Inferno- Part II

Chapter Eight

"Jim, I need you to envision where you want the Circle to be. We're going to let Micki cast it, but I want you to dictate its boundaries."

Jim nodded, his eyes sweeping the loft. "You called this a protective Circle?"

"Yeah. When a witch or whoever does magick, the area becomes open, and without the Circle as protection, evil could enter the witch, or the magick. Either situation could have dire consequences," Blair explained patiently.

"Help me move the furniture."

Blair helped Jim clear the geographic center of the loft. He should have known that the geographic center and the spiritual center would be the same. Jim liked things balanced and in harmony with each other. Not that the detective realized the significance of a lot of the psychic things he did; for a self-proclaimed unemotional man, Jim often bowed to what felt right.

"Now, you need to set up candles at the four cardinal points of the Circle."

"Okay. Hand me one of your protection candles and one of my power candles-- and a couple of coasters," Jim added, ignoring Blair's exaggerated eye roll. If he didn't have to get candle wax on his hardwood floor, he wouldn't.

At each point, he carefully situated two candles and their matching coasters. He alternated whose blue and purple candles went where, always teaming one of his candles with Blair's. He stepped back to get an overall view when he finished. "Now what?" he asked, satisfied with the placement.

"We wait for the others to arrive."

Jim cocked his head to one side. "Short wait. The Mercedes just pulled up, and Simon's car is at the stoplight."

"It's going to take Micki and Jack a while to set up, so you're on your own for a few minutes."

He shrugged. "Maybe I'll go out on the balcony."

"Check your city one last time before you go?" Blair guessed.

"What are you talking about?"

"I know we tease you about going out there every time trouble is coming to town, or trouble has already reached our lovely, but dangerous city. But that's not the only time you stand sentinel over your territory. If you go to a conference, a prisoner exchange, or even when we go camping, you make a pilgrimage to the balcony just before leaving. You check the area for any big threats to the tribe, and finding none, you leave Cascade with a clear conscience. Although it hasn't happened yet, I'm sure if you did pick up bad vibes, you would find a way to stay in town."

Jim looked at Blair in annoyance. "Did anyone ever tell you that you needed to get a life?"

"Got one that I like quite well, thank you very much," Blair quipped. "You know, as long as I've been doing it, you should be used to me scrutinizing your actions."

"By the time I get used to it, Chief, I'll be sitting in a rocking chair on that balcony, musing the condition of my prostate, and gumming my food."

"So, you're saying I have to wait a couple of years," a certain anthropologist teased, and ducked at the same time.

Jim sighed dramatically. "I have to get away from this negativity. I think the balcony would be a nice retreat."

"Yeah, yeah. Go check the tribe, man. I'll get the door." Blair grinned as he heard Jim's steps. Of course, he knew his Sentinel. The man was a creature of habit, almost compulsive at times, but for good reasons. Cascade was not exactly Eden.

He ushered the two visitors inside, and left the door ajar for Simon, knowing that the stoplight in question was notorious for its holding time. Micki looked around, noticing the placement of the candles.

"Jim has already cast the Circle?" she asked with a frown.

"No, he just set the boundaries."

"I take it this is the power point of the loft?" Jack questioned.

Blair sighed. "We need to get something straight here. Jim doesn't do magick the way you do magick. He doesn't rely on rituals, rites, and chants to channel his energies, or conjure up his power. His power just is. Now, if you have a problem with that--"

"A problem with what?" Simon interrupted, sliding through the open door.

"Jim doesn't waste a lot of time going through ritual," Blair explained.

"We don't have a problem with it," Jack said hastily. "It's just what we're used to."

"Good. So, there are no problems," Simon said decisively. "You do what you do, and Jim will do what he does. Where is the man in question, by the way?"

Blair threw a thumb over his shoulder toward the balcony.

"Oh, the usual pre-journey reconnaissance."

"Shh!" Blair said, grinning as he placed a finger to his mouth. "He thinks he's being covert."

"Yeah, right," Simon scoffed. "Am I too early, too late, or what?"

"Right on time, man. The full moon is in about an hour, and I'm sure Micki wants to have her Circle cast by then."

"What's with the significance of the full moon?" the captain inquired. He knew Daryl and his friends had summoned Lilith at that time, but that made sense because Lilith was known as the Moon Goddess-- as well as Mother of All Demons.

"When the Moon rides at her peak, then your heart's desire seek," Blair, Micki, and Jack chorused.

Blair grinned as Simon stared. "It's part of the Wiccan Rede-- a list of do's and don't's for all those choosing to follow the Wiccan path."

"I thought you said you weren't part of the occult?" Jack lightly accused.

"I'm not. I'm a Shaman, which some might consider to be part of the occult, but I don't," Blair explained. "We believe in the harmony of ourselves with nature, and the perpetual spirit of all things. It's true that Shamanism and Wicca have a lot of beliefs in common. In fact, while researching Shamanism, I came across many Wiccan references. I have a great deal of respect for it. If only the rest of the world believed in the Threefold Law-- any good or bad that you do, will be returned to you threefold-- cops wouldn't have to work so hard."

Jack unzipped the carryall he'd brought, and started handing items out to Micki. "So, is Jim a follower of Shamanism, too?"

"Jim is what Jim is."

Jack shrugged at Micki upon hearing Blair's non-answer. "We need to start setting up. The full moon arrives early tonight."

Micki nodded and draped a white shawl across her head and shoulders. Then she entered the boundaries and spread a white cloth on the floor, just north of center Circle. On it, she arranged two white candles, and two bowls which Jack handed to her. "Because you have covered power and protection, to those I will add green for good luck and harmony; red for strength and courage; silver for increased astral energy; and white for spirituality and peace." Each candle she received from Jack was placed by the others at the cardinal directions.

Then Micki knelt before the makeshift altar. Holding her athame over one of the bowls, she quietly called, "I exorcise thee, O Creature of Water, that thou cast out from thee all impurities and uncleanliness of the world of phantasm; in the names of Cernunnos and Aradia." Her athame then danced over the remaining bowl. "Blessings be upon this Creature of Salt; let all malignity and hindrance be cast forth hence, and let all good enter herein; wherefore so I bless thee, that thou mayest aid me, in the names of Cernunnos and Aradia." Laying down her athame briefly, she poured the salt into the water.

Standing, she proceeded to move from east to north, using her athame to draw the Circle. "I conjure thee, O Circle of Power, that thou beest a meeting place of love and joy and truth; a shield against all wickedness and evil; a boundary between men and the realms of the Mighty Ones; a rampart and protection that shall preserve and contain the power that we shall raise within thee. Wherefore do I bless thee and consecrate thee, in the names of Cernunnos and Aradia."

Placing the athame reverently on the altar, Micki picked up the bowl of saltwater, and dipped her fingers into it. Once again, she moved deosil, or clockwise, sprinkling the water as she went. "Black spirits and white, Red spirits and grey, Harken to the rune I say. Four points of the Circle, weave the spell, East, South, West, North, your tale tell. East is for break of day, South is white for the noontide hour, in the West is twilight grey, and North is black, for the place of power. Three times round the Circle's cast. Witness it and guard it fast."

Blair and Simon watched the ritual in fascination, both jumping slightly when Micki extended her athame and all twelve candles ignited.

"Neat trick," Jim murmured, causing them to jump again because they hadn't heard the Sentinel enter the room. "Is that it?"

Jack nodded. "Yes, the Circle is complete."

"Not quite," Jim disagreed. "Can we enter?"

Micki walked over and cut a "doorway" with her athame.

"What's going on, Jim?" Simon asked when his friend beckoned him enter the Circle as well.

"I prefer a little more protection."

"Oh," Simon said knowingly. "We're going to do a Sentry Special." That was what Daryl had started calling the protective orb Jim had woven around him when Lilith had been a danger to his body and soul. Daryl knew that Jim was a Sentinel-- a chorus of demons had informed him of the news one terrifying night at the loft-- so, he had created a video game called Sentry, which served to confuse people and protect Jim.

Jim, Blair, and Simon linked hands, forming their own small circle, then Jim began to speak:

All stand fast--

Spirits of the past,

Beasts of sunlight,

Creatures of moonlight,

Plants of every kind,

Entities of the mind--

All that be,

Stand fast with me

Against evil dark and evil fair,

That which slithers, or flies in the air;

Against they who poison, they who taint,

Be ye not timid, nor be ye faint.

Against evil all,

We raise this wall:

A shield of trust

Between darkness and us.

Blair felt the air thicken around them, and watched in fascination as the shield began forming at the base of the imaginary Circle. A network of silver, gold, and light gray strands slowly closed around them, ending about ten feet above them-- they didn't call it a loft for nothing. He couldn't stop the grin from forming as he caught the stunned look on Micki's face. Maybe Jim didn't do a whole lot of spell-casting, but when he did-- damn, the man did fine work!

Jack walked slowly forward, his hand cautiously reaching for the dome, but his hand and the rest of his body moved through it without resistance. "This is amazing," he murmured. "I have never seen anything like it. What is it made of?"

"The energies of the universe," Blair replied softly. "With a bit of Jim, Simon, and me thrown in for good measure." He knew he was responsible for the gold filaments, Simon for the silver ones, and Jim for the titanium ones. Inside each strand were the essences of all the entities who Jim had petitioned for help.

