Far beneath my skin and bones
I harbor my divided soul
My greatest source of strength
Might be my downfall
But love was not a choice for me
I held my breath and took a leap
And when I lose myself
You help me stand so tall
Beth Crowley-Skin and Bones

30 December 2015

The street hadn?t taken her directly there, but with a little circling back, Nica made it to the Miami Majestic shortly after midnight. She had traced healing runes to ward off the creeping ache in her head where the man in her apartment had cracked with the brass knuckles. Still she had no idea who he was but at the very least she knew, sort of, why he was there. Just what in the Angel?s name had Christopher gotten himself into? The accusations leveled against him (and her by proxy) were beyond serious, the punishments for which she didn?t want to begin contemplating. It felt like only a few days ago, Nica and Christopher had been joking over the phone about the severity of the Clave?s law. It was no laughing matter now.

Warm light spilled through the open doors of the Miami Majestic Hotel, a fifteen story hotel that had been a part of the cityscape for almost a century. Despite its name, it was actually set in the heart of Coral Gables. Further inland than her condo, it wasn?t visible from her building, hidden away behind taller structures and obscured from an ocean view. A mix of Spanish Revival and Mission architecture, the building wasn?t anywhere close to the most glamorous place in town but it always had reminded her of Madrid. She could see why Christopher had gravitated to it. She waited to come in behind a middle aged businessman and his too young mistress, cringing through the cloud of cheap gin and even cheaper cologne that followed them, catching just the tail end of a slurred exchange between the two.

?We?ll stay through the New Year, you mean it, Al?? The woman asked, swaying further into his side. Her blonde dye job needed a touch up but the clingy red dress she wore was something expensive, likely bought on a secret credit card by a sugar daddy keen on hiding her existence from his wife.

?I?m all yours until Sunday, Princess,? the man mumbled against the side of her head, an arm around her waist guiding them both toward the front desk. Nica needed to find out which room Christopher was in, if he was even still there. She followed behind the pair, trying to decide just how to get access to the computer behind the desk. A break in the counter to her right could get her back there, but even with glamour, the likelihood of her accessing the reservation system without being detected was next to nill. A fatigued clerk came out of a back office, straightening his clip on bow-tie and stepping up to the counter for another late night check in.

?And she doesn?t know?? The blonde asked, tilting her head to a coquettish angle and batting her lashes up at the man. He looked down at her and gulped. It was exactly what Nicanora needed. Deviating from her path to the counter with the couple, she stepped aside and behind a thick pillar, pulling her phone out of her pocket. Punching in the hotel?s number, easily found thanks to the decal stuck on the front door, she listened as it rang in both ears, one on her phone and the other a half a second later at the counter.

?Ah, uh, just a moment please,? the clerk said flatly, lacking the sort of empathetic tone required of someone in the hospitality industry. He grabbed the phone and caught it between his ear and shoulder, grimacing at the cock of his head. ?Miami Majestic Hotel, this is Grant, how can I help you??

?Yes, I am looking to leave a message for someone staying there,? Nica said into the phone, adjusting the pitch just enough to pass for a decade older than she was. Grant grunted into the phone, Nica tried not to snicker.

?Sure. For whom and what would you like it to say?? He asked, shuffling paper around to find a clean sheet for the impending message.

?It?s for my husband, Al, who I believe just came into your hotel with that slutty blonde whore of his. Tell him, I cleaned out the bank account and closed down his credit cards. Including that one. He?ll know what that means,? she said as venomously as she could manage before hanging up, peeking around the pillar. As Grant confirmed that the man in front of him was, in fact, ?Al with that slutty blonde whore of his? and then repeated the message that had been left for him from his ?wife?, all Hell broke loose.

?YOU SAID SHE DIDN?T KNOW!? The blonde shrieked, giving Al a shove and flailing a flurry of slaps at his chest and face. He pulled his arms up to block his face, hoping to hold her at bay. The clerk was torn between looking terribly amused and completely horrified. He hit a button under the counter and the office door opened, two Rent-A-Cop style security guards coming out with batons extended.

?Baby! It?s a misunderstanding, I swear it!? Al said pathetically, trying to get his hands on the blonde. She kept swinging even as one of the security guards got his arms around her waist and hauled her back from the businessman.

?She took everything! You said it would just be you and I and we were going to go to France!? The waterworks had started, making all the men involved incredibly uncomfortable. It always amused Nica how inept some men could be when it came to crying women. Grant the Clerk escaped into the office while security handled the spat, giving Nica the perfect opportunity to slip past them and behind the counter. Staying low, she came to a stop at the computer. It was still up on the reservation system so she bent over the keyboard and tapped in a few queries to try and track down her target.

?Christopher? yielded six results, none of which had a last name anywhere close to his.

?Altatorre? brought zero hits. The brouhaha was beginning to die down so she was running out of time.

?Hightower? brought up a single match. It was a name he used as an alias in much the same way she utilized Veracruz in place of Truecross. Nica stared at the screen, forcing herself to commit the room number to memory in spite of the name that glared at her from the display. She cleared the query and stifled the growing ire.

Lidia Hightower

Nica slipped out from behind the counter right as the security guards returned from kicking out the brawling couple and as Grant the Clerk came back out of the office. She was gone before they even realized anything was amiss, taking the stairs to the Majestic?s fourteenth floor. The elevator would have been a more prudent choice but she never did trust those things. Besides, she was barely winded by the time she reached the second to last floor. Bearing the fatigue of the past twenty four hours, she hesitantly stepped into the hallway and slid a look lengthwise both ways. The sound of her canvas bags brushing against leather spattered with blood mixed with the sound of her steps to provide just the right tempo for her to march the final stretch. The room number loomed. 1428. She hung just to the side of the door and reached over to knock at it. Three quick knocks, two slower ones. A knock long used between herself and her parabatai. Though usually it meant ?Get your clothes on, I?m coming in?, she figured it should be recognizable enough in this case. Nobody answered at first, but the slight shift in the light coming from under the door told her someone was standing in front of the door, liking peering out through the peephole. She reached a hand up to cover the hole only to have the door yanked open. Whoever was on the other side grabbed her by the front of her jacket and pulled her in.

?Chris, soy yo!? She squeaked, readying for the worst. But the rough grasp released her and the door slammed shut behind them.

?Nic?! What are you doing here?!? Christopher asked, staring at her as if he had seen a ghost.

?The Clave sent her! She can?t be trusted, Christopher,? said a voice to her left. Nica panned a slow look to her left and found herself staring down the sight of a compound crossbow with Lidia Blackwater on the other side.

Things were starting to make more sense.

Standing in silence we look out at the water
Amazed how much the world has changed
I see behind your eyes such wisdom and sorrow
You're wondering if we're still the same
Beth Crowley-Skin and Bones

30 December 2015

Three hours (and a little extra) passed and she was no closer to having a plan than she had been when she closed her eyes. That said, she definitely felt a little bit better rested. Her head didn?t hurt anymore though her neck was stiff from sleeping on the cramped loveseat. When she woke up, it was midmorning. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and looked around the room. Christopher sat on the bed with his back against the headboard. The suite?s bathroom was shut, the shower inside running and Lidia nowhere to be seen.

?Buenos d?as, sol,? Christopher said, looking over at her as she tried to tame her hair with a couple passes of her fingers through the wild mane of sun-lightened brown. She covered a yawn, rose from the couch, and went to flop beside Christopher on the bed. He gave her a pat on the head and chuckled. ?How?d that plan making go??

?Morning. Not so great. I got distracted by sleep, evil thing,? she mumbled, grabbing at the pillow behind his back and stealing it for herself.

?Now you see my issue the past few weeks,? he chuckled. Fluffing the pillow, Nica tucked it under her head and tried to avoid yawning again.

?Has anyone tried to get ahold of Silvano to ask him what the heck his problem is?? She angled her head to peer up at him, squinting a little in the morning light.

?No...it wouldn?t do any good. He and Dia split up a month...maybe a month and a half ago. Silv didn?t take it so well. Went all loco stalker mode on her. He kind of faded from the radar for a bit and then we get the news that those werewolf kids were killed and he resurfaces not long after. I know he did it. I just don?t know how to prove it.? Chris let out an exasperated sigh. Still waking up, Nica patted him on the knee and rubbed her face against the pillow until she found a comfortable spot.

?What if...hmm. What if we talk to the werewolves, tell them what?s going on and see if they?ll help us get Silvano somewhere that we can get him to admit what he did. Or at least admit that Lidia?s the reason he came back around suddenly,? Nica suggested.

