Nell'ora della morte

Apokalypsis
Part Three:
Nell'ora della morte

Jewel Faulkner
jfaulkne@brynmawr.edu

Intro: _Apokalypsis_ was originally going to consist of four stories. Well, that changed. For two reasons. A)The stories were getting kick-ass long. B)There are Seven "angels" so I figured, hey, let's go with seven stories! Cool, eh? So the longest story, "Revelations," got split into "Nell'ora della morte [In the hour of our death]," "And I'll Never Need a Lie," and "Revelations."
Seven stories, Seven "Angels."

Legal stuff: the gargoyles, the fey (aside from Thoth, Hecate, and the Fates--this conceptualization of them is mine), and Alexander belong to Buena Vista. The Ares' are Ryan Stout's. Mark Adams belongs to Scott Iskow. Everyone else is mine. Oh, and side note--I didn't name Athena's daughter, I really didn't. Ryan did. I'm keeping her name what it is 'cause that's the last I heard from Ryan on the subject, even though it's just plain *weird* to have a character with the same name as me. I'm egotistical, I admit, but even I'm not *that* egotistical...

And remember boys and girls: Time passes more slowly on Avalon...

*** *** *** ***

PART ONE: In Iniquitatibus Conceptus

         "Oh my God."
         Christine staggered away from the telephone, shock overtaking her.
         "Mrs. Adams...Mrs. Adams!" the doctor on the other end cried out, disturbed by how pale she had grown. The young man who had come with Mrs. Adam's daughter must've been more in shock than they had thought, to have said that Christine Adams was Hope's grandmother. The doctor was having an impossible enough time even believing she was her mother--only the white streak in her hair gave any indication that she was old enough to have a grown daughter. Hell, the man thought, she looks too dark to have had such a pale daughter. Was the girl adopted? Or maybe Christine was a stepmother or something...
         "Give me a moment." the woman said, covering her mouth with her hand.    She took a moment to gather herself, then came back to the telephone. "How is she?"
         Dr. Bernard sighed. Jesus, he hated this part of the job. "She's in surgery right now, and has been since she arrived."
         "You didn't answer my question."
         He was shocked by the steeliness in the woman's voice and the way her jaw had set. "I would rather discuss that with you here, in the hospital, Mrs. Adams."
         "Is she dying?"
         "I can't answer that. She's in surgery right now." he said, closing his brown eyes.
         "That bad, is it? What happened, exactly?"
         Dr. Bernard sighed. "We aren't exactly sure. The young man who came in with her is in surgery as well. We haven't contacted his family yet."
         She frowned. "Christian? Christian Maza?"
         He nodded.
         "Oh, God, him too?"
         "You know him?"
         "I'm his aunt." she said, shutting her eyes. "Belinda's going to be a wreck. I'll contact his mother and the rest of the family. But Christian's ...?"
         "He has a shattered arm from whatever happened and so badly damaged that the surgeon almost amputated, but realized that it was possible to save his arm. It looks as though they were crushed, but they were in a dorm room, and there was nothing in there to crush them. We'll find out after he comes out of surgery."
         "And Hope?"
         "She'll be in surgery for the next several hours." At least. If she lives, he thought.
         And that was one *hell* of an if.

