"Tess, Tess, Tessa.

Was there ever a more beautiful sound than your name? To speak it aloud makes my heart ring like a bell. Strange to imagine that, isn't it – a heart ringing – but when you touch me that is what it is like: as if my heart is ringing in my chest and the sound shivers down my veins and splinters my bones with joy."

In the middle of an empty London side street stood a tall, blond man in a grey suit, looking up at the sky, his features at first glance content and serene, in tune with nature. But upon closer examination, the eyes' curve was really too sharp, the mouth not a serene curved smile but a smirk, his hands in his pockets fists.

The man didn't move or even seem to breathe as a stranger stepped from the shadows towards him. A tan skinned stranger, with feline eyes, rather overgrown hair, and a luxurious suit that, unlike that of the man he approached, fit in with that of the society around him. He walked until he was several feet away from the blond man in question, eyeing him with barely contained disdain, a hand in his breast pocket. He seemed to pause, awaiting something, but, after several moments of silence and the blond man of strange apparel ignoring his existence.

"Echius," he said, straightening his spine. "Let us not be naive and pretend we don't see each other, shall we?"

The man in the suit simply smiled, turning his gaze even further upwards towards the heavens. "Magnus," he purred. "My dear friend, what on earth could bring you to be following me through the depths of our sweet city? Not the Clave's lapdog as rumor has it, are we?"

To these taunts, Magnus Bane showed no sign of insult or injury, only cold anger. "You are dealing with that beyond you, Echius. The magical community around you has put up with it for so long but it can no longer be ignored. We know what you've done."

Echius turned a smirking lip towards his alleyway companion. "Don't like my methods do we?" he asked jauntily.

"No," the Victorian replied coldly, eyes ice upon the perpetrator.

"Well, my dear friend, did you just follow me to tell me you don't want to be pals anymore? How tragic." Echius' face broke into a sneer as he turned fully to face his opponent.

"No," Magnus replied smoothly, a curved smile appearing on his lips now. "I came to tell you I'm not going to let it go through. I fully intend to stop you."

"And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

With that, Magnus Bane raised a beringed hand, swirling it once in the air, substance with the appearance of blue lightning appearing around it. "You aren't the only one who can meddle with the future, Echius. Be sure of that."

Will sat, his elbows upon the steering wheel, knocking his forehead against the horn for quite some time. It was rather hypnotic after a moment or two, and it was a fun little game to see how long it took for a neighbor to give him a death threat.

This was a neighborhood was foreign to Will; Jem had simply texted him the number and he'd plugged it into the GPS. It was quite nice, truth be told, with a large abundance of flowers and hanging gardens, despite the humble little homes it held.

Will hadn't spoken a word to anyone at school that day, despite the fact that several people called to him in the halls. He'd kept his eyes on the ceiling, not wasting time with lugging books from class to class, and simply accepted the fact that it was going to be an incredibly weird day. Nothing, not one single thing had felt normal. Well, nothing, except Jem.

It had probably only been five or so minutes when James Carstairs emerged from the small, shared townhome, surprising Will with the emergence of a figure behind him.

Will had seen several foster families come and go for Jem, put up with the majority, hated others, and vaguely liked a few, but never had he seen a place where he could honestly say Jem looked truly happy. Although, Jem never seemed to have many strong emotions. He was slightly annoyed at Will, he was vaguely amused by Will. He was in a sort of good mood, he seemed slightly down. He never let emotions pour forth full force, never exerted anger, and, unlike Will, if he indeed had a temper, was a master at controlling it. So, it was a surprise to see Jem come out of this cozy little town home with the youngest foster mother Will had ever seen, a bright smile on his face.

She was small, so small she might've been unnoticeable, with a round kind face that looked in it's early twenties. She wore a simple blue sweater and jeans, and had her arms crossed as she spoke to Jem, a vaguely conflicted expression on her face. Her slight brows were drawn together as she blew a wayward strand of stringy brown hair from her face. Finally, whatever discussion she had been having with Jem seemed to have ended, as she pat him on the shoulder, placed something in his hands and made a shooing motion with a hand. Will watched, a little bemused, as Jem simply leapt down each steps with gracefully speed, a messenger bag dangling from his arm as he ran. Actually, ran.

