A/N: Yaay I'm back! It's been a while since I last updated uggh writing takes forever and it looks like there will be two more chapters of dancing and bad romancing to go before The Covenant is completely finished. :s

Anywho~ch thanks for all the support I've been getting for this story! I'm always surprised to see people are still reading this! Holy poop!

In my last author's note I mentioned a book series that influenced the rune usage. It's 'The Forbidden Games' re-reading a teen guilty pleasure of mine gave me the idea to use runes. I like how each rune word in the story had a magical function. So I ended up looking up runes in general and picking some very specific ones for a certain purpose later on eh heh he.

**Just a recap: Carl Strange=descendant and Stephen Strange=ancestor. As I've said before I've been taking a lot of liberties w/the many personas of Dr. Stepen Strange with most of my ideas coming from Neil Gaiman's 'Marvel 1602.' it has an Elizabethan version of Strange situated in jolly ol England. ;p

The Covenant

Chapter IV

"To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love."

~Jane Austen

Pride and Prejudice

"Wow."

Ignoring her gut feeling to turn back Darcy Lewis had continued up the stairs and into the attic.

Similar to the foyer, it too had an array of stained glass windows with oddly inscribed symbols on them. The very same ancient algorithms Strange had told them were thought to have kept "evil spirits at bay". Right now the patterns were reflecting the afternoon sunlight and touching on a treasure trove of history. One that looked recently rummaged through by Strange's men; painter's tarp left everywhere.

Darcy couldn't help but gawk at the wooden cabinets standing in front of her. Many of them had been emptied out but some still housed a huge supply of talismans, shaman sticks, and brightly colored masks.

This stuff's so old I might actually end up catching the plague from it. The intern thought while squinting at the labels and dates.

Now, Darcy Lewis may not have been an expert on the collecting habits of the British aristocracy but none of these oddities looked very, well… British.

"Guess weird runs in the family, huh Strangelove?" She whistled.

Passing by solemn faced statues and portraits of frowning old men Darcy finally caught a glimpse of something that could actually be considered ordinary. It was a hand-crafted dresser, one that seemed fairly recent in make, one that had clearly been meant for a little girl. On top of its surface rested a pile of old drawings, photographs and…was that a music box?

Darcy's interest suddenly peaked.

It might as well have been Pandora's Box for the intern.

You know better than this, Darcy chided herself as she slowly gravitated towards the dresser, snooping through your host's most personal belongings is probably right up there on the intern "no, no list."

But she was already here so she might as well have a look.

"No harm in looking-," She nervously laughed, "right?"

A chill passed through Darcy but she was quick to ignore it.

Yellowed pictures of a boy and girl at play greeted her, their faces dainty and pale as they smiled for the camera. Without thinking Darcy scooped up the photo and turned it around.

Carl age 12. April age 10.

April? Strange never made any mention of having siblings. Come to think of it Carl Strange didn't seem to make mention of much of anything when he had given them that tour. The somber faced man had been dead set on leaving!

"You were so cute then!" Darcy huffed at the younger version of Strange. "What happened?"

Putting the photo down Darcy's gaze shifted to the pile of children's doodles, her nose crinkling at their content. They were drawings of those sallow-faced porcelain dolls from her bedroom.

Bleh.

Well, Darcy thought, at least now I know whom they belonged to. She certainly couldn't fault Strange's sister for leaving them behind.

Now breaking her golden rule of 'only looking' the intern opened up the music box.

Darcy let out a small gasp.

The inside had been made to look like one of those regency ballroom scenes! One where the little figurine dancers, a man and a woman, stood opposite each other, ready to move at the turn of the handle. There was something written at the bottom of the opened box, some kind of a quote, and after reading it over, Darcy immediately recognized the couple.

The man was her namesake after all!

"Well hello there, Mr. Darcy!" Darcy smirked as she flicked the painted figure's face, "Fancy meeting you here."

Looks like this April Strange had good taste in literature.

