Author's Note: I searched most of this stuff online, and this is how the family tree stuff worked. I even used fake names. There was a cheesy ad on that too! Okay, enjoy.

CHAPTER TWO:

Becky's eyes lazily opened up to the dull gray room; she willed her lids to close so she could enjoy the beautiful comfort of peaceful rest. But something inside ordered her to stay awake, as she was now. Becky sighed, surprised her breath smelled okay. Footsteps. She lifted her head and then pulled her sight down to see what she was wearing. A dress, her favorite one. That rung a bell. Hazy memories poured in, but she didn't have enough time to shift through them properly for an explanation. Becky looked up just in time to see Dave. He looked out of sorts and disheveled.

"Becky!" he cried, alarmed. "You're awake; how do you feel?"

"Fine," she told him. She got up and walked towards him, a little slow thanks to the sleep. She had been on the couch. Dave attempted to catch her if she fell. "How come you're so urgent?"

"You…don't remember?" His eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"No, I really don't," Becky said quietly. "What happened? I know I fainted…"

Dave sat down on the couch, pulling her gently. She leaned back in her seat and stared into his eyes, looking for some form of answers. His eyes were brown, the kind of brown she always liked. Becky could see sadness and soft fury, and…

And that girl had brown eyes too.

"That girl! She was at the restaurant, and she took some box," Becky realized, the words tumbling out of her mouth like a rush of water from a hose. "I can't believe it, Dave, I was so stupid. I answered the door without looking… She stole something of yours. It was a box of blue little crystals, it looked like sand."

All while she was babbling hurriedly, he wore a strange expression on his face.

"I know."

"Oh, right, I fainted…and you saw it missing, right?" Becky bit her lip, frustrated with her own idiocy. How could she have been the neglecting? She should have seen who was at his door!

"It was not your fault," Dave said, letting go of her hand. "It was mine. I…did some things that I could have done differently."

"What do you mean?" she demanded, confused. "Done what differently?"

Dave let out a big gush of air from his mouth, like it was homework explaining this to her. "Becky? Are you sure you want to hear about this?"

"Yes!" she hissed. "She's my business now too!"

"I…really don't want to talk about this. Not now."

"Please tell me who she is," Becky begged. "Dave, I have no idea who she was. Or why she came in your apartment. Why she came in the first place anyways. When you left to speak with her, I was so worried. I was afraid."

His expression remained stubborn, even though the mention of her fear seemed to gnaw at his eyes.

She swapped tactics. "What if that girl comes again?" Becky demanded, angry she couldn't do anything to help. "Huh, Dave? And she hurts you?"

"She won't hurt me," Dave assured her. "And if she does…well, that's my problem."

Becky groaned. "Dave," she said wearily. "What if she takes you away from me? And I won't be able to do anything to stop her? I couldn't stand it if that happened."

That plan worked. His look dropped. He stared at the floor in anguish, shaking his head furiously. Dave put his head in his hands.

"Dave?" Becky asked cautiously.

"She won't take me away, Becky," he said creakily. "She definitely won't be able to do that…it's not her."

She understood his pained words. She bent her back and her head was at his level. She unhooked his hands from his head and looked at him straight in the eye. Dave stared back unwillingly. Becky grabbed both of his hands and held them tightly.

Very slowly, making each word distinct and clear, Becky said to him, "Dave. That girl can't take you away. Sure. But that means someone else can. Who is that?"

Dave pulled his hands free. "I have to go Becky." He got up and started to walk to the door.

"Your dad," Becky snapped swiftly, hoping to stop him from leaving. "It's your father, isn't it?"

That's when Dave's tracks were cut off short. She smiled smugly, successful.

He backed up to the couch. "It's sort of him. And the girl. I can't explain it right now-"

"When? After she's done doing whatever with the sand? After something happens with your dad? After another sorcerer shows up?"

He sighed angrily. "I can't tell you, Becky. It would be really dangerous. If they found out that you knew everything, I don't believe they'll let you hang around much. I don't want anyone to hurt you. We can talk about this, sure, but only after I try to get the sand back."

Becky couldn't speak. The thought of…being attacked made her wince. She didn't like to be in pain. Who did? Masochists, of course, but she wasn't a masochist. Becky didn't want Dave to get hurt either, in his hope to get back that box of sand. Truthfully, it was her fault. However, she was completely convinced that the girl in the red coat would have come in and gotten it without her holding it. She looked at Dave's straight in the eye.

