RECKONING

by

D.L. Witherspoon

(Posted 11-11-98)

Chapter One

Smell was his first clue that he wasn't in Cascade. The rich, heavy, earthy scents which assaulted his nose were familiar but... The bayou. His eyes opened and he saw the lush flora of the area, heard the whine of the mosquitos and the deep roar of the alligator, and felt the sultry breeze brush through the hairs on his arms. "Alicia?" he called quickly.

"Mon ange!" She flung her arms around him, a tiny figure in white. "It is so good to see you again, Jim!"

He returned the embrace just as enthusiastically. "It's good to see you too, ma petite fille." He released her and stepped back, his gaze taking in the changes in her. When he had *first* seen Alicia Delacroix, she had been starved, bruised and battered, bleeding from whippings and other abuses. Now she was at her correct weight, her skin glowed a deep honey brown, and the eyes that had broken his heart nightly, were now illuminated with an inner brilliance. "Heaven has agreed with you," he complimented, tugging on a shiny black braid. When he had *last* seen Alicia, he had pulled her body from the bayou, dead at the hands of a dark and dangerous cult known as La Societe de Sang, the Society of Blood.

"Mais oui. I am very happy," she concurred. "More so than I ever thought possible." Alicia looked around, seeing the spot where the shack that had been her prison once stood and the rock where she had been raped and killed. Although the rock remained, Edouard Delacroix-- Alicia's father-- had gleefully burned the shack to the ground. "This is a very sad place, oui?"

He reached out his hands to cup her face, making her look at him and not at the bitter memories that surrounded them. "Yes, very sad. Why are we here, Lici?"

"This is our common ground, Jim. When we are together, it will always be here."

"Then we mustn't be together anymore," he told her gently. "I am content with those feathery touches when your thoughts brush against mine."

She looked surprised. "You knew that was me?"

"Mais oui. We are a part of each other, cherie. At least for a short while still." He was referring to the part of herself that she had given him, an energy which would have fueled her psychic powers had she been allowed to mature. Now that energy boosted his own powers: genetically heightened senses which made him a Sentinel, an extraordinary watchman of those under his protection.

She looked away, still bothered by the lie she had told him in order that he would accept her gift. The truth was that the energy would always be a part of him. Unlike with la Societe de Sang which had stripped the energy from other young female psychics, what she had freely given Jim would not fade and disintegrate in a year's time. Alicia had confessed the lie to Jim's Guide, but apparently he had not informed the Sentinel. Since Blair knew Jim better than she did, she kept her peace. "I had to bring us both here, Jim."

"Why?"

"Helaire."

Helaire Battiste Delacroix. Mother of Alicia. Wife of Edouard. High Priestess of the Society of Blood. It was she who'd had her daughter kidnapped, tortured, raped, and killed. It was she who now resided on death row in the Louisiana Correctional Facility for Women, charged and convicted of seventy-six murders, including fifty young girls. "Your mother is where she belongs," he said curtly.

"Yes, but her spirit is not. Even as we speak it travels to Hell, entreating the dark master to aid her in destroying you."

Jim gave a dry laugh. "She's that desperate to get back at me, huh?" He had not only hunted her down and arrested her, but he had also made certain her deeds were well-known throughout the prison. And he had also promised her she wouldn't live long enough to face the humane needle of Louisiana's lethal injection. He had other, more painful, plans for her death.

"This is no laughing matter, Jim," Alicia said seriously. "As you are known in Heaven, so are you known in Hell." Jim just laughed harder. He'd always thought Hell had it in for him; now he knew for sure it was personal. She touched him on the arm to get his attention. "She may receive the aid she requests. You and yours are in grave danger."

He quickly sobered. "Blair and Simon?"

"They were with you the night you captured her."

Jim closed his eyes and sighed. "Maybe I should have killed her then."

"Non! Then your soul would have been destroyed."

"Better my soul than my friends!" Jim argued anguishedly. "Why, by God, does everyone say I'm better off now that I have friends, that I have people I care about? How can I be happier when I have put people in harm's way simply because they love me?"

"Because we love you, we are under your protection," Alicia said, reaching out to wrap her arms arond his waist. He drew her close and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "And you are under ours. I will not let Maman harm you."

He pulled back in order to look her in the eye sternly. "No, Alicia. You have already given *all* in this battle. It is mine now. Enjoy your reward, Lici. You are no longer responsible for your mother's sins."

"Nor my grandmother's?" she reminded him.

"Nor your grandmother's. The evil flowed from the mother to the daughter, but not to the granddaughter. You stopped it from going any further, Alicia. And now I must do my part."

"As we must do ours," a voice called and Jim turned around to see a bevy of young girls walking toward him. "We are the Lost Ones," the lead child said. "We are the ones you called from the bayou and returned to our families. Then, we did not know who we were. Now, we do and we owe you our gratitude, Sentinel, and our support."

Jim sat down heavily on the stone altar where all of these children had been murdered during a half a century time span. He had never known them but they had spoken in his head, asking for his help. And he had given it because they had sounded so sad and frightened, because he could not deny these young girls a chance at eternal peace. But seeing them in the "flesh" was overwhelming. The beauty, the intelligence, the essence of these souls lost because the Society wanted what it could not get on its own... "I am so sorry," he said, mindless of the tears spilling from his eyes. "This," he added, banging his fist against the stone, "should have never happened to you."

Alicia reached out to brush the tears away. "But it did and it is thanks to you that we are not stuck here, that our souls are not trapped and empty. We do not celebrate this place, but neither do we fear it. And it is here where we can contact you, where we can warn you of Helaire's evil. We will watch out for you, Sentinel."

"My own band of angels, huh?" he said with a teasing smile.

She kissed his cheek. "No, not angels, Jim, but living among them and in their care."

"Then you are protected?"

"Oui."

"Then that is the only thing that matters."

'Non. Not the only thing, mon ami. You matter too. When you need them, they will protect you also. Remember that, my Sentinel. Always remember that."

"I will, cherie. I will remember I have the angels... and that I have you."

"Then go, mon ange. Go and prepare you and yours for what is about to be."

*****

Jim awoke with a start and as he sat up in his bed, he remembered. Alicia and the Lost Ones. The warning of what was to come. Shit. As if his life wasn't complicated enough. Now he was going to have what-- demons?-- coming after him. Soliciting hell against him. Helaire was creative if anything. Guess he was going to have to tell Blair to brush up on his Shamanism and Simon... What the Hell to tell Simon? Well, uh, captain, once again one of my enemies has targeted you because I sorta made you my staff-- you know, an extension of the Sentinel. Well, yeah, I know you know you're the Watcher, and yeah, I know you weren't too happy about that. Maybe that's why I haven't told you about this staff thing. But now since the hounds of Hell are going to be, well, hounding you, I thought maybe you should know. Oh, that was going to go over well.

He got up and shrugged into his robe, knowing there would be no more sleep for him. He made his way downstairs and put on a pot of coffee before heading to the bathroom. On his way back to the kitchen, he stuck his head inside Blair's room and watched his roommate sleep for a few minutes. The younger man embraced sleep as heartily as he did everything else, his arms and legs splayed across the bed covered by a sheet and, the Sentinel opened his eyes a tad wider to see clearer into the dark room, two blankets. Resisting the urge to cover up a foot which had managed to escape the covers, Jim filled his mug with coffee and headed for the balcony.

Friday morning in Cascade, he thought as he stood at the protective railing and looked over the city. Most of it was still sleeping, the waking sun barely visible at the horizon's edge. A few cars motored by, night workers heading home, janitorial and maintenance crews heading in before the general workers and bosses arrived. According to the Chopec, the Indian tribe he had lived with in Peru for eighteen months, he was the Sentinel of the Great City. This was his protectorate and he took his duty seriously. Each and every citizen was his responsibility. He understood that, just like he understood his limitations and knew he couldn't save or protect them all. He mainly focused on protecting as many as possible, removing the biggest dangers, the largest obstacles. But that didn't mean he didn't mourn the ones he couldn't save, didn't grieve for the loss of one of his "tribe".

And he'd found out in the past year or so that his tribe included all children in the U.S., no matter where they lived. He had confronted the murderers of children in Cascade, Baltimore, and New Orleans-- the West Coast, the East Coast, and the Gulf. He had brought their killers to justice and for his troubles, he was now going to face the denizens of Hell. "Why me?" he asked the air.

Because you are strong enough to handle it.

He didn't know who had spoken the words in his head and he didn't care. Whoever it was, was right. If there was going to be a war between Heaven and Hell, then the battle may as well start in Cascade because sooner or later he would inevitably be drawn into it-- because he was strong enough, because he had the gifts to give him an edge, because he was Jim Ellison and he wouldn't give up himself or anyone in his care without a fight. Arrogant, he knew, but all too true as the criminal element in Cascade was figuring out.

"Jim?"

He'd heard his partner struggling with the idea of morning for the past fifteen minutes. Blair hated getting up, but once he got over the "shock", he pounced into the day with enthusiasm. "Good morning, Chief."

Blair blinked in the bright sunlight. "Yeah, if you say so." Yawning, he came through the balcony doors. "What's up, man? You usually only do this 'communing with your city' stuff when you're troubled. Something I need to know about?" He took the mug from his partner's hand and sipped the coffee. "Ice cold! How long you been out here, man?"

Jim shrugged. "A while."

Blair looked at him closely. "That bad?" His partner nodded. "I probably better get dressed and braced with hot coffee before you tell me, huh?"

"You're going in with me this morning, aren't you?"

"Yeah, that's the plan."

"Then I may as well tell you and Simon at the same time."

Blair paled. "This sounds serious, Jim."

"It is."

"Okay, I can definitely wait for the details. But maybe you better give me a hint. You won't believe the things my mind can come up with on its own," Blair admitted nervously.

Jim nodded and stared off into his past. "Back in the Army there was this guy that everyone avoided because he was super-religious. You couldn't get within two feet of him without hearing something about choosing the side of right and wrong or going to Hell or something. I unfortunately, thanks to the manipulations of a couple bunkmates of mine, had the honor of being trapped with him in a foxhole during a training exercise. Come to find out he wasn't even preaching one of the common religions. He was into Zoroastrianism. You know anything about that, Chief?"

Blair nodded. "Zoroastrianism is considered to be one of the first monotheistic religions and is definitely one of the oldest religions still in existence. Most of the general beliefs about Heaven and Hell, God and the Devil, the battle between Good and Evil, all of that comes from Zoroastrianism. The faiths that followed borrowed heavily from it." He frowned and looked at his partner. "What does this have to do with us, Jim?"

Jim looked out over the city which had fully wakened and noisily started the day. "It's time to choose which side you're on, Chief. The battle's coming to us."

Blair blinked once, accepted that Jim would not kid about something like this, then turned to enter the loft. Boxers and a robe were definitely not battle armor. "Don't have to choose, Jim," he said softly before leaving, too softly for anyone but a Sentinel to hear. "You know where I stand, where I have always stood."

"I know, Chief. And I'm going to need you there now more than ever."

Jim looked at his city once more, straightened his shoulders, and followed his partner inside. There would be no more looking back.

Chapter Two

"He's handsome," one of the girls said with a giggle.

"But it will take more than a pretty face to win this," another retorted. "Is he strong enough?"

"Mais oui," Alicia answered, miffed at her companions. "How do you think you made it here? Who freed you from that icky bayou?" Strong? Had he not taken her pain within himself? Had he not stood by her during her worst hours, yet still had the conviction of soul not to kill her mother, or let her be killed, even though it would have been so easy? That took a strength not measured in muscle but in character. Strength that would matter in the coming days.

"But you and others helped him."

"As we will continue to do so," Alicia vowed. "But we merely instructed him. The power was his own, fed by his inherent goodness. He has faith that far outweighs ours combined."

"But we are with the angels," one of them sputtered indignantly.

"And he is on earth. Which requires the most faith, my friends?" Alicia questioned. "I fear some of you are not fully recovered. I will round up the others who helped Jim before. He needs to be surrounded by those who fully believe."

"You would cast us aside because we have doubts? Remember, we do not know him as you do," the tallest of the Lost Ones argued.

"But you know who called him to this battle. How can you say you have faith when you doubt *His* choice?"

*****

"Come in."

Captain Simon Banks took one look at the grim visages before him and stuck out the ceramic mug which was a gift from his son Daryl. Then he pushed two more in their direction. "We're going to need it, right?" Jim nodded and passed the mugs one at a time to his partner who filled them from the coffeemaker in the corner.

Simon contemplated the two of them. This definitely didn't have anything to do with police matters. There was something different about Jim and Blair when they came to him with the Sentinel business. Maybe it was an odd tenseness or a particular expression that he picked up on because he was their Watcher or merely their friend. Well, at least they hadn't called him from his bed this time, although Jim looked as if he'd been up most of the night. He braced himself with a healthy sip, then sat back in his chair. "Okay, gentlemen, which one of you wants to begin?"

"That would have to be Jim," Blair said quickly. "I'm as much in the dark as you. When I woke up, he was already out of the balcony staring at the city."

"That bad, huh?" Simon commented with a grimace. Jim contemplating Cascade was not a good sign.

