For one with a deep abiding passion for spontaneity, when on land Serena's morning routine was as predictable as the changing tides. Her daybreak jog was always followed by a shower and then she visited the coffee shop on the corner for a mug of whatever exotic blend of coffee was the special of the day before throwing herself into the morning surf. Yet, this particular morning, there would be no morning surf and it would be two paper cups rather than a single mug.

One for herself, of course, and the other would be for Jolyon. His plan to trick Lirssa left her with a surge of unsettled energy. It did not seem like him at all to try his hand at such a con and it certainly did not strike her as a wise course of action. She would try one last time to convince him that there was another option while they checked her own old haunts to see if the acrobatic, quick witted young woman would allow herself to be found.

Her sandals slapped against the cobblestone street as she approached the coffee shop. She turned her wrist over to do a near hourly check of her watch. Since the transformation, time had lost almost all meaning. Any sense of internal clock had ceased to exist. It was only her grandmother's old white gold watch that reminded her of her place in the human world.

"Serena Stevenson?"

Serena drew to a halt just outside the coffee house and turned her eyes towards the two uniformed men who were there to meet her. A ball of panic exploded within her even before her mind had clicked into gear. "Yes?"

"Please turn around." The tall, lanky guard stepped forward, reaching out for her wrist as he produced a set of handcuffs. The trickling stream of early Saturday morning foot traffic on the street corner had suddenly grown to a pool of curious spectators. However, their presence barely even registered with her suddenly overwhelmed mind.

Numb with the reality of her downfall, she could only ask a question of which she already knew the answer. "What am I under arrest for?"

"Larceny by fraud and deception," the lanky man's partner answered simply. She would have expected to have been stunned but there was only reluctant acceptance. The man's firm grip and the clink of metal as the handcuffs were snapped into place drew out almost every emotion from her frame, even the panic. All she was left with was an odd sense of sickening relief. The game was over.

"Serena."

The voice floated into her world like a dream. Serena refused to respond certain the owner of that voice was not truly there. She squeezed her legs in tightly against her chest through the chills that racked her body as she lay on the dingy cot desperate to simply get through another night.

"Serena." The voice was louder this time. "It is Jolyon."

She unraveled from her ball at the voice's insistence and her dark eyes found his face. Jolyon looked out of place standing outside the bars with his features tightened in exhaustion. He was her sanity here in this unreal nightmare. Her brows knit in confusion as she unsteadily found her way to her feet. A couple slow steps took her to the bars and she reached a shaky hand towards him uncertain if he was real or merely a more elaborate hallucination. "Jolyon?"

He reached through the bars without hesitation. "I am here, Serena. Tell me what you need." The knowledge of her misery was there in his concerned blue eyes. He knew. Of course, he knew. He knew why she was feverish. He knew why she was so utterly lost. Instantly she regretted not telling him of her recent desire to lose that half of her. He may have been able to find a way. His research may have helped her find some way to control her mermaid impulses. Her pride and independence continued to be her downfall.

When contact was made as her hand closed upon his wrist, a soft exhaled laugh of disbelief was released. The delight of the visit was instantly replaced with horror by it as her mind kicked into gear. Every emotion was vividly displayed on her features as, for tonight, the ability to screen her emotions was lost. "You shouldn't be here," she whispered quietly even as she clung desperately to his wrist. "You know you shouldn't be here."

His touch was far more gentle than her's as his fingers curled around her wrist like he was grasping a precious artifact. "Of course I should be here. I wish I could do more, but they say they cannot set bail until tomorrow." Still, he didn't understand or didn't want to understand her meaning. For as much as she loved his visit, she hated it at the same time. The violent clash of the life she wanted against the life that she had to accept could not have been set in a more dramatic fashion.

Jolyon breathed out a sigh. "Is there nothing I can bring you to ease your way through this?"

The ocean called. He knew that she could not resist. It demanded her and it would not rest until it had her once again. The thought caused her stomach to twist in agony.

"You cannot bail me out. This is all wrong." Her dark eyes searched his face as she tried to find some way to make him understand. She needed him here and couldn't have him here all at the same time. Her free hand wrapped around a bar to help keep her upright. "I can't put together a coherent thought right now. I just know that this is not how I would ever want you to see me."

The fingers of the hand that she had not claimed lifted to brush aside some of the stray locks of her hair that had become matted with sweat against her cheek. He was clearly looking for any small way to comfort her. Her dark eyes fluttered shut at his touch as for this moment she was not alone in her misery. "I think that train has left the station, Serena. I am here now. How could I not come when I heard of the arrest? Knowing what I know and not at least come to visit?"

