.

11. Secret Witch

Shinra Tower was the highest point in all Midgar. That made it entirely wrong for Cissnei's purposes. What she had in mind required being low to the ground – or, preferably, under it. Unfortunately, in Midgar that meant only one thing: the sewers.

"Fantasy books that talk about magic like it's all sparkles and pixie dust should be burned," she muttered as she waded through effluent. "Where the hell is it?"

She opened her senses a little, not enough to be overwhelmed, but enough to feel out her surroundings. Technically, opening even your inner eye without a proper shield was too dangerous to even attempt, but she was confident she could handle the stress. She felt the hot-cold flow of the leyline to her left, shut her inner eye and turned in that direction. Reduced to her five regular senses and aided by a torch, she splashed her way to her destination.

A dead rat floated where she wanted to go. She raised her boot to push it away, hoping the wavelets of her footsteps would keep it going in that direction. A small shelf ran along either side of the tunnel, handy for Cissnei, even if it was icky. She had come prepared: gloves that went all the way to the elbow, waterproof boots and waxen dungarees. The get-up was meant for fishermen in faraway lakes that didn't have all the turds of the slums flowing into them. Even her pouches had been stuffed into a waterproof bag and slung over her back to keep them out of the muck.

"This is why I prefer doing this while on assignment outside the city." She sighed. "I'm standing in a sewer, surrounded by shit, talking to myself. Can my life get any lower?"

The rat bumped against her shin. It had floated back like a rotting puppy eager for affection.

"I had to ask."

The leyline enveloped her the moment she stepped into it. Invisible to the naked eye and unfelt by anyone without magic, the current of energies that crisscrossed the planet were a booster for the weird and bizarre. Cissnei didn't like to count herself in either camp, but it was difficult to deny when the merest touch of leyline energy was enough to make all her senses tingle and her inner eye itch.

Not yet¸ she told herself. Don't get ahead of yourself. Go slowly. That's it. Sloooowly.

It was easy for the inexperienced to get drunk on leyline energy. It was even easier to absorb too much and burn out your brain. When people OD-ed on whatever was the latest drug craze, Cissnei privately wondered whether they were leyline users who had gone too far. There was no way to find out. She had learned that early on in her career, when Veld found her and pulled her out of the slums. Shinra was the biggest superpower in the world, their research and development sectors targeting everything from soap, televisions and phones to vampire warfare, artificial intelligence and supernatural experimentation. Veld had spent his professional life evading detection by their scientists; even going so far as to become head of their intelligence agency so he could direct attention anywhere other than himself. Veld had controlled information, which, he taught Cissnei, was far more important than controlling the most magic. It wasn't about power, but finesse. And finesse meant you sometimes had to get your feet covered in literal crap to avoid the rest of you being hitting with the metaphorical kind.

Veld had sensed the potential in her when she was still just a child. Other people may have questioned his decision to train her as an agent before she even hit puberty, but Veld had known that to wait was to risk Cissnei becoming like a lot of young amateur magic-users – selfish, power-hungry and liable to burn out early, or permanently blotto on magical energy and destined for an early grave. From Veld, Cissnei had learned how to sense magic, how to harness and manipulate it, and also how to respect it. Arguably, this last was the most important. He had also taught her restraint, which had come in especially handy when he found the daughter he had been secretly searching for and deserted Shinra to take care of her. Elfé was the reason behind most of Veld's lessons. She had come into her magic as a pre-pubescent, around the time Veld's career was really taking off in Shinra. Ironically, he devoted even more of his time to his job to keep her off their radar. In so doing, he managed to convince Elfé that he didn't love her. She had become involved with some secret magical commune, looking for the love and acceptance she thought her father didn't have for her. Eventually she had run off with them, not realising the commune was a front for an organisation bent on toppling Shinra and taking over their resources for their own reprehensible goals. At least, that was how Cissnei understood it. Veld hadn't exactly sat her down and explained the situation before sodding off into the sunset with his real, biological, totally insane daughter.