"All ashore who's going ashore," Jim called, folding his long legs to sit in the center of his Circle. "We have a journey to make," he reminded them.

They nodded, and the men left, leaving Micki to sit before Jim, her long swirling skirt puddling around her. "What do you need for me to do?" she asked obediently. There was no doubt in her mind who was in charge of this now.

"Give me your hands." She obeyed. "Now, close your eyes. Think of Ryan. Think of our destination. We take our light willingly into the darkness. Say it with me, Micki."

"We take our light willingly into the darkness," they chanted together.

Outside the dome, Blair shivered. Jim's voice had deepened, the tone modulated to a hypnotic timbre-- almost like his own Guide voice, but much, much more. Knowing Jim had channeled spirits before, he wondered if that was what was happening now. Before he could try to figure it out, the chanting stopped, the lights dimmed, and the candles flickered.

When the loft returned to normal, Blair's eyes immediately sought Jim. Although his eyes saw Jim and Micki still seated in the Circle, he knew both were no longer in the room.

Chapter Nine

"You think we should check it out?" Detective Henri Brown asked his partner Brian Rafe, as they stared at the apartment whose lights had just winked off and on.

"Everything appears to be fine now, so I don't think we need to blow our cover just yet," Rafe reasoned. "Let's just lay low and wait for those license numbers to come back."

Brown tapped the steering wheel for a few minutes. "You ever wonder about what goes on, you know, with Ellison?"

"You've been around longer than I have, H. The man's been strange as long as I can remember. He's solved cases that should have been unsolvable, using the flimsiest of evidence. Sometimes I wonder if they aren't just using the evidence as a shield."

"Something to hide behind instead of telling the truth?"

Rafe nodded. "Sandburg has a quick mind, and an even quicker tongue. At times, during their debriefings, I think he's making it up as he goes along. Ellison backs him up, then Banks signs off on it."

"Yeah, they're definitely a team. But I think it's Jim who's the main man. I think that's what that reporter was digging for before he OD'd." Brown slumped in the seat a little, getting comfortable. "You think this has anything to do with kids? I still remember when he found those bodies under that old crack house. I had trouble sleeping for days after that. I can still picture him, standing there all military-like, as they pulled out those remains."

"That's when that bastard Dr. Bozeman showed up. Jim was screwed up for days after that man took them to Baltimore," Rafe remembered, as he took a swig of water from one of the bottles in the cooler at his feet. "That was about kids, too. Ten little boys."

"It was fifty little girls in New Orleans."

"Really? The details on that one were sketchy. Never could get much off the internet about that particular case-- just something about the police chief and commissioner being part of some cult."

"That cult raped and killed fifty young girls. Jim recovered their remains, and exposed the cult."

Rafe almost pouted. "How come I hadn't heard any of this?"

"You couldn't make it to Joel's birthday bash, remember? Anyway, he got smashed and I volunteered to drive him home. I was on antibiotics because of that gash I got apprehending Martin Phillips-- the jerk-- so I wasn't knocking back anything stronger than fruit juice that night. Anyway, we got to talking about Jim and Hairboy, and Joel told me what he'd learned from his cousin who lives right outside New Orleans. Let's just say, Jim did some major mojo down there."

"Hmm. Maybe because it was too close for comfort. Did you have any idea he had a daughter?"

"No, but I'm not surprised. He's real closemouthed when it comes to his family. It took a case to discover he had a brother. It took a case to discover he had a father. Seems reasonable that it took a kidnapping to find out he had a daughter," Brown said with a shrug. "The mother owns one of those 'standing room only' restaurants in the French Quarter. Packed every night."

"What I don't get is that if this child is eight, isn't that back when Jim was married to that forensics woman? I never would have figured him for a cheater."

"Say that to Jim, and I'm gonna be scraping you off the ground, man," Brown warned. "Besides, I think you need a lesson in biology, Bri. There's an extra nine months you're forgetting to compute in. That puts Jim's fling in New Orleans before his marriage."

Rafe flushed. "You're absolutely right, H. Sorry, Jim," he muttered to the absent friend he had wronged. "Is this one of the reasons I'm never let in on the gossip?"

Brown patted his shoulder. "That's one of them, my brother. But don't worry. I got your back. If there's something you need to know, I'll tell you."

"Thanks, H. You're a good partner."

"We all are in Major Crime." He looked up at the balcony they had been assigned to watch. "We all are."

*****

"They're gone?" Simon asked Blair, to confirm his own suspicions.

Blair nodded. "There's nothing left to do on this end except wait. You bring a good book?"

"I wish," Simon replied, walking around the energy dome to pick up the stack of folders he'd brought with him. He'd placed them on the table next to the door when he'd entered. "Paperwork, Sandburg. Lots and lots of paperwork."

"How about you, Jack?" Blair asked, turning to the older man. "You good?"

"Do you mind if I use your phone to contact my other colleague, Johnny? I want to see if he's had any luck in tracking down a cursed wallet."

"What does the wallet do?"

"Soak it in the blood of a person you've killed and it fills with one hundred dollar bills."

"Oh."

Jack shrugged. "You get used to it after a while. I have a calling card, so you don't have to worry about me running up charges."

"No problem, man. Knock yourself out. I have a final to study for." He reached for his backpack.

"The semester is about over, isn't it?" Simon questioned. "That mean we'll be seeing more of you at the station? When does the summer session start?"

"In two weeks, but I won't be enrolling."

"Why not?"

"Nothing left to enroll in, Captain. I finished my diss."

"You what!" Simon grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the balcony. "Why didn't you or Jim tell me about this?"

"Because Jim doesn't know. I haven't figured out a way to tell him."

"Uh, correct me if I'm wrong, but haven't you been working on this dissertation for the past three years? I think the man knows about it. Hell, he is the dissertation."

"No, he's not," Blair said quietly.

Simon took a step back. "What do you mean he's not?"

"I mean my finished dissertation is 'Thick Blue Line: The Insular Society of a Major Crime Unit'."

"But--but what about that fight you guys had about the introduction you had to turn into the committee? You hadn't changed topics yet?"

"It was a smokescreen, Simon. I petitioned for a change of subject after Jim had his run in with the Forty-Two." The forty-two children and teens raped and murdered by Harold Reagan had cried out to the Sentinel for help. They had received it. "There was no way that I could add that into the dissertation. And that was when I realized I could never write about what Jim does-- any of it. It would leave him too vulnerable. I was doubly sure of that after that sleaze Tony Bozeman used Jim."

"Why the ruse? Why didn't you just tell Jim what you'd decided?" Simon asked, confused.

Blair shook his head. "We're talking about Jim here. He'd just found out that he could talk to ghosts, that they run to him for protection. If he felt like a freak because of his senses, you know he was feeling like sideshow fodder after that. Can you imagine how he would've taken it if I had said, 'Hey, man, you've become such an oddity, such a monster that I can't write about you anymore.'? No, that's not the way I would've put it, but it would have been the way he interpreted it. Then, more and more shit started happening: channeling the boy in Baltimore, the whole dream/reality thing with Alicia, that crazy bayou episode-- When was I supposed to tell him? When was I supposed to say, ' You've gone way beyond being a Sentinel, so you're no longer valid to my research.'? He would just assume he was creeping me out."

"Was he? Is he? You have to admit this isn't what you were looking for when you stumbled upon a Sentinel."

"No, it's not, Simon. It's more, much more. But he doesn't creep me out, and he doesn't scare me. Except if you count being scared for him. Do you know how close Edgar Masterson came to exposing him? Do you know the danger that could have put Jim in?"

"The press would have had a field day--" Simon began.

"Forget the press! Masterson was going to label him an alien. The Millennium Group was already hanging around. If they hadn't gotten Jim yet, then the government would have swooped in, and carted him off for 'questioning'. Conspiracy theorists would have flocked to him, claiming that he was proof of everything they have been saying for the past fifty years. Even worse, there would have been plain, ordinary people out there, clamoring for him to find their lost family members, children who had been kidnapped, spouses who had disappeared.... They would have broken his heart, Simon, and the others would have broken his spirit."

"Maybe someone else knew that, Sandburg. Maybe that's why Masterson is dead."

"Yeah, and that's bothering Jim, too. The thought that Masterson was killed to protect him. It goes against everything he is."

"And who is that? He asked you the other night, remember? He asked if we had any idea of what he is. I'll be honest: I don't."

"Maybe we aren't meant to know, Simon. Maybe we are just meant to stand by him, and support him to the best of our abilities."

"Isn't that what we've been doing?"

"Exactly. And what we should continue doing, no matter what metamorphoses he goes through."

"He changes, and we don't?" Simon shook his head. "We change, too, Blair. With your dissertation finished, no matter its subject, you can no longer be an observer. Have you thought about that?"

Blair sighed. "Yeah, I've thought about it. The only thing that matters is that I stay Jim's partner. I'm hoping that with my doctorate, I can use you and Jim as references in getting maybe a part-time gig as a consultant to the department."

"You know I'll do what I can. You have a pretty impressive record with Major Crime. That, combined with favors owed both me and Jim.... We should be able to get something for you."

