Chapter Twelve: By Blood and Magic

Ed stuck by his best friend, keeping one eye on Lou and the other on the faint gray undertone of Greg's skin. It hadn't been obvious while they were all coated in ash, but now that they'd showered and gotten some distance from the immediate ordeal, he could see that pallor and, worse, the way Parker was trembling. The same way Wordy had trembled in Houston, right after he'd been through extreme magical trauma.

Blue flicked around, checking for any observers, and then he reached out, gripping Greg's arm right above the elbow. Not hard and not enough to attract attention – all he wanted was that skin-to-skin contact. Power hummed, confirming his theory – Greg was right on the edge of a core shutdown, but he couldn't get anything from the 'team sense', not with the links scorched and burned from dragonfire.

Tired hazel turned towards him, a faint smile appearing. Ed's grip tightened and he unconsciously reached for their connection. 'Darn it, Greg, stop pretending you're alright.'

'I'm not the one who was attacked by a dragon,' Greg chided, only for both of them to blink at each other in surprise.

'How bad's your core?' Wordy asked, a worried note to his mental voice; Ed hadn't even seen him sneak in and grab Sarge's other arm.

Parker couldn't quite hide the grimace as he rubbed his chest. 'Hurts. Like I got a little toasted.'

If Greg was willing to admit to 'hurt' and 'toasted', Ed didn't even want to know how bad it really was. At the same time, they couldn't leave it alone, either. 'Greg…'

The older man didn't reply for a moment; Ed was about to prompt him again when Greg's jaw tightened in thought. Well acquainted with the negotiator's tendency to choose his words very carefully at times, the sniper settled, giving his friend space.

Then Parker's head tilted to the side, scarlet dappling hazel irises. 'Gryphon's not happy, but it's just singed feathers.' Amusement flashed. 'He's more annoyed about the links getting scorched.'

'Sarge,' Wordy ground out, 'The gryphon's you.'

Rather than reply, Greg let his magic surge; Ed fought to keep from jumping at the sudden mental image of a gryphon with gray and white feathers ringing the top of his eagle head. All of the flight feathers on the gryphon's wings and tail were much darker than usual – singed and throbbing, but survivable. Weary hazel met his blue, pulling him in, and he saw the links, all of them badly burned with their native colors flickering through scorched black in varying degrees. As the source of the fire, Spike's was the worst – only the faintest shimmer of emerald could be seen.

The image evaporated as they hit the top of the stairs and Ed lost his grip on Greg's arm for a moment. Still, he thought he understood why the other man spoke of his magic as separate. It wasn't, not anymore, but for all that the gryphon was Greg, there was a part that was totally alien to Greg's humanity. Just like there was a part of the hawk that would never mesh entirely with his humanity.

'So it's more the links?' Wordy ventured, nibbling his lip. 'That's why your skin's gray?'

Parker blinked, then sighed and nodded once. 'I'm the source, remember?'

The Sergeant winced, seeing his team leader do the same. Most days he didn't even think about it, but Greg was right. His magic had created the links, his magic maintained the links, and the biggest irony of all was that his magic was the source of their magic. Oh, Wordy and Sam had magic of their own, but without Greg, their magic would be just as latent and inactive as it had been before all their lives had been turned upside down by two orphans from Great Britain.

"Thank you, Healer Travis, I'll take it from here."

The men looked up from their conversation to see Senior Healer Queenscove waiting, expressionless as only a man with bad news could be. Travis stiffened at the dismissal, half relieved and half indignant.

Ed traded glances with Greg, suspecting why the young Healer was being shuffled off to the side and earned a nod of agreement. There was no way Queenscove would've missed the damage to the 'team sense'.

But before Travis could leave, the Boss straightened, shedding his subdued demeanor to reveal Greg Parker, SRU lieutenant. "I don't think that will be necessary, Healer Queenscove," he said. "Healer Travis has worked with my men and I for quite some time."

Queenscove considered, green flicking from Parker's determined hazel to Travis's wide light brown eyes. "Do your men concur?"

