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Inferno- Part I

Prologue

"Damn it, Rashid! There has to be something we can do! If Ryan is alive...." The large, graying man clenched his fist in frustration. "There has to be some way to retrieve him."

His companion, the tassel of his fez dangling to one side, shook his head. "You cannot do it. Your power and Micki's combined is not enough."

"What about you? You could help us," the other man implored.

"I am sorry, Jack. There is only one person in this existence who would possibly have enough power to go on this journey, and return with what you seek," Rashid said with his thick Arabic accent.

"Who, Rashid? I need to find him or her."

"He may not help you. From what I understand, he is a difficult man, possessing great power, but reluctant to use it."

"The name, Rashid," Jack said impatiently. "I need his name, and where to find him."

The smaller man scribbled the information onto a scrap of paper. "Even if he is willing to help you, this may be too difficult for him as well. But if he is all that the signs say he is.... Jack, be careful how you handle him. His authority is far above ours."

Jack stared at his friend. "What are you saying, Rashid?"

"Do you remember the scrolls we found in India?"

"That foretold of the coming of he who walks both heaven and earth, ethereal but flesh, divine but mortal, beloved of the spirits, but anchored firmly to the world?" Jack's eyes widened. "And you're telling me this man lives in--" he looked down at the paper-- "Cascade, Washington?"

"That is exactly what I'm telling you, Jack."

*****

The redhead paced the semi-dark antique shop, lost in thought and anxiety. The greater part of Micki Foster's adult life had been spent running Curious Goods, not because she was enjoying being a shopkeeper, but because she had a duty to undo the sins of her uncle, Lewis Vendredi. From this shop he had sold cursed objects, and when he had willed the store to Micki and her cousin Ryan Dallion, the responsibility of retrieving those objects became theirs. Jack Marshack, an acquaintance of Lewis', had helped them. Jack was a sorcerer with a deep knowledge of the occult, and Micki.... Micki had turned out to be a fledgling witch. The three of them had done very well battling the forces of evil, and the cursed objects themselves, until tragedy had struck. Ryan had made a deal with the devil to save a child. In return, he had been reduced to a child himself.

But now they had information that the bargain was a fake. The child they had thought was Ryan, really wasn't. It had been a ruse to steal her cousin's soul. Now, Jack was trying to find out if there was a way to retrieve Ryan's soul and bring him back. She fervently prayed there was a way, because in her heart of hearts, she was very glad Ryan was her distant cousin.

Micki stopped pacing when she heard the door rattle. She looked up hopefully as Jack made his way inside, throwing his hat on the counter as he walked by. "Well?" she asked impatiently.

"There's a chance," he began, and she threw her arms around him. "But we need to find this man. He is the only one who can help us." He handed her the paper.

"Who is he?" she asked, not really caring. If this man could bring Ryan back to her, she would definitely find him. "A priest, a sorcerer, a warlock?"

Jack ran his hand through his thinning white hair. "Actually, according to Rashid, he's a cop."

Chapter One

"Sheesh! Is it like this every year?" Jim Ellison muttered, as he stared at the row upon row of Mother's Day cards.

"Yep, man," Blair Sandburg answered. "Where you been?"

"It's been a while for me."

Blair started to slap himself. Good going, man. Remind him that his mom walked out of his life. Why bother to buy a card for a woman who found something better to do than be a mother to her kids? "Uh, the ones you're looking for are probably on the next aisle."

"You sure they'll have one? It isn't strange that I want to send a card to T'Dette, thanking her for sharing Flip with me?"

"This is the eve of a new millennium, Jim. There's a card for everything." He led his friend down the aisle. "Here we go: To The Mother Of My Child, Thank You For My Baby.... Though You're Called Dad, You Make A Great Mom.... You Were One Swell Surrogate.... Now do you believe me?"

Jim rubbed his chin. "Sorry I doubted you, partner."

Blair smiled. "Just trying to make sure you're Y2K compliant, Jim. Sometimes older systems such as yourself--" Whap. He knew he should have ducked. Why hadn't he ducked?

"Don't you have a card of your own to buy, Sandburg?"

"Yeah. It's weird. Naomi never really got into the commercial holidays, but I think she'd freak if I didn't send her a Mother's Day card. Of course, it'll probably be Father's Day before it catches up to her." Although he had an address for his mother, it was more than likely out of date. Naomi never stayed any where for too long. For the longest time, Blair had thought he'd inherited her wanderlust. Then he met Jim, and discovered just the opposite.

Eventually, they made their purchases and headed home to the loft they shared. "Jim," Blair began. "I am an observer."

"Yes, you are, Chief."

"And for the past several blocks I've been observing you checking out the rearview mirror. Should I be dialing 911 or anything?" he asked casually.

"No. Just wanted to make sure I hadn't lost them."

"Them who?" Blair prided himself on not turning around to stare behind him. When he had first started working as Jim's police partner, he would have done something dumb like that. Now, he was more of a pro than most actual policemen.

"I've been tailed most of the day. A man and a woman. Old black Mercedes. Illinois plates. Registered to a Michelle Foster, age 36, runs an antique store."

"She the woman in the car?"

"Yes, the description matches. Lots of red hair, beautiful."

"And the man?"

"Probably Jack Marshack. He's her partner at the antique store. Older man. Murky background. I had their records faxed to me." He indicated that Blair should reach behind the seat of Jim's beloved '69 Ford pickup. "As you can see, both have extensive records, but nothing's ever really stuck. Mostly, they've been dragged in for suspicious behavior."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

Jim shrugged. "Read through the stuff, and see if you find a pattern."

Blair obediently flipped through the material, and saw exactly what Jim wanted him to see. "Shit. They're involved in the occult, aren't they?" The word strange had appeared several times in both files. "However, it appears the weirdness stops after their involvement, so I'm guessing they might be the good guys. Listen to some of these, man. Lost children suddenly appear in a small playhouse. Husbands disappear at a fertility clinic and later their corpses are found. Wonder what that was about?"

"I doubt if you want to know, Chief," Jim warned.

"You're probably right. So, you think they fight evil like we do?"

"That's what my instincts are telling me, but all they've been fighting today has been each other."

"Why?"

Jim raised an eyebrow. "I don't fit Ms. Foster's idea of a 'spiritually-gifted' man."

"Gee, and I thought the wings were a dead giveaway," Blair said wryly, already disliking a woman he'd never met.

"Well, Mr. Marshack keeps reassuring her that someone named Rashid couldn't be wrong and that I truly am the one they seek."

"At least one half of the duo has a brain."

"Be nice, Chief. Maybe Ms. Foster is like Lilith. She told me she expected Michael to send an old monk."

Blair silently cheered Jim's casual mention of Lilith. In the months since he had not only slept with, but banished the famed demon, the Sentinel had been quiet on the subject. "Do you know why they're looking for you?"

"No. I guess I have to wait until they approach me-- or until Simon stops by tonight. I'm sure the two of us can convince them to come in for a visit."

"If you think this is going to get you out of your nightly debriefing, you're wrong," Blair declared flatly. Ever since Jim's encounter with Lilith had revealed his partner had talents he knew nothing about, the Guide had insisted the Sentinel sit down with both Guide and Watcher each night to discuss how he'd used his senses that particular day. It had been a struggle to get both cops to commit to the practice, and now that he had, he wasn't about to let a couple of visitors break the rhythm.

"I'm not trying to do that, Chief," Jim said, holding up his hand in mock defense. He'd gotten used to his "daily review". At first, it had been difficult remembering what he'd done all day, but now he automatically catalogued each instance, and replayed them smoothly for his audience. "In fact, since most of the time my senses were trained on them, having Ms. Foster and Mr. Marshack there will be like Show and Tell."

Blair laughed. "Where were you when I was in elementary school, man? If one more kid had brought some stupid rock...."

"And what did you bring to class, Sandburg?"

It was sad when your friends knew you so well. "But my rock wasn't stupid, Jim," Blair protested. "It was from Israel where Naomi and I lived in a kibbutz for a season. It was great, man. We had...."

By the time Jim sensed the approach of the captain, promptly at 8:00, he was familiar with every member of the kibbutz, including the animals. "Sorry to interrupt, but open the door for Simon, Chief. I'm just finishing up the dip."

Simon Banks didn't even frown now when the door opened before he knocked. It had taken a few years, but he was getting used to having a detective with heightened senses. The Sentinel rarely surprised him anymore. But the man standing before him? Sandburg constantly kept him on his toes. Speaking of toes.... Sandburg was rocking back and forth on his. Shit. That meant Blair was excited, and most of the time, from the captain's point of view, that wasn't a good thing.

He closed the door behind him and decided to get the bad news out of the way. "Okay, Sandburg. What's got your key wound?"

"It's Show and Tell night at the loft," he answered enthusiastically.

The captain glared at him. "I'm not showing anything, and if I did, I certainly wouldn't tell it," he groused quickly.

Jim snickered in the kitchen, and Blair just outright laughed. "Relax, man. Jim's providing the artifacts for this showing."

"Ellison?" Simon asked, turning to face the detective. "Don't tell me you've got another talent? Isn't having five heightened senses, the ability to communicate with spirits, wrestle with demons, and fight for the Archangel Michael enough for you?"

