DISCLAIMER: I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

This is a what-if story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

In the shadow of the toll bridge

The Council of Rogues

**WARNING FOR THE FAINT OF HEART…So…yeah, this chapter gets a bit…dark. (I mean just look at the title). So buckle your seatbelts…and remember it's always darkest before the dawn**

Arms tightly crossed in front of her, Emma continued to fume as Gold flipped over his 'open' sign and flashed her an infuriating grin. It was bad enough to have David interfere with what was turning out to be a promising lead, but to have Mr. Gold so clearly amused by the whole business was just about all she could take. She tried to peer through the wooden blinds but with most of the lights off, she had no idea what – if any – progress David might be making.

"He'll do it, you know." Henry's voice from the car startled her and she turned around.

"What?" she asked, regretting the bite in her tone.

"He'll do it. He'll get the name."

Emma closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, working hard to temper her frustration. "You think so, huh?"

Henry bit his lip, looking between his mom and the closed shop door. He couldn't be sure (he was only 10), but he didn't think he'd ever been caught in the middle of something so complex. Emma knew what Henry believed about 'David Nolan' but had no idea what 'David' knew and that Henry knew what heknew and – ugh, just thinking about it gave him a headache! "Well," he struggled, sorting out what he could and should say. "He is Prince Charming."

It was too late and she was too tired to mask her reaction, so Emma couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Henry—"

"Well he is!" Henry insisted. "Maybe he's…I dunno…remembering or something." He was taking a big risk, he knew. Pops had been right that revealing too much too fast to her would backfire. Still, he wasn't about to just let her stand there doubting him if he could do something about it (Besides, he could get away with pretending that 'David might be remembering.' He'd claimed as much for real when James first woke up).

"Remembering," she glanced down at him, cocking an eyebrow. "That he's Prince Charming."

"Or at least…" he fumbled for a bit. Jeez this was hard! "I don't know…sensing that he needed to…to help you?"

"Look, Kid—"

"Why is that so hard for you to believe?" Henry cried suddenly, straightening up in the back seat so that he balanced on his knees and was now leaning halfway out of the window. His remark so startled her that she had no reply. "I mean, you saw the compass in the book tonight. You saw how much Ava looks like Gretel."

"I know but—"

"If I'm right about them, I'm right about him," he insisted, pointing toward the door of the shop. "I mean, come on, Emma. Why else would he be here?"

Nervously, Emma shoved her hands in her pockets, and as she studied the boy's anxious features, she realized she had no answer. After all, it was the same question she'd been asking herself all night. The kid just had guts enough to say it out loud.

…

James gave Gold one last glance as he placed his hands on the door. The old magician nodded, picked up his cane and disappeared through the back stock room, flicking off the one tiffany lamp as he left. The pawn shop was pitch black and Gold's collection of assorted artifacts from their old world cast ominous shadows in the moonlight over James's face. He sighed, pushed open the door and headed into the wintery night air.

Emma, as he expected, was leaning against the driver's side door with one leg crossed over the other and her hands shoved in her pockets while Henry was still hanging out of the back seat, his little hands curled over the edge of the open window pane. His daughter was glaring at him, and this too he'd expected. For although he knew he had acted in her best interests, there was simply no way at this time to explain just how dangerous that little man was, nor why 'David Nolan' felt it necessary to barge in on a woman who was clearly capable of taking care of herself. As far as Emma was concerned, this was just another case of 'David' sticking his nose in her business…where he didn't belong.

"Well?" she snapped, glowering at him. "Did you get it?"

James took a deep breath and reached in his back pocket for his wallet. He shot Henry a quick glance and then looked up. "His name is Tillman."

Emma bolted off the car door. "Tillman?" she asked hurriedly, and James tried not to let the surprise in her voice bother him. She really hadn't believed that he'd come through for her.

"Uh huh, Michael Tillman," he nodded, flipping open his wallet.

"Did you get an address?" she said impatiently.

"Didn't have to," he answered as he withdrew something from the wallet and flipped it out to her.

She cocked an eyebrow and took it from him. "A business card?"

"I met him this morning," James said, glancing down at Henry who had perked up the instant James had revealed his success.

"You know him?" Henry asked excitedly.

