Chapter 9: A Rubik's Cube and a Little Too Much Champagne

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica Schwarz, Razvan Arcos the guide, Agent Gail, Luke the werewolf, and the plot that isn't from the movie is mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks again for the reviews! Squee! I think everyone caught onto the roses in the glass case belonging to Erica. This chapter picks up where the last one left off. It's almost party time at the BPRD, and Abe starts thinking about Erica. Both Kroenen and Erica experience some severe déjà vu. And after the party there's a surprise appearance by someone Erica thought was gone forever. German to English translations: 'Ja' is yes, 'Gute nacht' is good night, and 'Mein Gott' is My God. Enjoy the chapter!

Psycho Clowns: Eep! Don't faint! It was a really good idea, though.

musicamode: Thanks! Yup, it's the roses!

amyltrer: Yay! You're the only one who caught onto Luke's warning being about Rasputin's return.

iluvrocknroll: Whoa! Big review! Thank you, I often wonder how this story measures up to other fanfiction, since I spend most of my free time writing and practically none reading fanfiction. Also good to know you like all the stuff leading up to the movie, I was wondering if I was dragging it out a bit too long…Hmm, definitely one of the weirdest questions I've ever been asked in a review, if not the weirdest. But that's cool, I like weird questions! As for the answer… who says he doesn't have anything? And if he doesn't, I'm sure he can be more than inventive, no? After all, what's the good of all those improvements if he can't have a little fun every once in a while? Teehee! Bad thoughts…

Fade: A new reviewer! Thanks so much! Hehe, forbidden romances, you've gotta love them. As for the action scenes, you won't be disappointed; I have a whole ton of them planned for the upcoming chapters. And of course I'll keep writing, I love to do it, and I love it even more when people enjoy reading what I've written!

"One of the lessons of history is that nothing is often a good thing to do and always a clever thing to say."—Will Durant

The BPRD

Professor Broom's Study

Afternoon

Abe floated aimlessly in his tank, working on his Rubik's Cube. He spun one of the dials around with a webbed hand, hoping to get closer to completing a third side of the cube. Instead he only scrambled the two sides he had already completed. He quickly reversed the dial and floated in the water for a moment, studying the puzzle. He sighed. What a dilemma, he thought, the only way to complete the puzzle is to ruin the sides I already completed. But I'm risking that I'm just going to mess up the whole thing.

He knew there were websites that offered hints and even solutions to the puzzle, but he wasn't interested in them. That would be too easy and wouldn't give him nearly the same satisfaction of completing the Rubik's Cube on his own. However, I would definitely be able to finish it sooner, he thought. He considered for a moment and then shook his head. He'd rather puzzle it out on his own. It would give him something to do, anyway.

Abe glanced through the glass aquarium window at the four books sitting on their stands. They had been open to the same page for the past two hours. But of course that was only natural. Professor Broom was busy elsewhere, Hellboy was grounded and confined to his room, and Erica was—well, Abe didn't know, but he knew she was in the building somewhere. Probably reading one of Shakespeare's plays, he thought, Or fixing that music box for one of the agents. Or ripping the alarm system out of her room like she threatened to. Abe grinned, imagining what Manning's face would look like if he were to find the alarm sitting on his desk in several mangled pieces.

The fish man kicked his feet and moved onto his back so he was looking upwards at the surface of the water. He idly blew a few bubbles and watched them rise to the top of his tank and then pop as they hit the air. He sighed and his gills fluttered slightly. His mind wandered over the party that was planned for the evening. Agent Moss had been right, it would be good to relax. It seemed that no sooner did they deal with one threat and get a chance to sit down then they'd have to rush off to deal with some other fiend from the pits of hell. It's a pity Hellboy can't attend the party— Abe stopped as the memory of Hellboy and Professor Broom's argument washed over him. The fish man winced as he remembered a particular section that had troubled him.

"I know it's difficult for you. You should talk to Abe. He knows what it's like—"

"Abe wouldn't recognize love if it came up to him and slapped him in the face!" Hellboy said.