"Thanks. Because if push comes to shove, I'll go to the police academy if I have to."

Simon stare at him, open-mouthed. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Not exactly the kind of thing I'd be joking about," Blair pointed out. "He needs me. And I-- I need him, Simon. That's hard for me to admit, but it's true. I can't remember the last time I needed anyone. I've always been the independent type. According to Naomi, I wasn't even clingy as a baby. She could drop me in somebody's arms, come back a few hours later, and find out I hadn't fussed in the least bit. I was just never the type to form attachments. Not to people, not to places, not to things. Until I met Jim. I'm attached to him, Simon. I'm attached to him, this loft, and the things in the loft." He spread his arms wide. "This is home. He is home."

"You know, I don't even try to understand you two," Simon muttered.

"But you do anyway, Captain. Let me ask you the same question you asked me: are you creeped out by Jim? Do you think he's a freak?"

"No! He's different. We all have to admit that, but that doesn't make him a freak."

"Does he scare you?" Blair pressed.

"No, not really. I sometimes act annoyed when these things come up, when he pulls some crazy stunt out of his hat-- like taking a trip to Hell-- but it doesn't make my skin crawl." He shook his head. "Let me clarify that-- it doesn't make my skin crawl anymore. To be honest, that first day with those ghosts...."

"Yet, you stood beside him until I could get there."

"I wasn't going to leave him alone, Sandburg."

"Why not? If you were scared, why didn't you go find something else to do? Why did you run interference with the Coroner's Office and Homicide? Why didn't you just let them think he was crazy? Don't you know what they're saying about Major Crime? Didn't you notice how no one came to our floor Halloween? Haven't you noticed how the other departments don't complain about Jim anymore? They 'tolerate' him, Simon. Because they're frightened of him."

"Not true," Simon countered. "I might not be an observer, but I do have eyes and ears, Blair. I've noticed the wide berth the others give Jim, and I thought like you-- they were scared of him. But that's not it. They don't want to get in his way, that's all. I think the term 'in awe' describes their reaction much better."

"And Halloween?"

Simon gave an evil grin. "Thanks to a certain police observer, they were wary of what they would find...or be subjected to on the sixth floor."

"Cool," Blair said happily. "I've never been feared before."

"So, I guess you'll be tickled pink when I say you scare me every day."

"You flatterer," Blair teased. Then he stiffened, and whipped his head around toward the interior of the loft.

"Sandburg?" Simon questioned, his hand going toward his pistol butt.

"Jim!" Blair whispered anxiously, racing into the loft.

Chapter Ten

Micki blinked, but still wasn't sure her eyes were open. So, she disengaged her hands from Jim's and drew them to her face.

"Don't poke yourself in the eye," Jim warned. "There's nothing wrong with your sight. It's just dark." Well, dark didn't really describe their surroundings. Dark was something you experienced far up in the mountains at night, or in a deep cave. This was more like being buried alive-- something he had yet to experience, but considering the life he led.... But he could imagine what it felt like. How the darkness would surely close in, like the satin walls of a coffin...how it would feel thick and heavy like leaking ink oozing out to grab hold of you in its sticky embrace.... Shit, Ellison. Scare yourself silly, why don't you?

"If it's so dark, how come you could tell my hands were going for my eyes?" Micki asked warily.

"I have incredible night vision," he told her, not mentioning that as soon as he had encountered the darkness, he had quickly changed "channels" on his sight until he could see. The view was similar to what ordinary people would see through a nightscope or goggles-- an odd, nearly fluorescent green-- but he wasn't complaining. Without the enhancements bequeathed to him by Alicia, he wouldn't be able to see at all.

"Where are we?"

He shrugged. "Probably somewhere on the outskirts of Hell." He stood, reaching out a hand to help her up. "The sky seems lighter toward the west. We'll go in that direction, okay?"

She nodded and gripped his arm. "I really can't see a thing."

He heard her racing heartbeat, and smelled the perspiration being secreted by her body. "Don't be afraid. Just stay close."

They walked a few yards, Jim directing her around several trees and dips in the terrain. He thought that as they continued without incident, she would relax. Instead, she grew tenser. Her heart pounded in his head, and the smell of her fear got stronger. What was happening? "Micki, what is it?" he asked worriedly.

"You don't hear it?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

"Hear what?" With his free hand, he "channel-chased" but found nothing.

"Guess it's just my imagination," Micki murmured, her nails digging into his arm.

"Once you're able to see, it'll be better," he consoled, as they continued on their journey.

Ten minutes later, she stopped, a soft, "No," escaping her lips.

"No what?" he prompted.

"No, no, no," she mumbled. "I can't. I won't. You can't make me!" The last words were strong and loud.

"Micki?" He grabbed her forearms, pulling her in front of him.

She jerked away, stumbling on the uneven ground. He reached out to steady her, and she flinched from his touch. "Stay away from me!" she screamed, not at Jim, but the sky. "I will not have your child! Never!" Panting, she turned in a circle. "Ryan! Jack! Help me! Please, I need you!"

"What are you seeing, Micki? What are you hearing?" Jim tried again, edging toward her. "Talk to me, please," he urged.

"Somebody help me!" she cried, backing away from the enemy she couldn't see, but obviously felt. "I won't bear Satan's child. I won't. I won't. I won't!" She turned and started running.

Afraid she would hurt herself in the dark, Jim charged after her, tackling her just as she nearly ran headlong into a tree. He twisted as they fell, hitting the ground first, then rolling to pin her. She struggled fiercely, and he used more of his strength than he wanted to, just to keep her from damaging herself, and him. When her flailing was successfully under control, he surveyed the face beneath his, and his heart sank at the wild fear in her eyes. He watched them track movement and react to light that wasn't there. Apparently Micki was trapped in a nightmare from her past, and he had no idea how to bring her back.

"Micki, it's Jim. Remember me? Remember coming to Cascade for my help? You needed me to find Ryan for you. Do you remember, Micki?"

"Ryan?" Micki whimpered. "Help me, Ryan. Oh, God, help me. Where are you, Ryan? He's going to take me, Ryan." Tears ran down her face.

"Shh. It's all right," Jim crooned, his hands stroking the arms he held captive. "We're going to go where Satan can't get to you, okay? But you have to concentrate, Micki. I need you to remember the loft. Remember the Circle you cast, the candles you lit with your magick. Remember Jack."

"Jack? Jack, where are you? I need you, Jack. Ryan? Ryan!" she yelled again.

Jim dropped his head. This wasn't working. And if he couldn't get Micki to focus, they weren't going to get out of here. He loosened his grip on her, and moved his hand toward her face. He stopped midway, belatedly aware of what he was about to instinctively do. No! There had to be another way. "Micki, please listen to me. You need to remember where you are, why we're here. I know you can do it," he pleaded.

"Ryan," she wept softly. "I don't want to have his baby. I don't want that growing inside me. Help me...please help me."

Jim sighed, knowing he was out of options. He let his hand continue to her temple. "Open to me, Micki," he ordered, his voice dropping to a seductive, compelling timbre. "Let me into your fear. Let me into your thoughts." The life and times of Michelle Foster poured into his head, the memories of the child, the teen, the woman. He sifted through the myriad of thoughts until he found the one that held her in such stupefying terror.

"Micki, he's not here," he said softly, his fingers stroking her temple. "You escaped, remember? You, Jack, and Ryan all escaped the Devil's trap. He held you in a snow globe. You and Ryan thought it was an old inn. Jack thought it was a monastery. He had one of his minions lure you there. But he didn't rape you, sweetheart. The three of you escaped, and the globe was destroyed. Remember, Micki?"

"He...he didn't touch me?" Her voice clogged with tears.

"No, sweetheart. You were rescued."

"By Jack...and Ryan?"

"Yes. Do you remember now?"

She blinked. "Jim?"

He gave a sigh of relief and released her. "Yeah, it's me, Micki. We need to go back now, okay? Back to the loft. Where the Circle is. Where Jack is. Do you understand?"

She sat up, and nodded slowly. "Your apartment. Where the dome protects us."

He smiled at her encouragingly, even though he knew she couldn't see his face. "That's right. Give me your hands. Now, focus on the light, Micki. See the candles. See the dome. See Jack." He closed his eyes and saw the images form in her head. "That's good, sweetheart. Now, let's go home."

*****

"Johnny, I'll have to call you back," Jack said quickly, as Blair and Simon came barreling into the loft. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"They're back," Blair said firmly, and even as Jack turned, he could see movement inside the energy dome. He watched Jim stand, pull Micki to her feet, then scoop her collapsing body into his arms. By the time he remembered how to move, Jim was placing her on one of the sofas.

"Micki?" Jack called uneasily.

Fierce blue eyes turned toward him, silencing him instantly. Then Jim shook an afghan over Micki and stroked her hair for a minute or so, Convinced she was sleeping soundly, he turned and faced his audience. "Outside," he said tersely.

Jack wasn't certain what was going on, but Blair and Simon recognized a furious Jim when they saw one. On the balcony, he paced angrily until Blair stopped him with a touch to his arm. "What went wrong?" the grad student asked simply, since it was obvious something had.

"Seems nobody bothered to tell me that during one of their little outings, Micki had nearly been raped by Satan himself," Jim spat out, staring directly at Jack.