Will kicked open the side door with a leg, his eyes on Jem, and opened his mouth to speak just as the young woman yelled out a final comment.

"Try and be home before 1!"

Jem clambered into the car with a grin, shutting the door behind him. He turned to Will, whose mouth hung agape.

"She. . . is the youngest foster mum I've ever seen in my life."

Jem chuckled. "She's not. A mum I mean. She's my landlady. Her name is Charlotte."

Will cocked a surprised brow. "Landlady? You're not in the system?"

Jem grinned proudly. "That would be correct. As of last week, I am officially an emancipated minor."

Will simply stared. "You didn't tell me about this," he deadpanned.

Jem rolled his eyes. "Don't get insulted. I didn't want to mention it to anyone until I was sure it would go through. And it did." He looked exceedingly pleased with himself, setting his messenger bag into his lap and beginning to rummage around in it.

Will pulled the car into gear and drove off down the street, leaving the blue sweatered landlady behind them. He didn't entirely know how to react to this, being terrible at any sort of congratulations and so, adeptly, decided to change the subject. "She looks young to be a landlady too," he mused awkwardly.

"Maybe so," Jem said thoughtfully, head in his bag, not seeming to notice or care about the change in topic. "She's only 23. Married, too."

Will made a noise of shock and disapproval as they pulled onto the interstate. "Crazy too, then." It was the strangest feeling that hit Will as he drove away from the small bright neighborhood. The same feeling he'd had of seeing Jem that first morning after the dreams began. It was of knowing, deep knowing. And, as seemed to be the trend with Will's thoughts, that made absolutely no sense at all. He'd never met that girl before in his life.

The car trudged along the motorway, and Will felt himself drift back into consciousness with a sharp jolt as it pulled to a stop.

"Wha- Are we there yet?" he murmured, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"No," sighed Jem, hands taught on the wheel, expression grim. "Still stuck in traffic. And check the time."

Will glanced at the dashboard. 9:56. The concert had started at 8. His heart sank.

"We aren't going to make it in time," he said, voice sounding vaguely strangled.

Jem sighed. "I can't say it looks good."

Will slumped in his seat and stared out the window at the late night traffic. While it seemed like an overreaction to feel so deflated at the idea of not making it, Will couldn't deny the very real overwhelming sense of disappointment that overtook him.

He'd awoke to the word Tessa pulling on his tongue like a lifeline and he realized now with a jolt how much he had, in some almost unconscious way, been relying on this supposed meeting. He didn't know if he could stand much more dreaming of kissing, not only kissing, so many glances, so many stupid feelings-

Well. He didn't know if he could continue in this strain and remain a sane man.

He ran a hand through his hair, with a low sigh, then sat up straight, tightening his jaw.

"Pull off at this exit," he ordered Jem.

Jem glanced at him from the road with a perplexed expression. "Our exit isn't for six more."

"Pull off," Will insisted. "I've had enough of this. I'm driving."

Jem cocked a brow, looking a mix of bemused and impressed. "You can't force our way there faster, you know."

"Since when have I been deterred by the word 'can't'?"

Jem looked conflicted for a single moment before stifling a smile, flipping his blinker on, and pulling off onto the exit ramp.

It took them ten minutes to be parked directly in front of the concert hall doors.

Will slammed on the brakes, slapping his hands triumphantly on the steering wheel. "There! Did I not tell you I could get us there faster?"

Jem simply stared back, a dazed expression on his face. "90 percent of that was illegal," he deadpanned.

Will simply grinned wider, throwing open his door, and leaping out onto the sidewalk. "I realized your problem. You simply refused to use your imagination. Imaginative driving is imperative to get places fast."

Jem rubbed his scalp as he clambered from the car. "You're too pleased with yourself to be healthy."

"And you're too cynical to be any fun."

Jem had no reply.