"It was my fault," Becky told him in a hard tone. "The closet was rattling. She got the box from my hands, since I opened it. I wanted to see what was making that noise; but you can't even tell me about that, right?"

Dave frowned. "It was not your fault, Becky. She's a sorceress, remember? She didn't care if you had it or not, as long as she got it. And that box of sand. It holds something that can…" His voice trailed off.

She sensed an opportunity at truth. "What?" she demanded. "What can that sand do?"

He landed back on the couch, slumping in exhaustion. It had been an eventful day. It wasn't even night yet.

"Telling everything bit by bit will be impossible," Dave said to her. Becky held his hands and swore she would not let go. He was not getting away this time.

"I don't care. Tell me what you know. It's me and you now, Dave."

"That's the part I mind," he grumbled. "Having you involved is a bad idea."

"The truth?" Becky prodded.

Dave leaned back, but his hands were still encased in Becky's. "Right. The truth. Let's see…where should I start?"

"The beginning," Becky insisted.

Dave raised his eyebrows. "The beginning? It's not that much of a start."

"I don't care," repeated Becky.

Another sigh. "Fine. But this is still a bad idea, telling." He paused, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes.

Becky waited patiently.

"My father was born in the 1800s," Dave said clearly. He kept his eyes on the ceiling. "I only know that from his past. He was…is a Morganian. I never knew about magic or his abilities. I only knew later on, after I defeated Morgana." His words took on an edgier, dark meaning. Becky didn't like the mental image it painted in her head: a gloomy setting with dead weeds and a black sky, with Dave walking home, unprotected and defenseless; a shadow that was his father, stalking him as he continued. She knew it was only her imagination getting out of hand. But she hated the evil fantasy in her mind. She banished the bad thoughts immediately.

"This happened two weeks ago. I went to the apartment," Dave murmured to her. Becky held on tighter. His hands felt so cold. "Bennet left me alone. He had a date or something like that. I didn't care; I had the whole place to myself, and I really needed some study time. Then a knock on the door. I thought it was Bennet, but it wasn't. It was a woman. She came in without me inviting her and introduced herself to me as Modessa.

"Modessa said she could not stay long. She gave me a notebook and said she was a friend of my mother's. And just as soon as she appeared, she left within the blink of an eye. I thought I was delusional, but then I remembered magic. So she was a Merlinian or Morganian. I decided to read the notebook, then call Balthazar."

"What happened?" Becky asked, her ears absorbing every word. The story, more like a recollection, was lacking in detail and vivid portrayal. Becky wanted more to know, more to listen to. Every bit of information that was obtained mattered. But Dave wasn't giving anything than necessary up. She was stuck with a bland, thin memory that wouldn't help if she tried to come along.

"It was my mother's journal," Dave flatly answered. "Inside, it revealed that my dad is a Morganian. Modessa captured him and put him inside this object; he would be stuck there forever. My sister, the girl in the red coat, was also trapped in a prison, the Cell. And I never heard from them again."

Until your sister showed up at the restaurant, Becky thought, shivering, now that she knew that the girl was a relative. That complicated everything.

"And what then?" she whispered. Her voice was much too hoarse.

"And then nothing," Dave snapped. He wrenched his hands free from Becky's, and stood up from the couch. She sat, as still as a block of stone. He disappeared through a door while Becky contemplated the girl in red. His sister, actually. But what could she do to Dave? Not hurt him, no, she couldn't do that to her own brother. That was why she looked so familiar. Dave walked back in, dressed in a jacket and jeans. He put on his shoes and gave her a tight smile.

"I'll be back," he promised her. "I just need to see my sister. Okay?"

The door clicked softly. He left without a response. Becky bit down on her lip. Hard.

She went to Dave's room and found her cell phone, on the bed. She picked it up, cradling the metallic item in her hands, glad he didn't move it to somewhere else. Becky picked up one number.

Balthazar. A Merlinian who was on the good side, someone who would one hundred percent help with this crazy, twisted problem. Dave's sister, who was willing to barge in and steal something of her brother's. Dave's father, who was a sorcerer himself, probably more skilled and more efficient. He could be capable of killing, of hurting. A Morganian could do all those things.

She had to call. She had to. What would happen to Dave if she didn't?

And then she remembered the key words in this entire fiasco, one that was slowly beginning to form soon in time. This was a family feud. It did not involve Balthazar or Veronica, not even her. It was all Dave and his relatives. This was his business. His privacy.

And if she called, she was allowing Balthazar and Veronica step in on his privacy.

