The first thing Tom and Siri did after leaving the hospital was steal a motorcycle.
"Trying to get back in the hospital?" Siri said when Tom pointed it out to her. What was it about guys and vehicles designed to crush your head and make you an organ donor? All the same, she let loose a small bit of shadow from her finger into the ignition and turned it while Tom got on and evaluated it in the way only a lunatic who thought motorcycles were great could.
"Just put on a helmet," Siri said. At least the owner (someone named August Booth) had been thoughtful enough to leave two helmets, she thought, as she put her own on. Then, she sat behind Tom and tried not to think about how the laws of physics were in favor of weeding anyone dumb enough to ride one of these out of the gene pool as they sped to Gold's house.
They arrived alive. Siri tried to hide her surprise and get the shaking under control as she got off. Tom hesitated, as if he were gathering his strength.
That was when she saw the stains on his shirt.
"The wound reopened," she said, checking it. She bit her lip. "That's a lot of blood. You've got to –"
But, Tom shook his head, grimacing. "Not the wound. Not just the wound." He winced and took a gasping breath. "Magic."
Magic.
Tom and Silver had told her what the witch had done, how she'd used Silver. Or pieces of her.
But, Silver was a witch with the blood of a familiar. Like Siri, she might have particular talents for how she used magic – Siri's biggest weakness was that, outside of the shadow vines, there wasn't much she could conjure without careful preparation – but Silver was versatile. Familiars, after all, were really just magic power batteries. They stored it up in a raw form for others to use.
Or, in Silver's dad's case, gain human intelligence, live a few centuries, learn how to turn into a much larger cat, and eventually make a deal with Auntie A to allow him to turn human (sort of) so he could marry Silver's mom and have Silver.
But, Tom was a Goblin (more or less). His magic was specific in nature.
If the witch was using his blood to do spells Tom couldn't do . . . . It would be like having to get a truck up and going all to deliver one letter, she thought, burning up a huge amount of energy and move a couple thousand pounds of steel all to move a half ounce of paper that comes with it. Only, the energy in this case was Tom's life.
I'm going to kill her, Siri thought.
"Stay here," she told him. "I'll get her. We'll make a bookend out of her scalp." Assuming there's enough of it left when I'm done with her.
Things were bad enough Tom didn't argue with her. Siri swallowed and tried to focus.
She could feel the tug of Tom's blood. They'd come to the right place. She thought it was coming towards the back.
All right, then. Go around. Try to scout things out. Do not rush in like a suicidal, little lemming the way some people she could mention (Mehitabel, Tom, Grandfather) would.
The street lights didn't reach to the backyard, but Siri had good night vision and picked her way through the darkness easily enough.
There were people inside the kitchen.
The windows were open and she was able to see the surreal tableau, Regina with Gold standing behind her and Gold standing in front of her – only it wasn't Gold.
There were strong illusions in the world and weak ones. The Goblin sort were weak. There were a thousand ways of seeing through them. They didn't reflect in mirrors or water. They didn't even hold up by light of day.
And any Goblin – or part Goblin witch – could see through them.
Bae was facing Regina – mocking her, from the look of things.
And Regina thought he was Rumplestiltskin.
So, why wasn't Rumplestiltskin taking advantage of her mistake to take her head off or something? He wasn't moving a muscle.
Then, Regina drove a knife into Bae's chest, and Siri decided to attack first and figure it out later.
X
The first twinge had hit before Tom was out the hospital doors, but he'd ignored it, even though he knew what was causing it. A searching spell, maybe. It gave him a moment of cold nausea, but it was close enough to his own gut feelings. It felt draining. It didn't feel wrong.
Then, he'd felt something cold twisting his guts as they neared Gold's house. His blood had felt strange and hot against his cold skin.
Iron, he thought. Steel.
Cold iron didn't chase him off the way it would a fairy or some their kin, but his magic wasn't made to work with it, either.
Only, now it was. Now, it was wrapping itself around iron forged into a shape to cut, to kill, holding it. For some reason, he imagined a kitchen knife, the sort used to cut vegetables, being forced out of the hand of a young woman with maple brown hair.
Knowing Siri was just waiting for him to crash the bike, he kept his mind focused. No pulling over to the side of the road, no wiping out, no throwing up on the passengers.
Besides, if Regina was making her move, they didn't have time to waste.
Focus, he told himself.
Siri, thank several saints Tom intended to burn candles for as soon as he got home (assuming he made it through this), took it in quickly and set off on her own.
She didn't see him wince as another spell was cast.
Silence.