Jim smiled sympathetically. His poor captain was always scared they were going to lay something new upon his broad shoulders. It was starting to seem like every time the Watcher accepted one thing, the Sentinel and Guide came up with more for him to digest and shove into his already overflowing sense of reality. "No new tricks, Simon. I just thought I'd invite a couple of extra people to our party. I'm even making hors d'oeuvres."

"Human people?" Simon asked warily.

"You think ghosts would like Cheese Wiz on crackers?"

"Considering people who eat the stuff have a death wish," Blair muttered, wincing as he thought of the chemicals in the stuff.

"Come on, Chief. Cheese Wiz is as American as--"

"Hotdogs?" Blair interrupted with a sneer. "Shall I recite to you the ingredients of the average wiener?

"No!" the two cops chorused.

"Besides, wasn't that you chomping down on that dog in the park two days ago?" Jim inquired with a smirk.

"It was the first and only food I'd had to eat all day, Jim. If the Cascade P.D. could make their working hours a little more normal...."

"Yeah, I'll pen a memo to the criminals, Sandburg," Simon said dryly. "'Due to the demand of observer, the Cascade P.D. would like to notify you that crime can only be committed between the hours of eight and five weekdays, and from noon to midnight on the weekends.' I added that last bit so you could sleep in late on Saturdays."

"How generous of you, man," Blair cracked. "Just think of the money the department would save on overtime."

Simon had had enough nonsense. "Gentlemen, this still isn't telling me who's coming to visit."

"Michelle Foster and Jack Marshack," Jim supplied, snagging one of the crackers. As long as he didn't focus his tastebuds too sharply, the cheese-like substance was perfectly edible.

Simon blinked, waiting for more info. Jim continued to sample his work, and Blair was fiddling around with the stereo. He sighed. "Okay, I'll bite. Who are Michelle Foster and Jack Marshack?"

Jim handed him the rap sheets as he placed the cracker tray on the coffee table. Simon took the papers and settled onto the sofa, Blair's choice of music already soothing him. With the skill of a man who did it for a living, he scanned the files, and memorized the pertinent data in a little over a minute. "Okay. I know who they are. Why are they coming here?"

"Because I'm going to go downstairs, go across the street to where they are parked, and invite them to come up," Jim said easily.

Blair did his good deed for the week and eased Simon's confusion before the big man resorted to begging. "They've been following Jim all day."

"Why am I just learning this?"

Jim shrugged. "They're harmless, Simon, and the discussion we're going to have, isn't the kind we should have at the station. If I am the man they seek--"

"Seek for what?"

"That's the $64,000 question, Simon," Blair said. "Since their records indicate a certain involvement in the occult, we figure--"

"That whatever it is, has to do with...." The captain tapped his forearms in the spots where Jim's arms bore the symbols of Michael's army-- a sword and a scale. "Please tell me this isn't going to involve a number of dead bodies whose deaths cannot be explained in five words or less," he moaned.

"I have no idea, sir, but I suspect explanations will be hard to come by. I'll be back in a minute." Jim reached for the door.

"You need backup, Jim?" Simon asked softly. Sure, he complained all the time, but when it mattered, he knew, and accepted, exactly what he was-- Watcher to Jim's Sentinel.

The detective shook his head. "Trust me. There won't be any trouble." He closed the door behind himself.

Through the thick door, and despite the ever-growing distance as he headed down the stairs, Jim could hear the conversation going on in the apartment. "You people better have more food than this." Simon's distinct voice was made less distinct as he munched on a cracker. "You promised to feed me if I agreed to these little tete-a-tetes, Sandburg."

"The delivery guy is coming with Chinese."

"Good. Tomorrow I want Thai."

"I'm cooking tomorrow."

"Even better. Damn, that's good. Wonder if Jim would notice if...."

Jim smiled and headed out the back of the building.

Chapter Two

Jim was still smiling as he approached the car from behind. His stalkers had yet to notice his presence, and both jumped nervously as he tapped on the top of the car. "You two must be tired of that car by now, even if it is as big as a boat. So, why don't you come on upstairs with me. You can stretch, use the facilities, and there's Chinese food coming," he offered casually.

Jack recovered first. "I'm sorry, sir, but you must have us confused with--"

"Jack Marshack and Michelle 'Micki' Foster, right? I'm Jim Ellison, the man you've been following all day. Forget the confusion story and come on. You know I'm a cop, so I'm not leading you into a trap or anything. I just thought it would be more comfortable to talk at my loft."

The two shared a look and reluctantly got out of the car. "How...how do you know who we are, Mr. Ellison?" Micki ventured to ask.

"You mean what kind of magic did I use?" Jim asked with a grin. "Police magic. I ran your plates."

"How clever of you," Micki remarked acridly.

"Yeah, they even pay me for cleverness like that. Ain't that a hoot," he replied, acting like the hick she was apparently thinking he was. Never judge a man by his hayseed truck, Ms. Foster. "So, do you have a hotel room, or are the two of you living in your car? I'm asking because I have a pretty comfortable sofa, and sleeping bags. Of course, Blair would probably give up his bed for you, ma'am. He's a gentleman like that."

"Blair?"

"My loftmate. He's a grad student at the university, and my partner on the force. So, do I need to stop by the basement and get the sleeping bags?"

"We have somewhere to stay, Detective," Jack said, as they entered the elevator. "But thanks for the offer."

Jim shrugged. "Not a problem. We've slept, what? Up to eight, I think."

"You and this Blair run some kind of hostel, Mr.-- Detective Ellison?" Micki asked curiously.

"Just call me Jim. And not exactly." A hostel for the demon-pursued. Bet Blair can come up with a catchy name for the place. His nose twitched as they left the lift. "The food's here." Seconds later, an Asian teen climbed up the three flights. Jim already had the money out of his wallet.

"Hey, Det. Ellison," the teen greeted him with a familiar grin, setting a huge box on the floor.

"Hey, Sammy. How's the family?"

"Doing great." He looked at the man and woman standing with his customer. "Mama said you must be having company, that even you, Blair, and Captain Banks couldn't eat this much. So, she threw in some extra fortune cookies."

"I don't see them listed on the bill."

Sammy rolled his eyes. "You and Blair order from us so much, that you've practically put Saundra through college. We wouldn't charge you for a handful of fortune cookies, especially since I leave for college in the fall."

Jim laughed. "Not to mention your three younger siblings." He pulled out the money and handed it to the kid. Then he gave him another bill. "Stick that one in your college fund."

Sammy grinned. "Thanks. I can order a couple of pizzas with that when I have a late-night study session going."

"Pizzas?" Jim lifted a questioning eyebrow.

"What? You think I'm going to be ordering Chinese take-out?" Sammy scoffed, disappearing back down the stairs.

Jim picked up the box. "Would one of you mind opening the door for me? Number 307." Jack rushed to do the honors.

"Oh, you have the food," Blair exclaimed, looking up when the door opened. "We were wondering if you were having any problems issuing the invitation," he said discreetly.

"No problems." Jim set the box on the cooking island, and turned to make introductions. "Blair Sandburg, Captain Simon Banks, this is Michelle Foster and Jack Marshack."

"How do you do?" Jack said, shaking their hands. "Just call us Jack and Micki."

"I'm Blair, and this is Captain Banks." He leaned forward and said in a stage whisper, "He can be rather formal, but eventually you'll realize it's part of his charm."

"Sandburg!" Simon yelled, offended.

"See what I mean?" Blair replied with a wink.

"Don't scare off our guests before we eat," Jim chided, getting out silverware. "Contrary to what you just heard, we're pretty informal around here. Grab a plate and serve yourselves."

"It doesn't have MSG, does it?" Micki asked. She took a step backward when she saw how affronted all three of her hosts looked. "I'm sorry. I just thought it wise to ask."

"No, no MSG," Jim replied quietly. The preservative was dangerous to his heightened sensibilities.

"How long have you been in Cascade?" Blair asked politely.

"We arrived yesterday," Jack answered.

"Didn't take you too long to find me," Jim remarked.

"You're very well known, Detective."

Jim rolled his eyes. "I'm flattered. It must have been quite boring, following me around all day. Next time, make it easier on yourselves, and just drop by the station for a chat."

"We weren't exactly sure you were the person we were looking for. We still aren't."

"Well, until you tell me who you're looking for and why, I can't tell you if you have the right person or not."

Jack and Micki shared a glance. "We're looking for someone to go on a journey for us, and retrieve a certain item."

"Go see Indiana Jones," Jim said smoothly. "I already have a summer job."

"It will take someone of considerable power to make this retrieval," Jack said meaningfully.

Jim bit into an egg roll. "Talk to the captain here. I'm just a detective. He's the one making the big bucks, right, sir?"

"You know, Ellison, just today there was a memo from Traffic. They need officers to work the arena area next week when the city's hosting that teen rock fest. Maybe I should give them a couple of volunteers," Simon threatened.

"Hey, how did I get involved in this?" Blair asked in bewilderment.

"You're his partner, aren't you?"