But out of love! Becky reminded herself quickly. Dave, he would understand! He had done so much for her, straight out of love.

She probably would have convinced herself that calling Balthazar would have been the right thing to do, had not Dave's face appeared fresh in her mind.

In her head, his expression was in shock and hurt, brown eyes filled with anger thanks to her betrayal. Hurt, because she had told someone else about his family matters. He believed that he could remain unscathed. Maybe he was right. Maybe Dave could live, because these people were his blood.

"Just call him!" Becky snapped at herself. Instead of doing what she thought was safe and correct, she threw the phone at the bed. It landed on the pillow. She would wait.

"You better come back unharmed, Dave," she whispered to herself. Then she went on his computer and fleshed out the Google search engine from the others, only due to the fact it was the first one she saw. When the large letters appeared above the rectangular thin box, she hurriedly wrote in what she wanted to see.

Family trees.

She got a handful of results within a matter of seconds. Becky clicked on the first result. A simple homepage appeared, white and light blue. There was a big box that flashed on the screen, with easy questions required to find the family tree. Becky placed 'male' on the gender form, since it was Dave's heritage she was searching for.

First and last name? Dave Stutler. She filled in the email address, the country he was born in, year of birth. Then came the two questions on his mom's name, and the dad's name. Oh, this was bad. She didn't know Dave's father's name. They never spoke about it… And then Becky remembered this was Dave's apartment she was in. She could find answers swiftly. Becky got up and racked the entire place for clues on the names. She eventually found a small red book that must have been his planner. Names, dates, and addresses filled the pages. But they were recent, and also not the ones she truly needed. Becky had to flip all the way to the front to find her information. The page she was on was old, yellow, and a little frayed around the edges. Geez! When was the last time he looked at this? He must have been so separated from his family. Becky never had any problems like that. A small spark of pity lit up inside her, but then she reminded herself she had a mission.

Gwen Stutler and Damien James Stutler. There was his mother's address and number, but nothing for his father. Only three words that made up his name. There were his sister's contacts too, but it was mostly crossed out.

She headed back to his computer and typed in the names. The next thing was just a dumb discount ad, which she could skip. After, gratefully, came up the answers. Thank goodness. She couldn't fill anything else. She only had a few measly names.

There were a lot of Stutlers. More than she could count. She hit the print button and instantly, the papers came out with good ink. She leaned back in the chair and read through the copies. She breezed past Dave's name and his parents' names, as well as the sister's. She only wanted to know his grandparents and great grandparents.

Rosalind Lance married Everett Stutler, both of whom were Dave's grandparents. Damien Stutler's father's father had been Gregorr Stutler, and his wife had been Ava Lesling. The Lances had been around during the times of the Salem Witch Trials…just like little Abigail Williams. The Lesling family was limited; Ava was the only daughter out of five children who did not catch tuberculosis. Becky doubted this tiny piece of information. It was certainly helpful to have these names and their teensy weensy history, but this could have been made up by the site, for all she knew. Becky clicked the How Do We Know This? button. It claimed that the person who wrote up this little article was one of the founders of the website. She quickly scrolled down to the bottom of the page, which listed the names of the founders. She memorized all of their names before going back up to the How Do We Know This? The writer was Charlotte Markov. Becky opened up another window and typed in this woman's name. An article was written about her on Wikipedia, a site Becky deeply mistrusted. But it was the only valuable offer of information; and yet it was still to be doubted. There were a few passages about her. Charlotte Markov was born in Russia and there was even a picture of her. She was in her thirties and a sophisticated, stern-looking brunette. She was well known in Russia for two novels, one on czar history, the other on…

The possibility of magic.

No way.

She had to be connected to magic in some way. It was too coincidental this woman wrote a book on magic, and she wrote about Dave's family as well. She must have known something. Becky thanked her lucky stars she had decided to go on the computer. She didn't call Balthazar for quite some time. Now that she had enough information for him, she could. She was useful. Becky went on the computer again and searched up the book title. Makings of the Magic by Charlotte Markov. There weren't a lot of listings for that on the book websites, just used copies. Becky didn't need the book; she just needed a good look at the contents. Thankfully, there were buttons that let her click on the cover and take a peek at the chapters inside. The first was some preface, the true first chapter was on the meaning of magic. The second was about the earliest signs of magic and the cultures of it.