The older man paled. "Oh, shit," he whispered nearly to himself.

"'Oh, shit' is right. The memory grabbed Micki and wouldn't let her go. And there I was, more in the dark than I actually was-- and let me tell you, that was some dark." He folded his arms and stared at the lights of his city. "She couldn't get away from it. She heard him, felt him, she was stuck back in that moment, and I couldn't get her free, couldn't get her to a safe place, a place where we could come back here."

"But you managed it somehow," Blair pointed out soothingly. "You're both here now."

Jim gave a bitter chuckle. "Sure, we are, Chief. Wanna know how I did it? Wanna know what I was forced to do? The other night, I glimpsed her thoughts. Tonight, I read them. Just ordered her to open up and let me in." He smiled wryly as three sets of eyes grew wide. "Yep. There she was, worried about Satan raping her body, and I just come along and rape her mind."

Blair shook his head. "Jim, man, you just did what you had to do," he said, certain of that fact.

"I couldn't get through to her. I tried. I really did. But I couldn't get to the problem from the outside. I had to go inside, find the memory, then complete it for her." His eyes flicked toward the sofa. "I'm not sure how much of anything she remembers. Maybe if I had known what she was seeing, if I had known this was a potential problem...."

"I'm sorry," Jack said. "I didn't think-- It's not something Micki talks about. I was there, but--"

"I know," Jim said softly. "I know you were there. I know Ryan was there. I know everything Micki knows."

Jack gaped at him. Then he closed his mouth. "I agree with Blair. You just did what you had to do, thanks to my idiocy. Satan has toyed with us many times through the years. You should have been warned about our weak spots."

"Yes, I should have been." He cocked his head to one side. "She's bordering on a nightmare. Go wake her, Jack. Then take her back to the hotel, and stay with her."

Jack humbly stepped inside. Jim sighed and ran a hand across his face. "This was a fucking disaster."

"Not because of anything you did, Jim," Simon said firmly. "So, has the game been called because of rain, or just delayed?"

"I don't know," Jim said wearily.

"Let's regroup overnight," Blair suggested. "I don't think anyone is in any condition to do much at the moment."

"Sounds like a winning plan to me," Simon agreed. "Hadn't planned on sleeping in my bed tonight. Not going to give up that treat. Want me to see your guests out on my way?" He looked through the glass as Jack sat on the sofa with Micki.

"Yes. Tell them don't worry about anything. The candles, whatever.... We'll go through all that tomorrow," Jim said gratefully. He didn't want to face Micki tonight. In the morning, when she was clear-minded, then he would own up to what he had done. "And tell the others the night's a bust, too."

"The others?"

"Brown and Rafe are running a stake-out down the street."

"Those guys," Blair said, touched by their loyalty.

"The way they bitch when I assign them--" Simon muttered. "Okay, Jim. Don't worry about anything. I'll take care of it. Try to get some sleep. You, too, Sandburg."

"We'll be fine, Simon. See you in the morning."

Ignoring the conversation inside the loft, Jim walked over to the edge of the balcony, and stared off into the night, the glaring lights and varied sounds soothing him as the darkness and silence of the woods outside Hell had not.

"What bothers you more?" Blair asked quietly. "That you had to read her mind, or that you could?"

Jim closed his eyes, not surprised his partner hit the nail on the head on his very first try. "I don't know, Chief. Just when I start to think I have everything under control...."

"Was this something 'out of control'?"

"No. I knew what I was doing."

"And you knew why you were doing it." Blair came to stand beside his partner. "Don't beat yourself up over something you couldn't predict-- well, maybe you could have predicted it if you had been provided with sufficient background material. But you weren't. Not your fault. And it's not Micki's, nor Jack's fault for not wanting to recall what went on before. We've both been there and done that, Jim."

"I know."

"So, what happens now? You go back, taking Jack instead?"

"No! I don't even want to think about the risks involved in that!" He was not going to crawl into anyone's head again. At least not until he got over the willies from his first time. "I needed Micki because of her memories of Ryan.... I now possess those myself."

"Well, you are not going by yourself!" Blair huffed.

"That isn't what I was considering, Chief." He stared at his partner meaningfully.

"Oh," Blair said softly. "Sounds doable."

"You got any old run-ins with Satan that I should know about?"

"Well, I've been harassed by a certain tall, blue-eyed, neatness demon for several years now, but I've learned he's completely harmless," Blair said cheekily.

"Oh, really?"

Blair nodded. "He's mean on the outside, but a softie when it comes to pitiful grad students and police observers."

"Poor demon. To have his power stripped away like that."

Blair snorted. "Revealing his mushy inside just made him more powerful. At least to pitiful grad students and police observers." He grinned and stretched. "I better go to bed. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow. I get to go to Hell. Should I check my camera for film, man?"

Jim smiled and shook his head. Leave it to his partner to make it sound like they were going to Disney World. "No flash photography past the loft, I'm afraid."

"Bummer." Blair pouted. "Guess I'll just have to keep a detailed diary. A thousand words per picture is currently the going rate, right?"

"That's what I've heard."

"Cool. I haven't spent all those hours taking notes in class for nothing. See you in the morning, Jim."

"'Night, Chief."

Blair walked over to the glass doors, then turned. "And don't stay out here all night. You get cranky when you don't get enough sleep. I hate traveling with cranky people."

"Blair?"

He stiffened, hearing his real name come from his partner's mouth. "Yeah, Jim?"

"Thank you."

Blair felt a warmth spread from his heart throughout his entire body. "You're welcome."

Chapter Eleven

Simon juggled a bakery box as he locked his car in the parking lot across from the loft. Frowning as he saw a familiar car, he stomped down the block.

"Do not tell me you've been here all night," he warned his two men.

"No, sir," Rafe said quickly. "We just got here about ten minutes ago."

"And you're here, on your day off, because--"

"Same reason we were here last night, Captain. We got a tip that Little Mo had been seen in the area," Brown piped in, knowing he could lie much better than his partner.

"And you're so worried about your snitch that you'd spend your down time--"

"We look out for our people, sir," Rafe said meaningfully. "By the way, there were two out of place cars here last night. One was an Illinois license--"

"It's supposed to be here. You stay here long enough, you might see it again today. Don't worry about it."

"Yes, sir. And then there's a Washington license that doesn't belong to anyone in the neighborhood."

Simon sighed. "People can have visitors and overnight guests, gentlemen."

"But the tag came back as being registered to an organization-- something called the Millennium Group," Brown said.

Only the box in his hands kept Simon from pounding the top of the car. "Shit! We don't need those bastards poking around. They've already been warned-- If, while you're looking for Little Mo, you run across these guys again, let me know."

"We will."

"Here, take a donut." He let them plough through the box as he debated how to tell Jim about this new development. The phone would be nice and safe, but since the loft was a few buildings away, that seemed rather cowardly. Okay, so he would tell him face to face, making sure Sandburg was in between them. Not that Jim was in the habit of attacking the messenger of bad tidings-- but there was always a first time.

*****

"Morning, Simon," Jim said, as he opened the door for the approaching captain. He took an appreciative sniff. "Eau de bakery. My favorite cologne."

Simon grinned. "I eat here so often, I figured I could spring for breakfast. Where's your partner?"

"Taking a bath."

"Why a bath?" Baths usually indicated sore muscles or a tired spirit.

"It's not a normal bath. It's a Ritual Bath-- to cleanse him, from inside and out, of negative energies, and to prepare his physical, mental, and spiritual self."

Suspicion crawled along his spine to settle at the base of his brain. "Why does he need this preparation?"

"Because he's going with me to Hell."

Simon set the box down on the counter. "I wish I could say that this was a surprise, but it isn't. You taking Jack, too?"

Jim shook his head. "I have Micki's memories. That will be enough to guide me to Dallion."

"They know?"

"Not yet. We'll discuss it when they get here."

"But the discussion is already over, isn't it?" Simon asked shrewdly.

"I won't be blind-sided again, Simon. Blair is a known quantity. I'm already intimate with his demons. Thus, I'll be able to focus on the mission, not my companion."

The captain threw up his hands submissively. "Hey, you're preaching to the choir, Jim. I don't like the fact that you're going to Hell, but I feel better about it knowing the two of you are together. So, I just have to sit back and do my Watcher routine, right?"

"Right," Jim said, around the donut he was stuffing into his mouth. "As soon as you make your candles."

"Candles?"

Jim nodded. "For protection and power."

"But we're gonna do one of those domes again, right? Isn't that enough protection?"

"We're talking Blair, sir. 'Enough protection' does not apply to him."

"You guys talking about me?" Blair asked, as he stepped out of the bathroom and joined them.

"I'm trying to convince him to give candle-making a try, Chief," Jim explained, handing Blair a glass of wine.

"Oh, man, we need your candles, Simon. Have you started the wax yet, Jim?"

"I was just getting ready to hand him the spoon."

"Good. Okay, Simon. While you stir I want you to...."

It was as the candles were cooling that the captain remembered the news he had to impart. "The Millennium Group was watching the loft last night."

Silence.

Blair looked at his partner. "You going to call Whitney again?" The FBI assistant director had gotten rid of them the last time.