James nodded and looked back to Emma. "He does all the towing for Marco's garage. As soon as Gold said the name, I remembered him from earlier today. He also does a lot of the snow plowing and leaf pickup for the town."

Emma stared wide-eyed at the card in her hand. Half of her couldn't believe that he'd actually done it. That he'd bargained with Gold for the information and had succeeded despite the fact that it wasn't even for him. The other half of her – the one she'd been trying to shut up all night – well that part wasn't a bit surprised. "Um…" she fumbled, tucking the card in her coat pocket. "Thank you."

Again, James nodded and then withdrew the compass from his pocket and held it out to Henry. Emma started at the trinket and shot him another look.

"He didn't keep it?"

James shrugged. "Didn't need it," he said. "Believe me…he got what he wanted."

Something in his tone made her shiver and, though she told herself she didn't really care, she couldn't help but ask, "What was his price?"

He stared at her thoughtfully, noticing for the first time that she wasn't glaring at him with looks of caution or distrust. There was compassion there. Concern. And a little bit of wonder. He'd seen hints of these in her eyes that afternoon at the castle. Dare he hope that he was somehow…some way…getting through? "Don't worry about it," he said, trying to mask the emotion in his voice. He certainly didn't want to burden her with the sum of favors he'd just given up to that man, but when he glanced down at his grandson's worried gaze, he knew the boy had probably already surmised that the price was…steep.

"More secrets David?" Emma asked, though it wasn't really a question.

"Not really," he said. "Just…nothing that was worth keeping a father from his kids."

Something squeezed Emma's heart tight as he said it, and though she knew he was talking about Ava and Nicolas…she couldn't shake the feeling that he was …that he might also be talking about…that he really could mean— but she shrugged it off, deciding to focus instead on the first half of his statement. "I thought you said nothing was worth owing a favor to that man," she challenged.

"For you," he said, not missing a beat. "I could care less about me."

She gaped a little, oddly frustrated by the remark. After all, who was he to…what…protect her like that? He's your father... To take on that kind of responsibility? I found your father…To claim that right? Your father…he's in the hospital…She opened her mouth to object, but Henry broke through the tension.

"So you comin' with us Mr. Nolan?"

James looked down. "Comin' where?"

"To talk to Mr. Tillman!" Henry said, exasperated. "If you know him, maybe you can help convince him 'bout his kids."

James glanced up at Emma who was eyeing him warily again. With a sigh, he straightened up and answered his grandson, though he kept his eyes locked with his daughter's. "I don't think so, Henry." Then, adding quietly, "You better get going…hope it all works out." And without requiring her to respond, he turned back to his own car.

Thankful for the reprieve, Emma immediately wrenched open the door and slipped in behind the wheel, jamming her keys in the squad car and powering up the GPS on the dashboard. Her fingers, nearly frozen, groped for the business card in her pocket, and when she withdrew it again, she remembered something else. "Hey!" she called out to David, rolling down the window. "You told me that thing was for your wife!" she called out to him.

He turned around as he reached his car. "Yeah?"

"But you told Gold it was for your cousin."

"Like I said," he replied, opening his car door, "I'd never lie to you."

"But you'd lie to Gold?"

He glanced back at the door and to her surprise, he actually smirked. "You wouldn't?"

They stared at each other a bit longer, Emma feeling that same hypnotic pull as before, and then, finally, he got in his car and sped away.

…

It had been quite some time since Regina had had to call a meeting of this magnitude. But something was definitely amiss in Storybrooke, and the usual contingencies in place for dealing with breaches in the fabric of the curse were clearly not working as they should. It was time to figure out why.

So while it was risky to gather the entire council, Regina also felt that it would be fatal if they continued on much longer without meeting. Therefore, one by one, and paced to avoid the appearance of a confab, dark sedans began arriving on the square, some parking along the street, some at restaurants, others in the lot behind City Hall. And though they'd had no cause to gather on this scale in almost 30 years, they each entered the Bastion beneath the clocktower stairwell as if they'd done so weekly for the entire duration of the curse.

