Author's Note: Been some time since I updated. That's what's expected when writer's block attacks a young teen's mind. Thankfully, I've gotten reviews from new people, which is always nice.

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

Being reunited with Becky had been one of the most satisfying things ever. He could see her face again. When he had been running up the steps, he made sure he saw all the levels. They were empty. Dave didn't know if he had been tricked. He had finally found Becky and the others, complete strangers. He ran right past Veronica; for now, he didn't care about her. He only wanted to see Becky and no one else. He pictured their reunion in his head as he ran towards her. His steps felt slow and sluggish although he was near her within a matter of seconds. Then he finally did get to her and kiss her.

Dave could still feel the tingle of his spine, the sweet kiss on his lips, and her arms that had been around him a moment ago. They weren't moving. Veronica tightly introduced him to Modesty, her mother, and Rue, but didn't say anything else. Becky whispered to him that Balthazar was gone and she was trying her best to contain herself. They were stuck because of his uncle. Cyril had placed some sort of trick to make sure they would wander the same hall over and over again. Dave attempted to figure out a solution. He had been running up the stairs and checked the floors, but never actually knew that he had been looking at the same hall Becky had been in. It was dark and they were in the corner investigating the bin and door, so he hadn't been able to get a clear view on them.

They had been standing and discussing what to do. Dave hadn't been so involved in the conversation. At first, he had been entirely focused on finding Balthazar and listening to their theories, as well as ideas. Then, as time progressed, they seemed to get less interested in obtaining his master. Dave himself couldn't help but look at Becky and watch her appear uncomfortable. He kissed her once or twice and she did the same. They spoke about what occurred and how they felt, and Levy as well. That had been a touchy subject. They were more involved with each other than the original topic itself. Dave felt guilty. They should be looking for Balthazar or trying to figure how to get out of this hall. Veronica was all alone, with strangers to rely on and a horrible apprentice who was more into chatting with his girlfriend then find the guy who saved him a countless number of times in the past.

He had a good reason for abandoning the conversation. When he refocused his attention of them, Rue lightly suggested they try to contact Cyril mentally and offer him his nephew in return for Balthazar or his location. Dave had felt his face flare in anger and embarrassment. Becky had ratted Rue out on even thinking of the idea.

"We need to find him," Rue had answered.

Dave wouldn't mind exchanging himself for his master, but he didn't like to idea of being among his family. His distant family whom he did not care for and hated. He despised his father as well, for so many reasons. Like almost murdering his mother… For not caring enough… Either way, he refused to let himself be given away to his uncle and sister, just so he could meet his father.

"Veronica!"

Dave's head shot up. He looked around wildly. He only saw the familiar faces of the newcomers, and Becky looking away. Veronica was speaking with Modessa quietly.

He was going crazy.

"Dave! I'm right here! Turn around." The voice that spoke for a second time sounded as thick as fog and just as unclear. He could hear the voice's words doubling. His head felt dizzy and heavy.

"Dave, what's the matter?" Becky asked. She turned around. Her eyes were filled with worry.

"I…" Should he tell her? Would she think him as a nut job? Dave was positive the voice was coming from somewhere. It sounded distant and near at the same time. When the voice called his name, he was so close to him, but the rest of his words were far away.

"Tell me," Becky demanded.

"I'm hearing something," he admitted quietly. "Something like a voice."

"You're serious?" Rue asked, bopping over. Her red hair danced around her face.

"Yes," he said bravely. "It kind of sounds like Balthazar."

"Balthazar?" Veronica gasped. She shuffled over to Dave. "Are you sure, David? Perhaps it's an illusion?"

"No, no illusions," Dave promised. "I can definitely hear a voice like Balthazar's."

"Maybe Cyril Stutler is performing a trick?" Modesty inserted.

"It could be. David, your uncle has mental abilities because of his status as a Cruor?" Modessa asked.

"He has that power," Dave said softly. He could clearly remember when he was sleeping in Balthazar and Veronica's guest room, being taunted by his uncle's voice and being forced to say those things to Becky. "But it feels like Balthazar."

"We can't hear anything," Becky said, "but maybe you can. Listen harder."

"DAVE!"

The voice was loud and clear, like the dreaded knocking on Death's door.

"It's him!" he shouted to the group.

"Really?" Rue asked, still doubtful.

"But he isn't here," Modessa murmured. "Even if you can hear him."

"Is he calling out to you?" Veronica asked.

