Chronicles of the Avalonverse

Summary: Various forces are set on a collision course in a city known as Sunnydale, and the world will never be the same...

This story is rated for Mature Readers and depicts sexual situations, offensive language and graphic violence.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: All rights and properties belong to Joss Whedon, Fox Studios and Mutant Enemy, etc.

The Legendary Adventures of Hercules/Xena-Warrior Princess: All rights and properties belong to Renaissance and Flat Earth Productions.

The X-Files: All rights and properties belong to Chris Carter and Fox Studios.

The Mummy/The Mummy Returns: All rights and properties belong to Universal Studios.

Red Sonja/Conan the Barbarian: All rights and properties belong to the successors of the late Robert E. Howard.

Tomb Raider: All rights and properties belong to Eidos Inc. and Crystal Dynamics.

The characters John Roper, Aleksandr Vasilyev, Sadie Wilde, Grimr Steinmoor, Anastasia Provana, Cassidy Williams, Mitchell Sullivan, Diana Lipton, Victoria Swenson, Sergio Dominguez, Christina, Maxine, Natalie, and Scarlet are the property of Charlie Schone.

The characters Cathubodia, Tomas, Nimbus/Jason, Tory Simmons, Marina the Amazon, Ariel and James Merwin, Alana, Reed Duncan, Morgaine Le Fey, Ingrid Sommer, and Patricia Driscoll are the property of Jack Caynon.

Any characters, whose names and descriptions are used, are the property of their original owners, and no copyright infringement is intended or meant.

No money can be made from this story. It may be distributed freely so long as it is kept in its entirety, with all notices and copyright information remaining intact.

In a void between time and space, between worlds and universes, what would have appeared to most mortal eyes as a shimmering star gently descended through the infinite blackness. As it began to collect energy, however, it swirled and coalesced in a wondrous display of cosmic energy, before solidifying into the image of an ethereal, incredibly beautiful woman.

She stood tall, proud, and ancient. Her seductive, dark eyes shimmered like starry points in the night skies of the kingdoms that had worshipped and revered her so long ago. Her perfectly coifed raven hair flowed seductively around her slender yet powerful shoulders, framing an exotic, perfect face that would drive any man or women to sheer lust by simply gazing at her. Her voluptuous, yet powerful and regal frame was encased in a magnificent red velvet dress that accentuated her body, over which hung a perfectly crafted breastplate of gleaming silver that protected her magnificent chest. A great, curved sword hung at one side of her hip, while on the other hung a jeweled scepter that glimmered with power.

Indeed, in her time, she had been loved, feared, and revered by many, but that had been so long ago, at least in the mortal sense of time. Time itself meant little to such a being as she…at least until now.

Soon, what appeared to be another star gently alighted by the side of the ancient goddess, before it too began to shimmer and coalesce, transforming into the image of another woman who was just as exotic and beautiful as the first. She too, bore the same enigmatic, yet beautiful shimmering eyes coupled with exquisite locks of raven hair that fell around a regal, yet alluring face. She wore a golden, horned tiara that had at the center a shimmering crystal that pulsated with energy. Her slender, equally voluptuous frame was encased in a white silk dress that was embroidered with gold lace and twinkling gems.

“Inanna…mother,” the ethereal creature spoke as a greeting, in a quiet tone. Like her mother, she too had been loved, worshipped, revered and feared long ago. And like her mother, few mortals worshipped her nowadays. Now, like her mother and her own revered daughters, they were mostly regarded merely as creatures of myths and legends.

“Thank you for coming, daughter. I know much rests upon your shoulders this night. Truly, the times are now changing…even for beings such as ourselves.”

“I know, mother,” the ancient Egyptian Goddess of Nature and Magic replied softly, as she regarded the being whom the Sumerians had long ago worshipped as the Goddess of Love and War. “This universe, these mortals…I have watched them throughout the eons, listened to them, aided them, loved them, cursed them and stricken them. But now…”

Inanna sighed and finished her scion’s thought. “I know. It almost seems as if their world has forgotten us now. But perhaps with the advent of our Chosen, that will change, once more.”

“True enough, mother, change is always necessary to the universe, and exists in the end for the good of all. And yet, after all these eons, I…I cannot help but feel something that would seem so alien to beings such as we, and yet…”

The air within the void was deathly still for a moment, as the Egyptian Goddess appeared to be deep in thought, before quietly nodding. “Yes, I believe that is what the mortals call it.”

The Sumerian Goddess sighed once more. “That is indeed an emotion we rarely feel, and yet, I fear I must admit, I experience it as well.” Isis glanced at the deity with a look of surprise as Inanna went on, unfettered. “As do all your daughters, I suspect.”

“Indeed, I’m afraid. But they know this is necessary, and time is now of the essence. Even as we speak, there are various forces moving against our Chosen…and us.”

The Goddess of Love and War pursed her lips in a grim, yet determined line as she poised for the struggle ahead. “Then let us tarry no longer; summon your daughters, my child…we begin tonight.”

Isis nodded as she raised her arms, a glowing halo of energy that illuminated her slender form, growing in power, before it subsided into several orbs of light that floated around the forms of the two goddesses, before they materialized into feminine shapes of their own.

Life, as some mortals and other denizens of this particular world knew it, was about to change...

The air was chilly and calm; it allowed the full moon to cast its light down through a swath of clouds upon a long stretch of rolling hills, rocky cliffs, and sandy beaches that lay along the western coast of the

United States

. U.S. Route 101, one of the main highways that connected the major and minor cities of California, snaked along the coastline like a femoral artery, pumping an endless stream of people and machines both north and south. On one of several exits that turned off from the historical route, a single large wagon-top Hummer, its obsidian coat gleaming in the moonlight, roared down the exit ramp before finally merging onto another road. Its headlights brightened the road ahead and soon, a large billboard sign appeared in the distance, illuminated by overhead yellow sodium lamps. Then the Hummer slowly decelerated before finally swerving to the side of the road, crunching gravel underfoot before it came to a halt several meters in front of the brightly painted, yet weathered sign that read, in big bold letters:

The driver behind the wheel, John Roper, glared at the billboard and sighed, his hands wearily coming to rest in his lap as he stretched out a kink in his neck. He still struggled with a hapless battle of fighting off several hours of jet lag, not to mention the last several hours he’d spent driving from Los Angeles International Airport to this place. He’d hoped that he would’ve been able to at least avoid the traffic congestion getting out of LA, but that hadn’t been the case. He’d considered using the arsenal he had secretly stowed aboard the Hummer innumerable times just to get through all the insane traffic in L.A. The only thing that had stopped him was his healthy respect for the wrath he would’ve incurred from his “boss,” Catherine. Although he’d fought in innumerable conflicts in the Twentieth Century, large and small, in addition to facing all sorts of, for lack of a better word, things that would’ve given the Average Joe nightmares, the last thing he ever wanted to face was an incensed Dopkalfar demi-goddess. John shook his head and chuckled. Right now he was just looking forward to crashing in the nearest motel once he got into town…until he chided himself. He couldn’t afford to ever lower his guard, especially with everything he’d heard about this particular place.

He reached for a cup of coffee from the nearby cup holder and sipped, then grimaced at how cold it’d become. Setting it down, he brought his intense dark blue eyes to gaze back at him in the rear view mirror, before bringing up his hand to gently finger several talismans that hung over it: A silver pentagram, a sigil set into an iron medallion, and a gold-capped glass vial filled with oil and various herbs. He then proceeded to open the car door and ease out of the leather seat, letting the cool air caress his face. His hand reached up to absently finger the stubble that had grown on his chin as he peered into the Hummer’s mirror on the driver’s side, his breath coming out in a misty vapor that curled up and disappeared into the February night sky. An angular, square-jawed man with a close cut of gray hair stared back at him. While the guy’s face was handsome, the man in the mirror desperately needed a shower, shave and rest, in that order. His eyes though, were his most striking feature. They radiated the sense of a man that had been on a long road. In fact, they looked like they should have been on the face of a man that was older than he appeared. Far older, in fact…

John took a moment to stretch his neck to one side, working out another kink before he shut the door and leaned against it, allowing his muscular yet tired body to stretch out from the trip. After a moment, the man withdrew a finely-rolled Dominican cigar from inside his duster and lit it with a match. He then tossed away the match before he reached inside his jacket and drew out a small metal flask of Tennessee whiskey, which was one of the FEW good things born in Dixie as far as he was concerned. Uncorking it, he took a sip and felt the liquid fire run smoothly down his throat before he corked it again. He then took a long, slow drag on the cigar as his eyes scanned the darkened landscape before him.

“It’s not the West that it used to be….not anymore,” he spoke quietly in a deep, slightly raspy voice.

As he took another puff from his cigar, he watched a long semi-trailer truck zoom by. Long before there were skyscrapers, airports, highways, or even planes and automobiles for that matter, he’d been out here when it’d been known simply as ‘the frontier’. Nowadays they referred to that bygone era as ‘the Old West.’ It had once been a vast stretch of landscape that had been a wild, untamed land that had held both promises and curses for all those brave and/or foolish enough to venture to it. Miners, murderers, settlers, gunslingers, ranchers, prostitutes, railroad barons, and all other sorts of adventurers and ne’er-do-wells had come to the West to claim whatever fortune or misfortune the frontier had to offer. John had been one of those, hoofing it on his trusty steed and on the run from all sorts of trouble, with only a few others for company, Cristina among them…

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to blot her from his memory. That’s all she was now, along with the frontier itself and all the fools that had populated it. It didn’t exist anymore, and neither did the cowboys. He would have known, since he’d once worn the hat and spurs himself, but that was a long time ago.

After taking another puff from his cigar, he figured that it was probably time to hit the road, until he saw a police cruiser with local markings roll by. He didn’t think anything about it at first...until he saw it pull to the side and do a complete U-turn before heading back his way.

Probably just heading back into town, he told himself, until the cruiser’s red and blue lights lit up as it slowed toward his Hummer. “Goddamitt,” he muttered in disgust as he quickly got inside the Hummer and waited for the cops to inevitably appear. He spied the cruiser in his side mirror as it slowed to a halt behind the Hummer and sat there for several minutes.

“Take your sweet-ass time,” he muttered disgustedly. For all he knew, or hoped for anyway, this was just the local boys doing a check, but he didn’t live so long by taking unnecessary chances. He felt the hilt of his schweizersabel saber hidden in a special scabbard down at the right side of his seat, before proceeding to click off the safety and undo the retention strap on the customized Springfield Armory M1911A1 pistol that was tucked away in a shoulder rig. Soon, two cops, one male and one female, exited the car and switched on their flashlights as they ambled toward the vehicle. The male looked over the vehicle with his flashlight before panning it to the driver’s window where he proceeded to tap on the glass.

John lowered the power window and looked at the rather stern-looking cop whose features were not entirely distinguishable in the darkness. Much to John’s annoyance, the officer shone the flashlight in his face. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and noticed his female partner standing on the other side of his vehicle next to the passenger door, also watching him. “Evening,” John replied casually.

“License and registration, please,” the male officer spoke in a calm, neutral tone.

John reached over and opened the glove compartment, noticing that the two officers were carefully watching him. It didn’t take a Newton to guess they had their free hands on their holstered pistols, ready to draw. He felt his fingers brush against the spare GLOCK 19 pistol hidden within before coming up with a set of vehicle registration papers and a driver’s license, which he handed to the officer.

“Saw you stopped by the road here. Is there a problem?” The officer inquired casually as he inspected the papers.

“Uh-huh,” the cop replied as he continued to peruse the papers. “So, Mister…Daniel Boone, might I ask what brings you from Los Angeles up here to Sunnydale?”

“Hunting, huh?” The officer studied the vehicle’s decals and license plate for a moment before handing them back to the driver. Meanwhile, his partner panned her own flashlight over the Hummer, trying to look through the vehicle’s tinted rear cab windows.

“Lot of cargo space on this rig,” the female observed. “What’ve you got in the back?”

The female officer coolly regarded the driver. “Really? So, where were you planning to hunt then?”

John’s stoic expression didn’t change. “The Sunnydale National Forest. I’m assuming you’re finished, and if so, I’d like to go now and find the nearest motel and—“

John coolly regarded the cop, while inwardly he was starting to get just a little pissed off. “I’ve had ONE sip.”

The officer’s eyes narrowed. “Please step out of the car, sir…now.” He backed away from the car with his free hand resting on the butt of his pistol, while his female partner did likewise.

John sighed in annoyance. “Suit yourself,” he muttered. He then craned his neck a bit and glared at the cop. “I was gonna say though, it’s a pretty chilly night.”

“My point IS,” John continued, his eyes narrowing, “it doesn’t seem all that chilly to the two of you, seeing as I don’t see your breath or anything. But I guess that’s because your kind don’t need to breathe in the first place.”

In a split second both cops’ facial features changed in a heartbeat, from something that appeared rather mundane and human into something…inhuman. The pupils in their eyes shrunk as they took on a malevolent golden color, the eyebrows recessed into ridges and a set of large fangs instantly protruded from their mouths. Within another split second the male thing reached for John’s throat with a large, powerful hand while his partner grabbed the door handle on the passenger side to open it.

John instantly pressed a button on his steering wheel, activating an electrical charge that sent one hundred thousand volts racing through the car door handle that the female thing had clutched, surging through her with such force that she shuddered violently under the onslaught. The driver then slammed open the car door into the male thing and threw him off momentarily. John quickly jumped out and drew the M1911A1 pistol from its holster, however the thing had already recovered and growled before striking John in the arm and sending his pistol to the ground. The thing then clamped its powerful fingers around the man’s throat and throttled him up against the Hummer with the creature’s fangs protruding menacingly in the frosty night air.

“Guess I’ll just have you all to myself,” the thing hissed, grinning. “I was gonna share you with my friend, but you know what they say, first come, first served…”

“Shouldn’t yap so much,” John growled, as he produced a hidden silver wrist dagger with runes etched into the width of the blade and stabbed it into the thing’s arm, causing it to howl in pain. The thing’s flesh bubbled and hissed around the wound before the vampire released John and tried to wrench the blade free. The Immortal quickly raised and smashed his right foot into the thing’s knee causing the creature to stumble and fall, allowing him to quickly recover the pistol and thumb on the tactical UV light and laser spotter combination mounted underneath the gun’s barrel. The thing hissed as the ultraviolet light shone upon its face, blinding it and causing its skin to blister and burn. John then fired a double tap, sending two steel-jacketed, silver-core .45 caliber “Silver Talon” rounds into its heart, causing it to scream in fury before it disintegrated into dust. With one of the creatures destroyed, John turned his attention to the other one…

The she-creature had been momentarily knocked aside by the massive electrical charge that would have incapacitated a normal human. However, she had seemingly recovered within a few seconds. Shaking her head and growling like an animal, she then spied what had happened to her mate and her eyes opened wide. Deciding on a different course of action, the creature sped toward the police car.

John quickly fired off several shots at the creature but it was quick, ducking and running into the cruiser. He fired off several more rounds but they only ended up flattening against the windshield. Bulletproof, he noted with disgust, before he holstered his pistol and withdrew to the Hummer, where he proceeded to unclip something that was hidden in a rack underneath the cab roof…

The creature, meanwhile, noted that her partner had taken the car keys with him. With no way to drive the car, she grabbed the pump action shotgun that was attached to its rack and got on the radio. “This is scout to base, does anyone copy?! Tell the Mayor we have an emergen—” Then her voice trailed off when she spied the stranger pull something from the Hummer.

John flicked off the safety on his customized M4A1 carbine, a custom-built variant and drew the combination assault rifle/grenade launcher up to his shoulder before aiming through the red-dot holographic gunsight. The rifle’s muzzle brake flashed as a burst of 5.56mm silver-jacketed, tungsten-steel core NATO rounds smashed through the windshield and shattered it. The man then flicked off the safety on the under-barrel attached M203A1 grenade launcher and fired….

The 40mm thermobaric grenade flew into the car’s interior and detonated, spreading a thin mist of explosive incendiary particles before igniting from a delayed fuse. The eventual affect was that the thing didn’t even have a chance to scream as the car was enveloped in a massive fireball that exploded outward from within, blowing out the windows and incinerating everything, including the creature. Moments later the cruiser’s gas tank detonated in a fireball that rose into the night sky and momentarily illuminated the area like a gigantic Roman candle, before the flames gradually subsided to leave a plume of oily smoke rising from the shattered remains of the burning vehicle.

John surveyed the flaming wreckage and the surrounding area, making sure there were no other surprises before he lowered his weapon and flicked the weapon selector switch back to “safe”. “Well, I reckon the West hasn’t changed that much after all,” he muttered sarcastically. “So much for driving in without makin’ a scene.” as his eyes darted down the road from whence he came. Off in the distance, he could see the faint shimmer of approaching headlights.

“Shit.” The last thing he needed now was to have his cover blown by some passerby before he’d even reached town. Acting quickly, John withdrew to the Hummer and tossed the assault rifle/grenade launcher combo into the passenger seat. He then stooped to pick up his silver knife off of the ground, before he noticed to his dismay the spent shell casings and scorched remains of the vampire’s gun belt that lay around. However there was no time to sweep any of that up, other than the cop’s pistol that he quickly grabbed and threw into the vehicle as well. He pocketed his knife then climbed into the Hummer and slammed the door shut, started the vehicle and stepped on the gas. The Hummer’s heavily modified electrical/diesel hybrid engine roared as it tore away from the burning wreckage of the police car, past the welcome sign and down the road toward Sunnydale.

Daniel Boone, he thought disgustedly. Next time I’m gonna pick my own damn alias. His eyes drifted to the radio, before he pushed a button on the console beneath…

“EVE, requesting secure comm link with Avalon HQ. Roper, alpha-seven-two-four-nine-foxtrot-november.

“AUTHORIZATION GRANTED,” the console responded in a cold, neutral female voice. “LINK ACTIVATED.”

A moment of silence followed before a crinkle of static cut through, followed by a professional male voice. “Copy Lance Three, this is Avalon Base, go ahead.”

John took a moment to glance in his rearview mirror for signs of anyone tailing him as he drove on. “Avalon Base, this is Lance Three providing sitrep. Be advised I have reached outer perimeter of designated target area Sierra Hotel Mike, have encountered two confirmed hostile Victors. Repeat, two hostile Victors, Class-One, posing as local authorities. Both hostiles have been eliminated, over.”

Another moment of silence hung inside the cab, before it was broke. “Affirmative, Lance Three, will notify CentCom of current situation. Continue to report as situation develops, over.”

“Copy Avalon Base, this is Lance Three, over and out.” The man’s index finger pushed the button again, deactivating the satellite uplink before it drifted up to the more conventional AM/FM radio. After fiddling with the tuner slightly, the lyrics from AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” could be heard blaring over the radio:

No stop signs, speed limit
Nobody's gonna slow me down
Like a wheel, gonna spin it
Nobody's gonna mess me round
Hey Satan, payed my dues
Playing in a rocking band
Hey Momma, look at me
I'm on my way to the promised land

I'm on the highway to Hell

I’m on the highway to Hell

John almost felt like laughing for a moment at the irony of those lyrics, as he drove toward Boca del Infierno, old Sunny-Hell itself…the Hellmouth.

His thoughts then drifted back to a few days ago, to the event that had led to the mess he’d found himself in now…

He glanced at the woman whose body would embarrass a champion fitness model’s physique. She spoke softly, her exotic accented voice almost lost on the wings of the brisk Northeastern night breeze. “Captain Roper…little witch…I sense something,” Marina, the Gaean Amazon, whispered.

By the light of the full moon, he watched Tory Simmons respond to her six-foot-four-inch tall friend with a roll of her eyes. “No kidding, Dangergirl? Maybe that’s because we’re in the middle of a freaking GRAVEYARD in the middle of the freaking NIGHT!”

She whirled to face him and whispered harshly, “For the record, I’d like to say that I am SO creeped out, my heebies have jeebies! I can’t believe I let you drag me to a freaking cemetery!” Then she narrowed her eyes at him. “Your ‘friend’ must have some serious issues to arrange a meeting in a graveyard, cowboy!” she snapped then added, “I thought we were going to a bar.”

John answered her with a hint of a smirk, knowing it would annoy the hell out of her. “First, the cemetery then the watering hole, after he gets off duty,” he said while allowing himself to grin inwardly for a moment. Alexi as a cop, he mused. Who would believe it? Then he glanced at Tory and said, “Actually, darlin’, for my kind, this is the perfect place to meet.” At her questioning look, he continued. “Graveyards are holy ground to Immortals, Tory. No one’s gonna try and take somebody’s head here…usually, anyway.” Not to mention it’s peaceful, compared to some other places I could think of, he thought to himself.

She simply grunted in reply and fell silent. She’d noticed that Marina was in her Demon Huntress mode and knew her friend would not gladly suffer distractions.

Marina turned to gaze at the Immortal soldier of fortune standing next to her. “You sense it as well, do you not, Captain Roper?”

John squinted into the night momentarily, before nodding. It was that feeling, a sense that was beyond the normal perceptions of most humans…the ability to sense an invisible current, something far beyond the known concepts of science, of what most people called magic, or “magick” as his fellow witch friends had preferred to call it. He still didn’t know why, or how it seemed to flow through him, yet he couldn’t consciously tap into it. He could heal more quickly than others of his kind thanks to it, he could absorb and resist most deadly forms of magick unlike others, and like now could sense it, but how he came to be imbued with it was still as much a mystery as how he became Immortal in the first place.. As he mentally focused, he couldn’t “see” anything just yet, but there was a familiar tingling sensation, like someone gently brushing a live wire against the base of his skull. A scent of magick was in the air, coupled by something else that felt old, very old…and sinister. “Yeah…something’s not right.”

The Amazon stared into the night and pointed toward a cluster of crypts. “Come,” she said simply.

The trio hastily checked the weapons concealed within the lightweight dusters and stealth, all-climate AF body armor that they wore before they marched further into the cemetery, the frosty night air biting at their cheeks and ears regardless. Marina took the lead with John close behind, followed by Tory. Roper, his teeth gritted together like a clamped vise, scanned ahead for any sign of his friend as they weaved between the cemetery plots while the soles of their boots lightly crunched the dingy snow that covered the ground. As his team moved deeper into the graveyard, Roper silently prayed that the women couldn’t see the strain on his face.

