Derdrie Coventry stood near the back of the room watching the ritual. Before today she had thought herself to be beyond compassion, not simply unaffected by the suffering of others, but pleased by it. Watching as her slave, Gabriel Rider methodically stabbed her sister, Elysia, with the Sword of Glass was proving to be rather more suffering than she wanted to see.

Elysia was not the only one in pain, either. Beginning with the first sword strike, the Box of Sorrows had crackled with crimson light, given off flashes of almost black lightning, and let out a sputtering torrent of noxious steam. The eldrich lightning was attracted to Gabriel’s sword, arcing through the air to twine about the blade and ground itself into the wielder. Gabriel had only broken the fourth Seal, and already his clothing was a mass of char and blood, and not all of the gore belonged to Elysia.

"Hold, Father," Derdrie finally cried, "Please."

Gabriel stepped back at her words, still loyal to her rather than to her father. He sank to his knees, breathing heavily.

"Continue," the old man barked. "We have come too far to stop now."

Gabriel obediently staggered to his feet.

From where she was Magickaly held to the Box, Elysia gave a little whimper.

"No Father," Derdrie demanded, risking much. "The Box is hurting him. He heals really quickly, but he’ll die if he doesn’t get some rest. Where will you be then?" When that failed to sway him, she added, "Elysia is in a bad way as well. She’ll have more blood to shed for you if you take some time to Heal her now."

Mordakai Coventry was silent for so long that Derdrie feared she’d overplayed her hand. She remembered, uncomfortably, that her blood might serve as well as Elysia’s. Behind him, his slave Anastasia stirred restlessly. Derdrie had often wondered how she’d deal with the woman’s power to conjure steel from empty air.

"Perhaps you’re right, child." Mordakai drew from his breathing mask. "We still have time. Your Champion can take time to recover his strength, and I will tend to Elysia."

Derdrie tried to hide her relief. "Thank you, Father."

"Take him to one of the lounges and let him rest." There was a subtle stress on the final words.

"Come with me, Gabriel," Derdrie ordered.

The Swordbearer moved painfully to follow her from the room.

* * *

Beyond the walls of the Grand Facade, beyond the intangible Threshold, the skies over New York grew ominous. Thick, dark fog rolled in from all directions, and with the fog came other things.

* * *

Kildare pushed himself to his feet, spurning Colwynn’s outstretched hand. This was the fourth attack, and even though none were quite so bad as the first had been, they still seemed to hit the Lord Knight hard. "We must hurry," he croaked. "Only eight remain."

"Eight what, Roderick?" Colwynn’s concern was made of equal portions of mother and child.

"I’m not sure."

"Eight..." Gwenivere mused. "Oh spirits... I am. I know what Alistair was doing in the bloody Necropolis. We have to stop this. Now. Sooner."

Jason wanted to hit someone. "Obviously, but would you care to tell me what we’re stopping?"

Kildare looked at him, still shaky. "The Box of Sorrows. Our enemy intends to open it and unleash the God of Chaos."

"Ok," Jason allowed, "That would be bad."

The small company set off, using the streets. The Undercity was almost impassible now. What remained was limited to conventional tunnels that didn’t really go where they needed to go.

Things had happened quickly after they returned to Kildare’s base. The Darkways had sapped the strength from Max Duvall, snapping him back into his normal form and leaving him unconscious. He and Sabrina Lucas were both still at the Chapterhouse, recovering from their ordeals.

Jason and Gwenivere had both armed themselves from the armory of the Circle Knights. Jason was wearing armor under his somewhat bedraggled coat, and he’d found ammunition for the pistols he’d picked up. Besides that, he carried a brace of knives and a sword-breaker, a mass of metal shaped into teeth to catch and shatter an opponent’s weapon.

Of the Covnetrys, only Alistair frequently used a sword.

Gwenivere was armed with a new staff and a variety of trinkets charged with Magick. The Knights of the Circle were terribly conventional, so she didn’t have anything really clever. Not for the first time, she mourned the loss of her personal stores. Then again, parchment and ink were replaceable. Her life wasn’t, so all things considered she was doing fairly well.

"Colwynn, Find the Box of Sorrows," Gwenivere suggested.

"I’m not sure I can. I’ve never seen it before."

"Just try," Gwenivere urged. "It’s the most powerful Magickal artifact in the city, I promise. It’s got to be hard to hide, especially if it’s leaking."

The strange weather had Gwenivere worried. She wished she had the time to do some real investigation, but even without it, she knew something was wrong. The bitter presence of the Mists was faint.

"I have it," Colwynn said, slightly awed. "We’re going the right way."

"Then let us proceed," Kildare said.

The Knight took the lead, followed closely by Colwynn. The company moved quickly, ready for trouble. Colwynn had her bow out and an arrow in her right hand. Jason had a pistol ready. Only Kildare was not holding a weapon, and his armor made him look quite warlike enough.

"What’s up with them?" Gwenivere asked Jason, nodding toward Colwynn and Kildare.

Jason stared up at the pair in the lead darkly, but didn’t answer. Instead, he shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Something’s wrong."

"You feel it, too?"

Again, Jason’s answer seemed to be one conversational step to the left of Gwenivere’s question. "They can see us."

Gwenivere looked at the Prime Worlders faintly shrouded by the fog. She was so used to passing by them invisibly that she hadn’t been paying attention. Jason was right, though. The few pedestrians up so late were looking at the band, some furtively, others outright staring.

"The Fog is clearing..." That was impossible, of course. Gravity was as likely to fail as the Fog was.

Of course, just then the group had to attract some truly unwelcome attention. A patrol car pulled into an empty parking place just ahead of them. The passenger side door opened, and one of New York’s finest got out.

"Pardon me, folks," the officer said. He was all calm and smiles, but his hand was on the butt of the pistol at his side. "On your way to a party?"

The cop’s partner was standing on the other side of the police cruiser, out of range for most trouble, plenty close enough to cause more.

Gwenivere’s eyes shot to both sides. Jason had tucked his pistol into his coat as soon as he’d seen the cops, but there was no way to hide Kildare’s mail or Colwynn’s compound bow. For that matter, Gwenivere’s staff was iron shod, hardly a standard walking stick.

She shot the officer a smile and decided to improvise. "Yes, officer. We’re going to the Facade, it’s this club just up the way. I heard that the bouncers will let you in with no cover if you’re dressed weird enough."

The policeman was unconvinced. "Why don’t you put some of that hardware down and show me some ID?" he demanded.

"Sure thing!" Gwenivere kept up the airhead act and dug in her belt pouch as if going for her wallet. She stepped closer to the cop, sensing his rising tension. It was risky, but she needed to be close to both of them if this was going to work. "Here you go."

Instead of a wallet, she produced a rough chunk of amethyst. Several of the shards had been etched with runes, which had been filled with molten gold. The cop didn’t know what he was looking at, but he backed away instinctively. Gwenivere pressed him further, still playing innocent, until she was sure both officers were in range.

"Step back miss..." whatever else the cop would have said was lost when Gwenivere unleashed a sleep spell. Purple smoke poured from cracks in the crystal she held and enveloped an area about ten feet wide. Gwenivere had to step back to avoid it herself. With so little time, she hadn’t been able to focus the spell only on her intended targets. Both officers, and a passer by who just got too close, fell bonelessly to the pavement.

Gwenivere looked at the mass of broken crystal in her hands and shrugged. "What a waste. Let’s get out of here."

"Quick thinking, Lady Valentine," Kildare said. "I will undertake to shield us from further scrutiny." The Circle Knight was still pale from pain, but he looked stronger now. "We must hurry.