Was Red right about him not being able to recognize love? No, of course he isn't, he was angry and wasn't thinking, Abe thought, After all, I can see that Hellboy loves Liz. So logically that means I can recognize love.

That's not what Hellboy meant and you knew it, a voice inside him said sternly, He meant that you don't know how you feel, when it's obvious to him exactly what's going on.

Abe blinked. It was true. Hellboy had managed to catch onto the fact that he had been letting Erica win chess games, and had seemed to be suggesting… But it's not true. I don't—that's not why I let her win at chess. Abe knew that sounded lame. The truth was directly in front of him, staring him in the face. He had a feeling that it had been doing that for a while and he had just been too oblivious or too much in denial to accept it.

I've been lying to myself, haven't I? Abe realized.

That made him think. The reason he let Erica win at chess was the same reason he had been so worried about her safety last night, and that was for the same reason that he had enjoyed that hug so much. It was true that Erica's hug had been the only form of affection he had received in what felt like forever, but there was more to it. Such as why he had been so…whatever it was, when Luke had been blatantly hitting on her, and why he had been so relieved when Erica had turned the werewolf down. Abe was…interested.

And Erica is too, at least a little, he thought, She definitely likes how I look, anyway. As he remembered what she had thought when she had seen him sitting in the truck before the mission, he felt a rush of warmth as his skin flushed to a darker blue. Abe shook his head to clear it and discovered to his surprise that he was smiling.

What he really wanted was a good friend—no, not a friend. He and Erica were already good friends. But there was potential there for them to be something more than that—and it was a potential that he would definitely try to pursue.

The truth doesn't always hurt, he thought, and his smile widened.

Abe did a quick little back flip and went somersaulting head over webbed feet through the water before he finally stopped himself. He sobered up for a moment. Should I tell her? he wondered. His stomach did a little flip-flop. He knew he wasn't ready to tell her. No, I won't tell her yet, he decided, I'll just entertain this idea for a little while and see what happens. Who knows, I might just be deluding myself...but sometimes we have to take risks in order to seek happiness. He glanced down at the Rubik's Cube in his hand and blinked. Actually, that can apply to more than just love, he thought, as he spun one of the Cube's dials. The move scrambled the two sides he had completed, but he was that much closer to finishing the puzzle. Leaving it where it was wouldn't have gotten him anywhere, and the same was true of his friendship with Erica.

I would never have thought a Rubik's Cube could be so helpful, Abe thought pensively, And that's true of Hellboy, too. Who would have thought that big red monkey would catch onto something that I had missed?

The fish man smiled. He'd have to thank Hellboy later if it occurred to him. Right now he was going to work on the puzzle and look forward to the party. With any luck, Erica would be there and he could…investigate his new idea.

XXXXX

Birgau Pass, Moldavia

Afternoon

Kroenen was having a good day. Despite having been awakened several hours before sunrise by a knife in his back—courtesy of Ilsa—and having spent the next half hour sewing up the wound, which had ended up very messy and far from his standards of perfection, he had discovered something that made him happy. Very happy.

That is, besides the fact that the snowstorm had disappeared overnight, as Ilsa had predicted it would.

When he had left his room and gone down to the bar he had discovered that a man had been found murdered in the street. With a bit of bribery the weathered bartender, who had the look of someone who loved trading gossip, had told him that the murdered man was an investigator. He had been making inquiries into the murder of a pilot that had been found lying on the runway at the closest airport.

"The investigator was going from door to door early this mornin' and wanderin' the streets, askin' questions," the bartender had whispered in Romanian, leaning forward conspiratorially. The man had stood behind the counter, cleaning a mug with a dirty rag. The mug itself had been filthy and the barman's efforts to clean it had only succeeded in moving the dirt around. "Seems the staff at the airport swore no planes had arrived or left yesterday, and that the airport had been closed. Well, obviously that wasn't true, because the dead pilot was lyin' right next to his plane, which was from somewhere in Norway or somethin'. Anyways, the plane wasn't in the arrival records, and neither were the names or any information about the passengers. And then the investigator turned up dead! Had blunt trauma wounds all over him. Skull smashed in. No witnesses. Not really unusual, actually. Small police force and all that at the base of the mountains. Very ineffective, especially with bar fights… "

The barman had prattled on about difficult customers, but by then Kroenen had left and returned to his room to prepare to leave. That was when he had found fresh, still congealing blood on Ilsa's sledgehammer. Apparently she hated to leave witnesses as much as he did.

