Chapter Three

A/N: Hopefully I can keep up this pace- a chapter a day. Maybe I'll finally finish a story if I push myself with deadlines!!

Time passed; Magdalene wasn't sure how long. She took some pleasure in people-watching. There were men in neat, clean, freshly-pressed suits, carrying hard cases and talking to themselves with strange-looking devices in their hands, held up by their ears. There were old ladies with large canvas bags dangling off their arms, most of whom were gossiping ant tittering with one another. There were teenagers, some of them holding hands with (presumably) their fiancées or lovers, and others who were just talking and laughing loudly with their friends. There was one elderly man, who shared the bench with her for about a half and hour, a very sweet old man who told Magdalene about his weight problem (his wife had been "feeding him too much corn", you see, so he could hardly fit into his old pants). As he left, Magdalene smiled after him; he reminded of her of her grandfather a little bit.

But the sun had begun to set, so it wasn't long before Magdalene was relatively alone.

She sighed, the empty street dampening her mood. The relative silence was forcing her thoughts back inside her head, where they could swirl around and bring her feelings to an all-time-low. The grief that had threatened her while she was running for her life had been momentarily waylaid by the wonder of this new place in which she found herself. But in the waning light, the street became less like a brilliant thoroughfare and more like a deserted alley, full of darkness, shadows, and despair.

The streetlight winked at her as she cast her glance around, desperate for something to cheer her up and for something to stave off the wave of misery she could feel approaching. At the sound of footsteps, she searched for their source, only to see…

No, it couldn't be. Absolutely insane. The figure across the street had black, slightly shaggy hair, a lanky form, and the exact same gait as…

'Niall!' she cried, leaping to her feet. Sure, it's crazy, all right- Niall coming back to life and being in the same place as I am- but this is a very crazy place. Maybe I've died, too, and this is heaven, she rationalized in an attempt to keep her heartbeat at it's normal pace.

She dashed across the road, narrowly escaping being bit by one of the horseless carriages. 'Niall! Wait!' she shouted.

She had captured the figure's attention. He turned to watch her, face half-hidden in shadow. She reached the sidewalk and skidded to a halt right in front of him. 'Niall! I-' She froze, staring up into the stranger's face, newly illuminated by the winking streetlamp.

It wasn't Niall.

Magdalene knew, of course, that it was absurd and ridiculous of her to have gotten her hopes up so high all for nothing, but she felt as thought she was losing Niall all over again as he said, 'Erm… who?' He gave her the once-over, observing her strange, foreign clothing and her deathly pale skin.

Eyes filling with tears, she shook her head. 'I'm sorry. I just thought you were s-someone I knew,' she explained, bowing her head and turning away.

'Don't worry about it,' the stranger assured her, his voice sounding as though he was both worried for her and a little disturbed by her strange behavior.

As his footsteps grew softer and softer, Magdalene felt like a hand was tightly gripping her heart and squeezing the life out of it as she recalled the way Niall's eyes would glow just before he broke out into a grin, the sound of his laugh, and the fierce passion for life that seemed to run through his veins. A wave of crippling grief washed over her, causing her to start shaking. She felt so battered, so hopeless, so… alone.

She sank to the ground, and sat against the winking streetlamp, hugging her knees. A gaping hole grew inside her as she replayed Niall's final moments in her head. The tears increased, and her shaking worsened until she was shivering, despite the warmth lingering in the night air.

A half-hour was all it took for the numbness to invade every grieving particle of her body. Her tears dried, her quaking stopped, and the twisting pain in her heart was replaced by a dull but constant ache. The only thing she could feel was the pain in her head, the relentless drumming of her brain against her skull.

For a while, she wasn't aware of anything around her, until…

One of the strange conveyances- this one black and slightly box-like- pulled up by the curb about twenty feet from where Magdalene was huddled, motionless, on the ground.

All four door opened, and four people clamored out.

If Magdalene wasn't so wrapped up in her own troubles, she would have noticed the strangeness of the group. The man in the long coat seemed to be the leader, for he was talking authoritatively to the rest of them and he held their rapt, undivided attention. He was tall, and had a messy crown of brown hair. Another man was dressed crisply and primly in a suit, rather like the businessmen who Magdalene had been observing earlier. He, too, was dark-haired, but his face was drawn, and nearly expressionless, though it held the hint of sadness. The last man looked, to be honest, like a rake. His face was arrogant and snide. The only woman looked… there was no other word for it: mousy and shy. Despite this, she looked like a sweet enough person.

Magdalene, despite her relative inattention, could hear their voices floating through the still air towards her. '… Tosh, Owen, over there…', '…since Gwen isn't with us, taking the night off again…', and '…eyes peeled…' were clearly distinguishable, but there were a few words Magdalene simply didn't comprehend the meaning of, such as "weevil", "rift" and "guns". The snippets of conversation she heard were enough to take her mind off her loneliness, so she watched the odd-ball group idly, sighing to herself.

The one in the coat, the leader, cast his glance around the nearly-empty street, and it happened to land on her. He passed over her at first, but performed a double-take and stared curiously at her. The arrogant one was talking, and was promptly shushed by the leader as he took a step forward. 'Good evening,' he called to her.

Surprised by this man's behavior, Magdalene was shocked into saying back to him, 'Same to you, sir.'

The woman walked toward her, a worried look on her face. 'Is something wrong?' she asked. 'Are you hurt?'

Instead of a positive reaction, the woman's words only fueled a smoldering irritation in Magdalene's chest. What right did she have to ask? All Magdalene wanted was to be left well alone. So she decided not to answer, for she did not want to lie and say everything was fine, but she didn't want any sympathy.

'Maybe she doesn't speak English,' suggested the arrogant man. 'She looks a bit… dim,' he said with a slight smile at the man in the suit.

This last remark started Magdalene blushing. She understood him perfectly well, of course, but she wasn't sure why he called his speech "English"… wasn't it called the Speech here?

'Shut it, Owen,' snapped the suited man. 'I'm sure she's perfectly capable of understanding us.'

'Maybe she's in shock,' suggested the woman, halfway between the horseless carriage and Magdalene's still form.

'When you lot feel like talking to me instead of about me, let me know,' she muttered in a soft voice than nonetheless carried to the odd group.

The leader, whose eyes were glinting with what seemed to be pleasure at the challenge, fired back with, 'When you feel like being helpful and answering our questions, you let us know.'

'What do you want to know?' she asked, dully, unwinding herself and rising lithely to her feet.

No one spoke for a moment; all four of them simply stared at Magdalene, taking in her appearance.

'Um, Jack?' piped Owen.

The leader looked at him.

'I think we have our man,' he said decisively.

'Yeah,' agreed Jack. 'Or woman, in this case.'

Magdalene watched the exchange with only mild interest, crossing her arms so she felt a slight bit less vulnerable.

'Right; you'll have to come with us,' declared Jack, taking a few steps forward.

Magdalene reacted with the speed of a cat, readying herself for a fight. 'I certainly won't,' she snarled, hand drifting toward the dagger in a leather sheath that was strapped to her belt.

But before she could reach it, all four of the strangers had drawn out weapons made of some dark metal and were holding them aloft, all pointing at the same thing- her heart