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[22:00:00/10-31-57]	Another year had past, since he'd awakened. He was stronger now, not strong enough to materialize, but he could occasionally affect things -- small things. Since his re-birth, he'd been drawn to this place. He seemed more corporeal here; his consciousness more focused. On this particular night, he felt more aware than any time he could remember. And he did remember things or at least he thought he did. His common name, he believed was (or perhaps had been) "Dain." This place had been his home or nearly his home. And tonight it was host to a party. Names, homes, parties these were mortal concepts and they were very confusing. * Gus and Rita had been planning this Halloween celebration for over two months. It was to be a time for all of them to come together and be thankful. More so than New Year's or even, Thanksgiving, this was their holiday to celebrate life and to remember those departed. During a toast at last year's ritual, Gus had perorated (with a bit of help from the other Elvis), this was a time to "drink a toast to absent friends, instead of these comedians." Unlike the problems that'd plagued their last Halloween party, everything was coming together perfectly this year. For example, this time they had known better than to hire a 'back-out-at-the-last-fraggin-minute' caterer.
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	Likewise, they'd decided to hire two musical acts. But as it turned out, Gus had been able to book, the reclusive group, "Wolvesblood," who were hot off their second recording deal. They'd agreed to play sets all night, trading off with one of the Klub's staples, the "Methane Overtones." The Klub had closed its doors early the night before, without incident, and tonight they'd "rented da joint out" to themselves. Rita had spent the whole day decorating and baking -- yes, baking. Under Gus' direction, she was actually learning a few skills that weren't directly related to bodily injury or mass destruction. All of the staff and a number of runners had pitched in to help with the preparations. It had been decided, early on, that costumes were mandatory; "Come as something else, or don't come at all!" The exclusive guest list contained the names of the thirty or so individuals, who they considered their extended family. The arrival of each guest was to be formally announced and the position of proclaimer had once again, fallen upon Gus. The first to arrive, however, had been Buzz, although he hadn't been announced. He literally appeared at the Klub on the night of the party, courtesy of the sound system's holographic laser array. This medium didn't lend the same feel as interacting in the Matrix, but at least he would be able to attend. Sort of a ghost-in-the-music-machine, he'd remarked, shortly after he and Gus had finished patching everything through the entertainment sub-processor.
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	That had been a week ago. Tonight, he affected the appearance of his standard 'wasp' icon with the addition of a top hat, white tie, and tails. (Although, thanks to the lowered resolution, it looked more like a pudgy groundhog.) He had created these admittedly minor changes in a few hours of dedicated coding, but given time he would be able to generate any image he wanted. From his post by the doors, Gus (who was decked out in an immense, grey mouse-suit, including a white collar, bow tie, and matching gloves) announced, "Gislan the Wrench, 'space explorer' and the 'late' Mister Fenris." "Guys," Rita called, crossing the room to greet them, "you made it here early." From the party's earliest planning stages, she'd had her costume in mind. And tonight she was wearing a red & black striped, leather outfit, including a dark red variety of her trademarked thigh-high boots. Her face and nails were painted to match. It was obvious to all who would later attend, that this was a personal tweak at Fenris, who still harbored a grudge at the tiger-lady. "Ya, ve left early und took dhe Alaskan Freevay," the dwarf replied in his thick, Scandinavian accent, "yust to afoid the Kingdome's traffic." "Let me guess," she went on, "you both made your own costumes, neh?"
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	Gislan was wearing a 1950's style 'future-guy' spacesuit, complete with a fishbowl helmet and jet-pack with fins, which, knowing the old techie, probably worked. Fenris, on the other hand, had taken a minimalist approach. He was wearing a large, white, bed sheet with two holes cut in it. "She makin' fun of me, Chief?" Fenris asked. The dwarf just shrugged. The former company 'operative' was about to say more, when Gus piped up again and announced, "Sir Julian Aramis of the 'Brown' Table." As he stepped through the decorated entranceway, Julian took a superfluous bow. He was dressed in a full suit of chainmail, decorated presumably with his family crest. Ah, Julian, Rita thought, Doctor Aramis--ThD, burnt-out mage, ex-prime runner, aristocrat, patron, and general, all-around pain-in-the-hoop! "Jules," she called out, running up to hug him. Then she looked around. "Is Vix-, er Vicki with you?" "VicTORia," he overly emphasized, "I expect, shall be along shortly."