Of course, if he did not come for her, who would? Samantha would not believe that she was no longer running scams and she had every reason not to believe Serena any longer. The lies that she had told her twin over the years stood like an ugly bulging pile of trash between them. Alain could not come. It was strictly against the very set rules of their friendship; rules that she herself had made. Tucker or Eless would come for her. Serena knew that they would bail her out. She need only ask but certainly swallowing her pride to ask was not necessarily a given.

Jolyon's thumb ran over her arm. "If you lack coherent thought, asking you any questions will be a futile gesture indeed."

Her eyes snapped back open to find his. There was a deep seeded need in her tone suddenly. "I have not done anything illegal in months. I have not even been spending time with my old friends. Do you believe me?" Tears, real tears, were held back by a very thin strand of will. She could not even remember the last time she had cried and it had not been an act. Tonight would not be the night that she broke that streak, she silently promised herself.

A slow truthful nod from him eased the strong fight of emotion within her. "I believe you, Serena."

His truth called for her's and she gave him what she knew simply in return. Not that there was much to what little she did know. "I don't know what's going on. I guess this is over something I did a while ago. I suppose I'll find out more tomorrow."

A guard began to approach, signaling the end of the visit and her hand enclosed around his wrist once again to squeeze it before softly admitting, "I am scared."

"I know. It will be all right. Your friends are out here waiting for your return. This is going to be all right." Jolyon's gaze turned on the approaching guard as well, shooting him a look that asked for a litt more time before shifting his attention back on Serena. "Does Samantha know?"

A pained expression crossed her face at the mere mention of Sam. No words could form in response to the question. She could merely shake her head and lift her shoulders in a shrug to indicate that she did not know. Again, she admonished herself for not telling Jolyon everything, for not telling him how she had bullied Sam into her lifestyle for so many years.

"I will come back tomorrow and see you out," he stated with a confidence that she could almost buy into.

After a stern nod from the guard, Serena began to unravel her fingers from Jolyon, taking the opportunity to brush her fingertips against his palm as he retracted his hand from between the bars. In a barely audible tone as the guard began to escort him out, she allowed a piece of truth. "I will need you here."

Sharp heels echoed behind the hurrying thump-thump of a Watchman?s boots. Amber eyes took in the squalid surroundings without reaction. As the smell of old vomit ? only half-heartedly cleaned during the bond hearing ? swept from the cell, a delicate wrinkle of nose was produced. Still, it didn?t affect the warm sympathy of the honeyed voice directed at Serena. ?Oh, my dear. You do look a mess.? A flick of her fingers dismissed the hovering Watchman.

Serena sat on the cot with her legs hanging off over the side. Her elbows rested on her knees and her face was buried in her hands, counting away the final minutes before she was rescued from this hell. It is not until the woman's voice reached her ears that she peeled the hands away from her face and lifted her eyes to take in the sweet sounding voice that stuck out like a sore thumb in these surroundings. "I think you have the wrong cell."

?Serena Stevenson, professional surfer, con artist ? mermaid.? Backing the last word was a barely audible thrum of waves against the sand; almost more felt than heard. ?I believe I?m exactly where I need to be.? Morana?s smile was warm, empathetic. Silver-tipped nails tapped the iron bars. Her suit, a business suit of a subdued dark grey with subtle blue and silver threads shot through it, caught the little available light with a liquid shimmer.

A ragged exhale was immediately released after that last word. The underlying sound caused the sigh to be one more of the longing of a lost love than the shock of finding that the truth was not as big a secret as she had assumed. Her hands dropped onto the cot and she shoved herself to her feet. "What is it exactly that you want?" Morana certainly had her attention.

?Why, darling, I want you.? The delivery was so calm, so perfectly filled with confidence. A half-step forward, closer to the bars, brought with it the subtle feel of sand underfoot, quartz and bits of broken shell taking the place of stone floors. ?Or more precisely, I want your abilities, your connections.? Full lips curved up in an amused smile. ?Really, you do know the most interesting people.?

Her bottom lip trembled as she took that step, ever so slowly closing the distance between them. A hallucination, she attempted to convince herself. This was just another hallucination. Yet, she couldn't help but wiggle her toes within the soles of her shoes. "You don't seem to be the sort of woman interested in surf lessons."

?Surf?? Again the word brought with it a sensation ? fleeting, a breath of fresh, salt-tainted air and a mist of ocean spray. ?No. The ocean doesn?t interest me ? but it?s everything to you, isn?t it? Wild things should never be locked away.? Purr, that was the only word for the tone of her voice, a honeyed velvet over razor-sharp steel.

