Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir

Stranger in Town, Part 17

The Fire, Part IV: The Fire, The Secret, and The Painful Truth

….

"So what's this deal with…what was her name again? Akane?" Marinette and Ayla had "dropped by," (in Ayla's case, at near-teleport speeds) when Deanna had called. Even though she could no longer publish Damien's and Deanna 's secrets in her blog, her reporter's instinct drove her to uncover every bit of truth and information she could. Imagine…two actual demons, not only living here in Paris, but attending school even?

Yeah, she could publish that, alright…anytime she wanted to see her credibility sink to somewhere below the Earth's core. As the guy in the movie had said once: "Not a great plan."

"Yeah…that." Deanna sipped her coffee thoughtfully. Marinette and Ayla watched her. Sometimes, what reflects in a person's face is more informative than the spoken word. They could both tell she was worried about her brother. "She was…" Brief smile. "...I guess you'd say, literally an old flame of Damien's. They were…engaged to be bonded. That's our version of marriage. But…something happened, and…well, they didn't. I don't know the whys or wherefores; nobody does. He's never told anyone about it. He's never even told me about it, and he tells me everything. I have…" Another sip. "I have…a suspicion." She narrowed her eyes. "I may have to use an old…trick I used to use on him, back when we were younger."

"A trick? What sort of trick?"

"Oh," Evasively, "Just an old trick I used to use. Sort of a demon parlor trick. No big. Whenever he got all secretive… It's worked before; it'll probably work again, if I do it right. I'll try it out tonight, see what I can find out." She glowered at her coffee. "I've got to do something," they heard her mutter. "He…can't take much more."

That evening: Damien returned to the apartment. He seemed somewhat exhausted, more so than his recovery should allow for, and Deanna looked at him concernedly. As shadonai, what Earth-descended humans called demons, they both possessed what to humans would seem to be greatly enhanced physiques. He shouldn't be feeling… "Tired?"

"It's the emotions of my co-workers," he replied, sitting down in the chair and propping his feet up, referring to all demons' ability to detect and absorb the emotions of those around them. "I seem to get all the negative vibes from every one of them. Ben's having trouble with his wife, Roger is worried about keeping his job, Grant's worried about getting his son for the holidays—and that's a legitimate concern, there. His ex has been by, and, from what I sense, I don't think she's gonna let him have the boy for the holidays. Out of pure spite, at that." He sat, trying to relax, head propped on his arm, somewhat dejectedly, she thought. "But all these things just collide in my head, and it's just…discouraging." To a demon, swimming, as they did, through a sea of emotions, to feel discouraged was extraordinarily unpleasant. Like a fish swimming through polluted water, you never know when it will end.

Or even if it ever will.

She came over and sat on the arm of the chair by him, putting an arm around his shoulders. "I know it must be bad. You've got that, school, and now, this thing with the Black Throne to deal with." His face closed up. He knew what she was going to say next. "Are you sure you won't tell me about it?" There was no question as to what the "it" was she was referring to. But he just shook his head. "Okay."

But you will tonight, big bro.

I am not letting the Black Throne get their reality-bending psionic claws / tentacles / hands on you again.

That evening: The pair were getting ready for bed. "Why don't you take the bed, Dame? I'm a lot shorter than you; I can fit better onto this love seat."

But he just shook his head. "No, Dee. Not only are you my guest, you're family. I don't mind—whuff!" She'd lifted him up by his midsection and thrown him across the room, into the bedroom, onto the bed. "Well," he shouted back, across the rooms, "Since you put it so nicely…!"

Later: Damien was fast asleep. The front half of Deanna's face seeped through his bedroom doorway, stopping about three-quarters of an inch inside, watching him steadily. He didn't stir. She watched him for a few minutes, then grinned. This would be fun, just like last time. Then the grin faded. It may very well be fun, but that was not why she was here. This was necessary. The fun was only incidental.

The rest of her body, clad in her pajamas, which were adorned with images of flames and golden tridents, slid soundlessly past and through the molecules of the door. Biting her lip, she carefully tip-toed up to the side of his bed. He was facing away from her, and she carefully, ever so carefully, knelt one knee on his bed, soundless as a shadow, to where she could reach him.

She reached out, and passed her hand over the side of his face turned upward, whispering a word in a language that had been old when the planets had not yet formed. She did this three times, all the time keeping her every sense alert. If there was a problem with the spell, or, more accurately, with his response to it, it should show up here.

