Disclaimer, etc. This chapter ran long, I felt, but I went running with Candelario and then felt like the Merlinians needed some time, and didn't get to Drake and Abby until 2800 words in or so. Also, don't anyone fret about Becky's absence. She's just in classes; she'll be around. And stick with me. I'm building up to some action sequences here.

Horvath scanned the printout rapidly, frowning in thought. "Yes. Yes, this is adequate."

Candelario gave a little sigh of relief. He wasn't sure what the consequences of inadequate might have been. "You want the garlic bread?" He pushed a takeout container at the man across the table from him.

"Mm?" Horvath absently took a piece and nibbled. It was cold, having sat for an hour, but tasted good. He flipped the page of Candelario's report. Most of it was printed from various internet sources, with a few handwritten notes at the end. There was one news article, with an appended photograph.

'Local boy awarded national science scholarship', read the headline. Beneath it a slender, dark-haired child was being hugged by a plump woman with similar coloring. The house behind them had seen better days, but the yard was sunny and neatly-kept.

"'All mothers think their sons are geniuses,'" Horvath read aloud, "'but Dianne Stutler has a certificate to prove it.' Well. How adorable. There's no mention of a father. I presume the boy was illegitimate."

"Well, he weren't no virgin birth," Candelario shrugged. "But you got at least one blood relative there."

"Yes, and the closest one possible, at that. 842 Four Oaks Lane, White Plains, New York," he read Candelario's scrawl at the bottom of the page. "Your penmanship is atrocious, by the way."

"You're welcome." Candelario wasn't especially offended. He had already pawned the gold watch for over four thousand dollars. Courtesy didn't pay the bills, but cash did. "What's the next step?"

"The ritual I have in mind will need a large space, and it may be volatile." Horvath set the crust of garlic bread aside and dusted off his hands on a paper napkin. His manners were an odd conglomeration of modern upper-class delicacy and medieval pragmatism, which meant he used his hands often, but swirled the wine in his glass and inhaled the bouquet before sipping. "I would prefer to do it on the spot at Ms. Stutler's own place, but that will require a bit of pre-planning and casing the joint, so to speak."

"Okay." Candelario stood and gathered dishes. "You expect me to do the casing?"

"No, you won't know what I'm looking for. Likewise, I'll have to do the packing. I do expect you to assist in the actual venture, of course."

He hesitated. "…which involves what, exactly? I told you, I'm too old to go to jail."

"That would require getting caught, which we won't be. If it's done right, she won't remember a thing."

He relaxed a little. "So no killing or…?"

Horvath raised an eyebrow. "Are you actually concerned for the woman's safety? You do realize you're helping to assist me in a coup that will eventually decimate the world's population of nonmagical human beings and render the survivors into mindless serfs?"

Candelario supposed when you put it that way there was no point being squeamish, so he just shrugged and began rinsing the plates.

Horvath watched him intently for a long moment, as if trying to read his thoughts. "I knew your grandfather," he said at length.

"Figured you knew most of my family, at least a little."

"Yes, in passing. But Antonio and I were…mm. Friends isn't the right word, and allies doesn't quite cover it. Partners, perhaps." He rubbed his chin. "I liked him. He was the sort of man who would squeeze the last drop out of whatever life had to offer. And he never hesitated when he wanted something."

"Never met him. He died before I was born." Candelario peered over his shoulder at Horvath.

"I'm just wondering how his seed sprouted a vegetable like yourself."

"Nice metaphor. How long did it take you to come up with it?" He reached for a dishtowel.

"You're lukewarm, Niccolo. In some ways that makes you more useful than a fanatic, I suppose, but I'd love to know where you stand. What is it you want?"

"Money, liquor, and a nice piece of ass?" He smirked to himself. "You don't get me because you can't settle for anything normal. That's the problem with all you sorcerers. Ideology doesn't pay the bills, or put food on the table. Look at me, man. I'm eighty-six years old. I got a shitty car, a flat in a bad neighborhood, and enough savings to keep me out of bankruptcy provided I work at least 25 hours a week."

"Do you not see the humor in complaining to me about your age?" Horvath rested his chin in his hand, dark eyes opaque.

