AN: Babe, wake up, new Denheim plot bunny just dropped.

"What is this thing?" The Mistress hovered towards the living room, a trail of darkness and shadows following her, long black hair falling down like a waterfall of blackness. She then stopped and bent low, fingers extending forward like the gnarled and blackened branches of an ancient tree. Her pale skin glinted like porcelain in the faint light, her crimson eyes ablaze like coals. She then reached out and tapped. "How is it that you've trapped these tiny spirits within such a small box? Are these... Fae Spirits? Amazing. I had no idea this was even possible; Fae Spirits are so temperamental. To capture and bind them to an artifact, such as this, is a feat worthy of gods. What manner of Phylactery is this, assistant?"

I sighed and frowned and turned to look at the supposed Phylactery. I've heard of that term before, but I don't recall where. Still, this was a little ridiculous. "That's a TV, Mistress."

The Mistress stepped away from the television, her fingernails transforming into talon-like points, her hair fluttering as though it was submerged in water. She turned to me, a single brow raised. "Pray tell, assistant; what is this... TV you mentioned? How does it capture Fae Spirits? I must learn! In life, after all, I was but a humble student of the mystic arts!"

"Mistress," I began, sighing. Yep, Taylor, you knew this was coming. This was going to happen, one way or another; you prepared for this – kind of. If I can explain what a car is, then I can explain a TV... but then I did kind of fail at explaining how a lightbulb worked, didn't I?

I breathed in. "There's no magic involved, Mistress. It's just technology. A TV is supposed to broadcast information to anyone watching. There are no tiny people or tiny Fae Spirits in there. They're just pictures, Mistress."

"Miraculous!" The Mistress held out her hands as she turned to the television. "You're telling me, Assistant, that this box – this television – transmits messages instantly? And these people here are messengers? Simply amazing! How did your artisans create moving paint? How does it not dry within this... television? I doubt it's nearly as amazing as the metal carriages that run without horses, but surely its artisans are men of great quality and skill, blessed by the gods of this land."

I sighed again. "Well..."

This was going to be a long night.

Actually, it'll probably be a lot better if I started from the beginning.

My name is Taylor Hebert and this is the story of how I became the assistant of a ten thousand year old vampire - ten thousand being the conservative estimate.

"-and that's pretty much it," Miss Clarice, the Museum Curator explained, smiling as she shrugged. She was a tall woman, around 5'7 – maybe – with ash-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a fair complexion. Miss Clarice was the picture-perfect Aryan, the sort that people thought of when they heard the word, 'Sweden'.

Dad stood by my side and he nodded alongside me. Thus far, he seemed receptive to the idea of me working here, even if he'd been hesitant at first. But the pay was good, especially since this was just a part time job. I'd essentially be standing behind a big wooden desk from 5:00 pm to 9:00 pm, when the museum closed. Dad would pick me up by then, from work. This was better than sitting in my room all summer, waiting for classes to start. At least I'd be doing something to distract myself from my mother's death. All I had to do was sit down, make people write their names on the clipboard on the clerk's desk, and receive and store payment; that was literally it.

"The Brockton Bay Museum is relatively new. So, there's not really much to expect; even our exhibits are still rather lacking. With any hope, this place will receive some more funding and we can procure more exhibits – or someone really generous donates a bunch of priceless stuff. But, honestly, if this was my choice, I would not have chosen this city to put a museum in – no offense to you Brocktonites." Miss Clarice continued.

"None taken," Dad chuckled, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips. He rarely ever smiled these days – neither of us did. But this... being here, it was something new. It was something that broke the long, gray, monotone that our lives had become after mom passed away. Dad then glanced around, curious. "So, uh, what exactly do you guys have around here?"

I had to admit, I wanted to take a look around when I first walked in here. Sadly, Miss Clarice's office was nowhere near the exhibits and I came here for a job – not to look around. And there was a large, ornately decorated iron gate that sealed off the exhibits. I assumed it'd be kept unlocked when the museum was officially opened to the public.

Miss Clarice shrugged as she smiled. "Come on, I'll give you guys a full tour of the museum. Might as well, since we're already here. Plus, think of this as your welcome bonus; you get to see everything, even the stuff we won't unveil to the public for a very long time."

She led us forward, unlocking the fancy iron gate with a large key that looked like it should be opening medieval dungeons. Miss Clarice walked in first and dad and I followed shortly after. I realized that I've never really been inside a museum before. And, judging by dad's expression, the same was probably true for him. Miss Clarice then gestured at a bunch of small artifacts, kept behind a thick glass case, and lit up by a faint white light. I didn't recognize any of them, but there were little cards with years stamped on them. "These were unearthed in Turkey. They're dated to have been from 2000 BCE to 1800 BCE. Made of bronze, the Hittites are credited for creating these."

