?Be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit...?

Father De Angelo?s thumb marked her forehead in the sign of the cross with the chrism, and fell away again. Her hair was still damp; thrice-sprinkled with the baptismal water in the little chapel in the back of the church only moments before.

??and spread and defend the faith by word and action as true witnesses of Christ, to confess the name of Christ boldly, and never to be ashamed of the Cross??

Oil and water. Any other time, she would have caught it sooner and cracked a joke with Fury before they?d arrived at the church. She would have had to try and keep a straight face so Jo didn?t catch on and do something from the pew to make her laugh.

Indra represents Chaos, and while he lacks Sarva's "creative" nature and Druj's cunning, his incredible capacity for violence is not to be underestimated. Of the three he is easily the most aggressive and destructive, and can employ subterfuge under the direction of his creator the Architect or either of his two "siblings."

Remember that he spent a year in SPI posing as slain agent Reynard Sainte-Just. Given his unstable and violent nature, he poses risk of inflicting massive damage if such a security breach is ever allowed again.

~ From the SPI Division Summary on Indra, Agent of Chaos

The pews were empty, today. The last Mass had cleared away and she?d caught the priest before he could slip off to remove his vestments and go to meet Father Christopher across town for the Sunday pot roast buffet at Luann?s Family Restaurant (?You?ll love Luann?s!?) by the marketplace. There hadn?t been time, after all, to plan that barbecue.

?This is the blood of Christ, who taketh away the sins of the world??

She?d guessed she had six months, before. It had been nine, the last five relatively free of nightmares until last night when three caught up with her. The first hit hard, Yaya?s agonized face twisting into Jo?s. In the second, Colt lay dead in the fields of Dalibad with a poisoned river snaking past the blackened grass around his body. Third time charmed, and Fury hadn?t seen the semi that hit her car coming. By anyone?s accounting, Annie-Love had been lucky. Been blessed. None of this should be a surprise. Still, the moment had crept up and caught her unawares. Until she?d run into Seamus in front of the inn.

The average human took about 28,800 breaths a day. In a year, that came up to about ten and a half million. A lifetime came to just shy of a billion, if she lived to be ninety, as her Gran had. She should have roughly 600 million left by that reckoning?

If she was really lucky, she had about 400,000 left. Her gut was rarely wrong.

??The body of Christ.? He held the wafer toward her and she leaned in like a bird to take it from his hands, an angel standing beside her as witness.

?Amen.?

Colt's run had ended an hour before and when he first collapsed onto the floor in his living room to stretch out his legs, he'd had every intention of only staying there for several minutes before dragging himself into the shower. However, muscle exhaustion and a college football wrap up show now on the television had waylaid him.

With the day's schedule now completely destroyed, he sat on the floor with both legs outstretched contemplating what could be rearranged and condensed so that he still got everything done today that he had planned. As each minute of his 'planning' ticked by, the less likely it became that his list was going to come anywhere near completion.

The tires of the vehicle crunched slowly up the winding drive, gravel popping under the cargo truck as it navigated in toward the house. It was a beautiful day, bright with leaves that were starting to contemplate a fall display but still firmly green shading the path. A beautiful day, but it was an uncomfortable setting for the man in the passenger seat of the carrier's bench.

Molly perked first, lifting her head up off the couch to listen to the noise and then hopping up to head for the door.

With an unhappy groan, Colt took Molly's cue and shoved himself to his feet, glancing at the clock once again. It certainly wasn't Ten; she was deeply embroiled in Gem's wedding details today. Whoever was heading up his drive was probably going to put him even further behind schedule.

It was an odd, crawler-type of truck that rolled on six belted tires, like a tank. Black and yellow, the logo of one of the Stars End transport companies was blazoned on the doors. The thing was certainly out of its element here in the wooded countryside surrounding the house, and when it rolled to a stop, the passengers didn't immediately debark.

The confused pair on the porch watching the truck roll to a stop had their heads tilted to the side in a manner strikingly similar. The canine gave a whine but remained seated while her human companion thumped his way warily down the stairs. "Can I help you?" he called to the driver as he approached.

The passenger door opened as the man descended the stairs. The driver, with his blue-tinged skin and the too-wide slash of a mouth, was most assuredly not human, but the man who dropped from the cabin of the transport looked close enough. In his mid-forties or so, his dark hair was liberally salted with grey, and though his skin was pale enough to shout that he spent most of his time indoors, his wiry frame was solid enough to declare him a man accustomed to hard work. He wore the sort of twill work uniform common among spacers, the sleeves rolled and pushed up against the heat of a RhyDinian summer afternoon.

