This took me way, way longer than I intended, and I feel bad about it since I got such lovely reviews for the last chapter. I've been doing crafting and roleplay and getting distracted with other things. I'm aware this one's a cliffhanger on multiple counts, though, so I will try to update promptly.

It was tricky in this chapter to write Drake/Sun-Lok, since it's both of them in one body. I would have used Sun-Lok's name exclusively, since he's the one in charge at the moment, but I didn't want to conjure up images of Gregory Woo in Toby Kebbell's costumes from the movie, not because it would be unappealing (I'd tap that), but because it's a bit disruptive. So, yeah. Drake's body, Sun-Lok's mind.

Also, I'm particularly proud of Veronica and Abigail's conversation here.

"Finally." Becky looked pale and strained when she answered the door to the Stutler home. "You two took your time."

"You said come quickly," Abigail replied, matching the blonde's acerbic tone. "You didn't say instantly. We can't teleport; you know that."

"Please come in," Veronica appeared behind Becky, her tone and expression gentler. "We're a little on edge. Balthazar is running a tracking spell, but he's having trouble."

Drake's hand, under Sun-Lok's control, was clamped lightly on the back of Abigail's neck, a gesture that was ostensibly protective but felt more like a threat. He let go to allow her to enter, though, beaming at the other two women. Abigail could almost sense his thoughts. Veronica, like Abigail, had knowledge and power he could use. Becky, on the other hand, would be cannon fodder.

"Anything we can do to help?" he asked innocently, stepping through the doorway and shifting the bundle under his arm.

"Not at the moment, I'm afraid," Veronica smiled politely, oblivious to the undertones. "You two sit a moment; I'd like a word with Miss Williams."

Sun-Lok's eyes narrowed briefly. He would not want Abigail out of his sight long, but to refuse overtly would look suspicious. After a moment, he nodded and settled on the couch. "Right. We'll just open presents, then, shall we?" He placed his bundle on the coffee table. "You know anything about guns, Becky?"

"…not much." She looked uncomfortable, but sat next to him. "I guess I get a crash course, huh?"

Abigail watched them over her shoulder as Veronica gently guided her into the kitchen. If Sun-Lok overplayed his hand and Becky got suspicious, he would kill her without a second thought, and the whole house of cards would collapse around them.

The older sorceress broke in on her distraction. "Miss Williams? Abigail. Please, I just need a moment."

With an effort, the Morganian girl refocused her attention. "Sorry, ma'am. I'm on edge, too."

"I understand." Veronica worried her lip as if searching for words, then began, "You know who I am, of course."

"You are Veronica Gorloisen, Merlin's third apprentice and Balthazar Blake's lover."

Troubled by the mechanical answer, she shook her head. "That, yes, but…not just that. I've been out of commission for a while, but before I was imprisoned, I was many things. They called me the Good Lady in Albion. In Snowdonia I was the White Witch. In Hibernia I was the Queen of the Sea. Like you, I'm a woman, and like you, I know what it is to be thought of as chattel. I belonged to Merlin, I belong to Balthazar, because I choose to give of myself. Not because I'm a slave seeking kinder masters."

Now she had Abigail's full attention. "I meant no insult," she said slowly. "I suppose I wasn't thinking."

"I'm not offended. But I saw the way you looked when you heard Morgana was dead, and I know what she promised her followers, male and female alike. Because she would serve no one herself, she assumed that the promise of power would tempt every other person into darkness. For a lot of people, it did. I would like to tell you everything she offered was a lie, but I can't. There are people who will take everything you have to give, without thanks or kindness, and breaking them before they can break you is one way to be safe. But it's not the only way, and Morgana herself was never who you seem to think she was. I know. No one knows better than I do. She was in my head for a very long time." She took a step forward and knelt to be closer to Abigail's eye level.

The young witch didn't move. She could barely breathe, because what the Merlinian said was the most awful truth she could have imagined. Closing her eyes would not shut it out. Shattering her eardrums would not keep her from hearing it.

"Morgana wanted total control," Veronica continued, gentle and merciless, "and to give even a little to her followers would mean that she had less than she desired. No doubt she had her reasons. But had she won, and twisted the world the way she planned, you would not be a free woman among free women. You would be a slave to a tyrant, no less cruel for being female, and for having been wounded once herself."

Tears welled in Abigail's eyes, and she shook her head violently, in protest, but not in denial. To her surprise and shame, the Merlinian sorceress pulled her into a gentle hug. "I'm sorry, but you deserve the truth. And I think you already knew it, a little. Grieve for the woman you wanted Morgana to be, and for that loss. But don't grieve for the woman she actually was, and above all, don't make her mistake. I serve humankind, because I have so much, and am so much, more than I will ever need. And so are you. You are full to overflowing."