Unfortunately the people Elfé involved herself with had manipulated her gifts to the point where she separated from her sanity. She created a new identity for herself; one Veld had to break through when they met again, years later. The people had kept her going even after she went mad, trying to use her magic like some sort of superglue to infuse human bodies with vampire strength, agility and super-senses, while leaving out the nasty, bloody bits of the virus. Needless to say, it hadn't worked, and the super-race had fallen flat on its face before getting off the starting blocks. Veld and his carefully chosen intelligence agents had gone some way to making sure that happened, and some of them had gone with him to help repair the damage done to Elfé. Each agent had his or her own special power, each of them eager for Shinra not to know about it. They were happy to lend themselves to the war against the vampires, but their talents were so unique, they weren't happy to let Shinra's pet scientists poke and prod at them.

"Those who control the information control everything, whether or not them can crush rocks into powder with their minds, or set building on fire by clicking their fingers," Veld had said when he first met Cissnei and convinced her to come work for him. "Flashy people who let themselves get noticed all the time? They're idiots who don't live too long. Careful people who learn their limits and keep their secrets? Their lifespan is their own damn business and there ain't nobody who can tell them what to do with their lives."

"I hope I'm making you proud, old man," Cissnei muttered, reaching for her pouches.

She took a pinch of piquant herb and crushed it between her thumb and forefingers under her nose. The sharp scent kept her focussed on the physical world, so her mind couldn't drift away into the leyline's flow.

Thus focussed, she concentrated. A face took shape in her mind. She couldn't be sure this was how he looked now, and had to trust her memory was accurate enough compared to the real thing four years down the line. Spike black hair with a piece that refused to stay down; electric eyes that could burn to the centre of your brain and make your heart melt in the same minute; biceps she could barely wrap both hands around; not too tall, but not exactly short either; a stocky body, muscles made hard by all those squats he did when he was edgy, or nervous, or pensive, or hungry, or … anytime, really. She once asked him why he did squats all the time. His reply had been a shrug and a claim that he had 'never really thought about it before'. It should have pissed her off, but instead she had just shrugged back and asked him to share a Wutaian takeaway. He had stolen her squid rings and she had skewered his dumpling with her chopsticks, making a rude remark that had him literally falling off his chair with laughter. The memory was strong and vivid, right down to the smell of grease and the rough texture of wooden chopsticks between her fingers. She hadn't eaten Wutaian food since he died.

Correction: since he was listed as dead. But that wasn't strictly true, was it? No, that was just what she and the rest of the world had been told. The rest of the world had been told he was dead because Sephiroth had killed him, along with the rest of a small mountain village infected with the vampire virus. The Silver General himself had been bitten and, rather than let himself turn into one of the monsters he had spent his life fighting, he had thrown himself into the heart of a mako reactor. The rest of the world thought he was a martyr and honoured him. They didn't know about Zack Fair, and if they did, it was in an offhand way; a footnote in the story of the great and noble Sephiroth.

Cissnei, on the other hand, had been told Zack was dead because Tseng was worried that if she knew the truth she would do something stupid, like try to break into a secret facility beneath Shinra mansion. He was right, of course. Not that she would ever admit it. And it was too late now. Zack was already free. If he hadn't broken out, she might never have learned he was still alive.

She had mourned him. She had actually grieved for him. She had never grieved for anyone before – not her unknown parents, not the orphanage kids who succumbed to illness and death, and not the work colleagues who sometimes bought the big one in the line of duty. Death was part of her job and had been part of life for as long as she could remember. She could smile and giggle less than an hour after killing a man; she could clean up blood after a vampire attack as easily as she washed her pristine white work blouses. It didn't mean anything until Zack was the one to die.

The first time they met, he had tried to rescue her from one of Shinra's failed science experiments. Since SOLDIER numbers had been dropping lately and their numbers were spread thin in missions across the continents, Hojo and his underlings had been hybridising animals, trying to create something that would follow orders like a dog, but be strong and tough enough to take on vampires without being torn apart like tissue paper. The creatures had broken out somehow and the Turks had been conscripted to help reign in the situation before it got out of control. Until her dying day, Cissnei would remember the sight of a man wielding a ridiculously huge sword, who jumped in front of her like she was some stupid girl in need of rescuing. One of the creatures had leapt off a wall, intending to latch onto his back. One throw of her giant shuriken had taken out it and its three siblings, leaving the man open-mouthed and looking rather stupid with nothing left to fight.