"How come it's, 'you're not a cop, Sandburg', when something good is happening, but when it's something crappy, I get, 'you're his partner, aren't you?'"

"Captain's prerogative," Simon said smugly.

"It's captain's something, all right," Blair muttered.

"That's not the kind of power we're talking about," Jack explained impatiently.

"I'm a simple man, Jack," Jim said, leaning back in his chair. "So, please, just simply state what it is you're looking for."

Jack reached out and linked hands with Micki. "We're looking for someone with enough spiritual power to go into Hell and retrieve a soul."

Silence, accompanied by three horrified stares. "Well," Jim finally said. "Although the request has been made several times, I don't think I've ever been told to go to Hell quite so literally."

"I don't know, Jim," Blair began. "I think Susan down in Robbery meant it. And I know Abrams in Homicide meant it when you solved his two-week investigation in five minutes."

"You have a point," Jim agreed. "What do you think, Simon?"

"I think a lot of people want to see you in Hell, Jim. Many of them would probably fall all over themselves helping you to the destination," Simon said amenably. "But it ain't gonna happen. Not on my watch."

Jim shrugged. "It seems you have your answer. I'm sorry that you drove all the way here to--"

"Wait a minute," Jack nearly shouted. "What are you saying? That you can't do this, or that you won't do it?"

"It's obvious he can't," Micki said scornfully. "I told you he wasn't the one. This man is no more spiritually gifted than...than a piece of wood."

"No, Micki!" Jack said harshly in his frustration. "Rashid wouldn't lie about this. He knows how much it means to us."

"Then, he didn't lie. He just read the texts wrong or something," she argued. "Maybe there's another Jim Ellison somewhere, a monk maybe--"

"What's with the monk angle?" Jim asked in annoyance. "Why does everyone assume I'm going to be a monk? Let me tell you, lady, I've spent time in a monastery thanks to my partner here, and you know what I found? Murderers. Old murderers, new murderers...."

Micki started to make a comment, but Jack held up his hand to stop her. "What are you saying? That others have come in search of you?"

"No. No one has come looking for me...for the reason you are suggesting," Jim answered truthfully.

Jack's eyes narrowed as he concentrated on Jim. There was something about him...."Rashid said you would be reluctant to use your power."

"Sandburg, make a note," Jim said dryly. "We need to find out who this Rashid is, and have a talk with him."

"You don't have to do that," Micki quipped. "Once I get through with him.... Sending us on this wild goose chase."

Jack shook his head. "I don't think it is a goose chase, Micki. Open yourself up like we practiced. I think I'm feeling something."

"Don't tell me-- you're spiritually-gifted, too?" Jim sneered.

"I'm a mage, a wizard, if you like. Not really gifted-- but learned in the occult," Jack answered humbly. "I have been in the presence of those possessing true power before and...and I think I am again."

"Cool," Blair commented. "What exactly are you sensing? An aura? Maybe an electric zing?"

"This is utter nonsense!" Micki shouted. "And I'll prove it to you." She walked over to Jim and raised her hand, laying it against his temple. With a gasp, she froze, her eyes widening, then glazing over.

Only Jim's quick reflexes kept her from hitting the floor.

Chapter Three

"Put her on the sofa, Jim," Blair quietly ordered. "Simon, go get a wet cloth."

He bent over the unconscious woman. "How are her vitals, Jim?"

"Steady."

Blair nodded. "She's going to be okay. I think she was just overwhelmed. What the hell did she do?"

"She was trying to touch my mind," Jim said wonderingly. "I felt just a brush of her thoughts, then she collapsed." He looked at Jack for an explanation.

"Micki is a witch," the older man said, taking the towel from Simon and placing it on her forehead. "I think she was trying to determine how powerful Jim is, by linking minds with him."

"She didn't know how dangerous that could be?" Blair asked incredulously.

"Well, she's aware of it now," Simon observed dryly. "She didn't damage you, did she, Jim?"

"I'm fine, Simon. And no, she didn't set off any warning signals either."

Blair stepped back, giving Jack access to his friend. He motioned for Jim to follow him. "Let me see your arms."

Jim pulled up his sleeves to reveal the marks which would signal the presence of evil. "I told you, Chief. They're not evil, just-- misguided."

"They certainly are if they think you're going to Hell voluntarily," he said fiercely.

"Uh oh," Simon said, joining them. "I'd recognize that face anywhere, Sandburg. Can I wait until she wakes up to toss them out, or should I just fling them down the stairs now?"

"Keep it up, Simon, and you might be joining them," Blair huffed.

"Why you getting so riled, kid? It's not like this is something Jim is considering doing, right, Jim?" He stared at his officer when he didn't get an answer. "Jim? No. You hear me, Detective? No."

"But.... Don't you think we should hear their story, sir?"

Simon looked at Blair. "Open the door, and I'll start flinging."

"Come on, guys. I just think--"

"Who is this man, Sandburg, and what has he done with our Jim? You know, the skeptical, sensible one who sends people to Hell, but wouldn't think about going there himself?" Simon demanded.

"What's going on, man?" Blair asked. The speculative way Jim had looked at Micki had made him aware that the Sentinel wasn't offhandedly dismissing the request.

Jim shrugged. "I glimpsed her thoughts. This really means a lot to them. Just think about it. They drove all the way here from Illinois to find me. That's not something you'd do just for the fun of it."

"Is that all there is to it? Or are you getting instructions from--" He rolled his eyes upward.

"Michael has to be the quietest general I've ever served under. I just feel I need to let them make their plea."

"Great," Simon muttered. "Demons last time. Witches and wizards this time. At Halloween, we can charge admission."

"Uh, Simon, do you really want to think about Halloween, man? All Hallow's Eve? The time when the wall between our world and theirs is the thinnest?" Blair asked.

"Thank you, Sandburg. I'll have to check the calendar. I'm sure there's a convention somewhere at that time. Hell, I'll even be the keynote speaker if I have to."

"She's waking," Jim warned. They walked back over to the sofa.

"Micki," Jack said softly. "It's all right. You're safe."

"Jack?" she murmured. Her eyes opened. "What happened?"

"We were hoping you could tell us."

She reached a hand up to her temple. "I had tried earlier to read his aura, but he blocked me. So, I thought I would touch...." She raised her eyes to Jim. "I'm sorry. I jumped to conclusions, and I.... Forgive me for doubting."

"Apology accepted. Just warn a body next time. I don't like hurting people," Jim warned uneasily. He carefully gauged her vitals, noting she still appeared wan. "I think you need to get her to your hotel, Jack."

"But--"

Jim cut him off. "It has waited this long, it can wait a few hours longer."

"You read my mind," Micki said wonderingly, knowing that was the only way Jim could know how long they had been waiting. If only they had known to look in the first place....

"No. You sort of spilled into my mind. You were too wide open, Micki. If I wasn't the nice guy I am, I could have seriously damaged you. You need to be more careful," he cautioned.

"I know. I'm always rushing head long into situations. You would think after all we've been through...." She looked at Jack and smiled. "I'm sorry, old friend. I know you've been instructing me too long for me to act like such a novice."

"Just as long as you're okay, Micki. Jim's right, you know. You need to rest. We can talk about this tomorrow."

"You don't understand, Jack. Rashid was right. Jim can help us. I'm sure of it."

"Who is Rashid, and what did he tell you about Jim?" Simon demanded.

"Rashid is an old friend. He is a gatherer and researcher of prophecies, incantations, and enchanted texts. When we found out what was wrong and what we needed to do to correct that wrong, he came up with Jim. You are featured very heavily in the written journals, Detective."

"By name?" Blair asked curiously.

"No. I'm not sure how Rashid managed to figure that out. He is very skilled. If you like, I can bring you copies of some of the texts tomorrow."

Blair nodded eagerly.

"Tomorrow morning?" Micki pressed.

Jim shook his head. "Evening. As I said before, I have a summer job. And a fall, winter, and spring one as well. Although I have an understanding boss," he clasped his hand on Simon's shoulder, "I can't ignore my caseload."

"We're grateful for any time you can spare for us," Jack said, reaching out to help Micki up.

She swayed unsteadily and four pairs of hands grabbed her. She gained her balance, then grinned at Jim. "You certainly pack a wallop."

"I'm really sorry about what happened."

"It wasn't your fault," she emphasized. "So, does this mean you will consider our request?"

Jim shared a glance with his companions. "I will hear you out. That's all I can promise."

"That's more than you have to do. Thank you," Jack said. "We'll see all of you tomorrow?"

"Jim's sort of a package deal," Blair said, wanting to make sure these strangers understood. "Buy one, get three."

"You and the captain are both practitioners of the occult?" Jack asked.

"Hell, no!" Simon responded. He could hear his grandmother turning over in her grave. The Banks' had always been Baptists. The fact that he couldn't remember the last time he'd been to Sunday Services made no difference.

"Then--?" Jack and Micki stared at them in confusion.

"Explanations can wait until tomorrow," Blair said, ushering them toward the door. "If we start throwing out labels, we'll be here all night. And Micki needs to rest."

"Tomorrow evening, then?" Jack questioned one last time.