She accepted the sweetness to the words and dismissed the screaming alarms that suggested it was a cover. The danger was ignored. "You are a fool if you do not respect it, if you do not fear it." The ocean called through the woman before her and Serena was intoxicated by it.

?Respect and fear. Ah, now there?s a fascinating conversation. They crash? waves hitting rocks and spraying up fine mist, ?against each other, don?t they?? Amber eyes were lit ? warmth, humor, anticipation ? as Morana reached through the cell bar and extended her hand in offering. ?My name is Morana, and it?s a pleasure to meet you.? You-you-you echoed as a whisper caught with gull?s cries.

Her eyes did briefly flutter shut and she forced them to stay that way as a hand blindly reached out towards the bars. Her fingers wrapped around them for support and squeezed to a white-knuckled grip. The name drew back conversations with a sudden rush -- Roland and VeeJay calling the woman a witch, Alain and Anya's anger over some article. Her mind begged her to concentrate but she fell short. Her eyes snapped back open with the birds' calls. "They are not mutually exclusive. They can easily go hand in hand."

Cool skin brushed over white knuckles, and with it surged a cold slap of iodine-tainted water ? though no additional dampness marred the cell. Silver-tipped fingers wrapped around the surfer?s tanned hand. ?Hand in hand. I?m glad to hear you say so, Serena. I think we?ll work very well together.? There could have been glee or malicious humor in her honeyed voice ? there wasn?t. Satisfaction and an odd ring of sincerity, instead.

Suspicious brown eyes dropped to the hand sitting on top of her own but she didn?t move it. Her body begged for another taste even while the danger could not be denied. "Work together? What is it that you want from me exactly?" Panic welled up within but it too was battered back by the needs of the mermaid.

The setting sun produced a golden halo at the edge of the horizon over the remarkably still ocean. She could almost hear her sister nymphs calling to her in their beautiful singsong voices, urging her to join in on the futile chase of the sun with them. With darkness at their backs and light illuminating their faces, there would be day after day of laughter, adventure, and exploration. Serena need only take the step into the surf.

Still, she hesitated and once even took a small step back as the incoming tide approached. A lone fisherman packing up his belongings shot a curious glance towards the flighty young woman but she paid him no mind. Morana's words rang in her ears and everything else was merely background noise. Step as you like into the ocean. It will reject you, now. You belong to me.

The woman could not be as powerful as the surf. She could not hold the secrets of the ocean. The ocean was all powerful. The mantra was repeated over and over as finally the courage was obtained and she allowed the next rushing wave to tickle her ankles with its frothy laughter. There was no joy, no relief, no emotions at all. The ocean was there but she was not a part of it.

Panic settled in and quickly she walked further towards the horizon. The wet sand beneath her feet felt empty. The calls of the birds seemed hollow. Weak from the nightmarish weekend, she fought against even these gentle waves. Her water-logged skirt became a hindrance and it was tossed aside without a care as to that single fisherman on shore. With the next wave, she dove down to escape the breakers and reemerged in deeper water.

She could wait no longer to try to transform out of this awful form. Twisting over to float on her back, she closed her eyes tightly and released the hold within. Even before she opened her eyes, she knew it had not worked. Her bottom half remained as two separate legs rather than the powerful tail which she had called forth. She was still human. The ocean had indeed rejected her. She could not be mermaid, she could not be a part of it.

As realization settled in with all of its dark and possibly lethal consequences, a guttural cry of disbelief was released from deep within her. There was no longer any way to doubt Morana's words as clearly she had indeed found a way to best the ocean and imprison Serena in her human form.

On the shore, the fisherman stood stock still with his reel and tackle box in hand watching the drama unfold. There before his eyes a human woman had turned to a mermaid and then cried out in anguish. Morana could not remove what she was but she very well could make Serena think that she had. Where Serena's mind addled by Morana's spell had seen darkly tanned skin stretched across muscular legs, the fisherman's unaltered vision had seen bright green scales erupt on a dolphin-like tail.

With her focus on her own freedom, Serena had placed her guilt in an emotional lock box and conveniently misplaced the key. Every ounce of her energy was now focused on what must be done. She had no other choice or so she told herself. The plot was only roughly outlined but desperation drove her to the first act without a full plan. Her look had to be carefully planned due to the wear and tear the past week had taken upon her. But after several hours, she had been able to cover the ugly red burst blood vessels in her face, lessen the hard lines of exhaustion, and pick just the outfit that hid the loss of weight.

The setting too had been chosen -- The Silver Mark. When she stepped through the door that evening it was with the singular goal of reclaiming her place in Alain's life.