"Well that was an anti-climax," he had said, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "You saved me when I was trying to save you. Does that make you the knight and me the damsel?"

The question was so silly when she was covered in blood and other, ickier fluids, she had snorted with laughter. "Only if you wear the dress."

"What?"

"Damsels always wear dresses. Preferably long, pink, tulle and with massive skirts too wide to fit through doorways."

He had blinked at her, then given her a first look at that grin she had come to value so much. "And the pointy hat with the piece of floaty lacy stuff hanging off the top?"

"Oh definitely."

"I don't know. It might mess up my hair."

She had folded her arms, her shuriken dangling loosely from her grip and a sardonic look on her face. "You have monster guts in your hair."

"I think you have monster snot in yours," he had replied without missing a beat.

She had stuck out her free hand. "I'm Cissnei."

"Zack." He had shaken her hand and then jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Reno and Rude, who had been standing idly by, watching the whole thing. Reno had the biggest shit-eating smirk on his face and made a vulgar gesture at Cissnei when Zack wasn't looking. "They told me you didn't need any help."

"But you didn't believe them."

"I don't believe in letting a lady fight monsters on her own."

"That's either very chivalrous or very sexist of you." She had tipped her head to one side, surveying him. "Maybe a little of both?"

"Did I just get insulted?"

"Think of it as waiting for the jury to come back."

At that point, his phone had beeped. Flipping it out, his grin had faded. "Sorry, but I've got to go."

"Ah, the jet-set life of a SOLDIER."

"Uh, yeah," he had said distractedly. "It was nice to meet you."

"Maybe I'll let you save my life next time."

He had blinked at her, processing her words. Then that grin had reappeared. Something prickly had happened in Cissnei's stomach; not lust or nausea, but something she didn't have a name for. "That's either very generous or very sarcastic of you."

"A little of both."

The dark street had seemed darker still after he left. Of course, Reno had teased her about 'getting it on' with 'one of those SOLDIERs, yo', to which she had replied with a thump and a threat to cut off his ponytail while he slept. Rude had been impassive, as usual, but she got the impression he liked Zack. Practically everyone did. Zack was just one of those people it was difficult to hate.

But not everyone had liked Zack the way Cissnei grew to like him. Not everyone's breath caught in their throat when he arrived home safe from missions. Not everyone had done everything in their power to spend time with him while also trying to make it look accidental and not at all on purpose. Not everyone had sought him out and sat with him for hours in silence after his mentor died. Not everyone had risked their boss's wrath by wearing a bikini instead of the standard issue suit-and-tie while safeguarding him in Costa del Sol. Not everyone had cursed up a storm when they learned he had gone and got himself a girlfriend while they were still figuring out that 'like' had gone and morphed itself into 'love' while they weren't looking.

And not everyone would greet the fact that Zack was alive by heading for the sewers the moment their shift ended. If she'd had access to a leyline in a less disgusting place, she would have used it, but the closest other one was outside the city limits and she didn't have time to rent an off-road vehicle to go looking for it. She was up to her neck in lies and crap anyway. Why not go the extra mile and stand in the real thing?

Leyline energy cascaded through her mind, filling her with sensations designed to make her never want to leave. Somewhere in the morass of pleasure, she sensed the answer to her question. She reached for it, sifting carefully through the rest. It took a gentle touch to extract a single desire without getting swept away by a leyline. The process was slow and painstaking, but for those with the patience, it brought brilliant results. Cissnei grasped the thin, green-blue thread and tugged.

Her mind's eye opened on the image of a snowy landscape. She had an impression of intense cold, which matched the image, and flickering warmth, which didn't. She homed in on the feeling, only to find her path suddenly obstructed. Bared fangs and hot breath. Bristling fur and raised hackles. Forcefulness wound its way through her in an order she felt more than heard.

Leave, little witch. Stay away.

What-?

She snapped back into her own head with such force that her body stumbled right out of the leyline. She fell on her butt. Seconds later she registered what she was sitting and cried out in disgust.