The third chapter was about families that had believed to be involved with magic, if it existed. Becky was all too curious to pass up that opportunity. She clicked on chapter three, and was allowed to look at three pages only. On the third page, all the way at the end, there was a sentence that said: Another family, not as known, is the Stutl-

She shut off the computer improperly and grabbed her phone. She dialed and immediately, Balthazar picked up.

"There's something you have to know," Becky breathed.

Dave had only dashed a few streets away from the apartment, having not one clue on how to contact his irresponsible sister, with no way to reason with her (that had been quite obvious from the moment she fled from his apartment), when his phone rang.

It could have been Becky, Balthazar, Veronica, even Bennet. But Dave knew all too well when his fingers brushed across the screen in his pocket, that is was his older sister.

He reluctantly and at the same time, willingly, picked up her call.

"Rachael." He sighed her name in resignation.

"Little brother." Her voice mocked him.

"I'm glad you called," he said, struggling to place the formation of the words correctly. Dave ran a free hand through his now-messy hair. "I need to talk to you. It's urgent."

"Little brother," Rachael said, and if Dave had gotten a glimpse of her right now, he could have sworn she was smiling, "I already know what you want. It's pretty clear."

"I know I'm not getting it."

"Honestly, David, why are you against this?" his sister asked, a note of slight annoyance marring her amused tone. "He is your father. Aren't sons supposed to love their fathers?"

"They are," Dave breathed. "But not when they miss a bunch of birthdays."

"Get over that," Rachael sneered. "What are you, a ten-year-old?"

"And not when they murder their newborn daughter," Dave forced on her. He heard a catch in her breath, but she still spoke.

"So what, there wasn't any pain," she snarled, but she sounded a little disturbed over the fact. So she hadn't known.

"And not when they try to kill their wife," Dave said, his voice cracking.

No one said anything.

"He…didn't do…that," she finished uncertainly. "Not…to Mom."

"He tried," Dave disagreed. "And almost succeeded, if I hadn't walked in the room. Don't deny that, Rachael. I know what I saw. He's a killer. He's killed before, which you are perfectly aware of, and you must know that he planned to kill again. You, him, the other Morganians. You're just the same."

"I've had enough!" Rachael shouted. "Tell me what you want, and it better not be about the box of sand. 'Cause I'm not givin' that up, sweetheart."

Their conversation had turned to a different path immediately.

"I understand you don't want to hand it over to me, fine," Dave hissed back. "Whatever. I guess I'll have to deal with what's coming. But could you slow the process down?"

"Slow it?"

"Yeah, slow it down," Dave said. "I need more time to prepare. I can't face him when I'm not that well trained."

When Rachael talked again, she sounded fairly stunned. "Wait. You think your father wants to…kill you? That's why you think I want to let him out?"

Dave sighed. "I know you only want to release him so you two can continue your little empire of evil."

"But…to murder you? Our old man wouldn't do that to me or you."

"I know," Dave murmured. "But he would definitely hurt someone else."

"The human girl," Rachael realized. She giggled. "Your girlfriend? Right. I wonder what Dad's gonna say when he sees you with her. It'll be worse than a grounding, I bet."

"I have nothing to do with him. All I'm asking is for time to get myself ready to meet him."

"Hey, Dave?" she asked. "You do know Dad's going to want to meet Becky formally? And then unleash havoc? Because, really, that's what dads do. Meet their kid's girlfriend."

"I wasn't preparing for that kind of confrontation," Dave grumbled.

She laughed airily. "Hoo boy, I'm glad I don't have a boyfriend. Good luck with everything, little brother."

Sensing that she was about to hang up, Dave quickly inserted, "Hold on, what about what you said today? About him visiting? Because it was a special day?"

"You remembered." She sounded pleased. "Yes, he'll visit, but when I said that, I honestly didn't mean our father." "Who?" Dave demanded.

A pause. "No, I am not ruining the surprise."

"Tell me, Rachael!"

Another period of silence. Oh no, don't hang up! Dave thought.

And then, "Okay, I'm bad at keeping secrets. It's dear Uncle Cyril. Okay, by Davey, I've got to hurry up with the pentagon."

"But what about slowing things down!"

"Oh, silly, I'm not speeding up the process! No this is entirely different. Bye."

She hang up.

Uncle Cyril was going to visit today. His father's brother.

As Rachael would have said when they were kids, 'the Lord is not with you today.'

I wonder if this was all placed in an okay fashion. I want to make the chapters longer, I honestly do, but it helps making them this way. Thanks for reviewing!

Oh, and the people I asked to use their comments, and got their permission, don't worry, it's coming in soon.

-A.T.