Silence and Goblin nature. Now, there was a contradiction.
He was shaking.
If he stayed here, he thought, he'd die. Whatever was happening, whatever Siri tried, he wasn't sure he had time.
Besides, his gut told him to get moving.
He pulled himself off the bike and began forcing himself up the steps to the house.
Dark.
The house was dark.
Strange, Tom thought as he made his way through the front room. Why would it be dark?
He thought about looking for the front light but didn't bother. Too much effort he couldn't spare.
People who froze to death made stupid mistakes, he remembered. There'd been a story about a man, one who knew all about surviving in the wild. He was found frozen to death, matches in his pocket, sitting with his back against a dry pine that would have provided fuel if he'd just thought of using it . . . .
Pine. Why was he thinking about pine? His guts felt like ice was shifting inside them. He had to keep moving . . . .
He got to the kitchen door in time to see Gold leaning over Gold lying on his kitchen floor, a knife in his chest.
Is that real?
There was something wrong with it. He struggled to think what.
No, wait, one of them's not Gold. Is he?
The images swam. Yes, the Gold on the floor was someone else, dark haired, smaller. Tom couldn't see his face. He had a feeling he should be able to figure this out . . . .
Gold pulled the knife out of the other Gold's chest.
That's wrong, Tom thought. You don't want to pull it out of the wound. It'll bleed out. If he's not dead, that'll kill him.
Bae, he realized. That's Bae.
It was getting hard to stand.
He could see something, a darkness wrapping around the smaller Gold (no, Bae, that's Bae. Isn't it?).
Darkness.
He felt darkness inside him.
Emptying out. Almost gone.
He gathered some of that darkness. Or imagined gathering it.
Is this real?
It touched the darkness around Bae.
The same, he thought. It's the same.
It wrapped around him.
Standing hurt. He couldn't do it any longer.
But, he wasn't standing. He was slumped to the floor.
When did that happen?
And why didn't it help?
He had a picture of himself as he tried to push out more of that darkness (why? What am I doing?). He was lying in a damp pool, darkness lying like a puddle of black ink spilling out of him, like blood from open veins.
Dying, he realized. I'm dying.
Dad'll kill me.
X
Bae.
Rumplestiltskin stared at the son he sought for so long, through the centuries and across countless worlds.
Bae's eyes were closed. He wasn't breathing.
He had ordered Rumplestiltskin – commanded him by the power of the Dark One's dagger – to pull the weapon out of his chest.
Had he realized – had he understood it would kill him? That he was making his own father take his life?
No.
No, Bae, my beautiful boy. I wanted to save you. I worked for lifetimes to save you. Don't die on me, now. Please, please, don't be dead.
He reached out, a purple haze gathering around his hand, closing the wound, mending the boy's torn veins and heart.
Nothing happened. He didn't stir. He didn't breathe. His heart remained unbeating and still.
No.
No.
Siri and Regina continued their fight. Glass rained down and fixtures shattered. He ignored them, wanting to howl, wanting to scream.
Instead, he turned to Belle.
He half-expected to find her dead, too, her life dribbled away while he stood over son's corpse.
But, the spark of life was still in her. He ran a hand over her head. There was a concussion. Perhaps -probably - not life threatening, though head injuries were always tricky. But, it was healed, now, along with bruises and a fracture in her arm where she'd been thrown against the wall.
He turned his attention to the two witches dueling across his kitchen had making merry havoc of the place. The lights had been smashed (despite his human appearance in this world, he didn't need light to see. He hadn't even noticed when they broke them). Furniture was scattered and broken.
Miss Rosa seemed to have made a good accounting of herself, but she was retreating. There were burns along her face where she hadn't been able to hold off Regina's flames.
Regina would probably kill her in another minute or two, he thought dispassionately.
He stood up, the blood covered dagger gripped tight.
"Regina," his voice was barely a whisper.
But, Regina froze mid spell.
"Regina, turn and face me."
X
Siri ducked and rolled under the kitchen table before a fireball could hit her while trying to push out more shadows to protect herself.
Fire versus shadow, like you needed a Ph.D. to know how this would end.
But, Regina was into direct attacks – remarkably direct attacks, something Siri had learned to avoid ages ago.
Amateur, Siri thought. Too used to people who don't stand a chance against her. No tactics or planning at all. Probably thinks she can just crush anybody who gets in her way.
As another fireball came hurtling at Siri, she thought Mayor Mills might have a point.
But, Siri threw the table between her and the fireball. It was good, solid material – one of the heavy woods, not something that would just catch fire and go up like a candle. Oh, it was burning. But, it was still in one piece.