Although, from an Immortal’s perspective, cemeteries were good places to avoid entanglements with those who sought to play the ‘Game,’ they never set well with him. They always brought back too many memories, too many reminders for his liking. Every time he saw a headstone, it reminded him all too well of yet another good man, or worse, a good woman that had gone to their grave, while he was still fated to go on, living outside the ravages of time. It was moments like these that, though he didn’t readily admit it, he was glad to have his two companions by his side for several reasons.

First, there was no denying they were easy on the eyes and would make his old friend, Alexi, insanely jealous. In fact if he hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought that Morgaine, the designer of the Avalon Force body armor and another female friend who had shared a past relationship (the operative word was of course, “had”) with the Immortal, enjoyed her work a little too well. Her suits were particularly form-fitting on the women such as Marina and Tory, much more so than the men. Not that he was in any way complaining, though. He sighed wistfully in spite of the chill wind that picked up in intensity, almost losing himself for a moment as the wind partly blew away Marina’s coat to the side thus allowing her sexy sway of her hips to come into view, perfectly encased in the form-fitting armor she wore as she led the way. Jesus Christ, he swore, that filly’s supernatural stature and beauty offered temptations that sorely tested any man’s libido! As for Tory, well, he’d admitted before that he wouldn’t toss her out of bed for eating crackers, neither. Despite the fact she was an egghead, she was fine, with her comfy-as-a-lazy-summer-afternoon’s allure. Indeed, unlike the violet-eyed Amazon who never seemed to take a shine to anyone other than her red headed friend, Tory was somebody he’d actually imagined sharing his bed with…if it wasn’t for the fact that his own track record with women wasn’t such a huge goddamn train wreck.

Second, both women possessed amazing abilities. Time and again, they’d proven their worth in every situation, against any threat mundane, macabre, or otherwise…perhaps because with Avalon Force, failure was not considered a viable option.

Most everyone else in the world, including those who “listened” weren’t even aware of Avalon Force’s existence, in spite of leaving their decisive mark during several missions and engagements within the United States and worldwide. There was of course a rumor that there was a new subdivision working for either the Central Intelligence Agency or Defense Intelligence Agency, or a classified wetworks element of the National Security Agency, or possibly even a new unit working for the United States Special Operations Command. None of which were true of course. All that mattered was that the rumors and flow of disinformation kept any curious would-be snoops running around endlessly in circles. No one would have suspected that one of the main driving forces behind the creation of Avalon Force was actually none other than Nimue, the famed Lady of the Lake of Arthurian and pagan lore. To any sane mind, sanity of course being considered a relative term, that fact alone would have rendered the entire subject laughably bizarre. But the bizarre seemed rather routine as far as Avalon Force was concerned…

As far as how Avalon Force had come to recruit him, it was a bit of a story in itself. But to make a story short, the first time they’d come to offer him a job, he’d been flying MI-24 Hind helicopter gunships in

Sierra Leone

. The second time, they’d found him after he’d been shot down over mysterious circumstances in RUF territory, and had been tortured for three days, smelling of blood, sweat and urine. A mob of bloodthirsty Revolutionary United Front rebels had been intent on devouring his heart and chopping off his head, before his new “friends” showed up and persuaded the rebels to desist with a storm of rocket and machine gun fire. They had then offered him a second chance, and a choice: Join their group, or take his chances in an increasingly dire world where it now seemed that someone, or something, seriously wanted him dead, more so than ever.

He took the job. After everything considered, what the hell else was he going to do?

John shook his head and refocused on the task at hand. Several minutes after they had begun their trek through South Boston’s garden of good and evil, he felt the ‘buzz’ of a nearby Immortal as his team rounded a granite obelisk. They spied two figures twenty or so yards ahead and from that distance, he couldn’t really see their faces, but he recognized the strapping frame of his friend, Alexi Gregof, cloaked in a tan trench coat, facing a curvaceous woman…

“What the hell?” he whispered hoarsely. Something about her wasn’t right. Just gazing at the woman was tripping his mystical sense off like a wailing fire alarm through his head, as he could almost literally see an aura of darkness around her in spite of her beauty. Then another thing hit him. The reason he could tell she was curvaceous was the fact that her body was shrouded in a sheer, gossamer material, quite transparent…

Suddenly Marina growled like some great beast, causing Roper to nearly jump out of his skin. “Hell’s spawn!” she barked and sprinted toward the couple. Then Tory, who now stood beside him, sighed resignedly. “Tally ho!” she quipped and charged after her Gaean Amazon friend with John following closely behind them.

The woman had reached out and drawn an unyielding Alexi toward her when she glanced up and away from his neck to see the magnificent warrior woman rapidly closing. A moment later, a dull scream tore from her throat while her fingers closed on Alexi’s jaw. Then she tipped her head back and emitted an ear-piercing shriek of pure rage.

Even Roper, a man who’d witnessed the horrors of war, who’d held onto his sanity in the face of supernatural terrors, was suddenly overwhelmed by fright. His eyes bulged in horror while the ethereal woman transformed into the demonic visage of a giant humanoid vampire bat. Now, as the creature held onto Alexi’s throat with a long-fingered hand, Marina launched herself toward the thing and connected with a powerful right cross against its left jaw that served to separate the beast from its prey.

The otherworldly woman’s blow sent the bat-thing flying into the wall of a mausoleum. Marina then called out, “Tory...tell me how to kill it!” over her shoulder while she pursued the creature. Pressing her attack, the Gaean took flight like an avenging angel to plant a wicked flying kick against the creature’s injured jaw, sending it to the ground. As the thing struggled to clear its head, its attacker followed with a crescent kick, a palm strike to the nose, and finally a spin kick that was so vicious it smashed the creature into the mausoleum’s marble wall, causing most of it to collapse.

Incredibly, after several blows that would have destroyed a normal vampire or a low-level demon, the thing threw back its head and shrieked angrily. Then it launched itself at Marina, catching the Demon Huntress off guard. With a back-handed blow, the creature hit Marina so hard it sent the Gaean Amazon flying and caused her to smash through a stone obelisk. As the woman struggled to rise, the creature rapidly closed the distance between them and stomped Marina’s head into the frozen earth.

At that moment, something smacked John’s jaw. He blinked twice and finally registered that Tory stood in front of him. “Hey, cowboy! Get a grip!”

“What...what hap—” His eyes opened wide when he saw the spectacle before him. “Goddamnitt,” he growled as he reached for the Heckler & Koch SMG II submachine gun he had concealed beneath his duster...

“No!” she snapped, cutting him off. “Draw your pig-sticker and when I give the word, you take that thing’s head...understand?” He nodded and she gripped his shoulder. “Good!” she said. Then she raced toward Marina and the monster while she unclipped a bola from her belt. John muttered something darkly under his breath as he reached into his duster, drew his schweizersabelsaber, and charged after her.

“Dangergirl!” Tory screamed as she twirled the bola in her right hand, “trip it up!”

At the red head’s command, the Gaean reached out and wrapped both of her powerful arms around the creature’s ankles as Tory launched her weapon. The bola whirled through the air, entangled both the arms and wings of the creature, and threw it off balance. Then, when Marina yanked the creature’s calf muscles toward her, the bat-thing stumbled forward and fell to its knees.

At her command, Roper gripped his schweizersabel sword with both hands and swung as hard as he possibly could. When the enchanted sword with its rune-inscribed blade struck the creature’s neck an agonized shriek came forth, only to be cut short when the razor-sharp cutting edge cleaved through both flesh and bone and decapitated the creature. However, instead of witnessing the head of some bat-winged demon tumble onto the ground, a horrified Roper saw the head of a pale, but beautiful woman at his feet.

“Not bad, John.” Tory chirped as she patted him briskly on his back. “You do come in handy sometimes.”

John stared at the decapitated head of the beautiful woman for a moment, noticing the blood dripping from the severed neck and head to leave crimson stains on the white snow underneath. The Immortal continued to stare at the corpse until he felt the redhead’s gaze on him. “John?” He looked up at Tory, who now had a worried expression on her face. “You okay?”

John took another glance at the creature at his feet, before taking a deep breath and exhaling, the frosty vapors carrying away in the night air as he sheathed his saber. “Yeah darlin’, I’m fine. Thanks for askin’.”

Marina, no longer encumbered by a bat-winged demon’s remains, shoved the woman’s body to one side. Then she stood and brushed herself off. “Well…that was brisk!” she observed brightly.

Brisk, she’d said? Roper’s eyebrows nearly hit the roof at that. One mausoleum looked like it had been the target of a radar-guided bunker buster, several headstones and obelisks had been pulverized, and there was the decapitated body of a beautiful woman along with her lovely head lying on the ground. But there was something else that caught John’s eye, however. Nearby, roughly scrawled onto the stone of a nearby mausoleum that had apparently been broken into, or out of, was what appeared to be a long written sentence in chalk of some foreign dialect, possibly Celtic, although he couldn’t decipher it. “Tory, Marina…have a look at this.”

Both women sauntered over to see where John gestured to the scrawled handwriting on the side of the tomb. “Any idea what this is?”

Marina shook her head, while Tory looked at the alien text thoughtfully. “Hmmm…appears to be early Celtic text of some kind. I mean, REALLY early text. That’s just a guess though.”

John looked at the tall redhead with an expression that was both incredulous and annoyed. “Tory, you’re the walking computer on steroids of this bunch. What the hell do you mean by you’re guessing?”

The hacker glared back at her companion. “Well, excuuuuse me Captain Cowboy, I’m smart but not frickin’ omniscient. This appears to be a variant of Celtic text that hasn’t been filed into our database yet.” She turned back to the scrawled letters on the side of the mausoleum and sighed. “I’ll scan this and hand over a copy to Duncan and Alana, maybe they can make something of it.” Her lean body became slightly rigid as she temporarily went into a trance, her eyes intently focused on the letters as they took in every detail like a scanner, copiously memorizing every detail and filing it into her computer-like mind. Satisfied that she was done, she looked over to the front of the mausoleum, on which the name of the recently deceased woman was etched in stone. “Stephanie Miller,” she said quietly. “Born 1977, died this year. She was pretty young.”

However, Marina, apparently, had taken it all in stride. “If this man,” she indicated with a sweep of her powerful right hand toward Alexi, who appeared to be awakening from an enchantment, “is the one we were to meet, should we collect him and seek yon tavern?”

John heard the warm baritone voice of his friend respond to her question. “That’s an excellent idea! John,” Roper turned to face his friend and saw the winning smile on his face. “I like the company you keep!”

Roper grunted and glared at his friend in response. “You should since they just saved your ass. You got a heap of explainin’ to do, Alexi!”

“So,” Alexi then paused to drain the rest of the beer from his glass before he continued, “when both the father and the husband were found dead near her crypt, I decided to stake out the Miller crypt. And let me tell you, though I’ve had the misfortune of running into vampires before, never in my wildest dreams did I ever think to run into something like her.”

After Tory, Marina, and Roper had cleaned up the combat zone, Alexi Gregof had guided them to a nearby tavern. Now Alexi sat across from him at the polished oak table, while Tory and Marina sat on either side of him, while the three of them did their best to fit in with the civilians by using the camouflage mode of their uniforms to make them appear to the other patrons that they were dressed in swanky casual wear.

Alexi shot a friendly glare at the lovely red head. “Now, now—haven’t we talked about that?”

She grinned shyly at him. “Sorry, Alexi. It won’t happen again. As I was saying, when I saw that both you and Roper were entranced by her skanky ho disguise and horrified by her bat form, all the signs pointed to the Dearg-Dul, particularly since she came from a very rich and very old Irish family. You know, she’s probably the first Dearg-Dul that’s ever been seen in

America

. This kind of demon is very rare, especially in the post-Celtic world. First, she had to be in a situation where her father arranged a marriage for her with an abusive creep. Then she had to have Celtic blood in her family. Finally, she had to have arranged to kill herself after she had mastered some extremely dark arts to ensure that she would rise from the grave to become the Dearg-Dul after she died.”

“That’s what bugs me, in addition to that writing we found,” John spoke up. “How’d she get her hands on that kind of damn mojo if that creature’s truly as rare as you claim it is?”

Tory shook her head. “I don’t know. Guess we’ll need to check around on that.” Her witch-green eyes came to rest on the table momentarily as her expression became solemn. “You know, it’s sad really…”

Tory gazed over to where John sat, looking slightly incredulous. “Well, isn’t it obvious? If her father hadn’t pushed her into a bad marriage or if her husband hadn’t abused her, she would never have sold her soul to the underworld to become such a terrible thing in the first place.”

At that, Roper shifted uncomfortably in his seat and shot an irritated look at her. “Why are we yapping about what may have made her do it? What’s done is done. No use carping on it now.” He then forcefully took a swig from his beer.

Before a miffed Tory could respond to his diatribe, they heard someone ask, “Would you like some more ‘black stuff’?”

Roper flashed his eyes from the almost-empty glass of beer in his hands to the pretty blonde waitress who stood nearby. Of course by ‘black stuff’, the Irish waitress had meant the rounds of Guiness they were all drinking. “I’d be mighty obliged to you, darlin’. Another round for my friends, too,” he added, nodding to his companions. The olive-skinned man, his own raven hair slicked back, nodded his thanks at John before he shifted his gaze to the waitress.

The waitress smiled in return as she placed four full glasses of beer on the table and picked up the empty ones. “Oi. Gets a little rowdy at times, but we manage,” she replied over the din in a soft Irish brogue. “We like to think of ourselves as one of the authentic Irish pubs here in Southie. Not as old as some others around here, but it’s got its charm.”

“Indeed? Forgive my curiosity,” the dark man inquired with a sly smile, “but I could not help but notice your accent. Might you be from

Northern Ireland

, perhaps?”

“Oh, well, yes actually,” the waitress replied with a slightly nervous smile. “I’m from Banbridge. You’ve been to Norn Ireland, I take it?”

“Oh, here and there,” Alexi replied, never breaking his smile. “You might say I’ve traveled the world often.” At that, John lowly cleared his throat. “But it is always lovely to meet someone from the Northern Isles, especially one as lovely as you.” The waitress blushed deeply in reply before excusing herself to attend to the other guests.

“You’re still hitting on just about every filly you come across, Alexi?” John said in a slightly exasperated voice. In the time since he’d known him, Alexi had quickly established a reputation as a bit of a ladies’ man, among other things. Of course, the number of would-be suitors that dearly wanted Alexi’s head on a platter had a far different opinion of him. Of course, sometimes the same thing could have been said about him as well…

Alexi casually shrugged. “But of course. I am one of the Rom, after all. We have a reputation to uphold,” he said with a wicked smile.

While Marina innocently took in everything around her and Tory rolled her eyes at his gypsy friend’s antics, John took another look around the tavern to find that numerous patrons of all stripes had come inside to take refuge from the chilly February night. Outside the frosted window panes a steady sleet of snow had begun to fall, while inside the aged, yet well-appointed tavern was alive with both murmured conversations and raucous bellows. A small musical band that had traveled over from Dublin was taking a break and sharing a few beers with a grateful audience that had bought a round for them. Over the bar in the center of the tavern hung a large TV screen from which the latest program on CNN could barely be heard above the din.

“Good evening, America, I’m Larry King. Tonight, we have a very interesting program and some special guests as we discuss a most unusual topic: the prevalent tales of myths and conspiracies here in America. Men in Black, UFO’s, government cover-ups, Bigfoot sightings, paranormal phenomena, ghosts, witchcraft…why do all these mysterious tales and conspiracies continue to be prevalent throughout the United States to this day? Or better yet, why do people believe in these stories? We’ll have several guests tonight to comment and give their opinions on this phenomenon, as well as give you all a chance to phone in and give your opinions as well. Now, let’s welcome our first guest. She’s the author of the book “America the Strange” and also a freelance journalist with the San Francisco Chronicle, Victoria Swenson. Miss Swenson, welcome to the show.”

“Oh, great, another fuckin’ show on UFO’s,” one of the tavern’s patrons, a portly fellow with slightly ruffled hair at the bar slurred as he gazed at the TV screen, sipping his beer. “Well, at least the first guest is a looker,” he added, noting the stunning brunette woman on the screen who smiled at Larry King. “Guess it ain’t a total loss.”

“Hey, don’t be knockin’ that whole UFO thing, I saw one myself, y’know,” a thinner, balding man next to him said, his own voice heavily slurred as he attended to his brew. “Saw it a couple nights ago north of here, swear to God.” The man attempted to raise his hand in a feigned attempt at an oath, only to almost fall out of his seat before steadying himself. “It was like a huge goddamn insect thing, bigger’n anythin’ I’d ever seen, hoverin’ over Salem...”

“Salem, huh? Yeah, right, that was probably your ma flyin’ on her broom again,” the portly man cracked.

Tory coughed noisily when she overheard that conversation. John flashed a smirk in reply, although knowing full well that a certain pilot friend of theirs was in for an ass chewing when they got back to Avalon Force HQ. But that wasn’t his biggest worry at the moment. During his initial scanning of the bar he’d noticed a group of men who were now sitting at a table several feet away from their own. Each one of them looked like rejects from the Irish Republican Army as they busily talked amongst themselves, all the while casting dirty looks in his direction. That sounded an alert in his brain as he continued to scan the rest of the bar for any other potential signs of trouble, before Alexi regained his attention by clearing his throat. “You appear to be a bit tense my friend, is something the matter?”

“He’s always tense,” Tory cracked, although she and Marina had noticed the other men as well.

The gypsy smiled at Tory affectionately, before following their gazes to the men. His smiled disappeared as he appeared to recognize the men. “Ah…well, I suppose this place does have its less-than-desirable elements as well.”

“Do you know them boys?” John asked, his eyes glaring at the group of ruffians. He admitted he was feeling paranoid, but he always had a good reason to be. It ain’t paranoia when someone’s out to get you. He didn’t appreciate people eyeballing him either.

Alexi nodded. “They’re members of the South Boston mob. Some of them used to have connections to ‘Whitey’ Bulger. They know I’m a police officer and probably think I’m here to keep tabs on them. It may make them uncomfortable, but they won’t do anything rash. They’re not looking for trouble.” He grimaced however, when two of the men stood up and began to walk toward their table. “Then again, I have been known to be wrong on occasion,” he admitted dryly.

“I can lure them out back and kill them,” John stated flatly, “Leave you a few less mobsters to deal with.”

“This is Boston, John, not New York,” Alexi reminded him gently. “And I am a police officer. Let us try a more low-key approach, yes?”

Each of the table patrons waited silently as the two beefy-looking Irish men reached their spot in the tavern, each standing off a few feet away from where the women sat. Tory and Marina collectively wrinkled their noses in disgust as they smelled the cheap alcohol and stale tobacco smoke on their breaths, before frowning as they noticed the two men leering noticeably at them.

“Hello, boys. Something we can help you with?” John inquired in a calm voice.

“Yeah,” one of the men slurred, obviously inebriated from one too many shots of Irish whiskey. “Just noticed that there’s two real fine lookin’ women at this table,” he indicated with a leer toward Tory, eliciting an “ew” expression from the comely redhead. “Only problem is…it seems they’re hangin’ with some fuckin’ cop and a cowboy who apparently didn’t notice the ‘No Faggots Allowed’ policy sign hangin’ over the door. “

“Really?” John inquired in a deadly tone. “Actually, I did see it. Funny you mention it, though.”

The former Army officer gave the mobster a good, long unblinking look that caused the thug to twitch uncomfortably for a moment. “Well…I’m not the one who’s walking around here with a ‘I just got fucked by a priest’ look on my face, am I?”

The second mobster didn’t seem to care for that particular comment. “Lousy cow-fuckin’ piece o’ shi—“ His exclamation along with the fist that had risen to smash into John’s face was interrupted with a loud cry of pain when Marina, who no longer had an innocent look on her face, grabbed the mobster’s arm and calmly twisted it in a painful fashion while she coolly regarded him. Meanwhile, the Amazon’s friend was not to be outdone, as Tory unceremoniously shot out a hand and grabbed the other mobster by the crotch, eliciting a yelp and a bulged-eyed expression from him. Several of the tavern’s patrons quieted down when they noticed the commotion at his table.

“Wow, I gotta say, it has been SO charming to meet you two hygienically-challenged St. Patrick’s Day revelers,” Tory cooed sweetly as she eyed the big guy before her with a steely gaze, never letting go of the package she held in her hand, while Marina continued to hold the second mobster’s arm in a viselike grip, her violet eyes coldly regarding his sweaty face. “By ‘charming,’ I meant ‘annoying.’ So I guess this is your cue to beat feet and skedaddle. Buh-bye!” With that the two ladies gently yet firmly shoved away the two men who, after taking a quick survey of the four dangerous-looking individuals seated at the table, quickly paid their tab and left through the door. The quartet then cast a momentary glance together at the remaining mobsters who sat at the table nearby. After a moment of uncertainty passed, the men huddled back amongst themselves and politely tried not to notice the bemused expressions from the four, while the tavern’s air of raucousness returned to normal.

Alexi broke out into a hearty chuckle, while John offered a respectful salute with his beer glass toward the two women, who had settled back into their comfortable positions with their legs demurely crossed and answered him with a pair of breathtaking smiles. “My hat’s off to you, ladies,” he grunted. “I’d have to say you were far more patient with those two than me or Alexi ever would be. If it’d been us, those two would’ve been lucky to be able to walk out.”

The women’s eyebrows rose slightly at that remark, while Alexi simply chuckled again and said, “Of that you can be certain, John!”

Although the two of them looked like just another bunch of patrons in this particular establishment, few people in the world knew what they truly were; members of a race of beings known throughout history as Immortals, beings who did not whither from old age or disease, and could never truly die, except by losing their heads…literally. They came from all parts of the world and from all eons of history, walking the Earth in secret and hiding amongst the everyday lives of the mortal population, struggling to survive “the Game”, an eternal contest where if one Immortal chose to cross swords with another, they would duel to the death which could only be won by literally severing the opponent’s head from his neck. This allowed him/her to absorb the opponent’s Quickening, a mystical life-force that existed within each Immortal that, as the legends went, would allow one to perform extraordinary feats if enough energy was absorbed. And thus many of these Immortals continued to duel throughout the ages, sometimes forging and breaking pacts with one another, sometimes falling in love, and other times carrying out their own grudges and agendas, indelibly leaving their own marks on human history.