The entirety of Paris trembled slightly. In the distance, lights came on as people's slumber was disturbed. She held her breath…

But he did not wake up.

Well, big bro, that ought to do it. The night was warm, and he'd gone to bed wearing just his sleep pants, with only a sheet over him. She now poked his bare shoulder with a finger. Once, twice, three times…

Poke…poke, poke.

No response.

"Okay," she breathed, keeping her voice low. It was a purely psychological thing on her part, and part of her wondered why she was doing so, but another part of her just shrugged. It wasn't important; just go with it. Now for Phase II.

She drew back to where she was standing beside the bed, and rubbed the thumb and forefinger of each of her hands in her mouth, getting them both good and wet, not to mention fiery. A little middlewestern magic never hurt. She waited until the flames died down, then slid her hands underneath the sheet that was his only cover, grasped his sleep pants in two places, and carefully, ever so carefully, pulled, phasing them through and off him, bringing them out from under the sheet, and tossing them to the side. Then she did the same with his boxer undershorts. Now he was naked beneath the sheet.

She stood back a minute. Part of her hesitated at this next part, but then she remembered what the Black Throne had done to him last time. No. Just no. That was not happening. Not again.

"I'll do anything, Damien…"

Off came her pajama top. Then the pajama pants, the golden tridents raining to the ground around her feet. She hesitated another moment… But it works best skin on skin. No halfway measures, not this time. The stakes were just too high. Down came the white cotton panties. She kicked them all to one side.

Now as nude as he was, she carefully climbed into the bed beside him, slipping an arm between his arm and torso. She knew the spell had worked, but she was still nervous. If he woke up, she'd have Home's own time explaining this.

She pulled herself up as close to him as was physically possible, wallpapering herself up against his back as best as she could, making maximum contact, her arm around him. She could feel every inch of his body in her grasp, and found it thrilling in a "forbidden fruit" sort of way. Which, she knew, it was: Here she was, in bed, naked, with her equally naked brother (well, brother-equivalent), and on the verge of climaxing just from touching his body.

But she had no choice but to go through with this. Not if she was to protect him.

Besides, it would be fun. A little harmless fun. How could that be wrong?

She began moving against him, rubbing a certain part of her body against him, holding him as tightly as she dared. She threw a leg over his lower body, giving her even more intimacy, even more contact in all the right places. She drew herself into him even closer and rubbed her breasts against his back, her nipples erecting at the movement. Her breathing became shorter and less regular, until finally the sensations became too much to bear, and she lost control, moaning a low, shuddering moan. "Ooooohhhhh, Damien…" She held him a little tighter than she might normally dare, while she climaxed once, twice, thrice…five times. Through all this, she tried to keep silent, chewing on the bedsheet, the pillowcase, whatever she could reach. Most of Damien's neighbors knew he was entertaining a houseguest, and most of those knew it was supposed to be his sister. Well…we sorta are. We were raised together. Same thing. But just how understanding they'd be to a possible sex partner of Deanna's apparent age and stated relationship, she really didn't want to find out.

But I'll go there for Damien. You don't know what they did to him, last time.

I'll do anything to keep that from happening again.

Anything.

"Oooooooh, brother," she moaned, rubbing her face up against his bare shoulder, like a cat. "You feel so good…so gooood…

"I just wish you could know just how good you are."

She paused briefly. Okay. Phase III was complete. Enough fun. Now to business.

She gathered up the pleasure she'd accumulated, storing it carefully within her, preparing to amplify it to as great a degree as she could. Something told her she'd need it, and badly. If the Black Throne's torture of him hadn't worked last time…and it hadn't…she'd need all the oomph she could muster.

And…she knew a little trick the Black Throne didn't.

Without removing her arm from him, she reached up and whispered into his ear. "Heeeeey, bro," she sang.

No response. "You're dreeeea-ming." Again, no response.

"You can do anything in a dream, you know." He moaned slightly. Maybe he knew, or could guess, what was coming. "Including telling me about Akaneeee…"

"No…" His voice was no more than a whisper, but a whisper echoing more than a hint of hidden pain.

"It's alright, bro," she whispered, stroking his arm. "Here. Got juuuust the thing for ya. A great big dose of niiiice fresh pleasure right here…only the best for my own brother…" she began infusing some of the good feelings she'd acquired during her recent activities directly into him, from her body into his. "...and I'll just take a little of that nasty ol' pain away. See? Isn't that much better?