"Yes. We'll be here." Blair turned around from the closed door, and looked at Jim. "They have no idea of what you are, do they?"

"Do we, Chief?"

"We know enough to know you aren't Superman, or God. For them to come here and ask you to go to Hell.... I don't know whether to pity them, because obviously this means a lot to them, or be angry at them for even considering the notion."

"I suggest we table the discussion for now," Simon offered. "Jim wants to hear their story. He'll hear it, and then decisions will be made."

"How utterly reasonable of you, Simon," Blair said, willing to be the unreasonable one for a change. He shivered at the thought of Jim traipsing around in a place filled with spirits like Helaire Delacroix.

"Yeah, well, as Jim said, I'm the one getting the big bucks. So, is tonight's review over with?"

Jim nodded. "The only thing I used my senses for was to keep an eye and ear on those two."

"What about tonight?" Blair asked. "Did you read Micki's mind?"

"Like I told her, I didn't actively do anything. I merely saw what she displayed."

Simon chuckled. "Last time I heard that line, the mayor's aide was trying to explain how he got caught up in a raid at Moondrop's Topless Bar. That was back in the days when topless bars were banned in Cascade."

"Ah, the dark ages," Jim panned.

"Simon, go home," Blair said, certain he was going to get no more out of Jim tonight.

"You don't have to tell me twice," the captain said, reaching for his jacket. He frowned when he saw the cards laying on the table near the door. "Mother's Day? Don't tell me it's that time of the year again?"

"Yeah, man." Blair looked at the clock. "The stores will be open a couple more hours, if I'm reading your face correctly."

"Yeah, I need to get Mama's in the mail, and Joan will have a cow if hers is late. Why are you sending two, Sandburg?" he asked, figuring they'd been friends long enough for him to be nosy.

"Both of them aren't his. I'm sending one to T'Dette," Jim answered.

Simon patted him on the shoulder. "You might be a little late getting into the fatherhood game, but you're starting off on a good foot. Remember the sacrifices they made bringing your child into the world, and the rest of the year might be tolerable."

"Simon, the longer I know you, the more I understand why you're divorced," Jim said with a shake of his head.

"Takes one to know one, Ellison," the captain said good-naturedly. "See you gents in the morning."

"Take care, Captain." He moved to put the leftovers in the refrigerator. It would be breakfast for the next couple of mornings.

"So, how does it make you feel?" Blair asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the kitchen island.

"How does what make me feel?"

"Knowing that Micki and Jack have come over two thousand miles just to find you."

"It makes me feel very sorry for them, because their journey is going to end up being a waste of time." He closed the refrigerator with a near-slam. "Good night, Chief."

"Night, Jim." He watched his partner climb the stairs and shook his head. Nope. The problem was that it was not going to be a waste of time-- and Jim was going to face his greatest threat to date.

With a sigh, he shuffled off behind the French doors, having learned though experience that when Jim got caught up in the supernatural, a good night's sleep was long in coming-- if it came at all.

Chapter Four

"Hey, Jim, you haven't seen Little Mo around, have you?" Detective Henri Brown asked.

Jim looked up from his desk at Brown and his partner, Brian Rafe. "Don't tell me the two of you have misplaced another informant? What is this? The third this year?"

"Ha, ha, Jim," Rafe said dryly. "So, have you seen him?"

Jim focused for a minute, running through the faces he'd seen in the past week. Since most informants roamed the same society, he should have glimpsed Moses Temple when he'd gone to see his own snitch. But no. Not even Sentinel recall was revealing Little Mo. "Nope. Something going on?"

"There's a new fence in town. Only takes quality stuff. We figured Little Mo might know something about him."

"Well, if I run across him, I'll let him know you're looking for him."

"We'd appreciate it."

"No problem." The two detectives headed to their own desks while Jim bent over his, continuing the reports he'd worked on all morning.

Detective Captain Joel Taggert watched this, and with determination walked over to Simon's door and tapped. His friend's booming voice bid him enter. "What's going on, Simon?" the soft-spoken man asked.

Simon glanced up at his friend. Once the head of the Bomb Squad, Joel had decided to spend his remaining years on the force as a detective-- under Simon's authority. Even with the change in relative status, the old friendship never suffered at all. "What are you talking about, Joel?"

"Jim has been doing paperwork since he got here, and he hasn't once growled a complaint. That means he's deliberately trying to clear his desk. Why? I checked the vacation roster. There are no changes, so I know he's not wheedling for time off. The only other thing I could come up with is that something funny is going to happen. I even checked with Homicide, just to be sure."

"Funny?"

"Eerie, spooky. You know, like those mutilated bodies awhile back. They happened at the same time Daryl, um--"

"Go ahead and say it-- when Daryl shot Blair," Simon said quietly. Yes, it still hurt to remember watching his son stand in the middle of the bullpen, pulling a gun on his men, and actually shooting one of them.

"Jim took care of Daryl that day, and somehow he made the murders stop, just like he made them stop in New Orleans."

Simon studied his friend. "You been running checks on Ellison?"

"No, but I have relatives in Louisiana. When they hear something about a detective in Cascade, Washington, they listen, then contact me."

Simon sighed. "I wish I could tell you, Joel--"

"No. I think I don't want to know. And I'm pretty sure the others agree with me. We trust the three of you enough to know you'll do your best. It'd just be nice to know when stuff like this is happening, so we'll be prepared to cover for you." Joel watched his friend for a second. "You're a part of this too, aren't you?"

"Not a big part. I'm the one who gets to pick up the pieces afterwards."

Joel shrugged. "That might be the biggest part there is, Simon."

The captain sized up his fellow captain, and knew Jim and Blair wouldn't mind him telling Joel just a little. "There is something brewing, my friend. At the moment, it's all speculative, and it's very contained. If it happens, no one outside the participants should be affected."

"When will you know?"

"Tonight. Decisions will be made tonight."

Joel leaned over to pat his hand. "Then the three of you will make them, and we'll all be the better off because you did."

"Faith like that can get you killed, Joel."

"Or it can save me." He walked over to the door. "Don't worry about Major Crime. We'll take it from here."

"You're a good man, Joel."

"Must be the company I keep."

"Me too, Joel," Simon said as the door closed.

*****

"Before Jack and Micki show up, I'd just like to say for the record that I did not use any Sentinel skills today," Jim said. "Wonder if Micki could conjure up a paperwork imp?"

"You got one-- named Sandburg," Simon joked, while whirling around to make sure he wasn't within range of said imp.

Blair continued cooking. "You know, Captain, I don't have to be an imp to know that one day, probably soon, you're going to need me for something-- a computer problem, a non-cop decoy, etc. When that time occurs, I'm going to remember this conversation. And, not only do I know where you live, I'm a close friend of your son's; I can get access to your house."

"I'm sorry, Sandburg," Simon said in a pleading voice. "Jim just left that opening, and I was filling it before I even knew what I was saying."

"Too late," Blair smirked, reaching into the refrigerator for a bowl. "Now, every time you go home, you're going to have to think about me."

"Why is that a scarier thought than this whole Hell thing?" Simon whined, a smile lurking in the back of his eyes.

"Because you're brighter than you look?" Blair replied innocently.

"You know, Sandburg, there's always the possibility you might need me one day," Simon counter-threatened.

Jim snorted at their antics. "At least you have doubts about me taking up this cause, Simon. Sandburg here, seems to think it's a done deal."

"You actually think he's going to go to Hell for these people?" Simon asked incredulously.

"I think he's going to try. Whether he can or not, that's between him and Michael."

Simon got that same gut-shiver he always got when the archangel was mentioned. None of this should be real. Not the Sentinel, nor the Warrior. But it was, and he was up to his neck in both. "Have you discussed this with him yet?" He angled his head toward the ceiling.

"Michael will speak when he's ready, and not before. But if I understand my orders correctly, I have some leeway in picking my causes."

"And you think that leeway includes a sidetrip to Hell?" Simon inquired.

"Fine," Jim said, exasperated with the two of them. "You guys get to decide, okay? You listen to what Micki and Jack have to say, then you tell me yes or no. Michael said I was to listen to your counsel, so that's what I'm going to do."

"You aren't serious, are you, Jim?" the captain said. Being responsible for sending a detective out to a crime was one thing; this was something entirely different.

"I'm quite serious."

"Fine," Blair said. "I'll accept that responsibility. So will Simon."

"I will?"

"Yes."

Simon realized a glare wasn't going to get him out of this one, so he busied himself with setting the table. He was just finishing when Jim went to the door to admit their guests.

Dinner entertainment came in the form of Blair and Jack discussing their travels. Afterwards, the three Cascadians sat on the large sofa, and waited for the visitors to make their plea.

"It all started," Micki began, "when an uncle I didn't even know, left me part ownership of his antique store. The other owner was a cousin who I didn't know either. I wanted to sell the place and split the money. Ryan Dallion didn't. But I was pretty persuasive, and we had this huge sale to get rid of the inventory. That's when Jack showed up, and told us we'd been selling cursed objects."

"Lewis was an old friend of mine," Jack said, taking over the narrative. "I would find interesting objects in my travels and bring them to him to sell at the store. I knew he was mixed up in the occult, but then, so was I. I just didn't know he was in so deep until it was too late. He made a deal with Satan to sell cursed objects in return for success. Later, he tried to get out of the deal, and was killed in retaliation."