* * *

Elsewhere in New York, madness spread. The Big Apple had a bitter taste, and many of its denizens lived close to madness anyway. Jacob Loman, an out of work shoe salesman realized that he was holding a winning Lottery ticket. With terrible certainty, he foresaw all the troubles that 50 million dollars would bring and took his own life, using a pistol he kept in the house for personal protection.

First he shot his wife, since one of the problems he sought to escape was having her take half his money in a messy divorce and run off with the pool boy.

The Youngest watched him shoot, and even helped him adjust his aim, since Jacob was a lousy shot. His enjoyment of Margaret Loman’s death throes was cut short when something elsewhere nagged at his attention.

* * *

Key writhed in pain. Her entire tiny form was wracked with agony. The last devastating shudder died away, but a throbbing mass of abused nerves remained. She forced herself to sit up and take stock of the situation.

It was dark outside, and quiet except for the eerie wailing of the Suicide Trees. Before, there had been troops, and Hounds. Now Alistair’s soldiers had been withdrawn. Probably to guard Key’s brother.

Her hands were shaking. The thought of what was about to happen nearly overwhelmed the little girl. To stop the shaking, she wrapped her fingers around the iron key. She hadn’t used the talisman much, but it had served its purpose. The key labeled her, kept people from questioning her too closely, and let her direct things without revealing herself.

She felt her way across the room to the place where the door had been. Only wood with a texture more like bone was there now, but the door remembered where it had been. Key put the thin shaft of metal against the unnatural wood and concentrated. She did not exactly work a spell, what she did was far more elemental. She simply willed the door back into existence, and made it open to the place where she needed to go.

* * *

Derdrie left Gabriel lying on a velvet divan to recover his strength. He took in air with slow, shuddering breaths. Each one was clearly an effort.

"Why are we doing this, Crystal?" he asked.

"Lord Coventry needs our help."

"But that’s his daughter, right? Why are we hurting her?"

"She’s a traitor," Derdrie snapped. Almost immediately, she softened her tone. "She’s being punished for crimes she deserves to suffer for, truly. I’m sorry you have to be put through it. Ordinarily we’d do it another way, but Magick requires payment, and her blood is all we’ve got to use. Would you prefer it to be mine?"

"No, no. It’s just, this feels wrong..."

Derdrie sat down beside Gabriel and stroked his sweat-beaded brow. "I know, Angel Eyes. It will all be over soon. Then Lord Coventry might have the strength to restore Sabrina. We don’t have any other chance."

"Ok, but I don’t like this."

Her words seemed to convince him. She hid a sigh of relief. Since returning to the Prime Realm, Derdrie had found her control over Gabriel steadily unraveling. His will was almost his own again, though he was still trapped in Derdrie’s Glamour.

"I know, baby, but it’s almost over."

"Come here...Crystal," Father’s voice snapped with more strength than he’d shown in a long time. He was still in the chair, but Anastasia was not behind him.

"Yes, Lord Coventry," Derdrie answered. To Gabriel she said, "I have to go. Just rest a while longer."

She followed her father out into the hall, amazed that he had the Magick to move his chair. Somehow, he’d been siphoning strength all through the ritual.

"You’re looking well, Father," Derdrie said when they were alone. "Where is Anastasia?"

"I left her watching Elysia. The girl’s distraught. She shouldn’t be left alone."

"I suppose not," Derdrie replied.

"Something has occurred to me about you and your toy," Mordakai said, far too casually.

"Yes?"

"It occurs that you might not have my best interests at heart. It occurs that you might have been playing up to me to your own advantage. It occurs that you might think that my death would improve your situation."

"Father, I would never..." Derdrie couldn’t finish. Her father’s eyes flashed, and she felt her gaze locked onto his. The force of Mordakai’s will battered against the edges of Derdrie’s mind, and she knew her frail defenses wouldn’t hold.

"Know this, daughter. If things do not go as I plan, they will certainly not go as you plan."

Then, as swiftly as it had come, the assault was over. Derdrie reeled back, surprised, and a little cowed. "Yes, Father. I will not betray you."

"No, you will not." Mordakai seemed satisfied. He turned his chair and returned to the great hall.

Derdrie watched him go, then moved on shaky legs to return to Gabriel’s side. She found the way blocked by a little girl who was standing in the doorway.

The girl was pale and dirty, dressed in tattered clothing, and clutching an iron key.

Sudden realization dawned. "Key is the key," Derdrie quoted. "Well, you’re too late to get in my way now."

The girl turned to regard Derdrie with far too serious eyes. "No I’m not. I’m going to destroy everything you’ve worked for. All your father’s plans will come to dust."

Derdrie calmly pulled a small double-barreled pistol from her garter and shot the child, once in the chest then once up close in the head.

"Come on, Gabriel. We have to get back." She led her slave through the back way to the dance floor, avoiding the growing pool of blood.

* * *

The Youngest looked at his little sister. She didn’t look particularly peaceful in death. Of course, the back of her head was missing. She had dropped the useless metal key when Derdrie shot her.

That had been unexpected. The Youngest hadn’t realized the woman was carrying a gun. He thought she was going to have to use her bare hands, or ask the Swordbearer to do it.

"And what would have happened then? That Sword is the only thing most of us are really afraid of. I hope Jason Valentine is up to stopping it. What our aunts did to him was really cool."

He didn’t have much time to think about that, though. The Swordbearer was back in action. The Youngest had to be in his body when it woke up.

* * *

Derdrie was back in place, uneasy, but watching. The candles had been replaced, and some of the spilled wax had been cleared away, though none of the dried blood. Someone had restored Elysia’s arms, though garish scars ran all along them.

"Let us begin again," Mordakai ordered.

Two of Alistair’s soldiers moved Elysia into position. That was odd. Usually, Anastasia would have done such things. Elysia struggled against her captors, and twitched in pain as she was forced to kneel beside the Box and its flames licked at her. Her cries of protest were incoherent, almost inhuman.

Derdrie saw the slave girl standing in her accustomed place, but she wasn’t moving. Her eyes were blank. For some reason, Father had been forced to suppress her will. Perhaps the Sword, or the Box was unraveling the spells that held her enthralled, too.

Gabriel looked dubious. Obviously, his heart was starting to rebel at what he was being asked to do. Derdrie’s spells were breaking down, but they held for the moment. He took a fresh grip on the crimson-shining Sword of Glass and drove it once again into the Box of Sorrows.

He was rewarded by a fresh gout of dark lightning and spectral flame. Something oily clung to the Sword as he pulled it out, glittering darkly in the light.

"Again," Mordakai ordered, pointing. "That one."

The helpless Elysia was manhandled into a new position and Gabriel struck again. Derdrie averted her eyes and wished she could close her ears against the screaming.

The whole Box shuddered in reaction. Cracks like crazy spider webs danced all across the surface etched out in blood. Half the Seals were broken now. Derdrie couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that the Box was losing the will to fight.

* * *

"Maxwell?" Sabrina sat upright. "Max, where are you?"

Max, roused from his doze by her simple movement sat up in his chair. He’d been by her bedside since he regained consciousness himself. His hunger was sated, he didn’t even want to think about how, and the strange rage that came with it was gone. Now there was just a knot of worry that was a little less uncomfortable if he could direct it at someone else.

"I’m here Sabrina." He leaned over the side of her bed

Her hand flailed out to find his. "You’re cold," she said.

"Yeah..." Max decided to change the subject. "What woke you? It wasn’t me, was it?"

"No, Maxwell. I just had a... fright. Something very bad is happening."

