 
In Icarus' Shadow

"Immortal", Book One

By Matthew Jones

Copyright 2012 Matthew Jones

Cover Art by Boris Rasin ©2012

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements And Legalities

\- To Makesha, without whom this work would never have been. She was my sounding board and my test audience, but most importantly, she believed in my ability to get it done in the first place.

\- The Lord Elgin Hotel (100 Elgin Street, Ottawa, ON, Canada) appears with the kind permission of its Director of Sales and Marketing, Ann Meelker.

\- The Ottawa Police Department (OPD) is a fictitious organization. It is in no way based upon the Ottawa Police Service (or any other existing police force), nor are any of the police officers depicted in this work of fiction based upon real individuals; any similarities are coincidental and unintentional.

\- The author has taken creative license with the buildings and locations within the city of Ottawa; not every location or establishment mentioned is necessarily where it is described as being.

Chapter One

Nadia Lawson raised her collar against the wind as she walked down the street. It was early April, but winter had not quite released its grip. And while she was glad to be done with boots and heavy clothing, it wasn't quite time to put away her jacket just yet, particularly with the day overcast the way it was. Still, the brisk nip carried by the breeze was not nearly enough to keep the sidewalk from being crowded with people; that was how it worked in downtown Ottawa, after all. She was only a few blocks from the Rideau Centre, which was a crowded area no matter what time of the year it was. Stepping out of the solid mass of moving people and up against the wall of a building, she fished around in her pocket and, finding what she was after, produced a note, upon which she had scribbled an address and a time. Referencing a nearby street sign and her watch, she nodded in satisfaction of her timeliness and continued on through the crowds, sidestepping her way around a mother pushing her two children in a stroller with a fond smile at the little ones as they cooed up at her in passing.

Despite having to navigate the crowds, Nadia was excited. Ecstatic, even. She could not believe she had finally gotten a lead on her story. And after months of getting nowhere and stubbornly ignoring the ridicule she received in regards to her work, it was more than welcome. She admitted that the idea of her story was a little far-fetched. Investigating whether some of the 'monster hoaxes' of the past had been deliberately orchestrated to bias the public's opinion against the paranormal was not something most people would take seriously. And it wasn't that she disagreed with the idea either; the witch hunts of the 16th and 17th century were compelling evidence of what could go wrong when a society believed too strongly in the supernatural. But she was determined to make a name for herself as a journalist; and if she uncovered proof that it had all been engineered she would do exactly that.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she came to the corner of a building and saw a mark chalked onto its brick; it was little more than an 'L', for Lawson, drawn in a stark white squeezed in between two different pieces of graffiti, but it was what she had been told to look out for. Retrieving the note from her pocket, she compared the address she had been given to that of the marked building. Satisfied that she was in the right place she pulled a mirror from her opposite pocket, taking a moment to make sure she looked professional. Her raven hair was up in a ponytail and her green eyes had, thankfully, shed the look of being half-asleep that she so detested having in the mornings. Nodding at her reflection she proceeded into the alley, taking a few steadying breaths as she gripped the strap of her camera bag. She saw it was a dead-end right away; and with precious little in it save for some litter and more graffiti. She frowned, but chided herself for being nervous. This was her chance and she would not blow it because she was feeling skittish. Besides, the worst her contact could tell her was that he didn't know anything substantial, and she had definitely heard _that_ before. Besides, there were plenty of people passing by, what could go wrong?

She turned as she heard footsteps scraping across the pavement behind her. A tall, thin man dressed in dirty, patched jeans and a weathered jacket was framed in the entrance of the alleyway, sizing her up. She cleared her throat. "Hello? Are you the one who offered to help with my story?"

He swaggered into the alley, nodding. "Yeah, that's me."

Her breath caught as he continued to approach, accompanied by a sinking feeling in her stomach that told her she may not have thought this through quite as well as she should have. She backed away slowly, keeping at least a foot between herself and the hostile presence of the man. Feeling a need for something in her hands to defend herself with, she slipped the strap of her bag from her shoulder and held it tightly.

"That's close enough." She winced at the crack in her voice and the man smirked. She brandished her bag at him and he stopped his approach, although she was practically against the wall as it was. "Now tell me what you know, so I can go home."

He shrugged. "You want me to spill? Fine. Here's the facts. A buddy of mine stopped by a couple days ago, gave me your name and two hundred bucks, asked me to set you straight about sticking your nose into folks' business. You follow me?"

"Yeah, I follow you." She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag, but hesitated to swing. Despite the situation she found herself oddly concerned with damaging her camera.

The sound of a man clearing his throat pierced the tension, catching both of their notice. Nadia felt a slight upsurge of hope as she saw the new arrival, a young man who appeared to be of roughly her own age. He was clean, shaven and his clothes actually fit; all of which were positive marks in her book. He was about six feet tall, with a medium build and, though his dirty blond hair and friendly blue eyes did not make for an imposing countenance, she had never been so happy to see a stranger. The thug accosting her, however, was not quite as thrilled by the interruption. He glared reproachfully at the newcomer for a moment before turning fully around to address the issue. Nadia, now behind her would-be assailant, saw the back of the thug's jacket bore a graffiti-style design; which she assumed spelled something, but to her looked basically like an overturned plate of spaghetti.

The man with the pasta-like jacket design scowled down at their uninvited guest. "What do you want? We're in the middle of something here."

The young man smiled, a little too cheerfully. "Oh, sorry, I hadn't realized. I won't be a minute, honest. You see, I was walking past and I nearly fell over a section of piping." He hefted the object in question into view: a foot and a half of rusted but solid metal. "I heard voices and thought I would warn you not to trip over it yourself. You could be seriously hurt from a stumble like that."

Pasta-jacket looked distinctly put out by the veiled threat, but knew when to beat a hasty retreat. "Point taken, little man, I'm not sticking around to get my head bashed in." He glared at Nadia. "You just stop sticking your nose in other people's business." With that parting remark he edged past the pipe-bearing youth, disappearing around the corner and into the passing crowd. With the immediate danger passed, Nadia used the opportunity for a deep breath of relief.

The man set the pipe down on the ground, careful not to drop it on his foot. He wiped his hands off on his jeans, taking a deep breath of his own as he straightened up. He turned to Nadia, his forced bravado traded for a look of slightly shaken concern. "Thank goodness that's over. Are you all right? That is, he didn't hurt you, did he?"

She shook her head, slumping against the back wall for a moment to gather herself. "No, I'm fine, thank you, Mr...?"

He smiled. "Carmichael. Thomas Carmichael. But Thomas will do just fine. And you are?"

"Nadia Lawson." She nodded at his introduction, but frowned as it sank in that her lead hadn't gotten her anywhere. Scuffing the toe of her shoe against the pavement, she sighed and straightened up as well. "Well, thanks, Thomas. Sorry, but I have to get home. I've got... well, nothing to do, but it's about the only place I want to be just now."

He looked at her, obviously not following; how could he have, without knowing anything about what she had even been doing in an alley to begin with? "What's wrong?"

"If I told you, you'd laugh."

Thomas smiled encouragingly, miming that she should proceed anyway with his hands. "Try me."

She studied him for a moment and decided he meant it. It was worth a shot, at least. "I'm a journalist. Or, I want to be one. I'm working on a piece to prove that the paranormal has been intentionally discredited by our media."

He processed this for a moment. "Do you have any proof, yet? Or any theories as to why they would go to the trouble of doing that?"

She was taken off-guard for a moment as she realized he hadn't begun mocking her. "Uh, well, no, not yet. This was my first real lead. Or, I thought it was." She stopped herself and looked him in the eye. "Wait. Are you really taking this seriously?"

He nodded. "Yes, I am. And, if you ask me, you still have a lead."

"I do?"

"Yeah. He's sauntering down the street right now."

Nadia almost kicked herself; she dashed out of the alley, going in the direction the spaghetti-backed man had gone as fast as she could without actually breaking into a run, weaving between the flock of people headed in the same direction she was. Growling quietly to herself, she stood on tip-toe to try and pick her quarry out from amidst the dozens of other people, but without much luck. Coming up on a local bus stop, the masses ahead of her abruptly thinned as a dozen or so sprinted to catch the city bus that pulled up behind her as she passed; and, to her great satisfaction, Pasta-jacket came into view at the same time. Determined not to lose him again, she kept her eyes locked on the back of his head, even as Thomas jogged lightly to catch up to her. As he fell into step beside her, she flashed him a grateful smile before turning back to the matter at hand. "Thanks. I wasn't thinking clearly, you're absolutely right. Even if it has nothing to do with my story, something is going on here."

Thomas nodded, seeming a little nervous about the idea of following someone. "Yeah, but aren't you going to call the police or something? If that guy was willing to assault you, no questions asked, for two hundred bucks, I'm willing to bet his friends aren't exactly a stand-up bunch."

Nadia shrugged. "They would just detain him and ask if I wanted to press charges. The moment I mention my investigation, they'll think it's some kind of prank. Everyone else does."

Her new acquaintance sighed. "I have to admit you've got a point. All right, all right, fine. I'm coming with you."

She raised an eyebrow, turning to him for a moment to make sure he saw it. "Why?"

He threw his hands up in exasperation. "Because it's dangerous, that's why!"

She grinned, both in gratitude for his help and in amusement at his frustrated worries. "Well, then welcome aboard, Mr. Carmichael. Just remember, this is my scoop, so you're working for me."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "It's just Thomas. And I'm a volunteer, not your employee."

She laughed and was about to reply when a flurry of movement drew her attention ahead of them. Their quarry had jogged across the street and was fumbling with the door of a red, slightly rusty car. Nadia scowled, knowing her own vehicle was a block away.

"Just isn't my day today," she sighed.

"No kidding. Any ideas?"

She shook her head, but in the process of doing so caught a glimpse of something that changed her mind. "Why yes, yes I do." She turned and waved to attract the attention of what she had seen. "Taxi!"

Thomas chuckled, going around to get in the far side as the car pulled to a stop at the curb. Seeing the driver's enquiring glance in the rear-view mirror, Nadia flashed her most winning smile. "We're going where he's going," she informed the man, pointing to the red vehicle across the street. "But try not to let him know that, all right?"

The cab driver followed the red vehicle like he was a trained professional, through lights, around corners and down the one-way streets the downtown area was infamous for. Nadia was not as impressed by this as Thomas was; it had taken the promise of an extra twenty dollars to convince the driver to follow the car in the first place. Still, nothing could dampen her spirits so long as the hope of progress on her story lay before her. Pasta-jacket drove ahead and if he knew he was being followed he did not show it, taking them on a twisting route through downtown Ottawa. Outside the cab's windows they saw tiny, two-floor heritage buildings built of ageing, rust-coloured brick squashed between modern giants of glass and steel. Nadia smiled to herself, remembering the first time her parents had brought her here and how astounded she had been by the vibrant atmosphere of the area. The old buildings, right alongside the new, displayed colourful signs proclaiming what was within, while old, chipped paint hinted at the building's original purpose. The whole area was a bulletin board of sorts, where anyone and anything could be found, from small shops to large businesses. She caught a glimpse of Parliament Hill through the aisles of steel and brick, its aged but beautiful architecture further showcasing the area's diversity.

But it was hardly the time for sightseeing and they soon passed from the cultural melting pot that was the downtown area. Their pursuit led them, ultimately, to a parking garage, where their unsuspecting lead left his car and got out to continue on foot. Paying the cab driver, the pair followed at a distance, infinitely grateful that this part of town had only the occasional fellow pedestrian to share the sidewalk with; it was much easier to follow someone when you could actually see them from a distance. The area they were in now had been built up around a few warehouses, but when the industries operating the spaces had folded the area had quickly fallen into disrepair. Pasta-Jacket seemed right at home, however, swaggering down the street the way he was.

Thomas could feel himself beginning to sweat as he considered what exactly it was they were doing. It was fairly obvious that they were in one of the city's low-rent areas by this point; their clothes alone marked them as outsiders. Nadia snapped him out of his worried thoughts with a tug on his sleeve, and pointed after their mark. Thomas followed her gesture and saw him entering a run-down motel complex that now seemed to serve as something of a horizontal apartment block. Watching from afar, they saw Pasta-Jacket enter room sixteen and shut the door behind himself, effectively marking the end of their trip.

Nadia drew Thomas into the alley behind the complex, speaking in a stage whisper that absolutely reeked of conspiracy; had anyone actually been able to hear, Thomas was confident they would instantly know the pair were up to something. "All right, we've gotten this far. Help me find the window to his room."

Thomas gaped. "You can't be serious! We already stick out like sore thumbs here, what are we going to do if somebody sees us? There can't be a cop within six blocks of here!"

She put a finger over his mouth, tutting in disapproval. "Hush it, would you? Somebody's going to hear you and then where will all of your worrying have gotten us? Now, let's find the window so you can boost me up."

Thomas blinked, taken off-guard by the finger on his mouth. He sighed as he realized he couldn't talk her out of it and instead resolved to get this over with as quickly as possible. Nodding his agreement, he started down the alley with her, counting the windows. Maybe he _did_ worry too much, but he was becoming increasingly convinced that Nadia didn't worry at all.
Chapter Two

Jason growled to himself as he strode to his car, shoving his way through a gaggle of teenagers that found themselves in his path and ignoring the complaints they aimed at his back as he stormed on. He had been stupid, not bringing any kind of insurance when he was hassling the girl. She had been stupid, not giving up when she knew damned well she couldn't get away. That punk with the section of plumbing had been stupid, just for turning up when he did. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And now, just to crown his day, he had to drive all the way across town to some shoddy motel to get his balls busted. He knew that he would probably be missing the two hundred in his wallet before the day was out; that grated on his nerves worst of all.

The drive to the motel was a long one, mostly because of traffic, but he didn't see most of it glaring at the road in front of him the way he was. He swore at a few tailgaters, made a rude gesture or two at select pedestrians and almost felt better by the time he pulled into the parking garage a few blocks from his destination. It didn't last. Walking across the sparsely occupied parking lot of the old motel, he felt the pit in his stomach widening and his courage sliding into its maw. It took a concerted effort to climb the creaking metal stairs to the second floor and a near-Herculean one to knock on the door of room sixteen.

He flinched as the faded green door opened inward, a wide-shouldered silhouette filling the frame in its absence. "Jason. Come in."

Jason swallowed, squeezing against the wall's yellowed paint to circumvent the giant as it closed the door behind him. "Thanks. How've you been, Ty?"

The big man placed one of his frying-pan hands on Jason's shoulder, eliciting a small squeak from his guest. "Same as the last time I saw you, a couple days ago. Step into my office."

Jason felt himself being steered along, his host's bass tones still echoing in his throat. With a light push from his host, he found himself seated. Which was for the best, really, since his legs would not stop shaking. "So... good, then?"

The giant sat opposite him. His desk was a comically tiny thing; it seemed to come up to no higher than his waist. Even the window set into the wall behind his desk was barely noticeable around his massive torso, with only the hint of a cool breeze making it around the veritable landmass that now sat opposite Jason. Glancing at Jason, he idly straightened some papers on his desk. "That depends on what you've come to tell me, now doesn't it?"

Jason could feel the sweat crawling down his back; he would have been nervous, had he had to tell anyone what he was here to say. The fact that he had to say it to this particular man made it worse. Tyrone Burgess was, in a word, intimidating. It wasn't the way he kept his face and head completely clean-shaven, or the way those stern, brown eyes could pin you like a butterfly. No, the reason was far simpler; the man was enormous. Coming up on eight feet tall, his shoulders scraped either side of a doorway when he passed through one. The rippling muscles under his dark satin skin reinforced what you already knew; this was not a man you wanted angry with you, not if he worked on the shady side of the law. And Tyrone had a history of doing just that.

Jason swallowed again, a lump already formed in his throat. "Well... I scared the girl pretty good, Ty."

The man smiled, flashing white teeth. "Good. She's spending a little time in the hospital, then?"

"Uh, well, no, not exactly." He flinched as Tyrone's expression hardened. "But she had help! Some punk kid turned up with a piece of steel piping, the hell was I supposed to do, get my head busted in?"

Tyrone sighed; a long, deep sound reminiscent of a dry wind echoing in the bowels of an empty well. "So she's not hurt, she walked away with her rescuer and, instead of busting up their little fairy tale, you came crawling back here. That about right, Jason?"

Jason swallowed, his throat scraping as he found himself parched. "Y-yes... but Tyrone..." He stopped as the big man held up a hand.

"Before you start spilling your guts trying to get me to let you off, don't. It would only insult me. Do you know why that is, Jason?"

"No, I don't. Uh, Sir."

"It's because I'm not like you. When I send someone like you to handle something, I don't send him alone. Do you know why that is, Jason?"

Jason felt some part of him raising rancour at the big man's condescension, but he hastily squashed it down. "No Sir, I don't."

"To put it bluntly, it's because you're an amateur. So the one I'm mad at, right now, is the man who was supposed to be there to make sure you did the job right."

Jason felt the tiniest ray of hope enter his thoughts; he might just make it out of the room without needing a cast. "So... I'm off the hook?"

Tyrone chuckled ominously, the rumblings in his chest causing his desk to vibrate. "No. Not yet. First, you're going to help me find the man. I don't appreciate it when my business partners fail to hold up their end of a deal."

Jason felt his hopes turn to lead and drop into his gut. "Oh... I mean, of course. Where do I go, then?"

"Right back where you started. Last I heard from him, he had been setting up on a rooftop where he could see the spot you were supposed to meet the lady at. He goes by Mr. Black, but I doubt it's his real name. It doesn't matter, a man can't just disappear. He leaves a trail. I've got some friends looking around for it right now, but you're going to go lend them an extra pair of eyes. You get me?"

Jason nodded hastily. "Yes Sir, I get you, loud and clear. I'll head over there right now."

Tyrone waved his assurances aside without so much as a glance, already turning his attention to the paperwork on his desk. "Get your lips off of my ass, Jason. Move."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thomas ground his forehead into the coarse texture of the aged brick. It hurt, but not nearly as much as the toes of two shoes digging into either of his shoulders. In retrospect, he should really have made Nadia take them off before climbing up to listen at the window. Still, it had been a chore in itself to get her upright and balanced; she had flatly refused to come down without overhearing the entire conversation going on inside room sixteen. He couldn't hear a damned thing, but she kept whispering to herself about some 'Pasta-jacket' and craning herself to get nearer to the window; which was excruciatingly distracting, in all honesty. When she finally signalled that he could put her down, it was all he could do to keep himself from dropping her.

Leaning his back against the wall, he massaged his shoulders gingerly, wincing as his fingers made contact with the dents in his skin. "So?"

Nadia paced before him, apparently oblivious to his discomfort while gathering her thoughts. Fishing a notepad and pencil out of her camera-bag, she took up a spot beside him up against the wall. "Pasta-jacket Jason wasn't supposed to be alone when he cornered me in the alley."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "...The hell kind of a nickname is Pasta-jacket Jason?"

His off-topic question prompted a sigh and Nadia gave him an exasperated look. "Oh hush you, just stand there and listen. Now then; Pasta-jacket was supposed to have someone looking out for him when he cornered me. Some... I don't know, he sounded sort of like a hit-man or mercenary. Mr. Black. Obviously an alias, but it's something to go on at least. They didn't say why they needed to keep me from asking questions, but it seems they were pretty keen on it."

He watched her jotting this down as she spoke. "All right, so can we get out of here now? We can look for clues on Black's true identity from somewhere a little safer, can't we?"

She frowned at him again, resuming her pacing. "No! The man Pasta-jacket was talking to, this 'Tyrone' guy said something about where Black was supposed to be during my almost-mugging. A rooftop nearby. He might have left something there."

Thomas fidgeted at the idea of hunting for some hit man's things on a rooftop. "Nadia, look, I get that this story is important to you, but there is no way that rooftop is empty right now. If this Tyrone is pissed at the mercenary for not showing up, he'll have men all over it."

She paused in mid-stride, looking a little sheepish. "Oh. Yes, he may have said something about that being the case."

Thomas smiled in relief. "Right, so, we have to wait until they're gone, at least. We can at least ask around about his name and get some more information on who we're dealing with in the meantime. We don't have to just sit on our backsides and do nothing."

Nadia poked the raw patch on his forehead with one finger, making him wince. "You're patronizing me, but you're right. Fine, we'll go back to my apartment and see what we can find out from there."

He held up his hands in mock-surrender. "That's all I ask!" Seeming satisfied, she withdrew her finger, just in time for him to pick up on part of what she had said. "Wait... _we're_ going to go back to your place? Why do you keep including me in this?"

She grinned. "Hey, you're a volunteer, you can leave anytime you like. But could you really live with yourself if you read in the papers that a talented journalist-to-be had come to an untimely end?"

He shook his head in amazement as she walked on ahead of him. He had to admit there was a certain charm in her saucy personality, there was no way he could deny it. Still, her naiveté was going to get her into trouble and he had the feeling she knew it; accepted it, even. The fact that she trusted him enough to make him the one to help keep her out of that trouble made him feel both honoured and frustrated. Sighing, he followed after her with a reluctant smile crawling over his mouth.

The pair found their way to the nearest gas station to locate and make use of a phone. It was approaching evening and their second trip by cab was dominated by the orange-tones and reflexive squinting that comes along with the setting sun, along with a healthy dose of rush hour traffic. Fortunately, they weren't going far by cab. Arriving at their destination, specifically Nadia's light blue Prius, they climbed out of the dark blue car they had been riding in and got into the lighter-toned vehicle. Thomas settled into the passenger side and Nadia almost sighed in relief as she turned the steering wheel in the direction of home.

As she drove, her thoughts turned to what she had to do when she got to her computer. The odds of Mr. Black's name turning up anything were slim to none and she wasn't expecting to get anywhere that way. No... This was going to take time and research. Two things she didn't have patience for right now, what with her big story dangling just in front of her. She smiled smugly as a better alternative occurred to her.

"Thomas, would you mind getting my cellphone out of my purse for me, please?"

He blinked, turning from the window to look at her. "Uh, sure, but I'll feel a little weird going through a lady's things."

Nadia rolled her eyes. "I would do it myself, but my hands are kind of full. Don't worry about it; there isn't anything embarrassing in there to offend your male sensibilities."

Thomas retrieved the bag in question from the floor between them and found her mobile as quickly as he could. Normally she would find his bashful behaviour over this amusing, but just now she was more interested in making her phone call.

"All right, good. Now, under my contacts, find my father's number and hold it up to my ear so I can speak to him."

He stared at her, incredulously. "You can't be serious. What, you don't have a headset?"

Nadia didn't so much as bat an eye. "I'm quite serious. I've got savings, but I'm not going to spend my money on anything I don't need to. I know you've done a lot for me today, but this is the last favour, I promise. Now c'mon, help me out here!"

Thomas sighed, but did as he was asked. Nadia drummed her fingers against the wheel as the phone rang. She smiled as she heard the line being picked up and her father's voice answering in his usual business-like tones.

"Lawson residence."

"Daddy, it's Nadia. You will not believe the day I've had."

"Is anything wrong, sweetheart?" She smiled again at the concern in his voice.

"It almost was, but it's all turned around now. I'll give you the details properly as soon as I've had some time to relax and get everything straight in my head. I'm calling to ask you for a big favour."

"Sure enough. Shoot. Oh, wait, hang on." She heard him cover the phone and the muffled sounds of him talking to her mother. "Your mother wants me to remind you that if you don't call and tell us what happened... yes, Dear... what almost happened, we'll just call you until you do."

Nadia laughed. "Yes, Daddy, I know. Now, are you listening? I want you to get in touch with your friends and contacts from the office to find out everything they know about a man going by the alias 'Mr. Black'. He's based locally, at least at the moment, so hopefully that makes it a little easier."

There was a pause and she could picture her father taking his pen and pad out of the pocket where he always had them. "Mr. Black? What sort of work does he do, if I might ask? That should help me narrow it down more than the name would."

"He's a mercenary of some kind, usually hired by organized crime, that sort of thing."

This triggered a second pause. "Sweet Pea, do I even want to know how you got this name?"

She smiled innocently, somewhat glad that her father couldn't see the expression. "No, I don't think you do. It's part of the story though, so don't worry, you'll find out anyway."

Her father sighed. "All right, all right. I'll put my ear to the ground and get back to you in the morning."

"Thank you Daddy. Tell Mom not to worry, I've got someone looking out for me on this one. I love you both and talk to you in the morning."

"We love you, too, Nadia. Take care of yourself and... wait, did you say you had someone with you? Someone as in a boy someone?"

She giggled. "Goodnight, Daddy."

Hanging up the phone and putting it back in her purse, Thomas settled back in his seat. "You sound close to your father."

Nadia smiled. "To both of them, actually. Daddy's been a journalist since before I was born, so if anyone can help us out, it's him."

"And your mother?"

"She's a retired police officer. That's how they met, actually. Daddy had been doing a report on some of the criminals the Ottawa Police Department had arrested and the department's usual liaison had called in sick. Mom was asked to fill in at the last minute and ended up having to answer questions right up until her shift ended. Once she was off-duty, she couldn't answer any further questions about the case, so Daddy asked her to dinner instead." Nadia smiled softly. She had heard the story many times and as far as she was concerned it was just as romantic as anything she had seen in the movies.

He smiled. "That's good. That you're so close, I mean."

Thomas went quiet after that, looking back through the window at the scenery passing them by. Nadia glanced his way, curious, but her attention was drawn to the road as the turn in to her apartment approached. Easing the car into her space, she turned off the engine and got out, making sure to snag her purse from the floor. Thomas got out of the opposite side; taking a moment to get his bearings. The area was much less busy than the downtown streets had been, though the hour likely had more to do with that than anything else. The apartment was a vertical rectangular prism of white concrete and, judging by its clean surfaces, seemed fairly new. The area itself had grass along the sidewalks, though that wasn't particularly strange in the capital. Looking down the street, Thomas could just make out a large shopping centre, as well, with the city's transit system's red signs indicating some kind of a main station on its far side; he resolved to get a better look at it from Nadia's apartment, if it faced the right way.

Nadia let them in and found herself studying her new acquaintance as they rode the elevator up to the tenth floor. She had not had very much time to stop and think during the day's whirlwind of activity, but she realized she knew very little about Thomas. Some part of her took a moment to marvel at how she was not even remotely concerned about bringing him up into her apartment, but she pushed this aside; for one, he had helped her a lot today, and for another, he was a bit of a mouse. She seriously doubted that he had any real violence in him at all. Certainly, his silence in the car after talking about family had raised a few questions in her mind, but she did not want to pry so soon. She decided to ask him once the opportunity presented itself. For now, though, she intended to see to the rumbling in her stomach. Judging by the sounds coming from Thomas' own midsection, he would appreciate a large pizza as much as she knew she would.
Chapter Three

Thomas woke with a stretch and a yawn, pausing in the middle of both actions as he saw an unfamiliar ceiling above him. An immaculately white ceiling, no less. Sitting up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he got his bearings. The walls were the same colour as the ceiling, an endless expanse of white running to the light grey carpet. The room's furniture was, in a word, sparse. A television sat on a three-legged stool instead of a stand of its own and the dining room table was a card table with folding legs, accompanied by a single chair. Thomas found that he currently occupied the couch; a long three-cushion sort of a thing with an only slightly scratchy surface and a floral pattern. Still, the room avoided looking dull or poor through decoration. The card table had been clothed in a blue cloth with a simple silver design on its border, giving it a certain stroke of class as long as one did not notice the scrawny metal legs. The walls sported a healthy complement of pictures, some of a smiling individual, others of a posed family and still others showing flowers or summer-time scenes. Thomas smiled as he recognized the smiling individual in most of the pictures, relaxing as he remembered where he was.

He could hear nothing from elsewhere in the apartment, which almost guaranteed that Nadia was still asleep. He took a moment to do a few limbering stretches and to smooth the wrinkles in his clothes before heading into the kitchen. Hunting through the cupboards as quietly as he could, he found a cast-iron frying pan of serviceable size. Setting it on the stove he then searched the fridge, which was as sparsely filled with food as the living room had been with furniture. He found a carton of eggs, along with a brick of cheddar cheese, and set about making himself something to eat.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nadia woke to the smell of what registered only as 'breakfast' to her sleep-addled brain. Yawning, she turned onto her side and came nose-to-plastic with a plate set on her bedside table; a plate of still-steaming scrambled eggs topped with cheese and, after a quick sniff, garlic. She smiled as she sat up, building a table of pillows on her lap for her unexpected meal. Unfortunately, her cellphone picked that exact moment to interject and she sighed as she placed her untouched plate back on her nightstand. She took a quick bite of the meal before reaching for her mobile. She unplugged the offending noisemaker from its charger, swallowed her mouthful of eggs and flipped her phone open.

"Hello?"

Her father's voice answered. "Good morning, Sweet Pea. Did I wake you?"

She shook her head, forgetting that he could not see her. "Mmm... no. I was about to have breakfast."

"Breakfast? At 7:30 in the morning? You?" She smiled at the amusement in his tone.

"Yes Daddy, I am a grown woman now and my days of sleeping in until the afternoon are over." She smiled innocently to herself, knowing very well she usually woke up between ten and eleven. A trifling detail she need not mention, of course.

"Well I'm mighty proud of you, Nadia. I'll get down to business, then, I don't want to keep you from your meal. It's about this 'Mr. Black' you asked me about last night. I haven't gotten very much back on him yet, but it seems he has a room rented out at a boarding house down on King Edward, near where it intersects with Rideau."

Nadia nodded, jotting 'Boarding house - Kind Edward Avenue and Rideau Street' on the pad she always had nearby. "That's a big help, thank you Daddy."

"Sweet Pea, I don't want you going down there. The area doesn't have the best reputation and if this guy works with organized crime that just makes it riskier."

"Don't worry; I'll make sure Thomas comes with me when I go check the place out."

She could almost picture him massaging his temples as he sighed. "You've got your mother's tenacity and my curiosity. There just isn't any stopping you, is there?"

Nadia grinned. "Nope! I'll probably head down there later today. And don't worry, I'll be careful. Mace and stun guns may be illegal, but I'll be keeping one of those aerosol cans of air freshener in my purse from now on. I doubt anyone will give me much trouble after that stuff gets into their eyes."

"That's not like you. What happened yesterday to make you so cautious, Nadia?"

"Oh, it wasn't any big deal. I was following up on a lead I had gotten, but it turned out that the guy I was to meet with had been paid to deter me from asking any more questions."

"Sweet Pea, remind me later that I need to sit you down for a talk the next time you come by the house. Getting attacked qualifies as a big deal. Were you hurt at all?"

"No Daddy, I told you, I'm fine. Thomas was passing by and came to my rescue. I explained my investigation to him and he even agreed to help me. We tailed the man back to his boss' office and that's how we got Black's name."

Her father was silent for a long moment. "As much as I want to lecture you right now, you are an adult and I have to admit I'm impressed by how you pursue your career so... determinedly. I want to meet this 'Thomas', though. Soon."

"Why? He's a nice guy, Daddy, really. You don't need to interrogate him for his motives or anything like that."

"Nor was it my intent. He saved my daughter; I think I owe the young man a thank you at the very least. Plus, I would like to think my instincts as a journalist and a father are sharp enough to tell me when you've taken a liking to someone."

Nadia felt her face redden slightly. "That's silly; I've only just met him! I mean, sure he's a big help and a good cook, but that doesn't mean anything."

"Uh-huh. A 'good cook', is he? Considering you've only just met him, could that mean he's made you breakfast the very first morning after you met him? Which, I should add, also means you felt comfortable enough with him to let him stay the night on your couch?"

The blush deepened. "Daddy, do you have any idea how creepy your journalistic insight gets in these situations?"

"Oh, I have an inkling. But I'll leave it alone for now, if only because he did save you. That gets him some positive marks in my book. Your mother and I will expect you, and your young friend, for dinner sometime this week, though, all right?"

"Yes Daddy. Thanks again for the information, I love you."

"Love you Sweet Pea. Take care now."

She closed her phone and dug into her breakfast, thankful it was still mostly warm. She regretted that she could not give it the attention it deserved, however, as her mind was preoccupied with what her father had said. He had been right on target, she had not even thought twice about inviting Thomas into her apartment last night. Shaking her head, she took a deep breath and pushed that line of thought aside for the moment. Just because she trusted him did not mean she had feelings for him. He had rescued her, she was grateful and he had so far been a gentleman and a valuable friend, but that was all. Nodding at her internal monologue's summary of the situation, she finished her breakfast and set to getting dressed.

A few minutes later, she stood in front of her room's full length mirror to study her appearance. She wore her hair up in a ponytail as she usually did, but had traded her blouse and slacks for a pair of jeans and a dark green t-shirt. Her father's words had stuck in her mind and she nodded at her more casual style of dress in satisfaction. She opened her door and scooped up her plate and fork as she passed into the hallway. Entering the main room, she was momentarily surprised when she did not see Thomas on the couch. She re-entered the living room after placing her dishes in the sink and spied her guest on the balcony. Leaning against the closed screen door, she watched him for a moment before speaking up.

"Good morning."

Thomas jumped slightly as he turned, smiling sheepishly. "Oh, Nadia, good morning."

She cocked her head to one side. "What are you looking at?"

"The shopping centre. I noticed it down the street when we arrived yesterday and I was curious which it was. It's St. Laurent, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, that's the one. Did you need something there?"

He shook his head. "No, I was just curious."

She laughed quietly. "You're a strange one, Mr. Carmichael. How was the couch, did you sleep well?"

"Oh, yes, quite well thank you. And yourself?"

"Fine. Oh and thank you for breakfast. I was kept from eating it while it was hot, but it was delicious."

He smiled. "Oh, it was no trouble; I was making some for myself and thought it was good manners to offer you some, since they were your ingredients to begin with."

"Well, it was thoughtful of you. Anyway, my father called and we've got our next lead. A boarding house down on King Edward Avenue, supposedly around the Rideau intersection."

"That's supposed to be a rough area of town, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but Ottawa's pretty good for that sort of thing, in my experience at least, so I think we'll be fine. I'm bringing some insurance in my purse, just to be safe, though."

"Sounds like a good idea. Can't say as I blame you after yesterday."

Nadia nodded. "Well, it wasn't that bad of a day, but it could have gone a lot worse. So I figure it's best to make sure today doesn't make up for it."

He chuckled. "That's definitely true. So, knowing you, I imagine we're leaving soon?"

She smiled innocently. "You've only known me for a day, Thomas and already you've learned so much. Is there anything you need to do before we go, or anything to pick up on the way?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I'm pretty self-sufficient."

She stepped back from the door and opened it for him. "All right then, let's be on our way."
Chapter Four

Dodgy; that was the one word that best summed up the street Black's chosen boarding house was located on. About a block from the intersection of King Edward Avenue and Rideau Street, tucked in between a long-closed grocery store and a vacant lot. A forgotten parking garage rose, inexplicably, behind it, a half-finished reminder of some construction project that never came to fruition. The boarding house itself shared the street's look, but more than anything it seemed tired. Old, faded paint clung to bare brick, too greyed and pale to even remember what colour it once held. The windows had achieved a state of being perpetually clouded without any visible dirt to wipe away. The roof was the only part that looked like it had been maintained in any way. Leaks tended to drive tenants away faster than a building's appearance, after all. A small parking area rounded out the view, with a weathered, greyed wood fence separating the small, pothole-ridden lot from the side of the parking garage nearest the boarding house.

Across the street from the building, Thomas and Nadia took all of this in with one, long look. They tilted their heads to one side, then the other. A few people, strolling on their way to the local convenience store, gave them an odd look or two as they passed. An old, creaking car crawled by as they just stood there, staring. Nadia finally broke the silence, stirring herself to life by clearing her throat and motioning toward the building as she spoke.

"So... Shall we, then?" She did her best to sound determined, but the place was falling short of her expectations so far.

Thomas turned to her, a slightly amused expression on his face. "You're serious? The place looks like a good sneeze would blow it over."

"Yes, I am serious. Condemnable or not, I'm going in there to find my lead."

He sighed. "All right, but I have a bad feeling about this... I swear, if this guy has rigged the walls with explosives or something, you'd never be able to notice, they're probably full of holes as it is. Perfect alibi, too; emergency demolition to prevent the structure from collapsing onto passersby."

Nadia giggled as she started across the street. "Oh please, you're being dramatic. Nobody outside Hollywood blows up buildings. And besides, it would draw more attention to the place than we will by going in there."

"I guess. Still, I don't like it. Not a bit."

"Duly noted. And remind me to check the going salary for stand-in parents, so I know how much I owe you at the end of the week when you're still standing there."

Thomas shook his head and started after her. "Whatever it is, it won't be enough to cover the situations we keep getting into."

She rolled her eyes. "You worry too much, Thomas."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Thing is, it's usually the ones who do that are able to see their impending doom approaching with enough time to get out of the way."

Nadia looked over her shoulder at him, her impatience tempered by her sense of humour. "Oh? Then why are you still following me around? Listening to you, I'm starting to think I'm the herald of the apocalypse."

She grinned to herself as Thomas fumbled for a response. The conversation was put on hold, however, as they climbed the steps to the front door; a paled, but serviceable, work that hung only slightly crookedly from its rusting hinges. A dollar-store variety sign, framed by the dull red of the door's faded paint, hung from a nail on its upper half, sporting a collection of cheery cartoon animals gathered above the word 'welcome'.

Thomas looked at the sign from the base of the steps as Nadia reached for the handle. "Oh, great, perfect. That settles it; evil forces are at work here."

Nadia stifled a laugh as she opened the door and Thomas closed it behind them. The lobby, if you could even call it that, was about as faded and silently desperate as the outside. The check-in counter was built in what must have once been the entryway's closet and a thin, balding man was draped across it. His obnoxious snores left no doubt as to his state of well-being and Nadia wasted no time in politely waking him with a light knock on the wood beside his head.

The man sat up abruptly as he was startled awake, accidentally placing his hand directly into the drool he had left on the table top. Grimacing, he wiped his hand clean on his pants' leg. For the desk itself, he threw a tissue onto the lingering saliva. Finally finished with his somewhat revolting task, he acknowledged the pair's presence with a bleary gaze and a grunt. Taking this to mean she could speak, Nadia did her best to smile.

"Hello, Sir. We've been looking for a room around town all week, but we're on a tight budget. Are your rooms very expensive?"

The man grunted again, his glassy-eyed gaze taking a moment to study Nadia and her hovering comrade. Moving slightly, he straightened his posture and took a deep breath. The ensuing belch filled the room with the odour of a night spent nursing a bottle or seven and explained the deadened look in his eye without a word spoken. Seeming bolstered by his unintelligible expletive, the man focused on Nadia at last.

"Nah, they're not expensive. Go on upstairs; take a look at room eight. Lady stayin' there hasn't been in for weeks and if her rent isn't in by the end of the week, she won't be staying any longer."

"Thank you, Sir. May we borrow the key to the room, please?"

He grunted, as if just remembering keys were a factual existence and not some vague imagining and fished around beneath the desk, producing the key. "Here y'go, miss. If it's to your liking, let me know. If the price ain't right, we can come to some kind of arrangement, I'm sure."

His glassy eyes roamed to places south of her face at this final remark and Nadia swallowed the outburst she felt clawing its way from her throat before it could burst free to ruin their chance of getting upstairs. Instead, she smiled as she took the key.

"Thank you for being so accommodating, Sir." She turned to the stairs, motioning Thomas to come along as they made for the stairs.

Stopping for a minute, she hissed in her companion's ear. "Walk right behind me."

Thomas wasn't sure he understood, but did as he was asked. Reaching the second floor, Nadia made to rest her head against the wall, but thought better of it when she saw the state of the bare, discoloured drywall. Turning back to Thomas, she buried her face in his shoulder and shouted, the sound muffled enough to not carry away from them. Straightening up, she took a deep breath.

"Sorry. And thank you, I didn't want that creep ogling my backside as I went up the stairs." She shuddered at the thought.

He nodded sympathetically. "I don't blame you. And it's all right, I understand completely."

Refocusing herself, Nadia remembered the key in her hand. "Now then... room 8 obviously isn't the one we want, if a woman is staying there."

Thomas nodded in agreement. "We could knock on the other doors, just to see which are occupied and which we need to check?"

Nadia studied the object in her hand while she listened. "That could work. But I think we should try our luck with this key, first."

"What for? Do you think we'll find anything that could connect to Black?"

Nadia grinned and held up the key for him to see. It was a standard metal cut, but what was interesting about it was the number painted onto it in black. Faded, like everything else in the weathered building, the number was nevertheless recognizable not as an 8, but as a 3.

"I guess hangovers can be useful."

Thomas chuckled. "I guess so. Well, all right then, let's give it a try. I still don't like this, but it's about time we had some extra good luck."

Nadia moved to the door with the correct number and knocked. "Excuse me? Is anyone home?"

Receiving no answer, she fit the key into the lock. When turning it gently succeeded only in confirming the lock's need for maintenance, she twisted it more sharply and winced at the grinding noise that came in answer. Turning the knob, Nadia pushed at the door experimentally and sighed in relief as it opened inward. She saw only darkness through the crack the door's movement had created and opened it further. The light from the hall leaped into the room, revealing a bare floor and precious little else. Frowning, Nadia stepped inside and fumbled for the light switch.

The incandescent bulb flickered to life, illuminating what the light from the doorway did not. Even with the room properly lit, however, it appeared vacant at first glance. It was only with a second glance that the pair noticed a bulletin board set on the rear wall, tucked into the corner. The cork surface of the board was busy, to say the least, covered in notes of all sizes and colours the way it was. These were held in place with thumbtacks, safety pins and bent paperclips jabbed into the cork. All in all, it was a stark contrast to the otherwise vacant room. A door-less doorway on one side of the room led to a kitchen area and a closed door on the opposite side of the room presumably contained the washroom.

Thomas nodded toward the kitchen. "I'll poke around in there. Do you want to peruse the bulletin board?"

Nadia nodded. "I do, thanks. Let me know if you find anything that tells us we're in the wrong apartment, so far I'm drawing a blank on whether we have to check another room or not."

He nodded. "I know what you mean. I wonder if the guy at the desk forgot one of the rooms was vacant."

She shrugged. "He was hung-over enough. Still, if this room isn't being rented out, why would there be anything on the walls?"

Thomas had no answer for her and left her to study the out-of-place object while he nosed about in the adjoining room. The uneasy feeling he had about this place was growing now and rapidly approaching the level of full-blown anxiety. He chided himself for being so nervous and busied himself with the details of the kitchen. 'Empty' was the first word to come to mind. The refrigerator was bare and, as a quick touch on the inside confirmed, broken or not even plugged in. Checking the cupboards, his paranoia was equally unsatisfied by the cobwebs and dust he found there.

He walked back out into the main room and saw Nadia was using her pencil to track her progress across the bulletin board's many notes. And she was roughly half-done reading so far, he noted. He checked the washroom next and was surprised by its size. Even with a shower, toilet and sink counter, its floor space rivalled that of the kitchen. Checking beneath the sink, he again found nothing and he sat on the toilet's closed lid for a moment to take a few deep breaths. His nerves simply refused to steady. Standing, he moved to the sink and let the water run for a minute before leaning down to splash some onto his face. The icy cold liquid caused him to splutter for a moment, but did wonders for his anxiety. Drying his face with his shirt, Thomas walked back out into the main room.

Nadia glanced over her shoulder at him as he returned and he shook his head at her unspoken question. Sighing, she turned back to the bulletin board. It was gibberish, mostly, and quite infuriating. The notes themselves were a mess, arranged in haphazard order, some overlapping each other to the point that a few notes had only a few words visible at all. The only thing she could make of it was that at least two individuals had contributed to the confusing montage, judging by the handwriting used on the notes. She did not want to touch or move them in case this room did happen to be Black's; leaving a clue that she was here for a mercenary hit man to find was not high on her list of priorities. And besides, there had to be some kind of clue hidden in it. The mostly obscured notes had not been removed, simply posted over top of and she knew the moment she took it down, she would never be able to put it back exactly as it had been.

Thomas appeared at her shoulder. "Any luck?"

Her frustrations with the board caused her to bristle. "No; and I'll thank you not to interrupt me."

He recoiled slightly and she could see the offence taken on his face. "All right, all right, sheesh. You don't have to bite my head off."

She deflated and looked at him apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'm convinced there's something in this I'm not seeing and it's aggravating me. Just look at the first note; 'Fireman kaleidoscope reporter bananas dragon overturn street jargon stone.' It doesn't make the least bit of sense, but then why would it be here at all?"

He nodded. "Yeah, that's a fair point. Could be that you need a clue to decipher it before you can find the clues inside it, though and we don't know what the clue is."

Nadia sighed. "It reminds me of a cryptogram. You know, the sort they put in children's puzzle books to give them a challenge. They give you a hint and a bunch of numbered spaces to fill in for the answer. You need to unscramble a group of words and at least one letter in each word corresponds to a number, which you then use to fill in the answer."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound like any puzzle I ever did as a child. Your parents had high expectations for you, didn't they?"

She laughed quietly. "Yeah, I guess they did. And I remember fighting with them a lot when I was a teenager, but I'm glad they pushed me to be the best I could be. It's why we're so close now. But we're getting way off-subject here, talking about family and letters and numbers." She paused, blinking. "Letters and numbers." She turned to Thomas, a smile spreading over her face. "A number!"

He looked at her in confusion. "Pardon?"

She ignored him for a minute as she pulled her pencil and pad out and began to jot things down, combing the bulletin board rapidly now that she had an idea in mind. She crossed things out here, jotted them down there, but slowly her page filled and Thomas had to admit he was eager to know what she had thought of, nerves or no nerves. Finishing, she nodded at the, now crowded, page and gave Thomas a quick hug in exuberance.

"We did it!"

He blinked, taken off-guard. "Did what? What does it say?"

Returning to her own personal space, she looked at him. "Hmm? What?"

"What does it say?"

She paused, blushing slightly. "Oh. Um, I'm not sure. I was just jotting it down, but I didn't actually read it."

He took a moment to process that, a quietly amused smile spreading over his face. "You may want to; I think the man downstairs will want us out of here sooner or later."

She shuddered at the memory of the man. "Ugh... I'm hoping to sneak out the window, personally. Point taken, though."

Nadia moved to the bulletin board, using her pencil as a teaching implement. "You see how the notes are in an organized chaos? If we assume that it was deliberate, it becomes more than just a mess. I noticed that the first writer left more notes than the second and that their notes came in groups."

She pointed to a group of two or three notes in a row, all in the same handwriting. "These groups have the other writer's notes stuck in between them. Like responses. Now, even assuming that, they don't make any sense. So I used a number to decide which words to count. In this case, the number three, since that's the room we're in. Simplistic, I know, but if you're going to create a code, it may as well be one you can remember, especially when you can protect your secrets simply by moving the notes around. Anyway, I wrote down the third word of every note used in the groups and that's what I've got on my pad."

Thomas nodded as he processed this. "It makes sense. So, what does it say?"

"Well, let me see... 'Reporter overturn stone, must resolve. Contact Tyrone, share problem, share resource. Low profile hit, no far attention. Must remain unknown to authority public.'" She frowned at the words; she knew she was on the right track, but it was still a rather halting read for her tastes. "That's kind of a pain, let me smooth it out some..."

Thomas nodded and stood back as she wrote out a more complete batch of sentences beneath what she already had.

Looking up at him, she grinned a little more confidently. "All right, here goes; 'Reporter overturning stones, must be resolved. Contact Tyrone... I'm not sure if 'share problem, share resource' means Black should tell Tyrone about the problem or that Tyrone has the same problem?"

"You said Tyrone is a local and well-established, right? So he likely has the resources Black would need."

She simply answered with a nod, making the necessary adjustments to her notes. "All right, assuming it's the same problem, then. 'Reporter overturning stones, must be resolved. Contact Tyrone; shared problem, shared resources. Low profile hit, no further attention. Must remain unknown to the authorities and the public.' Sounds about right."

"Yeah, agreed. This definitely seems to be Black's apartment. Looks like this is where he gets directions from his boss. Is there a name?"

"Well... I'm not sure. The last three words on the last note in this handwriting are 'belt of Orion'."

"Orion's belt is part of the constellation of Orion himself, right? I'm not sure I see what astronomy could have to do with this. It could be an intentional break in the code, to throw us off."

She thought this over for a moment. "Maybe... but I don't think so. Why make a code to safeguard your secrets, make the information easy to destroy and then take the further precaution of throwing false leads into it? I mean, it doesn't mention Black's name at all, if we didn't know he was involved this would tell us practically nothing. The same goes for this 'Tyrone'. If we didn't already know Tyrone Burgess was involved, that wouldn't have helped us either. I'm sure there are plenty of other people with the same first name."

"So we assume that 'Orion' is this guy's alias for now, until proven otherwise?"

Nadia nodded. "I'll do some research later, see what the name turns up. It could suggest the character of the fellow at the very least and perhaps his motivations. Most constellations are named after mythological figures; those always come with a story."

"Fair point. It's not likely, but definitely worth a look. What do the notes in the other writing say?"

"Nothing. I tried taking the third word from them, too, but it still doesn't make any sense. Most likely, this Orion character leaves the blank spots for Black to fill in with gibberish. That way he knows the message has been received and it makes the overall appearance of the message board look even more garbled."

Thomas looked thoughtfully at the bulletin board. "They've certainly put some thought into it. I'm curious, though, why hasn't it been changed? What I mean is, you were almost mugged yesterday. Black was supposed to have been there, but wasn't. The only reason I can think of to explain that would be that Orion decided to change the plan at the last minute, but there's nothing here about that, or any new instructions at all. So where did Black go and why?"

Nadia sighed. "I don't know. It certainly explains why Tyrone was so pissed off, he probably doesn't know anything about Black answering to someone else before him. You're right, though. Black should have known better than to cross Tyrone Burgess without a very good reason. And if his boss didn't give him that reason, it doesn't make any sense that he would break their agreement."

"It's a conundrum all right. But we're not going to figure it out standing here. Shall we go return the keys to your new boyfriend?"

Nadia shuddered and socked Thomas lightly in the arm. "Don't even joke about that. You had better get in his way if he starts ogling me again."

He gave a light bow. "I'll do my best to preserve your modesty, milady."

She rolled her eyes. "Smart-ass. You're just lucky I believe you or I'd slug you again."

Fortunately, the offensive man was once again asleep when they returned. Putting the key on the desk beside him, the pair made a hasty exit and were only too glad to get back into Nadia's car and leave the building far behind.
Chapter Five

Nadia rested her forehead against her desk, sighing in exhausted frustration. She and Thomas had visited the library nearest her apartment after their trip to the boarding house, in search of information on the mythology behind Orion, and had been sorely disappointed. Precious few books existed on the subject alone, as the story of Orion was a fairly brief one that was most often mentioned alongside other Greek tales. And what mentions they had found were difficult to understand or conflicted with one another, except on the point that Orion was a great hunter. A hero, even, to some. But beyond that, the details became hazy.

Lifting her head off of the table, she refocused her attention on the screen in front of her. When they had returned home, she had started combing the internet for more information, but hadn't had very much luck finding anything new. The display in the corner told her it was very late, nearly early, and she knew Thomas was sound asleep on the couch behind her by now. Taking up her notepad, she saw the same words written there as had been when she started; 'Orion - great hunter'. Surely she could do better than that? Barring a miraculous stroke of luck, they would never find out who Black was working for with so little to go on. She rubbed her eyes, took a sip of her long-cold coffee and went back to work.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thomas woke some hours later to find Nadia slumped over her desk, breathing slowly and evenly. He saw the open web browser on her screen and the half-dozen tabs she had had open when she fell asleep; at least several pages of notes were beside her and he quietly picked them up to peruse them. She had noted many of the pieces of information conflicted with one another, some even stating that the constellation of Orion was identified in some of the stories of Orion himself, meaning they were not necessarily one and the same from a mythological standpoint. Still, she had been up all night writing this information out; there had to be something they could use out of the events attributed to Orion's life. Events taken together could become a story and that's what they needed, even if some of the details weren't quite right. Something to suggest the character of Black's unknown employer.

Orion's birth had two main stories that pertained to it. One was that he was the son of Poseidon and Euryale, the daughter of King Minos of Crete; the very same king who had banished his wife's half-bull son, Asterion the Minotaur, into the labyrinth. As a child of the sea god, Orion was supposedly granted the ability to walk across water with ease, though other stories stated he was so large he merely walked along the bottom with his head and shoulders above the waves. The other version of his birth story was even more outlandish. Hyrieus, an old farmer who made his home in Thebes, had offered hospitality to three travelling strangers one night. After supper, they asked him if there was any wish he held and he told them that he regretted having no son of his own. Taking the hide of the oxen Hyrieus had provided for dinner, the three strangers urinated upon it and buried it in the earth, instructing Hyrieus to dig it up in ten months' time. When he did, he found Orion. The three strangers, supposedly, were the gods Zeus, Poseidon and Hermes; it was in return for the old man's generosity that they had granted his wish. Thomas made sure to note that both stories involved Poseidon as a father, of sorts; the least he could do was keep the myriad mythological figures organized.

The events of Orion's life, fortunately, were more readily agreed upon, or at the very least were less contradictory despite being told by different individuals. Travelling to the island of Chios, Orion fell in love with the daughter of Oenopion, the island's ruler. He attempted to win her approval, but met with limited success despite being described as the most handsome of earth-born men. One night, after drinking too much wine, he attempted to force himself upon the subject of his affection, but was foiled by her father's intervention. Outraged by the hunter's drunken attempt to steal his daughter's virtue, Oenopion blinded Orion on the spot and sent him away from Chios. Heading north, Orion came next upon the isle of Lemnos, the favoured land of Hephaestus, another of the Olympian deities. Having been lamed himself, the god of the forge took pity on the blinded Orion. He asked one of his apprentices, named Cedalion, to serve as Orion's eyes for a time; the blinded man carried the youth upon his shoulders as he continued on his way. Receiving instructions from an oracle, the pair travelled to the east. When morning came, Cedalion directed Orion to look directly at the rising sun and, upon doing so, the hunter found his vision miraculously restored.

Orion was also mentioned in the mythology surrounding the Pleiades star cluster. The Pleiades, in mythology, were seven sisters; namely the daughters of Atlas and Pleione. Apparently one to fall in love easily, Orion was mesmerized by the Pleiades the moment he saw them and took to chasing them hither and yon across the land. He continued chasing them until Zeus scooped the sisters and their mother from the ground and placed them in the sky for safekeeping. Atlas, Thomas noted, was absent from the story because he had been sentenced by Zeus to hold up the sky long before, after a mythological event known as the 'Titanomachy'.

The stories around Orion's death were the most confusing by far and held the greatest number of conflicts and alternate versions. In one tale of his death he bragged of his skill to the goddess of the hunt, Artemis, that he could kill any beast upon the earth. The earth itself punished his presumptuousness by creating Scorpio, the scorpion, to poison him. The goddess herself then asked Zeus to place the hunter among the stars in recognition of his skill in life. In another version, he again demonstrated his weakness to alcohol when he attempted to ravish Artemis and in her anger she brought Scorpio forth from the earth to sting him. In yet another variation, Orion was killed attempting to save Artemis' mother, Leto, from the same scorpion. A well-known, more dramatic version, had it that Orion and Artemis had been in love, so much so that the goddess of the hunt had been seriously considering breaking her vows of chastity to marry the earth-born; her twin brother, Apollo, had disapproved of this. One day, while Orion was swimming far from shore, Apollo pointed his distant shape out to Artemis and challenged her to strike it with an arrow. Accepting his challenge, she did so and only later learned her arrow had struck her beloved. Artemis then placed his outline among the stars to honour and remember him by.

Thomas found his own head spinning as he tried to find some common thread to string the stories together. The only common themes between most of the accounts of Orion's death were the Scorpion and Artemis herself, with both appearing in some capacity in virtually all of them. The goddess of the hunt was a logical inclusion in the story of a great hunter, he supposed. Still, the character of Orion did not seem appealing as an alias for a criminal, unless he prided himself on his hunting skill. And considering the earth-born giant supposedly hunted with a club made entirely of bronze, this did not really lend itself to the modern day idea of hunting. Scorpio would have been a better moniker given its success against the hunter, but that had not been the name used. He sighed, disappointed that he could not find anything more from Nadia's notes. He could only imagine how put out she would be upon waking to find her late night had been fruitless. Leaning against the back of the couch, he rested his head against the wall to clear his head.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thomas was startled awake by Nadia sitting down on the couch beside him and silently chided himself for falling asleep again. He watched as she bent over his summary of her notes and read over his own thoughts without a word. Finishing, she sighed and noticed he had woken.

"So you couldn't find anything either, huh?"

Thomas shook his head. "Sorry. There really isn't very much there that sounds like a criminal to me. Obviously Orion had issues with alcohol and women, but those don't sound like great things for anyone in organized crime to be known for; at least not when you're as bad with them as Orion seemed to be."

She laughed softly. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I didn't really like the stories of his death, either. I mean, being taken down by a scorpion created by the earth because he was boasting seems a little harsh. Though I can't sympathize with him if he did try to have his way with Artemis or those other women. Drunk or not, he brought that on himself. To be honest, though, I prefer the version where he and Artemis were in love."

"It does make Orion more likeable, that's for sure. He didn't seem like a bad guy, exactly but a lot of his stories involved him making an ass of himself through some really bad decisions."

Nadia nodded. "Yeah, no kidding, you would think he'd realize how easily drinking got him into trouble. But my problem with that version is actually with Artemis."

Thomas cocked his head to one side. "Oh? Why's that?"

"She accidentally shoots and kills her beloved, so she puts him into the sky to honour his memory. That much I understand. But that's it, that's where it ends? She dedicates herself to chastity, never loving anyone else and doesn't even get the slightest bit angry with her brother?"

"I guess she never found out that Apollo knew it was Orion he was asking her to shoot at?"

Nadia frowned. "I don't buy it. He's the god of the sun, the most far-reaching thing in the sky and obviously he could see well enough to know what it was he had asked her to shoot at. Seeing as she's his sister, I think she would know it, too."

Thomas chuckled quietly. "Well, it's sort of an unsatisfying ending I suppose, but then the overall story of Orion is sort of short, too."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I guess I'm a romantic; I prefer stories where the couple overcomes the odds and find happiness and all that cheesy stuff. I know things don't usually work out that way in real life, but it's a nice idea." She stood as she spoke and moved into the hallway, pausing for a moment. "Odd. There's something stuck under the door."

Thomas craned his neck to see. "Do you get mail all the way up here?"

She shook her head. "No, it's all delivered to the boxes downstairs."

Stooping to pick it up, she frowned for a moment as she read it over. It was gibberish. Oddly familiar gibberish. Walking back to her desk, she found her pencil and began circling every third word, as she had the day before on the bulletin board. When she was done, she fixed up the grammar and flow of the sentence and read it aloud to Thomas.

"Lawson. Burgess has placed a price on my head and works to find you as well. Neither of us is safe. I will meet with you in private to discuss terms and information. Have your friend meet me outside your building at ten o'clock sharp tomorrow morning and from there he will take me to the location of your choosing so you may feel confident I am not setting you up. Black."

Thomas whistled softly. "He's desperate, if he's asking us for help. I wonder how he knew we had cracked his boss' code."

Nadia shrugged. "I don't know, but this is major. I'm tempted to have the police meet him tomorrow morning instead of you, but then we would still have to deal with the local thugs. Having Black's help in getting hard evidence to take Burgess down would be a big step forward."

"Agreed, but this sounds pretty risky. If Black shows up armed and dangerous tomorrow then I'm in real trouble."

She frowned. "You're right. But if you don't tell him where you're leading him to, he can't do anything untoward until you arrive, at the very least. I can dial 9-1-1 pretty quickly."

"Maybe, but I'm pretty sure bullets travel faster than police cars do."

She sighed. She knew he was right. This was risky, very much so. But she couldn't just let it pass her by, not when things were finally heating up. It was at times like these that reporters got the best stories, from the middle of the action! At the same time, she had to admit she was at least a little afraid. Not just for herself, but for her new friend. She didn't want to thank him for all of his help by getting him killed. She sighed again and looked to Thomas, pleadingly.

"What should we do?"

He looked at her for a long moment and slowly shook his head. "I'm going to regret this, I'm sure of it, but... Fine. I'll meet Black here tomorrow morning, so you can have your meeting. But I'm going on the record right now saying that this is a very bad idea and I think we're both crazy for going through with it."

She had to agree with him on that point, but knowing it didn't stop her from breaking into a huge grin and hugging her reluctant companion in gratitude. "You're the best, you know that?"

Thomas chuckled. "Uh-huh. And you're a bad influence on me. Now... we have planning to do before tomorrow, there is no way I'm settling for last-minute improvisation on this."

Nadia laughed, disentangling herself from his side and moving toward her computer desk. "I accept your terms, good Sir. Shall I find a map online, or would you prefer I find the nearest cartographer so we can have it hand-drawn?"

She yelped as a pillow grazed past her. Diving into the kitchen to avoid the second, she retaliated with oven mitts and potholders and the pair spent the next half hour of their so-called planning session pelting each other with harmless objects. It was, admittedly, not very productive, but it was nevertheless a welcome period of relaxation amidst the tension.
Chapter Six

Nadia glanced at her watch anxiously; a series of movements performed so often in the last ten minutes that it happened almost without conscious thought. And the answer was just the same as it had been thirty seconds ago: 9: 48 AM. Twelve minutes until the arranged time of Black's meeting with Thomas outside of her apartment. She sighed, looking around the room for something to distract her. A surprisingly difficult task, despite being in one of the most beautiful rooms she had ever found herself in. The Laurier Room, to be specific, at the Lord Elgin Hotel. She did take a moment to silently thank her luck that the room had not been booked on this particular morning; she knew that it typically was used for conferences and the like just about every day of the week. It was a large space, with an exquisite wooden table able to seat what looked like twenty or more people, with smaller ones set against the walls for occupants to use as they needed to. The walls were a creamy shade of white and sported framed pictures of floral arrangements, while potted plants and nearly delicate curtains embellished the windows and corners, respectively.

But it had not been for the accommodations that she had picked this as the location for her meeting with Black. First, it was just across the street from Confederation Square, with the Rideau Centre taking up the Square's opposite side, meaning there was no shortage of people around. Second, and just as important, she knew that the Ottawa Police Department had its headquarters no more than four blocks down Elgin Street and she had their number set to speed dial. She had hoped it would help steady her nerves, but at the moment she could only think about the distance Thomas would have to travel alone with Black before he could enjoy that same security. She sighed again, remembering his slightly reluctant admission that he had no cellphone to keep in touch with her during this time. And, not for the first time, she had found herself curious as to how her friend had lived his life before meeting her. He did not talk about himself a great deal, or at all, if she were to be completely honest. She shook her head to clear her thoughts; now was not the time for idle wondering. Checking her watch again, she groaned inwardly at the display; 9:50 AM. She hated waiting.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thomas was faring no better than Nadia; he had taken to pacing back and forth in front of the apartment building, giving those entering and leaving suspicious glances. Not knowing what Black looked like was doing terrible things to his anxiety levels; half-expecting a sharp blow to the head to be his contact's method of introduction was not helping either. After jumping a full foot into the air at being lightly brushed against by a child that had begun imitating his pacing, Thomas decided sitting was a safer plan and settled onto a concrete bench to wait. He glanced at his watch often and the minutes gradually crawled past as the springtime sun gently warmed him along with the bench he sat on. He was almost grateful when he finally spotted someone who could actually be Black, simply because it gave him something to focus on.

The man in question was an average-looking sort of fellow of medium build, whose nondescript features left little impression other than that he had shaved recently. A good mix, Thomas supposed, if you wanted to go unnoticed. Or, it would have been, had he not been dressed the way he was. He wore an honest-to-goodness trench-coat, despite the temperature finally rising to that of a proper spring day, and had a low-brimmed hat that seemed like a cross between what one would expect of a gunslinger from the Old West and a sombrero. He approached Thomas slowly, his eyes darting around at the passersby. Finally sitting on the opposite end of the bench, he looked at Thomas out of the corner of his eye.

"You the one I'm meeting? Carmichael, right?"

Thomas nodded, but some nagging feeling in the back of his mind drove him to make sure this man was who he assumed he was. "Yeah, that's me. And you are?"

"Black. But you knew that already. I respect a man who keeps information to himself; it's a smart way to go about these things. There's no need to look at me like you're expecting me to shoot you, though. I haven't done anything to hurt you or your lady friend yet and at this point there's no reason for me to change that. So can we get underway? Punctuality is important in my business."

Thomas nodded, satisfied he was who he claimed to be despite his oddities. "Yeah, good point. It's a fair ways to walk, so we had better get going."

The man frowned. "Walk? Don't you have a vehicle of some kind?"

Thomas shrugged. "Nadia does, but she took it on ahead. So, we walk to the nearest bus stop and wing it from there."

"The bus." Black looked at him incredulously for a full ten seconds. "Look, kid, I know it's normal for you, but I typically do not take the bus. It's... just a bad idea for men in my line of work. People recognize us, y'know?"

Thomas coughed quietly to stifle a snort. "Did you ever consider dressing more casually?"

"We're not here for your style recommendations, kid," Black retorted, before looking to the street and seeing a taxi parked there, its driver leaning against it while taking a cigarette break. "I have a better idea."

Thomas rolled his eyes, his nerves entirely forgotten over the course of their banter. "Fine, but you're paying."

Black led the way over to the taxi, nodding at the driver. "You up for giving us a lift?"

The driver nodded, taking a last drag on his cigarette before grinding it under his heel. "Yeah, sure, it's been a slow day. Get in."

Black nodded and went around to the far side, Thomas sliding into the back seat with him. The driver looked at them in the rear-view mirror. "Where are you going?"

Thomas blinked. He knew he wasn't supposed to tell before their arrival, but... they were already in the cab, they would be there in a few minutes. What was the harm at this point? "100 Elgin Street, the Lord Elgin Hotel."

The driver nodded and Black whistled. "She's picked us a heck of a fancy place just for talking."

Thomas smiled quietly. "A safe place, too. Security staff on the premises, plus there's the police station just down the street."

Black laughed aloud at this. "Not taking any chances, eh? Well, whatever makes you feel most comfortable; it makes no difference to me."

They fell silent after that, watching the scenery pass them by. Streets, the Queensway, crossing the Rideau River, exiting at Catherine and Metcalfe before turning onto Elgin. Thomas smiled as he saw the police station go past on their left, feeling a little safer already. Proceeding further up the street, he could almost make out the War Memorial a few blocks further along and the Lord Elgin about halfway between it and the cab, the multinational flags at its front easily visible around the towering shape of Place Bell; his peace of mind was shaken, however, when the driver abruptly made a left turn, cutting across the opposing lane to pull into a small parking area wedged in between two buildings. Thomas looked around, confused, as they parked at the very back of the small area.

"Sir? I think you're mistaken, the Lord Elgin is further up the street than this."

The driver nodded. "Yeah, I know." He jerked a thumb outside and Thomas saw a small crowd of people forming around the car. "You won't be making it that far."

Thomas felt a stone form in his gut and he turned back to Black. "So that's how it is, huh?"

The man chuckled smugly as he removed his hat, running a hand through the sparse, brown hair framing a bald spot on the top of his head. "Yeah, that's how it is. Oh and for the record, I'm not Black."

Thomas nodded slowly, realizing what had happened. "The note wasn't from him at all, was it?"

Not-Black tipped his hat at him mockingly. "Smart kid. But I'm afraid our little chat has to be cut short. You have a prior engagement you don't want to be late for."

Thomas felt the door behind him open and several pairs of strong hands seized him by either arm. He was dragged bodily from the vehicle, then into a small space off of the parking area. Thrown against the rearmost wall of this, he did his best to stand up straight to face the dozen people that had wedged themselves in with him.

He smiled grimly. "I know I can't talk you out of doing this, so let's get to it, shall we? The sooner we start, the sooner one of you hits me in the head and I don't have to feel the rest."

They obliged; but they did not strike him in the head in a hurry.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nadia looked at her watch. It was no longer on her wrist, she had placed it on the polished surface of the wooden table in front of her so she would stop checking the time every couple of seconds. She sighed as she found herself reaching for it again, but did not stop herself from picking it up. Slipping it back onto her wrist, she checked the time for the hundredth time that morning, but frowned at what she saw. 10:25 AM. Nearly half-past the hour? She felt her throat clench. She knew that Thomas and Black should have arrived by now. It wasn't rush hour and traffic was usually tolerable on a Saturday morning. Something was wrong, she was somehow certain. She stood and began to pace, but stopped as the door slowly opened.

Nadia turned at the noise, hopeful. "Thomas? Is that... you..."

She trailed off as the hulking shape of Tyrone Burgess entered the room, closing the door behind him. He was dressed in an expensive-looking custom-made suit and seemed almost to fit the surroundings; except for the brass knuckles he was slipping on from his pocket, of course. "No. No it isn't."

Nadia gaped for a moment, then took in a struggling breath. "Burgess. Why... how... What did you do with Thomas?"

Burgess smiled, flashing her a glimpse of ivory-white teeth. "Had my boys meet him, so he's well taken care of. But let's not talk about him; let's talk about you. I was kind enough to send you a heads up, but you just keep sticking your nose further into things that aren't your business. Can't you take a hint, lady?"