Having been raised by a mother so obsessed with Jane Austen she had named her only child after her favorite character, Darcy Lewis could honestly say she'd had an unusual childhood. One that had often been spent as a tinker-tot begging any poor relative within ear shot to read Pride and Prejudice to her. Although she hadn't been able to comprehend the story's satirical wit at the time, it had been nice knowing, at least at that age anyway, that she could point to a page in a book and proudly claim she shared a name with a character.

Good thing I eventually learned to out grow my 'bragging rights' stage by the time I reached grade school, Darcy thought while grinning at the memory, her grin growing even wider as she remembered telling that story to Jane. The look on her employer's face had been priceless( if not a little offensive) in learning that her bubbly intern might actually be well read. That had been right around the time she'd just started her internship, when she'd been trying to break the ice between them, seeing as they barely had anything in common- what with Jane's keen sense of science and punctuality and Darcy's keen sense of neither of those things.

Cranking the handle of the box Darcy felt a sense of giddiness as she let go, watching as the mechanical couple came to life. Turning to each other, they bowed and Darcy snickered at the ridiculous way they moved, laughing she mimicked their actions and theatrically turned to the empty space beside her to bow as well.

How many times had she done just this and for an audience of stuffed animals no less?

Darcy couldn't help but laugh at that memory and, now fighting back a sudden wave of homesickness, she gave the attic's stairway a quick once over, now weighing her options.

I should really head back, but... technically I'm still on my break, and if those half-wits can run all the way down into Strange's dusty catacombs...

"Care to dance?" Darcy finally asked the empty room with a smirk.

Why not have a little more fun on S.H.I.E.L.D. time?

It wasn't like anyone was watching.

"My, my, look at all the goodies the sorcerer hides-" The Trickster God jeered as they entered the attic together. "It's almost as if the man's trying to overcompensate for something." Loki turned to his young companion to make another jest, but the mortal woman, it seemed, had taken off ahead.

"Good idea. Let's split up- we'll cover more ground that way," The God hollered after her.

He sensed power here, could hear it beckon all around him. Could sense it in the way the scrying orbs and amulets sparkled with enchantments. Most of the magic was benign but some of the more powerful items had been sealed, and sealed here for a reason.

Now that's odd, he thought. He could actually sense his own magic emanating from the sorcerer's collection. From a mask made of dull green wood and jade….

Loki raised his brow. "I'm fairly certain I had a hand in your creation," he chuckled.

Now that had been a very awkward phase. How this sorcerer Strange had gotten hold of his mischievous little green mask was anyone's guess.

With a loud bustle of noise Loki sighed as he overheard his "little friend" fiddling around with something she shouldn't.

"For your sake girl you'd best put whatever that is back where you found it," he warned.

Of course, his warning fell on deaf ears when music began to play and melodious laughter followed suit. Curious as to why the mortal referred to herself as "Mister Darcy," Loki went to investigate...only to stumble upon a rather unusual scene.

She was standing next to a musical toy, amused by two dancing dolls. Loki failed to see what was so captivating. The visual scenery in the box only reminded him of the droll redundancies of court life. A life filled with vapid chit-chat and high born women openly flaunting their sexuality at Thor, pining for the chance to have another romantic dalliance with their future king, their hero. Loki scoffed at the memories. He never could understand what filled a young maiden's head with such fanciful ideas like romance.

With an overly theatrical bow Darcy Lewis snapped Loki out of his thoughts, because the young assistant now bowed to him.

Loki raised his brow and smirked at the odd but grand gesture. "If you only knew just who you bowed to my dear Mr. Darcy."

"Care to dance?" Darcy asked with a mischievous grin, one filled with bright-eyed invitation as that aura of hers pooled all around her, beckoning to him.

It always seems to expand whenever she's in a good mood, the Phantom God thought until he realized he was staring.

Loki was quick to look away. "Not particularly, no," he answered back, put off by her odd behavior and the effect it was having on him.