It was late, maybe the last hour or so of Alain's shift, and the bar wasn't very busy at all. Several workers from the House and the Division sat around a table, playing cards and debating something about automatic shotguns, and Alain half-smiled as he watched from behind the long counter at the Silver Mark, bar-towel resting over his shoulder. Lt. O'Brien sat near him, nursing a beer. When the Watch guard saw Serena, his gaze registered some recognition, but he apparently didn't place much stock in the accusations against her - he gave her a small smile and a wave over his glass.

Alain's eyes lit up, just a little, happy to see Serena and in an improved state. He was a detective, but she was a con artist, so he only noticed a couple of things she had doctored up. "Didn't think I'd see you here, Serena... certainly not so soon."

After flashing a polite smile in return to the guard, she turned her dark eyes on Alain. Her flirty smile had been so well tamed over the years that it did not even seem the least bit practiced. It took effort to hide her physical turmoil but it was a challenge for which she was resolute as it was the only way out of this nightmare.

"I refuse to allow false charges to change the way I live my life." The indignant tone in her voice was feigned for the purpose of any at the bar that might overhear. Alain knew that if she wasn't guilty of this particular act than she was guilty of a hundred others. There was mischief in her expression over their shared secret.

He grinned. "I'll drink to that as long as you don't tell... I'm on duty, you know. I could get fired." A few who overheard chuckled, and the Baron winked as he set his hands on the glasses. He paused for a moment... "...It's good to see you, Serena. What'll it be?"

Certainly if the weight of her illness wasn't resting squarely on her shoulders, she would take time with the con, enjoy the chase. After all, he was her personal big fish. She had wanted to con Alain, hang the prize on her wall, and gloat with satisfaction for years. Yet, now that she had committed to it, there was no joy and only a real desire to get the job done quickly.

Her hands dropped onto the bar and she leaned a bit further over it with a playful grin. "You," she stated in a soft whisper. "A weekend behind bars showed me how pathetically boring my life has become. I want to take a break from our break. Come out with me Saturday night."

O'Brien turned his gaze curiously, not to Serena, but to Alain. The younger man merely looked back... then smiled at Serena, though he couldn't conceal his surprise. He considered her offer... then he shook his head. "I'm not ending our break, not officially - but! I'll come out with you Saturday night." He nodded, then his lips tugged into a grin. "And you can call it a date."

"You can call it whatever you want as long as you wear that suit I like." Her tone had lifted enough that she clearly wanted to be heard, knowing that the comment would catch him at least a bit of grief from the men gathered at the bar. A challenging smile flirted on her lips as she took a step back away. "And remember I like flowers."

"You're toying with me," the Baron said with a slow smile... but the nature of it revealed, perhaps, he had no idea to what extent that accusation was true. "I'll see you then, Serena."

At least part of it had worked. The men at the table said something to each other, and they all rumbled with laughter.

Tori's Diner was nearly empty ten o'clock at night, and even to the best knowledge of his own people, Alain DeMuer hadn't used the place for a meeting since he broke his cover on the Howe job last summer. With any luck, few would catch onto his old habit returning...

Little had changed about the place, other than a new paint job on the outside, a bright light blue, very Caribbean, which was where Tori herself had been stationed as a field agent an age or two ago. The diner's namesake and owner sat on the battered chrome counter, examining a recent and rather wicked knife scar on her upper arm without any shame at all, nor any attention for the Baron. He had his affairs, she had his, and they respected the arrangement.

Alain had curled himself into one corner of a ratty red booth, burning through cigarettes to silence his hunger - his and Yaya's favorite meal was waiting in the oven for them. He dressed down to blend in, and so he favored his older clothes tonight, a well-worn leather jacket, almost threadbare black t-shirt that was once legible (for any who knew the right kind of Gaelic), jeans, and boots. His gun went without glamor, sitting proudly in a leather holster at his left side.

The modified police revolver was as close to an old friend as any weapon could be.

There was no visible weapons on Yaya when she swept through the door a bit late. Yet, the large hobo purse hanging over her shoulder could hide a small armory.

The casual smile that settled on her lips when she spotted Alain was not an act as it had been for Morana. Tonight at least and in this company, Yaya could be the farm girl from South Carolina. She wore worn dark jeans and a button-down white shirt with her dark hair hanging free around her shoulders. The one thing that had not been an act in that meeting with Morana had been Yaya's love for shoes. The heels of a pair of trendy black pumps announced her arrival.

She dumped the bag onto the opposite side of the booth and dropped to a seat. "I'm starving."

