A few days later, I was in the kitchenette of the apartment I was staying in for the summer, finishing up dinner preparations before I had to leave for my shift at the Temple Club. I was already dressed in the uniform the kitchen staff had provided for me — a plain white chef's jacket worn over a T-shirt and black pants with rubber clogs — and my new knife bag was slung over my shoulder.

As I got up from putting my curried chicken and broccoli casserole into the oven, I heard my phone ring on the kitchen counter. Quickly setting the oven to bake for thirty minutes, I hurried to pick up the phone and bring it to my ear. "Mom?"

"Hi, honey." Mom's voice said over the phone. As always, her voice was tired, but her tone made it clear she was happy to see me. It was comforting, in a way. "How's your summer in London going? Are you liking your internship at the restaurant?"

"My summer's been pretty good so far." I said, straight-faced. I mean, it wasn't a complete lie — after all the times I could've died in the past few days, I'd say surviving each and every one of them made for a good vacation. "As for my staging at the Temple Club, it's been… hectic, but also really interesting. Sure, the staff suffers newbies poorly, but they warm up to you, once you learn how to peel veggies fast enough. I've learned a lot from them in the past few days. So how's your summer going?"

Mom then proceeded to tell me about the various happenings within the company she worked for, but for all I remember about that conversation, it might as well have been white noise coming from a TV with a spotty reception. The words were all meaningless to me now, as if they were being spoken in the language of a far off land. Still, it was nice to hear — a comfort to the ears. "Well, I guess I better get going now. I don't want you to be late for work. Call me if anything's bothering you, okay?"

"Alright. I'll talk to you later." I said as I pressed the button on my phone to hang up. As I did so, I felt my gut wrench and my heart twist itself into a meaty pretzel. Even if I could tell my mother, what the hell was I supposed to say to her? Hey Mom, can you help deal with the emotional issues that come from surviving a life-and-death situation involving a lunatic Norse trickster god with a magical sword? Yeah, right…

As I pocketed my phone and got up from leaning against the kitchen table, I looked to see the older sister I never had, Priscilla Ross, standing in the doorway to the kitchenette. "Oh hey, Priscilla. Dinner should be ready in the oven in… twenty-five minutes."

Priscilla looked at me with concern in her brown eyes as I edged towards the door. "Hey, are you okay? You've been pushing yourself almost nonstop ever since we came back from Solomon Island. When you're not attending your therapy sessions with Dr. Collins, you've been training nonstop, and now you're working in the evenings. Aren't you tired or stressed out?"

I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, and I, of course, neglected to mention my late night "activities" in Darkside. I didn't need another reason for Priscilla to get on my case. "Yeah, well… I admit I've been working hard, lately, but… I'll try and take it easy once in a while. I'll be fine — honest."

Priscilla still looked doubtful, but finally, she reluctantly nodded. "Alright. You'd better get going. I'll see you later tonight."

The next day, I was practicing my shooting alone in the Crucible. Priscilla had been called away on another assignment, so I was left to my own devices. I suppose you might think that's irresponsible, but I've been a latchkey kid for a long time now, since Mom had to work to support the both of us. At the very least, I like to think I can go a few hours without adult supervision, and Sonnac seemed to think so, too.

As I raised my Beretta 92FS Compact into the air and stared down the tritium sights, I could feel beneath my fingers the black Templar cross embossed onto the new white grips. Blue light then glowed from the minuscule tribal engravings running down the length of my sidearm's slide as I charged my anima up.

As I fired my spell from the gun, it blossomed into seven different blue fireballs that sped towards the target. Each left behind a trail of blue light like the tail of a comet, and each made for an explosive punch as they struck home. I paused for a moment to observe the results of my attack on the chained-up demon in front of me before recharging the anima inside my sidearm.

My Beretta had been upgraded since my return to London, and like the lighter John Wolf had given me, it could store anima and be used as a focus for my magical powers. As I readied another spell, I could feel my phone vibrate inside the pocket of my jeans. Lowering my gun and switching the safety on, I quickly made my way outside the Crucible to a secluded spot outside the doors.

