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Apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I was set upon by a plot bunny for a short little one shot piece which would not be appeased until it had been composed, putting me slightly behind schedule for this posting.

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Piers had stayed in Maisie's room until her mother had come back. When he had walked back to Conall's room, the younger boy had been asleep, his face at peace for the first time since Annis had snatched him. Sitting down in a chair beside the bed, he watched his brother sleep. The rhythmic rise and fall of the younger boy's chest had nearly lulled him into unconsciousness. His mother's shocked gasp roused him awake once more.

"Mum?"

Rubbing his eyes, the older boy sat up in the chair, glancing towards the door. His mother was not talking to a doctor or nurse, but she was pacing. When she turned to walk back over the same path, he noticed the phone she was holding up to her ear. Cell phones were not generally permitted in infirmary. An exception had been made for her because she had informed the hospital personnel about her elderly mother at home alone.

Piers pulled himself up from the chair, stepping over to the doorway in the hope of letting his brother continue to sleep while he found out what was troubling their mother. She cut her eyes towards him as he approached but continued her pacing. Not entirely certain what was distressing her, he stepped closer, placing his body between her and the open door in an attempt to muffle any further sounds that might wake Conall from his much needed slumber.

After standing in silence for several minutes while she quietly questioned the person on the other end of the phone, Piers determined that his grandmother had called. The older woman, assured of the boys' relative health, had given his mother some very interesting news. Black Annis had come to his house. He shuddered at the thought, realizing that the witch was sending a message. It was of no consequence to her that they knew where she lived, because she was likewise aware of their home.

The color drained from his face as he realized the very certain danger in which his grandmother had found herself. Their exploration could have harmed her, something for which that neither he nor his younger brother would have been able to forgive themselves. It occurred to Piers in that moment that they needed to find the means by which to dispatch the evil spirit.

She had turned the world upside down, creating snow in June. He had watched the news reports claiming that the abnormal frost from which they suffered was spreading further into the country. While the more northern parts of the country were accustomed to cooler climes in summer, snow was not a regular occurrence. The ice had killed crops that were consumed not only by the people living in the area, but also by the livestock. People who were normally flush with meat at this time of the year were having to make drastic changes to their diets. While these matters were normally not an area of concern for children, everyone had been affected by this weather. As much as Piers liked the snow, even he wished for the powdery white substance to leave England be.

His mother finally ended the call, snapping the old flip phone shut and holding the cool metal casing against her forehead. Walking over to her, he placed a hand gently on her shoulder. She opened her eyes, looking down into his wide, questioning orbs. Kneeling, she gave him a sad smile as she explained that they would not be able to go back home right away. She told him about how the witch had boldly walked down the street and almost killed the little girl living across the way. When she finished, she told him that she would do her best to make sure he and Conall were safe, admonishing him not to run off exploring again and certainly not during the predawn hours. She rose from the crouching position she had taken as she spoke, turning from him. She muttered several things as she moved back into the room. One of her comments stood out more than the others, and Piers was completely confused by her reference.

"What I don't understand is why blowing spices should scare such a creature."

None of them could say definitively what Pitch had done. The reason why was even more elusive. They had been somewhat surprised to find he had disappeared once Jack had his sight back. When the winter guardian had been told how his vision had been returned to him, he had frowned slightly. Some of the mirth left him while he contemplated the bogeyman's decision.

Seeing their white haired comrade pacing in deep thought, North and Tooth returned to the little girl Annis had attempted to consume. Though she was unable to see Toothiana, the fairy remained in the room, watching North as he comforted the girl after her parents had left. They were certain she had awakened screaming from a nightmare, blissfully unaware of how real the 'dream' had been for their little girl. Standing by the window, the fairy's pink wings fluttered lightly. She made an effort to keep them quiet so she would be able to hear the conversation she expected to open up between Jack and Bunnymund.