"The good guys are trying to stop it. They’ll bring Gabriel back, too."

"They’ll have to kill him. She has him. It’s not his fault, but they’ll have to kill him."

Max didn’t know what to say. Recent events had taught him that ‘it’s going to be Ok’ was probably a lie.

* * *

Strange things crawled out of the fog cloaking New York. Everyone knew that there was no such thing as Vampires, so of course the pale, black clad people waylaying tourists and club kids weren’t Vampires. The people they fed upon were no less dead, though. Ghosts weren’t real either, so the unearthly wailing that echoed from every cemetery, mortuary, and murder site in the city must have been a trick of the wind.

Where the fog went, madness followed. Amanda Richardson was caught in it. She suddenly realized that the two people fighting in the next room weren’t really her parents, since she was an Angel. The heavenly chorus had sent her down to earth to learn about human suffering, but now it was time to go home. She opened the patio door and jumped out into the sky, feeling her alabaster wings open and spread behind her as she sailed into paradise.

Far below, Jack Monroe vowed never to park in a handicap place again, and never to leave the top down on his convertible, if he ever managed to get into a car without throwing up at the memory of Amanda’s landing.

The fog spread, carried up and down the coast, and driving slowly inland.

* * *

It was time to end this. Jason stood across the street from the Grand Facade and steeled himself for what had to be done. It was so similar to the last time that a part of his mind wanted to laugh.

The four of them were crouched in a building’s awning to avoid notice. Most of Kildare’s concentration was taken up by keeping them invisible, but he had enough left to offer his insights.

"The Hounds are positioned all around us. At the first sign of trouble, they’ll close in. I will not be able to keep them from seeing us once engage the enemy."

"There are no sentries outside," Gwenivere observed.

"Obviously Lord Coventry knew what would occur and kept his more obvious servants out of sight. We will not find the inside unguarded."

"We can take them." Colwynn said confidently.

Jason might have been reassured, if she wasn’t clinging to Kildare’s arm. He shook that thought away and focused on the present. "Here’s what we do," he said. "As soon as we hit that door, we’re going to be under attack from both sides. Colwynn, you and Kildare will have to hold things out here. I’m sure Kildare has some way to call his troops, so you won’t be on your own long."

"Acceptable," Kildare said, not fooled for a moment by Jason’s choice of phrasing.

Jason nodded in recognition. "Gwenivere, you’re with me. When we get inside, I have the best chance of getting through the guards, and I’ll need you to tell me what to do to stop Mordakai."

Kildare groaned and Colwynn moved to support him. "We had best hurry, Lord Valentine. Time grows short." The man straightened painfully and drew his sword.

"No sense putting it off," Jason agreed. "I don’t suppose one of you can open a gate into the middle of the club?"

Gwenivere shook her head in the negative. "Julie keeps the place locked up tight."

"Then we use the front door." Jason put his sword away and drew both pistols, starting across the street. The sentries wouldn’t be ready for a direct assault. If he and Gwenivere moved fast, they’d be able to blow past the first hardpoint before the Coventry soldiers knew what hit them. Either that, or they’d both die.

"Wait," he felt Colwynn’s hand on his chest. "I want to do it."

Jason watched, slightly bemused, as Colwynn dug through her quiver and selected a particular arrow. He started taking her preparations more seriously when he saw that the arrow was carved of black wood with runes etched into it as fine as woodgrain.

Curious, Jason reached out to touch the arrow. His Gift gave him a sense of roiling pressure and heat.

Colwynn shrugged. "It was a present from Roderick. I’ve been waiting for a good chance to use it." She drew back her bowstring and aimed for the dull metal doors.

The arrow shot across the street silently, penetrating the metal with a barely audible hiss. The explosion that followed it was anything but quiet.

Jason didn’t let the smoke clear before entering the building. As he crossed the street he holstered his pistols and drew the sword. This was going to be close work. Holding his breath and counting on his Gift, he moved into the middle of the lobby. Eyes watering, he picked out the first target.

The Coventry soldier had a gun, but Jason had the Touch. He swept his blade up to move the soldier’s pistol off-line. At the moment of contact, the Touch told Jason all about his opponent. He drove a knee into the surprised man’s gut, re-opening a wound the man had received in an earlier battle.

Air, flecked with blood, flooded from the soldier’s mouth.

Jason didn’t wait for him to recover, following his first strike with a footsweep and following that with a killing stroke. As long as he was committed to the final strike, all the others were unearthly fast. All part of the deal.

Gwenivere was in the room now. "They’ll be using the dance floor," she said, "if you’re through playing."

A second guard loomed up near her, pistol raised. He let out a battle cry and started firing.

Gwenivere yelped and dropped to the floor.

"I have to clean up after you first" Jason grinned as he passed his sister.

More soldiers were coming, not as many as Jason had been worried about, but still a sizable contingent. Gwenivere rolled to her feet, but Jason didn’t have time to see what she did.

Light flashed behind him while he was finishing the second guard. He turned to see two Covenshire soldiers on the ground, smoking wounds in their chests.

"This isn’t working," Gwenivere called as she fended off an advancing soldier with her attack. "There are too many."

A Hound howled, illustrating her point.

Jason pulled one of his guns and fired past Gwenivere. "Got any other suggestions?"

Gwenivere struck her opponent on the underside of the jaw, then said something Jason almost understood in the language of Wizardry. A wave of force propelled the man across the room.

"The back stairs," she said. "There’s an upstairs lounge with a view of the dance floor."

That was enough for Jason. He had some breathing room, so he pressed a hand against the wall. The psychic impressions of the Grand Facade were interesting, to say the least, but nothing he hadn’t seen before. "There’s a secret door."

"Somehow, I would have been disappointed if there wasn’t." Gwenivere threw another spell, creating a wall of fire to hold back any more troops. "Lead the way."

Jason found the catch, a lever built into a wall sconce. A lot of people had used this door in the distant past, so the walls had very detailed instructions. "After you."

Gwenivere took a moment to throw several darts of fire into the soldiers, then went through the narrow gap in the wall. She took the steps two at a time with a spell on the tip of her tongue. As if they’d practiced it that way, she dropped out of the doorway with Jason right behind her. Neither of them stood in the door long enough for anyone to get a shot at them.

"Hi Gwenivere," The Thorn Queen’s voice sounded tentative, a little sad.

Gwenivere was brought up short. The Thorn Queen was seated in a high-backed chair. She held a small, shaggy dog in her lap.

"Julie? What’s going on?"

"I’m really sorry about this."

Jason scanned the room, but found no other threats. He edged over to the balcony. A one-way glass partition let him see what was going on down below without being seen himself.

"Do you know what they’re doing down there?" Gwenivere demanded. "How could you be a part of this?"

"I had to, I had no choice."

Gwenivere’s voice hardened. "There’s always a choice, Julie." She turned her back on the Thorn Queen and walked up next to Jason. "We don’t have much time. Do you see Gabriel?"

Gabriel Rider looked like he’d been dragged through hell on a rusty chain, but the Sword of Glass shown with angry light in his hands. As far as Jason could tell, almost all the Seals had been broken. The shadowy form in the middle of the crystal coffin was moving, hammering against the walls.

"We have to stop him. Derdrie’s controlling him with her spells. If I can get down there, I can break him free."

The Thorn Queen hadn’t moved from her chair. She stood up now, releasing the puppy. "I’m sorry, Gwenivere. Truly, I am. But I can’t let that happen." Power crackled around her. The tattoos she wore writhed across her skin.