"Eat up," Tori announced, arriving at their table as quietly as a ghost. "You've been hard at work." Heavy white plates clattered onto the table in front of them. Apparently double agents brought out her maternal instincts - she added, "Milkshakes coming up," as she walked away.

"Food first. Can't stand business on an empty stomach," Alain said to Yaya with a wink. "...And I still don't get how you can put all that on a cheeseburger." The Baron had his own strange eating habits out in the open, with one of his favorites, the pickles-peppers-and-pineapples burger. He was careless when he crushed out his cigarette, his right fingertips all over the hot ash in the scratched-up glass tray, and noticed only long enough to wipe them off on a napkin, not at all concerned about the painless little burns. He hoisted his burger up for the kind of enormous fight befitting his actually very young age.

"Alain, your hand." She motioned towards his right hand with a french fry before the fry was popped into her mouth. The careless manner in which he shrugged off the burns caught her eye -- the eye of a woman who had always meant to be a doctor. For a moment, food was forgotten and she allowed herself to care. Had her Ad Lucem superiors been watching, it would be a moment that they would strictly disapprove of. Agents had no friends outside their own.

Alain's 'spymasters' often said the same thing... except Shaw. There was a man who knew when to open his mouth and when to keep it shut, and certainly not for decorum's sake. When DeMuer was stubborn on an issue, his advisers would not budge him. "Little gift from my first big throwdown in this city," he said with a wry little smile and shake of his head, then chuckled over his next bite. His right hand still held the evidence of that fight, burn scars covering most of his palm, most of the minute details in the skin melted away.

"I went to a few doctors, a few healers... it's strong and steady, even with a gun in it... I've just let it be, for a good while now."

The information was tucked away with a slow nod. Although, loyal to the man before her and his cause. She was of Ad Lucem first and foremost. The nerve damage was not in the brotherhood's file on him but it most certainly would be in it by morning -- a fact that Alain had probably known before he had even opened his mouth. The arrangement between the House and Ad Lucem was clear. They worked together as long as their paths took them towards a common purpose.

She digested the news over a large bite from the burger. After swallowing it down, she nodded once more to the hand. "You should look into biofeedback. Of course, it's alternative medicine but not all alternative medicine is completely wacky."

"We're in RhyDin," he replied flatly, but then smiled. He stirred a few french fries around thoughtfully... "Explain it to me."

"It's not a cure but what it does is help to teach your body how to maximize what you still have left." Despite her hunger, the food was quickly forgotten. The further she dove into the topic, the more she seemed to lose herself. "I worked on a study facial nerve damage due to trauma. What we were trying to do is to teach people to sense the motion of their muscles through a computer system that showed the patient which muscles they were moving. It sounds complicated but biofeedback therapy can be done in the privacy of your own home."

"Might've self-medicated already," he said, scratching at the back of his neck. "I can still feel things on some level, and I can control the muscles there... I had to re-learn a few things, but I can shoot, write, roll cigarettes. It's still my dominant hand." He too found himself finishing quickly, and soon all they had left was a pair of milkshakes. Then he shook his head, suddenly - "One of the healers used a 'spell-infusion,' so to speak, channeling magick energy into my hand until it regained its own form of touch. They use it on golems and the like, to make them more effective or just more human, but it doesn't really include pain... Anyway, when they tried it on me, human applications were still experimental. I can put you in touch with the healers responsible if you'd like."

It felt like close to 'that time' to him. He fiddled with the ring on his hand, loosening it so he could better remove it.

"Perhaps in another lifetime." There was no bitterness to her words. She had accepted her duty over the past ten months and through the grueling training from the brotherhood that not even her father's most intensive work-outs could replicate. Her dark eyes remained on the ring for a brief moment before jumping back over to him. The mood at the table changed just that quickly -- from a pair of co-workers having a friendly dinner to warriors discussing battle plans.

"She wanted to know when the carolmagnium plant will open."

Alain had already activated the ring by that time - the little black 'crystal' in the center, in reality a detachable surveillance orb, whirred to life once he tapped it and simultaneously 'thought' the appropriate command, recording their words. His lips drew into a thin line and he frowned, bringing his palm up to his brow. He lost his appetite for the milkshake and lit a cigarette instead.

"That thing's dangerous... too goddamn dangerous to give her very much. Think we can lead her on?" He shook his match out and tossed it in the ashtray. "Can't think how offhand... except..." He snapped his fingers. "Noirmont. Tie it to the gate. The more enemies she makes through the Five Points, the better our chances. We can keep that up for months, more than enough time to make it an innocent blunder on your part." He grinned, and it was a slow and subtle thing, not at all the same kind of humor he had greeted her with when she came in the front door.