Or it was when Siri grabbed it with her vines and sent the whole, flaming mess right at Regina's face, catching the follow up fireball the witch threw at her. More importantly, it kept her attention while Siri sent some vines—small and spider thin—at the lights above. Regina didn't even notice them till the shattered bulbs came raining down on her.
Regina cursed (very unbecoming, Siri thought, royalty was all about style) and conjured more fire, a big ball to throw at Siri (who had already dodged behind the counter) and a smaller ball to see by.
Which was why she saw the big ball of vines Siri had pushed over by one of the chairs (it hurt, she didn't have the energy to be pushing something that far) and not the smaller tendril that came rushing at Regina's feet.
Bracing herself—she was going to lose a lot of her remaining shadows if this didn't work—Siri looped the vines around Regina's ankles and yanked. The fireball crashed into what was left of the kitchen sink. The witch went down, and Siri grabbed her remaining vines and sent them hurtling at the witch. If she could get her wrapped tight before her majesty conjured anymore fire, Siri could count this as a win.
Instead, as white flames crashed into her, Siri realized it looked like a loss.
X
Regina turned, disbelieving.
"You're dead."
Her old mentor's face broke into something more like a death rictus than a smile. "No, dearie, you are." He reached out to the smoke coming off the burning remains of the kitchen table. The black cloud coiled around his hand like a snake. Then, the threw it at her.
Regina threw fire at it. But, the flames touched the coiled darkness and were swallowed up. Then, the smoke hit her hard in the chest. She staggered back as it wrapped itself around her, pinning her arms to her side.
"Smoke, Regina," Rumplestiltskin said in the weary, lecturing voice he had sometimes used when it had taken her far too long to grasp something he considered obvious. "It's made from fire. It's still there when the fire has burnt itself out. You can't burn away smoke."
He held up his knife in front of her. It was still wet with blood. "You wanted this, didn't you, Regina? I'm sorry. I think you'll have to settle for a different blade."
There was a boy lying on the floor, though Regina didn't know where he had come from. He wore an oversized, blood drenched, Boston Red Sox sweatshirt. Rumplestilskin pulled something out of the boy's hand that had been hidden in the overlarge sleeve.
Another dagger.
This one was long and silver. It seemed strangely liquid, she thought, almost as if it were made of mercury instead of some more solid metal. "Miss Rosa—you are Miss Rosa, I presume?" Rumplestiltskin said. Regina realized he was talking to the little witch she'd been fighting.
"Sirena Rosa," the girl said, voice ragged and tired. "Pleased to meet you."
Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Likewise. I take it this is your brother's blade? One he made himself? I trust he won't mind if I use it. He did say he owed me a favor."
He walked towards Regina, limping again as he came, a blade in either hand till he was barely a fingers width away from her. He held the second knife up to her throat. "Do you know anything about Goblin blades, Regina?" he asked, voice weary and almost bored. "Blood plays an interesting part in their creation. Rather ironic, when you think about it. And useful."
With that, he plunged the blade into Regina's heart.
X
Rumplestiltskin heard a voice cry out behind him. Belle, he thought. But, now wasn't the time to explain to her.
Instead, he watched Regina's eyes, saw them widen in pain and surprise. The blade would be ice cold inside her, he thought.
Good.
He would like to burn her with cold, throw her into some hell where ice would devour her forever—assuming there was any ice anywhere that wouldn't freeze itself on the cold poison that passed itself off as Regina's soul.
Twisting the blade, he pulled it out.
Regina gasped, hunching over. Oh, yes, this would hurt—hurt like death.
But, only for a moment.
He held Mr. Rosa's dagger in front of her, now covered with the witch's blood. "Look at this, Regina." She whimpered, head still bowed, no doubt wrapped up in her own, insignificant pain. He grabbed her hair and yanked it, forcing her head up. "Look at it. Do you see this blood? Your blood?"
She wasn't up to forming words but she managed a brief, terrified nod.
"Good." He moved the blood slightly, and her blood vanished, sucked inside the knife. "You're dead, Regina. This blade has killed you. It's drunk you're blood. It holds your death." He tucked his own dagger inside his vest and traced a certain mark on the Goblin blade with his finger. For a moment, a black, spider web-like pattern appeared, then vanished, also sucked up into the knife. "All I have to do is will it, and it will take that death. You will drop dead wherever you are. I don't need to touch this blade or hold it. You can break it into a thousand pieces, it won't matter. It's already killed you." He traced another pattern. He saw her eyes widen in understanding.