"Sometimes I just like looking at the city," Jim said defensively. Both Simon and Blair just arched eyebrows in his direction. "Fine. Last night I took a trip back to the bayou."

"Damn."

"Shit."

The corner of Jim's mouth quirked slightly. Seems everyone's in agreement so far. "Alicia was there, of course, as well as the other forty-nine girls killed by the Society."

"I thought now that she was dead, you'd just do that mental thing," Simon said, remembering how he walked in his office to see Jim with a gun to his head, explaining to the Forty-Two that they didn't control him.

Jim shrugged. "She had something she needed to tell me 'face-to-face', captain. And I think the others wanted to meet me as well. The bayou is our common ground. It's the place where we've all been."

"What did she have to tell you, Jim?" Blair prompted. Not that he wasn't interested in the whole psychic/supernatural aspect of Jim's link to Alicia and the others, but his partner had hinted at something much more dire.

"Helaire is plotting her revenge against me."

"She's still in prison, isn't she?" Simon asked, knowing that was where she should be, but...

"Well, according to Alicia, she's sent her soul to Hell to ask for assistance in taking me out," Jim said with a nervous chuckle.

Neither of the other men returned it. "You mean actual Hell, don't you?" Blair questioned solemnly.

Jim nodded. "Seems I'm not too well liked there. There's a chance she'll get her support. Of course, certainty in Hell isn't exactly something you can count on."

Blair stared into his coffee. "Now I know where you were going with that Zoroastrianism reference. Well, at least we're on the side of angels."

Jim frowned, trying to remember all of the conversation he'd had during the night. Hearing about Helaire's plans and meeting the other little girls sort of made the rest fade. "Alicia said something about angels. She said she and the others weren't angels, but they lived among them and were tended by them."

Blair nodded. "That sounds about right. Everyone has this notion that if you're good, when you die you become an angel. But according to scripture and other religious texts, angels were created to be angels as men were created to be men. So even though your soul may go to heaven, you don't become an angel."

Jim grinned, absurdly proud of his partner's intelligence. "And you wonder why I keep you around," he teased.

Blair smiled. "See what a good liberal education can do?"

Simon just stared at the two of them. "Well, that's really terrific that Sandburg knows how he fits in, but what about me? Dare I assume you're just telling me this stuff so I'll know where to pick up the pieces after it's all over?"

"Assuming there will be pieces left," Jim mused.

"Oh, there will be something for me to scrape up," Simon said assuredly. "I know you and your partner. The pieces may be small, but they'll be there."

"Keep that confidence, captain. We're going to need it."

"'We' as in you and Sandburg?" Jim shook his head. "Damn. I knew you were going to do that. You know I really wouldn't mind staying on the sidelines for this one. Believe me, I won't be offended."

Blue eyes regarded him with regret. "Sorry, Simon. I'm afraid you're going to be dragged into this too. You know how you're the Watcher over the Guide and the Sentinel? Well, you're also my staff, you know, like a shepherd's staff? You extend the Sentinel's reach and you prop me up when I need it."

"That's cool," Blair said eagerly.

"Well, you're my shield, Chief. You protect me and deflect away harm."

"That's cool too," Blair said proudly.

"Keep this up, Jim, and I'm going to need a business card the size of a billboard," Simon said gruffly. "In other words, I'm someone the bad guys can't ignore, right?"

"Not if they're after me," Jim remarked sadly. "I'm sorry, Simon. I know I keep saying that, but each time it just gets worse."

Simon shrugged. "I'm a cop, Jim. I signed on to fight the enemy."

"Even if they are demons from Hell?"

Simon flinched. "Is that what we're going to be facing?"

Jim sighed and slumped in his chair. "I have no idea. I don't even know if I believe in demons. I wasn't even sure if I believed in Heaven and Hell either, until I saw Alicia. Seeing how good she looked made me believe there is a Heaven. And that means there has to be a Hell."

"Could it have merely been your imagination causing you to see her like that?" Simon offered.

Jim snorted. "You're talking to me, Simon. Jim Ellison doesn't have an imagination, remember? At least not one that fanciful."

True. One of the reasons he'd been able to accept the whole heightened senses bit was because he knew Jim couldn't be faking it; the man's thought processes didn't tend to be that colorful. "Okay. However, I suggest we start with the demons on this side of the gates of Hell," Simon said decisively. No use in putting off the inevitable. "I'll call down to New Orleans and see if Rankin and Allen have heard anything." The two southern cops had been quite understanding of the supernatural when they worked with them taking out the Society. A little demon-hunting probably wouldn't faze them at all. Well, not much, anyway.

"I'll see what my contacts at Helaire's prison have to say," Jim offered, getting up from the chair.

"And I'll search the internet," Blair said, following his partner. "Somebody should have some ideas about how to stop demons." He looked at the taller men. "Never hurts to have preventative measures in place."

Simon shrugged and watched them leave. It wasn't easy being their Watcher, but neither was it dull. He took a last sip of coffee, then told Rhonda his secretary to put in a call to the New Orleans department. Setting his mug aside, he looked at the carefully calligraphied words written on the side: I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul... Invictus.

Sorry, Daryl. I know you think your old man is one of the greats but the only thing I'm captain of is this unit; my soul, my fate, rests in the hands of my Sentinel and Guide.

God help me.

God help them.

God help us all.

Chapter Three

"Sir?" Jim tapped on Simon's door, Blair behind him.

"Come on in," Simon invited. "I'm waiting for a callback from Rankin and Allen. They're out on a case. I told the secretary they already had my number," he added with a grin. When he had first called to ask the detectives about what was then the Delacroix kidnapping, rookie detective Joey Allen had mistakenly put a trace on the call-- irritating Simon to the point of packing up his detectives and heading South.

"Well, I had a bit more luck with my contacts, captain," Jim said. He had brought his mug with him and got himself a refill. Simon's rich blends always captured the attention of his Sentinel tastebuds.

Simon knew better than to ask for details about the contacts; Jim had a past that angled toward the shadowy end of military operations. His contacts weren't people the captain needed, or wanted, to know. "Helaire still safely locked up?"

"She's in the prison infirmary in a coma. Happened two days ago; she went to bed one night and they couldn't wake her the next morning. So far the doctors are puzzled and she's going through rigorous testing."

Blair shrugged. "They're not going to find anything definite. Of course, it's obvious to us that her soul can't be in her body and in Hell at the same time."

Simon rolled his eyes. Obvious, huh? The kid was giving him way too much credit. "You get anything else? Like what she was up to before this sudden ailment?"

"They're faxing me a list of her most recent visitors. That may give us an edge if we can find out with whom she was consorting."

Simon glanced at Blair and sighed. Guess he should ask how his project was going. "Anything on the internet of interest, Sandburg?"

The anthropologist was surprised but pleased by the question. He figured Simon was going to pull one of his "if we don't talk about it, it doesn't exist" routines when it came to the demonic aspects of their situation. "I've started a metasearch. We should have results soon."

What the hell was a metasearch? "That's good, Sandburg. Let me know when you have something you think we can use," Simon said encouragingly, as a good captain should.

Jim tilted his head slightly to one side. "My fax is coming through. I'll be back in a minute."

"How's he holding up?" Simon inquired after Jim left.

Blair knew what the captain was asking. These bouts with the supernatural were particularly hard on the Sentinel. Often he experienced migraines, sleeplessness, or tormented dreams. "This hit quickly, Simon. He had exhibited no signs of this earlier so I can only assume last night was the first time Alicia contacted him." Before, he had spent nearly a week "with" Alicia before he remembered what had occurred in those meetings. But they both had known something was wrong. "I was really surprised to see him out on the balcony this morning."

"You know, the bayou can be a pretty place and I'm sure all that good ecosystem crap is going on, but if I never see, or Jim never sees, another bayou again, I'd be quite happy."

Blair chuckled. "I'm going to have to agree with you, Simon. I'm all for the survival of the rain forests and wetlands, but the bayou is different. I don't know why."

"It got personal, Sandburg," Simon replied, knowing exactly what was wrong with the delta region of the Mississippi River.

Blair nodded. The captain was right; it wasn't the bayou itself which had caused the Sentinel mental anguish, but it contained some very terrible memories for his friend.

"Well, keep a close eye on him tonight and if things get...weird, give me a call."

Blair appreciated the captain's concern, but he couldn't help teasing him. "Weird? Around the loft? Gee, Simon, I could call you every night if that's the case."

"Sandburg..." Simon started to threaten when all of a sudden something caused both him and Blair to turn toward the glass overlooking the bullpen. They saw Jim standing very stiffly and Detective Henri Brown looking anxiously in his direction. Before they could reach the bullpen, Jim had stalked out to the hall and Brown was staring at the floor near the fax machine.

"What the hell happened?" Simon questioned quickly.

"I don't know," Brown said bewilderedly. "One minute Ellison was grabbing some pages from the fax and then I heard the cracking of glass. He broke it, captain."

"The mug?" Simon waved away the loss. "I've dropped a few myself."

"He didn't drop it," Brown explained in an anxious rush. "He crushed it with his hand."

It was only then that Simon and Blair noticed the blood intermingled with the coffee and ceramic fragments. Without a word, Blair grabbed his backpack and headed out of the office. "Take him to the emergency room before bringing him back here," Simon called, reassured that he'd been heard by Sandburg's curt nod. "Alert maintenance to this mess, please, Henri?"

The detective nodded and Simon leaned over to pick up the pages that had fallen to the floor. What could have set Jim off? Sure, the man was volatile and his first instinct was to react with his fists. But with a mug in his hand? Grabbing a tissue off a nearby desk, he mopped up the coffee, trying not to smear the ink on the fax. It was indeed the list of Helaire's visitors. He probably would have had to have a warrant or a court order to get the information. But he hadn't gotten the information; he'd literally picked it up as it lay around the office. Assured then that he wasn't violating any laws, his eyes scanned the list quickly. They stopped at the third name from the bottom. No wonder Jim had gone ballistic. He was about a nanosecond from going off himself. Goddamnit. Helaire hadn't needed to go to Hell; one of Jim's demons had sought her out on his own.

*****

Blair followed the blood droplets to the stairwell door and found Jim leaning against the wall on the fourth floor landing. He approached cautiously, not because he was worried Jim would lash out at him, but because he didn't want Jim accidently causing himself more harm. From the way his partner was ignoring the hand hanging limply at his side, he either didn't know he was hurt or didn't care.

"Come on down here, Chief," Jim called wearily, having sensed Blair's approach immediately. "I'm just practicing some of your deep-breathing relaxation techniques."

"Wish you would have done that back in the bullpen," Blair said as he opened his pack and pulled out the first aid kit he kept there. At first, people wondered why he hauled the heavy kit around with him everywhere. After being in the company of him and his partner for less than a week, they usually figured it out.

"What?" Jim eyed the kit curiously and Blair pointed to his hand. "Shit."

"I thought we had this anger thing under control, Jim," Blair chided gently. "Let me wrap it up enough to get you to the emergency room without bleeding to death, okay?"

"How did you expect me to react, seeing his name on that list?" Jim asked defiantly. "I thought the son of a bitch was out of my life!"

"Which son of a bitch would that be?" Blair inquired calmly.

"You didn't read the list?"

"No, I thought it best to find my partner and keep him alive."

"Oh." Jim took a deep breath and concentrated on the white gauze Blair was wrapping around his hand. "Helaire's visitor last Thursday was none other than our mutual 'friend', Tony Bozeman."

Blair didn't realize how tight he was pulling the gauze until Jim flinched in pain. "Sorry, man," he said hurriedly as he focused once again on his current task. Dr. Anthony Bozeman was an FBI profiler who was way too interested in Jim. After stumbling upon Jim's "gifts" during the Cascade case where forty-two children had been brutally murdered, Bozeman had been so eager to see Jim in action again, he had used their friendship with two Baltimore cops to get Jim to work a multiple homicide in Maryland. Jim had warned him away then, but he'd heard from another agent, Fox Mulder, that Bozeman was still keeping tabs on them. "What do you think he wanted with her?"

"Probably an account of how I captured her. You know he thinks I'm some brilliant psychic," Jim said dryly as Blair packed up the kit and indicated they were going to enter the fourth floor and continue to the parking garage via the elevator.

"Well, when it comes to deceased children, you are, Jim," Blair said reasonably. "But that doesn't mean he has the right to manipulate you into such situations so that he can watch you work. I'm sure if Alicia hadn't managed to draw you into the case, Bozeman would have tried something himself. Keep your hand elevated to alleviate the bleeding."

Jim obediently followed the order. "Damn it, Chief. If I can't handle these little shocks, how can I even hope to deal with whatever Helaire is planning?"

"Maybe this was a good thing, Jim," Blair said, prepared for his partner's look of disbelief. "Now you won't be surprised by anything else that happens."

"I hope you're right, Chief, because I don't think this case is going to get any easier."

Two hours and an E.R. visit later, Jim was sure it wasn't going to get easier. "I'll live, Simon," he said in response to the captain's question about his hand upon their return. "I take it you saw why I reacted like I did?" he asked as he and his partner settled into their seats before Simon's desk. Their seats. Yeah, it was starting to feel that way. The other detectives merely borrowed them from time to time.