No one knew how long exactly their kind had walked the Earth, or to what purpose, but there were records and chronicles of their adventures, kept by a mysterious secret society known as the Watchers, that had followed them throughout the ages. The accounts of some, such as Connor MacLeod and Duncan MacLeod, were fairly well-known to those who paid attention to the dealings concerning their kind. Others like Alexi and himself were lesser known, although not without their own histories. Like others of his kind, John had been introduced to the concept of Immortality in a harsh manner when he had been struck from his horse by several rifle bullets to die on a carnage-strewn battlefield during a hot stinking day in July, in a place known as Gettysburg., Pennsylvania. The battle then was considered the “turning point” during what most people nowadays called the American Civil War, but to John it had been little more than three days of hell. The former Union cavalry officer had witnessed carnage before, but nothing quite on the scale of what he’d seen that day. Upon his sudden and rather harsh return to the land of the living, he found that the rest of his company under the 1^st Vermont Calvary, commanded by General Farnsworth had been brutally slaughtered…not to mention a vulture had been trying to peck at his corpse. But then, coming back from the dead had never been a savory experience for any Immortal he’d spoken too, especially the two beautiful Immortal women who’d found him and helped him come to terms with his new life, but that too, was another story…

Shaking himself free of his short jog down memory lane, John turned to once again regard the gypsy Immortal and his friend, Alexi Gregof. As far as John was concerned, he didn’t have many friends in this world. He knew plenty of acquaintances, but as far as friends went, he could count those with the digits of his hands and he considered Alexi as one of those. The two had met for the first time during World War Two, when John had been a field agent for the Office of Strategic Services, while Alexi had been a guerilla fighter trying to protect his gypsy clan, the Kalendish as he called them, from the Nazis who had attempted to exterminate them along with anyone else they deemed inferior as part of Hitler’s “Final Solution”. But beyond becoming mere comrades-in-arms on the battlefield, the two had become close friends, which was unusual to see between a gypsy and a giorgio.

“Now, Miss Swenson, you’ve been researching the paranormal for how long, exactly?”

“Well, before we begin Larry, I just want to stress that my research tends to focus more on the various myths and legends found within America and abroad, as well as psychic phenomena, mythic creatures and what most people call ‘ghosts’. I’m not so much into conspiracies about UFO’s and Men in Black, and what you would call’ little green men’. Now, as to my interest in this subject, I guess you could say it was due to a few, well, particular events I’ve experienced firsthand since I was a child, which fueled my fascination with the subject. I was intrigued with the prevalence of a lot of the tales of ghosts, mysterious beings such as Bigfoot and the Mothman, and also many of the witchcraft and pagan cults that have sprang up within the past few decades. And since then, my research has taken me into other areas. Lately I’ve been doing quite a bit of research on individuals who claim to practice what we would call magic, and also legends and myths surrounding vampires…”

“Of all the things I imagined you doin’, Alexi, the last I ever thought you were gonna be was a cop,” John noted as he watched his friend continue to throw flirtatious looks with the waitress, who was attending to several patrons at another table, but responded to the gypsy with a smile of her own. “Better be careful with that filly though, wouldn’t surprise me if she’s got a cousin with the IRA or the Ulster Loyalists somewhere.”

Alexi frowned slightly at that. “Being a bit paranoid as always, John? You do seem to have a talent for wanting to ruin the moment. Or perhaps, these two lovely female companions are simply not enough for a man like yourself, and you may be looking for a third companion to keep yourself warm this evening, no?” The gypsy smirked mischievously.

The former cavalry officer-turned-mercenary gritted his teeth. “Alexi…so help me, keep this up you’d better start praying to your own gods, because…”

The gypsy laughed out loud. “Oh, John, relax! I never meant it in that fashion.” He then flashed a sly smile. “After all, the word on the street is that now you have, how shall I say, resurfaced, your name has been mentioned on the lips of some witches and sorceresses looking for a potential, ah, mate, to put it candidly.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean my name’s ‘resurfaced’? In what way, Alexi?”

Alexi raised an eyebrow. “Not so fast, old friend. There are always plenty of rumors to discuss. Such as, the rumors I hear of you traveling with these talented women and perhaps a few others as of late, no?”

Marina didn’t appear to have heard Alexi’s queries as her focus seemed to be fixed at the moment on the television. However, Tory shot a worried look at him that tore him up inside. It was hardly unexpected; the gypsies had eyes and ears everywhere, and Alexi, as much as he was considered a friend, was obviously putting out feelers in a hope to gain some bit of information that could be passed on. John kept up his casual, cool demeanor as he gazed at his friend. “You know what they say Alexi…the more, the merrier. Just because I got a few more ladies traveling with me nowadays shouldn’t mean anything special.”

Alexi gave John a bemused expression. “As you wish. But shall I mention to your lady friends of some of your other past…exploits?” The gypsy’s eyes twinkled mischievously as John shot an anxious look at Tory and Marina, who appeared rather amused and interested in this snippet of conversation. Unabashed, the gypsy went on. “Oh, where shall we begin? I do believe the list includes a few names such as Gabrielle, Sonja, Tessa Alvarado, Sadie Wilde, your past courtship with Morgaine Le Fay, and of course, who could forget that little misadventure with Melissa Halliwell and Cristina…” Alexi then stopped in his tracks and winced, realizing that he’d brought up two names that John REALLY didn’t like to discuss. “John…I am sorry, I forgot…”

John’s eyes narrowed in a deadly manner as his voice became as cold as ice. The fingers of his right hand unconsciously flexed on the hidden hilt of his saber. “I distinctly remember telling you to never bring up those last two names ever again.”

At that moment, Tory’s eyes opened wide. Then she announced brightly, “Well, what do you know! Nature calls! Marina…let’s make a run to the little girl’s room.”

Marina looked at her, confused. “Are we not women, Tory? Why would we want to go to some little girl’s boudoir?”

Tory sighed. “It’s an expression, Dangergirl. It means the ladies’ room. You know…the bathroom.”

After the women had walked away, Alexi offered softly, “Please, John, I am truly sorry. Forgive me for my lapse, my friend. We gypsies often speak, or boast, for that matter, from our hearts, not from our heads.”

“No shit,” John muttered, as he gazed into the foaming ebony liquid of his beer. “Don’t apologize, though…there’s nothing more to apologize for.” He took a long angry swig from his glass before setting it down again.

“I confess, I never had the pleasure of knowing Cristina face-to-face before…well, everything that happened,” Alexi noted in a more gentle tone. “But I know you did love her, much like I loved Patrina....”

“Let’s move on, Alexi,” John snapped. “Other than catching up on old times, why exactly did you want to meet here? The local brew ain’t bad, but I get the feeling that there’s something more to why you dragged me down to Boston.”

Alexi hung his head slightly and sighed, before he gazed into John’s eyes. “You are right, my friend. I need your help. A cousin of mine, Enyos, has gone missing in a town known as Sunnydale, in California. Have you heard of it?”

“Maybe. I recall hearing something about it when I was out west back in the day. Don’t remember it being anything good, though. Tessa…well, when we rode together way back when, she told me the Spaniards called it Boca del Infierno…the Mouth of Hell. She swore on her mother’s grave that the stories she’d heard were true and to stay clear of that place.” John took another draught from his beer and grunted. Boy howdy, Tessa was sure the mistress of understatement. He didn’t recall the whole story, but he heard other folks who’d considered it to be a really bad place, and that was saying something considering how harsh the West was back then.

“Well, that’s quite a broad field of phenomena you’ve studied, Miss Swenson. Tell us, why do you think all these various myths are still prevalent in the Twentieth Century?”

“That’s a good question, Larry, and actually I honestly don’t think there’s an easy answer for that. We all like to think of all the progress we’ve made throughout the centuries to where we are now. But as we approach the end of this century, I think we tend to forget that for all the achievements we’ve made, there are always more unanswered questions out there and places that are yet to be explored. That’s how I approach this material. By that, I mean, we can’t assume that every myth or legend is true, but we can’t completely dismiss them either as all myths have some grain of truth to them.”

“Uh, are you saying that there are actually vampires, as I think you said earlier, out there?”

“No, I’m not saying that, Larry. But I think these various tales of vampires, for instance, are rather odd considering they’re found in just about every culture. Also, just about every culture has myths about dragons, faeries or changelings, ghosts, deities, a great flood, etc. I think the truth is out there, Larry, so to speak, and it’s up to us to connect the dots and find that truth.”

Alexi nodded solemnly. “Indeed, Boca del Infierno. However, despite the stories associated with that place, it appears that it has now become an established community. Enyos was there to check on another relative of mine that I hold dear, my beautiful niece, Janna, who I have not heard from for quite some time.”

John pondered on the two names for a moment. He’d met Enyos before, although he hadn’t seen him for a while now. “I remember Enyos. I gather he’s still his old oddball self, ain’t he?” Although, he figured, that had probably just been Enyos’s way of doing business.

The gypsy raised an eyebrow at that. “Well yes, in your eyes I suppose so. But you must understand that is part of his way of preserving our traditions, especially in these times.” His face then grew serious as he narrowed his dark eyes slightly at John. “It is important that our legacy be passed on to our children, something that Enyos and I firmly believe in. Something that I think you would appreciate.”

John sighed before raising a hand to calm his friend. “Now hold your horses, Alexi, I didn’t mean nuthin’ by that…but he’s still a queer duck regardless. Haven’t seen him in a while. Janna, though…not too sure I remember her. Have I met her?”

The gypsy pursed his lips in thought. “Hmmm…once perhaps, probably only when she was still just a little shey. It was when the clan came together for that one celebration a while ago…in the Austrian Alps I think. Do you remember that time?”

John’s gaze wandered elsewhere as his mind drifted back. “Yeah, I remember that.” It had been a cool spring day in the picturesque countryside nestled among the breathtaking white peaks of the Austrian Alps. While the local authorities had been less than enthusiastic about a caravan of gypsies showing up in the area, the Kalendish clan paid no heed and set up their wagons and tents for the day, throwing a huge celebration where members of the clan from all over the world had come together to celebrate their heritage. John at that time had been one of the few Giorgio who had ever been accepted by the clan, and had been invited as a guest of honor, which he’d readily accepted. What followed was a joyous feast with plenty of laughter, food and drink accompanied by a troupe of beautiful gypsy women, who had put on a show of uninhibited dancing with their alluring, enticing beauty only adding to the magnificence of the dance. Those had been good times…

“Now Miss Swenson, you were also an associate of another author who was also a researcher in the paranormal, Jose Chung, who unfortunately was killed while he was conducting research for his latest book which was centered around the rise of various belief systems at the eve of the millennium, which I believe was called ‘The Doomsday Defense’, correct?”

“Yes, and that’s very unfortunate. Jose…I mean Mr. Chung was actually a good friend of mine. While not everyone seemed to agree with what he wrote, he had that combination of irreverence and wit that you just don’t find very often when you’re researching a subject like this. Believe it or not, at the risk of sounding a little melodramatic, it can actually get rather…well, uncomfortable and maybe even a bit frightening at times. I think that’s partly why so many people are becoming anxious and paranoid about the coming millennium because we have no idea what it’ll bring.”

“Thank you Miss Swenson. We’ll be right back with more from our guest, Victoria Swenson. And later, we’ll also be discussing the blossoming interest in the paranormal over the Internet, as we meet the creators and owners of a website dedicated to the paranormal and the bizarre, called FreakyLinks. All this and more, when we come back…”

The former army officer drew his attention away from the television and returned it to his friend. “When was the last time you heard from either one of them?”

“We have not heard from them for several weeks now, actually. The message I received from Enyos said that he had met Janna and she appeared to be relatively well, but that…” His voice trailed off, uncertainly.

The mercenary sighed impatiently. “Alexi, you’re talking about a placed called the Mouth of Hell. Do you want to be a LITTLE more specific?”

“John, I only know it has been several weeks since he relayed his last message to us, and no one in our clan has heard from him. I hope to the Gods that he is well, but…I am beginning to fear the worst.” A haunted look came into Alexi’s dark eyes, something that John hadn’t seen very often unless he was truly worried about someone, or something. “And I can only pray that my jel ‘enedra, my precious Janna, is safe. John…I would like to ask a favor of you. Please, would you travel to Sunnydale, find out what has happened to Enyos, and above all…see that my little Janna is safe.”

John narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Hold on, Alexi, I’m not jumping into this so quick. You’re not telling me something; what is it?”

A note of strain and panic began to creep into Alexi’s voice. Whatever it was, it appeared to John that it had his friend on edge. “John, please, I beg of you. You are one of the few giorgio, if any, that I can trust. I am only asking that you see what has become of Enyos and my dear Janna. This is all I ask…please.”

John took a long, slow sip of his beer and set down the glass, before quietly nodding his assent. “All right…I’ll see what I can do.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” the former cavalry officer snapped. Then he sighed. “You have any idea where I can find them in this town? Or maybe have a photograph of Janna by any chance?”

The gypsy nodded. He reached into his jacket, withdrew a piece of paper with two addresses written on it, and a photo. “Enyos was supposed to be staying at this residence, a boarding house, when we last heard from him. Janna was staying at this other residence, while working at the local high school as a computer teacher, I believe. She is currently living under an alias; Jennifer Calendar.”

Alexi shrugged. “For her own protection, John. We of the Rom sometimes prefer discretion in our dealings with the giorgio. I am sure you understand. I have a picture of Janna here, although it is a bit dated. She would be older now than she appears in this photo.” He then handed him the photograph, showing a younger, smiling Enyos, who appeared to be enjoying himself in what apparently was New York City, indicated by the Statue of Liberty in the background. Next to him sat a young smiling woman in her teens with a curvaceous dancer’s figure. She had dark chocolate eyes that radiated a sense of warmth and intelligence even from the old photo, set into an exquisite face framed by waves of indigo hair.

John blinked once, then twice as he studied the young woman. Jesus Christ, she’s exquisite! He then regained his self-composure before continuing to study the photo for another moment. Don’t get your head up your ass, boy. Focus. “Pretty girl, Alexi. You ought to be proud.”

Alexi unabashedly displayed a great, proud smile. “Thank you John. Indeed, the entire tribe is very proud of her. But she is more than just my cousin John. She also has the potential to be a chovihani of the tribe, and a great one at that.” His smile then morphed into a slight frown. “However, I do not think she has fully come into her role as one yet, though. Jennifer, in spite of her heart and appreciation for our ways, does not yet seem to fully grasp them. From what I have seen and heard, she seems more preoccupied with computers and technology, of all things, rather than our traditions. But, ahem, regardless…considering your, ah, special relationship with those other women who practice the craft, do be careful around her, yes?”

John snorted in amusement at that last statement. It seemed his friend had a talent for understatement as well. Plenty more than one witch or sorceress, it seemed, had always wanted him. “I’m just trying to fly solo for now Alexi, so don’t even worry about it.”

“See,” the mercenary snapped, “I knew you were gonna say that. It’s a classic gypsy trick. Get the mark to agree to something first then add something more.”

“Don’t be so suspicious, John,” the gypsy growled. “It’ll be the death of you,” he teased. “I have but one request.” The gypsy’s face then grew more solemn than before, perhaps more so than John had ever seen. “My request is, when and if you do find Janna, promise me you will do everything in your power to protect her. She means much to the tribe friend, but even more to me, almost like a daughter. I have been forced to witness the passing of so many of my clan over the centuries, and yet with her…I know her time will come, but I could not stand to see the life robbed from her before she has at least had a chance to live it. Promise you will do this for me…please.”

John pondered quietly in thought for a moment, before he nodded. “I promise.” He then gazed at both of their beer glasses, which were nearly empty. “Another round?”

Before he could answer, Marina and Tory strode to their table with serious looks painted on both of their faces. “John,” the red head said, “Cath just raised us on the comm. She wants everyone back at HQ immediately.”

The former army officer’s expression was all business now. “Really? They say what about?”

“No…but it sounded pretty serious. When she made the call she was in the middle of a video conference with all the other bigwigs.” The hacker leaned in to whisper into the captain’s ear, out of earshot of the gypsy. “She mentioned they’d been talking for the last hour or so with Jason’s mom and dad, the Xanatoses, Morgaine, hell, even Nimue and Morganne.” She let the significance of those names sink in.

The Immortal mercenary frowned. All of them having a videoconference at this hour? Doesn’t sound good…and not just because I’m not particularly anxious to be in the same room with some of those faces anyway. He sighed in resignation…it was going to be another one of those nights. “All right darlin’, lead the way. Since I’m feelin’ just slightly tipsy I reckon you don’t mind drivin’.”

Tory simply nodded and opened the palm of her hand. John then reached into his coat pocket, withdrew his keys, and handed them to her.

“I must be going as well,” Alexi said. “It has been a pleasure to meet you lovely ladies, to be sure,” the gypsy noted with a graceful bow and a wave of his hand. “John…you will do the favor I asked of you, yes?”

The former cavalry officer nodded. “It’s done, Alexi, don’t you fret. You sure you’re gonna be fine, though?” Then he shot a surreptitious glance at the table filled with the remaining Irish mobsters.

The gypsy smirked playfully. “Don’t worry, John. Staying one step ahead of our enemies is part of a gypsy’s life. And, of course, it always makes life itself so much more interesting, no?” He then took John’s hand in his own and shook it firmly. “Gestena, my friend, and please…be safe.” With a last nod to the women, the gypsy turned and strode out of the tavern.

There goes one crazy son of a bitch, he mused, before he dutifully turned his attention to the women standing before him, regarding him anxiously. ‘C’mon, let’s find the ‘Burban and go home,” Tory said. As the trio began to walk out the door, a sudden news announcement from the overhanging television caught their attention…

“Good evening America, I’m Wolf Blitzer here with a Special Report. We have just received reports of a large explosion that was said to have occurred several minutes ago, originating from New York Harbor near Manhattan Island. We have a reporter near the scene to give us some more details. Maria?”

“Thank you Wolf. I’m standing out here next to one of the main entrances to the Port Newark-Elizabeth Marine Terminal. We have yet to hear anything official from the New York Port Authority, but witnesses state that roughly several minutes ago a huge explosion ripped through an as of yet unidentified merchant vessel that was docked nearby. The explosion itself was said to be so huge that it was seen for at least a mile and literally ripped apart the ship, which has now sunk with unconfirmed reports of large casualties involving the crew along with several Port Authority officials. We’ve seen a steady stream of emergency vehicles and Coast Guard vessels racing to the scene within the last several minutes in an apparent effort to get the blaze under control, although they appear to be hampered by the intense blizzard that’s hitting the Northeastern United States along with the below-zero conditions. The cause of the explosion itself remains unknown, although we’re hearing speculation that this may have been an act of terrorism. An interesting thing to note, Wolf, is that we’ve spoken to some nearby dockworkers who claim that they heard what sounded like numerous gunshots before the explosion occurred…”

John turned to gaze sharply at the lovely redhead next to him. “Did Cath mention anything about this?”

Tory shook her head. “No. Wouldn’t surprise me if we were involved though…although I hope to hell not.” She knew better however. Since her time when she had begun working with Avalon Force some time ago, the agent knew that there was rarely ever any such thing as coincidences…

With that, they hastily made their way outside and marched down the snow-encrusted sidewalk into the cold February night.

After the trio found the team’s specially modified Chevy Suburban and climbed into its welcoming interior, Tory revved up the engine and the SUV roared to life. Soon they were on the road, traveling through downtown Boston which had taken on an eerie yet beautiful golden glow from the city lights reflected off of the blanket of snow that had fallen on the cityscape. After negotiating numerous stoplights and city traffic, which remained fairly busy in spite of the snowstorm at this hour, the three finally found themselves northbound on Route 107, heading toward Salem.

As the SUV slowly chugged along the snowy stretch of road, Tory casually gripped the steering wheel and kept an eye on the traffic ahead of her. Even with the special retractable all-terrain spikes built into the Chevy’s tires, one of several “amenities” that she along with several engineers had designed for Avalon Force’s fleet of vehicles, one obviously had to be careful when traversing the notoriously slick roads of New England in the wintertime, especially in a nor’easter blizzard with plenty of lunatic drivers still out and around. John relaxed in the passenger seat, gazing out at the yellow streetlights that flew by in the snowy night, apparently lost in the momentary serenity before him, while Marina did likewise in the backseat. The redhead momentarily checked the digital GPS map display mounted on the dashboard before turning her gaze to the “radio”, which in fact also served as an electronic jammer and spectrum analyzer that could scan all military, federal, law enforcement and EMS channels in addition to the normal civilian radio stations. Soon the radio began to digitally scan through various stations by itself, as though it was being manipulated by unseen hands…

“Just keep your eyes on the road, darlin’,” John said in a warning tone. “I don’t need you gettin’ us into an accident while you were busy hacking into some poor dumb bastard’s database just to get your jollies.”

Tory glanced sideways at John with a faux innocent look. “Moi? I was just checking the local news, John. Paranoid much?” She then shot him a naughty smirk, the kind that she knew annoyed him because it was so irreverent while, at the same time, was so sexy. Then the radio started to play the local news bulletins along with the weather forecast. At that, John smiled and cocked an eyebrow at her, quietly saluting her expertise. Another one of Tory’s unique abilities as a mutant was the power to mentally control any electrical device within proximity of her, as well as the ability to infiltrate, scan and mentally download any database on the planet with her unique computer-like mind. Unquestionably, she was the world’s supreme hacker.

“Or perhaps, as the little witch would say, you should learn to ‘chill out,’ Captain Roper,” Marina offered with a smile of her own, bringing a show of raised eyebrows from both occupants of the front cab.

“Whoa, am I going deaf, or did Dangergirl just use a bit of Earth lingo?” Tory quipped. “Miracles DO happen!”

John pinched the bridge of his nose in resignation, feeling annoyed yet again by Marina’s insistence on referring to him as “Captain Roper”. “I should have my head examined for letting Cath talk me into bringin’ you two with me.”

