Much thanks to Saemay for her beautiful introduction to Istanbul, which influences this and following chapters!

Also much thanks to 0positiv, for her gentle reminder that not everyone has the same background or interest in theology/mythology as me. I have begun adding a bit of character explanation and background with that consideration in mind.

"We engaged the devil at the television station," Rook began, "and thought we might have the manpower to defeat him there, but he escaped in an estate wagon apparently owned by the station. We gave chase until he abandoned the car near Gloucester and took to the air. Apparently his strength grew along with the number of deaths he caused." Rook paused, shivering at the memory of the creature that had flung the roof off of the estate wagon and flown away.

"We began to be attacked by what can only be described as re-animated corpses that had apparently been taken over by members of the devil's growing entourage." Rook looked slightly uncomfortable while attempting to describe the nature of his enemy. "Spiritual warfare is beyond our purview, I'm afraid," he said with an apologetic smile. "Historically the church has dealt with these matters. We don't have specific categorization for what we have seen, but rather consider it all under the heading of demon possession. That will have to change, of course. Our records of this event must be accurate."

Rook continued his narrative, explaining that they had pursued the devil north, toward Birmingham, and had found themselves increasingly under attack and unable to slow down the mindless slaughter of people along the way.

"Birmingham! Oh god, not the Jaguar plant! Tom, ask him, ask him!" Alex was jumping up and down in agitation.

"Er, sorry to interrupt Mr. Rook, but Alex wants to make sure the Jaguar plant wasn't damaged," Tom felt foolish for asking, and was just a little bit worried about his friend's priorities.

"No, we didn't get that far. We were just to Worcester when he turned back for Cardiff. We assumed that it had something to do with you three. Apparently he called his 'minions' with him because several thousand moving corpses suddenly dropped in their tracks." Rook frowned. "It will be quite a challenge to sort them all out and return them to their proper communities for burial."

"Now, Mr. Yorke, if you wouldn't mind picking up the narrative and telling us what happened at the station…" Rook turned to look at Hal, who was now finished with his tea.

"Of course. Before I begin, however, I'd like you tell us about your personal involvement with Captain Hatch, prior to his attempt at an apocalypse." Hal's smile only increased at Rook's apparent unease. "We would like to know how your behavior may have been linked to our own…recent challenges."

Tom was initially surprised by Hal's idea, but came quickly to agree with it. "Yeah, I'd like hear that too." He stood near Hal with crossed arms and looked at Rook.

Clearly Rook wasn't interested in sharing what he considered a bout of personal and moral weakness with anyone, especially not with those who suffered directly from his actions. It was a fair request, however. "Yes. Agreed. I'd prefer it to be a private conversation, however. Perhaps after the formal inquiry is complete?"

The supernatural trio nodded agreement amongst themselves and Tom sat down on the sofa, joined by Alex as Hal began their story.

The vampire spoke clearly and without emotion of their awakening, the arrival of the Seraphin Nepos, and her subsequent battle with the demonically driven whirlwind. He described the manifestation of her wings and weapons and shared the name she had used for the demon they had been battling. Caedis Cruciatus, a powerful demon but not the devil as they had all believed and that the creature had claimed to be. At that point Hal admitted to being indisposed for the duration of the battle and turned the story over to Tom.

Tom tried his best to model his narration after Hal's but found himself being stopped and questioned repeatedly by the MiG's. Apparently he didn't have the gift of gab, and it didn't help that Alex was sitting next to him giving him prompts and correcting him. When Tom described the demon's massive leathery wings Hal finally understood something that had been niggling at the back of his mind.

"Ah, hence the need for a Batsignal," he said to himself.

"What?" One of the scribes, apparently a Batman fan, jumped eagerly at the phrase.

"The Seraphin Nepos told us that Caedis would be there soon because she had sent out a 'great big Batsignal.' I didn't understand the reference at the time, but now that I've heard Tom's description, it makes sense." Hal explained. "Sorry for the interruption Tom, please continue."

Tom finished his story with a description of Lena flying away, apparently in pursuit of unseen things, as the building fell apart behind them. He didn't mention the borrowed car that brought them back to Honolulu Heights.