?Maybe...do you still talk with that girl from the Hialeah pack? What was her name...Neema...Nana...Ninny?,? he fumbled for the name, snapping his fingers with each incorrect guess.

?Niamh. We talk here and there sometimes,? she said, a dreamy smile creeping across her mouth.

?Quit smiling like that.? Christopher swatted at her.

?Like what?!? She laughed.

?Like you?ve seen her naked or something,? he answered with another swat.

?I have though!? More laughter was cut short as the sound of the shower turned off in the room over. ?No, but really. I haven?t talked to her in awhile. She still...owes me a favor though. Want me to talk to her about setting something up??

?Ramera, tch. Yes, if you could,? Chris said, swatting her one more time before he got up. It wasn?t much of a plan, but it was more than they had before. It could be their best shot. She could hope.

And I can't bring myself to say goodbye
I walk with my head up, say I'm fine but that's a lie
Your face will always haunt me
It's my comfort and my curse
And I can't imagine any feeling could be worse
Than this goodbye
Beth Crowley-This Goodbye

1 January 2016

Nicanora thought once that when you lost your parabatai that it would be the most excruciating thing in the world. That it would incapacitate the remaining parabatai to the point of paralysis, that it would be like the burning of a thousand suns, that it would be like falling into a pit of razor sharp spikes, that it would make her beg for death with how awful it was.

In reality it was so much worse.

It was as if the air had been sapped from her lungs and the cord tethering her to reality had been cut, releasing her into a spiritual freefall that she couldn?t slow or stop. Worse yet, there was no pain, not immediately at least. It was as if an auto-pilot switch had been flipped. At her flank, a Shadowhunter had kicked a snarling werewolf that came rolling toward her. Without thinking, Nica rolled to her right and easily avoided it. As she rose, the werewolf redirected its ire at her and she neatly brought it down with a series of blows. Behind her, Silvano ripped the sword from Christopher?s body. He hit the ground and didn?t move. Nica didn?t need to guess, she already knew he was gone. While Nicanora was busy with the werewolf, Silvano took the opportunity to scoop Lidia up, the girl still unconscious from the blow she had taken to the head. The Shadowhunters began separating from the wolves, retreating with Silvano.

Amidst a long and loud howl, Nica stumbled back over to Christopher, dropping to her knees beside him. The werewolves didn?t want to relent, zooming past her to nip at the hamstrings of those who had turned tail. Nica gave Christopher a futile shake, rolling him over onto his back. Red stained his mouth and his eyes, golden-hazel and glassy, stared up at the sky, unseeing. His chest was still, his shirt wet with his blood and stuck to his solid frame. With a shaking hand, she freed her stele, tore the front of his shirt open further, and drew a healing rune over his heart. It didn?t flare gold or even blue, instead sinking in as black as night. It remained solid, doing nothing to knit his torn flesh back together. She drew another beside it. No change. A third and a fourth and a fifth, still nothing. Nica felt a hand settle to her shoulder as she bent over the fallen Nephilim.

?Nic. We?ve gotta go. Ash?s pack is going after them and the Shadowhunters are going to be back,? Niamh said gently. Breathing raggedly, Nica shook her head.

?No,? she murmured, the tip of stele hovering over Christopher?s flesh. The wound in his chest had stopped bleeding. Not because it was healing but rather because he had lost too much blood to have anything left to give.

?Nic,? Niamh began again.

?NO!? Nicanora cut her off with a harsh yell. She felt Niamh?s long arms circle her waist and begin pulling her back. Nica grabbed at Christopher?s body, shaking her head violently. ?No! No, no, no! Please, no!?

With a strength that didn?t seem possible from such a thin woman, Niamh hauled her back. Nica kicked and clawed at Niamh but the lycanthrope?s grasp locked around her. No matter how hard Nica fought, Niamh held on, pulling her further and further away from Christopher and back to her car. Still holding tightly to the writhing Shadowhunter, Niamh pulled open the passenger door and pushed Nica in, rushing to the other side to get in. As Nica fumbled at the door handle, Niamh started the car and threw it into reverse. Pulling a half circle, she turned the hatchback around and floored it back to the main road, winding around curves and blending the passing trees into a blur of black and brown.

?Please?,? Nica whispered, her voice ragged from screaming. Niamh glanced in her rearview then back to the road.

?Adam and Cassidy will retrieve his body and bring him back with the pack. We can?t prove it yet but tonight made it very clear to us who was responsible for the attack in Aventura. We just need a little more time to prove it,? Niamh said, quietly and calmly. Her words barely registered with Nica.

?Silvano got away?,? Nica murmured numbly. Niamh nodding, exhaling slowly.

?And he?ll get the chance to tell his side of the story to your Clave first. We?re bringing Christopher with us until the Clave gives us a guarantee that he will not be punished for something they cannot prove. He deserves to rest with the best of your people,? the blonde said, glancing aside to Nicanora for the first time since stuffing her in the car. ?You need to lay low for awhile though.?

Laying low is what had led to all of this to begin with. Nicanora wanted to protest, to yell and to scream until her voice gave out. She wanted to tear down the sky and let the world burn. To destroy everything. The last thing she wanted to do was hide again. None of it would bring Chris back though. She sank in her seat and stared out the front window.

?Where are we going then?? She asked Niamh. For all of the action that her boiling blood wanted to take, the weight of her sorrow made her want to sink into the earth and never again see the light of day. Where thou diest, will I die. She should be dead on the ground in that clearing. If she could go back and trade her life for Christopher?s, she would have done so in a heartbeat. But if she couldn?t do that, then couldn?t she have at the very least died with him?

?Daniel Blackwater is meeting us in Key West. He?ll get you to a safe house from there,? Niamh answered, glancing down at her dashboard. They had a nearly full tank of gas. If they drove without stopping, it would be a little over three hours. Three hours that Nicanora would be confined to a car with only her grief, a few bags worth of gear and supplies, and a werewolf that she had slept with a handful of times. At least she wasn?t crying.

And I'm so sorry that I couldn't save you
I gladly would have taken your place
I wanted to always protect you
But I broke every promise I made
Please don't leave me
Beth Crowley-This Goodbye

2 January 2016

The safehouse was only twenty-five minutes from Key West, tucked off of the main highway on one of the lesser traveled Keys. It was empty when they arrived and shortly after, Daniel and Nicanora had gone their separate ways in favor of the quiet of opposite ends of the stilted beachside home. Since they weren?t staying long, Nica didn?t unload her bags but she did unzip Christopher?s backpack, peering inside. In typical Chris fashion, his clothing was wadded up and stuffed inside, broken up by sheathed blades, miscellaneous supplies, and a pair of leatherbound books. The angel blade known as Sealtiel had also been thrown inside, tucked between two white undershirts.

For death and mourning, the color?s white, the old rhyme went. Despite the fact that Shadowhunters were so deeply entrenched in symbolism and ceremony, Nica had but a single white article of clothing in her closet. And by closet, she meant the one in her apartment, hours away in Miami rather than the three bags that served as her wardrobe at the moment. As much as death was a part of the job, it was seldom something that touched Nica?s life. Miami had offered relative safety and security when compared to Madrid which was a part of why Gregorio Truecross had jumped on the opportunity to move himself and his teenaged daughter there almost eight years ago. At the end of the Dark War, Institutes had been in flux, leaving open positions in many of the places that had been wiped out by Sebastian Morgenstern?s attacks. As people shuffled and new heads were named, other positions were opened in their wake. It was the perfect opportunity for Gregorio to get away from the memory of Celia everywhere he went while helping fill a new need in Miami.

Everyone had always told Nica that her parents had had a love for the ages. They had known each other since childhood. Nica?s uncle, Celia?s old brother, had been her father?s best friend, so it had been quite a scandal when Gregorio and Celia ran off and got married without telling anyone. Celia was barely eighteen, Gregorio was twenty-two. Shortly after they returned home, Celia?s brother punched Gregorio in the mouth, knocking out two of his teeth. It was a story told often by those who had known the couple and Nica had likely heard it a hundred times from at least half as many people.

Nica didn?t blame her father for wanting to get away from that all with Celia gone. Maybe she even understood it a little better now that she was facing a similar loss. Not of a romantic love, no, but still a profound, life changing loss just the same. She had fallen asleep the night before, wearing one of Christopher?s undershirts. The white was suiting and it smelled of him, grapefruit and bergamot, cedar and the scent of home. Home wasn?t a definitive place, she realized, but rather where ever she was with him. Home was somewhere she didn?t think she would be capable of finding again.