*** *** *** ***          Mark was pacing. Alexander simply sat, staring out into space blankly. Belinda had gone to see her son the second she arrived. Christine stood, her arms wrapped around her, her mind a million miles away. She sighed and looked at the two men. She wanted to fall apart, cry, something, anything, but she knew if she did, they wouldn't be able to handle it. She hated having to be strong for them, and part of her was angry at them for putting the demand on her. But she swallowed it. They needed her, and there were times when you had to put others before yourself, and their emotions and needs before your own. This was one of them.
         She went over to Alexander and sat down next to him. She saw Mark look at her out of the corner of his eye, but she knew she had to attend to Alex first, and damn the remnants of Mark's jealousy.
         She took Alexander's hand. "She'll be all right, Alex." she said, leaning against him.
         He sighed. "I wish I could believe you, Christine...I want to, more than you know...but how can I? She's been in surgery for eight hours, Christine. Eight hours."
         "But she's not dead. She's a survivor, you know that. She's still hanging on, and she'll keep on hanging on. She's held on this long...she's going to hold on."
         "I can't lose her, Christine. I know she's never really liked me...I know that, I'm not blind." Christine said nothing, knowing that to lie would be foolish. "But...she's still my daughter, and I still love her more than anything in this world. I feel like I've failed her for so much, made so many mistakes...and if she dies...and I lose her, too...I just don't know what I'll do." he said, tears beginning to run down his cheeks. "I can't lose her, too."
         Christine hugged him, putting her head on his. He leaned against her, his eyes tiredly shut. "If she dies..." he began.
         "She won't." Christine said firmly. "And if she does...if she does, then we keep going, somehow. It's hard, but...but you do keep going. You keep living."
         "I feel so useless. I want to do something, anything..."
         "No spells, Alex." Christine said flatly. "We don't know *what* happened. Something happened, and something not natural. No magic until we know, because the last thing we want to do is make things worse.
         "But we're not even going to worry about that right now, Alexander. She's going to live. She has the best care she could possibly get, and we both know it."
         "Christine."
         She looked up. "Belinda." She gave Alexander another hug, then got up to go talk to her sister privately. "How's Christian?"
         "Sleeping. But they think he'll eventually be OK. They're...they're not sure yet if he's going to have use of his right hand yet. They're afraid of nerve and tissue damage. And they've already told me he'll need a lot of reconstructive surgery on it as well," she said, closing her eyes. "I'm going to go sit with him until he wakes up. I just wanted to see if there was any news about Hope yet."
         Christine shook her head. "No, not yet. But right now, no news *is* good news. She's still in surgery, and likely will be for a while."
         Belinda squeezed her sister's hand. "You don't have to be strong all the time, 'Tine."
         Christine smiled tiredly. "Yes, I do. And we both know it. What do you think would happen if I went to pieces right now?"
         Belinda smiled tiredly back at her sister. "Everyone'd be an even bigger wreck than they are right now, including me. We all do need our anchor...but even you can't be strong for everyone all the time, sis--you have to be weak for yourself sometimes, or else you get over your head. Trust the voice of experience."
         "Has anyone called Daniel?" Christine said suddenly.
         Belinda shook her head. "Shit. Shit, fuck, hell, damn, crap. I'll check on Christian again and see what the doctors say, then go call Ares." she said shaking her head.
         Christine patted her sister's hand. "Then go wait with Christian, and tell me when he wakes up. This all smacks of something supernatural, all of it, and I want to know what."
         Belinda nodded and walked off. Before she left the room, she paused to watch her sister for a moment. She wondered if maybe Christine should go off for a little while, to be by herself and away from Mark and Alexander...and her. Christine was worried and afraid, but she couldn't give into her fear like she needed to, because of them, because she could sense how much everyone *else* needed to be a wreck and needed someone *else* to be strong. But Belinda sighed--Christine was stronger than even Belinda knew, so maybe what Christine was doing was right for her, this taking care of everyone else. Who was she to tell her sister what to do, when Christine had already been through so much? She sighed, and went to see her son, trusting in Christine. *** ** *** ***          The doctor came in a few minutes later. Christine was the first to her, meeting her before she had even entered the waiting room. "How is she?"
         "Critical." she said gently, feeling tired. "She's out of surgery now. There was a lot of internal damage, due to whatever happened. Several of her ribs were crushed, two broken, and one punctured her left lung, the other put a small hole in her heart. Likewise, she received a lot of damage to her stomach and intestines."
         Christine took the doctor by the arm and led her away gently from Mark and Alex before they saw her. "How is she?" she repeated. "What are her chances? Don't whitewash it for me."
         Dr. Chabrundi looked at the woman and saw her determination. "Not good, Mrs. Adams." she said, still feeling nervous. The woman was obviously pregnant. But this wasn't a time to whitewash over the truth. "She was hurt very badly. We didn't expect her to live through surgery. To be perfectly honest, she shouldn't even have lived to reach the hospital. Or lived through surgery. The fact that she did is nothing short of miraculous."
         Christine smiled faintly. "That's my girl. She's determined...contrary. Always doing what no one expects."
         "The next twenty-four hours are the most important. If she lives through them, then she's made it through the most difficult part."
         "But...?" Christine said, her tone icy as she picked up on the hesitation of the doctor.
         "We were able to fix the hole in her heart, and we're hopeful that she'll recover with minimal long term effects. Her intestines were damaged and badly. Right now, our main fear...if she lives...is infection. And then there's the possibility that there was so much damage that she'll need transplants to live. And transplants run risks. We do, however, want to be on the safe side--if she seems to be getting better, we're going to start growing new internal organs for her. Right now, she's too weak to even survive surgery to replace her old ones. So we're just going to see if we can repair what she has."
         Christine closed her eyes tiredly. "All right." she whispered. She felt so tired. She wanted to cry. She was. But quietly. She couldn't let Mark and Alex know right then.
         "Mrs. Adams, should I go get your husband, or Hope's father...?" the doctor began tentatively.
         Christine raised her hand, shaking it to indicate no. "They can't see me like this...it's the last thing they need...I'll be fine in a minute." she said. "Just a minute..." She wiped her tears away and took in a deep breath. "So she might need transplants?"
         "That's pretty far down the road, Mrs. Adams. We won't know that for a few weeks or so. Right now, our main concern is her getting through the next twenty-four hours." *** *** *** ***          "Christian's awake, sis." Belinda said, putting her hand on her sister's shoulder. Christine had been dozing against Mark's shoulder. Alexander was still staring off into space. "I haven't called Ares yet. Christian woke up right after I got there. I'm going to go call him now. But Christian's definitely awake."
         Christine woke up suddenly. "He is? Oh, thank God. How is he?"
         "He wants to know about Hope." she said flatly. "How is she, anyway?"
         "Not good." Christine said, glancing at Mark and Alex. "Has he said what happened?"
         "No. He won't say anything until he finds out about Hope."
         Christine stood up. "Then let's go see him." she said. *** *** *** ***          "Christian...hi." Christine said, sitting down next to her nephew. God, he was pale.
         He smiled weakly. "How's Hope? Is she OK? It took me forever to get myself to try a spell of some sort...it wasn't until she...and I couldn't think clearly...is she...is she OK?"
         Christine didn't know how to begun. How to answer the pleading in his eyes.    Turns burned against her eyes, worse than before. "She just came out of surgery. But... they don't know if she'll make it through the next twenty-four hours."
         Christian's face tightened and he felt tears burning in his own eyes. "She pushed me out of the way." he whispered.
         Christine took his hand. "What happened, Christian?"
         He closed his eyes tiredly. "He was trying to kill me. Hope shoved me out of his way. I thought he was aiming at Hope, but she said I was the one Oberon was aiming for."
         "What?" Christine said, her voice stunned. "Oberon? Christian, are you sure it was him?"
         He nodded. "Yeah. It was Oberon."
         Christine stood up. "He swore...he made an oath...!" she muttered, her eyes glittering with anger.
         "Christine?" Belinda said in confusion.
         Christine whirled. "Oberon *swore* that he would leave my family alone. He swore it not two months ago--two goddamned days for him!" she hissed angrily. She looked up, her eyes blazing. "If she dies," she whispered, "I'll kill him. And even if she doesn't..."
         Belinda shivered. She stared at her sister, before slowly backing out of the room. "I think I should go call Ares...in all the excitement, all of us forgot about him..."
         She crept out of the room, staring at her sister, her stomach in knots.
         This...this was bad. Very, very bad. *** *** *** ***          "Why the hell didn't someone call me?" Ares roared.
         Belinda sighed. "I thought Christine had, but she didn't. She's a little distracted right now. We all are. I was going to call you after I checked on Christian, but he had just woken up. I went to tell Christine and to..."
         The man swore. "My son is in the hospital. What the hell is more..."
         "Hope is, too. And she's hurt a *hell* of a lot worse than Christian is. They don't even know if she'll pull through. That's why 'Tine was a little out of it, OK? The woman is six months pregnant on top of all this. Cut her some slack."
         "Why didn't *you* call me sooner?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
         She met his gaze coldly. "My main thought was my son and my grand-niece, and damned if I was leaving until I knew they were going to be OK, and then praying my sister didn't go ballistic. When Christian woke up, he told us what happened. Oberon attacked them, trying to kill Christian." she said icily. "Forgive me if calling you slipped my mind a few times."
         Ares drew back in surprise. "Oberon? Why? Christine told me she had Titania's oath that he'd be safe and none of them would try to take revenge on him for what we'd done. So *why*...?" he began. Dear God, was his past always going to haunt him? Was his son going to suffer because of the sins of his father? A line from the bible, Exodus, came to him--And the sins of the fathers would be visited unto the sons unto the third and the fourth generation...
         "Because our son fucked up." she said flatly. "He did something he shouldn't have."
         "Which was?"
         "Titania."
         "Hunh?" Ares said, blinking at the hybrid.
         "He and Titania had an affair."
         He started choking. "*What*?" he finally managed to choke out.
         "You heard me. He and Titania. Oberon found out. And Oberon was *not* happy." Belinda said, clinching her fists. "Hope managed to shove Christian out of the way and took the brunt of Oberon's anger. Christian only got the tail end of that blast, and his arm was shattered. He only came out of surgery about an hour ago. The doctors aren't sure yet if he'll have full use of his right hand, but they're hoping. Good thing he was left handed, eh?" she said, trying to smile and failing pretty miserably at it. "Hope's...Hope's in pretty bad shape." she said, her voice cracking. "Like I said, they don't know if she'll make it through the night. Apparently, it was something of a miracle she even made it through surgery." Belinda began crying, and Ares began to feel like one hell of a heel--he'd thought only about the fact that they hadn't called him to let him know that his son was hurt. It hadn't even occurred to him that something else could have been on her mind.