"You Colton Daniels?"

Colt's eyes darted back to Molly at the question, considering whether or not confirming the question was a good idea. Molly probably would have shrugged if such movement of her shoulders was possible but instead she stared blankly in response. Left on his own, his gaze drifted to the non-human driver before moving back to the dark haired man directing the question to him. "Yeah?" It was part question, part answer.

"Name's Elbrand Massey," he said, glancing around at the trees and looking utterly ill at ease in the setting. "captain of the transport vessel, Lux Signator."

His arms crossed his chest, lifting a brow as he let his eyes drift over the truck in his drive. "Sounds like a mighty fine gig there, Captain. How can I help you?"

"Have a package for you. A woman came to see me before we set out on a run near the end of June. Told me she needed me to carry it with us on the run, and when we got back to the station, to bring it here and give it to you. Craziest damned thing ever," he rubbed the side of her jaw awkwardly. "But she was sweet and no complaints on the pay for the job."

Molly whined and he felt the desire to echo her sentiments. This couldn't possibly be good. Heaving a reluctant sigh, his arms dropped and he gave a nod. "All right. Let's see this thing."

The man nodded, eager to have this over with and get back to the station. "Insisted it had to be my ship. Kept saying it was important." He shook his head and pulled a brown paper-wrapped box from the cab of the truck. It was bound in packing tape and had Colt's name and address on the front. "Blight if I know why, but here it is."

"The woman give a name?" He hesitated for a moment, contemplating handing over as much cash as he had in his wallet to get the man to dispose of it. But, as always, curiosity got the best of him. The box was heavier than expected as he took it from the man's arms but not a chore to carry.

"She had to. We don't carry anything that doesn't have a source registered. J. Harper is how she signed the manifest." He rubbed his palms on his pants as soon as the man took the package. "You know her?"

The mild anxiety turned fully into concern. His features tightened and the grip on the box adjusted, drawing it closer to his chest protectively. "Yeah. She just told you to take it and bring it back? Nothing else?"

"Something about winds being messengers and flames being servants. Like I said, crazy stuff. Had to be my ship. None of the others would work." He frowned at the gravel. "She made me promise I'd do it. Don't know why, but I couldn't tell her no."

His brows knit as he concentrated on the words, taking a slow step back from the truck. "That's it? Anythin' else you can remember? It's important."

"Nothing else," he looked up and away, then back. "If I think of something else, I'll send word, but I don't think so. It's been a couple of months, you know?"

He watched the man's eyes move up and away and then back. His gut was failing him. A deep breath of his scent was drawn in, memorized, and then shoved back out in an exhale. There would be SPI agents looking into Captain Massey's background before the truck left Colt's drive. "I'd appreciate that, Captain."

"Will do." He started to turn back to the truck and paused to add over his shoulder. "Hope everything turns out okay, whatever it is. Like I said, she made me promise, and I did it." And with that, he was up on the step and climbing into the cab of the truck. The cabin turned on the base of the treads to aim the other way, the blue man's profile to Colton now as it started back down the drive.

The box was shifted so that he could slide an arm over and let his palm rest underneath. Balancing it against his hip, he used his now free hand to pull his phone out of his pocket. Before his feet hit the front porch a text message had been sent off to a researcher at SPI: Captain Elbrand Massey. Lux Signator. Need to know everything. ASAP. The confirmation came back quickly and he dropped the phone back into his pocket to open the door.

The box came to rest on the kitchen table with a thump and he stood over it with a pocket knife in hand, contemplating opening it. J. Harper. Maybe he should call Annie-Love first. Maybe she should be here when he opened it. But his name ? Colton Daniels -- written in her script stopped him from reaching for his phone again. It was addressed to him, not to her. There had to be a reason for that.

With the decision made, he sliced through the packing tape and pulled the top open.

The package contained two large accordion files containing paperwork and a data chip. Affixed to the top file was a white envelope with ?Colton? written across the front in blue ink.

Once again he found himself lingering on the handwriting of his own name. Curiosity and concern tugged at him, urging him forward. He reached forward, snagging the envelope and drawing his finger through the seal to break it.

The letter inside dated back to June, two days after the incident in Cadentia. Two days after he?d met Harper?s parents. It was a single sheet of stationery, folded in half, and it read:

Colton,

It?s important this package be sent today. I?ve found the right person to carry it, and it should arrive at the right time. I hope ? I pray ? that we?ve done what we can, but things are more and more uncertain the closer the hour. The dark is almost here.