His response, of course, went unnoticed as she continued on without him, her mechanical movements a poor attempt at mocking the two dolls performing figures. How often had he shared dances similar to this on Asgard with women his mother would often push him towards? Even now, if he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could almost picture it, picture them, picture-

Frigga. He thought.

Loki sighed. For all those trivial moments spent at court, for all the frivolous hours spent dancing and making inane pleasantries, he daresay he actually missed it now. And it was no thanks to this Midgardian for reminding him of that.

Slowly opening his eyes Loki found himself staring directly into hers, and for a moment, it had felt as if Darcy Lewis's radiant smile had been directed at him. As if she were actually conscious of him.

But that would be impossible, he reminded himself and the moment passed. The mortal now walking directly through him, muttering nonsense to herself and continuing along as if she were trying to remember the lines to a play.

"Merely to the-, the-," The music stopped and Darcy stopped as well. No longer continuing her mockery of a dance the mortal mulled over her next line, determined to finish it.

"-the illustration of your character!'' Darcy said pointing her finger directly up at him in triumph, proud that she had gotten it right. "I'm trying to make it out," she told the dead God.

How does she keep managing to do that? He wondered in annoyance, talking to me as if I am here? After blinking back his disbelief, Loki considered what Darcy had said with a harsh laugh.

There were many accounts of his character; some true and some lies. And what they all had in common was that they'd all been whispered behind his back. Oh, how his fellow friends, his fellow Asgardians loved to brand him with their monikers. Their favorite of course being that he, above all, was "God of Lies."

Back then, he never did have the chance to defend his character.

"And soon-," Loki said, with a bitter smile and poignant eyes, "neither will you, Darcy."

With a shiver, Darcy Lewis faltered in speech, her voice now just below a whisper. No longer holding a cheerful expression she was looking up at him, fear clouding her eyes, her face gone pale as if she'd seen a-

But that's impossible!

Loki tried to make out what had caused Jane Foster's assistant to become so startled, and looking up, he saw it too. The stained glass windows! It was those blasted symbols that had blocked him from entering the house. They had detected his presence and were now trying to form a shadow, trying to reflect his foggy shape and expel him.

As Darcy squinted up at the glass straining to make out what he was, Loki tried to come up with a plan. And with some quick thinking the phantom stuck out his foot and tripped the girl. With a loud yelp Darcy fell to the floor, her arms flailing at the thin air around him, causing the God to lose his own footing as well.

Loki cursed his luck at his new found predicament.

He was positioned directly on top of the mortal, or was it through the mortal? He wasn't all too sure at this point, nor could he care to be, because they were so close, too close. He could feel her warmth, could feel each breath she took as if it were his own. That golden aura of hers was enveloping him, luring him closer, and Loki was taking it in waves. It was intoxicating, which was why he had to scramble off of her before he grew too complacent, and before she really sensed his presence draining hers like all the other times before. But the God couldn't budge or stop gaping at her, not with the way her eyes remained glued to him, so much bluer up close, so much more intense in their direct stare. Everything about her was magnified and he was fixated, unable to ignore the fact that his translucent cheeks still hovered over hers and his clear lips still lingered over her wide opened mouth- as if they were back in that dream.

It was all too similar.

And Loki shook at the image just as Darcy Lewis shook against him; the sound of her heart beat echoing like heavy machinery, bringing him back to the reality of what was happening, and of what he was.

Dead.

Rolling off the youthful assistant Loki took to shadows, there he hid behind a cabinet, ignoring just how much the sensation of her had rubbed off on him once again. He'd been so caught up in her childish nonsense and his past that he'd actually forgotten himself- had actually been made to feel longing for something familiar. For Asgard.

Loki grimaced. My life was based on a lie, and the truth behind that lie is what makes it that much worse and I-, the God fervently reminded himself like a chant, I should never forget that.

From his hiding place Loki could hear Darcy's heavy breathing as she began to shuffle around, and in the safety of shadows, he watched the girl make her next move.