What the hell had that been? Something had blocked her. That had never happened before. Clairvoyance wasn't her forte, but she had never failed to find a target. She had never looked for Zack because she had never had reason to – all records listed him as dead and his 'remains' had been cremated like all vampires'. If Tseng had let on what he knew earlier, she would have used the leyline energy to find Zack in the labs and …

And what? Gone to rescue him? Broken him out? More likely she would have done something stupid, got herself and her magic noticed by Hojo, and ended up in confinement right next to him. Veld's careful deck of cards would have come tumbling down as soon as Hojo realised there was more to the Turks than met the eye. Understanding why Tseng had done what he had done didn't make it any easier to handle.

What strange force had blocked her from finding Zack's current whereabouts? It hadn't felt malevolent, but it hadn't felt human either. It was far too primitive, yet it had been flavoured with complexities she might have been able to separate and understand if she hadn't been so rudely ejected. Was something protecting Zack? Or was something just acting against her? Either way, she had to find out. If she was being blocked using leyline magic, that was fine. There was more than one way to skin a cat – or find an ex-SOLDIER.

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's quite common in those who have been in warzones."

"This isn't just PTS."

"I'm afraid it is. The symptoms are all present –"

"It's not just PTS."

"It is my medical opinion that it is, and raising your voice at me won't change that. PTS is a very serious condition and not one that follows a strict set of rules. There are no seven stages of PTS. Each sufferer just has to take each day as it comes, and their loved ones along with them."

"But –"

The voices faded as the two speakers clumped away along the corridor. Zack huddled under the percale sheet, wishing he was anywhere but here. Back in Wutai, for instance, or in a version of Gongaga that no longer existed. He never would have thought he would long for either, but fate had once again dealt him a crappy hand and expected him to use it to win the game of life.

"Why did you do it, Angeal?" he muttered.

The doctor's voice returned, tight with barely controlled annoyance. It was impressive, considering who he was talking to. Most people kowtowed out of habit, but not this guy. He stopped outside the door.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Are you?" The voice that replied was cool almost to the point of dismissiveness. Zack supposed that was habit too.

At last, the doctor seemed to realise his error. They exchanged a few more words and the door opened, allowing a rectangle of light to enter the room. Zack wanted to pull the sheet over his head, but the impulse died when sure footsteps entered. He was a SOLDIER. SOLDIERs didn't hide under the bedclothes when things got tough. He scrambled upright, then realised he was dressed in a hospital gown and just stopped himself from standing up and embarrassing then both.

"Zack."

He lifted his chin. "Sir."

"I think we can dispense with the formalities."

His chin dipped. "Sephiroth."

Sephiroth's arms were folded. He eyed Zack speculatively. Then, surprisingly, he dropped his eyes, as if not wanting to meet Zack's. The elephant in the room trumpeted loudly. "I'm sorry."

Zack nearly laughed. "What are you sorry about?"

"About Angeal. And Genesis."

A snort shot down Zack's nose before he could stop it. Genesis – ha! This was all his fault. He was the reason everything had gone wrong. If he hadn't –

But no, Zack couldn't hate the man as much as he wanted to. Genesis had saved Angeal's life. For that reason alone, he deserved some gratitude, even if it did come coated in queasiness at the memory of what he had done prior to healing his friend. Genesis hadn't forced Angeal's hand. No, it had been Angeal's own choice to deliver Zack to the Shinra camp, wait until nightfall and then disappear back into the Wutaian forest. Zack had been shipped back to Midgar and hustled into the medical facilities like a leper they were afraid would start shedding body parts if they left him standing in one place too long.

"It wasn't your fault," he said to Sephiroth. Then he frowned. "Why are you here?"

"I came to check on you."

"No, I mean why are you here, in Midgar? You're meant to be leading the forces in Wutai."

"I was."

"They didn't let you come back just to check up on me, si- Sephiroth."

Sephiroth paused before replying. "No, they didn't."

"Pardon me for saying so, sir, but … why the hell aren't you out there doing your duty?"

"There are many different types of duty, Zack. There is duty to one's job, duty to one's subordinates and duty to one's calling. There is also duty to one's friends and oneself. The trick is knowing which to concentrate on at which time."

"Again, pardon me for saying so, but right now I think the first three should be your priority. We're at war, sir. Or didn't you get the memo?"

"I'm shipping out again shortly. Preparations are being made in my absence. The offensive on the Wutaian capitol city will begin upon my arrival. Until then, I am at liberty to spend my time as I see fit." Sephiroth raised his gaze. "How are you doing?"