"Now what happened there, with her?"

"No…don't want to think about it."

"C'mon, it's okay…here, take a little more pleasure…now. What happened?" Whatever it was, it must've been really bad. He normally wasn't able to hold out this long. Not against this kind of firepower.

"Hurt…they'll…hurt her."

"Hurt her? You mean, somebody'll hurt Akane? Who?"

There was no response this time, so she repeated the question, taking more of his pain, all the while turning up the volume on the pleasure she was sending him. It was a good thing she'd climaxed more than once, she thought. This was work!

"C'mon, bro. Nobody's gonna hurt anybody. This is just a dream, remember? You can tell me. What happened?"

"Left…"

"Huh? Who left? Akane?"

"Left…letter."

Now she was getting somewhere. "What did the letter say?"

"Saved it…" His voice broke. "Only other thing…I had left…to remember her by."

"Where is it?"

"Pillow…"

"The pillow?" Reflexively, she glanced at the pillow both their heads were lying on, but then thought: no, couldn't be that pillow, it had been here when he'd moved in. She looked over at his desecrated shrine, where his bonding crystal had been before those &$# girls had lost it for him. She owed them for that. Eh, well, maybe.

Yes, there was a pillow there, and within the pillow, visible to her Sight, was a presence of something not of Man's world. A-ha!

She turned her attention back to him. "Okay, bro, you've done super tonight," she whispered. "Take the rest of the night off, get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be a full day for—*" Her hand accidentally slipped down his body to a bit lower than his abdomen.

For just a moment, she was stunned by what she felt—down there. She pulled up the covers to look. "Oh, brother…did…did I do that? But, but I guess I must have, mustn't I? Have I been doing this to you all this time? Oh, grief." She face-palmed. The infusion of pleasure was one thing, but it had honestly never occurred to her that this could be a consequence. She felt him, tentatively. "Wow. Bro, are you ever hard." I did this? But…"I, I honestly never thought…I mean, I never realized…but on the other hand, what could I expect?" Her expression firmed up. "Well, I can't leave you like this, you'll be miserable. This is all my fault; I gotta fix it." But what to do? It wasn't like she was any expert on this aspect of things. "I wish now I'd paid more attention in class. Home, I wish I'd watched some porn." She thought about several ways of relieving him, then settled on the most natural, most obvious one, the only one she felt she could be sure of. "Here. Roll over on your back." Never waking, he rolled over onto his back. "Okay, now exactly how to do this..." Working solely from instinct, she mounted him, clasping his body between her knees, placing his hands side by side on either side of his head, palms up, bracing herself by grasping his hips and inserted the part of him in question up into herself, in the manner in which she reasoned it had to go ("It must go something like this…"). Immediately, she gasped at the sensations. While the feelings of autonomous sex were not unknown to her, this feeling was. Her earlier session with him was nothing compared to this. She instinctively knew what to do…moving against him, up and down. Her first time…maybe his, too? She didn't know anything about his and Akane's relationship but she'd always had the impression the demoness was a bit stuck-up. But maybe not…

A short time later: "Oooohhhhhh…brother…we have got to do this sometime when you're awake."

…..

Later: She lay on top of him, resting her chin on his chest, the sheet pulled up, just basking in his nearness. This is so pleasant, she thought, just lying here, snuggling. She didn't have to worry about him waking up; the only thing that could break a sleep spell cast at night was either herself, as the one who cast it, or daylight's rays. Spells, especially those cast at night, were usually dispelled by the first rays of the rising sun.

Just as she thought that, the first of the morning's light peeked over the rooftops of Paris.

Deanna's eyes grew wide, and she raised halfway up. "Aaaak!" Grief! She stared, her eyes locked on the window, and its ever-increasing payload of light. Did I snuggle that long?

He stirred beneath her. Oh, no. Disaster time. He was waking up, and they were still…connected. She lay as still as possible, there on top of him, all the while trying to figure out some way of getting out of here. Maybe she could shadowcloak…no, even in his current state, he'd sense that.

What would she do, how would she explain it, if he woke up and found her naked body pressed so tightly against his? And with his…up in her…there would be only one possible explanation for that…how would he respond to that?

Deanna Bendarian had served her people, their cause, her House, and her liege(s) well, for longer than many human civilizations had been around. She had fought beings humans could barely envision, beings that, just the mere knowledge of, could drive a mortal to madness. But she had never felt true fear until just now.