“Well, it’s not like she was going to have it any other way, John. I think dark elves tend to be stubborn in that regard. Plus Gabby and Sonja mentioned they wanted us to keep an eye on their ‘baby doll,’ too,” Tory cooed sweetly, using a moniker that brought a growl from the man seated next to her.

“Keep waggin’ them tongues darlins’ and you’re gonna find yourself walkin’ home in this crap,” John vowed.

Marina merely snorted in amusement, while Tory offered a role of her eyes. “As if!” After the local weather report that confirmed that there was little more to expect other than wind and snow for the next several days, another news bulletin aired going into more detail on the recent incident in New York Harbor…

“Officials still have yet to issue a statement in regards to the recent explosion involving an apparent merchant vessel docked in New York harbor, although it has just been learned that the merchant ship in question is the Aruj, an Algerian merchant vessel said to have originated from France. Speculation that the incident in fact may indeed be terrorist-related has been fueled due in part to the as yet unconfirmed reports of numerous exchanges of gunfire near the site of the incident, along with several supposed calls for emergency assistance by Port Authority officials before the explosion. The city of New York itself is already on edge since the World Trade Center bombing in 1993 along with last month’s sentencing of one of the bombing’s chief masterminds, Ramzi Yousef. However as of yet, there have been no claims of responsibility for this incident by Al-Qaeda, the radical Muslim terrorist group believed to be connected to the World Trade Center bombings, or any other known terrorist factions for that matter…”

After a brief exchange of looks from the other Suburban’s occupants, Tory mentally shut off the radio and the three rode in silence for a short time, the cab’s windshield wipers keeping its own tempo as they continued to travel through the night. Then Tory glanced sideways at her Immortal friend and fellow agent. “Hey, John…you okay? I mean, really? You seem to be pretty tense tonight. Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine darlin’,” John replied, sighing as he gazed out the window in thought. “Just drive, alright? Don’t be frettin’ none.” He then reached into his jacket and pulled out one of the Dominican colorado claro cigars he was usually fond of smoking, and clenched it between his teeth, before looking for a match…

“Sorry cowboy, rules in this cab are still in effect,” Tory snapped. “You’re not lighting that up in here.”

The mercenary took the cigar out of his mouth before glaring at the redhead in irritation. “It’s just ONE lousy cigar, Tory.”

Tory looked ready to lay down the law before her Amazonian friend beat her to the punch. “I think what Tory is trying to espouse, Captain Roper, is that we are more concerned about our lungs turning black and poisoned from that disgusting habit of yours. Truly, even though you may be Immortal, I consider it a miracle you have not died from smoking those things.”

John shifted to regard the Gaean Amazon with the same irritated expression he gave Tory. “This is just like the crock of bullshit they’re pushin’ around every fucking city in the whole country nowadays. No smoking indoors, no smoking outdoors except in designated areas…it’s getting to be the same kind of bullshit they tried with Prohibition, only with cigarettes and cigars instead. Just another bunch of dickless pricks trying to legislate morality…not that I mean either of you.”

“Sorry, John,” Tory replied with a feint of sympathy, “But times change. Don’t forget what we’re carrying in the back.” She of course was referring to the modified M2 .50 caliber machine gun and the cluster of 40mm high-velocity grenade launcher that sat on an elevating remote-control station hidden underneath the retractable roof of the cab. Then, of course, there was the additional ammunition and personal weapons stored in hidden compartments around the truck.

John however was unimpressed. “Times change, but the bullshit remains the same,” he muttered. Deciding he wasn’t going to win this argument, the Immortal resigned himself to stuffing his cigar back in his coat and watching the nightscape zoom by him. “It would’ve been easier to just put the Ma Deuce and the autoblooper to use on that damn demon earlier, just for your information.”

“Sure, maybe cowboy, but this is Boston, remember? Not Sarajevo. It would’ve been lacking in the ‘subtlety department’, y’know?” Tory continued to focus on the road ahead, before one other question that gnawed at her finally spilled forth. “John? Look, all sarcasm aside, can I ask you a possibly personal question?”

The redhead took a deep breath before finally uttering what was on her mind. “I know it might not be any of my business, but what was it that Alexi said earlier, about Cristina…”

“Just drop it, darlin’,” John growled in a deadly tone, this time no humor in his eyes or gaze whatsoever as he glared directly at Tory.

Tory and her Amazon friend both looked ready to say something more, but decided to turn their attention back to the road instead. When the Immortal was adamant about not discussing a subject, he meant it. The redhead sighed before mentally activating the communications panel that was hidden underneath the radio on the dashboard. A panel slid away revealing a voice scanner and microphone, camera and modem. Tory then spoke into the mic and said, “EVE, activate secure comm link with Avalon HQ. Authorization: Simmons, alpha-three-nine-seven-six-sierra-foxtrot.”

After a moment, a male voice punctuated by static replied through the speaker. “Copy Sigma Six, this is Avalon Com, go ahead.”

“Roger Avalon Base, this is Sigma Six, can you please notify CentCom that we are returning to base, ETA fifty-five minutes, experiencing delays due to blizzard conditions. Also, can you patch me through to the weapons lab?”

“Copy Sigma Six, standby.” Silence momentarily followed, until a melodic female English accented voice, smooth and seductive, purred over the comm. “Hello, Agent Simmons, Sadie here. How is everything? Did your sojourn with Gabby and Sonja’s little boy go well?”

Tory felt some of the tension in the cab drain off as she smirked, knowing that Sadie Wilde was saying that just to annoy the Immortal. She knew the half-faerie witch never missed an opportunity to get under her Immortal friend’s skin any chance she got. As John growled loudly in annoyance, the mutant hacker replied, “Yep, it’s all good, Sadie. Things got a bit rough but we managed. How’s everything there?”

“Well,” Sadie drawled, not missing a beat, “everything’s well here for the moment, other than all the higher-ups are still chattering away in the briefing room while…” Her conversation was cut off momentarily when the sound of shuffling was heard in the background “Grimr…DO be careful where you’re pointing that thing? Sorry, as I was saying, Reed and Alana are in the study at Catherine’s behest doing some research…or so I believe they are.”

“Hot boy and girl action! Hot girl and boy action! Call nine-one-one! RAWK!”

“Sadie, have you got that pirate parrot of yours flapping around the lab again?

Sadie audibly harrumphed over the comm.. “His name is Ruby, remember? As I was saying, the rest of the crew should be arriving back from Gloucester shortly, Evie and Rick among them.” The Suburban’s occupant could almost sense Sadie wincing over the comm. “I must admit, I’m glad I wasn’t part of that little bit.”

“You don’t suppose if Cassidy was still technically a priest he might’ve been able to wed those two back into eternal bliss?” John inquired dryly. Of course he referred to Evelyn and Rick O’Connell, an estranged couple that had one time been composed of a rather unsuspecting though beautiful English scholar and an American mercenary with a talent for getting into situations way over his head. The world of the supernatural however had different plans for the couple, as Evelyn through an odd twist of fate was no longer a “mere mortal” and neither was Rick. Unfortunately, it had all done little to help their married lives as of late.

Sadie seemed to ponder John’s wry question momentarily, before replying, “Well, I’d suppose the poor fellow would be kept more busy exorcising the demons out of their current relationship, if it wasn’t for the fact he was probably more busy exorcising the demons out of some lovely lasses at that party the team attended, as I heard it was quite the ball. Of course, they wouldn’t let me attend the party on my own and stuck me here in the lab with Grimr and the techies making some more ammunition. Lovely evening overall, I’d say. It’s just ducky! Too bad you’ve been missing out on the fun. Except for that bit with what’s occurred over in New York, nasty business, that. Oh, one other thing Tory,” Sadie paused momentarily. “Cath wanted to know whatever information you had on the owners of that website you frequently mention, The Lone Gunman. Does that mean anything to you?”

The redheaded hacker stared at the console in puzzlement, as though she could see Sadie’s face through it. “Uhh, no…not unless Cath is wondering if I’ve been spilling any secrets on the off-topic forums. Why is she asking about them? They’re usually no more oddball than that other site FreakyLinks.” As odd and bizarre the things that Tory and the other agents had encountered in the last year or so seemed, they sometimes seemed to pale in comparison to the fringe conspiracy theories that The Lone Gunman and FreakyLinks often ranted about, although the two admittedly weren’t always as completely off the mark as most people thought...

“Maybe the Lone Gunmen’s theory that the Teletubbies are part of a government conspiracy to brainwash the country’s youth turned out to be right,” John added sarcastically. He’d heard more than his fair share of loony ideas from the website thanks to Tory, which was often a source of laughs for the other agents.

“Hmm, perhaps…although I do say, I think that theory has more credence in regards to Barney the Purple Dinosaur,” Sadie noted with her own touch of well-bred sarcasm. “However, as it were I’m afraid I don’t have any more of a clue as to what’s going on now than anyone else.” Suddenly the witch was interrupted by the unmistakable squawking of Ruby the parrot in the background, along with the equally unmistakable caterwaul of a cat. “Ivory, what are you doing?! Sit, sit! Bad kitty, BAD! No, wait…oh, BLOODY HELL!” The sound of crashing metal rang out from the communicator.

“Uh, Sadie,” Tory began, her eyes narrowing, “You guys didn’t just break any of my stuff, did you?”

The comm was silent for a moment. “Why, no Tory. Don’t fret dear, everything’s fine...”

“Say,” a gruff, male Scandinavian-accented voice spoke up, “Is that little mechanical thingamajig’s leg supposed to dangle like that?”

“Sadie,” Tory growled, “if you’ve messed up one of my gadgets again, I swear I’ll…”

“Oh, sorry, Tory, it seems your signal is breaking up!” Sadie announced a bit too brightly. “Must be the weather! See you when you get here.” And with that the link was terminated.

The vehicle’s three occupants all shared concerned looks before they turned to face the road ahead of them, as they headed toward their destination in the snow-obscured distance.

After another good twenty minutes of maneuvering through icy roads and irate drivers, the trio found themselves entering the quaint town of Salem, Massachusetts. The picturesque New England town, infamous for the witch trials that had occurred there more than 300 hundred years ago, was quiet at this hour, with most of its stores shuttered for the night and its residents and tourists alike already retired for the evening. An occasional car along with a snowplow passed by the agent’s SUV as they rode through downtown Salem, passing by quaint brick store fronts and colonial-era homes before making a short turn toward Salem harbor.

The snow continued to fall, limiting their vision to what lay ahead, yet they could still see the tall masts of various schooners docked within the harbor as they rode by. Several colonial-era homes, one of which was the House of the Seven Gables that had inspired the story of the same name by Nathaniel Hawthorne, stood near the harbor silently. The lights from the town reflected off of the snowy landscape and illuminated the night, once again casting everything in a faint golden glow as they rode on. Soon, after driving along the harbor front, they began to reach the north end of the mouth of Salem Harbor. Off in the distance, a lonely beam of light swept across the snow-obscured night sky, emanating from a lighthouse off in the distance. Soon, the silhouette of the lighthouse was barely visible through the sheet of snow, sitting on its lonely perch along the rocky pine-studded coast of Specter Island.

The local residents of Salem had whispered many a tale of Specter Island, the forbidding stretch of land that stood silently within the Atlantic waters just outside Salem Harbor like a sentinel. Legends abounded that ghosts along with eerie lights inhabited the woods that covered the island, while sea wraiths lurked underneath the choppy waters that lashed against the forbidding rocks. Even more so, there was a rumor that when the witch trial hysteria gripped Salem in 1692, several unknown women along with their families had fled to the island, hoping to escape the wrath of the Puritans who were afraid to venture near it, after another small group of settlers who had attempted to settle there met a mysterious demise. Tales had also been told of pirates that had dumped their treasure within a cove on the island, then later coming back hoping to reclaim it, only to never be heard from again. Even more, there had been talk of the vast, imposing house within the woods known as Ravenscroft Manor, built from stone carted over from an ancient stone keep in Cornwall, England. Even now, the manor’s central tower could be seen rising above the trees on the island, appearing almost as much a sentinel as the lighthouse itself.

Regardless of the legends, it was the final stop of John, Tory and Marina’s trip. As they drove along the coastline, the island slowly came further within view. Soon, a lone expanse of bridge, the island’s only visible connection to the mainland, also became visible. A two-story guardhouse, constructed of reinforced brick with windows and an observation post and ringed with low cement barriers, flanked an outer and inner set of heavy steel reinforced gates that blocked the entrance. Except for the guardhouse itself, floodlights illuminated everything else around the only land entrance to the island. A sign erected near the outer gate, illuminated by phosphorous lamps, unassumingly read: SPECTRE ISLAND DEFENSE SUPPORT ACTIVITY. Another sign in more authoritative, big red letters on the gate itself read U.S. GOVERNMENT PROPERTY- TRESPASSING IS PROHIBITED. Tory gently applied the brakes on the Chevy Suburban as it approached the guardhouse, bringing it to a slow crawl as it approached the outer gate. The heavy barred gate, strong enough to stop a standard SUV, rolled open allowing the vehicle through before it shut behind them, effectively locking them within the parameter of the gatehouse. Two armed guards in dark uniforms with matching parkas, fur caps and Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns approached the vehicle, with one of them motioning for them to lower their windows, while the other spoke into a two-way radio clipped onto his belt.

It all seemed innocent and routine enough, but the occupants of the Suburban knew better. Right now they knew that the third guard who watched from behind the bulletproof glass of the first floor of the guardhouse had one hand on the panic button that would activate a popup anti-vehicle barrier from the ground, while his other hand was likely resting on a Benelli semi-auto shotgun hot-loaded with jacketed tungsten steel slugs, the armor-piercing type designed to penetrate car doors and engine blocks. There was another guard watching from a bulletproof window on the second floor armed with a modified SR-25 sniper rifle. On the island itself, there were at least two marksmen armed with .50 caliber Barrett sniper rifles, and another team manning a BRG-15 machine gun that could spit out 15.5mm shells capable of destroying a standard armored personnel carrier. All the gunners likely had their sights locked onto the SUV.

Tory rolled down the tinted window as one of the guards, whose stern yet handsome-looking face was visible in the light from the overhead lamps, walked up to the driver’s side of the vehicle whilst gently cradling the MP5 submachine gun in his hand. “Good evening, ma’am,” the guard spoke in a courteous yet firm tone. “May I see your identification please?”

Tory simply nodded and pulled out a government identification card. “X-Ray Six, Agent Tory Simmons,” she replied as she handed the card to him, speaking the given code for the day to identify herself and the passenger as friendlies. John and Marina also produced similar cards of their own and passed them to the guard as well, who checked each of them utilizing a portable card reader he carried with him. The second guard continued to watch with the business end of his submachine gun in a relaxed, yet ready position. Unseen but sensed by Tory, an electronic voice scanner was also attached to the reader, enabling the guard to analyze Tory’s speech patterns while several infrared video cameras nearby scanned the SUV and it’s occupants. After a moment the guard shared a look with his comrade, who’d been talking with the main security station on the island that had scanned the SUV and it’s occupants. After he received a subtle “all’s well” hand signal from him, the guard nodded and handed back the ID cards. “Thank you, ma’am, the snow’s coming down heavy but we’ve got the snowplow keeping the road open, just be careful. Have a pleasant evening.” The redhead nodded her thanks and rolled up the window, while the guard spoke into his own radio. Soon enough the inner gate cranked open and the three were on their way, with the SUV’s tires crunching snow underneath as it moved across the stone bridge that was infamously known as “Widow’s Bridge” after the legend of a grieving widow that had leapt to her death from the old stone expanse. It remained virtually unchanged except for the recent addition of several manhole-like covers spaced along the bridge expanse, which concealed plastique explosive charges powerful enough to level the bridge along with anything on it.

“Secret passwords,” John muttered disgustedly. “And here I was thinking I’d put that shit behind me. Some things never change.”

“Really?” Tory inquired innocently. “Like you, perhaps?” She once again shot him her irreverent-yet-sexy patented smirk, bringing a frown from John in reply, although she could see a twinkle in his eye as well.

The Suburban finally reached the island proper before reaching yet another gate, which cranked open allowing them to proceed further along an expanse of road ringing the outside of the island, passing along tall imposing pine trees on their left while they could hear the icy ocean waves smashing against the coastal rocks to their right. After several minutes the lone, two-centuries old lighthouse loomed before them, jutting up from the rocks like a sentinel. A fenced-off lodge and vehicle shed stood off to the side, with several windows lit from which figures could be seen peering through the windows. As the agents drove by they noticed the silhouettes of several armed guards as they stood watch at different points around the lighthouse complex. One could have easily missed them within the snowy haze, except for a brief flash of light from one as though he were lighting a cigarette. Tory made a turn to the left and bypassed the lighthouse, entering a road that led into the woods itself. As they drove through it appeared as though the trees themselves were closing in on the vehicles, the road becoming narrower. John was silently grateful that he wasn’t claustrophobic as the trees hung over them, until what appeared to be a dead end appeared in front of them. Any other man or woman would have presumed this to be just that and turned around, but Tory instead simply drove on, straight into the trees themselves…

Instead of smashing into a tree trunk and crushing them like sardines, the Suburban melded directly into the tree, the surface of the mystical illusion barely rippling before the vehicle emerged on the other end, completely unscathed. The entire illusion was one of several woven and cast by Nimbus as well as the other powerful spellcasters that composed Avalon Force. Where there should have been trees, rather instead stood a ten-foot tall, imposing stone wall topped by sharp iron spikes whose points were shrouded in the falling snow. At several points along the wall were erected multi-vision CCTV cameras that remotely scanned the perimeter, along with a set of infrared laser tripwires that were strung along the spikes. A large elaborately wrought iron gate set into the wall before them swung open as though of it’s own accord, allowing the agents to pass through onto the other side. As they did so, a large asymmetrical, Gothic mansion composed of peaked roofs, vaulted windows and crenellated turrets, dominated by an imposing central tower that rose above the rest of the house, slowly came into view of the headlights…Ravenscroft Manor, the home of Avalon Force.

Hewn from ancient stone, the brooding residence had sat on Specter Island for at least two and a half centuries, if not longer. Deceptively quiet from the outside, the imposing residence had seen over two centuries of tumultuous and bloody conflict between various forces that had fought to control of the island, the manor, and all the secrets within.

“Home sweet home,” Tory chirped as they drove through the expansive lawn, decorated by several aging Greco-Roman statues, shrubs and a fountain that was enshrouded by snow. Off to the right, a large carriage house sat near the manor which led to the motor vehicle pool and underground hangar down within the expansive caverns beneath the earth, while off to the left in a clearing sat two MH-60L Pave Hawk helicopters, their dark hulls contrasting with the fresh encrusted snow. Each of the helicopters bristled with machine guns, autocannons, missiles and rocket pods, and carried a special-modified electronics and countermeasures suite that matched the Marine One helicopters flown for the President of the

United States

“Yeah, Edgar Allan Poe would’ve loved this place,” John muttered, gazing at the manor that seemed to loom ominously before them in the snowy night.

“Gee, cowboy, I figured you were old enough to almost know Poe, just not really educated enough to actually read him,” Tory cracked, bringing another annoyed look from the Immortal. She then noticed the other Chevy SUV and the BMW car parked nearby the front entrance. “Looks like the rest of the gang is already here.”

“He was a fiction writer and poet from the Nineteenth Century,” Tory continued, as she drove up to the gatehouse-like front entrance to the manor and parked the Suburban. “He wrote really scary stuff like ‘The Fall of the House of Usher’, ‘The Pit and the Pendulum’, ‘The Cask of Amontillado’, ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’…”

“Oh yes, now I remember!” Marina replied brightly as they stepped out of the vehicle. “I remember reading some of his works along with others recommended by Mr. Duncan, when I wanted to learn more about the English literary works of this planet.” The raven-haired beauty then pursed her lips in a sensual manner, once more catching John’s eye as they slammed the doors shut. “However, in that story ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’, I fail to understand why the main character of that story would do something as messy as cut that poor man into little pieces?”

“Easy darlin’, because the man was insane and a complete nut…much like old Poe himself,” John said as they ascended the short granite steps to the main, high-arched door of the manor.

“Actually, what I meant to ask was, why cut the body into little pieces? Why not just submerge the entire body in acid…”

“That’s beside the point, Dangergirl!” Tory snapped. “Look, no more Poe for you, okay?! Ask Reed if they’ve got any Harlequin books in the library, or something.”

“Actually Marina raises a good point,” John concurred dryly. “Acid’s the best way to go, I had to do that a few—“

This time Tory threw her friend a thoroughly disturbed look. “The same goes for YOU, cowboy!”

As the three finished ascending the snow-encrusted steps to the main double doors, the landing underneath their feet began to glow a faint golden color. Soon, the outline of a five-pointed pentagram became visible underneath their feet as the mystical sigil thrummed with life. Two hunched, winged gargoyles made of ancient stone that sat over the gatehouse began to twitch and move, ever so slowly. The eyes of the two creatures began to glow with an eerie red color as they seemed to shift their gaze to the three agents who stood outside the doors.

“Niiiice doggies,” Tory whispered aloud, as she after all this time still oddly felt a little creeped out by the stone creatures that formed part of the unique security system of Ravenscroft manor. Quite literally, it was a blend of both modern high-tech and ancient mystical protections, designed to literally deal with any threat in the most aggressive manner. After a moment, the glow from the sigil subsided as the magickal ward recognized the individual auras of each of the agents, and the gargoyles seemed to revert to their natural, unassuming sitting positions. With a slight hiss, a panel opened to the right of the doors, revealing both a retinal scanner and a handprint scanner, side by side.

“WELCOME TO RAVENSCROFT MANOR,” a female computer voice intoned. “PLEASE PROVIDE RETINAL AND HANDPRINT IDENTIFICATION, PLEASE.”

“You can do the honors this time, el capitan,” Tory muttered, gesturing to the scanner. John simply shrugged and nodded, and walked up to the scanners and prepared to lean over, before noticing that Tory was whispering something to Marina, causing the tall statuesque beauty to bring a hand to her mouth to stifle a chuckle. After glaring at the two women for a moment, and receiving only innocent looks in reply, John turned and pressed his right eye and right hand onto the console. A moment passed as the lasers scanned his retina and handprint, and then it was done.

