Java woke up the next morning, feeling about as bad as she had last night.

Her sleep had been marred by a dream-the vampire couldn't remember much about it, only that it had been disturbing.

She'd had somewhat off dreams before, admittedly. They had never made much sense, either, but this was the first time Java had felt actively disturbed by one.

She recalled faint impressions of some dark force, flitting calls from misty figures who she couldn't identify. A particular voice rising above the others, deeper, more familiar…a voice Java felt she had heard in a time before her first memories had properly formed.

Raking a hand through her black hair, she sleepily stumbled out of her messy bed and instantly made for her paper strewn desk. Near the desk was a makeshift clothing rack, hung with outfits she was in the middle of sewing. Normally, the morning sun casting its glow on her bedroom walls, papered with astrology posters and lined with shelves stacked with books, was a tranquil sight that calmed her down.

Java was typically more than happy to take her time on mornings when she had nothing to do-by lying there and soaking in the sun, usually reading for a little while before joining her father in the kitchen for breakfast.

While her stepfather ran a restaurant in the lower portion of the building they lived in, he had enough help that he often made the time for morning activities with her and her half brother.

Yet at the moment, Java wasn't really thinking about any of her normal activities. Consumed by worry, she rang Rowan's number the instant she picked up the phone.

Pacing her woven rug in her knee long nightshirt, the vampire listened with dread as the phone just kept ringing. Until finally the dial tone went flat and she heard the que to leave a message.

Oh no. Oh no.

Java gripped the phone even harder, seeing her knuckles go white.

Logically, she knew she was overreacting. There could be a thousand reasons Rowan wasn't picking up.

But still, her lingering doubts from last night meant she couldn't just let go of her concerns.

Thinking quickly, Java dialed a different number.

Thankfully, Rowan's cousin picked up very promptly.

"Yes?" Hawthorne answered politely. Java gulped and braced herself, trying to keep her voice level.

"Is Rowan at the house? Please say yes…" she said the last part under her breath.

"I can check. I'm almost back at the mansion…" Hawthorne said quietly, obviously confused, because Java hadn't been at all successful at hiding how worried she was. Her voice had been shaky despite her best efforts.

As the other end went quiet for a time, Java had set out getting dressed, in a top and flowing skirt in light shades of orange.

She'd just picked up her favorite brooch to clasp around her neck when Hawthorne spoke again.

"Red's here. And Rowan never goes anywhere without the car."

"Check his room anyway?" Java made sure to sound as pleading as possible. The vampire still couldn't let go of the feeling that something was wrong. She bounced on her heels a bit, something she did when she was excited…but also when she was nervous.

After a few moments of tense silence, she heard Hawthorne speak again.

This time he sounded thoroughly shocked, possibly even a little sick.

"He's…not here. And there's a lot of blood by the window..."

Java froze, and it felt much like the world had frozen with her.

/

Middleton.

What a quaint name. So sickeningly quaint that Arochondal well imagined he could easily snatch what he needed; a living, red blooded human, with essentially no resistance. The boy's soul wouldn't be quite enough fodder for his purposes.

A living sacrifice would be necessary if he wanted to not just permanently bind himself to this new body, but to bring back some measure of his old power.

The spirit tilted his current head, slanting his gaze past the red hair, and flexed these new fingers. He closed them into a fist, reveling in the base sense of touch.

Of course, the presence of his spirit had only changed the boy's body so much. Oddly fast, for a being that had started as a mere human, but he thought nothing of this. The DeLannan were extinct; he had made sure of it. This boy couldn't possibly have any of their blood.

Arochondal currently had only the base abilities of his former race, but he had retained at least some of his dark magics, a spark of his dark well of near endless power. He had been able to cast a teleportation spell, a thing that even the most powerful magic users struggled to even cast, let alone tame.

And even if the caster pulled it off, teleportation spells came with long cooldowns and a large cost in terms of energy.

However, even in this weakened state, Arochondal had easily been able to transport himself very far away from his starting point with little repercussion; outside Hyborea, into the neighboring country to the north.

Oh, I simply cannot wait to have my old power back…

He'd had no specific spot in mind, of course. All that mattered was putting distance between him and any close acquaintances of the boy; and there was the added advantage of being far from other magic users. It would make his work so much simpler.