"It's a new exercise / dance step / magical spell I'm trying to learn…" Oh, puh-leeeeze. That sounded so lame, even to her.

His eyelids flickered. He could sense something odd about matters. He was less than a second away from opening them…and there she'd be.

Only one way out, she told herself. It was risky, but she saw no other way. So, taking a deep and wholly unnecessary breath, she phased through him, through the bed, and, twisting one-eighty degrees, landed on her back on the floor underneath the bed.

Well, most of her.

In the apartment directly below, Mr. Nate Sanders, late of Oakland, California was trying to find something good to watch on TV when a naked and exquisitely shaped girl's butt suddenly protruded silently from the ceiling directly overhead. He stared, his mind rendered blank for the briefest of seconds. Then the butt was soundlessly reabsorbed into the ceiling. He immediately dropped to his knees, prayed for forgiveness of sins, and swore off methamphetamines forever.

Now, she thought. How to get out of here?

But now she was completely naked underneath the bed. And, moreover, he was naked too. If he woke up, and found them both like this…she moved to the edge of the bed with as much stealth as she could manage.

And just then, as she was reaching for her clothes, his arm fell down from the top, blocking her exit.

Aaack! She judged he was awake enough by now to feel her phasing through his arm or his body. Now what?

And they were both still naked!

Desperately, she scooted down towards the foot of the bed, managing to extract herself, feet first, from underneath the bed. Rose up on her feet. Perhaps not the most dignified exit, but it would have to do. Okay, one problem out of the way. Now for the nudity…

Cautiously, ever so cautiously, she gathered up his sleep pants and shorts. Hoping against hope, she phased them back onto him, careful not to get them on backwards, certain that at any second he'd wake up and demand an explanation. How would she explain her naked self standing beside his bed? But evidently enough of her spell remained that he remained asleep, while the fabric slipped over and around him. Then she gathered up hers, and—oh, wait. The letter.

Holding her clothes, she went over to the shrine, picked up the pillow. So, it was in here, was it?

More middlewestern magic, and she was able to phase the letter out from the pillow.

It appeared to be a parchment of the sort used in Hell, fireproof, and folded in on itself. After another, longing glance back at Damien—he was just so cute like that—she carried the paper out into the living room to read.

A moment or so passed. Then, "WHY, THAT BITCH!"

In the bedroom, Damien was startled into full wakefulness. He sat up. "Deanna?" Was that a shout he'd heard?

He raced to the door, only to see his little sister on the couch, apparently asleep, facing away from him. "Deanna? Are—are you alright?"

She half-rolled over, rubbing her eyes and yawning. "Sure, Dame, I'm fine. Why?"

"I, I thought I heard a shout…"

She smiled. "You were dreaming, big bro. Everything's fine. No Faceless One attack or Darkness assault or anything. Go on back to bed. There's still some time to get a little more sleep."

"Well…" He was sure he'd heard something, but, as is the nature of such things, he couldn't tell just what he'd heard. But it had certainly sounded bad.

He turned to go…but… "Dee? Uhm…" He didn't quite know how to phrase what he wanted to say, and so just forged ahead. "I…uhm…that couch is still pretty cramped for you. A-and this bed's big enough for both of us. I mean," he hastened, before she could take offense, "you could have one side and I could have the other. We wouldn't be crowded or anything. I mean, if, if that would be okay with you, I mean." He'd heard something, he knew, and the notion that the person he regarded as his little sister might be in danger was just intolerable.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "You…wouldn't mind sharing? It wouldn't weird you out?"

"Of course not. I, I just hate seeing you all scrunched up on that tiny little love seat." And somehow I feel like you're in danger. I'd do anything to protect you, little sis.

Her smile took on a different, somewhat warped dimension, or at least, it seemed so to him. He hoped she wasn't offended by his proposal; he loved her far too much to ever want to give offense. "That's sweet of you, Dame. Okay. I'll take you up on your offer. But only if you're sure you won't mind?"

"Positive."

But later, in bed, rather than stay on her side, she curled up against his back, slipping an arm around him. "Dee?"

"This is cozy," she said sleepily. "Just like when we were kids."

Now he smiled. Remembrance of good times… "Yeah, it is." And he curled his fingers through hers, and they both drifted off to sleep.