"Yeah, well, you don't have arthritis or hardening of the arteries." He rolled his eyes. "You know what your problem is?"

"Oh, do tell me my problem."

"Your problem is you decided normal people were a waste of space over a thousand years ago, so you've been ignoring them ever since. You haven't paid attention to anyone outside your clique in so long you forgot what real people are like. You don't know what it's like to hold down a nine-to-five job, pay taxes, apply for Medicare. You don't know how to raise a pair of kids alone after their mother kicks the bucket. You don't know what it's like to have to scrape together enough cash to bury your father in a pine box after he hangs himself because every penny he's got is gone and his source of income just got locked up in a wooden doll. You don't know shit." Candelario paused for breath, having worked himself up more than he had realized he would. He cleared his throat and eyed Horvath's face warily.

The ancient Morganian's eyebrows were both raised. He was silent for a moment, then said, "I was unaware. I suppose I've been out of touch a few decades. You blame me, then?"

He sighed. "Lotta people died after the stock market crashed. I could blame you, I could blame Blake. It doesn't matter now."

"I encourage you to blame Balthazar. In that case, I can provide you with vengeance."

Candelario shook his head. "Thanks, but I don't want his head on my mantle or nothing. Doesn't match the décor." He sobered. "Let me put it this way. You give me a sorcerer, either side, and I'll hold him down while you kick him in the balls. But I don't beat up on civilians, especially women, whether they're the Prime Merlinian's mom or not. Maybe that makes me a hypocrite, given the whole Rising thing, but I've been called worse."

Horvath smiled, a glint of dark amusement in his eyes. "Thank you. That, I can work with."

Feeling as though a bullet had been dodged, Niccolo nodded and put the dishes in the cabinet. After a moment, he added, "So when this decimation thing happens…I got a few grandkids…"

"You want them spared or targeted?"

"Geez. Spared." He winced.

"One never knows." Horvath shrugged. "I'll make a note of it."

"I got a son-in-law you can put down for mindless serf, though." He grinned impishly, and Horvath snorted with laughter.

"Okay." Dave stared at the spell schematic on the table in front of him. "Explain to me again why this ritual won't work?"

Balthazar was pacing the Merlin Circle on the turnabout floor, still limping slightly, but it was Veronica who answered, leaning across the table to pick up Dave's Encantus. "Because," she said, "All seeking rituals have to have parameters. Otherwise, there's no control on the feedback you get. Too much information dumped into your mind can be incredibly painful, even crippling."

"Like running Google with the safesearch option turned off. I get that." He gestured absently with one hand, "But why can't we adjust the parameters?"

"We can," Balthazar put in. "But Horvath is a special case. Remember, he's been around for as long as I have, and there were times we were hunting for one another in a deadly serious way. And not only us, but our various colleagues, over the centuries. If either of us were vulnerable to simple divining rituals, we'd both be dead by now."

"So there's some kind of shielding spell? Like you put on the Grimhold?"

"Not quite. A shielding spell can be tracked, too, and sometimes it's easier than tracing an unshielded person because it raises a red flag that says there's something underneath the shield that someone's trying to hide. What I've always used, and what I assume he uses as well, is more like camouflage. Wherever I go, I make sure whatever energy I emanate blends with the surrounding natural currents. Ley lines aren't something I've gone over with you yet, but we'll get there."

"We've got this, though…" Dave picked up the hat they had gathered from Battery Park after the chaos. "Won't that help? Since he wore it so long?"

"Not really," Veronica took over again. "It has a trace of his magical signature, but if he's deliberately blending his natural signature with the energies of wherever he's gone, the result we'll get back is that he's right here." She tapped the crown of the hat. "Which he's not."

"Like running a Google search for 'Google'," Balthazar clarified, with a smirk.

"I can see forever." Dave rolled his eyes. "So what do we do?"

The two older Merlinians exchanged a look. After a moment, Balthazar said slowly, "The thing is, I doubt he's left Manhattan. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that I've left loose ends."

"Such as…?" Dave folded up the schematic, feeling uncomfortable.