Daniel came to get her in the late afternoon after leaving her alone for the better part of thirty hours. There had been other voices in the house, ones Nica didn?t recognize, but she hadn?t come out to investigate. But as the hour drew near, she couldn?t avoid it any longer. Daniel stood at the door, his hands clasped in front of him as he waited for her. She tugged the door open, looking every part of the rumpled mess she thought she was. He gave her an appraising once over, frowned, and offered a hand out to her.

?Let me take your bags, you?ve got enough weight to carry,? he said gently, easing the straps of the various bags off of her shoulders to take them himself.

?Is it time to go?? She asked, peering around him as she stepped out of the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind her.

?It is. Angelo Vice just showed up. Late, of course,? Daniel said with a nod. Nica blinked slowly.

?The Angelo Vice?? She whispered.

?I see my reputation precedes me,? crooned a smooth voice down the hallway. Angelo ?Miami? Vice was the High Warlock of Miami, though in eight years of living in the area, Nicanora had never met him. He was Nica?s height, just a shade or two below six feet tall, and average in build. Handsome in an unconventional sort of way, he wore a charming grin that helped offset the slightly unsettling solid green, pupiless eyes. They weren?t green like emeralds or jade but rather like the sort of radioactive toxic sludge she?d expect to give superpowers. He sauntered down the hall to meet Daniel and Nicanora, extending his right hand out to the latter. ?Angelo Vice. You must be Miss Truecross.?

?Pleased to meet you,? Nica said, taking the offered hand for a shake. But rather than a shake, Angelo drew her hand up to brush his lips against her knuckles before releasing it.

?Yes, pleased to meet you too. Daniel tells me you?re in need of a cross-realm Portal?? Angelo canted his head to an angle more befitting an owl than a humanoid being.

?That?s the plan, yes. Though I?m curious as to what interest it holds for the High Warlock of Miami,? Nica answered carefully. Angelo took a step back and grinned at her.

?That?s a great question, isn?t it. Let?s just say Marcaluz and I have...history. But that?s a story for another time. Come along now,? Angelo clapped his hands, spinning on his heel to continue down the hall. Daniel and Nica exchanged a look, both shrugged, and they followed after him. From this angle, Nica realized that Angelo also seemed to have a long tail, black and covered with tiny barbs. For that she kept a fair distance from the Warlock so as not to end up within the swishing appendage?s way. They passed the empty living room, turned left at the kitchen, and took a tight spiral staircase upwards. The beachhouse had a second story room that reminded Nica of a lighthouse though there was no beacon. It offered a panoramic view of the darkening beach and under other circumstances, it would have been one of the most beautiful sights she had seen in her short life. Framing one of the windows was a series of Marks that would eventually become the Portal.

?One five-dimensional door to nowhere, coming right up. I?ll expect my payment upon completion, of course,? Angelo said pointedly to Daniel. The older Blackwater twin nodded gravely, his mouth set into a tight line. Satisfied, Angelo?s swagger took him to the Marks, where he put the finishing touches on them. Where the window had been only a moment before, the space within the frame of runes changed into something akin to mirrored glass. It threw a vague reflection back at them, slightly unfocused. Daniel began handing Nica her bags back. A backpack for each shoulder. They were squished tightly together when she slung her duffel onto her shoulder too. Finally she layered her messenger bag over top, feeling like the bag equivalent of that little boy from whatever Christmas movie it was that complained of not being able to put his arms down. When she was all set, Daniel set a hand to each of her upper arms and looked down at her.

?Good luck. We?ll get through this,? he said firmly. It was what she needed more than apologies and condolences. Nica nodded.

?Make sure Christopher?s seen to properly, please. His family deserves it,? she murmured. It was Daniel?s turn to nod. Pulling away from him, Nica stepped over to Angelo and the Portal.

?Visualizing where you?re going?? Angelo asked, rocking forward on his toes. Nica nodded numbly and tried to get the picture in her head. All she could picture was Christopher with his eyes bound by white silk, his arms folded over his chest and Sealtiel in his grasp. She forced the image away and summoned a vague abstract of Rhydin in her head. Food trucks and Downworlders, fresh fallen snow and watered down cocoa, helping Taneth accost cute boys in the Inn and dragging Will out of his comfort zone to dance with her. The warmth of the Inn that guarded against Winter?s chill. The faces that frequented the old bar. The picture became more and more clear, pushing Christopher to the back of her mind, at least until she stepped toward the Portal.

Atque in perpetuum frater, ave atque vale. Forever and ever, my brother, hail and farewell.

She sucked in a breath and stepped through the Portal.

?The human mind isn't a terribly logical or consistent place. Most
people, given the choice to face a hideous or terrifying truth or to
conveniently avoid it, choose the convenience and peace of normality.
That doesn't make them strong or weak people, or good or bad people.
It just makes them people.?
― Jim Butcher, Turn Coat

4 January 2016

Nicanora didn't know for how long she had been spacing out when the ringing of her phone snapped her out of her daze. A series of blinks reeled her in and she reached for the buzzing, ringing device. The caller ID showed a picture of two dark haired Shadowhunters with their arms around one another. It was obvious they were related, bearing the same almost midnight shade of hair, full mouths, and fair skin. Truthfully, Nica had set the same picture for both Blackwater twins, but she already knew which it was when she hit the answer button.

"?Bueno?"

"Nicanora, it's Daniel."

"I know. I have you saved in my phone."

"Oh. Good morning then. I spoke with Niamh."

"Did you? That's great! When can I see him?"

"That's the thing...he's already been taken to the Silent City."

"..."

"Nicanora?"

"..."

"Nic, are you still with me?"

"Y-yeah, I'm here."

"I'm really sorry, I know you wanted to say goodbye..."

She wanted to do more than that, but she couldn't say that to Daniel. Nica glanced down to the white dress in her lap, a needle threaded with red still poking halfway out of the unfinished rune she had been sewing into the cuff.

"It's okay...it's not your fault." She pulled on the needle until the thread stretched taut, twisted it around and plunged it back into fabric for another pass.

"Is there anything else I can do to help?" Daniel sounded worried. She couldn't blame him.

"Bring Dia home. He was fighting for her, it's the least we can do for him." Pulling the needle through again, she hissed as the tip caught her fingertip.

"Of course. Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine. Thank you, Daniel."

?We never see other people anyway, only the monsters we make of them.?
― Colson Whitehead, Zone One

13 January 2016

A low but familiar humming woke her from a dead sleep shortly after sunrise. She was reluctant to get up. The room was dark and she was warm, pleasantly exhausted, and still smelling faintly of chlorine. The quiet pattern of steady breathing beside her indicated she was the only one awake just yet. Despite her aversion, she crept out from under a comfortably draped arm and snuck from the rumpled covers. Amidst haplessly strewn articles, Nica found her jeans and patted through the pockets until she located the source of her early morning wakeup call. She found her phone just in time for the call to click over to voicemail, Daniel and Lidia?s caller ID picture smiling at her for just a flash.

One Missed Call

And then a moment later?

One Missed Call
One New Voicemail

She glanced over her shoulder in time to see the remaining form in the bed roll over and get comfortable in her absence. It was tempting to go back. Back to the warm, the sleepy, the copacetic distraction from everything else. But that simply wasn?t how things worked. Stepping out of the room, she gently pulled the door shut behind her, cringing at the high whine of protest one of the hinges gave. It was a short walk to the bathroom. She shut the door behind her and flipped the light on. Bathed in a yellow-white glow, she tried to avoid her reflection in the mirror by putting her lower back against the counter while she queued up the voicemail for her listening pleasure.

?One new message, first new message: Nicanora, hey. It?s Daniel. You must be sleeping or busy or something. Sorry.? His words broke for a soft sigh. ?I heard from Lidia. And from your father. If you could give me a call, I wanted to catch you up on everything. Talk to you soon. Bye.?

?Press one to replay. Press two to save. Press star to delete.? Nicanora tapped the 2 key. Before the saved messages could begin to cycle through, she ended the call and flipped through her contacts. Landing on Daniel?s, she got the phone to her ear just in time for the first ring to go through. He answered after the second.

?That was a quick callback. Hope I didn?t take you away from anything important.?

?Just sleep. I?ll live. You said you heard from Dia??

?Unfortunately. She?s asked that we stop looking for her. That she?s okay with...with him. I told her that the Clave is looking for him now and that I?ve got no control over that. I don?t know what he?s done to her, but it didn?t sound like her. They?ve been trying to track Silvano but they haven?t tried yet with Lidia. So I?m going to try today.?

?Daniel, I don?t think that?s a good idea??

?I?m not going to do anything stupid, don?t worry.?