Jason’s senses became very clear. Time broke itself into a series of discrete moments, but the tiny shards were too hard to hold. Jason couldn’t seem to get a grip on them.

The Thorn Queen’s tattoos rose up and shot forward, crackling with Magick. Julie could cast any of the spells the original design included with naught but a thought.

Alistair Coventry, with two Hounds at his side, entered the room. His sword was drawn.

Gwenivere slammed both of her fists into Jason, sending him plummeting through the glass. In empty air, his Touch was gone, and he was totally disoriented.

* * *

As expected, as soon as Colwynn had blown the door, a pack of Hounds attacked. There weren’t as many as she had expected. Perhaps the Coventrys were finally running out of troops.

There were still plenty to be a problem.

Roderick had his dark sword in his left hand, holding it by the blade so he could transfer it to his right. In the other hand, he held another bottled spirit, which he unleashed on the charging dogs.

Colwynn grabbed another arrow and loosed it into the pack. There were more coming from behind, so she turned as she drew her next shaft.

"Shouldn’t one of us say something cool now?" she asked.

"Less talk, sweetling, more killing."

A human form appeared amongst the Hounds with a manic laugh. "Oh killing’s fun. Can I play?"

One of the Hounds made it past Roderick’s spirit. Colwynn took it with an arrow.

"Master Vincent." Roderick actually sounded bemused. "Lord Valentine was much impressed with you. I usually find his appraisals in error."

Vincent Coventry rose to the bait, charging past the Hounds and lashing out with his whip.

Colwynn could only half watch the battle since she was busy with the Hounds. Roderick let the boy charge, deflecting the whip with the angled blade of his sword. He feinted forward, but Colwynn could see that he didn’t intend the attack to strike home.

Vincent pulled a knife and tried to close. Again, Roderick let him move, but kept out of the way. Vincent attacked again, and again his blade found no home.

"Sit still," Vincent ordered. "Aren’t you man enough to hit me?"

Roderick didn’t bother with a reply. His sword flickered forward and rapped Vincent across the wrist, forcing him to drop his whip.

"This is going to hurt me more than it does you," Roderick said.

* * *

Jason hit the ground. Fortunately, a table someone had dragged to the edge of the room broke his fall. Gabriel Rider was almost finished with his work. Two of Mordakai’s servants were dragging a woman bodily across the last Seal.

All motion stopped, and all eyes were on Jason as he rose painfully. The tableaux didn’t last long, however. Mordakai Coventry gestured wildly, and Gabriel Rider charged. The Sword of Glass burned in his hands.

Jason met the charge Water style, not trying to parry with brute force. He curved along a tangent of Rider’s attack. "Rider, think. This isn’t right."

The Swordbearer wasn’t listening. "You can’t stop us now."

"What, not before you stab a woman through the chest?"

That bought Jason a moment’s hesitation. He used it for an attack, kicking Gabriel savagely with a thrust to the knee. Bone broke under the blow, and Gabriel fell. He’d limp for the rest of his life, but that was better than being dead.

Jason turned his attention to the others. Derdrie Coventry looked shocked. Mordakai was shielded by a woman in white.

"Anna?" That was impossible. Anastasia Valentine had been missing for years.

If so, her doppelganger was standing in front of Mordakai and holding a wickedly barbed spear, the best weapon with which to counter Jason’s katana.

The Touch warned Jason at the last minute, and he spun in time to catch a two handed swing from Gabriel Rider on his curved blade. Sparks flew up the length of the sword as metal was shredded. Jason barely had time to think as he backflipped away and discarded his ruined weapon. He pulled the sword-breaker he’d borrowed from Kildare and tried to figure out what to do next.

Rider gave him no time. The kid moved unearthly fast; the Sword made him fast and strong. It had repaired his knee, Jason realized. That meant he would heal as the fight progressed.

"I’m sorry, Gwen." he whispered. "There’s no other way."

He sidestepped Rider’s two-handed downstroke, then ducked another swing that would have cut off his head. The Sword of Glass was almost screeching through the air. Without the Touch to guide him, there was no way Jason could beat Rider, and he couldn’t touch him without getting killed. If someone was going to die, it wasn’t going to be him.

Accepting death, Jason reaped its full power. Rider’s blur of motion slowed to merely human levels, though in truth Jason had sped up. He threw up the sword-breaker to block a strike, limiting contact by making his parry a blow in itself. Rider was overbalanced. He was talented, but not very skilled. Without the speed or strength advantage he’d be easy to kill.

* * *

The Lady looked over the dead body of the girl who had been called Key. The child had been a useful vessel, but her time was over. Mindful of the rules, the Lady wasn’t physically present on the Prime Realm anymore. She peered through a reflecting glass into a world tinged red. The glass was showing her the reflections of the pool of Key’s own blood.

The presence of the Youngest was obvious, and the Lady moved her senses toward it. The Thorn Queen’s domain had many mirrors. The Lady had no trouble finding one that gave her an adequate view.

Only one Seal, her seal, remained. Elysia Coventry had been stretched across it so that her heart’s blood would spill over it when Gabriel stabbed her. The Swordbearer was otherwise engaged, though. Jason Valentine was fighting him, and the shroud of one of the Lady’s sisters hung over him, protecting him from harm.

Sadly, the Lady realized that she was going to succeed. Under the shadow of death, Jason would defeat the Swordbearer, and the enemy would have no way to open the last Seal.

Her little brother writhed in his prison, desperate to escape. She would stop that from happening, whatever the cost. Otherwise... That could not be allowed to happen.

* * *

Gwenivere was having problems. Julie’s mystic tendrils had her pinned to the wall, and Alistair Coventry was advancing with a menacing leer. Gwenivere’s hands were pinned, so she couldn’t reach any of her props. The runes flashing along Julie’s animated tattoos were moving too fast to decode, and Gwenivere didn’t think she had the force to break them by brute strength, not and have enough left to fight Alistair.

"Ah, Gwenivere, we never had the chance to finish our conversation," Alistair said, smiling.

Gwenivere knew he was going to say that. He could never pass up a cliché. "I can see you’re busy. We can always talk later," she said.

"We’re going to have a lot of time for that," Alistair agreed.

"NO," Julie’s voice was a shock. "That’s not part of the deal." More spell tendrils rose up, forming a barrier between Gwenivere and Alistair.

"You step beyond yourself, girl," Alistair threatened. His sword didn’t waver. Alistair wasn’t the most subtle Sorcerer, but he made up for it in strength.

Gwenivere didn’t wait around to see how the contest would end. She improvised a spell. The arcane sentences flew from her lips. The syntax wasn’t great, but she got her point across. The floor under Alistair, and in fact most of the rest of the room, was briefly convinced that it didn’t really exist.

Knowing what was going to happen, Gwenivere caught herself on the balcony edge. Her muscles felt like water, but somehow her hands held onto the rim long enough. She’d be feeling the pain from that later, but blood stopped flowing and wounds healed.

Alistair’s curses and his Hounds’ surprised yelps were muffled by the re-asserted floor.

Gwenivere sank to the ground gratefully. "Thanks for the distraction, Julie," she said. "I knew you wouldn’t really let me down."

There was no answer. Julie’s chair was missing, as was its occupant. They were probably in the storeroom, if Gwenivere remembered the layout of the club correctly.

* * *

Jason switched the sword-breaker to his left hand and met Rider’s next attack differently. He danced intricately in and out of Rider’s reach, earning himself several nicks from the Sword of Glass. Jason’s armor might as well have not existed for all the good it was doing. The wounds burned, but Jason kept the pain out of his mind, pushed to the edges of his concentration like Mordakai’s crazed rantings.

