Chapter One: The Gryphon and the Mouse

Author note: This story is the seventy-sixth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Calling on Dragons".

This is the second of my Lost Note stories – a story based on notes that I lost when my hard drive crashed on September 3rd, 2020.

Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own Flashpoint, Harry Potter, Narnia, Merlin, or Knight Rider.

"Please," the woman whispered, staring up at the man in the room with her.

A shiver ran up her back when his eyes narrowed without any verbal response. One foot came forward and his jaw tightened right along with his shoulders.

She stumbled back, terror warring with disbelief. "Please, no," she begged. Why…why was he doing this? What had she ever done to him?

His expression twisted – outrage, fury, hate. All aimed squarely at her as he snarled.

She cried out, flinching away. "No, I didn't mean to hurt them!" she wailed. "I never wanted to hurt them, you have to believe me!"

And yet…despite not speaking a word, her accuser was unmoved. Implacable. He stalked towards her, so enraged that she could see the anger rolling off him in waves. His eyes bored into hers, as familiar as her own and yet so alien that she didn't know them at all.

He hefted her off the ground, slamming her back into the cold concrete wall. A low, rumbling growl rattled the air as he held her gaze. Unflinching, with not a twinge of empathy on his face.

"Don't do this," she pleaded. "Please, no, you'll always regret it!"

One side of his mouth lifted, granting her a glimpse of long, sharp canines; his furious growl acquired a touch of…amusement. The pressure on her chest increased as he pushed her harder into the wall.

"Please…" Faint and resigned to her fate. She couldn't stop him and there wasn't anyone who could save her. Not this time. So she reached up with her free hand, gently touching his arm. Forced a smile in place of the terrified shriek longing to break loose.

"I forgive you, honey. I know this isn't you – that they made you do this."

He faltered an instant, then stiffened, growl shifting back towards a snarl.

"I want you to know, I never stopped loving you." She closed her eyes briefly, longing for what might have been. "I've missed you so much."

Wetness stung his face even as the snarl grew louder. The canines flashed, more like fangs than human teeth.

Drawing in a deep breath, she lifted her chin, meeting the solid scarlet that bored into her so unforgivingly. "Just, please, if you ever loved me, make it quick."

He roared, hurling her sideways and into the metal bars of their cage. Even as she slid to the ground, he advanced again, so contorted with fury that he didn't look human any more.

Staring up at her former fiancé, Marina Levin wept.

4 hours earlier

The days were long and bleak without him. Where once her apartment had been filled with joy and anticipation, now it was just another reminder of what she'd lost. Who she'd lost. She hid despair behind a smile and sleepless nights behind makeup. Made it a point to cry over him only once a day. She knew she should move on. Pack his pictures away and venture out on the dating scene again, but… She just couldn't; he was the One and it didn't matter that he didn't want her anymore.

On the worst nights, she blamed them, raging and sobbing in equal measure that they had taken him away from her. But in the light of day, she always remembered. Remembered the plea in sapphire eyes – please don't do it, Miss Marina – remembered the teenager's defiant courage right before that woman stabbed him. Remembered Greg's outraged snarl as he shoved her away from his bleeding, dying nephew. The magic that had surrounded both of them – not Lance's, but Greg's.

Her employees blamed him, but they didn't understand. Nothing had ever been Greg's fault. Just hers. All hers; though she longed to truly blame Greg's nipotes, she knew the truth. The Malisons had lied to her and she'd lashed out at two young orphans who'd watched their parents get murdered. She'd tried to steal the only home they had left; what kind of human being did that? Not even Cinderella's evil stepmother had tried to throw her out of her own home, but…but she had. Because of her, Greg's nipotes had ended up in a rundown, ramshackle apartment in one of the worst parts of the city. And to her shame, there was still a part of her that wished they'd never come back.

Marina bit back a sniffle as she regarded the message in front of her. The reason she was even letting herself think about Greg at work when she knew it would only end in fruitless, helpless tears. It was simple, straightforward – just a request for a meeting. It could've been from any of her clients…but it wasn't. And the photograph that had come enclosed with it…

Staring at the picture of her mother working happily in her small rose garden, Marina picked up her phone and called her secretary. "Anthea, please call Mr. Elison and give him my regrets. I won't be able to make today's lunch appointment due to a family emergency." Her fingers tightened as Anthea gasped and Marina forced a smile. "No, no, it's nothing bad, Anthea. Just…I need to go. Thank you."