Freshly reminded that while the 'team sense' bound them all together, it was, at heart, Greg's magic, Ed met Queenscove's gaze squarely. "If it's fine with Sarge, it's fine with me."

"Seconded," Wordy agreed.

Queenscove frowned, darting a suspicious glare at Greg. Lane stiffened – Queenscove had to know the 'team sense' was down, so how the heck did he think Greg could've influenced them?

"Ed?" Sam pressed, uneasy with the idea of voluntarily bringing an outsider in on the secret, even if she was magically bound to Healer-Patient confidentiality.

Fixing his eyes on Queenscove, Ed replied, "Greg's magic, Greg's call."

Dark green eyes widened and Queenscove's mouth opened slightly in an 'o' of understanding. Around him, his constables traded glances, acknowledging their Sergeant's argument.

"Copy that," Jules murmured. Looking up at Parker, she asked, "Sarge, are you sure?"

"I'm sure that we need more than just Healer Queenscove," Greg explained. "Without Susan and her brother Jesse, we might never have found out about Wordy's Parkinson's. And…" He hesitated, glancing to the blonde Healer. "Do you mind…?"

She bit her lip, a hint of apprehension flashing before she lifted her chin. Two fingers indicated Ed. "As your Sergeant said, your medical history, your call, Lieutenant Parker."

Hazel crinkled with laughter and Greg turned back to Jules. "If not for Susan, I'd be dead of a heart attack."

"Wait, what?" Sam blurted, a hair faster than his teammates' exclamations, all but Ed. "When'd you have a heart attack?"

Parker sighed, rubbing a hand over his bald patch and through his hair. "The short version is that when I used my magic to keep Lance alive, I went too far. You guys remember that." At the silent nods, he continued, "Because our magic was mixed together, we, um, synchronized. Magical core, breathing." A pause. "Heartbeat."

Ed's eyes widened; he'd known about the heart attack, but this… This was worse than he'd imagined.

The stocky man fidgeted under their horrified stares. "By the time I was able to pull my magic back, my body…" He hung his head. "Core threw a fit, but it was fine. Trouble was, my lungs forgot how to breathe and my heart forgot how to beat on its own."

Sam and Lou swore as Jules' eyes filled with tears. Wordy had his face buried in his hands and Ed was struggling to remember how to breathe himself.

One hand touched his chest. "Had a heart attack, right there on the bed. Susan used an old spell to shock my heart into starting again."

"An old torture spell," Queenscove interjected tartly.

Greg's head snapped up, hazel hardening towards topaz. "Defibrillation hurts, Healer Queenscove, but it works. Electricity's been used for torture practically since it was first invented. Doesn't mean we should stop usin' it for good."

Tension vibrated for several seconds, then Queenscove bowed his head, accepting the lieutenant's argument without further protest.

Turning back to his team, Parker drove his point home. "Sometimes, to save lives, we have to go outside the lines. Maybe even break the rules. Susan gets that, just like Healer Queenscove does."

Sam, Lou, and Jules traded glances, still unsure, but willing to trust their boss. After a silent 'conversation' of head tilts, grimaces, and shrugs, Sam looked to Queenscove. "Sarge's got a point; one Healer in the know won't work forever. Better if we get another Healer onboard while you're around and can give her the whole rundown."

"Agreed." Jules.

"Same here, for both me 'n' Spike."

The Senior Healer's eyes closed and he nodded slowly. "Very well."

Turning, he led the way further into the ward, though he ushered the group into an empty room rather than taking them right to their injured teammate. Inside the room, Queenscove's wand flashed around, a wordless silencing ward rising. The Healer straightened to his full height, swinging to meet their lieutenant head on.

"With you and your team's permission on record, I can share the details of your magical bonds with each other at a later date. For now, I would prefer to focus on the matter at hand."

Healer Travis's eyes widened at the words 'magical bonds', a tiny gasp escaping, but she otherwise kept quiet.

"Copy that," Greg agreed. "Spike's the priority." Hazel darkened with worry. "How is he?"

