Happy Belated Birthday, Hellboy :]

  I'm writing this..., not to tell you a story, exactly, but many adventures, mini stories, perhaps, that I had with someone. It wasn't yesterday [that's a whole other story], or the day before [don't even get me started], but a long time ago, near the beginning. The month, you ask? March. The year? It was the first time "twenty" was said instead of "two-thousand." The day? It was storming that day; storming in the kind of way you knew it would last through the night, delivering a blood-red dawn as the first thing you see in the morning. Ghosts were lamenting outside in the cold, and the branches of the great brown oak were thrashing in the agony of darkness. Much like they are today, actually.

  His name was the fiery Inferno. Or, Joe, as he simply called himself. But we both had different names back then. He was the Renegade Soldier, and I-- well, I'm telling you about him, am I not?

 We didn't greet each other for over a month, although we congregated to the same places. When we did, however, we talked about whether the dragons could conquer the powerful nameless being, later known only as: The Golden God. It was an alarming battle, but in the end, we both guessed correctly.

  Inferno usually wore a coat, long and brown, otherwise indescribable in its mystery, rumors of a war on a far away planet between an oppressive government, and her rebels were spread around, but I was never certain of the truth, or falsehood of them. His hat matched his coat, and it was usually pulled low over his bright eyes. I never thought anything of it until I noticed one day how they flickered from one person to another, from the door, to the window, where a rustle of a feet passed by; they were watching, analyzing, deducing. I knew then how difficult it would be to hide anything from Inferno.

  But unexpectedly, and very fortunately, I was one of the few whom he chose as a friend. I'm not entirely sure when it happened, really; it was there one day is all I know, a cord- black, deep blue, crimson, royal purple, brown, the color of the sunset, and green- in a butterfly knot around my wrist, only, unbreakable, unshakeable, there forever and accompanied by the sense of something achieved, something good, and something joyful. I hadn't felt so pleased since I was betrayed some months before by someone I trusted more than anyone else...
But I digress.

  In the days when- instead of 5000- 116 was a big number, and four instead of fifty, and being sixteen made one rather old, an organization was initiated with the initials of COBPUDLEGAP and the pronunciation of CobPuddleGap, the purpose of which was to track, attack, and subdue to our authority the man who created a talking skeleton, the achievement of a century. Twice he slipped through our fingers, but on the third try, it was Inferno who overwhelmed and disarmed him. I remember our captive shouting in aghast acrimony, "I will have your head, young minion! I will have your HEAD!" as we dragged him away....

  A week later, the mind wipe bomb exploded.

A new invention built and designated for the sole purpose of intentional amnesia; created, I've been told, by someone spoken of only in the dark recesses of the safest houses. She was called Insanity, the Mastermind, the Dragontamer, Nova Moonshine. It blew us off our feet, swashed through our minds like a tsunami, and washed away the memories of COBPUDLEGAP, the talking skeleton, and most importantly, Insanity's conspiracy to steal his head. Those affected by the mind-wipe wandered aimlessly for three weeks, barely recognizing faces, hardly remembering the meaning of the cords around our wrists, and never truly recalling what exactly had been done to us. But slowly, memories of other things came back. Inferno awoke from the fog first, and he helped us extract what we could. We managed to save the skeleton man in the nick of time. And we even remembered enough to bring COBPUDLEGAP back eventually. 

  Surprisingly, when we did, I was made second-in-command, and I regret to say, there was a short period that I suspected Inferno of being a double agent by the name of Jack, Springheeled. For one, he called himself Joe, which would, under normal circumstances, be irrelevant, but the next day, my second-in-command badge disappeared, only to show up on his shirt. Of course, it was only a joke, and he returned it to me... Only... it always felt a little bit different, and what was that shiny gold thing I saw him sliding into his pocket with a mischievous grin?

But let me tell you a different story. A story of how Inferno got his nickname. It's a simple story, but it's a fitting name.

  There once were two young ladies, one named Lynn, the other, Min, and they didn't know each other veritably well at all. But that didn't stop them from arguing. It was a fare fight, I'll grant you that, with spiteful words and sarcastic humor, the bad kind, of course. Inferno stepped silently in when things were getting out of control, although he didn't stay silent for long. Another minute, and he stood between the spitting girls, hands thrust out, palms facing them. He quoted, "Red means stop!"

  And they did.

A snap of the proverbial fingers, and Inferno Joe has ever since been known as: Hellboy.

  One more story before I go.