She swallowed hard, but mustered her nerve anyway. "I'm a reporter. We don't just give up because someone says we should, you know."

He chuckled darkly, sliding one of the smaller tables along the side of the room in front of the door as easily as she might sweep dust with a broom. "You've got guts, at least. I like that."

Suddenly remembering her cellphone, Nadia slowly began moving her hand into her purse. She had to keep his attention on talking for at least a minute if she wanted to call without tipping him off. "Thanks, I guess. So why don't you tell me why you needed me shut up, hmm? I've been wondering about it more than anything lately. My original investigation was a joke to everyone I mentioned it to, but you took the time to send a thug to chase me off of it. Why?"

Burgess laughed again. "You think I know, lady? I have my orders, too; and they said to shut you up."

She looked at him skeptically, while silently unlatching her bag. "What, a man like you is satisfied with just doing as he's told? I find that hard to believe, Burgess."

His smile became a thin one. "Maybe. Let's put it this way; someone looking hard enough for something that ain't there can still dredge up plenty of other things that are. Schedules. Meetings. I hear you followed a few corporate executives for days at a time for a while. That doesn't seem like 'paranormal investigation' to me."

Nadia blushed deeply at the reminder. She had done some research during her final year of college and found some business executives that had odd schedules that kept them active mostly at night. She had taken a few weeks after graduation to follow them in the hopes of discovering proof of their being vampires; much to her embarrassment when she learned their cooking staff had been given no orders to avoid garlic. It was not something she made a point of dwelling on or telling others about and, frankly, she felt stupid about it now. "Uh, well... it was."

Burgess laughed quietly. "Like you said; I find that hard to believe. Either way, though, my employer didn't much appreciate the idea that you could be poking your nose into important individuals' schedules. You've been labelled as a threat, lady. I deal with threats."

Nadia felt the heat in her face chill quickly. Her hand closed around her phone and she flipped it open as inconspicuously as she could. Pressing the speed dial button, she waited a few agonizing seconds as she gave the police time to pick up. When she could wait no longer, she whipped it to her ear and almost danced when she heard a voice on the other end.

"9-1-1, please state your name and the nature of your emergency."

Burgess growled as he saw the young woman produce the phone and adjusted his knuckles as he started toward her. Nadia, of course, could not help but see him begin to approach and began circling the long boardroom table to keep him at a distance.

"Yes, this is Nadia Lawson, I'm at the Lord Elgin Hotel and I'm in danger of being assaulted by a man named Tyrone Burgess."

"The Lord Elgin Hotel? Yes ma'am, we will notify building security immediately and police should arrive shortly. Which room are you staying in?"

"I'm not a guest, I'm using the Laurier Room and he's blocked the door with a table. Please hurry!"

"Yes ma'am. Please stay on the line to keep us advised of the situation."

Nadia's reply died in her throat as Burgess picked up one of the black, wheel-sporting swivel-chairs tucked in at the table; in one hand no less, as though it weighed nothing. She yelped as she dove out of the way of the large projectile and threw the phone into her purse as she scrambled back to her feet.

"You're insane!"

Her aggressor grinned fiercely as he answered. "You're one to talk, lady. I'm not the one who called the police while trapped in a room with a man twice my size, now am I?"

Nadia kept circling the table to keep away from the big man, dodging the odd thrown object with luck and nimble feet, but she knew her luck was running out when Burgess finally tired of the game and overturned the table, sending the floral centrepieces arranged upon it crashing to the floor. Bracing himself behind it, he pushed it forward like a football player performing drills and ploughed forward towards her. Attempting to slow him, Nadia pushed several of his thrown chairs into his path, but he didn't seem to so much as slow down. On the verge of proper panic, she backed into a corner and squeezed past the table. Ducking under the grasp of his massive hands, she fled to the opposite side of the room, panting and rapidly running out of ideas. Remembering her improvised instrument of self-defence, she fumbled in her purse for the aerosol-form air freshener and brandished it as threateningly as she could. The giant lumbered toward her, laughing at the small can in her hand; he seized one of the chairs again, holding it like a combination shield and club.

"The security guards will be here any second, Burgess! Don't you try anything!" She winced at the fear in her voice, knowing she sounded as far from threatening as it was possible to be. She also knew she was trying to reassure herself more than frighten him.

He guffawed, seeming quite amused by her claim. "What do you take me for, lady? An amateur? I wasn't going to come strolling in here without thinking of these things. My men have replaced your precious security guards for the day and even coming from just down the street, the cops won't be here for a few minutes."

Nadia silently swore to herself, backing further into the corner with only her apparently inadequate weapon to defend herself with. This was not at all what she had had in mind when she had pictured herself spraying punks in the eyes; the man was too large for her to get close enough to spray his face without him getting a hold on her.

Seeing her frustration and growing panic, Burgess smiled in triumphant satisfaction. "You're a pretty thing, though. It's a shame I have to ruin that face of yours. You could have come to work for me; you would be surprised by the sorts of connections I've got that appreciate good looks."

She curled her lip in disgust. "Not on your life. You're not laying a finger on me, Burgess; I don't care if that does put me in line for a beating. I'm sick and tired of scum like you making these half-baked passes at me. It is not happening."

He chuckled. "Suit yourself, lady. Could have saved yourself some pain. Ah well." He advanced toward her slowly now, blocking her avenues of escape through sheer size. They could hear sirens wailing now and Nadia felt a tiny spark of hope when the big man paused. The spark grew to a flicker when the door suddenly began opening and the table was pushed ahead of it. Vaulting the table, a man entered the room, landing lightly on his feet. He was dressed in a policeman's uniform, complete with bulletproof vest, but Nadia saw a gleam in his eye and a swagger in his step that gave her the nagging suspicion that he wasn't any more a policeman than she was.

The new arrival nodded curtly to the dark skinned giant. "Burgess."

The big man's expression faltered as he turned from Nadia. "Black. How did you get in here, past my boys?"

The smaller fellow smirked, producing a gun from his belt. Nadia noted that the weapon sported a silencer and that Black wore gloves on his hands. "Took care of them. Nice and quiet."

Burgess frowned, looking genuinely displeased for the first time since his arrival. "Unfortunate. They were actually competent, too. But they were posing as security guards; you've just made yourself a cop killer, more or less."

Black shook his head. "No, I've just made you a cop killer, Burgess. It's your gun. I nicked it out of your car before I came in. Your reputation for taking care of people with your fists is well-known. While I doubt very much that you carry a legally registered firearm, the police will be here any minute and I'm assuming they know you're here already."

He glowered down at the smaller man. "You're really becoming a thorn in my side, you know."

Said mercenary tipped his 'borrowed' policeman's hat in return. "No more than you became one in mine, Burgess. Having your 'boys' combing the city for me makes it awfully hard for me to work on the wrong side of the law. So I figure we're square."

Growling, Burgess turned to glare at Nadia. "You get to be lucky. This time. But we'll meet again, I'm sure." Skirting around Black and his at-the-ready firearm, he shifted the table aside and disappeared into the hall.

Nadia sighed in relief, then looked to Black. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "I didn't do it for you, Lawson. This whole situation was because of an unexpected delay on my mission to take care of you. The fact you're still breathing suggests a vast reserve of luck on your part. The police will be here any second, so I'll be leaving." He placed the gun on the floor and turned toward the door. "Tell them it's the murder weapon for the guards downstairs. Burgess' prints may or may not be on it, but he'll probably lay low for at least a few days to avoid drawing attention to himself and that should keep him off both our backs for a while."

As her reluctant saviour slipped out, Nadia sunk to her knees and took a moment just to be thankful that she was alive and unharmed. The police arrived mere moments after Black's disappearance and she found herself whisked to the station to describe what had happened. It all passed in a haze, but she made sure they knew the gun belonged to Burgess. It was the truth, after all, whether she wanted to cooperate with Black or not. Finally released, she hurried back to her apartment as soon as she could.

The fact that her front door was not locked was a cause for concern. Entering, she saw the place had been overturned and sighed at the amount of work she would have to put in to clean it all up. Much worse, though, was that there was no sign of Thomas; that put a chill into her bones more than any mess could. Moving her coffee table off of her couch, she reconnected her phone and made some calls; to acquaintances, to hospitals, to anyone she could think of. With the search started, she took a few minutes to sit back and just breathe. The full scope of events hit her in the midst of this, though and she found herself crying. Her new friend - pretty much her only friend, she admitted to herself - was missing and probably injured. Her apartment was trashed and she could see her computer was broken, meaning her information was very possibly lost. She had not had a chance to speak at length with Black and the meeting had been a set-up anyway. Her investigation was at a standstill. She, and possibly her family, was in danger; Thomas could very well be dead already. And it was all because of her stupid story. Burying her face in her hands, she let her feelings vent themselves out until she slipped into a a fitful sleep on the couch; the phone remained silent beside her throughout the night.
Chapter Seven

Noise; the rustling of leaves in the wind.

What?

Thomas opened his eyes, frowning as a blue sky swam into view above him, framed by unfamiliar branches. Exceptionally white clouds glided across the vibrant expanse, with the light of the sun gleaming from them. He chuckled softly at these literal silver linings, but was distracted by a new sound. Laughter, so carefree and happy that it could almost have been the chiming of a bell. Sitting up, he saw a woman running toward him. No, not running, nor even skipping. She seemed almost to float across the earth, moving the length of several strides with a single step, flowing with a preternatural grace. She was clothed in some kind of gossamer silk, the sort you would see in an old Greek or Roman painting that revealed nothing, but covered almost as little. She laughed again and waved to him, calling out to him with a musical sound that sent a shiver of bliss through his very bones. She approached and he saw... Nadia? He reached out for her hand as it was extended toward him, but found himself getting further away instead of closer. Falling instead of sitting.

Tumbling through space, he landed head-first in a sea of pleasantly warm water. Struggling back to the surface, he gasped for air and his lungs gratefully obliged. He looked about in confusion. Blue, calm sea stretched in all directions but one and the land he saw in that direction was distant. He struck out for it, but his clothes had grown heavy with water and he made little headway. Treading water for a moment, he saw something racing toward him through the sky and he gaped as he saw it was a man. Tyrone Burgess was flying through the air toward him. No longer able to even try to comprehend what was going on, Thomas merely gaped as the hulking man smashed into him fists-first. Driven deeper into the water, he found that he could no longer find his way back to the surface; his lungs screamed as the darkness of unconsciousness closed in around him.

Noise. A wet warmth on his face. A salty taste in his mouth. His eyes were open, but he could not control them, could not move them from their glassy upward stare. Someone was bent over him, crying. He tried to frown, but could not. It was a woman, but he was not sure if it was Nadia again; her face was oddly obscured. A man loomed over him. Tyrone? No, smaller, with alabaster skin and golden hair. Who...? His thoughts were interrupted by the woman brushing the side of his head; her hand came away bloody. Was he... dead? The woman turned toward the man standing to the side as if to shout at him, but Thomas felt his consciousness slipping again and could not hear the words.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Pain. That was the first sensation he felt when he woke next. He tried to open his eyes, but found them swollen and aching. Managing to open one enough to see with, a bleached ceiling awash in sterile light swam into view above him. A hospital's ceiling, he realized with some relief. Not dead, then. He could not account for his strange dream, though the similarities to the myths of Orion's death probably meant the research he had been going over with Nadia had something to do with it. He pushed such thoughts aside as he felt something brush his arm. Nadia came into view above him; she looked exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Her eyes were swollen, too, though from crying instead of injury. She managed a shaky, hopeful smile as she saw him focus on her face.

"Thomas? Are you okay? Okay, well, that's a stupid question, but..."

He tried to smile, an odd and somewhat painful sensation with a swollen lip. "I've been better, but I'll live."

The relief on her face was enough to make him believe it, too. "Oh thank goodness... When Burgess showed up instead of you and Black, I was so afraid. For you, I mean, though I have to admit I wasn't feeling so brave at the time myself."

Thomas tried to widen his eyes, but the swelling kept them from doing much more than quiver. "How did you get away? Are you hurt? Did he-"

Nadia smiled as she put a finger over his lips. "Shh. I'm fine, don't get all worked up. You need to stop worrying about me for a while; you're the injured one here. Black turned up and ran Burgess off and with some luck we won't have to worry about him for a few weeks. I went back to the apartment as quickly as I could, but you weren't there. Burgess' thugs had wrecked the place, but I couldn't get myself to care about cleaning it up while you were missing, so I called everyone I could think of and just stared at the phone for hours. When the hospital called me back, I came right over."

He felt oddly relieved by this. It explained some of the dream, anyway. Nadia must have been here the whole time. A doctor stepped closer to his bed and Thomas started laughing softly. Light hair, a pale skin tone. Nadia giggled nervously at his sudden outburst.

"What? What's so funny?"

He shook his head. "Sorry. I was having these weird dreams while I was out; it was almost like I was experiencing one of Orion's deaths. It was confusing as all heck, but it's funny now. You were there, crying, and the doctor here was standing to the side just like that."

The doctor smiled patiently. "You did nearly wake a few times, it is possible what was going on around you could have influenced your dream."

Thomas suddenly remembered Burgess' role and started laughing harder; which was exceptionally painful, but not enough to suppress his humour. "An... and Burgess was the arrow, I swear, he came flying at me like he was shot out of a cannon!"

Nadia's nervousness broke and she started laughing, too, while the doctor looked at the pair in a manner that suggested he was questioning their sanity. As they finished, a few stray tears trickled down Nadia's face, but she wiped them away with her hand quickly.

"I'm glad you're alive, Thomas."

He blinked up at her and smiled. "I'm glad you're safe, too."

The doctor cleared his throat again. "If I may interject? I have other patients to see to, so I need to go over your injuries and treatment schedule. Your injuries are non-lethal and the bruises and scrapes will heal over the course of a few weeks. The more serious injuries have been stitched closed, so I want you to avoid strenuous activity until they heal. Once they do, the stitches will dissolve on their own, but do not under any circumstances attempt to remove them yourself. I have to admit you're quite lucky, these run-ins very often result in broken bones or worse. I do want to run a few tests to check for internal injury, but if these come up clean, you'll be free to go tomorrow. I do recommend taking it easy for a few days, at least, however."

Nadia beamed at the news and Thomas felt himself smiling as well. "Yes doctor. I'll do my best not to get beaten to a pulp twice in one week. After this first experience, I'll have to think long and hard before I try it again."

The man sighed at the injured man's levity. "Yes, well, that would be wise. If you'll excuse me."

Once he had left the room, Nadia cleared her throat softly. "Because of Burgess' intrusion... we're no better off than we were. The meeting with Black never happened, after all."

Thomas nodded. "Yeah... I figured as much, the one I met with being a fake and all. We have a few days to think on what to do next, anyway, since I'm not going to be much help like this. I'm sure we'll think of... Nadia? What is it?"

She wiped at her face, realizing he had seen the tears sneaking past her eyes, but they did not stop this time. She drew in a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. This is all because of my stupid story. It's all my fault. You're laying here in a hospital bed, bruised and stitched up, because of me. I'm so sorry, Thomas. I know there isn't anything I can do to make it up to you, but..."

He could barely believe what he was hearing. "Nadia. Stop, please. This isn't like you. Where's your confidence, your enthusiasm?"

"My recklessness, you mean." She hiccoughed between breaths, coming dangerously close to sobbing. "I didn't realize... I didn't want to realize how dangerous things were. I thought it would be so easy to find my big story, to make a big impression on the world. But it isn't and I can't just stroll through life expecting things to go my way just because I want them to. Just because I'm spoiled and feel entitled to success..."

Thomas' hand closed on her arm, startling her out of her self-recrimination. "So are you just going to give up? Is that how your story will read, Nadia? That you struck out and called it quits? That isn't what the Nadia I know would do. She's stubborn, sure, but that means she never gives up. She's reckless, but confident in herself, so she's able to trust in her own ability. And maybe that sauciness of hers could be because she's a little spoiled, but I think it's because she's honest and direct. Not a bad combination of traits, by any means."

Nadia felt her face flush and she found a small smile on her face. "You're not just saying that? You really don't blame me?"

He shook his head; stopping as the throbbing in his head made him think better of it. "I am not just saying it. What happened was not your fault and I am not angry at you for any of it. I will be, however, if you let misplaced guilt get the better of you and change who you are. Do we understand one another?"

The mock seriousness on his face forced her to laugh softly and the smile grew. "Yes, Mister Carmichael, I think we do." She turned as the doctor re-entered the room, wheeling a hospital gurney to transport Thomas to his tests. As the doctor was bent over, adjusting the bed's height, she leaned in and gave Thomas a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

Thomas could do little more than nod mutely, but she could see he was stunned for only positive reasons. As he was wheeled, blushing, from the room, Nadia felt her feelings of doubt and anxiety blow through the door with him. She smiled contentedly to herself and got comfortable while she waited for him to return. Even the questions as to whether or not she was willing, or able, to continue her investigation seemed not to bother her just now and she was thankful indeed for that. She knew that the question would have to be answered before too long, but Thomas had to have time to heal and that provided a welcome buffer for the time being.
Chapter Eight

It had been a busy week since Thomas' run-in with Burgess' henchmen and Nadia's encounter with Black. For her, anyway; she completely refused to accept her injured friend's offers to help. She simply would not let him exert himself while he was supposed to be healing, no matter how much he hated having to sit by and do nothing. The apartment had needed to be cleaned up from the wrecking it had been given and her desktop computer had also needed replacing. The loss was not as great as she had feared, though, because the perpetrators had not taken the time to make sure all parts inside her computer were broken. She had been very pleased when the computer store she brought the battered tower to was able to transfer its hard drive to her new computer. Nadia had handled the clean-up and replacement entirely on her own, to her personal satisfaction and Thomas' couch-bound frustration.

The only thing that had cast a pall over Nadia's work was the impending dinner with her parents. It wasn't that she disliked spending time with them, quite the opposite in fact, but she knew that they would voice their concerns over the danger her case was leading her into. The fact that Thomas still had the vague remnants of a black eye visible on his face, not to mention the lingering trail of bruises on his arms, would be more than proof enough that serious unpleasantness had already resulted from their efforts. Worrying for their daughter's safety was their right as her parents, of course, so that was fine. The reason it weighed on her thoughts was that she was not sure she had enough confidence in the case to stand up for it anymore; she had to admit to herself that she had done her level best not to think about it at all during her clean-up efforts. What had happened, what had nearly happened, still frightened her and, while she appreciated Thomas' efforts to encourage her, there was writing on the wall. And it seemed to be telling her that she was in far too deep and it might be a better idea to pull out before she drowned herself, or someone else.

Nadia sighed and gave herself a shake to clear her thoughts. Unbuckling her seat belt, she got out of the car and moved around to the passenger side to help Thomas, but found her friend already out and standing. She gave him an apologetic smile in response to his 'I can manage by myself, thank you' expression, but nevertheless took hold of his arm as they moved away from her car. The gesture seemed to steady her nerves more than anything, but she smiled softly as she saw him taking in the scenery. A small, but wondrous, garden took up most of the house's front lawn, filled with more than just beautiful flowers. Fantasy-themed statuettes that had been converted into fountains had been placed among the flowers to great effect, giving it the overall appearance of being a snapshot of some forgotten time or imaginary place.

"Your parents have the coolest garden I have ever seen."

Nadia laughed half-heartedly. "Yeah, mom needed a hobby after she retired from the force and daddy found a new outlet for his artistic talents."

Thomas looked away from the garden and back to her. "You don't sound too happy to be here. What's wrong? Are you still thinking that they're going to grill you about my injuries?"

She nodded slowly. "Yeah, pretty much."

He sighed, but smiled. "I keep telling you, I'm fine. Really. I'm almost all healed up as it is and before you know it there won't be so much as a scar left to show it ever happened."

"This time. What if you aren't so lucky the next time, Thomas? We tried to be careful about it and it still went terribly wrong."

"You're not still thinking about giving up, are you? Not after all the work you've put in?"

She shrugged weakly. "I don't want to talk about it right now, Thomas. I'm sure my parents will bring it up before long. I want to be able to eat something before they broach the subject and put me off my appetite."

Thomas nodded and let the subject rest. Reaching the front door, they rang the bell and waited. Nadia felt a mounting urge to run beginning to crawl into her legs, but her friend's calm demeanour held her steady. The sound of her parents' hushed voices approaching the door distracted her from her anxiety somewhat, as well. She forgot her nervousness entirely when she saw them sneaking a glance at Thomas around the edges of the curtain covering the door's window. Sighing softly, she smiled in spite of herself at their antics and let the feeling of being home wash over her. When her parents opened the door after a few further moments of whispered deliberation, they smiled at the pair as innocently as children.

Ignoring their daughter's protests, they pulled her into a hug and she resigned herself to some familial embarrassment. "Welcome home, Sweet-Pea. We were starting to think we would never see you again, holed up in that apartment of yours."

Attempting to disentangle herself from her parents' vice-grip, with limited success, Nadia smiled patiently. "I told you, I'm a grown woman now and I have my own home. I'll always love coming to visit, but I have things to do."

Her mother tapped her on the nose. "Young lady, until you have a family of your own, that apartment isn't a home, just a place to stay."

"Not that you need to start a family of your own so early on in your life, Darling," her father interjected. He gave an involuntary glance toward Thomas, who was standing back from the display of affection with an amused expression.

Nadia rolled her eyes. "I have no such plans, Daddy, you don't need to worry. But you're being terribly rude, ignoring our guest like this."

Her parents released her and smiled apologetically at Thomas. Nadia motioned Thomas forward and smiled quietly to herself when she saw the faintest hint of shyness as he stepped closer. She let him take a few deep breaths before introducing him. "Mom, Daddy, this is Thomas."

"Thomas Carmichael," he supplied before her parents could ask.

Her parents smiled politely and looked him over, as he did the same to them. He winced as their eyes began to focus on his injuries, but he focused on committing them to memory. Her father was a lean sort of a man, with surprisingly fair features, blue eyes and a head of dark hair beginning to show streaks of grey. Her mother, having been a police officer for most of her life, was similarly fit, though Thomas suspected she was stronger than her lithe build would suggest. She had a naturally tan skin tone, with green eyes and black hair. The resemblance between Nadia and her mother was obvious, but Nadia's skin tone was slightly lighter and her features were slightly softer, like her father's.

With the period of visual examination over, it was her parents' turn to introduce themselves. "Sam and Victoria Lawson. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Carmichael."

He could see they wanted to ask about his injuries, but they held their curiosity for the moment. "Please, it's just Thomas. And thank you for inviting me to dinner; it was very kind of you. I'm sure you would have preferred an evening alone with your daughter."

Mrs. Lawson chuckled. "Direct, honest and just a little humble. Good traits in a young adult. Well Thomas, from what little our daughter has seen fit to share with us, you have been a big help to her in her investigations. We agreed that you deserved a half-decent home-cooked meal, at the very least."

"Mom!" Nadia blushed. "I can cook just fine, thank you!"

Her mother laughed aloud, seeming pleased that her daughter had taken the bait. "Oh, she's getting worked up; I think I've hit a sore spot! What do you think of Nadia's cooking?" she asked, turning back to Thomas. Nadia saw her father glance up, awaiting Thomas' answer with a serious expression.

Thomas glanced to the ground for a moment, suddenly bashful. "Well, to be honest Mrs. Lawson, I haven't had any of it yet. I sort of volunteered myself for the cooking. For the past couple of days it was the only job she'd let me do."

Nadia, still watching her father, saw a mixture of emotions crossing her father's face. She was snapped out of her thoughts by her mother tapping her lightly on the nose again. "Sorry, Sweet-Pea, looks to me like you're going to have to impress your house-guest with your skills tomorrow night, or you're going to be out-voted on the cooking issue for the foreseeable future."

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, it looks that way, Mom." She tried her best to sound genuine, but she could not hide her frown as she watched her father. He was being entirely too quiet for her liking.

"Speaking of cooking," Mr. Lawson ventured, finally joining the conversation. "Our supper is going cold while we stand around out here."

Mrs. Lawson glanced to her husband, her own smile flickering for a moment, but recovering quickly. "Yes, that's right, come in, come in!"

Nadia sighed. She knew what was coming now, but didn't say anything as she and Thomas found themselves swept inside ahead of their hosts. She kept a watchful eye on her father, who seemed tense but thoughtful; he was preparing to do something he found unpleasant, she was certain. Thomas, fortunately, remained oblivious to this while taking in the interior of Nadia's childhood home. It was a nice place, to be sure, and while it was certainly no mansion, it had a comfortable feeling to it. The walls and floor looked to be made of real wood and tastefully done, with varnish and great care taken in the work. The hallway was hung with pictures, some of which Thomas recognized from Nadia's apartment, but there were many others of her parents at varying stages of their lives and relationship. Ushered into the dining room, he saw the table had been set in high style; a red tablecloth, candles set in the centre and the food set out on real china plates. He heard himself let out a low whistle and Nadia tapped him lightly on the forehead.

"Earth to Thomas, come in Thomas."

"Hmm?" Seemed to be all he could muster, turning to look at her.

"You're supposed to be sitting down." She gestured toward the table in answer to his bemused look and he saw her parents were already at their places at either end of the table.

He felt himself turning red and he hurried to his place, across from Nadia. "Sorry."

Mrs. Lawson chuckled. "That's quite all right; I take your loss of words as a compliment. It took a lot of work and a lot of years to get this place just right. Isn't that right, Dear?"

Mr. Lawson nodded in agreement, but was too preoccupied with studying Thomas as they all sat to respond.

Clearing her throat, Mrs. Lawson smiled again. "Well then, help yourselves. There's plenty, we made sure of that. Nadia can point out the highlights of our menu; she knows better than anyone what we specialize in. Feeding her as a child was quite the challenge with her appetite, but it paid off in the end. She grew up to be so beautiful."

Nadia snorted into her drink at this, blushing crimson even as she choked on her half-swallowed beverage. "Are you trying to embarrass me to death, Mother?"

Mrs. Lawson smiled innocently. "Of course not, Sweet-Pea. Just stating a fact. Wouldn't you agree with me, Thomas?"

Thomas quickly busied his face with a long, slow sip of milk from his glass, effectively dodging the question, while Mrs. Lawson laughed quietly to herself at the pair's embarrassment.

Mr. Lawson, seemingly finished with his period of silence, picked up his fork. Before taking a bite, he paused and glanced at Thomas. "So, Thomas, where did you get those bruises and that black eye?"

Thomas swallowed hard and had his turn coughing as his drink went down the wrong way. Nadia glanced to her mother pleadingly and Mrs. Lawson gave her daughter's hand a quick squeeze in reply. "Must we talk about that now, Dear?"

"Yes," he replied. "I think we do. And I have a few other questions I would like to ask the young man, as well."

Nadia bristled. "Don't turn this into an interrogation. Not at the dinner table." She sighed, feeling her appetite fading. "Please, Daddy?"

Mr. Lawson glanced to her and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sweet-Pea, but odds are you're going to whisk yourselves out the door as soon as we're done eating to avoid this conversation, so I have to catch you early."

She opened her mouth to protest, but Nadia knew the ring of truth when she heard it and let the words stifle in her throat. Her father nodded once and turned back to Thomas. "Well?"

"Uh." Thomas nearly kicked himself over his auspicious opening statement. "Well..."

The older man fixed him with an even, calculating gaze that made Thomas feel transparent. "If you're scrambling to come up with something you think I want to hear, don't. One, you don't know me well enough to make it convincing. Two, I know Nadia has been getting herself, and you, involved in dangerous affairs so you won't be ratting her out. And three, I was a paid journalist for thirty years. I was following reporters around and helping in their office from the age of eight. I pride myself on knowing the truth when I hear it and you aren't nearly practised enough to fool me at your age."

Thomas swallowed again, despite having nothing in his mouth. "Y-yes, Sir. I mean, no, Mr. Lawson, I wasn't trying to come up with anything." He took a deep breath. "I was beaten in a back alley by some of Tyrone Burgess' thugs, about a week ago."

Mr. Lawson sighed a long and loaded sigh. "I see. And what possessed you to enter an alley occupied with said undesirables?"

Nadia bristled again. "Daddy, stop it. Thomas didn't just walk into an alley looking for trouble; he's not like that at all! It was my plan that went wrong."

Her father held up a hand. "Be quiet for now, Nadia. I want to hear him say it."

Thomas fidgeted. "I was supposed to meet Black, whom you know about already, in front of Nadia's building and from there take him to meet with Nadia. She had picked a location near the police headquarters; we hoped it would keep things peaceful. The man I met with was an imposter and he tricked me into revealing the location of the meeting to another of Burgess' men posing as a cab driver. I was careless and-"

Mr. Lawson raised his hand again, this time to stop Thomas. "That's fine, son. That's all I wanted to know."

Thomas blinked. "Pardon me?"

"I needed to know if you blamed Nadia or not; if you resented her for your injuries. You don't. It's in the way you speak and the words you use. Firstly: thank you. There are many people who would hold a grudge over something like that and I have to admit there's sufficient reason for why they would. Second: I apologize for treating you coldly up to now, I just had to know where you stood and I'm satisfied now."

"Oh," was about all Thomas could muster while he wrapped his mind around this. "Then... that's all right. I think?"

Mr. Lawson smiled apologetically to the others at the table, now. "Sorry about that, Dear, Sweet-Pea. I know you don't like that sort of thing at the table and neither do I."

Nadia smiled hesitantly. "So... that's it? We're good?"

Her father took the first bite into his supper since sitting down, looking thoughtful as he chewed, then swallowed. "Not yet. We'll be retiring to the living room to discuss the matter after dinner."

Nadia sighed, sinking deeper into her chair. This was going to be a long evening.
Chapter Nine

"All right. I want to know everything you've found out so far, but we're going to start right at the very beginning."

Thomas felt Nadia tense up, even from the opposite end of the couch they were both seated on. They had moved from the kitchen to the living room now; her parents sat across from them in their individual armchairs, one leather-bound and the other floral. Her mother was observing, but it seemed Mr. Lawson was taking charge at the moment. Nadia nodded at her father, an unspoken signal that she was as ready as she would ever be.

"Have you found out the cause of all of this? Do you even know why these men are after you in the first place?"

She blushed slightly. "Yes."

Thomas looked to her, raising an eyebrow. This was news to him, as well. "You do?"

She nodded and took a deep breath before continuing. "You remember when I took that weekend to follow those corporate higher-ups around?"

Mrs. Lawson piped up, hiding a smirk behind her hand. "You mean the weekend after you watched that trilogy of films with Wesley Snipes for the first time and were convinced those executives were vampires because they had active night-lives?"

The blush deepened. "Yes. That weekend."

Mr. Lawson chuckled. "Oh yes, we remember. You smelled of garlic for days afterwards, but I had to admit I was impressed with how thorough you were. You had an inches-thick folder by the time you were satisfied they weren't secretly vampires. What does that have to do with this, though?"

"Well... I asked Burgess why he had been sent after me and managed to get a few details out of him. He mentioned that his boss knew about the information I had dug up on that weekend and how much I was able to uncover. I don't know who he's working for yet, but I guess he sees me as threat enough to bother dealing with me."

Her parents whistled in unison and her father shook his head. "That's what this is about? There's cautious and then there's just flat-out paranoid."

Mrs. Lawson nodded in agreement. "I think that says something about how risky this is, as well. If the man is willing to have you mugged, or even killed, just to make sure you don't start digging up information about him someday, he must have something pretty damning to hide."

Thomas frowned, mulling this over in his head. He knew he was there to lend moral support to Nadia more than speak. Her parents were not terribly fond of him just yet, or at least her father wasn't; it wasn't hard to see that the man disapproved of him. It didn't bother him especially, he imagined he would feel the same way if he had a daughter who brought home a boy. Besides, it gave him time to think and organize his own thoughts.

"All right; we know the why then, paranoid reasoning aside. You've already said you don't know who Burgess works for, so what about this Black fellow? Do you know his employer?"

"Sort of," Nadia admitted. "We know he goes by 'Orion', but we can't find anything else about him. I spent most of a night last week researching the name, but all I turned up were myths about the constellation."

Mr. Lawson's expression became thoughtful for a moment. "Orion, huh," he mused to himself. "Interesting. So all you know so far is that Burgess' employer is paranoid enough to send him after you without provocation and Black is a mercenary working for a mystery man with unknown motives. That about right?"

Nadia sighed, feeling her spirits sinking into her toes. "Yes."

Mr. and Mrs. Lawson glanced to one another, nodding at the concern they saw in their spouse's eyes. "Thomas?"

Suddenly included in the conversation, the young man looked up, startled. "Yes, Sir?"

"Would you mind waiting outside? You're involved in this, but we need to talk to our daughter in private."

"Oh," was about all Thomas could manage. He glanced to Nadia, who nodded that he should do as her father asked, but did not look pleased about it in the slightest. "All right."

Her father nodded and the room was filled with an awkward silence as the young man left the room. The faint sound of the front door closing behind him seemed to reverberate through the void like a gong.

Her father cleared his throat. "I want you to give up this investigation, Nadia."

Nadia flinched at his blunt approach and felt her fears about the case silently agreeing with her father. Nevertheless, her stubbornness gave one last gasp in defence of her work. "But Daddy-"

"No buts, Nadia. You've been straining your luck to its breaking point up to now, but you need to know when to back off. Burgess nearly got his hands on you at the hotel and Thomas was mugged in a back alley. It's a miracle he wasn't permanently injured and you only got off unharmed because another criminal turned up to address his own grudge with Burgess. You can't keep trusting that you'll make it out in one piece."

Everything he said was right on target, but the sting the truth brought was enough to get her dander up. "That isn't fair, Daddy. We tried to plan things out for the meeting with Black. Yes, it went badly, but it was our first time arranging a meeting with a potential murderer." She heard the sarcasm beginning to seep into her voice and relented. "I admit that we've been lucky and maybe we've relied a little too much on that luck, but we've been learning from those mistakes, too."

Mr. Lawson sighed. "All right, but it's a steep curve to learn on and a painful fall if you stumble. I know you want to make a big splash when you enter the world of journalism, but why not look at it realistically? You know you don't have to impress anyone, you're my daughter and all of the local newspaper owners have met you at one birthday party or another. They know you've got the talent and guts to be an asset to them and their paper. Is it really worth risking your life to tell them something they've known for years?"

Nadia blinked at him for a moment and found herself remembering her reason for embarking on this investigation in the first place. It wasn't that she wanted fame, or even that she wanted a better-than-entry-level job. It was for acknowledgement. She remembered the parties her father had mentioned. She remembered the glowing praise she had received from his friends and associates for whatever schoolwork he had asked her to show them at the time. At first she had been pleased, as any child would have been, but when she got older she saw that the praise had come regardless of how good the work actually was. She knew that not all of the work her father had pushed under his friends' noses had been worth the big deal they made over it; she was confident in herself but did not make a habit of blowing her own horn. In time, she had begun to resent the fuss they made because it was for her father's benefit more than hers. He had been the top reporter of his generation and they were convinced she would be the same for hers. And maybe she would be, but she was determined to earn it first, not let her father's reputation carry her into a bigger office.

"Sweet-Pea?"

Drawn from her thoughts, she smiled calmly at her father. "Yes, Daddy, I believe so."

"Pardon?" He blinked, as if unsure she was responding to the question he had asked. "I was asking you-"

"I know what you were asking me. I was giving you my answer. Yes, it is worth it."

Mr. Lawson stared at her, uncomprehending. "But... why?"

Nadia shrugged. "For exactly the same reason you think I shouldn't risk it, Daddy. I don't want to be a success because of what anyone else has done. I don't want to be 'Mr. Lawson's little girl' while I'm at work. I love you dearly, but I want my colleagues to respect me for what I've done, not what you've done."

Her father continued to stare, his expression ranging from being upset to showing a glimmer of pride, but his mouth seemed unable to form any of it into a coherent sentence. Her mother, smiling quietly, stepped in to fill the void. "You're sure then, Sweet-Pea?"

She nodded, feeling her confidence returning with every word. "Very. I know that it's dangerous. I know I could get myself killed. And that scares me, it scares me a lot. But I know I could never be truly happy if I found myself at the top without feeling like I earned it for myself. Maybe it's naive of me and maybe it's foolish, but the person I most want to be proud of me is me. So I can't turn away from this, not even to do the smart thing. A little girl may have gotten the ball rolling on this story by chasing spooks and vampires, but a woman is the one who is ready to see the consequences of that little girl's actions through to their conclusion."

Mrs. Lawson smiled, wiping at her eye with the back of her hand. "You've grown up so quickly... It's starting to feel like you don't need us anymore."

Nadia shook her head. "I'll always need you. Both of you. But I have to learn to do things for myself and in my own way. How else will I be able to teach my future kids the things you've taught me?"

Mr. Lawson coughed, looking at the carpet. "I still say you're too young to be thinking about that sort of thing, Sweet-Pea, but... I can't say I don't agree with you about the rest of it. As much as I wish I could." He looked up with an apologetic smile. "You'd take the world by storm if you had your way, huh?"

She grinned. "That sounds about right. But don't worry, I'll be careful. I can't earn my spot on the top if I get shoved off of the mountain-side before getting there. And I can't think of anyone I would rather have looking over my shoulder than Thomas. He worries enough for both of us and he's the most reliable person I know."

"Do you have to keep bringing up the boy?" Her father sighed, rubbing his temples. "I've been doing my best to forget about that part of the situation."

Nadia frowned. "What do you mean 'the boy'? Thomas is my friend, Daddy. And you've been as close to rude as I've ever seen you towards him all evening."

Mrs. Lawson patted her daughter's arm reassuringly, but smiled teasingly at her husband. "Your father is just experiencing separation anxiety, Dear. It's going to take him a little while to realize his little girl has another man in her life."

Nadia felt herself flush. "I've already told both of you, Thomas is just a friend. Do you know how long it's been since I've had one of those? I took my studies very seriously while in school and I spent all of my free time chasing leads. Sure, I made some acquaintances who I spoke to, but never anyone I felt particularly close to."

Mr. Lawson sighed and Mrs. Lawson stifled a giggle with her hand. "You can go right on thinking that for as long as you like, Sweet-Pea. I for one think Thomas is a lovely young man, he has a good head on his shoulders."

Nadia rolled her eyes. "I'll go on thinking the truth, Mother. But thank you, I'm glad one of you two can give him some credit."

Her mother smiled innocently. "We give credit where it is due. He's rather easy on the eyes, too, isn't he?"

"MOM!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thomas, seated on the Lawson residence's front step, heard laughter inside and smiled quietly to himself. It was good that they could resolve their problems without fighting. He shook his head as the smile began to turn sad and rested his back against the door with a sigh. Looking up at the night sky, he felt a stab of lonely appreciation; a full moon hung amongst the stars, bright and beautiful. On the empty street, Thomas could almost believe that the display was solely for his eyes and the sad smile he had chased away slid quietly into its intended place without his noticing.

"That's quite the expression you're wearing. I can't quite decide if you look more like a lonely coyote about to howl at the moon, or a stargazer appreciating the view."

Thomas' gaze was brought suddenly back to earth and he saw a man standing at the end of the Lawson's front walk. Caught off-guard, he fielded a response to buy himself some time to determine what the stranger wanted. "A little bit of both, maybe."

The man chuckled, taking a barely noticeable, black policeman's cap off of his head to reveal a head of dark brown hair. His hazel eyes studied Thomas for a moment and Thomas felt himself bristle slightly at the amusement in the visitor's expression. "Is there something I can do for you, Mr...?"

The man's grin widened. "Black. You can call me Black." Thomas felt his blood run cold, despite the man's flippant attitude. "And since you're offering, yes, there is. Your girlfriend has made herself quite a nuisance to me, so it's only right you help her make amends. I need Burgess gone. He's laying low, now, but he's got powerful friends making excuses for him and it won't be long before he's back to being the schoolyard bully."

Thomas' eyes narrowed. "We're not going to kill anyone, if that's what you're after."

Black guffawed loudly, before abruptly returning to a business tone. "Aha... no, nothing like that. I want you to expose those helping Burgess for the crooks they are. Once their lawyers are tied up defending their own reputation, Burgess will be thrown to the law like a piece of meat and that will accomplish the results I want just fine."

Still wary, Thomas frowned. "I don't suppose you could tell us who these friends are?"

Black smiled widely and not a little mockingly. "But that would make it so dreadfully easy for you, wouldn't it? I've given you the idea; put some work in for yourself."

Feeling his temper rise, Thomas stood. "Look, the last time we put a little trust into a criminal's word, I was thrashed to within an inch of my life. Why should we listen to you? Especially you, for that matter. I can't decide if you're serious about this or just screwing with me."

Black's smile faded, leaving an icy and calculating expression. "Oh, I'm serious, Carmichael. Don't you doubt it. I'm not asking you to go into a back alley with strangers, or confront Burgess' friends alone. All you need to do is work out for yourself who his allies are and deal with them in a lawful manner. If your girlfriend can't even manage that, she's quite a washout as a reporter, wouldn't you agree?"

Thomas bristled again. "Shut up!" Hearing himself shout, he took a deep breath. "Nadia's no washout, she'll find out who Burgess' allies are, but so we can make sure they're held accountable, not for your sake."

Black placed the policeman's cap back onto his head and tipped the brim with a mocking smile. "That's all I ask. Good night, Carmichael."

Thomas watched him go, still growling to himself. Why does everyone keep assuming that Nadia and I are a couple, anyway? He sighed quietly into the cool night air as a second question came along that bothered him even more. Why do I get so worked up whenever they do?
Chapter Ten

Nadia marched out of her parent's home and into the night air feeling like a new woman. She had gone inside unsure of her plans and of herself, but she had come out with a new sense of purpose. Thomas was standing on the front walk, quietly watching the small fountains in her parents' garden with a pensive look on his face. She walked up beside him, but said nothing, taking a moment to appreciate the way the arcs of water sparkled in the light provided them by the full moon. Turning to her partner, she brought him back to Earth by tugging on his sleeve. Startled out of his thoughts, he turned toward her and she flashed him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry about making you wait out here. Everything's fine. Better than fine, actually. I sort of need to talk to you though."

Thomas smirked faintly, though she wasn't sure what was funny. "I need to speak to you, too, but you go first."

She nodded, more than willing to kick things off. "My parents asked me to give up the investigation. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't ready to do exactly that when we got here, but... I don't know. It was like having someone else tell me to quit got me to dig in my heels."

Thomas chuckled softly. "That does sound like something you would do."

Nadia flushed slightly at his amusement but continued without commenting on it. "I told them I wasn't going to give it up and that I intended to see it through to the end. So... I need to know if you're willing to go the distance with me. You've been hurt already, so I won't blame you at all if you feel like now is a good time to back out."

He smiled. "I think I'll be staying on, actually. Someone has to keep an eye on you or you'd never get any sleep, working as hard as you do."

She felt a smile crawl over her face and couldn't deny that she was pleased. "You're sure? Really sure?"

He chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Yes, I'm sure. And before you ask, yes I am also really, really sure."

She giggled a little, realizing she was actually relieved she would not have to go it alone. "Well... good. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Thomas' expression became serious. "Black was just here."

Nadia felt her jaw start to slacken and gave herself a slight shake, leaning against the side of her car for support. "He was here? As in 'in front of my parent's house' here?"

He nodded, his expression leaving no room for jokes. "I'm afraid so."

She took a deep breath, then another for good measure. "Did he say anything about involving them in this? My parents, I mean?"

"Oddly enough, no. He seemed to be here just to deliver a message to you, through me."

"To us, you mean." She paused, not sure she was ready for the other proverbial shoe to drop. "Well, all right, what did he have to say?"

"He said that he wants us to put Burgess away."

Nadia had to take another deep breath. "He wants us to deal with Burgess? Is he crazy?"

Thomas smirked at this, remembering Black's peculiar mannerisms. "He may well be. He claimed we could do it without having to confront Burgess directly, though."

"How the hell are we supposed to..." She trailed off, actually thinking about the problems they would face in attempting the task. "I guess if we had something on him we could handle it that way, but... it seems awfully risky. I mean, what we've done so far hasn't exactly been safe, but taking Burgess on in earnest is something else altogether."

Thomas smiled, seeing those journalistic instincts of hers kicking in. "You're close. It isn't Burgess he wants us to get dirt on. He wants us to dig something up on some of Burgess' friends in high places, who are helping to keep him out of prison after the hotel incident last week."

"Friends in high places... He probably means Burgess' employer." She found herself growing interested in the ramifications of the idea. "Odds are Burgess' crime-related work is strictly off the books, so they could disavow any knowledge of it while providing him an alibi... So all we need to do is find the records of his activities and hand them to the proper authorities."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Is it going to be that easy? Do you really think Burgess keeps files on everything he does?"

Nadia shrugged. "Maybe not everything, no, but I'm willing to bet any shady deal that involved money was noted down somewhere. Even crooks like Burgess need to keep their books in order."

He had to admit she had a point there. "All right, so where would we find those?"

She let her fingers idly drum against the side of her car as she thought it over. "Well, the files we need will have to implicate Burgess' friends, too, so probably in their headquarters, wherever that is. Locked away in some hidden drawer or safe, likely as not."

He sighed, massaging his temples. "Great. Here I thought this might actually be possible. Why would Black ask us to pull off something we couldn't do?"

She patted her friend on the shoulder. "Don't give up so easily, Thomas. First things first, I need to look under some rocks and find where Mr. Burgess works when he's out in the daylight. We can worry about the how after that."

He nodded slowly. "Agreed. One step at a time."

Nadia smiled. "Exactly." Her expression faltered slightly. "But... well, there is something else I wanted to talk to you about. Have for a while now, really."

He blinked, not quite following her. "Oh?"

"It's not a big deal, I guess, except I sort of would like to know. But if it's hard to talk about, or you can't, that's okay too. Though I don't know why you wouldn't be able to unless-"

Thomas cut her off with a raised hand and a patient smile. "You're rambling, Nadia."

She blushed fiercely. "Oh, yes, I am, aren't I? Sorry. Um... what I'm trying to say is; I don't know anything about you, Thomas. Not your hometown, not what you do for a living, not even where your family is. I don't mean to interrogate you, especially not after my father came at you like he did, but... as far as I know right now, you dropped out of the sky just before you saved me from that thug."

He chuckled softly. "But then my name would be Gabriel, wouldn't it?"

She let herself giggle a little, letting his levity decrease the tension but waiting for him to go on.

He cleared his throat, looking at the moon for a moment before turning his attention back to her. "Well, I can't blame you for asking. I hadn't realized I had been so mysterious, but I also can't say as you're wrong about my not mentioning before. If it helps, I wasn't keeping the information a secret on purpose. I'm from Ottawa, but more toward the west end. From the area around the Bayshore Shopping Centre, if that rings any bells?"

She nodded in response. It was a fair distance from her apartment by bus, but she had been out to the mall in question before.

"I don't really do much of anything for a living just yet. I was looking for a job when I bumped into you downtown, so I could build myself some funds to go to college. I've never exactly known what I wanted to do with my life, but I figure it's better to have the money first anyway. As for family, well... I don't really have one. I've been taking care of myself for... well, a long time now. It's a big part of why I'm a little late to the college scene."

Nadia took her friend's hand sympathetically. "What happened to them?"

Thomas smiled at the gesture, but it was a sad expression nevertheless. "There was an accident. It almost feels like ancient history, now. All the family I had in the world, just... gone."

She squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up a painful subject."

He returned the squeeze. "You didn't know. And that was my doing, not yours. I don't want you worrying about it, all right?"

She frowned. "I still feel sort of bad about it..."

He chuckled lightly. "Worrying is my job, remember? You just focus on finding out which impenetrable corporate headquarters we have to infiltrate at the behest of a potentially bonkers mercenary."

She laughed as well. "All right Mr. Carmichael, I'll do that."

Stepping away from the car, she opened the door and slid into the driver's seat while Thomas took the passenger side as usual. "Oh and that reminds me; I asked my father to look into Orion as well. He might have better luck than we did; he seemed to have something on his mind when I mentioned it to him."

Thomas nodded. "Good thinking. Even if we manage to get Burgess put away, it will be good to know we can deal with Black, too. He's... well, more than a little nerve-wracking."

Nadia paused in the midst of buckling her seat-belt. "Oh? He seemed all right to me. Kind of... I don't know, mouthy is as good a word for it as any. But not hostile."

He laughed wryly. "Mouthy works. But trust me, when I called him on his cavalier attitude it was like night and day. All of his wit and jauntiness went right out the window and I swear I felt the temperature drop."

She frowned. "Scary when he's angry, huh? I'll keep that in mind. Have to agree with you, then, the sooner Daddy finds something on him, or his boss, the better. Burgess is bad enough with his brass knuckles; I don't want to replace him with someone who prefers using a gun."

"No kidding," Thomas agreed. He found himself imagining Black, his most frigid expression firmly in place, sighting them down the end of some sinister-looking weapon and felt a shiver run down his spine. Not a pretty picture; nor one he had any desire to see become a reality.
Chapter Eleven

"No."

"Thomas, would you just-"

"No. No way, no how."

"You're being-"

"No!"

Nadia sighed, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel of her car while she waited for her friend to get the word out of his system.

"No. No, no, no! And again, no!" Finishing this batch, he rested his forehead against the dashboard and panted quietly. Hiding an amused smile, Nadia kept her tone serious.

"Feel better now?"

His response came by way of shaken head, forehead remaining against the dash.

"Oh come on, it isn't that bad."

Thomas sat back up, his expression somewhere between conveying a frantic need to strangle her and an overpowering, exasperated frustration. The fact that she began giggling uncontrollably upon seeing the slightly crazed look did not help. Letting his breath out slowly, he raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You... you should have seen the l-look on your face just now. Aha... ahaha... ahem. Sorry. You were saying?"

"I was going to say that I think you're insane. Look at this place! I doubt the Prime Minister's house is this well protected!"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh please. You're exaggerating."

"Exa..." She could almost see the veins in his head beginning to throb as he fought to recover his powers of speech. "Exaggerating?" His hands began to clench the air in a vain attempt to throttle her without physical contact, before finding a more useful purpose; specifically, directing her attention out the window. "This place is fifty stories of security guards, cameras and signs that read 'off limits' in big red letters followed by teeny-tiny black letters explaining how many ways we'll be incarcerated after we try to get past them!"

Nadia did her best to keep a straight face. She really did. But even as Thomas' face went into steadily deeper shades of red, she could not stop laughing. In all seriousness, however, she had to admit he had a point. The building did leave something of an imposing first impression. Fifty stories of black-tinted glass gave it an air akin to a bodyguard's; towering, but clean-cut and undeniably professional. Not dissimilar to Burgess himself, she supposed, though her personal opinion of the man included the word 'professional' in a grudging manner only. The company that had built it was Icarus Development Incorporated and they had made it their headquarters upon its completion; the name was visible in red letters three quarters of the way up the building's side. Adding to all of this was the fact that it was in the heart of the downtown area and therefor was pretty much guaranteed to always have someone on hand to spot those who shouldn't be on the premises.

Thomas and Nadia's reason for needing to get in, of course, was that this was the company that had been making excuses to the police on Burgess' behalf all week; they had found that out after a quick phone call or two to some of her mother's friends at the OPD's headquarters. It was a construction company of some kind, though you wouldn't know it if you only looked at the almost CIA-like exterior. Burgess was the chief of security, or so the secretary at the front desk had informed her upon her calling in to ask. He reportedly answered directly to the CEO, a Ms. Giselle Fitch. Whether Ms. Fitch was Burgess' cover or active backer they didn't yet know, but it was another name for her to investigate.

Thomas, being the worrier of the two of them, had of course mapped out the thousand ways trying to get in without permission would get them into trouble with a level of detail that would put a GPS to shame. Nadia preferred to tackle problems head-on, but she had to agree that landing one or both of themselves in prison would do neither they nor her investigation any good. Maybe, for just this once, they would have to do it Thomas' way. The cautious way. She turned to Thomas to express this acquiescence, knowing the words would taste like vinegar; he had been trying to talk her into this since they met.

"Thomas?"

Lifting his head off of the dash, where he had left it after several soft impacts against the window, he looked at her wearily. "Yes?"

"You know how you've been trying to convince me to approach things more cautiously?"

He gave a short, dry, laugh. "You mean except for when I told you to follow that thug back to Burgess' office at that old motel, thus causing all of this? Yes, I do."

"Well, I..." she trailed off, suddenly seized by what he had said. Burgess' office at the old motel; of course! If Burgess was here at the I.D.I. building to maintain his cover, he wouldn't be able to keep as close an eye on the motel office without arousing suspicion.

"Thomas, you're a genius!"

Thomas narrowed his eyes and began studying her; the look on his face making it perfectly clear how much he doubted that he was going to agree with her. After a moment's scrutiny, he sighed and put his concern into words. "I know that expression. You're about to suggest something only slightly less crazy than our current plan, but just sane enough that we're at least going to try it because you won't take 'no' for an answer."

She grinned widely at him, mischief dancing in her eyes even as she pulled away from the curb and back onto the road. "Bingo."

Thomas' only response was to groan and rest his head back against his seat. Why did he have to keep opening his big mouth to say exactly the wrong thing?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jason leaned back in the gigantic leather chair, his feet coming to rest on the desk's smooth surface. He let out a long, contented sigh and reached back to dial up the volume on the stereo resting on the table behind him. Life was good. To think that, almost two weeks ago, he had been a nobody. Then last week's fiasco had happened and he was sure he was going to be in real trouble. Tyrone must have known it wasn't his fault that that girl had gotten away, he rationalized. He must have cut him some slack when he sent him on to help those guys casing the rooftop that double-crossing mercenary was supposed to have been on. Brown or whatever his name was. Well, one man's welching on a deal was another man's lucky day! He'd shown those 'professional' types already there a thing or two. Who would've thought to find that gun-for-hire's stash in a fake ventilation duct?

Nobody but me, that's who, he thought to himself with a grin.

And sure, maybe it had looked like he had found it by accident, but he'd known all along where to find the goods; Tyrone's other boys on the scene were just sore losers. Sure, he had stumbled a bit on that bit of piping and yeah, okay, he had needed a hand to get unstuck from the vent after going in head-first, but who else had the guts to roll up their sleeves and get things done? It had paid off, too. He'd found Brown's stuff just sitting there at the bottom of the vent, as neat and tidy as you please. The boys had pulled the bolts out of the roof and checked over the mercenary's gear; a cellphone, some fancy custom rifle and a couple of other odds and ends for his job. Jason hadn't really paid much attention, he'd been arguing with the one Tyrone had left in charge about who would get credit for the find.

All of that aside, it was pretty clear who had gotten the recognition they deserved. It wasn't that other guy sitting in Tyrone's chair and keeping an eye on his office while he took care of business downtown, no sir. Things were going to be different for him from now on, he could feel it. His ship was coming in and all he had to do was get on board to cruise his way to the top. He could almost picture new recruits cowering before him like they did for Tyrone; he drew himself up to loom as best he could, but frowned as he saw the desk obscured most of him. How did Tyrone make it look so small, anyway? Maybe he could get one built smaller than normal, so he would look bigger?

He was startled out of this train of thought by a knock on the door; rising from his recumbent position, he moved to answer it, pausing to see who it was first.

"Who's there?"

There was silence for a moment, followed by a quiet cough. Jason was about to ask again when the person on the other side answered; a woman by the sounds of it, with a breathy quality to her voice, the sort he always imagined a model would have. "Oh, I'm sorry to bother you. I got a call to come by and keep the man watching Mr. Burgess' place company."

Jason, having just finished pumping his ego full of hot air, grinned widely. Ah, this was the life. Prestige. Responsibility. His peers were already sending beautiful women to his door; it was only a matter of time before the money started rolling in. He started fumbling with the lock, while doing his best to sound like the suave, important man he was picturing himself to be. "Well come right on in, sugar, it has been a little lonely holding down the fort all day." Finally getting the locks undone, he opened the door. "Let's see if you look as good as you-ARGH!"

His 'suave' look clearly had not had its intended effect; the first thing he had seen upon opening the door was a can of aerosol about an inch from his nose. Now he saw nothing at all as he fumbled blindly for the woman who had been holding it, cursing loudly as his eyes burned. His hands weren't finding much, however, and it occurred to him that he should close the door. He turned to do this and instead felt something hard connect with his forehead; the floor caught him on his way down and he almost gratefully surrendered himself to unconsciousness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nadia stepped inside, careful not to trip over the unconscious man's body as she closed the door behind herself. A stereo pounded out some kind of bass-heavy rap music from the rear of the room; it wasn't to her taste, but it was helpful in masking the sound of their intrusion. Slipping the can of air freshener back into her purse, she grinned at Thomas, who had climbed in the back window to assist after confirming there was only one man inside. Looking down at the inert form of the unfortunate man, she smirked slightly as she recognized Pasta-Jacket.

"You'll never believe who it is."

Thomas smirked as well, even chuckling a little, but she had the feeling that it wasn't because of who was on the floor.

She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Thomas cleared his throat, speaking in a falsetto voice. "You'll never believe who it is, Thomas, oh no, you'll just never guess."

She blushed fiercely even as she slugged him gently in the arm; she had not realized she had still been speaking in her fake, breathy tone. Coughing once or twice to shake the unwanted accent, she gestured at the floor. "I'm being serious here, look."

Thomas moved to stand beside her, studying the man on the floor with a shade of recognition. "Huh. You wouldn't think Burgess would leave this guy in charge of anything important, much less his office."

"No kidding. It does sort of make me feel better about you having to knock him out, though, since we know he sort of deserved it. Still, it doesn't change anything. We've only got until he wakes up to search this place, so we had better get to it. I don't think he recognized either of us before you got him with the door and it's probably best nobody be able to prove it was us in here."

"Agreed. So we're looking for anything to incriminate Burgess' employer, yeah?"

"Or, failing that, something to get us into the I.D.I. building."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," he groaned.

They split up, Nadia going to Burgess' desk to start on the drawers, pulling an old pair of gloves on as she did. She didn't know if it would actually help with fingerprints or not, but she wasn't taking any chances. Thomas had had to make do with plastic wrap they had picked up from a local grocery store. Pulling the first drawer out, she began rifling through the contents as quickly as she could. She was honestly surprised by how neat Burgess had kept his things and she took special care to put things back just as she found them. Reaching the bottom drawer, she discovered it was locked.

Frowning, she moved over to Pasta-Jacket's body and quickly rifled through his pockets. Her search turned up a few useless odds and ends, but otherwise only served to convince her that the man had personal hygiene issues to resolve. She stood with a sigh and moved to check on Thomas' progress in the adjoining bedroom. She saw he had made a quick check through the dresser, not getting too thorough so as not to disturb the clothes from their original configuration, and was now thumbing through the closet.

He glanced toward her as she entered. "Any luck?"

Nadia shook her head. "No. The bottom drawer of his desk is locked, I'm almost certain it's what we're after, but we're going to have to find the key if we want to get in without damaging something."

"Swell. It could be anywhere. Heck, it might not be here at all, considering who was left to guard the place."

"Trust me, I've thought of that. But wouldn't it make more sense for Burgess to keep a spare here? Everyone forgets something sometime and I bet someone with his temperament just wouldn't have the patience for that."

Thomas thought that over for a moment. "You have a point. All right, so where would this spare key be?"

She glanced around the room, her eyes coming to rest on the dresser. She felt a hunch coming on and moved to investigate. Checking the drawers one at a time, she found that the top drawer's contents were piled slightly lower than the others. Smiling to herself, she reached her hand inside, finding she had more than enough clearance for her hand and forearm. Sliding her hand along the top's underside, her fingers came into contact with something flat and slightly coarse. Picking at it as best she could with her gloved fingernail, she was able to loosen a corner of it. Pulling it away, she heard the sound of something unsticking from a flat surface and withdrew her hand; a key stuck to a strip of masking tape dangling from her gloved fingers.

Holding up her trophy, she grinned triumphantly. "I believe we have a winner."

Thomas gave her a soft round of applause, punctuated by the crinkling of his plastic wrap encased hands, smiling in spite of his best attempts at a straight face. "Bravo madame, bravo. A fine performance." He gave a slight bow, motioning for her to precede him back to the desk. "After you, Holmes."

His own performance caused her to roll her eyes, but she grinned nevertheless. "It's elementary, my dear Watson."

She felt just a little giddy as she moved to fit the key into the lock, almost giggling with excitement. Hearing it click open, she held her breath and pulled the drawer open with near-reverence. The contents, however, did not exactly meet her expectations; she had to admit, though, that anything short of a priceless work of art bearing incriminating notes on its theft would have done the same. Inside were a stack of fifty dollar bills held together by an elastic band, a handgun so polished it had to be new and a pile of neatly stacked papers.

Being as careful as she could, Nadia lifted the corners of a few pages and scanned their contents. An involuntary sigh escaped her as she saw they were virtually all to do with Burgess' gang-related business; the few sheets that weren't seemed to be minutes taken during various meetings. But they had been printed from a computer and had not been signed, effectively denying them of any solid proof as to Burgess' involvement. She checked the more incriminating documents next, finding under the table shipping receipts, records of paychecks given out to Burgess' underlings and similar documents. She smiled wistfully at the big man's signature whenever she saw it, wishing the evidence would actually do her some good. It was dirt on Burgess, sure, but with I.D.I.'s lawyers behind him it would be a lengthy process to put him away; if they could win the court battle at all. Even if they did, without the millions of dollars in backing a corporation could provide she doubted very much they would be able to land Burgess in prison for any significant length of time. Worse, they had no legally justifiable reason for being in Burgess' office in the first place; it was unlikely they would even be allowed to use this information against him at all, short of blackmailing him with it. Considering Burgess' temperament, mounting a personal attack against him in such a manner seemed exceedingly unwise.

She slumped onto the floor in frustration, but bumped her knee against the open drawer as she did; the hollow thud that resulted from the impact drew her attention better than the sharp pain it caused. Getting back onto her knees, she felt around inside carefully and found a shallow depression in the wood. Digging her fingers in, she pried the bottom of the drawer loose and revealed a small, but well-hidden compartment beneath it. Grinning up at Thomas, who gave her a speechless thumbs up, she pulled a folder from the tiny space and out into the open. Replacing the false bottom, she closed the drawer and brought the folder up onto the table so Thomas could see it as well.

It was an unimpressive thing, with brown, faded paper and simple black lettering. Opening it, however, revealed far more interesting contents. Carefully printed documents were neatly stacked within. Photographs of what looked like the I.D.I. building were placed in a separate bundle, with notes written on their reverse side in a measured script. Handing Thomas the stack of note-ridden photographs to peruse, Nadia set to reading through the documents. A short silence followed as they each studied their materials, before Thomas grinned in apparent triumph.

"Jackpot," he announced quietly.

Nadia glanced to him, a hopeful smile spreading over her face. "What did you find? And don't you tease me, this is too important."

He chuckled. "Business before pleasure, got it. What I have here are instructions detailing how one Mr. Tyrone Burgess can exit and enter the Icarus Development Incorporated building without appearing on the security cameras."

Nadia felt herself positively beaming. "So no one can prove he wasn't there and he can always have an alibi from the company. That's actually pretty clever. Well, what does it say?"

He traced a plastic-wrapped finger along the words as he read. "Seems the camera at the back door pans back and forth, but there's a switch of some kind hidden out of its sight, both on the inside and outside. Just press it, and presto, it stays panned to one side for about thirty seconds."

"Allowing Burgess to get inside without ever being noticed," she finished, slightly awestruck at the simplicity of it. "You would think someone would notice the camera stopping for an unusually long time, though, wouldn't you?"

"Well, they're probably pretty careful about it, so I doubt anyone has had a reason to check the security tapes. Even if they did, they could probably pass it off as a glitch or mechanical failure."

She nodded slowly. It made sense to her, anyway. Especially when you factored in the amount of money a large business could throw around to protect itself. Shaking herself out of analyzing the situation, she felt her excitement returning and gave her friend a quick hug before pulling away to resume grinning.

"Either way, we've found what we needed to know with this."

Thomas nodded. "That's certainly true. Do you think the police will be able to act on it, though? I mean... we're not really supposed to be here and I don't think they're allowed to sneak into corporate buildings just because they know where the blind spot is."

She laughed quietly. "Oh silly, we're not turning this over to the police."

He blinked, feeling an ominous suspicion beginning to form in the back of his mind. "We're not?"

"Of course not! At best they would send us home because they can't use information like this. No Sir, we need to take care of this ourselves. We'll just make use of Mr. Burgess' back door."

Thomas sighed, smiling weakly in resignation. "Somehow I knew you were going to say that."
Chapter Twelve

"This is insane. You are insane. I'm insane for following you."

"Okay, Thomas? I understand that you're freaking out, I really do. And I appreciate that you're here to stick it out just to lend me a hand; it's an enormous help. But please understand when I say, in as caring a manner as I can, that I need you to shut up now."

Thomas grumbled quietly to himself but had to admit it was not the best time for lengthy debates on the subject of their mental well-being. The pair had walked a few blocks from where Nadia had parked her car to keep from arousing suspicion; they were now across the street from the Icarus Development building, doing their best to keep an eye out for Burgess while looking like anyone else would passing the time during the early evening. This, so far, had involved a great deal of standing around, leaning against a graffiti-ridden wall while talking about nothing in particular and occasionally listening in on those passing them by for ideas whenever their second course of action led them to a standstill. With the number of pubs, nightclubs and other establishments catering to those with a nightlife, the experience was, oddly, not as dull as they had expected.

Nadia checked her watch, seeing it was nearly eight o'clock and was secretly glad that Thomas had insisted they get something to eat after returning from Burgess' apartment with their notes on how to enter the building. Had they come immediately it would have been lighter out, which would have been both a good and bad thing, but she knew she would be starving by this point. And she simply did not do her best work when all she could think about was a pepperoni pizza.

Continuing to watch the exterior of the building, which seemed almost to have grown in height and stature since they last saw it, they pulled into the shadow of a concrete-potted plant as Burgess' hulking shape exited through the front doors. Striding to his car, which bore a striking resemblance to an army vehicle re-done entirely in black, he snarled at the unfortunate employee who had brought it around for him. Climbing in, he quickly peeled away from the curb and drove off in a great hurry; somehow the building was less imposing just for knowing he was no longer inside.

Nadia started across the street as casually as she could while towing her hesitant companion along behind her. Once safely out of the building's line of sight, she let Thomas work his nerve up while she peered around the corner to see what they were up against. The camera mentioned in Burgess' personal files was there all right; it made a steady hum as it panned from one side to the other, searching for would-be intruders. Just like Thomas and herself, she supposed, feeling faint amusement at the thought. Curiously, she saw no other means of security. She supposed that a guard would only complicate Burgess' slipping in and out during work hours, but it still seemed a little sloppy to her. If that was the case, though, then it was entirely possible that there would not be a guard until the night shift came on. They had a window, but they would have to be fast.

Turning to Thomas, she gave a thumbs up and started around the corner, only to feel herself being hauled backward.

She rounded on the young man with a frustrated expression. "Thomas, I swear, if..." She trailed off as he held up his hands in mock-surrender. "What?"

"Humour me for a second," he replied. "I need to see your notes, please."

Yanking them out of her pocket, she handed them to him, irritated, but cooperating. Thumbing through them quickly, he put his finger under a particular sentence and showed her; she felt her face flush as she realized she had forgotten about the hidden switch to deal with the camera.

She smiled sheepishly. "Oh. Right. Um... thanks."

Her friend only smiled patiently and moved to stand beside her as they re-read the excerpt they had copied from Burgess' files. It described the hidden switch as being tucked into a niche at about knee-height on the corner of the office building they presently stood beside; specifically, set into the corner they had between themselves and the I.D.I. building.

Squatting down, they began to feel along the wall for any openings. In the darkening twilight it was difficult to use their eyes; the spot was placed evenly between two streetlights and was not well-illuminated. Feeling her fingers slide across a gap in the concrete, Nadia waved Thomas over. He could not fit his fingers inside and, after attempting it, Nadia found that while hers would fit, she could not reach the button. Standing to prevent their legs from cramping, they rested against the wall for a moment.

Thomas smiled thinly. "Out of sight of the camera or any guards and impossible to press by accident. You could almost think they were trying to make sure it stayed hidden."

Nadia laughed quietly. "Not that most people would notice a back door's camera behaving oddly and think it had anything to do with them in the first place."

"True," he conceded. "Now how do we get at it?"

She frowned. "I can't imagine Burgess having any better luck than us, his hands are twice the size of yours at least. There has to be some kind of trick to this, something they've stashed nearby they can use to press the button."

He nodded in agreement, looking around. He noticed a concrete-potted plant not far up the street from them, nestled beneath a streetlight. It was similar to the one they had hid behind while Burgess took his leave, though it was in the opposite direction of the I.D.I. building. "How about in there?"

Nadia followed his gaze and grinned. "Works for me, let's have a look. Heck, we could use a branch off of the plant itself if we absolutely had to."

Moving to the bush-like plant, they poked around near the base of its stem, but found nothing. Moving up into the bush itself, they had to rely on only their sense of touch; despite the plant being below a source of light, its coarse leaves and clustered branches blocked any illumination from getting more than an inch or two inside. Ignoring the scrapes and splinters they were getting from the branches, the pair made a thorough check of the bush, but could not seem to get their arms in all the way to the centre due to the sheer size of the labyrinthine foliage. Squatting down to take a look at the stem again, Thomas saw a gap in the branches from the bottom. Reaching his hand through the gap, he felt his palm come into contact with something cold. Something metal. Grabbing a hold of it, he removed it carefully from inside its leafy prison and saw a foot-long steel rod in his hand.