Removing my ear and eye protection, I pocketed the shooting glasses and let the soundproof headphones hang around my neck as I brought out my phone and raised it to my ear. "Hello?"

"This is Dame Julia Beatrix Tyburn speaking." The formal voice of an old woman spoke over the phone. "Am I speaking to Chase Mercer?"

"Yes, ma'am." I said. I then heard the distinct sound of the phone on the other end of the line being dropped onto the floor, and then a few quietly muttered curses as it was picked up again. "Is something wrong, ma'am?"

"They had the audacity to give me one of these new smartphones. I don't need smart, I need functional." Dame Julia grumbled. I couldn't help but smile a little at that. Old people with new technology was always good for a brief bit of amusement. "I've been told good things about you by Sonnac. That's all well and good, but if you wish to impress me, you'll have to prove yourself by showing some backbone and commitment."

"Understood, ma'am. What do you need me for?"

"Please report to the vestibule at your earliest convenience. We have an assignment for you." There was a beat, and then Dame Julia added, "Your earliest convenience would be at this very moment."

Well, why didn't she just say so? Of course, I didn't voice this thought aloud as I spoke into my phone's receiver. "Understood, ma'am. I'm on my way."

"Stand up straight!" Dame Julia said sharply as I stood in front of her like a captured deserter brought in front of a firing squad. "Is this really what you wear? Your generation has lost all sense of decorum. Does no one care about appearances anymore? In my day, you would never see a Templars soldier out of uniform…"

"Apologies, ma'am — I never got one." I said honestly, interrupting her ramblings, as I took in the sight of Dame Julia. I didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to know that this little old lady definitely wasn't the same breed as Mrs. Potts from my hours volunteering at the seniors' dance class.

If I had to guess, I'd say Dame Julia was in her early seventies, with pale gray hair cut short and a face with many wrinkles, but no weakness to it. She wore a red, white, and black uniform coat whose tails reached down to her ankles over white trousers and black boots. Steel pauldrons, like the ones you'd see on a medieval suit of armor, were worn on her shoulders on both sides of her high collar, and at her side was a sword in its scabbard. In comparison, I must've looked pretty shabby to her, dressed in jeans and a dark jacket like I was.

Dame Julia waved the matter aside with a gloved hand as she too took the time to observe me. Her lip curled in distaste, but she spoke in a way that couldn't really be construed as offensive, at least for her. I got the feeling she was like that with most of the "commoners" she interacted with, not just the young whippersnappers like me.

"So you're Sonnac's new favorite, are you? This must be very exciting for you, being as young as you are. Of course, in my day, it wasn't enough to put your nose to the grindstone. You had to be someone. Your family name had to be listed in the registry. You were expected to have history. The sort of history that matters. I suppose it's a sign of the times, and the pickle we've found ourselves in, that blood nor age no longer carries quite as much cachet."

"With all due respect, ma'am, I like to think of myself as competent, despite my youth and inexperience." I said diplomatically. Whatever I felt about her opinions, I kept it to myself. She was pretty high up on the Templar pecking order, so it would be less than wise to lose my cool and piss her off. "So what is to be my assignment, ma'am?"

"We need you to go to Brooklyn. There's talk of the Illuminati dealing with the organized occult criminal elements in New York. We're told they've gotten their hands on something rather… filthy."

And here was me hoping I wouldn't have to do much more than fetch coffee or something. Still, the Filth and the gangs of New York was something I could deal with. Dame Julia then continued. "Look into it. I won't insult you with a 'please.'"

"Understood, ma'am." I said, snapping off a quick salute. Dame Julia eyed me critically for a moment before giving a grudging nod of satisfaction. Then turning on my heel, I then began the walk back to the apartment to prepare for the mission.

It was around three in the morning in New York by the time I arrived from Agartha. True to its nickname, the city that never sleeps was alive and well below me. Apartment windows glowed yellow with light as cars stuck in the infamous Big Apple traffic honked their horns, and pedestrians bustled through the sidewalks in order to save half a second on their travel time. I had been here once before with Mom on a business trip, before I knew that the city was where the Illuminati called home after the Templars kicked them out of Europe.