Suddenly, without warning, two self-automated BRG-15 machine guns on hydraulic turret mounts rose out of the nearby bushes from flanking positions and aimed directly at the Immortal, causing him to nearly dive for cover.

“WARNING, INNER PERIMETER AUTOMATED DEFENSE SYSTEMS ACTIVATED,” the female-sounding computer droned, as the weapons idled for a moment, before quietly returning to their dormant positions. “AUTOMATED DEFENSE SYSTEMS DEACTIVATED.”

“Sorry cowboy, didn’t mean to frighten you. Just testing the security,” Tory replied with feigned innocence after receiving a murderous look from John. She then turned to address the small security camera that was positioned above the entrance. “Inner perimeter automated defense systems check complete, thank you EVE.”

The artificial intelligence that served as the main operating program for Avalon Force’s computer network, the brainchild of none other than Tory herself, replied “AFFIRMATIVE AGENT SIMMONS. RETINAL AND HANDPRINT IDENTIFICATION VERIFIED…WELCOME BACK AGENT ROPER.”

The Immortal muttered something inaudible under his breath, although Tory and Marina imagined it was something nasty before the double doors swung open, spilling out an expanse of warm golden light, beckoning to the agents to gratefully enter. As they walked into a large foyer richly appointed with dark inlaid wood, the massive oak doors behind them slammed shut.

“Yoo-hoo, anybody home?” Tory called out cheerfully as they strolled past several marble busts, aged portraits and antique weapons, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet beneath before they entered a large antechamber. A high vaulted ceiling rose above them decorated by a large chandelier that illuminated the large room and the marble tiles underneath. A massive stairwell led before them up to several passageways that branched out onto the balconies of the visible upper floors above them. To the left and right, arched hallways led to the other numerous rooms of the manor.

The tall redhead glared at the Immortal. “Well, most sane people are usually asleep at this hour, cowboy.”

“I suppose that would basically sum up our state of mind, wouldn’t it, Tory?” A smooth, velvety voice purred behind them. The mutant hacker nearly yelped along with her other comrades before turning around to find a large, muscular demon-like creature with eyes that burned like red hot coals that had appeared out of nowhere. Ebony fur studded its entire body, further lending to its sinister, shadowy appearance.

After relaxing a little, the trio glared at the sudden appearance of the new creature, unimpressed. “By the Gods, Tomas!” Marina growled in a tone that caused shivers to run through Tory and John. “Can you not announce your presence like a NORMAL person?!”

Tomas, the onetime human partner-in-crime of Cath whose soul now resided in the body of a shadow-demon, regarded the three for a moment before snorting in amusement. “Oh, spare me the lecture, Marina! Besides,” He added, leaning in to leer a bit more appreciatively at both of the women’s lovely physiques framed in their form-fitting armor, “a good scare here and there always gets the blood pumping. Not to mention for a woman, it helps to add a bit more color to her already rosy cheeks, as well as setting her points way up high.” He then smiled mischievously as he ogled their chests…well…as well as a shadow demon could smile.

Tory just rolled her eyes in response. “In your dreams, bub.” She then noticed several dried crimson stains on his fur. “Tomas, are you hurt? What happened up in Gloucester?”

The shadowy figure put on an expression of faux astonishment. “Why, Tory, you DO care! How nice!” After noticing Tory’s look of genuine irritation, the human/demon became more serious. “Don’t worry, love, it’s not mine. And the others are fine, relatively speaking.” His face then brightened considerably as he went on. “But it was so much fun! It’s not often that I get to go to a black-tie dinner with two luscious women in revealing evening dresses, only to be granted a feast of the eyes with even more luscious women in revealing evening dresses!” The shadow demon’s enthusiasm seemed to resemble more of a hormonal American teenager for a moment, before becoming a bit more subdued. “Of course, it was fun until all hell broke loose, literally. The situation over there got a bit…messy I’m afraid, but we all managed to ‘handle’ it.”

“Good to know. Did you just teleport here by yourself or is anyone else lurking around?”

“I would wager that would be a ‘yes’”, Marina observed dryly. The four of them looked up to see Sadie Wilde, the “governess” of Ravenscroft Manor, leap over one of the upper balconies…only to gently float in midair. With her arms spread wide and her shimmering golden hair fluttering around her shoulders, the half-faerie witch levitated downward before gently alighting on the ground before the others.

“Oh, Sadie, what a grand entrance, I’m almost impressed,” Tomas replied with a mock yawn.

“Hush, Tomas,” Sadie warned playfully with an air of aristocratic demeanor. “Or we’ll need to throw you back in your cage.” As usual, in spite of her aristocratic upbringing, the fetching beauty was dressed in an entirely un-aristocratic fashion. The black, nearly sheer silk jacket she wore did nothing to hide her current fashion sense: A custom-fitted leather corset that showed the gentle rise and fall of her ample cleavage hugged her figure perfectly, a shiny black leather miniskirt was arranged tightly around her shapely hips, and her long luscious legs rode on knee-length, tight glossy black stiletto boots. A black choker with a shimmering red jewel around her delicate throat completed the outfit…along with a more apparent “decoration”, a very businesslike OA-93 machine pistol that had been customized by the witch and carefully sat in a holster on her leather belt.

Naturally, no matter how many times he’d already seen Sadie before over the past century in plenty of other “fetching” outfits, John still couldn’t help but gape for a moment, as he suspected any man would. The witch had a bit of reputation for playing up to the fantasies of men, and occasionally women whenever she so desired, and John was no exception, considering they’d known each other on an on-off intimate basis for more than a century. “As the Americans would say,” she had once said with a devilish yet cunning smile, “If you’ve got them, flaunt them!”

Of course, Sadie tonight seemed her usual self as she regarded the Immortal with a sensual smile that belied a hint of her usual mischief. “Hello everyone, and…hello John,” she said softly as she sauntered over to him, her leather miniskirt caressing her thighs with each step. “I’m glad to see you back. It seems you and your friends had a bit of a tussle…I trust you’re well?”

John cleared his throat for a moment, noticing the annoyed glare from Tory nearby. “Hello Sadie, glad to see you too. A bit chilly tonight to be dressed like that, isn’t it?” He, with a limited degree of success, tried not to stare at the luscious cleavage and shapely curves that were accentuated by the black corset that hugged her figure. The corset was clearly no mere decoration, however, as the enchanted runes that glowed just faintly beneath the glossy sheer of the leather showed it to be a powerful item of arcane defense as well…not to mention the enchanted stiletto that was hidden underneath between her breasts, a nasty weapon that more than one unwanted suitor had died upon.

The half-Leanan Sidhe witch’s mesmerizing amber orbs seemed to sparkle with mischief at John’s comment. “Oh, it is indeed chilly tonight, John. That’s why I was hoping I could warm things up a little,” she added with deceptive innocence as she carefully posed to allow a slightly better view of her luscious form to the men and women before her. “Besides,” she added in a softer, more seductive tone as she ran a hand in a discreetly provocative manner down the front of the corset to her miniskirt, “dressing in this manner helps stimulate my…creative juices as it were, darling.”

Tory suddenly got in front of him to glare at Sadie, hands on her slim hips. “Excuse me, Sadie, that’s nice and all, but I’m going to assume you didn’t break anything in the lab while I was gone…DID YOU?” The hint of a threat was heard in Tory’s voice.

The witch took a moment to clear her throat. “Well, technically speaking, as you would say, nothing’s broken…”

“What she means to say, is that darling little gadget critter with the multiple legs that you’ve toiled over endlessly in the labs just became a handicap,” a new gruff male voice, sounding old and authoritative like hardy weathered stone, yet laced with energy and mirth, called out from one of the adjoining hallways. Everyone turned to see Grimr Steinmoor, the old duergar from the frozen lands of Scandinavia, walk into the foyer with the hint of a mischievous smirk on his face. The overhead lights from the chandelier shone on the bullish-looking dwarf’s balding, tattooed head and dark trimmed beard, illuminating a set of eyes that were centuries old, yet were still sharp and lively, belying a keen intellect and a wicked, if not twisted sense of humor. Though somewhat short in stature when compared to most human males, the five-foot-four heavily-muscled agent made up for his status of being “vertically challenged” by wading through hordes of enemies with a battle axe in one hand and an assault rifle in the other with a death’s grin on his face. In the days of the Viking raiders, they would have thrown feasts in his honor. Nowadays most people thought he was just a little mad, if not completely crazy.

Before anyone could say hello to the dwarf, Tory whirled and glared at the blonde witch again with murder in her eyes. “You hurt my little Elmo?!” She almost shrieked, seeming to grow nearly a foot taller in front of everyone.

“Who…or what the hell is Elmo?” John said to Marina in a hushed voice, obviously puzzled. The Gaean Amazon merely shrugged, apparently just as confused as he was.

“Ah, Tory, do you remember my suggestion about switching to decaffeinated coffee?” Sadie spoke politely yet firmly, hands on her hips as she steadily regarded the redhead with her golden orbs. “Don’t worry about your ‘pet, we’ll patch him back together in no time…”

“Yeah, well, if I happen to see your pet anywhere, Goldeneye, he’s gonna become a late night dinner, GET IT?!”

As if on cue, a distinct whistling of a bird could be heard before a red-plumed, green-bodied Amazon parrot flew down from above and landed on Sadie’s shoulder. Jade, the witch’s longtime parrot familiar who seemed to take after his mistress in terms of saucy language, spoke “Hello Major Buns, flash your guns! No skin means no win!”

Tory narrowed her eyes dangerously at the bird. “Y’know, I’m really hungry for some French poulet right now, little birdy.” The parrot squawked with fright and beat its wings rapidly as it fluttered behind Sadie, who glared back at the comely redheaded tech with her amber orbs that began to glow menacingly with power.

“Touch even one of Jade’s feathers, missy, and I’ll banish you to Haeven where the greatest technological wonder you’ll ever get to see again is the wheel, do you understand?!”

“Oh yeah?! How’d you like it if I just happened to ‘accidentally’ delete your entire British punk rock collection?”

Now the witch’s eyes went wide with fright, something that Tory noticed with smug satisfaction. “You wouldn’t!”

Steam almost appeared to come out of Sadie’s ears, before she noticed the evil grin on Grimr’s face out of the corner of her eye. “Enjoying the theatrics, little geezer?” she snapped.

Grimr regarded the blonde witch with a sardonic grin. “Of course! Two beautiful women ready to tear each other’s hair out? This is better than the trailer park trash on Jerry Springer, and without the cellulite thighs and missing teeth! Now if I only had some popcorn!”

At that moment, a wicked smile spread across her beautiful face. “Keep this up, Grimr dear,” she purred, “and I’ll cast a spell that prevents you from even remotely achieving an erection for the next century, assuming you’ve even been lucky in this one, of course.”

Nearby, Tomas roared with laughter as the short, muscled dwarf’s scalp became beet red as blood boiled up to his face, causing the various bluish tattoos on his scalp to stand out even more. “Oh please,” Tomas chuckled, “the little man cannot even land himself a blind date nowadays even with a burlap sack over his head!”

The dwarf glared at the shadow demon with murder in his eyes. “YOU can’t even get a woman at all in your current state, you demon-hide wearing PUSSY!”

“Ha!” Tomas barked, as he struck a comically self-effervescent pose, with his dark-furred thickly muscled arms poised like an Olympic strongman. With a sudden blur, he changed into the illusion of a dark-skinned mustachioed, handsome fellow wearing casual street wear with bulging muscles. “For your information, my sad little chum, women cannot resist my demonic charms. They yearn and mewl to simply feel my touch, which excites them in ways that no gentleman could ever discuss in polite company, of course.” Tomas morphed back into the sinister shadow-beast he was, before grinning sardonically and gestured at his well-defined rear with a talon-tipped claw for a hand. “Kiss my demonic, yet well-defined arse, you chav!”

At that, Grimr roared like an angry berserker. “Better a man kiss your arse than a woman kiss you on your gaping cesspit of a mouth!” At that, fur and fists began to fly as the dwarf launched headfirst at Tomas. The shadow demon simply vanished and reappeared nearby, laughing as the dwarf sprawled on the marble floor, only to get a boot to the face. Meanwhile, Tory and Sadie began a shouting and shoving match, with Jade nearby flapping his wings and squawking with panic.

John simply shut his eyes before he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, while Marina watched with a comically perplexed look on her face. “I just hate family gatherings,” the Immortal mercenary muttered under his breath.

Just before the army captain belted out an order, a highly-cultured, educated male English voice beat him to the punch. “Ahem, if you children are quite finished, you should know that Catherine IS waiting for us.” The group turned in the middle of their antics to regard Reed Duncan, the middle-aged scholarly mage and researcher, with books in tow striding toward them from the direction of the study. Next to him strode the homo magus spellcaster, Alana, the overhead lights illuminating the twenty-year old woman’s fiery red hair and emerald eyes. The Englishman was dressed in his usual tweed attire, tie and all, while Alana, in sharp contrast, was dressed in the costume she typically wore when she worked in public as a stage magician and illusionist. She wore a white silk corset with generous cleavage that traced her round breasts and slim hips to perfection, topping a red satin undergarment that outlined her shapely behind. Smooth fishnet stockings that seemed to glitter almost magically encased her long shapely legs that rode on sharp red stiletto-heeled shoes. Finally, a dark blue, debonair tailcoat completed the outfit. The young redhead loved to mess with her audience’s minds, weaving real magick and illusions alike to confound many, while mesmerizing the younger hormonal members of the audience with her dazzling outfit.

Tomas and Grimr stood up and dusted themselves off, contritely apologizing to each other as though they were brothers in just another bout of silly fisticuffs. Sadie and Tory likewise regarded each other before turning toward the duo. “Hi, Reed, Alana,” Tory said, brushing past the others. “How’re you two holding up?”

“Oh, we’re fine, Tory, thanks for asking,” Alana piped up. “Cath had us researching various megalithic dolmens from Scandinavia and also some other stuff on Nordic runes. Kinda neat but kinda boring, too.” She quickly shot a surreptitious glance at John before giving him a knowing wink and a coy smirk, indicating she knew that John felt they had been up to more than just mere research, particularly with the woman dressed in her outfit. The Immortal quietly cleared his throat.

“Really?” Tomas inquired, not missing a beat. “It sounded to my acute ears like you two were engaged in some engrossing study of the Kama Sutra as well.” Reed and Alana blushed together deeply while there were a few soft chuckles.

“Diddle love vertically! Diddle love horizontally! Everyone’s a winner, RAWK!” The parrot’s saucy remark brought an uncharacteristic growl from the Englishman, as eldritch energies began to crackle between his fingertips.

“Well, Cath did provide a few pictures of what was of interest to her,” Alana continued, hoping to change the subject so there wouldn’t be a casualty in the hall. “Couldn’t really draw much from it, although it does seem a bit…I don’t know…weird.” The redheaded beauty who hailed from the fabled land of Shangri-La allowed a smirk to form in the corner of her delectable little mouth. “And I know that’s odd coming from me.” She then pulled out a couple of drawings wedged between two leather-bound books she carried and showed them to the others, who drew in for a closer look. Detailed in the two black-and-white pictures were what appeared to be the front and back side of a jagged piece of dark onyx-like stone, with a nearby metric ruler in the photographs showing it to be roughly a few feet wide and more than several feet in height. In one picture, runes along with several nearly indecipherable carvings could be made out on the smooth face of the stone, while in another picture the other side of the stone was shown to be jagged and broken, the design suggesting it was part of some larger piece of stone that might have been in some sort of monolithic shape. Upon closer inspection the runes seemed to take on an eerie sense, as though whatever had carved them, and in what language, did not seem human by nature. The very contours of the glyphs bent and twisted in a fashion that seemed to provoke pain and unease, as several of the agents felt oddly queasy, forcing them to look away.

“Well, other than those royally messed-up looking carvings in that one picture, it looks like a fragment of a rune stone of some kind to me,” Tory muttered, her brow furrowed as she looked closer at the runic carvings. “Weird though, I don’t recall many of them being carved from onyx or any such material like that.”

“In fact, yes, that’s what it appears to be,” Reed concurred. “The runes appear similar to the Elder Futhark alphabet which, if correct, would most probably mean it originated in Scandinavia somewhere between the Second and Eighth Centuries A.D. However, these illustrations on the other side do seem a bit odd, however. The manner these runes are drawn are rather odd as well.”

Tomas rolled his eyes. “Come now, my stuffy Earth-born British friend, if it wasn’t odd, bizarre, or just simply…sex-ay,” he huffed with mock importance, bringing an embarrassed blush to the Englishman’s cheeks, “then why, pray tell, would you even be researching this to begin with?”

“Because it’s not any language I recognize, you dirty little ferret,” Reed growled, causing the shadow demon to cock an eyebrow, or what passed as an eyebrow, rather comically at the scholar. The Englishman then gently cleared his throat. “Ahem, as I was saying, I haven’t seen any other rune stones quite like this in the Scandinavian region. And I can’t imagine for the life of me why Cath had us research the various dolmens found in the area as none of them would normally feature this type of…ah, material, since the runes in their written form didn’t originate until much later. Grimr, Sadie, what about you?”

Everyone turned to regard the dwarf and the half-Leanan Sidhe witch, who both seemed fixated on the morbid-looking carvings before turning their attention to the other agents. “Eh? Hmmm…no,” the dwarf replied in a distracted fashion. “The runes appear familiar, but…this doesn’t appear anything like what the Norsemen or my old kinfolk would have made.” The bearded fellow furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, before shaking his head. “Strange…”

Sadie nodded also in agreement. “As scary as it may sound, I think the old fart is right. Odd, though. As morbid as it appears, I wonder if it’s something from one of the Faerie clans, perhaps?”

Grimr turned to glare at Sadie again. “Lass, if you’re going to call someone ‘old fart’, then save it for that overblown, over-hyped, over-fucked mage Merlin, not me! I’m old, yes, but still lively enough to make any woman shout out my name at night,” he added with his finger pointed toward his manhood for emphasis.

Sadie took a moment to chance a glance down below his belt, before innocently turning to gaze elsewhere with a mock look of pity. “Hmm, that’s not quite what I’ve heard…”

Tory wisely took the initiative before the fracas escalated. “Well, researching stuff like this in a musty, dusty library sounds preferable to what we had to deal with earlier,” Tory replied with a sigh. “Captain Cowboy over here,” she indicated John with a jerk of her thumb, “had us strolling around a cemetery in the dead of night where we ran into a freaking Dearg-Dul.”

“A Dearg-Dul, really?” Reed inquired, his eyes lighting up immediately like a little boy in a candy store. The scholarly fellow was well-known for having a love affair when it came to conducting research on just about any occult subject. “Fascinating. I haven’t heard of any occurrences of that particular creature here in North America, by chance did you—“

“Er, sweetie,” Alana interrupted, her exquisite, almost delicate face set in an apologetic expression, “I don’t mean to spoil your fun, but like you said, we should go see what Cath wants to talk to us about first, remember?” After a reluctant nod from her lover, Alana turned to the group. “Don’t know what exactly Cath had us doing this stuff for but she’s been cooped up in the main hall for a while now with her snuggle-bunny Jason and the others. I think Rick, Evie, Alek, Anna and Cassidy are waiting for us there, too, so let’s go.”

As the group turned to head toward the main hall that doubled as the briefing room, Reed said, “Ah, Alana, I don’t think it’s proper to refer to Jason as Catherine’s ‘snuggle-bunny’. I think his alter-ego, Nimbus, along with Catherine might take offense to that….”

Alana shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s not like it’s a secret or anything. Besides,” she smiled softly, instantly stealing the Englishman’s heart yet again, “you’re my snuggle-bunny, aren’t you?”

Reed blushed once again, briefly before smiling and pressed a little closer together as they strode down the corridor. “Yes, I suppose you could say that…”

“You two need to get a room,” John noted with a hint of disgust as he strode next to them.

Reed shot the Immortal a disapproving frown. “Pardon me, Captain Roper, but unlike you, I consider myself a man of good taste, not given to debase either my lady or myself.” The Englishman tried to ignore the mocking chuckle from Tomas nearby.

“I didn’t think you were capable of debasing anything Reed, on account of how stiff your ass already is,” John replied sarcastically.

The Englishman’s eyes narrowed dangerously, before receiving a reassuring squeeze from the redheaded beauty who strode arm in arm with him. “Don’t mind him, Reed, he’s just having another one of his mood swings.” The other agents quietly chuckled in amusement as they headed toward the conference room.

The group made their way down the marble-tiled hallway, passing several aging suits of armor, marble statues and Oriental vases. At the end of the corridor sat another set of double doors, by which stood three rugged men and a lovely women talking. One of the men appeared to be a tall, handsome, youthful man with sandy brown hair, dressed in what had once been a black-tie dinner jacket and trousers, but had definitely seen better days as it was now marked with several rips and tears, along with two Para Micro-Uzi machine pistols that were stuffed in cross draw holsters. The man’s own chiseled face was slightly blackened with soot, and it seemed an annoyed expression as he faced a very beautiful woman with long dark hair that flowed down a little past her shoulders, and bewitching dark eyes. She was dressed in a dark blue evening dress that was also a bit worse for wear as several small lengths of the dress had been ripped away, although in her case it further served to highlight the woman’s slim figure and enticing legs. Several small, twinkling bronze charms of Egyptian origin could be seen on her, along with a barely-concealed P7M13 pistol and several daggers.