Morning: while brushing his teeth, he was almost bowled over from behind. "Good morning, big brother!" She rubbed her face up against his bare back.

"Uh…Dee? What—*"

"What? Can't a girl say 'good morning' to the bestest brother in the entire multiverse? Oh, and I fixed breakfast. All your favorites!"

He gave her a long look. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with my little sister, Deanna?"

"I woke her up, that's what. Now come on, before the waffles get cold."

…

That weekend: Marinette and Ayla stopped by. "Deanna? Is…is everything alright? We got your call…"

"Glad you did. And no, everything is NOT alright. In fact, everything's a few lightyears away from being 'alright.'" She was still in her pajamas.

"You didn't go into work today; you called in sick. I didn't think you could get sick."

"I didn't go to work today, and I AM sick—at heart. My trick worked the other night, and now I know the whole story."

"Okay," said Ayla, "Go on."

"To explain it fully, I have to give you a run-down on demon reproduction. Don't worry; it's nothing icky." She paused for a moment. Before they could respond, she hurried on. "When two demons decide to bond, they exchange bonding crystals." She paused and glared at them, particularly Ayla. "You've seen one."

"Oh, I don't like the way this is going," murmured Ayla.

"Too right. But that's just the initial stage. Like getting engaged. Not married yet, but promised to each other. With me so far?" The two human girls nodded. "But at the actual bonding ceremony, they merge the crystals, which grow to enormous size—around twenty, thirty feet across. They form a giant geode, and within is the baby shadonai. The geode then proceeds to rise up to the dimensional level it's most suited to. Usually an Earthlike realm but not always. The parents are supposed to follow it, free the child from within, and bring it back to Hell, to be raised with the others.

"But sometimes they can't find the child, for whatever reason. That's what happened to Daniel: he was a foundling raised by a human couple. But that's rare.

"Bottom line: the bonding ceremony is one of our most sacred rites. The Black Throne doesn't look kindly on those who flaunt it. And that's putting it mildly.

"Damien and Akane were—so it seemed—very much in love, and were engaged to be bonded. Even though I never thought she was good enough for him. But something happened between them." A snarl crossed her face. "That was her bonding crystal you lost, the one she'd exchanged with him. That was why he treasured it so: it was all he had left of her. Well, almost."

"Great," muttered Ayla, "make me feel more miserable, why don't you."

Deanna closed her eyes for a moment. "All right. I won't…do that anymore. I guess," she said with an obvious effort, "it was an…accident.

"But moving on…as I said, something happened between them."

"What? What happened?"

Deanna produced an odd-looking piece of paper. "This happened." And she presented it to them.

"Dee," began Alya, looking over the parchment. "We can't read this. It's gibberish."

"Not gibberish. It's Dzyanese, a language used in Hell, in common practice. I think it would be better if you read it for yourselves, which is why I'm gonna haveta cast a very small magical spell on you. Just a translation spell, nothing more."

"It, uh, won't hurt, will it? Or do anything crazy?"

"No crazier than usual. And it won't hurt a bit. Now. Close your eyes. Keep 'em closed…" They could both sense the demon girl's hand passing in front of their faces. "Now. Open your eyes. Blink. Blink two or three times…and look at the parchment."

They didn't feel any different, but followed her instructions, blinking several times, just as though they'd had eye drops put in. Then they looked at the paper. And the words…suddenly made sense:

Damien

I'm leaving you

I've found true love

Don't try to find me

-Akane

Ayla was the first to speak: "Why, that witch!"

"Yeah," said Deanna, "That rhymes with what I said." She took the paper back. "But it all makes sense now. If he'd told the Black Throne about this, that she'd left him, they would've spared no expense, no effort, in finding her. And like I said, the bonding ceremony is one of, if not the most sacred rite of our people. After all, it's our primary means of reproduction. They would've done something horrible to her. And 'horrible,' by Hell's standards—I can't even describe it. Not in any language.

"So he kept his mouth and his mind shut. He didn't say anything. He took the punishment on himself."

"Punishment? You mean, his exile here on Earth?"

"Oh-ho-ho. Ayla, you sweet and innocent child of sunlight and air, you have no idea." She hesitated a moment. Then, "They tore his soul apart, into five separate pieces. You humans cannot begin to even imagine the agony he went through. But if he'd spilled his guts, they would've hunted her down, and done far worse to her. And her lover.

