Bae trudged through the snow, glad he was wearing his boots. Siri walked lightly over the snow, her sickle gripped tightly, as she kept looking around, wary as a cat. Bae followed her example and kept a hand on the dagger's hilt.

"What attacked us?" he asked her, keeping his voice low.

Siri shrugged. "I don't know. Something dark. It looked like a black flame, all tattered, with claws and red eyes. And a medallion, large, made of gold. Anything you know?"

Bae shook his head. "My father – I wonder if my father made it."

Siri gave him a sharp glance. "You think your father would attack you? Across worlds?"

Bae shrugged, feeling miserable and uncertain. "I don't know. Maybe. If he could. If he thought that thing could bring me back."

"Hmm, didn't look like a messenger to me. Or a carpool home. Anyhow, he attacked the Winnebago. Not a smart thing to do if he was supposed to find you and bring you back unharmed."

"It – it blew up your whinny – whinny-bag-o." It sounded like something you'd call a bag of horse feed, Bae thought, wondering if that had something to do with the large wagon getting its name.

"Well, tore through it. Surprised it got through the protective charms as fast as it did. Once we were clear, I, er, set off the gas tank."

"Gas tank?"

"Yeah, the engine's powered by a highly flammable liquid. How it burns is carefully controlled – just a bit at a time. Drop a flame in the whole tank –boom! Fire is usually a good bet against shadowy demons – not always. But usually. And cold iron had already bombed out. So, I figured, why not?"

There was something about SIri's practical approach to fighting shadows and demons that was comforting and terrifying at the same time. "You – did your brother tell you about my papa?"

Another sharp glance. Her black eyes had an eerie way of glittering. "Yeah. Got magic, some way that you don't want to talk about but sounds dark. Called the Dark One. Has scaled skin, claws, and weird eyes. Has been forgetting himself since he got power. Not like going-power-mad forgetting himself and not like sorry-do-I-know-you? forgetting himself – and not exactly like he's forgetting his conscience either. More like the knowledge, his conscience, it's all there, he just can't see how it applies to the problem when you tell him not to – to hurt someone."

She didn't say kill.

"Yes," Bae said. He trudged along silently. Then, he burst out, "Do you know what does that to him? Could you change it?"

"Uh . . . . OK, Bae, Tom's the heroic one. I aim for battles with reasonable odds. I know the meaning of the word retreat and can say in a dozen languages. The only way I'd take on your dad would be with a whole lot of backup or a bunch of very carefully phrased, no loopholes, magically enforced contracts, capish?"

"Ca-what?"

"Capish. Do you understand? Do I make myself clear?"

"Uh, yes. You can't help him."

She looked offended. "I didn't say that. But, I don't know the parameters of what's happened to him. It's not like the curse of the Gloaming. Not really. They don't remember. And most of them couldn't find their conscience if it stood on a table and danced – that's a metaphor. Not literal. I haven't seen many separate, corporeal consciences this side of Jiminy Cricket. And I've never heard if he dances. On tables, that is."

She thought a bit. "It does sound a little like something that happened to my Uncle Lucian. That was . . . tricky."

"But, you fixed it?"

"Well, not me personally. It was more my Uncle Lucian. And my cousin Hank. And my aunt, a bit. Uncle Lucian got stabbed in the back by a burning blade – that's literal, not a metaphor – and very, really, nearly dead before that was all worked out. Although, honest, we all know he let Hank get the drop on him . . . . You probably don't want to go that route. Really. Save attempted patricide till the whole world's about to go up in flames or get eaten by darkness or something like that before you go for it. It's bad karma even when you know you're not overreacting – and overreacting is just embarrassing even when there aren't corpses – or even if you don't know any of the corpses personally.

"Speaking of which," she added, "soon as we pass that tree over there, start running as hard as you can that way." She pointed with her chin, not lifting a hand to show. In case something saw and realized she knew it was there, Bae thought. "I'll go the other way and hold them. Don't stop for anything."

They reached the tree.

Bae ran.

She'd told him earlier not to look back, but he couldn't help it. He had to know what was after them.

Despite her earlier description, he'd expected creatures like Ogres. What he saw instead was three men, black as shadows, dressed in silver and jet. He saw their smiles. Siri had been right when she said they were fanged, but she had neglected to say how their teeth were black and glittering like iron. They rode beasts like horses with shining, silver scales and yellow serpent eyes.

He should stay and fight.

But, he had promised Siri to run.

And Siri knew this world, said the danger to Bae was greater than the danger to her, and . . . .

And he thought she might be right.

Then a scaled horse reared up out of the snow in front of him, giving a hissing growl, while it's rider, a woman with skin glittering darkly, like her teeth, grinned down at him.

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Author's notes:

For anyone interested, the Goblins look a great deal like the Goblin on the cover of C.J. Cherryh's book, The Goblin Mirror, though their skin is darker with a metallic quality.

I needed the Winnebago to be attacked and hadn't worked out the details before season 2's premiere. That clarified things nicely, since it was the wraith that did it (just to let you know, the wraith had reasons for going after Siri and Tom that neither they nor Gold expected – although Gold might have if he'd known a bit more about Siri and Tom's odder relatives).