Having arrived shortly after her meeting with John (confident at least in his ability to prevent the orphan situation from progressing any further), Regina stood poised at the entrance of the Bastion, welcoming her guests. Each greeted her with a degree of civility owed to her for having provided them with such prosperous and satisfying lives, but their participation in the curse and ability to exist outside of its spells and deceptions hardly elevated the status of their relationships to that of friendship or confidant. Madame Ursula was every bit the sour, gluttonous old harpy she'd been in her realm; J.S. Hook brushed past her with no more than a nod, and the only thing she had in common with Lady Tremaine was that they both happened to be nefarious step mothers. When nearly all were accounted for, hoods were removed, heads were revealed, and each took his or her rightful place in the Bastion's assembly room.

Once an iron fortress designed to ward off armies of magical foes, the Bastion was now an underground labyrinth, with much of its original rooms preserved. In its entirety it spanned a good deal of the land beneath the square; in fact, the structure reached as far as the cemetery where her most…prized treasures were stored. This room, octagonal in shape, and lit by over twenty orb-shaped sconces along the wall, had at its center an ornate, cherry-wood table around which stood ten iron-backed chairs. Suspended from the ceiling was a chandelier of cascading rock crystals lit seemingly from within, each stone emitting a pale blue glow. In the early days of the curse, the light emanating from above cast a hazy glow on the tabletop itself, while leaving the rogues themselves in shadow.

The Council of Rogues, as they had been aptly named by John several decades ago (having never bothered to come up with anything less flamboyant), consisted entirely of persons responsible for maintaining the curse. Storybrooke was too large a town and the curse too complex a spell to enact by her magic alone, and though there were some among them who were not expressly magical, each possessed the perfect combination of villainy and tenacity required to keep his or her domain of the town under control. The blackness in their souls intensified the curse, and the treachery and deceit of which they were all capable had – until now – functioned flawlessly. The looks on their faces, however, as the meeting commenced, proved to Regina that this was no longer the case…for any of them.

"What on earth is going on Regina?" snarled Hook as he dug his hideously outdated prosthetic into the grooves of the table. "John tells me you have him on yet another errand?"

"He is securing you two more orphans as we speak, Captain. I assumed you'd be pleased."

But Hook was far from pleased. "May I remind you that we have had our hands full since time resumed? I can't maintain order in the home with my assistant constantly doing your scutwork."

"I would hardly call a few errands in West End scutwork," Regina eyed him contemptuously. "And may I remind you that he's not your assistant?"

"He's hardly—"

"Oh come off it, Hookie," came Ursula's deep, droll voice. And even with the curse having drastically improved her once grotesque appearance, Regina could clearly imagine the tentacles that would have once twisted and framed her face as she baited the captain. "You've just got your panties in a twist because the clo-ck…is ti-cking again," she sneered with an exaggerated click of her tongue.

Hook scraped and scratched against the grain while others shared in the jeer before Regina slammed her fist down on the table and glowered. "Enough!" she bellowed. "Yes, Captain, as I'm sure we are all aware by now, the clock in the tower has resumed and certain things in town are…changing."

"Indeed," Lady Tremaine replied, her tone the essence of hauteur. "According to my daughters, Cinderella has moved in with her prince. And they're raising her baby…together." She spat out the word as if it disgusted her.

"Yes, Rodmilla," Regina confirmed. "And I learned tonight they are planning to get married."

This word drew a gasp from every dark soul at the table. "Married?" spluttered Gunlief, the only surviving troll of his clan with whom Regina had bargained in the early stages of the curse for information on Prince James. His appearance, like Ursula's, had too been altered, and for good reason; for in town, Gunlief masqueraded as Mr. Bridgeport, head of the Storybrooke Emporium. "Ain't dat kid's father been deterring 'em?"

"Yes," was Regina's impatient reply. "And Thomas has been listening to him…until now. This is precisely the point. We are here to discuss other changes you all have observed and to implement plans to repair the damage to the curse before it is permanently—"

"And exactly how are we to do that?" Ursula scoffed. "Our magic is tied up in the curse. And sommmme of us never had much of it to begin with." This last dig was aimed directly at Hook who kicked his chair back from the table before Gunlief reached up and slammed him back down.