She trembled a moment, sobbed, and suddenly clung to the older woman in return. Guard yourself, her master had told her, beware, don't be taken. But never had she said you have so much to give.

Veronica gave a soft, soothing murmur and stroked her hair. Abigail didn't catch the words, and it didn't matter, anyway. She would not be turned away, humiliated, punished. For just a few minutes, it was all right to cry.

She wasn't sure how long they stood like that, with her blubbering like a child and Veronica comforting her patiently. It could not have been long, though, because danger was close and time was short, and when she remembered what lurked in the next room, she was horrified at herself. Pulling back, she scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve and gasped, "Drake…Drake is…"

"Are you ladies okay?" The voice at the kitchen door was the last one she wanted to hear. Abigail turned to meet Sun-Lok's gaze through Drake's eyes. His lips were smiling, but there was ice beneath the surface. "Oh, look at you," he clucked his tongue and pulled out a handkerchief. "Take it easy, love, it's going to be all right."

Hesitantly she took the silk square from his hand and wiped her face. Next to her, Veronica was frowning a little, partly irritated and partly uncertain. She didn't know Drake the way Abigail did. She couldn't see there was something else there, not with any clarity. And yet her senses told her there was danger. "Is Balthazar done?" she asked slowly.

"Yeah," he nodded. "He's looking over the guns. Better come out. We'll have to leave soon, and I think Becky's anxious to get her boy back."

Veronica stood and glanced down at Abigail, as if to make sure she was up to going on. "I'll be fine," the young Morganian said, and meant it.

Whatever Sun-Lok was planning could not be allowed to continue, but she didn't dare betray him openly. She needed time to plan, and maybe finding Horvath would give her that. Shaking inwardly, she tucked the handkerchief in her own pocket and pushed past Drake's body, into the living room.

"I thought these had all been destroyed," Balthazar said as the three of them re-entered. "I'm appalled. Do you even know what this can do?"

There were two guns on the table, one a relatively ordinary automatic, not currently loaded. The other looked like an elongated revolver, polished and shiny as glass, with weird sigils engraved into the stock.

"Of course. It's a Shieldbreaker. Vintage, 1857," Sun-Lok said, but this time Abigail wondered whether it was Drake's mind being accessed, or his own. Certainly Drake had never struck her as overfond of combat. "I didn't get it to use it, mind you. Just as a curiosity. Sort of pretty."

"Pretty?" Balthazar shuddered. "Have you ever tried to heal a sorcerer from the kind of wound these things make?"

"Do I look like a nurse?"

The glare he got for this was nothing short of malevolent, and Veronica moved to intervene and keep the peace. "What's so unusual about it, Balthazar?"

"There is no magical defense these things can't penetrate," he answered with a huff. "And typical healing spells don't do well against wounds from it, either."

"Maybe that's a good thing," Abigail ventured quietly, "in this case. Use it against Horvath, and then destroy it if it's so awful."

He frowned at her, but Becky piped up, "I hate to say it, but she's right. We've only got two people here who can sling spells, and three who can't. It gives us an edge."

He picked it up and ran a finger along the stock pensively, then nodded and handed it to Becky. "Careful how you aim it. There's no safety catch."

She looked startled, but given the uneasy nature of their alliance, it was the only choice he could have made. "Yeah. Okay. Can we go now?"

"We can go." Balthazar picked up the ordinary automatic and considered a moment before handing it to Drake on the assumption that Abigail wouldn't know how to use it and might even be injured by the kickback. "No games," he said.

Grinning, Sun-Lok saluted him.

Abigail felt very small and vulnerable.

The parking lot was full of cracks and potholes, weeds springing up wherever the broken asphalt allowed. Dave pulled behind the building, out of sight of the road and next to Candelario's car, which was still in the shape Horvath had left it. "That's…pretty classy," he said nervously, eyeing the gleaming 1921 Bentley 3-litre.

"Don't get too excited. It's actually a Chevy Cavalier," Candelario sniffed. "Get out, put your hands on the hood, and don't move 'till I come around."

Dave tucked the ignition key in his pocket and stepped out of the car, obediently planting his palms on the hood. As Candelario circled round, he tried to take stock of the area. The churchyard was overgrown, shrubs, weed, and vines climbing the banks and half-ruined fences around the lot. There was a side door with a broken chain, hanging ajar, and most of the windows were shattered. If there had ever been an alarm system, it had long gone unattended. Outside intervention seemed unlikely.

Somewhere in that building, his mother needed him.