Dad leaned forward, his eyes widening. I smiled and leaned forward as well. I still had no idea what they were, even up close, but one of them kind of looked like a small knife of some kind. "So, what are they?"

"As far as archaeologists are aware? They're tools, most likely used in metalworking." Miss Clarice said. "A lot of our exhibits were unearthed from Anatolia or Mesopotamia – and most of them were donated by very generous donors. There's still a lot about ancient human history that we know very little about. These are... all that's left, tiny windows to the past."

I found myself paying a lot of attention when Miss Clarice started talking about the Hittites. I'd never been fond of history before, but... I guess it really wasn't as bad as I thought it was. Ancient History wasn't nearly as exciting as Parahuman History, but there was an air of mysticism there, almost magical, that came with looking so far back into the past that there was almost nothing to see. I enjoyed it. Learning at Winslow was never this interesting, especially not with Emma, Madison, and Sophia picking on me at every chance they got.

"As a precaution," Miss Clarice explained. "None of our exhibits, even the ones not for public display, are made of precious metals. Gold, I think, is a very tempting thing to steel, especially with all the gangbangers running around Brockton Bay. No offense."

"Nope, none taken." Dad shrugged.

"Yeah," I added.

She then led us to another bunch of artifacts. These ones, I noted, looked a little different. The material, for instance, was definitely different. And they were definitely weapons – or, at least, the parts of them. "These are from the Warring States Period of China, around 475 BCE to 221 BCE. They're weapons – or parts of them, at least."

There were a bunch more, after that. Miss Clarice was right in that the museum really didn't have that much – not like the museums I often see on television, at least. Still, there were hundreds of displayed artifacts and there had to be, at least, a few people who might be interested them. A lot of those would probably be students from a place like Arcadia. The entrance fee wasn't expensive, but not a lot of people in Brockton Bay had 5$ to spare to look at ancient artifacts.

"These are the ones we're displaying to the public," Miss Clarice grinned as he led us to yet another locked door, upon which was written, 'Authorized Personnel Only'. "This is where we keep the more interesting stuff. The reason we don't display them is because we know almost nothing about them. So, we're keeping them locked up until we figure out where they're from, who made them, and why."

"I get it," Dad said, nodding. "You're not yet certain if they're priceless artifacts or just junk."

"I guess you could say that."

We followed her down a narrow corridor. It was only when she flicked on the light switch that the actual artifacts were revealed, kept in similar containers as the exhibits outside, but lacking any sort of information. I noted weapons and tools, maybe a few pots, and weird looking rocks. Nothing quite out of the ordinary.

But then, Miss Clarice led us to a display case that held a strange-looking spear. Why was it strange? Well, the whole thing was jet-black, glossy, like obsidian, but it also clearly wasn't obsidian, because Miss Clarice showed us a bunch of stuff from the Aztecs, obsidian tools, and those looked nothing like this. Also, obsidian was volcanic glass, which meant fashioning it into the shape of a spear was impossible, especially with ancient tools. Getting it smooth and sleek, like the weapon before us, was similarly impossible. "Well this Subject A-2. It was found in Mesopotamia, alongside a black sarcophagus. No one knows what it's made of or who made it. It's clearly a weapon, but the site it was found on indicates that it's over ten thousand years old. Even in Mesopotamia, there were no civilizations capable of creating anything like this. It's an anomaly."

"Right," Dad nodded, briefly turning to me, smiling faintly. "Your mom once talked about something called... err... ah, yeah, Archaeolinguistics and mentioned that humans were pretty much hunter-gatherers ten thousand years ago."

God... just thinking about mom made me want to cry. I missed her... badly. But, yeah, this sounded like something she'd have been interested in, at least, in passing. Mom was an English Teacher, but she loved languages, in general. She even left behind a ton of books on them. Mom was brilliant, like that.

"That's right," Miss Clarice nodded. "Though, Archaeolinguistics is not my field, it is a commonly-accepted viewpoint that, in that time period, our ancestors were little more than hunter-gatherers. It was only when they discovered agriculture that the first cities were created – or so we thought. That's why this artifact is considered anomalous; its existence defies what we think we know about the ancient past."

"Is it still sharp?" I asked, staring at the weapon's edge. There were symbols there, I realized, tiny symbols that would've otherwise been invisible if not for the faint light, further veiled by the rippling patterns on the surface of the spear.