Best of all, until he could expel this form's former occupant for good, Arochondal had a mental prisoner he could toy with to keep from being bored.

The true thing he derived pleasure from, which elicited a thin, chilling smile from the spirit, was that while Arochonal could see the boy's memories...he was very certain the process was one way, and that the boy couldn't spy back.

Conveniently, the spirit's former race had the ability to shift into an alternate form that looked mostly human, save for some minor caveats. This would make scouting his current location easier.

All of this he reflected on while strolling through the streets of the tiny Colorado town, having stolen a ragged long sleeved shirt and tattered slacks to dress the boy's body in. The initial transformation of the body from human to…something more had seen the previous clothes shredded, possibly clawed at in the throes of the change.

Perhaps more than possibly, given Arochondal had noted gashes raked across the boy's sides and limbs after changing back to a humanoid form. He had observed this with detachment, fully aware that in the long run the wounds were nothing.

Especially given his future plans.

Measly humans he passed gave Arochandal glances, but he barely paid any attention to this.

Most likely, these weak little things-even weaker than their Hyborean kin, given he sensed no traces of spellwork around them-thought Arochandal was just a wandering, down in his luck human. And as a result, wary of approaching.

This all suited Arochandal just fine.

At any rate, there didn't seem to be any particular effort to avoid him.

Just careful disinterest.

Another thing that quite worked in the spirit's favor.

Arochandal paused, his gaze racking the high hills visible rising over this small little suburb. He titled his head with a faint smile.

Those would do. They looked wooded; he could den there, begin constructing the ritual site he needed.

He would begin with the…non-living components. Avoiding the risk of spectacle for as long as possible.

What came after was of little importance when after all was complete, he would have his power back.

And then Arochandal could resume his mission…

Eliminating all life.

/

Java sat silently in the passenger seat of Hawthorne's car, a black Volvo station wagon. It wasn't a particularly new vehicle, even though Hawthorne could probably afford the latest one.

She suspected that Hawthorne simply really liked his current car, a somewhat less extreme version of his cousin's deep attachment to Red.

The standard police force had investigated the scene at the bedroom window. There had been no indication of anyone climbing the wall to get to the window; in fact, there had been no sign that anyone but Rowan had set foot in the room that night.

What had been found were traces of magic.

Specifically, demonic magic.

While Hyborean police were minimally trained in some aspects of supernatural combat, it was largely rudimentary, meant for dealing with common thugs, robberies, and other fairly normal occurrences.

Deciphering and tracking demonic magic was a much more specialized endeavor, and apparently beyond the means of the police.

As such, they'd had only one recommendation.

That Java and Hawthrone should enlist the help of true professionals when it came to matters of the supernatural. Therefore, the concerned two had taken the first opportunity to bring the case, and what Java remembered of the incident, to the best option they could think of. This saw them now driving down the New Orleans streets, towards the Quarter and the local aquarium…and by extension, the river.

At which lay their true destination, the headquarters of the Association of Mystic Defense.

A loosely organized group of detectives and monster hunters who specialized in supernatural threats or unexplained incidents possibly linked to magic, the Association was a long established organization with a rich history. While primarily a Hyborean oriented group, the Association did take occasional jobs internationally. Java had long admired the A.O.M.D-often she had fancied working for them somehow, a kind of half dream of hers.

"Have you told your mom?" Java broke the stifling silence with her question. She tried and failed to keep her poignant feeling of guilt out of her voice.

It felt like that guilt was doing its best to eat a literal hole in her chest. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about how this whole thing had started with her, that if Rowan never came back, her best friend's fate was on her head.

"No," Java looked back at Hawthrone as he spoke. "Not yet. It's possible the police have, but if so, my mother hasn't let me know."

Rowan's cousin was more or less the opposite of him. Tall and slender, Hawthorne dressed like a librarian when he was out of his pegasi riding gear, in a dress shirt and slacks. His hair was black and short.

He had a personality to match, quiet and studious. Hawthorne somewhat reminded Java of herself-given her own fairly high level of academic skill-but as a computer nerd rather than the artistic type, a lot more tranquil and lacking her occasional lack of ability to focus.

He was a sight to behold when riding a pegasus.