However, I had no time to waste on people-watching, so I turned away from the window of the abandoned building I was in. The only light came from the golden glow of the portal to Agartha, and turning away from the light, I headed downstairs to street level. As I descended down the rickety stairs, my phone rang, and the caller ID said that Dame Julia was calling. "Yes, ma'am?"

"We have received the coordinates for a meeting between the Illuminati representatives and the black market traders." Dame Julia's strict voice said. "It's in a car park, of all places. The Illuminati have no sense of style, none at all."

"The boys in the computer department told me to tell you they are 'uploading' the information to your telephone. Why we couldn't just tell you where to go is beyond me. When I was a field operative, I kept my journal in an actual journal…"

I decided to let Dame Julia ramble on about things back in the good old days, when people thought the earth was flat and rode on the backs of dinosaurs. With old people monologue, it's easiest to just let them talk and run out of steam, and besides, I might actually learn something from this veteran Templar.

Since I didn't have a subway card, I was forced to leg it to the coordinates uploaded to my phone. The numerous crosswalks and traffic intersections that forced me to stop and wait didn't do much to help speed up my journey, either, but in the end, I arrived at the underground parking garage Dame Julia had mentioned without much trouble. It was made of concrete with cracks showing, and it had that damp underground smell mixed with the stench of gasoline and machine oil coming out of it.

Ducking beneath the bar blocking vehicular access to the building, I headed inside the building. Blinking lights shone from the ceiling, illuminating anonymous cars long since abandoned by their owners. "I'm at the meeting place, ma'am, but I'm not seeing anyone. Got any ideas on what to do next?"

There was a pause in the conversation before Dame Julia responded. "There is a security booth somewhere in the vicinity. There might be something of use in there."

"I see it." I said as I spotted said booth. The door was locked, of course, but that was a minor inconvenience that could be solved with a single Reinforced punch through the glass window. As I opened the door by reaching inside, I saw that the computer was still on and depicting the views of the various security cameras scattered around the parking garage.

I then spotted an interesting figure walk into the line of sight of one of the cameras, and I sat down in the ratty old swivel chair next to the desk to watch. It appeared to be a Asian woman dressed in green, and though I didn't recognize her, I did recognize the symbol sewn onto the sleeve of her jacket. "So the Dragon's in on this too, huh…?"

"The Dragon, you say? Be careful." Dame Julia said, and I nodded, even though she couldn't see me, as my gaze landed what appeared to be a fusebox.

Getting up from my seat on the swivel chair, I raised my hand, and it crackled with blue electricity as I thrust it towards the fusebox. As the fusebox was flooded with power to the point that it couldn't handle all of it, it blew out, knocking out all the lights and security cameras. "I knocked out the fusebox."

Over the phone, Dame Julia hummed in what I believed to be approval. "This reminds me of a mission I was sent on during the Great War…"

"Wait, you fought in the first World War?" I couldn't help but interrupt. "But that was a century ago, and you don't look that old…"

"Well, magi do live longer and age better, owing to the excess life energy in our bodies that allow us to perform magic." Dame Julia explained patiently.

"Now, as I was saying, Miss Plimmswood and I had to douse all the gaslights and make our way through a bunker in the dark. We combined two spells to make a makeshift sonar, saved us from falling into a bottomless pit and getting eaten by— But that's neither here nor there. Chop chop! Now's the perfect opportunity to get your hands on the contraband merchandise."

"Alright. I'm hanging up now. Wish me luck." I said as I ended the call. Drawing my pistol as I made my way out of the pitch black security booth, I began relying on my magically-enhanced sense of hearing in order to get around. For the most part, there wasn't really anything out of the ordinary, though to be safe, I kept my hand on the wall and stayed close to it.

It was a good thing, too, as I heard the sounds of a firefight not too long afterwards. In addition to a newly-enchanted Beretta, I had gotten new earplugs to go along with them — ones that reduced gunshot noises to safe levels so that I could maintain situational awareness while still protecting my hearing. Striking a balance between speed and stealth, I made my way towards where the noise was coming from.