Jim shook his head. "As long as they don't interfere, they can sit and gawk all they want."

"You're sure, Jim?" Simon asked bewilderedly. It wasn't like his detective to be so calm and easy.

"Accentuate the positive. Eliminate the negative," he murmured, as he walked away toward the stairs and his room.

"Translation?" Simon demanded of Blair.

"He's in mission mode. No time to waste on emotional reactions. As long as the Millennium Group is not a threat to his primary goal, they don't rate a second thought."

"I can guarantee they won't mess with his primary goal."

"Then there's nothing to worry about. Now, let's dress those candles."

The candles and the dome were in place by the time Jim cocked his head and said, "Micki and Jack are here." He walked over to the door and opened it. "Good morning."

"Good morning. We're sorry we're late. I overslept," Micki explained.

"Understandable," Jim said, knowing what kind of night she must have had, dreams probably waking her every time she fell asleep.

She looked at him, then her eyes dropped. "About last night--" she began.

"Let's go out on the balcony," he interrupted. "Excuse us for a minute." He gently guided Micki outside. "About last night...I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "What do you have to be sorry about? I'm the one who lost it. I honestly didn't consider it to be a problem, Jim. I thought.... I can get past it now that I know about it. If we could try again--"

"No."

She took a deep breath. "Okay. I understand that you're wary of dealing with me again, but Jack is just as capable--"

"No."

Micki felt her knees give away, and she sank onto one of the deck chairs. "Please don't penalize Ryan because of my weakness. I couldn't bear that."

He knelt beside the chair. "I'm still going after Ryan. I just can't risk taking you or Jack with me. Blair will be my companion."

"But he can't help you locate Ryan. You need--" She stopped when Jim laid his hand on hers.

"What do you remember about last night?" he asked her gently.

"I-- Somehow I was made to believe I was back in the snow globe, and that Satan was getting ready to rape me." She refused to let her voice tremble when she said it.

"Do you remember how I got you to see the truth?"

"You reminded me of how it really ended."

His thumb brushed the soft flesh beneath it. "Don't you wonder how I knew how it ended?"

A furrow creased her brow. Then her eyes widened with knowledge and fright. "You read my mind?"

"Yes. I made you open your thoughts to me. I'm sorry for the violation, Micki. If I could have thought of another way...."

"You...know...everything?"

He nodded. "Lloyd was a fool."

"Oh, damn," she murmured, turning bright red. "So many mistakes in my past...."

"It's okay," he hastened to reassure her. "Your thoughts are safe with me. I won't ever divulge them. I won't even consciously remember them, except for the ones about Ryan. I'll need those, Micki, to find him."

She jerked her head in a parody of a nod. "I'm sorry. This is just strange...and unsettling." It was bad enough what she'd done and thought before working with the cursed objects. But the things that had occurred because of those objects: she had fallen for a vampire, had the humanity sucked out of her by a cursed syringe-- leaving her in an animalistic, violent state where she tried to claw out the eyes of her rescuers, and rip their throats out with her teeth-- stabbed Jack, stabbed and killed an owner of a cursed object, had that damned coin kill and reanimate her.... Poor Jim. These weren't memories fit for sharing.

"We all have pasts, and regrets, and incidents we have no control over. We also have secrets that were never meant to be told. I'm sorry I know yours, Micki. What I did was just about as bad as what Satan wanted--"

"No. There was no malice in what you did, no power play.... What you did got us out of there. I ought to be grateful, not worried about what you picked up from my thoughts-- And I am grateful," she said, sitting straighter in the chair. "You did what you had to, what I made you do. I can't fault you for that. So, are you and Blair going to try tonight?"

"We don't have to wait until the moon rises. We were just waiting until you got here."

"Why? You don't need us." Sorry, I failed you, Ryan.

"Yes, we do. We need your positive energy, and your love for Ryan, to strengthen us. This is still a joint venture; we're just changing the travel arrangements."

They both stood, and went back into the loft.

"Everything cool?" Blair asked anxiously.

"Yes," Micki answered. "I hope you're a better traveling companion than I was, Blair."

"Hey, it's just going to be a hoot going somewhere with Jim, and not having to ride in his beautiful truck," Blair teased. He actually liked the truck; he just happened to like pushing Jim's buttons better.

"You might want to leave talking about my truck until you're successfully back from Hell, Chief," Jim warned, with a cheery grin.

"You know I love that truck, Jim. Why, nothing else you've owned has survived like that old truck. Indestructible is the word I would use. Sorta like a cockroach. Just can't get rid of it."

"Sandburg, don't let your mouth write a check that Satan's going to cash," came the voice of experience.

Blair bowed in Simon's direction. "Thank you, Captain. I will take your words of wisdom to Hell with me," he said cheekily.

"Ellison, can we get on with this?" Simon asked eagerly.

"Come on, Chief. The day's not getting any longer-- and yes, I do know it is actually getting longer and will continue to do so until the summer solstice, but for brevity's sake, and the fact that you know what I mean, we are not going to have that discussion. Understood?"

Blair saluted, one particular finger separating from the others. "Aye, aye, Captain Ellison, sir!"

Jim looked at Simon, and his friend just shook his head. "No, Jim. You can't send him to Hell and leave him there."

"Well, then, I guess we might as well get this over with." He entered the dome, and took a seat in the middle. Although the candles still marked the boundaries, there was no center altar.

"Light the candles, man."

Jim glared at his roommate. "Do I look like a match?"

"I need an ostentatious display of your power to reassure me that what we are attempting to accomplish is feasible," Blair said, tongue-in-cheek. He really just wanted to see if Jim could do it.

Jim blinked and the twelve candles flared. "Now, are we ready to go, Chief?"

Effectively silenced, Blair nodded and held out his hands.

Their spirits left the room.

Chapter Twelve

The first thing Blair was aware of was that Jim was beside him. That essential factor confirmed, he took time to examine his surroundings-- which didn't take long considering he couldn't even see his own hands in front of his face. "It's a good thing you're so warm-blooded, Jim, or I wouldn't be able to sense you at all."

"Unless I talked," Jim replied.

"You talk? Yeah, I guess the occasional, "Move your ass, Sandburg," would have alerted me to your presence," Blair laughed. "Thought I was going to feel like Dorothy, man, but instead there's more of a Gretel thing happening, or Little Red Riding Hood," he commented casually.

"Since you seem to be identifying with all female characters, is there something you're trying to tell me, Chief?" Jim teased, as his senses automatically adjusted to the now familiar conditions. Secretly, he was pleased that Blair was accepting the dark so well.

"Yeah, man. I'm trying to tell you I'm scared shitless. You can see, right?"

"Right."

"Colors, or black and white?"

"Phosphorus green."

"That must be weird. So, where are we?"

"'Midway upon the journey of our life

I found myself within a forest dark,

For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say

What was this forest savage, rough and stern,

Which in the very thought renews the fear.'"

Blair smiled at the familiar words. "Dante was right, huh?" he asked excitedly. "So, does that mean he actually visited Hell before writing the Divine Comedy? Cool. I wonder which of the necromantic arts he practiced? Of course, the supernatural elements of text, occulted by the necessary religious references, should have clued me in, but when I was reading it, I had no idea that such a journey was possible, much less that I would go on a similar one. But now that I've been made aware-- rather personally aware, I might add-- that certain supernatural occurrences are fact and not mere legend--"

Jim relegated Blair's words to the background as they started forward. His partner easily followed him, as if he'd been blind all his life and was used to trusting someone else to guide his steps. A hand lightly rested on his arm, no fear in the grip, no uncertainty in movement. Complete faith. Scary.

"Feels like we're moving downhill."

"We are, Chief. It's a bit lighter, too. Can you see anything yet?"

"Dark shapes, which I assume are trees. This is a lot like normal camping now. Except we don't have a mass murderer or bank robber on our trail," he added with a grin. Then he sucked in a corner of his lip. "We don't, do we?"

"Not so far. But we are talking about Hell."

"By the way, nice quote job you did there, Jim. Have you memorized all the classics or what?"

"English extra credit project."

"And why did you need extra credit?" Blair asked, always eager to find out things about Jim's past.

"The basketball team went to the championship that year. I missed class a lot."

"What did you do with the game ball?"

"It's probably in a box in the base--" He stopped so suddenly, that Blair stumbled into the back of him. "How did you know we won, and I was given the game ball?"

"Because you have a competitive streak a mile-wide. If you played, you gave over one hundred percent, which meant since you won, you were the MVP and received the game ball."

Jim shook his head, trying to follow Blair's logic. "So, how did you know we won?" he asked again.

"You did extra credit. That meant you were proving something to someone. You wanted to win the championship and make all A's. So, you took care of the championship, then did the extra work for the A. Who was it, Jim? Who made you feel guilty for playing basketball, instead of being in class?"

"My brother. He told my dad that since there was already a dumb jock in the family, he guessed it was up to him to be the brain." Jim sighed. "I know he was just kidding, but it rubbed me the wrong way."

"That's because you used to be such an easy mark. When I first moved into the loft, you took everything so seriously. Thankfully, I've been a calming influence on you."

"Yeah, I learned the futility of beating my head against a brick wall-- the hard way. Thanks for the guidance."