In honesty, Java had long harbored a slight crush on Hawthrone, despite him being human. Though really, given it was hardly unheard of for dusk vampires and humans to form families, she supposed her vague desire wasn't out of reach.

Not that this was what she was currently thinking about, simply listening with a slight melancholy as Hawthorne kept speaking.

"I haven't asked her if she's been told because…I'm not sure my Mom would be all that motivated to try and help find him, or even care that much. And I know Annad will be crushed when she finds out." Hawthorne continued, solemnly.

Java could see him tightening his grip on the steering wheel, despite how level his voice was.

Of course, she knew that he was right. Ayta Kuraga had never liked her nephew, seeming to harbor an odd hatred towards him that no one had ever really explained; it was somewhat of a mystery why she had bothered to take him in.

On the other end of the scale, his cousins, Hawthorne and seven year old Annad, had very much grown up seeing Rowan as their brother.

Even when it came to her own flesh and blood children, Ayta had always seemed fairly distant, only taking them on business trips for publicity's sake on occasion; it almost seemed like her kids were more props than family. Java, coming from her much warmer life with her stepfather, had often felt bad not just for Rowan, but for all three of the Kuraga children. While her mother was often away working as a model, Java still at least felt that she got some motherly attention from her, however infrequent.

All that said, the vampire felt much closer to her stepfather than her mother.

The same couldn't be said of Ayta. But of course all this musing brought Java full circle, all the way back to thinking about Rowan again.

And about how much she couldn't help but feel responsible for his disappearance.

"This was all my fault," Java slumped against the passenger seat, chest clenching up, her guilt surging back. "It was my idea to go to that place, if I'd never brought Rowan in there, he wouldn't have…"

"Hey, come on." Hawthorne gave her a sad look. "Don't be that hard on yourself. And…come to think of it, we should go over what we're going to say when we get to the ship."

Java clenched her fists and sucked in a breath, forcing herself to sit up. "Yeah, okay. I guess so…"

By the time the aquarium was in sight, Java felt ready to explain what had happened. Still, she felt herself tense a little, knowing their destination was quite literally just around the corner.

Hawthorne drew up to the building, making a hard left turn into a small parking lot behind it.

Even though Java had seen it while visiting the riverbank or the aquarium, even set foot on it for guided tours, the sight still caused a slight gasp of awe.

Moored before them, white upper decks silhouetted against the setting sun, was a long, graceful ocean liner; to one who didn't know better, a ship that could be mistaken for the ghost of the Titanic.

In reality, the old liner was no ghost. She also wasn't much larger than the many cargo ships that traveled the river; a little smaller in some cases.

Though outstripped in size, she had not been outpaced in elegance or dignity.

Even if Java hadn't known of the largest difference between this liner and her doomed sister-the uncovered A deck-the name embedded on the bow would have given away that this was a different ship.

Olympic.

It couldn't be seen from here, the view being blocked by the steep, stone dropoff down into the river; but the liner's hull had been painted with an infographic of a shattered U-boat, a testament to the vessel's WW1 service.

The thought of the infographic reminded Java of how she'd eagerly explained that bit of history to Rowan when they had visited the ship. And he had listened, ever willing to listen despite not being nearly as interested in learning as her.

It was a horribly bittersweet memory now, and Java felt her heart clench. The draining sadness she was feeling in the wake of her best friend's disappearance came rushing back with painful swiftness.

Hawthorne curbed his station wagon into a parking spot, shutting off the black Volvo. He cast Java a sympathetic glance while reaching for the door handle.

Java nodded at him. With a shaky breath, she exited the car, trying to brace herself.

She couldn't fall apart while trying to tell her story, after all.

/

Hawthorne wished he had better words of comfort than 'It will be okay.'

Unfortunately, when it came to emotional situations like this, he lost the eloquence he could attain when writing a speech or essay.

The best he'd been able to do was give the vampire a few hugs.

It was a horrendously lacking effort, or at least felt like it was. And Hawthorne had been feeling quite lacking over the last two days.

Hawthorne currently felt like a rather awful figurative brother, with how little it seemed he could do about this situation. It was suffocating, not even knowing if his cousin was still alive.

Tamping down on his feelings of being useless, he steeled himself. Then he exited his car, looking up at the looming ship.