Will stared up at the arena, towering above them, and felt his breath knocked out of him. The sense returned, as it had every morning since that first morning, a tingling in the back of his neck. A voice whispered in the back of his mind that he had never, ever, seen a building of this gargantuan size. Of course, this wasn't true. And yet. . . he listened. It was a crystal clear night; too silent to believe a roaring concert raged behind the concrete walls in front of them. Too silent to accept that he was about to either confirm or deny his insanity. He didn't want to let into his mind his real intentions for coming here, he didn't want to let in the slightest bit of thought or his own logical mind would tear the dream to pieces. And yet, he stood.

Could he go in? Could he do it? The dream he had all too carefully crafted could be cracked by this too. But enough was enough. He took a breath, and gave a nod to Jem.

"Let's go."

Jem nodded in reply, the ever faithful friend, and the two began to walk briskly towards the doors. They made it five feet before the doors were thrown open.

Will stopped short, eyes widening. "What on earth-"

A large, exuberant crowd (consisting mainly of girls a good five years younger than Will and Jem themselves) streamed out from the doors, pushing past the two boys into the parking lot.

"She was AMAZING tonight!" gushed what looked like a twelve year old with much too much eye makeup to a group of bedazzled peers. "I can't believe we got to hear her sing 'Honey, Please!' You know they say she NEVER sings it anymore! Ohmygoshh! And did you see. . "

Similar conversations hurried on around them at an identical eardrum piercing pitch and volume. Will stood stock still, arms stiff at his sides. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder as the crowds weaved around him, paying him no heed.

"I'm very sorry, Will," said Jem quietly, voice full of regret. "It was my fault. I should've found a faster route. And now we've missed it."

Will tugged himself out of Jem's light grip and grit his teeth. He turned to face a startled Jem. "No. No we haven't."

He turned, shoving quickly through the crowds without abandon, walking at a brisk pace. Jem quickly dodged through the crowds behind him.

"Will!" he called, catching his shoulder once more. "It was a lark but there's nothing we can do! The concert's over."

"She can't have left already," Will said determinedly, licking his lower lip in concentration. "It must have ended what? Five? Ten minutes ago? She's in there," he stated, turning to face the arena once more. "She can't have left."

Jem stared at him in disbelief, pale, sweat dotted face, shocked. "You can't be serious. You aren't going to go in and find her?"

"I am," said Will, before shoving aside a twelve year old rather roughly and running through the arena doors.

"Will! Will!"

He knew he had lost Jem before he had even made it fifteen yards; the crowd thickened the further he dove into it, more people fighting to leave and get to their cars as early as possible. He shoved aside all in his way, parting a zigzag of a path for himself. He didn't see their faces. He didn't hear the loud conversations. All he heard was one unending, heartbeat line, pounding itself into his skull: Tessa, Tessa, Tessa.

He wasn't going to be insane. He wasn't going to have to face this new, half missing life. He would find this link to his newfound dementia and cure it. He would be himself again. He sprinted faster.

"Hey! Hey, you!"

He ignored the call, knowing it was after him. Pounding down sterile grey halls, unable to move as fast as he'd like as there was no possibility of motion without touching at least five other human beings simultaneously, he dove through the first door he saw.

The arena proper was enormous and daunting. Ceilings so high, he couldn't quite see the roof, he saw that he was on the ground floor of hundreds of floors of seats. The crowd dwindled, as the last remnants fought for their passage through doorways. Will had a clear shot, if he could only find. . . Where to go . . .

His eyes caught on the center. A large, circular dias, still lit in several colors of neon, though dimmer now than he imagined they were during the show. The stage. The lights hurt his eyes and it seemed nearly a mile away from where he stood, but he didn't give himself time to think. He took off, at a blinding pace. He wove between chairs and ropes, barely thinking of anything besides finding the answers to the questions burning behind his skull.

He reached the stage, faster than he'd imagined possible, and paused. He heard voices somewhere in the distance. He looked around him, his eyes finally snagging on a set of stairs set off to the side of the stage, blocked off rather inefficiently by a rope.

Up the stairs, down the hall that widened, widened, a new crowd, large burly men in black, an entourage- He caught sight of mossy brown hair. Her head turned but slightly; it was enough. Even through the large crowd he could see her face.

Their eyes met.

And Will's skull seemed to split open, as though struck by lightning.