Hanging up the phone, Marina's smile vanished. For several moments, she considered, then she nodded to herself and tucked both note and photo in an envelope. Pulling out a small sheet of paper, she wrote a message of her own and laid it on top of the envelope. Regardless of what he thought of her, she knew him. If anything happened to her, he'd protect her family, no matter what. That meant leaving behind as much information as she could.

Lieutenant Greg Parker bit back a sigh as he regarded the paperwork in his office. Paperwork he'd promised to complete for Commander Holleran, except… It already was. Just like it had been every single day this week. It rankled – he'd promised – but he couldn't deny the relief that he didn't have to deal with reams of paperwork on top of pulling twelve hour shifts with Team One.

Grimacing, the officer set aside the paperwork issue and crossed back to his door; a quick flick of the lock ensured his privacy as he changed into his uniform. He could've – should've – done it in the locker room, but with Spike on medical leave and the rest of his team still reeling after the blood bond revelation, he was doing his best to give them as much space as possible.

If he'd known…but he hadn't. And no matter how many times he replayed it in his mind, Parker couldn't see what other choice he could've made. Not back then and not now, either. Besides, there wasn't any way to sever the blood bonds; he'd asked Lance and Alanna to look into it from the Wild Mage angle, just in case. What they'd found out had only solidified Healer Queenscove's assertion – from the moment he'd sworn a blood oath with Spike, his Wild Magic had been engraining that bond in all his friends, piggy-backing on the already existing 'team sense' to spread as wide and fast as possible.

Only Aslan could've broken those bonds without harm to his team, but they'd chosen to keep the bonds. Fleetingly, Greg wondered if they'd known the bonds were of blood and not just magic when they'd made that choice, but deep inside, he knew the answer. Aslan wouldn't have accepted their choice if they hadn't had all the information; Tash might thrive in humanity's ignorance, but the Lion and His Father were Truth personified.

A pulse from his magical core broke his train of thought; Parker froze in place, panting as the throb built up, sending ripples of pain through his system. Leaning against the wall, one arm curled protectively around his middle, the stocky man closed his eyes. He'd lost count of how many times this had happened as his core sought to channel power through the damaged 'team sense'. The links were healing, though progress was painfully slow, but Greg had never realized before that he constantly shared magic with his teammates. As often and naturally as he breathed, with no more thought than he spared for his heartbeat.

So far, he'd been able to hide these…episodes…from the others – they were the worst in the morning, before he changed into his uniform, but once he was on-duty, he never had a one. Or, at least, if he did, he couldn't feel it. His core spasmed, doubling him over as he choked back a cry, then slumped in relief as the tightness and pain dissipated immediately afterwards. He thought that meant the magic had made it through the links, but it was hard to be sure.

Straightening from his hunched position, the stocky officer grabbed his bulletproof vest and slid into it. Once it was secure, he inspected his equipment vest, carefully packing away all traces of his internal upheaval. It took another minute for his expression to smooth out, but when it did, the veteran negotiator swung the equipment vest into place, ready for another day of keeping the peace.

There were times when Kevin 'Wordy' Wordsworth wished he could forget about being a cop and start knocking heads together. Preferably Ed's – and Sarge's. Team One's sniper Sergeant was a good leader and trained to control his emotions – right up until it got personal. Then he was prone to flying off the handle, assumptions building on top of each other until they rivaled Mount Everest. It was even worse when he felt hurt. Betrayed.

And Sarge, the idiot, kept turtling in. The angrier Ed got, the more Sarge's shoulders hunched and the less he sought to defend himself. A vicious, endless circle that was well on its way to destroying a decades-old friendship – unless someone outside that cycle stepped in.

Wordy fully intended to be that someone, but he'd had to deal with the rest of Team One first. It had taken a lot of arguing, a lot of fussing and pushing and prodding and even a couple threats, but, little by little, he'd finally gotten it through his teammates' thick skulls that the blood bonds weren't Sarge's fault. No, they were his fault. Spike's fault – Lou had been particularly petulant about that tidbit, but the team leader had persevered.

Sam and Jules had been the worst, though…and he understood why. Dating relatives was taboo, after all, and it wasn't like they'd volunteered to suddenly become related to Sarge – and indirectly related to each other. For them, he'd had to get reinforcements in the form of Susan Travis – the Healer had lent him a raft of old tomes regarding blood magic. Some of the material turned his stomach, but he'd eventually found what he was looking for. Proof that blood oaths didn't change the participants' DNA. Oh, the books hadn't said that right out, but he'd read between the lines enough to be confident he wasn't lying when he reassured his teammates that their blood bonds to Sarge didn't mean the end of their romantic relationship.