Hawthorne sucked in a breath and began to walk toward the Olympic's boarding ramp. Java followed him, quiet as a ghost, her head bowed.

The sound of water lapping between the sides of the graceful ship and the stone dropoff down to the river seemed oddly loud tonight, maybe due to the anticipation of finally getting Rowan some kind of help.

Wherever he was.

The boarding ramp was covered, the edges of the corrugated roof strung with lights. More lights glinted along the sides of the liner. Hawthorne vaguely recognized them as running lights, a common safety measure all ships were required to have for the sake of visibility. While only a few of the portholes glowed with illumination, all three upper decks were fully lit in a gorgeous display of golden light. Hawthorne could hear chatter, and suspected it was from the onboard restaurant the Association hosted in the ship's main ballroom. If he remembered the layout right, it was possible to open up the promenade deck to give diners fresh air and a clear view of the sky.

It sounded like quite a lot of people were up there right now.

Everyone was enjoying themselves lately, it seemed, outside of the two of them. The bookish boy thought this with a trace of bitterness, then tried to remind himself that he shouldn't be feeling jealous of strangers for being happy.

The silent pair reached the boarding ramp, finding it blocked by a stout, locked iron gate, patterned with fillagreed bars. Decorative, but clearly built to be sturdy, and Hawthrone was willing to bet that it was enchanted somehow, especially as he could see the faint gleam of runes etched on the metal. While the Association allowed visitation, the fact remained that the ship was also a base of operations. This gate was a strong visual reminder that there was a good amount of security in place. Not just on the boarding ramp, but on the Olympic itself. He had little doubt that the vessel bore a variety of enchanted wards and most likely, a number of more conventional security measures.

Hawthorne had experienced at least one of these measures himself, in that tours of the venerable ocean liner were strictly monitored. He could recall many mentions by the guides that there were areas of the vessel-primarily on the deck that had used to house most of the third class cabins-that were strictly off limits.

That had come up when the tour group had briefly been brought down there to see the few third class lodgings that had been left preserved for history's sake.

He had always somewhat wondered why those areas were restricted, but he knew perfectly well he was highly unlikely to ever find out.

As Java came up beside him, Hawthorne straightened his dress shirt and brushed down the slacks he was wearing, wanting to be presentable to whoever was watching the gate. Java, her sense of style being more wild and creative, didn't do much on her approach, other than to brush some hair out of her face.

There wasn't much joy in the movement. It made Hawthorne's own heart ache in turn.

He preferred seeing the vampire happy.

There was a clattering sound, breaking him out of his thoughts. Through the gate, he saw a rather distinctive figure-a rare one, at that.

The figure was a gargoyle. Tall and lithe, but for sure male given the cut of his shoulders, with deep blue cobalt skin and a long tail, ram horns framing a narrow face. Hawthorne couldn't make out much else; the gargoyle had his wings draped across his shoulders like a cape. He also looked surprisingly young.

Hawthorne was left wondering what people who weren't used to being around magic saw, when they laid eyes on this guy. Magic had a way of muddling what some people saw when looking upon things of a mystical nature, depending on how adjusted they were to seeing it…or how open minded they were. While native Hyboreans rarely had issues seeing the mystic, visitors often had significantly more trouble.

Stopping just short of the gate, the gargoyle then spoke, in a slightly gravely voice that Hawthrone would not have pegged him with based on his build.

"State your business."

Hawthorne cleared his throat. "We wish to bring a case to the Association."

The gargoyle immediately seemed to stand straighter, clearly at attention. After a moment of eyeing them critically, he swiftly unlocked the gate and slid it open with a rattling of chains.

In the same beat he slightly lifted up his wings, and Hawthorne saw a metallic glint on his chest. "You're security," he guessed tentatively, based on the distinctive shape of the badge.

Nodding, the gargoyle bowed in a kind of courtly fashion that almost seemed Arthurian to Hawthrone. "Creole, at your service." He gestured at the sky. "But it's hardly just me. There's a good number of alarms, of one form or another. Not to mention the dragon and the wards."

Creole stepped back and gestured at where he had just been standing. "Step here for a scan, if you please."

Java was there in a blink, suddenly eager, Hawthorne spotting a new gleam of hope in her eyes.