Holding it up so Nadia could see, he asked the most relevant question he could think of. "Think this will fit?"

Pushing a few outer branches out of her field of vision, she grinned when she saw his prize. "I'm thinking it will, but we won't know unless we try."

Turning from the bush, they smiled sheepishly at a group that had gathered to watch them, made up mostly of young adults a few years younger than themselves, then hurried past them and back to their corner. Giving the group a few minutes to joke around about their antics, the pair waited for them to move off, then gave the metal rod a try. As they had hoped, when they fitted it into the narrow gap in the concrete, the piece of metal slid inside without complaint. Feeling it press against something at the back of the crevice-like opening, they quickly withdrew their steel instrument and peered around the corner; sure enough, the camera was slowly whirring its way to one side. Once its field of vision was firmly fixated on the alley behind the building, Nadia grabbed Thomas' hand and half-tiptoed, half-sprinted to the doors; she was incredibly thankful that the door opened inwards, as she had not put her gloves on prior to the mad dash. Barging it open with her shoulder, she and Thomas moved further inside just to be certain the camera could not see them.

The hallway they entered was grander than they had expected given that it was little more than a back door. The walls and floor were a polished dark stone, complete with veins of other mineral colours running through it. Soft orange lighting was provided by sconces spaced evenly along the hall's length and lamps hanging from the virtually invisible ceiling, reflecting softly off of the hall's gleaming surfaces. Thomas and Nadia glanced at one another and each gave a soft whistle before laughing nervously.

Feeling the need to keep them moving, Nadia broke their silence first. "All right; before we do anything else, we need to find disguises. There probably aren't any cameras here, or along Burgess' route when he leaves, but there are bound to be plenty in other areas. We can't just go walking around as we are."

Thomas nodded. "Agreed. Any ideas where we should start?"

"Not just yet," she admitted. "I'm hoping that inspiration will come along as we go."

"We're so going to get caught," he muttered, pinching the space between his eyes.

"Hush you. Don't jinx us yet, we've only just got inside."

Proceeding down the hallway as carefully as they could, feeling like any incautious movement could somehow smudge the immaculate polish of the floor, they were only too grateful when they spied a door leading off of the main thoroughfare.

Nadia opened the door a crack, having retrieved her gloves from her purse, and got the lay of the land. She could see lockers and benches; a changing room of some kind. Listening intently over the sound of her crashing heartbeat, she heard no noise from inside. Nodding at Thomas, she pushed the door fully open. After a moment's pause, she found she had closed her eyes in an involuntary flinch, as if expecting a violent reaction. Blushing softly, she expected some manner of joking remark from Thomas, but found he was doing the same thing. Stifling a giggle, she took a breath and kept a straight face; she'd let this one go without teasing him. Tapping her friend on the shoulder, he opened his eyes and blushed a little himself before following her inside, closing the door quietly behind them.

Inside the changing room, for a changing room it was, they saw a dramatic difference in the decor; white tile and regular concrete walls abruptly replaced the polished grandeur of the previous hallway. More importantly, they saw that some of the lockers were open and held what they hoped to be spare guard uniforms. Thomas rolled his eyes at Nadia's 'I told you so' grin and moved to take a look at one of the uniforms that appeared to be in his size. Nadia moved to examine them as well, but found they were all in men's sizes. Realizing the obvious truth as to why that would be, she looked around for a door leading to the women's change-room, but found none.

Thomas sat on one of the benches and began removing his shoes, but paused as he saw her looking around in frustration. "What's the matter?"

She looked back toward him hesitantly and was relieved to see he was still clothed. "I don't think the men's and women's rooms are connected."

"Oh," was about all he could manage, realizing he hadn't even thought of it. "Maybe it's across the hall?"

A quick check through the door they had entered proved his theory incorrect. "Nope. Oh, this is bad. We can't go around with only one of us in disguise!"

Thomas did not answer immediately, which peeved her slightly, but her interest was piqued as he started thumbing through the lockers. Pulling out a uniform a few sizes smaller than his own, he held it up so she could see. "How about this?"

"You already have a disguise. Besides, that would never fit you."

He rolled his eyes. "Cute. I meant for you, silly."

She grimaced as she looked it over. "It's still going to be a bit too big, especially around the shoulders and waist. Don't even get me started about the pants."

"Yes, but we can fix some of that. I really don't see how we have much choice, either. We can't go wandering around looking for where the women change; besides, how would that look, a male guard hanging around the entrance to the lady's room?"

She looked at him incredulously for a moment, then sighed as she silently agreed with him. "All right, all right, fine. But you had better not peek while I'm changing."

He placed one hand over his heart, and the other in the air. "Scout's honour."

When she finally allowed Thomas to turn his face from the corner, he saw a baggy-looking guard standing in the middle of the room, limbs obscured by too-long sleeves and with cap askew. He would have laughed, but the look on Nadia's face suggested it would be unwise. The shirt hung over her shoulders loosely, but it was around her waist that it was baggiest; she could have worn a sweater under it and still had room for her purse against her skin. He could tell she had swapped the pants from the uniform he had found for a slightly larger pair; these fit her hips better than the first pair must have, but the legs were almost clownishly baggy and too long.

She looked at him with an expression that dared him to make light of the situation. "Yes, I know, I look ridiculous. Don't you say a word."

He shook his head. "You don't look ridiculous."

"Well, I feel ridiculous."

He pointed at the slack material. "May I?"

She sighed and nodded, holding up her arms; these, too, were encased in too-large sleeves that extended past her fingers. Thomas, doing his best not to make her uncomfortable, smoothed the material back. Gathering it into a fold on each side, he let her get a hold of it. "All right, tuck that under your belt. It's not perfect, but it should make it look like it fits. From the front, anyway."

Following his instructions, she did feel a little better, though her over-long sleeves made it hard for her to use her fingers with their usual dexterity. She rolled them back, frowning as they flopped back over her wrists and hands. "I still feel like I'm wearing some long-lost brother's hand-me-downs."

Laughing softly, Thomas attended to those next, folding them to one side as he had done with her shirt before rolling the sleeves up to hold it in place. He did the same to her pant legs and by the time they were done, she could pass for wearing a woman's uniform. So long as she wasn't closely inspected, anyway.

He stood back to admire his handiwork. "See? Not so bad."

She tugged at her adjusted clothing gently, frowning slightly. "I guess so, but these will never stay in place if we have to run." She rummaged through her purse, producing some spare hair clips. Attaching them to the folds on her sleeves and pant-legs, she nodded in satisfaction at her more secure attire.

Thomas chuckled. "Good idea. If anyone asks, you can say you're trying some new accessories or something fashion-related like that."

She rolled her eyes. "You're such a guy, Thomas. Mock my style if you like, but I feel much better."

"I am a guy, Nadia," he replied. "And let's not forget that you looked like one a few minutes ago, too."

She giggled softly. "I did, didn't I? Think I'll pass for a security guard with my accessories?"

He grinned, turning to a mirror to adjust his collar. "I think most businesses would be proud to have a security guard that flattered their uniform as well as you do."

Nadia was thankful that he had his attention focused on his own appearance; he did not see the blush that rose to her face, or the embarrassed look it brought with it. "Well, I had a good tailor. But we're wasting time. The quicker we're out of here, the better."

Thomas nodded, moving to the door with her and letting her precede him back into the polished hallway. Coming around a corner, they saw a camera ahead; pulling the uniform's caps lower onto their heads to better obscure their faces, they did their best to walk like they were supposed to be there. Holding their breath as they passed the electronic device, they let it out in involuntary gasps as they saw what lay past the camera's sight. The elevators. Normally, not the most intimidating of things, but when the hallway was staffed by half a dozen guards blocking access to the aforementioned method of transporation from either approach, it became more worrying.

Thomas nudged Nadia's arm gently and pointed out that the stairwell was located within the guard's secure area as well. She groaned softly. The lack of security at the doors made sense now; they didn't need to post guards at every entrance if all of the important stuff was above ground floor. Swallowing hard, she took Thomas' hand and started forward, keeping her hat low and silently hoping with every fibre of her being that she was not about to be in a vast amount of trouble. The guards, holding a conversation amongst themselves about a show being held down at the National Arts Centre, glanced at their uniforms and waved them on without so much as a second look. Nevertheless, it was not until they had stepped into the first elevator past the guards that the pair resumed breathing.

Nadia, realizing she was still holding Thomas' hand, let go and forced a grin past her nerves. "Well, we're in."

Thomas nodded, only able to manage a shaky smile for himself. "Yeah, we are. Can we leave yet?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, we can't leave. We need to decide on where we should start looking. What we're looking for is pretty sensitive stuff, so I'm going to go ahead assume it would be in Burgess' office. Unfortunately, we don't know which floor that's on."

Thomas tilted his head to one side, deciding it was better to help and get this over with as quickly as possible than to slow them down and prolong the experience. "Wouldn't it be near the top? I mean, isn't that where the big shots usually are?"

Nadia frowned, thoughtfully this time. "I don't think so. Normally I imagine you would be right, but if you're the chief of security you need to be able to address issues as they come up. In a building like this, most issues are coming from the ground floor, so you need to be nearer to that." She sighed before continuing. "I think we're going to have to check the lower floors one at a time until we find it. But we'll have to do a quick round of each floor, even if it isn't the right one. If we stop at each floor to poke our heads out, look around, and keep going up, someone is going to notice."

He fidgeted with his collar again, nodding at her assessment of the situation. She was definitely right about that, but that didn't change the fact that they had a lot of building to cover and no idea how much time they had to work with. Worse, he felt one of his bad feelings coming on, the sort that told him they should be gone sooner rather than later. Admittedly, his feelings had been wrong before, like at Black's apartment. He hoped he would be wrong again. But he doubted it.
Chapter Thirteen

"Son of a..."

Jason growled to himself as he regained consciousness and was promptly made aware that even the blood flowing through the veins in his head was painful. He tried to open his eyes and was quickly made aware that this was apparently a bad idea as well; the pain it caused made his eyes begin watering immediately, robbing him of what little sight he had in his pathetic state. Rolling onto his stomach, he inched forward until he found a wall. Leaning heavily against it, he staggered upright and fumbled his way to the washroom. Feeling around for the sink, he located the cold water tap and turned it on, sticking most of his head beneath the high-arched faucet to let the cool liquid numb his pain.

Emerging twenty minutes later, he sat heavily in Tyrone's chair, still muttering under his breath. Why did things never stay good for him for longer than a few hours? Resting his head against the chair, he stared at the ceiling; grateful that he could at least see again, even if things were still a bit blurry. As his headache slowly improved, he looked around to see if anything had been obviously disturbed. His unwelcome company obviously had been careful about cleaning up, as nothing was out of place. Well, that suited him just fine. Tyrone never needed to know about this, as far as he was concerned. Yeah, that would work nicely towards keeping himself on top of the heap. It wasn't like the intruder with the sultry voice and whoever had knocked him out could have found anything important, anyway.

The sound of a car roaring into the parking lot below broke through his thought process, leaving it just so much shattered glass on the floor as he flew to the door. Hearing his superior's heavy tread approaching, Jason opened the door and saw Tyrone framed in the pale orange light of the motel's exterior lights. Standing at attention, he did his best to give the man the respect he deserved, but Tyrone, with nary a glance over his shoulder, seemed to ignore Jason entirely. Sweeping his subordinate aside, he stooped through the doorway and left Jason to close it against the night. Drawing himself up once inside, Tyrone seemed to fill the tiny space even more than he usually did. Jason, recognizing the warning signs indicating Tyrone's anger, scrambled aside to give him his space.

Clearing the room with three strides, Tyrone first checked his desk; finding the bottom drawer secure, he grunted, but did not make Jason privy to his thoughts. Thumbing through his other drawers with an agitated expression, it was obvious he was looking for something and not finding it. Moving to his room next, Tyrone shut the door behind himself. Thinking that, perhaps, his boss had decided to turn in early, Jason allowed himself to begin breathing normally again. A rumbling string of profanity from the bedroom put an end to his hopes for a quiet evening.

Tyrone glared at what he had in his hand. He had found his hidden key hanging from its usual hiding place, only half-secured to the underside of the dresser's ceiling. After plucking it free, he saw the barest hint of black lint on one end, as well as a few loose strings. Someone wearing gloves had removed it, and then attempted to reattach it so he would not notice. He snorted derisively, almost feeling insulted. Amateurs had broken into his office. Rank amateurs. Still, he supposed that they had promise, at least; and guts by the truckload. This last thought struck a chord and the memory of his recent encounter with a particularly saucy young woman floated into his thoughts.

He nodded once, expressing a grudging form of what was almost respect. Almost. "Lawson."

Turning back to the door, he decided it was time to confer with Jason on the subject. Ripping the door open with enough force to pull its top-most hinge free of the drywall in a shower of paint chips and plaster, Tyrone cleared the distance between himself and his unfortunate would-be guard with one smooth, seemingly endless stride. His giant hands reached out, seizing the smaller man by the shirt and throat, hauling him into the air as easily as a child might lift a toy. A second stride carried them across the room and to the opposite wall, against which the enraged giant pinned his helpless underling.

"Who was it, Jason?"

Jason could feel himself sweating profusely, the cold drops already beginning to trickle down the backs of his legs in an especially uncomfortable manner. Swallowing, he found his throat dry as he fought to speak around the big man's hand. "Wh-who do you mean, Ty?"

Tyrone lifted him higher, bashing Jason's head against the ceiling before lowering him to try again. "Who was it, Jason? Who was here?"

Jason's head felt like it was about to explode, but he tried to keep himself calm and thinking straight. "N-nobody, boss. Everything's here, just as you lef-"

He was cut off when his head met the ceiling for a second time; his jaw slammed shut reflexively and his teeth grazed the end of his tongue. "Tell me who it was, Jason! Now!"

Dazed by the impact, Jason tried to gather himself, but the taste of blood in his mouth kept him rattled. "I-I don't know, Ty, honest! Some chick was at the door, I went to see who it was; she got me in the eyes with some kind of spray can. I couldn't see a damn thing! I tried to shut the door to keep her out, but someone got a hold of it first. They slammed it against my damn forehead and laid me out good."

Tyrone's face bore a curious mix of emotions. Frustration was there, along with a dose of disappointment and, somehow, just the barest hint of amusement. Turning, he threw Jason bodily across the room and against the far wall before turning to go. Landing in a tangled heap of limbs, Jason tried weakly to stand, but succeeded only in sprawling out across the floor. "Ty... I'm... I'm sorry. I'll do better... next time..."

The big man paused in the doorway. "There won't be a next time, Jason. Keeping secrets from me was a serious mistake and if I had the time I would make sure you learned from it. I want you gone when I get back, because if I see you again before I've had enough time to calm down, I'm going to slip my knuckles on and pick up where we're leaving off right now."

The battered man remained silent as Tyrone left; he was grateful for that at least. Tyrone did not think he could stand another minute of his inane blathering. Slamming the door shut behind him, he stormed to his car; he had to get back to work. After all, it was the chief of security's job to keep the building free of unwanted pests. And he had the distinct impression that, at this moment, they had some rather unwelcome guests creeping around.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Ha-choo!"

"Gesundheit."

Nadia nodded a quick thanks to her companion, blowing her nose with a tissue from a wall dispenser before making use of the hand sanitizer beside it. "I don't know where that came from."

"It's probably nerves. I know I'm feeling queasy."

"Yes, but that's normal for you."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "I may be paranoid, but it doesn't mean I'm wrong."

She giggled, peeking around the corner of the small space they had taken refuge in when her sneeze had begun to come on; a break room by the looks of the cupboards, coffee maker and mini-fridge. The coast looked clear. Disposing of the dirty tissue, she motioned for Thomas to follow her back into the hallway. Having learned to act as though they belonged, they would nod to anyone they passed without slowing or stopping; not that there were many people here at this time of night. Still, so far things were going exactly the way they wanted, at least as far as avoiding unwanted social contact was concerned. Every so often they would hear the whir of a camera overhead, prompting them to keep quiet until they were further along the hallway; of course, they kept their hats as low over their faces as they could while still being able to see in front of themselves.

The halls weren't nearly as grand as the ground floor's impressive display, but neither were they as deliberately ignored as the change room had been. A simple grey carpet kept their footfalls quiet, while the immaculately white walls put their borrowed uniforms' spotless, starchy sleeves to shame. Not the most welcoming of places, but with the scant few people working the night shift Nadia doubted anyone genuinely cared.

Despite their success at staying under the radar, they had yet to locate Burgess' office, or any other bigwig's stomping ground for that matter. As a matter of fact, they had seen more storage rooms containing orange-hued construction uniforms and yellow helmets than proper offices. Empty meeting halls with whiteboards and folding chairs, sure, but nothing that looked like a substitute for a desk. Stopping to look through the window of the door to one such room, Nadia saw notes had been left on the room's whiteboard; projected expenditure for a project, lists of names to be assigned to various jobs on-site, recommended equipment for the work that needed doing.

Glancing to Thomas, she smirked slightly. "Is it me, or is this place trying really hard to make sure we know it's home to a construction company?"

He nodded, frowning. "No kidding. And this is only... what? The ninth floor, out of fifty?"

"Eleventh, I think," she corrected; furrowing her brow, she realized he was taking her remark more seriously than she had.

"Okay, eleventh. We're barely more than a fifth of the way up the building; you would think they would decide how to see to their projects nearer to the top, wouldn't you? I mean, the CEO has to approve these things, doesn't she?"

Nadia shrugged; she didn't exactly know very much about the inner workings of major corporations. "I'm really not sure. I would assume Ms. Fitch would have to give the okay for major things, but different companies work in different ways, right?"

Thomas nodded, slowly, but she could see he wasn't satisfied. "I guess. I'm still keeping my eyes peeled; I have a bad feeling about this."

She sighed, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "You've had it since before we came in, Thomas, if I know you as well as I think I do."

He chuckled softly, but said nothing more as they came up to the elevators again. Pressing the button, the doors of the elevator they had used on their way up opened, silently suggesting that there was not a great deal of inter-level transit happening tonight. Taking it up another storey, the pair stepped out onto the twelfth floor without looking up. The gleam off of the polished floor was their first clue that something was different; as their eyes travelled higher, they were provided others. The walls were panels of a smooth matte black and the floors could be mistaken for hardwood, all lit by sterile fluorescent light. It was still not quite as impressive as the ground floor's approach, but it was definitely nicer than the last ten floors.

Glancing to Thomas, she saw him grinning smugly and rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay, you were right, this is kind of weird. But let's not forget who brought it up first, mister."

He inclined his head towards her. "I'm satisfied with my role as-is."

She shook her head, but could not keep a smile off of her face. "All right, let's not get carried away, we're on a mission here, remember? I seem to remember you wanting to be gone in a hurry, no?"

"Yes," he replied, starting along the halls with her. "I most certainly do."

They quickly saw a difference; there was no one here at all, at least not out in the hallways. They glimpsed light coming from beneath some of the doors they passed, but they now had blinds or curtains across their windows and they could not see what was behind them without disturbing those inside. Rounding a second corner, now in the hall on the opposite side of the building from the elevators, they stopped dead in their tracks as they saw a sign protruding from the wall ahead of them. It was a simple affair, a smooth black rectangle with white, square letters, reading 'Chief of Security.'

The pair grinned at one another, each already knowing what the other was going to say. "Jackpot."

It was all they could do to keep themselves from sprinting to the door; they settled on a quick walk. Checking under the door, they saw no light from inside and quietly edged it open, turning the light on as they did. A vacant receptionist's desk came into view, the sort that had its front reaching nearly to the floor so you couldn't see the legs or feet of its occupant. Its clean wooden surface bore a phone and a computer monitor, but was also decorated with a few personal effects: the most notable of these was a picture of a young, beaming couple standing together in front of a Christmas tree. Though there was no concrete way to know which of the two actually worked here, Nadia silently sympathized with whoever it was for having to work directly under Burgess. Moving around the desk, the pair was most interested in what lay behind it: a set of doors made from a dark, polished wood. A small sign bearing the name 'T. Burgess' had been thoughtfully placed on the wall beside them, just in case someone forgot who the giant that worked here was.

Opening these doors, Nadia flipped the light on, but neither she nor Thomas saw what was inside; their attention had been suddenly redirected to their ears. Or, more specifically, what they heard approaching from the hallway. It was the sound of polished shoes meeting the immaculate floor at a brisk, determined pace, but it sounded a great deal more like the not-so-distant thunder of an oncoming storm to them. Worse, the steps fell heavily enough to resound even through the closed door of the office and that meant just one thing. It was too late to turn the lights off and, in a frantic bid to escape notice, Thomas pulled Nadia down to hide underneath the receptionist's desk, leaving the door to Burgess' office ajar and the lights inside switched on.

Burgess burst into the room, his eyes raking across the walls and floor like the talons of some great, predatory beast; they caught on the sight of the door to his office left ajar. He placed one hand atop his receptionist's desk and vaulted his way over it, knocking the phone's receiver out of its cradle and the monitor to the floor with the dull crack of plastic on tile. The picture of the couple remained just where it had been, though knocked flat onto the table. The frame and glass had been crushed beneath Burgess' hand as he passed over; he didn't so much as notice. Landing on one foot, he transitioned the momentum of the vaulting motion into a giant step, throwing the other door to his office open as he stormed inside to confront his unscheduled visitors. He growled as he found the room empty, but the sound of the door leading from his office into the hall slamming shut gave him an excellent idea as to where his quarry had gone.

Turning on his heel, he placed one hand beneath the desk he had just leaped across and casually threw it aside on his way to the door. Pulling the office door clean from its frame, it, too, was tossed aside like so much dead weight. Burgess silently reflected on this, realizing, as if for the first time, just how angry this particular duo had made him. He was going to enjoy their little chase. But not nearly as much as he would enjoy what came after catching them.
Chapter Fourteen

"I told you this was a bad idea!"

"Oh, lecture me later, will you!?"

The pair, hands joined, ran full-tilt down the hallway, keeping their eyes firmly forward, neither of them with any particular desire to see exactly how close Burgess was to catching them. Simply knowing he was behind them and giving chase was more than enough to keep their feet flying. With the adrenaline pumping in their veins they weren't even beginning to pant yet, but they both knew it was a temporary state; they had to get away from here now. Of course, the fact that they were on the twelfth floor did rather make things a little bit more complicated.

Coming back to the elevators, Nadia took a stab at the call button and groaned when nothing happened. "He's locked the elevators, now what are we supposed to do? I don't think I'm capable of running down twelve floors' worth of stairs. Not without stopping, anyway."

Thomas smiled grimly. "It wouldn't matter if you could. If he's locked the elevators, he must have people watching the stairwell."

She winced as what he said sank in. "Then what do we do?"

He sighed, giving her hand a squeeze as the floor began to resound with their pursuer's heavy tread. "I don't know, but we can't stay here!"

Dashing to the stairwell, they began their descent. Burgess' thundering steps spurred them onward, but perhaps what helped them the most was the simple monotony of going down flights of stairs; it allowed them to think and flee simultaneously. After six floors, the pair were approaching the limit of what they could run without a breather and had seen nothing but grey steps and black railings. Nadia, doing what she did best, acted on instinct. Instead of continuing their mad dash downwards, she shouldered the door to the sixth floor open. Thomas, without the spare lung capacity to question her decision, followed closely on her heels. Besides, any idea was better than pushing themselves too hard only to have Burgess catch them once they collapsed.

Emerging back into the dull-grey carpeted halls they had passed through earlier, Nadia paused, frowning. Her instinct hadn't provided her with a second step; what was here they could work with? All she could see were stupid, nondescript doors! Seeing panic setting in, Thomas took her hand, his more meticulous nature having had time to catch up with his partner's impulsiveness. He went to the first door he came upon that would take them in towards the centre of the building's structure and was infinitely relieved to find it unlocked. Slipping inside, he shut the door, leaving both he and Nadia in the dark. Sweeping an arm upwards across the wall, he found what he was after as he felt his forearm collide with the light switch. With the room's lights flickering to life, he nodded in satisfaction as the details of the room came into view; large metal shelves bearing folded uniforms, hard-hats, work boots and other construction paraphernalia. A storage room. Two particularly large shelves walled in a roughly ten-by-ten space; their corners met at one end, while the other came within a foot of touching the main concrete wall the entrance was set in. Smaller shelves were arranged within the square space and narrow aisles ran between these, the only means of getting around in the cramped space. Tight quarters, to be sure, but neither of them seriously believed that it would slow Burgess down and, even if it did, there just wasn't enough room to play hide and seek with him. Not if they intended to win, anyway. Nadia, determined to keep her panic at bay, looked on the bright side; at least they had a few moments to catch their breath before the big man started checking doors and noticed the light on from under their particular one.

"Okay, Thomas, good, we're out of the halls, we've bought ourselves some time. What are we going to do with it?"

"Well, first we... uh..." He trailed off, frowning, before sighing. "Nope, I've got nothing. Your turn again."

She looked at him incredulously for a moment, before giggling just a little in spite of herself and the situation. "My turn, is it? All right, challenge accepted."

Scanning the room, her eyes rested on the gap between one of the larger shelves and the concrete wall. Chewing her lip thoughtfully, she moved to it and shifted a pile of uniforms to allow light into the area beyond it; instead of a concrete wall separating this storage room from whatever was next door, she saw a second storage space nearly identical to the one they were currently in. She felt a fresh hunch coming on and turned to explain it to Thomas, but froze as the sound of the doorknob beginning to turn reached her ears. Seizing Thomas' hand, she pressed herself against the concrete and squeezed past the end of the shelf, pulling him along with her. Emerging in the darkness of the opposite side, she placed her free hand along the wall and just kept going, feeling her way through the failing light.

Burgess, entering the segment of the room they had just left, cursed softly to himself when he found the room empty. But the light had been left on; was it a distraction, perhaps, or were they trying to hide from him? Seeing one pile of uniforms had been shoved against the pair of construction boots beside it, he moved to investigate. Leaning in, he peered through the empty space and caught the barest glimpse of white-clothed movement squeezing past the 'wall' shelf on the far side of the next storage segment. Smiling thinly, he turned on his heel and exited back into the hallway, turning off the light as he went.

Hearing the door shut, the pair stopped to listen, just to be sure that it was not a trick. Craning her neck, Nadia could no longer see light coming in over the tops of the shelves; Burgess must have turned it off. Shrugging, she led Thomas toward the next shelf they had to squeeze past to continue on their way, when the door to the segment they were currently in was flung open. Burgess was framed in the light from the hall for a moment before he surged into motion and lunged after them. Nadia, already past, pulled Thomas through as quickly as he could go and the pair toppled to the ground on the far side of the shelf; barely an inch out of Burgess' massive arm's grasp. Snarling, the big man put his shoulder to the shelf and began to push, but it was too big and too heavily laden, even for him. Straightening up, he turned and charged out the door, his thundering steps clear even through the wall as he made his way around to their current door. Nadia helped Thomas up and took the only route she could think of; inwards, away from the outer concrete wall. Squeezing into the narrow aisles, they proceeded until they came up against the wall-shelf marking the rear of the storage segment. Getting down on their hands and knees, they felt along the items in the dark, trying to find some lighter objects. Locating a suitable spot, Nadia shoved a pile of traffic cones aside, while Thomas attended to a box of safety glasses. With an opening made, they crawled through their rabbit hole before turning to once again seal their impromptu entrance.

The light on the opposite side of the shelf they had just crawled through flicked on and they heard Burgess cursing loudly. Knowing they could not stay where they were, they pressed deeper inside; they found it was emptier behind the shelving units, which, as they could barely see, was quite fortunate. Worming their way to the direct centre of the storage area, they found a small open space in between six, evenly spaced pillars of metal and concrete; almost definitely support structures for the building. The space was, thankfully, lit by a dull orange bulb set in the ceiling between the pillars; it was enough for them to see each other's outlines with, but details were not forthcoming.

Resting against one of the pillars, Nadia smiled shakily, though of course Thomas could not see it in the half-light. "Okay, so far, so good. It's your turn; now what? Oh and please be brilliant, I think I've just set the bar rather high."

Thomas chuckled dryly, taking his rest beside her. "Great. No pressure, then." Tilting his head to one side, he heard the faint sound of a door closing, though he did not know if it was Burgess entering from or exiting to the hallway. "Well, we can't stay here for long, that's for sure."

"In here, on this floor, or in this building?"

"Yes," he replied, shaking his head as Nadia giggled quietly in response. "There's no way the two of us can take Burgess." He paused as an idea struck him. "But maybe we don't need to. Come on; and be thinking of some way we can get past the guards downstairs, please."

Taking her hand, he moved back to the shelf that marked the boundary between their hiding place and the storage area proper. Feeling his way along the shelf, he made his way as far along as he could, until he felt the concrete wall come up beside him; he needed to be sure they would emerge in the first storage segment they had entered. Placing his free hand on the shelf, he knelt down to get at the bottom shelf, Nadia crouching with him. They both froze when they felt a vibration through the cold metal, their joined hands involuntarily tightening their grip as objects fell from the shelf above them. Thomas gritted his teeth as a reinforced work boot hit him in the back of the head; he counted himself lucky that it had been the heel that had hit him and not the steel toe. The beam of a flashlight cut into the darkness above them, probing this way and that, but Burgess, being such a large specimen, had had to crouch to see through the shelf; he could not see straight down, putting them rather literally under his nose. The seconds passed them by in agonizing slowness, each tick a nail driven into their chests as their anxiety ratcheted up another notice.

He can hear us, Nadia hissed inwardly, stealing a glance up at the probing light. Hear us breathing, or our hearts beating, something! Please, please just keep walking!

It was not until a full two minutes had dragged by that Burgess, grumbling to himself, drew back from the shelf and stalked further along the row; he knocked a few random objects from their rest as he went for good measure.

Nearly collapsing from relief, the pair gathered themselves as quickly as they could and made themselves a path through the bottom shelf. Climbing through, they stood on leaden legs and supported one another to the door. Exiting into the hallway, they could only hope, with every fibre of their beings, that Burgess was far enough away not to notice the light entering the room.

Seeing the door to the stairwell was, at most, ten feet from them, helped to reinvigorate them; the pair wasted no time in making for it, just in case Burgess stepped out of the storage area and saw them, wasting all of their caution. Emerging back into the stairwell, they once again began on their journey downwards, moving as quickly as they could without wearing themselves out. They passed several floors in silence, focusing only on putting distance between themselves and Burgess, who they hoped was still searching for them up above.

Reaching the third floor, Thomas finally broke the silence. "So... have you figured out how we're getting past the guards at the bottom yet?"

Nadia shook her head. "Nope. Not in a risk-free manner, anyway, and I have to admit that's what I would prefer just now. Today has been far too stressful for even my liking."

He raised an eyebrow. "Ignoring my reflex to point out that it was to be expected since we broke into a corporate building, I notice you specified your idea was risky. Meaning, of course, that you do have an idea, I hope?"

She sighed. "It's not exactly an idea. I mean... this stairwell is our only way to get downstairs that doesn't involve jumping out of a window. And as much fun as playing cat-and-mouse with Burgess all night sounds, I'm pretty sure we want out before he catches up to us."

He nodded. "That goes without saying."

"Why don't we just walk out?"

He stared at her, raising an eyebrow dubiously. "You're serious?"

Nadia shrugged. "Sort of, yeah. I mean... Burgess didn't see us running through the halls and he couldn't have gotten a great look at us in the storage room, being as dark as it was."

He raised his other eyebrow, not following where exactly she was going with this. "What's your point? He knows we're here, he just has to catch us now."

"My point is that the guards downstairs are expecting two intruders. But we're in uniform. And, if I'm right, Burgess hasn't gotten a good look at us, so it's possible they don't know what to look for."

Catching on, Thomas grinned. "So we act casual and just stroll on out. I like it. If it works."

She smiled grimly. "Risky as it is, I think it's our only chance."

Concentrating on getting to the ground floor, the pair continued on their way down. They had only two more floors to descend, but it became steadily harder to press onward the closer to the bottom they came. Neither was quite sure how they would muster up the courage to walk through the door into the main lobby without seeming suspicious to the dozen or more guards they suspected were presently there. The problem was abruptly taken out of their hands as they turned to descend the final batch of steps and found themselves facing at least half of those dozen individuals waiting at the bottom.

"Halt!"

Doing as the baton-armed individuals ordered, Nadia and Thomas froze in place. One of the guards, an Asian woman looking to be somewhere in her thirties, whose dark brown hair poked out from under her cap as a ponytail, approached to scrutinize them. Sizing them up, she frowned at them even as she looked them over.

"I don't recognize you two, are you new?"

Thomas felt himself nodding vigorously, while Nadia instead found her voice. "Yes. That is, yes ma'am. Sir. Uh... it's our first night."

She chuckled. "Ma'am makes me feel old, Sir will do just fine. Well, let's see what we've got to work with, shall we?"

She steered the pair down the last few stairs and past the other guards. Emerging through the doors and into the lobby, the pair swallowed hard as they saw another dozen guards standing around to back those in the stairwell up, should it be necessary. Leading them off to the side, but still within sight of the crowd of security personnel, she stopped directing them forward and stood back.

"Let's get a look at you now. Those caps aren't supposed to hang low like that; nobody can see your faces properly..."

Neither of the pair was in a terrible rush to show anyone in this building their faces. Unfortunately, they could not think of a single, believable reason to keep them as they were, either. Slowly raising their hands to do as she asked, they, and everyone else in the room, froze as a chime sounded from one of the elevators. Fanning out around the lift in question, the guards waited anxiously for the doors to open, gripping their batons tightly. When they did, however, it was the hulking shape of Burgess who filled their vision. Snapping to attention, the guards backed off as the glowering giant stalked into the room.

Turning his gaze on the Asian woman, she instantly saw he was in a fouler mood than she had ever wanted to see him in. "Murakami!" He barked, pointing at the floor in front of him, not even bothering to add a 'come here' to the gesture, much less a 'please'.

She inclined her head, but remembered what she had been doing. "One moment, chief, I'm just seeing to these..." Turning, she found the pair gone. "Rookies?"

Turning back to face her boss, she found him looming over her. "What rookies."

A chill ran down her spine simply from the deadpan tone of his voice. It sounded cold, flat and emotionless; like he was fully willing, and capable, to pop her head off without so much as a warning, much less any regret.

"Just some newbies on their first night, chief, I was about to check their identification to make sure they were who they said they were. Must have slipped off when we all turned to see you coming in."

Burgess stared at her for a moment, his expression going from utter neutrality to a frantic anger and back again, before he did the last thing she expected; he began to laugh. She had no idea what he found so funny, nor why he called off the lock-down he had put in place less than half an hour before. Neither did she know that her new recruits had run all the way to Nadia's car without stopping, ignoring the weird looks they had been given by those they passed who wondered where a pair of security guards were going in such a hurry while carrying armfuls of clothes; nor that they had driven back to her apartment with absolutely no regard for the speed limit, with Nadia muttering quiet apologies to her mother every other minute. It was only through pure luck that they did not encounter a red light for six blocks. Though that they stopped for.
Chapter Fifteen

Nadia and Thomas' clothes, the ones they had changed out of at the Icarus building, lay strewn about the entryway to her apartment. The pair, utterly spent and no longer powered by the adrenaline boost that had kept them going all evening, had collapsed against the inside of her front door, still wearing their 'borrowed' guard uniforms. Facing one another, their heads resting against the door, they grinned weakly at each other.

"So. That could have gone... better."

Nadia giggled softly, more from exhausted relief than amusement. "We got home in one piece, Thomas. I'm counting it as a win."

He attempted to shrug, but his shoulders barely moved. "I guess. Let's review, just to be sure. We have our stuff." He flailed an arm in the general direction of the mess around them, prompting another giggle from his exhausted partner-in-crime. "And I don't think they got anything significant on the cameras, so the only one we have to worry about coming after us would be Burgess."

"And he has to act nice for the cameras and police until their investigation is put to rest," Nadia interjected.

He nodded slowly. "True. So yeah, I guess I have to agree that we didn't do so badly."

She grinned, but he cut her off before she could say anything. "But we are still without the documents we were hoping to find, meaning we are still working with a limited amount of time."

"All right. A draw, then," she sighed. "And it sucks, too, because there just isn't any way we'll be getting back into the Icarus Development building. Not after tonight. Burgess will probably move the stuff he knows we've seen into his office and step up security to boot."

Thomas nodded. "Agreed. I don't know what tipped him off, but it's safe to say we left a clue of some kind behind at the motel. This is officially beyond our ability to handle."

"Black's going to be thrilled, I'm sure." She paused, her frown slowly shifting into a thoughtful smile. "Actually, that gives me an idea."

He groaned. "Well, whatever it is, leave me out of it, at least for tomorrow. I need a day off before I have some kind of nervous breakdown."

She smiled sympathetically. "That's fair, I've been dragging you all over the place, and you deserve a break. You crash here tomorrow; I'll be paying my folks another visit."

Beginning to struggle upright, she paused as she saw the amused smirk on the young man's face. "What?"

"I may just tally today in the win column after all; I really dodged a bullet there. Your mom is great, but I'll pass on being glared at all evening by your father."

Nadia shook her head with a sigh and a patient smile. "I suppose I can't blame you for that. Good night, Thomas."

Staggering to his own feet, he moved into the living room and flopped, rather ungracefully, onto the couch. His own 'good night' was somewhat muffled and unintelligible, given that it came from around the cushion his face was now embedded in, but it brought a small smile to Nadia's face nevertheless. Entering her room, she took a moment to at least change out of the ill-fitting guard's uniform and into her pyjamas before sliding into bed; oddly, she did not fall asleep as quickly as Thomas had, who she could now hear snoring softly from down the hall. The audible reminder of his presence reminded her of what Thomas had said about preferring to avoid her father. It was bothering her far more than she thought it would, or should and there was no reason for it she could see, except for one. One that she had been denying to her parents for the last week; possibly one she had been denying to herself, too. But, if it was true, then was it so bad?

"No," she decided, rolling onto her back and smiling softly up at the ceiling. "I suppose it isn't."

Feeling more relaxed, she settled back into her pillows and began to drift off at last. Her only lingering worry was bringing it up with her parents tomorrow and whether she should do it before or after she asked them for help on another of her crazy schemes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The pair of guards ran from the building for the eighth time in a row; their caps pulled low over their faces, each with a bundle of clothes hastily rolled into a ball clutched in their arms. Out the door, into the alley and promptly out of sight. No way of seeing who they were during their escape, just as there was no significant evidence from their trip through the building's lower portion. They had captured the young man's chin and right cheek as he emerged from the storage room on the fifth floor; the change from dark to light had momentarily dazzled him and he had turned his head slightly. Still, it wasn't enough to identify him, at least not well enough to act on.

"You're sure you know who these people are?"

Burgess, seated in a chair against the wall, glanced up. "Absolutely. We've had recent... encounters with one another. The girl, Lawson, is the one from the hotel incident; the other kid is the one my boys saw to in the alley."

"If your 'boys' saw to him, how is it that he's sneaking around our building with his friend?"

The monolithic man ran a finger across his jawline, frowning. "I don't know. I gave very specific instructions to the man I put in charge of it; the kid wasn't supposed to be out of the hospital for a week, minimum. I told him to break some bones."

The figure standing beside the laptop rewound the security footage to show the pair running from the building yet again, but flinched a little at the mention of breaking bones. "He doesn't seem very broken to me, Burgess. Would that really be necessary, anyway? You know how I feel about illegal activities under the company's roof."

The big man stood from his chair, shrugging. "Well, they got off easy somehow, so it's fine, right? Besides, they've broken into my motel room, Giselle, so I consider it open season. Either way, they're amateurs, it's just a matter of time before they slip up. The girl has good instincts for this, I'll grant her that, but the boy's just along for the ride. Maybe he's been helpful to her so far, maybe not, but he's not cut out for this work and that makes him a weak spot for her. One she can't afford to have if she wants to stay ahead of us once that streak of luck she's on gives out."

"All right, have it your way. Could you get the light? I prefer to discuss things when I can see the person I'm speaking to."

A quick flick of his hand found the light switch and the room came into focus; 'posh' was the word that came to mind. Hardwood panelling covered the walls, the sort you would expect of a judge's office or a courthouse. The floor's feather-soft carpet utterly deadened one's footsteps, even for a man as large as Tyrone Burgess, and the wall-sized window at the rear of the office gave them an unequalled view over the city all the way to Parliament Hill. The desk the laptop was set on was hand-carved, as were the seats, and the cushions looked to be some kind of high-quality fabric, though Burgess was no expert on such things. Just to complete the image that the office was intended for the CEO, potted plants had been placed in the corners of the room, provided their daily doses of sunlight by the massive window.

The light also brought the woman he was speaking to into focus; Giselle Fitch, CEO of Icarus Development Incorporated. She was short, but then, everyone was short to Burgess; he supposed she stood at least five foot eight in her slight heels, so she was above average. She had red hair, but the odd strand of grey could be seen when you had the bird's eye view that he did. It was cut short enough to barely touch the shoulders of her suit, which was of the 'immaculately black and custom-tailored' variety that Burgess himself preferred. Of course, his decision to have his clothing custom-made was not entirely voluntary, whereas the woman standing before him had simply chosen to look her best. Fitch's face was fine-featured, if beginning to age ever so slightly, with a fine spray of freckles across her cheekbones; he knew better than to mention these, though. Ever. He was one of the few who knew of her personal distaste for the 'high-brow country girl' comparison; certain parts of him still cringed reflexively at the memory of what she had done to the ex-employee who had voiced it aloud. Fortunately, it was her eyes that drew your attention most easily, making the freckles an easily overlooked afterthought. They were blue and had a commanding, almost haughty, look to them; a look she was now fixing upon him.

"Well, what are you proposing? You know that you can't touch them while the police are investigating you. The company's lawyers are good enough to weave a net of legalities to keep them from arresting you, but they cannot force them to drop the case. After all, the usual rules of detention without charge don't really apply here, seeing as you're not detained."

He growled at the reminder of this nuisance, but took a calming breath. "I realize. But we still have the upper hand. Whatever they were after, they didn't get. I've moved my files into my desk here and cleared the room at the motel of anything they could use, too."

She leaned against her desk, crossing one foot over the other. "Meaning they would have to sneak in here a second time to get at them, giving you a second chance to catch them in the act, which makes them the lawbreakers."

"Exactly."

Fitch smiled approvingly. "You surprise me at times, Tyrone. You're a brute by appearance and a thug by association; yet you've a natural aptitude for strategy that's really quite impressive."

He smiled. "Appearances can be deceiving, right? Sometimes people are overlooked until they discover their talents. Other times nature just plays favourites."

The smile became a smirk. "All men are born equal, but not as equal as you, then, hmm?"

He chuckled quietly. "Something like that."

Standing, she paced around to the opposite side of her desk, closing the laptop. "Well, you've got confidence proportionate to your size, that's for sure. All right. Make whatever changes you need to; I want our security tightened up. I don't want any shady business associated with Icarus Development, but I trust you to handle this the way you want. When those kids try again, I want them caught before they so much as set foot in an elevator."

He nodded, already mulling over the necessary details. "It could be a while before they do, you know. If they're smart, and I know that at least Lawson is, they'll be waiting for us to lower our guard with time."

Fitch smiled back. "Then don't let it lower."

Burgess chuckled again. "Understood."

She walked him to the door of her office, but paused as she held it open for him. "Though, I suppose it is rather late. Your security changes cannot be made until your staff comes in for work. Would you care to join me for dinner?"

"If you can stand my tastes in food."

She laughed quietly. "I honestly believe my maid has been making a list of the ways she can use the ingredients she has on hand for my meals to make ones spicy enough for your palette."

Pulling the door shut behind them, Burgess let her precede him. "Then by all means, let's."
Chapter Sixteen

The Lawson's front walk seemed unusually long to Nadia as she stepped from her car. Her nerves could just as easily have formed a knot in her throat, or an illusory cannon ball in her gut, but no; it was on leaden legs that she struggled towards the front door. They were expecting her, of course; she had called them that morning to arrange supper and, frankly, they had seemed in rather high spirits. They hadn't even bothered to point out that she should give them more than an eight hour notice. These were her parents, after all, and she knew they only wanted her to be happy. Surely she had no reason to be nervous, then, in delivering good news?

Scolding herself for feeling so skittish, she took a deep breath and marched her way up the steps to the door, ringing the bell while her nerve held out. Her parents answered it in their normal manner, together and entirely too quickly; fortunately, getting herself inside and seated as soon as possible was exactly what Nadia had in mind. Giving them a nervous smile, she went through the motions of their welcoming embraces and shut the door behind herself.

"No Thomas tonight, Sweet-Pea?" Mrs. Lawson enquired, keeping her curiosity polite as they made their way to the table.

"Oh, no, not tonight. We had sort of a big day yesterday; he's taking the day to unwind."

Mr. Lawson nodded slowly. "It's always best to know your limits. He's being sensible."

The change in her father's attitude towards Thomas managed to pull her thoughts away from the conversation she was about to embark upon. Glancing at her mother questioningly, she was replied to with a quiet smile and a shrug; meaning that she knew the reason behind this attitude adjustment, but wasn't saying because she found it entertaining. Wonderful. Sitting at her place, the one with ginger ale in its glass instead of wine, she twiddled her fingers nervously as she waited for her parents to settle into their places across from her.

Clearing her throat, she decided some small talk to quiet her own nerves would be good. "Uh, mom, you know I'm fond of ginger-ale, but... I am twenty-four, you know."

Her mother smiled patiently. "You're also driving home tonight, Dear. I may be retired as a police officer, but I'm still your mother."

Nadia managed a smile at that. "Thanks, mom."

Smiling at his wife, her father doled out helpings of roast beef while her mother handled the potatoes and peas. Nadia did not begin eating immediately, instead picking at her food lightly for a few moments before clearing her throat.

"I... I have a few things to tell you," she hedged, starting out with as few details as she could, in case her nerve gave out on her.

Mrs. Lawson put her utensils down, turning her curious attention to her daughter. "Oh? Is anything the matter?"

"No!" she blurted, blushing as she noticed the volume she had used. "That is, no, there isn't anything the matter. I need a little help from you and Daddy, but I have something to tell you first. About Thomas."

Mr. Lawson put his fork down as well and Nadia felt her nerves revising their decision not to form a dead weight in her stomach. "What about him?"

She felt her resolve wobbling and watched in mute horror as her mouth started working on its own. "Uh... well... he's been really helpful to me and I just wanted to make sure you weren't upset that he didn't come tonight, I guess?"

Her father blinked at her and her mother covered her mouth to stifle a giggle; Nadia silently flogged herself for dodging the real topic. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth to try again, but her voice caught in her throat, leaving her suspiciously mute. Stuffing a forkful of potato into her mouth to cover this, she viciously chewed the unfortunate root in an attempt to buck up her courage.

Mr. Lawson reached over the table to take her free hand. "Are you sure you're all right, Sweet-Pea? You're acting a little... odd."

Mrs. Lawson smiled that soft, knowing smile mothers have such a talent for. "Oh, Dear; the poor girl is nervous. Anyone telling their parents that they're in love would be."

"Exactly!" With her father's hand on hers and her mental pressure approaching critical mass, it took a moment for Nadia to realize her mouth had run away from her again. With the blood rapidly draining from her face, she quickly found another potato to busy it.

Her father took a long, shaky breath, before giving the most forced smile Nadia had ever seen in her life. "Thomas is a lucky young man."

She swallowed; her mouth angling into a frown. "Daddy... I can see it on your face, you're not at all happy about this."

Her father sighed. "No, I'm not, but all I can do is try to be, Sweet-Pea. You're all grown up now and I need to get used to that fact. It might not be easy for me at first, but give me some time and I'll get better about it, I promise. Can you blame me for loving you too much?"

Nadia stood and moved to her father's seat, hugging him around the neck. "I love you, too, Daddy. And thank you."

Returning the embrace, he kissed her on the cheek, already seeming to feel better about the situation. Her mother, meanwhile, watched the pair with a smile, wiping at her eyes, though Nadia couldn't quite tell if she was serious or making fun of them. "Oh, you two; I can't tell which of you is the bigger kid sometimes."

Nadia giggled, returning to her seat while her father stuck his tongue out at his wife behind his daughter's back. Laughing quietly, she gave her daughter's hand a squeeze as well once she had returned to her seat. "I'm happy for you. He's a nice boy and I hope he makes you happy."

Feeling herself blushing, Nadia coughed lightly. "Uh, well, I haven't actually told him yet."

Mr. Lawson nearly choked on a mouthful of roast at that, while her mother smiled patiently. "I was wondering why he wasn't here with you when you decided to share the news. Maybe you should have told him, first?"

Nadia steered a chunk of beef around her plate, smiling sheepishly. "Probably, but... it was easier to tell you."

Finally swallowing the meat lodged in his throat, Mr. Lawson drank some of his wine before speaking. "It's easier than telling us, after all the awkwardness we just went through? Really?"

She blushed slightly at her father's remark. "Well... I don't know if he feels the same way, yet. There have been moments where he's said things, but... it's hard to be sure with him. He's always worrying about the things we're doing, but he never says a word about whether we're an us, if you know what I mean?"

"Maybe because you're always running around for your investigation?" Her mother suggested, still smiling patiently. "What exactly have you done together, outside of your work?"

Nadia felt her face fall. "Nothing."

Mrs. Lawson gave her hand another squeeze. "Oh, Sweet-Pea, don't look so down. You're a beautiful, intelligent young woman and goodness knows you've got spirit. If he's able to appreciate all that you have to offer, when you ask him out he'll be thrilled to accept."

"Ask him?" She echoed, realizing as if for the first time that it was likely going to have to be her who made the first move.

Her father chuckled softly. "I'm afraid so, Dear. The way you work, I can imagine how much time the boy's had to think about dinner or dancing, and it probably doesn't amount to too many cumulative hours."

"Not that he hasn't," her mother interjected, cutting Nadia's worries off at the pass. "But you don't exactly give a young man very many openings. He might just think you're not interested in that sort of thing at this point in your life."

"Well, I wasn't really..." Nadia admitted. "This is new for me, too."

Her mother smiled softly. "I know that, Sweet-Pea. But the simple fact is, you could be waiting a long time for him to make a move on his own if he thinks your career has to be fully secure before you'll look his way."

Mr. Lawson nodded in agreement. "She's right. And while I believe one's personal life should not interfere in their professional one, in this case I will grudgingly concede that you could probably make it work."

Looking between her parents, Nadia smiled. "You're right. I'll figure it out when I get home; I want to go about it the right way."

They smiled back at her, her father going back to his meal; her mother, however, looked thoughtful. "Was that what you had needed help with, then? It had seemed like there was something else you wanted to ask us about, before."

Nadia shrugged. "Oh, it's nothing, really. I was just wondering if Daddy had come up with anything on this 'Orion' character. I need to get in touch with him. Or them, I guess, if it's some kind of organization."

Choking on his food again, her father looked at her incredulously. "You want to what?"

"To get in touch with Orion," she repeated, as if she did not understand why her father found it so alarming. "Thomas and I tried to get into the Icarus Development Incorporated building last night and almost got caught, so we figure we'll need professional help before we try again. Black takes orders from him, or them, whatever, so we figured getting in touch with Orion would help us find him, or get us someone even better."

"You tried to... You want to..." Her father downed the rest of his wine, before pouring himself a second glass and doing the same to it. Feeling fortified, or at least less tense, he took a deep breath. "In answer to your question; yes, I have found some things on Orion. And, hopefully, once you know them, too, you will have the good sense to leave the subject well alone."

Nadia smiled sweetly. "I'll do my best, Daddy."

Mrs. Lawson laughed quietly. "You must be tipsier than I thought, Dear, if you actually think she'll back down from her investigation after sneaking into a building and nearly getting caught." Her husband's serious expression caused her amusement to peter out and she frowned softly. "Is it really that bad?"

He nodded. "I wouldn't say bad, exactly, just... well, let me put it this way; I called every contact I've ever made, locally and internationally, that I still keep in touch with. All of them. And not one of them had anything for me on this guy, aside from references to the constellation or myths."

Nadia blinked; that was new. Her father had always had something of a reputation for being able to track down information, no matter who it was. "Nothing at all?"

"Nothing," he confirmed, obviously displeased about having to admit it. "I've done stories on haunted houses with more corporeal culprits. This guy is either a ghost, a front, or a paranoid hermit living on some desolate mountain with no human contact."

His wife smiled patiently. "I'm not sure any of those options would really make sense, Dear. The man has been active within the city, lately, after all."

He sighed. "That's just my point. Everything I was able to find is just what I've already told Nadia. Black's boarding house address, some of the jobs the mercenary's pulled around here over the past few months, but no mention of this Orion guy is made anywhere, except on the bulletin board Nadia says she found."

Nadia folded her arms. "The bulletin board I did find, Daddy. Look, I get that not turning anything up on him makes you nervous; it is pretty strange to think someone could hide from you with all of your experience and contacts. But maybe he's just that good. And that's the sort of person Thomas and I could use helping us out on this."

"That may be true, Sweet-Pea," her mother interjected. "But if your father can't find the man, how do you expect to track him down in order to meet with him?"

Nadia grinned broadly. "I don't; he's going to come to me. But I'm going to need your help, Daddy."

Her parents looked at one another, her mother shrugging in acceptance of her daughter's iron determination even as her father massaged his temples to prevent his mounting stress headache. "See? I told you my daughter wouldn't give up that easily."

Her father looked at his wife and managed a teasing smile. "Oh, so she's your daughter, now, huh?"

Mrs. Lawson smiled innocently back at him. "Don't worry so much, Sweetie. I'll share her with you at least some of the time."

Shaking his head to clear it, her father laughed softly. "I swear, you're as bad as she is. Very well, then; what's your plan, and how much am I going to hate it?"
Chapter Seventeen

The sun was setting in a blaze of red-hued glory; it had already sunk far enough into the horizon that the grass' green, deprived of yellows and blues, had darkened to a near-black. The street lights had not yet come on and the late crowd, after staying for extra hours at work, had the road for themselves as they rushed home to their families, or at least to their dinners. Thomas appreciated the view as he strolled along, toting a canvas bag full of groceries in each hand. Yesterday's time off had done wonders for his nerves and he felt remarkably calm, almost peaceful. The only thing on his mind was, actually, the reason for why he had been sent out to the grocery store on foot.

It wasn't that he minded, he was a guest in Nadia's home and he expected to help to make his presence less intrusive. What was odd about it was that St. Laurent Shopping Centre was nearly a twenty minute walk from her apartment, one way. This itself wasn't any problem, but up to now, Nadia had driven them wherever they had to go, so the change was a curious one to him. Again, not that he minded, but he was concerned. Perhaps he had been more of a nuisance than he thought and she needed some time to herself? But... only an hour's worth? Frowning, he continued on his way; the sun slowly slipping below the horizon as he went.

The street lights had come on by the time he reached the doors to the apartment building and he slipped inside just ahead of the storm cloud his worrying had created to hang over him. Buzzing the apartment to be let in, Nadia did not answer. Frowning deeper, Thomas decided to wait a few minutes before trying again; someone else on their way in had a key, fortunately, and he slipped in with them. Riding the elevator up to Nadia's floor, his worry-prone thoughts stepped themselves up another notch and he had to physically shake his head to buy himself a few moments' peace. Trying the handle when he came to her door resulted only in his realizing that it was locked, so he set the bags on the ground and gave it a quick rap with one hand. When this still produced no response, he felt a twinge of irritation working its way through him; his next knock was considerably louder than he had intended it to be.

Hearing the lock grate open, he stooped to pick the bags up, but upon straightening up found the door still shut to him. Nodding in acknowledgement of his own frustration, he opened the door himself and stepped inside. Setting the groceries down as he kicked his shoes off, he locked the door behind himself and stalked out of the entryway, fully intending to have a word with his hostess. He stopped in mid-storm, however, as he tried to make sense of what he saw. The dining room table had been set out for two, each plate containing a dish he had never seen before; a thick, light brown sauce containing what looked like red peppers, bits of green onion and chicken mixed in with angel's hair pasta. Giving the air a sniff, the telltale smell of peanut butter tipped him off to what the brown sauce's main ingredient was. Taking a few steps towards this, he was surprised again when Nadia almost timidly stepped out of the kitchen and into his field of vision. She was wearing a modest blue dress that went nearly to her ankles, tied at the waist with a white sash; reaching just past her shoulders, her black hair was out of its usual ponytail for a change and he noticed that it had a slight curl to it. Had she done that herself? He honestly couldn't remember ever seeing a curl to her hair before, but then, he supposed he had never really looked.

Entirely dumbfounded, Thomas managed to speak only with the help of a deep breath. "Hello."

She gave a small wave in response. "Hi. Um... won't you sit?"

Nodding mutely, he followed her suggestion. Watching her move around the table and into the kitchen again, it took him a moment to realize he had nearly put his elbow in his food. Folding his hands in his lap, he cleared his throat. "What's all of this?"

Returning from the adjacent room holding a pair of lit candles, she blinked at him. "Pardon? Oh, it's peanut butter chicken, or that's what my parents call it anyway. Looks a little odd, I know, but it tastes great, I promise."

"I'm sure it does," he replied, watching her set her new additions to the table down and dim the lights before finally taking her seat. Taking an experimental mouthful, he found it lived up to her praise. Glancing up to tell her so, he found her watching him with an anxious expression; she busied herself with her own plate when she realized he had caught her doing it.

Setting his fork down, he coughed gently. "Nadia... I'm serious. What is all of this?"

Leaving her fork in her food, she smiled nervously. "What do you mean? I told you I was a good cook the last time we were at my parents place, being there yesterday just sort of reminded me that I hadn't shown you yet."

He sighed as she tried to evade the question again. "Okay? But what about the dress and the candles? And the heels, unless you grew an inch or two since I left?"

"Oh," seemed to be all she could manage. Tugging on a loose strand of her hair, she shrugged and forced a smile. "I just wanted to, that's all."

Thomas frowned, but did not press the matter. She seemed oddly jittery tonight and he did not want to upset her. The pair ate in silence and it was not until both of their plates were empty that either one of them breathed another word.

"So... I asked my father about Orion," she began, glancing up at him.

Glancing up at her, their eyes met for a moment, before she glanced back at her plate. Clearing his throat, he decided to respond only to what she had said. "Oh yeah? Anything useful?"

She shrugged. "Not really, no. He turned over every stone he could, even called some friends, but nothing came up. Whoever he is, he's good at keeping his trail covered."

He tried to smile sympathetically, but she was not looking at him. "Huh. Sorry about that. Do we have any new leads?"

She nodded, directing her eyes back in his direction as she spoke to him. "Yeah, I asked my father to help me with a plan I have to get in touch with Orion."

He frowned slightly. "Don't you mean 'to help us get in touch with Orion'?"

Nadia looked at him for a moment with an expression he had never seen before; it was frustrated, but somehow pleading at the same time. Getting up from the table, she brushed past him. "Going to the washroom," was the only explanation she gave him, leaving Thomas sitting at the table to ponder what exactly was going on here.

After five and a few more minutes had passed without her coming back, it became clear that the matter was as serious as he had been afraid it was. Picking up the dishes himself, Thomas placed them in the sink and tidied the table, being careful as he put the candles out. Moving down the hall, he knocked quietly on the bathroom door.

"Nadia? Are you okay?"

"I'm f-fine!"

Her voice sounded a little higher-pitched than usual and the audible crack in her second word also caught his attention. "Are you sure? You sort of sound like..."

"Like what, Thomas? How do I sound? I should sound fine, because that's what I am!"

Flinching slightly, he sat on the floor, watching the closed door as he brushed his hand over the carpet. "You sound like you're crying."

She hiccoughed loudly from behind the door, before coughing just as loudly to clear her throat. "Well, that shows what you know, doesn't it?"

He rested his head against the bathroom door. "Nadia... What's wrong? Come on, tell me, please. I don't like seeing you like this."

She snapped back and he caught the sound of a rant building in her tone. "Like what? In a dress? Well, I'm sorry if..."

Wincing at his poor choice of words, he cut her off before she could get any more upset. "That wasn't what I meant! You looked nice tonight, I meant I don't like seeing you all worked up like this."

The rant averted, she instead opted to be blunt. "Well, it's your fault."

He sighed. "I'd gathered that, yeah."

The pair, on opposite sides of the door, sat in silence for another few minutes before Nadia spoke up again. "You thought I looked nice?"

Blinking, Thomas felt himself blush even without her there to see it. "Yeah, I did. I guess I hadn't noticed before, but you're... well, you looked really nice."

"I'm what? Tell me, please?" She seemed less upset, now, and more... insistent, he supposed, though he still wasn't exactly sure what she was after.

He felt his blush deepening. "You're beautiful."

Hearing the doorknob turning, Thomas straightened up, not sure what to expect. Nadia, framed in the doorway, studied him for a moment. Sighing with a quiet smile, she slugged him in the arm. "You idiot."

Blinking as he rubbed his arm, he was left speechless as she brushed past him and into her room. Shutting the door behind herself, she did not re-emerge until she was back in her usual jeans, t-shirt and ponytail. "Well? What are you standing there for? We'll miss the big event."

Letting himself be towed back to the couch, Thomas did his best to figure out what had happened that evening; from the fancy dinner to the crying, to sitting on the couch beside each other, instead of at opposite ends, as they watched the news, of all things. He supposed he had done something right, Nadia definitely seemed happier; but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what it was. Still, he definitely preferred it when she smiled, so he didn't spend too long worrying about it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A wall-sized television screen blinked through channels as its owner idly toyed with the remote; glancing to a few papers on the table supporting his feet, he vaguely remembered something about there having been trouble with a company in downtown Ottawa. Letting the vague recollection blossom into curiosity, he settled on CTV news as his choice of entertainment. Watching the stories he cared nothing for did not interest him, so he took a moment to relieve himself. Collected a bottle of water on his way back, he settled back onto the enormous, velvet-soft sofa he had been reclining on; the piece of furniture could seat at least eight people comfortably, or so the sales tag had said when it was delivered.

Setting his glass bottle down on his coffee table, a hand-carved piece depicting a different animal on each leg, he made himself comfortable. Observing that the news was still prattling on about speeding tickets and traffic accidents, he ran a hand idly over the table leg nearest him, appreciating the smooth feel of the wood and the cool kiss of diamonds as his hand reached the gemstones said animals had for eyes. Glancing back up, he saw the story he wanted previewed on-screen and turned the volume up so as to actually hear it.

"The ongoing legal saga of lawyers acting on behalf of Tyrone Burgess, the security chief of Icarus Development Incorporated, continued today. After more than a week of attempting to get Mr. Burgess to appear in court, the Chief of the Ottawa Police Department, Daniel Roman, has settled on a compromise; his officers are to be allowed to search Burgess' home, currently listed as a motel in downtown Ottawa, without interference. Should they find evidence of any wrongdoing, Burgess will have to appear in court as normal, but if the search goes unrewarded, the case will be dropped. Critics of the case have expressed mixed opinions, some against the compromise and others for, with the most common argument being that the case is slowing the justice system's ability to handle other cases. This is CTV News, thank you for watching."

Chuckling softly to himself, he reached over the arm of the couch to pick up his phone. Turning it on without dialling, he held it up to his ear; his personal aide, a lovely young thing whose name escaped him, answered immediately.

"Yes Sir?"

He smiled at the tone of her voice. It was professional, with just the tiniest bit of hope; he loved that about the staff he kept. "Connect me with Giselle Fitch."

Her tone had just the right note of jealousy to it as she spoke again, bringing a wider smile to his face. "Yes, Sir. Shall I send the customary bucket of ice with your choice of drink for the evening?"

Deciding to reassure instead of tease, he spoke soothingly. "It's a business call today, but I'll tell you what; if you bring the bucket yourself in about half an hour, I'll share some with you."

"Oh, yes Sir. Connecting you now, Sir."

He grinned, imagining the smile on her face from the sound of her voice. "Don't be late."

It was Fitch's voice that replied to this last flirt, however. "Late? Hello?"

He frowned slightly, realizing he had been connected faster than he had wanted. Perhaps he would scold his aide for it when she arrived; that could be an amusing diversion. Shrugging, he sat up to talk. "Yes, hello, Miss Fitch."

"Oh, hello, Sir. It's an honour to speak with you directly."

His mood was restored instantly at her response. He did so enjoy people's change in attitude when they realized who was on the other end. "Yes, yes, very good. Let's dispense with the pleasantries, shall we? I saw the news for your area, might I offer your legal team my congratulations on their success. I'm sure whatever evidence there may be on Tyrone has been taken care of already?"

"Oh, yes Sir. Tyrone, that is, Mr. Burgess dealt with it himself yesterday."

He nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent. Might I also say that I am pleased with how you handled the incident with those intruders. Keeping the public ignorant about things they needn't know is a skill I can appreciate."

She didn't seem overly proud of this particular skill, but was nevertheless relieved to hear he wasn't in any way upset with her. "I'm glad you approve, Sir."

He was about to remark upon the almost palpable relief in her voice when something on the television screen caught his attention. In between reports, a spare stage light had fallen across the camera's field of vision; this in itself did not concern him, aside from making him wonder why it was not edited out of the final copy. What had seized his attention was the piece of cardboard attached to the equipment. Seizing the remote, he rewound the image, pausing with the cardboard centre-screen. Zooming in, he frowned as he saw what it said; 'Orion - 30/04/2012 - 1300 Black.'

"Sir?"

Remembering the phone was still at his ear, he turned the television off. "Apologies, Miss Fitch. Something came up; you have my full attention now."

"Oh, that's quite all right, Sir."

"I'm glad. Now then; I want you to keep me completely up to date with all goings on in your city. If you are made aware of anything odd happening, I want to know about it. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Sir, of course. Has something happened?"

He felt his smile become more of a sneer. "No. I simply want to be certain that the mice who attempted to sneak into your building are dealt with should they try again."

"Understood, Sir."

Hanging up, he turned the television back on, frowning at the still-paused image of the cardboard. Shaking his head, he glanced at the clock and saw he had a little over twenty minutes before his aide arrived; thirty minutes later, the peculiar message was the last thing on his mind.
Chapter Eighteen

Hiding in the shade of the old boarding house, Nadia peered up at the sun; hanging high in the sky, it glared back at her, apparently unwilling to be a cooperative timepiece. Deciding it was easier to check her watch than blind herself using the old-fashioned method of telling time, she saw it was twenty-five minutes to one in the afternoon. Looking to Thomas, she sighed. "I guess it's about time we go in."

The pair had driven out to the parking garage nearly an hour before, determined to be there ahead of Orion to keep themselves advised of any funny business; Thomas' suggestion, of course. Unfortunately, on the way there he had begun to look increasingly ill and Nadia was honestly worried about him by this point. He had practically fallen out of the car when they arrived and even now he let the wall of the building support most of his weight, instead of his legs. They had spent the bulk of their time leaning against the front of the old, faded building watching what passersby there were in this area go past; Nadia had hoped it would help her friend get over whatever bug he has picked up, but he still seemed pretty green around the gills.

The sick fellow in question nodded mutely at her suggestion and, taking a steadying breath, he deprived the wall of his company and made for the door. Letting Thomas precede her inside, Nadia silently cried for joy when she saw the drunken lecher of a manager was not presently in his usual spot. Actually, there was no one at the 'desk' at all. Frowning, she glanced around her friend's shoulders to peer down the hall; no one anywhere today, apparently.

Looking around, she gave voice to her thoughts. "Do you suppose he's already here? Orion, I mean?"

Thomas shrugged, suppressing a queasy burp with one hand before answering. "I don't know. I mean, we only gave him like fourteen hours to get from wherever he was to here."

She nodded in confirmation. "True, but I figured if he was in regular contact with Black on the bulletin board he had to be fairly local."

He sighed, covering his mouth a second time as the simple exhale nearly transitioned to a different, more disgusting, action. "I guess."

Moving to his side, she felt his forehead; his temperature was only a little above normal, but he was pale and just a little moist from sweat. "Are you okay? You've been kind of listless since we left this morning."

He tried to smile, but his face went a little greener as he did it. "I'll be fine. Just a touch of nausea, nothing major. Nerves, probably, you know me."

She nodded slowly. "Yeah, I do, that's why I'm worried. You be sure to let me know if it gets worse, all right?"

He nodded mutely, sucking in a breath to swallow down whatever it was that was presently trying to crawl its way up his gullet. The pair started upstairs; Nadia still alert in case the lecherous manager decided to make an appearance while Thomas concentrated most on the simple act of not throwing up. Reaching the second floor they could see, even from down the hall, that the door to Black's room was already open. Approaching it cautiously, Nadia poked her head around the corner; the room had always been fairly bare, but the lack of a bulletin board in the corner suggested that the manager had finally gotten around to clearing the place out entirely. There was no sign of anyone inside at the moment, though, so she led her queasy companion through the door. Moving to the far wall, she looked through one of the windows. She could see only the boarded-up old parking garage and, craning her neck, the weathered, grey side of the tall wooden fence that framed the very edge of the boarding house's small parking accommodations between the two buildings.