Finally, Rider picked up his cue, thrusting too far out, having to release the Sword with one hand to block a strike from Jason. The kid counted on his speed, trying to draw the Sword in to score across Jason’s ribs. Jason’s side wasn’t there to receive the blow, though. The sword-breaker flashed in and twisted savagely. The metal boiled against the Sword of Glass, but it held long enough.

Jason caught the trailing edge of the hilt and Rider’s arm, and forced the blade into its wielder’s own ribs. Using his knee to reinforce the move, he slammed the pommel of his sword-breaker into the Sword of Glass. The Touch had told him that the blade had a weak point, and he hit it with all his strength.

The blade shattered with a crystalline sound, and Gabriel’s own momentum finished Jason’s work. The ruined hilt slammed into his chest. There was enough jagged blade left that Jason was rewarded with a spray of hot blood.

Someone screamed, Derdrie, Jason realized. Rider just stood there. His eyes were very clear. He was one of the calm ones. Somehow, Jason regretted them the most.

"Oh god, Jason," He said. His voice was thick, but the words were clear. "I think I messed everything up." He sank to his knees and fell.

Jason turned on Mordakai Coventry. Ten years of guilt and rage rose up. For this one there would be no regrets. The old man’s eyes were weak and milky, and full of fear.

"No," he croaked. "It doesn’t end like this."

* * *

The Youngest slammed his fists against the walls of his prison. "No, it doesn’t end like this."

He examined the walls of the prison. There had to be a way out. There had to be. But there wasn’t. He threw his awareness outside the Box, looking for a way out. With all the clues he’d given Mordakai, all the trouble he’d gone to to show the old man how to open the Box, there had to be something. The old man wanted the box open almost as much as the Youngest did.

That was the key.

* * *

It entered Jason’s mind that he didn’t have any weapons to speak of, and that he was in a room full of enemies. None of these things seemed terribly important. He was going to kill Mordakai.

The old man was trying to cast a spell. Jason didn’t care what it did, he was going to be dead in a minute.

The butt end of Anna’s spear slammed into the side of Jason’s head, filling his vision with stars. He’d kind of forgotten about her.

He rolled with the impact and threw a knife at her just out of form. She batted it aside and continued her charge, making controlled thrusts, keeping her weapon moving so Jason couldn’t grab it.

"Please don’t make me kill her," he begged of an unresponsive fate.

Mordakai’s bony fingers had pulled something from his coat, a vial he now held to his lips and slurped at hungrily. Green-gold liquid spilled down the edges of his mouth and he was taken by a fit of coughing.

Jason didn’t have time to think about it much, but it seemed that a second figure was superimposed upon Mordakai’s. Before he could figure out what that might mean, he had to dodge a sweep from the spear. He flipped backwards and landed next to the broken cocktail table.

Anastasia stabbed downward and Jason kicked the table into the spear. The metal shaft buried itself in the thick wood and Jason silently thanked Julie for buying real wood furniture. He had time for one punch before Anna produced a pair of hooked knives. Then the dance was on again. Anna knew better than to let Jason touch her, and without his full strength, he couldn’t beat her. She wasn’t really his equal either, though. The sniping tactics she was using kept her from being able to strike a decisive blow.

Whatever he was going doing, there was no way for Jason to stop Mordakai. The old man had risen from his chair and was staggering to the Box of Sorrows. He pushed Elysia off of the coffin contemptuously.

"Your blood is no longer required. I will finish this as I should have, with my own strength."

Jason heard Gwenivere’s voice from up above. "No! You’re inside the circle."

Whatever that meant, it was too late to stop Mordakai. Jason felt his power build and be released in a surge of will.

* * *

Through a mirror behind the bar, the Lady watched the last Seal shatter. Mordakai Coventry had used the last of his strength to break it, channeling the full might of his stolen Foundries. The effort was too much. Without his Sorcerous protections, his will was no match for what happened next.

"Oh little brother, Now we don’t have any choice at all."

* * *

Colwynn had dispatched the Hounds, but Roderick was still toying with Vincent Coventry. The young man was tiring. His assaults against Roderick required energy, and Roderick met each thrust with a soft parry or simply dodged. For his part, Vincent didn’t seem to understand what was happening. He hadn’t been hit himself, and had even managed to hurt his opponent a few times, yet he must have sensed that he was losing.

"You can’t win this, boy," Roderick said.

"You can’t touch me. I’m going to kill you." The boy’s breathing was labored.

Roderick changed his stance. Colwynn saw that he didn’t intend to dodge any more. "Then stop talking about it and do it."

Vincent charged and struck out with his knife.

Roderick spun and lashed out with a hand, catching the boy around the neck. He trapped his smaller foe in a chokehold, then hammered him in the belly with his pommel for good measure.

Vincent tried to struggle, but his breathless body wouldn’t obey his commands. In sparring, Colwynn had taken blows to the same spot, and it was as if someone had temporarily disconnected her muscles from her bones.

Then Roderick shuddered. Another Seal must have broken, only this was worse even than the first attack had been. His grip slackened and he fell. Colwynn saw blood coming from his mouth and nose.

Vincent spun free of his grip and reached for his dropped knife. "Now you die."

"Don’t touch him," Colwynn ordered. A black shaft from her quiver was aimed directly at Vincent. At this range, she was very unlikely to miss. "Back away. The twin to this arrow blew out those doors. How much strength will you get from having your head blown off?"

A long moment passed, then Vincent fled.

Colwynn immediately rushed to Roderick’s side. "Are you alright, love?" she asked.

"There’s a god abroad on the earth," he answered.

* * *

The Youngest gratefully slipped out of Mordakai Coventry’s desiccated old husk and returned to his own body. Ordinarily the old man’s will would have been too much for him to take, but Mordakai had gotten greedy and desperate, and that gave the Youngest a back door.

He stepped out of the open Box of Sorrows, yawned, and stretched. He’d been cooped up in there for a long time. For good measure, he gestured casually and broke every mirror in the Grand Facade. As helpful as she’d been, his big sister had almost messed up the entire thing. He didn’t want her interfering now.

* * *

Anna abruptly broke off her attack. Jason thought she’d head for Mordakai, to try to protect him from whatever was coming out of the Box of Sorrows. Instead, she ran straight for Derdrie.

Mordakai’s daughter never knew what happened. Anna piled into her and dragged her bodily from the room.

The God of Chaos, if that’s what was really imprisoned in the Box of Sorrows, looked like a kid of about 17, with long blond hair and wild eyes. He was dressed in... something. Whatever it was, it flickered into dozens of shapes, first a jester’s motley, then a ‘70s leisure suit, then a tunic that looked like it was made out of Smurf hides. He watched Anna and Derdrie flee, crestfallen. "Don’t go," he called after them. "We’re going to have fun." The shrillness in his voice, and the manic way he said ‘fun’ put Jason on edge. "Oh well, I still have you to play with."

Jason was sure he didn’t like the way the God of Chaos was looking at him. He threw a knife at him. It probably wouldn’t work, but knives were cheep.

The silver missile slammed into the side of the God’s head and he fell to the ground, screaming, writhing, and thrashing his arms and legs. The knife protruded grotesquely from either side of the God’s head.

It took Jason a minute to realize that there was no blood.

The God of Chaos sat up and removed the knife, which had somehow become a novelty toy with an arc of thick wire in the middle. "Oh, I forgot, you can’t kill me. Me and my family are the oldest things on earth. Only something even older can really kill one of us. But I can kill you." He grinned like a little kid. "Until I do, could you stop thinking of me as the God of Chaos. That’s really cumbersome. How about, ‘Murray,’ or ‘Ickabod?’ No, those suck. How about ‘the Trickster?’ Lots of my family go by these cool one word titles instead of names."