"Sure!"

She stopped and primly put her hands behind her back, on a segment of the boarding ramp marked with a large circle of yellow paint. In the middle was drawn a giant X.

Hawthorne followed her and stopped next to the vampire, who was now bouncing on the balls of her feet. He squinted as a beam of violet light strobed across them, then repeated itself until it had gone across the pair from all angles.

The gargoyle nodded shortly. "Follow me." He turned with a sweep of his tail, and Hawthorne and Java set about tailing him.

Soon enough the odd group had emerged onto the deck of the ship, an expanse of richly preserved pinewood, slicked by a faint sheen of water from a brief downpour. Cables laced the air above them, running from the foremast to the ship's upper levels, running between the ship's funnels. All of them fluttered with various flags, the large anchor chains and their dockets dominating the line of sight towards the bow. The ship's two towering loading cranes loomed above them, casting faint shadows courtesy of the liner's lights.

As they walked, Hawthorne tried to see if he could spot the dragon the security guard had mentioned.

He wasn't able to sight anything concrete, but did think he caught a glimpse of a wing and a glint of yellow eyes, ducking out of view behind one of the Olympic's four funnels.

The gargoyle guided the somber pair toward a narrow set of stairs, leading them up and onto the first of the upper decks. He then proceeded to turn and walk along the side of the ship, stopping at a set of double doors. Creole eased them open and sidestepped, slightly bowing and inviting Java and Hawthrone through, his gaze was still carefully watchful.

Hawthorne supposed that only made sense, him being the security guard.

They were in a place he recognized. The entry foyer, the central point through which the Association funneled visitors to the ship.

Like the last time, it felt like Hawthrone had walked into the set of the Titanic movie; not an inaccurate comparison, given that a good amount of it had been filmed aboard.* The grand space was nearly exactly the same, the details historical and elegant. Simply designed columns supported the first of the ship's upper decks. Each level was bordered by exquisitely carved wood railings. These encircled a conical space that marched upward toward the sky; at the top of which sat an elaborate dome of glass. The marble floor was shiny and polished, a simple expanse of white interspersed with black diamond triangles.

Structurally the space was exactly the same as at the Olympic's construction, lovingly preserved over the years. From what Hawthorne recalled of the tour, most of the ship was like that; largely perfectly preserved, save for multiple subtle improvements to the ship over the years.*

As Java and Hawthrone proceeded forward, they passed two glass display cases, set on either side of the approach to the stairs like sentinels. In both sat models of the Olympic's two ill fated sisters. Beyond that, a range of paintings commemorating past heads of the organization hung on the walls, between narrow windows and corresponding sets of doors. At the top of the grand staircase, a large flag was pinned to the wall, stamped with the Association emblem; two crossed swords, the shape of a crescent moon hovering above them. Mirroring the placement of the flag, a large oaken desk sat a good few feet from the base of the grand staircase, edged with carvings in the same Renaissance and French styling that ran throughout the whole ship.

Hawthorne noted Java had actually seemed to get a pep in her step, some of the vampire's dismal pallor lifting-not by much, but any improvement was welcome. He had been starting to consider trying to write her a letter of comfort.

Maybe he still would.

` In fact, the woody smell of the foyer was actually starting to inspire him to put a pen to paper, given it reminded Hawthorne of the library.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a clattering noise from the desk. Abruptly Hawthorne realized that aside from Creole, still keeping a watchful eye on them from the door, they were far from alone.

At the large oaken desk stood an old werewolf-she was wrapped in a white and blue shawl, with drooping ears and wearing round glasses with thick lenses that seemed to magnify her eyes. She was bent over a desktop computer, watching a second figure whose hands were buried in the tower; best as Hawthrone could tell, this second individual looked like some kind of humanoid black and white cat.

Java let out a surprised gasp next to him and ran forward in a sudden show of excitement. The vampire reached the desk and stared at the cat creature.

"Ooh, I've seen you on TV!"

Pulling a delicate feline nose out of the computer, the being spoke in a purring, female voice, wires bunched in her white furred hands. "Oh…yes. Do I have a fan here?"

Java grinned. "Maybe. I'm Java…but what's an actor like you doing here?"