Yaya lacked Alain's perverse delight in scheming and the planning of such things. Thus, there was nothing but a grim frown on her lips. Although genetically predisposed towards such talents, Yaya had grown up with her mind set on healing and while she accepted her talents as they were there was not even the slightest bit of good humor in having to use them. "I think at this point we can lead her in whatever direction we want to. She has taken the bait and is accepting me as the best source of information that she has within the House."

He tapped his cigarette and breathed a deep, smoky sigh. "Yeah... It's a hell of a job you're doing here, Yaya. I was there once, six months deep undercover, and I don't envy you... but I appreciate what you're doing. We all do. And if Ad Lucem's willing to hear me, I'll see if I can't encourage them to get you out as soon as we get an ID on the Architect." Fingers knocked ash off the end. "We any closer to that?"

Her lips twisted into a soft, secretive smile. Information was such a prized commodity in their game and Ad Lucem was not yet ready to share what little they had been able to gather. Instead of answering the question, Yaya reached out to pat his cigarette free hand by way of parting before she grabbed her purse. "I am meeting with her Friday. You want to meet me here same time next week?"

"Nah..." The Baron shook his head. "Suleiman Boathouse again -- but call if you get in trouble," he said, gathering up the ring and pointing at her in one move. "All-right?" His expression softened a little, then, after a pause. "Take care of yourself, Yaya."

Shouldering the purse, the expression caused a sad smile and slow nod in return. "You too, Alain. You too."

There was no obnoxious little bell to announce Serena's arrival at Camden Antiquarian Bookshop. The noise of the busy street infiltrating the silent store through the open door was more than enough. A dark haired man showing signs of gray was asleep behind the counter with his head tilted back and his jaw hanging slack. He snapped to at the sudden noise, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his beak-like nose.

Serena's fingers tightened into fists before forcing them to relax once more as her dark eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. There was little room for much else besides the long rows of bookcases separated by narrow aisles that were full of books. Books were stacked in corners and even on top of the bookcase. A pair of wingback chairs were shoved into a nook by a window, leaving one the opportunity to browse but not with much comfort.

"Can I help you, dear?" The man called to her gently. Clearly he was not used to young women frequenting his shop.

She suddenly felt quite out of place. Her discomfort was probably planned by the one who sent her here. Swallowing back the strong emotions and clinging only to her desperation to return to the sea, she took a step forward deeper into the store. "I am just browsing."

"Of course! Of course!" He nodded enthusiastically, writing her off as a young woman in search of a Father's Day present.

Fifth row to the right, third shelf, and she would know the book as soon as she saw the title... or at least so the directions she had been given had stated. Her fingers ran down the spines of the book as she slowly trailed down an aisle. She came to a sudden stop with a grim frown at Wonders of the Sea: Mermaids and Sea Nymphs.

Carefully, she removed the heavy book from the shelf after a careful check to confirm that she was out of the shop keeper's sight and swung it open. In the center of the book, a hole in the pages had been cut, leaving a perfect hiding spot. The orb now carefully situated in a ring box was removed from her pocket and slipped into the carved hole. With a thump, she snapped the book shut and replaced it on the shelf.

She knew that she should at least buy a small book of poetry to keep the shop owner from becoming suspicious but she no longer had the patience for such games. Cigar smoke hung heavily in the air irritating her nausea once more. Serena was quite sure he would be back to sleep before she hit the end of the block so she merely slipped out of the shop with a wave to the man at his encouragement for her to some day return. She hoped that she would not. The end of this nightmare seemed in sight.

Early Saturday morning...

Silas huddled into his long coat as he marched down RhyDin's slick cobblestone streets, still wet from a recent rainstorm. Not long ago he had left the Red Dragon Inn to go sleep, and was rudely awakened by an emergency. House DeMuer itself was in an uproar, Greyshott Place under heavy armed guard and staving off the curiosity of the Watch and a local militia with the help of every lawyer they could rouse from their beds. And SPI's agents stalked the streets, managing the information as well as they could, hoping to conceal or control the rumor that a body had appeared at one of their holdings, and that the House's intricate and complex spy network was in danger.

From anyone within the House, or even closely associated, the chaos was clear to see. Silas was certainly among these, and an armed lackey had shown up at his door, very nearly battering it down, and said even more with her urgent face than the frantic stream of her words.

Serena was involved somehow -- it took Silas' groggy mind some time to remember that she was dating Alain, or had been at some point, and the lackey seemed very bitter about the idea that they were to help heal her, whatever had happened to her.