The Trickster, or maybe Murray, gestured dramatically at Jason.

Jason just stood there.

The Trickster tried the other hand.

Jason still didn’t move. He hoped Gwenivere was thinking of something.

"That’s weird," the blond entity said. "I can’t kill you."

Jason smiled grimly, still trying to buy time. "You’ll have to get in line. There’s somebody ahead of you on the list."

"Oh, I get it." The Trickster brightened. "One of my sisters has everything all screwed up around you. Oh well. I may not be able to kill you, but I can sure make you wish I would. There’s a lot of people waiting to meet you in the afterlife. Let’s just give them a hand, ‘kay?"

Jason watched in horror as hundreds of shades rose up from the shadows all around the room. He recognized all their faces, even the ones he’d only killed from a distance.

The little things washed over him like a wave. They chittered and clawed at him, trying to get inside his skin. All he could do was screw his eyes shut and try to keep them out. He moaned in agony.

* * *

The Lady was shut out of the club. She could watch Gabriel only from the pool of blood swiftly growing by his side, and there was nothing else to see but the ceiling overhead. She needed a way to get back into the game, and quickly, before Gabriel succumbed totally. If he was going to die, it would have to be after she was finished with him.

The world depended upon it.

* * *

Gwenivere watched Jason go down helplessly. She couldn’t even see the edges of the spell the Trickster had cast, much less find any way to unravel it.

Suddenly, without seeming to have moved, he was standing in the room with her. "Just between you and me, I can’t really talk to the dead, at least not so they answer. Those are just what he thinks the spirits of the dead would be like. Really mostly dead people are either better adjusted, or they’re too busy to do anything like that. It looks cool, though. Your brother has a really vivid imagination."

"How did you do that? I should have felt something, and I didn’t."

"Well maybe you’re not as good as you thought you were," the Trickster shrugged. "Maybe you don’t know as much about Magick as you think you do. Hey, maybe you don’t know as much about anything as you think you do. What if you don’t really know how to cast spells, or read all those languages, or even to speak Ka#x> ivi^...?"

The string of gibberish continued as the Trickster wandered around the room. Gwenivere reached for one of her...things. She couldn’t remember what it was called. She looked at it, unable to comprehend what the marks on it meant."

* * *

Sabrina had fallen asleep again. Max still stayed beside her. Abruptly she stiffened in bed.

"You OK, Sabrina?" Max asked quietly.

She sat up slowly. Her eyes were opened, but she didn’t turn in his direction. "Gabriel is dying. I can see it." She sounded totally calm. "Key’s with him, except that she’s changed."

"What’s happening?" Max didn’t know if he meant what was happening in Sabrina’s vision, or what was happening to her.

"He’s hurting so much," pity poured through her voice. "He feels so guilty."

"Didn’t he dime you in to that Derdrie witch?"

"It’s not his fault. Doesn’t he understand that none of it’s his fault?" She was almost sobbing with a compassion that left Max feeling jealous, and guilty for his jealousy. Suddenly she was all calm again. "I know what he has to do."

* * *

"That’s her taken care of, then," the Trickster said.

Gwenivere Valentine stared at a piece of parchment stupidly. He could see her trying to make out the symbols, but with severe dyslexia and a host of related afflictions, she wasn’t going to make much headway.

He chuckled and decided to see what other trouble he could get into.

"I believe that will be enough." Roderick Kildare stood holding a black sword. Colwynn Valentine was behind him.

"Oh goodie. I was hoping you’d show up. You can’t believe how much I hate you," the Trickster grinned from ear to ear. "Since it wouldn’t really be fair, I’m not even going to use my power on you. Well, not at first anyway."

"Colwynn, tend to your sister. I will handle this."

"You’re going to handle me? That’s a laugh. You and what army?" The Trickster advanced.

To his credit, Kildare didn’t flinch. "Everything can be controlled, even you."

"You’re always about control, do you know that? You never change. You should loosen up a little." The Trickster produced a cream pie and threw it at Kildare.

The Knight dodged to the side, but the pie was a homing pie. Sticky goo splattered across his shoulder. A little even managed to hit his face. He reacted by snapping out a spell.

The Trickster felt shackles of pure spirit closing in on him. "You could never take a joke, either," he said as he teleported out of range of the spell. From the room below, he heard Kildare’s enraged growl as the pie cream started to grow and harden into stone.

Things were moving right along. The Trickster’s old strength was returning rapidly. He’d only had enough juice for parlor tricks on the other two, but now he was almost back to his reality warping self.

It was almost time to party.

* * *

Gabriel floated in a cold, still sea. It was all over now. He’d pretty much failed at everything, but not any longer.

"Gabriel?" a voice invaded the stillness. "You have to get up."

He’d heard the voice before, but he couldn’t place it. "Sabrina?"

"Yes, Gabriel. I don’t know how, but I’m here. You have to get up. There’s a sword in your chest, and you can’t heal from the wound until you pull it out."

"It’s OK," Gabriel relaxed. Having a sword in his guts certainly explained the pain, but that was fading. "When I’m dead I won’t be able to mess up anymore."

"You didn’t mess up, but you will if you let yourself die." Sabrina sounded so urgent.

Why did she care so much? She should hate him. He would have shrugged, but every time he tried to move, the tranquility turned into pain.

"Damnit Gabriel, get up. I’m getting really tired of your self pity." All the compassion was gone from her voice now, and she was just angry. "It’s not your fault what happened to me, or to Crystal, but it will be your fault if everyone else dies because you’re so in love with pain that you won’t get up off the floor and fight."

That stung. "I’m scared. What if I get it wrong?"

"Then we all die, which will happen anyway if you don’t do something. Now will you please get up?"

Visions interfered with the peace, and sounds. There was blood everywhere. Gabriel realized a lot of it was his. Jason Valentine was curled up in a ball, whimpering. There were shapes, like ghosts, all around him. There was a voice up above, it sounded like Gwenivere Valentine, but there were no words.

"I just want it all to stop," he said.

Sabrina’s voice sighed in his head. "All you have to do is stop the one who came out of the Box of Sorrows, then if that’s what you want you can rest."

The shard of broken sword really hurt. Gabriel managed to get his hands around the hilt and pushed. The first movement almost knocked him back into unconsciousness. After resting up for a minute, he tried again. The pain was so intense that he wasn’t able to feel anything else, but the broken Sword clattered to the floor.

"That’s good, Gabriel." Sabrina’s voice wouldn’t leave him alone. "Now you have to stand up."

"What am I going to do?"

"You’re going to kill a god."

"How? I don’t have a sword anymore. Jason broke it." Nonetheless, Gabriel managed to prop himself into a sitting position, leaning against the wall.

"You don’t need the sword. None of the Heroes have ever needed the sword. The sword is a symbol for what’s inside." Sabrina’s voice didn’t sound like her own. It was like she was speaking for someone else. "A sword wouldn’t really kill him anyway. He’s more like a symbol than a person. You have to have a stronger symbol."

Still not sure, Gabriel reached for the Sword’s shattered hilt. Maybe there was some power left in it. The room swayed around him, a nexus focused on the great gaping wound in his chest. He really wished that would stop.

Miraculously, the pain abated a little, enough that he could stand up. He had a hard time holding the Sword. Both of his hands were cut and bleeding from when he’d grabbed the broken blade.