"Oh, it's really sharp," Miss Clarice answered, smiling, but their was a morbidness to her eyes as she stared at the spear, accompanied by no small amount of frustration. "A lab tech lost a finger to this thing – somehow. But I don't know the full story. All I know is that it's sharper than any ancient relic should be."

"Who do you think could've made it?" Dad suddenly asked, his eyes squinted as he stared at the artifact, equally baffled.

Miss Clarice shrugged. "I honestly haven't the slightest clue. Just between us? I'm surprised it hasn't already been taken by the men in black. I'm not even sure if it's man-made, to be honest."

That... was an interesting thing to say. No wonder she mentioned the men in black. Though, I'm pretty sure they didn't exist. I only ever heard about them in old movies about aliens and stuff. And nobody watched those anymore – not since capes first started showing up. What could be more alien than people with powers?

"But this..." Miss Clarice gestured for us to follow her. And we did. She led us even further down, into a large circular chamber. And at its center was a... thing. I had no idea what it was, but – at a glance – I knew it was made of the same material as the spear, but a lot more. The thing was easily ten feet in length and made five feet in width, covered in symbols and etchings that I couldn't make sense of. I recognized the giant bats, however, chasing after people. My eyes narrowed. There was... something not quite right about this thing. I wasn't sure what or why, but just being near it put me on edge, goosebumps rising all over my skin. Suddenly, the room was colder. And, at the back of my head, a tiny little voice told me to run and get as far away from it as I possibly could.

But, I didn't understand why.

Miss Clarice walked up to it and gestured with her hand, "This is the Samaran Sarcophagus. It was unearthed in Russia, in a place that used to be the heartland of the Samara Culture, some 5000 BCE. And it was found with that spear."

And, like the spear, Miss Clarice didn't know much about the Sarcophagus, save for the fact that it was probably over ten thousand years old, carved from a single block of unknown stone, built through unknown means, and done so by an unknown group of people. Fascinating! Mom would've loved be here with us. She loved learning. And I think I might've inherited that from her, alongside her hair. After showing us the Samaran Sarcophagus, Miss Clarice led us back outside, into the main museum hallway, where all the public exhibits were. "Did you two enjoy the tour?"

"Yes!" I said, smiling. Learning was fun. Mom made sure of that when I was younger, even if it was just useless trivia most of the time. Learning wasn't fun when Emma, Madison, and Sophia spat saliva-coated bits of paper at the back of my head, through plastic straws. But, here, in this museum, I was free to learn from a passionate teacher, without having to glance over my shoulder. Spending time with dad was nice, too. We haven't really spent much time together since mom died. So, this was a blessing. I'm glad I found that ad, out on the street. And I'm glad no one else was interested in it. "Everything here is so cool!"

Dad was smiling when he spoke. "Yep, I learned quite a bit."

Miss Clarice grinned. "Well, if we get any new exhibits, you two will be the first to see it."

We led us to the clerk's desk, by the entrance. "Well, that's all for today. Taylor, you'll be starting tomorrow at 5:00pm. Don't be late. In fact, try to be early. Wear something formal, but not too formal. I'll have your ID ready by the time you get here."

"Thank you, Miss Clarice," I said. "I've never had a job before, but I promise I won't disappoint."

Looking back, I'm not even entirely sure why I wanted this job. But, hey, no one ever said having more money was bad. Maybe, I could even save up enough to buy myself a laptop.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Taylor," She waved her hand, smiling. "Also, stop calling me 'Miss Clarice', just Clarice will do. We're not in the Deep South and I'm actually a lot older than I look."

"Okay, Clarice..."

There were a bunch of shady-looking people when dad and I walked out of the museum. They didn't bother us, however, and, instead, kept staring at the entrance; so, dad and I just kept walking until they were out of our sight. The Brockton Bay Museum was located pretty close to Arcadia, but that didn't mean it was safe from crime. Miss Clarice still hadn't completed the applications for the security positions. The only saving grace was that the police station was only four blocks down the road, which was probably why she hadn't bothered much with security. And also because, as she said earlier, none of the artifacts were worth much in terms of material value; there was no gold, no silver, no gemstone – nothing worth stealing.

I glanced over my shoulders. The strange people were still there. Were they gangsters? They didn't look like they were from the Empire 88 or the ABB, which meant...

"Merchants," Dad said, his voice just above a whisper. "Those were Merchants. I've seen enough of those guys to recognize them anywhere. Didn't think they'd sniff around the museum this early. What are they even planning on stealing in there?"