There are so many things I would like to tell you but there isn?t time. The documents in the folders will make sense later. This is the important thing: it will look hopeless, but it is not. People will tell you it is too late. You?re going to believe it, but don?t stop. There is still hope that you will both come out on the other side but that can only happen if you don?t give up when everything falls. Bill and I have faith in you, honey.

Tell her we love her. We are so proud of her. That is never going to change.

I?ll be praying angels over you both for as long as I have breath. Be safe. Be strong.

Joshua 1:9
Julia Harper


Dread sunk deep and heavy around him. It made his ears ring and his heart pound. A second reading didn't help alleviate his fears. Neither did a third. Each word sounded more final than the last. It was a goodbye. One that he didn't want to hear, one that he was not ready to process.

The note was set aside and he thumbed his way through the paperwork in one of the accordion file folders. The words in big black letters stopped him. Executor of Estate. His eyes slid down the paperwork, noting first Julia?s full name followed by Bill?s... and then his own as he was named the executor of their estate. Fear gripped him fully.

His phone vibrated and hoping for a distraction from the sudden weight, he glanced at the screen. It was a text from DeMuer. We found Harper's parents. Both dead. Luca's on his way to her with the news.

((Written with the always amazing A L Harper.))

DAY ONE

It sounded like the end of the world.

The noise went on an impossibly long time, dust and smoke roiling in the air until the entrance to the circular alcove was blocked and no more air or smoke or dust could get in. The iron gate groaned and bowed in, but held.

It went on for an eternity, impossible noise in a dark so utterly dark that there was no word to describe either.

When it stopped, the silence was worse.

========================

Time had no meaning under so many layers. There was no light to mark the passage of day and night in the pocket of sanctuary. Stuck between heaven and hell, the small tomb became an indefinite purgatory where waiting was all that there was to do and their sins, regrets, and failures were all they had to think on.

Colt never realized how carefully he measured the passage of time until he had no access to it. He had powered off his phone when he quickly realized that reception this far underground was a silly pipe dream and his watch had been smashed by the demon in the elevator shaft. Seconds didn't tick by, minutes didn't slowly crawl past. There was nothing but the closeness of the walls surrounding him.

Therefore, he couldn't be sure how long it took. The panic. But it came. The walls were closing. Their pocket was giving way. Rubble was coming down upon them. He closed his eyes tightly against the anxiety, knowing that it was merely a figment of his claustrophobic imagination, knowing that his rapid breathing would not help their limited supply of oxygen.

"Easy," she mumbled beside Colt, reaching over in the dark to twine her arm through his and lace their fingers. She hurt all over. Moving sent a dull throb through her body, but pain meant she was still alive. Given the alternative, she'd take it.

"Stop talking," Peter, the third occupant of their tiny prison, hissed. "You're wasting oxygen." She thought she recognized the man's voice, once he'd stopped screaming. Harper never got a good look at him before the light went. It turned out he was one of the long-tenured agents. Computer stuff, mostly, which partly explained his longevity.

"Shove it, Oliend," Harper licked her lips, getting dust and copper out of it. Her tone gentled as she whispered, forcing lightness into her words and the connection between them, "Ten's going to be so mad at us."

His laugh was breathless as he sunk in against her. Knees drawn up, feet flat on the floor, he ignored Oliend as he had since the silence had settled. He felt the lightness slip and slide it's way through him and he didn't fight it. Instead, he marveled at the way it twisted its way through his limbs and into his chest, easing his blood pressure and allowing him to unclench his fists. It wasn't much but it was something. "Furious. She's gonna be furious."

"You're gonna have to make it up to her," her lips barely moved. If she kept still, it was better. "What're you gonna do?"

A cough rattled his ribcage as his lungs refused to accept the fragments still floating around in the air. He let the side of his head sink in against Harper's shoulder. "I don't know. What's the proper apology for gettin' yourself buried five floors underground? Flowers? Chocolate? I'm guessin' not lingerie."

"Jewelry," she answered and Peter snorted in the dark. "Definitely jewelry. Maybe a ring." She closed her eyes, listened to what he was telling her through the wash of the bond.

It did cause a hitch in his breathing that not even the bond was needed to notice and it caused a roll of Peter's eyes that thankfully for Peter's jaw went unnoticed in the darkness. "Even if a forever with her isn't very long, even if she doesn't live another ten years, I'm not worthy of what time she has."

"You're such an idiot," she mumbled, and the affection in the words rolled off of her like the rumble of a summer rainshower. "You have a gift. Don't waste it."

"What about you, Peter? You want to be my date at the wedding? I clean up better than you'd think and I won't bring my gun."