?Last time I was told not to worry, Chris ended up dead. So I?m going to worry. If something happens to you, I am positively going to lose my ****.?

?I wasn?t aware you felt so strongly about me.? Daniel almost sounded smug.

?Stop it. I would say the same to Dia too. If you find her, do not go after her. Let the Clave handle it. Please.?

?I will reluctantly agree with you on one condition.?

?Condition? What sort of condition??

?That you give your father a call. I spoke to him and he?s concerned about you. I didn?t want to tell him too much but I think you both would benefit from talking.?

?Are you sure that?s a good idea with everything right now??

?I do, yes. He is your father first and foremost. Everything else is second for him.?

?I guess. I?ll call him later. Just promise me you won?t go after Silvano and Dia? You?re too close to the situation.?

?How about this, I?ll promise not to go after him unless you?re here too. Then we can go together.?

?I don?t like that idea either but I would prefer it just slightly over you going without me.?

?It?s a deal then.?

?I guess. I?m going to go crawl back into bed with the hot guy I left behind at this ungodly hour.?

?That is definitely more than I needed to know. Thanks.? Daniel laughed.

?Hardly. Had you called a few hours earlier, it really would have been more than you needed to know. Ciao Daniel.?

?You?re ridiculous. Goodbye Nicanora.?

Nica hung up and turned around to get a look at herself in the mirror. Bedheaded and dewy skinned, it was almost a good look for her other than the shadows beneath her eyes. She really could have done with a few more hours of sleep. Turning off the light, she went back to the bedroom. He was still asleep, his back turned toward her with the blanket pulled up just an inch of two above his hips. Nica?s gaze dragged over the display of ink across his back, distorted and faded as it was. She had caught glimpses of it the night before but this was the first time she?d had a chance to truly study it. Made of whorls and lines and unreadable text, it looked almost like a poorly done diagram that had been stretched taut over a canvas too large for the print. The longer she studied it, the more it bothered her in a way she couldn?t quite pin down. Perhaps she could ask him about it later. But for now, rather than climb back into bed, she quietly dressed and slipped out before he could wake up.

?Murderers are not monsters, they're men. And that's the most frightening thing about them.?
― Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones

18 January 2016

Real life had a nasty way of interrupting the pleasant delusion Nica had built for herself in Rhydin. It was all too easy to pretend that in this wonderland that the outside world would stop while she dabbled in petty dalliances like food truck digs and less than clandestine liaisons with the attractive paramedic who had deemed her worthy of his free time. It was also all too easy to watch that dreamy glass world get shattered into a million pieces with only the smallest of provocation. After next to no sleep over the previous two and a half days, the flutter of her phone?s text tone typically would have gone unnoticed except for the fact she was already wide awake. Despite her fatigue, she was in a pleasant headspace, content and full stomached. The steady infusion of caffeine into her veins by way of steaming cup of coffee only added to her amiable mood. She wasn?t sure who she expected to be texting at such an hour but curiosity got the best of her and she wiggled her phone free from a jacket pocket and unlocked it. From there she nearly dropped the sky blue mug from the opposite hand.

Text from Silvano: Did you get my package?

She tried not to break the companionable silence that she had been quite enjoying up until that moment, but it was difficult to restrain the tight gasp that hissed its way through her teeth. Her thumb hovered over the screen, caught somewhere between the reply window and the call button. The phone trembled in her grasp as she tried to figure out how to respond. Not trusting her composure, she pressed a single key and sent it.

Text to Silvano: ?

As she awaited a response, she didn?t realize she was holding her breath until the reply came through and she exhaled a quiet whoosh.

Text from Silvano: If not, it should be to your room before long.
Text from Silvano: :)

There was a tightness in her chest that she couldn?t quite shake, like someone had stuffed a pair of blades at a perfect cross section through her rib cage. It hurt to breathe and all over again, she found herself reliving the moment that Silvano had taken Christopher from her. Worse yet, the text?s meaning finally clicked for her, meanwhile the rest of the world was continuing on as if Nica?s own world wasn?t crumbling around her again. When she looked up from her phone, she found Will?s eyes on her, curiously concerned and set just beneath lifted brows. Nicanora summoned a shaky smile for him.

?I?ve got something I need to take care of. Text me if you want to grab a bite before your shift,? she said, setting her mug down and leaning to brush a featherlight drag of her lips against his jawline. He tilted his head into it and hummed an acknowledging note of agreement so she got to her feet, pulled her gloves on, and ventured out into the cold. It was another reminder that she would want to buy herself a proper scarf and hat before the day?s end, the harsh bite of the wind needling her cheeks and nose within moments of leaving Will?s apartment. She wasn?t sure if it hurt to breathe because of the cold or because of the steadily increasing vice-like pressure squeezing her chest. By the time she crossed the city and made it to the Inn, she was red faced and breathless. It was tempting to get a cup of something hot from the empty bar but she was interrupted only moments after entering by a bundled up courier carrying a long, narrow box wrapped in brown paper and a crossed bow of twine.

?P-p-package for Nica-canora V-veracruz,? he said through chattering teeth, peering out at her from the narrow slit between his hat and his wound up scarf.

?That?s me,? she answered, turning on her heel to go back to the young man. The package was eyed with wary suspicion, taken as if it were delicately fragile so the courier could smack his gloved hands together a few times to get feeling back into his fingers. He pulled a clipboard out from under his arm and offered it over.

?Was a rush delivery, I?m glad I caught you,? he said, his voice slightly muffled by his scarf. The crinkle at the corners of his eyes indicated he might be smiling. She was less amused as she signed but gave him a polite smile just the same and gave the clipboard back.

?Sorry they sent you out in such crappy weather. Where?d the package come from on a day like this?? She shifted the long box under her arm and hoped the delivery man would give her more information. He looked down at his clipboard, scanning it over and shaking his head.

?Transfer station, no listed return sender. Sorry. Maybe there?s a card in the box?? He offered out and started back for the door. ?Have a good day!?

?Thanks. You too,? she trailed off after him as the inn?s door shut behind him. Taking the box to the nearest table, she set it down and carefully untied the twine and slipped her fingers under the edges of the brown paper. It was likely a bad idea to open it but at the very least she was grateful there was no one in the vicinity should something go awry. Laying the paper out nicely, next she lifted the lid from the box. Plain white tissue paper covered the contents. Nica lifted one corner and winced. Pulling it off the rest of the way, the tissue paper was left to drift to the floor when she let it go. Perfectly clean and polished to a shine, a pair of easy recognizable short swords. They were nothing remarkable, the design putting them somewhere between falchion and katzbalger, lengthwise. Well used and battle worn, they looked like perfectly run of the mill blades. But Nicanora knew they had been crafted upon the same forge and by the same hands as Hatheloke and passed down through the male Altatorre line, always to the first born son. They were Christopher?s. Or they had been. Nicanora sank into a chair, her hand smothering the dismay scrawled across the line of her mouth. They were impressed into styrofoam to keep them from sliding in the box and right in between the pair, a glimmer of silver caught the inn?s light. Block typeset ?A? was stamped boldly into the metal, flanked on both sides by single castle towers. They had always reminded her of chess rooks. The rook to her king, he had said, with its Canterbury cross. She pried it free of the styrofoam and brought it up for examination. Unlike the swords, the ring hadn?t been cleaned to the same extent. One half of the band was stained a rust brown and darkly she wondered just whose blood it was. Flaking it off with a fingernail, she soon had the ring passably clean. It was tucked into her inside pocket for safekeeping. The nearest of the two blades was pulled from the packaging and looked over. It had been cleaned and wiped down with a clear oil coating that left her fingertips feeling greasy.

It sent her stomach into a tumult to think that Silvano had put his hands on Christopher?s swords or his ring. To the best of her recollection, he hadn?t been wearing the family emblem ring when they went to the meet the wolf packs. Lidia must have had at it. That Silvano had been the last to touch this weapon made the bile rise in her throat. She closed both hands around the blade, squeezing until she felt the prick of steel rending flesh. As blood stained the freshly polished blade and began to roll toward the crossguard, Nica finally let go. Her eyes were burning almost as bad as her hands but she thought if she could channel her grief into the physical pain that maybe she wouldn?t cry. Two and a half weeks had passed since Christopher died, if she could make it that long without ever having cried, she could certainly go on forever without shedding any tears. Looking down at the straight gashes across both palms, she shuddered a sigh and grabbed fistfuls of napkins from the table?s dispenser. Bundling them against her hands, she wiped down the blade and succeeded only in smearing her blood along the steel. The buzzing of her phone distracted her from the futile attempt at cleaning the sword.