Simon frowned. "I saw. I called the Bureau prepared to have Bozeman's ass on record for harassment. You don't want to know what I found out," he warned.

Jim sighed and idly flexed his injured hand until Blair's light touch stopped him. "Give to us straight, Simon. We need to know what we're dealing with."

"Okay. The bad news: Dr. Bozeman no longer works for the FBI."

"You're kidding?" Blair said quickly. "What happened? Is he working for someone else now? Some secret group that may want Jim?"

Jim shook his head. "Going straight for the worst case scenario, Chief?"

Simon cleared his throat. "Actually the truth is much worse, gentlemen. Bozeman was quietly retired from the Bureau. In other words, he was fired."

"Why?" Jim asked.

"That wasn't an easy answer to find. I got the royal runaround until I got tired and contacted Deputy Director Whitney. I figured he owed us and he agreed. He managed to determine Bozeman was let go because he failed his last two psych evaluations."

"So not only is he after Jim but he's a nutcase too?" Blair asked in amazement. "Man, you think there would be a limit on how many times this could happen to us."

"My sentiments exactly," Simon agreed. "In any case, since he's out of the Bureau we have no way to track him."

"He'll pop up eventually," Jim said knowingly.

"I'm sure he will, but until then, we have other problems to deal with, gentlemen," the captain added ominously.

"You're just brimming over with news today, aren't you, sir?" Jim remarked dryly, sensing he was going to like this flash even less than the prior ones.

"Rankin and Allen got back to me. They were out working a case. A missing girl."

"Shit," Jim swore. This couldn't be happening again. How the hell had Helaire... That's right. Helaire had contacted Hell. "A twelve-year-old?" The standard, just-on-the-brink-of-puberty, age the Society lusted after.

"No. Younger, which is surprising. The child is only seven. Rankin was just getting ready to contact us because..."

Jim didn't hear anything Simon said past the child being seven. Suddenly, he flashed back to a little girl walking him to a neighbor's house, her solemn hazel eyes looking both ways before tugging him across a street. Philip Marie who was called Flip by everyone but her mother.

"How old are you, Flip?"

"Seven. Not quite old 'nough for the Society to git me, but I hear tell they ain't gonna be doin' that no more 'cause of you."

Jim stopped and kneeled before the child. "You heard what?"

"That you done brought back all the kids the Society took and they ain't gonna be able to take no more. We all thank you for that, Mr. Jim. I didn't cotton to bein' Society food," little Flip said, her eyes wide and solemn.

"You're welcome Flip," Jim replied and slowly got back to his feet.

"You gonna come and git me now, Mr. Jim? The angel said if I got took, I was 'sposed to wait a long time, then call for you to come git me. I think it's been a long time now, Mr. Jim."

"Jim, man, come out of it," Blair pleaded. "You've gone way pale."

Jim took a deep breath, only aware now that he hadn't taken one in a while. What the hell had happened? Flip hadn't asked him to come get her in New Orleans. Where had that come from? He stood quickly and went over to the window. His thumb sought the imagined remote control Blair had devised to help him control his Alicia-boosted eyesight and without really considering what he was doing, he changed the channel on his hearing, then increased the volume.

"That detective is gonna shit bricks when he comes home and finds this little bitch dead in his own living room."

"Cain't we have some fun with her first? From what I heard, the Society always did."

"Man, you're sick. She's just a little girl. Take the money we get for killing her and go buy yourself a ho' for the night."

"Jim? Man, where're you going? Hold up! Shit, Simon." Blair grabbed his pack and raced out after his partner.

Simon hesitated for exactly one second, then ran out after them. "Joel, hold the fort," he called as he breezed through the bullpen.

"Sure," Joel Taggert replied and looked at the other detectives who stared at the fleeing men. Then they in return looked at him with a silent question. "They'll call when they need us. Finish as much as you can on your desks; it may be a while before you get back to it," he said knowingly.

Then with a sigh and a lingering glimpse of the closing elevator, Joel took his own advice and attacked the caseload on his desk.

Chapter Four

"They're in the loft."

"Who?" Blair asked as the elevator descended.

"Flip and two men. One wants to rape her; the other merely wants to kill her and collect his fee."

"Flip is the missing little girl?" Jim nodded. Blair glanced at Simon, then back to Jim. "How do you know this, Jim?"

"I hear them."

Simon reached for the cell phone he'd grabbed at the last second and barked orders for a patrol car to get over to Prospect immediately. When they exited into the parking garage, he directed them to his car. "What's happening now, Jim?"

"They're still arguing."

"The patrol unit should be approaching. What do you want them to do?"

"Hold back for now. I don't want them startled into harming Flip."

"You sound as if you know this child, Jim," Blair said softly, curious but not wanting to be too distracting.

"I do," Jim confirmed. "And so do you. Remember T'Dette's daughter who took me to see Grandmere?"

Blair paled as he pictured the thin, pigtailed girl who had coming running when her mother called. "She had a man's name, didn't she?"

"Philip Marie," Simon said, having heard the name from Det. Rankin who happened to be T'Dette's cousin.

"Flip to her friends," Jim corrected. "She thanked me for getting rid of the Society. Damn Helaire! What the hell does she have against little girls? Can't you go any faster, Simon?"

"Now you know why I'm driving," Simon muttered, then turned his attention to his ringing phone. "Banks... Hold until otherwise notified... ETA two minutes. Banks out."

"They've decided to kill her!" Jim shouted as the car turned onto Prospect. Before Simon could hit the brakes, the door was open and Jim did a dive out of the moving vehicle. He landed in a roll and was on his feet and in the building before Simon could mutter a curse and slow down enough for Blair to pop out behind his partner.

Jim didn't remember getting out of the car or racing up the stairs. His first full recollection was of kicking in the door to the loft and sending a bullet through the hand holding the stone dagger just above Flip's heart. He didn't hesitate, didn't even consider that he may hit the child. The Sentinel saw the danger and acted, knowing as surely as he knew his own hand that the bullet would be true to its target. Then even as the first kidnapper was dropping his weapon, he turned the gun on the other. "Twitch," he said softly, his eyes blazing a cold, deadly blue flame. "Please."

Both men froze and with the enemy securely in his sights, he called to the child. "Flip? Come over here to me, sweetheart." He held out one hand toward her and she ran swiftly to his side. "Did they hurt you?"

She shook her head. "But I'm sure glad you've come to git me, Mr. Jim."

"I'm just sorry it took me so long," Jim apologized. "It's safe," he called out to his approaching partner. "Here, Chief." He handed him the gun and scooped Flip up into his arms. "Even if their noses wiggle the wrong way, shoot them," he ordered as he carried the child out to the hallway.

Simon came bounding up the stairs with two officers behind him, their guns drawn. "We heard gunfire!" the captain yelled.

"I shot one of the bastards in the hand," Jim said nonchalantly. "You may want to go in there and relieve Sandburg. Me and this young lady are going to the hospital." He could feel her heart racing and he didn't like the way her pupils were dilated. Rubbing his hand along her arm, he felt the hole left by an injection. Maybe he should have shot the other one just for the fun of it.

"I don't wanna go to the hospital, Mr. Jim," Flip cried, finally letting go of the tears she'd held back since waking in the back of a car with two strangers driving.

"I know, sweetheart. But the bad guys gave you something that might make you sick. We have to find out what it is, okay?"

She clung tighter to his neck. "But I don't want you to go!"

He patted her back as he carefully started down the stairs. "And I'm not going to. You can stay right here in my arms until you feel ready to get down, okay?"

She nodded. "You promise?"

He kissed the top of her head. "Yes, Flip, I promise."

Blair pounded down the steps behind them. "Simon said to take his car." He slid behind the wheel as Jim got into the backseat, the child on his lap. The familiar route to the emergency room was made in silence, except for the occasional sniff from Flip followed by reassuring murmuring from Jim.

"Back so soon, detective?" the nurse at the desk asked, still on duty from Jim's earlier visit to stitch up his hand.

"I have a female here, age seven, who was kidnapped and drugged. She needs to see a doctor immediately."

"Of course, detective. Just hand her to me and I'll take her back--"

Flip's grip tightened around his neck. "No," he said quickly. "I stay with her."

"That's impossible, sir. I know you think the child may be in danger, but only parents can accompany children into the cubicles."

"That works too," Jim said amiably. "I'm her father."

The nurse blinked, then stared at the cinnamon-colored girl in his arms. "Detective..." she began, knowing a con when she heard one.

"Daddy, my head hurts," Flip said as if on cue.

He kissed the top of her head. Of course T'Dette's child would be quick. "I know, sweetheart. And if the nurse doesn't call a doctor for you soon, Daddy will just have to roam the halls until he snags one and hauls his butt down here. The doctor won't like it and I'm sure the nurse won't either." Cool blue eyes appraised her.

"Cubicle Five," she said quickly. "I'll get someone from Pediatrics down here immediately." Jim nodded and knowingly headed for the right set of curtains. The nurse made the call and looked up to find the detective's partner approaching. "Det. Ellison and his daughter are already in the back."

"His daughter?" Blair asked, momentarily confused. What had happened while he parked the car?

"You didn't know she was his daughter?" the nurse asked warily. Had she been scammed?

Blair recovered quickly. Whatever game his partner was playing, it was his duty to back him up. "Of course I know it. I just didn't know you did."

"Uh huh," the nurse drawled. "Why the big secrecy? He didn't identify her as his daughter until I wouldn't allow him to stay with her."

So that was it. The Sentinel had made a promise and he was keeping it the only way he could. "Did he tell you the child had been kidnapped?" She nodded. "Did he also tell you the reason she was taken from her home in New Orleans and dragged all the way to Cascade was because an enemy of his wanted to get back at him?" She looked shocked. "So now do you understand why he's hesitant for anyone to know she's his daughter? That's truly wonderful. Now, be a dear and tell Jim I'll be sitting over here waiting for them," he said quietly and made his way to the molded plastic chairs, grinning now that his back was to her. I'm good.

"What's happening, Sandburg?" Simon asked a few hours later as he settled into the chair beside Blair.

"We're waiting on the final blood tests to come back. Jim's with Flip. By the way, if anyone asks, she's his daughter," he warned.

"Only way they'd let him stay with her, huh?" Simon guessed easily, having brought his son Daryl to the emergency room a time or two. "I contacted Rankin and he's going to inform his cousin. I have no doubt T'Dette will be on the next plane to Cascade."

"What about those creeps at the loft?"

"One's downtown and the other's over at Community's E.R. I didn't think having him and Jim in the same hospital was a good idea."

"And some wonder how you made captain," Blair teased. Then he sobered. "This is getting nasty quick, Simon. You realize it was just this morning that Jim told us about Helaire's plans?"

Simon nodded. "I'm working in the dark with this shit. You know that, don't you, Sandburg? I mean you and Jim have the inner track on this and the only thing I can do is follow your lead. So don't go leaving your favorite captain behind on this, okay?"

Blair reached out and did a quick pat to the brown hand on the chair arm next to his. "We wouldn't do that, Simon. And quite frankly, I'm out of my element too."

"But you're some kind of shaman, right? A holy man?"

Blair shrugged. "Less a holy man and more of a counselor and healer. I'm Jim's trainer, Simon. I keep, well, I try to keep, his body in peak condition and let me tell you, my number one enemy is Wonder Burger. I try to keep him up spiritually as well. That's why I'm always nagging him to talk to me, to confide in me. In battle, at least in the battles Jim seems to have, he needs to be one with himself. He needs to know his body can handle whatever blows that land and he needs to know his mind can dodge the psychological traps the enemy plants in his path." Simon nodded. He had often wondered why Sandburg bugged Jim about seemingly small things at times... and had wondered with equal confusion why Jim allowed him to do so.

"As Jim's Guide, it is also my duty to know certain answers, to give the Sentinel information when he requires it. That knowledge gives Jim the confidence to go on and often the edge in a close fight. Sometimes finding these answers may require a trip to another plane of existence and that is where being a shaman comes in handy." He gave a slight smile as Simon frowned. "But that doesn't mean I'm imbued with extraordinary powers. Not like Jim."

"You gonna tell him the truth about Alicia's gift?"

"I don't know. He seems to be handling the enhancements well at the moment. I mean the way he immediately adjusted his hearing today... God, Simon. He heard a conversation in the loft from your office. That's just unreal. Couple that with seeing the infrared spectrum..." He shook his head, trying to focus on his original point. "He accepts this because he thinks it's temporary. If he finds out it's permanent, he may falter, freeze up. That is exactly what we don't need to happen now. Particularly now."

Simon nodded. "These extensions are really extraordinary and as soon as this is over, he is going to be one hell of a crime-fighting machine. But these are not ordinary criminals we're going against. How handy will these powers be in fighting the supernatural?"

"Well, the experiences he had in New Orleans should help. Remember in the motel near the airport?" After a bomb blasted through their uptown hotel, they had gotten a double room at a motel on the outskirts of New Orleans proper. The two men had awakened to find Jim going around the room, scattering herbs and doing something he called a binding spell. Later, they found out he had been channeling a woman's spirit who had been called upon by Alicia to help Jim.