Emerald flicked to Young. "Officially, I must have the permission of Auror Scarlatti's…"

"How is he?" Lou interrupted, the fingers of one hand clenching.

Queenscove sighed, hints of exhaustion breaking through the stern Healer mask. "Physically, he is much better than we anticipated. There are no signs of any burns on his body; were it not for the young dragon's report that they were indeed attacked, I would not have believed it based solely on my physical examination."

"What about his magical core?" Sam asked, a shrewd gleam in blue eyes.

The Healer grimaced before he could help himself. "Burned right through to the center."

The officers froze, horror racing through them – they all knew how dangerous damage to the magical core was.

Queenscove gestured for the team to let him finish and assumed a thoughtful, lecturing tone. "Despite Muggle myths to the contrary, death by dragonfire is relatively rare in the magical world."

"Dragon keepers can get burned, but most of 'em are smart enough to stay away from ticked off mama dragons," Travis drawled.

"Not like Spike went and volunteered to get attacked," Lou retorted. "She came here."

The blonde lifted her hands in momentary surrender, regret at her faux pas shining. "I apologize, Auror Young; that was uncalled for." She hesitated, then forged ahead. "What I should have said is that we have documentary evidence that when dragon keepers do get burned, so do their cores."

"Even if it's small?" Jules asked, startled at the thought.

"That is correct," Auror Queenscove agreed. "Judging by the damage to Auror Scarlatti's core, he was in the very center of the dragon's flame." The brunet hesitated, then admitted, "If that is so, I cannot even speculate as to his survival." He nodded to an ashen Parker. "Not even the most powerful of magical bonds can overcome that sort of attack."

Unconsciously, Wordy hugged himself. "So we're still gonna lose him?" The big man's voice was small. Lost.

"No." All eyes shot to the defiant blonde Healer. Susan lifted her chin, meeting them without flinching. "Somehow, he's getting enough magic to survive." Light brown shifted towards their lieutenant. "If you have a magical bond with him, then that might be how."

"It burned," Parker countered, flat. "I had to cut it off when the dragonfire hit him to protect the others."

"You may have cut off the majority of your connection with Constable Scarlatti," Queenscove conceded. "However, your magical bonds are far too potent to ever fully cease." A faint trace of amusement shone at their surprise. "Lieutenant, did you imagine that all magical bonds behave as yours do? You were capable of tracking those very bonds back to Toronto even while half a continent away; most magical bonds are scarcely detectable if the participants are mere kilometers apart. And for a group of Squibs and non-magicals to develop Animagus forms? Unprecedented."

Ed's jaw fell open and he wasn't the only one.

"How the heck are they that powerful?" Sam blurted. "Sarge is Squib-born."

Emerald locked on Parker as he flushed a deep red. "If you had been born a wizard, I have little doubt that you would've been the most powerful wizard of your generation. But power alone does not explain the strength of these magical bonds."

"Then what does?" Jules asked.

Queenscove considered, but Ed suspected it was more about deciding how to answer rather than what the answer was. At last, the Healer fell back on a tactic they were all familiar with. Focusing on Greg, he inquired, "Lieutenant Parker, have you, at any time, performed a blood ritual with a member of your team?"

Ice crawled up the Sergeant's back, ice he could see on the faces of his friends. He wasn't sure where Queenscove was going, but he did know they were in for another bombshell.

"I have," the lieutenant admitted, voice perfectly level, betraying none of the distress Ed knew had to be there. "Do you know if Neal was involved in the manhunt when Spike and Wordy were kidnapped by a magic-side serial killer?"

Travis inhaled sharply and Queenscove frowned. "He was," the Healer confirmed. "As I recall, both men were recovered without significant injury, though."

Greg's smile was mirthless. "Not so much." He pulled in a deep breath, closing his eyes. "The subject hit Spike with an Old Religion spell that robbed him of both his native languages, replacing them with Old English."

Aghast, both Healers stared at the officers.

