her logic. "Fine – Warden, give your word that you come under a banner of truce."

I thought about it for a second before I said, "No… no we're not there. Not yet. Not until we've sorted a couple things out that need to be sorted."

The mercenary glared in response. His eyes narrowing to slits in irritation. "Excuse me?"

"Uh… Warden. Is this wise." Thomas queried in a voice of practiced politeness that somehow lacked sincerity, his eyes darting across the many guns pointed at us. "I mean, you might be bullet proof but I'm not."

"I know what I'm doing." I replied, waving away his concerns and returning my attention to Kincaid. "And I have business that needs to be addressed."

"Well lah dee dah, bright eyes. What business is more important than your survival?" The Merc growled.

"From where I'm sitting it pretty much sounds like I'm as dangerous to you dead as I am alive. Right now the only thing that can put you in less precarious position is my pledge not to harm you. And I'll give you my word. I'll even play nice. But I need a couple of things first." I replied, leaning on my staff and making sure to emphasize just how little I cared about Kincaid and his weapon. "Because if you killed my people, I don't know if we're going to be able to be friends." I let my eyes glow. "And I really would prefer if we were able to be friends, Jared."

I put extra emphasis behind Kincaid's first name, enjoying the brief look of shock at my use of it. Kincaid didn't exactly go around broadcasting his identity. Even his last name wasn't exactly common knowledge. I only knew his first name because Murphy had used it over the telephone on their Hawaiian vacation, and I was reasonably certain he wouldn't have been thrilled that she'd shared it with a wizard. But I knew first hand how damn creepy it was to have a scary critter know who you were, and I felt like I owed Kincaid at least a little bit of discomfort given the past couple of days.

"Yes Kincaid, I know who you are. I know what you are. Suffice it to say, I'm not impressed." I growled, making sure to drag the metallic groans of the Goa'uld. "Now, like I said, we're going to be friends. And friends don't kill their friend's allies. So, are Ammit, Enlil and Muminah alive? Or are we not going to be able to perpetuate this friendship?"

"The Old Gods are alive." Kincaid snorted, arching his brow in apparent surprise. "You're worried about the mortal too?"

"She's mine. It would be unacceptable for her to be damaged." I replied, annoyed that he was being obtuse. Truth be told, only Muminah was a deal-breaker, but I couldn't be sure if the other two were listening. I'd come to like and respect my Goa'uld subordinates, but both of them were responsible for some pretty horrific actions. I regarded them in the same way I did my fairy godmother, they were potentially useful, highly dangerous, and as likely to save me as murder me. Provided that they played nice, I was willing to keep them alive.

"Yeah, nude-beach Barbie is still alive. Won't shut the hell up either." Kincaid replied.

"What proof do you have?" I growled.

"You have my word." Replied the Archive. "I will not indulge in any other proof until you've given your pledge."

"I will to speak with one of them." I rejoined. "This is not an indulgence, it's a necessity. The last time I showed up to a meeting trusting in someone's word I ended up naked and trapped in a magical prison."

The Archive was silent for a pregnant moment before she replied. "Very well. But only the mortal."

"Only the mortal." I agreed.

There were several shuffling noises behind the barricade and some rather frantic discussions between the Archive and the Russians. I couldn't catch what they were saying, but I got the sense that whatever the Archive was saying didn't particularly please the Russians. There was a brief flash of light and the smell of ozone as someone cast a spell, and the sounds of complaints died away entirely. The Archive was nothing if not efficient in conveying her message.

There was more shuffling and then a familiar voice sounded from behind the stacked furniture, speaking in the language of the Goa'uld. "My Lord Warden! I knew you would come for us!"

"Are you ok, Muminah? Have they harmed you?" I asked – replying in the Goa'uld tongue, as more worry colored my voice than was strictly wise. I'd come to care for the High Priestess a great deal over the past year. She was an odd combination of extreme innocence and great worldliness that I would be deeply grieved not to have in my life anymore.