Candelario came up behind him and reached for his wrist. With a small, fluid motion, Dave raised the other hand and released a jolt of energy, firing power directly into the blade of the knife. It twisted and coiled in the other man's hand, going glossy and vivid green, then whipping round to attach to his wrist. Candelario yelled in surprise and pain, dropping what had once been a kitchen knife but was now a small, bright snake.

Dave winced, because he had been thinking 'snake', but the possibility of a transfigured creature biting had not occurred to him. He kicked at the green reptile, and it tumbled across the gravel. Candelario was doubled over, clutching his wrist, wide-eyed and pale.

With a sinking feeling, Dave gripped his shoulder, half to keep him still, half to hold him up. Had he accidentally made something venomous? Had he just killed the man? Panic threatened to overtake him, but he forced it back. "Horvath!" he yelled, "If you're in there, I just want my mom. Let her go, and you can have your guy back, and we'll leave. Okay?"

Candelario's eyes swiveled toward the door as a familiar figure emerged. Horvath was in his shirtsleeves, and there was a blood spatter across his starched white shirt. He leaned against the wall of the building, twirling his cane idly. "Good afternoon, David," he greeted cheerfully. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement, but perhaps not on your terms. You see, I have someone very dear to you, and you have…well, that." He gestured at Candelario carelessly.

"The snake," Candelario choked out.

Horvath glanced over to where the little reptile was lying stunned in the dust. With a gesture, he levitated it closer to himself, then clicked his tongue. "Why, Dave! A green mamba? That's quite creative, actually. Have you been watching much National Geographic? Still, it's generally considered a good policy not to injure your hostage until you're sure he won't get you what you want."

Dave swallowed hard. "I wasn't trying to…" He glanced at Candelario's stricken expression.

"Don't be absurd, my boy. Of course you were trying to hurt him. You're angry, you're afraid, and he was close by. That's what makes you an apprentice still, despite your unique power. Magic responds not just to our conscious commands, but our subconscious intent, and you haven't mastered yourself yet. And you have potential within you to level a city. Really, I'm surprised you didn't kill him outright."

Dave's grip on his hostage's shoulder slackened. He was horrified. "I just…where's my mom?" He felt his resolve crumbling, and the glint in Horvath's eyes suggested the effect was visible. Facing Morgana had been comparatively easy. The lines had been drawn for him, black and white, and all he'd had to do was fill them in.

Where was the prophecy now?

After a moment, the old Morganian answered, "She's alive. She'll likely need some time in the hospital to stay that way. Spirited woman, I quite like her." He gestured at the levitating snake, and it returned to its original form and dropped to the ground with a clang. "So, this is what we'll do. You will release Candelario, not because I especially need him, but because he's in the way of me getting a clear shot at you. And then you will come inside and do whatever I say. In return, I will leave your mother where she is instead of dragging her out here and disemboweling her while you watch. And don't get any ideas about attacking me with plasma bolts and electric cables. There's no power here anyway, but I promise you, if you raise a hand to me, your mother will die in the most gruesome way I can devise."

Balthazar. Dave thought desperately. Surely his master and the others would come find him, and soon. He slowly let go of Candelario, and the man sank into a sitting position on the ground.

"Good," Horvath nodded, and beckoned him over. "My apologies, Niccolo. I wasn't planning on killing you, myself, but poison is truly difficult to counteract magically. I haven't the time right now. I'll certainly keep it in mind to spare your descendents."

"You're a cold son of a bitch," the injured man rasped. But he knew his employer well. He hadn't expected any better.

"So I've been told. Dave. Come. Now."

Unable to think of another option, the Prime Merlinian, edged around Candelario, afraid to look him in the face. He crossed the parking lot uncertainly, and followed Horvath into the church.

Inside, the floor was swept clean, branches and leaves and debris piled in one corner. An immense circle, easily twenty-five feet in diameter, was sketched in the center of the room. It was vividly red, almost glowing in the dimmer indoor lighting. Dave took in the scene, then looked around frantically until he spied what he had come here for. At the front of the room, where the altar might have once sat, a cushiony feminine figure sprawled limply on a ratty blanket. He made a lunge for her, not with any real plan in mind but anxious to check her vitals. Horvath caught the back of his shirt. "No. Bad."

Dave pulled against the grip briefly, but the glimmer of the man's cane reminded him of the kind of damage he was capable of, and he stopped after a moment, glaring resentfully at the eldest Morganian. "Fine. Let's get this over with. You want to torture me? Kill me? What am I here for?"

"Not that those aren't tempting possibilities," Horvath said with a small smile, "and I am, in fact, a firm believer in revenge, but, no. You're going to help me finish what Morgana started."