"How am I …?" Zack was speechless. Sephiroth had actually left the battlefront to come and see him. That was either a poignant example of true humanity or a sign of madness. "Sir – Sephiroth – you can't just … those men are … I'm not … I … they … you …" He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Are you nuts? They're all relying on you to lead them. You should be out there making plans, not here with me. There are guys out there who aren't SOLDIERs. They need you, not the Third Classes bozos I saw before I left."

"Bozos?"

"I wasn't trying to be arrogant. They are bozos. They need more training before anyone lets them within a hundred miles of a real battlefield."

"And you're a veteran of those now?"

Zack's mouth opened and shut. He looked away.

"Zack," Sephiroth said, "I read your report. I know what happened out there."

"I hope I didn't make any spelling mistakes."

"Zack," he said again. "You left out a few key things."

Zack's blood ran cold. "Excuse me?"

"Your report said Genesis appeared and assisted you and Commander Hewley when you were cornered."

"That's right."

"Did you know Genesis deserted in order to be there at that moment? He is now officially listed as AWOL. So is Angeal."

"So?"

"I am used to reading between the lines of official reports. 'Incurred much collateral damage'? Your doctor is insistent both you and Angeal suffered Post-Traumatic Stress as a direct result of that incident. Angeal's manifested in absconding without warning, or even a solid plan of what to do next, since he took no supplies with him into a hostile, vampire-infested jungle. Yours manifested as a comatose state from which nobody could wake you after you heard what he had done."

Cold blood pounded in Zack's ears. He straightened his spine. "Exhaustion, that's all."

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. Obviously that excuse cut about as much ice as a soap hacksaw. "Something happened out there, Zack. Something you're not telling anyone. Others may be willing to accept the course of events as detailed in your report, but I'm not. That isn't because I'm particularly wedded to bureaucracy; it's because Angeal and Genesis are my oldest friends and I want to know what the hell happened out there to make them both abandon Shinra in the same twenty-four hours. It is also," he added less forcefully, "because whatever really happened, it obviously had a profound effect on you too, and I also consider you a friend, Zack. Your health and wellbeing matter to me as much as Angeal's and Genesis's."

For the second time in as many minutes, Zack was speechless. His fingers cramped around the edge of the percale sheet. He met Sephiroth's gaze squarely, but only for a few seconds. What did it matter? He asked himself that question as he stared down at himself. He didn't understand what had happened any more than he understood Angeal's reaction to it. The explanation Angeal had offered raised more questions than it answered – how could one human being heal another using their own life force? – and the promises he had made were broken almost immediately. The pain of betrayal stung like a whip-crack across Zack's face.

He took a shuddering breath. "Is this an official inquiry?"

"No, Zack," Sephiroth said softly. "This is just me, not the Silver General. It's just me asking you what really happened to my friends and yours."

"Genesis is no friend of mine," Zack said bitterly, and slowly explained what had unfolded in that faraway, blood-soaked land.

At the end of his retelling, Sephiroth nodded. "Don't be too quick to judge them, Zack. There are things you don't know about Genesis and Angeal."

"You think?" Zack said bitterly, sounding like the child he always denied he was.

Sephiroth's expression emptied. "Let me rephrase: there are things you can't know about them. Genesis and Angeal aren't like other SOLDIERs. They were the first members of the programme. They can do things that those who followed can't do."

Zack frowned. "I thought you were the first SOLDIER."

"The first to officially bear the name, but before me, before the war against the vampires prompted Shinra to specifically train vampire-hunters and launch its 'SOLDIER' division, there was an experimental unit called 'Project G'. Genesis and Angeal were members of that project. Eventually it was merged with another experimental programme with similar goals, called 'Project S'. Together, these two teams united their research and eventually became SOLDIER."

Zack's frown deepened. "Are you … allowed to tell me this stuff?"

"This is all on official records," Sephiroth said. "My point is, Angeal and Genesis have a shared history that neither you nor I can fully understand. They were friends before they joined Shinra at all. I know that joining was Angeal's idea. Genesis wasn't exactly opposed – not at first. Angeal wanted to help Shinra find a way to fight the vampires. Genesis seemed to thrive on the fighting itself." Sephiroth's expression was flatter than a shadow on asphalt. "But that was years ago. Things changed, as they always do. Circumstances change. Opinions change. People change."