"I am well, Lord Warden. They have detained me, but thus far they've limited their interrogation to simple questions." She paused as though considering her words before saying. "Lady Ammit and Lord Enlil have had no lasting harm done to them. The Lady is robust, and the Lord has merited no more than is due. The Scribe of Thoth has limited the Tau'ri's available methods greatly – it is a point of great contention…"

"That is enough." The archive spoke over Muminah, her little voice somehow overpowering the older woman's. "You have your proof warden."

I nodded, switching back from the Goa'uld tongue. "Good. Now for my other condition."

"Which would be?" Kincaid replied.

I gestured to my pale, ivory skin. "Fighting alfresco is getting kind of boring. I want pants."

"I will not arm you any more than you have already been armed. Your armor stays where it is." Ivy rejoined immediately. "I am not a fool, Uncle."

I laughed. "Kiddo, I didn't say 'give me my armor' I said, 'give me pants.' I'm naked and it's a bit chilly down here. You've got a whole mess of soldiers down there with you, at least one of them has to have packed a spare uniform in their pack. So, give me pants."

There was another whispered exchange in curt Russian before a pair of fatigue pants and even a shirt crossed the threshold and landed at my feet.

"I swear on my power that I will not knowingly cause any intentional harm to the Archive, those in her employ, or those under her protection except in self defense for as long as it takes us to safely escape Archangel." I replied instantly, feeling the ripple of power run across my spine that came with a magical oath as I reached down to pull the trousers up my legs. They weren't a great fit, but they were miles better than my current proxy pants.

"You too vampire." Kincaid's eye's flicked to my brother.

Thomas' brow furrowed. "You're kidding me, right? The Archive is the one who invited me."

"She invited you to keep him – " Kincaid pointed to me, "- under control, not to give him the grand tour. So either give your word or go back to the other vamps. Your choice."

"I swear on the honor of the White Court that I will not knowingly cause any intentional harm to the Archive, those in her employ, or those under her protection except in self-defense for as long as it takes us to safely escape Archangel." My brother parroted as he pointed at Nanami. "So, does she have to swear an oath too or can we just walk through the damn door?"

"An oath from the Wardens will not be required." Replied the little girl as she poked her head over the barricade, doing her best to look stern as she scrupulously avoided meeting my direct gaze. As always, the Archive's attempts to look deadly serious couldn't help but look comical on a little girl's face. "We are their guests, after all."

She was dressed immaculately in a little blue dress with her hair tied in pigtails with little red bows, her hand holding a thin rod of white wood that I recognized as being a magical implement of some sort. I couldn't help but smile as I caught a glimpse of the holographic stickers she'd plastered along its length between the arcane symbols of power. The Archive was a near unlimited repository of magical power cultivated over the ages, but Ivy was still just a little girl who wanted her wand to be pretty. A little girl, who for all her practiced look of calm, had centuries worth of evidence in the back of her head to provide her with the exact reasons why she should be terrified of her current situation.

The hand not holding her wand was attached to a shimmering silver length of pencil-thin chain that had been looped through Muminah's elaborate network of piercings and into gilded cuffs that bound her arms and legs. Purple energies bled from her tattooed wards and into the silver links, flashing along her dark olive flesh. The threat was clear – break the terms and the wand would be used on the woman.

Thomas whistled, "Sheesh – I see why you keep her around."

"She's not your type, pretty boy. Keep it in your pants." Ivy probably thought that threatening my human retainer was the measured threat rather than the nuclear option. Probably best not to let the traumatized child start getting an itchy trigger finger. "You've made your point, kid. I gave my promise."

"You have, at that." She nodded to Kincaid, and the mercenary stopped pointing the air rifle at me. "Very well Uncle, you may enter. Warden Nanami, would you be so kind as to lead us?"

"Yes Archive." The warden replied, her Brute Squad wizards providing a barrier between the Archive and myself as the little girl turned on her heel and walked down the stairs.

The barricade had been erected in front of the entrance to a wide oubliette. An opulent carpet had been cast aside and the trap door opened so that the pint-sized protector of mankind's knowledge could come up, but it was readily apparent that even within the greater structure of Archangel's dungeons the room she'd chosen as a holdfast hadn't been in regular use. The Russian soldiers seemed less willing to take me at my word, continuing to keep their weapons pointed at me as I descended the narrow stone stairs.