"Basically, the thing I remember most, Sandburg, is out by the bayou that afternoon," Simon said, pinching the bridge of his nose as the disturbing thoughts swam in his head. Jim had kneeled by the sluggish water and held his hand out over it while calling out the names of gods in several religions. The area had grown still and then suddenly the remains of the murdered children had floated to the top of the bayou. It was something out of a horror movie, except that it had been very, very real.

"I still get nightmares from that," Blair admitted sheepishly.

"Yeah, well, you're not alone," Simon assured him gruffly. "I can't imagine just how bad this is going to get. I really think we're all going to end up in a mental hospital one day."

"Maybe they'll give us adjoining rooms," Blair said, trying to lighten the mood. Reality was dark enough without dwelling in the darkness of their own minds. "We can compete in basket-weaving and fingerpainting."

"Compete, hell," Simon countered. "You won't even be in my league, Sandburg."

"Hmph! That sounds like a challenge to me, captain. What are you willing to wager?"

"Lime Jello. If I win, you'll have to eat my portion."

"And if I win, it'll be the tapioca."

"Deal."

"Do I even want to know what this is about?" Jim asked as he walked into the waiting area, Flip walking at his side and her hand firmly in his.

"Just talking about how to spend our days in Cascadian Acres," Blair said easily, naming Cascade's premier looney bin.

"As if our insurance would pay for it," Jim replied. "Sorry, gentlemen, but the best we can hope for is Ward Eighty-six." That was code for the prison for the criminally insane.

"As long as we're together," Blair said before focusing on Jim's companion. "Hi, Flip. How are you feeling?"

"Much better," Jim answered when the child merely hid herself behind his leg. "The doctor gave her something to counteract the sedative she'd been given. So now we're heading back to the loft... Except for one stop." He looked at Simon, a sad apology in his eyes. "Simon, these things are going to search for our vulnerabilities. I think you know what yours is."

Simon grayed beneath his dark skin. "Daryl," he said hollowly. "Joan's going to have a fit, but I'm going to send him to stay with my cousins in California." He hurried out toward the parking lot so he could use his cell phone.

"No!" Jim said sharply as his friend started to dial. "Sending him away is the worst thing you can do."

"But you said... I can't have them attacking Daryl, Jim," Simon said firmly.

"No, you can't," Jim agreed. "That's why both you and he are staying at the loft tonight. A united front is our best protection."

The Watcher nodded, assured his Sentinel knew best. But as he drove to pick up his son, he wondered how he was going to explain this to Daryl and to his ex-wife, Joan... when he couldn't explain it to himself.

Chapter Five

"You two take my bed," Jim ordered the father/son duo as he got out linens to make up a bed on the loveseat for Flip. She had already slept there for whatever had remained of the evening, the rest of the drugs slowly being leached out of her system. The brief times she had awakened, she had clung to Jim but then he noticed her peeking around on occasion to steal a glance at Simon's tall, handsome son. That's when he suspected, with relief, she would recover from her ordeal with minimal psychological scars.

"That puts Sandburg in his own bed. But where are you going to sleep, Jim?" Simon asked.

"I'm not," Jim replied, clasping his jaw tightly which signaled there would be no argument. Of course, his partner ignored the warning.

"C'mon, man. You need to rest. You get tired and we're all screwed," Blair pointed out bluntly.

Jim sighed and motioned for the adults to join him in the kitchen. "Listen to me. Something is going to happen tonight."

"Alicia has been in contact with you?" Blair guessed quickly.

"No. It's just a..." Jim shrugged. "It's a very strong feeling I have."

Blair glanced at Simon. Apparently Jim's sixth sense had been additionally enhanced as well. "What kind of something, Jim?"

The Sentinel shook his head, at a loss for details. "But as soon as we get the kids in bed, I'm going to do a protective circle around the loft."

"How? This isn't New Orleans, Jim," Simon said. "Every other shop doesn't sell voodoo weeds and potions."

Jim reached beneath the sink and pulled out a plastic tote bag adorned with Mardi Gras pictures. "I... uh... sorta brought some back to Cascade with me."

"You knew this was going to happen?" Blair probed. Just how strong was his psychic ability now?

"Just the boy scout in me, Chief. Always prepared, you know."

Blair nodded, totally unconvinced. What else had Jim been hiding in the months since their trip South? "But you're gonna need sleep sometime, Jim."

His partner nodded. "When daylight comes, Chief. When daylight comes."

With Simon and Daryl up in his room and Flip once again asleep on the small sofa, Jim began the ritual of putting himself and his friends within a circle of safety. "You're not channeling," Blair observed as he watched him approach the front door.

"There is no need. I remember everything Felicity did." Felicity was the spirit that helped him before.

"Mind if I add my own little touch?" He held out a clear plastic bottle.

"Evian, Chief? What's that for? In case the demons get dry-mouth?"

"Do you know how many churches, synagogues, temples, tabernacles, and assorted other religious places we have in this city, man? I know, because while you were with Flip, I went to all these places and asked them to bless this water."

"And they didn't think you were crazy?"

"I told them I was a college student. You would be amazed at how tolerant that makes people. Anyway, I just thought a bit of holy water might come in handy."

"Won't get any argument from me, Chief. We'll just tag-team the demons to death."

"Sounds good to me," Blair replied with a grin and as Jim chanted and drew lines around the doors and windows, he anointed them with drops of holy water and a couple of remembered prayers.

Satisfied with their ministrations, Jim sent Blair to bed, then stood at the doors to the balcony to keep watch. When Flip stirred uneasily in her sleep, he padded over to the loveseat and sat down next to her. His touch soon had her back in a deep slumber and as he gazed upon her face in the dark loft, he wondered how Helaire and her minions could possibly attack something so pure, so innocent. What kind of world was this that childhood had become a thing to be tainted and defiled?

What about my own? For so long, I considered my childhood a thing to be forgotten. Because a man I loved had been murdered and no one would listen when I told them about his murderer. My own father was ashamed of me, of what I could do. But no one wanted to kill me. And Dad thought he was protecting me. I had Sally and Stevie, a roof over my head, clothes, a bike... Maybe it wasn't perfect, but I was safe and warm. Maybe after all this is over, I'll really try with Dad. Blair's right about me needing to put all this behind me. There's too much I have to face in my future to keep dragging my past behind...

What's that?

The Sentinel brought all his senses to play in the present... and didn't like what he found. He took a deep, calming breath, then headed for Blair's room. "Chief, wake up!" he whispered hurriedly.

The urgency made its way quickly to his roommate's sleeping brain. "What is it?"

"Go wake the others. Bring them to the living room. Now!"

By the time Blair headed back down the stairs, a sleepy Daryl and Simon behind him, something was rattling the door to the loft. "Jim?"

"Don't worry about it. Just have a seat on the sofa," Jim said quickly. Then the lamp Blair had turned on as he crossed to Jim's room went out, plunging the loft into complete darkness.

"Daddy!" Flip cried out.

"It's okay, sweetheart. We're all okay," he replied. "Everyone stay exactly where you are. I'll come for you."

Using his Sentinel sight, he guided everyone safely to the living room. "Dad, what's going on?" Daryl asked, ashamed of the quiver in his voice. "Did the bad guys cut the power? Have you called for back up yet?" When his dad had come to his house, telling him to pack an overnight bag, he'd told him and his mother that someone wanted to get to him by using his son. Daryl understood that but had been surprised when they'd come to the loft instead of a safehouse.

Before Simon could reply to his son's hushed questions, the rattling of the door became more pronounced. Then the sound moved from the front door to the windows and the doors leading to the balcony, increasing to the point that no one knew why the glass was not shattering all over the place. Jim thanked whoever was looking after them that the others could not see what he was seeing... the undulating shadows that played outside the transparent panes, writhing forms which re-created nightmares both past, present, and to come. He shivered and adjusted the girl he held in his arms until he could get a free hand out to his partner sitting beside him. Blair felt the hand slide into his and understood. With his other hand he reached out for Simon's, and Simon's went out to his son's. Unity.

The assault stopped abruptly and because Jim had turned down his hearing due to the rattling, he heard the laughter at the same time the others did. It started soft, then grew until the loft shuddered with its force. Even if none of them had been confronted with evil before, all recognized the origin of the laughter, knew and understood the darkness for what it was. Then once again there was a sudden silence and a stillness.

"Run!" voices screeched, blended in such tight unison that they became a single sound. "Run now! While you can! Run!"

"Everyone stay where you are," Jim said calmly, squeezing the hands he held. "It can't get in so it wants us out."

"Don't listen to him! He knows nothing. He is nothing," the voices taunted. "He pretends but he is powerless against us. You are all powerless. Escape now and be spared. Stay and be destroyed. He can't protect you. No one can protect you now!"

"Dad?" Daryl asked, his voice still shaky. "Who is this? What is he talking about? Is he talking about Det. Ellison?"

"Shhh, son. It'll be okay soon."

"You said someone wanted to get to you through me. But that doesn't sound like some 'one', Dad. What is this? What's happening?"

"Demonic forces," Blair said, understanding that Daryl needed to hear the words from someone. Of all in the room, he would probably be the one most affected by these events. Flip was not only much younger and therefore more capable of forgetting about this night, but she was also a native of New Orleans. She had grown up believing in the supernatural, was surrounded by people who had psychic gifts. But Daryl would not be able to forget this and the teen probably had always assumed that the supernatural was something dreamed up by movie producers and TV execs. "They exist, Daryl. And they are here."

They sensed indecision in the group, a weakness to be exploited. "We can protect you, Daryl," they hissed. "If you leave now, you can survive. You can go home to your mama. Leave now, son. Leave!"

Daryl felt Simon's fingers dig into his palm, even before his dad said, "Don't listen, Daryl. Trust me. Trust us."

The young man knew that if he got up and headed to the door, no one could stop him in time because of the darkness. But he trusted his dad and he trusted the other men in the room. They had protected him before. "I'm not going anywhere, Dad. I'm not leaving, whoever you are! You can't make me betray them!"

"Bad move, Daryl. He can't save you. Don't you see that?"

"Who? Who can't save me?"

"The Sentinel. You don't know about him, do you, Daryl? These people you trust? They've been keeping secrets from you. They've lied to you. You owe them nothing. Leave them."

"No!"

"Then die, brat!"

Thunder rolled and lightning flashed outside the loft. The doors pulled at their hinges and the building shook so badly a glass toppled off the counter in the kitchen and crashed to the floor. Then the howling started. Screams of tortured souls rebounded off the walls, their blood spattering against the windows, the lightning revealing the red trails as the globs ran down the glass scribbling words in some ancient, perhaps enchanted text.

On and on it went until Jim, his vision in infrared mode, spied what could only be the first vestiges of the rising sun. "Sunrise," he called softly to his comrades as the noise began to fade. "Morning is on the way."

"And with light, darkness retreats," Blair added with a sigh of relief. "The right thing would be to suggest we should try for some sleep, man. But after that..."

"Maybe this will help." Jim walked over and hit the light switch. The room flooded with brightness. He looked at the bleary eyes staring back at him. "Everyone back to their beds. Everything will be clearer after a few hours of rest." Someone snorted. "Well, our minds will be clearer anyway."

"Sounds like a plan," Simon said, standing and stretching. "C'mon, Daryl. I'll turn on the light beside Jim's bed."

Daryl rolled bloodshot eyes. "I haven't needed a nightlight since I was five, Dad," he said with typical teenager dramatics.

"Guess it's a good thing I'm not doing it for you then. Good night, gentlemen, little missy." He prodded his son up the stairs.

"So, Flip, you think you can get a little more sleep in?" Jim asked the child, stroking her cheek as she curled into a tiny ball on the loveseat.

"You'll be nearby?"

"I sure will, sweetheart."

"'Kay." Her eyes fluttered shut.

"Innocence is a good thing," Blair said as he watched the child drift off with enviable ease.

"She's still fighting those drugs in her system," Jim pointed out worriedly. He looked at his roommate who plopped down on the sofa. "It's time for Shamans and Guides to be hitting the pillow too, Chief."

Blair laughed softly. "You think I'm actually going to go to sleep after what we just went through? Man, I have nightmares after watching something like that on the tube. To actually go through it... Tell you what. You sleep and I'll keep watch."

"Nothing to watch for, buddy. It's over... for now."

"Are you sure? There are day demons, you know."

"Yeah, but they haven't reported for duty yet."

"How do you kn... You just know, don't you?" Jim nodded. "Okay. But I just got comfortable here. Give me a few minutes then I'll turn in. What about you?" he asked as he fought to keep his eyes open.

"I'll probably end up in your bed," Jim said, smiling as he heard the even breathing that signaled his partner was asleep. He pulled down the afghan draped across the back of the sofa and tucked him in.

Debating whether to crash in Blair's bed, he walked past the balcony doors noticing that there wasn't a trace of blood to be seen, even with his enhanced sight. Had it all been a very bad dream, a case of mass hypnosis? It was what he should have been convincing himself of, but he was in too deep now to bother with deluding himself. Hell had made its first attack last night. It hadn't been pretty. It hadn't been fun. But they had survived.