Is that… an outline of a person? Darcy blinked back her disbelief as the symbols above her began to shift and twirl into a ghostly figure, one that was hovering over h-

It couldn't be!

But then, there it was along with that uncanny feeling that she was not alone, one that had been bothering her ever since she had opened up that music box. Like someone had been whispering her name, had been breathing down the nape of her neck, like some invisible dance partner had been stomping along right beside her.

It is in no way, shape, or form possible that, that had been a ghost, she told herself but it did little to put her mind at ease.

Now backing away from whatever it was forming on the stained glass window, Darcy felt herself lose her footing and she fell. Sucking in her breath, her heart began pounding faster, because when she had collapsed it had felt more like she'd been tripped!

It's just some painter's tarp that made me lose my balance, Darcy thought as she tried to reason with herself, and the sound of footsteps? The weight of my body on the creaky floor.

But what about the weird human shape on the windows just now? It was an uneasy thought, one that caused the intern to instantly look back up, but when she did, there was nothing there.

Darcy let out a sigh of relief.

Just like Jane had told her earlier, there was always a rational explanation for these kinds of things, but still…that didn't seem to make it any less creepier, and the weird vibes she kept getting from this place had still not gone away, if anything they had now gotten worse, and her Darcy sense was tingling like crazy as a result of it.

Just as the intern prepared to hightail it back to the library, she spotted something peculiar, something off. A part of the attic's lower wall had been covered to the brim with blue painter's tarp. In fact, it was the only part of the attic to be covered like this.

But why would Strange's men go through all that effort just to cover up one tiny insignificant part of the attic?

Unless it wasn't all that insignificant.

Dusting herself off Darcy gravitated towards it, and lifting the sheet up to get a better look inside she cringed. A small table stood in front of her, but it was what it had been turned into that made Darcy's skin crawl, because someone had transformed it into a makeshift altar. Carved into its surface was intricate lettering, shapes and patterns; a small notebook resting at its center. Darcy picked the book up and, without bothering to examine its content, stared in mortified fascination at the altar.

Crimson candles had been arranged around the carvings. Many of them melted down into a pool of wax, which meant whoever had sat here had spent a lot of time praying to-, well…whatever it was that these sort of people would pray to. And Darcy had an uneasy suspicion it was what had been smeared onto the wall underneath all that tarp.

A giant red eye glared back at Darcy, one that was similar to the amulet Strange's medieval ancestor wore in that portrait downstairs. But unlike the other eye this one had a line daubed through its middle, like a needle. In fact, the picture's eye was bleeding as a result of being punctured.

Wait, Darcy thought, that wasn't real blood… was it?

Darcy could scarcely breathe as she inched closer to the markings.

"Oi! Pint-size!" A voice called out from behind her and she jumped, letting go of the tarp Darcy quickly hid the notebook behind her back. "What are you doin' poking your head in here, eh?"

Darcy recognized him as one of Strange's employees, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a forehead that creased as he frowned at her. Turning beet red with embarrassment, Darcy quickly tried to come up with an excuse, because she certainly couldn't tell him the truth!

Sorry, but I have this inane tendency to lose track of time by reliving my childhood through other people's belongings, the intern thought. Yeah, that'll go over well.

"Just…browsing?" Darcy squeaked and then cursed.

Dammit Darcy! He's not some kind of annoying sales clerk.

"Just browsing, eh? Bloody hell you were, you looked more like you were investigating a crime scene." The man patronizingly wagged his finger at the painter's tarp behind her. "Now, what you were poking at there is the handiwork of a man driven by madness, a real kook. Your lot is lucky you never met his ilk; lived here for months with no one the wiser, thieving devil worshiping squatter."

Darcy raised her brow at that. "But if he lived here for months why didn't Strange's old uncle take notice of him?" The worker gave Darcy a blank stare. "You know?" she continued, "The dearly departed caretaker?"

The man laughed, "Strange never had any kin here ducks and as for a caretaker-" the worker swung his hands up into the air, "have you seen this place? This place hasn't been taken care of for years."