"Not much of a view. I wonder what they built that garage for, anyway. It's not even on a main road; no wonder they had to close it up."

Thomas burped again, smiling apologetically as best he could before swooning ever so slightly over to the wall next to her to regain his balance. "Sorry. And I don't know, either, it is a pretty useless place for a three-floor garage."

Turning to her companion, she let her concern show on her face as she saw the paleness of his skin beginning to tinge a greenish-grey. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you look awful."

"I don't feel so hot," he admitted. "I think I need to take a quick trip to the washroom."

She nodded, watching him go with no small amount of worry. Nerves she expected from him, but not real, visible illness. It couldn't have been food poisoning from her meal last night, she had triple checked every ingredient to be sure she had done everything right. She almost wished it could have been her fault, so at least she would know what it was making him so sick. Sighing, she nosed about the apartment while she waited for him to return. Unfortunately, cleaned out the way it was, she did not find much to distract herself with.

Thomas, having staggered into the washroom, made his way to the toilet without turning the lights on. Feeling his legs give out, he fell to his knees and gratefully bent over the porcelain throne to relieve the roiling contents of his stomach. Blindly reaching for some toilet paper, he found none on the roll and remembered that the room had no boarder. Pulling himself upright, he stooped over the sink, washing his face in the thankfully still running water. Groaning as he felt his stomach beginning to heave again, he straightened up to return to the toilet, but froze as his bleary vision showed him, not his reflection, but twin crimson orbs scant inches from his nose. Shouting in surprise, he jumped back and, tripping over himself, he fell hard. Striking the back of his head against the tiles, he lost consciousness.

Hearing Thomas' alarm, Nadia hurried to the bathroom. He had not closed the door and she saw him sprawled out on the floor. Kneeling beside him, she checked the back of his head for injury; relieved to find no blood, she patted the side of his face, trying to rouse him. Groaning, he began to come around and she smiled as he opened his eyes. "There you are. Don't do that to me, I was worried you'd seriously hurt yourself."

"Sorry," he mumbled, wincing as he sat up. "Where did he go?"

"Where did who go?"

He pointed vaguely at the sink area. "Some prick scared the hell out of me, that's why I stumbled backwards."

She followed the direction of his point, but saw nothing that shouldn't have been there. "Do you think it was Orion?"

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his head gingerly. "Don't know, maybe."

"Well, let's get you off the floor, first of all." Bracing her feet, she pulled on his arm to assist him as he struggled upright.

With both of them on their own two feet, they moved to the sink, Nadia pausing only to turn the light on. The sink was part of a counter spanning the wall of the bathroom, with a large, broken mirror over the basin. Checking under the sink for the sake of being thorough, Nadia saw nothing but old, rusty pipes.

Sighing, she straightened up. "I believe you saw someone, Thomas, but I have no idea where he's gotten off to."

"It was at eye level, so..." He gestured to the mirror to complete his thought.

She grinned. "Not a bad idea."

Taking hold of the mirror, Nadia gave it a tug and felt it move. Prying it loose, she set it on the floor and the pair saw a gap large enough for a man to sit through had been concealed behind it; within which was a ladder leading down into parts unknown.

"Wow," was about all she could say as she realized that this had to have been here the first time they had visited Black's home. "Where do you suppose it goes?"

Thomas shrugged, but anything further he had to say was put on hold as he moved back to the toilet. Emptying the last of what was in his stomach; he flushed and then spit into the sink to clear the taste of bile from his mouth. Running the water, he washed his face again before cupping his hands to drink a little water; he was becoming increasingly dehydrated, for obvious reasons.

Nadia watched her companion with a concerned expression, before putting a hand on his arm as he straightened up. "You really don't have to come any further, Thomas. I'm getting pretty worried about you as it is."

He shook his head. "I'll manage, Nadia. This is important stuff; you went to all the trouble of setting up that thing on T.V. to get Orion's attention. If he, or someone speaking for him, is actually here, you can't afford to pass this up."

She smiled at his determination. "You really are the best, you know that? I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Climbing up onto the counter the sink was set in, she found a grip on the ladder and started on her way down; Thomas followed suit moments later. Reaching the bottom in utter darkness, she identified the doorway she was to proceed through by the faint light able to pass beneath it. Pushing at it, she felt it open and saw a narrow corridor extending away from the building. Still unable to make out any real details, the corridor at least had shafts of light managing to make their way inside; she realized it was made of wood as she ran a hand over its wall. Hearing Thomas come up behind her, Nadia shifted out of his way and took his hand to guide him to the corridor and keep him steady. Making their way through the cramped space, they walked at an angle to avoid scraping against the sides. Wondering why she had not seen this from the window, she stopped as her foot struck something hard. Poking at it with her toe, she realized it was a step. Climbing it, and those above it, she used her free hand to test the darkness ahead of herself and felt them come up against a wooden surface. Pushing against it, she felt it move; a shaft of dust-ridden light stabbed into their surroundings and, with another shove, she got the doors wholly open. Emerging into the daylight, she saw the old, weather-beaten fence on her right and the out of place parking garage on her left. They had come out in what was apparently a small, cramped corridor between the two buildings, with the boarding house's cellar doors they had just emerged from on one side and an old, rusted metal door set into the concrete side of the parking garage on the other; Nadia supposed that, when the parking garage was first built, there had been no fence here, which meant it had been placed here deliberately to hide the two doors from those who did not know it was there already.

As she was realizing all of this, her sickly comrade bumped into her, his head dropping weakly onto her shoulder. "What is it, Nadia?"

"I'm not sure, yet. But I think we're on to something," she replied, giving his hand a squeeze. "The parking garage has a backdoor nobody can get to, because it's hidden by that fence at the edge of the boarding house's parking lot. We're on the other side of that fence right now."

"Makes sense," he managed, leaning against her more heavily than he probably intended to.

Pressing on towards the steel access door, Nadia took a deep breath before she pulled it open, revealing nothing but empty darkness beyond. Gripping Thomas' increasingly sweaty hand in her own, she took a moment to imagine how her parents would react to this situation, eliciting a short chuckle at the shades of purple she could picture the man's face taking on. And then she went inside, stepping into the cloying silence of the dusty, cobweb infested parking garage; if Orion was in here, it seemed he expected them to come to him instead of making it easy on them. She just hoped he was in a talking mood.
Chapter Nineteen

Nadia frowned as she tried to make out what was ahead of them in the dark. The garage's windows were entirely boarded up; the few shafts of sunlight that made their way through holes made by time and weather provided precious little illumination. Stubbing her toe on a discarded two-by-four, she growled quietly to herself. Apparently the extra materials had just been left lying around. She guided Thomas around this initial obstacle by the shoulder, still concerned about his health. His fit of vomiting in the washroom had been worrying enough, but even now she could hear him having to stop to take a few deep breaths once in a while. He wasn't even expressing how dangerous it was to come wandering into an unfamiliar place following a man they could only hope was Orion. It was obvious that he was ill, but he was neither complaining nor backing down; she felt that a strange little part of herself was silently pleased by his determination to help her see this meeting through.

Her eyes were adjusting to the deep twilight of the room now and she was having more success at avoiding the forgotten leftovers of whoever boarded the garage up. Now able to see further ahead, she wondered where exactly Orion planned to reveal himself amongst all of this clutter. It seemed to her that one spot would be just as bad as another, so why be picky? Sighing to herself, she realized she had gotten ahead of her friend and waited for him to catch up. Placing a hand on his shoulder when he did, she let him stop for a minute to catch his breath.

"Look, I know I keep asking this, but are you really sure you're all right?" she asked, unable to hide the concern in her voice.

She saw the faint flash of his teeth in the dark, but somehow knew the smile was forced. "Yeah," he panted. "I think it's passing. Not sure what it was, though, just felt so weak. Some kind of heat stroke, maybe. Or maybe that nervous breakdown I was trying to avoid."

She gave her panting friend's shoulder a squeeze. "Well, hang in there. We have to be near the centre of the garage by now; Orion has to be here somewhere."

"Sounds... sounds good," he gasped, doing his best to show her he was all right by preceding her.

He did not make it. As he passed her by, on ground she had just walked over and knew to be clear, he abruptly toppled over. Feeling panic brush her concern, she went to his side immediately, propping his head up and off of the pavement where he had struck it. She noticed immediately that he had not raised his arms to block his fall, and felt the warm, sticky wetness of blood on her fingers.

"Thomas?!?" She winced involuntarily at the hysteric quality of her voice, but didn't much care for appearances just now.

He groaned, sounding groggy but conscious. "Ow."

"Okay, you're awake, that's good," she heard herself starting to babble and took a deep breath. "What's the matter? I know you didn't trip; there wasn't anything there to trip on."

"I don't know, exactly," she could hear a note of uncertainty in his voice, the sort that meant he had noticed something weird was going on. "It was like my legs went numb and I just... fell."

"Numb?" she confirmed, reposition a hand to his leg to give it a squeeze. "Is it all right now?"

"Not really, no," he admitted. "I can't feel my right leg. I can feel something on my left one, but it's going numb, too."

She felt the blood draining from her face. This was bad, seriously bad. Her friend couldn't feel his legs and she had no idea what to do. An ambulance couldn't get all the way in here, though, that was for sure. "Okay, um... do you think you could stand if I helped you? We could get you out of here and call an ambulance?"

His breathing was getting heavier, now, and he gasped involuntarily as he answered. "Not sure that... that'll work, Nadia. I don't... feel very well. It's getting harder... to breathe, let alone... move."

"Thomas, you have to tell me what I have to do. Is this some kind of condition? An illness you have that you didn't mention? I promise, no matter what it is I won't be mad at you for not telling me, that isn't important right now."

She almost started crying when she heard how hard it was for him to force words from his mouth. "I don't... know. Never... happened to me... before. S'getting hard... t'talk."

Very near the brink of total panic, Nadia put her head in her hands and tried to remember something, anything, that she had ever heard about addressing these kinds of situations. Nothing came to her. Not one single, solitary fact. Her friend was having an attack, or going into a coma, or dying, or something and she had no idea what to do except sit there in the dark and listen to it happen. No, no, no! This is all wrong; I should be doing something! She felt the fabric of her purse's strap being embedded into her skin from the strength of her grip and abruptly remembered her phone. Of course!

Galvanized into action, she retrieved her phone from the bag and placed her purse under Thomas' head, hoping it would serve well enough as a cushion. She put her hand against his face as comfortingly as she could. "Thomas, I want you to concentrate on breathing, all right? Don't worry about anything else. I'm going to go for help, my cellphone has no reception in here but I think I can dislodge some of the boards covering the window. I won't be far away, but I have to call an ambulance so I can concentrate on getting you out of here."

He managed a nod, but did not attempt to speak; she actually preferred this considering how ragged his breathing had become. He needed the oxygen more than her ears did. Standing and picking her way across the room as quickly as she could, she picked out the spot with the largest sunbeam as the best place to begin. Reaching it, she put her phone in her pocket and tried to pry the aged wood free with her hands, but succeeded only in scraping her skin raw against the material. Ignoring the dull pain, she felt around for a piece of anything on the ground and felt a discarded bit of timber lying nearby. Hefting it up to the best of her ability, she struck it against the boards. Once. Twice. Three times. Her hands were screaming at her now and she could barely lift the thing, but she was not going to allow her friend to die without doing everything she possibly could. Growling after a fourth hit yielded no visible result, she put the wood on her shoulder and threw herself into the impact as well. The boards gave way and she fell forward, dropping the wood in time to shield her face from the concrete floor before she hit.

Groaning from the bruises and aches besieging her, Nadia forced herself up. She could barely see in the sudden blaze of light flooding the interior of the garage, but she retrieved her phone from her pocket and flipped it open; her fingers knew the way over the numbers even if she couldn't see them. Dialling 9-1-1, she moved her thumb to the call button but felt a hand fasten around her wrist. Her hand was jerked back and the phone snatched from her grasp before she could press her thumb down. She was released and left to stagger back against the wall below the now-open window space. Regaining her footing, she drew herself up to give whoever had interfered a piece of her mind.

A man stood before her; silently closing her phone, but keeping it in his grasp. He was dressed entirely in black, weathered clothes, as though he had been wearing the same shoes, pants and shirt for a long, long time. The laces of his shoes were threadbare and the material no longer shone. His pants may have been proper slacks, once, but the material had long ago lost its crisp, ironed look; the cuffs around his ankles were frayed and, if he had any, she would not be surprised to find holes in his pockets. His shirt looked like it had once had sleeves, but they had been removed to t-shirt lengths with scissors and without a care given to maintaining the now-unravelling remains, judging by their present state.

His face was obscured to her, as he stood far enough back that the light made it to his chest and no higher, but her gaze was frozen on it nevertheless. She could not see the details of his face past the shadowy curtain drawn closed on all that was above his neck. No details, that was, except for one, but it was enough to deaden the tongue-lashing she had been prepared to give him before it ever passed her lips. He had red eyes; she could see them even through the dark shrouding his face. She didn't know if they were catching the light from the sun behind her or if they actually glowed on their own, but they were definitely red. Almost the colour of blood, she caught herself thinking. The harsh colour gave his gaze an intense, glaring quality that she was not accustomed to, but the urgency of the situation was re-asserting itself. Giving herself a shake, she took a deep breath.

"So you're Orion, then, I presume? I know I asked you to be here so we could chat, but I need to call an ambulance for my friend, first, so I'd really like you to give me back my phone now."

The eyes narrowed slightly, though she could not tell if they were annoyed, amused, or studying her. Some combination of all three, perhaps? Remaining silent, he held the phone up in one hand.

Nadia allowed herself a breath of relief. "Thank you," she acknowledged, reaching for the phone.

Her fingers were inches from the device when it was suddenly snatched back and then thrown aside; she saw it glint in the window's light before vanishing further into the sun-deprived space. Curling her fingers into a fist, she glared at the man and marched past him without a second glance. It was easier to make her way through the garage now that there was a source of light available, at least. Finding the phone as quickly as she could, she paused for a moment as she saw a fresh stain of red upon the concrete, with her purse lying beside it. Left from Thomas' injury, she realized, looking around for her friend and not seeing him.

Frowning, she picked up her purse and turned; she was startled badly as she came face to face with the crimson-eyed man. Away from the glaring light and deeper shadows at her makeshift window, her eyes provided her a face to study. His features were fine, almost delicate, but the fact he was a very short step above gaunt likely contributed to that. Remarkably pale skin sat snug around his cheekbones and chin, sinking slightly in at the cheeks without giving him an overly skeletal appearance. His hair, the darkest shade of black Nadia had ever seen, had a wild quality to it, with strands of it stuck out at odd angles from his head. His bangs brushed the bridge of his nose, but never kept the icy claws of his gaze from sinking into Nadia's heart whenever her eyes met his.

Retreating a step or two for the sake of her personal space, she glared at him. "Where is Thomas? He was in no shape to be moving on his own, so you must have done something."

The man's silence was rapidly losing its novelty and she felt her stress turning to anger. When he calmly strode to a pile of wood to sit down she had to resist the urge to throw her purse at the back of his head. Settling on his chosen seat, he looked at her and continued to say nothing.

"Answer me, damn you!" she shouted, no longer concerned with preserving any illusions of levelheadedness. Seeing that Orion would be of no help whatsoever, she turned away to resume her search of the room. Thomas had to be here somewhere; she had only been away from his side for a minute or two at most.

"Nadia."

She froze in mid-step. "Thomas? Is that you?"

The response came, but it was soft. "Yeah, but... I don't feel right, Nadia."

Inhaling deeply to silence her ragged breathing, she tried to detect her friend's location by sound. "Keep talking to me Thomas, I'll find you. What's wrong?"

She could hear the panic and fear in his voice now. "I... I can't feel anything anymore. Not my arms, not my legs, not even my chest. I can't feel myself breathe, Nadia. What's wrong with me?"

Choking down her own fears, she did her best to sound confident for his benefit. "I don't know yet, but I'll find a way to help just as soon as I find you."

Confusion added itself to the mix of emotions in his voice. "Find me? I can see you. You're close... I think? Am I hallucinating? I don't know anymore..."

An icy feeling settled onto Nadia's shoulders, quickly descending the column of her spine and coming to rest in her toes. She felt herself, wooden, begin to turn. Facing herself back toward Orion, she saw him sitting, just as he had been. Her gaze travelled from his worn shoes to his weathered pants, then past the frayed edges of his shirt and up the ghostly, smooth skin of his neck. Resting on his face, she felt a lump form in her throat, though she wouldn't know any better than a stranger would if it was from impending tears or repressed nausea.

Thomas' left eye, nose and mouth were on Orion's face. The single blue eye was roving about, its panic obvious, as it tried in vain to understand what it was seeing. His mouth was a hard line that spoke of barely suppressed hysteria. But the heartbreak she would have felt to see her friend in such a state was shot in mid-stride as her gaze wandered across the bridge of his nose; to the encroaching expanse of pale skin surrounding the ghastly orb that sat, mockingly, behind its veil of unkempt hair on the right side of his face, even as Orion's features slowly assimilated Thomas'.

Nadia rubbed at her eyes, but the impossible sight remained. Her reasoning cried out against what they told her she saw, but it did not change. And when she turned to her heart for its opinion, the surge of emotions swept aside what reserves of strength she had left. Feeling herself beginning to fall, she was very nearly relieved, welcoming the simple bliss of unconsciousness with open arms.
Chapter Twenty

Reeling from the sight of Thomas' panic-stricken face superimposed over Orion's ghoulish countenance, Nadia fell into the most restless bout of unconsciousness she had ever experienced. She saw her friend writhing in pain a dozen times; each time silenced in a new way at the hands of a silent, unsympathetic Orion while she remained just out of reach. On the final time, in an act of frustration, she threw herself at the figure of her tormentor. Instead of her intended target, however, she felt herself collide with something hard and coarse.

Groaning, she opened one eye and found her cheek pressed against a carpeted floor; she felt the weight of her legs pressing her nose into the rough material and realized she had toppled out of bed. Scrambling upright, she found herself glaring suspiciously at her room. She had no idea how she had gotten there. Everything was just as she had left it: her purse upon her bedside table, strategically placed so it shielded her from the display of her alarm clock; her dresser, neatly closed because the bulk of her clean laundry was folded on top of it; her closet, her mirror, even the curtains over her bedroom window, lit from behind by the early morning sun, were arranged just the way they had been every other day since she had bought them. Could it all really have been a dream?

Still feeling like she was adrift in some surreal half-reality, Nadia went to examine the rest of her apartment, not even bothering to change out of her pyjamas. Checking the bathroom momentarily, a thought occurred to her: Thomas! Almost sprinting down the hall, she slid barefoot across the carpet, not even paying attention to the burning sensation the friction brought with it. She could hardly believe her eyes when she saw her blonde-haired friend stretched out on the couch, idly scratching at his side in a dead sleep. She reached out a hand to touch him, as if afraid he was not real; but the warmth of his skin and the faint chuckle he gave upon feeling the tickle of fingers on his foot pushed those doubts aside. Releasing the young man's toes, she staggered toward her kitchen. She needed coffee; potent, bitter coffee. She had been on one hell of a ride, and she had no desire to ever repeat it again. A good, strong jolt was called for.

Fumbling through her cupboards, she found the jar and set the machine to work its magic, taking a bowl for her cereal out into the dining room. A piece of paper caught her eye, neatly folded and sitting on the table. Placing her dish down, she frowned and picked it up, rubbing at her sleep-addled eyes to get them to focus on the white sheet of paper. Seeing the words swimming into sharper relief, she froze as she read them.

"That would have been nice." She found herself reading it aloud, as if her brain was trying to digest the meaning of it through sound as well as sight. Turning it over to see if there was more, she felt fresh ice in her veins. "Look again...?"

Feeling her heart beginning to crash in her chest anew, she spun on her heels to face the couch; Thomas was gone and in his place sat Orion in all of his grisly, tattered glory. His neutral expression, even devoid of hostility or ill intent the way it was, did absolutely nothing to make Nadia feel better.

Nodding slowly, she smiled bitterly. "I knew that it couldn't have been a dream. I guess I wanted to believe what I saw when I woke up just a little too much."

The man adjusted his position to a cross-legged one, still upon the couch, and she saw that he was presently barefoot. Speaking, she heard his voice for the first time; a measured, nearly emotionless deadpan that spoke in a contraction-less manner that reminded her vaguely of someone who was new to the English language. Despite this, he had no discernible accent and apparently a fluent mastery of his words. "You would not be the first to wish their dreams were reality, Nadia Lawson."

Even Nadia was mildly surprised by the acid she felt seeping into her tone. "Oh, so now you know how to talk. My, my, aren't we a fast learner."

He seemed unaffected by her tone; but then, perhaps he simply did not care. "I assure you, the ability is not a new one. I trust you are more comfortable and able to talk here than at our location yesterday afternoon?"

She rolled her eyes, snorting derisively. "Oh, sure; because seeing my best friend asleep on the couch, only to have you psych me out, again, is going to make me comfortable."

Orion again seemed unmoved by her irritation. "I could just as easily have left you in the parking garage until you woke, Miss Lawson. However, it is my policy to investigate those who know of me. You wished to speak with me. I am present; you may."

Nadia heard her coffee machine beep and held up a hand. Retrieving her ready-made jolt, she straddled the chair nearest her 'guest', taking a sip before resting her mug on the back of the seat. "Yeah, I did. Honestly, right now it's about all I can do to look at you."

"Perhaps you do not trust me?"

She laughed before she could get a hold of herself. "Now there's an understatement! Why wouldn't I trust you, Mr. Orion, hmm? Could it be because you've been pretending to be someone you're not for the two weeks I've known you? Or could it be because you let me care about you just so you could scare me half to death for no reason?"

"Orion is not my surname," was the initial response from the crimson-eyed man. "And I would ask that you control yourself. Your attitude does you no credit. I understand that you are upset, but I have not deceived you. Nor have I done you any intentional wrong. In actual fact, I barely know you any better than you would a figure in a dream."

She glared at him incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about? Are you seriously trying to tell me that I have no reason to be angry with you?"

"That is correct."

Taking a long draught from her mug, she drained it to the bottom before throwing it over her shoulder, not even wincing as it shattered against the dining room's tiled floor. "All right, I'll bite. What does that even mean? How could it not have been deliberate?"

"It was not I who you knew; it was Thomas Carmichael."

"But you are T-," she paused momentarily, finding it hard to force the name out. "Him," she finished lamely.

He shook his head slowly and Nadia felt herself bristling at his emotionless, know-it-all attitude; she hated that he knew more about this than she did, it meant she had to talk to him before she could throw him out. "I am not."

Nodding slowly, she stood and moved to the living room, dragging her chair behind her as loudly as possible. Spinning it so it faced her unwanted company, she sat and folded one leg over the other. "Start making sense. Now."

"I am making sense, Miss Lawson. Thomas Carmichael was a facade; a programmed automaton, if you will. I put him in control and let his free will guide my body while I slept."

Nadia snorted. "You sleep walk?"

"That is not what I meant. I do not make a habit of spending a great deal of time as myself; therefore, I need to place another consciousness at the helm, so to speak."

She pinched the bridge of her nose before speaking again. "So let me get this straight; you 'created' Thomas, on some level, stuck him in the driver's seat and went to take a freaking nap?"

He nodded slowly, though his neutral expression continued to vex her. "In essence that is not incorrect. You wished to speak with me and went so far as to hide a hint for my finding upon a televised news broadcast; it was enough to rouse me."

She took a moment just to stare at the man on her couch; if it weren't for those awful rubies stuck into his face, she would think he was utterly insane for even trying to pass this off as logical. Now she was just wondering if she was the one who had lost it. "Okay, new topic. I'm not sure I can process all of this right now. I need to know I can trust you before I tell you anything; but you had better believe that I'll be supervising you from the moment you wake up in the morning. I'm not having you slip off on me if I can help it."

"As you wish. What would you like to talk about?"

She giggled semi-hysterically. "How should I know? I'm sitting in my living room talking to a man who changes his appearance at will and apparently enjoys leaving complete strangers in control of his body; I'm genuinely starting to think I'm hallucinating all of this. Any time now, I'll be waking up to find myself in a padded room."

He looked at her as if he was not sure what she meant. Like all of this was normal, somehow. "You are not insane, Miss Lawson."

Nadia laughed again. "Oh, well, thanks for reassuring me, I feel so much better now that the utterly impossible figment of my imagination is on my side about this."

"There is no need for that tone, Miss Lawson."

She stood, placing one foot on her coffee table to berate him from a standing position. "Oh there's need, all right! You're sitting there telling me that my friend, the one I was crushing on hard enough to actually bring it up with my parents, was not you concocting a false identity; he was real. Except he isn't, because he's still you. And considering you have some kind of multiple personality thing going, that's arguably worse!"

Taking a deep breath, she felt more pent-up frustration still working its way up from her chest; not time to stop yelling yet. "Yesterday the worst thing I had to worry about was whether or not Thomas would ever look at me as a woman instead of as a friend; that and whether or not Burgess would find a way to shoot me, but that's beside the point!"

Feeling her rant giving way, she sank back into her chair and buried her face in her hands; she had not burst into tears, but neither would she give the red-eyed freak across from her the satisfaction of seeing how close she had come to it.

"You have my sympathies, Miss Lawson. I know how it feels to unfairly lose one so close to your heart. But I will not apologize for something that I am not at fault for."

The almost human response startled her enough to drop her hands, just to see if it had really been Orion who had spoken. Watching him for a moment, she sighed. "You know, it's funny. If I had found you during my initial investigation I would have been ecstatic. A genuine shape-shifter in our modern day. Who would have guessed? Now I would rather just have yesterday back."

"Time is an unforgiving thing, Miss Lawson. It never allows us to reclaim the past."

She nodded miserably, before taking a steadying breath. "All right Orion; here's the deal. I'm going to ask you something. If you give me a straight answer, I'll trust you, at least enough to fill you in on what needs doing around here. After that, you decide whether you help me get it done so you can go back to whatever it is you do, or whether I need to follow you for months pestering you to do it first. And don't think I won't, either."

He blinked at her for a moment before regaining his emotionless composure. "Very well, Miss Lawson; ask."

She nodded, pointing at his forehead; or what she could see of it past the dark tangles of his hair, anyway. "Okay. How is it that you're unharmed? Thomas banged his head on cement yesterday. Badly enough that he was bleeding. There isn't a mark on you."

Orion's mouth tweaked into a slight smirk. "You have sharp eyes, Miss Lawson. Sharp eyes and an inquisitive mind. I am somewhat impressed."

She smiled thinly, giving approximately not a single care for his assessment of her talents. "How nice. Answer the question."

"It is rather simple, Miss Lawson. Thomas' injury is not mine."

She sighed, rolling her head back to glare at the ceiling as if hoping for an answer from it. "Again with the trick answers. Do you ever not speak in riddles?"

He frowned slightly. "Perhaps you are not as clever as I had thought. It should be fairly obvious at this point that my facades and I are not one and the same. I do not change my appearance; I become someone new. Their bodies, their injuries, are not mine."

It was her turn to frown, though it was in thought. "But wouldn't that be awfully inconvenient? You would have to remember which 'bodies' were injured and which weren't. I mean, they can't heal if you don't spend time 'as' them, can you?"

The slightly amused smile returned as she verbally unravelled her train of thought. "They can and do, Miss Lawson. In fact, the injuries sustained by any form I am not currently using heal at an accelerated rate; it is those I sustain and do not 'change out of' that heal at a normal speed."

"That's... wow. So, say you broke your leg; shifting in a 'new' one, how long would it take the broken one to heal?"

He shook his head. "I cannot change parts of myself individually. It is all of me or none of me."

Nadia felt herself bristling as the memory of Thomas' panic and fear floated to mind all over again. "Don't give me that, not after pulling what you did in the garage with Thomas' face."

Orion looked at her with his usual measured, unsettling gaze. "I can control the speed at which I change and the order in which my various features make the transition; that is all that I did. You would never have believed that your companion had become someone else if I had not proven it beyond a shadow of a doubt."

She swallowed down her urge to argue with him, preferring more information sooner rather than later. "Fine, whatever. So; how long would it take the bone to heal?"

"Several days, perhaps a week depending on how severe the damage was. Mr. Carmichael's head injury was far less serious an injury, therefor it was mended within several hours."

She felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. "That's impossible."

He smiled a thin, smug smile. "According to you, Miss Lawson, so am I."

Glaring at his amusement, she felt a smile of her own creep onto her face as a thought struck her. "Well, if you're so proud of your healing ability, sitting passenger-side when Burgess' thugs beat you senseless in that alley must have been a real treat."

Orion's face returned to neutrality. "I did not experience it. Neither do I enjoy pain, Miss Lawson. Might I point out that, in cases where I am expected to be injured, I must remain in the form that has been harmed. You may be able to imagine how much more painful an injury can be when it is within your power to mend it, but you cannot for the sake of appearance."

"There's a downside to everything, isn't there?" she replied, honestly not caring about the man's well-being just now. The wounds he had caused her were still too fresh for her compassion to reinstate itself.

Fixing her with his gaze, her guest sighed. "Perhaps it would be best if we moved onto the topic of what you wish my help with; you seem to be growing somewhat hostile in our present conversation."

Nadia snorted. "Hostile, huh? Yeah, I guess I am. Fine, down to business it is. Thomas and I had a somewhat unproductive trip to the I.D.I. building the other day; Burgess has some files hidden in there we need in order to put him behind bars. We were going to ask for you to get in touch with Black to help us out, but with your particular talent I would imagine this is right up your alley."

Orion tilted his head slightly, looking thoughtful and somehow strained at the same time. Taking a shaking breath, he asked his next question instead of remarking on whatever it was that was bothering him. "What manner of documents are you seeking?"

She shrugged. "Things to incriminate Icarus Development Incorporated in Burgess' criminal business, so they'll stop pulling strings to keep him a free man. We found some interesting items in Burgess' motel room, but we only took notes from it, so that doesn't really help us."

"Can your local authorities not search the building themselves?"

She shook her head, placing a hand on her hip as another flash of annoyance passed through her. "No, they can't. Burgess is the one under investigation, not the corporation itself. I imagine they could search his office, but there are probably a dozen other secure places in that building he could stash his personal files. Think you can manage lending someone else a hand, for a change?"

She felt a certain satisfaction as she saw the tell-tale ripples of aggravation passing through Orion's posture and expression. Swallowing it down with a deep breath, he stood and began to pace a little before responding. "Once you have obtained this evidence, how do you intend to make use of it? I imagine it is against normal protocol to use stolen evidence against the accused, is it not?"

Nadia shrugged. "I'll figure that out later, you don't need to worry about that."

Turning to face her, his agitation was now obvious, though she had the strangest feeling that he wasn't actually angry at her. "Why not simply place it in the police files? You said they had searched his usual motel room; you could have them believe it was found there. That makes it a genuine discovery, as far as anyone can prove."

Having been studying the man in an attempt to guess his mind, Nadia did a double-take when his suggestion sank in. "What? Are you seriously suggesting that we break into the police department?"

He shrugged; a gesture that seemed out of place on his stiff-shouldered frame. "Yes."

Feeling a fresh surge of anger coming from a new direction, she shook her head vehemently. "I'm not going to do that, Orion, not on your life. Especially not to plant evidence we shouldn't even have, it could get them in trouble!"

"It could also put Burgess away," he flatly pointed out.

She turned and stalked into the dining room. Feeling the hard, sharp edge of broken ceramic underfoot, she grated her teeth; she had forgotten about her discarded cup. The pain drove her anger to a head and she continued her march into the kitchen. Gripping the back of a chair, she felt herself unconsciously begin wringing her hands around it; she could at least pretend it was Orion's neck she had a hold of.

Collecting herself, she continued her rejection of his idea. "It's unethical, it's underhanded and it puts their reputation at risk! I will not break into the place where my mother worked for years, from the time she was my age to after I was born, I just won't!"

"You are allowing your personal feelings to become an obstacle, Miss Lawson."

Bending lower, Nadia banged her head against the table gently, but loudly. This man was going to drive her insane: this impossible, shape-shifting, injury-defying man. The dull ache of the red half-bruise forming on her forehead seemed to drive that last part home; what had he said about healing faster when he was someone else?

Thomas' injuries from the alley were less severe than the doctor had expected, weren't they? She thought to herself. He couldn't have been someone else for very long if he was still hurt when he was found. And he couldn't have gone too far, either, since Thomas was still found in that alley. But who had he become during that time? Orion? Or... someone else?

Feeling her eyes widening as she began to connect the dots, she was struck by the sudden realization that no one was interrupting her train of thought. Wheeling about, she saw her living room was empty. Losing control of her frustration for a moment with a loud verbal expletive, she sprinted to the door; throwing it open, she slid into the hall on her bare feet just in time to see the tall, wraith-like form of her guest disappearing into the elevator.

"Orion!"

Nadia was three steps down the hall before she realized she was still in her pyjamas; while the loose, soft material was ideal for sleeping or lounging around her apartment in, she wasn't going to get very far at a run without getting dressed first. Adding to the problem was the faint, dark spots she was leaving on the hallway; her slide across the carpeted hall floor had not been kind to the cut left on her foot by the ceramic edges of her broken cup.

Taking a deep breath, she limped back into her apartment and had to make a conscious effort to shut the door behind herself gently to avoid slamming it. In a hurry, it would take her only a few minutes' time to get dressed, but she knew Orion would be gone by the time she made it to the ground floor. Considering that he had probably stepped off of the elevator looking entirely different, there wasn't much point in chasing after him, either. So much for keeping an eye on him, but at least she knew where he was going; if only she knew who she was looking for when she got there.
Chapter Twenty-One

Tyrone Burgess glared at his empty mug of coffee; he had gotten precious little sleep last night and the black liquid was the only thing keeping him awake enough to be even remotely pleasant. Giselle had dragged him upstairs to the penthouse suite for a security lecture; apparently she had gotten a call from some higher-up, though she hadn't specified whom, and been inspired to double-check every measure he had put in place. Even after he had convinced her everything was fine, she had still asked him to clean all sensitive materials pertaining to his underworld connections out of the secure safes, just to be sure. Never mind that the police had ordered the searching of his motel room to be set today, of all days, making it impossible to store the incriminating documents there until evening, at the earliest.

He growled to himself and stood up from his desk, toting his mug along as he went in search of a refill. His secretary, a young man in his early twenties with short, copper hair, gave him a slightly panicked look as he emerged; a quick glance to the corner of the room confirmed that there was no coffee immediately prepared. Grunting a vague reassurance to calm the still-seated man, he headed through the door to make for the staff room down the hall, ignoring the various employees and security personnel scrambling from his path as he went.

When the giant of a man returned, it was without a mug in hand, let alone any coffee. His receptionist knew better than to even draw his boss' attention when he had been denied his caffeine a second time; he had put a fresh pot on, but it was not yet ready and it was not a wise idea to speak until it was. Burgess stalked past with only a grunt in his direction, but that suited him fine.

Slamming the office doors behind himself, Burgess took a moment to survey his office; his expression changing, slowly, from one of brooding anger to a quiet, smug smile. His torso began to compact, his hulking shoulders beginning, and ending, the smooth-but-unsettling transition to a thinner build. His dark, satiny skin also took on a new, far paler tone, while Burgess' uniform became a much more ragged set of attire. By the time he reached 'his' desk, Orion was entirely himself again and already running idle fingers over the polished surface, as if expecting the furniture to tell him where it hid its secrets. Moving to the rear of the desk, his eyes slid over the drawers, quickly seeing that one was locked. Fortunately enough, the key was still in it, which suggested that Burgess had not gone far. He would need to be quick, then.

Twisting the piece of metal, he pulled the drawer open and saw several large folders within. Tutting quietly, he chastised an imaginary Burgess in a whispered, condescending tone. "Oh, Mr. Burgess, for shame. I had taken you to be such a cautious man, but to lower your guard in such a way is truly disappointing. I hope that your secrets will be more impressive."

Thumbing through the bound documents, he pulled the top-most one free to examine its contents with a small smile. Checking the next, the smile only grew; and it did again for each folder he checked, until his expression could almost be mistaken for one of happiness. Burgess had been a naughty boy indeed, as Miss Lawson had suggested; these records proved it beyond any doubt and put this company in some considerable risk as well. It would not even require the contents of all the folders to do it. But how to walk them out without drawing suspicion to himself? He frowned, trying to remember Thomas' experience with this place, but found it aggravating and largely fruitless. The memories simply would not come as he wanted them to; no matter, he would handle it himself if it was necessary.

Burgess, meanwhile, had found his coffee in the lounge room and had taken a few minutes to sip it quietly, stabilizing his mood somewhat. Drawing a second cup from the pot, he had then started back to his office, but had felt it wise to check up on his security monitors en route. Stopping at the room adjacent to his office, he nodded briskly to Murakami, who had the duty of watching the screens this morning. Sitting to review the footage set out before him, he gave particular attention to his 'back door', in case the camera was behaving oddly. Seeing that it was not, he smiled in satisfaction.

"Enjoying your coffee, I hope, Sir? There's nothing quite like the first cup in the morning, is there?"

Blinking, Burgess looked to his second-in-command. "First? I've been in my office for almost two hours, Murakami."

She frowned back at him, tugging idly on her ponytail. "Really? But that doesn't make any sense, Sir. I saw you on the monitors, walking through the front door, not ten minutes ago."

Leaving his coffee cup where it sat, Burgess stood and exited the room without giving the now-confused woman an explanation. Another him? That was impossible; but if nothing else, something was going on. Striding to his office, he stopped as his receptionist fixed him with the same confused expression Murakami had.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded at his receptionist. "Let me guess; I was just through here?"

The copper-haired man nodded mutely and Burgess brushed past him, but paused before opening the doors. "Everything is fine; I'll sort this out." Flexing his muscles, he threw open the doors and strode inside. He had been under a lot of stress, lately; he was looking forward to relieving himself of it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hearing Burgess' deep voice resonate through the wood of the office door, Orion hunkered down behind the desk; the big man had returned and seemed to be talking to someone. No, not talking, it was only a quick sentence. A question, judging by the tone. Sighing quietly, he knew that it was definitely time to leave and he was going to have to pull a few tricks if he intended to do it without being followed, too. Difficult, but manageable. Selecting a folder at random, he set it aside and put the others back in the drawer. In his haste, one folder spilled open as it was shoved back into place, covering the carpeted floor with errant pages. Orion's attention was instantly drawn from his mistake, however, as he felt an uncharacteristic surge of anger building in his gut.

He recognized the signs of what was coming over him instantly for what they were. No, not now! Escape comes first; you can settle whatever grudge you have with this man another time!

The raw, aggressive feeling surged through his veins like a wildfire; not the answer he had hoped he would get in response to his internal commands, but it was the one he had expected. Snarling involuntarily, he attempted to bang his forehead against Burgess' desk in a final bid to loosen the feeling's grip on him, but felt himself falling backwards instead. Collapsing against the floor, just as Burgess threw the doors open, the surge of hostile emotion reached his head and he saw nothing more.

Filling the doorway, Burgess stepped cautiously inside his office and shut the door behind himself; he saw no one at first glance, but knew the only place to hide in this room was behind his desk. He had been fooled that way, once, and would not be so easily taken again. Clearing his throat to make his presence known, as if there was any way it could have been missed, he spoke aloud.

"I don't know who you are, and I don't care what you're here for; come out from behind there, now. And don't try anything funny, I'm in no mood for games."

A dark brown head of hair came into view, followed by a flashing pair of hazel eyes. Tucking a folder that Burgess knew came from his desk into the front of his neatly-trimmed suit; the man smiled a broad, mocking smile. "Oh, Burgess, I'm hurt. Here I thought we were old friends; I'd expected a little hospitality, no matter how lousy your day's been."

"Black," he murmured softly, feeling a certain regret that he did not have his brass knuckles handy. "How did you get in here?"

The smaller man smiled that infuriating smile of his. "Oh, I have my ways. So; how are you? Stressed out from being investigated by police? Tired from working long hours because of the security measures put in place after those two twits botched their entrance a few days back? Come; enlighten me. I'm starved for entertainment here."

Burgess' eyes narrowed as he studied the man, getting the oddest feeling that he was guessing: shrewdly, correctly, but guessing nonetheless. But that didn't matter just now, his vague answer was what he took issue with. A man should not have been able to just walk in; especially since he had somehow fooled the cameras, not to mention his secretary, into seeing someone else. The fact that Black had imitated him, in particular, with this stunt was just the pinch of salt in the wound that had been inflicted on his pride.

"You know I can't let you leave, Black. You're stealing company property. Hell, I saw you doing it. If you don't co-operate, you'll just be giving me the excuse I've been looking for to teach you a lesson."

Black's grin widened. "Then I guess school's in session, huh? I have to admit, I've been spoiling for a go at you myself. Having to trick someone else into getting me my freedom was a pain, but I'm back now and I can dispense with the third-party approach."

The giant of a man slid his desk out of the way, not even caring enough to try and work out what Black was talking about. Burgess was far more interested in creating an unobstructed space in which he could beat this pain in his backside into unconsciousness. Besides, words were pointless if they both wanted the same thing. Flexing his fingers, he threw the first punch, but Black seemed to disappear from his sight; ducking beneath his arm, the smaller man kicked his aggressor in the side, though it had almost no appreciable effect. Straightening up, Burgess came at him again, but the pattern repeated itself; this time, however, he saw the retaliatory strike coming and caught the suit-wearing man's polished shoe in his free hand.

Hauling back, he threw Black against the wall and listened to the resulting thud with no small amount of satisfaction. His opponent recovered well, though, and seized a picture frame from the wall. Not even sparing a moment to see what he had taken, he threw it at Burgess as he might throw a Frisbee. Raising his arms to defend himself, the big man winced as the hard corner of the frame struck his arm; pain was an unfamiliar sensation to him, but this was nothing he could not handle.

Black meanwhile, had gone for another picture frame, but he was beginning to notice that something was wrong. His movements were quick, but he did not feel as sure-footed as he was used to. His reactions to Burgess' punches had been good, but still too slow; his reflexes seemed to want him to run, not fight. Not that he would allow himself to be bullied by something so simple. Not finding any other frames, however, made his defiance difficult to go through with.

Burgess frowned as the smaller man turned back toward him; he was taller than he had been a minute ago. How was that possible? Catching a glimpse of the man's eyes, he saw they were now blue, not hazel. Frowning, he dropped his guard for a moment. "How the hell are you doing that? What are you doing to your eyes?"

Eyes? Black swore to himself as he realized the cause of his malfunctioning reflexes. He had forced his way into the driver's seat, but he'd dragged some of Orion's previous persona with him without meaning to. Swearing to himself once again, he spat the name of this hobbling influence inside his own head; Carmichael! He knew it would not reach its intended target, but that did not matter. What did was the simple fact that he could not fight like this. Not for much longer, anyway, so a rethink was needed. Feeling around behind himself, he found the knob for the paired office doors and opened one of them, slipping through before Burgess could react.

With his quarry slipping out of sight, Burgess cursed aloud and chased after him. Tearing open the doors, he saw his secretary meekly cowering at his desk. Without needing to be yelled at, the man pointed out the door and the big man surged past him to give pursuit, turning to the right. Passing the monitor room, Burgess leaned inside to bark at his second-in-command.

"Murakami!"

Snapping to attention from a recumbent position, she spun to face him. "Sir?"

Having no time for full sentences, let alone explanations, he skipped to the order he had to give. "Intruder; take the hall past my office, meet at the elevators!"

Thundering off in pursuit of Black, Burgess reached the elevators first; finding neither of them open and nobody waiting for him, he glared down the hall to await Murakami's arrival. When she did appear, without anyone in custody, he glared at the elevators; one was going down and nearly to the bottom. It had to be the one Black was in, but the other elevator was nearly twenty floors above them. Grabbing the radio from Murakami's belt as she came to a stop beside him, he sprinted for the stairs, all the while barking orders at those stationed on the lower floors.

Upon reaching the ground floor, Burgess saw a small army of guards had been assembled; oddly, his receptionist was also present. The young man, upon seeing his boss, approached in his usual nervous fashion. "Uh, s-Sir, I took the liberty of assembling some guards to assist you. D-did you capture the intruder?"

Burgess glared at the young man with an unrestrained hostility that made his confidence wilt even further. "Did it not occur to you to inform me you were stepping out?"

"Well, n-no, Sir, you don't like to be d-disturbed normally."

Growling, Burgess stormed to the back door as quickly as he could. He arrived just in time to see the camera swivelling back into its usual search pattern; whoever had used it, and he had a pretty good idea of who it had been, was gone, both from the building and sight. But how had he tricked the cameras on the way in? Moreover, how had he himself been tricked upstairs, with only a scant few seconds out of his sight? It was impossible. Still, impossible or not, he had to tell Giselle. He could already guess her reaction.

Part of him cringed at the thought.
Chapter Twenty-Two

"Well, it's nice of you to visit, Miss Lawson, and I hope you don't think I'm being rude, but... why exactly are you here, again?"

Nadia forced a smile onto her face. Facing the other occupant of the medium-sized, fairly straightforward office, she cleared her throat before replying. "Oh, uh, well my mother always spoke well of you, Chief Roman. I thought I would drop in so I could tell her you were doing all right."

Daniel Roman, Chief of the Ottawa Police Department, chuckled softly and moved from thumbing through files on one side of the room to sit behind his desk. He was a past-middle-aged man, but looking good for it; a life of protecting and serving had kept him in top form. His ice blue eyes were as sharp at almost-sixty as they had been at twenty; it was a common remark by those who knew him that he could spot a criminal before they had committed a crime. The fact that he was nearly bald did betray his age somewhat, but the only visible signs of age on his dark-toned skin were the crinkles at the corners of his eyes; these suggested a man that knew how to laugh more than one of advanced years.

Facing his young guest, he clasped his hands together and joined the tips of his index fingers in a sort of tower-shape, while his thumb-tips also met, sticking out from the base of his steeple at a nearly right angle. It was an old habit he had adopted to keep his hands steady when at rest, as he had a tendency to fiddle with things. Nothing serious, but he had always felt that his office demanded a certain serenity. A bit self-aggrandizing, perhaps, but everyone had their personal affectations.

"I do appreciate your concern; and I'm always glad to have some contact from your mother since her retirement, but... Well, see, the thing is that I spoke to her just a few days ago. She calls at least once a week, just to catch up."

Nadia blinked, blushing faintly as she was caught in her white lie. "Oh."

Still smiling his quiet smile, the Chief leaned forward. "So, why not tell me why you're really here?"

Smiling sheepishly, she nodded. "I was curious about the Burgess case. I asked around in the lobby while I was waiting to get in to see you and learned they were searching his apartment today, so..."

He chuckled again. "So you thought you might see what we found, eh? Well, you always were a curious one."

She blushed again. "That's me."

Becoming more serious, he continued. "Actually, I'm waiting on the team I sent out there, they should be back any time now; and I must admit I'm as interested to know what they found as you are. I don't trust the man at all. And the way those corporate jackals... pardon me, lawyers, have been defending him at every turn just reeks of self-interest."

Nadia swallowed her smile down; she knew she couldn't tell the Chief what she knew, but she loved that he was on the same page as her even without knowing it. "A gut feeling, then?"

He shrugged lightly. "I suppose you could call it that. It's more that I know when someone is scrambling to cover their own ass after so many years of seeing it happen."

She nodded. "Well, Sir, I'd like to think that, as far as criminals are concerned, the OPD does its best to make sure that the correct asses are exposed and remain uncovered."

"Damned right we do."

They each maintained a straight face for a moment longer before breaking down into a short bout of laughter; Nadia had always taken a certain pride in the fact that the officers who had known her as a little girl could be natural with her, the Chief in particular. It was nice to just sit and talk with him, like an uncle, she supposed. Before they could get back on track, however, there was a knock on the door.

Acknowledging the new arrival, Chief Roman shouted to let him in. "It's open!"

The door opened and an officer entered, bearing a large plastic container with some labels attached to it. Coming in from behind her, it wasn't until he was handing the container over her shoulder that Nadia got a reasonable look at the man; blond hair, blue eyes. She blinked for a moment; chasing visions of Thomas out of her head and saw he looked older than her friend had. Not quite middle aged, but definitely in his early thirties.

The man gave a salute once his hands were free. "Officer Baldwin, Sir, delivering evidence from the motel room of Mr. Tyrone Burgess on behalf of the forensics team."

The Chief nodded. "Thank you, I've been waiting for this. I assume the paperwork is taken care of? I'll not have Icarus Development's lawyers citing breaches in our chain of evidence as a reason to ignore whatever we've found."

The younger officer nodded. "Yes Sir, the paperwork to add in your own signature and such is inside the container."

"Very good. Return to your duties."

Saluting again, the man turned to go; Chief Roman, frowning, interrupted him before he could reach the door. "Hold on a minute, son."

The officer turned, blinking. "Yes, Sir?"

Holding up the paperwork, the Chief held up the logs detailing who was minding the evidence, what evidence had been added to the container and, of course, the times relevant to this information. "You've signed your name twice; once for watching the container and again for adding evidence found at the scene. You only needed to put in one entry detailing both. Being thorough is appreciated, but you don't have to take up extra space doing it."

The officer smiled sheepishly. "Oh, sorry, Sir. Official paperwork makes me a little nervous, I'm always afraid I'll mess it up somehow. It won't happen again, Sir."

The Chief smiled reassuringly. "It's nothing damning, son, no need to come down on yourself; dismissed."

The officer nodded his smile a little less nervous; Nadia, for the briefest of moments, saw Thomas in him again. Frowning, she turned back to Chief Roman as the younger officer exited the room, trying to re-focus herself. Seeing the Chief tugging forensics-style gloves onto his hands, she was vaguely aware of him asking her to step out for a few minutes; for the purposes of keeping the evidence confidential, of course. Nadia did not hear him, however, as she was still struggling to shake the impression of Thomas she had gotten from the officer.

She shook her head, frowning. It couldn't be him, he was too old. But then, she heard herself rationalizing, what was age to a shape-shifter?

Feeling a sense of urgency taking hold, she began to stand, planning to say her farewells to the Chief properly before leaving; as she stood, though, she saw the first item in his box. A simple, brown folder that she was very certain she recognized as one of Burgess'. With her sense of urgency transitioning into more of a need, she bolted from the room, chasing after the officer with a hasty apology flung over her shoulder to the surprised Chief. Skidding out into the front hall and past the receptionist's desk, she saw Officer Baldwin exiting the building, framed against the light coming in through the tinted glass panels making up the wall around the door and most of the ceiling. Following in hot pursuit, she emerged from the building to find him getting calmly into his patrol car, waving to a fellow colleague who was also exiting the building.

Stopping and blinking, Nadia realized she had fooled herself; he hadn't been Orion in disguise. He couldn't have been; he knew people, something that even a perfect disguise couldn't fake. Admonishing herself for her paranoia, she sighed as she realized just how jumpy all of this was making her. She missed being able to rely on someone; heck, she missed Thomas. Trying to let her worries go, she watched Officer Baldwin pulling out with a wave and a smile to his other colleagues, either on their way home or out on patrol as well. A falter in his manner as he looked at a spot just out of her sight around a corner to her right drew her attention, however; and he seemed to drive away just a little too quickly, at that.

Frowning, she stepped forward a few paces, attempting to act casual while straining her peripheral vision for a glimpse at what had made the officer balk. The vague impression of a dark silhouette caused her to forget her facade and turn fully to face the man instead. She recognized Black immediately. The trim, dark suit was new, she had last seen him in an officer's uniform, but she couldn't mistake those arrogant, hazel eyes peering out at her from under his bangs, which were cut just short enough to to keep his field of vision clear. He looked rather like the mobsters she had seen in the movies, in all honesty, but without a fedora to complete the look. Leaning against the wall, he smirked slightly as he saw her and turned to go, beginning to saunter away down the sidewalk that ran alongside the building.

Well, Nadia wasn't having any of that; breaking into a light jog, she caught up to the man and seized him by the sleeve. Spinning him around to face her, she put her finger practically against the tip of his nose and locked eyes with him as menacingly as she could.

"All right, how are you involved?"

He smiled that infuriatingly superior grin of his. "Why, if it isn't the lovely Lawson. Whatever do you mean? I don't get 'involved', it complicates matters when I'm expected to be certain places at certain times. I suppose there are certain advantages to having a lady-friend, but I just can't be bothered."

She took a deep breath, barely suppressing the urge to smack him. "You know very well what I'm talking about, smart ass. One of Burgess' folders was in with the evidence when Chief Roman opened it up. I happen to know that folder wasn't anywhere near the apartment the police were searching; it was in the I.D.I. building. So I followed the officer back out of the building, wondering if he had something to do with it, when lo and behold he gives a nervous glance your way."

Nadia did her best not to give away that she had fibbed about her reasons for following Officer Baldwin; it was probably best Black not know of Orion's involvement in this, but even if he already did, she would rather not let on how frazzled she was getting.

Black smirked, nonchalantly dusting his shoulder off to remove some dust it had picked up from the wall. "Quite the remarkable coincidence that I was here, wouldn't you say? But I'm much more interested to learn how, exactly, you know anything of what may or may not have been in the Icarus Development building?"

She rolled her eyes. "You were the one who wanted Thomas and I to put Burgess away, Black. You know very well what we would have had to do to have a chance at doing it. Now, are you going to stop fooling around and talk this over properly?"

The man paused, for just a moment, as though mulling over what she had said. Shrugging, he smiled quietly. "All right. But not here, if you don't mind? I do so hate having my business overheard."

Glancing around, Nadia saw an apartment building directly across the street from the police station; neither of them were tenants, she assumed, so that wasn't going to help them. Looking across the street perpendicular to the one between the station and apartment, Argyle Avenue according to the sign, she saw a community of older houses; all facing inwards, to form a sort of semi-isolated community that blocked out the noise of the streets. The entrance to the neighbourhood was a sort of tunnel-like alley; it was indeed more private, but also open enough that she felt confident that those passing by on the street would hear a cry for help should she need to make one.

Indicating the alley to Black, she put it to him. "How about over there, then?"

Nodding silently, he began walking across the parking lot to the side-walk, giving brisk nods to the officers he passed. Joining him, they crossed Elgin Street at the lights with their fellow pedestrians, specifically a couple and their two children, and then crossed Argyle to reach their more secluded destination. Picking up the pace a little, Black edged around the four-person block of people ahead, making it into the alleyway first. Nadia, half-expecting some manner of trouble, followed cautiously. Once they were both inside, Black surprised her; she had expected him to attack her, or at least be his usual sarcastic, arrogant self. She had not expected to find him leaning against the wall like it was the only thing keeping him standing. Raising an eyebrow, she moved to the opposite side of the alley, to put at least a little room between them, and watched, unsure of how to proceed.

Breathing heavily, Black's fingers dragged across the brick wall like the talons of a bird trying to dig a worm from the dirt. Finding his grip, he pulled himself upright and turned to face her and her breath caught in her throat. Even in the slightly dimmer light of the alleyway, crammed in between the old houses the way it was, she could see one of his eyes had become blue. His hair was also beginning to lighten from its usual dark brown to a dirty blonde; even the structure of his face was changing, but slowly. He was fighting the shift, that much was obvious from the set of his jaw. Taking all of this in, Nadia found herself dumbstruck; there was only one person who could do something like this. Just one.

Black's voice, rasping from the effort of speaking, startled her out of her thoughts. "You're going to help me, Lawson."

She laughed shakily; whether it was because of the man in mid-transformation before her or because of the things Orion had not told her, she wasn't sure. She had to admit, some part of her was hurt that he hadn't trusted her enough to mention this. "What, more help? You'll have a hard time selling that pitch, Black. I'm not too fond of you or your alter-ego just now."

He doubled over again, coming back up slightly taller than he had been a minute ago. "I'm not thrilled about having to ask, woman, but I don't have any choice. I've been trying to fight this for over an hour, since I took the reins in Burgess' office."

Nadia bristled. "Don't you 'woman' me; the least you can do when asking for a favour is be polite. If you're this bad off, how did you get the evidence from the I.D.I. building into police hands without getting caught, anyway?"

Clenching his teeth, there was a popping sound as his shoulders re-set themselves just a little bit wider. "Pulled... a few... strings," he wheezed, his chest cavity beginning to realign itself to fit his new shoulder-span. "I've been in town... for a while... pays to have some dirt on some... of the local authorities."

She smiled thinly. "Well, that certainly sounds like you. I suppose I should be grateful you got it done, at least, but I'm still not seeing any reason to help you. Because, see, I recognize those pretty blue eyes of yours and that hair; it means the only part of your and Orion's deranged psyche I actually like is the one taking over. And I'm really fairly okay with that."

Any response Black may have had in mind was lost as the finishing touches of the change overtook him; his face finished restructuring into Thomas', while his arms and legs grew to match his slightly-taller build. His clothing, however, did not change; perhaps that was the only parting remark Black had left to make, or perhaps Thomas was just the only one not to consciously know of his ability. Either way, Nadia was fairly beaming when his expression shifted from Black's barely restrained anger to Thomas' open confusion.

"N-Nadia?"

She blushed as she realized she had leaped upon him with a hug, but only pulled back far enough so there was breathing space between them. "Oh, Thomas! You have no idea how badly I've needed to see you these past few days."

Frowning in only slightly mitigated confusion, he tilted his head. "Oh. Well, then, I'm sure I don't. Um, is there any particular reason I'm wearing a suit? And where are we, anyway?"

She giggled quietly, her friend's familiar presence pushing her stress aside for the first time in days. "We're at the Elgin and Argyle intersection. And yes, there's a reason why you're wearing the suit, but you're not going to believe me when I tell you."

He blinked again, his confusion apparently a fixture in this particular conversation. "Oh. Okay. Uh... why, exactly, is that, then?"

Nadia sighed then looked him straight in the eye. "You trust me, right? You'll listen to me when I tell you, even if it sounds insane?"

The angle of Thomas' head tilt grew too steep, so he tilted it the other way instead. "Yes? I mean, if you tell me it's because I was abducted by aliens I might be a little sceptical. Or if it was because of pink elephants or something, then I might not, but other than that, sure?"

She giggled quietly again; she had missed his nervous ramblings more than she had realized. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "Okay; here goes. You are Orion. Or... part of him, anyway. He is a shape-shifter who, apparently, can create alter-egos to drive his body around while he naps, for whatever reason."

The blue eyes her green ones were connected to had begun widening the moment she said 'Orion' and now looked rather like a deer's, caught in the middle of the road staring down a truck. "That's... but... that can't be. I'm me. I can't be someone else, that doesn't make sense."

She hugged him again, resting her head against his chest. "I'm sorry, Thomas. I didn't want to believe it either. But you're real and separate from him and I'm so thankful for that. Maybe we can find some way to keep you in place all the time and..."

His voice, slightly cracking, echoed hers. "And?"

She felt her face reddening, but took a deep breath; maybe now wasn't the best time for this, but she wasn't going to waste the opportunity. "And, I don't know, grab dinner sometime, or something? I don't know if you've noticed, but I've been getting pretty attached to you, mister."

"What a lovely sentiment. I am afraid I do not know you quite so well, Miss Lawson."

Feeling ice running through her veins and fire in her chest, she rocketed back from the man she had been embracing; she saw Thomas rapidly vanishing, once again utterly unprepared for what was coming over him. His blue eyes became purple, and then red and his hair shaded itself from a dirty blond to an utter black; before long, the frayed, macabre spectre that was Orion stood before her anew.

"You." Was all she could muster, though the emotions mixed up in it would have been enough to make even the most narcissistic of people wonder if they had done something wrong.

His neutral expression, newly settled back into its place, remained unflappable. "Do not look at me that way, Miss Lawson. I did not purposefully interrupt whatever it was you and Mr. Carmichael were doing; I simply saw an opportunity to reassert myself. Which, after the... shall we say 'incident', earlier, I was not going to allow to pass me by."

Turning, Nadia very nearly hit her head against the nearest wall; she thought better of it only as she admitted how much the aged brick would make that hurt. Turning back to Orion, she smiled thinly. "What, didn't you like having Black take you over? He certainly didn't seem to like Thomas doing it to him, and I know I don't like it when you do it to Thomas."

He sighed quietly. "Then you know. Of Black and his involvement, I mean."

She nodded curtly. "Oh, I know all right. And you're going to explain it to me in excruciating detail, because I am done playing this demented game of rock-paper-scissors."

He fidgeted slightly. "I can explain it to you, if you wish, but it will take some time."

Feeling an impulsive idea coming on, Nadia grinned widely. "Good. Save it then. I've had it up to here with you today. I am going to a bar. I am going to drink until I can actually stand to look at you. Maybe I'll go dancing; I've never been dancing. And you are going to be the perfect gentleman and look out for me. No letting me go home with random men, or women for that matter. No leaving me sprawled out on a street corner or watching me waltz into traffic. And do you know why you'll do all of this?"

The man attempted to open his mouth, but she held up a hand, still grinning in a slightly alarming manner. "Yes, that's right, it is because I said so."

Blinking his ruby eyes in a twisted parody of Thomas' confusion, Orion was unceremoniously seized by the scruff of his frayed shirt. Any objection he may have had was cut off as the frazzled reporter began hauling him down the sidewalk towards the cross-walk; it was all he could do to adopt a new appearance before anyone noticed him. Smiling thinly, Nadia closed her declarative rant with a succinct, inarguable finish.

"Good talk, let's go."
Chapter Twenty-Three

Nadia frowned disapprovingly at her plate; it was bare again. That had to be the fifth time, now. Or was it the third? She really couldn't remember at this point. She had found her seat at the bar not more than four or five blocks up the road from the police station. The pub the seat was in, then the seat itself, that was. She giggled in semi-drunken amusement at the distinction. Said pub, specifically a pub and grill, was called... well, she wasn't really sure, actually. She knew it was a bar and grill, the sign had said so, but the rest of it hadn't stuck. And, considering the lax standards she had initially set out with on her search for inebriating beverages, she had done very well for herself in terms of the quality of the establishment she'd landed in; that is to say, she had found quite a nice place. Hardwood floors, warm lighting, pictures on the walls and the bar set in the midst of a brick wall for that added charm. She had been quite impressed. Or, she would have been, had she not been steering Orion into a seat at the far end of the bar and instructing him to sit right there until she needed him for something.

Having left her stress-inducing counterpart in his corner, she had then moved to her chair at the bar; or, more specifically, what she had decided was going to be her chair at the time. She had pretty well had her pick of seats since they had come in between the lunch and dinner crowds; but the wooden-framed, grey-green cushioned seat she had picked out was hers from the moment she had walked in. Of course it had been, it was right beside the tap. Giggling softly at her logic, she tilted her glass, that she had gotten after choosing her seat next to the tap, back and drained it of its contents; this she was almost positive she had only done twice before. But then, she had never really been a regular drinker and, while her talents were diverse, holding her alcohol was apparently not one of them.

Not that she was drunk. Not yet, anyway. No, she was sitting in the glorious realm that was tipsiness, with not a worry or a care in the world. It was just her and the numbness that came with having one's ability to fret slip, unconscious, under the table before they did. Signalling the bartender for a refill, both for her glass and plate, she turned to check on Orion and did a double take as she realized the previously unoccupied bar was suddenly teeming with life. She supposed it had been a while since she sat down. An hour? Two, maybe? Eh, what does it matter. Looking around, she noted the entire pub seemed to have filled to capacity and then some without her noticing. The ambiance of the establishment was a lively blend of quiet conversation at the booths and the more raucous sorts watching the wide-screen televisions set up on several of the walls,shouting for their chosen team to score, defend or, just as often, swearing at the referee's latest decision.

Craning her neck, Nadia leaned back, nearly overbalancing herself in the process. Spotting Orion's present 'disguise', a youth with light brown hair and rather fetching green eyes, still seated where she had left him, she returned herself to an upright position. She had to give him some credit, she supposed, he was behaving rather well so far. No ill-conceived escape attempts, nor even complaints about how long they had been there. Blinking, she wondered if he had had anything to eat. She supposed not, considering he had never mentioned that he possessed any money. Feeling the tiniest amount of guilt begin seeping into her numbed state, she directed a plate in his direction and smiled smugly as the concern faded again.

Not that she actually knew what any of these plates had on them, though she vaguely remembered telling the bartender to surprise her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Orion smiled thinly at the bartender when he placed a plate of food in front of him. He had assumed that his previous persona had gotten something to eat during his time at the helm as he had not been hungry upon becoming himself again. Whether he had or not had become somewhat irrelevant, however, after the first two hours of being seated at the bar. Miss Lawson seemed to be enjoying herself well enough, he supposed, but she also seemed completely unaware of time dragging past them.

He was not faring quite so well. In all truthfulness, he was remarkably bored. At least his food was interesting; some manner of tortilla crust surrounding a mildly spicy centre of cheese, vegetables and seasoning, with a rather pleasant garlic dip to help it go down. Not something he was even remotely familiar with. Finishing off the plate with a glass of water, he resigned himself to the wait; his inebriated escort appeared to still be going strong, suggesting that it would be a while before they departed. He wondered if she would be quite so enamoured with her idea to go through with this come morning. If the bill for eating enough for four people didn't dissuade her from trying this again in a hurry, the hangover certainly would.

With his face dangerously close to showing an emotion at the thought, Orion's musings were interrupted by the feel of something cold, narrow and firm pressing into his lower right side. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man standing beside him. A grey, wide-brimmed hat was pulled low over his eyes and he had a black coat draped over the arm holding the handgun to Orion's ribs.

Keeping himself facing forwards, Orion nodded in vague acknowledgement of the man's presence. "Simon."

Tipping the brim of his hat ever so slightly, the man replied in kind. "Orion. And it's McClane to you, remember? I suppose it has been a while. I think we'll need some time to catch up. "

Clearing his throat softly, the shape-shifter indicated the couple perched on the chairs immediately beside him. They weren't paying attention to either of the two men, busy as they were arguing over the finer points of the soccer match up on the flat-screens, but they were still well within earshot. "I assume you are as averse as I am to this exact spot being the place for any sort of private discourse?"

The man snorted softly. "Still talking in circles, huh. Well, whatever floats your boat, I suppose, but I only speak in plain English. Think you'll need a dictionary?"

Orion sighed. "No, thank you, Simon. Your meaning is well conveyed without speech; was that not what the firearm was invented for?"

McClane's mouth, barely visible under his hat, tugged up into a smirk. "I think it had something to do with self-defence, actually. Against predators and monsters. Which is convenient, since you're both and worse. Now move, but keep it slow."

The pistol in his ribs dug in further to punctuate McClane's point, and Orion let himself be steered from the bar. Crossing the floor of the pub towards the door, he cast a glance over his shoulder and saw that Nadia was still happily unaware that anything was wrong. So much the better, she was safer that way. He smiled thinly in bitter amusement at this sentiment before pushing it aside; the young woman's well-being was none of his concern, after all. Passing through the front entrance, the cool wash of night air caressed his face, invigorating him as it passed into his lungs. Looking up, the bitter smile returned, unbidden, to his lips as he beheld the waning moon above. Hello, beautiful. I missed you.

Not appreciating the shape-shifter stopping to admire the view, his aggressive, would-be hostage taker gave him a shove from behind to get him moving again. Being led around to the side of the pub, they disappeared into the dark space that existed between the building and the small restaurant beside it. Placing Orion against a wall, McClane backed away to the opposite side of the alley, keeping the gun on-target throughout. Tilting his hat back, he at last revealed his face, though Orion had seen it before.

It was a face approaching old age at a dead run; weathered, tired and beginning to show it. His short beard and hair, once a chestnut brown, was riddled with grey. His icy blue eyes, sharp and observant, were surrounded by lines that spoke more of squinting than of laughter. Even his mouth seemed in a perpetual frown. He was taller than Orion's present shape, standing about two inches over the six foot mark, with a lean, athletic build earned from a life spent on the move.

McClane's soured expression tilted into a slight smile of satisfaction at their secluded location. "Well now, that's better. There won't be any interruptions here. Let's see you, then."

Orion's face remained neutral throughout his change back to his usual shape, though he smirked slightly as he finished and found his eyes two inches higher than McClane's. "You are shorter than I remember you being."

The man shrugged. "I remember you as a bogeyman, but here you are against a wall. Life's funny like that. Now, then. Just so I can straighten out your mess once you're dead; what's your angle with the girl at the bar?"

"I have no 'angle', Simon. She is the one attempting to use me for her own purposes."

McClane laughed at that. "You can't expect me to believe that, what do you take me for?"

Orion shrugged. "I expect very little from you, Simon."

The man's laughter died, his patience for his quarry's use of his first name rapidly running out. "I told you to stop calling me that. And keep your petty insults to yourself. Fine, then, no angle with the girl. So much the better, I don't have to go in there to help her once I've left you dead out here."

"I am curious, Simon, as to how you found me this time?"

It was McClane's turn to shrug. "I got into town this morning; figured I'd drop in on the police station, see if I could get any information out of them about strange sightings or other leads on you. Imagine my surprise when I see some young lady accompanying one 'Mr. Black' across the street. So I park my truck in the police station's lot, fetch my camera and follow you from across the street. That alley you picked was straight as an arrow, I saw the whole thing. Got some nice pictures, too."

"I assure you, had it been me choosing the meeting place, it would have been more secluded."

