I'm not sure how many more chapters I have ahead here, but the action is about to build to a crescendo. I want to reiterate the last chapter's warning, especially since there are a few creepy paragraphs toward the end of this chapter. Nothing explicit, but disturbing themes are all over the place.

I feel like my writing isn't quite up to par here, but I really wanted to move forward with this story, so be patient with my stylistic failings.

"All right," Dave said, turning a corner. "How about you tell me where we're going now?" He was focused on the road, but his hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel, knuckles white.

Candelario still had the knife against the boy's ribs, but there was less certainty in the threat now. He was watching Dave's face. "Not far. Not quite to the Connecticut border. Take 95 South, for now. I'll let you know when to turn off."

"Right." He steered the car into the far lane, looking for the ramp to the interstate. "So how long were you waiting for us?"

Candelario glanced out the window to make sure they were going the right way, then back. "Couple hours. To be honest, I didn't expect Blake to be tagging along." His heart was still going triple-time, but that might partly be the fault of the murmur he'd had for the past six years. Him against three sorcerers, and he'd come out alive. So far, at least.

"Yeah? He's a little overprotective." Dave smiled grimly at the road. "So you're not a sorcerer. Why are you working for Horvath?"

"What is this, a job interview? You want my résumé?"

"I like to keep a full dossier on anyone who kidnaps members of my immediate family."

"It's nothing personal." He shrugged. "Your mom seemed real nice, actually. I mean, I didn't get to chat, but…"

"I'm pretty good at controlling my power," Dave said casually, "but if you get me upset, I can't promise I won't accidentally throw you through the windshield."

He shifted his grip on the knife handle, nervous and wondering how much control he really had over this situation. "Look, like I said, I don't have much choice. My family's been keeping files for the Morganians for three generations. It's a political thing."

"Political?" Dave guided the car through traffic, speeding.

"Prime Merlinian." Candelario shook his head. "You haven't had much history yet, huh? Slow down, hotshot, I'm not having the cops pull us over."

Dave let up on the gas reluctantly. "Fine. Keep talking."

"Well, you've heard Morgana's other title, right? Morgan le Fay? She has allies in the faery courts. So did Merlin, I hear, but I wouldn't know as much about that."

"Faeries?" Dave's brows knit in a skeptical frown. Balthazar had given him only the briefest of overviews of the magical kingdom outside humanity. He had been assured that fae existed, but not much more than that, and he was picturing Tinkerbell.

Candelario snorted, reading his expression. "You got a lot to learn, kid. My grandfather was the bastard son of a wind folletto and a fisherman's daughter."

"You lost me. Folletto?"

"It's an Italian word. Type of solitary faery. Good with glamours."

Dave glanced at him quickly, then away. "I guess that explains it. I thought maybe Horvath dressed you up like my mom."

"It's not something I have to do often, but I can handle a glamour. Feels a little weird, is all." Candelario craned his neck at the interstate signs, checking their progress.

"Yeah, I bet. Do we turn here?"

"Not yet." He leaned back again and adjusted his grip on the knife. "So, yeah. When the ranks started thinning a couple centuries back, Horvath tried to call up some of Morgana's old allies to fill in. But that's like a US candidate calling up the British Navy to help 'em win the presidential election. It ain't gonna happen, and if it did, the side effects wouldn't be worth it. What they did do, though, was mobilize all the half-bloods they could find. The courts won't claim us, because we're not full-blood fae, and we're not welcome there. But they'll use us, and they'll string us along, and they'll bind us if we don't play their game."

"So it's like a magical contract? You really don't have a choice?"

Candelario made a wobbly gesture. "Grandpa was bound. Daddy was a volunteer. I'd rather play along when asked nicely than wait and have Horvath and the Courts come crashing down around my ears."

"Oh, I see. You're a coward."

Candelario frowned at him, then shook his head and laughed. "Maybe. Maybe you just don't understand yet what you're up against."

"I fought Morgana," Dave reminded him. "And won, thanks."

"For fifteen minutes. Blake and Horvath, they've been butting heads for centuries. You've got something they don't have, but I don't. They're smarter than us, and they're stronger than us, and I don't pick fights I don't have a chance of winning. Maybe that's cowardly, or maybe it's just not suicidal."