But that had been hours ago. Ahead of him he could see Ilsa and the guide trudging through the deep snow. All of them, including Kroenen, were carrying a backpack loaded with equipment. Ilsa's heavy steel sledgehammer was strapped to the side of her pack, its head still covered in dried rust colored blood…and other things. Kroenen smiled inwardly.

I can't imagine the investigator's death was very swift, Kroenen thought. Ilsa was as sadistic and bloodthirsty as he was, and even more so when she was so close to reaching a goal. She would do anything to make sure everything went as planned. Grigory Rasputin would be resurrected tonight. Failure was not an option. Nothing would stop them.

Kroenen felt a thrill. They were standing on the brink of attaining what they had worked towards for so long. Grigory would ensure that their efforts to release the Ogdru Jahad were not thwarted again.

But he also felt dread. It sat deep within him as heavy and cold as a block of lead. He knew Grigory was going to punish him. Kroenen had failed his Master. He had failed to detect Erica's treachery, and then he had failed to kill her. And on top of that he had failed to keep the portal open. He could only hope his Master never found out about his 'interfering' with Ilsa.

He shuddered, but it had nothing to do with the falling snow or freezing temperatures. Those didn't bother him. He had only worn the coat and cold weather mask to avoid making the guide suspicious.

Not that Razvan Arcos would ever tell anyone about Ilsa or him.

It was simply standard procedure: kill all witnesses and there was no one to betray information.

His permanent skeletal grin widened ever so slightly, horribly twisting the raw, weeping tissue around his exposed teeth. Murdering Razvan had been a part of their plan all along. Blood and death—as well as the time and place—were essential ingredients in the ritual that would bring Grigory back to them. Kroenen fingered the hilt of a baton sword. The blade had claimed countless lives. The addition of one more would make no difference to him. His soul was as cold and frozen as the inhospitable terrain around him.

As he walked snow fell gently from the overcast sky above him. The small flakes swirled in the air and drifted into snow banks as they were tossed about by an occasional bitter wind. The mountains themselves towered above him on all sides and stretched off into the distance, each of them rocky and sharp like the teeth of a giant beast. Besides snow and rocks the mountains were devoid of anything but a few stunted evergreens. The austere scene was perfectly calm.

It was also vaguely familiar.

I can't remember being here before, he thought. But he still couldn't shake his strong feeling of déjà vu. It was liked he recognized this place from a dream…

Ahead of him the guide suddenly stopped and looked around at the terrain to get his bearings. Ilsa walked up beside Razvan; the old leather book was open in her hands.

"What is it?" she demanded.

Razvan didn't answer her and Ilsa grew impatient as she waited for him to speak. Kroenen stared at them; his clockwork heart seemed to pause. The scene was so hauntingly familiar he felt a shiver go down his back. This was one of Erica's visions of the future—the one she had at the masquerade ball, he thought. The scene was so exact and vivid it was like it had been dredged up, torn from his memory, and replayed before his eyes.

"It's this way," Razvan finally said, gesturing, "Not much further."

Ilsa nodded in response and started walking. Kroenen followed slowly—just like he had in Erica's vision from so long ago. He felt the back of his neck tingle like someone was watching him; he turned and looked behind him. He half expected to see a teenage Erica, wearing her fire costume from the masquerade ball, following them through the snow.

But only a swirl of ice crystals existed where she should have been.

He paused for a moment and studied the harsh frozen landscape. It was empty.

A pity, he thought, Then again, she was never a part of that vision. That was something he remembered had troubled him during WWII—why had he and Ilsa and a guide been in the vision and Erica had not? But he knew the reason now. I would have saved us so much trouble if I had realized the vision was a warning of her betrayal, he thought bitterly.