         "Athena and I will be down there as soon as we can." he said quietly. Belinda wiped her tears away and nodded.
         "I'll tell Christine y'all are coming. I can't believe that all of us completely managed to forget you guys. I feel horrible."
         "You were all distracted." Ares said, his voice gentler now. "Belinda...you aren't thinking about trying to maybe..."
         "Maybe once I would have." she said, knowing what he was talking about. "But I remember all too well what happened last time I went against Oberon. We all do." she said, casting her eyes down and her voice softening. "I learn from my mistakes and from the past." she looked up then. "But Oberon has crossed the line with this, Ares. You and I both know it. Christian's lack of thinking was no reason for what happened." She closed her eyes again. "And there's a lot more to this, that I don't even know about, but Christine does. Apparently, Titania pulled some shit, too. Christine's furious. I've never seen her look so angry."
         Ares's eyebrows rose. He remembered seeing Christine's wrath before, and if she was angrier than that...
         "She threatened to kill Oberon."
         "Threats are one thing, Belinda. But actually doing it..."
         Belinda looked him straight on over the phone. "She's killed fey before to protect her family, Ares. She killed Hecate, who was almost as powerful as Oberon himself. And only a fool would think she couldn't...wouldn't...do it again." *** *** *** ***          Alexander sat by his daughter's side. They told her he could only have a few minutes with her, since they were limiting her visitors. He looked at her while she slept. And he cried. What else could he do? He'd never felt so helpless.
         If she died...what good was all of his money? She looked so fragile. And she was so pale--she looked as though the slightest touch would bruise her.
         He was afraid to touch her, but lightly brushed a lock of hair out of her face. He hated all of the tubes she had running all over her; hated how much she wrapped and bandaged; hated how helpless she looked. She had to live. She had to.
         Mark dropped his hand on Alexander's shoulder. "The nurse said your time was up."
         He looked up. "Oh...yeah." he said, standing slowly, wiping his cheeks. "Where's Christine?"
         "With Christian and Belinda."
         "Thanks." he said tiredly.
         Mark frowned slightly. "Do you know where Owen is? I would have expected him to..."
         "He vanished. I have no idea where he went. It was right before...right before Christine called me. Something had really upset him. He left with a man I'd never seen before. The guy looked familiar, but I couldn't place him." He brushed Hope's hair away again. "She's all I have, really." Alexander said sadly. He looked at Mark and smiled tiredly. "You're a lucky man, Adams." he whispered, then walked out alone.
         Mark stared after Xanatos. For all his money and power and looks, he was alone. Even his own daughter had spurned him and always had, despite his best efforts. He had his billions, and his power, and his magic...but what did he have beyond that? Before, he'd always felt that Alexander Xanatos deserved it.
         Now he wasn't so sure. *** *** *** ***          Alexander knocked on the door the room Christian was in. "Hey...how is he?"
         "I've been better." Christian called out. Alexander looked around for Christine, then came in.
         "Yeah, well, I think you're right about that one." he said, smiling faintly. He became more serious. "Chris...what happened?" he said darkly.
         Christian sighed, and his mother took his hand gently. "Oberon attacked me. Hope...she got me out of the way. Oberon just appeared, shot at me while I was sitting at my desk, more or less not even facing him. And then he vanished."
         He frowned. "Why was Oberon attacking you?"
         "He didn't say. But I can guess." he said flatly.
         "Why?" Alexander said, crossing his arms.
         "Um...probably because I slept with his wife." he said, blushing bright red.
         "You *what*?" Alexander said, blinking and staring straight at the boy. "Christian, run that by me again. I think I misheard you."
         "You didn't." Christian said, staring at the ceiling.
         Alexander sat down. "You...slept with my *grandmother*?" he managed to choke out.
         Christian turned ever redder. "Yeah."
         Alexander stared shaking his head. "I can't believe this. I just don't believe this. Weren't you thinking?!!?"
         "No." he said shortly. "I had no idea Oberon would find out. And I wasn't exactly 'thinking,' Alexander." he said flatly. "One rarely does in these situations."
         "Well, you should have been!" Alexander yelled. "My daughter...my daughter is dying because of you! Because you couldn't...god damn it! Because of you!"
         Belinda hopped to her feet, getting between her son and Alexander. "This isn't his fault!" she screamed angrily.
         "Shit if it isn't! She's innocent, and she's the one who might...who might..." he choked off painfully, his fists clinching.
         "Don't you think I know that?!" Christian yelled back, unsteadily getting to his feet.
         "Christian, you just had surgery! Get back in bed!" Belinda yelped, her eyes wide.
         He ignored her, heading straight for Xanatos. "You don't think I know what happened? You think I don't blame myself for this? Jesus fucking Christ, Alexander, I was there! I saw how she looked...all that blood...and I thought she was dead. If she dies...I don't know what I'll do." he said, bowing his head, tears running down his cheeks.
         Christine rose slowly and took her nephew by the arm, leading him back to his bed. He had already paled and looked ready to pass out. "Alexander, Belinda, outside. Now." she snapped, her voice cold as an iron blade. Both of them opened their mouths to say something, but took one look at the iciness in her eyes and knew that disobeying her would only make things uglier than they were. Belinda glared at Alexander as they left. Christine saw the boy to bed.
         "It's not your fault." she said to him gently. "Yes, you made a mistake. But this isn't your fault." she said, patting his arm. "This is their fault..." she said angrily. "Those fey...they did this to her, and to you. Oberon...and Titania both broke their oaths. All bets are off, now." she said, staring off into space for an instant. She looked back down at her nephew. "Get some rest, Christian. She'd want you to, and you know it."
         "Christine...if she dies..." he began, blinking quickly, his throat catching.
         "I know." she said gently. "I know what she means to you...what she is."
         "No, you don't." he said, closing his eyes tiredly.
         Christine put her hand on his arm again, making him open his eyes and look at her. "Yes," she said pointedly, "I do."
         Christian looked at her, then sighed and closed his eyes. Why wasn't he surprised? "Let me know when she wakes up...I have to see her."
         "Can you feel her?"
         "Yes. God, yes. She's in so much pain...and her dreams are bad. And part of her is afraid. She's in...she wants to die, but she doesn't want to."
         "She'll hold on, Christian. She will because you need her. Let her know that you need her...she needs to know that."
         Christian smiled. "She knows." he said gently.
         Christine left, and he closed his eyes. *** *** *** ***          "I do not even believe the two of you." Christine hissed angrily, the second she closed the door, each word punctuated angrily. "How dare you!" she said, facing Alexander.
         "You were out of line, Alex." Belinda snapped.
         Christine whirled to face her sister. "You were out of line, too, Belinda. Alexander, I don't even believe you." she hissed. "How dare you! That boy just came out of surgery, and he *knows* that Hope could die because she was trying to save his life! She may be your daughter, but she's everything to him!" she said angrily. "The last thing that boy needs is you screaming at him that this is his fault!"
         "It is his fault." Alexander hissed back angrily. "She's dying because he couldn't control his..."
         Christine slapped him. Shocked, Alexander staggered a step or two back. "You're not exactly pure in *that* respect yourself, Alexander Xanatos!"
         Alexander quieted, but he still seethed with anger.
         "Now, the two of you listen to me. We have got to be stable and get along for the sake of those children. Christian is an empath, and the last thing he needs is us acting like childish imbeciles in front of him! And we both know how close he is to Hope--if he's upset, it's going to transfer over to her, and that is the *last* thing she needs right now!" she roared. "Damn Oberon..." She began pacing, brushing her hair out of her face. She stalked away, not wanting to be around either of them just then. She wanted to talk to Mark.
         She went to the waiting room and went over to him, glancing briefly at everyone in the room.
         "How's Christian?" Ares asked immediately. "Can I go see him? I know Belinda and you were in there, and there was a limit on how many people could..."
         "You and Athena go both go see him." Christine said, nodding faintly. When they left, she went over to Mark, sitting next to him and leaning against his shoulder.
         "So how are *you* doing?" Mark asked, putting his arm around Christine. She leaned against him more, closing her eyes.
         "All right, I suppose. Tired. But Christian's going to be all right. The doctors will know in a few days whether or not he'll be able to use his hand. But they're hopeful--it looks good." she said, still not looking at him. She decided not to tell him about the argument that had started between Christian, Alex, and Belinda. There was no point in it, anyway. "He saved Hope, you know. He was able to get himself together enough to put a spell on her. He didn't say what he did, since he was still out of it when I saw him--he only barely mentioned it. The doctor said Hope should have been dead before the ambulance had even arrived. I'll have to ask him what he did...he wasn't thinking, he was in pain, he could have panicked and used a spell that could...that if she dies would..." she trailed off. She felt run down, but knew that she couldn't give in to it. Not now. Not until she knew if Hope was going to pull through.
         "You can go see her, if you want." Mark said gently. "While you were with Christian, one of the nurses said we could go in--one at a time and only for a few minutes--to see her."
         She squeezed Mark's hand. "I need to."
         "Go." he said, hugging her tightly. She was trying so hard to be strong. He was glad for it, but he wished that she would let go of some of her hardness, if only for a minute or so. She needed to cry, but she wouldn't let herself. She was good at taking care of everyone else and being what they needed...he wished she could do the same for herself. *** *** *** ***          "Oh God." Christine said when the door closed behind her. "Oh God, Hope." she whispered again, tears flooding her eyes. She stumbled over to her granddaughter and sat next to her, taking the girl's limp hand and holding it against her cheek, giving in to her fears. She'd been fine when she hadn't actually seen her. Hope was far worse than she had imagined. She looked as though the only thing holding her midsection in shape were the bandages wrapped around it. And now Christine knew why the doctors had all been so hesitant about giving her any hope at all.
         She stared out into space, her hands wrapped around one of Hope's. She was lost in her thoughts. Oberon had done this. He had done this to her child. He had nearly killed her child. And if Hope died...if she lost her grandchild, she was going to make him wish that he had never left his little neverland island. If Hope died...
         The loud, angry, shrill sound of the heart monitor jarred her out of her thoughts. No. No... She jumped to her feet and slammed on the nurse's call button. But almost as soon as the heart monitor reacting to the fact that Hope's heart had stopped, the room was swarming with doctors, nurses shoving her out of the room. She was shaking, watching from outside, as they tried to resuscitate the girl. It took almost three minutes to get a heart beat, erratic and uncertain but at least *there*, and those three minutes had to be the longest of Christine's life.
         Hope's erratic heart beat stabilized and Christine's thoughts were dark. In her mind, she was planning. Thoughts that normally never occurred to her, parts of her programming that she had never before had use for. Things now that ran in her head darkly. Never before had she been so angry. Oberon had stepped over the line. Oberon had gone so far over the line that it wasn't even funny. She had her limits, and this was it.