I turned a corner, and there he was, firing off an assault rifle at the oncoming horde of Filth zombies. In the light of the gun's muzzle flare, I could see he was wearing a gas mask and the Illuminati pyramid on his blue coat. Lying next to his feet in a pool of blood was the dead body of the Dragon agent I had seen earlier on the security cams. Before I could even decide whether or not to help him, the magazine of the Illuminati agent's assault rifle ran dry, and the poor guy's scream was muffled by the darkness and his gas mask as he was mobbed by the Frankies.

I forced myself to wait for five minutes in order for the Frankies to wander away before going over to investigate the bodies. Using my phone as a tiny flashlight, I did my best to make the inspection go as quickly as possible, lest the Frankies catch me, too. Unfortunately, there was no sign of the "contraband," even when I listened closely for any sign of magic, but searching bodies is hard, even when you haven't taken a shotgun blast to the torso.

In my experience, being hit with buckshot is one of the worse feelings in the world. It starts painful at one point in your body, and it only gets worse as the shot travels. It was like having a rose made of swords blossom inside your body, slicing and cutting through your insides like butcher's knives. As I weakly clutched at my chest in pain, I wondered if I was dying, only to remember I had Avalon to keep me from joining Joe Slater and Not-Ellis Hill. Still, it didn't stop my healed wounds from experiencing phantom pains.

On the bright side, all the blood and agonized groaning did make my presumed death look more realistic. Personally, I thought the sound of me coughing up blood onto the concrete was a nice touch, and the stranger who shot me seemed to think so, too.

He was a pretty ordinary-looking dude dressed in street clothes, with a pretty forgettable face, judging from what I could see in the light of his flashlight, and I did my best to stay still while Avalon healed me up as he too bent down to examine the bodies, sawn-off shotgun set aside. It was an agonizing few minutes of stillness as he took his sweet time with the corpses, but finally, he seemed to give up on his search, which was a relief, since I felt like I was going to get cramps playing possum.

As he stood up and turned his back on me, I struck like a cobra lying in wait. The first shot got him through the spine, and the second passed through the back of his skull. As I stood up in my bloody jacket, I picked up the dead man's flashlight and turned his body over so that I could get a good photo of his face and send it back to Temple Hall for analysis.

"Now, this is interesting." Dame Julia remarked a little while later. "The boys with their computers are running some sort of facial recognition program on the body, but I don't need them to tell me that this fellow isn't Illuminati. He is Phoenician, which complicates matters."

"So what's the plan, now that the 'merchandise' is gone?"

"I'll have to discuss this with the Force Marshal. You can leave. You ought to, before you're swamped by the infected. There is nothing more to be accomplished for now."

"Understood, ma'am. I'll report back immediately."

"Nice work out there. We have nothing more for you right now." Dame Julia said as I stood in front of her inside the vestibule of Temple Hall. "I'll give you a ring the next time we require your services."

"Yes, ma'am." I said as I saluted her, and I thought I could detect a glimmer of something in her steely eyes as she inspected me. A grudging respect, or perhaps even approval for this member of the "New Blood"? Either one seemed too much to hope for.

"Well?" Dame Julia's stern voice broke me out of my thoughts. "Go on, I'm not the mothering type. This is as much praise as you'll ever get from me."

"Very well, ma'am. I'll be in the city if you need me."

As I stepped outside the marble of Temple Hall and onto the concrete of Ealdwic, my phone buzzed again as it vibrated in my pocket. Taking it out, I looked to see that it was Sonnac calling. Pressing the green button onscreen, I spoke into the receiver. "Yes, sir?"

"I've just been informed of your return to London." Sonnac's smooth voice said over the phone. "As much as I hate to interrupt your respite, I'm afraid Inspector Shelley will be needing your assistance in Darkside. Miss Ross is already at the scene. Don't keep them waiting too long. It might wear on the detective's sunny disposition."

"No problem, sir." I said, and as I hung up, I picked up the pace and hurried to Darkside.