Rook looked thoughtfully at the bola still wrapped around Hal. "When the Seraphin Nepos returns for her bola, would you please give her a message from me? I'd like to respectfully request a meeting." His question was directed at Tom, as Hal was starting to look twitchy and haggard.

"We can give her the message. Not sure she'll much care one way or t'other," Tom replied.

"Rook," Hal spoke quietly. "Tread lightly with this one. She may be from the Victrix bloodline. She's very powerful." Turning to Tom and Alex, he explained further, "Victrix, Latin for conqueror, was the name the Christian church gave to what it considered the most powerful Nephilim in history. The church was the first organization to attempt to document Nephilim and their offspring, the Seraphin Nepos."

"Your suggestion is noted," Rook said, choosing to ignore Tom's confused look and avoid further explanation of the history of type double-zero creatures. He turned and addressed his two subordinates. "Please return to the archive immediately and complete the process of documenting what you have heard here. It is of the highest importance, but must be done swiftly. We have a long road ahead of us before this country is set to rights again." Rook saw the two MiG's to the door before turning back to address the trio.

"Thank you for your cooperation in disclosing what must have been a very traumatic experience," he began.

"Right, and now you're gonna tell us what you and Hatch were up to at the hotel," Tom interrupted.

Rook paused, his hand still on the handle of the not-quite-closed interior door. The handle pulled from his hand as it shut emphatically on its own.

"That was Alex," Hal said. "She doesn't have to actually touch an object, or person, to affect it." A subtle threat entered his voice as he continued, "I think Alex would like for you to tell us your story now."

"Ya damn right I do!" she snapped at Rook. "Don't make me get the superglue on your ass. I'll stick you in a chair for good, bucko!"

"She's threatening to superglue you to a chair. Apparently without pants. You might want to step away from the door, unless you'd rather try pantless storytelling. It could be entertaining." Hal was enjoying fanning the flames of conflict between ghost and man, another sign that good Hal was long gone. He would have been working to keep all parties in control of themselves.

Rook visibly collected himself and sat down in one of the chairs previously occupied by his scribes. Resting his hands on the table in front of him, he began.

When Rook left Honolulu Heights nearly an hour later he was shaken, pale and sweaty, hunched as if too weak to walk upright. He made his way to the car where his driver waited impassively. "To the archive," he said as he got in and collapsed against the back seat. He had never been to a Catholic confession, but what he had experienced must have been far worse than any private admission of guilt to a disinterested priest. He had admitted atrocious acts of treachery to those he had plotted against, fully aware that they could easily kill him, or worse, if they chose to do so. He hoped they would accept the penance he had offered instead.

Dominic Rook had been forced to see himself more clearly than he had ever cared to, forced to speak truths aloud that he could barely whisper to himself. His blind passion for the merits of his occupation and for the Department of Domestic Defense had led not only to his personal downfall but to the deaths of those who were supposed to be under his protection.

Rook had told them everything, even the shameful way he had used Natasha as a pawn in Hatch's game. He saw Natasha as a representative of the millions who had died, all people he was supposed to protect, all people who suffered when he decided that his job was more valuable than their lives. He acknowledged his own guilt in using her as a wedge between Hal and Tom, the wedge that led to the ruin of their friendship, Hal's descent into darkness, and Hatch's rise to power.

In the presence of those he classified as monsters, Rook realized that he was possibly the most monstrous thing in the room. His arrogance gone, his belief system shattered, Rook saw Hal Yorke and Tom McNair as worthy of his concern. He accepted his own share of responsibility for Bobby's death and admitted his betrayal of the werewolf, who had trusted him with his life. He admitted that a system of types is the least effective way of judging the merits of those who are or were at one time human.

Finally, he admitted that the Men in Grey were not servants of the public but servants of an illusion. While the illusion of safety had its merits, it could never again be allowed to outweigh the protection of human life. Rook spoke for the first time of the idea that had been building within him over the last two days: a complete restructuring of the department to include greater acceptance of and cooperation with any supernaturals who chose to live in a manner that placed human safety above all other concerns. He saw it as the only way to atone for his crimes against decency, as he put it.