  Not long after Sergent Hellboy [as fellow agents called him] got a new name, he left for eight days on a mission, the details of which even I, second in command, did not know about. All I do know is that when he returned, there were claw marks on his arm, and tales spread of of having rescued a child from the clutches of a lion, and feeding the hungry lion afterward. However, when he did come back, he uncovered a plot of dastardly intentions. Someone was threatening to sell the creator of the talking skeleton on the black market, also known in some regions as... ebay. To the horror of COBPUDLEGAP, the mastermind of this maleficent scheme escaped, and to this day, we do not know for sure who he was, who he is. And all I can wonder is... When will he strike again?

  The day will come, I am sure of it, but on that day, we will rise, and we will fight back, fight back for the good of the community, fight back for the good of the world! 
And we will win because we have Hellboy on our side. All hail Hellboy! Hip hip- Huzzah! Hip hip-Huzzah! Hip hip- Huzzah! The great private eye and secret agent, the best of our world.

GO Back to Blogland, Old-Timers :}

Blogland needs you, my friends.
I miss you.
I miss ALL of the old-timers, and I would just.... LOVE to see you in Blogland again.

Besides, showing up and chatting like you own the place is exceedingly enjoyable :}

I know, I know, everyone is strange and new. I think every time I go to Blogland now-a-days I meet someone new, but hey, meeting someone new eliminates a strange new person to meet. Plus, if we all go back, even it's slowly, even it's once-a-month or less, we'll find each other.

Don't feel like it's useless. Even if you can only hang out for ten minutes, GO. Chat for ten minutes, then leave if you must. Don't disappear forever. Nothing is worth losing your friends because you're just so busy. If you try, I know you can make a little time. :D

Please come back. :]
I love you guys, and Dereksville Blogland desperately needs your crazy, brilliant, fun, adorable, creative awesome-sauce and epica spontaneity!

When you read this, post it on your own blogs [re-awaken the magic of them!] or email it to a friend from Blogland you haven't spoken with for who-knows-how-long.
Let's rekindle the old-timers.
Let's rekindle our own, special place again.
I miss it, and I desperately miss you.

~hugs a million times over~

I hope I see you soon!!!! :D

Chapter Nine: Getting Facts

A/N
Dear, Americans, I know you will know what I'm talking about when it comes up, but I'm not sure my dear Australians will.
I'm guessing you Australians have infomercials, right? They go something like this:

"Have you ever really needed to--- [fill in the blank]---, but you just can't find the right tool? [shows images in black in white of people being really tired and irritated with the things they have] Well not anymore! [shoes people in color happily using the item] With--- [fill in the blank]---  it's as easy as 1! 2! 3! And for a limited time only, you can get this wonderful--- [fill in the blank]--- for only 19.95! But wait! Call now- and not only will we send you this- but we'll also send you the other thing! A fifty dollar value all for only 19.95! But that's not all! If you call within the next ten minutes, not only will we send you this and the other thing, but we'll also send you that! That's an eighty dollar value, all for  only 19.95! You won't find this on stores! Call now before you miss this amazing opportunity!"

... You get the picture... xD Well, yeah... I couldn't resist :P
  
 __________________________________________________________

Persephone Dove

  The mirror was an oval with a golden detail of curly-cews and flowers along its edge. I was always grateful for this mirror since it had gotten me out of more than one close-scrape when I found my necklace was crooked or there was an out-of-place speck which had somehow found its way onto my clothes. I still didn't understand how specks of anything could get into this house. But, after considering, who am I, really, to judge whether a speck is in the right place or not?

  I gently tugged on the dangling bit of scarlet hair -which fell down from the loop held together with pins at the back of my head- to be sure there weren't any loose strands. There weren't. The seaweed colored dress I wore, I thought, was a bit much, and it kind of made me look like a strangled mermaid unable to breath out of water, but on Melinda's unfaltering persistence, I wore it today. She said it looked- and I quote- "Dazzlingly elegant, my Percy, darling! It 'ull show yer father your not a li'l girl anymore."

  So I took as deep a breath as was possible with this dress, put on the most serene smile I could muster, and entered the dining parlor where my father was already seated at the head of the table. His dark eyes flitted over me, and I bowed my head in acknowledgement. He only hesitated a moment before indicating I sit in my usual place, to his right.

  I sat. We ate salad in silence but for the inevitable clatter or scrape of silverware. I cleared my throat, "Father..." He didn't reply. He always told me to complete a thought before looking for an answer, so I continued, "Father, how was your trip?"