"The same way as we've always done, Ursula. Carefully planned manipulation." She turned and addressed the rest of the group. "That's why we need to know exactly what threats you've observed. 'Sean' and 'Ashley's' wedding of course must be stopped, but I have also seen signs that the huntsman is awakening—"

"Not to mention Prince Charming," Gunlief scowled, clenching his fists at the memory of the prince and princess having killed his brothers. "You told us 'e would never awake frum dat coma!"

"Clearly I was mistaken," she muttered through gritted teeth, deeply regretting having lost the ability to summon the elements at will and silence all complaints with a well-placed bolt of lightning. "Now…what else?"

Hook was about to elaborate on the most recent breach at the children's home when the heavy iron doors burst open and a tall, severe figure sailed into the room. Regina rose immediately, noting the man whose sterile white lab coat was a stark contrast to the various shades of gray among the rest of the rogues. "Jafar," she said, gesturing for his chair. "We were just getting started—"

"He's seen her!" Jafar cut her off, gliding right up to the table, towering over the collective. He curled his long fingers over the back of the chair and dug his nails into its decorative iron frame.

"Who?" asked Ursula.

"Seen wha'?" added Gunlief.

But Jafar simply glowered at the queen, and in seconds, his meaning was clear. Only one patient of Storybrooke General's Head of Psychiatry could have incited such alarm: the only royal in all the realms with a magical vaccine against dark curses – and arguably…the most dangerous. "Adam," she seethed, turning toward a slender woman who, so far, had been silent. "Have you ever been able to discern a way around his immunities?"

The woman leaned forward, delicately removing her cloak before folding her hands atop the table. As she leaned into the small bit of light shining down from the hanging crystal, the men seated at the table could not help but catch their breath as they beheld her terrifying beauty. Her dark hair tumbled from the hood of her cloak and spilled about her shoulders as the scent of rose petals assailed the room. "To this day, he is the only one of my creatures to have ever reversed the transformation," she said, and though her voice was sweeter than a siren's song, the resentment behind her words was keenly felt. "And if he has indeed seen his Beauty, I doubt his love will ever again be masked or suppressed."

"The drugs have been working, Circe," Jafar boasted, overcoming the faerie's allure to defend his work.

"The alchemy of this world only suppresses his consciousness," she said in a still soothing voice (that was beginning to get on Regina's nerves). "Drugs have kept him dormant, but with the curse weakening, I fear they will soon have little to no effect."

"Why kant we jus' kill 'im?" Gunlief thumped his hand against the table to the chagrin of all involved.

"We tried that twenty-eight years ago, you half wit!" Ursula groaned, punctuating her t's with extra zeal.

"Adam is completely immune to dark magic now, remember?" Regina said impatiently. "The perks of having overcome one of Circe's spells." She threw an accusatory glance in the faerie's direction which Circe chose to ignore. "He cannot die as the result of any dark curse or enchantment, and that includes direct and deliberate action by any one of us who enacted it." She shuddered, remembering the first few days of the curse when its limits were revealed. Had she arranged it so that Rumpelstiltskin shared in its enactment, he might have found a way around this loophole, but Regina trusted him less than the all the rascals seated here – combined. So the council had had quite a time of it at first, discovering not only Adam's unforeseen resistance to dark magic but of those from Never Land as well. At first, the boys had behaved the same as all Storybrooke children: oblivious and malleable. But having spent decades under the influence of fairy dust, they were often caught asking the wrong kinds of questions and eventually adulterating the rest of the population with their unending curiosity about their pasts. A more permanent solution had been erected for them at the southern edge of the forest, and Hook and John had done a splendid job keeping them reformed. But Regina had a feeling, with so many things unraveling, that the weakening of the curse was wreaking more havoc at the boys' home than John had been letting on.

"We'll just have to keep him subdued," Jafar huffed ruefully, returning Regina's immediate attention to the problem with Belle's impenetrable prince.

"Are you deaf?" Hook rebuked, "She just said the drugs won't be effective much longer. Not now that he's seen her!"

"Quiet!" hissed Lady Tremaine. She turned to Regina. "What about that oafish brute who used to harass the girl? The one we almost brought into the fold?"

"The bartender?" Ursula scoffed.

Regina looked to Rodmilla. "What about him?"