"Yeah! Be quiet, guys, so I can listen to him!" Dave requested. He shut his eyes and concentrated on hearing his master's voice. He heard faint sounds like nimble fingers tapping on glass.

"Dave, I'm close," Balthazar said. His name sounded like his master was right next to him. However, the rest of his words were disoriented and distant. He focused harder.

"Where are you?"

"Right here, in this hall. But there's wall."

"What wall?"

"He's talking to Balthazar?" Becky whispered as not to disturb him.

"Yes… But be quiet," Modesty shot back.

"Tell me about the wall," Dave demanded.

"It's an Seffner Wall," Balthazar said, his voice twisted in different levels of volume. "It's made of an invisible substance that acts as a wall. It's boxing me in and makes sure no one can see the person inside."

"So where's this wall? Maybe I can break it?" There had to be a way to get him out. It relived him to hear that they were near Balthazar.

"You won't be able to feel the wall, but I think you might be able to break it. It requires lots of power," Balthazar warned him.

"Just tell me how to break it, Balthazar," Dave said hurriedly. Every moment he remained trapped, Veronica couldn't see him. She loved him more than anything in the world; he knew she wouldn't be able to bear not seeing him any longer.

"Clear the area. Make sure everyone is far back. They cannot be in the way when you attempt to break the wall."

Balthazar didn't speak. Dave decided he was waiting. He turned to the expectant group.

"Everyone, go against the wall," Dave ordered. "Near the staircase. Balthazar wants me to break the wall because I might be the only one who can; he can't do it when you guys are in the way. It'll cause damage."

Everyone wasted no time. They were at the end of the hall and against the doors of the staircase in a few seconds. Veronica seemed to be a few spaces more in front than required, but Dave guessed it was likely that she wanted to be the first to see him.

"Now what?"

"Think of the wall and breaking it; like a force field being shattered," Balthazar said.

Dave took a deep breath. He didn't want to fail, and it wasn't an option. He shut his eyes and imagined Balthazar in a box, the four walls glowing with energy and looking like gelatin. He held one hand out and let it stay in the air. He didn't feel any kind of wall, but he knew that was the trick. Dave forced himself to picture himself sending a large plasma bolt at the glowering walls. He imagined those walls absorbing the impact at quick speeds, the molecules melting and breaking down, and Balthazar's cell being broken like a fragile glass mirror. Dave could almost see those walls falling to the floor, jagged pieces of the force field being thrown to the ground. He could see Balthazar standing there, appearing to be relived and happy-

Something radiated in his veins. The power coursed through his body and Dave could feel the raging energy pulsing out his hand. He opened his eyes immediately, just in time to see a thick plume of fire dance out of his fingertips and collide with the invisible wall.

And just like in his vision, a silver wall cracked and shattered. Large, uneven pieces dropped to the floor. As they fell, Dave could see black and gray. Finally, all the debris of the magical wall disappeared. Nothing was left to prove Balthazar had been trapped in the first place. But that didn't matter.

"Veronica!" Balthazar's voice was clear as water. He looked ready to mow down everything in his path just to get to her. But he didn't need to; Veronica was already making her way to him. They embraced each other. Dave smiled softly. This was a replay of their own reunion. He looked back and ignored everyone's faces but Becky's. She didn't smile back. Instead, she raced to the passionate couple.

"Balthazar, what's going on? How did you get inside there?" Becky asked.

"It was your uncle," Balthazar said, looking at Dave. "When the lights were out, I was knocked out. I woke up, surrounded by the Seffner Wall."

"No one felt it," Dave said.

"You can't feel it," Balthazar said. "It's a good thing to use when trapping people. The person is inside, in a box, and they can't get out. No one sees them or feels the wall."

"Dave heard you," Veronica said. Her voice was husky as she let him go.

"People inside can be heard if they are really trying," Balthazar explained. "You know that, Veronica. Remember when you tried to put Horvath in one? When he stole your doll?"

"I remember," Veronica said, laughing shakily. "He only got out because you heard his voice."

"So Uncle did this to you?" Dave said. A deep shame settled inside.

"This is not your fault, Dave," Becky reminded him, seeing the expression upon his face. "It was Cyril's." "Balthazar Blake," a voice interrupted. It was Modesty's mother. "You look a lot different from the last time I saw you. Except the mop-hair. That hasn't changed."