"Ryan and I felt awful about the evil we had unknowingly spread. We tried to get back what we'd sold, and the next thing we knew, we had made a career of going through Lewis' manifest and tracking down what he had sold."

"What kind of curses are we talking about?" Blair asked curiously.

"A radio that granted wishes if you committed murder. A scalpel that performed medical marvels, but only if you killed someone with it first. A glove that could absorb someone's illness, but had to be cleansed in the blood of an innocent. A device that could drain someone's intelligence and put it in another person's brain. A coin...." Micki stopped, paling.

"A coin that when placed on a living being's forehead killed that person, but would restore life to any corpse," Jack completed. "Micki was both killed, and restored by it."

"I'm sensing a theme here," Blair said. "Every desire or wish had to be paid for with a life?"

"Yes. Often actual blood was the activator of the curse. Dip an object in blood and it gave you what you most wanted in life."

"What did you do with these objects after you retrieved them?" Jim asked.

"There's a vault in the basement of the store. It's hallowed or something," Micki explained. "We lock them up down there."

"Lock as in present tense?"

"Yes, we're still getting the objects back. A friend of ours named Johnny has been helping us. But he's not Ryan," Micki said sadly.

"What happened to Ryan?" Blair asked quietly.

"Ryan had a younger brother who was killed when both were children. He felt guilty over his brother's death, and Satan used this to manipulate Ryan," Jack continued. "While on a trip to France to recover an object, Ryan was talked into making a deal with Satan to save the life of a child. We thought that Ryan had given his adult life in order to save the child. A little boy showed up who said he was Ryan Dallion. We were upset, but I think both Micki and I understood his sacrifice."

"Now, we find out that the little boy isn't actually Ryan-- that Ryan is being held in Hell," Micki concluded.

"For how long?" Jim asked.

"Ryan disappeared in 1989."

"What?" Simon boomed. "You want Jim to risk his life for someone who's been in Hell for a decade! Do you think there's anything left of him to be saved?"

"I don't know, Captain Banks," Micki answered. "All I know is that my cousin is in Hell, and he has no business being there. His soul does not belong to Satan. Trust me, if he had those tendencies, he had ample opportunity to succumb."

"This is crazy," Simon muttered. "Say that Jim does this, that he goes to Hell and brings back Dallion's soul. What happens then? You got a body to put this soul into?" He looked at their shocked faces. "That thought had never occurred to you, had it?"

"No, but if Ryan's body isn't with him, then at least we can free his soul," Jack said solemnly.

"What exactly do you expect Jim to do?" Blair asked bluntly.

"Go to the Netherworld."

"And then?"

"Then bring Ryan, or his soul back."

"How?" Blair demanded tersely.

"There isn't a specific ritual for this, at least Rashid and I didn't find one in all the texts we consulted," Jack admitted.

"So, he's supposed to blithely traipse into Hell and take something from under Satan's nose, something Satan wanted so badly that he confounded all of you occult-learned people to get? I don't think so. Jim's too valuable to risk on some half-assed plan like that. How is he even supposed to find this man in all of Hell?"

"I will guide him," Micki said, and everyone but Jack looked at her in shock.

"From here?" Jim asked.

"From there."

"No."

"No? Why not? Because I'm a woman? I'm also a witch," Micki argued.

"Then why didn't you go on your own?" Blair asked.

"Because I don't possess enough power. No one does except Jim."

"So, I'm to ride shotgun for you?" Jim asked.

"Yes, in a manner of speaking. I can find Ryan, Jim. I know I can. But I can't do it alone. I need your help," she pleaded.

Jim turned his head toward his companions. "It's not strictly my decision. You're going to have to give us time to discuss this."

"I don't understand," she confessed. "I know the power is within you. What do they have to do with it?"

"In this case, everything."

Chapter Five

"Those were not happy campers, gentlemen," Simon observed as the door closed behind Micki and Jack.

"In the immortal words of the Stones: you can't always get what you want," Jim replied.

"You're quoting the Rolling Stones, Jim? I'm impressed, man," Blair said with a grin. "There was some light in your Dark Ages after all."

"Keep it up, Chief, and I'll show you some real Dark Ages stuff. No, let's make it medieval instead. Now, they really had torture down to an art form back then."

"You would know," Blair quipped, ducking the hand aimed for the back of his head.

"This is very amusing, ladies, but I really think a captain should be awake when he's on the job, so I'd like to get in bed at a decent hour. What's the decision?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't have any say in it."

"Of course you have a say in it," Simon fussed. "And quite frankly, Detective, I'm not getting this laissez faire attitude of yours. The Jim Ellison I know would never willingly give control to anyone."

"Well, the Jim Ellison you know doesn't exist anymore, does he, Simon?"

"What the hell does that mean?" Simon asked bewilderedly.

"The Jim Ellison who used to work for you was a good detective, with a couple of personality quirks and a little baggage on the side. I don't know who this freak is you have working for you now," Jim said bitterly, stalking over to the balcony doors.

Simon whipped his head around to the other member of the dynamic duo. "A clue, please?" he begged.

"Identity Crisis 101," Blair said smoothly. He had wondered when it was going to happen. Jim had been through too many changes in the past year not to question who he was now.

"He hasn't hit mid-life yet," the captain said, still puzzled.

"I doubt if a little red convertible could solve this one, Simon." He looked at his partner, slumped against the glass, staring out into the night...or was it his reflection that captured his attention? He looked so lost. "It hit you, didn't it?"

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me, since you apparently know me so well?" Jim said, without lifting his head.

"It finally hit you, O King of Delayed Reactions, that the enhancements Alicia endowed you with are permanent. It finally hit you, Master of Denial and Repression, that you have been called by an archangel to fight Evil. You aren't just a sentinel anymore. You are the Sentinel and the Warrior, and you are scared shitless, not only by the knowledge, but by the responsibility of it," Blair charged.

Jim gave a caustic chuckle. "I have no secrets from you, do I? You were so certain of how I would reply to Micki and Jack's request. And you know what? You're right. I do want to help them." He flicked his eyes toward Simon. "Sorry, sir. I know you were hoping for better from me. I guess there's been some mental changes, too."

Blair shook his head. "This is classic you, Jim. You are a born idealist."

"You're full of it, Sandburg."

"Maybe life taught you how to be a realist, how to expect the worst, how to accept the worst, but in your heart, you are an idealist. You want to believe that there's a bright side, that people are not bad, but merely misguided, that everything will be better in the morning," Blair argued.

"Bullshit."

"Look at the women in your life. How many of them have you wanted to redeem, Jim? And I'm not just talking about Lilith. I'm talking about Lila, who was a hired assassin--"

"I didn't know that," Jim interrupted.

"But you knew something wasn't right with her. Your senses practically screamed that there was a problem. And what about Michelle Lazar, who was literally 'married to the mob'? And Laura, who was a thief. And Jack Pendergrast's girlfriend.... You slept with them to redeem them."

"This is getting personal. Think it's time for me to leave," Simon murmured. He slipped out the door without either of his men apparently noticing. He knew they'd either call him, or tell him their decision at the office in the morning. Poor Jim, he mentally added, with a shake of his head. He was glad that the only crisis he had facing him could be solved by the sportscar and a cute, young girl. Hell, he'd just take the car. Women were way too much trouble.

"That makes me rather arrogant, doesn't it?" Jim asked sorrowfully, not blaming Simon for slipping out. "Thinking I can redeem them with my body?"

Blair shrugged. "Arrogance is part of your charm, Jim. You're quality goods. You live simply-- heaven knows that truck of yours is simple-- but you are an elegant man. Your clothing-- you can put Rafe to shame anytime you want to, and you know it. Back in the early eighties, Naomi and I stayed with an aunt. She liked to watch both Dynasty and Dallas. I asked her why, because as far as I could tell, they were basically the same show. So, she pointed out the differences to me. Dynasty was all glitz and glamor. Haute couture and dangling jewels, with names like Crystal and Alexis. Dallas was quiet power. Cowboy hats and large belt buckles, with names like Miss Ellie and Pam. Both stories were about rich people. But one dealt with the nouveau riche-- obvious and flaunting in their spending; the other with what my aunt called old money-- never wasteful, outwardly understated, but always refined. You, Jim, are old money. You could be a wino on skid row, and your polish would still show. You're a class act, no doubt about it."

"And your point is?"

"And my point is, that a lot of women feel better about themselves when they attract men like you. You try to save them by raising their self-esteem."

"I think it's a good thing you only minored in psychology, Sigmund," Jim snorted.

"You went undercover in a prison, Jim. Why?"

"Because something rotten was going on."

"No, because you were trying to redeem your friend."

"Matt was dead, Chief. By the time I learned there was a problem, there was nothing I could do to save him."

"But his wife got a settlement from the state, and she, as well as Matt's parents, have the knowledge that he did not die trying to escape from prison. He knew he was wrong, he served his time, and he was ready to straighten out his life. That's the memory they have of him now. Thanks to you."