The room was clearly one of the older parts of the castle, dating back to an era where things like "safety precautions" were more of a vague suggestion than a strict ordinance. My huge feet had difficulty traversing the uneven steps, awkwardly shimmying along them one step at a time to avoid plummeting down head first. Even Thomas, with his preternatural grace, had difficulty walking them as we followed the Archive. Several of the Russians followed us closely, weapons at the ready. They didn't bother me. Kincaid did. He made sure to follow behind just close enough for me to know he was there, and know he had a plan to kill me if I was out of line.

At the bottom of the staircase was a scene ripped straight out of a Boris Karloff film, complete with pillories, iron maidens, human size cages with iron stabby bits on the inside to prevent an occupant from getting too close to the bars, and what looked suspiciously like a guillotine. Ammit was bound within a pillory too large to have been designed for a human made from iron and stone. Her mouth was muzzled and there was just enough blood on her lips to let me know that she'd earned that muzzle.

And there were a lot of Russian soldiers in the dungeon. I didn't take a precise head-count, but it seemed like the majority of the Russian soldiers who'd been present to subdue me off-world had stuck close to the Goa'uld prisoners.

"What the hell is that thing?" Thomas blanched, looking at Ammit. "It's like a crocodile bred with Hulk Hogan. That thing is horrific!"

"She, is Ammit." I replied to my brother. "And she's a bit touchy about being called an it, so I'd be a bit more careful with your words."

"Can she understand Russian?" Thomas asked, his eyes fixed on the blood dripping down Ammit's chin.

"For your sake, I hope not." I jibed. "She's eaten people for less."

"Swell." Thomas groaned sarcastically.

Enlil was tied to a chair the center of the room, his face a patchwork of cuts and bruises. Ivy's "limitations" on how the Russians conducted their interrogation were not as comprehensive as I might have hoped. He looked up at me through swollen eyes, looking from my stolen shoes, to my fatigue pants, to my green shirt, and back, before opening bloodied lips and speaking. "Warden… what in the Blood of the Apep are you wearing? You look like a vagrant."

"You should talk." Ammit jibed back in the Goa'uld tongue. "I don't think that stain is coming out any time soon. Amun is going to be beside himself arranging for a new wardrobe for you. So many servants are going to lose their minds re-fitting you in proper attire."

"Nor should they. A god must always leave his mark." Enlil replied.

"You left a mark alright. You left red all over that Tau'ri's fist." Ammit snorted.

"He's going to be incredibly sore tomorrow. So, who's the real victim? Not I." Enlil replied, clearly delirious repeated head trauma. "Serves them right for interrogating me without having anyone who speaks my language properly. I couldn't give them a decent answer even if I wanted to."

I arched my brow and regarded the archive. "You don't speak Goa'uld."

"I do – unfortunately when some people decide that they're going to try to limit my access to interrogations." She shot a frosty look to a slightly singed looking Colonel. The one she'd zapped before, I presumed. "It limits my ability to aid in such ventures."

"You're being awful glib about torturing one of my retainers." I replied.

"You've tortured the majority of your retainers in your employ at some point, Uncle." Ivy's little face scrunched up in dismissive consternation. "I fail to see why using the methods you taught would be anything other than business as usual."

I sighed. "Yeah, about that Uncle thing. I'm actually not Heka."

Ivy rolled her eyes in a way that didn't quite work on a six-year-old but might have passed on a woman of thirty. "Uncle, you and Father designed me to be able to tell you both from all other Goa'uld. The Archive can detect the blood of its creators."

"Oh, no – I believe that entirely. I'm sure I'm setting off your godometer but I'm not Heka. I'm the one who possessed his body and consumed his soul." I replied in a matter of fact tone. "It's why I can use all of his wards."

"And you have proof of this?" Ivy's brow arched.

"Look, I'd offer a Soul Gaze but I don't think that either one of us wants to see what's in each other's head. Honestly, I'm not sure what kind of proof that would even give us given that neither one of us would be using the same host body and host soul that would have been relevant if, and when, Heka soul gazed your ancient predecessor." I scratched the back of my head in thought. "And I can think of a thousand loopholes to any oath I could offer that I am who I claim to be."