The two spirits in question were quieter than was their habit. While the rabbit could be quite taciturn, the mischievous winter guardian rarely was, his very nature seeming to require a boisterous approach to the world around him. Even when no children had believed in him – or none of whom he had known – Jack had been renowned for his rambunctious antics. The lagomorph bowed his head to hide the smile his memory elicited, recalling an occasion on which he had imparted some of the mortals' wisdom to the ice wielder. He had been somewhat irritated at the winter spirit's continual interference in the egg hunts. Knowing how the younger spirit liked to talk aloud, despite the lack of response from the mortals, he had blithely told Jack that only those who had gone stark raving mad kept themselves as conversational partners.

That rowdy spirit was far removed from the Guardian standing a scant distance from him, feet bare and covered in wet snow. The hare frowned as he looked up at his friend. Losing Jamie's belief had been a cutting blow to the youngest guardian. He had taken the incident as a rejection. Jack had known better than any of them how well a spirit could exist without a child's belief. That awareness did not make the moment he realized that Jamie's light was no longer shining on North's globe any less painful.

Even with the terrible things the white haired guardian had uttered against him, the pooka had remained by his side. He had taken the verbal abuse, sparring back and delivering cutting remarks in kind. Toothiana had not understood the rapport at first, pulling him aside to castigate him. The tall rabbit had simply taken the reprimand in stride, and continued the verbal quarrels with the youngest among them whenever the need arose. Over time, even the fairy had been able to see that the bickering had prevented the mischief maker from slipping into depression.

When Jack had followed him back to the warren a month before Easter one year, he had let the ice wielder mope for a day. Seeing the other spirit was still there as the sun rose, Bunnymund had brought him a basket full of white eggs, a bucket of pastel green paint, and a thin brush. The rabbit could still clearly recall the look of shock with which the younger spirit had graced him. He had merely smirked, telling the white haired guardian that staying in the warren meant working. The declaration had been met with a scowl and a request for a different color of paint.

The memories were bittersweet, but they were all too often the only consolation the pooka had. Watching the ice wielder as he quietly ruminated over the events of the evening, he noticed something that made his brow furrow. As Jack passed his staff between his hands, the rabbit could clearly see Sandy, golden body glittering as he tried resolutely to ignore them, through the one when it released the shepherd's crook. Bunnymund walked slowly over to him, using the younger spirit's distraction to catch the staff as it was passed back to the limb causing the hare concern.

Gripping the winter spirit's wrist firmly, he turned the hand so the palm faced upward. He looked up, his verdant green eyes meeting Jack's icy cerulean gaze. Pitch may have returned the eyesight of which he had robbed the youngest guardian, but he had kept some part of the spirit. A gaping hole remained in the appendage.

His plan had required the utmost care in its execution. Pitch had been aware of that when he had devised it, yet certain that it would benefit him in the end. The rush of energy that had entered him when his scythe had sliced into Annis' form had been intoxicating, moreso than the unbelievable euphoria which he had experienced at stealing a portion of Jack Frost.

As angry as he had been at Tsar Lunar for denying him the right to kill the witch in the clearing, he recognized when the blade slipped into her why the elder spirit had prevented her demise. The resistance to the force with which he had swung his glittering black scythe was staggering. He had pressed onward, knowing that the only way he could sever the connection Annis had forged was to draw the essence she had stolen from him back into himself. Once he was certain he had managed to remove all of his own elements, he drew back the energy she had siphoned through his scythe which rightfully belonged to the youngest guardian.

He had felt overwhelmingly satisfied as he watched her eye dissolve. Seeing the organ form in the black depression in her skull had been sickening. Observing the orb as it disintegrated had also been revolting. The vindication he felt once it was removed, though, justified the disgusting procedure. Once it had completely liquified, oozing to the ground, he had withdrawn the blade. He realized that there was a piece of Jack still within the witch. The portion of his essence that remained was small, just as the fragment she had stolen from him had been only a meager amount. That paltry bit had been enough to allow her to track him and use her affinity with the wind to draw him to her.