"What?" The boy stared.

"The Rising, of course."

"No way." Dave shook his head. "There's nothing in the world that you could to do make me help you with that."

He laughed. "I think you'll find there is."

Dave felt tendrils of magic wrapping around his limbs, lifting him off the floor and flinging him into the air. Instinctively, he reached out with his own power to slow his fall, buffer his body against injury…but Horvath didn't want him injured in the first place. He dropped gently to the ground in the center of the red circle. Rolling to his feet, he rifled his memories for a spell that might incapacitate Horvath before he could get to Dave's mother, but the Morganian was already chanting, soft and low.

The red lines glittered, and the sound of Horvath's voice suddenly struck Dave as soothing. A dark lullabye. His hands dropped to his sides slowly. "What are you…what…I…no…" his speech became thick and lost coherency.

Lines of heat threaded through his body, like wires, molten wires threading through his veins. The pain was indescribable, but that low, rhythmic chant kept him from crying out, kept him from struggling. Horror and weird contentment mixed, dulling his senses, and his mind seemed to be floating away. This was wrong, this was cruelty beyond mere torture, and apathy swallowed up every last drop of inclination to rail against it, or even care about the violation.

"…Mom?" the last discernable word Dave's mind or mouth were able to form hung on the air like smoke, then drifted off into gray.

Blank.

Teleporting directly to Dave's location would have ruined the element of surprise, but they also couldn't afford the time it would take to make the drive. The tracking spell had pointed them to the right place, but Balthazar and Veronica decided to split up, each of them landing half a block away, one to the east, one to the west, and then closing in. The others were divided into groups between them. Becky went with Veronica, which left Abigail and Drake with Balthazar.

"You don't think one of us macho types should tag along to protect the ladies?" Sun-Lok smiled innocently as they made the arrangements. "I certainly don't mind."

It was in-character enough for Drake to play the flirting chauvinist, but Abigail saw danger signals. He could easily take the gun from Becky, use it to subdue or kill Veronica, and be at Blake's throat before she had a chance to warn any of them… "Please," she said softly, uncomfortably. "I would feel better if you stayed with me, Drake."

The older Merlinian gave a slight eyeroll, annoyed, but replied, "Veronica is just as capable of combat as I am. She and Becky will be fine, and frankly I don't trust either of you. Let's go."

Sun-Lok came to Abigail's side, giving her a long, thoughtful look, trying to gauge what part she was playing. He knew, she assumed, that in her he had only the most hostile ally. But he also knew her history with Blake. She looked back at him, letting anxiety shine through her eyes, but nothing else.

Sun-Lok clearly thought little of humanity, and less of women in particular. If he underestimated her, so much the better. She had played the ingénue role well in Salem.

Let him, and the others, think she was afraid of Balthazar. After all, she was.

They landed in a narrow, woodsy patch within stone's throw of the highway. Spring had not yet come to their area, and all around them was brambly and brown, with the only green being bursts of pine, ivy, and hardy weeds. Abigail was reminded of the woods around Salem village, hunting mushrooms with girls her age, wandering alone to quiet places where she could practice her magic.

She had met Balthazar in woods like these, and fallen.

The Merlinian moved ahead of them, quiet even in the fallen leaves, like a predator. Sun-Lok was less cautious, crackling and rustling through the bracken. It would have been un-Drake-like for him to do otherwise. Abigail trailed after them as quietly as she could, and in short order they came to an embankment that overlooked the church. Across the way, between a shed and a broken-down truck, she thought she saw a flash of violet and the gleam of blonde hair.

"He'll sense us the moment we use magic," Balthazar said quietly. "We'll try to get as close as we can on foot."

"You want us to lead the charge?" Sun-Lok asked quietly. "He's already draining us; he won't sense us coming close."

Balthazar frowned. "Abigail doesn't have a weapon. I'd prefer she, at least, hang back."

"He has something I need," she protested. "I won't be left behind."

He sighed. "I'll see to it that you get your talisman back, provided we all survive this. You have my word."

"Why?" Despite the gathering crisis, she felt compelled to voice the question she had never before dared to. "Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance? Why try to save us now?"

He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "This isn't the time and place for philosophical discussion."

She searched his eyes for a clue to his thought process, and found none, but after a moment he turned away again and sighed, "You were alone, and hurting, and so was I."

Abigail glanced at Sun-Lok, who looked both impatient and unaffected, then back at the ancient Merlinian. "You can't show the same mercy to Horvath," she said.

"…no. It's him or me, this time." Blake moved forward. "Follow."

Quickly and quietly, they did, tensing for the clash to come.