Rook had asked Tom, Hal, and Alex for the chance to live long enough to make things right in the only way he knew how. He had left Honolulu Heights with their promise to give him a chance to rebuild the Men in Grey. As he neared the archive Rook pulled himself together, mentally and physically. Out of destruction and chaos would rise a better, more intelligent, more discerning department. He only hoped that he was ready for the challenge.

# # #

Lena didn't make it back to Wales for nearly two weeks. She wasn't stalling; she was just busy making the world a better place. She chased demons until the trails ran cold; her lungs were full of coal dust and her wings were disheveled. Her clothes were blood-stained tatters, and she was filthy and tired. She finally came to rest in Istanbul, where members of her by-now-very-extended family welcomed and sheltered her.

It was early evening when Lena dropped into the central courtyard of her old friend Ammon's riad*. Ammon and his family lived in the Kadikoy district of Istanbul, the area of the oldest settlement in the region, with a documented history that reached back to 5500 BC. Ammon, a Seraphin Nepos and Lena's oldest relative still on earth, could fill in the gaps in the historical record if he chose. In fact, he suspected that some of the bits of ceramic and jewelry currently on display in museums had been dug out of his old rubbish pile.

He had settled along the coast of the Sea of Marmara before it had its name and had greeted each civilization that followed in its turn: Phoenician, Greek, Roman, Christian, and Muslim. He had grown wealthy by investing in maritime trade and in land, and his family had grown and spread throughout Anatolia and into Europe and Africa. He had married several times through the millennia, allowing himself to 'age' along with each wife, to enjoy his children and grandchildren, and to 'retire from the world' following the inevitable death of his human partner.

Now bearing the identity of a middle-aged affluent Turkish businessman, Ammon reclined on a couch in the loggia that encompassed his blue-and-white marble courtyard. He loved listening to the water running through the traditional Moorish blue-mosaic fountain. He enjoyed feeling the trace of moving air that rustled the foliage and stirred the perfume from the many flowering plants that graced his home.

He was almost dozing when he heard the soft thud of Lena's feet landing on marble. He recognized the sound immediately, even though it had been decades since he had last heard it. The smell of coal dust and blood came sharply on the breeze created when her wings spread to soften her landing. He leaped to his feet and greeted Lena instantly, calling for his wife Leylak to come at once.

"May I rest here, cousin?" she asked as she allowed Ammon to look deeply into her eyes. Lena did not hide herself from her trusted friend. They used the term 'cousin' because their exact relationship couldn't be traced; he was actually a nephew of some kind, many times removed. Lena had been born early enough in human history that she was related to most people from the region of her birth. In fact, Ammon had attempted to play Six Degrees of Lena at one time but gave up when she refused to cooperate.

"Of course! Your rooms are ready for you, as always. Come, let us help you." Ammon gently hugged her and offered his shoulder for her head to rest upon. "You look wretched. Even your wings are a mess!"

"I know. They've been serving as shields and weapons lately. Got into a running battle with a host of fucking demons!"

"Please, cousin, watch your language if you can," Ammon chided gently as his family gathered. Along with Leylak, his wife of 32 years, several of his grandchildren had come running. They stopped in the shade of the loggia and huddled together, watching their grandfather hug what appeared to be a fallen angel.

Leylak carried several soft cloths, which she used to brush down Lena's wings as she rested against Ammon. The two women hadn't seen each other since Lena had attended their youngest daughter Pinar's wedding nearly five years ago, but they were genuinely fond of each other. Leylak was calmly competent, good-natured and warm-hearted as well as beautiful. She ran her household and her family with grace and wit and everyone who met her left feeling better about themselves, except those who had too high an opinion of themselves to begin with. Leylak could be a great leveler of egos when the need arose.

She carefully cleaned Lena's wings and resettled feathers that had been knocked askew. Although they looked like bird wings from a distance, the wings of a Seraphin Nepos were much stronger, the individual feathers made of a flexible steel-like substance that, when interlaced properly, were nearly impenetrable. They were also formidable weapons that could send an enemy flying with a single flick.