"...She... she was involved?" "I think so. Jesus, I don't know, Silas, and they want to shut me up... but if she's the reason that we've got Hell on our doorstep..."

He hadn't heard much more. Apparently the 'powers that be' were keeping a tight lid on the issue, which was to be expected. What he did know was that Serena was sick, desperate to return to the sea, crying in hysterics for the water, and it was up to her to find out what was wrong.

Row, row, row your boat... gently down the stream... Silas frowned at the entrance to the narrow alleyway, where Serena was curled up, clutching at her own scalp, kneading her skin. An Aurkindar that the Mage recognized as Jack stood nearby with a rifle over his shoulder; they exchanged nods, and the armed man gave Silas room to work.

"Ah, stars... what happened to you..." And he barely had to reach out to recognize the mark of the magick on her. Demonic. He couldn't find the threads for a transformation curse, because there wasn't one at all, only what the Devil dealt in perhaps the best of all for his wiley spells -- an illusion.

It deepened his frown. This level of magick... this kind of chaos... Did the Architect have a hand in it? Was this his doing?

He worked in silence, reciting words, burning herbs, sprinkling enchanted water, and after a long, exhausting hour, he was done. The spell was broken, leaving Serena to realize she had been duped all along... that nothing but the manipulation of her senses prevented her going out to sea and shifting to mermaid form. At another hour of night, Silas would have lingered to talk to her as she returned to her senses, puzzle out what had happened, and puzzle over her curious nature. But at six o'clock in the morning, in a dark, damp alleyway?

He walked away to go sleep it off.

With a whiff of ozone and a subtle dispersal of cold black ash, Alain emerges from the shadow at the corner of the porch... and it's almost as if he's been there all along. His cigarette glows to life, his eyes set steadily on the street out in front of the Red Dragon Inn.

Serena had spent the day moving back into a room at the Inn. She's no longer ill but the past several weeks clearly has weighed heavily upon her. The well-toned woman is no more. She's fragile looking which is certainly not helped by her tight lipped frown and oversized clothing. The final bag of her things is over shoulder as she moves towards the Inn.

The Baron's eyes narrow; he extinguishes his cigarette between two fingers and drops it onto the porch, waiting for Serena.

Her dark eyes lift to find Alain on the porch and her shoulders square instantly. She slowly thumps her way up the stairs onto the porch and comes to a stop, dropping the bag at her feet to face him fully.

"You know... I shrugged it off when you said I'd be your biggest mark." Alain stays in his lean, arms folding across his chest. There is a grin visible in the low light, the glint of white teeth, but there's no humor to it. "It doesn't matter now if it was fated, if that's why you got close and waited all along, or if it was all one big unhappy chance... but I have to admit, it's ironic."

"Don't be over dramatic, Alain. It's tiresome." Her arms cross before her chest and she gives a roll of her eyes for effect. There were no excuses and no apologies.

"You broke the rules. Just about the only rule you and I ever had, one I religiously observed."

"This wasn't personal. It was business. I did what I had to do." Self directed anger festers deep within but she keeps a choke hold on it. "You're just pissed that you got played. You've been using me to fill one need or another in your life for well over a year. Don't be shocked that I used you in return."

"I'm not the one who worked to end a curse that never existed," he shoots back heatedly, eyes flaring, and he levels a finger at her. "You should've gone to me, you should've gone to your friends, and this would've been over before it even started."

That causes her bottom jaw to tighten... because he's right but she's not admitting it. Instead, she's squaring herself off with a firm shake of her head. "I'm not going to rely on you. It's against the very fabric of my being. You have always known what I am. You don't get to claim ignorance now."

"You're the last one who ought to be bringing up ignorance now." His hand closes, drawing back into his chest again. "Do you have any idea what you took -- what you did?"

"No, but I am sure that you're going to tell me all about it. Lecture away." Yet, already, to signal she is done with him and with the conversation, she dips down to pick up the bag that she dropped.

"It was an image orb recording a conversation between myself and an agent of mine, Sonja Rhovnik, young girl from Earth, very pretty." His fingers tighten until his knuckles crack. "You'd have liked her."

She had spent enough time with Alain to become used to those subtle manners of speech. He used the past tense. She freezes in place, waiting for further explanation.

"She's dead." And his hands relax again, slipping into his pockets. He lets the words sink in; then he elaborates. "Morana butchered her and dumped her at my safehouse."

One hand wraps itself around the strap of the bag over her shoulder while the other lifts to rub at her forehead. Her carefully constructed mores are too busy crashing down around her to pay any attention to his reaction to repeating the news to her. Shocked silence is about all that can be managed.