"You're welcome. I'm not called your guide for nothing, you know."

Tired of talking about himself, Jim moved to change the topic. "So, you really think ol' Dante wandered these same woods?"

"It's possible. It's equally possible that since we both read the story, that this is merely a shared figment, a collective representation of what we know, or what we think we know, about Hell. If we hadn't read Dante, we would probably be facing horned beasts with pitchforks."

"Hot Stuff."

"Beg your pardon?" Blair asked curiously.

"He was this comic book devil. He was red and had horns, and a tail, I think. He was always getting into trouble, which was perfectly suitable for him. I think he was a lot like Casper and Wendy. They were all supposed to be evil, but ended up being good, and were therefore shunned by their family and peers."

"So, did you identify with these characters?"

"I think everyone did, to some extent. We've all been in a situation where being different is the right thing, but the wrong thing at the same time," Jim philosophized.

"It's true the kids today could use such books. It might convince them to stay out of gangs."

Jim shook his head. "Either those comics don't exist anymore, or the character has been 'changed for the better.' I guess a devil, a witch, and a ghost, just aren't P.C. in this day and age. I can just imagine what they would think of Little Lotta."

"Little Lotta?"

"She was a lotta little girl, if you get my drift. I might have to agree with them on getting rid of that one, but Lotta didn't have a problem with her size, so in a way I guess she was a positive role model."

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way, Jim, but I am stunned at the insight you are showing."

"Because I know comic books? They only cost like fifteen cents back in those days."

Blair continued as if he hadn't heard him. "I mean, I knew you had depths that you rarely showed, but for you to be so verbal about it.... This is amazing. Is it because we're no longer in the world where you think you have to put up this veneer of 'I'm just a dumb cop?' Or has the veneer been stripped away in order to prepare you for battle with a master of wit? Do you feel more confident being your true self because it's just me and you, or--"

"Chief."

Blair quieted immediately. He knew the "Chief" was Jimspeak for "quiet", just as he knew Jim wasn't silencing him for the sake of silence-- the Sentinel was way too used to his constant chatter by now, especially in times of stress. So, that meant Jim wanted him quiet for another reason. Probably a darn good one.

"Something's coming."

Something? Blair sent his mind scrambling back to his undergrad lit course. After Dante found himself in a dark wood, what? Oh yeah. He was confronted by-- "Jim, Dante's path was blocked by vicious animals!" he whispered hastily. "We need some kind of weapon--" The words stopped abruptly, as three pairs of red eyes burned in the wall of darkness before him.

Jim's hand closed around his arm.

*****

"I'm sorry, Jack," Micki said as she watched the candles dance in the confines of the energy dome. "If we don't get Ryan back, it will be my fault."

He squeezed her hand affectionately. "Sometimes fear gets the best of all of us, Micki. What Satan tried to do to you was very traumatic--"

"And knowing Ryan is suffering at his hands is traumatic as well, Jack. I should have been strong enough to do this. I should have been strong enough for Ryan! He was always strong for me. How many times did he rescue me? How many times did he almost die coming to my aid? Now, when I have a chance to repay him, I fail."

"For every time Ryan saved you, there was a time you saved him," Jack protested. "Remember the Witches' Ladder, Micki? That witch had him under her spell, and you broke it. You didn't even know you had the power, but you tried anyway."

"Then, why couldn't I find that power last night? Why couldn't I summon the guts to rid myself of Satan's hold?"

"Actually, what happened last night, was probably for the best," Simon said quietly, as he stared at his friends, still clasping hands. He relaxed each time he saw their chests move. Maybe no one was home, but as long as the bodies still functioned, he knew they would return.

"What do you mean, Captain?"

"I'm not questioning your love for your cousin, or the power of your magic, but if anyone has a chance of succeeding in going to Hell and bringing someone back, it's the two of them-- together."

"It's obvious the two share a bond," Jack said. "I could never really get a handle on Jim's power, but I could feel Blair's increase whenever he was close to Jim. If he wasn't a Shaman, he would be a very powerful Wiccan."

Blair-- a witch? Simon shivered at the prospect. "His cup is already full, Mr. Marshack. He doesn't need more titles."

"Speaking of titles, what is Jim?"

Simon shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"I think he's a saint," Micki murmured.

Simon laughed. "Oh, yeah. That'll go over big down at the station."

"I'm serious, Captain," Micki said firmly. "This has nothing to do with the way he handled my breakdown. I'm talking about a fully realized saint."

"I think Micki might be on the right track," Jack said, giving the proposal some thought. "Saints are not the sole property of Catholics, you know. They appear in several religions. They are the persons who bridge the gap between the divine and the mundane. They are wholly human, but have in their possession divine power. They use that precious gift to change the lives of others, and to give tangible evidence that the divine actually exists. Access to this power is given to them because of their devotion to a higher authority, and by using the power wisely, they themselves attract devotees and converts. These are the real saints, Captain."

Simon digested the information slowly, taking each piece and matching it to the situation. Jim was wholly human. That was a given, considering the amount of blood he'd seen pouring from the man over the years. And he did possess divine power. With his own eyes, he had watched Jim raise the bones in the bayou, and he had seen the marks of Archangel Michael on his arms. Jim had been given many talents-- from Michael, Alicia Delacroix, and from his own gene pool-- and he used them only to help others. He not only changed lives, but he saved them. Of course, Jim was devoted to Michael, his general, but his devotion went beyond Michael. Had he not defied his commander as he dealt with Lilith, actually redeeming a little of the demon queen's lost soul?

And as far as devotees and converts were concerned, Daryl and that little coven he'd been a part of, totally believed in the Sentry, and the power of good. Also, he couldn't forget himself. Years on the job, years of just watching the world go by, had blunted his faith, dulled his belief. Watching Jim, being an active participant in what he did, had restored what the world had taken away. He believed; the specifics weren't clear, but that didn't change the fact that his faith was stronger than ever. So, was the lady right? Was Jim a saint? That just seemed so-- overtly religious, didn't it? Jim would pitch a fit if he knew the term was being batted around. And Sandburg, Sandburg probably already knew about the non-Catholic/Christian meaning of the word 'saint' and had wisely kept his mouth shut. Which was what he was going to do.

"Jim calls himself a Warrior-- as in fighting for good in the battle of good vs. evil. I think I'll just stick with that term," Simon said diplomatically.

"Warrior he is, then," Jack said agreeably. "I take it this is not his first skirmish?"

"Oh, no. And I assure you, Jim always fights a good fight, and with Sandburg at his side-- well, they are a formidable team. Your friend couldn't be in better hands. His soul will be returned, and if possible, his body," Simon said, with all his newly-strengthened belief intact.

"I hope you're right, Captain," Micki murmured.

Simon picked up one of the files he'd brought. "I know I'm right, Ms. Foster."

Chapter Thirteen

The hand on Blair's arm tightened, holding him back from his initial urge to bolt. "It's okay, Chief. They're friends," Jim said calmly.

The sky brightened as they came from beyond the trees-- Jaguar, Wolf...and Cougar. Blair smiled. "I should have known Simon was Cougar, Jim. Cougar is known for his leadership ability. He rules with wisdom and without ego. Did you know Cougar was chosen as the messenger between humans and the spirits because of its personal power, superior knowledge, strength of will, and steadfastness?"

"No, but I know he has the ability to lead without insisting that others follow, and that he is constantly keeping the peace. He is often put in the position of being blamed when things go wrong because he takes charge when others can't," Jim added, shocking his partner yet again.

"Wow. I didn't know you had studied animal totems, Jim."

"After a couple of run-ins with Mr. Black over there," he pointed to the jaguar who paced the edge of the woods, constantly on alert, "I thought I should know who I was dealing with. When I read the part about the cougar, I knew it was Simon."

"And what did you think about Wolfie?" Blair asked curiously.

"That there could be no other guiding spirit for you. He teaches, protects, and guides. You in a nutshell, Chief."

"Thanks, Jim. But don't you think it's strange that I'm the only canine in the bunch-- and if you say something about table legs, I'm going to hurt you, man," Blair warned.

"I don't think it's strange at all. We're not just cats-- we're big cats. You're here to teach us that size does not equal strength, that different can be good, that dogs have a say, too. We are constantly learning from you, Chief. No, it's not strange at all. Wolf teaches where he is most needed."

Blair looked around. "I wonder how I can package some of this air and take it back with us. It's doing wonders for your disposition."

Jaguar screamed indignantly, and his companions joined him. The three headed off together, looking back occasionally to make sure the humans were following.

"So, he's the one who taught you how to shut everyone up, huh?" Blair whispered, as they obediently trailed the animals.

"Never said Wolfie was my only teacher," Jim replied with a smirk.

"Did Micki meet them?"

"We didn't get this far, Chief. We didn't get far at all."

"You're still feeling bad about what you had to do, aren't you?" Blair asked shrewdly, hearing the heavy load Jim bore.

"I raped her mind. Shouldn't I feel bad?"

"Would you've rather stayed here forever?"

"I've heard the 'it was for her own good' speech from rapists I've busted-- usually husbands. Should I say it was 'my right', too?"

"Maybe it was 'your right'. You were given the ability for a reason."

"To protect."