?For the Angel?s ****ing sake,? she muttered, uncurling a pinky to poke out the unlock code and swipe down on the notifications to bring up the message.

Text from Silvano: Like it? I?m not a total monster, just so you know.

It was slow going but she tediously prodded one key at a time with the tip of her pinky since it was the only digit not bloodied.

Text to Silvano: Go to hell

She dropped the phone on the table with the package and made her way around the bar to wash her hands up, wrapping both in clean bar towels that may have been white once upon a time but were now a shade of pale grey. The continued pain in each of her hands helped to keep her head clear so she didn?t reach for her stele just yet. She?d likely fall back on the healing runes later but for now, she wanted the pain, needed it even. Another message sent her phone into a buzzing skitter on the table. Nica sighed and returned to it, gingerly picking it up to see the reply.

Text from Silvano: Harsh. At the very least I expected a thank you. That?s okay, you can tell me in person real soon.

Truth is everybody is going to hurt you: you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for.
― Bob Marley

23 January 2016

Part One

The snow was piling quicker than people could shovel, accumulating on the streets and sidewalks to the point that the twenty minute wait time she had quoted to Will would soon be closer to the forty-five or hour that he had countered with. Nica really hated being wrong. She hated snow even more than that. At the very least she was kept warm by the lingering thought of grazing teeth on the sensitive flesh of where her jaw met her neck. The Grillenium Falcon was close to closing when she reached it and only by the grace of the Angel was she able to put in their last order of the night. With a bag around each wrist, wisps of steam rose up around her as she made the final leg of her journey to Will?s apartment.

?Worst snowstorm since Hannibal,? she muttered as she climbed to the third floor and turned down the hallway. Whatever Hannibal was, it hadn?t been pretty according to the two men working at the food truck. This one, they were calling Winter Storm Odin. Ominous. At least she had grilled cheese and tomato basil soup. That said, she nearly lost the latter when her momentum carried her right into Will?s locked front door. Her hand had grasped the handle, muscle memory expecting it to pop right open for her to flow through. Instead she was met by an unyielding door and silence on the other side.

?Loaf! Food?s gonna get cold, open up!? Nica called against the door?s crack. Shifting bags, she pounded the heel of her fist against the old door and waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

?Mm, must?ve beat him here,? she said at last, sinking to sit in front of the door. No use in letting good grilled cheese go to waste while she waited. With an unwrapped sandwich in one hand, she pulled her phone out with her other and puttered out a short message.

Text to Will (0210): Beat you. Hurry up!

A third of the way through the sandwich, she sent another.

Text to Will (0214): Or I?m going to eat your grilled cheese

Two thirds saw one more message sent.

Text to Will (0219): Let me know you?re okay at least?

Her sandwich was gone and her soup halfway so when she took an alternative route. Dialing his number, she waited for him to pick up. Thirty seconds of ringing gave way to a short message and a long beep. Nica hung up and frowned.

The monotony of the silence was broken when her phone lit up and a saucy little flow of digitized flamenco buzzed through the speakers, a sudden alleviation of the static unknown. The Caller ID added to the mystery and little more besides that a fresh prickling of paranoia's shallow needs with a frustrating: Unknown Caller.

The voice on the line was distinctly unlike Silvano's refined and slightly accented tone, a raspy falsetto full of amused malevolence, witty but not necessarily educated. "It's two thirty-seven, Cinderella. Do you know where your Prince is? Midnight's come and gone. Your stallion's the mouse you knew he was and we're gonna carve him like a pumpkin with a broken glass slipper. He warned you. Now you get to watch."

No sooner had the last word fled, the line died. Barely a few minutes passed after before Nicanora's phone lit up again: You Have 1 New Video Message.

The snow was coming down hard and at an angle due to harsh winds whipping, spotting the camera lense with the occasional dot of moisture that the cameraman had to wipe away with a sleeve or the pad of a finger, leaving it streaked at times. The video cut in and out between the jostling and the weather, but there were six or seven distinct figures loitering in the alleyway, laughing over the inappropriate jokes told or ruminating in disjointed bits of conversation over what was coming.

It went on for about thirty seconds before another moving body appeared, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and the form hunched down against the biting chill. Each step was dogged and determined, purpose driving him, until a sudden cry for help broke the night and the head snapped up.

It was Will.

He was a dozen lengthening paces into a charge towards the call when a clotheslining arm took him from his feet and sent him sprawling into the snow. Words on both sides, calm and harsh, were exchanged in a mess that was broken up by the howl of the wind and the phone's poor ability to record through the ugliness of the elements. The assailants postured. Will calmly protested, ruined it with a facetious quip.

That was when the violence started. Punches were thrown and left unanswered. The paramedic turned the other cheek. A glass bottle ricocheted off of the nearby brick wall, peppering him with shards of frigid glass. Will did not back down. Did not beg.

But he did not fight.

The beating grew worse, punches and kicks graduating once more until something cylindrical was brandished like a bat and smashed sharply across his shoulders, driving him down to a knee. They told him to fight, to beg for his life. To smile for the camera and beg for his life.

Brutalized but not yet broken, Will winked for the camera.

The men moved in for the finish.

Then the whole world went white. White and then dark.

The video ended that way.

Nicanora had been on her way to her feet when the video came through. It was with no small amount of dread that she opened the message, a trembling thumb tapping the play button before her hand moved to cup the speaker. Frantically tapping at the volume button, she listened for anything that might tell her what was going to happen but the low quality of the sound matched well with the poor video feed and it ended up a garbled mess of back and forth banter. She wasn't sure what she was looking at until familiarity bled into the frame. Nica didn't have to see his face to know who it was. The posture, the outline of his shoulders, the bag, the jacket.

"No..." Never had she thought that merely ignoring Silvano's request would lead to this. He looked so oblivious to what was about to come and Nica was stuck watching, powerless. She left the remnants of their dinner sitting in the hallway as she took off for the stairwell, eyes wide with rapt horror as the video progressed. Will ran right into it. She shouldn't have expected anything different. With the first sharp crack of a fist meeting jaw, Nica found her breath sapped from her lungs. Scanning the video, she looked for something, anything that might help her figure out where they were. The half dozen men that assailed the paramedic wore varying dark shades, but as far as she could see, bore no Marks. It was a small relief that was short lived as Will dropped, the four inch screen of her phone shrinking his peril into a handheld horror movie for her private viewing. She reached the bottom of the stairs and burst through the exit and into the storm outside right as the video ended in a blaze of white followed by black.

"No, no, no..." She had been muttering it all the way down the stairs and outside. This wasn't his fight. He shouldn't pay the price for her follies. Her fingers slid the video's slider to rewind and fast forward, forcing her to relive Will's pain over and over. She flinched with each crack and snap but did her best to look for landmarks to guide her way. Already, Winter Storm Odin's snowfall had dropped another six inches over top of what was on the ground before, cloaking everything in white. Street signs, storefronts, all white.

Except.

Nica ticked the slider back to the point just before Will was blindsided and paused it. Across the street from the alley's mouth, the neon red glow of the sign was enough to permeate through several inches of accumulation. It was a pizzeria that she and Will went by every time they had walked back to his apartment from the inn. If she remembered correctly, it was all of fourteen blocks from where she was currently, almost exactly north. She needed to get to him and she needed to do it quickly. Exchanging her phone for her stele, she jerked up the bottom of her jacket and marked a couple new runes into her abdomen for good measure.

Fortis for strength.

Heightened speed.

An additional Stamina Mark for good measure.

Tucking her stele back into her jacket, she took off. Without the Angel's gifts, it would have been slow going, but she found her footing sure and her pace swift as she sprinted down the streets of Old Temple and through the looming shadows of grand cathedrals. Every sense felt heightened, tendrils of awareness extending outwards all around her. Freshly fallen snow has a way of absorbing sound, lowering ambient noise as it blankets the landscape by trapping air between flakes and muting sound vibrations. It lent an eerie stillness to the air and made her hyper-aware of the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the throbbing of her heart in her ears, the short and sharp breaths she took, laden with the exertion of maintaining the pace on such terrain. The first pangs of a stitch in her ribs as she felt the speed rune beginning to wane did little to slow her down. Nica hit the last stretch, the dim glow of the pizzeria's sign in the distance telling her she was almost there.

The snow was whipped around hard by the wind, turning random alleys into freezing tunnels that spit small, icy cyclones into streets that would have been more populated under better circumstances. It piled the snow higher where the drifts ended.