Veronica objected, but Balthazar cut her off. "Long time, I know," he said. "We were thirteen when you saw me." He directed his attention at Modesty. "I see you've got more responsibilities."

Modesty blushed. "I'm Modesty Kay."

"I saw you all outside the wall," Balthazar said. He looked at the redhead. "And who is this?" "Rue Carver," Rue said. "How do you feel, Mr. Blake?"

"I'm fine," Balthazar replied. "I just want to know how Dave got here."

Dave launched into a lengthy explanation. When he was finished, Balthazar was nodding and stroking his chin.

"I see," he said. "Your friend helped you out."

"How are you feeling?" Dave asked, attempting to avoid the stare he was getting. "My uncle didn't drink from you, did he?"

It was a random question he threw out to distract Balthazar, but he didn't except anyone to take it seriously. But the group's eyes were all on his master.

"No, there aren't any puncture marks," Balthazar said, unaware that everyone was watching him.

"Are you sure?" Modessa asked. "He needs the blood…"

"He wouldn't drink from Balthazar," Dave said. He wasn't sure if what he was saying was true, though. His uncle forcibly took him away and hated Becky. Was there anything he wouldn't do? "Cyril would comment on how he wouldn't sink to that level. He'd be disgusted by even trying to."

"I'm fine," Balthazar repeated. "I can remove the spell Cyril put on this hall. However, we might have to leave."

"We can leave," Dave said desperately. He wanted to be in his apartment with Becky, cuddling on the couch, warm and happy. He didn't want to be in the dark, cold hall of NYU. "I doubt Cyril's here. He was just messing with all of you." He remembered when his uncle came over to baby-sit. He would bring his chess set and place it on the desk, beckoning Dave to challenge him. He would accept and was always close to winning, but ultimately, Cyril would swap pieces when he wasn't looking and declare himself the winner. Just like old times, Dave thought sadly.

"Let's take them to Dave's lab," Becky suggested. "Then we can tell them about the heirloom."

"What heirloom?" Modessa asked. Her voice was painted with awe.

"Come with us, and we'll tell you," Balthazar said.

"Can I get a say in this?" Dave asked, annoyed. He wasn't really asking for anyone's permission. This was his business. He didn't care if Modessa could help them; he doubted it too. She was only dead weight. She had done him some good by giving him his mother's journal, but besides that, she wasn't supposed to be around anymore. Dave wasn't even sure why Modessa, Modesty, and Rue were here. They weren't going to be any help. Sure, there were safety in numbers, but they were walking in on his life. This wasn't even supposed to get out. Dave's personal life was a secret being inspected by too many people. He realized with a pang of anger that they didn't even feel guilty at all. As long as the humans' safety were involved, they were ready to turn his life upside down. Well, ruin it more than it had already been.

Heads turned. "We don't have a choice," Rue said. "He's killing humans for his thirst. Female humans."

"…So? Even if we stop him, he won't die. He'll just go to some far away place and start drinking from people there," Dave responded. He knew it was wrong to treat ordinary people like dirt, speaking of their lives as if they meant nothing, but it was true. Cyril would take blood from others. He would never die. He was Cruor. They didn't perish so easily.

"Dave…" Veronica began.

"That's what we wanted to talk to you about," Modessa said tightly, her mouth in a thin, angry line. "He will continue to kill people. The only way to stop him…is to murder him."

Dave blinked. "Is this a joke?" he demanded.

"We aren't joking," Rue said. She sounded irritated. It boiled Dave's blood. "What makes you think we would joke about something this serious?" "He's a relative. My uncle," Dave said, attempting to keep his temper under control. He shouldn't lash out at people. He shouldn't yell at anyone. He kept repeating this over and over to himself; he didn't want to appear less civil. He needed to be mature. "You're suggesting to kill my uncle? You know there are more Cruor, correct? It won't help."

"We don't want to kill any other Cruor," Rue snapped. "We just want to get rid of him."

That was enough for Dave. Who did this girl think she was, parading about and claiming she wanted to kill his uncle? He abandoned any hopes of keeping himself under control; his pent-up anger ran freely.