No argument there, Darcy thought, her nose crinkling at the amount of dust, but why would Strange make up having a dead uncle rather than admit to having a crazed squatter in the house...and why had he never mentioned his sister? What was he trying to hide from them? From S.H.I.E.L.D.?

"Sorry sack of a man he was," the worker said, back on the subject of the squatter. "They found him curled up in a ball under a cupboard, muttering nonsense about men in robes chasing him and needing to find some stone with souls hidden under this wretched place. Thought the whole house was after him,he did. And I don't blame him either-," the worker shivered, "this place is right haunted."

"If it's so 'haunted,' then why do you still work here?" Darcy blurted out.

The man became flustered at that. "Well, times are hard since the recession, even in the country so to speak… and then you have all these mutants coming in with their unfair advantages, claiming "refugee status", stealing away all the good decent j-"

Darcy stopped listening at this point, now regretting having ever brought it up. And, after an earful of mutant bigotry, the worker no longer showed an interest in her. Instead he ignored her and took out a list from his pocket, wandering further into the attic, no doubt on a quest to find something for his mysterious employer.

Left to her own devices Darcy Lewis let out a sigh of relief, her mind brimming with questions, all of which revolved around their absent liar of a host, and looking back down at the tarp-covered altar Darcy shuddered.

Is this why you weren't "expecting us so soon" Strange? She wondered, were you trying to cover all this up in time before we arrived?

Darcy glanced at the book she still held.

Maybe it was a diary. Maybe it would glean some answers-, answers she certainly wasn't going to get from this worker, much less their unsavory host. Answers to what the "good" Doctor was playing at here and what his unwanted guest had been so dead set on finding.

Answers to whether or not this place really was haunted.

Darcy…

At the eerie sound of her name being called the hairs at the back of Darcy's neck stood on end.

Pipes, Darcy told herself, its only squeaky creaky pipes. It's not like you're going crazy for hearing random creaky noises, right?

Darcy nervously laughed.

Because crazy would be thinking that what you just heard was your name and what you just felt back there was a ghost. Because crazy would be answering back with: 'Yes, Satan?'

With that in mind, the intern hurriedly strode back down the stairs, quick to put as much distance as possible between herself and the attic. Now rushing through the family library Darcy engulfed herself in the pages of the "dead uncle's" book, zooming straight past her laptop and Jane's notes she'd been working on earlier.

Unaware of the dangers of leaving all that hard work behind, unaware of her ghost smiling jauntily at her forgetfulness and his new found opportunity.

A/N:

Oh my! Never leave your work behind in a library of a magician or a restless ghost will come and pick it up!

So Strange's dead uncle was a cover up for the squatter. What was he up to? hmmm

Jane Austen: I delved into Jane Austen territory in this chapter for a few good reasons A) being that I mentioned Darcy being named after Austen's Mr. Darcy back in chap. 1 and thought I'd play around with that a bit. I also find the idea of Darcy being named after Mr. Darcy hilarious B) There are a lot of dance scenes in P&P and I did promise dancing (and there's still more to come!) and C) P&P deals with challenging assumptions of how a person's character is constructed. And in Loki's case he's never really given the benefit of the doubt before, always the first one to be blamed, viewed as the unfit second son and a perpetual liar to boot.

Dat past! : Looks like 'remembering the past' and 'homesickness' is the theme for this chapter. Darcy delving back into her happy childhood memories and Loki being haunted by his bittersweet ones, not to mention the whole digging through Carl Strange's past and discovering he has a sister. Comic Strange has had siblings before and April comes from the more recent animated Dr. Strange movie. The squatter and the cult with the 'evil eye' imagery are all courtesy of Marvel comics, of course, but I'll be revealing the why later. ;)

Kudos to the people who were able to catch the 2 Jim Carry movie references I made. ;p

And kudos to the people who are still reading this ;p

Feed the insanity and tell me your thoughts!