         Part of her was so angry that she was ready to open a portal to Avalon and attack him with her bare hands, dragging him back to earth and showing him what he had done. But another part of her, a part that was cold and rational, spoke in a calm voice.
         Now isn't the time, Christine. No. We have an edge right now. Oberon thinks that he killed Christian. If you expose the truth to him now, then he *will* kill Christian. And then who wins? Besides, right now, you wouldn't have a prayer against Oberon. He'd kill you without a second thought. You're weak. You're six months pregnant and unarmed. You don't have your sais. No, Christine. This is not the time. Anger is not what you need right now. Anger will make you lose focus. Lose sight of your goal.
         And what is my goal? she asked that calm voice. She felt her breathing even out, calming from the angry huff that it had been before.
         Your goal is to make Oberon pay. And Titania. For what they did. You gave them enough chances. They proved over and over again what they are.
         She felt a lightening within her as the voice said very calmly what she wanted. It was correct. She wanted to kill them for everything that they had done.
         And you will. It has to end, all of this. They've gone too far. Look at Hope. This is too far. What Titania did to Christian was too far. And what Oberon did to Hope was too far. After all they've done to you in the past, this was the icing on the cake. This was just too much. They had taken her sister and turned her into a monster. They had nearly driven her insane in order to manipulate her sister. Their lives--the lives of the mere mortals--didn't matter at all to them. Nothing mattered to them *but* them.
         Too many had suffered.
         Her eyes flashed greenish-blue for an instant as the Feather of Ma'at flashed.
         She had a family to protect.
         It was time to end this.
         Time to end *them*.
         This was war.
         The weapon smiled. *** *** *** ***          Belinda sat on the floor, ignoring everyone around her. She simply sat, reaching into a bag and pulling out her Tarot cards. Sitting, she began to lay them out, clearing her mind and simply shuffling. Since she had lost the ability to see--or rather, to *remember*--seeing the future, she used to cards. Mark watched Belinda shuffle, his eyes never leaving her hands. Ares and Athena sat by themselves; Ares staring out into space frowning angrily and Athena watched Belinda as well. Alex was in his own world, ignoring everything around him as he brooded.
         She spread the cards out, her eyes slightly unfocused as she did so. She flipped over the cards, her eyes focusing now on the cards and the positions they were in. She had placed the cards in a triangle. The first cards she flipped were the ones on the bottom, those that represented the present. What she saw perplexed her--it seemed to have little bearing on the situation at hand. Quickly, she flipped the other cards: two for the immediate present, two for the long term present, and the middle card for the signifier.
         "Well?" Mark said, his voice seeming to come from nowhere. The sound startled Belinda and she jumped unintentionally, one card falling out of the deck. "Sorry."
         "It's all right." Belinda said, brushing her hair out of her face, then picking up the card that had fallen--Temperance. She stared at it for a minute before she answered Mark. "What did you want to know?"
         "The cards. What do they say?"
         She frowned. Mark had always blown off her cards before, even if he'd never *said* anything about them. "I...I don't know, really. It's...confusing." she said, frowning faintly. "The ones for the present, here, " she said, indicating the two spread out at the bottom of a triangle, "They make sense, kind of. This is the seven of wands. It indicates that having strength will get us through a difficult time. But right next to it, the Lovers.
         "These cards," she said, indicating the cards making up the right side of the triangle, "are for the immediate present--the next few weeks. This is the Moon. It indicates fluctuation and things becoming dark, uncertain. The Tower. Things ending, things falling apart.
         "And it gets even better. For the long-term future, the ones for six months to a year, it's even more bizarre. This one," she said, pointing, "is the card of the High Priestess. It signifies a dark, psychic plane, stuff like that. Or rather, it indicates one, usually a female, who is in touch with that psychic side, or one who will be soon. But this is...Death." she said, pointing to the next card. "It doesn't always mean death, of course. It usually doesn't. What it means is the end of a situation or a way of life.
         "And this card, the middle one, is the signifier. It's the card that draws everything together. It's, well, not an unusual one, especially given the others. The Wheel of Fortune. It indicates a change in fortune or a situation--but it usually indicates the *beginning* of change, and the hand of Fate. Something is coming, but I don't know what."
         She looked at Mark, feeling confused and bewildered. "They don't make sense. And they've *always* made sense...they've always given me direction before. But now...I just don't understand. All I know is that something is coming...and that this is only the beginning." *** *** *** ***          Christine came in a few minutes later.
         "You OK?" Belinda yelped when she saw her sister. Christine shook her head no but said nothing, just sitting next to Mark, staring off into space.
         "Christine?" Mark asked, laying his hand on her shoulder. Her eyes closed.
         "While...while I was in there, Hope's heart stopped. They...they were able to get back, but..." Christine trailed off, leaning against him. She had felt so certain about what had to be done, but now, here, all she could feel was exhausted and terrified; her resolve crumbling away. She couldn't watch another child die in front of her. It was too much for her. She was shaking. She didn't know when it started. She got up and left, knowing she couldn't stay in there. Mark got up and went after her. When they were out of the room he reached her, grabbing her arm. She turned and flung herself into him, shaking and not able to hold back the tears anymore. He held her tightly, letting her cry.
         "She...she...I was just looking at her and she was so pale...and...and it looked like the only thing...the only thing holding...holding her together were those bandages...and then...oh, god, and then she stopped breathing, and her heart stopped, and..." She cried, holding onto his shirt, pressing her face against him, her entire body shaking as she cried. Mark just held her, letting her cry, knowing it was what she needed more than anything else. She had been trying to be so strong...and she'd needed to, he knew. Needed to for all of them. But it had been too much for her. Too much. She had held on until she knew the rest of them could handle everything; until Christian was out of the woods and Hope had come out of surgery. Everyone else was becoming used to what was happening, and Christine had finally reached the breaking point. So he let her cry, knowing that she needed it more than she even needed sleep. And that she would get when she stopped crying.
         He held her. *** *** *** ***          Christian stared at the ceiling. Dawn was coming soon, he knew. He was relatively unaffected by the sun, but he always knew when dawn was coming. Some internal clock told him--a remnant, he supposed, of the gargoyle blood that he knew by looking at his hands was running through his veins. He wondered if the dawn would act for him as it did for his mother and aunt, speeding their healing. More than that, he wondered if it would act like that for Hope.
         He continued to stare at the ceiling. His arm was throbbing like hell, and he couldn't even feel his hand. He tried to move it and nothing. He sighed. Damn it all...why had she shoved him out of the way? Why wasn't it him in there...hurt...dying...
         He began to cry. He didn't quite know when the tears started, he only dimly realized that his shoulders were shaking and that his vision had blurred. She couldn't die. She couldn't. If she died...she just couldn't. He didn't know what he'd do without her. He needed her. He...he loved her. He always had, he knew. Ever since he had been little. She had always been there, brightening his world. She always rescued him from himself and from drowning in the darkness. He couldn't lose her now, not now. She couldn't leave him.
         He pulled himself out of bed, ignoring the pain he felt in his arm. He wiped his face and stumbled from his room, not knowing exactly where she was but knowing ht would find her.
         He did. Her door was closed, but he knew that she was there; he could feel her. He went in and sat down in the chair next to her bed. The second he saw her, he began to cry again, taking her hand in his and unashamed of his tears. Jesus.
         "God, Hope...why'd you do it, hunh?" he whispered. Could she hear him? He didn't care. It didn't matter. "It should be me here, not you." he said, holding her limp hand against his cheek. "You can't die, Hope. You just can't." he said, holding her hand. She looked so small and so pale lying there like that. Fear overwhelmed him, fear of losing her. Never had a fear griped him like this, or despair overwhelmed him. What would he do without her? What? How could he go on if she was gone? She was part of him and always had been, and losing her would cripple him far worse than his arm might be crippled.
         He wouldn't think of the fey then. Thinking of them could wait until Hope's fate was decided, no matter how it went. If she died...it was totally unthinkable, and here it was, she was in this hospital bed, tubes all over her, machines beeping and humming around her. He knew then that she was worse than Christine had told him. It wasn't real until then. Only a bare rumble of emotion was coming from her, just enough to let him know that she was alive...and she was in pain. There was nothing more than that, and he knew that his mother would probably tell him her thoughts were equally basic. Was it because she was drugged, he wondered, or because she was in so much pain that even in her sleep there were no dreams but those of the pain?
         This wasn't fair. Alexander was right, this was his fault. He continued to hold her hand, feeling how small it was compared to his. She had hands that matched her perfectly, square and blunt, but with a surprising delicateness--even though she had small hands, her finger were long and slender from years of playing piano, and her fingertips rounded with long fingernails. The lines in her hand were well marked, and he found himself staring at them, following the lines and straining his memory for what his mother said that the lines meant.   He could only barely remember. He would have to ask his mother, to get her to read their palms again.
         He put his face in his hand and began to cry. *** *** *** ***          "Where's Christian?" Ares asked, coming back from the boy's hospital room.
         Belinda looked shocked. "He--he's not in there?"
         Ares paled slightly. "You don't think that...?"
         Belinda shook her head violently. "No. He's here. I can feel him. If he wasn't here, I'd be the first to know." She frowned. "But this isn't a good place for him to be. I know 'Tine's on edge because of all the emotion and pain in this place. Christian's got to be going batty. Or will be when the drugs wear off."
         "Where would he be?"
         Christine answered him. "With Hope." she said softly. She looked at Belinda. "Belinda, just how long do you think it would be before Oberon realizes that Christian's not dead?"
         Belinda swore.
         "Yeah. We've got to find a way to mask his magical signature. He's weak enough right now so it's not the big, glowing, neon sign it was before. But as soon as he starts to get better, they're going to know." She sighed. "I'm wary about trying to mask it myself. Christian's a hell of a lot more powerful than I am, and I also don't know the nature of whatever spell he put on Hope to keep her alive. Dampening his magic could hurt her." Christine shook her head. "Dammit, I just don't know."
         "Mask his energy with someone else's." a voice said.
         Christine whirled. "Owen!"
         He walked over to her and pointed to the Feather of Ma'at. "Give him that when he gets stronger. Right now, it's mimicking your own signature, and will do so for a long time. It won't start to mimic his in the time it takes you to teach him how to mask his abilities. It will keep him safe"