"Maybe I should do an infomercial: I LIFT SELF-ESTEEMS," he said dryly, mocking those thirty to sixty minute wastes of times.

"Maybe you should. You're really good at it. I know how much better you've made me feel about myself," Blair admitted softly.

Jim finally turned from the balcony doors. "Someone as smart as you shouldn't have any esteem problems."

"'He says to the man who has no idea who his father is,'" Blair completed. "I spent a childhood of being the new kid, of watching others being tossed in the air by adoring fathers, of wondering if maybe my mom would be better off if she just dropped me somewhere and went on with her life. Yeah, I enrolled at Rainier when I was sixteen, because I thought it was time that Naomi got to do what she wanted to do, without having to check out the local schools or make sure my records had transferred. So, yeah, there were some esteem problems, Jim."

"I'm sorry, Chief. I guess I wasn't thinking. When I met you--"

"When you met me, I had been told that although I was a bright young man, I was ruining any chance I had at an academic career by wanting to do a dissertation on Sentinels. That's why I did that song and dance number at the hospital. That's why I followed you out of my office--"

"In time to save my life."

"Because your existence was going to save mine. We agreed that we had to keep the whole thing hush-hush, but I still gloated. I smirked when professors came up to me and told me how glad they were I was doing something sensible like the closed society of policemen. Closed society, hell; I had my very own Sentinel."

"Glad I could be of help."

"No, that wasn't what you did to lift my self-esteem. I mean, yeah, it did, but it wasn't anything 'active'. You had nothing to do with that, besides the fact that you were a Sentinel. What you did, Jim, was take me in. What you did was become my friend. What you did was put your trust in me. It's a wonder my neck can still hold my head, man."

"And I thought it was all that knowledge that makes it wobble up there," Jim said, grinning self-consciously.

"No, it's because it's gotten so big living with you. You make me feel good about myself. Thank you for that."

"You don't do too bad at that yourself, Chief. Maybe I better start working on my neck muscles next time I go to the gym," he joked, turning back to his reflection in the glass.

"Jim, you're wondering who you are. I can help you with that, okay?" Blair joined him at the glass doors. "That man," he began, pointing at Jim's reflection beside his, "is the same man who was caring enough to offer a homeless grad student shelter, compassionate enough to go to Peru to save Simon and Daryl Banks, strong enough to comfort Alicia Delacroix in her final days, sweet enough to become Flip Fourtier's dad, powerful enough to defeat himself on the outskirts of Hell, and stalwart enough for an archangel to recruit for his army. That's who Jim Ellison is."

"But you don't think I can do what Micki and Jack are asking," Jim replied softly.

"You're wrong. I think you can go to Hell, and drag Satan's scrawny ass back if you want to, Jim. My hesitation has nothing to do with doubting your abilities. I just didn't want you jumping into this without thought. I didn't want your heart getting ahead of your brain. Jack and Micki painted a sad tale. I wanted you to sit back, and choose rationally, not emotionally." Blair shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm telling you to hold back on your emotions. But that's exactly what I'm doing. You want to go through with this. Why? Because you want to help Micki and Jack?"

"That's part of it."

"That's an emotional part. Give me something else."

"Because it feels wrong."

"Emotionally or psychically? And don't give me that crap about you aren't a psychic."

Jim looked at him in askance. "When did you get so pushy?"

"When you decided to get so dense," Blair shot back. "Now, emotionally or psychically?"

"Psychically."

"Explain."

"I sense unrest...and unbalance."

"And?" When Jim didn't answer, he nudged his arm. "Don't hold back. By now, you should know I'm not easily shocked, nor am I likely to laugh in your face."

"I don't know this Ryan. I've never heard his voice, haven't even seen a picture, but..."

"But?"

"It was probably just a memory flash from Micki's mind-- a leftover from that stupid move of hers."

"Jim, we're getting really close to an incident of domestic abuse here," Blair muttered impatiently.

"I thought I heard him last night, Chief. Like I heard the children."

Like the ghosts who had inhabited Jim's brain. "What did he say?"

"'Help me'."

Blair slumped against the glass, totally defeated. That was it. Nothing else left to say. Jim was going to risk everything to go into Hell and retrieve one Ryan Dallion. He could stand here and argue that one lost soul wasn't worth the potential loss of a Sentinel/Warrior. He could debate the issue of whether Ryan's soul had been taken fairly or not. He could drop to his knees, and beg Jim not to try it for his sake. That last one might work, but Jim would be miserable knowing someone had asked for his help, and he had walked away. That just wasn't who he was.

"The full moon is tomorrow night," he mused, going over to the phone, where they had tacked up the hotel's number. "That doesn't give us much time, but since Micki is Wiccan, she'll be at her most powerful. And if she's going with you, I want her at no less than her best." He dialed and waited a few seconds. "It's a go," he said firmly. "Tomorrow night. Do you have everything you need? Well, if you figure out anything else, let us know. We'll be at the loft all day."

"All day?" Jim asked when he clicked off.

Blair nodded and hit one of the fast dial buttons. "Simon, we won't be in tomorrow. What do you think? Yeah, it was pretty much a done deal from the beginning. No, no one had to call the cops on us. I gave in graciously. The actual attempt won't take place until nightfall, but preparations.... Whenever you can, man. I don't know if he's going to need your support or not, but I know I will. Sleep? I'll try, but I doubt it. See you tomorrow, Captain."

"I'm sorry, Chief," Jim said, joining his partner, who was setting up his laptop on the dining table.

"For what? Being who you are? Not something you can control...or I can control, either. But I'm going to see what I can do to help." He logged onto the internet. "You going to bed?"

"Maybe in a little while. I'm a tad edgy."

"Understandable."

"You gonna be able to clear tomorrow with the university?"

"I think they're more surprised when I show, than when I don't," Blair sighed.

"I don't want my baggage interfering with your education."

"As if I could actually learn more there than here," he scoffed. "Sometimes the politics are so bad-- everyone jockeying for favors and funding. I'm not sure I belong there anymore."

"Chief?"

He heard the worry in his partner's voice. "A discussion for another time, Jim. Hell first, then the university."

"Hell first, then the university," Jim repeated, as his pacing led him toward the balcony. "Sounds like a plan."

Chapter Six

"You like this setting?"

Jim gazed around the desert and shrugged. "It's okay."

"We could change it. Maybe a nice tropical--"

Jim shook his head. "That's another rendezvous spot altogether."

Archangel Michael looked at the human who had been assigned to him, or vice versa. After a couple of dealings with him, he wasn't sure who was in charge. "You got an angel on the side, Jim?"

Jim did a doubletake, then gave a sigh of relief when Michael grinned. "Hey, men have needs," he teased the being.

"So Peter hears on an hourly basis. Cheating husbands really don't perceive the practice as a sin."

"It's the breaking of an oath, a covenant you freely entered into," Jim said. "Sounds like a sin to me."

"That's why you're here, and they're not. Which brings us to the point of this rendezvous...."

"So, is it a go, or a no?" Jim asked simply.

"Jim, I am eternal, and you are not."

"Figured that one out for myself."

"And you wouldn't see me volunteering to go to Hell."

"I'm not asking for your company, Michael," the human pointed out. "Is it possible? And if it is, can I go?"

"Everything is possible, Jim. Including the loss of your soul, and your very life. Why would you want to do this?"

"It's not our job to save souls?"

"Man has the ability to choose who gets possession of his or her soul."

"So, are you saying this Dallion fellow made an informed decision and gave his soul over to Satan? That wasn't the impression I had, but if you tell me that's true, then I'll believe you, and this matter will be dropped."

"You see, son, this is where you always get into trouble. No, it is not your job to save souls. Your job is to protect souls from evil. That's how we got on different pages with Lilith. You were bent on saving, not protecting."

"I can protect, but I can't rescue? That doesn't make sense," Jim argued. "If Dallion made a deal with Satan, and everybody got out of it what they expected to get out of it, fine. I'll tell Jack and Micki that I'm sorry, but Dallion made a deal, and he has to stick to it. But if Satan tricked Dallion--"

"That's what Satan does, Jim," Michael said pointedly.

"Dallion offered his soul in exchange for the life of a child. If Satan abided by that, then put a check in his 'In' box. If he didn't, then he has perpetrated fraud, and if we let him get away with it, then we are abetting a crime, and are as guilty as Satan himself!"

Michael shook his head. "You've spent way too much time in courtrooms, my human friend."

"If you see a guy-- normal, not starving or anything-- steal an apple, should you just walk by and let him take it?"

"We're not talking about--"

"Should you just let him take it?" Jim pressed.

"No."

"Then, is not a man's soul worthy of the same consideration you would give an apple? If Dallion's soul is bought and paid for, I'm all for reaping what you sowed, sleeping in the bed you made, etc. But if a certain Dark Angel is playing fast and loose with the rules, then I'm offended, as well as you should be, and the rest of the heavenly host," Jim said angrily.

For a long time Michael didn't reply, his head bowed, his eyes closed. Then he looked up at Jim, with a wry smile. "It seems there are questions about the deal Ryan Dallion made. Apparently, Satan did renege, but took his soul anyway."