He laughed. "What, you let the girl pick it? How obliging of you! But that's all beside the point; when you left, I followed. When she dragged you in here, I staked the place out; I couldn't just waltz in and walk you out at gunpoint with nobody around, after all."

"So you waited until the establishment became crowded enough for you to act unnoticed. You must hate me a great deal to have waited for your chance so patiently."

McClane snorted. "You're just figuring that out now?"

"No," he replied, patiently. "I merely wonder what the reason for that hatred is. Of all of those I have encountered throughout my life, you have pursued me the most determinedly. How long has it been, now? Twenty years of your life? More? Will it be worth it, Simon?"

A sneer spread over the man's face. "Yeah, well, that's what happens when you ruin other people's lives, they get a little ticked off with you."

Orion shrugged again, using the motion to hide the fact that he was using his left foot to hold the back of his right shoe as he wiggled his foot looser in it. "I suppose so. I have some experience with such things."

"Bully for you. As for whether it's been worth it," McClane lifted his arm, aiming his pistol at Orion's chest, "I'll let you know in a minute."

Smiling thinly, Orion nodded. "I am most anxious for your answer."

Staring each other down, icy blue eyes against red, the pair stood in that alley while the tension in the air thickened. Leaning back slightly, Orion kicked his right foot forwards. His shoe, sufficiently loosened, catapulted through the air and caught McClane by surprise as it struck his shin. Firing reflexively at the sudden pain, his shot went wide. Seizing the brief moment he had bought himself, the red-eyed man seized the coat-wrapped hand holding the gun and drove his knee into his aggressor's stomach, forcing him to double over.

Sucking in huge lungfuls of air, McClane straightened up. Throwing his coat aside with his free hand, he sought an ideal shot at his target, but Orion was already disappearing around the corner of the pub. Cursing loudly, he took off in pursuit, snatching his coat up as he went to hide his weapon. By the time he got inside, he knew it was too late. The crowds of people inside provided the perfect hiding place for Orion now that McClane had lost his element of surprise; he could be anyone. What had been his advantage was now decidedly his opponent's. Glancing around at the faces amidst the noisy crowds at the bar, he spotted the girl Orion had been watching; she was still in her seat, her emptied dishes beginning to pile up in front of her and was in the midst of chatting up a young man that she, or perhaps her alcohol-saturated reasoning, apparently found intoxicating. Rolling his eyes at the display, he growled quietly to himself at having lost his quarry. He supposed, however, that he was fortunate no one in the establishment was any the wiser as to what had gone on outside; although he doubted these people would have heard his gunshot in the alley, even if the pistol he had used hadn't been silenced. Smiling grudgingly at the room, he turned on his heel and left. It was time for a different approach.
Chapter Twenty-Four

Nadia woke with a pleasant buzz in her system; a pleasant buzz that disappeared the moment she tried to open her eyes. She had never realized the light of a glorious spring morning could carry the impact of a sledgehammer. Groaning, she pulled a spare pillow over her eyes and repeated the pitiable sound when it didn't help. Feeling her stomach beginning to turn rapidly, she rolled out of bed and, draping her blanket over her head and shoulders, half-stumbled, half-crawled her way to the bathroom. Bracing her elbows on the edges of the toilet bowl, she let her stomach do its thing; at least the taste of bile in her mouth gave her something else to think about other than how much pain she was presently in. After a few minutes spent repeating more or less the same motions over the toilet, she resolved to remember exactly what she had done last night; then never to do it again. Ever. For the rest of her life.

She had been drinking, obviously. She remembered finding a nice pub, then a seat she had seemed rather possessive of, for some strange reason. She had eaten... a lot, though she couldn't remember what exactly had been on her menu, nor how much she had consumed. A glance down into the toilet bowl suggested a few ingredients, but also prompted a fresh addition to its contents; she made sure to flush after every similar episode thereafter.

She remembered that there had been no dancing; judging by how utterly ruined she presently felt, that was probably for the best. She did not need any embarrassing memories adding themselves to her miserable condition. She felt her face reddening as she remembered just one, potentially embarrassing, memory drifting up through the murk of her memories. There had been a guy. He had sat down beside her somewhere after her... well, she couldn't remember how many drinks she had had at that point, but she remembered the man.

Tall, dark, handsome; the cliché made her giggle, which in turn prompted her head to remind her of her present suffering. Moaning, she clutched at her temples and vainly attempted to appease the pain ravaging her skull with a massage. Feeling an ever-increasing need to distract herself from this, she refocused on the memory of the guy. Her impression of the fellow had him being at least six feet tall, though she couldn't remember him doing anything but sitting, so it was hard to be sure. Tanned skin, dark hair, and a great smile; she wondered if, in her drunken state, she had given him her phone number. Despite the satisfaction she would have gotten from actually getting a call from the handsome stranger, she hoped not. How would she have explained she just couldn't see him, or anyone else, right now? No, I'm sorry, I was recently in love with a young man who turned out to be a shape-changer in disguise? She sighed, knowing there wasn't anyone who would buy that. But that's what had happened. Thomas was gone; stolen, shanghaied, replaced by a mentally unstable man who looked like he saw a beautician twice a week to maintain his dye job and freaky contacts, but never the sun.

Feeling her stomach was now officially empty, though not any less peeved with her, she pulled herself upright and staggered into the shower, still grumbling quietly to herself. She even caught herself wishing she had not known Thomas at all, which only added self-recrimination to the mix of emotions she had to deal with. Pushing such bitterness from her mind, she let the water soothe her as best it could without interruption and felt a little bit better by the time she stepped out. Towelling herself off and climbing back into her pyjamas, she stepped out into the hallway and made her way toward the kitchen.

Emerging into the living room while en route, she saw the aforementioned eerie individual seated on one side of her couch; the television was set to the news and he was paying attention with a slightly bored expression. Continuing past without having him take any obvious notice of her, she downed two tall glasses of cold water, along with some medicine for her headache, before setting to work on breakfast. Specifically, toaster-cooked waffles from her freezer. Wolfing two down while she readied two more, she soon felt somewhat human again; she was in the ballpark, at least, even if she was playing outfield.

Taking a deep breath, she prepared another plate of waffles. Finding a clean fork, she moved back into the living room and offered the plate to Orion. "Here."

Glancing at her, her guest hesitated for a moment before shifting into a cross-legged posture. He took the plate, balancing it on his knee while steadying it with one hand; wielding the fork in his free hand, he set to the offered breakfast. Nadia found a seat for herself at the opposite end of the couch, but was unable to watch him eat; he kept looking at her and each time their gazes met she would involuntarily avert her eyes. She had hoped she would have gotten over the unsettling feeling exuded by his sanguine irises by now. Not quite yet, apparently.

Finishing off the contents of his breakfast, he set the empty plate on the floor with its fork set upon it. Redirecting his gaze to Nadia, he studied her for a few moments, before turning his attention back to the television. Frowning, she turned to watch it as well, frustrated that he had ignored her gesture entirely; but, as her luck for the day would have it, the news had gone to commercial, so there was nothing interesting on the television, either. Sighing, she began gathering herself to stand, when Orion mumbled something that made her sit back.

"Could you repeat that?"

His crimson gaze looked at her side-long, then away. "Thank you."

Feeling herself break into a smile, she repositioned herself to get more comfortable on the couch. "Now, did that hurt?"

He shrugged slightly, but did not otherwise respond and she chided herself for her teasing. The waffles had at least given her an opening, she couldn't waste it on jibes about his manners. "Sorry. So, I was thinking; since I'm hiding from the largest headache of my life and you seem... well, about as bored as you usually do, maybe we could talk?"

His response came without even turning to face her. "About?"

Taking a deep breath, Nadia went for broke. "Well, there are a lot of things that I don't get about you. If we're going to be working together, shouldn't I get to know you a little better?"

Orion did face her this time, but his gaze again forced her eyes away. "I was not aware we were required to work together, Miss Lawson. I merely remain here because your assistance is helpful to me. In addition, I am still deliberating on precisely what action, if any, I should take in regards to your knowing of me."

Mustering up her courage, she raised her own gaze to squarely meet his and held it there through sheer stubbornness. "What 'action' are you thinking of taking, then, hmm?"

"My typical response to confirming that I am 'known' is to remove the individual, or party, possessing knowledge of me."

Nadia found herself blinking, her mental battle with his eyes strangely forgotten; she was pretty sure he had just said something unexpected, but in his deadpan tone it had nearly slipped past her. Giving it a moment to process, she merely echoed the word that had been denied its usual emphasis. "Remove? As in kill?"

He looked at her like she had just dribbled something on herself. "Yes, Miss Lawson, that is what I said. Are you certain you are recovered enough from your escapade last night for this discussion?"

Biting back a more argumentative retort, she simply nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. So... you're deciding whether or not to kill me. That's... unsettling. I guess keeping me nearby makes sense, then, if that's a possibility. Might there be another option?"

Orion shrugged. "If I believe that I can trust you with the information, I suppose I would not have to resort to my usual methods. This is why I am evaluating you."

The wave of relief that came with knowing there was, in fact, a second option loosened her jaw somewhat. "Trust, okay, good, I'm a trustworthy sort of person. Aren't I? I mean, you think I am, right?"

He smiled thinly. "As I said; I am deliberating."

"Oh," was about all she could manage for a moment. "Well, thanks, I guess? For not killing me straight off, I mean. Might I ask why you didn't, or does that cut in on my chances?"

He simply shrugged. "It does not, but I do not have a satisfactory answer for you."

She had to admit, she wasn't exactly sure what to make of his response. "What does that mean?"

"That I do not know, Miss Lawson. There were reasons, certainly, but not generally ones that would be enough to convince me not to carry out my usual protocol."

Nadia felt herself bristling at his vagueness, despite the good fortune she had unknowingly been granted. "So, what, it was on a whim? That's awfully high and mighty of you, just deciding whether people live or die at random."

His crimson eyes met hers more forcefully, this time, and she felt more than heard a certain bitterness in his voice as he spoke again. "Such is the way of the world, Miss Lawson. Many have lost their lives without good reason; is it wrong if, sometimes, someone retains theirs instead?"

She sighed in frustrated concession. His logic was odd, but she supposed he had a point. Her head wasn't in any state for prolonged arguments, in any case. "All right, fine. Let's change topics, then."

Orion nodded patiently. "As you wish."

Gathering her thoughts as best she could with the pangs of her headache clawing at her, she began anew. "I want to know about Black's involvement with you. There are some... inconsistencies I'd like you to address for me."

He blinked, apparently processing her request and seeking clarification. "Such as?"

"Well, like that bulletin board back in Black's room, for starters. If you're the same person... what's the point of it?"

"Bulletin board?"

It wasn't the answer she had been expecting. "Yeah, the bulletin board. Don't you remember? It was set up in Black's room, written in code so anyone who saw it wouldn't be able to make heads or tails of it. It was full of notes from you giving Black instructions, like teaming up with Burgess to deal with me to take care of a common problem, or something like that anyway."

The look he gave her spoke volumes without him ever uttering a word; he hadn't the slightest idea what she was talking about. "I know of no such system, nor of any bulletin board, Miss Lawson."

Blinking, she stumbled a little over that particular turn. "Well that's... confusing, I guess. Any ideas as to why it had been set up in Black's room, then?"

He smiled thinly. "Yes, actually. But I must explain something else first for you to understand."

"Okay?"

"As I am sure you have assumed at one point or another, you believe that my personae and I communicate with one another, yes?"

"Well... it always sort of confused me where Thomas was concerned, but yes, I'd thought you shared memories, at least."

He nodded. "I thought so. It is not the case. Each of my 'identities' has a curtain, of sorts, pulled closed around it. It is why I have no knowledge of this bulletin board and why Mr. Carmichael does not understand what happens to him each time I reclaim the primary position."

She silently filed that information away for later consideration. "So... you can't 'talk' to each other and you don't know what your other 'selves' know? That's awfully inconvenient, isn't it?"

He chuckled dryly. "It is, yes. But it was not a deliberate change. It merely came about on its own."

Nadia recognized evasive answering when she heard it. "Ah. Keeping a few secrets, then, are we? Fine, I'll stay on topic; so if that's true, what did you mean about my knowledge of you 'rousing' you, back when we had our first chat?"

"Your memory serves you well, Miss Lawson. That is the exception to the rule, one I initially did not understand myself. I have come to believe it is a survival instinct, of sorts, making it baser than a conscious thought and so therefore able to circumvent our shrouds."

Nadia nodded slowly as his logic unfolded itself. "So, if one of you catches on that you're known, it wakes you up and pulls you into the driver's seat, to deal with it?"

"Correct."

Smiling at her summation of what he had told her, she pressed on. "So, what about the bulletin board, then?"

The faint smile that had crept onto his face during their exchange faded. "Ah, yes. I believe it was planted there specifically for your finding."

This idea caused her to frown; she had been rather proud of her code-breaking at the time. She didn't much care for the notion of it having been for nothing. "But if it was fake... why?"

Orion shook his head, still looking a tad grimmer than she thought normal. "No, it was not a fake, Miss Lawson. Merely a cunning ploy. You see, not all of my personae are content to sleep away the time they are not in use. Some wish to be in control more often or at all times. One, in particular, has become rather skilled at seizing the reigns over the years."

Feeling herself struggling to keep up with the notions and information she was being given, she dearly wished that she wasn't hung-over just now. "Okay, so, you're telling me that one of your other identities wants to overthrow you?"

"In essence, yes. With the time he has invested in attempting to take control from me, he has found several methods to go about it. However, these methods do not apply to all of my various personae. It is likely that he felt the emergence of a new one that he was not yet familiar with and took measures to prepare for it."

Nadia held up a hand, letting this process. "Okay; give me a minute to figure this one out. The 'he' you're on about is Black, obviously. So he knows how to get under your skin better than most and take control; but when the new boy came around, he knew he would have to practice some new tricks in order to take control as he pleased in the same way. So he planted that bulletin board in a room that he didn't intend to use, just so his name would come up if anyone put their ear to the ground."

Orion watched her with a small amount of amusement, though he still seemed a tad... dour. "Go on."

Things were falling into place quicker now. "Of course! He knows about the instinct that tips you off when someone knows about you; he wanted Thomas and I to find the bulletin board. He wanted us to start looking you up, so that when I knew you really existed, it would pull you out and put you back in control. All because he's better at dealing with you than with Thomas. But, then..."

She trailed off as she realized the implications of this. "He used me. He used me against you, against your system. He knew I'd look you up, being a reporter. I don't believe it."

Orion nodded slowly and smiled in a manner that could almost be mistaken for comforting. "Do not blame yourself, Miss Lawson. As I said; he has had a great many years to practice."

Strangely enough, his tone did make her feel better. A little. "So... can he take control at any time?"

"No, though he has tried. He typically waits until my defences are lowered through some other means, such as anger or distraction."

"Hmm. I guess that explains why you're always so straight-faced, then, huh?"

"Yes. A necessary adaptation."

"There's one thing I still don't get. Thomas said he met Black, once. How could that have happened?"

Orion blinked at this. "I am not sure. I suppose if the barriers between them were lowered, somehow, it might have been possible for Black to appear to him. It has never happened in my experience and neither do I know how one would go about it. Offhand I would say such a thing would be impossible, but there are times when I believe that Black has a better understanding of my abilities than I do."

Nadia felt a slight shudder pass through her shoulders. "I hope you're kidding about that, mister. That man gives me the creeps."

Orion simply offered a vague smile and did not answer; this did not reassure Nadia a great deal.
Chapter Twenty-Five

It had been a long, anxiety-ridden day for Officer Frank Baldwin. He had always been the nervous sort; he needed more reassurance than most. The firearm at his side helped, some, but from the first time that he had encountered Tyrone Burgess... well, it didn't quite do it anymore. He remembered that first meeting very well. He had been off-duty at the time, just minding his own business when, out of nowhere, he was pulled into an alley. Burgess had been the only one there, but he had filled that tiny space so completely he had seemed a giant.

Baldwin shuddered involuntarily at the recollection; it had been the start of all his problems. The big man had terrified him so completely he had found himself agreeing to keep him informed of police goings-on before he even knew what he was saying. He was only a low-level enforcer, he had rationalized; what harm would it really do? It wasn't like he knew anything important. But it hadn't been that simple for long. He soon found himself being prompted into volunteering for duty in places Burgess needed a blind eye and giving the big man's thugs a pass when he saw them doing what they did, even smuggling things for him.

It had made him a wreck. His doctor had put him on anti-depressants and other mood-stabilizing medication, but it just wasn't helping. He laughed nervously; he supposed there was no treatment for a guilty conscience. But then, yesterday, when the man in the suit had suddenly shown up talking about the things he had done like it was the morning news... he had panicked. He'd taken the folder the man had and put it into the evidence immediately, without so much as opening it to see what it was.

It was only later that he had realized it was almost definitely something to incriminate Burgess and, since then, he had felt like an insect in a terrarium; it was only a matter of time before something tried to eat him. If it wasn't the Chief finding out about his misconduct, it was going to be Burgess coming down on him; he wasn't sure which of these prospects he found most terrifying. Being branded as a 'bad cop' would be awful, but he knew damned well what the criminal reputation of his other 'boss' suggested.

Off-duty now, he had parked his car and practically broken into a jog through the parking lot belonging to his apartment, a large and grey thing of rough concrete edges that stood as the tallest building for at least a block in any direction. It sat on a crescent-shaped street, specifically Fairlea Crescent, and towered over the regular homes around its base. Skittering around a few of the neighbourhood kids playing hopscotch on the pavement as he went, Baldwin felt his paranoia reaching an all-time high; he didn't feel safe in the open anymore, as absurd as it sounded. Sprinting through the front doors, he fumbled for his keys to get into the building proper and, once he had, bolted into the elevator, almost grateful for the isolation provided by the empty, enclosed space. Stepping out into the door-infested hallway of the tenth floor, he scurried to the far end, his keys already in hand. Unlocking his door, he slipped inside before it was halfway open and almost slammed it shut behind himself. Locking up, he took a deep breath and kicked his shoes off; moving towards his living room, he reached for the lights.

He froze when they did not turn on. Flicking the switch once, twice, three times, he felt his blood growing steadily colder. On the fourth flick, the light did come on; his eyes, having adjusted to the dark, watered reflexively at the sudden illumination. Rubbing fiercely at them, he squinted towards the light source and saw Tyrone Burgess standing in the middle of his living room, calmly screwing the light bulb back into its socket.

"Hello, Officer."

Baldwin winced at the title; the nickname was Burgess' idea of a joke. He felt his heart thundering in his chest as adrenaline surged into his system. His head told him to use that energy, to run, but his feet had frozen to the floor. Abject terror did that to him. "H-hello, Burgess. C-can I h-help you with s-something?"

The giant took two strides, now looming directly over the nervous little man cowering in the doorway. Seizing Baldwin by the front of his shirt, he half-towed, half-dragged the man into the living room portion of his apartment. Seating him firmly on the couch, he placed one giant foot on the officer's; the weight and firmness of his toe, against Baldwin's shin, suggested his shoes were steel-tipped. Beginning to apply his weight, Burgess smiled thinly. "Oh, you can, Officer. You can."

Forcing a smile onto his face, Baldwin ignored the sweat rolling down his neck and the slowly increasing weight on his foot. "J-just say h-how."

Continuing to lean his weight forward, Burgess' smile remained a thin, spiteful thing. Drawing a small device from his inside pocket, he dropped it on the squirming man's lap. "Use that to make a recording of you confessing to screwing with the cops' evidence. And don't whine about it, we both know only a coward like you would be so easy to bully into it."

Baldwin faltered at that, forgetting himself momentarily. "B-but Burgess, I can't-"

He was cut off when the steel-toed man stopped leaning and began crushing; the toe itself scraped its way across his shin, dragging his sock down and leaving a path of raw, almost-bleeding skin. Sucking in a sharp breath, Baldwin picked up the recorder, frantically searching for the button to turn it on. His fumbling fingers found their positions and he gasped up at his tormentor; only then did the pressure on his foot recede.

Turning it on, he took a deep breath. "I, Officer Frank Baldwin, would like to go on record saying... saying..."

Seeing his reluctant helper was wavering, Burgess rolled his eyes and drove his heel down; the crunching of the foot's small bones was nearly drowned out by the wretched shriek Baldwin gave out. Plucking the recorder from the man's grip, Burgess calmly reset it to the beginning and dropped it on the couch beside him. "Again."

Whimpering quietly, Baldwin wiped the tears and snot from his face with his sleeve; taking a deep breath, he began anew. "I, Officer Frank Baldwin, would like to go on record saying that I tampered with police evidence taken from the motel room of Tyrone Burgess. Please forgive me."

Burgess rolled his eyes at that last part, knowing very well that it had been aimed more at him than those who would be listening to the tape. But it was good enough. Taking the recorder from the man, he played it back to make sure it sounded good. Satisfied, he tucked it back into his pocket. "Thank you, Officer. This makes my night."

The man nodded rapidly, clenching his teeth as Burgess took his weight off of his shattered foot. Chuckling darkly, the giant indicated the broken foot with a slight gesture. "You should really have that looked at."

Moving to the door, he unlocked it and stepped outside; struck by an idea, he turned back and flicked the lights off before turning and striding towards the elevator. Having to find his phone in the dark, with his foot broken, would finish Baldwin's lesson more than adequately. Taking his cellphone out, he watched it expectantly as he stepped out of the apartment building; sure enough, it began to ring.

Smirking, he flipped it open. "Burgess."

A silky-smooth voice replied, one that was both smugly approving and somehow just the tiniest bit condescending at the same time. "Ah, Tyrone. How are you, my good man?"

Burgess felt himself roll his eyes, an effect his employer often had on him; he was always glad the man couldn't see him do it. "Just fine, boss. Got a recording here that's going to ruin the police chief's whole week."

The man on the other end laughed. "Good, good! I trust the little insect that went against you has been suitably punished?"

"He won't be walking without crutches for a while. I'm pretty sure I'm back to being his most-feared person, too."

This seemed to amuse his superior to no end. "You see, Tyrone, this is why I send you to attend to my business; you've really quite the knack for skullduggery."

Tyrone wondered at the use of the word 'skullduggery', but left it alone. "I'll take that as a compliment, Sir."

His boss' tone vouched for him; it was always easy to tell when he was pleased. Like seeing yellow feathers on a cat's face when your canary was missing. "Oh, it is. Now then; your recording will get this whole incarceration business over and done with, yes?"

"It should. Baldwin's recording says he tampered with the evidence; there's no way the cops are going to want that out in public. Even if they did, they would have to go to great lengths to prove which parts of their evidence weren't tampered with, even if they could convince a judge to let them. Either way, the folder Black had the little roach slip in for him was the only real evidence against me or Icarus Development."

"Black? That's the mercenary fellow you had mentioned, yes?"

Tyrone nodded at nobody. "Yeah, that's him. He was in my files yesterday; got into the I.D.I. building by tricking the cameras into seeing me, then got back out by masquerading as my assistant. Don't ask me how, I'm still working on it, but it's like nothing I've ever seen before."

His boss was genuinely interested, now. "Intriguing... Well, keep up the good work. Which reminds me; I hear tell that you and Miss Fitch have gotten rather cozy with one another. I trust your loyalties remain as they always have, despite this? You know I'll be asking you to move on soon enough; Icarus Development Incorporated is taking off nicely, I won't need you there to keep an eye on things for very much longer."

Tyrone blinked at the man's knowledge of his personal life, but didn't hesitate. He knew better. "Of course, Sir. When you give the word, I'll move along. I always have."

It was the correct answer. "I'm pleased to hear it. I have to say, you're an asset to my business; the number of deals alone that have been smoothed out and closed neatly due to your involvement makes you well worth your pay."

"Like they say, Sir; if you're good at something, never do it for free."

His boss chuckled quietly. "Well, you certainly don't. I trust Miss Fitch is unaware that what she pays you is merely a bonus crowning the amount I do?"

Tyrone nodded to nobody once again. "Of course. Like I said, I'm good at what I do."

"Very good. And let me know if you find out any more about this mercenary; no one has ever baffled you quite so soundly before. Best we nip this particular problem in the bud."

Flexing his fingers, the big man pictured throttling the neck of the scrawny fellow in question. "I know that he's in the area; I'll sniff him out with enough time."

His boss laughed, though it rang more with the sound of a patient dismissal than with any actual amusement. "Oh, Tyrone, you know how antsy I get when our opponent actually stands a sporting chance; I'll call some people and have some assistance sent down your way. Strictly under the radar, naturally."

He fidgeted slightly; he knew what his boss meant by 'assistance'. "You don't have to bother, Sir. The problem isn't worth the money."

"Nonsense," came the scoffing reply. "If I don't give our associates some business once in a while they may get rusty; and then what good are they to me?"

Tyrone sighed; he wasn't looking forward to this, but he knew better than to argue. "I see your point. I'll fill them in when they arrive, then."

Seemingly satisfied, the voice wrapped things up with a final, quietly veiled order. "Excellent. I'll expect your call to update me on the situation as soon as you learn anything."

"I'll do that, Sir."

Climbing into his 'car', a custom model re-sized for his frame, Tyrone put his phone on the passenger's seat. He may have been good at what he did, but he didn't always enjoy it. His boss had made him wealthy, sure, but he was suddenly aware of how few vacations he had taken. He had just never really felt like he could use a break; before now, that was. Frowning, he put his vehicle into gear and headed for home. Maybe he would feel better in the morning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

At around the same time as Burgess was attending to Baldwin, another man was searching for information of a different nature. McClane, having retired to his hotel room after his meeting with Orion at the pub, leaned in close to his laptop screen, using his fingertip as a marker on the screen. It was late and he had switched the lights off, leaving the portable computer on the table before him as the only source of light in the room. He smiled thinly as he found what he was after and held up a napkin bearing a series of letters and numbers; a license plate he had jotted down earlier. Specifically, the license plate belonging to the girl that had been accompanying Orion. He had waited patiently for the pair to leave just so he could see which car had been hers.

"Lawson," he read aloud, his smile becoming smug and altogether unpleasant. "Nadia Lawson. Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Missy. Now, let's see if I can't get to know you a little better..."

Jotting a few things down on a pad of the hotel room's paper, he made a short list of things he would need to know before he decided to go through with the plan he had in mind. It was a risky course of action, he knew, but hopefully one worth the risk. Orion normally skipped town at the first sign of trouble and his experience told him he was assuming a lot in expecting him to stay. His instincts, however, told him something was different. Simon didn't know what sort of arrangement Orion had with the girl, but he was staying near to her. This suited Simon fine; it made the blasted shape-shifter infinitely easier to pin down. Patting his firearm, resting in its holster on the table beside his laptop, he smiled in anticipation. He was looking forward to this.
Chapter Twenty-Six

"Well, that's weird," Nadia commented, tilting her head and frowning at the television.

Orion turned his head to raise an eyebrow at her from the opposite side of the couch. "What is?"

She pointed at the screen, which was set to the news, as it usually was. "They've been promising us that Burgess would be formally arrested today; we've been sitting here off and on since the morning news, keeping an eye out for it and there hasn't been so much as a hint."

"Is it typical for them to announce every story they do in advance?"

"No, not every story. But the major ones? Yeah, they usually do; at some point during the day, at least."

He shrugged. "Ah. Regardless, we will just have to wait like everyone else."

Nadia giggled to herself, already reaching for her cellphone. "As if."

Orion rolled his eyes, settling back to watch the television while she set to circumventing her boredom. Calling Chief Roman's number, she got comfortable as well and waited for him to pick up.

When he did, his voice sounded strained. "Police Chief Daniel Roman."

"Chief, it's me," she began, but he cut her off before she could say more.

"Look, Nadia, I appreciate your interest in what we do here, but it's been a long day, could we do this another time?"

"What's wrong?" she frowned. "You don't sound quite yourself tonight."

He chuckled dryly. "Not myself, huh. Yeah, I suppose I wouldn't. Remember when you dropped by two days ago?"

"Yes?" she confirmed, still not sure what he was getting at.

"Well, right before you left, the evidence on Burgess was handed to me; and we had some great stuff on the man, too. All yesterday, we were arranging for his formal arrest and telling... well, making sure we wouldn't have any interference."

Nadia felt herself furrowing her brow at that. "Interference from whom, Chief?"

He sighed. "Look, I shouldn't have said anything, but since I have already, keep it to yourself, all right? The reason we've been stalling on bringing Burgess into custody is because of the... well, we'll call it influence, of some of Icarus Development's 'friends'."

"Who does a construction business know that could influence the police?"

"Oh, it isn't I.D.I. itself; it's who they're owned by. Some multinational, trillion-dollar umbrella corporation I've never even heard of. Apparently they provide a lot of funding to various government agencies; our police force included."

She blinked. "They threatened to pull money from the police for Burgess' sake?"

"Look, I'm not proud of having to go along with it, but the fact is we need all the money we can get if we want to keep the city a safe one."

"I wasn't judging you, Chief," she reassured. "But that doesn't explain why Burgess is off the hook. They couldn't just wave away his case... could they?"

"No, we weren't going to be pushed around that completely. Yesterday, had you asked any officer in the city, they would have told you Burgess would be behind bars by now."

"Then what happened?"

"Burgess did," he replied, a slight, bitter laugh accompanying the pair of words. "He turned up this morning. Just walked in the front door and asked to see me; put a recording on my desk. A recording of one of our newer officers confessing to tampering with the evidence."

Nadia winced reflexively. "Oh no... The whole case?"

"Gone," he confirmed.

She shook her head, refusing to believe it. "But there has to be something you can do! I mean, you could prove which parts of the evidence were-"

He cut her off again, his voice firm, but weary. "I sent to see Baldwin, he's in the hospital having some broken bones in his foot looked at. I got him to tell me what he screwed around with and, as luck would have it, it was the only real evidence we'd had. Without it, we've got nothing incriminating enough to see the case through. Burgess is a free man."

Nadia sighed. "All right. Sorry, Chief; I didn't mean to push."

"It's all right, Nadia. Take care."

Closing her cellphone, Nadia put it down on the coffee table; a little harder than she had meant to. Orion, glancing her way at the sudden noise, frowned. "Is everything all right?"

"No," she stated simply. "What time is it?"

"Time?" he blinked then checked the clock on the wall. "About eight, why?"

"Because I want a pizza," she stated flatly. "And you're going to help me eat it so I don't feel as guilty about it."

He blinked. "But we already had supper."

"And?"

Orion sighed; she had her stubborn face on, there was no talking her out of this. "Very well."

"Good," she said, getting up. "Let's go."

"Go?"

"To pick it up," she replied, as if it was perfectly obvious.

"I had been under the impression that the delivery service was invented so you did not have to?"

"Yes, it was. But I feel like going for a drive. Are you coming, or not?"

He frowned, clearly deliberating the pros and cons of the idea; Nadia rolled her eyes and sighed. "All right, tell you what; I'll wait downstairs in the car for exactly five minutes. If you're coming, get down there before I pull out."

His ruby eyes blinked as he nodded; but it was good enough for her. Tugging her shoes on, she grabbed her purse and made for the elevator. Orion, meanwhile, considered her invitation; oddly, he did want to go. How peculiar, he thought to himself. But perhaps it would not be altogether unpleasant. Beginning to stand, he noticed her phone had been left on the coffee table; a quiet smile crawled onto his face. Miss Lawson is quite ingenious about getting her way.

When he reached his hostess' blue Prius, she smiled innocently at him through the windshield as he approached. Opening the passenger side, Orion slid into his usual spot and offered Nadia her phone. "I believe you left this deliberately?"

Looking a tad sheepish, Nadia took her phone from him and rested it on the dash, managing to contain a grin. "I don't know what you mean. I'm ever so glad you decided to come along, though."

Rolling his eyes, Orion buckled up while she did the same; before either one could say anything further, however, her phone began to ring. Typical, Nadia thought. Always at the worst time. Lifting it up, she saw it was her parent's number on the display.

She smiled apologetically at Orion. "It's my parents. They're probably calling to talk about Burgess getting off; I won't be long, I'm not really in the mood to talk about it for long."

Her fellow occupant nodded. "Take your time. There is no need to rush."

He was being surprisingly easy to talk to; that, at least, cheered Nadia up a little. Opening her phone, she put it to her ear. "Your daughter speaking."

There was silence on the other end of the line; not so much as a dial tone. Frowning, she tried again. "Mom? Daddy? You there?"

A voice she didn't recognize answered; male and, if she had to guess, older than thirty. Not that that narrowed it down very much. "They're here, all right." She paled, feeling her free hand unconsciously grab hold of something for support. The man, making a deliberate effort to disguise his voice, continued. "Get over here; but come alone. If I catch wind of Orion, the police, or anyone else... well, I don't think I need to elaborate; I'll just let you imagine what would happen."

"Tell me my parents are safe," she demanded, but heard nothing in response other than Orion turning to look at her in surprise. "All right, I'll be right there, but I will swear to a deity or political entity of your choosing that I will make damned sure you pay if you hurt them."

Awaiting a response, the dial tone suddenly kicked in and she realized she had been hung up on mid-retort. Her anger dissipated quickly, however, overtaken by the cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had known her parents could get involved and had hoped it would never happen. It only hurt worse that it had after she thought she could relax. After all, Black had been the only one to appear anywhere near them; now that she knew he was a part of Orion, who was usually with her, it had seemed more of an afterthought. And, sure, Burgess was still a free man, but he had never made any mention of her folks before. She swallowed, closing her phone and letting her hand fall to her side. She realized her chosen 'anchor' was Orion's hand, but didn't even care. No, the feeling she felt squirming up from her stomach was overpowering all of that. It was fear. Fear for her parents, but most of all, fear of not knowing who it was threatening them; of not knowing what to expect. A fear of the unknown, made so much worse by the fact that the unknown was in her parents' house.
Chapter Twenty-Seven

The lights at the Lawson residence were all on as Nadia pulled into the driveway; whoever was inside with her parents was making very sure that he couldn't be caught unawares. Taking a deep breath, she unbuckled herself and climbed out of her car, making sure to take her purse from its usual resting place between the seats; standing in the night air, she glanced up at the sky and let the moon distract her for a moment. Shaking her head to clear it, she locked the driver's side door behind herself. Facing the walkway up to her parents' front door, she squared her shoulders against the weight she felt pressing down on her and forced herself to move. Ringing the doorbell, she stood back from the door and waited, hoping she had not taken too long in getting there.

It was opened by her mother, dressed in some jogging pants and a t-shirt. Not her usual attire, but Nadia was just glad to see her unharmed; any relief she felt was mitigated somewhat when an unfamiliar, male voice sounded from the living room. "This way, please, Mrs. Lawson, Miss Lawson."

Her mother sighed, but gave Nadia's hand a squeeze as the pair re-entered together. Nadia flinched at the sight of her father at gunpoint, though he was trying to be his usual, smiling self; he, too, looked like he had been forced to get dressed in a hurry and was wearing a pair of shorts and an old, baggy sweater of her mother's. It would almost have been funny, had the situation been different. At the direction of the fourth person in the room, Mrs. Lawson joined her husband on the couch.

The man in question was, of course, holding a gun and was standing against one wall, his back against a solid surface and his view of the room unobstructed; he was wearing an overcoat, even indoors, that obscured most of his attire, but she could make out some worn leather shoes and faded pant legs from under its edge. He was a middle-aged, sour-faced fellow with greying hair that was probably once a rich shade of brown; and he could use a shave, if she was being entirely honest, he was looking a little haphazardly prickly.

"It took you a while to get here," he began, without introducing himself. "I called an hour ago."

"Yeah, well, I'm here," she stated, trying to inject her voice with a little confidence. "I had to convince Orion nothing was wrong, so I could come alone. Just like you wanted, Mr...?"

"McClane," came the response. "Simon McClane. And I apologize for having to resort to these tactics. I had to be sure that our chat happened without Orion interfering; your parents need to hear this, too, so it really was the only way."

She blinked at him. The only way? Is he serious? "You could have just asked to speak with us."

He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid I just couldn't take the risk. Now please; take a seat."

Nadia watched him for a moment, seeing the way his eyes jumped between them and the windows. He's a paranoid sort of a man, then. Lovely. Taking a seat in her father's usual armchair, which had been moved so it sat beside the couch her parents were on, she set her purse on the floor under the little table immediately beside her. She did her best to smile at her parents; they were unharmed so far, which was a huge weight off of her chest. Taking another deep breath, she steeled herself for the task still to come; getting everyone through this in one piece.

"So? Since you've gone to all this trouble, what did you want to talk to us about?"

"Orion," he replied, as if it was obvious. "As you just said, you've been hanging around with him; you obviously don't realize how much danger you're in."

She raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

The man laughed wryly. "Because if you did, you'd run from him as fast as your legs would carry you."

"Uh-huh. Any particular reason for that, then?"

McClane growled, apparently frustrated by her lack of instant agreement. "Because he's dangerous! He's insane! Do you have any idea the things he's done?"

She shrugged, but could almost feel her parents pricking up their ears; something the man with the gun noticed immediately. "Look, perhaps if I explain my history with the man a little, you'll get it. He is responsible for all the worst moments of my life. When I was in my late teens, some thirty years ago, I lost my home to a fire. I was pulled to safety by a retired fireman that had been driving by and had seen the smoke, but neither of my parents made it out. My rescuer was a nice old man; sort of took me in, you might say. I don't think I could have gotten through the pain of losing my family without him. Even after I moved out of his home a few years later, we stayed in touch; I was there for his wedding, four years after I graduated. He was my first customer when I opened the doors to my own private investigator's office that same year; he wanted me to look for his dentures, of all things. And I was there for his wife's funeral, almost five years after that."

"You were close," Nadia remarked, just trying to remind the man that they were there; the glassy-eyed look that had been coming over him had been slightly alarming.

He nodded. "Yes, we were. I let him stay with me, after his wife died; he had nowhere else to go, really. Well, I come home one evening, to find him going quiet and still; I knew what was happening and so did he. I wanted to call an ambulance, but he didn't. I guess he felt it was his time, I don't know. He passed away there and then, but before I could so much as get my mind around that fact, he changed. Right before my eyes, he went from being an old man to a young one. And you know what he looks like, Miss Lawson."

She shrugged. "So what? Doesn't that mean Orion saved your life?"

"No!" he barked, causing his captive audience to jump. "Because as soon as he came to, he tried to run. And he set my house on fire to do it. Coincidence? I think not."

Nadia felt her eyebrow creeping up. "So you're saying you hate him and have been chasing him for... how long? Twenty years? All because you think that he burned your parents' house down, saved you, was your friend for ten years, then burned your house down again."

He glared at her. "He deceives people, Miss Lawson; that's the point I'm making. He lies and he pretends, but when he's caught, he lashes out. Can you honestly say that you trust him?"

She fidgeted somewhat; the story was obviously more than a little biased against Orion, which made her wonder how seriously she should take it. It seemed like McClane was unaware that Orion's alter-egos worked separately from him, too, but, if nothing else, it was obvious that McClane believed in his accusations pretty strongly. Her father stepped in before she could say anything, however. "Look, Mr. McClane, her mother and I are against her hanging around with dangerous individuals, obviously; but I can't believe that you've taken three people at gunpoint just to tell her she's getting in with the wrong crowd."

McClane nodded. "You're right, I didn't. I want her help."

Nadia looked up, blinking again. "My help? With what?"

He shrugged. "I have been chasing Orion for nearly twenty years, like you had guessed; it's not an easy thing to do and, to be honest, it's more frustrating than rewarding most of the time. Sometimes its months, even years, without a lead to speak of. He's keeping close to you for now; I don't know why, but whatever scheme he has in mind must not be ready for him to act on. While he's here, you're ideally placed to help me pin him down and end his miserable existence once and for all."

"You want me to set him up so you can kill him?"

"Yes," came the all-too-serious reply.

"Mr. McClane, our daughter's no killer," her mother interjected. "Even if you intend to do the work yourself, it makes her an accessory to murder, something I know she would never do."

The man smiled patiently. "No one would never need to know; Orion is not a registered citizen. No one has any idea who he is. There can't be a murder investigation without a missing party."

Nadia, still quietly mulling all of this over, was struggling with the thoughts and doubts her mind was rapidly producing; her first instinct was to talk to Orion and get his side, but... it was true that he hadn't exactly been very forthcoming with her before. Would he really lie to her about something this important? She had trusted Thomas, yes, but...

Seeing her wavering, McClane cleared his throat to get her attention. "Miss Lawson; all I ask is your cooperation. You won't have to put yourself, or your parents, in danger and you'll have done the world a favour in helping to remove this man."

She sighed. "I... I don't know."

McClane moved a few steps closer, his voice lowered to a conspiring stage-whisper. "Can you trust him?"

Nadia looked up at him, then away; he nodded and extended his free hand. "Just shake my hand, Miss Lawson; we'll deal with Orion and you'll never have to see me again."

She stood, uncertainly, looking at her parents; her mother was shaking her head, but her father looked less sure, one way or the other. With no unified consensus from the couch, she looked back at McClane, slowly walking forward.

She raised her hand, slowly, but did not grasp his, yet. "I... this feels wrong."

Leaning in closer, he looked her square in the eye. "I do what I say, Miss Lawson; can you say the same for him? Has he told you the things I have?"

"Well, no, but... Thomas is a part of him and I... I mean, he... I trusted him."

McClane intoned his selling point once again. "But, knowing what you do now, can you trust Orion?"

Sighing, she took a step forward to take his hand, but tripped; perhaps the carpet had bunched up without her noticing, or perhaps she was not as willing to go through with it as she thought. Either way, her stumble caused her to fall against the man. Embarrassed, she let him help her up, and then took his hand; and, in a blur of movement, pulled herself in close, kneeing the man in the stomach. Certainly not expecting it, McClane felt the breath driven from him, but jerked his gun up and squeezed the trigger, the bullet digging deeply into the young woman's side. Nadia staggered back, her blood already beginning to trickle from the wound even as her parents sat in stunned silence. McClane spat, raising his gun to aim the weapon squarely at her heart.

"Bad move."

The impotent 'click' of his pistol doing approximately nothing was a surprise; as was discovering the clip had been taken from the gun when he held it up to see what was wrong with it. Nadia held the missing ammunition up, smiling smugly despite the pain and threw the slender, round-cornered rectangle onto the couch, between her parents. McClane, seething with barely repressed anger at this point, tossed his emptied gun back to one side, but it was the youngest Lawson who spoke first.

"Does Nadia Lawson trust Orion?"

The change set on quickly; black hair shortening, wider hips narrowing while her torso barrelled out to male proportions, skin paling rapidly and green eyes becoming red. The man standing before McClane checked his side briefly, smiling quietly at the absence of a bullet wound.

"Infer your own conclusion, Simon."
Chapter Twenty-Eight

Nearly an Hour Earlier...

"No."

"Miss Lawson, if you would just-"

"No. No way, no how."

"You are being-"

"No!"

Orion sighed, drumming his fingers on the dashboard while he waited for her to get the word out of her system.

Nadia obligingly continued her rant. "No. No, no, no! Definitely no! These are my parents on the line here; you are not going in my place and putting them at risk."

His expression suggested that she was trying his patience. "I can appear exactly as you do, McClane will not know any different."

This only agitated her all the more, really. "That's if that's who it is, you didn't talk to him, and I did. And anyway, looking like me doesn't make you me; there are things that people do, little things that nobody can just pick up."

Orion crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "I have had a great deal of practice; furthermore, I know you fairly well. I should be able to make an excellent duplicate."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Excellent doesn't mean perfect."

He rolled his eyes. "You are being very obstinate about this."

She sighed in exasperation, leaning back in her seat and staring at the car's ceiling. "They're my parents, Orion. I care about their well-being; having a gun pointed at them threatens their continued wellness. So I'm not going to make this any riskier than it already is, it's as simple as that."

When he did not answer, she frowned and looked in his direction; and then frowned some more. He was hesitating. She hated it when that happened, it meant he was deciding whether or not he could tell her something; and she had just about enough of being 'evaluated.'

"Look, Orion, you told me you were seeing if you could trust me, right?"

Looking at her uneasily, he nodded. "Yes?"

She straightened up, turning to face him head-on. "Well, I don't know if anyone's mentioned, but trust is a two-way sort of a thing. I need to be able to trust you, too; and don't think I haven't picked up on the number of times you've kept things to yourself. I'm a reporter, I spot these things."

He sighed. "This is not the best time for-"

She held up a hand. "I know, believe me; this isn't the best time for anything. But if you want me to let you do this, you need to give me something; and it had better be good."

Orion took a deep breath, and then nodded. Gently taking her face in his hands, he steadied her as he undid his seat-belt and began leaning forward.

Nadia felt her eyes tugging upward, involuntarily staring into his, which seemed almost to glow as they pulled her attention to them. "Uh... Orion?"

"You will not be harmed," he replied, his voice sounding several octaves lower and far more languid. "I promise."

Realizing it was becoming hard to focus on anything other than his eyes, she just nodded; hey, she had said trust was a two-way street. Somebody had to take that first step towards the other side. His eyes continued to brighten, the luminescence they were exuding expanding until it filled her entire field of vision. She felt herself slipping into a sort of drowsy haze, the sort you had when you were still half-asleep and unsure if you were dreaming or awake. Saturated as she was by the crimson light, she was unsure how long, exactly, she sat there. It felt like forever, but she wasn't bored; it felt almost like she had zoned out in the midst of a conversation while the other participants kept talking, half-heard.

When the end of her scarlet eternity finally came, it was abrupt, like the popping of a soap bubble; rubbing at her eyes reflexively to clear them, she froze when she lowered her hands and found herself watching her. That is, another Nadia; a second her. Blinking, she tilted her head and started as her doppelganger did exactly the same thing, but in the opposite direction; after all, she nearly always tilted her head to the left. Straightening up, she again watched her double do exactly as she did; and it wasn't just imitation, there was no response time. The other 'her' was moving exactly as she did.

Trying to deliberately throw her clone off, she did the first thing to come to mind and stuck out her tongue; her reflection did, too. Nadia tugged her ear; so did she.

"Okay, I'm impressed."

She froze again when she saw her duplicate's mouth moving perfectly in sync with her own and heard her voice, doubled, echoing through the air. Shaking her head to clear the weird effect, she frowned as she was again mimicked. "Okay, I get it, stop that."

The other Nadia just smiled sweetly. "Hey, you wanted to be sure you went. Now you are. Sort of."

Nadia blinked. "You even talk like I do."

Other-Nadia laughed, poking her original on the nose. "Of course I do, silly. The hell kind of double would I be if I walked into your house talking like a robot? Lawson family, I am your daughter and I will save you. Beep beep."

She giggled quietly, and then quickly stopped when she realized her double was doing it, too. "That's actually a little disturbing. You're... perfect."

Her mirror-image grinned. "Well, thanks for the flattery, but I think we both know that nobody's perfect; mom told us that, remember, when we brought home that book report and got a B+ instead of an A?"

Nadia laughed. "Yeah, I... Wait. That was in third grade! How could you possibly know about that?"

Winking, her double patted her on the shoulder. "I told you; I'm you. But we're wasting time here; are you satisfied?"

She nodded. "I can barely tell us apart and I'm sitting here looking at you; you'd fool anybody. But... how in the world did you do it? I mean, I know Orion... you..."

Other-Nadia laughed quietly. "Having trouble?"

"I don't really know what to call you," Nadia admitted sheepishly. "You're worlds different than Orion, but how can I call you 'Nadia'?"

She giggled again. "Fair enough, I guess. And to answer your question... actually, it would take too long to explain, your parent's place is like half an hour from here and I've got to get going."

Climbing out of the passenger side, Nadia's duplicate moved around to the driver's door and knocked lightly on the window. Climbing out, Nadia stood eye to eye with her fake for a moment. "You've got to give me something; I'm going to start doubting my sanity in a minute."

Her twin rolled her eyes. "Trust me, I know all about it; you really need to be more open minded about these things."

Nadia felt her jaw slacken for a moment, but recovered quickly. "More open-minded about what? Talking to myself? Literally talking to myself?"

Other-Nadia giggled, smiling teasingly. "Oh, come on, it's kind of fun and you know it. Not that we have time for fun; is it usually this hard to keep yourself focused on one thing at a time?"

She raised an eyebrow at her clone's comment, but decided it was better to ignore it. "Fine; explanations when you get back. I'll-"

"- go down the street and call Chief Roman, so he's ready to move in when you get a call from your cellphone, which I'll have because your purse is between the front seats like it always is."

Nadia blinked at her again then poked her in the nose, gently but firmly. "You're having way too much fun with this."

Climbing into the driver's seat, Other-Nadia buckled up and winked. "Hey, I'm only doing what you would."

She sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Go save my parents; and try not to get yourself killed, all right?"

Serious at last, her other self smiled back at her. "Don't worry, I'm all over this. Your parents might be a little confused, but otherwise they'll be just fine."

Nadia returned her smile, though she couldn't shake the butterflies beginning to congregate in her stomach. "Say, Orion?"

In the midst of turning the car on, her double couldn't quite look up from slotting the key into the ignition. "Hmm?"

"I trust you, all right? I mean, it's sort of obvious, but in case anything happens... I just thought you should know."

'He' blinked at her, quiet, but nodded. "I will try to keep that in mind, Miss Lawson. In all honesty, I believe I have already decided whether or not you are trustworthy, myself."

She tilted her head slightly. "Oh? What's the verdict?"

Her double suddenly grinned. "No fair asking, lady. I've got places to go, people to save; all that good stuff."

Watching her blue Prius driving away, Nadia shook her head slowly, hiding her grin; the man drove her nuts, but he certainly kept things interesting. Not that he was a man just now, though that was, in itself, the perfect example of what she meant.
Chapter Twenty-Nine

McClane, reeling from the speed at which the tables had turned, took an involuntary step back from the sight of what had been Nadia Lawson moments before. "That's impossible."

Orion smirked quietly, thoroughly enjoying the man's reaction. "Come now, Simon. Surely you have enough experience with me to know that dismissing what is in front of you, especially because of something as trivial as common sense, is a poor strategy."

Recovering, the older man spat to one side, causing the Lawsons to flinch as his oral projectile landed on their carpet. "Still got some tricks up your sleeve, huh. How long have you been waiting to pull that ace?"

"You flatter yourself if you think I put that much time into planning for our engagements, Simon. I do believe that Miss Lawson has learned more about me in the past few weeks than you have in all the years you have spent in pursuit of me."

McClane sneered. "And how's she paying you for all that information, then? I never took her for that kind of girl."

Orion rolled his eyes. "Your vulgarity is duly noted, but in one respect you are correct; Miss Lawson is not 'that kind of girl', as you put it. She merely pays attention and asks questions, as opposed to committing decades of her life to skulking about chasing my shadow."

He laughed bitterly. "What, you mean asking nicely actually works with you? All right, I'll give it a shot; please Sir, could you not burn down my home and kill my parents? Oh, wait, too late."

The shape-shifter sighed. "You tire me, Simon."

Turning to the seated Lawsons, Orion motioned to Nadia's purse, still beneath the table between the couch and armchair. "Please, would one of you retrieve the cellphone from inside that bag? You will be able to reach her at the home of Police Chief Roman."

Her father, nearest the purse, got it first and began dialling while Orion turned back to face Simon. "I believe the colloquial phrase is 'your move.'"

McClane laughed dryly. "You haven't left me many options; but I'm not going to stick around while you've got me in check."

Orion locked eyes with him. "I could stop you."

"Oh, look at you, daring me to see how far I'd get," he laughed, before pulling a second handgun from behind his back. "But let's be honest; I'm not nearly stupid enough to bet my success on one gun."

"Perhaps not, Simon."

The click of a second gun being prepared to fire drew McClane's attention to one side and Orion smiled thinly. "But you are foolish enough to forget that there is a retired police officer in the room, who was in possession of your original weapon's ammunition. And, rather obligingly, you supplied her the original weapon, as well."

Turning his head slowly, the armed man saw Mrs. Lawson had indeed snatched up his discarded gun while his attention had been on Orion; it had been reunited with its clip and was trained firmly on him.

Nadia's mother spoke with the trained authority of a veteran officer. "Put your weapon down, Sir. I don't want to hurt you, but this has gone more than far enough; don't make me pull this trigger."

McClane quivered for a moment, the aggravation evident in his expression; but the facts were the facts. He could not move without being shot. Smiled ruefully, he inclined his head towards Mrs. Lawson. "Well, it seems I've been outmanoeuvred yet again. Bravo."

Leaning down slowly, he placed his gun on the floor and, at a nod from Mrs. Lawson, kicked it away. Satisfied that the man had been disarmed, she nodded. "Good. Now, get down on the ground."

Dropping to his knees on the hardwood floor, McClane did as he was told. But he clearly had ideas that did not include going to prison; seizing the edge of the Lawson's carpet, he pulled it sharply, causing both Orion and Mrs. Lawson to stumble back as their footing was lost. Steadying themselves, they saw the tail end of the man's trench coat disappearing around the corner of the wall.

Mrs. Lawson, knowing her house as well as anyone could, knew his plan immediately. "He's going for the back door, through the kitchen!"

Sprinting after him, Orion skidded around the corner in time to see a carving knife, seized from its resting place in the dish drainer, hurtling through the air. With Mrs. Lawson immediately behind him, he reacted on instinct and crossed his arms in front of his face. Orion ground his teeth as the blade pierced the skin on the back of his right hand and continued on, all the way through; with a few inches of steel sticking out of his palm, the tip of the knife grazed his face, inflicting a small cut scant centimetres from his left eye. The pain of having his hand impaled rampaged through his nervous system, robbing him of his muscle control for a moment. Tripping, he fell to his knees and slid over the polished floor of the kitchen as he did his best to keep himself from shrieking bloody murder.

Mrs. Lawson, noticing the young man's collapse and the blood beginning to show against his pale skin, began to stop, but Orion shook his head. Managing to utter a rough 'Go!' she nodded and continued on without him; McClane's capture was the more important task just now. But, when she emerged onto the back step, she saw the back gate swinging on its hinges and could hear an engine roaring to life. Stomping her foot in irritation, she turned back to the bleeding man on her floor. He had already pulled the knife from his hand, staining the hardwood red, and she watched in mute fascination as his form began to shift anew; his hair lightening while his skin gained a healthier pigment, becoming less gaunt, but a little shorter all in the space of a few seconds. When he stood, it was Thomas Carmichael in front of her, his blue eyes somehow colder than she had ever seen them.

Blinking once or twice, she decided to confront this particular issue after her daughter had arrived; this seemed to suit 'Thomas' well enough, as he said nothing and simply set to mopping his blood from the floor. Returning to the living room, she sat on the couch beside her husband, content just to know everyone was safe. Or, as safe as they could be with the lunatic who had done this still on the loose.

Her husband broke the silence first. "So... the man in the kitchen. Is he Orion? As in, really Orion? The man Nadia was asking about?"

She managed a tired smile. "I don't know, Dear, but I intend to ask our daughter some questions when she gets in. The things we've just seen happen... well, I would never have believed it before tonight. I'm still not sure I do. But that man talked about it like it was normal, and the man who was posing as our daughter didn't exactly make a big deal of it."

Mr. Lawson nodded. "Feels like they're from another world, sort of, doesn't it?"

She laughed quietly. "Does it ever. And, maybe in a way, they are."

Their conversation was interrupted by the flashing red and blue of patrol cars coming in through their window; the vehicles had kept their sirens off, presumably to keep from making a scene at quarter-past nine in the evening. Standing, the married couple moved to the window to wave to those outside and let them know they were all right.

Nadia, naturally, was the first inside after the all-clear was given and promptly catapulted into her parents' waiting embrace. "I was so worried about you guys! Are you hurt?"

Smiling at each other, they each gave their daughter a squeeze. "No, Dear, we're fine. Your young friend saw to that."

She positively beamed at that, but paused as she looked around for him. "He's still here, though, right?"

Her father nodded. "Yes, I believe he's in the kitchen, though I'm not sure what he's doing."

Her mother's expression developed the slightest shade of confusion to it. "He was cleaning up the blood, last I saw him."

"Blood?" Mr. Lawson and Nadia uttered at almost the same instant.

She nodded. "Yes. The man, the one he called Simon, threw a knife at us as he made his escape; your young friend saw it coming, but didn't try to get out of the way because I was behind him."

Nadia blinked; she hadn't thought Orion would do something like that. She supposed it made sense, since he could recover more easily than most, but... a knife? Still shuddering at the image of herself, skewered, she gave her parents one last squeeze and excused herself to the kitchen. Arriving in the doorway, she saw a very familiar blond-haired young man dumping the mop's bucket out the back door.

He turned back to face her and her heart jumped a little. "Thomas?"

"No," was his reply, spoken in a tone that was unfamiliar to the mouth it came from. "Not this time."

She blinked, but managed a smile. "Oh, Orion, it's still you in there."

"I hope you are not too disappointed."

She nearly kicked herself. "Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that! I just meant... well, it's hard to tell from the outside, you know?"

He smiled quietly. "Yes, I do. I took no offence, Miss Lawson."

"Oh," she replied, somewhat lamely, before realizing he had just made what was basically a joke. By his standards, anyway. Cracking a smile, she leaned against the door frame. "You're full of surprises today."

"I had been under the impression that you believed that I was full of another substance entirely."

She actually giggled at that. "Well, I'll admit I wasn't too fond of you at first. I don't know, though, you're kind of growing on me; but, I suppose, keeping my parents safe does bias me a little."

Orion shrugged. "It had nothing to do with them. Simon is a determined thorn in my side; it would not have been right to let you or your family suffer because of our unfinished business."

"Well... thanks, just the same. The Chief is outside, though and he's going to want to talk to my parents for a while; maybe you, too."

He shifted his weight between his feet. "I would prefer not to, Miss Lawson. In truth, there is something I have been wanting to look into since this morning."

She blinked, tilting her head slightly. "Something like what?"

"During your phone call this morning to the police headquarters, you were told that the police force had been forcibly delayed by the involvement of an umbrella corporation; I wish to look into the matter."

Nadia blinked; that was what the Chief had told her, but she hadn't had a chance to talk to Orion about it. "How did you know that?"

He smiled patiently. "I promise that I will explain that and more when you return; it is not information I wish to become common knowledge. May I use your computer, please?"

Simultaneously surprised and pleased by his manners, she nodded. "Oh, uh, sure. What should I tell the Chief, then?"

He laughed dryly. "I was stabbed through the hand by a carving knife, Miss Lawson; I am certain they would understand if you told them I had gone to the hospital."

Nadia flexed her hand and winced at the thought. "Oh, right. That couldn't have been fun."

He chuckled. "It was not, no."

Approaching, she tentatively gave the man a hug. It was an awkward experience, entirely different than when she had done similar to Thomas; Orion's muscles tightened almost reflexively at the contact. Coughing as she pulled away, she felt herself begin blushing immediately, suddenly feeling very embarrassed.

Orion fidgeted slightly. "I apologize, Miss Lawson. I am not accustomed to physical displays of affection."

She felt the heat in her face work its way into her jaw and winced as she began rambling. "Oh, no, it's no problem, I should have asked first; sorry."

Watching him disappearing into the night, she gently bumped her head against the door frame and sighed. What am I so worked up for, anyway? I mean, sure, he looks like Thomas, but I only meant it to be a thank you. Why did I have to go and make it weird? Feeling an all-too-familiar queasiness jostling about in her stomach, she bumped her head again.

Oh. That's why. ...Damn.
Chapter Thirty

Deciding how much information to give up is the sort of choice that takes a lot of deliberation. Nadia knew this. What she hadn't realized was how much more complicated it was when those the information would be given to were your parents and had been kept woefully out of the loop. They knew almost nothing about Orion himself; heck, she had only just got them used to Thomas. Worse, what she knew of him would almost certainly lead to questions that she herself didn't know the answers to. Not yet, anyway. And while his offer to fill her in on a few things when she got back to the apartment was somewhat encouraging, she doubted her parents would be satisfied with it. She supposed she couldn't blame them, either. They didn't know Orion and he certainly had an unsettling air to him. Of course, there was also the matter of McClane having broken into their house with the sole intent of using them against the crimson-eyed man in question. Being caught in somebody's cross-fire was never a terribly endearing experience.

She sighed, then paused as she realized both of her parents were looking at her; her mother on her right, sharing the couch with her, and her father on her left, in his old, worn leather armchair. They had settled down to watch a movie together after the Chief had gone to supervise the police effort to catch McClane. The move was an effort to wind down and help calm their collective nerves. Apparently that movie had ended without her noticing. Smiling sheepishly, Nadia stood and got the disc from their DVD player, putting it back in its case and placing the case back with its fellows in the oaken entertainment centre's pull-out shelf section. As she slid the wooden segment back into its resting place, she made to scurry for the door, but her mother beat her to the doorway.

Placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder, Mrs. Lawson smiled quietly. "Not so fast, young lady."

Nadia sighed again and let herself be steered back to the couch. Her parents arranged themselves so they faced her, instead of the television, and she knew it was time for a chat.

Her mother, having taken the initiative already, began. "Nadia, when we last saw you, you convinced us to give Thomas a chance."

"And we did," her father interjected.

Her mother smiled patiently. "Yes, Dear, I was coming to that. We gave him a chance, because he seemed like a well-meaning young man. But now it's looking like Thomas... well, isn't really Thomas at all. And, from what you told us last time, this 'Orion' fellow is involved in some shady business with that other man. What was his name, again, Dear?"

"Black," her father supplied. "And you can't say we're wrong, Sweet-Pea, the mercenary has a lot of bad history; I've had my contacts turning up information left, right and centre over the past week, so I should know. Getting involved with the man he works for sounds like a bad move."

Nadia sighed. Yeah, they were out of the loop, all right. "I'll start there, then; we were wrong. Thomas and I, I mean. Black wasn't working for Orion. It's... complicated and I doubt you'll even believe me when I tell you, but I know you're not going to be satisfied until I do, right?"

They nodded in unison and she took a deep breath. "All right, I'll start with the obvious; Thomas and Orion are the same person. Sort of."

Her father raised an eyebrow. "Sort of? What does that mean?"

"It means that they're one person, but two personalities, Daddy. Orion, as near as I can figure, is the... I don't even know what to call it. The core person underneath, I guess describes it well enough, but anyway; Thomas has his own personality, memories, the whole deal. He's as real as he can possibly be while sharing a body with someone else."

Her mother blinked. "I've heard of multiple personality disorders, but that seems a little extreme. Is he dangerous?"

Nadia flinched at the question; it was the one she had been dreading. How in the world could she prove he wasn't? And I haven't even told them about Black yet, she moaned to herself. "It's not a disorder, mom, they're split more cleanly than that. Look, I don't really know how it all happened; I'm still waiting on the full story myself, but... I trust him. And you should, too; he kept you safe tonight, like he said he would. That's got to count for something, right?"

Her parents glanced at each other, their expressions difficult to read. Not exactly the reaction she had been hoping for. Her father cleared his throat. "Well... he certainly did come through for you tonight. But all this talk of two people in one mind sounds very... unstable."

Taking a deep breath, Nadia forced herself through her resistance to what she was about to do. "Well, Orion has been in control for the past few days without any switching, so personally I think he's making improvements."

They looked at each other again, sighing and, this time, it was her mother that came out from the huddle to field the next question. "What do you know of his past?"

Nadia blinked. "Pardon?"

"His past, Dear," she repeated patiently. "When he was here, posing as you, McClane implied that Orion had hurt him years ago. He all but flat-out accused him of having burnt his home and killed his family."

She began to reject the notion, but an echo of something Orion had said drifted through Nadia's memory, silencing her protest before it could be made; My typical response to confirming that I am 'known' is to remove the individual, or party, possessing knowledge of me.

Her mother nodded slowly at her daughter's lack of a retort. "He hadn't told you, had he?"

Shaking herself out of her silence, Nadia sighed. "All right, fine, no, but he's going to fill me in on some things when I get home. He promised. Well, not exactly, but he said he would, which is a first and I'm willing to give him the chance."

Mr. Lawson shook his head. "Sweet-Pea, please, the man is obviously dangerous. I know that you said Black does not work for Orion, but even so, they're associated with one another, or that's how it seems to me, at least. Accusations of arson and murder fit right in with these sorts of men."

"But Daddy, he's-"

Mrs. Lawson held up a hand. "No, Dear, your father is right. We appreciate what he did for us tonight, but both he and the man pointing a gun at us had their own agendas. We were only involved at all because McClane wanted to use us against you, to coerce your cooperation in taking down Orion. That suggests a dedication to his goals likely venturing into the territory of an obsession."

Nadia bristled. "So, what, you're saying doing a good thing doesn't count if you do it for a selfish reason?"

"We are saying that nobody likes false charity," her father cut in, his voice becoming sterner. "That Orion had an ulterior motive and came because of it. Not for our sake and not for yours."

Her bristles were becoming more like quills, now. "Oh, good, fantastic. So not only are you talking to me like I'm eight and just broke something around the house, but you're telling me you know him better than I do."

"He is using you, Nadia," her father replied, his tone of voice only growing louder. "You can't see it because you don't want to, because you have feelings for who he used to be! But from what I can see, Thomas is gone, or at least not the one calling the shots. Open your eyes!"

"My eyes are open, Father. And all I can see is you judging him when you don't even know him!"

Her mother jumped to her husband's defence. "Do not raise your voice to us, Nadia. Your father and I are just concerned for your safety; the man is obviously dangerous and not to be trusted. I just can't get behind the idea of my daughter spending time with a criminal."

"A criminal?" Nadia echoed, feeling herself beginning to lose control of her temper. "How can you just say that, there's no proof he's done anything wrong."

Her father snorted. "Oh, please. Just look at the man, and what he does! Tattered clothes, dyed hair, those abominable contacts and the ability to deceive anyone he chooses to. How can someone like that not be a criminal, when it would be so easy for him? The temptation would be much too strong."

Her voice dropped to a more quiet tone, and not because she was calming down; quite the opposite, in fact. "Much too strong for who, Father? For 'someone like him'?"

"I didn't say that."

Nadia's voice raised again, her anger beginning to blossom into outrage. "Like hell you didn't! And I can't believe that you're judging him because his clothes aren't spotless and because of the way he looks, that's so not like you guys. You were never this shallow."

Her father sputtered for a moment and her mother stepped in to fill the gap. "You're being very rude, young lady. We expect an apology."

"Well, you're not getting one," she replied, standing from her seat. "You're behaving horrendously. And you know what? I've figured out why. You're scared. You are afraid of Orion, because of what he can do."

Her father stood to match her. "Scared of someone who has no problem getting into fights with armed men, or burning down homes with families inside? Does that really sound so unreasonable?"

Nadia glared at him. "You're seriously listening to McClane's accusations, over me vouching for my friend?"

Her mother stepped in from her still-seated position, stating her case in a matter-of-fact tone. "The man has more experience with Orion than you do, Nadia."

She could almost feel herself beginning to vibrate from sheer frustration. "The man was pointing a gun at you, too!"

Her parents merely folded their arms, making it very clear they weren't going to be swayed on this.

"Well, then I guess we don't have anything else to say, then, do we?"

In stunned silence, her parents watched as Nadia turned on her heel and marched to the door, not quite believing that their daughter was seriously defending the man over listening to them. Her father sat, slowly, and they both flinched reflexively when their daughter finished pulling her shoes on and slammed the door. For the first time that evening, the Lawson residence was utterly silent.
Chapter Thirty-One

The drive from her parents' home back to her apartment was at once the longest and quickest trip Nadia had ever made. Long in that every light she had to wait at, alone in her car, was another inescapable opportunity to stew over what had just happened between her and her parents. Quick in that she barely noticed the drive itself, largely because of the aforementioned debate running rampant through her conscious thoughts. Arriving at her parking space, she snatched her purse from its resting place between the front seats and stormed through the apartment's first set of doors, glad of the late hour of her return; she was in no mood to be dealing with people right now. Fishing through her purse for her key, she jammed it into the lock and wrenched the interior door open as soon as it would let her. Throwing her keys back into her purse, she strode to the elevator and took up a spot tucked into its corner. Several floors up, an elderly man stepped inside with her, then promptly thought better of it when he saw the look Nadia had thrown his way upon his intrusion. Needless to say, the added helping of guilt at having scared a perfect stranger off did nothing to improve her mood.

Banging her apartment's door open, she slammed it shut again and stormed into the living room. Orion was seated at her computer, but was blinking in her direction in a manner that suggested he expected her to be running from some unknown assailant and not standing in the middle of the hallway glaring at him.

"Miss Lawson?" he ventured, tentatively. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, absolutely," she snapped. "I'm fan-friggin'-tastic. If you gave me those answers you promised, I think I'd be downright ecstatic. You may even get a prize if you tell me how you got in here ahead of me without a key."

Orion blinked at her once or twice. "I borrowed the spare that you keep in the wheel well of your vehicle. Would you like it back now, or at another time?"

She looked at him flatly. "Do I look like I'm in the mood to go all the way back downstairs?"

He shook his head and she snorted in general affirmation of his answer. She was obviously upset, possibly more than he had ever seen her. Rather than risk antagonizing her further, he decided that it was better to relocate to the couch for their imminent discussion. Grunting in vague acknowledgement of his cooperation, Nadia kicked her shoes from her feet and left them where they landed. Fetching a glass of cold water from the kitchen, she sat facing him at the opposite end of the couch.