"Maxim's not the only Morganian in this city, especially not after the Grimhold was opened. He had his little protégé, and he released Sun-Lok and Abigail Williams." Balthazar rubbed the back of his neck and sat on the steps.

Veronica stepped over him and sat behind him, hands on his shoulders as if to give him support. "Maxim was also familiar with the ritual Morgana began. The Rising. I don't think he has the power to complete it himself, but there are ways around that sort of thing."

"But Sun-Lok was pretty much exploded, right? And Drake and the little girl…how much trouble could they be?" While Dave had a certain respect for Drake, who had, after all, kicked his butt when they first met, he realized that his own power level and expertise had increased multifold since that encounter and thought he might actually like another shot.

"Maxim had both Stone's and Abigail's talismans," Balthazar said. "Which means they're either dead or powerless at the moment. I'm not losing much sleep there, although it's wise to always take an enemy seriously. As for Sun-Lok…he's not easy to kill. Believe me, I tried twice. Three times, if you count the other week."

Dave gulped quietly. "So how worried are we about him?"

"On a scale of one to ten? Maybe a four. Maxim's an eight. But we can't ignore either threat, because in both cases, you're the one they'll be looking for."

"Me?" Dave's eyes widened. "I mean…I guess I did sort of…"

"You damaged Sun-Lok's demon, you destroyed Morgana, and most importantly, you haven't learned to hide as well as we have." Balthazar smiled grimly.

"Which is why you should look that spell over," Veronica was more cheerful, pointing to the open Encantus. The schematic she settled on was the most complicated Dave had yet seen.

"Uh…how much time do I have to—oh, God. Balthazar, what about Becky?" He clutched the book in sudden alarm. "Horvath knows where she works, maybe where she lives!"

"I've done some protection spells," Veronica soothed. "If anything threatens her, we'll know at once."

"Horvath's not above using hostages," Balthazar said, "but I'm betting on him being focused on you, not Becky. And Veronica's right, that spell you're looking at is your best bet for hiding…if that's what you prefer to do."

Dave glanced down at the spell, then back up. "You want me to be bait?"

"I want you to recognize you're part of a war." Balthazar's eyes narrowed. "And decide accordingly what strategy you prefer. We can duck and cover, we can go on the offensive, or we can set a trap."

The Prime Merlinian met his Master's eyes for a long moment, reminded of one of their earlier arguments. You think I've been teaching you magic tricks for some little girl's tea party? Balthazar seemed almost bipolar sometimes, going from protective guardian to ruthless general at the drop of a hat. Just when Dave thought he could follow the older man's thoughts, he got lost in the sea of memories, flashpoints, and motivations.

"Balthazar," Veronica's voice was soft and a little dismayed. "He's just a boy."

He broke the locked gaze with his student and tilted his head back to give her a bittersweet smile and a shake of his head. "No, angel. He's not."

Dave looked down at the Encantus again and closed it slowly. "Okay," he said. "I like the bait thing—well, no, I don't like it, but it makes sense. I think we should do that. But I don't want to wait around for Horvath, either. I mean, he might get more friends together or find a time machine or something, I don't know. There must be things he'll need if he's going to do the Rising again, right? Especially if he needs more power than he's got." He looked at them for confirmation, and thought he saw the ghost of a smile on Balthazar's lips.

"Morgana's power level, like Merlin's, transcended the scales we know," Veronica said. "There were suggestions that both were either part-demon, part-fae, or in some other fashion divinely influenced. Horvath, whatever else he may be, is all human."

"So he'll definitely be looking for a power source?"

"At the very least. A large Summoning, maybe, which will also cost him a lot of energy." Balthazar placed his hand over Veronica's.

"…didn't you say a minute ago that Sun-Lok had a demon?" Dave frowned.

"The dragon, yes. I doubt it was very high level, but…hell." Balthazar's eyebrows twitched. "If it's still intact, it would be ideal as a battery. He might go for that."

"Well, we can track it, right?" Dave broke into a grin.

Balthazar looked approving. "Absolutely. It might be a long shot, but definitely worth the attempt."

"Well, all right, then!" The apprentice unfolded the schematic, just a hint of smugness dancing around the edges of his smile.