Barely a block from the pizzeria, the view of the way beyond had become obscured by a wall of fog; it was a roiling, rolling mist that ventured no farther forward, what lay beyond only picked out in small pockets of open air and shadows where those pockets failed. The snow had melted in large divets against the greater masses of accumulation. Great chunks of winter had gone missing, unfathomable clues that gave no logical hint as to what had taken place deeper and beyond.

The silencing cradle of winter heavy fallen was broken in faint spells where one crunk in solid, frozen-over snow was followed by the muffled thump of something striking down in wet slush, creating a contrasting tandem that echoed in the fog at a frustratingly slow pace. A single shadow rose against the gray-white gloom, pressing onward despite a listing sway.

There were no sounds of violence, no great indication of what met the Nephilim's approach. Not until a battered and tattered figure, uniformed in a heavy navy blue, materialized where the shadow died, upright against impossible odds and sluggishly putting one foot in front of the other.

"By the Angel...," Nica murmured, her eyes widening as the fog came into view. The way it hung in a single area was unsettling, reminding her of the hellmist used by demons or even unsavory warlocks. Her sprint slowed to a jog and finally a halt, well back from the mist's edge. If it were anything like hellsmoke, it could easily render her Marks nearly powerless. But it couldn't have been...it was a rare occurrence that a demonic being could summon such a wall without impacting its own power. Not one to take chances, she freed a rounded cylinder from her inner jacket pocket. "Penemue," she called on the angel's name to give the seraph blade life, the brilliant glow illuminating her side of the street as she stood her ground. With the night's quiet broken by the thump and slide of only the Angel knew what, coming from the dark beyond. Never had she been afraid of the dark until now. Afraid of what she might find. Of what her carelessness may have cost her. She readied herself, steeling her calm against the worst of her thoughts.

Fight-or-flight response in full bloom, her heart rate and breathing both quickened. The glow of the seraph blade made her look preternaturally pale, her pupils blown wide until golden brown was a barely there sliver around black. Her mouth felt dry and her muscles coiled with tension. Tension that faltered when a familiar uniform loomed out of the dark. It couldn't have been possible, not with the beaten the video had shown him taking, but as sure as the day was long, it was him. Nica lifted the seraph blade outwards to let the light eat away at the shadows as she grappled with her wariness. "...Will?"

The combination of the shadows and the fog made the shaky red light of the pizzeria's sign appear sickly, splashing against Will's shambling form. It made him appear as something straight out of one of she cheesy horror movies that had played out as ambient background noise to one of their more recent sexual escapades. The left side of his face was a mess of battered flesh, little better than freshly pounded steak from the bottom of his jaw, all the way up to where his left eye was already swelling shut. The right side was smear red with blood from a shallow but jagged scalp wound. Ever step was slow and purposeful, one leg showing a faint drag through the thickening snow of the ground.

"I think I'm gonna file a complain with Rhy'din's Thugs-R-Us Union," he replied with softly slurred speech, slowed by a split lower lip. "For ruining my plans for a wild weekend of debaucherous cabin fever sex. And soup. I really like that soup..."

He drew up short of her about a dozen steps, squinting beneath the brighter light of the pizzeria's sign. In that light she could see his one good eye, burning bright with determination and something else that was harder to discern. A little more aware in the moment, his attention shifted to the blade.

Will frowned.

"I frustrated them into quitting. Hope it sends Whats-His-Face into fits." He didn't know the name, but figured out enough to know there was aHe and that the someone had quite the egotistical hard-on for Nicanora.

The light of the angel blade quivered with the shaking of her hand as she studied him. It was difficult to pinpoint the source of her hesitation, but she didn't move even when she saw finally who it was. In short, he looked awful. The smear of red looked like unnatural war paint when bathed in the light's neon glow and highlighted by Penemue's light. Head wounds were messy. It was no wonder he was covered in his own vitae. At last when he spoke, she exhaled a breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding, the low whoosh clearing her lungs of the painful lack of surety.

"Wait, you're going to what? Mmf, nevermind that." She waved her free hand and pulled the seraph blade back in tandem with her step forward. Covering six of the dozen steps, she paused to look him over before urging herself forward to close the remaining gap. "Of all the things to worry about...and that's it? Seriously? You...you could have been...seriously hurt!"

Her annoyed admonishing came laced with an undertone of deep concern that still couldn't bring her to say out loud that this could have been much, much worse. It came as no surprise that he would joke through an assault like that but it still served to fluster her further in her already frazzled state. Adjusting course at the last moment, she moved to his left and slipped tight to his side, her shoulder ducking beneath his arm and her own arm rounding his torso. The angel blade remained in her left hand, its soft glow serving to light the way as she urged him to lean on her. It had only been a short time prior that they had been in a similar position when leaving the Inn, only this time his blood wasn't thick with liquor and her stomach wasn't aflutter with girlish giddiness.

"There's a clinic a few blocks from here, if I'm remembering right. Your head might need stitches," she said softly, glancing over his explanation of how he had made it through the onslaught of violence and just how it might impact the one who had sent the message to her. It physically hurt to think about but finally, she mumbled three words to acknowledge what he had said.

"I'm so sorry..."

?There is no avoiding war; it can only be postponed to the advantage of others.?
― Niccolo Machiavelli

23 January 2015

After knitting Will?s head back together and a long conversation under the stream of a hot shower, she finally got him into bed to rest, leaving her alone to her thoughts and the slow boil of her anger. Wonderland had been invaded, the fight had come through the rabbit hole and the white roses had been painted blood red. Some time around half past five, gently slipping her hands underneath Will?s head as she freed the leg he had been using for a pillow, she replaced it with a proper pillow and crawled from his bed, snatching up her phone along the way. It had been mercifully silent in the wake of the video she had received though she was about to ruin that.

Taking care to close the door behind her to provide a buffer between Will and the conversation she was about to have, she went to the furthest reaches of the apartment to double the gap. The kitchen was in need of some updating, the wash of yellow toned fluorescent light serving only to glaringly highlight this fact rather than minimize it, but it was tidy and more than enough for a single man living alone. Nicanora took a deep breath to dampen her rage and keyed in Silvano?s phone number. He answered just before it rolled over to voicemail.

?Admittedly I?m quite surprised to be hearing from you at such an hour, but hello Nicanora,? he said, immediately setting Nica?s nerves on edge.

?You?ve gone too far,? she retorted without elaboration.

?And you should have been polite enough to respond to my request,? he said haughtily.

?Excuse me for not bending to your demands, because that sure as Hell wasn?t a request,? she bit back and leaned against the counter, her eyes on the hallway that led to Will?s bedroom.

?You?re excused. This time. I?m sorry the boys got a little...overzealous with your man candy. Now let?s talk meeting times, yes?? There was a shuffling on the other end as Silvano shifted his phone.

?They were going to kill him, Silvano. First the werewolves, then our own blood, and now you want to add a Mundane to the tally, really?? Nica?s words were acerbic in the way they rolled from her tongue, a disgusted admonishment that mixed with disbelief. Silvano chuckled dryly.

?I wouldn?t really call him that,? he murmured in a tone befitting pillow spoken secrets.

?Yeah, well, close enough,? she shot back at him. While she knew that Will was by no means normal, hearing Silvano acknowledge the same made her insides squirm.

?Not close enough but I?m not interested in debating the boy?s bloodlines. I assume you?ve called to give me your answer finally?? Silvano?s tone had bled back into the realm of bored disinterest.

?I?ve called to tell you that the fight doesn?t come to Rhydin. The people here have nothing to do with it and if you try to involve any of them again, there will be Hell to pay and not even the Clave will be able to save your ass. If you?ll abide by that, I?ll agree to meet you,? Nica said, her calm tone contrasting with the weight of her words. The thought that he might try to go after any of her friends again was almost enough to upset said calm. Will had barely made it through and while she knew that there was more to Taneth than met the eye, she couldn?t bring herself to think about something befalling the blonde. Her list of friends thinned from there, but even to have any of her acquaintances threatened was too much. Silvano was quiet as he considered her terms.

?I am willing to take you at your word on this and offer you that concession as a token of my good faith. See, now was that so difficult?? He clucked his tongue chidingly.

?You?re making it incredibly difficult to not want to rip your tongue out right now, Silvano. Nightingale Park in Miami Springs. Monday night at eleven. Alone,? she said with finality.

?So inconvenient, especially in this snow, but very well. Monday at eleven. Come with an open mind.? Without saying goodbye, Silvano hung up. Nica?s shoulders sagged as she lowered her phone from her ear. As much as she wanted to go crawl into Will?s bed and wait for the storm to blow over, there were preparations that needed to be made. Three messages sent out in quick succession set them in motion.