"Well he's not one of us. He's a victim of the curse just like the rest. If the two of them found themselves in some unfortunate kind of…tiff," she grinned as the idea took shape, "the curse wouldn't prevent him from following through. And the entire West End knows of his violent temper."

The queen's lips curled into a sinful smile. "Well…" she said, slipping into her chair as she pondered the deliciously wicked potential of Tremaine's suggestion. "Perhaps he can be persuaded to…do us a favor."

But Jafar was unconvinced. "Hot-headed bully is a far cry from cold-blooded killer. My sources say he has genuine feelings for the girl. It's why we ultimately decided not to include him in the first place. And even so, just how do you intend to engineer such a slaying with my nurses monitoring the floor by the hour?"

"Well there are apparently enough gaps in your rounds to have allowed Belle through in the first place aren't there!" Regina snapped. "I'm sure something could be worked out."

The royal vizier narrowed his gaze, and he too finally took his seat at the table. "I wonder that you can be so sure when, from what I hear, your own son has become a liability."

The accusation erupted into another series of murmurs as attention shifted to Regina's steely gaze. "You leave Henry out of this," she warned.

"How can we, Regina?" remarked the former sea witch. "It's all over town that the brat's been prancing about, telling people they aren't who they think they are!"

"I will not stand for—"

"Yes and what of the sheriff's new deputy? Her birth mother, I understand?" chimed in Circe's annoyingly sweet voice. "How and why has she been allowed to stay?"

"Silence!" Regina bellowed and all assembled seemed to remember at once just how dangerous the evil queen could be. "As you are all aware, this world has rules. And in order for our curse to continue to function properly, Storybrooke must adhere to those rules. Henry's adoption was a legal transaction, validated by the state of Maine. If I send that…blonde…twit away with any just cause for challenging custody, I will officially turn the government's eye on our quiet little hamlet now, won't I?"

"Then just kill the 'twit' and put the little whelp with the rest of the urchins who ask too many questions," challenged Hook, whose latter request clearly demonstrated how much the old Captain was itching for some fresh meat in his orphanage.

"Oh that's brilliant Captain," Ursula sneered. "Kill the brand new deputy. What a fantastic way to avoid generating suspicion or putting our little lemmings on alert!"

"Precisely," Regina agreed. "Look," she took a deep breath, willing herself to maintain an even keel amidst her fellow foes. "There are clearly problems that need resolving. But that's why we're here. Now," she nodded to group, tacitly acknowledging that she understood their concerns. "We have a wedding to stop and a prince to dispose of—"

"And a kid to silence," added Hook with a malevolent glare.

"You worry about the rest of the children, Captain," she snapped, her voice punctuated by a sense of finality. "And leave Henry to me."

…

"Not possible," Michael shook his head, practically shoving the picture back in Emma's hands. Emma fumbled it, careful not to drop it, and glanced down sadly at Henry.

"Mr. Tillman—" she followed him through to his small kitchen.

"No look," he said, lowering his voice so as not to be heard by the mayor's kid. "Dorrie, she wasn't my…we weren't…" he sighed, barely able to even remember Dorrie Zimmer's face. "It was just once."

"Sometimes that's all it takes," she said softly.

"I met her when I was camping and…we uh…No," Michael said, withdrawing a glass from his cupboard and filling it with water at the sink. Absently, he wished he were filling it for himself rather than for the boy swinging his legs back and forth patiently on his couch. The lump in the workman's throat was the size of a golf ball, and though there was no logical reason to doubt the new deputy's assertion that he had two kids about to be sent into the foster system, he was nowhere close to feeling like the father she clearly expected him to be. "It's not possible. I don't have twins." He turned from her, returning to the living room where he clumsily handed Henry the drink.

"Thanks," the kid said softly, then glanced up at Emma, giving her a supportive nod.

Emma started at her son's expression…Mary Margaret had given her the exact same look a few hours ago. "Yes…you do," she insisted, turning back toward Michael and looping her thumbs through her back belt loops, planting herself in front of him. "You have twins who have been homeless since their mother passed away." He crossed his arms, shaking his head but unable to keep from listening. "You have twins who have been living in an abandoned house because they don't want to be separated from each other…And twins who are about to be shipped off to Boston unless you step up and take responsibility for them."