“Okay, how are we gonna go about this? Right, short, simple and to the point,” Rick O’Connell muttered with his arms folded, as he faced the woman who had more-or-less been the love of his life, Evelyn Carnahan. The American who had been both an explorer and gun-for-hire throughout the Twentieth Century had a knack for getting into situations over his head, such as the current spat with his estranged wife. “Evie, for the twelfth time, I was not reckless, okay? Everything was under control…right before the bad guys started throwing lightning bolts and fireballs at us, anyway…”

“Of course,” Evelyn scoffed with her own arms folded in an equally stubborn display. “And I suppose if pigs had wings they would be eagles, wouldn’t they?” The woman sighed in disgust. Ever since a fateful trip to a mythical city in

Egypt

long ago, 1926 to be exact, life hadn’t been the same for either one. Rick had later discovered he was a sort of mystical warrior called a medjai, while Evelyn had discovered she was the reincarnation of an ancient Egyptian princess and had been briefly slain, only to be later resurrected in an altered, far more powerful state of being. Unfortunately, the streak of mysticism that seemed to run throughout their now immortal lives had done little for their marital relationship…

Unfettered, Evelyn continued her side of the argument. “It was a delicate situation that required subtlety, Mister Rick O’Connell, not a bunch of men playing cowboys! Cassidy and I had cast the necessary spells to take down those black magicians when you and your werewolf friend here,” she indicated with a sweep of her eyes toward Aleksandr Vasilyev, the former Spetsnaz GRU commando and werewolf from Siberia who was dressed in AF’s custom armor, “decided to flash your guns and turn the entire place into a shooting gallery!”

Alek shrugged. The six-foot four-inch bear of a man with bullish features, who looked ready to ram his head through a concrete wall was rather nonchalant about his work, whether it was shooting his enemies up with an FN MAG machine gun or rending them to bits with his claws in his towering werewolf form. “I am the heavy weapon man of the group, da? If shit hits the brick, as you say, then I come out and start shooting and ripping, it’s what I do.”

“Aw think you meant to say, ‘shit hits the fan’, Alek,” Cassidy Williams, the former U.S. Army Special Forces medic and chaplain, muttered lowly with his usual soft Southern twang. Cassidy had been one of the more unlikely members of the team, growing up part of his life in one of the infamous snake handler sects dotted throughout rural

America

. After having some rather unusual encounters of his own with the supernatural and the bizarre, the former priest had become an expert himself in various forms of ceremonial magick and exorcisms, as well as keeping a good shooting arm and coming to appreciate the rites, prayers and incantations to numerous deities. “It never hurts to have more than a couple of gods willing to watch your ass,” he’d once remarked dryly.

“You know, I couldn’t help but notice you did take a bit of your own sweet time exorcising all the demons out of those young ladies,” Rick remarked with a raised eyebrow, drawing a glare in response from Evelyn.

“I may be a priest, Rick, but that sure as hell don’t make me any less human,” Cassidy shot back. His own armor was visibly stained with patches of blood and soot like all the others, along with traces of burnt cordite that still hung in his gray hair and well-groomed mustache. “And I would never take advantage of a woman like that. Hell, at least I don’t keep running around all the time like Alek looking for some Budweiser beer keg and some blonde filly to steal.”

Aleksandr grimaced. “What? Oh, please! As if I would ever drink any of that cheap swill! How you Americans call that piss beer is beyond me!”

“Men,” Evelyn muttered, “always behaving like children. Wouldn’t you agree, Anna? Anna??” Evelyn and the others looked around, noticing the other female agent with them appeared to be missing. “Anastasia, for goodness’s sake stop hiding, will you?”

Several feet away from Evelyn, the faint ghostlike outline of a woman, slender with athletic curves, began to appear against the carved oak panels of the hallway. Soon the image coalesced into the form of a beautiful auburn-haired woman dressed in her own form-fitting variant of AF’s body armor. The lights from the elegant chandeliers of the hallway highlighted the sensual yet athletic curves of the woman that were displayed thanks to the armor, albeit with signs of battle like the others.

“I wasn’t hiding, Evie,” Anastasia Provana said in a Slavic-accented voice, grimacing slightly. “I was just hoping to stay out of the crossfire.” Anna, as most of the other AF agents called her, tended to be a bit more reserved than the others, but that made her no less dangerous. The product of a secret psychic development program in the waning days of the Cold War, Anna was a sort of “psychic super-spy.” She could telekinetically bend light around her form to render herself invisible at will, not to mention use that selfsame telekinesis to snap bones like twigs, create force fields, and guide stray bullets straight and true into a foe’s skull. Coupled with her espionage and combat skills, Anna’s looks could kill, figuratively and literally. “Fortunately it seems the rest of the party has arrived,” she said with a bit of relief, as she gestured to the group that came to meet them in the hall. “I rather wish you had arrived here sooner, John.”

“Believe me, Anna, I would’ve been here sooner if it’d meant I’d spend less time listenin’ to these two loony birds constantly yap,” John replied, trying to act casual with a nod of his head toward Tory and Marina, bringing another snort from the Gaean Amazon while the hacker stuck out her tongue. “Heard you folks had some action up in Gloucester.”

“To put it mildly, yes,” Anna replied with a touch of aplomb, before setting her eyes on the nonchalant shadow demon who had arrived with the group. “Although it did seem Tomas was more interested in getting some ‘action’ of his own, as it were…”

“Well of course I was!” Tomas spoke in an incredulous tone. “For the love of the Gods, there were all sorts of opportunities waiting at that formal dinner! Of course, I didn’t want to go too far considering that I’m well aware that my own, sweet, dear little Evelyn spends her waking hours sweating and fantasizing about me, of course.” The scandalous rogue seemed, or at least pretended to be unaware that Rick was giving him a look similar to what he gave to most other problems before he solved them, which typically meant filling them with hot lead. Fortunately, his estranged wife wasn’t impressed either and looked mad enough to fry an egg on her head. Undeterred, Tomas went on. “Worry not, Evelyn, my dear, if your husband still harbors his reservations about romance with one of the Undying, your knight in furry demon hide is here to—OW!!” The shadow demon howled and nearly fell on his behind before he grasped his right leg, specifically around the knee where Rick had landed a well-placed kick.

Then, at that moment, the large double doors swung open to reveal a young, sharp cocoa brown-skinned man dressed in a formal U.S. Army dress uniform with an air of intelligence around him. An Army Parachute Badge gleamed on his uniform, along with several ribbons and a gold oak leaf cluster on the lapels of his uniform, indicating the rank of Major.

“Well, you do look rather smashing tonight, Jason, if I do say so myself,” Sadie purred softly.

Major Jason Merwin, Avalon Force’s Assistant Director and military liaison, the living reincarnation of the ancient Lemurian known as Nimbus, and the betrothed of Catherine, offered a smirk in reply. “Thanks, Sadie. Now that you mention it, Cath said the same thing, too,” he noted, gently deflecting Sadie’s casual flirtations. “Hello again, ladies and gentlemen, please come in and excuse the fancy appearance, I had to appear in Washington earlier today with Cath. Ugly business, as usual.”

“Politicians? Eugh,” Tory commented, cringing. “They’re worse than demons.”

“I wouldn’t say that Tory,” John replied dryly. “They’re more like used car salesmen…a whole lot worse.”

As the group began to file in, Sadie held up an elegant yet firm hand and let her parrot familiar climb onto it from her shoulder. “Sorry, Jade, but I think it’s better you wait out here,” she said gently, and let the bird onto the top of a marble bust of a young woman with striking features. “Just hope Kate here doesn’t mind you sitting on her head.” The parrot squawked in a pouting manner, only to be answered with the soft yet dangerous purr of a feline creature. The golden-haired witch looked down to notice a sleek black cat with an uncanny white patch on it’s breast sitting on the floor, gazing upward at the parrot with a coy expression in it’s green cat-eyes. “Don’t worry, I think Ivory here can provide you company, granted you both learn to behave this time,” she added in a stern tone particularly to the cat sith that had inhabited the mansion for almost as long as it had existed. Then with a graceful twitch of her leather-clad behind that rode on her lovely legs, the beautiful witch joined the others as they filed through the doors.

The group entered an imposing great hall that several agents had privately dubbed “conspiracy central”, with walls that were decorated with inlaid wood stretched to the vaulted, plastered ceiling. On one side several arched windows ran along the wall, the frosty window panes offering a glimpse into the snow-filled night. The other side was dominated by several coats-of-arms and portraits of different families that had lived in the manor. Some of the portraits smiled, others scowled, and a few were missing altogether for unsaid reasons. A large roaring fireplace gratefully provided warmth to the large chamber. Situated in the middle of the hall was a long, old and elaborately carved oak table flanked by high-backed chairs and several video screens. Around this table, in some fashion sat the other occupants of the hall…

Major General James Erwin, Jason’s father and the head of the highly secret, clandestine U.S. Army unit “Operations Group Omega”, or Omega Force as it was more commonly referred to, that dealt with just about any threat imaginable to the security of the United States, was visible on one screen, looking sharp, conservative and severe as usual in his own olive-green uniform that matched his own mahogany brown complexion. His usually taciturn countenance seemed softened by the presence of his handsome wife, Ariel, High Priestess of the Wiccan Coven of Light. The middle-aged woman radiated a much more relaxed, matronly presence around her that seemed to contrast with General Erwin’s stern bearing. On another video screen sat none other than the chief executive officers of Xanatos Enterprises, David Xanatos and his wife, Fox. Although he appeared as sharp and immaculate as always with his finely trimmed dark beard and mustache, David appeared to be more stressed and worried than normal that evening, in contrast to the highly intelligent and observant demeanor he normally wore. It seemed to be due in part to the woman that he shared both the video screen and his life with, his wife Fox, appeared to be in a much more worried state than he. The auburn-haired beauty with the unique tattoo of a fox over her right eye had a distraught look on her face. Indeed, the normally cool and calm woman appeared unusually distressed.

Slightly away from the table, almost appearing like a mystical vision, images of the twin rulers of the fabled land of Avalon, Morganne Le Fey and Nimue, illuminated the chamber. The dark-haired sorceress of Arthurian legend and the golden-haired mystic who was the legendary Lady of the Lake appeared in their astral forms, their feet not even touching the ground as one could just barely see through their ethereal forms, although it did nothing to diminish the pair’s striking beauty. Another brunette-haired woman who appeared near the women, but was in fact an incredibly lifelike hologram projected by a hidden camera, sat near Morganne, her own beauty nearly usurping that of the other two women. Morgaine Le Fey, the present ruler of Liechtenstein, Sorceress Supreme of Earth and daughter of none other than Morganne and Merlin, appeared to be sitting demurely in a chair with her legs crossed, her incredibly voluptuous form dressed in the skintight blue and crimson Dreadnaught armor that she herself had designed, the thousands of miniature iron segments that composed the armor’s outer layer almost appearing to shine with a life of their own.

At the table in the great hall sat three other women who were quite real and in the flesh. Gabrielle, the ancient Immortal Queen of the Amazons, Battling Bard and onetime companion of the fabled Greek heroine Xena, was dressed in a more casual fashion, her sweet, almost innocent-looking face and doe-like eyes capped by closely-cropped blonde hair that was feathered at the back. In spite of her deceptively petite appearance, one almost sensed she possessed the strength and power of a lioness as she sat easily in her chair. Next to her sat her longtime companion, battle-mate and current lover, Sonja. The six-foot two-inch tall buxom, angelic-looking warrior whose hair was the color of a raging fire had her hand intertwined with Gabrielle’s in a subtle manner. Though few seemed to truly know just where Sonja originally hailed from, it was generally known that she was ancient, far older than Gabrielle. Any more questions about her past were normally brushed aside and forgotten after a glare and a deadly growl from the fiery-haired woman, whose beauty was surpassed by the awesome power and wrath she displayed in combat.

Finally at the head of the table, next to Jason’s seat, sat the Director of Avalon Force, and member of the United States of America’s National Security Council, the Dopkalfar demi-goddess Cathubodia, known in her human guise and often referred to as Catherine Merwin, Jason’s betrothed. Her silver hair framed a delicate face, dark luminous orbs that belied immense power in their depths, and charcoal-black features that were strikingly beautiful, yet were creased with worry. Her slender frame was dressed in a fashionable Givenchy business suit that fit her well, although it did appear somewhat unusual, considering that she did not presently use her glamour ability to present the illusion of her human disguise but rather appeared in her normal form as one of the feared and fabled dark elves of Norse legend.

“Thank you all for coming at this hour, ladies and gentlemen,” Cathubodia announced regally from the head of the long table. “I know it is late and you wish to retire, but unfortunately, as you may have heard, we have a new situation that has arisen. Please, be seated.”

“Well, I reckon everyone figured you weren’t calling us at this hour just to spit and holler howdy, Cath,” John muttered, attempting to mask the discomfort he felt in the presence of his former flame Morgaine, who had quickly stolen a glance at him before quickly averting her eyes elsewhere.

“Your reasoning is as acute and eloquent as always, Captain Roper,” Cathubodia noted in a dry, slightly amused tone as the other agents found their respective seats along the table. John likewise found his own seat between Alana and Tory, and once again briefly found himself wondering if he was naturally attracted to redheads. He knew that wasn’t entirely the case though, as he found himself stealing another look at Morgaine.

He almost felt tempted to at least try to say hello to her, to the woman that was one of the most powerful sorceresses on earth, as well as an object of unattainable desire by many a man that had gazed upon her, but the icy glare from the sorceress’s mother Morganne appeared determined to quell any such notion. Instead the mercenary quietly resigned himself to drawing the cigar from his jacket that he’d meant to smoke earlier before he began to search once again for a match. His attempt to keep himself busy didn’t stop him from remembering that one sentence Morgaine had uttered to him so long ago: It was only several years ago in fact, with the two of them alone in an apartment in New York in the winter of ’95. Snow was falling outside as the two had their bodies pressed against each other after an evening of ferocious, uninhibited lovemaking that was meant to be their last time, before Morgaine whispered a tear-streaked confession to him…

And then a sniper’s bullet shattered the window behind her, entering and exiting through her right abdomen, splattering his face with her blood…

The Immortal blinked once, then twice before he regained his surroundings. He noticed Cathubodia, who sat across the table and gazed at him with a look of concern. John quietly waved her off then resumed searching through his jacket for a match. With no luck, he quietly cursed to himself before Alana easily leaned over and crooked out her index finger, from which spouted a small flame that danced on her fingertip, as though by magic, or magick as Alana and the other spellcasters usually referred to it. John gratefully leaned over to light his cigar, only to have Alana yank her finger away.

“Do you promise to not be a grouch and be a good puppy?” Alana inquired in a slightly teasing voice, although the expression in her emerald eyes indicated she was dead serious. Duncan likewise fixed John with his own stern gaze as well.

John almost appeared ready to belt out a retort before he controlled his tongue. “I promise…for now.”

The homo magus laughed musically at him. “I’m just kidding, John. I’ll take your word…for now,” she said in a perky fashion, apparently hoping to brighten his spirits before crooking out her finger again to light his cigar. The Immortal mercenary quietly tipped his cigar to her and Reed before relaxing in his chair. Opposite from him, Sadie proceeded to light a cigarette with a silver lighter before quietly withdrawing it, then blowing a small cloud of smoke into the air, followed by Aleksandr who’d lit one of his own. The other agents settled down while Jason did likewise next to his Cath, taking one of her delicate charcoal-colored hands and intertwining her fingers with his own while the silver helm of the ancient Lemurian mystic, Nimbus, sat nearby on the table next to Jason, ready for action.

“Do you take that fancy spittoon of yours to the john, too, Jace?” John inquired sarcastically, knowing that Jason was rarely, if ever seen without it. Of course, he knew better. When Jason had been with the Army Rangers during the Gulf War, the young officer along with John and several others had stumbled upon a forgotten tomb at an archaeological site deep within the Iraqi desert that had been the intense focus of not only several archaeologists, but a battalion of Saddam Hussein’s Republican Guards as well. After a fierce firefight and the discovery of the tomb, Jason donned the silver helm in wonder, only to find himself transformed into the ancient powerful being known as Nimbus.

“That ‘fancy spittoon’ as you call it, saved your life, John,” Jason noted quietly. It wasn’t long after they’d exited the tomb that they had found themselves caught in the middle of a different kind of war between the fabled djinn, mysterious beings of Arabic lore tasked with guarding the tomb, and a cabal of necromancers aided by an army of undead monstrosities that had sought to claim the helmet for their own. Had it not been for the intervention of Nimbus, none of them would have survived.

“Of course,” John muttered lowly. “I just wish I could say the same for everyone else,” The raid, though successful had come at a cost: Half the Ranger team along with a third of a British SAS team didn’t come home.

“Ahem, if we are ALL situated,” Cath said with a raised, well-groomed eyebrow toward Jason and John, before turning to regard the others in the room, “then I shall relinquish the floor to General Erwin. General?”

General Erwin nodded gravely. “Thank you, Catherine. As you may already know, at about twenty-two forty-five Eastern Standard Time earlier tonight, there was a massive explosion at the Port Newark-Elizabeth Marine Terminal, situated in the New York Harbor area. From what we know thus far, the explosion originated from the Aruj, an Algerian merchant vessel that had just docked that evening after sailing in from the port of Le Havre in

France

. The cause of the explosion remains unknown at this time, however it was apparently powerful enough to literally rip the ship in half and cause immense structural damage to the pier. Two of our Omega teams made an attempt to investigate the wreckage before law enforcement and emergency crews began to appear. So far, according to our teams and from what we’ve gathered from listening to the emergency dispatch reports, there appears to be significant casualties involving the ship’s crew, who remain mostly unaccounted for. Unfortunately we also have several Port Authority officers who are also either dead or missing as well.” The army general nodded on the video screen toward Fox and David. “Mr. and Mrs. Xanatos, would you tell the other agents what you currently know please?”

David shared a look with his wife Fox, who took a deep breath before nodding to her husband then turned to address the assembled agents. “Yesterday, I received a phone call from a distant relative of my family, Jacques Renard.”

“Jacques Renard…I’ve heard of that name before but I can’t place it at the moment.” Duncan said.

Fox nodded. “He was an archaeological professor attached to the Louvre museum in Paris. He was…somewhat like yourself, Mr. Duncan. He was quite fascinated by rather obscure aspects of mythology and ancient cultures. Unfortunately…he was not on very good terms with other members of the family, including myself.”

After some puzzled looks from the agents, Gabrielle took up the thread. “What Fox means to say, is that unfortunately Professor Renard’s methods of research, along with some of his peculiar viewpoints, were drastically opposed to those shared by the established authorities of academia. Also, his methods of acquiring archaeological evidence didn’t always agree with either the Louvre or most other museums as he tended to take a much more aggressive approach. In fact he was associated on several occasions with Lady Lara Croft, or who some refer to as the ‘Tomb Raider’, where they apparently went on several expeditions together.”

Fox nodded her thanks to Gabrielle. “Yes, that’s correct. However, from what I know he and Lara had some sort of disagreement and the two disassociated with each other. Jacques’s subsequent forays into…well, increasingly bizarre subjects became a bone of contention for most other scholars and an embarrassment to the Renard family. So…my family tried to put some distance between him and us.”

“In other words you didn’t want some poor bastard like this Renard fellow to sully your family’s precious reputation,” John noted sarcastically.

Both David and Fox glared at John with murderous intent in their eyes, while he stared them down with his cigar clenched between his fingers. The other agents said nothing for several moments, well aware of the tension between the Immortal mercenary and the Xanatos family.

“I believe my wife had the floor, Mr. Roper,” David replied in a frosty voice, his steely eyes boring into John. “If you are actually a graduate of West Point as your record claims, may I strongly suggest you exercise some of the etiquette you learned there and allow my wife to continue?”

The Immortal took a long, slow puff from his cigar before forcefully exhaling in their direction. “You called me ‘Mister,’ David? What a switch! Usually you call me a ‘son of a bitch…’”

“Those words sum up my feelings toward you exactly, Captain,” Fox shot back with a hiss.

“Oh cousin, by all means, pray continue,” Morganne purred in a deadly voice as she shot her own ice-cold gaze at the soldier of fortune, pretending not to notice the torn expression on her daughter’s exquisite face. “I believe you should also add the term, ‘utter failure’ as well…”

“Hey!” Tory snapped, coming to her friend’s defense. “Why don’t you two just take your bitchy ’tudes and shove ‘em—”

“That will be ENOUGH!” Cathubodia said, her voice, while spoken lowly was laced with authority as it carried throughout the hall, bringing the bickering to a sudden end. Everyone stopped and paused to take in the Dopkalfar demi-goddess at the head of the table, her eyes boring into David, then Fox, followed by Morganne, Tory and finally John. “You may continue, Mrs. Xanatos, after you apologize for the uncalled remarks directed toward one of my agents,” she said in a tone that brooked no room for argument.

“Please forgive me, Cathubodia,” Fox demurred. After Cath nodded regally toward her, Fox offered a contrite apology to Roper and continued her briefing in a softer tone of voice. “As I was saying, Jacques had for a long while little contact with the rest of the Renard family, other than me.” A reminiscent look flashed across her youthful face, along with a hint of a smile. “Jacques was actually…when I was young, he was almost like an uncle to me. Where other members of the family wanted me to be prim and proper, Jacques always encouraged me to live my life the way I liked. No matter what others said…he was always there for me.” The smile faded away to a look that showed her inner conflict and guilt. David, ever so gently appeared to strengthen his grip on Fox’s hand in a comforting gesture. After a deep breath, Fox continued. “Unfortunately, as I said, things changed. We grew apart, I married David and became one of the CEO’s of Xanatos Enterprises, and Jacques continued to irritate his colleagues and the Louvre with his increasingly bizarre exploits, to the extent that his certification as a Professor was undergoing review by the board. And then, last week I…that is, my office received a phone call from him, from Paris.”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Xanatos?” General Erwin’s deep baritone voice rang forth. “Would it be alright if you were to play that message again for us, please?”

After a moment passed, Fox and her husband both nodded reluctantly. The female head of Xanatos Industries manipulated a keyboard offscreen, before a faint crackle of static and a single beep could be heard. “This was recorded on my answering machine.” The machine then began to play…

“Hello? Hello, Fox, are you there?” A French-accented voice, highly educated and spoken in proper English, came over the speaker. The tone appeared strained, frantic as the unseen speaker appeared to whisper his words. “Oh please, ma petit, I pray to God you are there, or you will pick this up soon. There is no time, I…oh mon dieu, what have I done?” The speaker choked back a sob before he continued. “If you are listening to this, please, do not hang up, I beg of you. Please listen, I am mailing what notes and photos I have of a recent expedition I undertook while I was on the Kola Peninsula. Now, understand, I know my quests as of late have become an embarrassment to you and the family, but please believe me when I say this was no ordinary expedition…I, oh God…this was something that was never meant to be found…what have I done?”