"And you guys did nothing?" Jim asked incredulously.

"A slip through the cracks. We deal with infinite numbers up here," the archangel explained defensively.

"So, now you have a chance to correct the error."

"Easier said than done. Our authority in that realm is limited. We are not allowed to put restraints on free will."

"Does that mean I can't go?"

"You are mortal. You have free will, and are not bound by the covenant made between Heaven and Hell. You can go anywhere you want to. But-- you cannot look to me for protection."

"It is not your protection I'm seeking, but your blessing," Jim countered.

"Why? You plan on doing this with or without it, don't you?" Michael asked the determined, stubborn man beside him.

"No."

The archangel stared at him. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I won't do this if you tell me not to."

"Why not? It is your right, your free will to do so."

Jim smiled faintly and looked at his arms, where the symbols and words of Michael lay glowing. "I exercised my free will when I agreed to wear your brands, and accepted a place in your army. Per that agreement, you command me, sir. You always will, until you dismiss me."

"Or you dismiss me."

"Never, sir."

Michael wondered what he had done to deserve such a pesky human, and determined it must have been something pretty special. He was going to have to do some checking, and maybe some fast-talking, but he wasn't going to leave this man's fate completely in the hands of Satan. He'd miss him entirely too much.

He casually tossed his arm around Jim's shoulder, and they continued walking though the desert scene. "I should have stuck with monks," he mused aloud.

"Again with the monks," Jim groaned. "I'm going to get a complex, you know."

"You sound like your companion, Blair."

"Familiarity, sir."

"Is that a warning?" Michael teased, not at all sure what he was going to be like after spending time with this particular human. Angels were eternal, but not immutable. Oh, well. At least he was sure that no matter how he changed, it would be for his own good. "Now, let's talk about this journey of yours...."

*****

Pouring a cup of coffee, Blair noticed movement on the balcony and reached for a second cup."Morning, Jim," he called, as he stepped outside into the perfect spring day. "How was the celestial plane?"

"Michael got bored with the desert scene. We ended up in this mountain valley. Majestic peaks around us, a crystal-clear lake at our feet. It was incredible, Chief." He took a sip of his coffee. "You sleep okay?"

"I got a few good hours, man. When I finished my research, I came out here to check on you. You were in that deep, still place-- like when you were with Alicia. I considered panicking, then I looked at your arms. The symbols had a faint glow to them, like bioluminescence. So, I figured you were with Michael, and I had nothing to worry about. I do have nothing to worry about, right?"

"Right."

"And you have permission to go on this rescue mission of yours?"

"Yeah."

"But?"

"He tried to talk me out of it."

"Why?"

"Because of the free will rules, he has limited authority on the infernal plane."

Blair frowned, grasping his mug with both hands. "What does that mean?"

"That if I go, I'm on my own."

"Damn. I was kind of hoping--"

"Me, too. But interference from Michael could constitute a breach of the agreement between Heaven and Hell. That could start a war that isn't scheduled to be fought for quite some time," Jim explained, as the archangel had explained to him.

"So?"

"So?"

"You're going anyway?"

Jim shifted his eyes away from his partner. "Michael checked; Dallion's soul was unfairly taken."

Blair sighed and ran a hand through his unfettered hair. "I did some research on the internet last night. I know you have your own way of dealing with this, your own private rituals or whatever, which will prepare you for this journey, but it would really make me feel better if you tried a few others-- maybe as backup?"

"Sure, Chief. I want you to be comfortable with this, too."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Jim, I'm never going to be comfortable with this. You're going to Hell, man! And there are no guarantees you're going to make it back. You can ask me to accept it, you can know that I am going to help you to the best of my ability, but don't expect me to like it, to be comfortable with it. That just ain't gonna happen."

"What is it you want me to do?" Jim replied, his eyes full of apology. "You know I'll do anything for you."

"I'll need a couple of hours to get the preparations. You need a nap or anything?"

"I'm good."

Blair nodded. The good thing about Jim's visits with Michael was that he now knew Jim was in excellent physical condition. Michael's touch was a healing one, leaving the Sentinel healthy and alert. "Aren't you the least bit nervous about this?"

Jim shrugged. "You said it, Chief: it's a mission. I've been programmed to approach them with a specific mindset that doesn't include being anxious and nervous."

"What does it include?"

"Reiteration of the goal-- to rescue Dallion; review of the ways and means to achieve the goal-- other than a direct descent into Hell to get him, I can't think of anything else; analysis of the specific plan to achieve that goal-- 'going with the flow' seems to defy analysis; and a strengthening of resolve that the mission will be successful-- a.k.a. psyching myself into believing I can do what it is I have set out to do. Accentuate the positive; eliminate the negative."

"Do you know how many times I've heard that same set of rules taught at spiritual retreats?" Blair asked with a grin, pulling up another deck chair in front of Jim's, and perching just on the edge of the seat. "I think the Army is a lot more New Age than they know."

"Wasn't it you who compared the Army to a cult?" Jim asked dryly.

"You have to admit that they make you into robots, Jim. They change the way you walk, talk, make your beds, wear your clothes, clean a bathroom, peel a potato--"

"You've been watching Gomer Pyle again, haven't you?" Jim accused. The old TV show was about a misfit Marine from the hick town of Mayberry, North Carolina.

"Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines.... You're all the same little drones--"

"Who save your ass and everyone else's when the world decides not to play fair, or when some idiot uses weapons instead of brains to solve his country's problems."

"Hey! I'm not arguing."

Blue eyes stared at him.

"Well, okay, maybe I'm arguing a little. But I haven't been indoctrinated into your coven, Jim. I don't instantly adopt a certain mindset. I still get to indulge in anxiety and nervousness," he confessed, squirming on the chair until Jim reached out a hand and dropped it on his knee. Blair froze, then gave his partner his complete attention.

"I'm not entering into this lightly, Chief. I fully appreciate the possible consequences of my actions. The dangers of what I am going to attempt to do are staggering. I could be killed, or worse, lost inside Hell forever. I could make it back, but without Dallion...or without Micki. I could make it back without my soul, just leaving behind some limp body that you and Simon will have to watch slowly decay. I think that's the most horrifying of the outcomes I've pictured. I have a living will, and that should help, but the final decision will be yours. You know you're the only one I trust that much."

"I know," Blair replied softly. "But I'd rather know that you're going to do your best not to put me in that position. Don't put that weight on my shoulders if you can help it, Jim."

Jim nodded solemnly. "Know that if it happens, the choice was not in my hands."

"Okay," Blair murmured, accepting the promise. "Okay. But I fully expect you to come back, Jim. I've invested a lot of time in you, you know. So have a lot of other people-- Simon, Alicia.... You have a daughter now, remember?"

"I remember."

"Children shouldn't lose parents. You know that."

"I know."

"And Guides shouldn't lose Sentinels."

Jim leaned forward to place a hand on the one opposite his, the one that had a white-knuckled grip on the chair arm. "I know that, too, Chief."

"I just wanted to make that clear while...while it's just us. Tonight, I'll play it cool, but I can't do it now. Sorry if that makes me sound like a wuss," Blair apologized.

"Not a wuss in sight," Jim said with care. "Besides, I like the idea of getting our goodbyes out of the way."

"Yeah. Nothing like a goodbye to stir up the negative, huh?" Blair mused, understanding the mission mindset now more than he ever wanted to. "Goodbye, Jim."

"Goodbye, Chief."

Blair took a deep breath, and expelled it slowly. "Now, to work on the positive. Gotta go do some shopping. Back in a bit, man."

"Happy hunting," Jim called to his partner, who was already half way out the door.

"I'm going to the mall, not to the big woods," Blair called back.

"Same difference," Jim muttered, and went back to absorbing the rising sun's rays.

Chapter Seven

The sun had arced and was heading toward the horizon, as the mutters came from behind the bathroom door. "The next time I promise you something, Chief, remind me to ask for the details first."

"Bitching doesn't become you, Jim," Blair said calmly, from his perch on the toilet lid. "Are you comfy?"

"As comfortable as I can be with you over there leering at me."

"You prude, you," the accused leerer laughed.

"You pervert, you," Jim retorted lightly from the bathtub, where the water was starting to feel pretty good. He wasn't really embarrassed. The Army had quickly stripped him of any notion of modesty. Besides, the room was lit with just the light of a single candle. Only a Sentinel could see with any detail. "What did you call this again?"

"A ritual bath. It's to cleanse yourself, from inside and out, of negative energies, and prepare your physical, mental, and spiritual self for entrance into a Circle."

"A Circle?"

"A protected Circle where magick takes place."

Jim cocked an eyebrow in his direction. "Something you been holding back, Sandburg? You seem entirely too comfortable with witchwork."

"Wicca and Shamanism have a lot in common. They're both spiritual experiences with ties to the earth."

"So, you're pretty confident about Micki accompanying me?"

Blair sighed. "I understand why she has to go. Her connection to Ryan is strong, and when we're talking about matters of this nature-- spiritual rescues, soul retrievals-- that's important. You will provide the power, but she supplies the direction. Without her, you could wander around forever in search of Ryan. I just have no idea of how powerful of a witch she is. And I worry about her skills. She should have been able to sense your power without touching you."