Good. He hadn't made Regina his apprentice for her intelligence, after all—quite the opposite—but it was good to know she hadn't been completely hopeless. "And that is my gift to the Rosas. Whoever holds this dagger, in a world with magic or without it, will also be able to invoke your death.
"Oh, and one more thing." He held the blade at a slightly downward angle, as if he were about to drive it through her stomach (the traditional suicide of Japan, he remembered, had involved spilling out one's intestines while still alive. Death, if you didn't have a friend standing by to behead you, could take hours—agonizing hours. But, he had made a promise to Belle).
He had left one drop of Regina's blood on the dagger instead of letting it drink it in.
The sparkling, garnet red drop ran down to the tip of the knife, then, dropped off to the floor. It pooled there for a second, then sank into the wood (and, though Regina couldn't see it, went down to the floor below, then into the ground).
"Storybrooke has also tasted your death," Rumplestiltskin said. "If you are still here when the sun rises, you will die." He uncurled the smoke from around her, dissipating it into the night. "Now, get out of my house."
X
As a fellow professional, Siri felt like giving out a cheer.
Oh, it was vicious and cruel, but you really had to appreciate that kind of revenge.
And she would have cheered—if she hadn't thought Rumplestiltskin would add her to the local body count list if she did.
She got up slowly, but all of her bones seemed to be in more or less the right place and the right number of pieces. She looked at Bae lying on the floor. "I—I'm sorry. We tried . . . ."
I stood between him and that wraith. I fought off attacking Goblins and bled all over the Gloaming. I left my brother lying outside, dying, while I came here to rescue you—all of you—
She looked at his devastated, empty face and knew now wasn't the time to say any of that.
Rumplestiltskin gave the absent nod of someone who wasn't listening. He handed the blade to her, hilt first. "Here, you might want to give this to your brother."
Siri took it. "Thanks, I—" she stumbled, trying to think what to say, when she felt something through the blade. Her head jerked and she looked to the side where a body was lying in a heap by the kitchen door. "Tom! How—"
Rumplestiltskin followed her gaze and saw her brother collapsed by the doorway. He frowned. Then, his hand began to glow with a purple light.
Please, Siri thought, let that not be a bad thing.
The blood vanished from Tom's shirt, and Siri realized he was still breathing. Color began to come back into his face as well, though his eyes stayed closed.
"Let him rest," Rumplestiltskin said. "He's probably earned it."
"Wait," Siri said. "Wait, if Tom's here—"
This took more than just Goblin-witch sight. Or it did when she could barely stand herself. She mustered up one more, tiny vine. It trembled slightly and, as she stabilized it, uncurled shadowy leaves and a very small bud. She knelt down by Bae and let the black vine wrap around his finger (the ring finger of the left hand, which witches said had a vein running directly to the heart, because it seemed like a good choice right then).
"He's alive," she whispered.
"What?"
Siri wasn't sure if Rumplestiltskin sounded angry, shocked, or disbelieving. Probably all three.
She found herself laughing. Which was funny, since she could feel tears on her face. "He's alive. My stupid brother, he did it. The Goblin's spell. For taking the dead from battle, holding the last spark of life. He did it." She frowned. "I just have no idea how to undo it . . . ."
But, Rumplestiltskin was already shoving her aside (adding slightly to her collection of bruises, but Siri couldn't really blame him). His hands glowed with purple light.
"Bae? Bae!?"
If this goes wrong—or if I just made a mistake—I wonder what he'll do to me? Siri thought.
She wondered how many deaths Tom's dagger could hold.
Bae's eyes fluttered, then, opened.
"Papa?"
X
"And that is how I spent my summer vacation," Siri said as she and Tom drove out of town. The car was a rental—she'd been surprised at first that a town no one could leave had rental cars but, after all, they had to have some kind of backup when their cars broke down, too.
"Weekend," Tom said. "How you spent your weekend."
"Feels longer. You realize there's even a chance I'll make it back in time for work?"
"Is work all you ever think about?"
"Somebody has to. The stock market doesn't just run itself, you know."
"Really? Because, I've seen all the Terminator movies, and I was pretty sure it did."
"The stock market doesn't have robots."
"My mistake. Because, then it would be run by soulless monsters out to destroy humanity—oh, wait."
"Ha. Ha. Speaking of soulless monsters, why didn't we get a little rest before getting out of Dodge? Are you sure you can even stay awake long enough to get us out of town?"
"Oh, you mean you haven't guessed the obvious? Sure you're really as smart as you say you are, sis?"