He clenched his fists as anger boiled up inside him and then looked down as he felt something hard digging into his right palm. His hand was wrapped tightly around the hilt of his baton sword; his body was as intent on vengeance as his mind was. He shook his head to clear it. There would be time for killing later.

They were getting closer.

XXXXX

The BPRD

The Cafeteria

Late Evening

"This isn't much of a party," Agent Moss said, studying the BPRD's cafeteria. He sounded a little disappointed. Only a handful of agents had turned out for the event. Most of the agents that could go home had—and that included Manning—and a lot of those that stayed had decided to take the opportunity catch up on their sleep.

"Well, it was very impromptu," Abe pointed out.

They had just arrived and were now surveying the cafeteria. The plastic and metal tables and chairs had been pushed to the sides of the room to make space for an odd collection of mismatched office chairs. The chairs were set up in a rough semicircle around a white screen on the wall. The beginning of a movie was being projected onto the screen with the aid of a laptop and a new, high-tech projector Abe highly suspected had been swiped from one of the meeting rooms. Someone had turned up the volume to the point that it was so loud it was almost uncomfortable but not quite loud enough to complain about. As the previews started most agents took their seats or migrated towards a small table covered in snacks and sodas.

Abe spotted Professor Broom chatting with an agent, but his eyes darted away from them as he searched the room for Erica. To Abe's disappointment she was nowhere in sight. I am not disappointed, he told himself, I just really, really hoped that she would be here…

"Hey Abe, why so blue?" Moss asked, grinning.

Abe just stared at him, unamused by the bad joke. Just then the door to the kitchen opened. Erica, wearing a white v-neck T-shirt and black pants, emerged carrying two large glass bowls full of popcorn. She plunked them down on the snack table and swept a strand of her brown hair out of her face. She smiled as she spotted Abe and Agent Moss. Abe smiled back.

"You can have burned or mostly burned," she said, gesturing at the bowls she had brought out. The one on the left was filled with blackened popcorn and was steaming ominously. The other was full of grayish popcorn mixed with some that looked normal.

"Come on, Erica, you burned popcorn?" one of the other agents said, clearly in disbelief.

"Yup."

Agent Moss experimentally poked the hot, burned popcorn and then quickly yanked his burned finger away, drawing laughter from the watching agents. "Yet another common, everyday item turned deadly," Moss muttered as he blew on his finger. He glanced at the popcorn again. "Erg. I think I'll stick to the chips and salsa."

Erica shrugged. "Suit yourself." She took a handful of the mostly burned popcorn and dumped it on a plate. She saw the tupperware container in Abe's webbed hands. "What's that?" she asked. Abe could tell by the tone in her voice that she had a good idea what might be in it.

"Rotten eggs," he explained.

"I thought so."

"What movie is it?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care, actually. I didn't come to watch it, I came to play board games."

She gestured at another table. Heaped on top of it were a few long, thin, and battered looking cardboard boxes containing board games. Nearby, four agents had a set of playing cards and were engaged in a friendly game of poker using cheese curls and Erica's burned popcorn as chips.

"Do you want to play chess?" Abe asked, unable to keep the hope out of his voice.

She laughed. "Sure."

A few minutes later they had commandeered a chess set and their own table, and were playing the game and chatting. Abe munched absentmindedly on a rotten egg, much to the dismay of the agents playing cards at the table next to him. Fortunately Erica didn't seem to mind as much as they did.

Abe watched her as she studied the board. He wasn't sure how he felt. He knew he liked her, but was it anything beyond friendship? He didn't know. Erica was pretty, if a bit normal looking—as long as one ignored her scars. She has nice eyes too…he thought.

"Poor Hellboy," Erica sighed. She ran a hand through her hair. "I know he misses Liz. We all do, but especially him. And now he's been grounded for breaking out to see her. And on top of that he's missing this party and he's going to have a new liaison he doesn't even know about." She nudged one of her pawns forward and went back to sorting through her plate of popcorn for the unburned bits.

"And the new agent has no idea what we do. At least, not yet," Abe said.