         Belinda launched herself at Owen, grabbing him in a huge hug, actually swinging him in the air. She put him down after a minute, grinning. "Owen, I could just *kiss* you!"
         Owen attempted to regain his composure, straightening his tie.
         Christine stared at Owen. "I...I didn't think you would come."
     "I don't know if you truly are of the Seven or not. They have been wrong before. They may be wrong now. How are they?"
         "Hope's still in the ICU. It...it really doesn't look good. They moved her out of critical but stable back into critical and unstable."
         "I'm going to go see if Christian is with Hope." Ares said. "And if what you say is true, that Oberon will be coming back, I want to move him to Athens as soon as it's possible to move him. We have all the medical supplies he'll need there, and if need be, I'll get a damned iron room built to keep him in until he's healthy."
         Christine nodded. "That's a good idea. He won't like it, but it's better than he is now, which is a sitting duck with a big bulls-eye target painted on his chest." she said dryly. *** *** *** ***          "Christian?"
         He jolted awake suddenly. "Hunh?" he said, whirling slightly.
         "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." Ares said, coming into the room. Christian wiped his eyes, shaking his head slightly to try and clear it. "How are you doing?"
         "I'm all right." he said. "My arm has been better."
         "How's Hope?"
         "Alive. But doctors keep coming in here, checking on her. They tried to shoo me out a few times, but gave up."
         "I see." Ares sat down next to his son. His eyes were drawn to his bandaged arm. He had looked at Christian's charts. It wasn't good. There was hope, yes. But at this point, the doctors were just happy to have been able to not have to amputate. It had been close, but the microsurgeon had decided to try to salvage it. It was too early to tell how much nerve damage had been done; that would come in the next few weeks.
         "I can't feel it." Christian said suddenly. "My hand. I don't feel anything much past my elbow. They told me that was normal and I should start getting sensation back within a week or so. But right now, I can't feel it. Or make a fist, or even move my hand."
         "It...it'll be all right, Chris."
         He shrugged. "All I want is her to get better. Oberon's blast was enough to almost totally destroy my arm, and she took the brunt of it. The fact that she's alive is a miracle. I don't care if I lose my arm, if she gets better." he said, bowing his head slightly, his hair covering his face.
         Ares sighed. "Christian...your mother told me what happened. With Oberon. You're not safe."
         "I know."
         "As soon as we can, we're moving you to Athens. Christine's going to train you to mask your magical signature, because that was how they found you."
         "What about Hope?"
         "We don't think she's in danger." Ares didn't say anything else; he didn't want to upset his son anymore than he was. Ares had looked at her charts. The doctors were doing their best, but they all fully expected her to die, and he didn't blame them. It was a miracle she was even alive now, but he knew a lot of that miracle was because of the ventilators, the monitors, the IV's, and all the other machines attached to her. All she was doing right now was dying more slowly.
         "She's not going to die." Christian said, looking up at his father, his eyes cold. "Do you understand me?"
         He backed up a step inadvertently from the look on his son's face. "Christian...she's in bad shape. The doctors..."
         "I don't care what they say. She's not going to die."
         "All right. Look, we'll discuss things later." Ares said, shaking his head. His son tended to be the most mild-mannered of people, but he was truly intractable at times. "For now, go to your room and get some rest. You shouldn't even be in here."
         "She needs me." Christian said softly.
         "And you need rest."
         "I'll go in a minute." he said, turning back to Hope. Ares sighed again, knowing this was going to be one of his son's bull-headed moments, then left the room. *** *** *** ***          He returned to the waiting room to find Mark getting ready to leave.
         "I'm going to go on and take Christine and Belinda home. They all need sleep." he said to Ares. "I'll be back in an hour or so."
         "They didn't want to stay here?"
         "They did. I told them no. What's the point? Belinda's going to conk out in an hour no matter what. Christine's too exhausted to try magic to keep her awake during the day, and she has got to get some sleep.
         "Are you going to try and sleep, too?"
         "I was going to come back and try and get some sleep here. I'll need to pick up Angelica in a few hours. Jesus." he muttered tiredly, rubbing his face. "I might call her friend Suzanne's mother and ask if she can stay there today."
         "If not, Jewel can watch her when she gets off detention." Ares made a face. "And that sounds wonderful."
         Mark managed a faint smile. "I wasn't exactly the model youth myself. You don't think she'll want to come down here when she finds out?"
         Ares rubbed his forehead. "She did want to come. She all but worships her big brother. Lord."
         "I don't want to bring Angelica down here until Hope is at least stabilized." He laughed dryly. "I don't even want to bring her here at all."
         "Take her to Athens. Gemini can watch her, too. I called her a little while ago to let her know how everyone was doing."
         "Thanks, Daniel." Mark said. "Let me go on and drop off Christine and Belinda. Like I said, I'll be in an hour or so." *** *** *** ***          "Ch-Christian?"
         Her voice was so faint that he almost didn't wake him up. It did, though, and he opened his eyes to look at her. He didn't know how much time had passed, but she was awake, although she didn't seem to be coherent. His arm was hurting and felt warm, but he ignored it.
         "Hope? Hope?" he said, feeling tears in his eyes again.
         She wasn't able to focus on him for very long; it seemed as if the effort to do so at all exhausted her. "Arm...you...arm?" she finally managed to whisper.
         "Christ, Hope." he said, shaking his head. "My arm...you're worried about my *arm*..." he trailed off. "The doctors think I'll be OK and I won't lose full use of it. They're hopeful, though." He brushed the hair away from her face. "Sleep." he whispered. He suddenly felt dizzy. But it went away quickly. She closed her eyes and almost immediately, her breath slowed and she slept, exhaustion winning out over the pain that had briefly woken her. Holding her hand, he slept as well. *** *** *** ***          "Dr. Ares, is it at all possible that you can get your son to *leave* the ICU?" the nurse finally asked.
         Ares snorted. "No."
         "Hope Bernett shouldn't be having any visitors at all. We've told him. We've made him leave. He keeps coming back."
         "That's my boy." Ares said dryly. "And he'll keep doing it."
         "He shouldn't be out of bed himself, sir!"
         "I know. He doesn't care."
         "It's not good for him. Can't you talk to him?"
         "I did. He ignored me."
         "What about his mother?"
         Ares glanced outside. The sun had just started to peek over the horizon. "She went home. She was exhausted. She'd been here almost seven hours."
         "If we can't get him to leave, we're going to have to sedate him."
         Ares raised his eyebrow. "There's a problem with that. He has a high tolerance of sedatives and most other drugs--the dosages necessary to put him under are almost high enough to kill him. Look at his charts; you'll see how much anesthesia they had to give him to operate."
         The nurse made a strange face.
         "I'll talk to him." Ares finally said. "But I get the feeling you'd be better off just sticking his bed in the same room with her." *** *** *** ***          "Let me talk to him." Alexander said softly, after having overheard the conversation. "Please."
         Ares looked at him. "You can try." *** *** *** ***          "Christian."
         He looked up when he heard Alexander's voice, tensing immediately. "Yeah?"
         Alexander looked over at his daughter. She looked more or less the same, although it seemed as if, and it had to be his imagination, she wasn't quite as pale as before. "She's not allowed to have visitors."
         "I don't care. She needs me."
         "Christian." His voice was soft. "Look at yourself. You aren't well enough for this." Alexander had seen it as soon as he had come in; the boy was pale and there was sweat along his brow. He may have been created to be a genetic superman, but in the end, he was only a man. "You're not going to do her any good making yourself worse. Have you thought about that? You have to get some rest yourself. Sitting by her bed in...in some sort of *penance* isn't going to do her any good. All you're doing is making yourself worse and trying to get rid of your guilt."
         "I'm no...!"
         "Yes, you are." Alexander said softly. "That's part of why you're sitting here. I know you blame yourself."
         "You blame me."
         "Yeah, I do." Alexander said flatly. "But playing the Blame Game isn't going to make anyone better. All it's going to do is make *you* worse. They don't even have her stabilized, Christian. They're threatening to tranquilize you to get you out. I know, it won't do any good. But they'll try. And will you getting upset do her any good? I'll see what I can do about getting your room moved closer to where she is. But you have to work with me. Please. Christian...would she want you to be doing this to yourself?"
         Christian stared at Hope for a minute. Then he closed his eyes and sighed tiredly. "All right." he whispered. He stood up slowly, getting dizzy from the sudden change in altitude, feeling more sweat on his brow. He shouldn't be up, he knew. His legs felt like rubber.
         "Christian, are you all right?" Alexander said, reaching for him to help steady him.
         "I'm fine. I...I will be when I sit down." he said, sweating more.
         "No, you're not fine." Alexander said, staring at him. "Sit." He gently pushed Christian into the chair and went to the nurse's call button. He glanced over at Christian. The boy had paled, turning an ashen yellow, and was shaking slightly.
         This was not good. *** *** *** ***          "He's in his own room, asleep." Alexander said when he came back. "I told him I'd see about getting his room moved closer to Hope. He's a mess. It looks like pushed himself beyond what he could do with as hurt as he is. For right now," he said, looking at the people left in the room--Ares and Athena, then Mark who came in a few minutes later--Owen had left to return to the Eyrie for the business day, Christine and Belinda were gone, "I recommend we all get some sleep while we can. Because I get the feeling we won't be sleeping very much for a long time." *** *** *** ***          "Dr. Ares?"
         Ares woke with a jolt. "Hunh?" he sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked at his watch. It was close to eleven AM. About six hours had passed--had they all been sleeping in the waiting room that long?
         Dr. Chabrundi brushed her hair back from her head. "I was just coming to tell you that your son's taken a turn for the worst."
         Ares paled slightly. "What?"
         "He's getting a high fever and it looks as if there are the beginnings of a viral infection."
         "Oh, no." Ares muttered, shutting his eyes.
         "We're doing what we can for now, but he's in a lot of pain. He doesn't seem to be responding to any of the painkillers we've tried. We even tried a morphine drip, and..."
         "No!" Ares yelled suddenly. Dammit, god *damn* it. "That's...that's why he's getting worse." He swore. All that genetic tampering was coming back, and haunting his *son*. His *son.* "His...his immune system is reacting to that. It thinks the drug is more dangerous than the infection." He shut his eyes. "Stop giving him painkillers." he whispered, the sound tortured. What had made so much sense to do when he was tampering, to just make it so no poisons or drugs could harm him...dear Lord...
         "Dr. Ares, do you know what you're saying?" Chabrundi said, eyes wide.
         "God help me, yes." he whispered. "His body is fighting off the drugs. He's so weak that he can't handle much beyond that. I know it sounds strange, but it's true. It's part...it's part of his genetic makeup. He's always been like this."
         She frowned. "I'll see what I can do." she said, leaving slowly.
         Ares stared after her.