"What obvious is it, this time? That boys have some rule about ignoring sleep deprivation and common sense? Because, I've already clued in on that one."
"Poor, simple-minded sis. Right now, Regina Mills is stuffing whatever she can't leave behind in her suitcases. I give it 50-50 odds we see her headlights behind us before we reach the border."
"Again, so?"
"So, sis, you're the one who said she was glad Gold let the witch-queen live, murder being such a mess to clean up."
"And unethical. And likely to come back to bite you in a court of law. And I don't want to spend twenty to life in a cell with a roommate who probably has bad morning breath. So?"
"So? Siri, who's sitting by the only road out of town waiting for us?"
"Oh. Right." She thought it over a minute. "Silver said Auntie A told her to lay off Regina, but," she added reluctantly, "that was partly out of respect for Storybrooke as Gold's hunting grounds. She probably should still leave her alone if she runs into her . . . ."
"You expect Silver to be reasonable if Regina walks right into her arms? Or Auntie A to hold it against her if she does? And Mehitabel doesn't owe Auntie A anything."
Siri sighed, acknowledging the point. "And she'd probably decide collecting the skull of the woman who went after the captain's grandson would be a good thing. At least she doesn't make them into goblets anymore. Or, not often. I always thought that was gross."
"It's an ethnic thing. Her dad was a Celtic chieftain when the Romans were still tossing people in the coliseum for weekend entertainment. The point is we don't want her adding to the table settings."
"Right. Well, what do you think we should do with your dagger now that Rumplestiltskin was nice enough to make it ten times as creepy? Put it in a safe deposit box? Toss it in the sea?"
"I was thinking of giving it to Uncle Lucian."
"OK, you have just lost all the IQ points I thought you gained when you remembered Silver and Mehitabel before I did. Are you crazy?"
"He's not that bad."
Siri blew a raspberry.
"Hey, you know he's not. And Aunt Stella keeps an eye on him."
"Yeah, but—"
Just then, Tom's cell rang (they'd picked up—well, stolen back, because who wants to answer awkward questions?—Tom's phone at the hospital along with his other things). Since he was driving, he tossed it to Siri, who rolled her eyes at the delegation but still answered it.
"You have reached the phone of Thomas Rosa. This is Sirena Rosa speaking. How may I direct your call?
There was a pause while she listened.
"Uh-huh?" She said after a bit.
"What? Yeah, of course, but—
"Well, sure, but—
"No, no, of course not. But, shouldn't you—
"I thought that was paid off when—
"Oh. Yeah. I see what you mean. OK, I'll tell him.
"Give us a bit to figure out the details. We'll call back in half –no, better make that a whole hour. We've got to stop a beheading at the border. My stepgrandmother's there.
"Right. OK. Goodbye." She hung up.
"That was Rumplestiltskin. He pointed out we owe him a favor."
"What? We just saved his son's life! And his! Besides, he said the debt was paid."
"The debt when he saved you and Silver. Healing you after Regina's spell draining, that's a new one. So was hauling her off me before I got burnt to a crisp. But, I this is mostly just for squaring things with us and the sheriff, what with the vehicle theft, assault charges, and all that."
Tom groaned. "Great, another accountant. You've found your soulmate, Siri."
"Wash your mouth out with soap. Although I don't know if they can prove anything. I wiped our fingerprints off the motorcycle and checked the helmets for hair. Whether it's DNA tests or magic, you don't want to leave that stuff lying around. Still, he has a point."
"So, what does he want?"
"Well, it seems Rumplestiltskin told the sheriff that, even if the Gloaming is the only other world we can trot to directly, we might be able to trot to some others by more indirect routes. We've been requested to go to their world. It seems the current sheriff's wife and daughter are lost there. He'd like us to get them back."
"Oh. Great. Anything else."
"Yeah. Have a nice trip."
"What? Siri!"
"Don't 'Siri' me. Job. On Monday. Anyhow, you'll have to go to Auntie A's for directions. She knows where their world is."
"She does? How did that happen?"
Siri shrugged. "She met Rumplestiltskin. Seems to like him. I think he must be a lot creepier than we realized."
"You said he's creepier than that undead guy from London."
"He was infected and possessed, not undead. And that still leaves a lot of room for creepiness. And understatement. Anyhow, once you reach Auntie A's, you can pick up some backup. Just make sure it doesn't eat you. And don't say it."
"Say what?"
"'I hate my life.' You don't. You live for this stuff."
"So do you."
"Only when it doesn't interfere with important things. Like accounting.
"Anyhow, I like normal. There's not enough of it to go around."