"Not that me 'n' Spike knew it was Old English," Wordy put in. "We had to communicate with hand signals. Looks. Tone of voice." The big man fidgeted. "Subject's last trap…well, last two traps, really – I was out by then…" He rubbed a hand through his buzz cut. "Stairs that turned into a slide…right into a scorpion pit." A grimace. "Then he put Spike on a table and started autopsying him."

"By Morgana and the Morrigan," Travis swore, going so pale that her hair had more color than her face. "An autopsy. On a living human being?"

"Heard him screaming…woke me up," Wordy whispered, hardly even registering Susan's interjection. His fingers trembled as he curled them into fists.

Ed didn't need Greg's sidelong look to move to his best friend's side. "Word, it's okay. That's enough. That's enough, buddy." He grabbed his team leader's shoulders, forcing wet gray to met his gaze. "Let Sarge tell the rest."

"Long story short, there was another subject who rescued both of my officers, but hid them behind wards. In a room with Old Religion spellbooks." Sarge's tone was dry. Matter-of-fact. "By the time we found them, Spike had discovered a blood ritual. He thought it would let them 'share' their languages, but it really shared their magic."

"Ah." Queenscove grimaced, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Except, at the time, Auror Scarlatti had no magic of his own to contribute."

"That's about the size of it," Parker agreed, grim. "When we got there, Wordy was in bad shape; he barely had enough magic for himself, never mind him and Spike." Hazel came up, flicking between the Healers. "Giles had enough magic, but he doesn't know anything about the Old Religion. I made the call; we couldn't wait for help, so it had to be me."

"You performed a blood ritual with Auror Scarlatti? Or was it Auror Wordsworth?"

"Spike. Right after we did it, he could speak both English and Italian again." Greg hesitated, eyes going distant as he replayed the memory in his mind. "I was…drained. Needed Eddie's help to keep from falling down the stairs."

"And?" Queenscove pressed. "Any other effects you noticed?"

The lieutenant frowned, considering the question. When he spoke, the words were slow. "I felt the new blood connection with Spike. And Wordy, too. Only…" He trailed off, thinking hard. "I remember… I remember thinking it felt like more than just two…"

"Anything else?" the Healer coaxed patiently.

Ed's heart dropped as Greg's frown deepened. "A couple weeks later, Jules and Lou were snatched by a werewolf pack right before the full moon. I needed Giles to Side-Along Apparate me around to triangulate their location, but I didn't have to strain at all."

"You thought you'd have to?" Lou ventured, nibbling his lip.

Greg nodded. "Before that, the 'team sense' really only worked on-duty. More than just me turning it off when I went home, I mean." One shoulder hiked. "Off-duty, I could estimate where you guys were. Even…" Hazel darted to the Healers, then he admitted, "…even feel your emotions. But once I got the hang of the 'team sense', it'd be more… muted… when I was home. Like I was too far away to get an accurate reading. The only time it ever worked long distance is when Ed got shot."

"But how?" Wordy asked as his Sergeant winced in the background. Rubbing the last trace of tears off his face, he pressed, "How does a blood ritual with Spike affect more than just the three of us?"

"It affects all of you because Parker is the source of the magic that binds you together," Queenscove explained. Folding his fingers together, the veteran Healer continued, "While extraordinarily foolish, the blood ritual between yourself and Auror Scarlatti was strictly betwixt the two of you. Once Parker was involved, it became a very different matter."

"The links?" Sam questioned, cocking his head. "But they're just magic. Not like we all lined up and did that ritual thing."

Travis bit back a laugh. "Just magic, Auror Braddock?" She shook her head. "Magical bonds, created by Wild Magic – what on Earth made you think they would be predictable?"

The older Healer cast his colleague a quelling look. "Inartfully put, but accurate nonetheless." Emerald shifted to the paling lieutenant. "By your own admission, you felt the blood connections as soon as the ritual was completed and your magical core was drained of its available magic. Now, certainly, some of that magic went towards restoring Auror Scarlatti's native languages and alleviating the strain Auror Wordsworth was under, but for your resources to be so depleted in the aftermath that you were unable to stand on your own…" The reddish tint to Queenscove's brunet hair gleamed as he tilted his head and let his sentence trail off, insinuation plain.