Leylak sang to herself as she worked, as a way to ease her weary friend and calm her grandchildren's fears at the same time. She had cared for Ammon's wings twice since they married, both times following battles with Jinn* that had nearly killed him. His wings were less sturdy than Lena's and had been less effective because of it. She was glad that her husband was seldom called away on Seraphin Nepos business.

"You don't have to do this, Leylak. I can take care of myself," Lena protested mildly. She was slightly uncomfortable with someone else touching her wings. A few swift shakes and a little preening, that's all I need, she thought.

"I know you can, but you are a guest and we have a standard of hospitality that I intend to maintain," Leylak replied with a smile. "There, that's all I can do, I think."

She stepped back as Lena shook her wings a bit and folded them into invisibility. "Thanks, that feels so much better! I'm sorry to drop in on you like this, but I'm a gnarly mess and need a place to clean up and get some sleep. Ammon said my rooms are available?"

"Always. We are happy to see you whenever you can visit," Leylak said while handing the dirty cloths to Rya, their middle daughter, who had come to her mother's side. Rya was a Seraphin Nepos of limited strength with no wings of her own, but she had spent her life learning the history of her people and she wasn't afraid of Lena.

"I'll open up your room and draw you a bath," Rya offered, then ran off quickly, calling her two children to follow her.

Lena watched them go, then smiled and turned to Ammon. "Keeping the family together still?"

"Of course! How else can I enjoy them! We have plenty of room here and are very comfortable," he waved an arm around the expansive courtyard to signify the breadth of the two-story loggia and the numerous spacious rooms beyond. "We are completely updated in every way! The best of old and new combined!"

"He talks like we live in a hotel instead of our family home," Leylak chided her husband with a smile. "But he does take very good care of us," she added, giving Ammon a kiss on the cheek as they escorted Lena to her suite, a sitting room, bedroom, and bathroom reserved for their most respected family member.

Rya was already there. She opened up the door and windows onto the courtyard and removed dust covers from the furniture while her older child, an attractive 10-year-old boy, monitored the rising water level in the oversized bathtub. Ammon excused himself and took his grandson with him while the female members of his family tended to Lena.

Within moments Lena found herself immersed in a luxurious bubble bath scented with Oudh oil while Leylak and Rya prepared her room and laid out clean clothes from the wardrobe they kept on hand. They chose an outfit that Rya had recently bought at a Bagdat Avenue shop: soft green cotton tunic and trousers with beading around the neck, sleeves, and ankles.

"This bathroom is gorgeous! I love the blue tile walls and white woodwork," Lena spoke from the depths of the bubbles massed around her head. She sat up slightly and enjoyed the feel of hot water streaming through her thick red-gold hair and back into the tub. "This is much too classy for Ammon's taste. Did you have something to do with it?"

Leylak chuckled as she responded, "It was a group effort. Those of us with taste carried the vote. I'll show you around the house after you've rested. The girls and I have been busy since you were here last."

Rya appeared in the doorway of the bathroom. "Perhaps tomorrow I can take you for a Turkish bath? I know a hamam* that the tourists haven't found yet. No giggling Westerners in bikinis. Oh—sorry, I forgot, you live in the West!" she blushed at the unintended insult.

"It's okay, I know exactly what you mean. 'Tourist' means person who doesn't understand or appreciate our culture and traditions," Lena said, "whereas I simply predate them."

Lena smiled at the Rya's expression. Clearly she was taken aback by Lena's reference to her age.

"Yes, Rya, I am actually older than dirt. Our family timeline goes: me, dirt, your dad, everyone else." She chuckled as she slid into the bubbles once again.

"And I'd love a traditional Turkish bath. I haven't had one since I was here for Pinar's wedding." She sank further into the warm, scented water with a contented sigh.

*riad—traditional Moroccan-style home with limited windows on exterior walls, allowing for extra privacy for the family and protection from the weather. Riads typically have open gardens and/or courtyards in their centers, with access to the house on all four sides. There is also typically a fountain or some other type of water feature in the center of the courtyard.

*Jinn—unseen or hidden spirits, from the Arabic. In this case they were evil in nature.

*hamam—bath house designed specifically for a Turkish bath, with separate facilities and attendants for male and female bathers.