"Successful."

I swallowed. Ok, not a great invitation for more conversation... I tried to think of what else I could say, "I won every sparring match last week."

"I should expect so."

I sighed, "Father, I wanted to ask you a question."

"So ask it, child. Don't state that you want to. Weakness of words is weakness of character. Who's been teaching you these bad habits?"

"No one, Father! Really-" I checked my tongue, forcing the words back down my throat and looking down at my plate. "I'll do better next time...-" awkward silence... "But Father, I wanted to a- I mean- may I...- May I take a trip to America? I've been dearly wanting to, and Theodore Moussant was saying that it would be good to travel and get experience from-"

"No. I have told you before. This is your home, and there's no reason to leave. The rest of the world is full of idiots and scoundrels. Don't slap my generosity aside by asking me such things. You should know better."

My mouth hung open for a second before I snapped it shut, looking away, hurt. I was horrified. I'd never asked something like this of him before, but... I thought he'd agree with me... My lips twitched, wanting to argue my case, but I honestly didn't know what to say. I stared silently down at my plate.

  Angel's hand flitted into view, fingers gripping the plate and taking it away. She replaced it slowly with the main course. I looked up into her sympathetic eyes and turned away again before I got her into trouble.

***

Nights Raven

  We were definitely out of earshot of the house. I never like butlers with good hearing. They just weren't... right. Plus, the fog was fast frying in the sunlight, and none of us wanted to be easy targets. I shaded my eyes, wondering how a thunderstorm could possibly have passed through here last night.

  Kallista leaned against a tree, and Israel and I stood next to her. This was our "undecided" stance, apparently. Kal had told us Jericho was calm, talking to some man at a desk. Israel was deciding what to do. Go in and "rescue" him? Wait? Ring the doorbell? Hence the silent ponderous standstill.

A cricket chirped in the distance. 

Israel's jacket suddenly sang with Nightwish's "Amaranth." It was slightly muffled, but nothing can really silence Nightwish. Israel jumped, searching his pockets for the source of the music, and He found it: my phone. 

Answering, "Elysium."

An indistinct murmur replied.

"Skyril, are you sure?"

My ears perked up. Kal had the same expression.

She looked at Israel, "That's Skyril on the phone?"

He nodded distractedly, "Ok, thanks." He laughed, "Sure thing.... Ok, ok! I solemnly swear that I owe you a favor- a big one. Alright?....,  Don't I always? Alright, bye."

"What did she say?" I asked

"She said to have fun whooping the bad guys." 

***

Jericho Matteus

  "Timothy Curtis..., really?" I was skeptical, but I actually just wanted to make him focus on me, having so nearly seen Kallista when my eyes had flicked to the window before she ducked back. I avoided swallowing while he was watching me so closely.

"Yes...," he said after a moment. "I wanted a name that sounded mortal."

This fellow was far too cocky by -what he thought of as- his supremely clever mind to let even a pathetic insult slide. "Ah, well, I know who to come to when I need to think of a seriously drab name. Except... -oh yeah!- anybody can think of those." I faked a French accent, "It takez a true arteest to find za zupremely perrrfect name. Attrapez-vous ma dérive ?" He scowled at me. I shrugged and glanced at the bookcases, my insides already calm.

  I stood in front of the books as if I was actually interested. My left hand [my right was still clutching my shotgun] touched a spine of one whose name I didn't care to notice and slid down to the shelf it was on, where my thumb pressed a listening device beneath it. "Hm, disappointing bookshelves. Did I see Jane Austen up there? Don't get me wrong, she's a great writer, I just didn't think she was your type." I browsed another bookcase.

  "Jericho Matteus, you seem to think of me as some villain. Why would you presume thus when you hardly know me?"

"I think of everyone as a villain until they've changed my mind. 'Sprobably the reason most people I know are either dead or in prison." I smiled, picking up a bookend with half the world on it. The books it had been holding slid off the shelf. I stepped back, "Whoops..."

Timothy sighed, "Please, Mr. Matteus," I was getting on his nerves, already, and I had barely even tried. I mentally marked my new record for causing such useful trouble. Timothy went on "Will you put that down-" I still had the bookend in my grip- "and act like a grown up? I have a proposition for you, and I've barely gotten ten words in!"

"Ninety-seven."

He spluttered, "What are you talking about?"