"Look," he said, nervously glancing between the two of them. "I can barely manage my own life. I can't manage two kids. And anyway, why are you so sure they're mine?"

His voice was pleading, and despite her impatience, Emma found some unexpected sympathy for him. After all, in one moment, she'd irrevocably altered this man's entire life. "Besides the timing?" she answered and then nodded to Henry.

Taking the cue like a pro, Henry set the water glass down on the small end table and withdrew the compass from his pocket. "Know what this is?" he asked, as he stood and held it out to him.

At first glance, Michael didn't truly register the trinket and with the soft glow of the lamp light had to step closer to the boy before he saw it and gasped. "I lost this," he whispered as Henry placed it gently in his hands.

"Lemme guess –12 years and 9 months ago," the deputy's voice murmured behind him as he continued to reacquaint himself with the compass. His compass. The one his father had left him when he was a boy. He remembered now. He'd been camping alone when Dorrie came across his tent. She was lost, and in the course of the night, he'd shown it to her as kind of a token of faith…faith that he could help her. Faith that she…wasn't at all lost…She was found.

Emma cautiously circled around him and stood by her son, placing her hand on his shoulder as she watched Michael work through it in his head. For a moment, she thought she saw something shift in his eyes…a glimmer that hadn't been there before. But it was gone.

"I know it's a lot. Believe me I know," she offered. He looked up as she stepped further behind Henry, bringing both hands to his shoulders. "A month ago…this guy," she glanced down and grinned at him before continuing, "showed up on my doorstep asking for help with…something." Henry grinned up at her. "And I ended up moving here…for him."

Seeing the two together, Michael couldn't help but notice the resemblance. And something hitched in his throat as he noted the look of absolute adoration the boy had for his mother. But still, he shook his head. "Look, no offense," he nodded to Henry and then looked back up at Emma. "But staying in town is a lot different than taking him in."

Emma squeezed Henry's shoulders before stepping back out from behind him. "I don't have my kid…cuz I don't have a choice. You do."

Henry's eyes shot up and his jaw dropped. It was the first time Emma had ever openly implied that she would be willing to actually take him in. "Please Mr. Tillman," he turned toward Ava's father, jumping into the conversation if only to keep himself from tearing up. "They want to know you. To be a family."

Michael again beheld the boy whose affection for his mother was unmistakable. Still, from what he had heard, the kid had it pretty rough having been adopted by Mayor Mills. According to the rumors, she'd had him in therapy since he was 7. He supposed any alternative to that was appealing. "I'm sorry," he rasped. "I really am. But I don't know anything about being a dad."

Emma was about to respond, but Henry got there first. "You'll learn!" he exclaimed. "Emma didn't have a clue either, trust me!" He said it so ingenuously that both Emma and Michael had to chuckle. "But you're their dad. They already love you. They just…haven't met you."

Michael looked back at the compass in his hands as Emma stared down at her boy in complete awe. How the hell had he gotten so smart? Tentatively, she looked back up at Michael and gasped. Henry was getting through.

"They're uh…they're bein' taken to Boston?" he choked a little, still turning the compass over and over in his hands.

"Tomorrow morning," she nodded sadly. "But…they don't have to be."

An image flashed before Michael's eyes. A vision so clear it was gut wrenching: a police car pulling up to a stale, run-down, inner-city orphanage. Two kids in the back seat. His kids. About to be split apart. With a deep breath, and an ache in his heart where there once had been a hole, he gave them a nod. "No," he said, "…they don't."

…

By the time Deputy Swan and Henry Mills left his house, Michael's stomach was doing summer saults. In about an hour, Emma was going to return with his kids. His twins. Ava and Nicolas. What had he been thinking? Who was he kidding? His house had one bedroom, almost zero storage space, and he didn't know the first thing about pediatricians or enforcing rules or setting bedtimes. Half of him felt like calling the station and saying: Forget it! I'll screw it up! But of course, he couldn't. He wouldn't. He'd already committed, and his children were counting on him. And as frightened as that made him, he couldn't help noticing how incredibly…warm he felt, knowing someone out there needed him.

Someone was depending on him for more than just plowing a driveway or towing a car.

Ava and Nicolas.