He gasped in pain. A thousand images, memories he'd never seen before, places he'd never been before, flashed through his mind in a blinding blur, and though, in the uncontrollable flash of that moment he was not able to grasp completely what it was he was seeing, he knew one thing for certain:

He knew Theresa Gray.

"TESS!" the words poured out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying. "IT'S WILL! TESSA, IT'S ME!"

The crowd parted in shock, though he barely took notice.

He tuned out the words in the background, though he vaguely heard voices.

"What the hell? How'd he get through the guards?"

"Don't ask me-"

"Don't worry, Miss Gray, we'll have him out of here in a second."

Hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back. He'd lost sight of her, and he felt the euphoric feeling of moments ago beginning to fade into a cold, dull, burn.

"No, wait."

The voice was soft and yet forceful and it had immediate, clear effect on all there. The crowd parted, all but the burly man currently holding Will moved.

"But Miss Gray-" the man protested, a fearful look in his eyes.

"I want to see him," she spoke simply, just as she emerged from the crowd.

She wore a plain black rockabilly dress, the straps tied back behind her neck, the skirt pointing sharply to the sides in a hoop. It hung close to her thin waist, reaching down to her mid-thigh. She had a mic taped to her face, obscuring half of her mouth, currently pinched into a tight line. Brown hair, tied tight back in an elaborate bow, one single unruly strand, having escaped, falling across her face. He saw she had what looked like makeup on in buckets, her skin an unnatural pale, cheeks much too bright a pink. Grey eyes covered in streaks of gold eyeshadow stared at him, brows drawn together in deep concentration. This girl looked different from the one in his dreams. Was this. . . even her?

"Why. . . Did you call me Tess?" she asked in a clean, crisp American accent.

At that note another blinding series of images, slightly slower this time, flew past his eyelids. Tossing an apple in the air, familiar grey eyes staring at him angrily. An amused smile across a dinner table. A hot, wet night, in a dark shadowy attic and a bucket of water. And finally, a whisper, as though lips were right beside his ear, indignant:

"Hell is cold."

He could do nothing but stare. Dumbfounded. "I. . . don't know," he said honestly, voice sounding so tired and worn it surprised him. "It is your name."

Her grey eyes widened, curious but cautious. It seemed to Will a very familiar look. "Yes, but-" she bit her lip. "No one calls me that."

Will did not have a response to this. He was acutely aware of the bodyguard, standing obnoxiously close to his side, hot breath blowing uncomfortably down his neck. The hope that had taken flight in his chest was fast fading to something dull; a feeling of stupidity. But he could not leave without asking what he came to ask.

"Do you not. . . Know me?" It was a quiet question, his voice sounding almost pleading, unlike his usual brisk tone.

Her brows drew together in confusion, and she took a slow step backwards. He saw the change in her expression; he saw her silently write him off as a crazed fan, a stranger who she had never known and wouldn't ever attempt to. Her expression moved to one of pity. He felt he had seen it before. It made him sick. "No. . . No, I'm sorry. But I can sign anything you'd like," she said kindly, a sad smile lighting her features "-a poster?" She'd been rambling on, in the same pitying tone. "A CD? I'll have someone fetch-"

He held up a swift, hard hand to stop her. "No," he said wearily. "I don't want anything. I'll just be going." He turned to go, not missing the look of hurt that crossed her face.

The entourage closed in, moving about her once more. Will walked briskly away, the way he had sprinted through now unrecognizable but he did not care. He just wanted- Needed, to leave.

A large hand grabbed his shoulder again, though this time, he noticed. And cared.

"Hey buddy, how'd you get in here? I'd like to see your ticket, if you please."

He tugged his shoulder away gruffly. "Get off of me," he said darkly, his eyes on the floor.

Maybe he was insane. He didn't care.

"Don't you try that," the man warned sharply, grabbing Will and spinning him to face him. He was ugly and scarred, Will thought violently as he stared upon the large man's face, and Will wanted nothing more in that moment than to hate him. "I'll need to see your ticket or I'm going to have to take you-"

Will cuffed him. A hard, well aimed punch across his jaw. He heard a sharp, female gasp somewhere in the crowd, felt a moment of sick satisfaction somewhere deep inside his broken self, before all hell broke loose.

To be continued. . .