That was enough.

"Are we 'deja vuing', Jim? Isn't this where we started?" Blair asked as he joined Jim on the balcony several hours later, reaching for the mug in his partner's hand. "Well, at least the coffee's not ice cold this time."

"I just made a pot. Help yourself," Jim said, just enjoying the warmth of the sun beaming down on him from Cascade's blue sky.

"There's no damage," Blair said, partially to himself.

Jim shook his head. "And I managed to take out the trash when one of our neighbors was doing the same. They all slept like babes. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary."

"But it all happened," Blair said firmly.

"Yes," Jim agreed. "It did."

"I checked my bed. You didn't sleep in it."

"Couldn't."

"Why? Is another attack imminent?"

"No, but..."

"But?" Blair urged impatiently.

"My body is on alert, Chief. The senses are humming, the energy levels are up. I can't rest."

"Are your senses spiking?" Blair asked anxiously. "Are your controls failing?"

"Nothing like that, Chief. It's... it's as if this state is natural, that it is still all under my control."

Blair nodded as he thought it through. Apparently the Sentinel as a whole had been affected by Alicia's gift. He had seen Jim in protective mode before, but he wore this much more easily. There were no signs of strain, no wrinkle in the middle of his forehead signaling a headache, no clenched jaw advertising stress. But looking closer, he noticed the Sentinel constantly scanned the area, his head tilted slightly as if catching every sound, his nose wiggling as every inhalation was analyzed and processed.

Blair looked as if he was going to make a comment but Jim touched his shoulder to signal someone was joining them. "Good morning, Daryl."

"Good morning, detective, Blair," the teen greeted them with a yawn.

"After last night, I think we can change that to Jim."

"Okay. Good morning, Jim."

Jim looked at Blair and nodded. "You have any questions you want to ask, Daryl?" Blair inquired, knowing that the teen talked freer to him.

"Yeah. You got anything around here for breakfast?"

"Don't be rude, Daryl," Simon said, joining them on the balcony.

Blair held up his hand for Simon to be silent. "Actually, I was wondering if you had any questions about what happened last night."

Daryl shook his head. "Jim-- he told me to call him that, Dad-- is the Sentinel and the dark forces are after him. You and Dad are part of his team and they hoped to get to Dad through me and Jim through Flip. So Jim brought us all here and kept the demons at bay. The only question I have is, have you given anyone the video rights yet? I've been fooling around with designing video games and this would be cool."

"It's not a game, son," Simon said softly.

"I know that, Dad. I was here last night, remember? But just because it's real, doesn't mean it won't make a cool game."

Jim shook his head and chuckled. So much for lasting psychological damage. "You can do the game but you have to keep our identities secret."

Daryl rolled his eyes, wondering just how dumb they thought he was. "I'll make the hero Black. They'll think I'm basing it on my dad. Most kids do that anyway."

"That's fine, Daryl," Jim said. "Now, I have another favor to ask of you." The teen looked at him expectantly. "I want you to stay close to Flip during all this. The people, the humans allied with these demons, they like little girls." Daryl's eyes widened as he understood the implication. "I need to know there's someone watching out for her if my attention gets diverted."

Simon swore his son grew another inch as he accepted the responsibility. "You have my word, sir," Daryl said solemnly as he shook Jim's hand. "I'll look out after her as if she were my little sister."

"Thank you, Daryl. That will make my life much easier," Jim said gratefully, before turning to his partner. "Blair, why don't you take Daryl into the kitchen and start breakfast and Simon, I need you to come with me." Inside, Jim picked up their guns from where he'd placed them on a high shelf and handed the captain his.

Simon frowned as he automatically checked his weapon. "What's going on, Jim?"

"In a minute, Simon." He went over to the sofa where Flip was just waking. "Morning, sweetheart."

"Mornin', Daddy."

She clung to the word so tightly, Jim didn't have the heart to remind her it was just a game they had to play at the hospital. Besides, it had given her comfort through a very difficult night. "I have to go out for a few minutes. I won't be far and Blair and Daryl are going to be here with you. Okay?"

"'Kay. 'Cause you can hear me if I yell?"

"Yeah, I'll hear you." He motioned for Simon to follow.

"What is it, Jim?" Simon asked again in the hallway.

"Two men in a car. They've been watching the loft I know since early morning. They could have been here all night."

When Jim made a move toward the steps, Simon's hand reached out to grab his arm. "Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

Jim shrugged. "They didn't look like they were going anywhere. I figured you needed the sleep."

"And you didn't?"

"No, I didn't," Jim answered. "I'm being completely honest, sir. I explained it to Sandburg and he seemed to accept it."

"Oh." If Sandburg bought the explanation, it must have made sense... in some strange and unique way, no doubt. But he was the expert on Jim. "How do you want to do this?" he asked as he followed his detective.

Jim smiled evilly."Let's try the direct approach."

Simon walked out the door and straight across the street to where the car was parked. He tapped on the closed passenger window, smiling as it was partially opened by the two men sitting nervously inside. "Excuse me," he said amiably. "But could you tell me why you're so interested in my friends' loft?"

The driver started to crank the car, but the sound of Jim tapping on his window with his gun and badge halted his movement. "The captain asked you a question, gentlemen. I suggest you answer it. Now get out of the car and let's discuss this like the civilized men we are."

He and Simon stepped back as the men exited. The driver, a tall, thin man with closely shorn hair and slightly pointy, prominent ears, held up two fingers and slowly reached toward his pocket, continuing the movement only after Jim gave him the go ahead. He extracted a business card and held it out to the detective.

A picture of a snake eating its tail, followed by a name: Peter Watts, Millennium Group. Jim reached the card across the car to Simon. "Mean anything to you?"

"Not particularly. You?"

"Sounds like some freaking cult. Let's get them up to the loft and I'll put in a call to Whitney."

"The FBI? Why?" Simon asked.

Jim leaned close to Mr. Peter Watts and took a deep, dramatic sniff. "Because he smells like a former fed."

The Millennium Group members looked at each other. "Detective Ellison, this is a Saturday morning. I'm sure the deputy director isn't even in his office," Watts pointed out.

"Then I'll try his personal cell number," Jim said with a shrug. "You may know my name, Mr. Watts, but you apparently know little else about me. Now let's not give my neighbors any more of a free show than they've already received."

Simon looked around, but couldn't spot any curtains moving. But if Jim saw neighbors... "Maybe we should sell tickets next time, Jim."

"Provide opera glasses for those on the upper floors?" Jim suggested with a grin, which grew as he noticed the wary look Watts threw his partner. Good. Keep them off balance. Simon and Jim were still going when they reached the loft.

Blair relaxed as he heard their laughter, so he was surprised when they walked in with the two men and their guns were still unholstered. "Company for breakfast?" he asked as casually as he could. He was grateful now that he had sent Daryl and Flip to his room. And, oh yeah, when he got a minute he was going to commend Jim on his handling of Daryl; with one simple request he had shifted the teen from victim to protector. Cool move.

"Nah, Chief. Just a couple of people I need to run a quick check on. Here's their card." He handed the small white rectangle to his partner and immediately noticed the shift in heartbeat. "You've heard of this outfit? The Millennium Group?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah, I would have recognized it from the ouroborus."

"Speak English, Sandburg," Simon prompted, not in the least bit surprised to find the anthropologist knew of the group. He had learned that there was little the grad student didn't know.

"Oh, sorry. The ouroborus is the 'tail devourer', this picture on the card. It symbolizes such concepts as completion, the endless round of existence. The Millennium Group uses it as its symbol because they think the world will either end or begin the end at the upcoming millennium, right?" he asked the thinly mustached guy who was apparently the leader. Well, at least he was glaring like the leader.

"How do you know so much about the Millennium Group?" Watts asked Blair anxiously. Blair just shrugged.

"What's their purpose, Sandburg? And why do you think they were outside watching the loft?" Simon asked as Jim reached for the phone, pulling it into the privacy of the kitchen.

"They call themselves a consulting firm and what they mostly deal with is what they perceive as the growing conflicts between good and evil as the millennium approaches."

"Zoroastrianism again?" Jim asked with a long-suffering sigh as he waited to connect with Whitney.

"You know of Zoroastrianism, Mr. Ellison?" Watts asked with a hint of disbelief.

Blair smiled. People's biggest problem with Jim was underestimating him. They looked at him and thought, "dumb cop." But what Blair had learned from Jim, as well as the others he'd worked with on the force, "dumb cop" was a generality that didn't apply to ninety-five percent of the officers. He rolled his eyes at the consultant and continued his report. "The Group works a lot with the local authorities, the FBI, and other government agencies when they run into something they can't quite explain by conventional means. I know there's a unit working out of Seattle. Much of their work involves interpreting ancient prophecies and certain natural signs. Perhaps they saw what Hell had in store for us and decided to come see the sights."

Peter Watts was growing more apprehensive by the minute. First, Ellison wasn't what he appeared to be and now a simple grad student was giving out what was supposed to be confidential material. "Mr. Sandburg, I insist you tell me how you came across this information."

"You tell me what you're doing here and I may tell you how I know about you," Blair offered, not liking the man's tone. Who was in whose house? And which one of them was protected by two, big, armed cops?

"We had information that there would be an event last night involving this address."

"What kind of information?" Blair asked curiously. "Were we mentioned in a prophecy or did one of the psychics in the Group zoom in on us?"

Watts ignored the question. "As the millennium approaches we must look at all paranormal occurrences as signs of what is to come. Therefore, Mr. Miller and I were sent here to investigate."

"And now you can go home," Jim said acerbically as he walked toward them, holding the phone. In his book, a cult with government connections was still just a cult. "The deputy director wishes to speak to you, Mr. Watts."

A minute later he handed the phone back to Jim and after a quick conversation, the call ended. "You and your colleague are free to go, Mr. Watts," Jim said as he opened the door. "But just for the record, what occurred here has nothing to do with the end of the world or whatever it is your group is searching for. This is personal, pure and simple."

The two men walked out and Jim listened until he heard them get into their car and drive away. "Ghouls by any other name," he said bitterly. No matter how horrible the accident, there was always some lower lifeform who wanted to stand by and gawk. He put the Millennium Group in that category. "How do you know about them, Chief?"

"I had an undergrad professor for a religion class-- I forget what it was called. Anyway, he and I didn't see eye to eye on the meaning of certain world events. He was sure every earthquake, hurricane, tornado, or whatever, was a sign that we were entering the age of the Apocalypse. I was just as certain that it was the world just being the world, the way it has always been. I'm sure when Mt. Vesuvius blew its top, everyone though the end of the world was near too. I accused him of being a 'Chicken Little' and he accused me of being an ostrich, hiding my head in the sand... which, by the way, is just an old wives tale. Ostriches don't bury their heads--"

"Sandburg!" Jim called sharply. "You know about the Millennium Group how?" he prompted.

"Oh, the professor was a member. He showed me their stuff trying to get me to believe. Apparently he thought I was too bright to be kept in the dark. Anyway, the next semester he went traipsing off to look for more Dead Sea scrolls and I haven't heard anything about him since."

"Well, what was your impression of the information you saw?" Simon asked. "Is this some flaky outfit or something we need to take more seriously?"

"There are several big name scientists involved with the Group. Maybe this isn't just about you and Helaire, Jim. It could have more widespread consequences," Blair pointed out.

"All the more reason we should focus on our own concerns, Chief. Let Peter Watts and the Millennium Group worry about what will happen in the next two years. I just want to get through the next two nights or even just the next two hours."

Blair nodded, knowing there was no use in arguing. "I put the kids in my room just in case there was trouble. Tell them breakfast will be ready in a minute, will you?"

As Blair turned toward the kitchen, he tucked Peter Watts's card into his pocket... Just in case.

*****

Back in his comfortable home in Seattle, Peter Watts watched the ouroborus fade from his computer screen after he uttered his password. Then he began to type and receive a reply.

>Tony, the surveillance was incomplete. We ran into difficulties.

>>Ellison found you out and ran you off, right?

>Yes. I think you left out important information about him.

>>I sent you his file.

>But that too is incomplete, isn't it?

>>I told you he is very skilled. Did you tell him who you were?

>Yes. But he was not impressed. Another thing you left out of your request for a surveillance report was that he is protected by the Bureau.

>>What do you mean?

>We were warned off by Whitney.

>>Ellison has new allies. I am not surprised. To know him is to protect him.

>He does not seem to be the type that needs protecting. He looks damned capable of doing it himself.

>>The detective is more than he appears to be, Peter. I'm surprised you did not recognize that. What he is capable of, we cannot yet determine. That is *why* he is protected. Did he have his anthropologist and captain with him?

>Yes. They and two children were present when the attack occurred.

>>Then he was aware the attack was coming. Good. Thank you, Peter.

>Do you want to try another surveillance?

>>No. That was sufficient. I have the information I need.

>Tony, what does this have to do with the millennium?

>>Everything, Peter. Everything.

Chapter Seven

"Flip?"

The child looked up from where she was sprawled in the floor watching Simba's Pride after having seen The Lion King earlier. "Yes, Daddy?"

"Open the door."