Noting that his hostess' expression was not softening in any great rush, Orion coughed quietly and took the initiative. "Do you have any preference as to where I should begin?"

"Nope," came the deliberately unhelpful reply. "I mean, I'd sort of like to know if you've killed anyone, but I expect we'll get to that, since you're telling me everything. Right?"

"Everything would make for a very long tale, Miss Lawson."

"Well, it's a good thing we can order out if we run out of food then, because we're not going anywhere until I'm satisfied. Not after getting into a huge fight with my parents because I didn't know enough about you to convince them you weren't a murdering arsonist."

Orion sighed. "Very well. In that case, I will begin where your knowledge ends."

Nadia raised an eyebrow. "And what does that mean?"

He smiled patiently. "Miss Lawson, I know much of what you had done while in the company of Mr. Carmichael, including the research you undertook in the hopes of learning something of me."

She frowned. "Look, I get you're used to talking like that, but I'm tired, cranky and not really in the mood for keeping track of the circles you're weaving. Thomas and I looked up the Orion from ancient Greece, the mythological one. We were trying to guess what sort of person you were."

He smiled cryptically. "Yes, Miss Lawson, that is what I meant when I said that you had hoped to learn something of me. And you did, so I will resume your lesson where your research left you. There is, after all, little point in telling you the things about me you already know."

Nadia, at this point, was clenching her glass of water rather tightly. Taking a long sip, she smiled thinly at her captive tutor. "Meaning what, exactly, since you're ignoring what I said about talking straight?"

"Meaning that I and the Orion of Greek mythology are one and the same."

She looked at him for a moment, the tension and anger of the evening keeping her face straighter than an ironing board for an entire ten seconds. Then she began laughing; it felt good, too. Orion said nothing as he waited for her to finish and, when she did, she wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled.

"Look at you, practising your sense of humour. Okay, you got me with that one. And thanks, I needed the laugh."

He returned the smile, but it was a patient one. "I was not joking, Miss Lawson."

Nadia blinked. "But you can't be. Myths aren't real."

It was his Orion's turn to chuckle. "Then what was the purpose of your original investigation into the supernatural?"

She shrugged. "I was looking for government cover-ups, conspiracies, that sort of thing. Ancient stories about figures that were placed in the stars are something entirely different."

His smile came dangerously close to honest amusement. "The ways that an individual can find to believe in one thing and refute the existence of something remarkably similar never cease to amaze me."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Belief has nothing to do with it. Even if you're being honest with me, you'd have to be... what? Several thousand years old? More? It's just not possible."

Orion tilted his head contemplatively. "I do not make a point of counting, Miss Lawson, but I believe the first recorded mention of me was attributed to a work dated between seven and eight centuries before your modern calendar began, with the work itself based off of an oral tradition already decades or centuries old. So yes, you are correct; by that reckoning my age would be placed somewhere between two thousand seven hundred and three thousand years of age."

Nadia stared at him for a moment. He's serious, she realized. Actually serious. Gathering herself with a slight shake, she voiced the obvious question. "How?"

He chuckled softly. "That is a more complex question than you realize, Miss Lawson, but in the interest of keeping our discussion from growing confused, I will answer the specific question of how I have lived for so long. Put as simply as possible, age means practically nothing to me. After all, I can control the age of my appearance."

She shook her head. "It can't be that easy, that's just wrong. Time has to affect you; you can't just ignore it outright."

"It does, Miss Lawson. If I remain in one form for any amount of time, I age normally. That does not mean that I cannot alter my appearance to be youthful once again."

"It still sounds wrong. There has to be some kind of catch, right?"

Orion's face clouded for a moment and she saw she had indeed struck close to the mark. Sighing, he nodded. "Yes, there is a cost. It is not one I am fond of paying."

Nadia frowned. She had the sudden impression that she wasn't going to like this 'cost', whatever it was. Well, girl, you wanted answers. "What cost is that, then?"

He sighed. "It is difficult to accept without the proper context."

She shifted her position a little; there was no point to listening to a long story if you weren't comfortable. "All right, give me the context, then."

He blinked at her, as if half-expecting her to be joking. Just to be safe, he decided to confirm that she knew what she was getting into. "The entirety of my story?"

She looked him in the eyes; yeah, she was serious. "The entire story."

Taking a deep breath, Orion repositioned himself as well. "As you wish."

Despite the still somewhat mind-boggling idea that Orion predated the modern era, Nadia could feel herself crowing inside at the progress she was beginning to make. All I have to do is keep him talking, and I'll have all the answers I need to get my parents to come around.

Her thoughts were put on hold as he began. "As you know, the mythology surrounding my life has several contested endings."

She nodded. "I'm guessing the legends are wrong? At least the parts about you dying, anyway?"

He chuckled wryly. "No, they are not. Misinformed, perhaps, but not incorrect. They are, however, relevant to the story I am about to tell you. The day I was killed was, initially, wonderful. The sky was blue, the air was warm and the breeze was cool. Artemis and I had spent the morning together and... What is it?"

Nadia gave herself a shake, realizing her eyes were beginning to bug out. "Sorry, just wrapping my head around how casually you talk about taking a stroll with a Greek goddess thousands of years ago. Continue."

"Thank you. We had spent the morning together and parted for the afternoon. She had had a previous engagement with her twin brother and I decided to while away the time in the water."

Nadia raised her hand slightly. "Apollo was her brother's name, right?"

Orion sighed patiently. "Yes, that is correct."

Waiting for her to lower her hand, he then continued. "You know what happened during that afternoon. I only know the details of what happened due to events I am still coming to. Apollo tricked Artemis into shooting me with an arrow. Directly in the head, no less." He smiled wistfully at that, as if unsure if he should be proud of Artemis' accuracy or bitter about the bad luck of the situation. "She was, understandably, quite upset."

Nadia felt a flash of satisfaction pass through her; she remembered mentioning to Thomas that she had thought it odd the story said nothing of any anger on Artemis' part.

Orion, unaware of her internal smugness, continued. "She cursed her brother and refused to speak to him, except when specifically required to by the remainder of their pantheon. He gave her the space she required, but I suspect it was only because he felt she would come around in time. During this period, she pleaded with Hades to release me from the underworld. He refused, stating that if the Olympians began flaunting the rules so openly then it would be demanded too often."

"I'm guessing it would have saved everyone a lot of trouble if he'd made that exception?"

He chuckled softly. "Perhaps. I do not hold it against him. The rules are there for a reason and I agree with his logic, no matter what came of it. Frankly, the Olympians did have a fairly whimsical nature as it was, so perhaps it was a rare burst of responsibility taking hold."

She nodded slowly. "I guess. But I'm interrupting again, sorry. What did come of it?"

He looked sad, for a moment. "Pain. With the most obvious route closed to her, she resorted to the second most obvious. The Moirai, or as you are more likely to know them, the Fates. She searched Greece for them, though she did not honestly expect an answer different than the one she had received from Hades. After all, they were responsible for nudging fate on its way and, apparently, my fate was already complete. She was surprised when they told her of an old magic, as well as where to find it. I believe it had been of the Titans' design; possibly Iapetus', being the symbol of mortal life, though that is mere conjecture and we are likely never to know for certain."

Nadia, stuck in the midst of a prolonged sip from her glass during the deluge of mythological figures, swallowed and smiled sheepishly. "You obviously know more about it than I do; I'd never really done much research into Greek myth until I had to look you up."

Realizing his segue, he inclined his head towards her slightly. "I apologize for getting off of the main subject; it would take rather a long time to explain the entirety of what I just made reference to. Returning to the matter at hand; undertaking a journey to recover the magic she was directed to, Artemis travelled from Olympus in search of it. Unfortunately, as the Moirai were wont to do, they did not give her all of the details. After securing the stone tablet the magic was inscribed upon, she recovered my body and attempted the ritual it described. It... did not go as she expected."

She felt a pang shoot through her chest, realizing that Thomas' references to having lost his family must have come from this. "Artemis?"

Orion nodded slowly. "The ritual allowed for one soul to be brought back and required one soul to perform the ritual. But it was not a revival; it was an exchange."

Nadia covered her mouth. "So... she died so you would live?"

"Yes, though I believe she would rather have had us both live. It is what I would have wanted." His iron-clad neutrality was slipping now; she could see the pain in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw as he spoke. "What I did want. Worse still was that the nature of the magic was strictly an impartial one and had not been made with mercy in mind. I felt the life draining from her body and returning to mine. I was on both sides of death at one time. It had... consequences beyond the obvious."

Taking a deep breath, he gave himself a slight shake and, in that moment, the chink in his armour was gone again. Upon noticing her questioning gaze, he gestured to his eyes, pale skin and abnormally dark hair, filling in what he had meant by 'consequences'.

Nadia shuddered involuntarily. "I had wondered why the myth never mentioned you with eyes like that... I'm sorry, Orion. Really. I can't imagine what it would be like to watch someone you love die." She felt her thoughts turning and abruptly saw Thomas' fearful, panicked face as he lay in the oppressive gloom of that awful parking garage. Swallowing the emotions down, particularly those lingering ones that resented the man sitting in front of her, she concentrated on being supportive. "Well... I can't imagine what it would be like to feel it, anyway."

He chuckled dryly. "It is an event long since passed, but your concern is noted."

Nadia was surprised that she did not bristle at his remark. Perhaps it was because she saw Orion in a different light than she had a few minutes ago. He wasn't the soulless boogeyman that McClane had convinced her parents he was, nor was he the distant and aloof enigma that he tried to be. He wasn't even the cautious-but-sweet young man that she had gotten to know when he had first appeared to her as Thomas. What he was, exactly, she wasn't quite sure yet; but the pieces of the puzzle were steadily falling into place.

She smiled at him. "Hey, it's what friends are for."

Orion looked at her strangely. "Is that what we are, Miss Lawson?"

She rolled her eyes, but felt her smile widening. "Well, maybe we shouldn't get carried away just yet. You're handling your audition pretty well so far, though, if it helps." He began blinking again and she giggled quietly. "You're just too easy. All right, I'll stick to the subject at hand; how did you become able to do what you do? Transforming, I mean."

"There is no definitive answer to that question. Magic rarely bothers to explain itself. However, my theory is that it stemmed from the nature of the exchange. Artemis was an immortal, worshipped by many as a goddess. She possessed an affinity for the wild and its creatures that surpassed any talent or skill. It was simply a part of her, some inner magic of her own. And when her spirit, her essence, was transferred to me, that inner magic came with it. But no two immortals shared an identical gift and, I suppose, a mortal could not simply inherit that magic."

Nadia frowned, mulling this over. "So it changed into something completely different, all by itself?"

Orion smiled quietly. "Magic is often described as having a will of its own. And I believe that, in a way, it does make sense. Artemis' gift was for things pertaining to the hunt; when her soul was transferred to my body, that power manifested itself in a new way. You yourself can attest to the fact that I am incredibly hard to locate if I do not wish to be found."

She nodded slowly. "That's certainly true. So instead of having an uncanny ability to hunt, your gift is that you're nearby impossible to be hunted."

"I suppose that that would be an accurate way to describe it."

She cocked her head to one side. "You mentioned, though, that you were getting to the part that explained how you knew what had gone on while you were, uh, away?"

He nodded. "So I did. During the time when Artemis' life was being transferred to my corpse, I was assailed with the contents of her mind; memories, knowledge, experiences. I seemed to know everything she had known, from what she had done to revive me to events long before she had met me. I had, for lack of a better term, inherited her essence in its entirety."

Nadia felt the dots connecting in her mind. "You knew everything she did, from her perspective. But that's exactly like what you did to me in my car earlier. How is that possible? You didn't enact a ritual or do any chanting or anything like that and you certainly didn't suck the life out of me."

Orion fidgeted slightly. "I mentioned previously that magic often seems to have a will of its own, yes?"

Her nod answered his question and he continued. "Well, the older the magic is, the more powerful it becomes. A sufficiently potent form of magic rarely allows itself to merely fade away after being used. It finds a new vessel."

She felt her eyes being drawn to his crimson gaze again and suddenly felt a chill crawl up her spine. "It's inside you?"

His reply was very simple. "Yes."

Nadia took a deep breath; the dots were connecting again. "So, when you looked into my eyes and learned everything about me... that was the same thing that happened when Artemis' soul was wrenched out of her and put into you, except that you didn't take it to its conclusion?"

He nodded, and she felt the last piece click into place. "That's the catch, isn't it? That's the cost you have to pay to live forever. You need to... to..."

Orion's voice left no room for her to doubt him, or the awful truth it confirmed for her. "I need to draw the essence out of a living person to sustain myself."

She downed the rest of her glass in one go; she dearly wished it was something stronger than water all of a sudden, the memory of her recent hangover be damned. It all made sense, now. The alter egos left to their own devices while Orion rendered himself utterly numb to his surroundings. The 'curtain' drawn closed around every different self's memory, isolating them; not from each other, but from him. And she finally knew what he was. Addicted. Not to alcohol, mind-altering substances or anything else one could conventionally expect, but to being someone else. Anyone else. The ultimate method of shutting out the memories you did not want to face. Along with everything else, for that matter.

She nearly started giggling when her mind finished processing all of this and produced a response.

I could really go for something that effective right now.
Chapter Thirty-Two

A piece of cereal, the last in Nadia's bowl, bobbed in and out of the milk it shared the porcelain dish with as she idly stirred it with her spoon. It had been three days since she had last spoken with Orion. Oh, they still saw each other during the day and had to occasionally interact, but it had become an awkward experience that neither seemed eager to prolong or repeat. Every time she looked at him, every time she saw those eyes of his, she felt sick. How could she not? Her parents had been right, hell, McClane had been right. Orion had killed people; in as horrible a way as she could imagine, at that. Worse, given his age, it had probably been a lot of people. I mean, your average person these days lives for almost a hundred years, but back in his time they were lucky to hit forty. Assuming he absorbs what's left of their lifespan, he would have had to top himself up every twenty years!

Sighing, she watched her inanimate victim being towed around the bottom of her bowl by her milk whirlpool and scooped it up to put it out of its misery. Putting her bowl in the sink, she caught herself sighing again and tried to distract herself with washing it. Being a single dish and a spoon, this didn't last nearly long enough. Drying it, she reached up to put it in the cupboard and nearly dropped it as she heard the apartment door opening. Turning, she saw Orion calmly walk in, remove his shoes and, spotting her, make his way over to her. Maybe this would be it, their chance to finish their discussion and clear the air.

He stood before her with his perfectly straight posture, took a deep breath, and asked; "May I use your computer?"

Or not. Nadia tried to give him an exasperated look, but flinched away when she met his eyes. "Yeah, sure," was about all she could manage.

Watching him sit and begin doing... whatever it was he was doing, she sighed again and moved back to the table. That was the other thing that had made the past few days awkward; he kept leaving, going who-knows-where and then coming back at any time of the night or day. She could ask him for the spare key back and put an end to it, but suspected that the only thing that would accomplish would be for him to leave her door unlocked when he went. It felt like he was weighing his options; stay or go. She really wasn't sure which side she supported, in all honesty.

Moving into the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror for a while. Is this me? Do I just let my problems take care of themselves while I hide from their creepy, soul-sucking eyes? She took a deep breath and shook her head. No, it's not me. I face problems, I solve them and I really want to stop feeling like there's a wild animal in my house, because it's making me jumpy.

Walking back into the living room, she tapped her guest on the shoulder. "I need to talk to you."

Orion turned and then nodded. "I am listening."

She sighed. Oh yeah, that's helpful. Squashing down her frustration, she managed a polite smile. "On the couch, please."

Taking up her usual position, she nodded as he did the same. "Thank you. I know things have been awkward here the past few days, for both of us. I wanted you to tell me about yourself, and I should have been ready to deal with the answers you gave, no matter how unexpected they were. I'm sorry about that."

He shrugged. "It is nothing to apologize for. You are frightened of me now. It is expected that you are no longer comfortable with my being here. I understand that."

One of Nadia's eyebrows inched upwards. "Is that why you've been disappearing and using my computer? You're looking for a new place to hang and have to go see it in person before you move in?" The notion bothered her more than she would have thought. "Let me ask you this, then; why do you keep coming back? You know I could never find you if you didn't want me to, so what's stopping you? Having second thoughts about offing me?"

Orion frowned at her sudden change in demeanour. "No, I am not reconsidering my decision. In all honesty, however, it would not be inaccurate to say that I have considered simply not returning while on my excursions. But my business here is not yet concluded. There are things I must decide upon."

She crossed her arms over her chest, her mood only worsening. "Oh, so it's business, is it? I haven't heard you including me in any of this business, or is it a 'monsters only' club?"

His expression stiffened at her tone, then hardened further at the use of the word 'monster'. "It is not. I simply assumed that you wished for me to leave as quickly as possible and saw no need to involve you in my doings."

"Oh, well, I'm sorry if I got a little weird after you told me you kill people and devour their essences with your eyes," she spat, the acid in her tone flowing quickly now. "I must be a little too human to be okay with that."

His usual neutral countenance had been pushed to one side, and what had taken its place was definitely getting angry. "I had told you that I was not comfortable with the method, either."

She snorted. "Oh, naturally, you'd say it. But it looks to me like you're pretty cozy with your menu selection, considering you're still alive and well. Tell me, is your particular diet high in calories, because I'm sure there are a lot of people out there who would make the switch if you could just refine your pitch into something snappy."

The tone of his voice dropped into a realm of seriousness exceeding his usual stoicism. "Be silent."

She blinked; had he actually snapped at her? She felt a smug little smile creeping onto her face. "Aw, does the soul-eating monster not like it when someone points out the painfully obvious truth?"

His tone was growing harder by the moment. "The obvious truth, Miss Lawson, is that you are childishly immature. It is a part of the reason I have kept you from knowing that I have been researching the umbrella corporation that owns Icarus Development Incorporated. It was also a factor in the decision I made to not share my thoughts or suspicions regarding the matter with you."

She couldn't believe this. And planned to tell him so. "Awesome, so you're cutting me out of my own investigation now? Thanks for that, I'll be sure to jot down that I don't need to thank you for your help on my story anymore. I'll have to leave it somewhere obvious, though, otherwise I might lose track of it, since I'm so immature and unable to handle things. I should check; are you going to do me any more favours before you go? Oh, before you ask, no, I haven't met or fallen in love with any other guys for you to rip away from me; and my parents aren't talking to me right now so you can't instigate another fight between me and them, either."

"No," he replied. "I will do you no more kindnesses, Miss Lawson. Not after today."

Striding to the door, he unlocked it and placed his hand on the knob, but turned back before he could open it. "But I cannot leave without first speaking my mind."

Nadia, exalting in the feeling of supreme catharsis she was experiencing, sat on the arm of the couch. "Oh, good, here comes the speech. I should get popcorn."

Orion's eyes flashed with an expression she had not seen before, but he did not rise to her antagonizing. "I sought only to keep you safe by excluding you from my personal agenda and you say I am hurting you. I protected the lives and well-being of your parents from a matter that had nothing to do with them, but everything to do with me, and you accuse me of purposefully instigating strife between you and them. You call me a monster because I must eventually end the life of someone else to continue existing; would it be so easy for you to endure your own starvation with sustenance within arm's reach, even if that food was laced with a slow poison? And, finally, you say I tore Thomas from you deliberately, that I cost you the chance to pursue a relationship with him, but never realized the obvious truth. That you knew me and I did not remove you immediately, as I would have done to anyone else. Not because I was evaluating you, but because that attachment echoed inside me in some half-forgotten part of my heart that I long ago thought had been struck dead. I could not bring myself to purposefully harm the only person in this world not to find my existence to be a thing of evil. Do I drain the essences of others? Yes; as sparingly as I can, but yes. And, if you wish proof, then here it is; I have told you of my rapid healing. Did you really think that such an ability was without its own cost? Those injuries do not merely vanish; they require time to be healed, just as an injury of yours would. But in my case, the time is taken away from my stored essence. The injury itself may be gone in mere days, or even hours, but the effects are more serious than that, because it means I must steal time from another that much sooner. I hide from the world because my veins run with the blood I have all but stolen from dozens, hundred of individuals; I avoid conflict because it only accelerates the rate at which I am forced to add to that tally."

Nadia, struck mute, struggled to come up with something to say as her feeling of superiority crumbled. She did not succeed.

He nodded curtly. "Very well, then, Nadia Lawson, you may continue to demonize me, to blame me for everything unpleasant that has happened to you these past weeks. I assure you that you need never look me in the eye and flinch again."

Opening the door, he stepped out into the hallway. Reaching into his pocket, he produced her spare key and tossed it onto the carpet at her feet. In a haze, Nadia looked down at the metal object, feeling like she was still a few strides behind in this particular race. Looking back up, she saw the door closing; not slammed shut, but quietly left to its own devices. No, no, no! This is all wrong, I should be doing something! Giving herself a firm shake, she bolted to the door and threw it open, but saw the hall was empty.

The faint chime of the elevator closing was the only goodbye left for her to find.
Chapter Thirty-Three

"Look, I'm not over the fight we had the other day, yet, but I haven't got anyone else to talk this over with, so... Can I come in?"

Mr. and Mrs. Lawson, standing together and framed by their open front door, blinked at their daughter, who was standing uncomfortably before them on their front step, the pedestrians passing by on the sidewalk behind her going entirely unnoticed by the family of three. The noonday sun, seeming altogether too cheery for this conversation, beat down on her, but they knew she was fidgeting and sweating for another reason. It had been an awkward three days since the fight. They had never been in a fight with their daughter that had dragged out like that before; not since she moved out, anyway. Neither of them had been in much of a mood to talk, so their home had been very quiet. But now, to have Nadia back on their doorstep, obviously upset and needing to talk, but not ready to apologize? Something had happened. Hopefully not something too serious. Looking at one another for a moment, they stepped aside and let her in.

Nodding, Nadia came inside and, taking her shoes off at the door, made her way into the living room, opting to sit on the carpet and face both of them than be flanked as she had been the last time. Letting them settle onto the couch, she took a deep breath to steady herself before beginning.

"Orion and I had a fight."

Seeing the looks on her parents' faces, she held up a hand to cut them off. "No, not a physical one, don't get all worked up. I got the answers I wanted from him and they shocked me. We spent most of the last few days barely speaking."

Her parents looked at each other again; yeah, they knew what that was like.

"I just got more and more frustrated, you know? I remembered how Thomas wasn't around anymore, because of him. I kept thinking about the fight we'd had, because of him. And then, to have him virtually ignoring me?"

They nodded, realizing that, at the moment, they were more her sounding board than an actual part of the conversation.

"I blew up at him this morning. I was rude and more than a little mean. I kept insulting him, mocking him... I even called him a monster!" She winced at the memory. "Twice. And he tried to keep his cool, like always; I thought it was because he never showed his emotions, which was driving me crazy, but I was wrong. I didn't even try to look at it from his perspective, you know?"

Mr. Lawson looked at his wife; he could definitely remember some of their nastier fights, and how they were almost always caused by one, or both, of them not listening to the other. He could tell she was thinking the same thing. "Nadia... Sweet-Pea, sometimes we make these mistakes. It's nothing to get so worked up about. You'll apologize and things will go back to normal, you'll see."

She shook her head. "No, Daddy, they won't. The man is... well, different than us. He's done and experienced so many things, how could I judge him just by one part of that, without really trying to understand what it could mean? But that's what I did. And he finally got angry. He left. He's... gone."

Mr. Lawson flinched; it was, after all, what he and his wife had hoped for, but not this way, not so that Nadia blamed herself for it. Mrs. Lawson stepped in. "Honey, I'm sure he'll be back. You said he was your friend, didn't you? Friends don't just walk out on each other."

Nadia shook her head again. "We were sort of friends, but... it's more complicated than that. You know how I felt about Thomas, right? Well, I was sort of feeling that way about him, or starting to. But I was so mad at him, it was like I hated him at the same time. And that just made the whole thing hurt worse."

Her parents looked at each other and chuckled quietly, giving their spouse's hand a squeeze. "Sweet-Pea, the hate you're talking about is the sort that comes about when you're hurting and angry because of something that's happened between you and someone that you care about. In this case, he was purposefully ignoring you and you reacted badly. But it sounds like he was reacting in exactly the same way, no?"

Their daughter blinked at them. "What?"

Her mother smiled knowingly. "Well, if that icy exterior of his finally cracked, it means he was particularly upset. And those we hold closest are always the ones who can hurt us the easiest."

She shifted a little, but thought it over. "He did mention something about that... I thought maybe he was just being dramatic, since we were fighting."

Her father chuckled. "Sweet-Pea, trust a married couple to know; when someone gets that mad, it's usually because they think they're losing something important to them. It tends to bring out the worst in people."

Nadia nodded slowly. "That makes sense."

Her parents smiled; it was good to have her back. They were surprised, however, when she suddenly jumped up. "Oh, I'm an idiot! I should have seen it before!"

While Mr. Lawson blinked quizzically at his daughter, Mrs. Lawson asked the obvious question. "Seen what?"

Beginning to pace, a sure sign she was doing some heavy-duty thinking, it took Nadia a moment to respond. "About Orion and Thomas."

Her mother sighed patiently. "What about them, Dear? You're talking in half-sentences."

"Oh," she replied. "Sorry. Uh, well, you know that Orion and Thomas are the same person already. He told me that he kept his identities separate from himself and that's true, but what if there's more to it than that? I mean, the identities he takes into himself through those eyes of his already exist and have personalities and histories and all of that, but what about the ones like Thomas, the ones that he creates? They have to come from somewhere, he has to create them, imagine them! And everyone's imagination is inspired and driven by the things they've seen and experienced. Trying to imagine something without investing any of yourself in it would be like trying to represent something on canvas without any paint. It just wouldn't work."

Her parents just sat there and blinked at her; her father, mustering himself, managed some manner of response. "What?"

Well beyond the need for anyone else to understand her train of thought at this point, Nadia barrelled onward. "Which means that Thomas came from Orion; maybe they don't share memories, or thoughts, or experiences, but some part of their foundation is the same. Thomas and I just went well together; Orion must have felt that, somewhere inside and that's why he was willing to trust me enough not to 'remove' me straight off. He took a chance on me."

Falling silent, Nadia felt her thought process completing itself. But what about Black? He's a sarcastic jerk and mean-spirited besides, but that's not like Orion at all... What did Orion say about him? That he could take over more easily if Orion was upset at the time? All right, so he has some kind of connection to Orion's anger. Well, what gets him mad? I guess all of those memories he has would be a good place to start. I mean, he lost Artemis and realized he had to consume people's essences to survive all in the same space of time; that had to be rough.

She snapped her fingers. Oh, of course! Orion never dealt with those events, never faced them, so he never came to terms with them. The resentment and the bitterness that comes from all of that had to go somewhere. And it did. Which means that, in a way, the thing that Orion is running from is Black. From becoming him; callous, cruel and selfish. She felt an involuntary shudder pass through her. Well... I suppose it's true, then. Where there's light, there's shadow.

Glancing at one another during their daughter's sudden pause, Mr. and Mrs. Lawson cleared their throats to get her attention. Her mother stood, placing her hands on her daughter's shoulders, now that she had stopped pacing and turned to face them. "Sweet-Pea, I didn't understand most of that, but isn't it a bit presumptuous to say that Thomas was some kind of... Dear, what would the word be?"

"Incarnation, I think, is what you're going for," he supplied.

"Thank you. Isn't it a bit presumptuous to say that Thomas is an incarnation of Orion's better traits? It's a bit... sappy, if nothing else."

Nadia shook her head, her revelations about Black only convincing her more that she was right about Thomas. "No, Mom, I know I'm on the right track here. Maybe it is sappy to word it like that, but I'm confident in the basic idea."

Her mother sighed, but smiled. "All right, all right, I won't rain on your parade. Go ahead and be romantic about it."

Nadia grinned. "Thanks, Mom. Do you think you could give him another chance? I know your last meeting wasn't the best, but he really is a good sort of a guy." An image of Black leaped, unbidden, into her mind's eye. "He just forgets it, sometimes."

Her father stood as well, joining them in the middle of the floor. "Sweet-Pea, I know you were pretty fond of Thomas, but that isn't who you're dealing with. You can't force Orion to be someone he isn't. Changing people is a difficult business, even with a willing participant."

She shook her head. "No, Daddy. I don't have to change him, I just need to help him break a bad habit or two. And I think I know how, or at least what the problem is."

He smiled thinly. "That he has multiple personalities vying for the top spot?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "No. That he doesn't want to be himself, so he doesn't try to keep his other identities under control. He's been running from his memories for so long, I'm not sure he even remembers how to face them. But I'm a Lawson; we're a stubborn bunch. If anyone can help him, it would be me."

Her mother laughed quietly. "Well, you're certainly right about the stubborn part. All right, Dear; we'll give him another chance, but hadn't you better find him before you get that far ahead of yourself?"

Nadia blinked. "Oh, right. He mentioned the Icarus building, said he was doing research about the umbrella corporation that owns it... Daddy, I need to use your computer. Please?"

He sighed, but nodded. "All right, Sweet-Pea, go ahead."

She was halfway down the hall before she remembered to throw a quick "Thank you!" over her shoulder. Looking at one another, her parents smiled, though there was uncertainty behind it. Of all the people in the world for their daughter to get stuck on, it just had to be someone like Orion. She was stubborn, all right, but that didn't mean they were okay with it. Still, it was good to have her back in the house and they didn't want to risk another fight. Not yet, anyway. They would have to be careful about this. Looking at one another yet again, they smiled quietly and said the one thing that had been on their minds for the last three days.

"Being a parent is hard."
Chapter Thirty-Four

"I'm sorry we have to use my office for this, Tyrone, especially since it's a late supper as it is."

The big man looked up from his plate, which contained some kind of Italian pasta dish in a white sauce mixed in with herbs and meats; the name of which he doubted he could pronounce even if he knew it. Italian really wasn't his strong point. Smiling, he shook his head at his dining companion, sitting across her desk from him in her large chair, still in her working clothes. Not that he was complaining, she always had a knack for wearing something professional but flattering. Today, she was in slacks, with a black jacket over a white shirt and had, at some point prior to their dinner, let her hair down, so her red curls cascaded down to her shoulders.

Giselle tapped her fork against her glass, the sound drawing his attention from her hair. "Tyrone, you're staring again."

He shook himself lightly, accidentally jarring the solid oak desk as he did so and smiled apologetically. "Sorry. What did you say?"

"I said that I was sorry we had to use my office for our dinner, and that it was so late."

He smiled reassuringly. "It's no problem; you've got a great office. And it isn't that late."

She giggled quietly. "It's nine o'clock at night, Tyrone."

"Oh," was all he could manage for a moment, but decided to move on to a new topic. "You look good tonight."

She crossed her arms in a mock pout. "Just good?"

He sighed, pushing a piece of chicken around his plate. Out of the frying pan... "You know I don't like talking sappy."

A knowing smile crossed her face. "But you're going to anyway, right?"

Tyrone rolled his eyes, but knew there was no getting out of saying it now. "You look beautiful."

She smiled in a pleased, but smug, sort of satisfaction. "Why thank you. You don't look too bad yourself."

He raised an eyebrow, looking down at his attire. He was wearing a custom-made suit, largely because of the occasion at hand, but also because no other suit would fit. His tailor had joked that the jacket would have fit a moderately sized horse. Tyrone wasn't sure if it actually would, but it fit him well enough. His shirt, shockingly white against the black of the fabric and his own ebony skin, was obscured by a tie that he was constantly tugging at to keep it from choking him. He ran a hand over his shaved-smooth scalp self-consciously, an awkward shrug his only response to her teasing praise.

Giselle cleared her throat, setting her fork aside as she finished her meal. "So, you took the day off today? I was surprised; I don't think you've ever done that."

He chuckled, but it sounded just the tiniest bit forced. "Yeah, had some other things to deal with. Why do you ask? Did you miss me?"

She smiled slyly. "Maybe a little. Especially when I had to bring the baker's dozen camped out in my penthouse lunch without you backing me up. Those guys creep me out."

He nodded, silently deciding how best to respond. He was, after all, under orders not to let on that he was working more closely with 'the boss' than Giselle was. "Where did you say they're from, again?"

"Oh, I don't know," she sighed. "I think they're from all over, going by the accents. I still don't know why they had to be camped out in my apartment, though."

He smiled sympathetically. "Well, you said they were sent by the higher-ups, right?"

She nodded. "Yes, well, that doesn't mean I have to like it. They've turned my living room into an armoury. My couches are covered in rifles and body armour, and my coffee table has more handguns than I've ever seen in one place. Made me nervous just looking at it."

Tyrone could well imagine what she meant. "Well, they should all be gone soon, right? As long as they keep quiet up there, nobody should be any the wiser and their gear was brought into the country under the radar, yeah?"

Giselle's entire body tensed up. "You haven't mentioned it to anybody, have you?"

He shook his head. "No, of course not, I was only asking."

She relaxed, massaging her temples gently. "Sorry. It's just making me a wreck. Keeping unregistered, restricted and illegal weapons under my roof is not in my general job description. I'm still having trouble believing that the owner of Mytikas Multinational would have these sorts of connections in the first place."

He sighed, preparing yet another reaction of feigned ignorance. He was getting tired of having to pick his words so carefully. Social espionage was not his forte. "Miti-what? Is that the company that owns yours?"

She took a sip from her glass before responding. "Yes, but don't spread it around. They like their privacy, apparently and don't take much of a hand in public things. They let their subsidiaries do most of that. They just sort of back us up. Financially I mean."

He nodded, trying to smile. "I'll remember that."

"Thanks," she smiled in return. "So... what exactly did you have to attend to, today? More of your shady underworld business?"

Tyrone could see her falter a little at the mention of his less upstanding enterprises. "No, not today. I've been sniffing around for our two missing intruders. I've got some plans if they turn up, but they're not much good if I don't know that they're coming."

She nodded quietly, and then perked up. "Well, maybe they won't come back? From what you said, they got out of here in a hurry the last time. And you nearly caught that mercenary when he was here, didn't you? Could be they're too scared to try again."

He chuckled quietly, not faking it this time. "Maybe. But Lawson's a stubborn one and I did some looking into her family. Her parents were a cop and a reporter, so I'm guessing she gets it from them. I couldn't find anything on that little twerp she was with, though, but he seemed pretty mousey."

"And the mercenary?" she pressed, her concern obvious. She really wasn't cut out for a life of underhandedness. Which was a real shame; he knew their boss would notice it as well, if he hadn't already. He would never let someone who balked at getting their hands dirty run a company of his. It was like he had said on the phone the last time they had spoken; he didn't like to give the opposition much of a chance.

"Black is too arrogant to take a hint," he started, but then shook his head. "But I don't think he'll be back. He got what he wanted the last time he was here and, unless he's given another reason to annoy me, I doubt he'll feel the need to try anything."

She smiled in apparent relief. "So once the pair try something and get caught, you can focus on finding Black. And once he's taken care of, the men in my living room go away. Good, okay, that's more encouraging." She paused, frowning. "It does seem a bit much, though, doesn't it? Twelve armed men and their commander against two twenty-somethings and one man who probably doesn't even know we're coming after him so determinedly?"

Personally, Tyrone agreed with her, but he knew their boss well enough by now to guess his intentions; this was all a scare tactic. Someone else was involved in this, or at least his boss thought there was, and he was making damn sure that they got the message to back off. "I'm sure it's just to keep his interests safe. You fight fire with fire, right?"

She giggled nervously. "I generally prefer to fight it with water, but I see what you mean."

Pushing his own plate aside, he smiled. "We should stop talking about this; it's making you nervous. I thought we were trying to have a nice night?"

Giselle smiled playfully. "We were, weren't we? All right then, Mr. Burgess, shall we retire to the lounge?"

He followed her gaze and laughed quietly at the 'lounge' in question; the professional-looking set up in her secretary's office for those waiting to get in to see her. Taking her hand in his, he let her precede him through the doors of her office, passing one of her more peculiar office decorations on their way by; a large glass case, inside of which was kept a pair of old, ratty, feathery things that looked like oversized feather-dusters to him. He remembered having to deliver them up here not long after he had started this job. It had been their boss' idea, some sort of symbol of the company. Those sorts of things went right over his head. Pushing his idle curiosity from his mind, he followed Giselle through the doors and sat beside her on the black, trim-looking couch she had selected. The unfortunate piece of furniture groaned a little when he sat, but neither of them minded, or even really noticed. Looking at her much-smaller hand in his, Tyrone smiled quietly.

"A flower petal in a bowl," he mused aloud, causing Giselle to raise an eyebrow.

"Did you just wax poetic?" she asked, trying her best to stifle a grin.

He snorted. "No."

She giggled quietly. "Oh, come on, you did too! You said my hand was like a flower petal."

"Because it's small and pale and my hand is big and dark," he interjected. "That's not poetic."

She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "It is too."

He sighed, but felt himself smiling at the same time. Women. "Okay, it was poetic. But you can't go telling people. You'll ruin my reputation."

Her grin widened. "Well, you'll just have to do something for me to buy my silence, won't you?"

Of course, it was at that exact moment that his phone began to buzz in his pocket. Tyrone dearly wished he could ignore it, but he made a strict policy of telling those who had his number never to use it unless it was important. Sighing, he gave Giselle a quick peck on the nose, and then fished the disruptive noisemaker from his pocket.

"Burgess."

"It's Murakami, Sir," came the response. "I just saw someone entering through the back door."

Tyrone sighed again. Yeah, that figures. "All right, I'll get the plan in motion. Keep an eye on the monitors and wait for further orders."

"Roger that, Sir."

Hanging up, he smiled apologetically at his couch-sharing company. "Sorry. I put a new camera facing the back door, since it was a blind spot that Lawson and her boyfriend had exploited before and, well... it looks like our intruders are making their move."

"Lousy timing," she pouted, but he could tell that she wasn't really angry. "Okay, then; you go catch the pains in our collective backsides. I'll be waiting up here."

He smiled at the idea, but shook his head to clear it. "I want you to be careful, okay?"

She blinked. "Why? What do you think is going to happen?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I have a plan to put in motion and we're on home turf, so to speak, but... there are things I'm not sure about. Just say that you'll stay here. Please?"

She nodded slowly. "Okay, Tyrone. I promise."

Taking a moment to kiss her properly, the big man turned and strode from her office. He hoped it was Lawson or her friend who had slipped in, he could handle them without issue. Black was rapidly becoming a problem, but he was confident he could match wits with him should it come down to it. No, what was really bothering him was what Giselle had told him about the men upstairs. Thirteen trained soldiers were far too many considering what they were up against, message or no message. Stepping into the elevator, he pushed the button that would send him to the first floor and took a deep breath. He was probably just being paranoid. He hoped that he was.

But he seriously doubted it.
Chapter Thirty-Five

Tyrone had finished mulling over his concerns by the time he hit the lobby and had moved on to a state of resigned growling. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen and he would just have to deal with it when it did. His precautions would be sufficient, or they wouldn't and he would have to improvise. A more zen-like approach than he was accustomed to, but it would have to do until he had more information. For now, he had a plan to follow and one his employer had been very specific about, which usually meant it was crucially important. Besides, there was nothing to be gained in letting his suspicions impede his work. Not until it was absolutely necessary, anyway.

Walking across the lobby, caught up in his thoughts the way he was, it was left up to those in his path to notice his approach and clear the way. It was coming up on nine-thirty now and the night shift of security guards had already started. They were understandably nervous that their chief of security was still at work, of course; Tyrone had only spent the night with them during his first week on the job and had been sure to put a fear of him into them, as he did with most of his subordinates. So it was with a certain annoyance that he felt something impact against his abdominal muscles, stirring him from his thoughts. The collision hadn't so much as bruised him, Tyrone was well-used to being the truck on the road amidst cars of lesser size, but he was sure that he had trained his staff better than that. Looking down, however, brought on an entirely new wave of emotions, most of them negative, as he recognized the scrawny man he had bowled over.

Jason, in his usual faded jeans and graffiti-laden jacket, was sprawled out on the floor before him. Blinking up at the giant, his expression rapidly changed from one of anger at having been knocked down to one of apology; he knew better. That did not change the fact that Tyrone was in no way pleased to see him.

"Jason," he began, as calmly as he possibly could. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The smaller individual bounced to his feet. "Tyrone, my man, it's good to see you!"

He really didn't have the time to do this just now. "You didn't answer my question, Jason."

"Huh?" was his well-informed reply. "Oh, right. I came to see you. Look, I know you were totally pissed at me the last time we talked, but I figured I'd give you the time to calm down before I asked for another chance."

Tyrone grimaced involuntarily at the notion of having his least reliable underling back on the payroll. Yeah, that's not happening in a hurry. "Why in the world would I give you another chance, Jason? You've used up every chance I had. Not just a second chance. Not even a third. I think you were on your eighth chance before I stopped counting. That's too many, Jason."

"Ninth, actually," he supplied, before shrinking back a step at Tyrone's look of frustration. "I was keeping track in case you forgot! And I get that you're mad, you've said my name like four times already. I know that I have a lot of accidents happen around me, but it's not my fault and I really do try!"

Tyrone shook his head, preparing to order the toothpick of a man out of his building, before a thought struck him. More of an idea. A delicious, slightly mean-spirited idea. "All right, Jason, I'll give you a shot. One last chance."

He started positively beaming. "Thank you, boss, I promise you won't be sorry!"

He smiled darkly. "Oh, I sincerely hope you're right about that."

Utterly missing the monolithic man's tone, Jason self-consciously smoothed his clothes out; not that it actually made him look any more like he fit into the look of this particular building. "So, what do I have to do?"

Tyrone kept his instructions simple; he did not have a great deal of confidence in Jason's intelligence. "I want you to head upstairs to my office on the twelfth floor, then go into the security monitor room, which is immediately beside it. My second-in-command, Rei Murakami, is there, keeping an eye on things. Tell her that you're going to be there to assist her should I need you both to go to the top floor to keep the CEO, Giselle Fitch, safe. Have you got all that?"

He nodded rapidly. "Twelfth floor, room beside your office, helping Rei Murakami, waiting to see if we're going to keep an eye on the CEO. Right?"

Tyrone nodded. "Yeah, that's right. And if I need you to go up there, Jason, I want you to do everything in your power to keep the CEO safe. She is your number one priority and Murakami is number two. Do you understand?"

Jason did his best impression of a soldier standing at attention and gave an awkward salute. "Sure thing, Boss, I'm all over it. I'll take bullets for them if I have to."

He smiled thinly. If only I believed you were actually skilled enough to do it. "I don't think it will come to that. Now get going."

He watched his most troublesome subordinate start scurrying off, but flinched as he paused and turned back. He can't have forgotten already. Not that fast.

Coming to stand before Tyrone again, Jason scratched at his chin. "Say, Boss?"

Sighing, Tyrone did his best to be patient. "Yes, Jason?"

"I know that the only one in the CEO's office should be Miss Fitch, but in case there's another guard watching the monitors, what does Murakami look like?"

Tyrone wasn't sure if he should be impressed or frustrated. On the one hand, it was a surprisingly well thought out question, especially for Jason. On the other, the woman's name suggested a certain ethnicity, if nothing else. "Black hair, pale skin tone, brown eyes and a little on the short side."

When Jason didn't move, he sighed. "What, Jason?"

He shrugged uncertainly. "Well, it's just that... isn't everyone short compared to you, Boss? Maybe she's not actually short?"

Just keep calm, Tyrone; you can bawl him out later, when this is all over. "I think she's about five foot three."

Jason nodded. "See? That's actually a little more than average height for a lady, isn't it?"

Tyrone felt a vein twitch along the side of his head. "Jason."

He blinked up at his boss for a moment before he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. "Huh? Oh, right, going to see her. Sorry."

The giant rubbed at his offending vein for a moment as he watched Jason moving towards the elevators; best he make sure he get all the way there. Sure enough, and much to his aggravation, the man turned back to him after pressing the call button. "Say, Boss, is she hot?"

Oh, for the love of... "Jason!"

The smaller man jumped, scurrying backwards into the elevator with a hurried "Right, going!" thrown through the closing doors. Tyrone, now growling for an entirely different reason, turned on his heel; this brief detour had cost him time and he knew that his employer would not take kindly to the delay. As he turned, he caught a glimpse of someone tip-toeing their way towards the stairwell out of the corner of his eye. His peripheral vision was not quite clear enough to provide him any specific details, but he was sure that there was only one person, not two, and the individual was keeping themselves pressed against the wall in a vain attempt to avoid being seen. Glancing around, he saw he was the only one presently in the lobby and nodded in satisfaction. No one else was present to see their uninvited guest, which was as it should have been. There was, after all, no point in closing the mouth of the trap while the ones they were hoping to catch were only halfway inside and still able to escape. With his mood rapidly improving, he strode quickly from the lobby so their intruder could make the most of his, or her, head-start. He nodded briskly to the few guards he encountered on his route and quickly located the door he needed; a heavy, brown-painted metal affair with a brightly coloured sign announcing that the basement was below and that only authorized personnel were to be within.

Fitting the appropriate key into the lock, he passed through the now-opened portal and flicked the light switch set in the wall just beyond it to the on position. The lights below flickered to life, revealing a flight of steel stairs that were only half-illuminated, the fluorescent bulbs below only intended to bring light to the basement area, not the stairs leading to it. This did not bother Tyrone in the slightest, he could see well enough that there was no real possibility that he would miss a step and injure himself. Pulling the door shut behind himself, he made his way down the metal staircase, the tapping produced by his feet against the hard surface of the steps the only sound to be heard.

Reaching the tiled floor of the basement, he cast a glance around; he did not expect anyone to be down here, it was more of a cautious habit. He saw the furnace, dormant for nearly a month now that spring had come around and it was no longer necessary. He could hear the faint sound of water being pumped through the building's plumbing from across the room now as his ears adjusted to the near-silence and he followed the winding path of the pipes along the ceiling with his eyes, knowing they spider-webbed their way through various walls all the way to the fifty-first floor, Giselle's penthouse apartment. He may not have been a terribly artistic individual, but he could appreciate a system that worked from its foundations to its very highest point.

Finding a metal folding chair tucked into a corner, he set it up and sat down, balancing his cellphone on his knee as he tried to get comfortable. An ultimately futile quest, he discovered, as the chair was simply too small for his frame. Sighing, he plucked the phone from its resting place and flipped it open. Checking his reception, he was surprised to find his phone was receiving signal just as strongly as it usually did. The boss must have set something up, he mused to himself. I need to stop underestimating what he can pull off.

Remembering the protocol in contacting his employer, he dialled the first number that came into his mind, which he half-remembered as being a pizza place a few blocks from the I.D.I. building. Hearing the other end come to life, he hung up immediately, doubtless confusing the young lady who had picked up the phone. Placing the phone back on his knee, he crossed his arms and waited. Precisely thirty seconds later, it began to ring and he picked it up again. Flipping it open, he held it to his ear.

"You are in position, then?"

Tyrone smirked, but kept his tone a professional one. "Of course."

"And our mice?"

"Someone used the back door roughly ten minutes ago. I have Murakami watching the monitors to keep track of their progress, but I caught a quick glimpse of one of them making a dash for the stairwell not more than two or three minutes ago."

His employer's tone became urgent. "They don't know they were seen, do they?"

Tyrone's, in turn, became reassuring. "No, Sir, they shouldn't. I didn't react to seeing them and no one else was present at the time. We have yet to locate our second mouse, but I think it's safe to assume that where one is, we'll find the other sooner or later."

"I agree. Are there any other concerns, then?"

"Well, I've had some of my men combing the city for days trying to get an idea of where Black has been hiding, but they've come up empty. There's no reason I can think of that he'd be here tonight, but we should be prepared anyway."

"He won't be a problem," was the reply. "I've thought this through carefully. In fact, I am hoping he does, it will answer some questions of my own. Either way, I am confident we are suitably prepared."

"I'm relieved to hear that, Sir."

Tyrone heard the man chuckle through the phone. "As well you should be. Now then; let us begin."
Chapter Thirty-Six

Nadia nearly collapsed against the wall of the stairwell as she slipped in through the door from the lobby, feeling her knees shake from the sudden surge of adrenalin coursing through her veins. A surge brought on by having had to sneak past Tyrone Burgess with less than ten feet between them, half-expecting him to turn around at any moment. And in her sock-feet no less, with her shoes clutched tightly in one hand. It was bad enough she had had to wait for him to finish talking with Pasta-Jacket for her opening, but when he had turned to go on his way and nearly seen her she had almost had a heart attack. Taking a deep breath, she straightened up and cracked the door open. Seeing Burgess striding off down a hallway on the opposite side of the open space from her hiding place, she sighed in relief and closed the door again.

That was way too close, she admonished herself. I can't afford to be sloppy here if I'm going to find Orion without getting caught. What in the world is that scrawny thug even been doing here, anyway? Doesn't Burgess hate him? Unless... She perked up immediately as realization dawned on her. Of course! That has to be Orion!

With this discovery spurring her into motion, she pulled her shoes back on and began to climb the plain grey steps before her. Ascending to the second floor, she stood before the stairwell door and smoothed her slacks and blouse with her hands, then ran her fingers through her hair to straighten it. Composing herself, she opened the door and exited the stairwell, doing her utmost to appear like she was supposed to be there after-hours; fortunately for her, there was no one there to judge whether her performance was a convincing one or not. She could see the white-shirted back of a security guard disappearing down the right-hand hallway and silently thanked her good luck for that much of a break. Scurrying to the elevator as quietly as she could, she pressed the call button and shrank to one side as the doors opened. Making sure the interior was empty, she slid inside and pressed the button for the forty-ninth floor.

Feeling the elevator begin its journey upwards, she nodded in satisfaction. Okay, Orion is probably at the top of this building by now; he's been gone since this morning so he's had plenty of time. He'll probably be going through the CEO's things for more information on the umbrella corporation that owns this place, Mytikas Multinational. Fitch's office is on the fiftieth floor, but according to my research there's a penthouse one floor higher that can only be reached from a separate staircase. If Miss Fitch was going to hide anything, it would be there. Checking the elevator's progress, she noted that she was nearly halfway to her destination already. All right, not long now. I'll get off on the forty-ninth floor; I don't know how close Fitch's office on the fiftieth is to the elevators and I don't want her knowing I'm here. There shouldn't be very many guards, considering how high up we are. There's no point guarding the top of a building, after all, since any thief has to come in and go out through the bottom. Still, there's no point in getting careless.

Hearing the elevator chime, she pulled back against the wall and peered out into the hall. Seeing no one, she tiptoed out and let the doors close behind her. So far, so good. Glancing around to take in her surroundings, she saw that this floor was similar to the rest of the building, or at least the floors from Burgess' office and up. The floor was the same polished hardwood and the walls were still that flawless matte black. There were only two significant differences, in truth. The first was a small, but sturdy-looking, wooden desk set facing the elevators and stairs; polished, as everything seemed to be up here and with its swivel chair presently vacant. A security checkpoint of sorts, she reasoned. The second difference was the organization of the rooms themselves. Instead of multiple offices per hallway, there were suddenly very few. With the doors closed to her she could not say for sure what the reason for this was, though she suspected that she had crossed into the executive's neck of the woods, suggesting that each office was significantly larger than those below. It also made the security desk seem all the more practical; she doubted very much that the various department heads and other bigwigs would take kindly to having guards disrupt their meetings, even accidentally.

Deciding she had wasted enough time getting the lay of the land, she turned and made a beeline for the stairwell door, just on the other side of the second set of elevator doors from her. Wincing with every tap her shoes produced against the polished floor, Nadia went as quickly as she dared, dearly wishing that the dull grey carpeting of the bottom floors had been used here as well. It may not have been pretty to look at, but she was discovering an entirely different appreciation for it. Still, with no one around to hear her, she didn't feel that she needed to take the noise-producing footwear off for a second time. Unfortunately, that did not prevent her nerves from drawing themselves taut enough to use for guitar strings.

Reaching the stairwell door after what felt like much longer than the ten seconds it had actually been, she reached for the gleaming metal handle; and froze when she heard a tap against the floor that did not come from her own feet, as they were presently flat against the ground. Seizing the handle of the door, she wrenched it open, but felt a strong grip fasten itself around her upper left arm before she could get through it. Hauled roughly backwards, she was kept from regaining her footing while being unceremoniously dragged to the security desk, where she was pushed into the swivel chair behind it. Holding her down with one hand pressed against her shoulder, the guard that had caught her produced a pair of handcuffs from his belt. Struggling unsuccessfully against his weight advantage, Nadia felt something cold closing around her wrist as the click of the first metal circlet closing reached her ears. Leaning back, she brought her legs up, bracing her feet against his shins. Pushing off as hard as she could, she propelled the swivel chair backwards across the floor, but her progress was abruptly halted as the cuff on her wrist pulled her arm roughly back. Wincing as her tendons cried out in protest against the jerking motion, she saw the guard had closed his fist tightly around the remaining cuff; it was his weight that had stopped her, though it had pulled him off-balance. Bracing her feet, she grabbed the circlet around her wrist with her free hand and hauled back with both arms, causing the man to stumble forwards. Falling onto her, he landed awkwardly with his stomach against her knees, driving the air from his lungs and sending him crumpling to the floor. Pulling the other end of her cuffs from his weakened grip, Nadia started to push herself backwards, but felt the chair tipping as the man grabbed a hold of one of the wheels.

Toppling to the floor, she felt the arm of the chair being driven into her side on impact, forcing her to gasp for air, as well as from the pain. The guard, having regained his feet, loomed over her, but she wasn't ready to give up yet. Aiming her heel at his face, she missed her mark by mere centimetres, grazing a scrape along his cheek instead. Seizing her leg, he pulled upwards; toppling her head-over-heels and disorienting her long enough for him to seize the other end of the cuff attached to her arm and clip it to the chair. Sprawled out on the floor the way she was, she was only able to glare reproachfully at him at his success. Climbing to her feet, she attempted to pick up the chair itself, but the guard seized her by the shoulders and pushed her back into a sitting position. Glaring at one another, both parties took a moment to catch their breath, as each of them was panting from the struggle.

Studying the man, Nadia finally got a reasonable look at him; he was in his mid-thirties, by the looks of it, with reddish hair and freckles. She wondered, briefly, if he was any relation to the CEO, she had heard she had similar features. She also noticed that he had no gun on his belt. This encouraged her for a moment, at least until she spotted a second pair of handcuffs in the man's hands. Grabbing one of her ankles, she soon found herself fastened to her seat in a much more troublesome manner.

"There now," she heard the man say, speaking for the first time and in a surprisingly jovial tone. "That should keep you from getting into too much trouble, Missy."

She glared at him anew. "All right, I'm cuffed and you've got me. Is there any particular reason you cuffed my left arm and right leg, by the way, or were you just being weird on purpose?"

He smiled smugly. "Try standing, you'll see why."

Nadia sighed, but didn't try it. She didn't need to; she could imagine what would happen. Had he cuffed her all on one side, she could have approximated a limping run without too much difficulty, but by cuffing her on different sides, it became more difficult to coordinate. She could probably have worked it out with a little practice, but it made any sudden escape attempts harder to pull off. "No, thank you. So; where do we go from here?"

"You go nowhere," he chuckled. "I'll just step over there and call down for someone to come get you. And no funny ideas, you know as well as I do that you're not getting far like this."

She waited until he had turned before sticking her tongue out at him; this did not make her feel much better, but any defiance was better than none so far as she was concerned. Before the guard had taken more than three steps, however, they were abruptly plunged into darkness as every light on the floor switched off. Suddenly unable to see her captor, Nadia could nevertheless still approximate which direction he was in by listening for the sound of soft grumbling under his breath. A cone of light sprang to life in his hand and she saw he had produced a flashlight from his belt.

Turning back to her, he pulled a second one from his belt and offered it to her. "Here. I have to go check this out, you stay here."

Taking the proffered source of illumination, the captive woman snorted quietly. "As if I can go anywhere like this."

"Well, when you put it like that," he grinned, then turned and moved off towards the stairwell at a brisk pace, leaving her alone in the dark. Before long, even the retreating sound of his myriad belt accessories jangling against one another was gone.

Flicking the flashlight on, Nadia swept the area around herself; there had to be something here to get loose with. Using her free hand, she tugged at each drawer in the security desk, but found they were all locked and did not so much as jar when she pulled on them.

"Stupid, well-made, theft-proof drawers," she muttered under her breath. Growling, she went back to sweeping the room with the flashlight, hoping to find some manner of inspiration; she certainly didn't expect herself to spontaneously develop the skills of an escape artist, but if she could pop the arm of the chair out of place then she could try to dismantle the dratted thing and get her leg free. Admittedly, it was not very Houdini of her, but she was trying to be practical.

Seeing a glint on the floor as her light swept over it, she refocused the beam on the location in question. Wheeling her chair over, she leaned forward and plucked the small object from the floor for a closer look. Holding the flashlight in her cuffed hand, she held the cold, metal object up for inspection and discovered that it was, in fact, several objects connected together by a steel ring. And they all made her grin with enormous satisfaction.

She wondered how long it would take that guard to notice he had dropped his keys.
Chapter Thirty-Seven

Giselle drummed her fingers idly against the surface of her desk, her fingernails providing a clacking, staccato beat for her thoughts to dance to. It was the only outward sign of the trepidation she felt towards the situation at hand. She had remained in her office, just as she had promised Tyrone she would and, while she considered herself a patient woman, she had found this particular situation to be altogether too urgent to ignore completely. So, she had done what most people tended to do when given an unoccupied block of time while having no particular idea as to how they should constructively fill it; she had directed her computer's web browser to the plethora of videos on the internet.

Of course, it was mere minutes later that the power cut out, plunging her office into darkness and leaving her blinking at the dim reflection of the moon gleaming off her now-blank computer screen. Taking a few steadying breaths to calm herself, she counted to ten and nodded in satisfaction as the secondary lights kicked in; a handy feature she had insisted on having installed on this floor and in her penthouse upstairs, though she had never thought she would actually need them. And sure, they weren't much more than orange-toned, glowing strips set in the cracks between the floor, walls and ceiling, but they were enough to see by and that was better than nothing.

Getting to her feet, Giselle moved to the window and looked outside. The thin sliver of the waxing moon hung in the sky above, but what interested her most was the building across the street; it was shorter than the Icarus building, but the important detail about it was that she could see lights from some of its windows. Frowning, she let that particular fact process for a moment. We're the only ones who are out? Someone must have tripped a fuse; I just hope it wasn't deliberate. I'd better get a hold of Tyrone and see if he knows what's up.

With the power out, there was no point in trying the phone on her desk and she wasted no time on it. Moving toward the door of her office, she picked up her suit's jacket from where she had left it and ran her hands over the material as she hunted for her pocket. Locating a bulge in the fabric, she found the pocket's opening and slipped her cellphone out and into her hand. Flipping it open, she felt a certain smugness at her ability to dial her security chief's number in the dark; she had done it often enough in the past several months that her fingers knew the motions without any assistance from her eyes. With the phone ringing, she sat back at her desk and turned her chair towards her window so she had something to look at besides her orange-tinted office.

Once the line picked up, she caught herself before she could sigh audibly in relief. "Tyrone, it's me."

"Giselle? Is something the matter?" was his reply, causing her to roll her eyes in exasperation.

"Tyrone Burgess, only you could ask me something like that in the middle of a power outage."

She heard him chuckle quietly. "Okay, I'll give you that, but I was asking about up there. The back-up lights came on, right?"

She tugged apprehensively at a strand of her hair, which she had not yet bothered to put back up. "Yes, they did, but that hardly makes me feel any better. Do you have any idea why we're in the dark? I can see our neighbours across the street from my window and they've still got power, so it's not a proper blackout."

"It's probably just a fuse; I'm heading down into the basement now to take a look. Keep your phone on you so I can get a hold of you, just in case, but I'm sure everything is fine."

She had thought the same thing, but hearing it from someone else seemed to make the suggestion more believable. Giselle felt herself relaxing, though only a little. "All right, but I want an update soon if you can't get it fixed. I'm not going to just wait up here in the dark all night, you know."

He laughed at that. "I'll keep that in mind. Talk to you soon."

Hanging up, Tyrone tucked his cellphone back into his pocket. Picking up his flashlight, which he had balanced on his knee during his and Giselle's conversation, he turned it towards the wall. The fuse box was there; a simple, grey box of metal tucked into the corner of the basement, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. The door was still ajar and he shut it carefully, flipping the latch that held it closed into place and sighing quietly to himself, feeling the touch of guilt tugging at his focus for having lied to Giselle. Shaking it off, he turned and ascended the basement stairs. By the time he reached the hallway, he was already back to barking orders into his radio.

"All night guards meet on the ground floor and await further instructions," he began. "Murakami, remain in my office for the time being and wait for your orders."

"Roger that, Sir," was his second-in-command's reply, though he could hear a certain questioning note in her voice. "But, Sir..."

He didn't have time for hesitation tonight. "What, Murakami?"

Her response still seemed slightly uncertain; he supposed he couldn't blame her, after accidentally letting Lawson and Carmichael go last time he had given her a hard time for days. "It's about the man you directed up here; he says his name is Jason? What should I do with him?"

Jason; he almost moaned the word internally. He had forgotten about him. "Keep the idiot with you, at least then I'll know where he is. I'm trusting you to keep him out of trouble, all right?"

"Yes, Sir," she replied, more confidently this time.

Placing his radio back on his belt, Tyrone shook his head slowly. You're getting soft, Tyrone, at this rate you're going to need a new line of work...

Walking quickly across the darkened lobby, lit only by the flashlights of the first guards to arrive, he nodded at his subordinates and continued on. Reaching the stairwell, he began to climb. Upon reaching the second level, he pulled his key ring from his pocket, where it was usually kept; Tyrone was not fond of the incessant jangling noises it produced when on his belt. Flipping between the dozen or so keys on the metal band, he found the one he was after and fitted it into the lock of the door. Turning it until he heard the click of the lock, he nodded in satisfaction, turned from it and continued climbing.

Hearing footsteps descending the stairs above him, he held himself to one side as a group of guards, their uniforms startlingly white in the beams of their flashlights, passed him by on their way to the ground floor. Exchanging a simple nod in passing in place of their usual formalities, Tyrone resumed his upward trek after the dozen or so men and women had cleared the way. Reaching the third floor's door, he locked it as well before moving on. Shining his flashlight upwards, he saw the seemingly endless staircase above him, disappearing into the dark beyond the beam's illuminating reach.

Forty-six to go, he sighed inwardly, giving what he saw a reproachful glare. He soon discovered that it was not to be a lonely task, however, as his phone began to ring shortly after he had locked the next two doors. Answering it, he heard the familiar tone of his employer cutting through the oppressively silent darkness around him.

"It's been ten minutes since the blackout, are we on schedule?"

"Yes, Sir," he replied swiftly. "I've just finished locking up the fifth floor."

The man sounded pleased with this. "Good, you're making excellent progress. I trust our intruders were allowed a proper head-start?"

Reaching the sixth floor, Tyrone slipped his key into the lock and gave the knob a fruitless twist to be sure it was secure. "Like I said before, I saw Lawson sneaking past me not long before the blackout, but didn't let on I had. She's definitely had enough time to get to the top few floors by elevator."

"And her companion, the one I've expressed concern about?"

Tyrone, in the midst of climbing to the seventh floor, rolled his eyes. "Her companion is that Carmichael kid, Sir, not Black."

His employer's tone became a condescending one. "Please. Use your head, Tyrone. Have you ever seen the two of them together? Carmichael and Black, I mean."

Tyrone blinked. "Well, no, but since they're not working together I figured that was normal."

"Fool. If Black can deceive people by changing his appearance, there's a very real possibility that he and Miss Lawson's fair-haired companion are one and the same person."

Bristling slightly at the insult, Tyrone felt himself retorting before he could swallow it down. "Carmichael was beaten senseless in an alley not ten minutes before Black crashed my meeting with Lawson at the Lord Elgin, Sir. Explain that to me."

"How far away was the alley?"

He slammed the key home into the lock of the seventh floor's door, twisting it a little more forcefully than he would have normally. "A couple blocks, but what's that matter? The man was unconscious, beaten unrecognizable!"

His employer chuckled. "And was he so badly wounded the next time you saw him?"

Tyrone frowned. "I haven't seen him since; not his face, anyway. The last time I saw him was on the camera footage of their attempt to sneak in here. I'd just assumed his injuries were hidden by his disguise, or something."

"But did you check?"

The big man's silence was answer enough. "I thought as much. No, Tyrone, the man we are dealing with is beyond your comprehension. I don't know who it is, yet, but I believe I know whom he is associated with. That is why I'm having you lock these doors, to limit the amount of space he has to manoeuvre in. It is why I had you ensure that the elevators could absolutely not be used by turning off the power; simply locking them would not be enough if he was able to impersonate you and rescind the order. If this man can fool people so completely, the only option is to give him no one to impersonate. The men I sent there each have a radio and will stay in constant contact, so he cannot fool them; everyone else will be stationed in groups as they secure the ground floor. There will be nowhere for this man to hide."

Tyrone, having reached the eighth floor, paused. He had to admit, the plan was a thorough one. "And what about Giselle? She's in her office right now, alone. Shouldn't I take a group with me to go make sure she's safe?"

His employer's tone was a hasty one. "Oh, I'll have the men upstairs see to her safety, don't worry."

"Very well, Sir," he acquiesced, though he did not feel very reassured at all.

Whether the man noticed Tyrone's doubts or not was unclear, but his voice became serious as he returned to the matter at hand. "Good. Now then; when you're done locking up, take your second in command and withdraw to the ground floor. I need you to make sure that none of your guards go wandering into the stairwell; they might hear the echoes of what is happening up top. The team is equipped with silencers, but only for their side arms. We don't want any good Samaritans getting it in their heads to contact the local authorities."

"Understood, Sir. I'll move as quickly as I am able."

"You do that. I'll call back if I need to adjust any of your orders."

Hanging up the phone, Tyrone's employer folded his hands briefly. Tyrone's recent behaviour was less than encouraging; perhaps he had kept the big man in one place for too long. Shrugging, he decided that he would see to it once the business here was concluded. Dialling a different number, he waited for his contact to pick up. Once he had, he began speaking immediately. There was no time for pleasantries today.

"Lieutenant, this is your client speaking. Tyrone Burgess is in the process of locking the lower floors and should be finished within half an hour at the absolute most, so I'm letting you off the leash. Make your plans as you see fit, but from here on out you can consider your mission in progress. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," came the quick reply. "Sir, we are to wait for Burgess to withdraw before we begin?"

Picking up an empty martini glass from his desk, the man rolled the olive inside around idly, before setting it back down. "No. Tyrone knows his orders; he'll get out of the way in time."

"Roger that. To confirm, then; our mission is to purge the building from top to bottom, excluding only the bottom floor."

Plucking the olive from the bottom of the glass, the man caught a smirk crawling onto his face. "That's right, Lieutenant. Keep the mess to a minimum if you can, though, would you?"

"Understood. We'll be as mindful of your property as possible, Sir."

"Thank you. And good luck. You just might need it."

Hanging up, the man let his smirk grow into a properly smug grin. He didn't know who this 'Black' really was, but it didn't matter. He would be dealt with tonight. Crushing the olive in his hand, he tossed the flattened, juicy mess back into its glass. Quick, a little messy, but efficiently dealing with the issue at hand. Pressing the intercom for his assistant's office, he ordered another drink.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rei Murakami, holding one side of a set of headphones to her left ear, felt a chill run down her spine for two reasons. The first was simply that she was not well-accustomed to listening in on other people's conversations; but Mr. Burgess had entrusted her with the task of keeping an eye on his new security measures, one of which was a bug in Miss Fitch's penthouse. The second reason was because of what she had heard. Dropping the headset onto the desk in front of her, she turned away from the rows of monitors, earning her a questioning glance from Jason. Ignoring the scrawny thug for the moment, she fumbled in her back pocket, producing a small, yellow and black radio. Tyrone had given it to her earlier and instructed her to use it to contact him should she need to do so in private.

"Mr. Burgess, Sir?"

Tyrone was still climbing the stairs and locking doors as he went; hearing his second in command's voice suddenly echo in the dark of the stairwell, he plucked the radio's twin from his belt. "What is it, Murakami?"

"We have a problem."
Chapter Thirty-Eight

Tyrone finished locking up the next three floors in record time; the information Murakami had overheard playing through his mind over and over. A full purge of the entire building, barring the ground floor. His employer had never intended to spare Giselle at all. He nearly kicked himself for not realizing it sooner, it should have been obvious. Hell, it had been. Tyrone could remember thinking that his boss would notice Giselle's aversion to doing any kind of underhanded work sooner or later and take action. He had just assumed that he would have her transferred, or replaced, or something along those lines. But then, he supposed this was more convenient. Or at least cheaper. One didn't pay settlements to the dead.

Reaching the twelfth floor, he found Murakami waiting for him in the stairwell, alone, which he had expected. He had already instructed Jason to take Murakami's radio and precede them to the fiftieth floor to check on Giselle. He had picked Jason to do it largely due to a lack of options; he needed to be sure Murakami was on board with this before things got any more serious. Locking up the twelfth storey, he nodded to his second in command and she fell in step beside him as they continued up towards the thirteenth. Or fourteenth, he supposed, since nobody ever called the thirteenth floor what it actually was.

"Murakami."

She glanced his way, her almond eyes both curious and a little concerned. "Yes, Sir?"