  "You've spoken ninety-seven words since your butler left. Or- that is- 102, if you count the last five, which means you've actually spoken 10 words 10.2 times... I suppose you could say, 'I've barely gotten ninety-seven words in,' but that does defeat the drama, doesn't it? My suggestion? Don't say stupid things in the first place. It's surprisingly simple if you try...," I glanced at him, "Oh, but don't worry, I understand if you're... special." I sprawled in the seat across from him, having figured he wasn't about to try anything. His head would be under my knee if he did anyway. "Got any sarsaparilla?"

  "No, I do not," he was slowly rising to his feet, "and despite your arrogant refusal to be anything but a conceited fool, you are going to listen to what I have to say, or I will take my proposition to another, far more reliable source, whom I only disregarded in the first place because I had heard a shining report about you by a personal friend and associate of mine. If you do not stop this behavior immediately I shall have to demand you depart from my premises at once!"

I almost asked how he was planning on backing up his demands, but I thought I had probably pushed his buttons enough by now, so I remained silent- wearing an adequately humbled expression- as he again took his seat.

"Now," he began after a second or two, "what I have to tell you has only been told in stories before, and then, only a few. It's knowledge of truth that not many men know, and I am only telling you because I have the money and the means to hire you to search for it, even if you think the artifact doesn't exist."

  My face twitched. The fact that he had supposedly heard about me from a "friend" had already been doubtful, but if said "friend" thought someone could hire me to do anything just for some money... Well, I wondered what the truth was about his knowing me. He went on.

  "Items... items hold memories, Matteus. I'm sure you know this, or, if you didn't, perhaps you wondered who that girl was, laughing in the sunshine when you touched a hat, or some other circumstance. It's rare, only occurs when the owner of the item- whatever it may be- had strong emotion while possessing it at some time in his life. Then, you can only see a few glimpses with a feeling of deja vu or a sense of a dream long forgotten, suddenly recalled. You probably would have put it off as nothing, the girl was just a memory from a dream.

  "But that, Mr. Matteus is where you would, most assuredly, be wrong. The flashes of deja vu are real, showing you snippets of someone's past. The sad thing is, you can't hold onto them, nobody can. They trip before your eyes and run away again before you catch a few seconds of memories- and then, only memories of powerful emotion.... Do you understand why it would be so invaluable to have the power of finding, searching, keeping, storing, and using memories from anybody? Memories of- say- Edward John Eyre as he crossed Australia from east to west, or Christopher Columbus as his ship schemes mutiny only just before discovering a new land. Do you see? Do you see the priceless knowledge such a thing would enable?" He was getting excited, feverishly standing, pacing, and sitting again.

  "But," I said, as he took a moment to catch his breath, "I foresee a problem with this... this artifact which I'm presuming you want to find, which I'm further assuming allows you to do just what..." I waved my hand, "all you said. As useful as said Priceless Item of Infinite Wisdom, Knowledge, and Power would be how many watches and a hats and underpants do you have? Because, you know, I'm guessing you do still have to have something for it to work."

Timothy Curtis steepled his fingers upon his desk, smiling knowingly, "I'm glad you asked me that."

Oh, how I hated it when I chomped down on someone's dangling bait. 
But I didn't say anything, raising my eyebrows in question instead.

  "You were, however, correct in assuming there's a device in existence which allows what I have mentioned, only better. Not only does it allow you to literally see through a deceased being's eyes, feeling what they felt, thinking what they thought, but it's equipped with freedom. See an image of someone- even merely a likeness- and think his name. That is all. You're suddenly allowed to browse his memories, jumping in wherever you would like, learning anything you want as easily as breathing! As easy as one, two, three!"

I paused, and there was one question in the forefront of my mind..., "For only 19.95?" 

Chapter Eight: Guns and Arrows

Kallista Pendragon

  "Well... I think it's too nice to be a villain's house. It's too... shady..."

We were standing nearby sixty-six 6th Avenue Melbourne, Australia. The sun was struggling up, and there was a fog, which was to our benefit. Still, I was peeking at the house over the top of a newspaper so to appear far less suspicious, especially since an early-morning jogger had already passed by and glanced at us curiously.

"Not all villains hang out in abandoned factories and castles..., I suppose." Raven murmured.

  The house was fancy, two stories, set a little apart from the rest of the houses. The backyard was enclosed within a rather tall, white fence, but the front yard was open and exposed for observation. Grass, which was a vibrant green, even in the dimness and fog, was pedicured to perfection, and an enormous oak tree dominated the yard, providing shade, even when there was very little sunlight to shade from. Flowers and shrubbery decorated the area.