"But he loved her, so he didn't. He endured it. I," and here her voice broke "—I couldn't stand to watch. He'd always protected me, when we were kids, and there I was, unable to do anything. That's when I swore to myself: never again. I'd do whatever it took to, to take care of him, to protect him, even at the cost of my life, my soul. I don't care if that sounds melodramatic, it's the truth."

Ayla and Marinette were open-mouthed in astonishment. "Soooo…what's the rest of the story? She left, and…..?"

"She didn't just leave, she disappeared. No bonding crystal assigned or allotted to her was ever used; I checked. So I guess her 'true love'" and here she made air quotes, "wasn't so true after all. But to get back on topic, even the Black Throne couldn't find her. There are universes, dimensions, which even the Black Throne can't reach. Some are dangerous, even to us.

"But not long ago, she reappeared, on the outskirts of the city of Dzyan. Only… by all reports, she…wasn't the same." Deanna sighed. "She…wasn't herself. She was…afflicted, I guess, is the best term—with something. One of the worst maladies known to us."

"I thought your kind couldn't get sick."

"She wasn't sick, not like you mean. She was…it's a kind of insanity. We call it the 'Madness of Love's Flame.' And it's worse than any disease you can imagine." She turned to them. "You know we demons have fire instead of fluids. Under the influence of the Madness, that fire is…tainted, somehow. Normally no fire, not even the fires of a quasar, can harm us. But the Madness of the Flame can. It can kill us.

"A function of the Madness is that it forces the victim to seek out the one they regard as their 'one true love.'" Both girls could hear the sarcasm practically dripping in Deanna's voice.

"That doesn't sound too bad," ventured Ayla.

"And kill them."

"Oh…that does."

"It gets worse. Since a large part of the Madness is fueled by guilt, the tainted Flame increases. A lot. The sufferer detonates, with all the power of the Flame. They explode, basically."

"Uh," broke in Marinette, speaking up for the first time, "how, how big an explosion are we talking about?" Hopefully not most of Paris!

Deanna sighed. "Akane was already a pretty powerful demon to begin with. With the Madness of the Flame amplifying her own fires…" Another sigh. "She could take out this arm of the galaxy."

To their open mouths, she continued. "Your astronomers have already observed what they term 'hypernovae' far out across the universe. In some cases, with some small galaxies, globular clusters, it's enough to blow 'em apart." She shrugged. "They may have been natural phenomena. They probably were." Another shrug. "Unless they weren't.

"But the thing is, Akane can only sense his overall location. The planet, I mean. She can't sense or see him or his specific location—that's an effect of the Flame. But she can sense his general location—here, in Paris, in other words.

"So she'll be coming here. To Paris. If she isn't already here, I mean. And I think she is.

"So you might wanna get ready for some very unwelcome company.

"I've already alerted Exalted Darian, and Honored Morax. I understand they've been in contact with the angels of Heaven. That should tell you how serious this is, 'cause we never work together." She sat back down, and shifted forward. "But maybe…just maybe…we, working together, can save the planet. If not, maybe some or most of the human population."

Marinette spoke up. "It's…it's that serious?"

"A demon afflicted with the Madness is considered a galactic level threat. You do the math."

"Sooo…does Damien know about all this?"

"Home, no. I was very careful to keep it from him."

"Then…then how did you—*"

"Trade secret."

"Don't you think he should know?"

"Yes, but I'll tell him, in my own way."

At that exact moment, Damien came in. "Oh! Uh, hello, Marinette, Alya! What a pleasant surprise! Dee? Are you feeling alright?" He knew it wasn't like his sister to remain in her pajamas all day.

"We were just leaving. We'll, uh, just see ourselves out." Marinette was having to practically push Alya out the door. ("But what if she needs our moral support?"

"She won't. Now go.")

"So soon?"

"Yeah." And they were gone.

"Big bro," said Deanna, "You better sit down. I got something to tell ya."

Forty-five minutes later: a stunned Damien didn't know where to look. "So…she's back?"

"Back and afflicted with the Madness. And you know what that means."

He studied the floor, and she could read his thoughts: well, it can't mean anything to do with me. She threw me away.