Peter's huff in response was drowned out by a deep, warm laugh that once again rattled Colt's bruised ribs.

========================

Oliend talked in his sleep. It was never information Colt would have thought he would have about the man. He found himself listening to the murmuring on the other side of the small round chamber, trying to pick words out from the nonsense.

Cynthia. Peter seemed awfully concerned about Cynthia in his sleep.

His hand fell to the blonde hair splayed out in his lap. Harper was in a ball at his side asleep. Her breathing was even, the bond was a quiet hum of calming energy. Once again, he found himself latching onto it, letting her emotions mix with his until it was impossible to separate one from the other. He was calm to keep her calm. She was calm to keep him calm.

In the serenity and with Peter's mumbling disrupting the deafening silence, Colt closed his eyes and let the calm take him away as well.

========================

"What time is it?" Unable to bear the disconnect any longer, Colt broke the silence.

Harper shifted beside him, rolling to her hip to dig in her pocket for her phone. Her hands were shaking so hard she dropped it, the plastic handset rattling on the stone floor and skittering somewhere near her feet.

She fumbled for it in the dark, her teeth rattling when she relaxed her jaw to try and suck in a breath. It felt like forever before her fingers closed over it and she could try again, offering it over to Colt. "S-s-sorry," she mumbled.

His arms uncrossed from his body, releasing his own tight hold on his body warmth. He didn't reach out to take it but instead slid closer to roll his hands over Harper's bare arms. Neither of them had been dressed for subterranean nights. "Can you imagine the number of e-mails and text messages and voicemails that are floatin' around out there 'cause our phones have no reception? Cloggin' up the airways I bet."

Peter scoffed at Colt's limited understanding of cellular technology. It was good to know he was still alive on the opposite side of the dark chamber.

Harper was thinking the same thing, and it was a tight thread of worry that she wouldn't voice. Alone and cold, in the dark. Well, they weren't. They weren't alone. "Come sit closer, Peter," she chattered the suggestion. "Gonna freeze over there."

"Shut up!" Peter's exclamation echoed in the enclosed chamber, and they could hear him scrambling closer suddenly. "Give me your phones."

"You don't ask for another man's cell phone, Peter, it's considered--"

"Do you ever stop talking? Just shut up and give me your phone." Peter reiterated the point, smacking the back of his hand into his open palm for emphasis.

There was nothing to do but humor their unfortunate companion. Colt pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and slid it across the chamber to Peter and then let his hand fall to Harper's and tossed it lightly Peter's way.

"6621J," he answered without looking up, his fingers working on the display commands.

His arms wrapped around Harper from behind, pulling her into his body heat as he frowned over her shoulder at Peter. "What the hell is he talkin' about? Why does that sound familiar?"

"It's the Arcanex code," Peter favored them with an answer, buoyed by his excitement. The tattoos on the side of his face seemed to dance in the watery light of the phone's display. "You said it. They've got to be digging, right? Maybe the signal will clear. I can program a repeating algorithm into the autodial on these to send the code to the check-in line. If it gets through..."

"You lost me at algorithm," Colt muttered beneath his breath.

The elf looked up and stared at Colt for a minute. "I can talk to it so it understands and will do what I want. Like showing you a bikini model holding a beer and some pork rinds."

Harper placed a restraining hand on Colt's thigh and squeezed.

"You're about ten seconds from gettin' jaw jacked over there, you--" And as Harper's hand tightened further, he cut off his retort with a mumbled apology.

Oliend stared at him again, his mouth quirking up on the right. "We'll run them one at a time, so we don't waste all the batteries at once. Yours first."

========================

DAY TWO

Colt's phone finally died. It was a hard thing. They'd all come to anticipate the periodic checks, the few seconds that Peter allowed the display to linger when they could see the chamber, see each other in the dim glow that reminded them they were still okay, still alive, still together. It was a blow in the gut when he picked it up to check and the light was gone.

One down.

He powered Harper's up and got it going, and when he closed it to let it do its thing, Peter finally gave in and came to huddle on the other side of her in the dark.

========================

Harper slept with her head against Colt?s chest. It was as if neither of them could rest without reassurance that the other was still breathing. The pain continued. He couldn?t even remember how he had gotten some of his injuries. Were they from the demons or falling debris? Harper?s pain was a constant steady stream as well through the bond. They didn?t speak of it, though. Not the pain, not the cold, not the darkness. Anything but those three subjects.

?Who is Cynthia?? Colt asked in a dry whisper.