Which only left one nut to crack – the hardest, most stubborn one of them all. It had taken him a day or so to come up with a good strategy, one that would – hopefully – finally get Ed thinking again instead of just reacting. He'd even gotten Kira onboard with his plan – actually, she was essential; otherwise, his Sergeant might shove it off the rails.

As he left the locker room, the team leader glanced over at the dispatcher desk, earning a tiny nod from his co-conspirator. Sarge might be hiding in his office before every shift, but that just made it that much easier for their plan to work. Affecting nonchalance, Wordy headed into the briefing room and 'casually' leaned against the poly-carbon fiber panels. Keen hearing focused on the atrium, just waiting for the show to start.

Only for his shoulders to slump as Sarge walked into the briefing room, already geared up and ready for their patrol. Darn it…there went the plan of tricking Ed into thinking something was wrong with Sarge. The big man swallowed a sigh, knowing they'd have to wait until tomorrow to try again – maybe Kira could find a way to delay Sarge in the morning? Just enough that they could fake a problem and kick Ed's protective instincts into high gear?

"Morning, Sarge."

Hazel flicked over to him, iron control over a too-smooth expression. A smile cracked through, real, if forced. "Good morning, Wordy."

Despite a throb of pain – how could Ed miss that Sarge was using his negotiator mask all the time now? – Wordy smiled back. "Paperwork fairy still gettin' there?"

Laughter crinkled the corners of Sarge's eyes and a soft chuckle broke loose. "I don't suppose you know who it is, Mister Wordsworth?"

"Nope; just know it's not me."

The grin was genuine even as it was fleeting. Then Sarge smoothed out again, emotions locking down with an almost audible click. "How's Spike doing?"

Wordy grimaced. "Kicking up one heck of a fuss about therapy," he reported, tone glum. "Lou's tryin' to get him to just talk to Dr. Kroger." Before Sarge could ask, he shook his head. "Still can't see anything, either."

"Copy," Sarge murmured, sorrow peeking through the mask for an instant. The emotion vanished as they both heard the sound of footsteps and Wordy fought for composure as his lieutenant moved to the back of the briefing room, well away from the rest of their teammates.

Dammit, Sarge.

Despite appearances, Ed Lane was not oblivious to the careful maneuvering his best friend had been engaged in over the past couple weeks. Nor was he oblivious to the fact that his other best friend was doing his best to imitate an emotionless turtle. Honestly, given how fed up Wordy was, he was mildly surprised when Kira didn't wave him over with some absurd story about Greg being 'in trouble' and 'needing' his help – it would be just like Wordy to pull that kind of stunt.

As the Sergeant entered the briefing room, though, he saw why neither Kira nor Wordy had bothered – their boss was already present, geared up, and hiding behind a smooth, unconcerned expression at the back of the room. He scowled reflexively, turning away with just enough scorn – there. A tiny, barely visible shudder as his boss's face twitched. He knew Wordy was glaring at his back, smoldering outrage only kept quiet by virtue of the 'team sense' still being down.

Lane held his stance, clinging to his anger and wielding it as a shield against his team leader's disapproval. While he wasn't quite ready to drop his grudge, he'd been hanging around the periphery as Word talked down all their teammates – pointing out that he and Spike had been the idiots who'd used a blood ritual without knowing what the heck they were doing. That if they'd been patient enough to wait, then maybe Parker might not have been forced into a second blood ritual to fix the disastrous outcome of the first.

Deep inside, he acknowledged that he'd overreacted. Acknowledged that there was no way Greg could've chosen any other course and still been himself. It didn't change how he felt. Problem was, the longer he held onto his grudge, the more he put his team in danger. With Spike on medical leave, Team One needed their lieutenant. Otherwise, they'd be running with five teammates, a dangerous reduction in their manpower when they were used to having seven members. For the sake of the team, he had to clear the air and mend his friendship.

With that in mind, Ed moved to the front of the briefing room and waited for the rest of his team to arrive. He kept his expression closed, not even glancing towards his boss – the longer he refused to look, the more heated Word's glare became, though he maintained his cool. Once the last member of the team – Sam – arrived, he straightened a hair.