"You just faced off against Balthazar and Veronica on Horvath's orders," Dave pointed out. "You're really that scared of him, that you'd take that kind of risk?"

"Fuck, yeah. There's nothing worse than being bound, kid. Once they get you, there's nothing you can do to get out of it. And when you've got the bloodline I've got, you can't count on death to release you." He fell silent, eyes distant and a little angry.

"Sounds…like a long story." Dave ventured.

The knife twitched, prodding him painfully, but without breaking skin. "Take the next exit," Candelario said.

Dave obeyed. After a couple minutes, it became clear that his captor wasn't about to speak again, and he asked tentatively, "My mom…is she okay?"

Candelario blinked slowly, then said, "He said he didn't have to kill her. He probably wants her intact until you get there, at least."

Dave's eyebrows rose. "Wait, he's expecting me?"

The older man gave a wry smirk. "I thought you'd already figured that out. I was waiting for you, after all."

Dave considered this, and nodded slowly. "Okay. Good. I guess I've got a bone to pick."

"Yeah," Candelario muttered. "Good luck with that."

"I think we should try the tracking spell," Balthazar said, re-entering the room with a lemon in one hand. "In fact, I think we should get a move on it ASAP."

Becky and Veronica both looked at him, but it was the younger girl who spoke. "To track who? Dave? I thought you said he could handle this."

"Yes and no," he grimaced apologetically. "I'm still in the process of working out what 'this' is. The more I consider it, the less I like it."

"That man was a plant," Veronica nodded, "From Maxim. That's obvious, but to what purpose?"

"To get Dave off guard, maybe," Balthazar said. "If the cat hadn't unmasked him, I think his orders were to drug our drinks. Look at this." He turned the lemon over and peeled back the skin. There was a small glass vial within, half-full of a greenish liquid.

"That looks like a sleeping-draught," Veronica said.

"It's not quite enough for four," he nodded, "but it'd knock out two people pretty efficiently. I can only assume Dave was the target. Maybe Becky, as well, in case he brought her to meet Dianne."

"Then we played into their hands," Becky bit her lip, "letting him go."

"I'm afraid so, and I take responsibility for that," he said grimly. "But at least Dave's awake. He has a chance to escape or fight back. And he's not hard to trace. His power signature is very distinctive."

"Then let's do it," Becky said, standing. "Right away, before he can get hurt."

"We need to be cautious," he said. "If Maxim wanted Dave dead, this would be poison, not sleeping potion. And Dianne's still on the line. There's more at work here, and I'm worried by the obvious possibility."

Veronica's eyes widened. "You think Maxim would try that on David?"

"It's typically what the Mothersblood Circle is used for, and Stone's friend said Horvath had bought some of the other ingredients. Cinnabar. Myrrh."

"What? Try what?" Becky looked between them intently.

"Possession," Balthazar said. "To take over Dave's mind and work his body and his magic like a puppet."

"Oh, god, we've been so blind," Veronica gasped. "That makes perfect sense! He could use Dave for the Rising with no power boost and no risk to himself at all."

"Which is the most hideously ironic idea I've ever heard, and I'm not surprised Maxim conceived of it," Balthazar finished, and tossed the lemon onto the coffee table. He looked like he wanted to punch something instead. "Becky, I'm sorry."

The blonde swallowed a sense of rising panic, and just nodded, accepting the apology. "I guess since neither of you are psychic," she said weakly, trailed off, then rallied and tried again. "Okay. Track him, then, and we'll fight if we have to. You do the magic, I'll fix the satellite dishes."

"He wouldn't thank me for bringing you into a battle," Balthazar eyed her. "But I think you're already in it. Veronica and I will do the tracking spell. You call Stone and Abigail. They'll want in on this, and we're going to need the help. Tell him to bring a gun if he has one. It's always hard to hit a sorcerer with a bullet, but it could provide a distraction."

"Will do," she almost whispered, and darted for the telephone.

Abigail sat on a kitchen stool with her chin in her hands, watching Bob slice carrots for a salad. His movements were quick and spare and confident. He was ex-military, he had told her, discharged for violating 'don't ask don't tell', but he was still in impeccable shape, and something about the way he wielded the cooking knife suggested he was capable of using it in a brawl. He was Drake's personal bodyguard and head of security, and she had the impression he knew more about sorcery than he was letting on.