"Hey, you’re up. Wow. I really owe you a lot." The guy from the Box was standing there. His clothes looked like they were being channel-surfed. "The old guy waited too long, he would have died without your help...before he finished, which would have been a real drag. Everybody calls me the Trickster." He held out a hand.

"I’m sorry," Gabriel said.

"What?" The Trickster asked. "It’s not a bad name. Do you prefer Murray?"

"I’m sorry that I have to kill you."

"Oh, that. I get a lot of that." The Trickster seemed unconcerned. "Don’t’ worry, you can’t kill me. The Sword of Glass is broken. None of my kin can touch me, even though a couple of them got really close."

Gabriel took a step forward. His head swam, but he didn’t fall.

"Watch it," the Trickster warned. "Come any closer and I’ll turn you into a frog, or maybe a German." He gestured, but nothing happened. He tried one more time, then looked at the ceiling, disgusted. "It was frustrating enough with the big stupid one. For people with a non-intervention pact you people get in my way a lot." He looked back at Gabriel. "You know, maybe we can cut a deal. They don’t really have your best interests at heart, but I’ll be your friend.

Gabriel took another step, clutching a hand to his chest. His legs held him, but they let him know that this wasn’t going to be a permanent state of affairs. He was so tired. He held the Sword out, what was left of it, in his right hand. The broken piece of blade pointed straight up.

The Trickster actually flinched back from it, backing up to the dais that held the broken remains of his prison. Gabriel circled slowly, following the lines of the massive diagram on the floor. He stopped over every candle, letting his blood drip down. The old man had said that blood was necessary for the sacrifice.

"Hey, what are you doing? If you play with fire, you might get burned."

A drop of blood fell on the last candle. Nothing visible showed it, but Gabriel knew that something had changed. Slowly, carefully, he moved to the center of the circle.

"I’m really sorry, but I can’t rest until you’re gone," he said.

"Rest? Oh, from the pain." The Trickster brightened. "That’s OK, I can take care of that for you. How ‘bout you put down that piece of broken glass before someone gets an eye put out and go blow out the candles? Then I can heal your wounds, maybe even make you immortal as part of the bargain. Sound like a deal?"

"I don’t want to do it," Gabriel answered. "But it’s all because of you that I hurt people, and I don’t want to hurt anyone else?"

"I can restore your little girlfriend’s sight, put the spark of life back into the other one. I bet you didn’t even know about that, did you? Kill me and your friend Max is an unholy creature of the night forever, and you know the Goth scene is so tired."

"It’s just that after this, I think I’ll finally be able to be with Crystal. The only reason I haven’t killed myself is that she’s in Heaven, and suicides go to Hell."

The Trickster was crouched in the ruins of the Box. "Crystal’s the girl Derdrie posed as all this time, right? She’s real pretty. I could go get her back for you. It’s a done deal. My brother’s in charge of the whole underworld place, and I know where he keeps a spare key. All you gotta' do is what you want to do anyway. Just rest. Don’t even bother with the candles. They’ll burn out in a few hours anyway, and I have plenty of time."

Gabriel’s foot hit a pool of blood and he almost went down. He recovered, though, and mounted the low steps up to the Box of Sorrows. "I’m really sorry. I never really wanted to hurt anybody."

He thrust the Sword hilt like a cross at the Trickster, and the young godling cringed in front of it.

Gabriel continued. "It’s just that you don’t belong here. I don’t think any of you do."

The Trickster was on his knees in front of Gabriel. His hands closed on a sharp piece of his own coffin and he lashed out. Gabriel felt another pain, but he ignored it. He swiped the razor sharp blade across the Trickster’s throat. The blade cut deep, not from the Magick that used to move it, but from Gabriel’s strength, and the momentum he picked up from falling over.

Blood fountained from the cut. Somehow, Gabriel thought there’d be more of a show. The only sign of the Trickster’s passing was that the Box of Sorrows dissolved into dust under his weight, and the ghosts swarming around Jason disappeared.

Sabrina’s presence was gone from Gabriel’s mind. There had been one last thought, more in that other voice than in Sabrina’s. It had said, "Come to me, my Hero."

He realized he was in a lot of pain. He was also all bloody. His clothes were ruined, and it was starting to dry. He wandered out of the room. Gwenivere was somewhere upstairs. Maybe she would want to know that he’d saved the world. He found an elevator, but it didn’t have buttons. It had a funky lever. When it stopped, he wasn’t in the upstairs; he was on the roof.

That wasn’t so bad. It was a shame that he wasn’t going to get to talk to Gwenivere before he passed out from blood loss, but the rooftop garden was very peaceful. There was a nice fountain in the middle. Gabriel staggered toward it. It looked nice and cool, and maybe it would wash away some of the blood.

He reached the edge, then just slipped. The waters closed over his head, and he heard the voice again. "Well done, my hero."

* * *

[Thus ends Chapter 12. If the magazine weren’t going into hiatus, I would have made you wait a month to find all the rest of this out. In fact, I hadn’t originally planned to reach the end of the novel until July of 2001. In deference to my artistic vision, you might consider leaving the room for a while. Maybe you could go get a soda or something?]

* * *

Epilogue

Gwenivere got out of the shower and dried off. She traced her name in the steam on the bathroom mirror and found it very reassuring. She dressed in comfortable clothing, and forced herself to leave behind her traveling pack. There was no need to disturb Jason more than necessary.

They were living in her Manhattan penthouse, a nice suite of rooms with a gate into the Treetop forest and a good view of Castle Valentine. "They" included most of the survivors of the Trickster’s re-awakening. Colwynn had elected to go with Kildare. Jason hadn’t been happy about it, but he didn’t try to stop them.

Max Duvall was sitting in the living room, well back from the window. The sun was setting, and he wanted to avoid its rays. Gwenivere was impressed that he could bear daylight at all. Over the past couple of days, the survivors had taken time to compare notes, to try to figure out what had happened. Max’s story was one of the strangest. When the Green Witch had recovered a bit more, Gwenivere intended to go ask her exactly what she had done.

That could wait, though. First, Gwenivere wanted breakfast. People who thought 7:00 PM was awfully late to have breakfast had never had their sleep schedules disrupted by having to save the world.

Jason was sitting at the kitchen table, still in his sunglasses.

"You still don’t want to explain?" Gwenivere asked. She’d heard the Trickster say he couldn’t kill Jason, and she thought the reason might have something to do with Jason’s habit of hiding his eyes.

"No."

"I can wait." Gwenivere poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down. "What’s your plan for the day?"

"I don’t know."

"You might think about announcing your coronation."

Jason almost spat out his drink. "What?"

"Think about it, Jason. Have you seen the Fog lately? Me either. The Netherlands are still there, but they’re closer than they’ve ever been. The Gate on the patio used to only work when the moon shined on it. Now it’s open all the time. The Undercity is back, but the map is totally different. People still can’t see us, but I don’t know why. Do you think it’s just in New York?"

"What does that have to do with me?"

"The Valentines have always been leaders, and you should be the leader of the family. Look how badly we did here. A... something I don’t even have a name for got loose in the real world. We almost totally blew it. In fact, we did blow it. Gabriel Rider saved us, and I don’t even know how. If some more of us had been her, if we’d been communicating, maybe it wouldn’t have gone so far."

"So? Start a newsletter. Host some family reunions. Why do I have to be in charge of it?"

"Because you’re the eldest male, and it’s your job. It may be a stupid, sexist tradition, but it’s our stupid sexist tradition and it works pretty well. Besides, I’m leaving again."

"What? Am I that bad a house guest?"