"I don't want you in my life," he said, his shouting echoing in the large hall. "I never asked for any of you to come and barge in or to help. And if this is what you call help, you aren't doing such a great job of it. No one will be killing anyone. Cyril can do whatever he want, as long as he doesn't harm any of my friends or Becky-"

"So I see," Rue said calmly. "You don't mind if he sucks the blood out of innocent people, as long as he doesn't come near your little circle of friends." If Dave was merely yelling, he was an incredible explosion now. "Get away from me right now," he said furiously, the rage not in his voice, but still in his body. His voice was glazed over and icy. "I don't want to see your anymore. Especially you. Modessa, sorry, but you have to go. Take your daughter and Rue and please leave. I want you all to mind your own business. I can take care of this myself. And don't give me any crap about how you need to protect the people of New York, because honestly, you couldn't even get yourselves out of this trick hall."

Shooting them a final glare, he spun around and directed himself to the stairs. Dave had no idea where he was going, because the trick wouldn't allow him to go anywhere else but that hall; he knew he had to get out of there, at least. As he walked, he heard crashing sounds of a thousand pieces of broken glass tinkling as they danced to the floor. He kept on walking, somehow. The windows remained intact in the hall. Dave winced as he heard the last pieces of glass made small sounds as they touched the surface of the floor. He heard rising voices behind them. Some were nervous, others were astounded.

As he reached the double doors that blocked the stairs, he heard Balthazar say, in somewhat of an insultingly shocked voice, "…broke the trick by some magical disruption. His anger caused it."

So he released them all, did he? Nice.

Dave felt smug satisfaction swell up inside of him as walked down the stairs. He reached the final floor and left the building of NYU. He passed the sleeping security guard parked inside of the stationed box. Dave smiled faintly as he snored.

He continued down the familiar path that would lead him to his apartment. Dave shoved his hands into the pockets of the jacket. He would ditch it when he got home; maybe burn it, if he really didn't want reminders. He would do that. It wasn't his. And his uncle probably touched it.

Dave didn't feel any guilt or abashment as he walked. He still felt angry; only a shred of his fury had been torn off. He wondered how everyone took it over there. He jumped. With a jolt, Dave realized that Balthazar, Veronica, and Becky were going to come after him soon. He would have little time to be alone. They would lecture him on it for sure, simply due to the fact he shouldn't be by himself when he was already taken once. Dave shivered. He didn't think it was a good idea to be wandering the streets of the dark city. But he knew deep inside Uncle or Rachael wouldn't attack. Not now.

Levy, he thought. He had forgotten all about her. Would they hurt her? Kill her?

No! They wouldn't. They needed her alive. And it was her choice to go back. Dave tried to stop her and even requested she come along. But she said no.

Dave didn't know what to do when he got to the apartment. Bennet was there. He perked up at the idea of spending some guy time with his best friend, but Bennet apologetically ducked his head and explained that he had a date with someone named Catherine. Dave glumly said it was okay. The door shut and he was left alone in their tiny apartment. He held the jacket in his hand and imagined it burning. The power of the dragon ring was like fire in his veins. In the back of his mind, he was glad he got it back. Dave watched as the jacket was consumed with orange flames. He didn't feel anything. That was nice.

When he was finished, the jacket looked nothing like clothing. It resembled charred ashes hung on a string. Dave let some of the flakes fall as he walked over to a window and opened it. He threw out the damaged jacket and locked the window when he was finished. Dave protectively stroked his ring, then bent down to sweep the leftover ashes under their couch. He wasn't in the mood for cleaning.

"What do I do now?" Dave asked as he locked the door. He really, really, really didn't want to see anyone who had to do with magic. He didn't even want to see Becky. It was odd, considering he wanted nothing more to kiss her a few minutes ago. Was it his injured emotional state that prevented him from going back to see her? Dave laughed airily. He remembered when his therapist, a kind forty-something woman, said that he was upset due to life at home. Dave had somewhat believed her.

Dave sighed. He got up from the couch and went to every room to lock the windows. He was open to locking the doors as well, but he knew he definitely needed the bathroom, so he abandoned that idea. Dave hurried to lock the kitchen window. He saw New York skyscrapers and gleaming towers, the black night, and the noises of cars. He felt the happiness of home. This was home. Not anywhere else.

As he slowly moved the window down, something shot out. He felt the air brushing his cheek. Dave immediately left the window's side and bent down. On the kitchen floor was a beat-up brown book with a black clasp. Dave blinked as a sense of familiarity washed over him. He knew what this was.

Dave threw himself at the window. He looked out and turned his head in every direction. He only saw blackness. However, when Dave looked down, he could see a distorted figure moving hurriedly, blond hair dancing behind.

Thanks for everyone who reviewed and read! Till next time! Hopefully.

-TracedScars