*** *** *** ***

And the sins of the fathers would be visited unto the sons unto the third and the fourth generation.

-Exodus

*** *** *** ***

PART TWO: Et Super Nivem Dealbabor

AVALON

         "What?" Oberon said sharply.
         The Weird Sisters stared at each other nervously.
         "The boy is still alive."
         "But they masked his signature."
         "That's why we thought he was dead."
         "But he's still alive."
         "And so is Titania's great-grandchild."
         "Although she was badly hurt."
         "But the son of Belinda and Shiva still lives." Oberon hissed.
         The Werde sisters remained silent.
         Oberon looked up sharply. "We take our leave of you now, sisters." he said, bowing. A moment later, he was gone. He returned what seemed only seconds later, pale and determined.   He knew now that going after the boy would be a mistake. A costly one. But there was another way...not to revenge, but to stop the Twilight. And that was far more important. Far more.
         "Sisters...I have a job for you. Bring me...the Puck."

*** *** *** *** July 19, 2049

         Christian opened his eyes slowly when the sun set. His body clock had reset itself over the last few months, reaching the point where his would sleep during the day and wake during the night. He stretched and rubbed his eyes tiredly with his left hand. He ignored the pain in his right hand. It had reached the point that he was used to it. It was down now to a low-grade pain, twinges more than anything else, and that was far better than it had been.
         Three months. Three months. Now he was finally getting the cast off of his hand and arm. It had been so long, he almost had forgotten what his right hand looked like.
         There was a knock on his door. "Christian! Hey, Chris!"
         He opened the door. "Yeah, Mom?"
         Belinda grinned. "Guess what. I just got a call from 'Tine. She went into labor. Feel like heading over to Athens before heading to the hospital?"
         "Let me brush my teeth, shave, and get dressed." he said, smiling.
         Belinda's grin widened. "And brush your hair. It's a mess."
         He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Anything else, Ma?"
         "Hurry up. Unlike when I had you, Tine just drops 'em ouwwwwww!" Belinda said, tensing. "...out. But not fast enough. She's still in labor." she said through clinched teeth. She made a face. "Ahh, magical links. Gotta love 'em."
         Christian laughed out loud. "Was *that* how you knew she was in labor?"
         "Well, duh. And go ahead, laugh at your mother's pain." she said, sticking out her tongue. "Hurry up and we'll head over to Athens."

*** *** *** *** Four Hours Later

         "Hope. Hope. Wake up."
         "Hnnnh?" she said, slowly opening her eyes. "Christian! Hey." she said, smiling faintly.
         "How are you feeling?"
         "More or less the same." she said, shrugging slightly. "I hate this place."
         He glanced around the hospital room. "I don't blame you." She hadn't left the hospital yet. She couldn't. A lot more damage had been done than even the doctors had originally thought, and she'd been through three rounds of surgeries, with it looking like far more were needed. She'd pulled through that first week, only to have septicemia the next. Then an allegeric reaction to penicillin, which she had never had before. It had picked a wonderful time to develop--she'd actually had a heart attack as a result.
         "Hey! Your cast! It's off!"
         He nodded. "Yup. Just got it off." he said, glancing at his hand. He hadn't been out of the woods himself--he'd been warned he himself might need more surgery. Christine had put her foot down about magic--they didn't know what Oberon and done, and she wasn't taking chances. Especially since they didnât want to attract any attention at all from Avalon.
         "Do they know how much...?" she began.
         Christian shook his head. "They don't know how well I'll be able to use it. So far, things are looking up. I can make a fist, even though it hurts to hell. And the fact that it hurts is actually a good sign."
         She smiled. "That's good."
         Christian grinned. "Oh, and I have other news for you. You have a baby brother."
         Hope grinned. "What? You mean Mom had the baby?"
         "An hour or so ago."
         "Did they name him Joshua?"
         "Yup."
         She smiled tiredly. She was always tired.
         "So how are you really doing?" Christian asked her, brushing her much shorter hair away from her face. It had been cut about a month ago, from halfway down her back to just past her chin, because it was easier to do shorter.
         She shrugged. "As well as can be expected, I suppose."
         "I still...you shouldn't have..." he began, frowning. She had been through so much--it had reached the point where she was almost emaciatedly thin, despite the doctors' best efforts. Until her weight had gotten up to within ten pounds of normal, the doctors weren't going to release her from the hospital. And before they even did that, she was getting a heart transplant. It had been weakened from being punctured by her rib, and the heart attack she'd had after the penicillin had weakened it even more. They were growing a new heart for her, and looked as if they would probably replace the old one within a few weeks.
         "Christian." Hope said, looking straight at him. "If our positions had been reversed, you'd have done the same thing without a second thought. OK, so I'm liable to lose a year of my life getting better. I'd rather lose a year than you."
         There was a knock on the door before Christian could respond.
         "That's Dad. Alexander. He said he'd be stopping by today to see me."
         Christian smiled faintly. "I'm glad you two are finally getting along."
         "It only took gross bodily harm to do it." Hope said sarcastically. She sighed. "But then, it was always my fault. He tried. He always tried. But I never wanted anything to do with him. But you know me. I was being stubborn."
         "Better late than never." he said, squeezing her hand. "I'll let the two of you talk. Besides, I bet Mom's fit to be tied, wanting to head over to Athens and coo over Joshua. She did go through the labor, too."
         Hope laughed. "Bet that was fun. And go. My father is still waiting outside the door." she said, letting go of his hand.
         "And I'm still on his shit-list." he said, brushing his hair out of his face. "So I shall depart."