"Should we call the cops, dad?" I asked.

Dad shook his head. "Can't do that, kiddo. What they're doing's not exactly illegal. The cops can't arrest them for loitering in public spaces."

"Merchants do this a lot. They snoop out places they think might have something valuable. And they leave if there isn't anything worth taking. Don't worry about it. We've both been in there. Nothing for them to steal." He continued. "They'll figure that out soon enough and move on. They may also be trying to muscle for influence, but even the Merchants should figure it out, quickly enough, that a Museum's not the kind of business fit for extortion or protection money."

Dad knew a lot about this kind of stuff, things about the gangs and how they operated. I wasn't sure what kind of work the Dockworker's Union got up to on the daily, but dad always mentioned frequent clashes with the Merchants, sometimes with the ABB, but never with the Empire. So, he knew what he was talking about.

"Okay," I hoped so. I did not wanna have to deal with the freaking Merchants raiding the museum, while I was working as a clerk. The museum had only one entrance that was also the exit, and two fire exits that were as far away from me as they could be. But... like dad said, there was probably nothing to worry about. Probably. With some luck, the Merchants would just walk away.

Hopefully...

"Let's just go home."

"Welcome to the Brockton Bay Museum," I said, smiling as I greeted my first wave of customers. I'm pretty sure this wasn't a part of my job, but it kinda felt a little weird not to stay anything when people entered. It'd be terribly quiet, otherwise, which would make things even more awkward. At the very least, I didn't have to be the morning-to-afternoon receptionist as Clarice mentioned that they were especially packed during the morning. I would not have survived something like that. So, I was especially glad that the afternoon reception was a little colder than the morning one.

It was a group of three – young, by the looks of it, maybe around my age. Two of them, blondes, wore blue and yellow sundresses, whilst the brunette wore a more subdued black blouse and jeans. And then, I took a look at their faces and my eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. Standing there was Panacea, Glory Girl, and Laserdream – basically the poster girls of New Wave, a team of super heroes who were all related to each other by blood.

I knew their faces. Everyone did. Glory Girl and Laserdream looked almost identical, beautiful and blonde, while Panacea looked... well... not similar; she looked different, in fact, a bit mousy – leaning towards the cuter side. They were the only superhero team that eschewed the use of masks or secret identities, unlike every other cape. And so, because of that, they were akin to local celebrities; no matter where they went, most people recognized them.

"You been wanting to enter this place ever since it was announced, huh, Amy?"

"Can you blame me? There's never been a museum in Brockton Bay before."

"There's a zoo."

"It's clearly not the same thing, Vicky."

I couldn't imagine living such a life, having very little privacy and having almost every little aspect of my existence exposed for all to see. But, then again, I'm never going to be a celebrity and, last time I checked, I wasn't a cape. So, eh.

Glory Girl, who was otherwise known as Victoria Dallon, snickered and elbowed Panacea, Amy Dallon. Aw man, separating their real names from their cape names was hard. "Hey, Amy, looks like you got a fan. Hehe."

"Shut up."

"Oh, come on, she was clearly looking at you."

"Please, shut up Vicky; you're embarrassing me on purpose."

"No, I'm not!" Glory Girl, or Victoria Dallon, I suppose, since she wasn't in costume, pouted, looking absolutely outraged. Were they talking about me? "See? She's looking at you, right now. I bet she thinks you're cute."

I snapped my mouth shut. I hadn't even realized I was gawking at them. But, I hadn't been staring at any of them in particular. Having three heroes in front of me honestly felt amazing.

Turning my eyes down, I grabbed the clipboard and placed it atop the desk, just as they approached. I turned on my smile and spoke, "Uhm, please write your names on this form. A visitor's ID costs $5 and you'll have to return it when you're done. There's no time limit."

The older blonde stepped forward and began writing down their names. I didn't need to look. I knew them already. Everyone did. She passed fifteen dollars over to me, which I took and placed in the cash register. "Hey, I'm Crystal and the toddlers behind me are Amy and Victoria. Nice to meet you, Miss...?"

"Taylor!" I almost screamed. Laserdream chuckled as I cleared my throat and reached for three visitor ID's, which I then placed on the table and slid towards her. "Err, Taylor Hebert. I'm the part-time clerk here. Please, enjoy our exhibits!"

Honestly, these three being here meant no Merchant would dare attack this place.

"Come on!" Amy Dallon walked ahead of them, Victoria Dallon and Crystal Pelham following right behind her. Despite the dour look on Amy Dallon's face, there was a palpable excitement about her as she walked through the iron gate.