"Wendy." The cat creature smiled back, briefly fiddling with a gold amulet hung around her neck on a purple collar. "And, well. I work as a tidespeaker* on this ship, sometimes, and a healer. Acting can be an inconsistent gig, you know…"

She paused and looked at the werewolf. "I'm part time IT, too…since apparently no one else here knows how to work a computer," she added with a slight note of sarcasm. "Try it now, Antigua."

"Hmm." The now named werewolf furrowed a brow and clicked at something, the computer only responding with a long, beeping tone that made both sigh.

"No, still no good, I'm afraid…"

"Excuse me." Hawthrone spoke up now, his eye catching a crooked nameplate set on the desk. "This says someone named Antiqua is the secretary?"

"Oh, yes." The werewolf put a bony hand to her chest. "That would be me."

"Secretary." Java repeated, and her shoulders slumped, clearly remembering why they were there. "So…I guess you file cases?"

Antigua looked up, eyes widened behind the thick spectacles. Wendy paused in her meddling with the computer.

"Well, yes." The old werewolf pulled her shawl tighter around her, wrinkled lips tightening in a sympathetic expression. No doubt this was in reaction to Java's face falling into the guilt ridden, sad expression Hawthrone had been much too familiar with recently. "Though, at the moment, the computer…"

She blinked at a notepad, held up to her by her fellow employee.

"Oh, never mind. I suppose I'll simply have to write it down…thank you, Wendy, dear." Antigua took the pad and briefly searched for a pen while her coworker dove back into the computer.

Hawthorne cleared his throat, trying to recall his and Java's conversation in his car.

"It's about my cousin. Rowan. Him and Java-" he nodded toward the vampire, cueing that she should take over. "Went to a local mansion. Abandoned, but there's a bunch of weird rumors about it…"

"Something happened there," Java added hastily. "See, it started out okay, then…"

Hawthorne allowed Java to take over the explanation, quietly listening to her recount, the vampire sounding more devastated the further she got.

When Java had ended her tale, Hawthorne gingerly placed a hand on her shoulder as she clasped her hands and looked down, almost ready to cry again.

"Missing. Oh my." Antigua put down the pen she'd been writing with and tore the pages off, gathering them together. Wendy gave Java a look dripping with sympathy. "But not a conventional disappearance. And demon magic was found at the scene…hmm. If you would permit us, the case would be helped by allowing us to inspect the room?"

Hawthorne paused briefly, thinking.

His mother wasn't due back for another two days. There would be no resistance…and what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

"Of course," Hawthorne said. "As long as it's in the next two days."

"Good." Antigua leaned creakily over the desk, the elderly werewolf patting Java's hand. "We'll do our best to find him as fast as possible. Any fees are highly negotiable. What you can afford, essentially…"

"Aha." Wendy made a sound of victory, the computer humming back to life. "There we go…" Then she looked back at Java. "Hold it together," she added. "I'm sure your friend will be fine." She gave Java a smile of warm sympathy. "Never give up hope."

Java looked back, trying to get what comfort she could from the talking cat's smile.

"...Thanks. Tell me if I can do anything to help?"

Because she had to be able to do something about this situation, something to repair the mess she had made.

She had to.

*In the universe of this story, the Titanic movie was partly filmed aboard the Olympic with the Assocaition's permission, save for the sinking and fateful impact with the iceberg, in which special effects and models were of course used. Due to an unwillingness on the Association's part to make involved alterations to the Olympic- such as painting over the infographic of the rammed U-boat on the bow, making structural changes to the A-Deck, or physically altering the inlaid letters of the ship's name- light CGI was used to cover up these differences in the shots in which the entire vessel is shown.

*Along with the restaurant services offered while in port, the A.O.M.D additionally offers tours of certain areas, but denies access to others; most prominently the training rooms and the Vault, in which a number of powerful artifacts are stored.

*While for the most part the Olympic has been perfectly preserved, a number of modifications were made over the years aside from removing most of the third class cabins, leaving a small amount for tourists.

*Tidespeakers are a kind of water mage, trained to predict rogue waves and prevent them, along with manipulating other elements of the ocean to ensure a safe voyage. This traditional role is near mandatory on any ship under Hyborea's flag, and is responsible for their strong track record of being safe at sea.