Text to Daniel Blackwater: Got Silvano to agree to meet me. Monday in Miami Springs. We need minimal presence and he needs to think I?m alone. I?ll call you tonight or tomorrow with more details.

Text to Niamh Kilcannon: Coming back to Miami, have a meeting set with you know who on Monday. May need backup if you?re willing to get dirty.

Text to Gregorio Truecross: Papa, I?m coming home but I need some financial assistance to arrange transpo. Can you help? Daniel knows how to get it to me. Te quiero siempre. XX, Anora

Nicanora turned the kitchen light off and trudged back toward the bedroom.

Part Two

Compared to Rhydin?s unbearable cold, Miami was sweltering. Just above seventy degrees and quite humid, it was a shock to the system to say the least. Nicanora sucked in a tight breath when she and Angelo emerged in a warehouse somewhere in Hialeah. The air was thicker than she remembered. Angelo gave her little time to adjust, immediately closing the Portal behind them and starting for the warehouse?s exit.

?Tick tock, Shadowhunter. Your chariot awaits,? Angelo said, catching the door and holding it open to let a spill of moonlight cut a wedge out of the warehouse?s shadows. While Nica was still curious as to why the High Warlock of Miami would have any interest in a squabble like this, she didn?t ask, instead sliding through the doorway and outside. With a clang, the door shut behind them. Fifty feet from where they stood, a black sedan with heavily tinted windows sat idling. The Warlock gestured toward it. ?Chariot. And half payment now, yes??

?And half on the return,? Nica said softly, flipping the flap on her messenger back. Daniel had sent ahead to Nica an undisclosed amount of money from her father and she had stashed it at the bottom of her bag for less than easy access. Plunging her hand into its depths, her fingers curled into fabric, vaguely soft and completely unfamiliar. Closing her hand, she pulled free?

Boxer briefs... Dark grey with a black band, they bore a single eye and a toothy mouth over the crotch along with the words ?Unleash my beast? if you dare? along the leg. Nicanora stood there grasping the men?s underwear, utterly confused. Angelo barked out a laugh, pulling her from her perplexed puzzling over their origins.

?I accept cash, check, and credit cards. We stopped accepting undergarments in the 1980?s,? the Warlock said, more than amused at the creeping red that had suffused the Shadowhunter?s pretty features. Nica cleared her throat and stuffed the boxers back into her bag while muttering about payback and angels. When she pulled her hand free, she had a rubber band bound bundle of bills. Angelo looked pleased, his tail swishing side to side like a cat. ?Ah, there we go.?

?If,? a heavy word, ?things do not pan out for me, Daniel Blackwater will arrange the remainder of your payment, at the very least for the inconvenience. Thank you for your assistance, Mister Vice,? she said, bowing her head gratefully.

?Sometimes things are bigger than what we are able to see when we are close to the matter. I wish you well in bringing Marcaluz in. He isn?t good for the state of things, not with as unstable as they could get,? he said in a low tone. A blonde capped head leaned out of the sedan?s driver side window.

?We going or what?? Niamh called, banging her hand on the roof of the car. It jarred Nica out of her study of the peculiar Downworlder.

?I?m coming!? She hollered back, stuffing the money into Angelo?s outstretched hand and hurrying over to the car. The Warlock stood stock still as he watched her leave, his neon green eyes pinned on her path until she reached the passenger side. Nica lifted a hand to wave then got in.

?Been awhile since I heard you yell that,? Niamh said when Nica got in. For all of her anxiety over the impending meeting with Silvano, the Nephilim sputtered a laugh. In the backseat, there was an unamused snort. Nica twisted in her seat, the cross back sheath digging uncomfortably into her kidney. Daniel sat in the middle of the back bench seat, a long, thin object sitting across his lap.

?Daniel. Hi,? Nica said, her amusement waning in favor of a thin smile.

?Nicanora. I was worried you were going to be late,? he answered, the flat line of his mouth failing to match her upward curve.

?Angelo showed up late. I was at the meeting place on time. But we?ve got time still, right?? She straightened out and looked to the car?s clock. Digital green against black read 9:45 PM. They had an hour and fifteen minutes still.

?We do. I?m simply glad that we do not have to see what happens if we?re late,? Daniel said softly. Nica visibly tensed.

?I already found that one out the hard way,? she murmured. Niamh glanced over at her, one brow inching up. As the lycanthrope drove, Nica regaled them with the story of what had happened to Will. Bits and pieces were withheld but otherwise, it was all laid out for Daniel and Niamh. The latter took the car through a tall, wrought iron gate, hung a left around the corner, and pulled into a waiting garage. The gate closed behind them, as did the garage?s door. Nica recognized it as the chop shop that Niamh and a few of her wolvish brethren worked in.

?This?ll be where we leave from and where we return to. Ash offered backup but they?ll be hanging well back from the park just so nobody gets suspicious. He said come alone but I don?t trust him as far as I can kick him so we?ll keep an ear out for any trouble if you need it.? Though the brogue had faded some, Niamh?s accent was still unmistakably Irish, especially when particularly impassioned. ?Any questions??

?No. Daniel will be on Dia duty and I?ll take Silvano. Dead or alive, he?s mine. If there?s anything left after that point, we?ll let the wolves have him.? Nica looked between Niamh and Daniel, who exchanged a short look and finally nodded in tandem. From there they set off for Nightingale Park in the neighboring Miami Springs division. Though it was called a park, it was more of an industrial subdivision, a row of derelict warehouses and empty factories. It had been abandoned some time ago and was slated for demolition so that more housing could be put in. In short, it was empty and nobody would likely notice a little bit of damage if worse came to worse. The closer they got, the more their pack thinned. Ash?s wolves lingered furthest back. Niamh?s were next to fall back, leaving Daniel and Nicanora to make the final leg of the journey on their own.

?Alright. Here?s your stop,? she said, freeing her phone from her pocket. Per their plan, she dialed his number and waited for him to answer the call. From there, the phone was dropped back into her jacket. It would be muffled, but it should do enough to give Daniel an ear on the situation. ?I still think the cue word should have been french toast.?

?And how, pray tell, would you work ?french toast? into a regular conversation without it being terribly obvious?? Daniel asked, keeping the connected phone in his hand.

?Easy. French toast works in every conversation,? she said with a cocky grin. It barely covered the pang of regret at the thought of peanut butter french toast and sunny side up eggs, the breakfast she had enjoyed during what she could only think may be her last Rhydinian sunrise.

?Sure it does. Be careful in there,? he said with a quiet sigh. Never one for physical affection, he offered a hand out for a shake. Nica curled her fingers into a fist until Daniel did the same, then tapped her knuckles against his.

?I will be. I made someone a promise,? Nica answered and started off toward the dark warehouses. At the end of the row, the last building had a single window lit with witchlight. It was obvious as to where she needed to go. She made a slight adjustment to her messenger bag, tucking herself tight against the cover offered by the buildings.

At eight minutes until eleven, she came to a stop at the last warehouse?s side door. The witchlight had died down a few moments before she did and the door was opened before she ever got the chance to knock. It appeared there was no one on the other side, which Nicanora found suspect at best.

?I?ve seen enough horror movies to know you don?t go through doors that open themselves,? Nica called through the door doorway. Her voice echoed in the emptiness and was met by a low chuckle.

?Merely a charm. I assure you that I am alone. Please come in,? Silvano?s voice drifted out to meet her.

?I am alone but I?m not unarmed. No funny business, Silvano. I mean it,? she shouted, teetering at the threshold.

?No funny business. You?ve my word,? he said in return. Nica stepped inside, leaving the door open behind her. Scooping her witchlight stone from the pocket that didn?t contain her phone, she let the soft glow guide the way. On the warehouse?s main floor, Silvano stood with his hands clasped in front of him in a pool of moonlight that flooded through the skylights. He was wearing Shadowhunter gear just as she was, bearing black from throat to toe. He had a sheathed sword on his left hip while on the opposite hip, hung a trio of chakram that matched the pair of chakri around his left wrist.

?Marcaluz,? Nica said formally, stopping twenty steps from him.

?Nicanora,? Silvano responded in a tone that bordered on taunting.

?I?m here. Say what you?ve got to say,? she growled, her patience already wearing thin with the man.

?Come sit. Have a drink while you hear me out,? he said, gesturing to a battered card table that had been set up just at the edge of where the skylight?s moonlight lapped at the shadows. There were four chairs, all unoccupied, and a dark stain over the table?s top. A single bottle sat in the center. Giving Silvano a wide berth, she started for the table. He did the same and when they came to a stop, they found themselves at opposite sides. Nica sat first, Silvano joined her soon after.