"Which is what you used it for," Blair pointed out triumphantly. "Micki was lost, and you used your skill to find her and bring her safely home. Does she hold a grudge against you for doing that?"

"No."

"Then why are you beating yourself up over it? Are you planning to write a tell-all book about the life and times of Michelle Foster?"

"No!"

"Are you planning on blackmailing her with what you know?"

"No," Jim replied softly. "I'm overreacting, aren't I?"

"Big time."

"I'm trying, you know? Trying to come to terms with the new me...without losing the old me. He wasn't that bad, was he?"

Blair looked at him and smiled. "I've never met a Jim Ellison I didn't like. Even Soldier Ellison has his strengths-- mindless drone though he might be."

"You better stop before my head explodes from all the praise," Jim said dryly.

"What I'm trying to get at, man, is that every Jim Ellison that has ever existed, still exists. You're all in there, surfacing when necessary, doing what needs to be done."

"Sounds like a bad case of Multiple Personality Disorder."

"In a way, it is. It's called Multiple Personality Dis-order for a reason-- because it's not the multiple personalities that are the problem; it's the way they are working that causes the trouble. They work as independent creations, rather than more normal separate faces of one entity."

Jim looked at him, thought about what he said, then smiled. "Sounds like bullshit, Chief. But, thankfully, I think that's exactly what I'm in the market for today."

"I always aim to please," Blair snorted, and followed his partner contentedly.

As they descended the mountain, the sun rose-- well, not really the sun, but a pale imitation that provided little light. Blair could see, but it was as if through a haze that paled out colors, and blurred edges. "I don't like this place," he muttered.

"It's Hell, Chief. I think that's the point of its existence."

Blair grinned. "The sarcasm is a nice touch. Not that it's new, but it's deftly handled, and delivered with just a hint of bored amusement. Not everyone can pull that off."

"Are you saying I'm a bore?" Jim asked, allowing the smallest amount of hurt to be heard in his words.

"Nah, man, not at all," Blair hastened to say, reaching over to bop the back of Jim's head when he saw the grin on his companion's face. "Have I called you a jerk today?"

Jim shook his head. "I figured it was still early."

"Well, consider it late enough," Blair replied. "Besides, this isn't Hell; it's Pre-Hell," he corrected. "That looks like Hell ahead of us." He peered closely at the tall arch looming in front of them. The spirit guides had stopped near its base, patiently waiting on the lagging humans. "There's writing on it. What does it say?"

Jim adjusted his eyesight and read:

"'Through me the way is to the city dolent;

Through me the way is to eternal dole;

Through me the way among the people lost.

Justice incited my sublime Creator;

Created me divine Omnipotence,

The highest Wisdom and the primal Love.

Before me there were no created things,

Only eterne, and I eternal last.

All hope abandon, ye who enter in!'"

Blair shivered. "Well, that was warm and cozy, wasn't it? So, we go under the arch, and we end up in the City of Eternal Sadness," he translated, "where those who have lost their way exist in the place created out of wisdom, love, and your favorite-- free will."

"If there was no Hell, then how would Heaven be a choice?" Jim questioned sagely. "We're only here because free will wasn't exercised in this case."

"I know, but.... Doesn't the warning at the end bother you at all? 'Abandon hope if you enter.' I feel the welcome, don't you?"

Jim shrugged. "Then don't abandon it. I believe we shall walk under that arch again-- on our way out with Ryan Dallion."

"Accentuating the positive again, Jim? Damn. Am I that annoying when I keep harping on something?"

"In a word, yes," Jim replied, stepping boldly beneath the arch.

And crumpled to his knees.

*****

Micki tried to let the captain get on with his work, but curiosity was eating her up, and the answers he gave distracted her from the fact that she should be looking for Ryan, not sitting around a loft, doing nothing. "So, Captain, how does a detective, a captain, and a grad student get involved in the supernatural?"

"Gradually, as in dragged by our heels," Simon replied with a grimace. "Actually, Jim was 'called', and Blair and I, loyal creatures that we are, were talked into following along."

"Must have been a pretty persuasive speech Jim gave," Jack said, remembering how he had explained to Micki and Ryan about the cursed objects, and how important it was to retrieve them.

"Jim said, 'I need you'-- and I here I sit."

"And it hasn't interfered with your job?"

"So far, no. But we haven't been at it long. Jim's calling was recent, and most of the incidents involved cases he already had, or could be assigned to him."

"In a way it makes sense, Micki, that Jim's a cop. Think of the situations that could have been eased if we'd had a badge," Jack pointed out, remembering the numerous arrests. "As cops, you work closely with other people. Are your co-workers aware of what you do?"

Simon shrugged. "What they know, they keep to themselves. But they are detectives, so I assume they know something is going on out of the ordinary." He thought back to his conversation with Joel, and the presence of the two detectives parked outside. He wondered how accurate their guesses were. Before he could get too deep into the speculation, his cell phone shrilled.

"Excuse me," he said as he stood and walked out onto the balcony. "Banks.... Hey, son! Something wrong?.... I'm at the loft.... No, not exactly.... Yeah, you could put it that way-- Sentry duty.... No, I'm not in danger. Jim and Blair? Well, they're not exactly here, Daryl.... Yeah, like when Jim traveled to that other plane to fight that demon, and then Blair followed.... Hell, son.... No, that was their literal destination.... I'm sure Blair said 'cool' just like that.... Sure, you can come over. There's no danger on this plane.... I'll have to hurt you if you tell anyone I said that.... Give your old man a break. I'm changing as fast as I can.... Well, I'm not here by myself. There's this man and woman that Jim and Blair are trying to help.... Yep. That's why they're in Hell. But listen, you can come if you want to, just keep a lid on the Sentinel thing. They don't know about that....Okay. I'll see you soon."

Simon stepped back inside. "I'm sorry about that. My son is coming over. He lives with his mother, so I don't see him often."

"Would you like for us to leave?" Jack asked. "Or you could go out with him. We'll look out for Jim and Blair."

Simon shook his head. "It's okay. Daryl is familiar with the supernatural happenings around here. He's probably coming over to see for himself that they're okay, more than he's coming to visit with me."

"So, this is a family affair?" Micki asked.

"It didn't start out that way. It's just that because of something that was going on, Daryl was in danger, and he found out the truth. He's seventeen. He handled it quite well." Of course, age had nothing to do with it; Flip had only been seven, and she'd accepted it like it was the norm. But considering she hailed from New Orleans, and that her mom had a touch of the supernatural herself, maybe it was the norm for her.

"I'm not chastising you, Captain. My nephew has probably been traumatized for life by the things he's experienced at the store," Micki admitted. "It's hard trying to hide that kind of evil from them."

"Maybe we shouldn't try," Simon suggested. "Maybe if we stopped hiding it, it would lose its allure. Maybe if they learned at an early age how dirty and nasty it could get, when they got older they would steer clear of it. I know I'm not worried about Daryl anymore." Of course, being seduced by a demon wasn't something he thought every seventeen year old boy should experience. But it had taught him a valuable lesson.

"Perhaps you're right," Jack said soberly. "But how are you going to convince a nation that won't even promote condom use and the tangible, provable evils it stops, that there is something as abstract as Satan, and that our young people should be warned about him?"

Simon shrugged. "I guess that's why we have to have people like Jim, and you, who fight for those they keep ignorant."

Micki smiled. "I think you do your share of fighting, too, Captain."

"In my own way," Simon said softly, looking at the two men who were fighting the battle now. Whatever you need, guys, I'm here. Just take it.

There was no reply.

Chapter Fourteen

"Jim!" Blair dashed through the arch and fell to his knees beside his partner. He heard the terrible noise at the same time he took in the fact that Jim's hands were protectively covering his ears. "Dial it back, Jim. Come on. I know you can do it," he urged, placing his hands on the stooped shoulders.

"What is it?" Jim asked as he struggled with the mental dial.

"Something probably only Hell could dream up," Blair said a bit facetiously, after noting that Jim had regained control of his hearing. The cacophony sounded like a mixture of droning, humming, and buzzing, with a healthy mix of human moans, groans, and screams thrown in just to make it blood-curdling. "I think there are a lot of things you aren't going to like sensing around here. Better turn everything down, Jim-- just to be on the safe side."

Jim nodded, and slowly climbed to his feet. He glanced around, noticing their guides hadn't passed beneath the arch, and looked as if they had no intention of ever doing so. "I think we're on our own from here, Chief. Thanks for getting us this far, guys," he called out gratefully. In reply, Cougar stretched out, and began licking his paws. Jaguar sleekly tramped about in a small circle, sniffing the air cautiously before dropping gracefully to the ground. Wolf merely walked over to Jaguar and plopped down beside him, negligently resting his head on the feline's back. Jaguar just shut his eyes and purred.

"Wrapped around your little finger in both worlds. What a shame," Jim murmured, disgusted by the display.

"Yeah, right," Blair snorted dryly, thoroughly unconvinced. He knew that on any given day if Jim told him-- or Jaguar told Wolf-- to jump, man and wolf would both ask, "how high?" on the way up. "Which way now, man?"

Jim's eyes glazed over for a moment, then he started walking, knowing Blair would follow. Yeah, man. Who is wrapped around what?

"You got it dialed back?" Blair asked as the noise grew louder.