"Balthazar…" Veronica plucked gently at his sleeve and guided him around a corner. Dave was too engrossed in his research to notice.

The ancient Merlinian followed willingly, slipping his hand into his lover's. "Something wrong?"

She pursed her lips. "Maybe. Yes." She slipped into Welsh, speaking softly and uncertainly, "Don't you think you're putting a little too much pressure on David? He's so young. When we were that age, we were still learning combat spells."

He smiled, remembering. "Yes, and you set fire to Rhodri's haycart. Master had to pay for the damages."

She blushed and elbowed him, half amused, half annoyed. "That's not what I'm getting at. He's not a soldier. He's a scholar."

"Veronica…I wasn't a soldier, either." He brushed a lock of hair out of her face, handling her as if he feared she'd shatter like glass before his eyes.

She lowered her gaze. "I gave my life to the fight so that other men and women would have the chance to lead free lives. To be farmers and artists and mothers."

"The world is full of farmers and artists and mothers," he said quietly. "You didn't sacrifice in vain." He sighed. "But the world is also, still, full of soldiers, and it needs to be."

"I'm sorry," she leaned against him. "I guess I still have doubts, even after all this time."

"The Prime Merlinian was predestined to destroy Morgana. You accepted Master Merlin's word on that when we were young."

"I didn't like it then, either. What we've become, we became willingly. I was a runaway, you were an orphan, Maxim was—"

"Let's not talk about Maxim."

She nodded. "But David doesn't have much choice, does he?"

"Destiny is like that." He rested his cheek against her hair.

"You could be gentler with him. He wants to please you."

He closed his eyes, wounded by the indirect accusation. "He does, but ultimately it's not me he needs to prove himself to. I've told him that all along. He needs to know what he has within him, and he needs to value it. When I'm demanding, I'm demanding because I know it only makes it sweeter when he realizes he can do all I ask of him and more."

"You've changed," she said. "You've been running for hundreds of years and I've been standing still." She realized as soon as the words were out of her mouth that she'd said the wrong thing. His grip on her tightened desperately.

"I'm not the man you knew," he said, the dispassionate words belying the tremor in his voice. "And you have no obligation to me."

"Balthazar! That's not what I meant!" she scolded. "I will always, always love you. I was only wondering when you'd gotten so wise."

He looked down at her, bewildered, and she took the opportunity to kiss his cheek. "You need to shave, though," she added.

He smiled, tension easing. "You give me too much credit. And you're right. I'll go make myself presentable."

"I never said you weren't presentable." She pulled him down into a deep kiss, and he was amazed at how quickly the hurt and fear went away.

It would take time to find his place with her again, but find it he would.

Abigail woke from a restless sleep filled with soft fluttering sounds and the gleam of gold. In her mind, Sun-Lok's butterflies had had wings covered with blinking eyes, and they had all been watching her. It took her a few minutes to shake loose of the weird dreams, and for a while she stood by the window, staring at the traffic below, and the towering buildings overhead.

When she noticed the time was well past ten, she dressed hurriedly and went looking for Drake. He was not in his bedroom. The bed looked much like it had the day before, but the nightstand drawer was open. She spied the Encantus within and pulled it out. Her own was long gone, of course, and obtaining a new one would be difficult. She enlarged the book and opened it, on a whim, searching for an entry on her host.

Drake Stone, it read. Born Daniel Jacob Gladstone, London, 1978. Morganian. 258th degree.

She peered at the illustration. It depicted a younger and rather humbler version of the man she knew, hair unbleached, eyes unlined, and with clothing consisting of ripped trousers, boots, and a t-shirt with an armadillo printed on the front. There was something of insecurity in the pose, shoulders hunched, eyes averted.

He must loathe this picture, she realized. It said more about him than he wanted anyone to know. She scanned the remainder of the page, finding that while Drake had barely reached the degree of the average adept, and had never taken a student, his innovations in illusion and glamour were both unique and well above the level of what he should have been able to accomplish. Clearly whatever else he was, he was focused when he had reason to be.

Turning further back in the book, she passed by her own entry without reading, then located Sun-Lok's.