Cath quietly pressed a button on a laptop interface next to her and addressed the agents. “It is not yet clear what exactly Jacques Renard was talking about, however a package containing various documents was mailed to Mrs. Xanatos. A courier was on his way to deliver the contents, when apparently she was…decapitated.”

The Dopkalfar nodded. “Yes. The incident appeared to have occurred a block away from Xanatos Castle. From what we can tell, the decapitation occurred around three a.m., and involved a singular powerful blow to the neck with a sharp, large-bladed weapon. We have a photo of the crime scene here,” she noted, stroking a few keys on the panel before her, which brought up a holographic image of a grisly scene. The headless corpse of what had been a well-dressed woman was laid out on the snowy ground, arms laid out wide like a gruesome imitation of a snow angel. A large dark crimson pool had formed around where the woman’s severed neck was, the coagulated arterial blood forming a sharp contrast to the snow. “One clean cut, one might say,” the dark elf demigoddess added, looking pointedly at Gabrielle, Sonja and finally, John once again.

“No, John,” the Immortal Amazon replied quietly, shaking her head, “she was mortal, I’m afraid. The police identified her as Lisa Murrow, age twenty-eight. She apparently left behind a fiancée.”

The army veteran let out another puff from his cigar, his face impassive and subdued. “Guess that rules out the Game then, obviously.”

“Thank you, Captain Roper for that illuminating insight,” Fox shot back with a trace of her usual venom. After a furious glare from Cathubodia however, the woman became silent again.

“The majority of the courier’s package was apparently stolen by the perpetrator,” Cathubodia continued, “but not all, as he, or she was spotted by an NYPD officer picking up the various contents from the ground as they had been spilled all around in the attack. The officer was unable to accurately describe who the perpetrator was other than he appeared to be a tall, dark-cloaked individual with what he believes was long white hair. What we do have, after retrieving them from the NYPD, indicates this: Jacques Renard undertook a particular expedition some time ago to the Pechenga District subdivision in Russia, on the Kola Peninsula.”

The Dopkalfar glared momentarily at the fellow AF agent, who quietly mouthed “sorry” before she continued. “It seems that he, along with some other colleagues, was excavating an apparent Megalithic site on a rocky mount along the coast. After spending some time at this site, they appeared to have found the base of some sort of stone that appeared rather unique to the site. However, it was noted that only the base of the stone itself remained, the rest of the pieces to this particular stone, referred to in some obscure notes as the ‘Black Monolith’ appeared to be missing. His notes then went into detail about finding clues to the whereabouts of the missing pieces, obtained through historical research and study into the folklore of the area.”

The Director’s eyes then narrowed slightly. “However, from what inquiries we have made thus far, it seems the excavation came to an immediate halt after a mysterious…accident occurred that apparently claimed the lives of two of Jacques Renard’s colleagues. Strangely enough, it appears not long after this had occurred, Mr. Renard was contacted by an unknown party who was interested in the findings at the site. Soon he later went on another expedition, this time to a cave believed to be a Viking tomb situated in

Estonia

, where it is believed he found one of the fragments of the Monolith.” She typed another command into the laptop and soon, the holographic cameras positioned overhead beamed an image similar to what Alana and Reed had shown the group earlier, along with another one. The second image showed what appeared to be a large rocky mount, overgrown with green brush and trees set against a forlorn backdrop of lonely tree-studded hills complete with a gray sky, with the lowly jagged remains of crumbing fortifications and a glimpse of the chilly waters of the Barents Sea in the background. Crowning the ancient fortified mount sat four oddly shaped stone pillars, all of them equally spaced around several concentric circles of small, flat stone embedded into the ground. At the center was the jagged base of a rock that partially jutted out of the ground, fresh earth hewn around it showing evidence of a recent dig. “Reed, Alana, would you have any comments to provide from your own research thus far?”

“Well, as far as the runes are concerned,” Alana noted, “they’re too fragmented and incomplete to form any comprehensible sentence at this point from the picture of the one piece we have, other than one particular phrase; ‘For all Death becomes unto me’.”

“Ooookay, I’m already starting to feel a little creeped out,” Tory muttered.

Reed coughed and cleared his throat. “Well, I must say I find it rather odd that this stone would be connected to this particular site. In fact, I’m not sure if I would readily believe it is. Rune stones of this type, if that is what the photograph of this particular piece suggests, were not found at least until around the time of the first known written evidence of the Elder Futhark alphabet, in which case the earliest known examples date from the Second Century A.D. This site, if from what I was told correctly according to carbon dating that was performed on other artifacts found in the area, dates back at least to the Thirteenth Century B.C.”

Cath nodded gravely. “True, perhaps. The ruined fortifications you see in the background is a rather rare surviving example of what appears to be a Viking ring castle, supposedly dating from around 1000 A.D. or so. But we also discovered in the notes that carbon dating was supposedly performed on a bone fragment found at the site. The results came back matching the age of other particular artifacts excavated at the stone site itself, which date back much earlier.” She allowed that last sentence to sink in among everyone assembled.

Tomas sighed impatiently. “Enough with the ‘cryptic lass’ bit, Cath! Let us in on the gag, already, will you?” the shadow-demon inquired in his usual irreverent manner.

The Director of Avalon Force took a deep breath then exhaled. “I believe, based on what we have learned, that this artifact may, in fact, be Dopkalfar in origin.”

At that, Tomas’ eyes opened wide. “Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice soft and low.

The assembled agents all quickly shot looks back and forth at one another, before Tory broke the silence. “Whoa, slow down a minute there, Cath. Everyone knows you’re the numero uno authority on dark elf stuff, but where’d you get THAT idea?” She waved a hand at the holographic images that continued to shimmer over the table. “I mean, with all due respect, especially in regards to the Russians, this could just be some sort of elaborate hoax, no offense.”

“Agent Simmons, we cannot afford to assume it is a hoax,” Nimue noted gently yet firmly, the warm accent of the golden-haired sorceress emanating from her astral form. “Obviously you realize the implications of this. There are very few, if any remnants of the Dopkalfar’s incursions into the Earth realm remaining to this day, so this find, if true, would indeed be significant.”

“A bloody Dopkalfar artifact?” Sadie asked incredulously, apparently trying to resist the urge to flounce good social graces and spit. “That’s the last bloody thing we need right now,” she added darkly. She then shot a quick glance at Catherine. “No offense intended, Cath,” she added quickly.

“None taken, Sadie,” the Dopkalfar demi-goddess noted softly. Then she narrowed her eyes at the half-elf and growled, “However, the night is still young, so have a care.” That comment caused the youthful-looking witch’s mouth to go dry. Then Cathubodia, her superiority reasserted, turned to regard the other agents and guests. ”I wish this ‘Black Monolith’ was a ruse, but with everything that has occurred thus far, I see no reason to believe so. The runes, how they are written, along with the stone itself which is made of obsidian, the other symbols carved into this particular shard…it all bears a resemblance to certain wyrding stones of immense power, used for certain rituals amongst the various priestesses and magicians of the…my race, the Dopkalfar. The rituals, suffice to say, are not normally considered…pleasant by human or Faerie standards.” Cathubodia then noticed the subtle squeeze of her hand by Jason’s own, a comforting gesture that she returned gladly.

Evelyn scratched her chin with a delicate hand in thought. “Hmmm…the question though, is to what particular purpose was this stone, or the site it originated from for that matter, used for?”

“There are several possibilities, lady sorceress,” Morganne replied, her own regal voice laced with power and authority. “Wyrding stones, or rune stones of this nature, may have been utilized for any number of rituals. Fertility rites, rites celebrating the passing or birthing of seasons and deities, empowerment of those who worshipped such deities, these are just a few of the possibilities. Of course, the Dopkalfar and their own rituals, dedicated to those such as the Spider Queen, Lolith, are as Cathubodia said, most unpleasant, often involving the sacrifice of human flesh…and souls.”

“Well, to quote the Americans, it seems they were hardly ‘traipsing through the tulips’ if that were the case,” Aleksander grunted from his seat.

Morganne raised an eyebrow at Aleksander’s comment before continuing. “However, the most significant aspect of this would be that such a stone, when used in places of power such as this particular dolmen, may also be used to summon or contain beings of immense power, such as various higher-level demons, elementals, Faerie lords, and deities…”

“Which of course explains the apparent…interest in this artifact,” Nimue finished softly.

“Director?” The demi-goddess turned to regard the Czech psychic Ansastasia. “What happened to Jacques Renard?”

After a brief look from Fox Xanatos, who gave a reluctant nod, Cath pressed a button on her laptop and the earlier recorded message from Jacques Renard continued, albeit the Frenchman’s voice sounded somehow even more panicked and stressed. “But it’s too late for that now, for me. I only hope and pray that it is not too late for you ma petit, or for anyone else. But there is hope yet. I…I sent what they are looking for, the artifact away from them. I had the artifact transported aboard an Algerian merchant vessel, the Aruj. I did this several days ago in fact. They trusted me, they did. They said I would be richly rewarded for my trust in them, and now…they know I have betrayed them, oh god.” More sobbing over the speaker could be heard before Jacques continued. “They will come for me, they know, it’s only a matter of time. Get the artifact immediately when the ship docks at New York Harbor. It will be arriving at the Port Newark-Elizabeth Marine Terminal, with specific instructions to deliver the contents of the crate, the artifact directly to you. And study my notes. That is all I can say.” There was suddenly the sound of a distant crashing, then a loud boom, like the sound of something pounding against stout wood. The sound began to repeat itself, growing in intensity as Jacques spoke again, his voice cracking with emotion, yet sounding like one uttering his final epitaph. “Fox…I know we grew so far apart, but know that I never stopped loving you like a daughter…and I…” There was then suddenly a loud crash accompanied with what sounded like wood splintering asunder, then the Frenchman’s frightened, panicked voice. “No, no please, stop! I…” His voice then turned into a bloodcurdling scream, before the connection was abruptly terminated.

Silence hung over the hall for several minutes, save for the silent weeping of Fox, who was being comforted by her husband. The agents and others who sat or stood around the table were quiet, grim expressions on all their faces. None of them needed to be psychic to guess what probably happened next…

General Erwin gently cleared his throat. “Not long after the time the message was recorded, the Parisian Police Nationale received an emergency call from security at the Louvre Museum at about twenty-two thirty local time.” The General activated a switch hidden from view and several more holographic cameras swiveled toward the table. “According to our intel sources, when police arrived at the museum…they found this.” Several more images appeared. The first seemed to resemble an office of some kind, or at least, it had been an office before what seemed like a tornado had ripped through it. The doors appeared to have been torn right off their hinges and lay on the ground in splintered fragments. Smashed furniture and papers littered the entire place…along with a pool of congealed blood on the floor. Another image appeared, showing a visible crimson trail of blood leading down a hallway, as though someone or something had been dragged from the office. A third image appeared showing the trail of gore leading into one of the Louvre’s main art galleries, with numerous paintings and busts in full view positioned along the marble walls. The trail seemed to come to an abrupt halt within one circular room, with several blood splatters on the tiled floor…before a final image appeared.

Wide swaths of blood were plastered across the entire length of the domed roof of the room…and walls…and the tiled floor. Faint bits of discolored gore, possibly flesh, hair or bone was mixed with the blood forming a gruesome cocktail. Oddly enough, the paintings and busts were mostly untouched by the gore, as though whoever had perpetrated the atrocity seemed to have had a discriminating eye. Indeed, it appeared some of the gore was raked along the walls in a fashion as where it almost seemed to frame several watercolor paintings, as though done by some macabre brush.

“Shit,” Tory whispered, her tone sounding almost like her voice belonged to a terrified little girl. Marina’s lip set in a grim line at the sight of the grotesque spectacle, before gently squeezing the hand of the redheaded mutant hacker who sat next to her, offering some comfort.

“James?” Ariel’s own motherly, concerned voice was heard as she addressed her husband. “I think they’ve seen enough,” the Wiccan Priestess noted softly, gesturing with her eyes to where Fox had her gaze averted, appearing to struggle with conflicted emotions on her face while her husband sat silently. Nodding his assent, the General punched a button and the assembled holographic images overhead faded from view.

“From what we know, the French Police Nationale is treating this as a crime scene,” Gabrielle said softly, sparing a moment to gaze sympathetically at Fox before continuing. “The problem is…no body has been found yet, so they’re not yet treating this as a homicide, although we can only assume the worst.”

“Another problem that compounds this,” Sonja spoke with a slight growl, like the well-honed predator that she was, “is that Jacques was under investigation by numerous sources. The Russians were attempting to hold Jacques for questioning in relation to the murders that occurred up in Pechenga District, in spite of some of the confusion with the recent upheaval in regards to Boris Yeltsin’s death and Vladimir Putin taking over last year. The Estonian authorities were also claiming that Jacques retrieved the artifact from their country without permission and were demanding to have it returned. Interpol it seems was also about to be involved when this happened. Unfortunately, from what we can tell thus far, the French appear to be treating this more as some sort of elaborate scam in order to allow Professor Renard to go into hiding and make everyone presume he is dead…due to the fact, as Gabrielle mentioned, there’s been no sign of his body anywhere, other than the considerable amount of blood.”

The room was quiet for a moment, save for the popping of wood from the large fireplace, before David Xanatos took up the thread. “When Fox told me of what happened, and fearing the worst, I acted immediately,” David said as he quietly comforted his wife. “I had one of my personal security teams sent out to the pier where the Aruj was to dock, with orders to retrieve the artifact immediately and bring it to Xanatos Castle. Of course, we did notify General Erwin and his unit of what was taking place…”

“Of course it would have been wiser if you’d notify us sooner beforehand, and proper procedure would be to turn the artifact over to either Omega or Avalon Force immediately,” General Erwin growled.

David glared at General Erwin momentarily. “Regardless, everything seemed to be going well and the head of the security team reported a small crate containing the item in question was being unloaded onto the pier. Then…all hell broke loose.” The co-director of Xanatos Enterprises cleared his throat. “I heard screams, gunfire, confusion coming from all the security team’s comm links. The team leader reported that they were under attack by…something. Then everything went dead.”

“Two Pave Hawks and an Osprey loaded with heavy weapons and Omega Force teams were en route,” General Erwin added. “This was recorded when they had just reached the vicinity of New York Harbor.” The video screen of James and his wife Ariel winked out momentarily, replaced with the black, white and gray video screen of what appeared to be a FLIR thermal video recording taken from one of the aircraft. White blooms from numerous heat sources could be seen pulsing in and out of focus against the cold, darkened background of numerous buildings. The chattering of several pilots could be heard in the background.

“Papa Bear, this is Lima Five-Six, we are over the Battery, ETA to rendezvous point fifteen seconds.”

“Roger Lima Five-Six, proceed to rendezvous point and secure the package, proceed with caution, over.”

Suddenly, numerous ghostlike, gray blurs seemed to appear out of nowhere around the ship, moving at near inhuman speed as they crawled along the length of the ship like ants.

Rick O’Connell blinked as he watched the screen along with the other agents. “Just what in the hell is that?”

“Hmmm, over-zealous dock workers, perhaps?” Tomas inquired, only to be met with a round of hostile stares.

The blurry shapes, or whatever they were seemed to move with some diabolical purpose as they seemed to hover momentarily from the sides of the ship, from rails and from the tops of containers like a pack of wolves hunting their prey, then, in one singular motion, they descended on their prey. Several human shapes seemed to go down instantly, with smaller heat blooms shown being ripped from them and being tossed aside, indicating with grim certainty what they probably were. Other human figures on the screen instantly began to point and fire weapons that created miniature heat blooms of their own, while the pilot’s chatter quickly rose in volume.

“Papa Bear, this is Lima Five-Six, we have multiple unidentified hostile Deltas overrunning the target area! Repeat, multiple unidentified hostile Deltas, civilians are being slaughtered, requesting authorization to engage, danger close!”

“Confirmed, Lima Five-Six, you are authorized to engage, weapons free, danger close. Recommend you use the seven-six-two’s and thirty mike-mike’s to minimize civilian losses, over.”

“Affirmative, Papa Bear.” A target crosshairs soon appeared on the screen and appeared to track several targets, while the remaining civilians seemed to fall rapidly to the gruesome assault by the unknown assailants. “Tracking multiple targets, engaging—SHIT!” The entire screen seemed to go momentarily white, then faded as the merchant ship itself was ripped in half by a large explosion in the form of a fireball that seemed to elevate toward the sky.

“The Pave Hawks and the Osprey managed to hover around the area for a few minutes before they were forced to veer off when emergency vehicles showed up,” General Erwin noted. “What the pilots saw with their own eyes more or less looked like this.” The screen flickered again, this time switching to what appeared to be a live feed of pure devastation.

The cracked remains of the ship could be seen, rendered asunder as though torn apart by an angry giant, surrounded by a lake of fire resulting from the leaking flammable fuel that had spilled out. Nearly a dozen emergency ships and helicopters were seen around the flaming wreckage, valiantly trying to put the flames out. A pier that seemed to run alongside the remains of the ship showed signs of structural damage from the explosion, while steel containers were smashed and carelessly tossed all over the place. Among the carnage, twisted and mangled remains of various bodies were seen, many of them charred black and smoking…

The video was replaced by the grim face of the General and his wife. “So far, no survivors have been found…and no sign of the artifact, either. According to the CIA and DIA, the Aruj was suspected of running black market weapons to various customers in ports throughout North Africa, so it’s possible that weapons and munitions were on the ship, but we don’t think it would have caused an explosion of this magnitude. The Algerian government is, of course noticeably upset, but with their own hands tied up with the civil war that’s continuing to flare up within their borders, it’s doubtful they’ll take any action other than lodge a protest and demand an explanation. Since this ship originated from the French port of Le Havre, we suspect GIGN will also be monitoring the investigation. As for the investigation itself, it’ll probably be handled by the NYPD and FBI, though it’s possible there’ll be jurisdiction fights with the Defense Threat Reduction Agency or even the ATF, depending on just what story gets spun to the press.”

“Just tell me those…things we saw on the screen weren’t mummies, pretty please?” Rick O’Connell, the immortal maji warrior asked with a sigh, pinching his nose with his fingers.

Rick gazed at his estranged wife with a nonplussed look. “Really? Then what exactly were they, Evelyn?”

“They definitely appeared more like summoned demonic creatures of some kind, especially with how they seemed to materialize out of thin air. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if this particular incident was the work of some high-level magician or sorceress, most likely extremely dangerous if he or she could pull off something like this. So please, Mister O’Connell, try to use your powers of deduction a bit more next time and quit thinking that every major supernatural evil involves mummies!” Evelyn added the last sentence with particular emphasis.

Rick’s expression didn’t change at all. “Oh, right, gotta act more politically correct since you happen to be a mummy yourself now, more or less.” The mercenary explorer sighed. “Whatever.”

Evelyn’s dark eyes narrowed, with seeming hints of golden energy sparkling within their depths. “You are a rude man with no manners, Rick O’Connell, and you had better be—“

“Agents Carnahan and O’Connell?” Cathubodia spoke, sounding both firm and annoyed which brought the couple’s bickering to a halt. “You would do well for yourselves and the rest of us if you could keep your marital disagreements outside and away from the affairs of this organization, thank you very much.” Something within the Dopkalfar demigoddess’s voice indicated just how strongly she meant that. After a moment, Rick and Evelyn became silent once again and nodded their acquiescence.

“As I was about to say, there are complications that I must deal with, of course,” Cath noted with a small sigh. “The American agencies should not be a problem; I will handle that. But the various other foreign interests involved, along with any others that may become interested, may be a bit more troublesome in this matter. However, as they say, ‘we will cross that bridge when we come to it’.” The other agents nodded in agreement.

“There is also another thing that Cath and I wanted to address with you,” Gabrielle added. “Shortly before Jacques’s unfortunate death, there was an unauthorized intrusion into the Louvre museum’s security grid,” the Queen of the Amazon Nation pointed out with emphasis. “It appears that it was a security hack, utilizing the computer network. The museum’s entire grid of CCTV cameras, infrared motion sensors and alarms along with its main security command center were brought down in rapid succession.” The blonde Immortal now had her gaze fixed on Tory, who listened intently. “Whoever the unknown party was that killed Jacques Renard, he, she, or it, they had an unidentified hacker or hackers working with them to bring down the museum’s electronic security apparatus, meaning that museum security has no images or details whatsoever of who or what may have perpetrated this.”

“What about the hack itself?” Tory inquired, now extremely curious about this development. “Have the French authorities been able to piece together anything from that?”

Gabrielle nodded. “It seems this unknown hacker exploited a back door of sorts through their computer network, using some type of worm or virus program to crash their system. Luckily enough, their computer and cyberwarfare specialists were able to perform a traceroute of where the hack appears to have originated. They traced it to a local server found here in the States, frequented by about a dozen websites. One of these happens to be a particular website run by someone located in a California town called Sunnydale. Another happens to be owned by three rather infamous hackers known in certain circles as…The Lone Gunmen.”

At that, Tory’s eyes opened wide. Then she held up her hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on a cotton-picking minute there, your Royal Blondness!” Tory’s nickname for the Amazon Queen brought a raised eyebrow from both Gabrielle and the tall busty redhead who sat beside her. “The Gunmen? I don’t think so! Those boys don’t exactly fit the profile of your run-of-the-mill psycho ‘let’s-go-play-Doom-in-real-life-and-waste-a-bunch-of-helpless-schmoes.’ They’re more like self-styled countercultural tinfoil-hat conspiracists than anything else. They’re not exactly spic and span, but the stuff they usually do includes exposing so-called conspiracies, hacking government websites, posting news bits about weird paranormal phenomenon, that sort of thing. But conspiring to murder and actually getting involved in weird hoodoo crap? It doesn’t fit their bill.” Then Tory, allowed a little self-conscious look to flash across her face, and added, “And, uh, and I’m not defending them just because I occasionally post on their web forums, or anything…”

“Actually, Tory, to be accurate, this does not appear to involve ‘hoodoo crap,’” Marina added helpfully, “rather, it seems to involve…”

“It’s just a freaking EXPRESSION, Dangergirl!” Tory shrieked just before she noticed the looks she received from the other agents.