She scrambled up and dodged the tangle of adult feet and legs that surrounded her. Only Daryl had joined her in the floor although everyone was watching the video. She was surprised but happy to find that all of them knew both movies quite well. But she wasn't surprised to be sent to the door before anyone knocked. Her mama had the gift of knowing who was coming and going. So did her new pretend daddy apparently.

Speaking of... "Mama!" she screamed as she was lifted up into familiar arms. "You're here!"

"Yeah, baby. Your mama's here." Odette Fourtier wrapped her arms around her daughter and let her tears flow. "Don't you go running off without your mama again, you hear, Philip Marie?"

Flip nodded solemnly. "I didn't wanna go, Mama, but those bad men made me. But I 'member what the angel tell me. He say if something happen I was to wait a long time, then I was to call out to Mr. Jim and he would save me. And he did, Mama!"

"I know he did, baby." She looked at Jim who had joined them at the door and smiled her thanks. Jim just nodded and guided them over to the sofa so the rest of the party could enter.

"Rankin, Allen," Simon said as he joined them. "You guys acting as escorts for T'Dette?"

Mike Rankin shrugged. "That and we're real interested in the two fellows you got for the kidnapping. I know the feds want them, but the descriptions you faxed us sounded familiar. We might have some murder charges against them."

"We talking extradition here?"

"Not sure. Our D.A. was supposed to be talking to your D.A. You haven't heard anything?"

"We've had other things to hold our attention," Simon said casually. "Let me call down to the station and see what's going on."

"So, Joey, how's life as a big time detective?" Blair asked Mike's young partner. When they had first met, Joey Allen had only been a detective a couple of months. Putting the Society out of business had been one hell of a way to get acclimated to the job.

"Well, things have been so calm, I was started to get bored. That's why when Mike said we're flying all the way up here to visit y'all, I just nodded and went to pack. According to the word on the street in New Orleans, Helaire's busting your asses again?"

"Yeah," Blair said with a shrug. "She and Jim have this love/hate relationship-- they love to hate each other. Come on out to the balcony and I'll fill you in."

"Is this something I'm going to understand?" Joey asked. "Because I'm still not sure what went on back then."

Blair grinned. "If you're confused over that, wait until you hear the latest. Come on. You too, Mike. Jim?"

"In a minute, Chief." Jim looked around the loft at the men heading outside, the one on the phone, mother and daughter on the sofa, the teenager still in the floor in front of the television, and sighed. It all seemed so peaceful, but he knew it was just a temporary interlude. The forces against them were building even as his stomach growled. Stomach growled? He looked at his watch. Way past lunch time. He was surprised Daryl hadn't said anything, but one look at the teenager told him the kid was into the movie. Apparently Timon and Pumbaa could charm any age.

A quick trip to the kitchen quickly proved to be futile. Well, what could he expect? Goods for two didn't last long when they had to support five and may as well not exist when it came to feeding eight. He debated between a trip to the grocer and a call to the nearest take-out joint. Wasn't really much of a debate.

"Saving the world and feeding us too? What can't you do, Jim Ellison?" T'Dette asked as she came up behind him.

"Well, considering I don't even have five loaves and two fishes, I'm afraid the feeding part is out of my realm as well," he said jokingly.

"Got no business in a kitchen when I'm 'round anyway," the restauranteur said, nudging him from in front of the refrigerator. "Bachelors," she complained with a shake of her head as she examined the contents.

"It's okay, T'Dette. You go be with your daughter. I'll think of something."

T'Dette snorted. "My daughter prefers the company of that Daryl boy to me. That's okay with me though. Just mean she gonna be fine."

"She say anything about last night?"

"Oh, 'bout how the boogeyman came callin' and everyone sat 'round holding hands until you made him go away? Yeah, she said something about it. Would have thought it was something she made up, but Philip Marie ain't a fanciful child, and I know what went on when y'all were in N'awlins."

"I'm sorry she was caught up in all this, T'Dette. I don't know why they chose her to get to me, but I apologize," Jim said solemnly.

"You ain't got no reason to apologize, Jim. I'm the one who introduced you and Philip Marie, remember? And I think that was all it took-- you knowing her. Helaire Delacroix is just a spiteful bitch and you ain't got no cause to be taking the blame for her doings," T'Dette said in her practical wisdom. "Now if you want to apologize for somethin', why didn't you wake me when you crawled into my bed?"

Jim frantically juggled the carton of eggs she had placed in his hands. "I beg your pardon?" he said quickly.

T'Dette laughed. "Well, that's the only way I can figure you got to be Philip Marie's daddy."

Jim had forgotten Flip's fondness for the name. "Oh. I didn't mean any disrespect to you or her father. It was the only way I could stay with her in the emergency room."

"Yeah, that's what she told me. But people thinking you been in my bed ain't disrespectin' me one bit and as far as the bluesman who fathered her, he ain't caring either. He was just passin' through which I already knew. He wanted someone to warm his bed and I wanted someone to warm my heart." She gave a shrug. "We both got what we wanted. Ain't nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"Not at all."

"So you're the first and only man Philip Marie has called daddy. I don't have nothing against that, but if it's gonna cause you trouble, I'll put a stop to it immediately."

Since T'Dette was less than an inch shorter than he, it wasn't hard for Jim to look her straight in the eye. "It used to be that I didn't give a damn about what people thought of me, T'Dette. Now, I care even less. If it makes Flip feel more secure, gives her back some of the childhood this incident has stolen from her, then she can call me whatever she wants, for as long as she wants."

"You're a good man, Jim Ellison," she said huskily and embraced him. "Thank you for taking care of my baby. And thank you for taking on Helaire. Not many people in this world would do it."

"As if I have a choice," Jim said, embarrassed by the praise.

"Oh, you have a choice, Jim," T'Dette said knowingly. "Just not one you've wasted time considering. Now get out of my kitchen and let me get some lunch started. I'm starting to feel hungry myself. Heaven knows, I haven't eaten since Philip Marie disappeared... And don't you start apologizin' again," she added, seeing the sentiment in his eyes. "Go on outside with the men where you belong."

"There are more men chefs in New Orleans than women," he reminded her.

"Yeah, but you ain't one of them," she retorted, her smile taking the sting out of her words. "You need a break, Jim. I don't know what's coming, but something is. Rest while you can."

He raised an eyebrow. "You feel it too?" She shrugged. He knew her talents. "Can you feel it going?"

Her eyes were sad when she lifted them to him. "Can't say when it's going until it comes. But I know you need to be real careful. What Helaire done sent for you, it ain't gonna wanna take no for an answer."

*****

"Chief, you sure you don't want to come with us?" Jim asked for the second time as he and Simon prepared to take Rankin and Allen down to the station. The two men charged with Flip's kidnapping were suddenly refusing to talk. Simon hoped that Jim's presence would convince them otherwise. But he was reluctant to leave the loft and especially Blair. He had already explained to T'Dette that he wanted her and Flip to stay at the loft for a couple days or at least until he was sure Helaire was under control. T'Dette had merely nodded and said that was why she had packed Flip and herself a couple changes of clothing before catching the plane.

"C'mon, Jim. You know someone should stay behind," Blair said, trying to ease the worry he saw in the Sentinel.

"T'Dette will be here with the kids. And the protective circle is still in place. No one can cross it without permission. The loft is secure."

"Then you should have no problem leaving me here then," Blair argued with flawless logic... as usual.

Jim sighed and ignored the screaming in the back of his head that told him to ignore his Guide and stay by his side. "We'll be back soon. Don't invite anyone inside, okay? If someone knocks, ignore it or speak through the closed door. Understand?"

"Got it, Jim. Now go teach those guys just how sacred our loft is to us."

"Well, gentlemen, I have my orders," Jim said with a grin. "Let's get out of here." He paused before closing the door. "Take care, Chief."

"I will." Blair rolled his eyes as the door closed. "He's so overprotective," he told T'Dette as he joined her in the kitchen while she contemplated what to make for dinner. "You know, we could just as easily call for take-out. You're a guest, remember?"

"And you want to poison me with food made by some stranger? An odd sense of hospitality you have here up north," she said. Lunch had been a success with potluck-- she put what she could find in a pot, boiled it for a while and luckily it had been edible. But dinner was going to be a problem without supplies. "You have markets up here? Stores with groceries?" she explained carefully, having doubts about his knowledge of such places considering the state of the cupboards.

Blair smiled. "Yes, ma'am."

"Any of them deliver?"

"Probably. But the easiest solution would be for me to pop down to the store and get what you want. Make a list and I'll try to get everything on it."

T'Dette shook her head. "We're not supposed to leave this place."

"No, we're not supposed to invite anyone inside. The market is just around the corner, T'Dette," Blair argued, tossing a notepad to her. "What do you need?"

"I don't think this is a good idea," T'Dette said warily as Blair reached for his backpack. Then he let his hand drop. Juggling bags of grocery would be hazardous enough without adding the pack to the mix. Instead, he just picked up his keys from the basket by the door.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Blair assured her with a smile. Snagging the list from her hand before she could lodge another protest, he scooted out the door. On the first floor, he noticed a white note sticking out of their mailbox so he grabbed it as he headed out.

Mr. Sandburg, it is urgent that we talk with you. Your partner does not know what he is getting into. The consequences could be quite deadly. If you get this message in the next several hours, we have a room at the Cascade Towers, #666. -- Peter Watts

Blair barely made it past the word deadly before he was running to his car.

Chapter Eight

"You know, Ellison, we need to find a way to bottle what you got and sell it to law enforcement members everywhere," Joey Allen said as they walked out of the interrogation area of the Cascade P.D. where the two felons had just confessed to every crime they had been accused of. Whatever fear Helaire had of Jim, she had shared it with her followers.

"Or else we could just kidnap him and take him back with us," Mike Rankin added, pleased with the way the afternoon had gone.

"Sorry, gentlemen, I have dibs on him," Simon said. "He's going nowhere but upstairs with me to Major Crimes to make sure everything is going well in our absence. But I know my men and women are on top of everything. It's the kind of ship I run."

"Aye, aye, captain," Jim mumbled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. The elevator opened to deposit them on the seventh floor. "You know, Mike, Simon--"

It happened so swiftly that no one had a chance to react. One minute Jim was talking, the next he was on the floor, his hands clutching his head. "Shit," Simon muttered, kneeling quickly beside his friend. With relief, he noticed Jim was still conscious. "Jim, what is it, man?" he asked softly. Passing officers paused, alarmed to see the capable detective stricken down, but moved on when the captain waved them away.

"Blair," Jim whispered, the strained on his face telling Simon he wasn't just requesting his partner's presence.

Simon whipped out his cell phone and handed it to one of the visiting detectives. "Speed dial three." Right behind Daryl and the department. "Can you make it to my office, Jim?"

"Simon, he's gone."

"Who's gone, Jim? Sandburg? We left him in the loft, remember?"

Rankin tapped the captain on the shoulder. "T'Dette says he left over an hour ago to go to the store and she hasn't heard from him since."

"Damn," Simon muttered. What had that kid gotten himself into? "Help me get Jim to my office now!"

The Major Crimes contingent looked up expectantly as Simon entered. Then they noticed he was supporting a very pale Ellison. Uh oh. "Captain?" Brown asked hesitantly.

"Later," Simon said abruptly and motioned for someone to get the door to his office. Then it slammed shut behind the two strangers who had accompanied the captain and Ellison.

Joel had walked in as the door closed. "Where was Blair?" he asked quickly. Brown looked at him and both men silently agreed: if Blair wasn't with Jim... "Think we should put out an APB?"

"I'm ahead of you," Brown said, already on the phone.

Inside the office, Simon squatted down beside Jim's chair. ""You said Sandburg's gone, Jim. What do you mean? Do you know where he is?"

Jim shook his head. "I can't... I can't feel him anymore, Simon. Can you?" he asked desperately.

The familiar protest almost leaped off Simon's tongue, but he stopped himself. No time to pretend not to know what Jim was talking about. As Watcher, he was connected, albeit it not as strongly as the two of them, to both Sentinel and Guide. He closed his eyes and searched for the presence he associated with Sandburg. It wasn't there. "What does this mean, Jim?" he asked hesitantly, hoping it didn't mean Blair was dead. It couldn't mean that.

"Someone, some thing, is obstructing the connection. I felt it being severed, as if a veil suddenly blocked the light." Jim reached out for Simon's arm. "He's not dead, Simon. We would know that too."

Simon nodded, not totally convinced but content to rely on Jim's instincts. "So we need to find him." He walked over to the door. "Brown, put out an--"

"The word's already out, captain."

Simon nodded and turned back to Jim, too disconcerted to wonder how Brown knew to put out the APB. "What do you want to do now?"

"We need to get back to the loft."

"Fine. We'll--" His cell phone rang. "Banks... Yes. I'll send them over immediately." He stuck the phone back in his pocket and faced Rankin and Allen. "You're needed over at the D.A.'s office. Something about the extradition." He opened the door to the bullpen again. "Hey, Brown! You mind walking these guys over to the Justice Building?"

"No problem, captain." Maybe he could pick their brains on the way.

"Good thing we came in separate cars," Simon said, Rankin having rented a car at the airport. "Meet you back at the loft when you're finished."