He sighed, finding the words awkward in his mouth. "Are you sure you want to do this? You know by now that what's going on here isn't legal, and getting involved in it isn't part of your duty to the company. If things go badly up there, there's even a chance you'll be killed."

Blinking once or twice at him, she smiled quietly. "I know that. But Miss Fitch never seemed like the type to get wrapped up in these things by choice, so we're alike in that way. Neither of us should be part of this, but we are. So I put myself in her shoes and thought about how scared and worried I would be if I were left alone in my office while armed soldiers were nearby. It feels wrong to just leave her."

Tyrone was honestly surprised by her answer. She had always been the dutiful sort, but never very talkative, so he had never gotten to know very much about her personal beliefs. He supposed that was his fault; he did have a habit of intimidating his staff deliberately.

"Thank you," he managed, more than a tad lamely. He just didn't know how to respond.

Murakami nodded, standing to one side as he locked up the fourteenth storey door. "Sir? If I might, I have a question for you, as well."

"Shoot."

"Is the Jason here, helping us, the Jason? The one you were always so upset about when you first began working here?"

He winced at that; he supposed he had spent a lot of time grumbling under his breath about the troubles the man had caused him. "Yeah, it's him, why?"

She shrugged. "No particular reason, Sir. It's just that it seems odd to me that you would send him up ahead, alone. Do you trust him that much, even with that man who fooled our camera system at large?"

Tyrone chuckled at that. "Oh, believe me, no one could imitate Jason, not perfectly, anyway. I'm pretty sure it would give them a migraine. As for trusting him... I'm not sure if that's the word I would use. Jason's like a dog."

She blinked at that. "A dog, Sir?"

"You know, the sort that keeps pissing on your floor. It drives you crazy that the animal just refuses to learn how to go about its business the right way and you often think about getting rid of it. But it's always happy to see you and tries its stupid, clumsy best to make you happy and you just can't stay mad at it for long. And, by some extraordinary luck, Jason has excellent instincts when it comes to knowing when to come asking for another chance, because it's usually been just long enough that I won't throttle him on sight."

Murakami stifled a laugh with a forced cough, still not quite sure it would be appropriate to be that familiar with her boss. "I would never have pegged you as a pet person, Sir, if you'll excuse me for saying so."

He chuckled dryly. "Well, that's the trouble. I'm not. And I'm just callous enough to see the value in his trying so hard and make use of it."

She frowned at that, not understanding. Or perhaps not entirely sure she wanted to. "What do you mean, Sir?"

"Jason's failed at every task I've ever given him. Hell, he's failed at holding up Lawson and keeping her from investigating things she shouldn't twice over, which is why we're all here right now. But he tries as hard as he can. Possibly too hard. And if Giselle is going to come out of this in one piece, she needs someone like that watching her. Someone willing to put her ahead of himself."

It was Murakami's turn to be unable to find anything to say. On the one hand, her superior had just demonstrated an extremely unfeeling approach to using his subordinates that she was not at all comfortable with, particularly given her own membership in that category. On the other, the lengths he was apparently prepared to go to in planning for Miss Fitch's safety suggested he cared a great deal for her well-being, which would normally have been typical of a warmer individual. All in all, it made it very difficult to decide where she stood on the matter personally.

She was snapped out of this internal debate when Tyrone placed a key into her field of vision. "Here. This is the spare master key, I want you to go ahead up to the thirty-first floor and start locking up from there. I should catch up to you before you hit the fiftieth. We'll save some time this way."

Taking the key, she looked at him in confusion. "But, Sir, shouldn't we just go straight to Miss Fitch? Her safety should be our top priority, shouldn't it?"

Tyrone sighed; it was the question he had personally been wrestling with. "Yes, but at the same time, no. If we leave these doors unlocked, it could prolong the time it takes for the men upstairs to catch Lawson and her friend. Maybe once they have, the boss will call them off. It's a long shot, but it's the only way I can think of to put a pin in this before it blows us all sky high."

Murakami nodded. "Understood, Sir."

"Before you go; do we have anyone else up there? I ordered everyone downstairs, I know, but do we have any stragglers?"

She frowned, thinking quickly. "No, Sir, I don't believe so. There was a guard on the radio just after the blackout asking if he should proceed upstairs, but then your orders came through and he acknowledged them, so I imagine he came downstairs with the other guards in the upper floors."

Tyrone sighed, but nodded. "Okay. Jason has your radio, right? If you need anything, use the yellow one I gave you to get in touch."

She nodded again and gave a quick salute before increasing her pace up the stairs to something resembling a high-stepping jog. If Miss Fitch was even half as concerned by this situation as she herself was, she would appreciate any reassurance she could get; best they get to her and get back to the ground floor as quickly as possible.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Having freed herself from the guard's handcuffs, Nadia had waited a few minutes before taking a peek out into the stairwell. There was no sense in alerting her former captor to the fact that his prisoner was walking around, after all. The vertical shaft was empty, though she could hear the faint echo of voices from far below, meaning that she couldn't linger here for too long. With the coast clear, she ducked back through the forty-ninth storey's door and picked up the two pairs of handcuffs she had been previously bound with. She doubted they would ever fit Burgess' wrists, should she run into him; but still, it was better to have some kind of back-up plan. Tucking one pair of metal restraints into her side pocket, she fit the other in the back pockets of her jeans, one circular end in each with the chain between them. Not the most elegant of solutions, but the entire pair would not fit in one pocket. She would just have to remember they were there before attempting to sit down.

Moving back into the stairwell, she climbed to the fiftieth floor and, facing its door, began steeling herself to move inside. She was interrupted, however, by the sound of footsteps echoing up from the lower floors. Listening for a moment, she could tell that whoever was coming was in one heck of a rush. She briefly considered dashing onto the fiftieth floor to find somewhere to hide, but paused when another thought crossed her mind. Whoever it was coming up the stairs was not talking on a radio to anyone else, or making any other sort of noise for that matter. That sounded like just about the right sort of behaviour for the man she was here to find. Taking a deep breath, she decided to take the chance; if it was Orion coming and she hid, she could lose her only opportunity to meet up with him. Nevertheless, she kept the door to the fiftieth storey at her back, just in case.

The man who came up the stairs was, to her satisfaction, indeed Pasta-Jacket. Stifling a laugh, she grinned at him, positive that she had made the right call earlier in assuming he was Orion in disguise. "I was wondering where you had gotten off to. Now, look, before you get all mad at me for being here, I'm sorry about the fight. You were right, I was being rude and I had no right to judge you without really trying to understand, first. Whatever it is you're here for, I want to help."

The man was quiet for a long moment, the beam of his borrowed flashlight forcing her to squint a little, just as hers did to him. Approaching slowly, he frowned. "I'm here for Miss Fitch, but what's that got to do with you?"

Nadia flinched; yeah, he was still mad. "Nothing, personally, I guess. I just wanted to make up for the way I acted. Come on, don't be mad, please?"

Now directly in front of her, Pasta-Jacket's expression was one of uncertainty. Taking a deep breath, his frown deepened. Leaning forward, he put one hand on her shoulder. "Look, lady, I have no idea what you're talking about, but the Boss wanted me to get to Miss Fitch and keep her safe, so that's what I'm going to do."

Nadia blinked once, twice, and then a third time, feeling her stomach fall out through the hole her embarrassment was rapidly burrowing through her insides. She had been so sure that this was Orion from the moment she had seen him, even when she had seen him talking with Burgess. What in the world was this guy even doing here, then?

The feeling of the man's grip on her shoulder tightening brought her back to reality; that and the feeling of his fist connecting with her stomach, causing the bruises on her side left over from her last struggle to throb in protest. Coughing, she staggered away from the punch, her back quickly meeting the cool, hard surface of the door behind her with a clicking, metallic sound that reminded her of the one pair of handcuffs still in her back pockets. Seeing Pasta-Jacket following her, she sucked in a lungful of air and twisted herself out of the way of his follow-up punch. Gripping the chain of the handcuffs in her pockets, she pulled them loose, snapping one end shut around the man's wrist before he could retract his arm. Lowering her shoulder, she ploughed into his chest, sending them both stumbling across the narrow landing. Feeling Pasta-Jacket colliding against the guide-rail, the only thing keeping them both from plummeting down the gap between each flight of stairs, she grabbed his arm with both hands and forced it down, towards the metal bars beneath the railing itself. Slamming the other end of the handcuffs closed on a pair of these, she collapsed backwards and scuttled back in a crab-walking position until she was safely out of reach.

Taking a few steadying breaths before attempting to stand, Nadia picked herself up off the hard surface of the concrete landing and nodded once in satisfaction. She was down a pair of handcuffs, but they had been a resource well spent so far as she was concerned. Still, with Pasta-Jacket tied up here, it was only a matter of time before someone else came along to help him out; she had to hurry. She only hoped that the real Orion had not already been and gone. Even if it was for no better reason than that she could really use a hand right now.
Chapter Thirty-Nine

The first detail Nadia noticed upon entering the fiftieth floor proper was the lighting. Most obviously, that there actually was light in the first place, but also that they were a dim, orange-toned affair. She could see without her flashlight, but the fact that everything now looked like her parent's house during every childhood Halloween she could remember gave it a surreal quality she wasn't wholly comfortable with. She half-expected a group of people in home-made paper masks to come leaping out at her from nowhere, fake blood spilling from their eyes while blasting prerecorded shrieks from their gaping mouths. Giving herself a shake, she let her eyes adjust to the weird tone of the light before getting her bearings.

The stairwell door had opened into a small hallway, the end of which she had already reached. The small passage opened up into a much larger space, reminiscent of a smaller-scale lobby, with the elevators set in the wall just to the left of the stairwell access. Across from the elevators was a desk set against a wall which, she assumed, served a similar purpose to the one on the floor below; this one, however, was a fair bit bigger, though in the half-light it was difficult to get very many other details about it. Running her hand over it, she confirmed it was indeed the same highly polished wood. Letting her curiosity guide her, she took a peek behind the counter and felt about in the shadowed space, her finger tracing the outline of a door set into the desk. A safe, perhaps? Stepping around the desk to shine her flashlight into the space directly, Nadia saw that the small door in question was slightly ajar. Stooping down, she opened the door further and grinned as she saw that her guess had been a little off. A mini-fridge. Huh. That's not a bad idea. With Fitch's penthouse upstairs, I suppose they would need a guard here around the clock. Stiffening as her reasoning reached its conclusion, she glanced around. But then... why is no one here now?

Once again feeling like she should be on the lookout for monsters of the cardboard cut-out variety, Nadia decided it was time to move on. Glancing to each end of the hall she was presently in, she saw the wall to the right of the security desk had an office door set into it. Taking a few steps backward, towards the elevators, she craned her neck and saw the beginnings of another door a little further up the hallway, suggesting that there were a series of offices similar to those on the floor below. Turning to the opposite wall, she saw just one door; shining her flashlight at it, she saw the words 'A. Coleman, President' on a small horizontal sign sticking outwards from the wall beside the entryway. I thought Fitch was the President? Or... CEO, whatever. Aren't they the same thing?

Frowning, she decided to take the hallway past Mr. Coleman's office, hoping to find a similar office bearing the correct name. She was disappointed, however, when she saw that the offices set in the wall past the corner one were just for other executives, like those she had seen on the previous floor. Sighing, she continued down the hallway, noting that the centre block of the floor contained three large, utterly dark rooms that she could see very little of; the glint of orange light off of a large whiteboard in each room suggested some kind of conference hall, however. The washrooms were set into the next corner she passed, though these she regarded with only vague interest. Emerging now in the hallway furthest from the elevators, she paused momentarily as she saw a second stairwell door sitting beside another elevator. Realizing that these must be the ways up to the penthouse on the top floor, she took a moment to crack the stairwell door open and listen; hearing more than a few unfamiliar voices from upstairs, she hastily closed the door again and hurried on her way. Whoever they were, they hadn't sounded like they were coming down just yet, but that didn't mean she had any desire to be here when they did.

Coming to the next corner, she flicked her flashlight on to survey the sign beside the door, feeling a small surge of satisfaction as she read 'G. Fitch, CEO' on it. Switching her flashlight back off, she opened the door slowly and saw a waiting area, complete with a secretary's desk and some padded seats connected together. Emerging into the room properly, she also saw a black and trim-looking couch tucked into the corner of the waiting room, which gave her momentary pause; she had never seen a designer couch before. She wondered, briefly, if it was meant to be slightly bent in the middle the way it was. Shrugging, she was about to flick her light back on to examine the room properly when she saw something that caught her attention.

The door that led from the waiting room into what she assumed was Fitch's office was a solid affair, oaken and without a window, but it had been left ajar. Even in the orange-toned state the entire floor was presently in, she could see the hints of a harsh, flickering red light in the gap between wood and wall. Shoving the flashlight into a back pocket, she hurried to the door and began easing it open. She saw some of the room's contents as she peered through the widening space, including a large, glass case set in the corner, though its contents were a mystery to her in the insufficient light of the orange strips. Steeling herself, she opened the door fully; afraid, but fairly certain, of what she would find inside. The truth of the situation did not disappoint those fears.

Giselle Fitch was lying, inert, on the floor. Most of her features were lost to Nadia, as the woman was hidden in the shadow of the man crouching over her, but her face... her face she could see. Her eyes were wide, but obscured by the red lights Nadia had seen the hints of from the other room, while her mouth hung open in a silent scream. The red lights, of course, were pouring from the eyes of the man hunkered down over her; they were twin streams of ethereal light, with wisps drifting away from the main flow every so often before bursting into miniature flashes of crimson. The orange light of the room seemed almost to shy away from the lights coming from his eyes. Perhaps it was the innate harshness of the colour, or perhaps it was something else, but it seemed that the only illumination allowed on Fitch's face was that which made her look to be painted with blood.

Squinting at the woman's face in the dark, Nadia rubbed at her eyes as she tried to pierce the sanguine haze. Remembering her flashlight, she pulled it free and shone it at the strange, somewhat grisly scene before her and felt her heart jump into her throat. The white, fluorescent light in her hand did not fare much better than the orange hued one had, but it provided enough clarity for her to see the face of Orion's victim properly. She knew Giselle Fitch was only in her thirties at most, perhaps early forties. The woman her flashlight revealed looked nothing like either of those age groups. Her skin was sagging, becoming lined with wrinkles and creases, as her eyes sunk further into her face and her mouth, still agape, became full of yellowing teeth. Her red hair was paling, too, her curls losing their vibrant colour even as they straightened and thinned.

Feeling her skin crawling madly, Nadia switched her flashlight off to spare herself the details of what was happening. Moments later, however, a new source of neutral light began to emanate, forcing her eyes to once again see the horrible scene before her unfolding; this new light, however, was a pale glow and appeared to be coming from Fitch's mouth. A misty, almost gaseous mass was beginning to seep from between her failing teeth, coiling and surging about in the recesses of her sagging cheeks like a snake that did not want to be dragged from its hole. Covering her mouth, more to prevent her nausea from coming to its natural conclusion, Nadia turned her flashlight back on and saw the woman's skin tone beginning to change to grey as her apparent ageing, now better described as withering, accelerated.

The ice crawling down her spine spurred Nadia into motion, shaking herself free of the roots her feet had been burrowing into the floor. Sprinting forward, she lowered her shoulder and barged into Orion, knocking them both sprawling. The torrent of red that had connected his eyes to Fitch's burst open, flooding the room with crimson lights, the most horrifying fireworks display Nadia could ever remember being witness to. The larger groups of lights snaked their way through the air and back into Orion's eyes as he lay on the ground, chest heaving as he seemed to come back to himself; concern for Fitch's well-being, however, was first in Nadia's mind. Shining her light onto the woman, she saw what had been done to her slowly beginning to reverse. Her skin regained its elasticity and became smooth and firm once more, while her hair seemed almost to curl itself with invisible irons, even as it became loudly red again. With the reversal complete, the older woman seemed to deflate into an utterly limp state. Nadia was relieved, however, to hear the faint sounds of even breathing coming from her mouth and nose; she had only fallen asleep.

Rounding on the man she had come here to find, she pointed back at Giselle. "The hell was that? Were you seriously going to just suck her dry?"

Straightening up, Orion rotated the shoulder Nadia had collided with. "Yes. She would not have told me the things I wished to know and so I was forced to extract them another way."

"And that makes it all right to put soul on your dinner menu? And not the fish, you know what I mean."

He growled. "Miss Lawson, I am in no mood for a continuation of our previous conversation. Because of you, much of the information I had gleaned from her mind is lost, or scattered. Furthermore, you have followed me all the way here, increasing the risks that we will be caught. Your stubborn, insistent desire to put yourself in positions of great danger baffles me."

Nadia giggled quietly, causing the man's eyebrows to arch upwards. "Thomas said that a lot, too."

He sighed, but she could tell his anger was fading. She took a few deep breaths herself; now really wasn't the best time to be arguing with him over his methods, anyway. "All right, I'll admit I jumped in without thinking it over, but I couldn't let you go through with killing the poor woman. I don't think I'm ever going to be okay with your 'extracting' from people; not if you do it that way, at least. Couldn't you just have taken the information, you know, gently? Like you did with me? It seems a lot... I don't know, 'better' sounds like such an inadequate word, but that's the one I'm going with."

He rolled his eyes, a much more noticeable action in the half-light. "No, I could not have, Miss Lawson. You were willing to allow my intrusion. She was not. And, as I said, because of your interruption, what information I could gather from her is now almost entirely lost, aside from some vague recollections."

She crossed her arms. "I would apologize, but I still feel pretty justified for doing it."

His red eyes met hers in the dark, and then glanced away as he sighed. "Perhaps it was for the best. I did not find a great deal of information in her mind to begin with." Shaking his head, he looked back at her. "But enough about this; what are you doing here, Miss Lawson? I had thought our last conversation would have been just that, our last."

It was Nadia's turn to sigh, but she held her gaze firm instead of looking away. "Well... I wasn't happy with how it went. I want a do-over."

Orion blinked once or twice at her in apparent consternation. "A 'do-over'?"

"You heard me," she confirmed. "I want to try it again. I admit I was acting childish and pretty rudely, besides. But you really don't give a girl much to go on, you know? You don't communicate very well at all and that makes it hard to know how to talk to you."

He seemed to think this over. "I suppose not. But... is this really the most opportune time, or location, for such a conversation?"

"Fair enough," she conceded. "But... later? For the do-over, I mean?"

"Later," he agreed, nodding slowly.

Feeling some optimism seeping back into her, Nadia grinned, but paused as a thought struck her. "How did you get in here, anyway? I was sure you were pretending to be Pasta-Jacket, but I had to handcuff him to a railing after he punched me in the stomach."

Orion coughed, quietly. "It is not important."

She frowned at him; he was being evasive, again. "See, this is what I'm talking about, you've got too many secrets and... why aren't you asking me where I got a pair of handcuffs? I mean, it's not something I typically carry around and you're familiar with me so you would already know that, which means... it isn't new information. You already know how I got them."

He winced, but said nothing; unfortunately for him, the glow emanating from his eyes made his expressions painfully obvious, even in the dim light. Spotting his reaction, Nadia pointed a finger at him, her mouth temporarily agape as she put two and two together. "You were that guard! You fought with me; you handcuffed me to a chair!"

Orion sighed. "You were not supposed to be here. And I did leave the keys for the handcuffs behind deliberately so that you could manage an escape."

Nadia socked him in the arm. "You scared me half to death! I thought I was busted for sure and you were just playing a part? Not cool, mister. Not cool."

He shrugged. "I did what I had to do to ensure your safety, without compromising my disguise."

Placing one hand on her hip, she used the other to poke his chest. "You could have just told me who you were, you know."

He smiled quietly. "Would you have believed me?"

She sighed. "I guess not. I was pretty sure you were Pasta-Jacket, at the time."

The smile became more smug. "You see?"

"Yeah, all right, fine. So, what's our plan for getting out of here?"

Any response Orion might have made was cut off prematurely as the phone on Miss Fitch's desk began ringing; moments later, the device switched itself on, immediately going to speaker phone. A silky smooth voice, dripping with self-assurance, came over the line, "Pardon the interruption, my little mice. This is your host speaking. I don't know about you and let's be honest, I don't really care, but I think it's time we had a little chat."
Chapter Forty

Having frozen in mid-step when the black, angular hunk of plastic had begun emitting the man's voice, it took the pair of still-conscious people in Giselle's office a moment to formulate a response. And, true to form, it was Nadia who came up with something to say the fastest; she was not, after all, in the habit of letting herself be talked down to.

"Depends on what you want to chat about. Why don't we start with your name, so we know what to call you? Other than something rude, I mean."

The voice seemed amused by her response, at least in the way an adult might find a child's attitude entertaining. "You're a feisty one, aren't you? Which must mean that I'm speaking with Miss Lawson. Tyrone's told me all about you and what he didn't tell me, I've already found out."

Planting a hand on her hip, Nadia felt herself bristling. "And what have you learned, exactly?"

She could almost picture the man opening up some kind of file on her and reading from it. "Well, let me see. Five foot seven, green eyes that could stop a charging bull at twenty paces, black hair that's usually up in a ponytail, with a pleasing neck and waistline. Not a bad figure, either, if I may say so. It's a shame that we can't be friends, you might just be able to make some of my present associates jealous."

She felt her skin crawling at the notion. "Then I'm glad we'll never be friends."

"Never say never, Miss Lawson."

"Never," she re-iterated, as clearly and finally as possible. "I just don't get along with sleazy, arrogant creeps like you who expect everyone around them to just bend over backwards for them."

The man laughed quietly. "That certainly explains why I struck out so quickly. Shame. But let's face it, you're a small fry here and I'm not interested in speaking with you just now. Be a good girl and go sit in the corner while the adults talk, hmm?"

Orion visibly flinched as Nadia let that last remark process. "Say that again."

The man's tone became a deliberately challenging one; he was definitely enjoying this a little too much. "I said shoo, fly, don't bother me."

Oh, that does it. Marching up to the phone, she leaned in close to the device. Pursing her lips, she sucked in a deep breath and loosed the shrillest whistle she could possibly manage. Hearing the voice on the other end cursing audibly as his ear was assailed by the noise, then the satisfying thud of him dropping the phone, Nadia moved around and sat in Giselle's chair; she was smiling rather smugly and was evidently pleased with herself. It had not been the most adult of responses, admittedly, but she would take her satisfaction where she could get it. She took a little extra heart from seeing Orion covering his mouth to hide his own amusement at what she had done. It wasn't often she could get the man to crack a smile, after all.

Taking a moment to compose himself, the man on the other end was soon back and as smooth as silk once more. "I suppose I should congratulate you on your originality, Miss Lawson. Perhaps I will be able to return the favour in future. In any case; the cameras I have hidden in that office caught your friend's little display a few minutes ago. He is the one I want to speak with and I know he's there. Could you get him to speak a little, perhaps? You could double dog dare him, since you're so keen on the games of children?"

Seeing Nadia beginning to bristle again, Orion cleared his throat. "I am here."

"Ah, excellent; finally someone I can speak reasonably with. Now, I have some questions for you, if you would be kind enough to answer them? It might just buy your playmate a safe way out of the building."

The crimson-eyed man stepped closer to the phone, looking thoughtful. Glancing at Nadia, who was still looking displeased at having been dismissed, he smiled quietly to himself as the beginnings of an idea planted themselves in his thoughts. Pulling up a seat, the very same one that Burgess had used earlier, though of course he didn't know that, he sat across from her. "Perhaps I will answer some of them, though I doubt very much that it will buy either of us any favours."

The man on the other end seemed to enjoy this response. "It's a rare pleasure, you know, talking with someone who is at least in my ballpark intellectually. You know how this works; I'll ask you questions, you'll try to get some answers of your own out of me while you do and we'll see where we end up. I think I'm going to en-"

The man was cut off as Orion, duplicating Nadia's stunt, whistled shrilly into the phone's speaker, opting for a two finger whistle instead of simply pursing his lips; needless to say, Nadia was as immensely pleased as the unnamed man was immensely agitated by this display of solidarity and her giggling nearly drowned out the fellow's second bout of rampant profanity. This time, however, he did not take a moment to compose himself before returning to the conversation.

"All right, you little insect, you're going to tell me what I want to know, or I'll have the team of armed men upstairs get a move on and put an end to you that much sooner. I've seen what you do with your eyes; I know you're a Veil-dweller. Who do you work for? The Rainmaker? Those pathetic, bloodsucking wretches that hide their faces from the sun? Speak up, don't be shy!"

Orion blinked once or twice, but kept his pause down to the briefest of moments. "I work best alone, frankly. I have had several... associates in the past, but we rarely co-operate well. Typically, only one of us can ever be in charge at any one time."

The man's voice curled itself into a sneering, scornful thing. "That sounds awfully small-time to me; it's a shame, too, you're not half bad if you can keep Tyrone guessing. Still, he is only human."

"I have not had the chance to meet the man personally, but I have had second-hand reports of his talents. He is quite the physically imposing specimen, from what I hear."

"He is that," the voice replied, just a little too genially. "But, see, I'm still not quite buying that you don't work with someone more actively. With your particular talent it would be easy enough to hide your affiliations; I imagine that you think it will be equally simple to disguise your escape from this building. Let me assure you, it won't be. I've gone to some lengths to be sure of it. So do co-operate a little more, there's bound to be something you can say that will surprise me."

Orion smiled quietly. "Perhaps there is. As it stands, however, you seem to be the one who is giving me the information I am lacking."

"Please," the voice scoffed dismissively. "I haven't told you anything a Veil-dweller wouldn't already know; did you really think I would make an amateur mistake like getting mad and spouting out all of my secrets?"

"No," Orion conceded, though he maintained a quiet smile. "I suppose I did not. Still, it seems we are not getting very far with this particular conversation. You are convinced that I work for someone and am not telling you to protect my accomplices; I am convinced that you are a blustering, self-obsessed man who has some manner of insecurity that requires him to constantly talk down to everyone else just to remind himself of his delusions of grandeur."

The laughter from the other side of the phone sounded more than a little forced, just as the playful remark that followed it did. "Oh, that was good. Now say it five times fast."

Orion elected not to rise to this particular bait; the man was more than content to continue on without any feedback from his audience. "No? Well, that's fine, too. Let me tell you something, whoever you are. I have no delusions of grandeur; only grandeur itself. I have spent a great deal of time building my empire into what it is today. And what it is, simply put, is the largest, most powerful, most expansive series of corporations and connections on the face of the planet. I influence governments, hold entire cartels of crime lords in the palm of my hand. If this world has any one master, then I am the closest to deserving that title."

The crimson-eyed man felt another quiet smile sliding onto his features. "That was quite a speech. Now say it five times fast."

There was a long, audible pause as the man on the other end fell silent. When he returned to the conversation, there was no ranting, no grand tones, not even his usual arrogant humour. There was only a soft, quietly fuming tone that suggested this conversation was not quite going the way he had wanted. "I grow weary of the disrespect the pair of you have shown me. I will give you one, final chance to understand who it is you have angered before I leave you. Take notice of the glass case set into the corner of Miss Fitch's office, if you please."

Nadia, already facing the correct direction, shone her flashlight at the corner in question; the light illuminated its contents, though she wasn't quite sure what to make of them. They seemed like part of a decorative costume to her; leather straps dangling from a pair of large, feathery sheathes for one's arms. The feathers were a white-grey and somewhat ragged, while the leather looked worn and used. In any case, they seemed terribly old. "All right, it's noticed; what about your oversized chicken wings? Is there another case around here with the suit?"

Orion seemed more fascinated by them than she was which gave her a moment's pause. The man she had directed the jibe at did not seem to notice this, however. "There is no suit to accompany these. Those wings were crafted long ago by one of the greatest mortal craftsman to ever have lived, along with a second pair for his fool of a son. That is how far my influence reaches; something from one of your mortal myths made real and put on display for all to see."

Nadia was nonplussed by the man's explanation; she enjoyed myths and history as much as the next person, but this one wasn't ringing any bells. And anyway, the idea of putting things on display simply was a bit beyond her. Orion, however, covered his mouth with his hand and then, when he could no longer hold it in, began outwardly laughing, earning him a curious look from the other side of the desk and a stony silence from their unseen host, broken only by a curt question.

"What is so funny, insect?"

"I... I apologize," Orion managed to gasp out, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. "I just had not realized how much of a blowhard you really were. Did you enjoy your private jokes so much that you had to make so many?"

The ice in the man's voice grew from a few cubes to something more threatening to passing ships. "I don't think I follow you."

Orion smiled, for it was his turn to be smug. He was sure of his conclusions, now. "I imagine not. You thought you were clever, too clever for anyone to see your subtle humour and understand it for what it was. But I know you for what you are. This corporation, Icarus Development Incorporated, named after the boy who dared to fly too close to the sun, but in mockery instead of homage. The pair of wings you had placed in this very office, made by Daedalus, the father of that same child, as a further insulting trophy. The name of the corporation you head that owns this one, Mytikas Multinational, named after the highest peak of Mount Olympus. Oh, yes, the clues were there for all to see. And when I began to take notice of them, I understood that, whoever had placed them there had done so purposefully. You wanted these clues to stare the world in the face because you believed that no one would piece them together as anything more than a series of similarly thematic names. Tell me; did you derive so much satisfaction from holding your secret out beneath the collective nose of others? Are you truly so childish that you would prance about taunting the world that you knew something it did not?"

The man seemed startled and, with no forthcoming response apparent, it was Orion's turn to continue without interruption. "But the thing that convinced me most of your identity, that confirmed all of those suspicions, was the arrogance you have displayed during our conversation tonight. You honestly believe that none is higher in stature than yourself, that all things are beneath you, that all involved with you live and grow because of your involvement. Like the sun itself, if it were given the form to walk amongst us. How fortunate you are, then, that your identity suits your demeanour so very well. Or am I incorrect in my assumptions, Apollo Helios?"

Nadia felt her eyes widening, but kept herself quiet for the moment; so, too, did their host, for the longest time. After a full minute had passed, he seemed to gather himself, though it was clear in his voice that he was not unaffected by the unveiling of these revelations. "Who are you, really?"

Chuckling quietly, Orion leaned over the heavy, wooden desk until he was speaking directly into the phone and dropped his voice to little more than a whisper. "That would be telling."

Before the man could say anything else, Orion's fingers deftly removed the jack from the phone, hopefully silencing their conversation permanently. Turning back to Nadia, who was presently trying to wrap her head around the idea of having been speaking with an ancient Greek sun deity, he smiled with a solemn satisfaction. "We had best prepare ourselves, Miss Lawson. Unless I am very much mistaken, I have just made our host rather upset."
Chapter Forty-One

Nadia stared, flabbergasted, at her companion; mostly because of the direction the conversation with their formerly anonymous host had taken, but partly because of the staggering understatement he had just made. "Isn't it a little late for that? I'm pretty sure we're past the part where we get prep time."

Orion nodded, his customary seriousness coming back to the fore. "Yes, you are quite correct. Our first priority should be a plan of escape. Fortunately, our opponent has provided us with a readily exploitable option."

She cocked her head to one side, honestly preferring the idea that he just tell her what he meant, given their deficit of time to play guessing games in. "And that would be?"

Walking to the glass case in the corner of the room, he placed his hand against the translucent box and nodded at Daedalus' aged handiwork inside. "These."

The surge of confidence she had hoped would result from his idea did not materialize. "You want to jump out of a fifty story building wearing those? They're old, ratty and, let's be honest here; we don't even know they're really the wings you think they are."

"Yes, we do," he replied smoothly and without so much as missing a beat.

Nadia had to admit, his serene confidence was baffling, and just the tiniest bit annoying. "All right, Confucius, enlighten me."

"Because of Apollo. He placed them here, deliberately, not because wings were symbolic of Icarus, but because of his personal connection to the matter. Icarus, in his youthful audacity, flew too close to the sun, which was, at the time, considered to be the realm of the gods and not of man. The wax holding the feathers of his wings in place melted and he fell; these wings, then, are the only surviving pair of the two sets made and are the nearest thing to a trophy Apollo would be able to find."

Listening to his explanation did little to sway her on the matter. "But why would he care if some kid flew too high? What's it got to do with him?"

Orion smiled patiently. "It has nothing to do with Apollo himself, technically, you are right. However, he was associated with the sun in certain circles and, I had believed, it was only a matter of time before he found some way of taking the role of solar deity from Helios, who was one of the Titans. As he did not correct me when I used it as his last name, I assume this has already come to pass. Do you see?"

She swore she could hear a faint whistling sound as the point flew over her head, even as she grasped at it. "I'm not completely sure. You're saying he's literally the sun, and so Icarus' attempt to fly so high was a personal challenge?"

"No, not quite," he emended. "I am saying that, since supplanting Helios and taking on his name and title, Apollo fancies himself as representative of the sun. It is a personal affectation more than an actual reality, though where the Olympians and Titans are concerned there is often some manner of real connection."

Nadia felt herself beginning to scoff. "So it's more to do with his ego than anything else? He went out of his way to find these wings, just so he can take a shot at some kid who died like three thousand years ago?"

"Yes," he replied, simply. "Apollo was often somewhat vain. I am not familiar with his present state of mind, but I suspect the long centuries have not changed that particular fact. Given the elaborate lengths he claims to have gone to in order to secure his dominance, I would imagine he has grown even more attached to the notion of his own magnificence. After all, the surest way to know one is superior to others is to have a great many people present to look on your achievements and tell you so."

Feeling herself frowning, she shrugged. "All right, the guy's completely egotistical, I'm with you on that one. I'm still doubting the wings will fly, but I'll believe that they're the genuine article, if only because he's had a hell of a lot of time to put into finding them."

Orion chuckled. "That will do. For now, however, I need to ask you for a favour."

Getting up from Giselle's chair with the creak of well-used leather, Nadia moved to lean against the side of the desk. "All right, shoot."

Moving to the office door, her companion tapped the glass case once again, the reflection of the orange-lit room jumping slightly at the vibrations. "I need you to free these from their rest without damaging them. They may very well be our only means of escape. If Apollo was telling the truth about having forces a floor above us-"

"He was," Nadia supplied. "I heard voices coming from upstairs while I was trying to find this office. There was a separate stairway and elevator to get up to the penthouse level, so that's where they'll be coming from."

Orion nodded. "Then it is very likely that their first order of business will be to make sure that stairwell is no longer a viable escape route for us, as it was for you and Thomas the last time you were here. And, with the power out, that leaves us with a woefully inadequate number of options; which total exactly none, save for these wings."

Nadia fidgeted involuntarily at the mental image of throwing herself from a window and flailing her arms rapidly in a crazed attempt to gain altitude. "I'm against it, but I see your point. I don't suppose I can convince you to look around for alternatives?"

Attempting his best approximation of reassurance, Orion smiled. "You can, actually. I will need to buy you some time as it is, I suspect that our armed adversaries are already on their way. If I see a means for us to make our escape more safely, I will be sure to inform you of it."

She nodded, returning the smile. "I'll hold you to that, mister. And be careful, all right?"

"If I am injured, I will be sure to change to an undamaged form, Miss Lawson. As much as I detest wasting my reserve of essence, we are well beyond the point where I can afford to be picky."

"That's not what I mean," she began, pausing for a moment to swallow down her nerves; she wanted to be serious, at least for a minute or two. "Look, I get that I'm sheltered, so I behave a little childishly sometimes."

A look from Orion prompted a sigh from her. "Okay, I behave more than a little childishly sometimes. But I notice things; like what you just said, for example. If you're injured, you can just change out of the damaged form like it's a torn sweater. And yes, I know, the cost is high, because of what getting damaged too often forces you to do. But, I'm wondering..."

He tilted his head slightly, sensing that she was having trouble getting her words to come. "It is all right, Miss Lawson. Speak your mind."

She fidgeted with a frown. "Well, the way you said it bugs me. 'I will be sure to change'. Like it's something you need to consciously do, not a survival reflex. It isn't automatic, is it? Anything that can kill you without giving you the chance to start that change is just as lethal to you as it would be to anyone else."

Her companion's silence was all the answer she needed, though she wasn't exactly thrilled with this particular discovery. "I won't say anything. Just make sure to get back here in one piece."

Nodding slowly, she saw the smile on his face tinge with an emotion she had not seen there before. Unfortunately, in the less-than-adequate light of their present location, she wasn't sure quite which emotion it was. "I will do my best, Miss Lawson."

Passing through the doorway of Fitch's office, then through the waiting area immediately outside of it, Orion emerged back into the halls at a cautious pace. Nadia had been quite correct; he knew very well that men armed with guns posed a threat that not even his healing ability was able to make light of. Fortunately, he saw no such individuals present in the halls just yet, though he held no illusions of them not arriving shortly.

Frowning, he weighed his options in their entirety. He could attempt to face the men himself, which was not an appealing option considering his habits and reflexes were mostly suited for hiding and not an open brawl. It would cost him dearly, as well, in terms of losing essence and he would almost certainly need to drain someone else of theirs as soon as possible to recover what he would use in healing from his injuries. He briefly wondered if he might be able to escape now, if he could somehow make it to the stairwell before the armed men did, but quickly pushed the idea aside. In the first place, it was extremely unlikely that they were Apollo's only plan to stop him, but more importantly he would not leave Nadia here to save his own skin. This last thought stuck in his thoughts, for a moment, mostly because it was unusual of him to place others before his continued survival. He supposed he had become rather fond of the young woman during their time together. It had been a long time since he had had anyone he would call a friend, let alone one that he was willing to put himself at risk for. And what a time I have chosen to change that habit, too.

With his choices rapidly boiling down to the unpleasant decisions of where and how to engage the enemy, risking his own safety in the hopes of a favourable outcome, one other choice presented itself. Surprisingly, especially to Orion himself, this particular dilemma had a clear solution. This day was, it seemed, going to be one for breaking precedents. Resolved, he turned himself to the right and marched down the hall between the CEO's office and the bathrooms. Passing the stairwell and inoperable elevator leading to the penthouse, above, he stole a glance up into the barely illuminated darkness. Breathing a sigh of relief when he neither heard nor saw any evidence of approach, he hurried on his way past the closed doors. Unknowingly, he was scant seconds ahead of those above emerging into the stairwell to make their descent; he had precious little time to put his plan into motion.

Entering the Men's room, just to the left of the Women's, he took a moment to take in his surroundings. The first and most noticeable thing was that it was better lit than the rest of the level; he supposed this was because of the wall-length mirror set over the sinks reflecting some of the orange light back out into the room, though of course everything still carried the same orange taint. The floor was a dark, speckled tile with a nearly invisible grout between each square, while the walls were a smooth, hardwood affair. The stalls were a silver-toned metal, but done in professional style. The sinks, which he now moved towards, were a series of six wide, porcelain basins with large, flanged handles on either side of a tall, arching faucet, all set in a dark, chestnut counter. All in all, it was clear that the design for this part of the building had been made to impress, no matter where you looked.

Grabbing the left-hand knob, Orion twisted it as far around as it would go, letting the water take itself from lukewarm to a steam-producing heat. Moving down the line of sinks, he did the same to each, and then stepped back for a moment to wait. Watching the aforementioned mirror, a large, rectangular affair set on the wall and stretching the entire length of the counter, begin to fog up, he took a deep breath; there was no turning back after this. Moving up to the mirror, he used his index finger to begin drawing on the moistened, reflective surface. Stepping back once more, his appearance began to shift.

His tattered, well-worn clothing became crisp and new, though the overall use of dark colours remained. His shirt became red, while a black, trim jacket appeared over it, even as a bow tie fit itself in place around his neck. His shoes, so tattered they were nearly falling from his feet, became the polished footwear of the working world and his frayed pants were traded for slacks so smooth they could have been ironed minutes before. But, somehow, that just wasn't enough. Conjuring a top hat with a red band, despite it being somewhat out of place with his more business-like attire, the man set the object onto his dark brown hair with a satisfied flourish. A pair of hazel eyes studied the words spelled out on the mirror, even as he adjusted the hat's position to his liking. Armed men coming. Nadia in CEO's office, has escape route. Do not abandon her. Nodding approvingly at his blurred, orange-toned reflection in the mirror as though he could actually make out the details of his appearance, the man turned from the mirror, feeling a broad grin breaking out across his face.

"It's about time I got some appreciation around here. I was starting to think nobody liked me."
Chapter Forty-Two

"Hurry it up, will you, Boss?"

Burgess glared at his whining underling as best he could by the light of the pair of flashlights held by the man sitting in front of him. Jason had, naturally, radioed down to them for help after he had been handcuffed to the railing supports on the fiftieth floor by Lawson, but their task of locking up the floors below had delayed their arrival by some minutes. Of course, knowing this had not stopped him from complaining constantly throughout the time he had been obliged to wait for their arrival.

The big man was, at the moment, flipping through his keys in search of the one that would free Jason from the cuffs and himself from Jason's incessant noise. "And whose fault is it that you're in this bind in the first place, Jason?"

The beanpole of a man leaped to his own defence in his usual accusatory way. "That damned Lawson, that's who. How was I supposed to know she had a pair of handcuffs on her?"

A second, even more threatening, glare from Tyrone quieted his protests before he could dig himself any deeper into the hole he was already in. "Mine," he admitted reluctantly. "I should have tried to surprise her or called down to you guys and waited for help."

Murakami, keeping an eye on the hallway leading into the main portion of their present floor, smiled in quiet amusement at the awkward conversation unfolding behind her. Since she was not facing the correct direction, she had to imagine what the scene would look like; curiously, she kept picturing her superior as a large adolescent, helping a smaller boy up off the street and chiding him for his recklessness. She knew it was far too tender a rendition of Mr. Burgess, but that only seemed to make it harder to push from her mind.

She was brought out of her imaginings when Tyrone cleared his throat. "Murakami. I asked you if you saw anything."

"Oh," she managed, hoping that her hasty stall would buy her a moment's grace. Squinting her eyes to get the best impression she could of the poorly lit, remarkably orange, space ahead of them. "No, Sir, though I can't see too well with only the emergency lights on."

"Yeah, they aren't my first choice, either," her superior admitted, before his attention was brought back to the cuffs on their third member's wrists as he tried another key. With a small, almost demure click, the metal bands released Jason's wrists, prompting an annoyed, yet satisfied, grunt from Tyrone. Standing, the big man grabbed his subordinate by the front of his shirt and hauled him upright at the same time. Suddenly placed back on two feet, Jason staggered about for a moment before finding his balance, as well as his confidence. Grinning widely, he was halfway through the door into the half-lit level before he remembered what had gotten him into trouble in the first place and, sheepishly, waited for the giant and his second in command to precede him.

Hiding her smile behind a forced expression of seriousness, Murakami went first; pausing at the end of the hall to get the lay of the land. Around the corner, she saw the area between the elevators and security desk was empty. Stepping out into the open space, Tyrone followed, one giant hand automatically pressing itself over Jason's mouth as the man began opening it to say something. With the silence preserved, they stood there for a moment and simply listened for a minute or two. They heard nothing whatsoever to begin with, but as their ears adjusted, they caught the faint sound of a voice. It wasn't nearby, they couldn't make out anything it was saying, but it was definitely on the same floor as they were.

Giving Jason a stern look to ensure he knew to remain silent, Tyrone released the man's loosely hinged noisemaker from his grip and moved to the right-hand hallway. Having worked in the building for months already, Murakami already knew what Jason had to trust them on; specifically, that the CEO's office was on the corner at the end of this particular hallway. Moving as quickly as they could without making an undue amount of noise, they passed four executive offices on their right, while the three central boardrooms that occupied the floor's centre block went by on their left. Coming up on the corner office, they saw the door was already ajar, which concerned both of the three who were actually paying attention. Jason, demonstrating his usual focus, had opened the door to the boardroom they had just passed and was poking his head about inside.

Ignoring him, Tyrone strode out past the corner of the centre block and, glancing down the hallway to his left, found himself shoulder-to-faces with six armed individuals. Feeling his heart skip a beat, he took a deep breath and turned fully to face them. A quick look further down the hall confirmed that six others were just disappearing around the far corner; the teams from upstairs had begun their operations. They were outfitted for their work, too. Each wore a helmet with a chinstrap, though it left their faces exposed, as well as a bulletproof vest complete with a combat knife in a downward-facing shoulder sheathe. A belt completed their utilitarian ensemble, sporting a sidearm and several other pouches, likely full of miscellaneous tools of their trade. Burgess was no fool; he was big, but six armed men with rifles trained on his chest cavity were more than he could handle barehanded. He had no more time to spend evaluating the situation, however, as the moment of mutual surprise brought on by the two parties' suddenly coming across one another was rapidly ending.

Pointing their weapons at the big man, the soldiers took a step or two back, with every one of them shouting simultaneous orders at him. All in all, it was a very sudden, very loud display that essentially boiled down to the only word he could make out amidst the garbled din. This was, of course; "Freeze!" Looking down at the six men, Tyrone found his eyes repeatedly drawn to the barrels of their assault rifles. With his size no protection from that many bullets, particularly at close range, he took the first idea that popped into his head that, he hoped, would not result in his being riddled with holes and metal.

"Stand down, soldiers; I am Tyrone Burgess, Security Chief of this building and I am ordering you to put down your weapons! We are on the same side!"

What resulted from this attempt was, from Murakami's vantage point, half-hidden behind the corner with Jason behind her, rather akin to a shouting match. Mr. Burgess' noncompliance triggered another round of shouted orders from the six armed and armoured men, which led back to her superior reiterating his commands, though at a greater volume. She could tell, though, that the men were hesitating in making the call to shoot him; from the conversation she had overheard between their client and their commander, they likely thought that Mr. Burgess would be downstairs by now. They weren't sure whether they were meant to include him in their 'purge' or not, which was buying the big man precious seconds. Even more fortunately, the other six soldiers did not come back around the corner, clearly believing that the other team could handle the disturbance as they continued on their own sweep of the offices in their respective hallway.

The loud, verbal exchange continued for a minute or so, until everyone was essentially screaming at the top of their lungs, when something distracted them. A dark object flew past overhead, in much the same way that a Frisbee would; the emergency lights did not do a very good job of illuminating it, but a coloured band could be seen glinting a reddish-orange throughout its flight. The spinning object sailed by before colliding with the hard surface of the wall and bouncing harmlessly off of it, coming to rest on the floor. Much less harmlessly was that, in the space of time it took for the top hat, for that was what it was, to fly overhead, the man that had thrown it had been tending to other things. Walking up behind the armed individuals, he pulled the sidearm from the rearmost soldier's belt and, placing the weapon directly against its intended target, shot the second rearmost soldier in the left-hand side of his throat. Galvanized into motion by the sudden, barking retort of the firearm, the four soldiers ahead of the rear two had whirled about, firing reflexively. Unfortunately, they found that the man who had just had his pistol stolen was being used as a human shield by the thief; a fact that, much to their and his dismay, they realized only after having fired half a dozen rounds each into the poor fellow. Of course, his bulletproof vest was designed to stave off the bite of bullets not specifically made to pierce armour and the first shot or two merely knocked the wind from him, but the brief rain of steel he had been subjected to had quickly punched through the protective layer.

Letting his perforated human shield slump to the floor, the man was revealed to be wearing a business-like suit, though the soldiers only noted this because it meant he wore no protective vest of his own. Raising his pistol again, the man was prevented from firing by a second, less ally-impaired salvo of shots from the four remaining soldiers, all aimed squarely at his chest cavity. With several dozen grams of metal having passed through his lungs, heart and other vital organs, the suited thief promptly slumped to the ground as limply as a wet noodle. The wet thud of his collapse onto the, now rather stained, floor was the third body to collapse in a seven second interval. A much harder thud, with the faintest potential of being a crunch, caused the two soldiers that had been in the centre of the group to spin back around to face the giant they had nearly forgotten was behind them; the hulking fellow had taken the helmeted heads of the two soldiers nearest him, one in each hand, and brought the sides of their heads sharply together. Reeling from the impact, felt even through their protective headgear, the men swooned in individual fits of vertigo as their companions turned and raised their weapons.

With their comrades impeding their line of fire yet again, the two soldiers in the middle began to step backwards; deciding a retreat to put more distance between themselves and their opposition was a wiser move than risking the lives of their comrades. This decision, of course, was based on the idea that the only threat to them was the imposing figure of Tyrone Burgess. They had not noticed the supposedly dead man they had fired upon quietly removing the combat knives from their two fallen comrades on the ground beside him. They did, however, notice as he stuck one of the knives into the back of the left-hand soldier's leg, just above the knee, forcing him to come shrieking to the floor. The second knife was promptly buried in the man's neck, even as the bloodied, walking corpse of a man raised the pistol he had used before to the underside of the right-hand man's jaw. Pulling the trigger, the man's head jerked back violently, holding him perfectly upright for exactly two seconds before he crumpled to the floor to join the rest of his squad. Raising an eyebrow at the man in the bloodied business suit, Burgess seized the dazed guards once again and struck their heads together a second time, sending them crumpling to the floor, unconscious.

Coming around the corner, Murakami and Jason beheld the blood-stained stretch of hallway; it was only a few feet across, of course, but the space of time it had taken to end four lives had seemed entirely insufficient. Stooping down carefully, the woman of Asian descent gave the nearest soldier that had been shot a hesitant push, as if expecting him to stand up and take issue with the disturbance. The man that had come to their assistance had another method of testing the fallen for signs of life; he kicked each soldier sharply in the forehead. This practice quickly forced Murakami to stand to one side, simultaneously trying to hold in her indignation towards the man's disrespectful methods and her nausea at the moist crunching noises his actions elicited from the necks of the recently deceased. She was particularly disgusted when her internal count of the horrible noises climbed past four to include the two guards Burgess had left alive and found herself covering her mouth involuntarily.

Tyrone, less concerned about respect for the dead than he was the welfare of the living, grunted as the smaller man confirmed their opposition was down; he knew the other team would be here any minute now that the first had gone silent, but the last thing they wanted was someone playing possum to surprise them from behind. Satisfied that this was not going to be a problem, he nodded curtly at their surprise assistant. "Black."

The hazel-eyed man grinned up at him, his clothes already shifting to a fresh suit devoid of bullet holes, prompting the eyes of the three individuals before him to widen somewhat. "Burgess! What a nice surprise! What were the odds of seeing you here, huh?"

Quite unprepared for the mercenary's jovial mood, or blatant display of his unnatural ability, Tyrone was left without much of a response. "I work here."

Black, apparently quite relaxed about all of this, wiped his shoes clear of blood on a clean patch of floor. "Do you? Huh. I had forgotten that. Well, I would apologize for the mess, but let's face it; these guys were going to fill you with holes in a few seconds. You can hold your applause, by the way, the other six will be back before you know it now that they're missing men. You had best be getting to whatever you're up here for."

Snapping out of the haze the man's bizarre behaviour had put him in, Tyrone nodded. "Right, yeah. We're looking for Giselle Fitch, the CEO. You seen her?"

The wiry fellow shrugged. "No, not personally, but I've got a funny feeling that we'll find the lady I've been left to guard in the same place. I suppose that means we're going the same way."

"Left to guard?" Murakami repeated. "What does that mean? Left to guard her by whom?"

Black chuckled quietly, apparently enjoying whatever inside joke he was making. "Never you mind that, lady. Just to be sure, though, I take it you three are not going to force me to shoot you, too?"

Tyrone shrugged. "I can't see any reason to. Not at the moment, anyway. My employer's hired gunmen are stalking the halls and will be trying to kill all of us, now, so we stand a better chance of getting out of this in one piece if we work together."

More than satisfied with the big man's reasoning, Black gave an only slightly mocking bow and motioned towards the door to the CEO's office, set in the crook of the same corner they were presently standing in, smiling broadly. "Then, by all means, after you; Sir, Ma'am... and Pasta-Jacket."

His concern for Giselle's safety overriding his doubts surrounding Black's sanity, or trustworthiness, Tyrone strode to the door as quickly as his legs would carry him. Murakami, still disgusted by the man's disrespectful attitude and dissatisfied with his evasive answers, followed behind her superior with a disapproving glance thrown over her shoulder at Black. Jason, not one to be left behind, simply scowled at the use of Lawson's nickname for him as he tagged along. Black brought up the rear, idly tracing the places on his person where he had been shot, prior to whisking the injuries away by shifting his appearance and attire. All aimed at the vital organs in his chest, with not one, single bullet aimed at his head. And why should there have been? Anyone who had been properly trained to use a gun knew that a human being without some type of bulletproof armour on could be killed with a body shot just as easily as by a shot to the head; plus, it was a larger area to target and, consequently, easier to hit at a distance. And anyway, the chance that a prisoner might have information of value to you was worth more than a corpse, in most cases.

Finished with his self-inspection and grinning to himself with profound satisfaction, he followed the other three into Giselle Fitch's office, musing aloud to himself the thing that had him so utterly pleased with the situation. "I love fighting professionals."
Chapter Forty-Three

Several challenges had faced Nadia during her attempt to take the pair of ancient wings from their case. Firstly, it had been incredibly frustrating to find the tiny, non-reflective latch that opened the case without a proper light source. And, true to form, she had been too stubborn to walk the three feet to the desk where she had left her flashlight to make use of it. After fumbling at the sides for a while, she had eventually discovered the latch was set on the top right corner of the glass box; a frankly idiotic place for it to be, as far as her heavily biased and somewhat embarrassed opinion was concerned. This meant, however, that the door to the upright rectangular prism opened towards the wall; instead of meaninglessly out into perfectly useable open space, which redeemed the case. A little.

The second problem she had come up against was her fear of touching the wings in the first place. This was less to do with any bizarre phobia of feathers or leathers, or materials that happened to rhyme, and more to do with the fact that she half-expected the pair of wax-based wings to crumble apart the moment she touched them. After a moment or two spent convincing herself that, if they did fall apart, there was really no point in being upset (because then she wouldn't have to force herself to leap out of a building later in the evening) she finally gave it a try. Unfortunately for her new found hopes, the wings did not immediately crumble away to nothing. The layers of dust on the wings, however, did lead her unexpectedly into her third challenge, which was a fit of chronic, unstoppable sneezing.

Nadia was able to overcome this most recent obstruction to her progress with time, as well as with the assistance of a handily placed Kleenex box. She had located the latter of these inside of one of Miss Fitch's drawers after relenting in her stubborn refusal to use her flashlight. Taking a deep breath and holding it, she had returned to the glass case and carefully plucked the first wing from its place. Giving it a few hesitant shakes to clear the dust from its feathers, she then permitted her lungs the inhaled breath they had begun insistently demanding somewhere in the process. When another round of sneezing was not forthcoming, she nodded in satisfaction and laid the relic out on Miss Fitch's desk so as to keep it from being stepped on. As her luck would have it, however, the second wing appeared to be the dustier of the two and, in her attempts to shake it clean, soon found herself encased in a cloud of the infernal substance.

So it was with a further dose of embarrassment that, after wiping her eyes clean and spluttering incoherently for a few moments, Nadia realized that Tyrone Burgess was standing in the doorway, watching her. She briefly took notice of three other people hidden in the giant's wake, but his suddenly being there was more than arresting enough for her attention. Scuttling back a few feet purely by reflex, she put the second wing on top of the first and fumbled about the desk area for something, anything, to defend herself with. Coming up with nothing more threatening than a pen, she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth in preparation for her imminent thrashing.

When one was not forthcoming, she risked opening her eyes again. When she did, she was surprised to find Burgess stooping to check on the still-unconscious Miss Fitch, who had not yet been moved from her position on the floor. Concluding, via her pulse, that the woman was still alive, the hulking fellow plucked her up off of the floor as though she were made of paper; cradling her in his arms like a baby, he nodded in Nadia's direction.

"Lawson."

This was not destined to be one of her better recoveries. "Oh, uh, hi. That is, hello there, Burgess."

Chuckling in quiet amusement at her half-frightened, half-babbling response, he moved aside for those behind him to file into the room. The first was a disgruntled looking Asian woman that seemed vaguely familiar to Nadia; the second was Pasta-Jacket, apparently freed from her handiwork in the stairwell. But it was the third that sent a fresh surge of alarm through her system, particularly when he sauntered into the room while loading a fresh clip into a rather imposing handgun.

"Black? But I thought... I mean, Orion was..." She winced at her own rambling statements as they came tumbling out of her mouth anew; this was something she was going to have to fix if she was ever going to be a reporter. Well, a reporter who was taken seriously, anyway.

The man in question grinned broadly, finishing the task of reloading his gun with a slight flourish. "Oh, he was, you're right. Was being the operative word, of course. He knew I'd be better for something like this, so here I am. Surprise!"

Catching the dirty looks the Asian-featured woman was throwing at Black from behind him, Nadia suspected something had already happened between them; unfortunately, the sound of a bullet biting a perfectly circular chunk of wood out of the office's door put all conversations on hold for the moment.

Burgess handled surprises better than she did, apparently, and his was the first response. "We can't stay in here; we're fish in a barrel!"

Black, so armed with this idea, and of course his borrowed handgun, turned and ran back through the office's waiting room to take up a position against the wall. Staggering his shots so he fired no more than once every few seconds, to preserve his limited ammunition, he nevertheless fired with sufficient accuracy to force their aggressors to take cover. Leading their forced escape, Burgess rounded the corner first, getting himself and the unconscious passenger in his arms out of the line of fire, with Jason close on his heels. Nadia, picking up one of Daedalus' wings in her arms so as not to damage it, looked pleadingly at the only other person left in the room with her. Murakami, assuming the wings were important somehow, at least to the young woman before her, sighed and grabbed the other. Managing to smile gratefully at the other woman's kindness, Nadia sprinted from the room just ahead of her and not more than a few seconds before Black fired the last of his gun's nine bullets.

Their adversaries down the hall had clearly been keeping track of each of Black's shots, however, for the moment his gun had put its ninth hole in the walls around their location, they leaned out of their cover to resume firing. The ensuing horizontal hail of bullets missed the retreating man by approximately the width and breadth of a whisper as he dove across the hall, tucking himself into a roll as he landed. Stopping as his back hit the solid mass of the wall; Black took a moment to snatch up one of the assault rifles left lying on the floor after his and Burgess' previous encounter. Slinging the strap of the weapon over his shoulder he tugged the prostrate form of one of the deceased men further around the corner and rifled through his pockets, quickly coming up with a second clip for his borrowed pistol.

By this point, of course, the armed group had advanced halfway up the hall, with no signs of slowing down. Turning to follow the four, technically five, individuals who had preceded him, Black saw that they were in the process of cramming themselves into the hallway that would take them to the flight of stairs leading to the penthouse upstairs. Apparently they had decided that the main stairwell in the opposite hallway was too great a risk; he supposed it would be rather difficult to run down a lengthy, perfectly straight hallway while dodging bullets. Still, at least some of them would make it that way, which suggested that Burgess knew of other surprises they were likely to encounter during their descent. With the heavy sound of boots approaching and no more time to think about it, Black decided he would have to trust the big man's judgement, at least for the time being.

Sprinting to catch up, he scooted into the short hallway leading to the upward stairwell a few seconds behind the others and a few steps ahead of giving the soldiers a moving target to practice on. Coming to a skidding halt once inside the hall, Black nearly collided with Jason before he was able to come to a full stop. Annoyed at this lack of progress, he stepped back and saw the man was only the group member nearest to the entrance; the others were crammed into the hallway, too.

"What's the matter? Why aren't we moving?"

Burgess, still holding Giselle as though she were made of glass, glanced his way. "There are six soldiers on our tail and six already down. That means their commander is unaccounted for and we'll probably find him upstairs, waiting for us. From what I know of Giselle's apartment, there isn't a whole lot of cover around the door."

Snorting derisively, Black sighed in apparent disappointment. "Is that all? Please. Stand aside, ladies and gentleman, I've got this. Oh, here, Pasta-Jacket, hold my gun."

Passing his assault rifle to the gangliest member of their impromptu team, he loaded his pistol with his freshly acquired clip and squeezed past the others crowded into the hallway. As he turned out of sight, presumably to begin climbing the stairs, Burgess glanced down at Nadia.

"What is it with that guy? I mean, I knew he was a little... out there, but I hadn't realized he was this bad off. He almost seems to be enjoying this."

She prefaced her answer with the best shrug she could possibly manage while holding an ancient, feathery relic in her arms. "He's the physical embodiment of the repressed anger, hate and violence that has built up inside a nearly three-thousand year old man."

With her three conscious companions staring at her, Nadia simply shrugged again. "Hey, you don't have to believe me if you don't want to, but it's the truth."

A strangely high-pitched voice echoed from the far end of the hall. "Did I hear somebody talking about me?"

Turning to tell the self-aggrandizing prick to get himself in gear, Burgess froze as he saw who the voice had come from. There was a little girl standing at the end of the hall, just beside where Black had gone out of sight. She was no more than ten years old, with wide, innocent blue eyes; her blonde, slightly curled, shoulder-length hair framed a face with a button nose, a smile that could melt butter and just the right amount of freckles over her perfect, alabaster skin. She was wearing a pair of tiny yellow boots, the tops of which disappeared under her red, rubber raincoat, the sort with the perfect double column of buttons down the front. A too-large, floppy hat that matched the yellow of her boots sat atop her head, entirely failing to hold in her hair, completing the outfit one would expect on a child just going out to play after a quick springtime drizzle. If Burgess hadn't known better, he would say someone had taken a page from a children-centred clothing store's catalogue and brought it to life.

Grinning broadly at their stunned, silent reaction, the little girl did a quick pirouette, her jacket flaring out to reveal pale purple leggings, and then dropped into a curtsy. "Wish me luck; I'm going upstairs to play!"

Without giving those remaining in the hall any further opportunity to respond, she dashed out of sight and up the stairs just around the corner. The sound of her little feet pattering against the hard, concrete surface of the steps was the only sound left echoing through their cramped hallway until Burgess nodded in the direction she had gone.

"That's supposed to be the embodiment of a man's darkest emotions? A little girl acting like she's going to a tea party? I don't know whether that's funny, sad, or scary."

Nadia chuckled wryly. "Knowing the man they come from and the kinds of things he has repressed? The last one, Burgess. Definitely that last one."

Frowning, the woman holding the counterpart to Nadia's own wing shook her head. "Frightening or not, I don't like this. Even if we trust him to take care of the armed individual upstairs while he's fooling around the way he is, we can't just stand here and wait. This hallway is not going to shield us from our pursuers, or their bullets."

"Murakami's right," Burgess acknowledged, adjusting the posture of the human cargo in his arms to prevent Giselle from falling. "Black can have his fun another time; we're going up after him now."

Nadia sighed as she reluctantly followed them towards the stairway up to the penthouse. She didn't personally disagree with their logic, standing around in a hallway waiting for it to become a shooting gallery for the armed individuals hot on their heels was not exactly what she wanted to be doing right now. Her reluctance was more centred on the rather persistent notion that, whatever Black had time to do before they caught up with him, or her, or whatever, would not be something she had any desire to see. Plus, these events were beginning to seem bizarrely familiar; their present circumstances had some disquieting similarities to the period after Orion had first supplanted Thomas. She sincerely hoped that Black's stay would be less permanent.
Chapter Forty-Four

Giselle's penthouse was the sort of space you would expect from someone with a practical mind; it had plenty of space for luxuries that had gone unused. It was essentially one, big room, the front half of which had been made up as a living room while the back half served as the kitchen. The walls had been painted a rosy, slightly pink-toned red, though it was difficult to see the warming effect this normally had in the half-dark. A door leading to the bedroom and washroom, set into the left-hand wall, marked the only sections of the apartment not immediately visible when one entered from the stairs or private elevator. The right-hand wall featured a large, picture window that looked out onto the buildings below; as luck, or more likely, the architect would have it, this was also the southward-facing wall, ensuring the sun would never bake the room too thoroughly. The window itself was framed on either side by simple, dark blue curtains with the slightest, white frill on their very edges. These had been thrown open to allow what little light the moon and stars could provide into the room in lieu of proper lighting.

The living room segment was carpeted with a soft, beige material pleasing to bare feet and housed the most seating: two three-cushion couches, each a navy blue similar to the curtains that framed the window, were set facing one another across a glass coffee table. A dark green love seat was set at their far end, its back to the picture window. A flat-screen television sat in a wooden entertainment centre that looked to be of the self-assembled sort found at some furniture stores, placed near to the end of the twin couches and opposite from the love seat. The television's remote could be seen on the coffee table, along with a few magazines, the titles of which were illegible without better lighting to see them by. The kitchen segment opted for smooth, white tile instead of carpet and followed a fairly standard idea of a kitchen in most other respects, as well; an electric stove, a dishwasher, a fridge with a black handle and a standing freezer sat alongside one another along the back wall, while the spotless sink and counter-space took up the latter half of the south-facing wall the window was set in.

The penthouse was, as the group in the stairwell had guessed, not empty; the commander of the team attempting to end their lives had been left there to coordinate the efforts of his men. Having six of them suddenly fall silent after a confused batch of reports was making that job more difficult. Adding a further level of complication to the mix, his phone had just begun to ring; and, considering there was only one person it could be, he dearly wished he had the option not to answer it.

"Lieutenant. Your report, please."

The unfortunate soul who had just flipped open his phone swallowed hard at the icy, calculating tone his client was using. He had never worked for the man before, but he knew displeasure when he heard it. Not that the man on the other end was making any effort to hide it. "Yes, Sir. Six of our team have dropped out of radio contact, the other team is collecting their weapons as we speak, but have reported a pistol and rifle missing, as well as two clips of ammunition for the sidearm."

"Six," was the emphatically monosyllabic response. "Six men. Half of your team. How did this happen, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, the opposition is proving more determined than we had originally expected and-"

His employer cut him off before he could finish. "And I will not take excuses. You are trained soldiers, they are two insignificant little bugs traipsing through the halls of my building while you, inexplicably, utterly fail to exterminate them."

The man adjusted his posture so he rested the butt of his weapon against the floor, letting it lean against his leg. Clearing his throat before answering, he attempted to inject some force into his words. "Sir, there are more than two hostiles."

His client stopped berating him, but he did not sound any more pleased than he had a minute ago. "More?"

"Yes, Sir. Reports seem to indicate that the Chief of Security, Tyrone Burgess, is also on the top floor, along with several others as of yet unidentified individuals. The six men who have gone silent came across him just before we lost contact; they were unsure if they should open fire on him, as you had told us he was not meant to be part of the overall purge of the building's upper levels."

Grating his teeth, Apollo sighed audibly. He was not at all pleased with the way the events in the Icarus Development building were proceeding, but not even his most pessimistic evaluations of the situation had he included Tyrone as a contributing factor to the problems that could potentially plague the operation. "Then I'll clear it up for you; the man is valuable to me, but not as valuable as the mission's success. If you see him again and he forces you to take lethal action, do so. If he survives this, or if you manage to take him prisoner, I will see to his punishment myself."

"Understood, Sir," was the grateful soldier's reply; any break was better than none. "Our six remaining men have trapped the hostile forces, estimated at five in number, in the hallway connecting the main level with the penthouse stair; they have nowhere to go but up here, to me, so I must make appropriate preparations."

"It's six," Apollo corrected flatly. "If Burgess is up there, then it's because he is trying to save Fitch."

The Lieutenant cocked his head to one side, confirming what he had been told. "The CEO, Sir?"

"Yes. They've developed a romance of sorts. I know for a fact that she was rendered unconscious not long ago, so it is likely that he is carrying her, which puts him at a disadvantage. Exploit it if you can."

"Understood, Sir, I appreciate the information."

Hearing the quiet squeak of the penthouse door opening, the Lieutenant pulled his sidearm from his belt with his free hand and trained it on the widening gap between door and frame; he found himself unable to pull the trigger, however, when it was a child he saw standing there. Even in the less than adequate illumination provided by the emergency lights, he saw it was a little girl, wearing rain-gear and looking at him with wide, frightened eyes. With his phone still pressed to his ear, the soldier decided to take this one up the chain. "Sir?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, what is it?"

"Was there meant to be a child anywhere in the building during this mission?"

Apollo rolled his eyes, his agitation leading him to answer without really thinking it over. "Lieutenant, the building you are in is a place of business, not a daycare centre. No, there should not be any children."

The little girl, looking behind herself as though she was being chased, hesitantly entered the room and began approaching the Lieutenant, one cautious step at a time. "Monsieur? Est-ce que vous pouvez m'aider?"

Blinking at her, the soldier frowned. "Well, Sir, there is a little girl here, now. She appears to be fluent mostly in French. Hang on."

Lowering his weapon, he smiled as calmly as he could at the child, beckoning her over to him as he let the hand holding his phone fall to his side. "It's all right, sweetie. Do you speak English? Uh... parler anglais?"

Brightening up a little, the little girl nodded rapidly. "Oui, Monsieur, je parle un peu l'anglais. A little English."

Pleased with his progress, the armed man waved her over, entirely unaware of his employer's voice from the nearly forgotten phone in his hand. Apollo had, of course, realized by now the obvious truth of where the child had come from; he was beginning to regret his decision to leave the team ignorant of the shape-shifter in their opposition's ranks, no matter how much extra pay he would have had to give them to convince them he wasn't barking mad. "Lieutenant! Do not let the child near you. I repeat, it's a trick. Shoot her, now!"