*** *** *** ***          Hope found herself staring at her biological father. He stared back, his eyes never leaving hers for an instant. She knew his face, and had for a long time. He was older than her first memory of him, of most of her clear memories. His red hair, the same color as hers, was flecked with grey now. She could see a lot of herself in his face, and she knew she looked more like him than she did her mother.
         "Tell me about my mother." she said suddenly.
         His eyebrows rose. "Your mother?"
         "Erika."
         He smiled faintly. "Erika." His smile was sad. "Erika." he said again, his voice softer now. "She was...something else."
         "Well, that helps." she said flatly. "Tell me about her. Mom won't tell me much about her. Oh, sure, she tells me what she did, but not who she was."
         He smiled wryly. "Well, that doesn't surprise me, much. Christine was usually a little off the mark with Erika--I don't think Christine really knew how to deal with someone as reserved and contained as Erika was--Christine could only barely read her daughter."
         "Why?"
         "She was contained. She modeled herself after Owen. Big time. But she wasn't meant to be like him. Temperament-wise, I mean. She was too...willful, I guess is the word. You're a lot like I imagine she would have been had she let herself go." He stared off into space, his eyes slightly unfocused as he remembered the woman. "I remember she would play the cello...it was the most amazing thing, to hear her play. It was the only time she'd let go.
         "Erika...that girl had a sense of humor. She hid it well--after all, there was a reason why a lot of people called her the "Ice Princess" behind her back--but her sense of humor was scathing. She was dry and sarcastic. And you never really knew what she was going to say." he said, grinning at a memory. "Or do. Once, I took her to this party I had to go to. Boring state function dad made me do. Dad had threatened to set me up with someone. His taste was terrible--he managed to find the biggest airheads. God only knows how he ended up with Mom and not a twit. Unless, of course," he said, smiling dryly, "Dad figured the smart ones were for marrying and the stupid ones for laying. Which would figure. But anyway. I asked Erika. I also asked her to, well, dress a little differently from normal. Normally, she would look like a frump. No, that's not right. She always dressed nicely. But her style was definitely that of an adult, not a nineteen year old. I asked her to dress more her age." He laughed out loud. "She was...she stole the show." he said. "Hold on." he said, and dug a wallet out of his pants. He flipped through it and pulled out an old picture. "This was from that night. One of my best memories of her." he said, looking at it for a minute. God, he looked so young. That picture seemed like a stranger. Only Erika seemed familiar, with her half-smile and impish eyes. He handed the picture to his daughter, who moved as little as possible, wincing as she moved.
         "Damn. That's a dress." she said, her eyebrow raising. That was her father? That boy didn't much look like who he'd grown into. Not with that devilish, easy-going grin. His whole manner in the picture seemed different. And her mother--she was almost glowing, and she seemed to exude being alive. All from a picture.
         She looked at her father. "You must have really loved her."
         He started slightly. Then he frowned. "I...I suppose I did." he finally said. "She was my friend--my best friend. And she was so lost for so long...I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for not being able to save her from herself." he said softly, his eyes far away, remembering back to when he was young and Erika alive, when she had been on the destructive path that eventually lead to her death. "You have no idea how much I've wished things could have been different...how much I'll always remember that I wouldn't help her the one time she reached out for it." He shrugged.
         "But what was she like? What kind of a person was she?"
         "Lost. She was lost. Always." He sighed. "And when she would play the cello...she started playing when she was very young, about six or seven. She could play the piano, but the cello came alive in her hands. When she played, the music that came from it was something that could take your breath away. She always tried to keep herself contained. But when she played...she would let go, then." He stared off into space, his eyes unfocusing as he remembered the past. "She was very serious. Very. But that sense of humor..." He sighed. "I can understand how she got so lost in events. She was so needy, but she hid it. She hid it so well even Christine couldn't see it. So well that even I didn't see it. She had a fragility that she hid, and that no one would see. Failing her is the one thing I regret the most in my life." he said, staring at the picture again.
         Hope was silent.
         "Get some sleep, Hope." Alexander said, patting her hand gently. She smiled faintly and he stood up. "I'll see you in the morning." *** *** *** ***          Owen was not expecting the arrival of the Weird Sisters.
         "To what do I owe the pleasure of your arrival?" Owen said flatly.
         "Oberon has commanded us to bring you to him."
         "He wishes to speak with you."
         "About a situation."
         "In case you have forgotten, I have been banished from Avalon." Owen said flatly.
         "Oberon has said for you to return with us."
         "We will use force if necessary."
         "But you will come with us...as Puck."
         Owen stared at them. "Let me make arrangements for leaving here. I trust I will not be gone more than a month, Earth time."
         "We do not presume to know Oberon's plans."
         "Of course not." Owen said, and picked up the telephone. *** *** *** ***          Oberon smiled warmly at his wayward Child. "Puck. It has been...a very long time."
         Puck looked at Oberon warily. "Yes...it has." he said carefully. Why had he been summoned to Avalon? Hope rose     that perhaps he had been forgiven, but also wariness--he knew Oberon.
         "Have you enjoyed your exile from your home isle?"
         "Well, I can't say it's been dull." the Puck said, masking his internal worries by examining his fingernails. "How's the farm been?"
         Oberon's face tightened slightly. "We are going to make you an offer, Puck. The offer to return home."
         "Have I been forgiven?"
         "No."
         His eyes flew open in shock.
         "But we will allow you to return, if you prove your loyalty to us."
         "How?" Puck asked warily.
         Oberon smiled. "The Götterdämmerung is coming. The portents are all there. But we have been forewarned, and so will cut off the Seven before all of the appear."
         "What has this to do with me?" Puck said warily. "I am a trickster, not a warrior."
         Oberon smiled coldly. "Yes...but you will do best for this, because of your...inside track. I have consulted an oracle, and so now I know what we must do.
         "The Seven are of the line of the little mortal you care about so much. The hybrid Christine."
         Puck felt himself paling. This was not good. "What are you...?" he began.
         "The Judge must have her Forerunner. If we kill even one of the Seven, the odds have changed. The Forerunner is one of Christine's direct descendants. She has two small children now. Now is the time to strike.
         "So here is our offer, Puck. None of us would be able to get near them. But you can. Kill them. Kill the children and you will be allowed to return home."
         Puck stared at Oberon in a mix of horror and disgust. "Well, gee. What a *delightful* offer. You want me to kill children. What next, flambée a few puppies?"
         "Not just *any* children, but..."
         "Children! Ones that I happen to know and care about!" Puck roared. "I'd always wanted to be able to come home, but now...may the Götterdämmerung come to pass, and Hecate's curse be fulfilled!" he roared at Oberon. "I'll be taking my leave of you now, oh *gracious* one."
         Puck began to vanish, when he found himself unable to move.
         "Nay, Puck. You have made your bed--you lie in the bed of the Seven, against your Family. You truly have chosen the mortals, and I can not allow you to warn them. Sisters!"
         The Weird Sisters moved forward.
         Oberon smiled coldly. "Throw the traitor into Tartarus. He can rot there for eternity.
         "Welcome home."
         Puck began to scream. *** *** *** ***