Erica laughed. "Just wait until he meets us. I bet his eyes will be as big as saucers."

Her smile faded a little. Abe knew she was thinking about how they would have to put up with the new agent's questions about themselves. And that sort of questioning had a tendency to dredge up all kinds of unpleasant memories and self doubts for all of them. Abe smiled slightly at her, hoping to ease the gloom that had filled her grey eyes. They had been so bright and beautiful before…Stop that! He reprimanded himself, I shouldn't stare at her like that, she might figure out that I…but I'm not sure that I do. I'm still just investigating, and that's all

"Just don't tell Hellboy," he said lamely. He mentally cursed at himself, knowing he should have said something more comforting. But she can take care of herself, he thought, And if I start acting too concerned…

"I couldn't tell him even if I wanted to; they've put a new door on his room that looks like the door of a bank vault. It's got some sort of weird key and everything. I don't think he can smash through that one; next time he'll have to go through a wall. I kind of feel sorry for whoever is going to be taking over from Clay. Besides Hellboy being grounded and angry, the new agent is going to be walking right into something that looks like it's going to be one hell of a mess before we get through it."

"Based on the warnings?" Abe asked. He moved his bishop forward and captured Erica's castle. She frowned a little as he added it to the growing pile of pieces he had taken.

"Ja. You know we don't like patterns," she said.

Abe had to agree with that. Patterns always meant something terrible was heaving its bulk out of some abyss to cause tons of trouble. "I wouldn't jump to any conclusions, but things aren't looking good," Abe said, "First the vampire sent after you by the remaining members of the Thule Occult Society—who hadn't been heard from in years—and then Luke leaves us with that warning that doesn't make any sense at all." He paused for a moment as he remembered the two incidents. "There's a meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning for the post-werewolves mission. I imagine the warnings will be brought up."

Erica nodded and picked up one of her pawns, moving it so she captured Abe's bishop. "I just hope—"

"Champagne?" a woman asked, interrupting Erica.

It was Agent Gail. She was holding a stack of large red and white plastic cups in one hand and a wine bottle in her other. "I dug it out of the kitchen," she said, "There's a couple more bottles back there."

"Champagne, popcorn, and salsa. Nice," said one of the agents playing cards.

"Well, cheap champagne at any rate," Agent Gail said.

Abe smiled a little at the incongruous mix of foods. In a way they sort of reflect the mix of people at the BPRD, he thought.

"So, do you want some?" the Agent asked.

"Just a little bit," Abe replied, figuring he would at least try some. Gail poured a little into a plastic cup and handed it to him.

"Erica?"

"Er, no, I don't think so." A slight grimace crossed her face; the expression was contorted even more by the scar on her cheek.

Abe, buoyed up by the cheerful mood, smiled at her. "Go ahead Erica," he encouraged.

"Alright, maybe just a little," Erica said, looking very reluctant. She watched as Agent Gail began filling her cup. When the champagne passed the halfway mark in the cup Erica protested. "Hey, I said a little!" By then the cup was full to the brim. Agent Gail shrugged and grinned.

"We're all here to loosen up," she said, "And besides, you don't have to drink it all if you don't want to."

As the woman left Erica muttered something under her breath in German and looked at the cup of champagne as if it contained demons.

"What is it?" Abe asked.

"Nothing," she said evasively. Her German accent was more pronounced than usual; it always was when she was worried. "Bad memories. Nothing I feel like talking about. It's your turn, by the way." As Abe moved his castle she hesitantly took a sip of the champagne.

The silence between them stretched on for a moment, so long that Abe became very aware of the sounds of the movie playing in the background and the bubbling of his respirator. The silence wasn't awkward, but Abe felt guilty for dragging up memories of Erica's past that she would clearly have preferred to forget. "Isn't it nice to have a night where we're not worried about anything?" he finally asked.

Erica brightened up immediately. "Yeah. Why do all the monsters always come out at night anyway? I mean, can't they be more original? In the past few weeks we've had to deal with a ghoul, a couple of hauntings, a vampire, and three werewolves, all at night." She grimaced. "Our lives sound like the summery for a bad horror movie."