Sun-Lok. Aliases unknown. Birthdate unknown. Birthplace unknown (possibly Yunan province, China?) Morganian. Degree unknown…

She frowned. Degree unknown? Surely a magical book that could update itself must have some mechanism for measuring the skill and power of those who were connected with it, whether they willed or no. She flipped to her entry and found her own degree listed as 263rd, then turned back to Sun-Lok's.

Degree unknown. Sun-Lok presented himself to Maxim Horvath on the 20th of March, 1872, in Java, offering his allegiance in exchange for Morganian knowledge and a seat of power should Morgana succeed in rising again. He was briefly assigned as Horvath's apprentice, but it was a mere formality as Sun-Lok's knowledge was already impressive. After only two months of work, they parted ways, and Sun-Lok was not seen again for some years.

When he reemerged, he was seen to have made an alliance with a polymorphic monster or demon known variously by the names Beleth, Bine, Typhon, or Pa She. Whether the being is truly any of these mythic characters or whether it has simply taken names out of preexisting folklore is unknown.

In 1897, Sun-Lok became a prominent leader in the Righteous Harmony Society, promising his followers invincibility to match his own. He led multiple raids against both Chinese and foreign missions in Shangxi and became notable for encouraging sexual abuse of female victims before their deaths, and for feeding the remains of executed prisoners to dogs.

Abigail reread the last line twice, then slowly shut the book and returned it to its place in the drawer. She was aware that the Morganian ethos placed no limit on the degree and type of cruelty that could be perpetrated against an enemy, particularly in the execution of ritual or celebration. On the other hand, her own teacher, Felicia, had been a pragmatist with a set of lines that she did not care to cross. She did not promote torture, and as a woman, rape was abhorrent to her.

Who was this man, Sun-Lok? By the Encantus' account, he sought only power, and wallowed in human suffering. Evil was the word that came to mind, but what right had she to apply it? He was not, after all, the only butcher, not the only torturer, probably not even the only rapist, in the Morganian line. By some measurements, her own history was nearly as heinous.

Abigail was uncomfortable with moral ambiguity.

After a moment, she got up and wandered down the hall. She found Drake on the couch in the living room, out cold with the television running an advert for some sort of cooking device. There was an empty beer bottle on the floor. She sighed and prodded him in the side. "Wake up. We've both overslept."

He moaned, stirred, and started to sit up. "Abby? Wha' time is…oh god my head." Sinking back he clutched at his temples. "Why is it so bright?"

She picked up the bottle and looked it over. Part of her wanted to hit him over the head with it. They couldn't afford this kind of delay. "Idiot. How many of these did you have?"

"Only the one," he moaned. "That's nothing. I shouldn't have a hangover from one bloody PBR—ow!"

She set the bottle aside as he cringed and clutched at his own wrist. "It's the spell," she said grimly, and sat next to him. "Let me see your hand."

He let her take him by arm. The place on his finger where his ring had once sat was turning an ugly, cyanotic blue. "That's not a good sign," she touched the skin and felt him twitch, in pain.

"Feels cold," he seemed to be able to sit up straight now, but he squinted against the light and looked a little groggy. "How come you're holding up?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Maybe because I wore my talisman on a chain instead of on my finger."

"My master told me if I ever took it off, he'd break my hand." Drake mumbled. "So, you know, I don't."

She glanced at him, remembering the image in the Encantus, then sighed. "Well, we have to keep moving. It'll only get worse if we don't get to Horvath soon. What sort of painkillers do you keep around?"

"I have aspirin and stuff in the bathroom cabinet. I'll get it. Might be better if I didn't drive, though. We're going somewhere, right? Give me a moment, I'll remember." He got up unsteadily, but once he started moving, he seemed to improve.

"Magic shop," she reminded him. "You said you knew a couple places."

"Right. Let me wash up, then I'll call a cab."

"I'll make you toast. You need to eat." To her it was merely a practical statement, but he gave her a grin over his shoulder.

"You're too good to me. Let's make tracks now and we'll stop for lunch after."

She rolled her eyes. "If you insist. Hurry up."

"Yes, mother."

She threw a couch pillow after him, but he was already out of reach, down the hall.