Leaving the small amount of the Guardian in the witch was the most he could bring himself to give them aid. Providing information when he was threatened could be excused. It was not in his nature to help them, though. Fleeing to them after she had attacked them had been a decision made out of desperation. The knowledge that even though he was their enemy, they would protect him from a mutual nemesis had carried him there. Pride had kept him from revealing anything, prompting them to leave the rabbit to watch over him.

Content as he was to stir up trouble and plant seeds of doubt in the hare's mind, the nightmare king had not faked his ire at their ambush. Most of his aggravation was at himself, a fact he recognized grudgingly. The same irritation came to the fore as he had withdrawn the blade before grasping that last bit of Jack's essence.

When he had touched his blade to the ice wielder, he had been almost certain that the pooka was willing to rend him limb from limb. He had shuddered slightly at the thought, vanishing quickly once the deed was done. His shadows curled protectively about him as he watched them from a nearby roof. As the rabbit had finally realized that ice wielder's hand had not been made whole he let the shadows carry him further away.

"Soon they'll find you, witch. It won't be long before they find your secrets too."

No one heard his ominous words or the dark laughter that followed them.

Shortly after the sun had risen, a car pulled up to the house. The boys piled out quickly, Conall feeling energized from the medicine he had been provided from the infirmary. Once inside, Piers left his younger brother in the main room, seeking out his grandmother. Finding her preparing hasty pudding in the kitchen, he could not help but smile. She had always been an unmovable pillar within their family. He had often thought her obstinate with her refusal to consider new things – her squawks of outrage at the idea of frozen meals had provided him as much amusement as they had given his mother a strong aversion to bringing up any further innovations.

He walked over to her quietly, his feet barely making any sound as he tread lightly on the tile floor. She turned as he reached her, handing him a bowl full of the breakfast dish. Shaking his head, he smiled, accepting the bowl and taking his seat at the kitchen table. He took two bites, letting the maple syrup rest on his tongue before swallowing. Setting the spoon down, he looked up at her, only to find her already regarding him with a raised eyebrow.

"Gran, mum said you did something with spices to hurt Annis?"

The older woman smiled. "I did indeed, my boy. She didn't like it one bit. What surprised me though was the overwhelming feeling that I wasn't alone." Piers ducked his head to hide his smile. The ice king might be a scion of winter, but he was certainly on their side in their battle against the witch. Maybe he would see if he could convince Conall to tell the elderly lady about the benevolent spirits. "In fact, I'm quite certain I had help."

Swallowing another bite of the breakfast dish, the boy looked up at her. "What makes you say that?"

Gracing him with a knowing smile, she simply winked, letting the conversation end as she called his brother in to get a bowl of the pudding. When she stepped out of the room after dipping up the bowl and helping the younger boy to sit at the table, Piers leaned across the small expanse.

"Gran knows how to hurt Annis."

"What? Are you sure?" Conall's voice squeaked with the trepidation coursing through him.

"Yes! She called mum while you were asleep. The witch was here last night." The color drained from his brother's face at the revelation. "Gran attacked her with some kind of spice. I don't know what it was yet, but I'm hoping she'll tell us. Maybe if you told her about the others –"

Piers' suggestion was cut off by the raised voices coming from the other room. Curious, both boys rose from the table, leaving their barely touched breakfasts behind.

"I don't care what it costs!" It was rare that the elder woman allowed herself to get riled enough to raise the color in her cheeks.

"You should!" The boys' eyes widened, not accustomed to hearing either woman yell at the other. "That stuff's expensive, and I can't help it if you used all of it last night, throwing it into the snow."

"I didn't …" The older woman's voice trailed off, her words giving way to an exasperated sigh. "I told you, Annis was here."

"If Black Annis had been here, there would be a dead child somewhere among our neighbors!" The boys watched their mother as she took deep breaths, clearly agitated by the conversation. Their grandmother simply shook her head.

"So closed-minded. You can't accept that there are some things beyond your ken." She turned from her daughter, reaching for her own pocketbook as she headed for the door. "I can't imagine thinking I knew everything. It's a sad state you find yourself in, dear. And for that, I pity you."