"At least we don't get bored," Abe pointed out.

XXXXX

Birgau Pass, Moldavia

Late Evening

Razvan Arcos trudged through the snow. The rock walls towered above him. Though it was late evening the cloud covered sky was as grey as ever.

They were close to the Old Place described in the blond woman's book. I wonder what's in that book, Razvan thought. But it was none of his concern. And he didn't really care. The woman and her companion were more than paying for him to put up with their oddities. He was more concerned in leading them where they wanted and getting back quickly. This part of the mountains was no place to linger in; ghost stories surrounded the area and told of the horrible fates that befell the curious that dared to trespass there.

Razvan shivered and glanced around him, checking instinctively for any ghosts or monsters that might be stalking them through the snow. Thankfully there was nothing. He stepped down a series of snow covered rocks, his eyes locked on the narrow opening in the rock face ahead. He turned to the two behind him.

"What you seek is in there," Razvan said. He gestured down the passage with a hand covered by a fur mitten.

The woman—What was her name? he wondered, Ah, Ilsa—stepped up beside him and brushed at the snow that covered the rock on the right side of the opening of the passage. As the snow fell away it revealed a strange symbol chiseled deep into the stone of the mountain. Razvan watched with curiosity as Ilsa consulted the leather bound book she held in her hand. He had to squint to see the pages in the blue, dying light of evening, but his eyes lingered on the hand drawn illustrations and followed the strange handwritten words. He didn't recognize the language.

Ilsa swept some snowflakes off the parchment pages and then looked up and motioned at the guide to move. The symbol carved into the stone had matched the description in the book. She would lead the way from here.

The narrow passage ran for some length and then widened out and ended abruptly at a wall of rock hung with sheets of ice. It was a dead end. And it was exactly what Ilsa had been looking for. She stepped up to a thick vertical sheet of ice that clung to the rocks. A bluish light shone through it, indicating that there was a large space of some sort on the other side. Ilsa ran a gloved hand over the ice. Even without the book she would have known instinctively that this was what she was looking for: an opening frozen over by the passing centuries. She took her fingers away from the cold, frozen surface and tucked the book safely away inside her jacket. Then she unstrapped her heavy, square-headed steel hammer from her backpack. The business end of it still had remnants of dried blood on it from the murder she had committed that morning. She grasped the long shaft of the hammer with both hands and then swung the hammer at the ice.

CRUNCH!

The hammer drove into the ice, knocking a fist sized hole in it and sending huge cracks racing through it. She swung the hammer again. The ice broke into chunks and then crumbled, creating an opening just large enough for her and the others to walk through.

She stepped through and found herself inside a rough walled corridor. Even here there was a thin dusting of snow on the ground. She pulled a flashlight from her belt and turned it on; the white beam lit up the dim interior. Another beam of light—Kroenen's—joined hers as it played over the rock walls, causing sheets of ice to shine eerily and ice crystals to sparkle. In the absolute silence their footsteps were disturbingly loud; even Kroenen's raspy breathing was unnaturally audible as the sound echoed off the cave walls.

Ilsa stopped on a ledge above a long set of stone stairs reminiscent of the steps of Mayan pyramids. The view was breathtaking. The cave was enormous and could easily have held a stadium. Huge icicles hung from the roof of ice more than a quarter of a mile above the cave floor. A cold blue light filtered down through the thick ice and streamed down on the magnificent labyrinth below it. Around the maze the rock walls towered above the cave floor.

"I will guide you no further."

The guide's voice broke the stillness and called Ilsa's attention to the fact that he was standing beside her. She could see from what little of his face was exposed that he was scared. He's heard too many ghost stories, she thought, And he better change his mind because I don't want to drag him all the way there. He's coming whether he wants to or not. She looked back at Kroenen. Despite the fact that her face was covered by a cold weather mask he seemed to get her message.

Kroenen reached into a pocket of his coat and pulled out two gold ingots—the guide's promised payment. He handed one to the guide and then put the other back in his pocket. The message was clear: Razvan would be paid only half of the promised price if he didn't continue leading the way. The guide examined his gold greedily; avarice got the better of his fear and trepidation. He pocketed the gold and then nodded at them.