"It means everything to do with you, bro." He started, looking at her. Had she just read his mind? But then, she'd always been perceptive that way… "She came here for you. You're her 'one true love.' Don't you see? Which means we can't let her get you. Look." She came and sat by him, pressing really close to him, closer than was really necessary, even with the small dimensions of the love seat. She'd been doing that and similar things a lot lately; he couldn't figure out why. Their relationship seemed to have undergone a change of some sort, somehow. But why? "We have to get you Home. The Black Throne can protect—*"

"No!" he exclaimed. "For one thing, I'm exiled, remember? For another, if she manages to follow me…the Black Throne…"

"Bro…this is your life I'm talking about here. And the planet, and maybe the galaxy. You may not care about your life, but I do—a lot." He thought, for just an instant, that there was some hidden meaning, some ulterior force, to her words. No, he thought, in the next second, I'm sure that's just my imagination.

He stood up suddenly. "I've got to save her."

"Save her?! Dame, she threw you away. You owe her nothing!" She stood up beside him. "And you can't save her! There's no cure! The only thing to do is, trap her and shadowcloak her into some lifeless universe! And, and Uncle Darian and Honored Morax have been alerted, and I understand they've called on the angels of Heaven to help. After all, it's their galaxy, too—"

He was giving her a suspicious look. Uh oh. "Dee…how did you know she 'threw me away'? I mean, those exact words?"

"Women's intuition. I mean, you were so torn up—and she was gone—what else could I assume? It's a dead solid certainty you didn't leave her. But that's not important. The important thing right now is her not finding you. And just like she can't sense you, you can't sense her. So, really, you're more of a liability than asset here. The only thing you could do is die.

"And once you did—goodbye, galaxy."

But he wasn't listening. She put her hand on his arm. "Dame, we have to be practical here. And the practical truth is, you can't find her, let alone save her. In this case, her not killing you is the only thing that will keep her from going hypernova, at least for now. That's gonna have to count as a 'win,' or, at least, the best we can do. For now.

"So…come on, here. Promise me, okay?" Tears of fire were running down her cheeks. Everything in the apartment was magically fireproofed—except Damien's heart.

He'd do anything for her.

"Oh…alright. I guess it's like you say, I'd be more liability than anything." He held her close, and she held him closer. So close he wondered about it…

…but right then he had other concerns.

Such was her stress that she didn't notice that he hadn't actually promised anything.

…..

"Something bothering you, Ayla?" The pair had retired to Marinette's home, and were currently spitballing possible ideas for how they might help Damien and Deanna. In this, they were hampered by lack of knowledge about this "Madness of Love's Flame" that Deanna had told them about.

One bad thing about the Miraculous's: they had a time limit. The eudaemons didn't seem to. Both of them had wondered, on more than one occasion, if they couldn't arrange to acquire their own eudaemons.

But that might mean swapping out their Miraculous's, which would mean giving up their kwamis, and their kwamis were people. Best friends to them, in fact. Neither one of them wanted to go that route. It would also mean (probably) going to Chloe, who seemed to be in charge of the eudaemons, and both of them would rather die under torture than do that.

"Not…it's probably nothing," responded Ayla. But her expression gave the lie to that statement.

"Spill, bestie. That's an order."

"Well, it's just…with all we know about Damien, Deanna, and all the rest…I keep remembering that time in the hospital, when he brought you that healing crystal his cousin's wife sent you."

Marinette shrugged. With all that had happened, she actually hadn't given the incident any more thought, except to file it under "strange / weird / odd events." And that drawer was getting full. "What about it?"

"Well, when you started to kiss him, remember? He looked scared. And we now know him to be a demon straight out of ever-lovin' Hell. I mean, you heard Deanna's description of what he's gone through. Why would a simple peck on the cheek scare him?"

"Maybe it was something to do with this 'Akane'...person." Marinette's voice was even. Too even, thought Ayla. Marinette was usually the most charitable, kind-hearted girl anyone would ever want to meet…but Ayla could hear a certain tone in her voice, a decidedly unpleasant one. One people normally reserve for those they hate. "I mean, a bad association. You know. People do get 'em, sometimes. And in this regard, the demons, the shadonai, appear to be people, just like us."

"Probably. I just can't help but think it was something…else. Or maybe something…more."

"And again I say, spill it, bestie."

"Well, I mean, I was watching him the whole time. He looked afraid, 'Nette." Abruptly, she laughed, the laugh of someone who'd just thought of something that couldn't possibly be true. Or the laugh of someone who was walking through a graveyard on a dare. "Almost like…

"...almost like someone who'd been raped.

"But I'm sure there's no way that's even a possibility."

To be continued...