  "Hmm..., ok," said Israel, "I'm going to make a phone call. In the meantime, Raven, why don't you look around for the best vantage point to see and maybe shoot from." She nodded. "And Kal? Browse the perimeter, see if there aren't any backdoors or sidedoors or trapdoors- alternate means of entry and escape. But be careful, ok?"

"Sure thing, boss! 'Careful' is my middle name you know. That's me! Kallista Careful Pendragon!" I saluted- a habit I'd recently picked up. Israel gave me the eye and nodded.

"Well, ok... And Jericho!" Jericho raised his eyebrows in question. Israel sort of waved his hand vaguely, "You go... do your..., you know, your thing..." Jericho crossed his arms, amused but saying nothing. Israel shrugged and took out his phone.

  "Oh..."

"What?" I asked.

"My phone broke." He showed us the cracked screen. "And I just got a new ringtone too. It was epic." I patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"Probably broke from your skydive and crash landing." Raven said. "Here, borrow mine." She tossed him hers.

Israel caught it and stuffed his phone back into his pocket for later examination. "Thanks."

Raven shrugged and turned, walking down the street to examine potential vantage points. Israel turned around also, typing in a phone number as he walked in the other direction.

  Jericho looked at me, a glint in his dark blue eyes. I tilted my head, wondering what he had in mind, but he was silent striding past me. He crossed the street. Into our subject's front yard. I murmured "Sacre Bleu," as he rang the doorbell, and I slid behind a Japanese magnolia blooming with pink petals as the door opened. I looked back and forth at Raven and Israel, but they hadn't seen. I crouched and looked around the base of the tree. A very typical butler was standing in the open doorway of Sixty-six 6th Avenue. Jericho pulled the rifle he had at his thigh from its holster and, a moment later, nodded. The butler nodded. Jericho entered the house, and they closed the door behind them.

***

Jericho Matteus

  "This is a Model 1887 sawn-off shotgun." I looked down at it admiringly, "It's my very favorite gun." I glanced back up at Harris-the-butler. He was watching me hesitantly, and by his expression, most likely wondering if he should attempt slamming the door in my face and hobbling away as fast as possible. "Do you really think you can outrun the twitch of a finger?" He didn't reply. "If you don't want to be shot, nod- like this-and let me in." Harris nodded.

  I smiled, entering. I was some kind of parlor with a couple of sofas, a coffee table, and a clock on the wall. There were two doors, both closed, one on the right, and the other on the left. Harris turned to me skeptically. "Take me to your master." Harris paused again, nodded again, indicated the left door, and opened it. The next room was big and open with a grand staircase sprawling upwards. Harris ignored it and walked past to a door.

"Shall I announce you?"

I waved the shotgun, "Why not? Jericho Matteus. He should be expecting me."

The butler didn't reply. He closed the door, and I heard unintelligible conversation for only a moment or two before he returned and opened the door wide enough for me.

  This room was obviously a study. Bookcases lined the walls to either side, and a window with a curtain pulled only half-way across was a behind a desk with neatly stacked papers and a statue of a man holding up the world on his shoulders. Behind the desk was a young man, smug, greedy, cruel- I could tell with just one look at him. He wore a white shirt and a vest with slacks, and his booted feet were propped up on one corner of the desk.

"Will you be requiring anything else, Master Curtis? Coffee? Wine? Police?" Harris asked from the door.

The man behind the desk laughed and shook his head, "No, thank you, Harris. I have been expecting this man..., as well as some others." Harris-the-butler half-bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  "So..." I said.

"Indeed!" replied the man. "Please, please, have a seat, Mr. Matteus."

"I'm comfortable standing, thank you. Besides, I find it's easier to shoot someone while standing. You know, better view and all?"

Mr. Curtis smiled and shook his head. "You're not going to shoot me."

"Oh, no? You know, I've heard that one before, and the fellow didn't live very long afterwards. You have every right not to trust me- after all, I did come barging in with a shotgun at the head of your butler- but believe me when I say I have no qualms shooting a man when I deem it necessary."

"I have no doubt! But you have no reason to do so, do you? You don't even know my name!"

"Judging by your previous statement, I think you have do have some doubt, or, as it were, false hope. I don't have any reason to shoot you yet unless that smirk of yours stays put for very much longer, and I know you're called Mr. Curtis… Care to elaborate?"

"Timothy Curtis. My name is Timothy Curtis."

"Well, at least we've made some progress, ay?"