"This way," he said, starting down the stairs.

XXXXX

The BPRD

The Cafeteria

Night

Abe stared at the chessboard in disbelief. Erica had just placed her bishop on a square where at least three of his pieces could take it. The game had started out fairly even, with both of them taking each other's pieces, but over the last hour Erica had steadily started to lose. Rapidly. She kept making unintelligent moves.

The fish man briefly wondered if it was some sort of strategy to lure him into a false sense of security. No, she doesn't have enough pieces in the right places to pull something off like that, he decided. Another thought struck him as he remembered his conversation with Hellboy in Broom's study. Does she know I've been letting her win? He felt his stomach drop at that thought. He looked up at her and saw she was watching the movie as she waited for him to move one of his pieces. There was no hint in her face or in her thoughts that she suspected he had been letting her win. Actually, he noticed her thoughts were unusually blank and far away.

He watched her for a moment and noticed that her eyes weren't focused. She wasn't really watching the movie; she was staring off into space.

"Erica."

She didn't turn to look at him. He reached out and touched her arm gently with his webbed hand. Erica jumped but her reaction was a little delayed.

"What?" she asked.

"You're not paying attention," Abe said. He pointed at the board and particularly at the bad move she'd made.

"Oh," she stared blearily at the board, leaning her head on her hand, "Ja, that was kind of stupid of me. Or you. Or whoever did that. I can't remember."

Abe blinked at her in confusion. He became concerned, though, as Erica leaned over the table and dropped her head into her hands, hiding her face. "Abe, I don't feel so good," she muttered through her fingers and her curtain of brown hair.

Now suspicious, Abe picked up her plastic cup, which Agent Gail had filled to the brim with champagne an hour or so ago. The cup was completely empty.

"Erica, I believe you might be a bit tipsy," Abe said gently. He was trying to be as tactful as possible.

"Hmm. That might explain why I haven't felt like this since...since that party Ilsa had at the mansion. Someone had the bright idea to spike my drink that night," she raised her head and frowned, "I think it might have been Kroenen. Never found out for sure, though. Turns out I have little to no tolerance for alcohol at all." She smiled and then winced. "God, my head hurts! I definitely think I'm drunk. At least a little."

"Come on, I'll take you to your room," Abe offered, helping her up.

"Having a little too much fun?" Agent Gail called, approaching them, "Or off to have some?" She winked at them.

Abe blushed at her comment but chose to ignore it. He steered Erica toward the door of the cafeteria. Gail followed, laughing. "So, Erica, feeling a little sozzled?" she asked.

"It's Abe's fault I'm drunk," Erica muttered defensively.

The fish man looked at her indignantly and then paused as it occurred to him that she was at least partly right. He shrugged and spread his webbed fingers in a gesture of helplessness and embarrassment. "She has a point. I did encourage her to drink the champagne."

"Huh. Who would've thought one glass would…?" Agent Gail said, trailing off as she looked at Erica.

"Well, it was a very large glass, if you remember," Abe reminded her sternly. He opened the cafeteria door and pushed Erica through.

Gail laughed nervously. "I guess you're right. Sorry about—"

Abe closed the door in Gail's face, cutting off her apology. Strangely he discovered he didn't feel guilty about doing it.

A few minutes later Abe had assisted Erica through the halls. He stood in front of the door to Erica's room, letting her lean on him as she fumbled with a key and unlocked the door. She really doesn't need much champagne to make her drunk, he thought. He knew how she felt—she really did feel terrible. She was dizzy enough that it made his own head spin a little.

"Try to get some sleep," he suggested as she stepped inside, "And go to the Medical Bay if you start feeling worse."

Erica nodded and started to close the door.

"By the way, I'm sorry," he added. He really did feel guilty about her being slightly drunk.

Erica sighed and looked at him. "It's not your fault, Abe, it's mine. I'm just not thinking straight…Thank you for helping me. Gute nacht."

She closed the door and walked over to her canopy bed, swaying a little. She flopped down on the edge of it and sat there clutching her pounding head in her hands.