"All right, team; I checked with Kira and we don't have any warrants on tap." One shoulder shifted. "We've spent the last week in the workout room, so…" A tiny grin broke free. "We're patrolling today."

Sam and Jules inched closer together while Lou's face twitched in pain and Wordy edged in Greg's direction. Ed knew what they all expected, but he had a few…different ideas.

The grin became a smirk. "Sam, you're with Lou; west end," he ordered, ignoring the jerks of surprise – he almost never assigned pairs outside of an active hot call. "Word, Jules; east end." Blue lifted, focusing on carefully blank hazel. "Parker, you and I've got the club scene."

There was a brief silence as Sergeant and lieutenant faced off, then Greg's eyes dropped and his head tilted to the side, exposing his throat. "Copy that," he whispered.

The second-hand clothing shop was small and dimly lit; Marina was forced to stop right inside the door and wait for her vision to adjust. Behind the counter, a black-haired woman sat, examining her so closely that Marina felt a chill run up her back. Perhaps it was merely the shadowy environs, but the woman's eyes seemed very…reptilian.

"You are Marina Levin?" the woman inquired after a few moments.

Unwilling to trust her voice, she simply nodded.

The raven returned the nod and gestured towards the back of the store. "Up those stairs; they are expecting you."

"Thank you," Marina murmured, though she wanted nothing more than to flee from the store.

Lifting her chin, the blonde marched through the racks of clothing and up a rickety, circling staircase. At the top, she found herself outside another door, one that opened even as she reached out to knock.

"Enter," a smooth voice bade.

Gathering her courage, Marina obeyed, slipping inside the room to meet two more women. One was as blonde as she was, with curly hair that tumbled down past the shoulders of her ruby-red dress. Her poise was elegant, her makeup pristine – the very picture of aristocratic nobility. The raven beauty at her back was just as beautiful in her black dress and soft emerald cloak.

The blonde smiled, though it never reached her deep brown eyes. "Hello, Marina," she purred. "Thank you for coming."

Marina stiffened. "It wasn't like you gave me much choice."

The other woman shrugged, a graceful movement that showed off the delicate metal latticework on her arms and chest. "I do apologize, but needs must."

"What do you want?" Marina asked, clutching her purse a little tighter.

Deep brown narrowed. "Greg Parker."

She'd suspected, but… Marina swallowed hard against the surge of pain in her heart. "We're not engaged anymore."

"Ah. He chose the bratlings over you?" The hint of scorn was unmistakable.

Anger flared. "You're the one who stabbed his nephew," she hissed. "How on Earth could he marry me after that?"

Another shrug, this one so careless and unconcerned that Marina fought to keep her composure. "The boy defied a High Priestess's Judgment." Her eyes flashed a tainted red-gold. "There are consequences to that."

Marina shivered. "I can't give you Greg. I…I won't."

"You won't…?" the blonde echoed, a dangerous congeniality in her tone. Slim fingers reached down and picked up a picture. A flick sent it flying into Marina's chest and she gasped, free hand rising at the sight of her brother-in-law walking out to his car. Her parents, her sister, perhaps even her little niece.

As she stared at the photograph, trembling, the blonde laughed. "Go, little mouse," she sneered, gesturing to the door. "Bring Greg Parker to us by the end of today or the next time we meet, your dear, dear mother will be in attendance as well."

Involuntarily, Marina gazed up at the second woman, fervent plea on her face. Calm emerald met her regard for an instant before the brunette turned her head away. Seeing the direction of her gaze, the blonde stiffened, sparks flying around her fingers for an instant.

"Now go and do not return without Parker," she hissed.

Much as Marina wanted to argue back, to fight for Greg, the thought of her mother, here, frightened and in pain… She couldn't do it, she just couldn't. With a soft cry of despair, she fled, wishing, bitterly, that she'd never met the sorceress in the first place.

"Laying it on a bit thick, weren't you?" the brunette inquired in a disinterested tone.

The blonde woman turned, her smile cruel enough and sharp enough to cut steel. "So long as she brings him, I care not what that mouse thinks of me."

"With a threat like that, she will warn him."

A throaty laugh rang out. "So much the better," she sneered. "Such men cannot lay down their swords; her distress shall ensure his downfall."

The brunette's lip curled. "Take care that it does not lead to your own," she snapped. "You underestimate them at your peril."

"I have no intention to challenge them, my dear," the blonde simpered. "Once he is in our grasp, all else shall fall neatly into place."