The silence that stretched after his question lasted so long that Colt assumed Peter had fallen asleep. But eventually, his voice came in response from his position only a few feet away. ?My daughter.?

?How old is she??

?Thirteen,? Peter responded in a low desolate tone.

One of Harper?s hands reached up to Colt?s shirt and twisted it into her closed fist in a silent plea, proving she wasn?t asleep after all. She was silently begging him to say the right thing. Colt?s lips thinned as he struggled through his own helplessness for a wisp of faith to offer. ?Rough age. She a looker??

Peter grunted his assent to the statement. ?Very pretty. Looks like her mother did.?

?Well, keep holdin? on. Lord knows she?s gonna need you over the next couple of years to keep guys like me off your doorstep.?

The surprise choke of laughter that sprang free of Peter caused Harper to release her hold on Colt, patting his chest once as a sign of a job well done.

========================

A cough rattled Colt's ribs yet again, jarring him awake with an involuntary cry of pain. The parts of his body that were not numb from the cold were full of hot shards of pain. Peter gave an unhappy exhale from somewhere nearby that the noise had woken him once more. The cough was getting worse, the pain was getting worse, but the pain was better than the cold deadness than had begun nipping at his limbs.

How long have we been down here? How long do we have left?

"We should walk again," Harper's voice was bleak and rough, scoured and dry. She'd been insisting on it, since they'd started their periodic checks of the phones. It was little more than shuffling, really, careful and slow for a few feet and back in a line with a hand on the wall to orient from.

It was getting harder and harder to get up, though. Harder and harder not to feel lightheaded when they did it.

Peter argued. "Wasting air."

"I'm not walking anymore, Annie-Love. I'm not walking anymore."

It came without the charm of his accent. It came without his usual good humor. In fact, the words seemed to come from someone else entirely but they were final. He would hear no more discussion of walking.

========================

They slept.

========================

The stones shifted, somewhere. It wasn't the first time they'd heard the visceral grinding of debris and stonework, but it no longer brought that hopeful gasp. Just settling. It was all just settling.

She licked her lips. Even her tongue was dry. Beside her, Peter stirred to check the phone. She rubbed a hand over Colton's chest to rouse him for the light.

Waking had become harder. His body became more reluctant to it. They seemed further away. His hand lifted to close over the one on his chest and he forced his eyes open to find her profile in the blue glow. He didn't let his eyes drop closed until the light had faded once more. "I bet Yeardley finds us first."

She pressed cracked lips to the backs of his knuckles and sighed out a wordless nod, her head falling to rest there on their hands.

The dark pulled her back under again.

========================

The numbers on the clock display didn't make sense anymore.

Harper's phone had finally faded to nothing, the red flash of 'Connect to Power Source Now' its last message to them before it failed.

It took Peter longer to power his up, to set the routine running. It kept sliding out of his hands and it finally took Colt and Harper together, holding it propped against her chest for him, before he got it going.

========================

They slept.

========================

DAY THREE

A hand sat on her abdomen and he found himself concentrating on the rise and fall in the few moments he was conscious. Silent prayers were repeated, increasingly nonsensical, that the movement would continue and upon reassuring himself that it was still there, he'd allow himself to be stolen back. The rise and fall of her chest was shallow this time and he struggled against the urge to let go. Was Peter still here? Was Peter alive? Did he even care?

"Annie-Love?" The whisper was barely audible despite how close it was to her ear.

There. Her breath hitched.

Her name reached her through an ocean's weight of water, and she rose toward it, a diver drawn by a gleaming sliver of blue in the night-black sea.

She cracked her eyes open and it was gone to ink again.

He fought to fill his lungs enough to speak but this was a fight worth winning.

"I love you."

She turned her head toward his voice, working her throat around the raw soreness that had lodged there.

"...too... don't stop."

========================

They no longer bothered to check Peter's phone. None of them had the energy for it. None of them thought about it.

They floated together in the painless dark and they slept.

========================

The average human took about 28,800 breaths a day.

In a year, that came up to about ten and a half million.

A lifetime came to just shy of a billion, if she lived to be ninety, as her Gran had.

Peter and Colton were so quiet. She couldn't hear them anymore. She tried. She tried to feel them there, but her fingers had lost too much sensation. Even with Colt's weight half across her, she couldn't feel his breathing.

Maybe a hundred left, if her reckoning was right.

But she wasn't cold anymore. And she wasn't alone.

She gave in and slept.

========================

Silence.

========================

Silence.

========================

Silence.

========================

On the stone floor by Peter's hand, the telephone display lit.

Call Connected.



((Written with the always amazing A L Harper.))