"Ja. Definitely drunk," she muttered to herself as she awkwardly kicked off her shoes. I should have known better, she thought, I learned that lesson in Germany. Too many people tried to get me drunk so they could kill me…and then there was that time Kroenen spiked my drink…it's never worth losing self control. Without bothering to change into her pajamas she lay down and turned off the light on her nightstand and rested her head on her soft pillow. She closed her eyes.

Her headache only got worse as she lay there. Eventually she peeked through her eyelids at the digital clock on her bedside table. The green glowing numbers were too bright and she quickly closed her eyes again. For a second she saw the green glow swimming in front of her eyes on the inside of her eyelids, and then it was gone. Feeling restless, she turned over on her side and got comfortable. She lay there for what felt like hours, but before she knew it, she had fallen into a fitful sleep.

XXXXX

The next thing Erica knew, she was outside. She also knew she was dreaming.

Curious, she looked around. She was standing in a courtyard paved with cobblestones encrusted with moss and lichens. The courtyard appeared to be in the middle of a garden—except that all of the plants were withered and brown. The only things that were flourishing were some large poisonous mushrooms and fungi clinging to some rotting trees.

Erica stared up at the rotting, leafless trees that stretched freakishly gnarled branches towards an overcast twilight sky. This is so familiar, she thought, I think I've been here before. But when?

Shadows and a half dead curtain of ivy that resembled cobwebs clung to the old stone walls that surrounded the garden. A cold breeze darted in over the high walls and rustled through the dried remains of ornamental grasses. Above her the dark clouds raced each other across the sky and darted away from the claw-like branches of the trees reaching out to snag them. Distant thunder rumbled ominously like the growling of a cornered beast. Erica shivered as the breeze whipped her brown hair into her face and goosebumps appeared on her arms. She could smell the storm coming. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm. This is such a lonely place, she thought, It's like a forgotten graveyard.

She heard the trickle and splash of water coming from somewhere behind her and turned around—and stared as she recognized the fountain standing a few meters away from her. The grotesque gargoyle in the fountain's center grasped a jar in its claws; a foul, thick black liquid spouted from the jar instead of water. Her eyes followed the liquid as it fell into a wide, deep stone basin that had algae and lichens all over its cracked, grey surface. With horror dawning on her, Erica's eyes were drawn back to the gargoyle and the twisted smile of insanity on its stone lips. She shuddered and this time it had nothing to do with this cold breeze.

No, she thought, it can't be—

As if drawn by some invisible force, her eyes slowly looked up and to the left. Erica dreaded what she would see but knew instinctively that it would be there. And it was. An hourglass as big as a man floated in midair.

Erica got a sick feeling in her stomach. She knew all too well where she was. "Mein Gott," she whispered, horrified.

"Save you prayers. Your god doesn't exist here," a familiar voice spat from behind her.

Erica whirled around.

No more than five feet away from her stood a tall, thin man whose entire body was made of shifting shadows of varying darkness. He had no face. His arms were crossed and he was leaning casually against the fungus covered trunk of one of the trees. Everything about him oozed arrogance and utter confidence in himself; shadows surrounded him and made the area beneath the tree as dark as if it still had leaves.

Erica felt fear flood her body as suddenly as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head. She knew who the person was: the Shadow Man.

The Shadow Man slowly turned his head to face her and the flickering shadows of his featureless, blank face squirmed and rearranged into something that vaguely passed for indistinct facial features. Erica felt her heart stop.

"Hello, Acire," he hissed. He smiled cruelly at her, the shadows of his face contorting and shifting to somehow express his emotions. "Did you miss me?"

Author's Notes: Major Cliffhanger! The Shadow Man is back! But why? That and more in the next chapter, including the thing you've all been waiting for: Grigory's Resurrection! And Erica and Kroenen's first confrontation! Yay! Actually, that's not a good thing, because he wants to kill her…excuse me while I wander off babbling nonsense to myself…Please tell me what you think about Abe finally entertaining thoughts about Erica. And please review! It makes me very happy!