“As my companion was about to say,” Sonja spoke as she shot a bemused expression at Tory, “these two websites in particular appear to be significant, with the one concerning the Lone Gunmen for obvious reasons, and the other…well, this site does originate from Sunnydale, a.k.a. Boca Del Infierno, the Hellmouth. As you all know, there are currently several active, semi-active or dormant dimensional gateways to the underworld, including the Nine Circles of Hell, active around the world. The most active one in North America now resides beneath Sunnydale, California, a university and shipping town of about 76,000 people situated along the West Coast in the northern area of the county of San Luis Obispo, about halfway between San Francisco and Los Angeles. Up until the 1981 Salem Hellmouth Incident, the most active Hellmouth in North America was in fact…well, what we’re sitting over right now.” She gazed down at her feet momentarily, as though seeing through the floor beneath. Everyone knew she was telling the truth however. One of the biggest reasons for the number of weird and macabre tales surrounding New England, particularly Salem and Specter Island, was that there was indeed a Hellmouth situated within the forbidding caves running deep underneath Ravenscroft Manor.

The Amazon Queen glanced sideways at her Immortal lover with a faux look of astonishment on her face. “Why, Sonja, you’re very much on top of things, I’m impressed!” She flashed a mischievous smirk. “Maybe you can keep this up as part of a new trend.”

Sonja turned and growled at her Immortal battle and soul mate. “You are begging for a spanking, little lady.”

“Really? That sounds kinky, I’ll hold you to that,” Gabrielle whispered back, bringing a frown along with a glint of anticipation in the ancient Immortal’s sapphire eyes.

“Right…’was’ being the operating word in regards to the bloody thing this manor sits over,” Sadie noted with a sigh. “Of course, that’s assuming it doesn’t become active again and spews out every sodding denizen of Hell…and that a crazy pillock, or gods forbid a whole inbred clan of them doesn’t get the idea they can actually control the damn thing.” The half-Sidhe’s words rang well and true; her family along with several others had been divided in a struggle between those who had sought to contain the Hellmouth, and those who had sought to control it for their own purposes for no less than three centuries, if not longer…with her family often caught in the crossfire.

“Again, there should be no reason for concern on that matter, Agent Wilde,” Cath offered in a reassuring tone. “Since the time of the Salem Incident, the Hellmouth here on the island has been sealed permanently and is no longer active in spite of the strong mystical currents that dwell in this place. With the additional safeguards that we have placed over the remnants of the portal, it is unlikely to become active ever again.” Of course, the Dopkalfar demi-goddess spoke with authority on this subject, considering she had personally drawn most of the portal’s malevolent energies into her own being during the battle, permanently closing the portal several decades ago.

Sadie nodded with a bit of relief, though her face remained creased with worry. “Of course, Cathubodia, you’re right.” Her enchanting amber eyes then regarded the Amazon Queen and her consort. “My apologies for the interruption, your Majesty, and milady; pray, continue.”

Gabrielle once again cocked an eyebrow. “’Your Majesty’? My, if I didn’t know better, Lady Wilde, your latent aristocracy is showing. Surprises galore tonight, indeed,” she purred softly, bringing a round of chuckles from the other agents while causing Sadie’s cheeks to turn a pretty shade of pink. The Amazon’s face then grew serious again. “However, as I was saying, since the closure of the Hellmouth here on Specter Island, there have been plenty of documented reports of increasing levels of activity coming out of Sunnydale. Although there hasn’t yet been any incidents that we know of that warranted emergency intervention by either Avalon Force or Task Force Omega, there have been some interesting spikes of activity there during the past two years.”

“That’s definitely NOT good,” Tory muttered. “So…this website in Sunnydale, what’s up with that?”

“Well,” Sonja drawled, “from what we know, it seems to be run by a young lady named Willow Miriam Rosenberg, a student currently attending Sunnydale High School. We ran a check on her...she’s a straight-A student with no criminal record or history of mental illness, thus far.” Sonja stroked some keys on another laptop near her, and soon another holographic image appeared over the table…this one showing a winsome-looking redhead in her early teens with a goofy-looking smile, with several scrolling lines of text alongside detailing related information about the young girl.

“Willow Miriam Rosenberg?” David muttered, scratching his bearded chin in thought. “Why does that name sound vaguely familiar?”

Fox gently cleared her throat. “She was one of two child prodigies we were tracking in Sunnydale, David, along with Daniel Osbourne for possible employment in the computer software and R&D departments.”

“Oh.” The male head of Xanatos Industries studied the picture of the redheaded girl and the other scrolling text more closely. “Hmmm…”

“Well, genius or not she doesn’t seem to fit the profile of a psycho demon-worshipper or nutcase,” Tory noted wryly, before noticing once again the other looks pointed her way and held up her hands. “Yeah, yeah, I know, looks can deceive.”

“Well,” the tall redheaded warrior continued, “What is interesting is that this ‘little tree’ has been very active in the hacking arena. Nothing serious for the moment; however, she’s tripped a couple red flags around several databases, including the local Sunnydale police department and the FBI.”

The mutant hacker snorted. “You don’t say, eh? She’s a bit sloppy, but not bad for an amateur. Well, guess I already know what I’m gonna be doing for the next few days, don’t I?”

“Cath,” Ariel asked her “little sister” as she often referred to her as such, though she was far younger by the Dopkalfar’s standards. “This artifact, plus all the activity surrounding it: in your opinion, does it represent a new threat by the Dopkalfar?”

Everyone silently waited for Cath’s eventual response. After taking a deep breath, Catherine shook her head.

“No…at least, I don’t think there appears to be one at the moment. The Dopkalfar in general know full well the consequences if they were to try to launch an inter-dimensional invasion from Haevan to Earth.” The dark elf’s eyes grew extremely cold, seemingly even darker and more opaque as before, as her voice took on a smooth, soft yet deadly tone that sent shivers through several of those assembled. “Were they to attempt to invade against my wishes and those of the Old Gods and the Earth Guardians, they would quickly regret ever making that decision.”

“And yet, with all due respect, Cathubodia,” Morganne demurred, “the possibility that this may indeed be a Dopkalfar threat is very serious indeed. For instance, this interest in such an artifact raises the hackles on the back of my neck!”

Cath sighed. “You would brook no argument from me, Lady Morganne. There may be several gods or goddesses among the Dopkalfar that might try an invasion…assuming they were bold enough to risk such a venture. One possible suspect might be my grandmother, Lolith, the Spider-Queen and Queen of all the other Dopkalfar Gods.”

“What about Vaelun, your clan’s god of war, Cathubodia?” Morgaine asked with a gleam in her eyes. “I would certainly relish testing my mettle against him in battle.”

At that, Jason snorted. “The only way he’d be involved is if he’s grown tired of breathing,” he muttered.

At the confused looks around the table, Cathubodia flashed a ‘Mona Lisa smile’ at everyone and gently squeezed her husband’s hand. “I don’t think he would be a suspect in this case, Morgaine. Besides, I have a notion that my sadistic cousin’s ‘bad boy’ reputation may have piqued your interest in him beyond his combat skills. Suffice it to say, his bondage and domination skills are infamous and most would do well not to experience his tender mercies.”

In response, Morgaine flashed a mischievous smile at them. “Oh, I don’t know…perhaps he and I should compare notes and engage in a ‘cultural exchange’ of sorts?”

At the disturbed looks directed at her daughter around the table, Morganne murmured, “That’s her father’s incubus side rearing its ugly head again!”

Struggling to change the subject, Nimue redirected the conversation. “What about demonic entities? Would there not be a possibility there as well?”

The Dopkalfar nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. I readily admit my brethren have had many…unsavory dealings with those of the infernal realms. However that list I’m afraid is quite long…Belial, Beelzebub, Baal, Lucifer, Baalberith, Thamuz, Leviathan, and Moloch, among others.”

“I would just hope, with all due respect, that your race was not involved in the matters concerning the Ancient Old Ones, Madam Director,” Reed asked with his brow furrowed in a worried expression.

“With the exception of some deluded personas, the majority of my race are thankfully not that desperate or delusional, Agent Duncan,” Cathubodia murmured softly. “Unfortunately, as I said, I can only speak for the majority of my race, which means that it cannot be ruled out either. However, with no further information available to us at this time, we unfortunately have little else to go on…other than one other piece of information that Queen Gabrielle has to share with us.”

The Immortal Battling Bard took up the thread. “Yesterday evening, Sonja and I were contacted by an old friend…that is to say, a very, very old friend, Cassandra.”

“Hold on Gabby,” John interrupted. “Are we talking about THE Cassandra, the Immortal Witch of the Donan Woods here?”

“Fascinating,” Reed noted, his interest piqued more than the rest. “Is it true she was also the Cassandra mentioned in the legend of the Trojan War?”

Sonja chuckled at that. “Oh, she’s been there and done that, plus quite a few other roles, believe me.”

Gabrielle smiled. “That would be an understatement, darling,” she purred softly, in a way that seemed to bring yet another glint of excitement to the lovely sapphire eyes of the tall redhead, before her expression became serious again. “Unfortunately, when Cassandra contacted us, it was more business than pleasure. She said she’d experienced one of her visions, which seemed a bit vague, but this centered around a ‘black monolith rising from the earth and unleashing unimaginable chaos’. But an even more interesting thing she had to say, to quote her, ‘out of chaos, seven women of fate would emerge’. She didn’t give any other specifics though, I’m afraid as to just what those seven women might be.”

“Well, that figures,” Cassidy drawled, his southern accent punctuating every word. “Damn prophecies always do tend to be a bit vague. Did she say anything else?”

Sonja shook her long red mane, the effect almost appearing like a blazing fire itself as it glinted off the light in the hall. “No, other than to say she would contact us again in a few days. She did seem rather paranoid when we spoke to her, however. When we asked if there was a problem, she said she was certain that someone or something was following her, but she was taking the proper precautions.”

A moment of silence passed before Cath turned to face John. “Agent Roper, is there anything you wish to add to this?”

The Immortal army veteran gazed over at the Director of Avalon Force, smoke gently curling up from the ashes on the end of his cigar before he shrugged. “Not much more I can say. I’ve…uh, met Cassandra a few times myself,” he tried to ignore a shared chuckle from Gabrielle and Sonja before going on. “But she always was the type of woman who tended to be a bit cryptic…”

“Among other things,” Tomas inquired with a wicked smirk on his demonic face. “I do believe from what I’ve been told, she’s one of the most beautiful women a man may ever encounter in this world, such that with your own, I would gather, intimate knowledge of her, I probably could not do her justice, you sly, devilish closet-Casanova!”

Attempting to ignore a round of snickering from the other agents, John firmly cleared his throat. “Is there something else you wanted to bring up with me?”

Trying not to laugh at her best friend’s antics, the Dopkalfar kept her regal composure and nodded. “Yes, unfortunately there is, Agent Roper…”

“We would like to know of your…relationship with Alexi Gregof, Agent Roper,” Morganne spoke in a cool, interrogative voice. Meanwhile her daughter Morgaine shot a worried look at her mother.

“Mother, with all due respect, is this truly the proper place and time to ask this? Don’t you think that…”

“I should be asking these questions, Lady Morganne?” Cath finished in a frosty tone, her eyes hooded as she glared momentarily at the sorceress of Avalon. After a moment, Morganne slightly bowed her head in acquiescence, though her expression remained cool.

John however hadn’t torn his gaze from the image of Morganne, glaring at her with his steely eyes. “Now what the hell is this about? My ‘relationship’ as you call it with Alexi is nothing special. We go back a way’s, that’s that.”

“Yes, back to World War Two, if we’re not mistaken,” Cath noted. “However, we are concerned about what he seemed to imply, that he possibly knew of your affiliation with us, or at least with a few of the women assembled here. It should also be worth noting that, according to our observation of your conversation with him, he asked you to travel to the very town of Sunnydale this evening.”

John noticed the stricken looks from the other female agents, particularly Tory, and the concerned expressions on the faces of Gabrielle and Sonja. After inhaling then exhaling a long puff from his cigar, he turned to face Cath. “The gypsies have eyes and ears everywhere, Cath. They’ve probably seen me with a few of the other agents at some point within the last year. And they know of my…mentoring under Gabby and Sonja. So there shouldn’t be any reason to start a shitstorm here. Besides, with security as tight as it is, I doubt they’re any more wiser about the existence of this group than anyone else. As for Sunnydale, well…that town’s been known as one big shithole of trouble for some time, so I don’t think it’s a surprise that he’s asking me to go there to check on someone. For the moment neither he nor his clan have a grudge with me about anything, and I don’t think they’re gonna start one now…it’s not like they don’t have enough problems of their own as is.”

“Perhaps, John,” Morganne purred dangerously. “Or possibly, you had yet another bout of ineptness, and you may have bragged to your dear gypsy friend over one too many glasses of ale at some point about this particular…organization.”

John stared daggers at the sorceress of Avalon, who in turn was just unblinking as she reciprocated. “I have never spilled one fucking secret concerning this group to anyone. And if anyone here has doubts, they can interrogate me however they goddamn please. But I will say this;” his voice rose to a deadly growl not unlike an angry wolf, “If I recall correctly, and do feel free to correct me if I happen to be wrong, the ones here asked me to sign on, not the other way around.”

“Not everyone, John,” Morganne hissed, her eyes ablaze with eldritch magick that began to swirl from within. “Certainly not David, nor Fox, nor a few others, and certainly not me. Were it up to me, your bones would have been left to rot in the jungles of Africa for all I care!”

Morgaine, her face torn with loyalty and grief, gently choked back a sob. “Mother, please don’t say that…”

Nimue, however, appeared furious. “Morganne, this endless squabble between you and John Roper has become pointless,” she growled in an elegant, yet more deadly manner not unlike a wolf. “And mind you, your daughter is present!”

Morganne turned her head to regard the woman who now ruled over and guarded the land of Avalon along with her since the last, fateful days of the era of King Arthur’s Round Table. The sorceress’s beautiful face became momentarily distraught when she noticed the genuine expression of conflicting emotions playing out across her daughter’s face, though her face hardened once again when she turned back to regard the Immortal who glared at her with steely eyes. “I am well aware of my daughter’s feelings in this matter, Nimue,” she said lowly, her voice quivering with silent rage. “Yet I wish to make it clear once again that we are placing in our trust in a man who has failed us once before when we needed him most, and now YOU, Cathubodia,” she continued as she swept her gaze toward the Dopkalfar demi-goddess who peered at her astral form coolly, “are placing your trust in him as well. Ultimately, no matter how well he may perform in the short term, I fear that he will fail you as well.”

“Morganne,” John hissed, his blood boiling as his eyes seemed to blacken with rage, as his free hand came to rest on the hilt of his saber. “You say that again, or bring up Sierra Leone or Africa one more time, and I’ll find a way over to Avalon and gut you like a fucking—“

“ENOUGH, both of you!” Cathubodia snapped, her words ringing throughout the enormous hall with every syllable. “Suffice to say, my patience does have its limits!” Everyone in the hall grew silent again, knowing that the last thing anyone wanted to do was piss off a Dopkalfar demigoddess.

The sound of the fire popping in the fireplace was all that could be heard for several more breaths, before the dark elf priestess turned her focus to Agent Roper and regarded him imperceptibly, while the Immortal smoked his cigar in silence. “Unfortunate as it may be, Captain Roper, Lady Morganne does raise a valid point. You would be wise to exercise greater caution in your contacts with Alexi Gregof in the future. It is also likely not a coincidence that he asked you to venture forth to Sunnydale in regards to this particular matter that he asked you to resolve. However, since there has been increasing levels of activity at that Hellmouth within the past several years, plus the possible connection, however tenuous, between the security intrusion at the Louvre museum and this young Miss Rosenberg, who lives there, then this must be investigated. Suffice to say, Agent Roper, your request to travel to Sunnydale is granted.” The Director then gently lifted her delicate eyebrows momentarily before adding, “However, as I’m certain you already know, it would be inadvisable to travel lightly for this particular foray. Agent Simmons, I trust you can fashion a suitable…package for Agent Roper?”

Agent Tory shrugged in a nonchalant manner. “Sure, we just added some more tweaks to the Hummers, we can send out one of those along with a full load of gear for hard target, wetworks and surveillance ops.”

“Agent Roper will be traveling alone on this assignment,” Cath noted gently yet firmly.

“She’s got a point, Tory,” John noted quietly. “If it’s gonna be a recon or pathfinding mission I’d better go it alone. Having company along might just make it more noticeable and look suspicious.”

“I need you to remain here while Agent Roper travels to Sunnydale, Agent Simmons,” Cath interrupted softly, aware of the affection the hacker held for the Immortal. “Now, if Agent Roper’s mission becomes compromised in any way or should he need additional support, you will be selected along with several other agents to travel to Sunnydale to provide additional support. However, for now you will investigate the cyber intrusion at the Louvre, any possible connections between it and the Lone Gunmen plus Willow Rosenberg, and how this is all connected to the recent events that have occurred, do you understand?” Her tone, while spoken gently, meant there was no room for negotiation in the manner.

The lovely redhead’s face fell, before reluctantly nodding. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Nodding in satisfaction, the Director then turned her attention to Cassidy and Anastasia. “Agent Williams, Agent Provana, the two of you are to travel to Paris and see if you can find any other information on Professor Renard’s whereabouts prior up to the…incident, and see what else the police have found concerning the matter. Use whatever means you deem necessary, but remain subtle. We do not need to alert the French authorities or intelligence services as to our interest in the case.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, Ma’am,” Cassidy replied in his usual polite Southern manner, “Can’t say the same thing about the French though; the only good thing is their wine and cheese, and I ain’t much into neither.”

“Really?” Anastasia inquired in her enticing accent with a raised eyebrow. “Last time we were there you did seem rather ‘into’ those three French girls we found in your room.” A round of snickering went around the table again, as the mustachioed priest coughed. “But Director, what about the incident in New York harbor? Who will investigate that?”

A round of apprehensive looks were exchanged around the table. “Er…Director, Major Merwin…do you think that is wise?” Duncan asked.

Aware that only he, and possibly, Tomas, could detect the heat emanating from his lover’s body which told him she was highly aroused and needed both his and Nimbus’ attentive ministrations soon, away from prying eyes or ears, Jason valiantly tried to ignore the maddening trace of his wife’s fingertips against his palm and said, “I assure you Cath will be in good hands.” Ignoring Tomas’ knowing chuckle, Jason continued. “I suspect that if someone was powerful enough to pull off this much damage in one strike then there’s no telling what they may have left behind. Reed, Alana, the two of you stay here for now and see if you can find any additional information on the artifact. Alek, Sadie, work with Tory and Marina and double check the armory, make sure all our ammunition and gear is up to date and that all the weapons are greased up and good to go. In the meantime we’ve already made arrangements with the NRO to lend us one of their spy birds available over the Kola Peninsula and continue to monitor the area around the archaeological dig, or elsewhere in

Russia

for any signs of suspicious activity. Captain Lipton down in the intel section is also going to conduct frequent clairvoyant sweeps of the area for us as well.”

“Aw believe what she does is still referred to as ‘remote viewing’, sir,” Cassidy corrected.

“Oh, is the good captain down in the caves now?” Tomas inquired with a gleam in his eye. Of course, by the ‘caves’, the shadow demon referred to the enormous subterranean tunnels that ran underneath Ravenscroft Manor where much of the numerous facilities operated jointly by Omega and Avalon Force was held, along with other tunnels that led to more esoteric and in some cases, forbidden places that were sealed off for good reason. But more than anything, Tomas of course referred to Captain Diana Lipton, the tall, stunning brunette telepath and clairvoyant who had turned more than a few heads since being stationed on the island. “I must say,” Tomas continued with a dreamy look in his eye, “I wonder if she’s doing another one of those trance sessions of hers in one of those sensory tanks or whatnot, floating in her string bikini. My, when a woman floats alone like that, all serene with her assets on full display, one can’t help but—“

“Tomas,” Cathubodia interrupted, gently but firmly clearing her throat, “do try to behave.” Her subtle gesture barely suppressed the inward laughter she felt at her longtime friend’s infamous sexual escapades. “In this world, such comments are referred to as ‘sexual harassment’.”

The former resident of Haevan snorted derisively. “Yet another example why the mortals on this world are sexually repressed.”

“So, just to sum up what’s on everybody’s mind then in closing, Jace,” John said from his seat at the table, hoping to change the subject, “is that on top of everything else, with the location of where this site is, we’re looking at the possibility of a little foray into Russian territory, aren’t we?”

The assistant director and military liaison officer nodded simply. “That’s a big possibility, yep.”

“Of course, as everyone knows this site’s on the Kola Peninsula, and as everyone knows, especially Alek, in spite of Norway’s ‘non-provocation’ policy, or so they call it, there’s still a shitload of Russian firepower stationed around there, and of course to say nothing that it appears to be just a stone’s throw away from Murmansk, among other things.”

“You know, Major,” Rick offered in his inimitable casual manner, “There’s a rumor that in spite of the recent coup and all the hardline rhetoric and the military buildup,

Russia

’s still supposed to be our ‘global partner’.”

Rick shrugged in reply and elbowed Aleksandr lightly who sat nearby, his hands folded together as he appeared deep in thought. “Anxious to visit the Motherland again?”

“No,” the Siberian werewolf growled, prompting the American not to push the subject further.

An impatient Cath nodded. “I believe this meeting is adjourned. Mr. and Mrs. Xanatos…if I may suggest for the time being, you may wish to increase the security around Castle Xanatos as a precaution and exercise additional discretion when traveling about.”

David nodded. “It’s done, Cath, I already made arrangements as soon as I got word of what was going on.”

“Good. You may wish to ask the Gargoyles if they may be willing to help you in this endeavor. Or at least, see if they may be able to discover any clues or details from their police contacts as to what exactly occurred in New York Harbor.”

Fox along with her husband frowned slightly. Despite the truce that now existed between the Xanatoses and the Gargoyles, the well-known rivalry that had existed between them for several years along with the scars it left behind had yet to fully heal. “I’ll…relay your message to Goliath, Cathubodia. Although I can’t guarantee he’ll say yes.”