"I would accept your True Name." Ivy replied. "So that I might invoke it."

Oh, hell no. Even if I trusted Ivy entirely, I wasn't going to give her my name. Ignoring the simple logistical issue of letting the Wardens know who I was, there were some relatively horrific things that an even mediocre spellcaster could do with someone's true name if they wanted to. Ivy wasn't mediocre. "I… don't believe that would be wise under the circumstances."

And then it occurred to me. "But surely you knew Heka's true name? The name invoked to summon your Uncle."

Ivy nodded, understanding. "I could invoke his name… yes, you're not fully complete but you're empowered enough for a simple summoning. Certainly, at this distance it could be done."

The little girl pulled chalk from her dress and drew a symbol upon the ground, a coiled snake around a lidless eye atop a pentagram. Her eyes flashed and there was suddenly an opaque bubble around her head. It allowed neither sound to leave it, nor a clear enough lip-read to determine the words she as spoke them. She held her hand to the circle and spoke within her bubble, the spell causing her tiny wand to glow crimson as she invoked Heka's true name.

I wasn't sure exactly what she was doing with the name. There were any number of things one could do with one, not the least of which was summoning them. For beings of spirit this meant being torn across time and space to answer the call. For corporeal entities this was a more metaphysical process – one summoned a shade or an aspect of a person. My followers had not yet summoned me. A combination of not knowing my true name and my own reticence to allow my mantle control had shielded me from that inconvenience thus far. Bob assured me as a corporeal entity, only my shade could be summoned, but I was still not thrilled about the idea.

And while the thing Ivy summoned more than adequately confirmed that I wasn't Heka – I immediately regretted having made the suggestion. The thing Ivy summoned was horrific, a mewling mass of tortured flesh and screaming agony. Scorched with hellfire and brimstone, a horrific amalgam of a vaguely Dresden-like body parts dangled from spectral hooks – tied together with one long skeletal serpent. A face that I vaguely recognized as my own only covered half of a ragged and bloody skull, its remaining eye darting around in horror as the skeletal goa'uld's face protruded from the other socket. We got a brief glimpse of the piteous homunculus before Ivy banished the creature, with another wave of her wand. She banished the bubble around her head, little eyes wide as she looked at me with abject fear.

"What did you do to my Uncle?" She spoke, terror bordering on admiration in her voice as she addressed me in Goa'uld.

"I took everything from him, and gave what was left to Mab to do with as she wished." I replied in the tongue of the Old Gods. I presumed that Lash had arranged the particulars of Heka's disposal but Mab had not simply disposed of Heka's soul when she'd taken it. Wherever Heka's fragmented soul was, it was most decidedly not a nice place. I was not overly thrilled to realize that she'd also taken parts of my own in the process. "Given his habits I felt it was ultimately for the best."

"This puts me in an awkward place." Ivy replied. "In my role as Archive I was permitted to subdue my Uncle for violating the Terms. If you are not my Uncle… then I am unable to use my position. Mab was entirely aware of this. I have overstepped in my role. Loathsome though I find your kind, you are not my purview."

Ivy turned to Nanami and Kincaid, switching back to Russian so that she could be understood. "There has been a grievous error. Mab exploited a fault in Heka's design of the Archive to mislead us. This is not Heka. I was misinformed. This extends beyond the limits of my office."

"You were misinformed – You?" Kincaid blinked a couple of times as the idea of the Archive being wrong sunk in. "Oh, hell – this is going to be a nightmare." He looked around at the armed Russian soldiers surrounding us. "Honey, you'd better be really sure about this."

"I am." The Archive nodded to Nanami. "You will free them and return their weapons."

"Nyet, you will do no such fucking thing." The singed Colonel held up a pistol in one hand, pointing it directly at the child's head, and a dart rifle in the other, pointing it at me. He was shouting so that the small army of Soldiers could hear him. "I have lost men's lives on this expedition. I have orders. Our government was promised payment and I will be taking the Goa'uld back for debriefing and analysis, even if I have to do it over your corpses."

And there we stood, outnumbered ten to one in a room too small for them to miss.

Hell's bells.