Drake himself was, as far as she knew, napping in his own bedroom. She hadn't apologized for calling him a harlot, and he didn't seem eager to press the issue. The truce between them was uneasy. In truth, she was a little ashamed of herself, but still felt too edgy around him to try mending the breach.

"How do you do that?" she asked after a moment, watching the knife flash. "Chop so fast, I mean?"

"Mm?" Bob spared her a glance. She wasn't sure what Drake had told him about her, but he hadn't asked her anything aside from whether she had food allergies. "Practice, mostly. It's easier on hard vegetables. You can't do this with tomatoes. They just get crushed."

"I've actually never had tomatoes."

"I better put them on the side, then. My niece hates them."

"I'm not picky, as a rule, but thank you." She jumped as something by her elbow started to buzz and writhe across the countertop.

"Take it easy. It's only Mr. Stone's mobile." Bob smiled faintly at her.

"Oh. Oh, yes." She relaxed. "Should one of us answer it?"

"That's not my job," he shook his head. "Not his personal cell. It's probably one of his girlfriends."

"He has a lot of them, doesn't he?" She sniffed a little, but picked up the phone and peered at the display. The number was there, but there was no name attached. It buzzed again in her hand, and on a whim, she prodded at the buttons, hoping she wouldn't end up staring at another naked woman.

After a second, she heard a faint but familiar voice. "Hello? Is anyone there? It's Becky Barnes. Balthazar asked me to call."

Abigail hesitated, glancing at Bob, but he didn't seem able to discern the words from halfway across the kitchen. He shrugged and went back to cutting vegetables.

She held the phone closer to her face tentatively. "This is Abigail. Drake is asleep."

"Well, wake him up. This is important," Becky was none too happy to hear her, judging from the tone of voice. "Horvath may have Dave. We're going after him, and you need to come help."

Abigail didn't care what happened to the Prime Merlinian, but the word 'Horvath' got her immediate attention. "Where?"

"We're at Dave's mother's place. Meet us here, quickly, and have Drake bring whatever weapons he has. I'll give you the address. Do you have paper handy?"

"Just a moment." Abigail groped for a paper napkin. Bob, guessing at what she needed, pulled a pen out of a drawer and tossed it to her. "Go on."

She scribbled down the address Becky gave her, then set the phone down. Bob helpfully leaned over to hit the button to disconnect the call. "Got business to attend to?" he asked.

"I'm afraid so," she nodded. "And right away. I'll go wake him."

"Need the car?" He put down the knife with a sigh. A perfectly good salad was going to go to waste.

"I don't know yet. Wait a moment, and I'll let you know." She tucked the address in her pocket and hopped down from the stool. She wasn't anxious to approach Drake again, but she was more than eager to participate in an attack on Horvath, and for that she needed the backup.

She hurried down the hall and knocked on the door. It wasn't locked, actually hanging ajar, but the only response she got was an incoherent growl. She assumed this meant he was still half-asleep, so she pushed her way inside.

He was not in the bed.

Confused, she scanned the dimly lit room. "Drake? Get up. The Merlinians have found Horvath. We have to go."

She caught a movement in the corner of the room, and crossed over cautiously, reaching for the bedside lamp.

"Abby…get out…" the hunched shape had Drake's voice, but there was a guttural, hoarse quality to it that was wholly unfamiliar, and she hesitated, chilled.

"Drake…?" she almost whispered.

"Run," he choked, then slowly began to straighten.

Alarmed, she batted at the lamp until her fingers hit the switch by sheer accident. When the light came on, she tried to cry out, horrified, but all that emerged was a soft whine.

He was white as a glacier, face contorted in pain, and he was surrounded by butterflies. They seemed plastered to his face, to his throat and to his partially bared chest, wings beating a featherlight pattern on his skin. He staggered, giving her a terrified look out of round, dark eyes.

"No! Stop it!" She cast about and grabbed up one of his slippers off the floor at the bedside, then lunged in to strike at the insects, but an unseen force pushed her back, propelling her against the nightstand and holding her there. As she struggled, she watched the insects drop to the floor one by one, like autumn leaves, and dissolve into dust.

Drake's eyes slammed shut, and his mouth twisted into a silent scream, then fell slowly into the slack look of a sleepwalker. Slowly, his eyelids lifted again, and Abigail gasped. The irises were now pale silver, almost invisible against the whites.