"I think she was predisposed not to believe in me."

"Because you're a cop, and not some religious figure? That kind of prejudice is just going to screw up the flow between the two of you-- hell, between her and the rest of nature. If there is a weakness in all this, it's going to be her," Blair predicted. He slowly shook his head. "We're doing this all wrong."

"What? I got wet too soon?"

"No, the whole purpose of this rite is to cleanse the negativity, not feed it." He reached down and turned on the tape recorder at his feet. A soft rhythmic sound filled the room. "Tell me about your bath, Jim. What about the water you're in?"

"It's slicker than usual. You've added some oils. The density is different. Salts, maybe? And I smell herbs. Want me to name them?" he asked, used to Blair testing him.

"No. I don't want you to concentrate that hard on the external. I want you to focus inward, Jim. The herbs and the oils are symbolic of the earth. She is always beneath your feet, grounding you, feeding you. She is part of all living things and connects us all. Make the earth a part of you. Accept her gifts," Blair intoned.

"You smell the soft scents of the herbs and the incense of the candle. This is air, Jim. It is the power of movement, freshening and cleansing as it dances around you. Constantly renewing itself as it renews you, giving you breath and taking away that you have already spent.

"Feel the heat of the water. Reach out with your senses and touch the candle's flame. This is fire. Beautiful, powerful. It touches upon our passion, protects us from the darkness, and is a force unto itself. It warms our souls and guides us home.

"Finally, feel the water lapping around you. It is gentle and cleansing, flowing around us, soothing and purifying. It supports us, quenches our thirst, and heals us as it washes away the dirt and filth that wants to cling to us as we journey. Let the water take it away. Pull the plug, Jim, and let the negativity flow out with the water. Let the water take your doubts, your fears, and your concerns. Let them merge with Earth and she will ground them, robbing them of their power over you." He paused, listening to the water gurgle out of the tub. "Are they gone, Jim?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Towel off and dress. Then join me in the living room."

Fifteen minutes later Jim emerged from the bathroom, and Blair smiled, knowing his friend had taken time to thoroughly clean the room. "There's a glass of wine for you on the coffee table," he called from the kitchen.

"Candlelight and wine? Should I be flattered?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "It's a libation to the spirits. Be sure to pour a drop of it into the flower pot for the earth. Fire, air, and water have been taken care of."

Jim joined him in the kitchen, curiosity getting the best of him. "What's next, Shaman?"

"We make candles. Come, stir the wax while I prepare the molds. As you stir, think of what's ahead. You know what you want. Put those vibrations into your hands. They will travel through the wooden spoon, and infuse into the wax." He held the molds steady as Jim poured. "This set of candles will be blue. They will protect you, and give you inspiration and wisdom in matters of the occult. The next set will be purple. They will enhance your spiritual power and boost your psychic ability."

An hour later, Jim stared at the sixteen candles they'd made. He should have been amused, knew a lot of people would be if they knew Jim Ellison was busy candle-making, instead of criminal-wrangling. But, he could actually feel the power emanating from the tapers, and that took away any amusement he was feeling.

"Now, you dress the candles," Blair explained, handing him a bottle of oil. "Each candle has a north and a south. Take a small amount of oil and rub a candle from the top down to midway, rubbing it in the same direction. Then oil it from the bottom upwards to the midpoint, always in the same direction."

Jim took a small dollop of the oil, then handed the bottle to Blair. "Half of these candles are yours, you know."

"Huh?"

"I feel your energy in them, our energy." He looked up from the table where he was sitting, to his standing friend. "Help protect me, Blair. Lend me the power of your spirit."

"Gladly," Blair replied, hoping Jim didn't notice the tremble in his hand as he picked up the bottle. He had worried about not being with Jim, not being there to watch his back the way he was supposed to. But now, his candles would be there, giving his Sentinel what he needed-- power and protection.

Jim smiled as he felt relief flood his partner's body. He knew Blair was uneasy about sending him off with Micki. She was an unknown player. Such players had entered certain "games" he had played in the military, and he had learned to be wary of them. Some deceived, some bluffed, some couldn't take the heat when it was time to ante up, and some played right to the end. He didn't know what category Micki fell into, so he would keep her close, yet keep his distance.

"Negativity, Jim?" Blair questioned, trying to interpret the frown on his partner's face.

"Nope. Being quite positive, actually." He was positive that he would place Micki near enough to protect, but far enough away in case she decided to strike.

*****

"Did you enjoy your bath?" Jack asked as Micki came through the door that connected their rooms.

"Yes, it was very calming and soothing. Did we remember to pack everything we needed?" She glanced at the contents of the gym bag which were spread out on Jack's bed. Candles, oils, small tins of powders and creams, several crystals, and a small dagger which was her athame-- her object of power.

"We have everything, Micki, including Jim Ellison. I hope you managed to get rid of your doubts about him. I don't think he is the sort of man you want angry with you."

"Don't worry, Jack. I learned my lesson. In all these years of dealing with cursed objects, of going up against unimaginable evil, I have never touched a power as potent as his. And it was so pure, so incredibly white that it was almost gleaming. What is he?"

Jack reached out to brush a hand across her forehead reverently. "Our way of getting Ryan back."

Micki nodded. "Where will the ceremony take place?"

"In Ellison's apartment. According to Blair, it's a sanctuary against evil forces."

"They live in a sanctuary?"

"We have one in our basement," Jack pointed out, reminding her of the vault where they stored the cursed objects

"I guess that is what's so strange. Other people-- living like we do. Before Lewis left me the store, I didn't think of evil as a separate entity, and I never thought that I would be fighting it. Once we got started, I was convinced that no one had lives like ours. Day after day, Jack, we are rooting out evil, collecting these objects, and locking them safely away. It's not normal, but now I know it's not unique. The fate of the world does not rest on our shoulders alone."

"And how does that make you feel?"

"Relieved. There was a time when it would have bothered me. In the beginning I was pretty cocky over this saving the world stuff-- after I got over being angry that it had completely taken over my life. I remember when I was trying to explain to Lloyd why I had to stay, why I couldn't marry him.... Maybe if I had known there were others out there who could do what the three of us were doing, I would have gone ahead and married him."

"Has it been that bad?" Jack asked.

"No. If I had married Lloyd, I'd be one of those divorced harridans by now, going to the club for lunch and ogling the pool boy," Micki said with a grin. "Instead, I'm living upstairs above a shop and I have this cute older guy living in my basement."

"Cute, huh?"

"Adorable," Micki teased. "Despite the terror, I had some of the best times of my life with you and Ryan...and Johnny, too."

"I wonder if this has to do with the magic number three," Jack mused. "When we lost Ryan, Johnny was there to step in. And here, it seems that Blair and Captain Banks are teamed with Jim."

"What I wonder is how do they manage to have separate lives? We barely have time to run the store, yet they have these demanding jobs."

"Maybe they have understanding superiors," Jack hazarded. "And, too, they don't have to go searching all over creation for cursed objects. If the apartment is a sanctuary, then I'd guess the evil usually comes to them." He shrugged and started packing the materials in the bag. "I guess we'd better head over there. We want to be set up by the full moon."

Micki nodded and helped him pack. "Maybe when we get back...Ryan will be with us," she said wistfully.

Jack placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed. "Maybe, Micki. Maybe."

*****

"Joel, I know when you decided to give up the Bomb Squad, you weren't looking for another squad to manage, but...." Simon concluded with a shrug, as his old friend came into the office.

"You're needed at the loft?" Joel asked sagely.

Simon nodded. "I don't know for how long. I'm going to take this paperwork with me, stuff that needs signing off on. Everybody knows what he or she is supposed to be doing. If a new case pops up, give me a call, or assign it as you see fit." He raked his fingers across his hair. "I'm really sorry about this."

"Hey, don't be, my man. I'm still getting captain's pay, and whatever you guys are doing, you're protecting the city, and that's what all of us are being paid for, right?" Joel reasoned.

"Thanks for understanding, Joel. I know Jim and Blair are just as grateful."

"It's okay. Just tell them to be careful. And you, too."

"It's basically all on Jim this time," Simon explained. "I'm just playing the interested observer."

"And keeping an eye on Blair?" Joel guessed, his eyes twinkling.

"That, too," Simon admitted with a chuckle. "I swear those two are going to be the death of me one day."

Joel shook his head. "They are the life of you, and you know it, Simon Banks. I think we're all starting to know that around here. Those two-- no, the three of you-- are special. I know who I remember in my prayers every night."

"You might want to say an extra one tonight, Joel. Jim can use all the help he can get."

"Then he'll have it, Simon. Now, go. We'll be okay here."

Simon smiled and clasped his friend's shoulder. "Of that I'm sure. Call me if you need me."

"Will do." Joel watched Simon get into the elevator, then turned around and gathered certain members of the Major Crime Unit with his gaze. They piled into the captain's office without question. "We need people on the loft tonight-- off the clock. Any volunteers?"

Every hand in the office went up.

Joel smiled, and began making a chart.

To TVLIT 101

Comments? D.L. Witherspoon