But the Lieutenant did not hear him; the little girl, now standing beside him, beamed up at him with her blue eyes full of the sort of absolute trust small children have towards adults they become fond of. He swore he could feel his heart melting into a gooey mess. Tucking his phone, still on, into his pocket, he took the child's tiny hand and walked with her to the rear of the room. Ushering the little one behind the couch nearest to the kitchen, he knelt down beside her to make sure she understood his instructions. "Listen to me now, sweetie; people with guns are coming and I need you to stay here, so you will be safe. Do you understand?"

She blinked at him once or twice, thinking over his words, and then nodded once. "Oui, I think so. I stay here?"

He nodded in affirmation. "That's right, very good. Can you do that for me?"

She nodded again, her smile very nearly sweet enough to rot the man's teeth. "Oui, Monsieur!"

Unable to keep himself from smiling at her sunny demeanour, the Lieutenant stood up anew; and dropped back behind the couch as Jason, now standing in the doorway, fired the assault rifle he had been left with in his direction. Cursing, he felt his phone digging into his side and pulled it from his pocket, flipping it shut and resting it on the floor as he put both hands on his weapon. Leaning around the side of the couch, he fired two quick shots back at his aggressor, forcing the gangly, obviously untrained man back around the corner of the door frame.

Feeling a tug on his sleeve, he shook his arm free of the little girl's grip. "Not now, sweetie, you'll be all right."

Ducking back behind the couch as the muzzle of the gun reappeared from around the corner, the soldier heard the telltale thuds of the poorly aimed bullets raking the walls, and then trailing up to the ceiling. Whoever it was firing at him, they were a lousy shot. Hearing a creaking sound, he glanced up and saw a chunk of the ceiling's formerly unblemished surface breaking free above him. He kept his head down as the chunk of debris broke away from the smooth expanse of the ceiling; plummeting the ten or so feet to floor, the mass of plaster landed, squarely, in the middle of the coffee table. Wincing at the ensuing sound of glass shattering, he maintained his crouch for a moment to avoid any flying shards of glass that might make it the few feet to the corner of the couch he was hiding behind. As he hunkered down, the Lieutenant felt another tentative tug on his sleeve. Sighing, he made sure that his opposition was not keen on coming around the corner with a quick, blindly fired warning shot towards the hallway, then turned to the little girl beside him; coming eye-to-barrel with a pistol he had not seen her taking out from the inside of her coat during the firefight.

The formerly angelic child smiled wickedly at him, her voice suddenly devoid of any noticeable French accent and speaking in fluent English. "I love that you fell for this, but I suppose you are only human. Oh, and your employer is an idiot for not telling you about me, by the way. Cheers."

With the sharp retort of the weapon ringing through the air, the Lieutenant slumped backwards with an expression of confused disbelief plastered on his face that made Black absolutely tingle with smug satisfaction. A tingling that continued even after Jason, Burgess, Nadia and Murakami had entered from the hallway to find the little girl firing the Lieutenant's gun empty into the dead man's body, giggling like the child she appeared to be throughout. Turning to them, her raincoat giving her the unsettling appearance of being dyed bloody, the little girl beamed up at them; the expression of sinister delight etched into her every feature sent a chill down even Burgess' spine and he recalled what Nadia had said about what Black supposedly was. It did not seem quite as irrationally sentimental as it had before.
Chapter Forty-Five

Shaking himself out of the moment of inactivity brought on by the tiny child's murderous glee, Burgess put himself in motion. Sweeping the couch the Lieutenant had been hiding behind clear of glass with one hand, he set Giselle down on it, ensuring that she was lying comfortably. Turning to the other couch, he strode over the remains of the glass table in two, audibly crunching strides that carried him the distance between him and his target. Shoving the wood-framed piece of furniture ahead of himself, he wedged it into the doorway at an angle, so that the end of it was obstructing the top of the narrow flight of steps he and the others had climbed just a few minutes before. It would not stop the six remaining soldiers, but it would give them a moment's warning, at least.

"You are an abominable excuse for a human being."

Blinking at the sudden declaration, Burgess turned to find it had come from Murakami and had been directed towards Black, who was presently skipping back and forth over the dead soldier's body in a demented form of what looked like hopscotch. Standing on the man's blood-moistened chest, the little girl he appeared as twirled a lock of her blonde hair around one finger and grinned up to meet the outraged expression on the Asian woman's face. "Yeah, so?"

Unable to take the hooligan's flippant attitude for even a moment longer, Murakami seized the little girl by her red raincoat, bunching it up in her hands as she lifted her yellow booted feet from the floor. "Why don't the things you do affect you? You disrespect the dead, mock the living and treat murder like it is some kind of sick game. In the shape of an innocent child, no less!"

The little girl cocked her head to one side, her hat flopping comically to one side as she did. "Is that what's bothering you? Huh. Well, hang on."

Feeling the weight of the child she had seized beginning to increase, Burgess' second-in-command watched in disbelief as she began to grow. Her legs, stretching like putty, were able to reach the floor in seconds, while the rest of her raced to catch up with this sudden growth spurt; the raincoat clenched in Murakami's fists shifted and reformed itself into more business-like attire, though she maintained her grip even after it had changed. When Black was finished, the little girl had become a young woman of approximately Nadia's age; her shoulder-length, curly hair had darkened from blonde to a rich, nearly auburn shade of brown while her eyes had shifted from blue to hazel. Grinning with dazzlingly white teeth, she adjusted her shoulders, the black suit she had dressed herself in rolling with the motion. Her rain boots had become black shoes with the slightest of heels, while her purple leggings had become slacks that matched her suit in colour. She was, for lack of a better term, a female version of Black's usual form. Now slightly taller than Murakami, 'Miss' Black met the other woman's gaze and spoke with her new soprano voice. "Perhaps you'll find this body less distracting? Personally, it's more to my tastes than the kid was, but I don't presume to know your preferences. I can make some adjustments to suit your fancy, though, if you like."

Releasing the newly changed woman's suit, Murakami took in a deep breath; and then smacked her across the face as hard as she could. "I don't know what it is that's wrong with you and, normally, it wouldn't be my place to say, but I find your behaviour abhorrent. Let me remind you, whatever you are, that there is a thin line between what is fearless and what is reckless. You are most definitely the latter."

Feeling the stinging sensation on her cheek and tracing the outline of the red splotch beginning to form there with one finger, Black turned back to Murakami, still grinning. "Actually, I prefer the word 'insane'." Flicking the shorter woman gently on the nose with one finger, she winked playfully. "You're cute when you're angry, but I just don't have the nails for a cat-fight. Will you take a rain-cheque?"

Flustered, Murakami found herself scrambling for an answer; Burgess, however, decided it was time to cut in on this before it again became serious. "Black; you can stay like that if you like, as long as you do something helpful at the same time. I'm going to start barricading the doors with heavier things and some help putting things between us and the six men left over would be appreciated. Before that, though; Lawson, what's your plan to get out of here? If we're lucky, once you're gone, my boss will lose his reason to keep these men gunning for us."

Nadia, somewhat surprised that Burgess had not simply thrown her out to the men outside to save his own hide by now, stepped forward and held out the wing she was carrying. "These were Orion's plan. They let their wearer fly, supposedly. We didn't get into the details, but I'm pretty sure he was going to put them on and have me hold on tight."

Black, turning to look at the wing critically, snorted, tossing her hair with a flick of her head. "Yeah, that's not happening. There is no way I'm jumping out of a building with those ratty things on."

Burgess, towering over the shape-shifter, glowered down at him. "Yes, you are. Because it's either that plan or mine, which basically boils down to me throwing the pair of you outside before I barricade the door. I am up here solely to protect my people. The only reason I'm giving you this chance at all is because I'm pissed off at my employer for having put Giselle in danger like this in the first place when he didn't need to."

Staring haughtily up at him, the auburn-haired woman planted a hand on her hip. "Look, it's not negotiable. I would go out there and fight those six chumps following us by myself before I'd trust my life to something as ridiculous as magic wings, especially ones made of wax."

Sighing, Nadia shook her head. She had been afraid of this, of Black being uncooperative. If only Orion had come up with some kind of a plan for her to follow to get him back, like the one Black had laid out for her and Thomas. Pausing as this idea took hold, she felt a smile beginning to cross her face as she thought it the whole way through. "Say, Black; could you beat those six armed soldiers with only a stairwell and a narrow hallway to move in? That's an awful lot of bullets to come up against face-first."

The woman sighed. "All right, no, I don't think so. Not without a tremendous amount of luck, anyway. What's your point?"

"My point," she began, smugly. "Is that Orion has outsmarted you for a change. He knew you wouldn't risk your life; you're only a lot of bluster. Sure, you're dangerous and you scare the hell out of me, but you never do anything you aren't reasonably sure you can survive. You won't go outside to face those men because you'll probably lose, just like you won't jump because you don't know, for an absolute fact, that Daedalus' wings will keep you from dropping like a stone."

"Again," she spat, growing annoyed. "What's your point?"

"My point is that you're a coward, Black. You need to put Orion back in control, because, for all of your experience and supposed fearlessness, he's the one with real courage."

"Courage? Him?" Black uttered a short, derisive laugh as her fair features split into a grin for a moment, before becoming deadly serious once more. "That weakling has been running from nothing more substantial than the memory of things that happened before the dawn of modern civilization. He hasn't spent more than six months as himself in more than two and a half thousand years. I was the one who took over when things were tough, when things were bad. Which of us do you think fought in the Peloponnesian War? In the civil wars all across Greece that followed? In every major war that followed that we were sucked into just for being nearby at the time, all because those stupid, imaginary people he kept putting in charge felt some kind of duty to the local population? Do you have any notion of the number of times I've woken to find myself who-knows-where, with brigands or soldiers bashing in the door and children looking at me like I'm some kind of horror because seconds ago I was one of their parents? Or, for an example that even your paltry knowledge of history might be familiar with; being left to take care of things after waking up on some hellish, French beach during World War II, half-drowned and soaking wet, after the personality that bonehead you're so fond of put in control of his body tried to be a hero and got himself shot full of machine gun fire. Oh yes, he's got courage in spades, that one. I especially love the way that all of the worst moments get pushed onto me because he's too busy moping in a corner over losing his lady fair."

Nadia wasn't sure how to respond; she had known of Black's origins and of Orion's history in Ancient Greece, but it had honestly never really occurred to her that he could have been involved in the major events of more recent centuries, too. She supposed it should have, but the man just never gave anything away without her having to take a crowbar to his secrets to pry them loose. Clearing her throat, she did her best to defend the man. "It took courage to storm those beaches. A lot of courage."

The woman before her barked another laugh. "Oh, absolutely, but it wasn't Orion who made that decision or saw it through, now was it? I doubt he even noticed there was anything wrong from the hole he was hiding in, way down deep. No; the run of the mill, average man he had left in charge had more courage than he did. Do I run instead of fight when I'm likely to die? Yes, but can you claim to do any differently? What use is just allowing yourself to be put six feet under when there is no reason for it?"

She rounded on Murakami as her rant gained momentum, her auburn hair flying as she whirled about. "Do I enjoy the pain I inflict on others? Absolutely. Do I care if it's disrespectful or not to your liking? Not a bit. Notions of sentiment go out the window the moment your trappings of civility are torn away from you; the atrocities committed in our world time and time again prove that without there being a single doubt in my mind. So don't you try to lecture me. Hate me, if it makes you feel secure in your sheltered little existence. But know that, whether you go your whole lives with your delusions of safety intact, I will outlast you all. I will outlast the human race in its entirety, if I have anything to say about it. I'll be the only survivor, the last one standing. The winner."

The room was silent for a long moment as the harsh, starving look that had come into Black's hazel eyes slowly faded. The first noise to be made was Burgess pushing the refrigerator over the tiled floor of the kitchen, then a soft bump as he moved it over the carpet of the living room, coming to rest against the doorway as he pushed the couch he had moved there previously out of the way and down the stairs. Feeling herself beginning to breathe again, Murakami glanced away from the woman in front of her and Nadia, mustering her own nerve, tapped the female shape of the mercenary on the shoulder. "Please; it's the only way out of here and I need Orion's help."

Turning back to her, Black smirked at her quieter approach; it was obvious she enjoyed seeing her opposition humbled, but she said nothing on the subject. "Well, since you asked nicely. The door's blocked now, anyway, so I suppose I don't have much choice."

Taking a few steps from Murakami, the formerly ranting individual took a deep breath and Nadia saw the first signs of the change beginning at her feet; her heel-bearing shoes flattened and widened out into the old and tattered shoes she was more familiar with. As the change began to progress, slowly, a question jumped to Nadia's mind; one she might not have the chance to ask again for some time. "Say, Black?"

Cracking open one eye, which had become more of a rusty burgundy than hazel by this point, the changing woman acknowledged that she had heard. "Hmm?"

"How did you meet with Thomas, that night in front of my parent's house?"

This was seemingly enough to warrant Black opening both eyes, the shadow of consternation darting through them and over her expression. "You mentioned that before... Well, I didn't. It's impossible for Orion's other selves to communicate; barring leaving notes for each other and hoping we get them, or speak the same language, for that matter. Trust me, it's happened."

Nadia frowned. "But Thomas saw you. You asked us to find something that would put Burgess away; it's what prompted us to come to this building the first time to look for evidence. Hell, it's what put all of this in motion!"

The mercenary managed a faint shrug, though she was rapidly losing control of those muscles, for the change had already progressed to her torso and expanded it to male proportions. "Well, it wasn't me, so I can't help you." Her expression tugging into a frown, Black looked at Nadia for a long moment, then sighed. "Tell Orion about it, would you? It's weird that someone other than us is going around copying people and, if you're right about it leading to all of this, whoever it is has some kind of agenda. If he'll be at the wheel instead of me, he needs to at least stay informed."

Nadia nodded. "I'll do that. Uh... thanks, I guess?"

With the change now snaking its way along her neck, Black grinned one final time. "Forget about it. Looks like my time's up, anyway. Can't say as I'll miss you people, but at least you made things interesting for a while."

The change, completing its progress, adjusted the now-male body's clothing to the tattered rags Nadia was more used to even as the slightly gaunt, pale-skinned visage of Orion overtook the features of the temporarily female mercenary. With his eyes taking on their usual crimson glow as the change came to a complete stop, the man took a moment to get his bearings; the sight of Burgess and his two companions briefly seized his attention, but he seemed to conclude they meant no harm when he saw that Burgess was busy pushing furniture and kitchen appliances to block the doorway, Murakami was holding one of Daedalus' wings and Jason was keeping a watch on Miss Fitch. Finding Nadia, he relaxed more visibly and gave his usual, quiet smile. "Hello again, Miss Lawson."

Realizing that she was genuinely glad to see him, Nadia passed her wing off to Murakami and moved over to give the man a welcoming hug; it took her a moment to realize that he had, tentatively, returned the gesture. Pulling back from him, she smiled broadly. "It's nice to see you, too, mister. Burgess, Murakami and Pasta-Jacket are helping us get out of here, since Apollo tried to screw them over, too. As much as I hate to say it, the wings are looking like our only option at the moment."

Absorbing all of this, Orion nodded smoothly. "Then I must ask for your assistance in putting them on, if you would be so kind?"

"Can do," she replied, surprised by the chipper tone of her voice. Giving herself a slight shake, she cleared her throat. "Oh; remind me to tell you something important later, when we've got a moment. It's about Black and Thomas."

Blinking at her, Orion nodded. "I will do so, but would it not be simpler just to tell me now?"

The sound of heavy thuds coming from the opposite side of Burgess' barricade were more than reason enough to hurry things along and Nadia laughed nervously. "No, I really don't think so."
Chapter Forty-Six

With the added impetus gained from the sound of their pursuers thudding against the barricaded door, the group inside moved as quickly as they could. Murakami, despite her misgivings about Black, found herself curious about the quieter, more reserved man that had taken the belligerent mercenary's place, and had volunteered to help Nadia affix the wings to his arms. The straps were more complex than either of them had expected, though, and it was taking them longer than they would have liked to figure out exactly what went where. This was especially complicated by the fact that some of the straps seemed entirely too long for one's arms, which neither Nadia nor Murakami could get to stay on Orion's scrawny limbs. The crimson-eyed man, himself, said very little, just staring intently at the barricaded door with a thoughtful, musing expression. Meanwhile, Burgess, who was not much help in the area of fussing, continued to do what he did best. Namely, using his great strength to push the penthouse's furniture over to block the door; with most of the living room and kitchen moved around, the once well-furnished living space was now more reminiscent of an unused apartment. With the exception of the couch Giselle was laying on and the small mountain of weighty objects that her couch sat facing, the floors were bare. Jason, of course, had simply stuck by Giselle throughout all of this, determined to keep her safe as Burgess had asked.

It was, as Nadia and Murakami finally realized that their respective too-long straps were meant to encircle Orion's torso and then buckle together, that a new element threw itself into the mixture of things they had to consider. The main light, hanging from the ceiling above the kitchen table's former place, began to flicker. Turning sharply, Burgess frowned at it, and then winced as it came on, the sudden light forcing him to squint.

"The power's back?" Nadia queried, more an outward wondering than a real question.

She was not the only one to be surprised, either. Burgess, snatching up his radio, put it to his ear and heard nothing. Checking the channel, he saw it had not changed; he simply wasn't hearing anything. Growling, he gripped the radio in his hand, the 'talk' button crushed under his fingers. "If anyone can hear this, this is Tyrone Burgess, Chief of Security. I need a status update."

A few seconds passed with no sound or indication anyone had even heard him, before someone finally responded. "Sir, we received a call from the building's owner. He ordered two of us to go down into the basement and check the fuse box, turns out the power was shut off from there. We're still holding on the ground floor, should we go back to our usual patrols?"

Burgess grated his teeth audibly, but kept his growling under control as he responded. "No, that's fine, hold position until I get down there. Burgess out."

Letting the radio fall to his side, he took in a deep breath. "Looks like my employer has taken a direct hand in things."

Orion, glancing up from his contemplations, nodded. "Yes, I imagine Apollo would not be at all happy if we were to escape."

Murakami glanced at him as she began cinching up the straps around the arm she was tending to. "Apollo?"

Nadia, doing likewise, nodded. "Yeah, it's the name of the guy who owns Mytikas Multinational. Orion spoke to him earlier and knew him; there's more to it than that, but it would take too long to explain."

Orion nodded at his companion's summary. "She is right. But, Mr. Burgess, tell me; how many men are chasing us?"

The big man frowned at the pale fellow. "Six, but don't you already know that? You, that is, Black took out four of them by himself."

The cryptic smile he got in return suggested that he did not. "Six men could not all fit in front of the door at once, could they? I would think there would be only enough room for two to attempt to force entry through your barricade."

Burgess shrugged. "Yeah, that sounds about right. Why?"

Orion's eyes glanced to something past Burgess' shoulder and, turning, the big man followed his gaze and froze as he saw what he had nearly forgotten about; the smooth, polished steel doors of Giselle's private elevator sitting several feet further along the same wall the stairwell access was set into. A second shot of ice was administered to his blood as the soft hum of the elevator's motors engaging resounded through the room. "Shit."

With the power out, Burgess had not given the lift a moment's thought and neither had anyone else in the room that had bothered to notice it. What took no time to realize, of course, was Apollo's now-obvious reason for having the power put back on in the first place. With nothing left in the room to move in front of the elevator doors except what was holding the other doors in place, the big man turned and charged towards Giselle's bedroom. He barely noticed its decorations or furnishings as he flung the door open to allow his towering size inside, aside from the fact that they were lacking in large objects he could get hastily back to the door; until his eyes fell on the bed. Seizing it, frame, mattress and all, he turned it on its end, sending its sheets and pillows flying. He hauled it down the hallway and into the main room as though it gave him no more trouble than a sack of potatoes might; such was the surge of strength their moment of desperation had given his tired muscles.

With the elevator motors coming to a halt as he re-entered the room, he knew it was only a matter of seconds before the doors opened. Nearly sprinting across the room, he put the bed in front of the stainless steel surface, mattress first and just held on, motioning quickly to the room that they stay silent. The soft chime of the elevator rang out, muffled, from behind his impromptu barricade and they heard the metal doors sliding open. A moment of silence followed, during which time Burgess felt hands beginning to push against the other side of the bed. Planting his feet, he braced himself the best way he possibly could without showing them that the bed could be moved.

When the soldiers on the other side of the downy wall realized that their opponents had blockaded this entryway as well, they allowed the elevator doors to close; though the motors did not re-engage to send them back down a level. No, this was not retreat, it was simply a reassessment to decide how best to proceed. Burgess, honestly rattled by the close call, stepped back from the vertical bed and drew in a deep breath. Turning, he then motioned for Jason to hold up the bed as he strode back to Giselle's room. With a second, less panicked look at the place, he saw it held much the same style as the main room. There was a dresser, for clothes he assumed, as well as a table with a mirror set in it against one wall, a wooden chair tucked in against it. A large closet took up the wall opposite the vanity table and a small window with simple blinds completed the list of the room's contents. The centre of the room, now rather vacant, had been the bed's assigned place, with a full-length mirror set up just beside the door, he noticed. He supposed that made sense, it let you see how you looked right before stepping out. Shrugging, he took the dresser to be the barricade's next addition, straining himself to move the combined weight of the object and all of its contents with his tiring strength.

Succeeding in getting the dresser into place before the mercenaries returned, Burgess waved Jason back to minding Giselle and leaned against the wall to catch his breath and see how the others were faring. Murakami and Nadia had gotten the wings successfully strapped into place on Orion's wiry frame and the man was presently trying a few experimental flaps to see how it felt to have wings. If his expression was any indication, 'silly' could very possibly be the best word for the experience. Rolling his eyes, Burgess concentrated on massaging his tired muscles; if the pair wanted to commit suicide, it was no concern of his, just so long as they got out of the building.

Nadia's main concern was, of course, whether Orion could even get off the ground with the wings he had attached to his arms. Immediately following that concern was whether or not she would be able to hang on if he could. Clambering up onto his back to try and find a way to hang on, the pair staggered around the empty space in comical fashion; Orion flailing his arms attempting to gain some altitude, and perhaps regain his balance, while Nadia did her best to hold on without choking him in the process. Tripping and falling, their efforts only resulted in their being sprawled across the carpeted floor, though Orion managed to keep from falling on the wings, lest they break.

Propping herself up, Nadia sighed. "I think I would feel better about this if we had some time to practice."

Orion nodded in total agreement, then winced at the renewed sound of the two soldiers throwing their shoulders against their barricaded entrance. "Unfortunately, we do not have any."

Murakami, watching their ungainly display with utmost seriousness, frowned; she didn't know if she believed the wings would really get them off the ground at all, but the way they were staggering around and tipping over was what seemed to be getting in their way most. That and the picture window. Studying it, she realized it was not meant to open at all; there was no latch, nothing to draw up or push open. With this problem in mind, she passed through the hallway to Giselle's bedroom, in search of some kind of solution.

Burgess, standing by the elevator's now-blockaded door, heard the sound of machinery first; cocking his head, he heard the doors closing. This, understandably, brought a frown to his face, which deepened as the motors engaged, sending the lift back down to its resting place on the floor below. "That's odd," he mused aloud. "I didn't hear it open, but they sure as hell didn't try very hard to get through."

"Maybe they're giving up?" Jason chipped in, hopefully.

Orion, standing once again with Nadia attempting to climb onto him, shook his head. "I do not think Apollo would allow them to."

"Me neither," was the addition from the man's clambering comrade.

Putting his ear to the seam between bed and wall, the big man listened for all he was worth; and his effort was rewarded when he heard the tiniest noise. A beep; no, a series of beeps, getting faster and faster and... Oh no. "Get down!"

Turning, Burgess sprinted for the couch, leaping over it entirely. He had intended to turn and pull it down, so that the back of the three-cushioned seating would be on the floor and the cushions could serve as an impromptu shield for Giselle and himself. Unfortunately, he did not have the time. The explosive device, planted inside the mattress of the bed itself after one of the men had cut it open with his knife, was in fact little more than a concussion grenade that had been jury-rigged to a small, timed detonator, to allow the soldiers time to take the elevator back downstairs.

The blast tore through the more meagre barrier, sending bits of the bed frame and dresser in every direction; with the smoke now the only thing obstructing the men from filling the interior of the room with lead upon their return, they were well and truly out of time. Coughing, Burgess looked over at Orion and Nadia as they staggered upright, willing them to get a move on. The pair obviously had the same thing in mind he did and turned to the window. Ready or not, now was the time. The blast had cracked the glass already, they would just have to get a running start. Taking a few unsteady paces back, Orion paused as Nadia climbed down off of his back.

With her most stubborn of expressions in place, she looked him straight in the eye. Had she had any time to think about it, she would have been pleased to realize she no longer had to keep herself from flinching away when her eyes made contract with the man's crimson-hued orbs. "I'll only throw you off balance; we'll jump together and figure it out as we go."

With no time to argue about it and the elevator motors re-engaging to bring the armed men back to their floor, Orion nodded. Beginning to run, they were briefly aware of something sailing over their heads. A chair, to be specific. The small, wooden chair that Burgess had nearly overlooked in Giselle's bedroom, the one that had been set in front of her dressing table. Murakami, having already had a running start down the hallway, had thrown it for all she was worth. The four-legged bit of furniture struck the cracked glass of the window and went straight through; with a deep breath apiece, Nadia and Orion leaped through the shattered portal after it. And, for that one, brief moment as their momentum carried them outwards from the building, they hung there in space with all of downtown stretched out below them. Parked cars were tiny, iridescent beetles lit by streetlights, while buildings were more akin to space shuttles, a blaze of light at their base propelling the rest of them ever upward. The dark, warm air of a night set between spring and summer enveloped them, comforting, quiet and familiar. And then they started falling.
Chapter Forty-Seven

In truth, plummeting might have been a better word. Falling was what one did when they stumbled over a snag in their carpet and skinned their knee; sudden and painful, but brief. There was nothing brief about hurtling towards the ground from fifty storeys up, except perhaps for the instant of pain upon reaching the paved surface of the street below. It was an experience for which neither was entirely prepared. For Nadia, it began as a rush of excitement so profound she nearly whooped aloud in ecstasy as her body began to produce adrenaline at a prodigious rate. Of course, by the time they had passed the forty-eighth floor, that feeling of positively flying was replaced by the realization that neither she nor Orion were doing anything of the sort. Which, as their plan had rather hinged on it, was something of a problem.

For his part, the man she was clinging to was trying desperately to figure out how exactly a creature without instincts for this sort of thing was supposed to teach himself to fly, while under enormous stress and in less than a minute, at that. As his posture was presently a horizontal one, parallel with the ground below, he tried simply flapping his arms up and down; it had seemed the most obvious thing to do, but as the wings caught the tremendous wind rushing past them as they fell he was tossed about as though he were nothing more substantial than a leaf on the breeze. Tumbling head over heels, the muscles in his arms shrieking at the sudden strain, he came to rest in a position parallel to the ground once again; this time facing the star-lit sky above, with Nadia below him.

This seemed to alarm his passenger even more than it had him, prompting her to shout into his ear so that she could be heard. "The hell are you doing!?"

Oh, how would I know, he snapped inwardly. Human beings are not naturally equipped for this. Gritting his teeth, he threw his weight to one side and turned them back over, keeping his arms by his sides to avoid more out-of-control spiralling; he had lost count of how many floors they had passed, but the general fact that they were approaching the ground at tremendous speed seemed more than enough information to him. He did not have time to figure this out; he would have to try whatever he could before he ran out of opportunities to do so. Tilting his head to give Nadia the best chance to hear what he had to say, he began issuing instructions.

"Lie flat on my back and put your arms along mine!"

She leaned in closer, cocking her head to one side to put her ear nearer to his mouth. "What?"

Taking a deep breath, he fortified his words against the wind's grasping fingers. "Put your arms along mine and hold onto my wrists! I am going to need the support!"

She looked at him incredulously. "Then how am I going to hold on!?"

He frowned at that; it was a fair point. It had taken two to get the lengthier leather straps in place; she couldn't use those to fasten herself in more securely. Not nearly fast enough, anyway. There was really only one option he could think of and, realistically, it really didn't sound like it would help very much more than holding on to his wrists would if things went seriously wrong. "Hold on with your knees!"

The look of frank disbelief returned, with an added dash of underwhelmed expectations. "My knees!? Are you serious!? What am I, a jockey?"

He rolled his eyes. Of course he was serious, now was hardly the time for jokes. "I cannot think of anything else! And we do not have an overabundance of time to debate the matter, either, in case you had forgotten that we are hurtling towards certain death!"

Nadia had to admit he was right about that. Not that that meant she liked the idea any more than she had before. There was, however, no way that she was going to trust her life to how well her jeans could adhere to whatever it was his clothes were made of; not unless he could spontaneously change the both of them into Velcro suits, anyway. Sighing, she wrapped her legs around his waist, hooking her ankles together as she stretched out her hands along his arms, gripping his wrists as hard as she could.

"Okay, now what!?"

Smiling grimly at the orange-yellow tone of the streetlights below, the only light by which he would even see the ground, he glanced back at her. "Now we hope that this idea is not our last."

Not able to catch his quieter words over the howling rush of air passing them by, Nadia's available responses were somewhat limited. "What did you say!?"

Orion's only response, as they were now below the twentieth floor, likely nearer to the tenth and entirely too close to the ground, was to once again extend his arms. His wings, suddenly catching the wind around them, snapped his arms back, painfully, but with Nadia's help he managed to force them straight. Throwing his legs, now effectively their rudder, upwards, he angled himself into a shallow dive, transferring their descent from a straight plummet to more of a hastily-downward glide. With the pavement rushing up to meet them, Orion tilted the wings some more and closed his eyes as he tried to steady them out one last time. Opening them moments later, he saw the asphalt surface of the street was mere inches from his nose. Allowing himself one, solitary breath of relief, he then tilted his wings further and, using the momentum gained from their nearly suicidal leap, managed to gain a few feet of height. Cruising down the blessedly lengthy street, they began to lose speed and, without any traditional brake available, he hesitantly brought his legs up under him to let the toes of his shoes trail lightly over the ground. Once they had slowed significantly, he began angling the wings back until he was standing again; suddenly back on his feet, he bled out the last of his momentum by stumbling awkwardly a few steps forward and landing rather ungracefully on his backside as the added weight of his passenger caused him to swing around unexpectedly.

Letting herself drop to the pavement behind him, Nadia just spent a moment running her hands over the hard, cold surface of the ground. It was rough and hurt the skin of her fingers, but she didn't care two cents about that. Looking around, she saw the street they had landed on was basically the same as the rest of this part of downtown; framed by towering columns of steel and glass, with the signs announcing their names set in front obscured in the darkness. Plants, set in oversized concrete pots, grew along the sidewalk to break up the scenery a little and she also noticed a simple bus shelter a short distance up the street. It was exactly like every other street-side bus stop with a shelter she had seen; a small, metal-framed structure designed to fit maybe six people inside of itself, with glass walls set between its black-painted corner posts and a small two-seat bench tucked into the corner opposite the simple gap in the glass that served as the shelter's door. She could not make out which buses stopped here, but she found the fact that something so ordinary was present strangely reassuring. Feeling a grin breaking out over her features, she let Orion just collapse backwards onto her, the back of his head resting against her chest. Opening his eyes after a deep sigh, he looked up at her.

"Nadia?"

She blinked at him in mild surprise; he had never used her first name before. "Yeah, Orion?"

He smiled weakly up at her. "I never want to do that again. Not ever."

She giggled quietly and kissed him on the forehead. "You're speaking for the both of us there, mister. I think we should just go with a roller-coaster or something next time we want a thrill."

"Absolutely," he agreed. "For now, though, I think I will require your assistance in getting to my feet. My legs do not appear to be working."

Laughing again, she nodded. "All right, hang on a minute."

Pushing him up to a sitting position, she picked herself up. Dusting herself off, she then took the man by his upper arms and pulled him upright. Letting him lean against her for a minute as he regained control of his motor functions, she found herself smiling quietly as she realized just how far they had come from their first encounter. It hadn't been easy, either.

Holding up his wings, Orion sighed, drawing her attention back to him. "We will have to do something with these, I fear. It pains me to just abandon them here, but they are stolen property and Apollo will not hesitate to persecute you and your family if they are found in your possession."

Nadia sighed. "Yeah, it's a shame all right. Still, you think maybe what's-his-face would have liked it this way? The guy who made them; Daedalus, was it? I mean, he made the wings for his son and himself, right? One pair lead to someone losing their life, these saved the both of ours."

Orion smiled at the notion. "Yes, maybe that would have made his grief somewhat more bearable. It is unfortunate that he never knew it while he was alive. Perhaps, then, these have fulfilled their purpose?"

She blinked at him, not quite sure what he meant. "Well, I don't know about that; you saying we should burn them or something?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "No, no, nothing like that. It would be wrong to destroy them. I suppose no one ever really knows how long something has a role to play; it would not be right for us to deprive the world of relics such as these. They have survived the centuries that have passed already, perhaps they will last those to come. Perhaps they will outlast us all."

Nadia was momentarily struck by his words; they reminded her of what Black had said, about his intending to 'win' over everyone else, or whatever words he had used exactly. Shaking this notion clear of her thoughts, she helped Orion free of the wings and moved from the street to the bus shelter upon the sidewalk. Resting the wings upon the bench inside, she nodded in satisfaction. "At least they won't get wet here. If it rains, I mean."

Orion chuckled approvingly. "A fine idea. It is not the museum they deserve to be in, but it is better than leaving them in the street."

She laughed at that. "Yeah, well, now that we've found them a home, we'd better make ourselves scarce. I don't think Apollo will come after us now that we're out of his building, but I'd rather not be here to find out otherwise."

Her companion, now more accurately a friend, nodded. "Agreed. It is several hours until dawn, as well; we may yet get some rest tonight."

She sighed wistfully. "I wish. There is no way I'm sleeping after what we just did. I'd have nightmares about falling over and over again."

"Fair enough," he acknowledged. "But, before we begin walking, might I ask; where, exactly, did you park your vehicle?"

"Oh," was about all Nadia could manage, before she began laughing at the absurd notion of having to end a night so full of excitement and danger with tracking down her car by squinting at street signs. She supposed it wasn't over, yet; she still had to tell him about what Black had said in regards to his meeting with Thomas. And neither of them really felt like speculating about what had happened, or was still happening, on the fiftieth floor of the Icarus Development building.

Burgess, however, was still present and had little choice in the matter.
Chapter Forty-Eight

Watching Lawson and the man Black had become leaping from the building, Tyrone was at last able to push them from his mind. He had no idea if they were going to make it or not; he did not personally buy the 'magic wings' angle, but the night had been one for strange happenings, so he supposed anything was possible. His concern was, at the moment, strictly concentrated on the situation he and the three people still in the room found themselves in. Turning towards the penthouse's private elevator, he saw the metal doors were ajar and were bent inwards around their middle, having been damaged by the small explosion. Peering through the gap in the steel, he tried to make out whether or not the cable the elevator used had been at all damaged, but could not tell. The sound of the motor engaging without issue and the cabin rising, however, confirmed that the elevator itself was still in working order.

Upon reaching the penthouse level, the four soldiers that had been inside the ascending box forced the damaged metal doors open and quickly filed out into the main room, their weapons at the ready. Sweeping the open space with their eyes, they saw only two people; Jason, face-down on the couch and Tyrone, watching them from behind the same piece of furniture. Knowing there had been more people sighted than were present, the soldiers hesitated and glanced at one another. It was obvious that they had picked up on the fact that Tyrone and the others had no desire to fight them, but they weren't sure how to proceed. Unwilling to wait around for one of them to decide shooting everyone was still a viable mission objective, Tyrone took the initiative and cleared his throat.

"Look," he began, raising his voice so they could hear him from behind the couch. "The people you're after are gone, they jumped out the window. Everyone here is either an employee of this company, or a friend."

Glancing his way, the soldiers looked between themselves, clearly still undecided. One of them reluctantly stepped forward to assume the mantle of leadership, at least for the length of this particular conversation. "Our orders were to purge the building from top to bottom, excluding only the ground floor."

Tyrone rolled his eyes at the man's echoing of his commands. "Yeah, to make sure the intruders didn't get away, which they already have."

"Orders are orders, Mr. Burgess. We are paid to follow them."

The big man, losing his patience, stood and drew himself up to look down at the smaller individual. Taking a quick glance around, he saw Jason still had himself draped over Giselle, shielding her from harm; it was a bit dramatic, but he appreciated it anyway. "Even if they're stupid?"

Murakami, having taken cover in the mouth of the hallway, shook her head in exasperation at her superior's lack of patience, but could not keep a slight smirk from darting across her lips. "Sir, perhaps you could get in contact with your employer? If he is their client, then he could say for sure what their, and our, course of action should be."

The soldier glanced towards the location of her voice. "We are unable to contact him directly, as I am sure you are."

Tyrone nodded, sighing at the general paranoia of their mutual employer. "Yeah. Murakami's right, though, we should talk to him about it. He gets very particular about how things should be handled when they don't go his way in the first place."

The armed men glanced at each other, their leader raising an eyebrow. "I do not understand; did we not just agree that he could not be reached?"

Before Tyrone could point out their employer's habit of getting in touch when his input was needed, the discarded cellphone of the wet team's deceased leader began to sound out from its spot on the floor. The on-cue object was partially obscured by the charred, downy remains of the mattress, but the pulsing rhythm of its ring tone made it easy enough to find. Letting the soldier move to pick it up, the giant stood back and folded his ebony arms over his chest, waiting to see what the word would be. Flipping the phone open, the soldier loosened his helmet and pressed it to his ear. "Hello?"

The explosion of incoherent noise from the other end caused the man's head to jerk away reflexively and, after a moment spent trying to decipher what had been said, he meekly handed it to Tyrone. "It's for you."

"I should have known," he sighed, taking a deep breath. "Burgess here."

His employer's, that was, Apollo's voice was a strained, barely controlled thing just a whisper away from hoarse and even nearer to being abandoned to shouting. "Tyrone, you're alive. How nice. Our intruders have escaped, then, wonderful. Might I ask for your reasons for helping them accomplish this?"

Tyrone was in no mood to be bullied and spoke plainly. "Because you needlessly put Miss Fitch in danger, Sir. I understand that-"

"You understand nothing!" The man snapped, the thin veneer of calm he was forcing into his demeanour slipping from its place. "She was nothing! Giselle Fitch was of no value whatsoever, but catching those intruders, that man, was! I wanted, no, I needed him dead. And you helped him!?"

The big man would not be budged. Not on this; not this time. "My life, the life of this company's CEO and the lives of my subordinates were in danger, Sir. I made a decision."

"Yes, I see that; the wrong decision! Wrong! Very wrong!" Taking a deep breath, the man attempted to be calm once more. "This little mistake, this error, this... lapse in your judgement may cost us dearly, Tyrone. However; your track record up to now has been exemplary and I will give you the opportunity to put it straight. Needless to say, your pay will be docked heavily in order to pay for the various expenses of this debacle, but further punishment will wait until I can decide on something appropriate."

"You assume I want to keep working for you?"

The man's voice dropped another few degrees in temperature. "I assume you have no choice, Tyrone. You signed a contract with me, the time period of which is not yet up. You don't want to void that contract."

Tyrone sighed, glancing up as he saw Murakami hesitantly emerging from the hallway. "No, I suppose I don't, Sir."

Apollo barked a short, hard laugh. "It wasn't a question, Tyrone. Now; I will give you one week to get your affairs in order, then I will be sending you elsewhere to attend to new matters. During this period a new CEO will be found for I.D.I. and you will be sure to brief his new security chief on how we do things around here. Am I clear?"

Frowning at Jason, still covering Giselle's body, Tyrone motioned for Murakami to check on him while answering. "Yes, Sir."

"Good," came the reply, the note of barely repressed disgust dripping from its single syllable. "Now; I had said I would find a suitable punishment for you and, rest assured that I will, but I do believe the most appropriate one has already been given."

Frowning in incomprehension, Tyrone looked around for signs of the punishment the man had alluded to; a quiet exclamation from Murakami drew his attention to its source. As she had pulled Jason upright, she had seen his entire front had been stained red from his shoulder to his waist and let go. Without her support, his limp form dropped from the couch with a thud and came to rest, face down, on the floor. An eight inch splinter of wood, varnished on one side as the dresser had been, was sticking out of the side of his throat.

Apollo's voice, smug and delighting in the situation, sounded in Tyrone's ear. "I remember all of the times you would complain about the man, but from your silence I suppose it would be impolite of me to hold a party. It's a shame, too, you really hated him; the words you would use to describe him were slanderous enough to be nearly poetic. Ah well; be careful what you wish for and all that, eh, Tyrone?"

"Yeah," was all the big man could think to say. He was surprised, genuinely surprised, that this was bothering him. He had hated Jason for most of the time he had known him, it was true. The scrawny idiot could never do anything right. But, as he had said to Murakami before, there was something about him that you just couldn't stay mad at. To have him gone, permanently, was at once a reprehensible sort of relief and a dagger of guilt, burrowing its way into him. Would this have happened, if he had not given Jason the task of protecting Giselle? Hadn't he wished, idly, that it would?

Unsympathetic towards his strongman's situation, Apollo found himself grinning as he tried to imagine the man's face. "It's a shame, really. If someone had noticed before I did on my little cameras, they may have been able to stop the bleeding. Oh well. I'll be in touch, Mr. Burgess; do try to have a pleasant week. Go to a spa, or something, after work. You could use a little you time. Pass me to the nice man in the uniform, would you? That's a good boy."

Tyrone, feeling the urge to crush the phone in his hand mounting rapidly, passed it to the soldier in front of him before he could act on his impulse. Moving mutely to the couch, he plucked the still-unconscious Giselle from its surface; she had moist, drying blood on her face, neck and clothes, but it was not her own. Turning to Murakami, his face devoid of emotion, he nodded towards the connecting hallway.

"Could I ask you to get her cleaned up? I'll find something for her to wear; a spare uniform, maybe. Just until she's awake enough to pick something out of her closet."

Looking at her employer with concern, Murakami simply nodded. "Of course, Sir."

"Thank you."

Carrying the unconscious redhead into the bathroom, he set her on the edge of the tub and, letting Murakami take over, closed the door behind himself. Standing outside, he looked at the armed men filing back into the elevator with utter contempt and set to the task of removing the objects from blocking the stairwell door. It was slow, monotonous work that required no conscious thoughts, other than those spent deciding where to place the furniture and large appliances, and he welcomed it gladly.
Chapter Forty-Nine

Nadia woke to find herself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, covered in posters that showed her glimpses of faraway cities, famous reporters and the odd band. Unfamiliar, that was, in the sense that she had not woken up to it since moving out from her parent's house and into residence for college. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she rolled over to squint at the clock beside her bed and groaned when its digital display informed her it was barely more than four o'clock in the morning. Under normal circumstances, she would not even be approaching consciousness for another half dozen hours yet, but she supposed it was to be expected given that she had gone to bed remarkably early.

She and Orion had, after their escape from Icarus Development Incorporated, located her Prius at last and driven to her parent's house; a decision made largely because of the fact that it had been closer than her apartment. Pulling into the driveway in the wee hours of the morning the way they had, it couldn't have been later than three; they had let themselves in with Nadia's key and sat themselves on the couch. Her parents had found them there, several hours later, sound asleep against one another. Waking the pair up, the rest of the day had gone into having to explain everything that had happened to her parents. Needless to say, it had been a long and, at times, frustrating process; they had been forced to adjourn their discussion several times for one or more members of the conversation to cool off. Orion, to his credit, had never been one of these, as he knew her parents were uncomfortable with him already and had done his best to remain calm.

But they had kept at it diligently and her parents had slowly, finally, come around. Or, at least she hoped so. She wasn't sure if they bought the idea that their mystery man behind I.D.I. was a mythological Greek deity, neither was she sure that they trusted Orion any more than they had before. It was clear that they held him partially responsible for dragging her into all of this, but they kept their promise to give him another chance and did not openly attack him this time around. Nadia had, of course, kept Black's involvement out of her story entirely. She had simply told them she was not there when Burgess and Orion had encountered one another, which was the truth, and then not mentioned the parts she did see. There were just some things people were better off not knowing; she felt guilty about keeping things from her parents, as she always did, but was confident in her judgement just the same.

With only a few hours of sleep under their belts, though, neither Nadia nor Orion had very much energy left in them once their debate had come to its conclusion. Her parents had, obligingly, let them spend the night at their home rather than see them drive back to her apartment while half-asleep. And so it was that they had shooed the pair outside for a moment as they dug out their spare blankets and pillows to fix up the couch as a suitable bed, as well as freshen up Nadia's former room. Out on the front porch with nothing in particular to do, the duo had finally a moment to relax. With it being the first break they had had all day, this had seemed the perfect opportunity for Nadia to relay Black's message to Orion.

"Do you remember how I mentioned I had something to tell you?" she had begun. "About Thomas and Black?"

Looking her way, he had nodded. "Yes, I do."

"It was about the time Thomas said he met with Black, if you recall my mentioning that?"

He had smiled knowingly. "I remember it both from my perspective and yours. It is a curious thing, to have two memories of the same event."

That had made her laugh, a little. "Well, when I asked him how he had done it, he told me he hadn't, that it wasn't him. He seemed to think someone else was manipulating events, though he didn't know who or why. What do you think?"

Orion had been quiet for a time after that as he thought it over, before he simply shrugged. "I do not know. It would require a certain knowledge of me and my other identities, as well as excellent timing, to manage and I do not know enough about others like myself to hazard any accurate guesses. I do not, however, think we should worry about that."

She had been surprised by his reaction. "Oh? Isn't it bad that someone knows you so well, though? I mean, you aren't exactly easy to find, so they must have put a lot of work into it, whoever they are."

"Maybe," he had ventured. "However, I think that, if they had intended to do me harm, they would have done so without showing themselves. It is evident they require me to perform specific tasks; it is possible their goals and mine may even overlap and any assistance is a welcome boon."

"I guess that makes sense," she had agreed, though she had felt less sure. "Say, Orion?"

"Hmm?"

She had hesitated before asking him her next question; but ask him she had. "Do you ever feel like you're running from yourself?"

This had perplexed him; she remembered how he had turned to lock eyes with her, as if that would help him understand. "Running? I am not sure what you mean."

"Well, with all of those spare identities of yours to hide in, I figured you had to have a reason for spending so much time as other people. I mean, I know about the things you've been through, but people have different ways to deal with things. Or ways to not deal with them, I guess."

Orion had seemed to understand, then. "I see... Then yes, I suppose I would have to say you were right. It is not something I am proud of, but I have not spent this long in control of myself and my actions in an exceedingly long time."

She had smiled, hoping to encourage him. "I hope you can be you more often from now on."

They had been quiet for some time after that, just watching her parents' garden figures spouting glimmering arcs of water through the twilight air. It was he who had broken the silence, though, as she remembered.

"Nadia," he had asked, suddenly. "If I said that, if you asked it of me, I would again become Thomas and that he would be as he was, without knowledge of me or any of these other events that have happened, would you want me to do so?"

It had taken her rather off guard, to say the least, but she had known the answer without needing to think about it. "No. Thomas was a sweetheart, he really was, but... it wouldn't be the same, now. Even if he never knew, I would know. And sure, he was a real person, with his own personality, thoughts and ideas, but he wasn't the original person. He's not you."

She had sworn she had caught the slightest blush on the man's face at that, which even now brought a grin to hers. "That is very flattering of you to say, but... No, never mind."

She had frowned at his pause, but he had continued a moment later. "It does not bother you, then, that I am seemingly ageless? He, Thomas, could spend a lifetime with you, grow old with you. Both of which are things that I could never do."

Nadia had frowned at that. "Look, mister, I don't want you making me out to be an old maid just yet. I'm only twenty-four!"

His answer had come with a smile, but it had been a melancholy one. "Yes, of course. I apologize."

Her parents had finished their preparations by that point, though and come out to shoo the pair off to sleep. Nadia had staggered off upstairs to her old room while Orion got comfortable on the couch in the living room. What the exhausted duo had failed to realize was the time, for it was barely eight o'clock at night when they at last ran out of steam, which, inexorably, had resulted in her waking entirely too early for her preferences.

Grumbling at both the display on her clock and the feeling of being well rested that permeated her being, Nadia grudgingly hauled herself upright. There was no way she could go back to sleep like this. Fumbling around in the dark for the somewhat floral housecoat her mother had lent her, she pulled it on over her similarly borrowed pyjamas and completed her ensemble with a pair of slippers, these actually belonging to her. She smiled with a light laugh as they fit snugly onto her feet; she had stubbornly chosen a pair much too large for her as a teenager and had provided her parents with the reasoning that she would grow into them by the time she grew up. The real reason she had chosen them had, of course, been because they were made to look like sharks, complete with a dorsal fin on top of each foot, silly mouths full of triangular felt teeth and stubby tails at the heel. The nature of her footwear aside, she felt a certain satisfaction at finally having grown to fit them; she wasn't sure if her parents would count her as 'mature' yet, but she had the feet of an adult and that was good enough for her. Even if they were feet clad in stuffed toy sharks.

Tiptoeing from her room, she slipped past her parents' bedroom door, kept ajar just as she remembered it had been in her childhood, and crept downstairs. Getting a glass of water from the kitchen sink, she then padded over to the couch to see if Orion was awake yet. She wanted to pick up where they had left off the night before; the way their conversation ended had left a curiosity in her, one that would only be satisfied after knowing more of what was on the man's mind. Peering over the back of the couch, she saw the blanket he had used neatly folded in the centre, the pillow his parents had lent him placed atop the crisp bundle. Feeling her heart rate picking up, she skidded her way down the hall to the front door and pulled it open, hoping, perhaps, to catch him before he got too far. To her surprise, it was her father she found standing on the porch, looking out over the front garden with a steam-emitting mug in his hands. The sky was beginning to lighten, now, though the sun was not yet up, making their fantastical garden figures seem alive and just holding still. He was in his burgundy house coat, with matching slippers at the end of his plaid-clad legs. It was a pyjama look she had seen him in many, many times; it still mystified her, but he seemed to like it well enough. It was the last thing on her mind at the moment, though.

"Daddy," she verbalized, momentarily caught off guard. "You're up early. H-have you seen Orion anywhere?"

He shook his head, smiling a little sadly at her. "No, Sweet-Pea, I haven't."

She found herself beginning to bristle, though she knew she was more upset at her friend's sudden disappearance than at her father. "Did you say something to him? Please don't tell me you pulled one of those 'if you care for her, you'll leave her alone' lines out of the attic."

He sighed, shaking his head and sipping from his mug. "No, Nadia, I didn't."

She frowned, shaking her head in confusion instead of denial. Well, perhaps in denial, too. "Then I don't understand! Why would he just go, without saying anything to anybody? To me?"

He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Sweet-Pea... you may not want to hear it, but maybe he came up with the idea of keeping you safe by leaving on his own. From what you told us yesterday, if he is the Orion and the real Apollo is still around, these two have a lot of unfinished business between them. It's going to be dangerous and he probably realized that you didn't need to be pulled into it."

Shrugging his hand off, she stormed to the other end of the porch. "But that's crap, I can handle myself and he knows it. He wouldn't just write me off as getting in his way, as a liability."

Mr. Lawson sighed. "I never said liability, Sweet-Pea. Accidents happen. Mistakes are made. Even those people who are the best at what they do can never be infallible. It's what being human is all about. There was no way he could guarantee you would be safe, so he chose the only road he could see that increased your odds of going unharmed. And you may not want to hear this, either, but I agree with him. I thank him for that."

"You would," she snapped. "You never wanted me hanging around with him in the first place, but that was only because he was a man, not because of the danger."

"Yes," he admitted. "That's true. But that doesn't make it any less the right decision. Sweet-Pea, you're twenty-four, now. I get that you want to make a big splash in the world of journalism and reporting, so you're looking for that one, big story. I get that you don't want to be seen as having succeeded because of my reputation. But isn't it time that you got started on it in a more practical way? Just wandering around waiting for a bolt from the blue isn't making a splash or waiting for opportunity, it's expecting miraculous luck to come along. But luck is a fickle thing; there are a lot of people out there who have had to make their own good fortune."

She turned back towards him, her frustration evident. "I had my story, Daddy. Immortals. Real, living immortals working under the skin of normal civilization. Could you imagine the impact that would have?"

"Yes," he responded, flatly. "Absolutely none."

She blinked at him, disbelieving and just a little hurt. "What?"

"Look, Sweet-Pea, I hate to say it so bluntly, but... who would believe it? Both you and your mother have sworn up and down that that friend of yours can change his face, body and everything else. Hell, I've seen it myself, with my own two eyes and I still can hardly get myself to believe it wasn't some kind of trick. People just can't take those things seriously. I don't know, maybe we just don't like to think we can be that wrong about the world as we know it, or maybe it's just part of being human."

Nadia sighed; she had to admit, he had a point. She took it as normal now, but she had been at the heart of the issue and seen Orion change so many times that it no longer bothered her the way it had at first. "All right, so I can find another story, there's always more to dig up. It could have waited until after I helped Orion see this business with Apollo through."

"Could it have, Sweet-Pea? How old would you be then? Would it be only a few months, or would you risk ending up like that man who was here, holding us hostage to draw out a myth, a legend, a phantom? How many years of his life has he kept up that chase? And what has it gotten him?"

"McClane is obsessed with Orion, Daddy, he can't let it go and get on with his life."

Her father looked her straight in the eyes. "Can you, Nadia? Can you give up chasing the coattails of a ghost and put your feet back on the ground? Life isn't going to set itself aside while you have your head in the clouds, you know; even if you find him again and help him, will the job and career you wanted just materialize out of thin air once you're done?"

She flinched at that, beginning to feel like she was back in high school and being scolded for skipping class without good reason. "Well, no, but..."

Mr. Lawson sighed, realizing he had become harsher than he had intended to be. "Sweet-Pea, it is your life and it is your decision. I can't stop you if you really want to go after him. I just want you to be sure you know what you're doing before you do; not just in terms of what you need to be able to do to keep from getting hurt, but what you risk giving up by putting your 'ordinary' life on hold. You have to decide if it's worth it."

Nadia stood there for a long minute, wrestling with that idea. She had wanted to be a success, the way her father had been, for a long time. She had wanted to start from the bottom, the way he had, to climb her way to the top on her hard work alone, without favours from anyone. She had always understood that doing it the hard way would take time, but, as the young were wont to do, she had always taken for granted that she would have that time. If she became embroiled in these events, these weird happenings, would she? These people, these immortals, could spend years locked in contest with one another without a single care; they would always have time. She was not so fortunate.

Taking a deep sigh, she felt her shoulders sagging and smiled weakly, sadly, at her father. "I guess you have a point... I don't like it, but you do. I'll... think about it, I guess."

Her father smiled and, placing his mug down on the porch rail, gave his daughter a long embrace. "That is all I wanted you to do, Nadia. I know you will make the right decision."

Letting him hold her up for a moment, she took a shuddering breath as she realized her throat was beginning to tighten. "I think I need to go back to bed for a while. Pancakes when I get up?"

"That sounds like a good idea," he agreed, smiling.

Nodding, she went back inside, the path back to the stairs seeming far longer than it had before. She was not crying, not yet, but she felt rotten inside, like she was letting someone down and missing out on an adventure all at once; but then, she supposed, taking the responsible route was probably supposed to feel like that, sometimes. She hadn't wanted to fit her slippers quite so well, but perhaps it was time she did. Sighing again, she plodded past her parent's door, and then froze as she heard someone humming in the washroom. Someone with a decidedly male tone. Staring at the door, she felt her spirits being rapidly pumped full of air; maybe he hadn't left!

As the door opened and she prepared to dive onto the man who came out with open arms, she felt her limbs turn to lead as she saw her father come shuffling out in his usual slippers and housecoat, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. "Oh, Sweet-Pea, you're up early. Your mother and I were thinking we would do something special today, what with how serious we all were yesterday. How do you feel about pancakes for breakfast?"

Feeling her leaden limbs beginning to move on their own, Nadia turned on her heel and flew down the stairs, jumping down the last few steps as she bolted for the door. Practically skating down the hallway in her slippers, she reached for the knob, dreading what she might, or might not, find on the other side. No, no, no, no! Don't you dare be gone, you tricky, scheming sneak! Wrenching open the wooden portal without looking out the window, she stumbled over the lip of the door and caught herself on the porch rail; straightening up, she saw the porch was vacant, aside from her father's mug, left on the porch with something white pinned beneath it. Snatching the mug up, she peeled the folded piece of paper from its underside and hurriedly opened its several sections so the page was again full size. Inside was a lengthy hand-written message to her, judging by the first line.

Nadia, it began, the script flowing in an immaculate, cursive hand. I am sorry to have deceived you the way I did. Please understand that it was as difficult for me to do as it is for you to have found out I am gone. You will undoubtedly be furious with me, for a time, but I deserve that. I only hope you can forgive me, eventually. There are too many things that neither of us knows very much about at work, here. We do not know the goals Apollo has for his enterprises, nor anything of this 'Veil' he spoke of. I will not risk your safety by having the both of us walk blindly into these matters. I am able to survive things you cannot and it makes sense that I be the only one to take the risks inherent in discovering these pieces of information. Perhaps whoever it is attempting to manipulate my actions will assist me in finding these things out, perhaps not, but I do not want for you to be a pawn in their game as well, regardless of whether it is for good or for ill.

You have a life of your own to live and, before you met me, dreams you wanted to follow. Please, follow them; I will return, eventually. And, when I do, I promise I will apologize once more and explain everything I have learned. Then you will have known both the life you wanted and the events you may have been caught up in and will be more able to choose between them. I know this will not satisfy you, it is not your way of doing things and I am sorry for that, too. I did not enjoy making this decision without you, but I felt I had to. You likely think I am wrong, but, for all of my apparent immortality, I am still only human and therefor prone to error.

The next segment of the letter looked more hastily written and, had Nadia not been preoccupied with the contents of the written document, she would have guessed he had written it in a hurry after their last conversation.

I thank you for speaking plainly with me, as well, in regards to your impressions that I was running from my memories. As I had said, you were quite correct. I suppose I had not thought a great deal about it up until now, but now that I have I realize things about myself that I had not before. I can certainly understand the apathy and cruelty Black displays more completely; it is his method of expressing that which I had refused to even acknowledge. It was also this thinking that made it apparent to me that I cannot stay by your side any longer. Not as I am. I have a long past, most of which is unknown to me at the time I write this, but one thing has become clear to me; I have not yet come to terms with the events that made me this way, nor what I lost because of those events. For one thing, I am not yet over the loss of Artemis; yes, it was many centuries ago, but to me it happened mere months ago. And... I have been inside your head, Nadia, or, I suppose, you have been inside mine, but... I know you, so very well. I could see the feelings you were beginning to have for me, building from what you once felt for Thomas. It would not have been fair, or honest, of me to remain with you knowing I could not return those feelings. Moreover, the injuries I sustained in the Icarus Development building... I can feel them, Nadia, aching inside; I must gather more essence, and soon, or the hunger it brings with it will rob me of my reasoning. If I remained near you, or your family, without finding a suitable source, it is possible that one of you could be harmed; I will not allow that to happen.

Whether we see one another again, or not, it has been a privilege to know you, Nadia Lawson. I thank you for all you have done for me and I hope that, eventually, you achieve everything you set your aim on and find your recognition, your happiness.

\- Orion

Letting this process for a moment once she had finished reading it, Nadia felt herself sparked back into motion. Running down her parent's front walk, she slid out onto the sidewalk, looking first up one direction of the street, then down the other. She saw no one making a hasty escape around a corner or sprinting off into the lightening twilight; she did, however, see someone approaching. Squaring his shoulders within his trench coat and adjusting his hat, Simon McClane stepped near enough for her to see his face and Nadia sighed, not in the mood to deal with his particular brand of crazy just now.

"You're too late," she informed him flatly. "He's already gone. See? He even left me a note." She held up the sheet of paper in question to add some evidence to her statement.

McClane watched her for a moment, as if trying to determine if she was bluffing him or not, then sighed and kicked the ground with the toe of his shoe. "I don't suppose he mentioned where he was going?"

"Nope," she replied, being deliberately unhelpful despite honestly having no idea where Orion had gone. "I don't suppose you'd consider just leaving him alone, either?"

"Nope," he echoed, smiling grimly. Turning on his heel, he began walking back into the lightening morning, shaking his head. "I told you he would abandon you, eventually. You should have partnered up with me when you had the chance!"

Watching him go, Nadia shook her head. No, McClane, he left because he cared. She sighed, turning away from his retreating back and making her way out of the street. Folding the letter in her hand, she tucked it into her housecoat's pocket, frowning at the dull greys and light pinks of the approaching dawn above.

Well, you're back to square one, girl. No leads, no partner, no story. Do I really want to go back to chasing down ghost stories and stalking imaginary vampires? ...No, she decided, feeling certain in her judgement. I spent years on that and it got me practically nowhere. If I'm going to catch up to Orion, I need to find another way to track him down; if Apollo's influence spans even half as far as he was boasting it did, Orion could be anywhere trying to dig up clues. I need a way to stay informed of goings-on on an international level. She smiled as this brought an idea to mind. Well, then, maybe it is the time to find myself a job, after all What better place to keep an eye out for weird events than a newspaper or broadcasting station?

Maintaining her grin as she looked to the east, where the rising sun had painted the sky a pale purple with its first rays of light that had broken the horizon, she stuck her tongue out at nobody in particular. You can do the 'noble' thing with somebody else, I don't need protecting. So just you wait, mister; you aren't going to be getting rid of me that easily.
Chapter Fifty - Epilogue

Apollo stood facing the rising sun through a sheet of glass so clean it could only be seen by the occasional glimmer off of its surface. He frowned at it even as its familiar warmth crept into his bones, as it lit the room behind him and revealed what was very nearly a museum; the walls were hung with ancient swords, spears, shields and other antiquities from long ago. A hall of remembrance, he supposed, though he paid them no more mind than he might a flea. The reason for this was, of course, that he was not happy. Not happy at all. The events that had occurred in and around the Ottawa region had not gone the way he had wanted, and he made a point of ensuring he got what he wanted. Turning from the sun, framed between the ceiling and floor the wall-length window was set into, he strode between the rows of ancient trophies into his study, closing the door behind him. Settling into the enormous leather chair set behind the equally imposing, hand-carved mahogany desk, he brought one bare foot up onto the chair, crossing the other leg beneath it so he leaned back in a more comfortable position. Reaching to the underside of the right-hand corner nearest him, he buzzed for his personal assistant.

The man in question, knowing his employment was one that required him to be ready to serve at any time of day, had his own quarters in the veritable mansion Apollo made his home within. He was presently within these quarters, draped across his four-poster bed where he had fallen asleep last night after attending to some of his employer's needs. He was a tall sort of a fellow with a muscular build, though he possessed nowhere near the size or strength of Tyrone Burgess; he did, however, share in the big man's smooth, ebony skin tone and ivory smile. He kept his hair short and professional and had no discernible facial hair. The rasping, nasal sound of his employer calling for him woke him immediately, for it had, in the years of service he had devoted to his master, come to be more effective than any alarm clock he had ever had. Dressing himself in his typically professional attire, a black suit, white shirt and tie, he was through his door and knocking on the engraved, gold-inlaid double doors to Apollo's study within forty-five seconds. He had, for a while, made a point of timing himself, so he was quite sure of his estimate.

"You may enter, Owen," came his employer's voice, the tone of which was balanced precariously between simple boredom and annoyance.

Doing so, the man pushed one of the heavy doors open and slipped inside, shutting it again behind him. Turning to his employer, his breath caught for a moment; there was just something awe-inspiring about the man he had never quite been able to keep from affecting him. He was, for lack of a better term, beautiful. He was eternally youthful, seeming no older than perhaps his early twenties, with a corona of curly, golden hair framing the fine, almost delicate features of his face. His skin was a light tan and utterly unblemished, and, though he had noticeable muscle tone, he seemed fragile, like a harsh word would turn him to dust and rob those in awe of him their vision of perfection. Drumming his fingers idly against the arm of his colossal seat as he waited for the man to approach, the athletic youth glanced up at him with a bored, impatient shadow drawn over the light blue of his eyes.

"I see there are clouds in the sky, today, Sir," Owen began, inclining his head to the deceptively young man before him.

Apollo smirked momentarily. "I'm a little cranky, I suppose, but I'll get over it. I want you to convene those behind the Veil who have any sort of influence in Canada's capital region; it's about time I got to the bottom of this business with the shape-shifter. If he's working for, or with, any of them, I'll pry the information from them by any means necessary."

Owen coughed lightly, inclining his head anew. "Might I suggest you not overly antagonize them, Sir? You are their ruler, but the unappreciative are prone to resentment when pressed by their superiors."

The sun deity sighed, obviously disappointed that he could not go about it as he pleased. "Yes, yes, you're right. Very well, I will try to be gentle in my insistence. If the man is working with them, though, I must know it. And if he is not, then there is another mystery to solve entirely; I have spent every waking hour of my rule ensuring I remain well-informed of all significant goings-on. To have a Veil-dweller appear, seemingly from nowhere, is a disturbing notion."

The man, noticing his tie had come ever-so-slightly loose during his bowing, adjusted it. "Will you be needing their assistance, Sir?"

Apollo sighed, massaging his temples. "I hate to say it, but yes. There is no need for you to summon them, however, you know as well as I do that the Moirai always know when I require they be present. Perhaps I will have them arbitrate during my meeting; they are impartial, if nothing else. I suppose the architects of Fate are required to be."

Owen nodded in agreement. "That seems a wise decision, Sir. I wonder, though... Do you suppose they have anything to do with the upstart?"

The sun god laughed quietly. "That's a difficult question to answer. They have something to do with everyone and yet nothing to do with anyone. They guide Fate along its predetermined course and so have a hand in the lives of every person on this planet, but they show favouritism for none of us and so are not responsible for any of us. Quite the annoying system, wouldn't you say?"

"It is rather puzzling, Sir," his aide agreed. "I wonder, though; if the fates they keep in motion are predetermined, who, exactly, decides upon them?"

Apollo smiled approvingly. "Ah, you see, you've hit upon the real question. And you know, it's one of the tantalizingly few things I don't have an answer to. Not a real one, at least. But I have come to terms with that. Indeed, I ignore the idea of a predetermined destiny entirely for the most part. We each do as we choose and our actions affect everyone else; after all, my actions have been shaping the course of just about everyone on this planet for hundreds of years. If that is their destiny, then it is given to them by me, not some vague notion of fate."

Owen smiled politely. "I see your point, Sir. Very well, then; shall I deliver your invitations at once, or shall I wait a while?"

"Now," was his master's decision on the matter. "But... don't bother sending one to those miserable fringe-living wretches; you know how I detest them so. What was that delightful term for them I'd heard was beginning to be circulated? Slumpire?"

His assistant nodded hesitantly; he, personally, did not go in for derogatory terms, but he knew very well not to disagree with his master, particularly where his unreasoning hatred for the people in question were concerned. "Yes, Sir, I believe that is correct."

Apollo laughed aloud, a musical sound that caused the curled mane of his hair to shimmer into motion. "No, I have a better idea. Send them the invitation, but only use that term. If we're lucky, they'll be so incensed they'll do something foolish and I'll finally have an excuse to drag them all outside at noon and watch them go up in smoke."

"As you wish, Sir. For what date shall I set the meeting?"

Becoming serious again, the fine featured youth's eyes became stormy once again. "Immediately. Failing that, as soon as possible. This rogue shape-shifter knows of my involvement in Mytikas Multinational and will search out my holdings, I'm sure of it. I don't know what drove him to stick his nose into my affairs in the first place, but it's reasonable to assume he'll keep doing it. Regardless of whether I discover his identity or not, events must be put into motion to see him captured before he can disrupt what I have created. Before others get it into their heads to go against their master."

Bowing once more, Owen backed towards the door. "Understood, Sir. I will see it done."

Leaving the room, the straight-laced man strode down the hall to see to his errands, unaware that the room he had just left was being watched, as had the conversation they had just had. The events had unfolded upon the glassy, moist surface of a floating, crystal eye that, even now, blinked and changed its view to the sun god, still sitting in a rather bored fashion in his arm chair. The sound of light, ghostly laughter sounded between those watching the crystal ball, apparently amused by Apollo's deliberate lack of action. With another blink, the focus of the eye changed to a lone individual walking through the early morning streets of a city; an individual who did not appear outwardly as he rightfully should.

"The meeting is called and events are begun, setting the stage for both Hunter and Sun; one rises each morn and the other falls nightly, but it remains to be seen which of them shines the most brightly."

###

About Me

I was born in January of 1992 and I've lived in the Ottawa region of south-eastern Ontario ever since. I've had an interest in reading since I was a child, with much of my time spent nestled in a corner reading C.S. Lewis' "The Chronicles of Narnia", J.R.R. Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" and other works similar to theirs. With a rich supply of characters and fantastic settings to push my imagination off onto its own path, I suppose it's no great wonder that I developed a desire to create works of my own. And, much to my delight, I found that I loved writing as a young adult just as much as I had reading as a child. So, if you are one of those willing to give my work a chance, allow me to thank you. I hope that you enjoy the experience from the first word all the way to the last. And if you ultimately decide that my work is not for you, then that's all right; no two people have exactly the same taste, as I'm sure the average dragon would attest.

Happy reading! - M.J.

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