"Sure, captain."

Simon made the introductions, then sent the visitors off with Brown. At that moment, Joel popped his head into the office. "Anything else you need, Simon?" he asked.

"No, taking care of this place for me is enough," Simon told his old friend. Formally asking for time off would require explanations he didn't have. "If you need me, I'm still crashing at the loft." He looked to Jim for confirmation and received a slight nod in reply.

"Well, we'll contact you if we get a lead on Blair. Jim, you gonna be okay, man?" Joel asked worriedly, having heard about the collapse in the hall.

"I've had better days, Joel," Jim replied honestly.

"Yeah, well, I'd be a wreck too if someone had taken my kid." Jim and Simon stared at him. "Oh, I know it's a big secret and I understand why. We'll keep our mouths shut."

"Mouths?"

Joel shrugged. "What can I say, Simon? This is a police station, not the CIA. Keeping something inside the department is one thing; keeping it from the officers is another.."

Simon looked at Jim, silently asking if he wanted the situation straightened out, but Jim had told T'Dette the truth when he said he gave less than a damn about what others thought about him. "We have to get to the loft," he urged.

"Why, Jim?" Simon asked in the privacy of the elevator. "What's so urgent about getting back to the loft? You think Sandburg will try to contact us there?"

"I don't know, Simon. I just know that I need to be there." He shook his head. "It's a damn nuisance knowing these things without something tangible to back them up. I mean, I know, but I don't know how I know and I can't even prove that I do."

Simon heard the frustration in the Sentinel's voice and sought to reassure him. "That's okay, Jim. I don't require an explanation. And after all we've been through together, needing proof would be like closing the barn door after the horses have left." He clasped his hand on the tense shoulder beside him. "I told Sandburg earlier that I was going to allow you guys to lead and I was just going to follow. I meant it, Jim. Where you lead, I'm right behind-- no questions asked."

"Glad to have you along, Simon, no matter where you are-- behind, in front, at my side. I hope you know that," Jim emphasized gratefully. Once, he had been content to face everything on his own. But now, it felt good to know he wasn't alone.

Simon shrugged. "We staffs are here to serve... and drive," he added as they reached his car. "Why? Because I wouldn't be caught dead in that hayseed truck of yours... which I probably would be, considering the way you drive."

"Hey, I'm offended on behalf of my truck," Jim said, rising to the bait the way Simon had planned. "Talk about me all you want, but leave my classic automobile out of it."

"Classic? I'll give you a classic. When I was in high school, my father had this..."

*****

The light moments at the station were forgotten as Jim and Simon neared the loft. "What is it, Jim? What do you hear?" the Watcher asked as the Sentinel cocked his head.

"I'm not sure," Jim said slowly. He continued to listen as Simon drove the remaining distance to the loft. He sighed heavily as he got out of the car and Simon assumed he was thinking about his missing partner...

Who happened to be standing in front of the loft door as they stepped out of the elevator. "Sandburg! Where the hell have you been!" Simon shouted upon seeing the anthropologist. "Don't you know how worried we've been about you!"

"I'm sorry, Simon," Blair said, shrugging his shoulders. "I just had to run a quick errand. I didn't think it would cause trouble."

"Well, it did, Chief," Jim said slowly, eyeing the figure in front of him. "Why don't you go on in? Simon and I will join you in a minute."

Blair gave a sheepish smile. "Uh, that's one of the reasons I'm glad to see you guys. I sorta forgot to pick up my keys."

"Really?" Jim asked, putting up his arm to block Simon as he moved toward the door. "How'd you drive the Volvo without your keys, Chief?"

"I didn't drive my car, Jim," Blair said, his eyes darting back and forth between Jim and Simon.

"Then why was there heat radiating from your engine?" Simon stared at Jim. They had both noted Sandburg's car in the parking lot, but Jim hadn't mentioned anything about it being recently used.

"Quit with the twenty questions, man, and let me in," Blair fumed fitfully.

The air in the hallway grew colder and Jim detected a shiver in Simon as the Watcher sensed the temperature drop. However, he hadn't yet sensed the most monumental change. With a sad shake of his head, Jim replied to his partner's request. "Can't do that, Chief. And if I don't let you in, you can't go in, can you?" He'd heard Blair asking T'Dette to let him in, the anger growing in him as she refused. But even before he heard, he had known.

"Jim?" Simon asked with dawning horror.

"Meet the reason why we can't feel Blair, Simon. Something else is inhabiting his body."

"Shit." Simon fumbled for his weapon.

"No!" Jim said sharply. "That's Blair's body, Simon. We can't hurt him."

"But I can hurt you!" It/Blair suddenly screamed and launched itself toward Jim.

The Sentinel felt nails dig into his face as the demon occupying Blair grabbed him and refused to let go. Trying for my eyes, Jim thought idly as he struggled to free himself without hurting his partner. The entrances to my soul. Should let him have a look around. Probably scarier than the place he comes from. "Keep away, Simon," he ordered as he sensed the bigger man preparing to jump in.

Uttering an apology, he slammed Blair against the wall. The talon-like fingers finally detached, only to fly at him again. Jim dodged and feinted, hoping to tire out Blair's body without damaging it. Maybe then, he could control the demon and protect Blair without any permanent damage. The demon, however, had other plans. It ceased its forward assault, stepping back closer to the wall in preparation. Words flowed from its mouth, sounds that Jim could, but couldn't decipher. It was as if he'd heard the words but they made no sense in the order in which they were delivered.

A second later, Jim had much more to worry about. The demon's hands, Blair's hands, were held high and Jim felt, rather than saw, the energy gathering in the air. With a hoarse cry, the hands lowered to point directly at the Sentinel. After making sure he was between the demon and Simon, Jim just stood there, waiting for the bolt of energy that lashed out in his direction. That the power would disable and more than likely kill him was a given and even as the streak of light neared, he could hear the captain saying a prayer on his behalf behind him. He wished he had time to ask Simon to take care of Blair when this was all over, but he knew the Watcher would automatically look out for the Guide. It was his duty... as this was the Sentinel's.

He smelled the frying of the air around him and forced his eyes to remain open as his death grew nearer. But at the last second, the rush of power hit a force stronger than it, a transparent wall which blocked the energy and dissipated it in a showy display of crackling sparks.

"Thanks, Lici," Jim mumbled softly as the thing before him howled its disappointment. Once again it raised its hands, but the energy failed to coalesce into the bolt again.

In fact, Jim noticed that not only couldn't the demon collect the energy it needed, but the being itself was considerably weaker. Now was the time to subdue it. He charged it and it briefly grappled with him, with even less strength than Blair would have. Jim backed off slightly, not wanting to injure his friend. The demon sensed the hesitation and carefully inched its way toward the stairs.

At first Jim thought it meant to lead him toward the stairs. Warehouse stairs. Solid metal with just a hint of rubber to keep the residents from slipping. Definitely not something someone wanted to hit with any force. But as soon as he had that thought, a vision followed. A glimpse of the landing below, not with his body contorted upon it but Blair's. The fiend wanted to kill Blair, not him! Even as he comprehended this, Blair's body was soaring over the railing and through the air. He couldn't remember if he cried out or not, but Jim reached out and wrapped himself around Blair protectively in mid-air. The stairs met them all too soon, the Sentinel careful to keep his head from striking first. If he knocked himself out, the demon would have the upperhand.

Black dots floated before Jim's eyes as his back made contact on one of the lower stairs, then both of them rolled to a stop on the landing. Thankfully, he managed to be on top and even as he tried to manage the pain, he was securely pinning the demon. Then he used his senses to check the seemingly unconscious figure beneath him. He was concerned that when they rolled to the bottom, Blair may have been hurt. Should he be calling for an ambulance?

Suddenly, the demon's eyes opened and instead of the familiar deep blue surrounded by white, Jim looked into two black pools that gathered him close and began sucking him in. He felt himself loosening his grip and he struggled to fight against whatever this power was. But his senses were already overcompensating for the pain and now there was this...

"Jim, damn it! You listen to me!" Simon yelled, digging his fingers into the Sentinel's shoulder. "You come back here! Now! I am NOT fighting these demons by myself!"

The new pain registered in the Sentinel and as he shifted his senses, he heard Simon's cry. Spurred by the call of his Watcher, he found the strength to blink and in that one beat, the demon's spell was broken. "Find his backpack, Simon!"

Simon raced back up the stairs before he realized he didn't know if Blair had taken it with him when he left. If he had, it could be anywhere. Before he could turn around and ask, the door to the loft opened and T'Dette stuck the backpack out before slamming the door closed. Well, Simon thought as he headed back down the stairs, at least he knew his son was safe. He started to call down to Jim that he had it, but he stopped when he heard the demon speaking.

"You ride the pale horse! You ride the pale horse! Death rides the pale horse! The Sentinel rides the pale horse!" it chanted.

"Shut up!" Jim replied, wondering if Blair would forgive him for popping him in the mouth. The screeching voice was highly annoying.

"Ask Lila. Ask Danny. Ask the seven men in Peru. Seven little soldiers, all dressed in greeny- greeny, trying to get to Heaven on the end of a stringy-stringy," it sang the familiar campfire song, "Bump in and break in and down they all fell. Instead of going to Heaven, they all went to HELL!" It screamed the final word, then laughed as it had last night.

"Simon!" Little bastard was getting personal.

"I have it, Jim!"

"Open it up. There should be a bottle of water in there."

A bottle of water? Simon held back the urge to ask. Follow, he thought to himself, just follow. "This it?" he asked, pulling out the bottle that was about a quarter empty.

"Open it."

He did as asked, then reached it to the Sentinel's outstretched hand. He stood back as Jim forced the water into Blair's mouth, making him swallow by pinching his nose. Blair started choking and only then did Jim release him and roll him to his side. First, water bubbled out of his mouth, then gushed out a black goo which had the consistency of hot tar and smelled ten times worse. It puddled onto the landing, then seemed to gather itself and oozed toward the next set of steps.

"Stay back!" Jim called sharply and it was only then that Simon realized Rankin and Allen had entered the building and were looking up at them. "Simon, get a bucket!"

This following thing was getting old, Simon thought as he trudged back up the stairs. Then he thought about the stuff that had crawled out of Blair and figured there were worse things than blindly taking orders. At the loft door, a bucket sat. It seemed T'Dette knew something about following too. He tossed the bucket to Rankin who seemed to understand and sat it where the black ooze would slide into it.

"Throw the whole bucket into the incinerator out back and hit the ignite button!" Jim said and now that the danger was past, he focused on his partner. Unconscious, but his vitals were normal again. He could sense him, not just physically, but mentally... the light in his mind had returned.

"Jim?"

He felt the Watcher's hand come to rest on his shoulder and he looked up at him smiling. "He's back, Simon."

"I know." Keeping his hand on Jim's shoulder, Simon reached out and brushed a curl away from Blair's cheek. One day, he would sit down and seriously worry about how close he was to these two men. But for now he was content to have them close again. Both of them.

Chapter Nine

"We need to get him into the loft, Simon." Jim moved as if to lift Blair, but groaned instead. Too much pain to control.

"I'll get him, Jim. Allen, help Ellison up." Finally able to lead, Simon gathered Blair over his shoulder and marched upstairs as Jim, leaning heavily on Joey, slowly followed. This time the door remained open and T'Dette was there to usher them inside.

"Put him on the sofa," she ordered," and you look after him. I'll look after this one," she added as Jim limped in. "Put him in the bathroom."

"I need to see Blair," Jim protested stubbornly.

"You need to be looked after," T'Dette argued, looking at the deep gouge marks marring the handsome face. Maybe they didn't hurt now, but that wasn't going to last much longer and from the way he was holding himself, he was hurt in other places as well. She glared at Joey. "Put him in the bathroom and put some speed on it!"

Jim tried to glare at Joey too as he was nudged into the bathroom and plopped gently on the closed toilet seat, but the detective refused to look at him which meant the glare was useless. Besides, the action was making the skin around his eyes sting. How badly was he injured? His hands went to his face but before they could make contact, they were slapped away by T'Dette. "Face wounds like to pick up germs," she warned, smiling slightly to show she was doing this for his own good. "They be pretty bad, but I can take care of them, I think. Unless you want Joey and Mike to take you to the hospital?"

Jim shook his head. He'd seen too much of that place already. Besides, someone was going to get suspicious and start investigating him if he went back. First he was injured, then his daughter, then him again... Yeah, it sounded like something he himself would investigate. But no cop could help with this. The unfortunate officer or detective would end up only being in the way. "Do what you have to do, T'Dette," he told her.

"First, I'll clean them and see what we're facing. You got bandages and stuff?" Jim pointed to the large first aid kit beneath the sink. "I see this is not unfamiliar 'round here. Well, you lucky that T'Dette has patched up her share of men after a weekend in the Quarter. You're in good hands," she said gently as she sat down on the edge of the bathtub and leaned forward to inspect the damage.

"I know."

"Your friend, that Blair, will be fine," she told him soothingly, sensing where his thoughts lay. "But he needs to wake up without you. Then he will know for a few seconds what it felt like for you while he was gone."