"Yeah. It's coming from over that rise." Jim led the way up a small hill. They both stared at the sight that met them. From their slight plateau, they watched as men and women-- no, Blair amended as he viewed the figures from different angles, and was shocked to find that sometimes he could look through them-- they watched the spirits of men and women running around in a big circle while hordes of wasps, hornets, and bees chased them. On regular occasions, the insects would swarm over a figure and sting it so badly that it dropped to the ground. Even as it writhed in agony, its fellow spirits would trample it as the chase continued. Eventually, the battered spirit would stumble to its feet, and rejoin the sick merry-go-round.

"This is sad," Blair remarked, his heart aching. "Who are they?"

"This is the Vestibule of Hell, Chief, and they are the shades of the Lurkers and Bystanders. They never did wrong. They never did good. They just watched, and remained lukewarm. Because they never committed to one side or the other, they exist here on the fringe of Hell, unwanted by Satan, and denied Heaven. The bugs continually sting them to make them aware, to make them feel, because they did not feel for their fellow beings while they were on earth."

Blair started to question how Jim knew so much about what was going on, but realized that this was probably one of those instances where Jim just simply "knew." In fact, the use of the word "shade" rather than "spirit" was a definite clue that the Warrior was being given this knowledge from another, and probably ancient, source. He curled his tongue around the word, and decided he liked it better than the less descriptive "spirit".

He watched the baleful procession go by a few more rounds, then noticed the ant mounds in the center of the circle, and wondered what part they played. Before he could ask Jim, the mounds moved, and with horror he realized that they weren't mounds, but beings covered in teeming ants. "Oh, shit," he moaned. "Who are they?"

"The angels who didn't take sides when Lucifer made war in Heaven. They didn't choose, Chief, so the choice was made for them. Those are army ants covering them. They wouldn't fight in Michael's army, and refused to be in Lucifer's. Now, they are part of the ants'."

"It seems so cruel," Blair said hesitantly.

"Was it not cruel for them to sit back in silence, watching evil, and doing nothing? Just think of how hard it is for us to find a witness to a crime, even in a crowd. Criminals have gotten away, people have died, especially children, Chief, because people like these shades, do nothing. Cruel? Maybe. We reap what we sow."

Blair nodded, still bothered by their eternal pain. But as Jim said, they'd had a chance to make a choice-- and hadn't. "Thanks, man."

"For what?"

"For taking me off the sidelines and putting me into the game. I could have ended up here."

Jim shook his head. "No way. You were way too involved in life to just let it pass you by. I may have put you on the offensive line, but you were definitely playing, Chief. Come on. This is starting to make my skin crawl."

"I know the feeling, man. Where to next?"

"We have to cross the River Acheron which will take us to Upper Hell." He guided his partner down the hill and across a plain until they approached the river. Along the banks were thousands of shades trying to cross into Hell.

"Eager little devils, aren't they?" Blair said, with tongue firmly planted in cheek.

"Yes, and their eagerness is what keeps them out." Jim pointed to where the shades who were swimming across, were dragged beneath by the undertow, which instead of taking them further out, dumped them back on shore.

"How are they-- or we, for that matter-- supposed to get across?" Blair asked, wishing he could remember his freshman English class a bit better.

"By ferry."

Blair nodded as that part of the story came back to him. "An old man in a boat, right? Charon is his name, I think."

Jim nodded and pointed into the mist that hung over the river. "He's coming now."

"So, I take it you're playing the role of Virgil-- the guiding poet, and I'm Dante-- naive and easily shocked. I think the man fainted once or twice in the story," Blair observed.

"You faint, and I'm going to leave you where you lay," Jim threatened, aware that if what Blair had seen in real life by his side hadn't dropped the anthropologist, nothing would.

"My hero," came the dry reply.

Any other comments were halted by the arrival of the skiff and it's oarsman. Charon was old, and damn near scary enough to frighten anyone into a faint. It wasn't so much that his white hair writhed around his head as if alive, but that his eyes were rimmed with actual flame, which flared as he saw the men waiting for him.

"Go back! You can't cross!" he yelled at them. He even swiped his single oar in their direction.

"We have business here!" Jim yelled back.

"You're alive. You're too substantial. You'll sink my vessel."

Jim reached out and touched the boat. It seemed sturdy and solid enough. "It will hold us."

"You'll sink me."

"Take us across, Charon," Jim demanded.

"No!" He reached out with the oar again.

Jim snatched it out of his hand. "Take us across," he repeated, and held the boat steady as Blair gingerly took a step into the ancient skiff.

"We're going to sink," Charon moaned. "We're going to sink."

Blair, noting the boat was still floating, moved back to let Jim board. The shades on the shore stared at them, cursing bitterly.

"Sinking, sinking, sinking," Charon chanted.

"Oh, make a CD of it. It'll last longer," Blair retorted. He turned to Jim in concern as the curses on the shore grew louder. As a friend of his used to say-- they were being called everything but children of God. "You tuning them out?"

"No worse than that crowd at the high school when we arrested the star quarterback for possession."

Blair nodded, remembering that night. What should have been a simple arrest (part of a Major Crime investigation into the school system's drug pipeline) had turned into an ugly mob scene, with creative jeers and vivid threats. The teens weren't entirely stupid, however. None of them had made an actual move toward the policemen. Still, it was an experience he never wanted to repeat. "So, what awaits us on the other side?"

Jim shrugged. "Does it really matter, Chief?"

Blair mirrored Jim's shrug. Whatever was to come, they would face. Together.

*****

"Hey! Isn't that Daryl Banks?" Rafe asked as a vehicle pulled into the lot across from the loft.

"Yeah. I wonder what he's doing here."

"Maybe his dad needed an errand run or something."

Brown chewed on the end of a coffee stirrer. "Do you ever get the feeling that we're the only ones who don't know what's going on? Even the kid seems to have an edge over us."

"That 'kid' shot Sandburg in full view of the bullpen," Rafe reminded him. "If that's the price for inside knowledge, I think I prefer being on the outside."

"You know, on occasion, I'm reminded that you didn't pass the detective exam merely on your looks alone, partner." Brown laughed, ducking the coffee lid sailed in his direction. "Uh oh," he said, sobering quickly.

"What is it?" Rafe asked, instantly on alert.

"Look at the vehicle stopped at the light. Isn't that the car from last night?"

"Damn. We better get the captain on the phone."

"Who or what the hell is the Millennium Group anyway?" Brown asked, dialing his boss.

"From the captain's reaction, I'd say trouble."

Brown nodded, and waited for Captain Banks to answer.

*****

"Cool," Daryl exclaimed as he saw the energy dome in the middle of the loft. "I didn't know you guys could make one so big."

"It is a beauty," Simon said with pride.

"Is it to protect them while they're, uh, gone?" Daryl took in the still forms seated beneath the dome.

"Yes, and probably us, too, if we need it." He ushered his son past the dome, and to the sofa where Jack and Micki waited. Introductions were made, just as Simon's phone shrilled. He excused himself to the balcony again.

"So, Daryl, what do you think of all this?" Micki asked the teen.

Daryl shrugged. "This is what Jim, Blair, and my dad do. Dad said something about them going to Hell for you?"

"My cousin's soul was taken unfairly by Satan. Jim is going to try to rescue him."

"Well, my money is on Jim."

"Why is that?" Jack asked. The captain hadn't been very forthcoming, but his son might be a different story.

"He took down Lilith. She certainly wasn't a lightweight."

"Jim has battled Lilith? That must have been quite a show." Jack wondered why he hadn't felt that particular disturbance in the occult realm.

"I don't know. She seemed to go back into exile easily enough when he told her to."

Jack lifted an eyebrow in amazement. "Has he battled other demons?"

"Well, I know about the one that got into Blair. And I think he went to fight another one later that same day. That was when Flip was here."

"Flip?"

"Jim's daughter. She's from New Orleans. I think Jim did something down there, too. I'm not sure about that, because that was before I knew about.... Oh, yeah. I almost forgot about the demons that attacked the loft."

"Attacked the loft?" Micki asked, eyeing her surroundings carefully.

"Yeah, but they couldn't get in. Jim and Blair sealed the windows and doors against them."

Jack was fascinated. It seemed as if, indeed, the loft was a sanctuary. And that Ellison was a lot more "involved" than Rashid thought. Apparently, the man had enough power to shield his actions from those who should be aware of such events. That had its good points, and its flaws. It was good that the man could limit his exposure to the eyes of evil, but he was also limiting his exposure to those on the side of good-- those who needed to keep track of the victories, and were in dire need of champions.

"I hope you will excuse me, but there's something I need to take care of," Simon said, entering the loft in a rush. "Daryl--"

"Don't worry, Dad. I'll stay here and look after Jim and Blair."

Simon nodded, grateful for his son's offer. It wasn't that he was suspicious of Jack and Micki, but they were strangers, and he preferred his Sentinel and Guide be in more familiar hands. "I shouldn't be gone long, but if something comes up--"

"Call you. Got it, Dad."

Simon patted his shoulder as he passed. "Good man."

Daryl beamed at the compliment, and turned to the visitors confidently. "So, what did your cousin do to piss Satan off?"


Continued in Part III
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