"We can prove it," Travis put in. "We're not Gringotts, but a simple test like this? Won't even take five minutes."

The officers quailed, none of them sure they wanted to know. After all, it was one thing to be connected magically – they might not've been happy about it in the beginning, but they'd had years to get used to it. But to suddenly be related by blood? That…that was a whole 'nother story. Especially since Sam and Jules were dating. Yet now that the possibility had been brought to light… To not know for sure would drive them mad. Their lieutenant hesitated, though, unwilling to be the first to step forward.


Wordy looked down at his left hand, staring at the white line cutting across his palm. Spike had wanted the right, but he hadn't wanted to risk damage to their dominant hands if they needed their guns. Now he wished he'd put his foot down and refused to use that blood ritual at all. If they'd waited, if they'd trusted their teammates, maybe they could've found a better solution to Spike's language problem. One that wouldn't come crashing down on all their heads years later.

Slowly, one by one, his fingers closed over that line, determination peeking through dismay. Gray came up, catching fire. "I'll do it." As all eyes swung to him, he said, "We already know I did the blood ritual with Spike and he did it with Sarge."

"What's that gonna prove?" Sam challenged. "Just 'cause you're connected with Sarge doesn't mean we are."

"It's a place to start," Wordy shot back. "Prove what we know, then we know what we're lookin' for with you guys." Switching his attention to Travis, he held out his left hand. "You need blood, right?"

"Just a little," she reassured him, going over to a corner of the room where parchment was stacked and waiting.

Pulling one sheet off the top, she gestured the big man closer and drew her wand. Lowering the tip to one of his fingers, the Healer flicked it; the brunet flinched as red welled up for an instant, then scabbed over. Moving the wand to her sheet of parchment, Travis murmured a spell, too low to be heard. Wordy's brows reached for his hairline when his name appeared in the middle, lines tracing up to engrave his mother's name and – he grimaced – Cyrille Lestrange. Another line stretched sideways, spelling out his half-brothers' names on the 'Lestrange' side of the parchment, and three more lines extended below his name to write his daughters' names as well. All expected and nothing out of the ordinary.

Then two more lines materialized, the first glowing emerald, the other glowing scarlet. They stretched out on either side of his name, one of them pushing the black of his half-brother's names further away on the parchment before scribing two very familiar names. His brothers, by spirit, by magic, by blood. He'd known it, but somehow, seeing it was a shock in itself. The big man waited for another few seconds, holding his breath, but no other names appeared.

Picking up the parchment, he turned to his teammates. "Spike and Sarge. Just like we thought." Making a show of checking again, the team leader nodded. "Nobody else, least not anyone here." Looking up, gray hardened. "Now come on, guys. Just let 'em check."

The others wavered for another few seconds, then surrendered to the inevitable and formed an impromptu line. Travis pulled out more parchment sheets and worked her way down, casting the blood spell that would reveal their parents, siblings, and any children.

It didn't take long for the exclamations to start – once they did, Sarge's expression shuttered as he pulled his negotiator mask in place. He waited for the noise to die down, then turned to Queenscove. "Is there any way to reverse it?"

"No," the Healer replied. "Blood contains the magic of life, Lieutenant Parker. Once a blood oath has been sworn, it can never be undone." Emerald canted towards them, considering. "Even were it possible, I would not recommend it; it would cause far more harm than good."

Sarge nodded once, as if that response hadn't blown apart the foundations of his world – again – and moved on. "So. Spike is still alive 'cause he's getting magic from me. What else are we dealing with?"

As the two Healers traded glances, Wordy edged over to his lieutenant, flicking a look back at Ed. This mess, it was his fault. Spike's fault. Not Sarge's. But Ed's expression was just as shuttered as Sarge's, indignation gleaming in the depths of light blue eyes. In that moment, Wordy knew Ed was blaming the wrong man and too angry to see sense. Even worse, the others were just as hurt. Just as angry.

And Sarge was on his own.