He winced as she dabbed an antiseptic wipe across his face. "A little cold-hearted, don't you think?"

She shrugged. "Make him think before he do something so dumb next time. Don't worry. As soon as I'm finished, you can go out there and give him a hug and tell him you're glad he's back."

"I have your permission, huh?" he inquired with a grin, thinking Flip was a lucky child to have such a wise mother. Speaking of... "Did the kids hear any of what went on?"

"Daryl took Philip Marie into Blair's room when that thing come to the door and asked me to open it."

Jim looked at her in amazement. "You knew it wasn't Blair?"

She shrugged and spread ointment across the deep gouges. "I knew Blair would be able to open the door on his own. So if it was Blair, he would be angry but inside. If it wasn't Blair, he couldn't come in and me and the children would be safe."

Jim looked at her. "This happen to you often?" New Orleans was known for its "spiritual" side but he wasn't sure of how much experience she'd had with such occurrences.

"No. The spirits usually leave me be." She grinned. "The lives ones know not to mess with T'Dette and the dead ones ain't that much dumber. But I listen to the stories my customers tell. I know of things that go bump in the night... and the day. So whatever you got to do, you can do it without worrying about the captain's son or our daughter. Now that I know what we're up against, I will take care of them. You have T'Dette's word."

"I still hate that you were involved in this in the first place."

"The devil call a war, everyone is involved. Some of us more deeply than others," T'Dette said as she stood back to inspect her work. "There may be some scarring, I'm afraid," she warned. "I'll have Grandmere send you some of her special cream. Now, where else you hurting'?"

"I'll be fine," he said, raising up to leave. He sat back suddenly as a sharp pain wrapped around his middle.

"I didn't ask you if you'd be fine," she fussed as she begin poking his sides. "A rib maybe?"

He closed his eyes and focused inwardly. "Two."

"You bleeding on the inside?" she asked, not questioning how he'd made the diagnosis.

"No. If you can tape me up, I'll be fine."

She helped him out of his shirt and wound the bandages tight around him, noting the scars on his body. "You look like you belong in the Quarter. The next time I hear on the television that N'awlins is the most violent city in this country, I'm going to call them up and tell them about Cascade."

Jim shrugged. "Helaire wasn't my first enemy."

"No, I'm sure a man like you has several." She gently peeled back the now dirty bandage on his hand. "Would you like me to read your palm?" she inquired casually.

"You can do that?" he asked with no skepticism. Ever since his trip to the bayou, he no longer scorned the supernatural. Gee, and all it took was a simple raising of the dead to accomplish that. "Alicia wanted to read my palm. I wouldn't let her. I'm not sure I shouldn't say no again."

"Alicia Delacroix? My power is not so great as that dear child's. I only dabble, seeing very little. But it is your decision." She replaced the bandage and waited patiently for him to make up his mind. Rather reluctantly, he held out his uninjured palm.

She placed her palm against it. Her voice grew low, taking on a singsong lilt and oddly losing the Southern accent he had grown used to. "You are a man of great rage, Jim Ellison. But it is tempered by a kindness, a generous heart, which you used to keep hidden. Now, both are on display and you balance upon a thin edge. The rage calls to you but you are frightened by it, unsure of your ability to control it if it is released. Yet, the kindness also scares you because you know it leaves you defenseless against the darkness that nips at your heels at every turn. Blair is representative of the kindness. His enthusiasm for life is infectious and his willingness to sacrifice for a friend touches your soul. He rushes in with his heart and he beckons everyone to follow. The captain is more symbolic of your rage. He is powerful, loud, bold, strong. A desire for justice burns within him as it does in you."

She looked up from his palm and locked her hazel gaze with his blue one. "They give you balance, but soon you will go on a journey without them and you must find the balance within yourself. Tip one way or the other and all will be lost. Stay on the edge and those who block your path will have to give way." She blinked and suddenly her eyes became unfocused and she would have toppled over if Jim hadn't reached out to catch her.

"T'Dette?' he asked in concern as she slumped against him.

She regained her equilibrium and pulled back from the embrace, her eyes wide with wonder. "Nothin' like that has ever happened to me before. I felt..." Words left her. "Your power is so great, Jim, that it reached out and strengthened mine. Poor Helaire."

"Poor Helaire?" he repeated disgustedly.

"Yes." T'Dette clasped her hands around his. "She doesn't stand a chance against you."

"Is that another prediction?"

"No," she said calmly. "Just a statement of fact."

*****

"No!" Blair cried out as he jerked to consciousness.

"Easy, Sandburg," Simon said quickly. "After all the trouble Jim took not to hurt you, we can't have you falling off the sofa."

"What?' he asked as the captain's words sank in, anchoring him, yet causing a disturbing half-memory. "Man, you wouldn't believe the dream I had while you were at the office," Blair said, with a shaky chuckle. He sat up, then tucked his feet beneath him, giving Simon room to sit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mike and Joey sitting at the kitchen table, looking slightly ill-at-ease.

"What kind of dream was that, Sandburg?" Simon asked softly.

"Well, I... Wait a minute. Where's Jim?"

"T'Dette is patching him up in the bathroom."

"Patching him up..." Blair looked at Simon, his eyes widening in horror. "Oh God, Simon. It wasn't a dream, was it?"

"No, Chief, it wasn't," Jim said as he limped into the living room on T'Dette's arm. "But we're both all right," he added as he heard his partner's pulse began to race. "Just take a deep breath and concentrate on that."

"Then tell us what the hell happened," Simon added, refusing to back down as Jim looked at him furiously. "We need to know how this happened so we can avoid it in the future."

"I was going to get groceries for T'Dette," Blair began. "She tried to stop me. So please don't blame her."

"I don't," Jim said. "But the next time I'm going to ask her to wrestle you if you try to leave."

"I can do that," T'Dette replied firmly.

Blair had no doubt she could. "It wasn't the grocery-shopping that got me into trouble."

"What was, Chief?"

Blair squirmed uneasily. "There was a note on the mailbox, supposedly left by Peter Watts."

"Damn cult!" Jim growled. "I should have known they had something to do with this!"

"No, Jim. Don't blame them," Blair begged. "I'm not even sure they were actually involved. I think --it, they, whatever this is that is after us-- spotted a weakness as they did last night and exploited it. But unlike Daryl, I didn't have sense enough to ignore them. No one is at fault here but me."

Jim shook his head. "No, we both ignored our instincts, Chief. You knew it was wrong to leave here or else you would have called and told me you were going. I knew it was wrong to leave you here, but I didn't want to hurt your pride by saying I didn't trust you to stay here on your own."

"But you couldn't trust me," Blair pointed out sadly. "And now look at you." He reached out to lightly touch the bandages on Jim's face. "I did this, didn't I?"

"What do you remember, Chief?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "This is the note."

Jim read it and passed it to Simon. "Uh, I'm no expert, Sandburg, but didn't the room number sorta clue you in?" the captain asked.

Blair snatched the note back. "What are you... Oh, man! How dumb am I?" he moaned. 666-- the number of the beast according to the Book of Revelations.

"Did you make it to the hotel?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, but that's where everything becomes fuzzy. It was as if everything was underwater, you know? That's why I thought it was a dream. I came back here. T'Dette wouldn't let me in and then you and Simon showed up. I attacked you, didn't I, Jim? Then I tried... I raised my hands?" Jim nodded, urging him to continue. "I felt... power... growing in me and I sent it toward you. But something went wrong? That didn't hurt you like it should have."

"I think Lici arranged for my protection. Something similar occurred in the bayou." He vaguely recalled an approaching alligator and the way it was flung back across the water.

"I, it, was angry. I was going to throw myself down the stairs... I was gonna what!" Blair shook his head. "Man, I tried to kill you and myself? What else have I done?"

"Nothing, Chief. It wasn't you," Jim said firmly.

"Yeah, sure," Blair mumbled, furious at himself. "This isn't your flesh beneath my nails, right? And I wasn't the one who blamed you for Lila's death and Danny Choi's and..." He paused when he noticed the growing anguish on Jim's face. Way to go, Sandburg. Remind him again of the people he's lost. "Shoot me now and put us all out of our misery," he said dejectedly.

"Seems a little drastic, Chief, considering you're the one who saved yourself and me in the end," Jim pointed out. "It was your holy water that caused the demon to leave you."

"But how did that save you? You already had me restrained."

Jim eased down on the sofa, thinking it was about time for him to deliver that hug T'Dette had "allowed" him. "Chief, Blair, if I had had to really hurt you..." The ribs hurt too much to hug him, so he settled for squeezing his arm. "Believe me, you saved us both."

Blair didn't know what to say so he just clasped his hand over Jim's and silently thanked whatever entities watching over them that his foolishness hadn't caused irreparable harm; what could have been a devastating blow had simply become a lesson learned.

And one that would never be forgotten.

*****

Fifteen minutes later, an argument that started fourteen minutes ago was still going on. "You should go upstairs and rest," Blair told his partner for the fiftieth time as Daryl and Flip came into the living room.

"That'll take too much effort. I'm comfortable here," Jim said, adjusting a pillow behind him on the sofa.

"I should see the other guy, right?" Daryl asked as he took in Jim's appearance.

"Something like that," Jim joked, noticing the guilty frown on Blair's face. "Be sure you add this to your video game. You want it to be realistic."

"About video games..." Daryl hedged.

"Daryl brought his PlayStation from home," Flip said artlessly. "Can we hook it up to your TV, Daddy?"

Daryl rolled his eyes. Never have a seven-year-old as your accomplice if you wanted to use subtlety. "When Dad said it was for protection, I figured we'd be going to a safehouse and I didn't want to get bored," he explained. "I just yanked the whole thing out of the set in my room and stuck it in my backpack."

"Wonder where he got that from?" Jim asked Blair whose backpack was known to house all the necessities of life, plus a couple of non-necessities.

Blair ignored him. "Sorry, guys, but Jim needs to rest and I don't think he can take the noise--"

"Unless you let me play," Jim interrupted. "At least one game anyway."

"Jim, you haven't slept in nearly two days--"

"Which means a few more hours aren't going to make a lot of difference. How fast can you hook it up, Daryl?"

Daryl glanced from one friend to the other, unsure which he should listen to. He knew it was Jim's loft, but he also knew the detective often bowed to Blair's wishes, especially when it came to his health. Maybe it had something to do with the Sentinel gig. He turned to Blair. "Is it cool, man?"

Blair sighed as three pairs of eyes pleaded with him. "Just keep the noise to a minimum, okay, guys?" Daryl, with Flip skipping at heels, went to get the system. "You can blame me for a lot, but the headache you're going to get from this is of your own making. Understand?"

"So does this mean you won't massage my temples and tell me to lower my pain dials?" Jim questioned, his voice begging sympathetically while the blue eyes danced impishly.

"Man, you are scary when you get in this mood," Blair confessed with a shudder. "Yes, Jim, when your head starts pounding from the noise of the game, not to mention two kids who have been cooped up in this place all day, I will massage your temples and guide you through the pain. Now, does that make you happy?"

Jim grinned. "Ecstatic, Chief."

"Okay," Daryl said as he reentered, dragging a nest of wires behind him. "It'll just take me a minute to unhook the VCR and connect this. Don't worry," he added, seeing Jim's fleeting look of terror. "You're in the hands of a professional. Flip, you take the Game Boy and sit next to Jim. You can play with it while me and your dad play the NBA, okay? Then you and I will play something."

Blair was impressed with the youth. And he was beginning to think Jim was right; Daryl's backpack equaled his own. "PlayStation and Game Boy?"

Daryl shrugged. "The Game Boy was in case I got bored. The PlayStation was in case Dad got bored."

"I hear my name being used in vain?" Simon asked, joining them as he finished his conversation with Allen and Rankin. They had filled him in on the meeting with the D.A. "Hope you brought along the NBA game, son."

"See what I mean?" Daryl said dryly. "But Jim and I get to play first, okay? After all, it's his set we're using."

"But I get the winner. Where's the Game Boy?"

Daryl looked up from behind the television. "Flip has that, Dad. You're just going to have to wait your turn," the teen explained patiently as he went back to his wiring.

Blair eyed him peculiarly. "He'd make a great teacher."

"At least you didn't say father," Simon commented with a shudder. "Hurry up, son! Let's get this show on the road."

"Not so loud, Simon," Blair warned, angling his head toward Jim.

Simon looked chagrined. "Sorry, Jim. You up for this?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "Don't you start too, Simon. I get to be the Jags, Daryl."

"Why?"

"Because I'm older and uglier."

Daryl handed him a control pad. "Word."

"Wiseass," Jim muttered. "Prepare to lose in a big way, my friend."

The play was fast and furious and by the time Jim handed his controls over to Blair, too exhausted to follow the constantly moving figures any longer, he was up by double digits. To protect his friend's honor, Blair kept the lead and the team as he took on Simon. By the time T'Dette walked over to tell them dinner was ready, having had groceries delivered, Blair had slaughtered Simon and was working on Joey.

"Put away your toys and come eat," she called, shaking her head at the "children" in front of the TV. "You makin' 'nough noise to wake the dead," she chastised. "It's a wonder Jim can sleep through all this rac