***

Nights Raven

  "You're joking. This is a joke. It's one of those jokes when I know you're joking." I was aghast. Surely Jericho wouldn't have sauntered up to the front door and rung the doorbell without even surveying the area?

  No..., wait, this was the man who had told Kallista and me to "Push that big red button and point down" before strapping on a parachute, shouting, "Pick us up at ground level!" and leaping off a flying ship in thirty seconds flat. Was I really surprised he'd "jumped in" without preparing? No..., I just couldn't... believe it. I facepalmed.

"I'm telling you!" Kallista's voice was a notch above its usual octave. "He pulled his shotgun on the butler and waltzed right in. I couldn't believe my eyes either, Raven."

Israel hadn't spoken, but now he laughed. I stared at him.

"What?" he asked, "I would have done the same thing under slightly different circumstances! I just wish I could have seen his face!"

Kallista laughed, "It was a mix between disbelief and 'Oops-I-left-something-in-the-oven! You-just-wait-right-here-while-I-go-get-that.'"

  Kallista pulled an expression supposedly like the butler's, and I couldn't restrain the laugh anymore. "Ok... Ok," I said, "You're right. It's brilliant! But seriously! What are we going to do now?"

Israel grinned. "Check out the backdoor maybe? Raven, have you found a nice view of the back of his yard?"

"No, but I suspect that house over there has potential." I nodded to the one I meant.

"Alright, Kal and I are going to get a ground-level look. Why don't you get an overview? Check if you can see through any of the windows." He shrugged, "Maybe we'll get lucky and find out how Jericho's doing."

I nodded, "'K,”and turned back.

  I crossed the street and into the shadows of the house next to the one I needed to be on. Nearing the back, I heard voices behind a window and paused, back against the wall. I peered through and saw a woman and young boy eating breakfast. They were looking in the opposite direction. Easy-peasy, I slipped by unnoticed and, re-adjusting the bow and quiver slung over my shoulder, shimmied up the convenient vines sprawling all the way to the top. When I got there, I glanced back to see if Kallista and Israel were where I left them. They weren't, and the fog was still abounding, curling about. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to see them if they were there so, crouching behind the pinnacle of the house, I padded across it to the edge. The distance between the houses was a few yards at least, and my head did a see-saw thing when I was estimating whether I could make it or not. I decided I could. 

  I backed up a few paces to get a running start and boosted myself with power of wind. My feet slammed down harder than I would have liked, and I took two steps before I could freeze. I flinched, ducking low again. Nothing. It was silent. After a few minutes and no curious voices echoing up, I scurried across a house for the second time that day and found the best vantage point I could, and it was actually quite a good one with a full view of backyard and all potential windows.

  I wished I had binoculars. Oh well, I could still see the backyard through the milky fog and the backdoor as well. There were… I counted… fifteen windows in the back, seven downstairs and eight above; nine windows on the side of the house I could see. A curtain twitched. My eyes caught the movement. There was an older man in a suit dusting downstairs. The butler. Again, my eyes fogged over, looking at nothing in particular and everything at once to catch some motion behind the few uncurtained windows. Nothing. Then something, but it wasn’t in one of the windows. Kallista was sliding down the fence into the backyard of sixty-six 6^th Avenue. What was she doing? And where was Israel? There, this side of the house, walking towards the backyard, his head moving back and forth. He didn’t know where Kallista was. She must have slunk off again, and Israel didn’t know. Back to the yard, Kallista was down low, standing by a tree and looking into a window. She crouched down all of a sudden, and a moment later, slipped back to the fence, slinging herself up and over with her wind again.

  Israel saw her, and they started arguing, I could hear murmurs on the wind from up here. Someone was going to hear them. I felt sweat on my brow and looked back at the house. The butler had stopped dusting, standing with his head to one side in consideration. He walked out of sight, and the backdoor opened. Israel had pulled Kallista behind one of trees, but he didn’t know someone was coming. They had quieted somewhat, but it wasn’t enough.

  The butler had stepped out. Was crossing the yard slowly. I cursed and pulled the bow from my shoulder, an arrow already nocked. I looked back and forth, and stood up a little taller. I took a breath, took aim, and breathed out as I released.

  The whiz-thwack of an arrow soaring and finding its mark was common to me, and I sighed a pent up breath when it did so, reverberating in the tree by Israel’s head. He was ducking down, and looking at me. I put a finger to my lips and crouched down. The butler had paused, waiting a moment… Then he shook his head and went back inside.