They already love you

…they just haven't met you.

Hastily, he went to the front window and pulled back the curtain, watching as Emma backed her car out of the driveway and glanced toward his house. She caught his gaze and looked at him cautiously – almost worried. But he gave her a firm nod and smiled, determined that she know that the faith she had in him wasn't misplaced.

There was much to do, and already he started mentally preparing a list of things he supposed he'd have to buy. Emma had mentioned that she'd be dropping Henry off at his house before she returned to Miss Blanchard's to retrieve the children. That gave him a little less than an hour now before he met them. He watched as the car disappeared down his street and then he turned to grab his keys and coat. He had just enough time to get to the store and get some basics – sheets, pillows, cereal maybe? What did they eat for breakfast? He should have asked. He couldn't very well just give 'em coffee in the morning and—

"Hello Michael!" a sly, slippery voice suddenly cooed right up against his ear, and he cursed aloud, leaping backwards into the living room.

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!" he shouted, stumbling back, his legs crashing against the couch as he got a better look at his intruder: He was a tall, lanky man, youthful in appearance, though his face was sharp and severe; a pinstriped fedora covered most of his jet black hair, and from his pocket dangled a chain and time piece he was currently examining as if he were waiting for a train. His other hand…was hidden behind his back.

"Such foul language," the man tsked, shaking his head as he snapped shut the pocket watch and returned it to his waistcoat. Everything about the man suggested he had just come from some sort of ridiculous costume party. "Is that befitting of a man who just found out he's the father of two such…impressionable youths?"

"Hey!" Michael bellowed, startled by the instant hatred that engulfed him for this man – this man who implicitly threatened children he'd not even met yet. "I asked you a question! Who are you? And how did you get in here?"

"Ah! But is that not two questions?" With almost boyish giddiness, he hopped forward. "To the first, I shall answer John. Honest John to be precise, for where you're going there's no cause to be imprecise. As for the second," he hopped forward again, closing the gap between them. "Well, a man of my talents…may pick any lock."

Michael sprang to the offensive, fear and adrenaline colliding as he threw a punch and tried to sidestep his opponent. But John was too spry, too quick, and skirted out of the way. With a strength that didn't seem possible given his lean stance, John's hand came crashing down like a blade at Michael's neck, and the blow sent him tumbling to the floor.

Pain throbbed up and down his neck and spine as he struggled to push himself up on his hands and knees. But John had already crouched down beside him, and Michael barely had time to react before he felt something sharp pierce his jugular. In agony, he cried out and reached behind his head, angling his face toward his assailant who slowly emptied the contents of a syringe into his neck before yanking the needle out.

"Don't worry Mr. Tillman," said John, rising from his victim. He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and began polishing off his hands as if he'd run across a little dust. Michael collapsed at John's feet, the effects of the drug almost instantaneous. Feeling himself grow drowsy, he twisted around, slow and lethargic on the floor, and got one last look at John's face. "We'll take good care of your children," he heard him say, before the world went black.

…

*** So remember last chapter when I warned you of a few "new surprises?" Yeah, I didn't know how right I was. Ok, here's the deal: the villains totally took over this chapter. They came into my office, chained me to my laptop and forced me to reveal some underlying truths about their…well villainy. These are truths of which you need to be aware if you are to continue on this journey with me. But I promise I will not go another chapter without another reunion for James and Snow.

Don't worry too much about Michael (no he's not dead). If you worry about anyone, worry about Emma. I can't imagine how she's going to react when she returns to Michael's house with his kids and he's gone. Can you?

For those who are curious, Circe is a character inspired by a Greek goddess of the same name who, in Homer's Odyssey was described as having transformed her foes into wild animals. In various adaptations or versions of her story, she has also been termed a witch or evil faerie. In "Toll Bridge" I have borrowed her likeness and imagined her as the Enchantress who originally cursed Adam. While in the movie, she is never depicted as having been evil, I've always thought it was a little extreme of her to have punished a spoiled 11-year old kid for essentially being a brat. (And come on…be honest – would any of you invite an old hag into your home for a rose?) So for the purposes of "Toll Bridge", understand that Beast's Enchantress…was and IS…evil.

Stay tuned and thanks for reading!***