July 21, 2049

         Mark finished changing his son's diaper, then redressed the baby. Jeez, the baby was little--sometimes he felt like he'd break him. He picked Joshua up, still amazed by him. Joshua moved a tiny bit, then settled against him, far happier now than he had been a few minutes before--not that Mark at all blamed him.
         He smiled at the baby. "We...won't tell Mommy how full that thing got, OK?"
         Joshua yawned suddenly, his entire face scrunching as he did. The baby stretched out a small arm then settled against his father, moving his mouth in a way that Mark and Christine had picked up early on meant that he wanted something to drink, and if they got it to him soon enough, he wouldn't cry. Mark put the baby in his crib and went to find him a bottle. He glanced at the clock when he was in the kitchen--Christine would be back fairly soon. Magic or not, she still had problems being awake during the day, and the only reason she was awake was because she was at the hospital, visiting Hope in the visiting hours before her surgery in the morning. He was heading over later, after the sun set, when Christine would be more awake and could watch Angelica and Joshua.
         He also glanced out the window, to see Angelica playing outside, her stuffed lion with her--it looked for all the world like she was having a tea party. Little girls would always be little girls, and he smiled at the scene. She looked up and waved at him before going back to her make-believe world.
         He went back upstairs to Joshua's room.
         The bottle fell out of his hands after he opened the door.
         "Who are you? What are you doing here?" he snapped, defensive. "Get away from my son!"
         The Weird Sisters turned to look at him.
         "Luna...he returned a few minutes too soon."
         "Fated then."
         "Yes."
         "Leave us, human."
         "We have a task to do."
         "Get away from my son!"
         "The child must die."
         "Bloody hell!" he hissed.
         "The child must die."
         "WHAT?" he yelped.
         "But you don't have to."
         "Leave. Only those of corrupted blood are part of the Götterdämmerung--your blood is pure."
         "Leave you to murder my son?" he roared. "Who the hell are you?"
         "The Weird Sisters."
         "Watchmistress of Avalon."
         "The Guardians of Oberon's domain."
         "We are the protectors of Avalon." they said as one. "We are protecting Avalon. Begone, mortal!"
         One of them motioned with her hand, but Mark had dropped to his knees then rolled before her magiks could reach where he was. He had been the Hunter--perhaps he was a mortal, but he was scarcely a "mere" one. His only thought, more than anything else, was to protect his child, and he had known the second he had seen the fey that they meant to hurt Joshua. And to discover they meant to kill the boy...why? He was a baby. How could a *baby* be a threat to them?
         He wished Christine was there. She had fought fey before and knew their weaknesses far better than he. All he knew were the basics--powerful with an aversion to iron. In fact, that was how she'd killed Hecate--her iron sais. Dammit, where did she keep them? He dove through the Sisters, grabbing his son out of the arms of one of them, then rolling with the child cradled in his arms and running out the door.
         First things first. Weapon. He could run, they would follow. Hell, he'd dealt with Owen Burnett as the Puck, and that was an experience--he'd deserved it, but still. Running wouldn't help for long, but it might give him time to get Joshua and Angelica somewhere safe. The Eyrie was closest. He would get them to the car and make a break for it. But first, he needed one of the sais--pure iron, if nothing else, they would slow the Weird Sisters down, and that could make all the difference.
         *Where did Christine keep her sais?!!?*
         Joshua began to cry.
         Luckily, his cries were still the small, weak cries of a newborn so he wasn't too loud. But Mark was distracted; he focused and was able to ignore his son and try to think. Her iron sais. Yes. Now he knew. He ran to their bedroom, ripping open the closet doors and grabbing a large locked box that was behind her clothes. All of her weapons were here. He tried to open it, to discover it was locked. Shit. What the fuck was the code? He punched in a few numbers and they failed. He tried again.
         "You did not run far enough, mortal."
         "Do not fight this."
         "We will make this as painless as possible."
         "But it must be done." the three said as one.
         "I think not." Mark hissed, jumping to his feet, one of her sais--he prayed it was the iron one--in his hand. They drew back slightly, and the sai felt almost...*alive* in his hands, humming, as if it knew that it was hurting them.
         "There is fey blood on that blade!"
         "How? Is it possible...?"
         "Hecate...?"
         "My Sisters, we must act!"
         They were unable to use their magic now, the iron and magicks in the blade jarring them, though not as much as the realization that it had been used before, against their kind. They had seen Christine with Oberon, but had not believed until now...
         "Get out!"
         "Kill them both!" Phoebe barked.
         They attacked.

*** *** *** ***

Kyrie eleison
Christe eleison
Kyrie eleison

[Lord, have mercy
Christ, have mercy
Lord, have mercy]

*** *** *** ***

         "D-daddy?"
         The childish whisper broke the silence of the scene. Luna turned, the only one to react since Selene was hurt--badly--and Phoebe was trying--and failing--to fix the worst of the damage from the iron-silver sai. All three, soon, were staring at the child, her eyes wide and her breath hitching, who stood in the doorway. "D-Daddy..." she whispered again, her large light brown eyes--his eyes--filling with tears. But they didn't spill out from her glittering eyes; the tears stayed there, stayed in the eyes that took in the entire scene in front of her. She looked from them to her father's body--and her brother's body--and back again, understanding filling her. But reaction--nothing. Only those glittering eyes and the silence following her barely whispered words that hung in the air, pregnant in the emptiness that followed. She dragged her eyes away from her father again, turning slightly to look at the three dark elves who were there and had killed her father and brother. Her dark, accusative eyes that spoke more than she could, ripping at the three by way of the pain in them.
         Silence, long and heavy, before she spoke again, her words as even and calm as her whisper before had been tortured. "You killed them." she said, her voice flat and older than her few years. It was not a question, simply a statement of fact, with a weary resignation in her child voice.
         She closed her eyes then, clutching the stuffed lion in her thin arms, burying her face in it before looking back at them. Her eyes suddenly went blank and the stuffed toy nearly fell out of her arms.
         "You may have killed my daddy and my brother...but that won't stop what's coming...you won't stop it...it's only going to come now for sure...only one more thing has to fall into place...and that will, now..." she whispered, her voice that of one ancient, her eyes far away and a strange light glowing in them. "Mommy's going to come...the Destroyer...from her the Forerunner...because of this..." she whispered. She clutched the lion even tighter to her body, her words coming out slowly, like the words of one drugged.
         Her next words chilled them--the words like the prophecy they had first heard uttered millennium ago, only different, giving more information than they had gotten so long ago. And her voice--the voice of one ancient, strangely separate, frighteningly certain, sounding like the words of one in a dream--for she was in a dream, the child, dreaming awake, dreaming of the future she saw, her words weaving the dream for them.
         "From intermingled blood the Seven have--and will come. The shattered Destroyers seek only to destroy what has tried to destroy them, and nothing, will stand in the way of destruction, nor stop them until it is complete. One the child not of woman born nor man conceived, the dark angel."
         The three fey watched the girl talk, unable to move or to take their eyes from her. They watched as she began to rock back and forth as she spoke with words far older than she. They watched, captured by some sort of horror, as while she spoke, she began to cry tears of blood from her left eye. She continued to talk, oblivious to the blood she wept. "The other the child of darkness, the dark mirror twin. The Destroyers will not care who is destroyed in the course of their Quest. One Avenger, the Strength, the Hidden Sword, will not see the Palace of the King. The Forerunner, bastard of the three Folk, the archangel who foretells the Judge and who wields the sword, the hidden sword the Horn Resounding. And last is the Judge, child of the orchestrated two; the judge who will bring the dawning."
         Her eyes were wide and staring like one blind, the left rimmed in blood, tears of blood ran unnoticed by the dreaming child, unnoticed now as the blood that now began to run from her left ear.
         "The death of Hecate, at the hands of the Angel of Music and Princess of Death, has happened."
         Her eyes suddenly snapped on the fey. A strange wind blew her hair. "You feared the wrong one. you fear the Dawning, when you should fear the Twilight. You feared the Ma'at, the Judge...when it was not she you should have feared--the Ma'at is the end, the judge of both, not the angel of destruction or vengeance. There is another you should have feared far more. One who won't let anything stop your destruction, when before, before this, stopping it was possible.
         "None of us here, not me, not my father, not my brother, were destined to be one of the Seven." she whispered as a final welling of blood appeared--now from her left nostril. "But if I live my fey-forced line will stop the Götterdämmerung; if by the same type as the Forerunner, tied equally to protect us."
         A drop splashed onto the floor.
         She stopped suddenly, her eyes abruptly snapping out of the place in her mind they had been, leaving her looking dazed and frightened. "D-Daddy...?" she whispered once, then her body convulsed and she fell to the ground.

*** *** *** ***

         "Another must see." Lachesis whispered. "Another...must see, must foretell for the Seven. The child was to be the Cassandra, but she will not be enough."
         "Yes...she could be powerful enough, but she need not fill the role alone. It can be filled by another. The role is fated, the player--or players--are not."
         Clotho looked away from her skein. "Who then, shall take her place? Who shall lead them then, with the visions?"
         "A Destroyer?" Lachesis asked.
         "Nay." Clotho said, shaking her pale head. "Nay, none of the Destroyers--they wouldn't heed it."
         "Agreed...but who is to see? Who would be able to stand the visions?"
         "We shall have three. Three prophetesses, seven angels, none shall overlap. Two have been chosen; now we shall chose the third."
         They were silent. Then all three stood before the tapestry woven by Atropos, and touched a single thread. It glowed for a moment and Atropos wove, using it now in a different way; taking the place of the shortened thread that had been a Destroyer's child. This one had been destined for visions anyway, now they would be stronger then before.
         Silently, they returned to work.

*** *** *** ***

With a gasp, Hope's eyes flew open and she awoke screaming, stretching out a hand, her eyes wide with horror. "DAAAAAAAADDYYYYYYYYY!"
A drop of blood fell onto the bed.

*** *** *** ***

To be continued