"Genesis didn't want to be a part of Shinra anymore," Zack concluded, thinking back on his own memories of the man. To him, it had always seemed like Genesis was champing at the bit, eager to be elsewhere but simultaneously reluctant to leave. "But Angeal did."

"Angeal was always the peacemaker." Sephiroth actually chuckled. "When Projects G and S merged, things were not always … amiable between us. We were used to being the big fish in our respective little ponds. I admit I was not as diplomatic as I could have been."

Zack's eyes widened. "You picked fights with Genesis?"

"Not always."

"Genesis picked fights with you?"

"Not always. Let's just say the training room was used many, many times, and not always just to practise our kata. We were competitive. It kept us sharp. We constantly strove to better each other, and thereby bettered ourselves as a result. Angeal was our balance. Without him to hold us back during our more …" Sephiroth paused, searching for the right word. "Tumultuous moments," he eventually settled on, "we would have done more damage than we did, and believe me, Zack, we did do damage to each other."

Zack could believe it.

"Once," Sephiroth went on, flicking a glance behind him as if concerned about being overheard, "he wasn't quite in time. Genesis was – is – a master swordsman. He and Angeal arrived at Shinra with their swords and kept them throughout their careers. A master swordsman is one for whom a sword becomes an extension of their arm. Nobody who saw Genesis fight ever considered asking him to switch weapons to the folded metal experiments Shinra's weapons division."

Like you and Masamune, Zack thought but didn't say.

"We injured each other quite badly. I don't remember a lot of what happened, but I do know that Angeal … did something." Sephiroth's brow twitched, as if he wanted to frown but couldn't. "To me." Another twitch. "The white light you described, when Genesis put his hands on Angeal's chest? I've seen it, but from Angeal. I think I may have been further gone than doctors would have me believe. I heard Angeal's voice." He tapped the side of his head. "In here, calling me back, and then I woke up. Afterwards, Genesis was incredibly angry at Angeal and I was … different." He stopped. "Now we really are getting into classified information."

Zack swallowed the dry lump in his throat, but said nothing.

Sephiroth paused before continuing. "Together, we three elite eventually reached a compromise of respect, so when SOLDIER became official and we became representatives of the programme, we were able to work together as equals. That respect was hard-won, but all the stronger for it. Yes, even between Genesis and myself, despite our differences." He stopped again.

Zack realised with a start that he wasn't the only one who had been hurt by their sudden departure. He was so used to thinking of Sephiroth as the superhuman, invincible Silver General, it was a jolt to remember he was human. It was even more disconcerting to think that he had all the same frailties as Zack himself. Sephiroth's friends had deserted their shared cause, but they had also run out on him without warning or explanation. If they had truly once been as close as Sephiroth described, it was no wonder he had made a special trip to see Zack and find out what had really happened.

"You brought Angeal to help me when I first arrived at Shinra," Zack said abruptly. "You knew he could do things regular doctors couldn't."

Sephiroth nodded. "But I must admit that even I was surprised when he took you as his student. None of us has ever trained a successor."

Zack tried not to let the shock show on his face. Successor?

Sephiroth dropped his volume. "But not as surprised as I was when I heard about what happened in Wutai. Genesis, I could see deserting, but Angeal?" He shook his head. "All I can think is that he went after Genesis. He wouldn't abandon Shinra lightly; not after he spent so long working to build up the SOLDIER programme and fight the vampire virus. He definitely wouldn't leave you so lightly, Zack. You mean a lot to him."

There was that dry lump in his throat again. Zack's chin went to his chest. He fisted the sheet angrily. "Not enough, though."

"He'll be back," Sephiroth assured him. "Angeal would do anything for those he cares about."

Zack recalled Genesis's last exchange in the clearing, adding it to what Sephiroth had just told him. Angeal had always been cagey about his past but defensive of Genesis without really explaining why. What part of their shared history had influenced him to act so out of character now?

He couldn't look Sephiroth in the face as he said, "That's what I'm afraid of."

To Be Continued …

.