The trio of superheroes spent the next hour or so browsing through the exhibits. Victoria Dallon, I noted, spent most of her time taking pictures of herself next to the exhibits, pictures of herself, and, at times, pictures of the exhibits. Amy Dallon and Crystal Pelham spent much of their time listening to Clarice, who was all-too happy to introduce them to each exhibit and even pose whenever Victoria Dallon took group photos. After about an hour of this, Clarice eventually escorted them out and, once the New Wave heroes were gone, no one else walked in.

So, I ended up just sitting there, doing nothing. I would've dozed off if it weren't for the stack of novels Clarice left on my desk beforehand, one book from every major genre. Actually, I kind of wished I'd joined in when they took the photos. It would've been so freaking cool to take a photo next to Glory Girl, Panacea, and Laserdream.

Dad walked in at 9:00pm and we both went home.

This pattern kind of repeated for the next six weeks. I'd arrive at 5:00 in the afternoon, welcome a few guests, and then spend the rest of my time reading or staring at the wall. Clarice would come out a few times and we'd chat about random things. She wasn't a fan of capes, for instance, and had a very strong and very negative opinion about them. But, Clarice spent most of her time with the exhibits themselves, having her own desk to sit behind as she waited for people to come about. As it turned out, the busiest time was just before mine, usually after lunch. By the time I sat down as clerk, at 5:00pm, there were hardly any guests, which was fine by me.

$400 a week wasn't a small amount, honestly. I didn't even have to do much.

So, it became a familiar pattern. Day after day, except on Sundays when the museum was closed. Clarice even hired a security team on the second week, armed guards who patrolled the museum at night and another team to stand by the entrance during the day, which made it even less likely for the Merchants to cause trouble. When I asked why, she simply said, "Better to have a gun and not need it, than need it and not have it."

It was during Tuesday of the seventh week, however, when the pattern of normalcy broke.

Around 7:00pm, while I was reading one of the novels Clarice gave me, the entrance just... exploded, sending dust and debris and chunks of stone flying everywhere. Something hit me in the head and I blacked out for a moment as I fell down. Everything became sort of a blur after that. I crawled away and there were... figures coming out of the massive truck that'd bulldozed its way through the entrance, cracking apart solid concrete. They carried guns. The smoke and dust obscured everything, and it didn't help that the initial explosion made me deaf and partially blind, which I already was without my glasses. I hardly saw or heard anything. I just... kept crawling away, hoping I'd stumble into a hole and hide there.

I heard laughter, hoots and hollers, but no more than that, followed by an exchange of gunfire – no doubt, the security personnel were doing their job. I do not know if they're winning. I didn't want to wait and find out. So, I kept crawling – away and away from the sounds of violence. Shards of glass shattered and burst apart around me and I became distantly aware of the fact that I'd cut myself, but I was also pretty sure I was already bleeding from a head injury. Still, I hissed and gasped, even as I kept going. My palms burned, but I was so dizzy I knew I'd just fall back down the moment I tried to get up; so, I didn't. I kept crawling.

At some point, I reached a door. I didn't recognize this one. Its doorknob had been blown right off and it swung open at the gentlest push. The other side was dark. I didn't care. I crawled forward. And I did not stop until I found my face pushed against a cool, black surface. It was quiet here, at least. And the sound of gunfire was almost muted – distant. A sudden, burning sensation made itself known on my shoulder. And I screamed and fell down as that sensation quickly escalated into burning agony as spurts of blood came gushing out of the hole on my shoulder.

I'd been shot, I realized.

Above me, I heard something, a loud, almost thunderous crack as I wallowed in a pool of my own blood, sobbing. What was that? I didn't know. A bunch of people burst through the far door. Their silhouettes told me that these men were not the security personnel. I had no idea who they were, but they must've been the ones who attacked this place. Merchants? I honestly couldn't tell.

"Where the fuck is the gold?!" A man barked, his voice accompanied by rapid gunshots. "What the fuck is this shit?!"

And then, I heard the haunting giggle of a woman, followed by choked screams, the tearing of flesh and the breaking of bone. The world began to fade as the sounds of slaughter echoed around me, but only briefly. Whatever violence occurred happened within what felt like the blink of an eye and, then, there was silence. Not a single sound. Nothing. The shadows converged about me and a pair of crimson eyes appeared above me. "Tell me, girl. Are you a virgin?"

"Wha-?"

"Do you want to live?"

AN: Yes, this whole chapter came to me in a dream.