"Oh, God," she clawed at the nightstand, trying to push off of it and free herself.

He smiled. "Ssshhh…" it was a sibilant hiss, a parody of reassurance, and the voice was not quite Drake's any more. "Please, Miss Williams. Panic ill becomes you."

"Sun-Lok," she said. "What are you doing?"

"I needed a body." He shrugged. "Mr. Stone is the right age and sex, and I believe once his talisman is retrieved, his magic will suit me well, also." He stepped forward and curled a loose lock of her hair around his fingers. "I interrupted you. My apologies. Tell me more about the Merlinians."

"Is he dead? Did you kill him?" She tried to pull away, but he gripped her chin in his other hand and held her fast.

"Not yet." He smiled again. "I need access to his knowledge and memory until I acclimate to this time. You would be surprised what the charming Mr. Stone has locked away in here. For example, he's quite fond of you, if reluctantly so."

He still gripped her face in one hand, but the other moved to cradle the back of her neck. It was too familiar, too invasive, and there was unmistakable threat in the grip. "Let me go," she pleaded quietly.

"Easy," he replied in a low purr, toying with the collar of her shirt. "You were, I believe, about to explain the statement you made when you first entered this room. The Merlinians have found Horvath?"

Her heart pounded painfully, and she felt sick and lightheaded. Drake's fingers brushed the skin just above her clavicle; his hands were soft, she registered, the nails smoothly filed but just long enough to scratch. The thought that he might be imprisoned in his own mind and just as horrified by Sun-Lok's sensual menace made her want to cry, or vomit. He leaned in and inhaled the scent of her bound-up hair, and when she tried once more to pull away, he gave her a shove that sent her spinning and stumbling to the carpet at his feet.

"Where," he demanded quietly, "and how did you hear from them?"

At exactly that moment, the worst and best possible, Bob appeared in the doorway, all innocent calm. "I pulled the car around if you—what's going on?" He stiffened at the scene, taking in the look of terror on Abigail's face.

Sun-Lok moved quickly, with a loose-limbed, inhuman grace that ill became Drake's form. Bob scarcely had time to raise a hand in his defense before the bolt of amber energy slammed into him, tossing him into the hall. Sun-Lok lunged after, fingers curled as if he believed the manicured nails were claws that could rend his enemy into strips. As both men vanished into the next room, Abigail could hear a yell of pain, and she scrambled up to dash after them. "Wait! Stop! No!"

When she caught up, Bob was tangled in a 6-foot, wrought iron candelabra that writhed and twitched with Sun-Lok's magic. The sorcerer was crouched on the floor, watching with evident enjoyment. Abigail trembled by the door, staring as blood pooled at the bodyguard's feet, and his lips began to go blue. "Please don't kill him," she said softly, seeing a man she had known for less than an hour, but hearing the rasp of the last breath leaving Giles Cory's chest.

Sun-Lok turned to look at her consideringly with eyes that were Drake's, yet not. "Give me what I want," he demanded.

Bob mouthed a series of curses, but no sound came out.

"We've been in touch with Blake and the other Merlinians," she said quickly, desperately. "We have no choice. Blake promised to break the Parasite curse if we assist and don't betray them. The girl just called, the Prime Merlinian's lover. She told us to meet them. Please, I have the address, just stop."

He looked from her to Bob thoughtfully, then shrugged and stood. The candelabra released, and the bodyguard slumped to the floor with a wheeze. Sun-Lok swept past him, approaching Abigail again. She cringed. "We have to move fast. She said to bring weapons."

He grinned, knowing he had her cowed. "Good. You will say nothing."

"They'll know. Your eyes…" she shifted, glancing into the room where Bob lay drifting into unconsciousness. "They're not Drake's eyes. And you're not matching his accent."

He chuckled and the ice-colored irises darkened to brown. "Better, love?" There was still something wrong, a weird timbre to the voice, but the accent was familiar.

"You're a monster," she shuddered in protest, and he caught her arm in a bruising grasp.

"Maybe. But I can get your magic back. Stone never could have."

As he propelled her ahead of him down the hall, she had to acknowledge he might be right about that. On the other hand, Drake wouldn't have demanded anywhere near the price Sun-Lok seemed to expect her to pay.