A thousand things cross his mind to say to her now, a thousand things to do, between consolation and slapping her across her face... He raises a hand to his jaw, closes it, opens it, runs his fingers through his hair and shakes his head. "Stay the hell away from me. I can't have anyone else getting killed." And he leaves the porch, his shoulders visibly heavier than when he arrived.

While usually her features remain is such trained expressions that she's difficult to read, tonight it's the mere flood of emotions that makes her difficult to read. Her brown eyes follow after him for only a moment before releasing a heavy exhale. She shifts the weight of the bag and turns her back on what had been her dearest friend to step into the Inn.

(Adapted from live play in the Red Dragon Inn with Serena's player, and many kudos to her. =D )

By the time Morana reached the cell had arranged for her, her appearance had subtly changed. Eyes larger, wider, more innocent, features less seductive. Her voice had gone from rich honey to pure sweet clarity of youth, tainted by fear. ?What are you going to do to me? Please, I?m scared.?

Despite the grisly aftermath of the brutal battle he had just witnessed, despite the orders Shaw had given not to speak with the prisoner, the guard replied, reassuring. ?Just hold you here, I?m sure, and ask you some questions.?

?Questions? What kind of questions?? Fear, if anything, intensified. The guard stepped closer ? noticed the green in her hazel eyes. A strand of sun-streaked brown hair was caught across her face, and he reached up to brush it back.

?Allen!? The guard jumped, jerking back from Morana. His eyes were wide, glazed. She looked so much like his daughter ? his hand lifted. ?Allen! You are relieved!?

Allen stumbled back and turned away blindly, almost dropping his rifle. He was shaking ? in less than five minutes, the demon had fogged his mind, twisted him ? he glanced back at the scared face of his daughter, shuddered and fled from the room.

The senior guard stalked forward, a silver Lorraine cross hung prominently around his neck. He seemed surprised when Morana neither cowered back nor instantly took on a different appearance.

The fear faded away from Morana?s green eyes, and she brushed the strand of copper hair from her own freckled face. Her lush voice now matched the promise of her figure. ?Surprised, Captain? There?s no illusion here for your symbol to protect you from.?

?So this is your true form.? The Captain?s voice was curt, his bearing stiff and wary. Morana shrugged, flipped golden-blonde hair from one tapped shoulder.

?As true as anything. Is this what you like, Captain?? Warm blue eyes studied the man intently, full lips smiled slowly. She shook her head; the Captain gasped, stepped forward.

?Sylvannia?? His fist came up, grabbed his cross and gripped it hard. Slanted violet eyes looked up at him through a fall of sleek white hair. A slender, delicate hand tucked a stray lock behind a pointed ear, and the Captain shook his head violently. ?Get out of her form, demon!?

?No? You prefer something different? I can be anything for you, Captain, anything you want at all.? Changes that had been smooth, gradual, now flipped through like a person turning the pages of a book. Red hair, dark skin, brown eyes, long fingers, pink hair, red eyes, tall, short, purple hair, yellow eyes, feral fox green, wild black curls ? the Captain backed out of the room, still shaking his head and praying with increasing volume.

Morana turned, looked directly up at the imaging orb, and smiled.

"...Uh... go back? Rewind, right," Silas muttered in the glow of the Enola machine, as the computer played a copy of the orb from Morana's cell. The washed-out green light covered the tiny analysis room in SPI, setting the Warlock's eyes eerily alight...

Aaron Shaw grunted and tapped in a command. It was late. Every goddamn night someone was up late at SPI, these days anyway.

"Right there." The image froze, and Silas pointed at it. "Can't we, ah, bring out the colors a bit, somehow..."

Simple. Shaw tapped more keys, and washed-out became a little less so.

"Okay. Yes. That's her," Silas nodded, tapping the screen with his thumb (and an electrostatic crackle). "I'm sure of it."

"Are ye?"

"...Positive." Silas swallowed and turned away, leaning on his staff; they had found her at long last, but it was no comfort at all. Months had gone by, and only the physical woundns had healed. He remembered all too vividly the horrors beneath Greyfast, the betrayal, and clearer than anything, Salazar's terrible screams. He pressed his cheek to the knob of his staff; it felt cold and uncomfortable, and he felt nauseous.

"...Silas...?"

"Y-yes, I'm positive," he repeated, and stared back at Shaw and the computer. "The one who brought the Expedition to ruin... the woman with the yellow eyes I saw at Five Points."

(Many thanks to the players behind Moranan and Shaw!)