Gwenivere smiled. "No. That’s not it. Partly it’s curiosity. Someone needs to go see how far the repercussions of this thing reached, and I enjoy that kind of thing more than you do. I want to find Julie, if I can." The Grand Facade had been empty by the time anyone thought to look for the Thorn Queen, not just empty of Julie, but totally empty, as if there had never been a nightclub there at all.

"And the other part?"

"Because this has freaked me out to the core of my soul and I need a vacation."

"Oh. When are you leaving?"

"I just have one thing I have to take care of, then I’ll start packing."

"Keep in touch this time?"

"Definantly."

After finishing her coffee, Gwenivere went to the fridge and got out a pitcher of ice water. Into the water, she calmly added a bag of marbles she’d left in the freezer the previous day. She left a slightly perplexed Jason in the kitchen and went to one of the guest bedrooms.

No one answered her knock, so she just opened the door. Gabriel Rider was coiled into a ball in the middle of the queen-sized bed. Sleeping was pretty much all he did anymore. Jason had found him in the fountain atop the Grand Facade. Gabriel had almost drowned, but all his other wounds had been healed. Only faint scars remained. He’d slept like the dead for a couple of days, only recently awakened. While the physical wounds were mostly healed, the psychic cuts ran deep.

From Sabrina, Gwenivere had pieced together a lot of what had happened in Covenshire. She’d even deduced how Derdrie had beguiled him. Once the spell had broken, he remembered what he had done. The guilt was eating him alive. He only ever left his room to eat, and then he wouldn’t talk to anyone. If he should happen to see Sabrina, he’d retreat without even doing that.

Gwenivere dumped the contents of her pitcher all over him.

His reaction was quite predictable. He yelped comically and rolled out of the bed. "What did you do that for?" he demanded.

"To get you out of bed."

"Well, it worked."

"Good. Now go take a shower, change into the clothes I’ll leave for you, and follow me to the patio. It’s time for you to come out into the world. The whole thing’s only still here because of you. The least you could do is enjoy a little of it."

Gwenivere turned her back on him before he could say something angst-ridden. More than any of the others, she felt guilty about dragging Gabriel Rider into this mess. She’d never forgive herself if he didn’t recover.

She waited for a few minutes outside his room. To her relief, she heard water running in the guest bathroom. She opened the wardrobe in his room and pulled out some clothes, a pair of black slacks, and a nice beige turtleneck. They were from his own apartment, picked out by Max the day before. She hung one of his coats over the back of a chair. It was cold on the patio.

Gabriel came out about twenty minutes later. His hair hung limp and damp, and his eyes had dark circles under them. He followed her to the patio door.

Max looked up as they crossed the room, but didn’t say anything.

Gabriel stopped at the door, so she said "after you," and held it open formally.

He went through and she followed, closing the door firmly behind her.

Gwenivere’s patio wasn’t as impressive as Julie’s rooftop garden, but it was nice. She had several planters, and a small ornamental fountain. Sabrina Lucas was sitting beside the fountain, listening to the rush of water over the sides of the copper lilies.

Gabriel’s whole body stiffened when he saw her. He tried to back through the door, but Gwenivere blocked her.

"Nothing doing, Rider. You’re staying," she said sternly.

"Please, Gabriel. I wanted to talk to you," Sabrina added.

"How could you? How could you even want to see me… I mean be around me... after what I did to you? You’re blind, and it’s all my fault."

Sabrina stood and moved carefully past the furniture, following the sound of Gabriel’s voice. Finally, her outstretched hand met his chest. "Gabriel, help me find your face," she asked.

With a trembling hand, Gabriel guided Sabrina’s hands up to his face.

She cupped his cheeks in her hands and just held him that way for a minute. Then she hauled back her right hand and slapped him hard enough to rattle teeth.

Gabriel didn’t strike back, but he held his aching jaw and looked at her accusingly.

Sabrina stood her ground, eyes burning even if they couldn’t see him. "Don’t you dare try to take responsibility for my actions. I’m an adult, and I make my own decisions. I chose to go with you. I chose to take the risk, and the consequences are mine. Do you think I’m not smart enough to decide for myself? Not strong enough?"

"Tha... That’s not what I meant..."

Sabrina didn’t give him the chance to finish. "I knew what I was getting into. Gwenivere warned us that it would be dangerous, and I did it anyway. I knew. You didn’t. When Derdrie Coventry had control over you, you didn’t know what you were doing. Can’t you understand that? It wasn’t your fault. It was hers. She’s an evil person. She deserves to rot in hell forever for what she did, to me and to other people. You don’t. Taking that burden on yourself isn’t fair. Not to her, not to me, not to you."

"Sabrina..."

"Shut up. I’m not finished. It kills me to see you like this," she broke off for just a second and changed her tone, "and if you so much as sob because I dared mention the word ‘see’ I’ll turn your head back the other way. I hate to see you in so much pain for doing the best you could. You saved us all. That should count for something in that stupid list you keep in your heart. When you’re feeling guilty about the fact that I’m blind and that some crazy man shot Crystal, maybe you should think just a little about what would have happened if you hadn’t been there to stop the Trickster."

"... What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to be alive, Gabriel, not just a husk that lays in bed all day and has bad dreams. Gwenivere is going on a trip pretty soon, and... I think you should go with her."

"What?"

"I love you, I care about you more than anyone else alive, except maybe Max, who’s an idiot and couldn’t take care of himself without me, and I don’t want to hear the pain in your voice every time you talk to me. I’ll be Ok, and I want you to be Ok, too."

"I’ve got a spare bag for you," Gwenivere supplied. "We’ve probably even got room for a guitar. Sabrina tells me you’re pretty good."

"You really want me with you?"

"You’re the guy who saved the world and came back from the dead. You might be lucky to have around."

"...Alright."

* * *

The Lady watched through the reflections on the windows. She smiled wanly. "Your trials aren’t over, my Hero. I wish they were."

Seeing that Gabriel would be well, she was free to attend to other business. She moved to her brother’s Scriptorium. The glass representing the Youngest had been removed entirely. Only a black panel stood in its place.

"Greetings, Sister."

The Lady ignored his bow. "You could have done something."

"What, precisely? Broken the pact? You came close enough to doing that for all of us. What would you have done if all your gallivanting had awakened our Father?"

"You could have told me what was happening. If I’d found out earlier, I might have been able to keep the Box out of Mordakai’s hands all together."

"How? By inspiring some Hero to kill Mordakai? That would have changed things. We swore not to change anything else." The Scribe dismissed her then, returning to his work. "I don’t care what the rest of you do. I will abide by the pact. When all our work is as broken as the Box of Sorrows or your precious Sword of Glass, I will not be the one to blame."

There would be nothing useful out of him, the Lady realized, but she couldn’t leave without one final shot. "You know, you were his favorite."

"What?"

"Our youngest brother. He always liked you best of us all. He wanted to know everything you knew."

"That will never happen now, will it?" the Scribe replied. "You should go now."

The Lady stared at his back. There was nothing left to say. He’d made his feelings clear, and she had work to do.

"Fare well, Sister." he said to her departure.

* * *

The End

[Author’s note: That’s it for now. I hope you’ve enjoyed the trip. Like I said before, I originally had 7 more chapters in mind, so there’s still a few stories to tell. Maybe I’ll get around to it one of these days. Thanks for reading. David G.]

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Changeling Seed

A Novel of the Side World

The First of the Valentine Chronicles

Copyright 2000 David Goodner

Continued from Chapter 11

Changeling Seed Archive

Chapter 12

Epilogue