?So,? he began, taking the bottle and removing the cap. The label said something about tequila though she couldn?t tell the brand as he took it up for a swig straight from the bottle. ?I?d like to start by clearing the air about everything that has happened so far. It?s most regrettable that there was any loss of life, in particular Nephilim blood. That said, I?ve called you hear to make you a proposition.?

?Always knew you were the sort to sell yourself out. Sorry, hermoso, I?m not the sort to play john,? Nica retorted dryly. Silvano stared at her across the table and slowly sat the bottle down.

?While I?m certainly glad you find this humorous, I think you?ll find soon that it?s no laughing matter. The winds of change are upon us, Truecross, Before long, the Nephilim will need all of the help they can get and with the plan I am going to bring them, you would be well advised to declare your allegiance sooner rather than later. Besides, surely a warrior of your caliber would be interested in helping to lead the winning side.? The more Silvano spoke, the worse Nicanora felt about what this plan entailed.

?The Clave is more than capable of handling any issues that may come up. I seriously doubt that whatever you?ve got up your sleeve is anywhere near the realm of reasonable for their consideration.? Under the guise of diplomacy, she reached for the tequila bottle and drew it to her lips. Though she pursed them around the bottle?s mouth, the tip back served only to splash tequila against her closed lips. She didn?t trust him enough to properly drink.

?That is where you are mistaken. The Clave is too concerned with pandering to the very half breeds that should be well under our rule. We coddle them and bend to their whims when they should be the ones obeying us. They threaten our very existence and have the audacity to question it when we stymy the threat they pose. It is time they are put back in their rightful place.? Silvano?s gaze burned with the conviction of a zealot, washing a cold chill down Nica?s spine.

?You realize you sound absolutely insane, right? You were alive for the Mortal War and all of its fallout. Have you forgotten all we lost? How much more we would have lost if it weren?t for the Downworlders who joined our fight?? She was staring at him like he had gone crazy. Really, he may have.

?And ever since, they have acted as if we owed them the world. We owe them nothing and they need to be shown this. That we wield the power here,? he said, stubbornly slamming his fist against the table top. The tequila bottle wobbled but remained upright.

?So that?s why you had no issue slaughtering the Moon?s Children for the sake of getting back at Christopher? Because it is our right to do so?? Nica chose her words carefully, hoping she didn?t incite him further before she could get more information. This was, in fact, bigger than she had realized, just like Angelo had said.

?It was convenient at best. It will, however, make for good fodder once I show them the extent of what we can do. Besides, he was a mediocre excuse for a Shadowhunter at best. His was no true loss,? Silvano said with a certain amount of calculated cruelty. It was just enough to jab Nicanora beneath the fragile facade she had constructed. She stood up quickly enough to send her chair tipping over backwards.

?Don?t. You. Dare.? She snarled each word with such ferocity that if words were daggers, they would have run him through.

?You, though,? he continued calmly, as if she weren?t looming over him from across the table, her hands balled into fists at her sides. ?You have always been the better half. As such, I hope you?ll appreciate this demonstration. Perhaps once you see it with your own eyes, you?ll find yourself more agreeable.?

?Don?t do this, Silvano?? The pleading voice came from on high. Nica and Silvano both looked up to see Lidia looking down on them. She was gaunt and pale, the contrasting shadows cutting angular lines into her face in the moonlight. The young woman looked like a ghost in her white nightgown, like she had risen from sleep just to beg him not to proceed with whatever it was he was about to show Nicanora. ?Please??

?Ah, Dia, darling. You?re just in time for the show. Stay there, you may enjoy the view,? Silvano rose from his seat and loosed a shrill whistle. As it pierced the air, a rumbling at Nica?s flank had her whirling around. From the aether came a spill of shadows, writhing and as black as night, reeking of the stench of death and decay. They began to advance on Nicanora and she sidestepped the table with an incredulous look for the man.

?Demons? You didn?t seriously summon demons, Marcaluz,? she said, frantically pulling one of two seraph blades on her person. Just as she was about to lunge at the nearest shape emerging from the black, Silvano whistled again. They came to a halt, pulsing as a single entity though as her eyes adjusted, she could see individual sets of eyes peered out at her from the darkness.

?Beautiful, aren?t they. They?ve been raised on half-breed blood and oh, how they hunger. With just a word, they will help us rein in the scourge that threatens the very Shadow World itself.? He sounded all too proud, if completely insane.

?Silv. Listen to me, please. This is crazy. It isn?t revolutionary. People have tried this in the past and it has only resulted in death. A whole...lot...of death,? Nica said, backing up from the squirming throng of demons that were just itching to get at her.

?Where they have failed, I will succeed. So will you stand with us, Nicanora?? Silvano canted his head and stared at her. There was a wild gleam in his eye, visible even in the dim light of the warehouse?s floor.

?Nica! Just do it so he?ll make them go away! It?ll be better that way, I promise!? Lidia shouted. Nica looked up at Dia then back down to Silvano. It would have been a really good time for backup but in the moment, she couldn?t remember the silly Latin phrase that Daniel had insisted upon for the cue word.

Sometimes it?s better to resort to Plan B.

?No, but I?d really kill for some french toast right now instead. Think you can help me out?? She put on her best poker face and waited for Silvano?s reaction. Before he could react though, her backup arrived. Crashing through windows, barrelling through doors, spilling through every discernible entrance, the wave of werewolves descended upon them. Nica grinned. ?Oh, I guess that?s a yes.?

?However cozy things seemed, the facts of life were the same. You couldn't escape death: It would get us all in the end.?
―Rachel Ward, Numbers

26 January 2016

Only twelve hours after Nicanora had first stepped through the Portal to Miami, a spill of Shadowhunters accompanied by one werewolf and one warlock emerged on the exact point that she had disappeared. Angelo Vice had led them to a less than reputable inn just on the south side of the wall that split New Haven from Dragon?s Gate. The inn keeper had asked no questions about the limp and bloodied girl being carried by the large man, nor about the strange marks that three of the five (the unconscious girl included) wore all over their skin. It was normal for a Tuesday morning. All he cared about was that they paid their bill. Angelo had lingered to do exactly that, taking from the stack of bills that Nicanora had given him in order to prepay for two rooms for two nights accommodations. Beyond that, the kids would be on their own. The second of the two rooms was left abandoned while they tended to the fallen Nephilim.

Niamh reset the numerous broken bones as best as she could while Daniel followed after with a stele to etch deep healing runes to help repair the remaining damage. While they did, Angelo examined Nica?s shoulder at Daniel?s urging, a troubled frown worn where a smile normally was. Of all the injuries she had sustained, the bite was most concerning since the angelic runes that the Nephilim bore could only do so much to stop the spread of the venom. On the upside, Nica had passed out so at the very least she didn?t have to be conscious for all of it. At one point, the Warlock left to gather a few things, returning while bitching about the cold. It took a little work, but eventually Angelo was able to counter the demon venom and stop its spread.

?Her fever should continue to drop to a more manageable level, I imagine she?ll come out of it in the next day or two. Keep up with your intermittent healing doodles and she?ll be fine in no time,? Angelo assured them as Daniel counted out a whole new payment for the warlock, some to account for the money spent on the rooms, and the rest for the the Portals and his assistance in the wake of their siege on Silvano and his demons.

?No lingering effects?? Niamh asked, pushing a few sweat dampened strands from Nica?s forehead. She was resting peacefully or so it seemed, which was a far cry from the restless tossing and turning before.

?Maybe a little scarring, but I?m told you sorts like that kind of thing. Her little lover boy should be pleased,? Angelo answered, counting through the bills and tucking them into his smoking jacket. They had already made arrangements for their return to Miami at which point Angelo would inevitably require further payment.

?Lover boy?? Daniel snorted, arching a brow.

?Either that or he was her pimp, though I don?t think any self-respecting pimp would wield such a gaudy cane,? the green eyed Warlock laughed, as if he should be one to talk about gaudy. Niamh and Daniel exchanged a look but before either of them could ask further since Angelo was already halfway out the door.

?I guess we?ll figure out once she wakes up?? Niamh suggested with a shrug. Daniel rose, intent on passing through the door that adjoined the two rooms.

?I guess so. I?ll keep the door open in case you or her need anything,? he answered gruffly.

?So what do we do until then?? The werewolf posed a follow up as Daniel reached the door?s threshold. He looked back at her, his mouth grim.

?We wait. Nothing else we can do.?