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	Julian particularly disapproved of Vixen's street-name. Plus he hadn't actually sanctioned his apprentice 'running about in the shadows' with Rita and her crew. But then he didn't exactly discourage it, either; doing so, would have been hypocritical. "She was still fiddling with her hair," he added, "as I departed." * * *
[22:35:00/10-31-57]	Vixen was running late, natch. She'd put off making her costume until the last possible minute. Then it hadn't fit right, which had called for more alterations. By the time she was done, her 'red witch' outfit had gone through three major revisions. She was pleased with the final results, even though she knew Julian wouldn't approve. He had picked the exact moment that she'd stepped out of the shower to call up and ask if she were ready to leave or not. Go on ahead, she'd told him, she welcomed the excuse to ride her Aurora. But after he had left, she regretted her snap decision, since taking her bike also meant wearing a helmet and that meant messing her hair and smearing her make-up. For a tic, she debated leaving it behind. Bad idea, too many crazys out tonight. Instead she decided, she'd wear the thing and bring her styling stuff along with. She could always paint her face, in Rita's apartment above the Klub. She'd left the estate nearly 40 minutes after Julian. Her new racing bike's stability felt phenomenal. It handled far better than anything she'd ever ridden. Plus its advanced auto-pilot and navigational systems, were certain to come in handy, considering her profession.
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	Her percentage of their latest 'run, had been invested in this top-of-the-line Suzuki, instead of just going towards more junk, as she was want to do. The idea here being that she would labor to take care of it, as it would likely be called upon to take care of her. It also served to show Julian that she could act responsibly -- when she felt like it. Catching the Intercity 405 out of Bothell, she'd headed North. Sure, this added a few miles to the trip, but it also avoided both the Marrow Memorial and the Evergreen Point Floating Bridges. And steel-decked bridges, as far as Vixen was concerned, were just one more class of things that did not mix with motorcycles. The road North had been nearly deserted. The few cars that she'd encountered seemed in no particular hurry to reach their destinations and, praise Bob, they'd even kept to the right-hand lanes. At Lynnwood, she'd jumped onto the I-5. Intercity 5 on the other hand had been impossible, even on a motorcycle. The huge, holiday gala at the Kingdome had Southbound traffic backed up all the way to U-Dub. Her bike's Nav-Tech suggested taking Eastlake to Fairview to get to the downtown. Fine, as if she weren't late enough all ready. She peeled off I-5 at the University exit, catching Roosevelt Way and following it South to the point where it joined with Eastlake. This street took her past Union Lake, then it turned into Fairview Avenue and the street lights began, in earnest.
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	Oddly enough, these traffic direction devices were timed against the flow of traffic and they greatly slowed her Southward progress. Still, she was making better time here, than up on the freeway. About halfway down Fairview, Vixen caught sight of a commotion as she rode past an alley. Her street-honed senses had picked up on the tell-tale, blue & green, gang markings. At the next intersection, she pulled a U-ie and brought her bike back around for another look. She'd been hoping it was the Ancients. She hadn't seen Dræy forever. But as she rolled up to the mouth, it was apparent that these were not elves. They were orks, Bloody Screamers, to be exact, and that meant Norman. Having grown up in the "elven pack," she knew firsthand that, even though their tastes ran similarly in the color department, the two gangs did not get along -- not even a little bit. Vixen quickly killed the bike's headlight and snapped up her faceplate, giving her low-light eyes a chance to focus on the darkness beyond. When they had adjusted, she counted eight, no, nine orks. They were taunting what appeared to be a street urchin, who was wearing an orange suit and jack-o'-lantern mask. One of the orks, obviously their leader, was holding the kid in the air by his collar. "You on the wrong side a' the road, 'Weener," the ork said vilely.
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	That was Norman, without a doubt, Vixen realized. He was their boss, now?! The kid thrashed in the air, trying to struggle free. "Say it, fate-meat!" Norman bellowed, "say what a piece of 'Weener flot you are!" "But I ain't a ..." "Shaadup!" Norman smacked the child to the ground. "Talk back to me will'ya, skat?" Once a bully, Vixen thought. "I think we gonna make a lesson out of you." She could see the ork's face split into a cracked smile. "Dat way Chuckie-boy'll think twice 'fore he sends spies inta our turf." The kid tried to scramble away, but Norman stomped down on an exposed leg, pinning it to the pavement. "You, get those pallets," he ordered at one ork. "You and you, get some papers. We're gonna have us a 'Weener roast." This had gone far enough, Vixen decided. She pulled her bike into the alley's mouth and popped the high beam. "Let him go!" she ordered.
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	Momentarily startled, the orks froze in their tracks, all except Norman. "You want this breeder, goose?" The gang leader yelled back, "come get it!" He had no idea who he was shouting at, but no broad was ordering him around, 'specially not on his turf. Vixen revved her engine, twice: 'snag and drag.' "You got it babe," Norman called, "if ya think yer man enough." Now's the time, Vixen realized, when her teammates would start "bringin' out the big iron," but they didn't understand her way. And even though she had such gear stowed behind her in the bike, it was going to stay there. This was a gang matter. Aplomb and brass were what counted. The Screamers understood this. Dropping their pallets, they backed away and began to chant, "Spy! Nee! Spy! Nee! Spy! Nee! ..." She could do this, she thought, lowering her helmet's faceplate. Their cries began as a low rumble, becoming stronger as they echoed of the alley's walls, "... Spy! Nee! Spy! Nee! ..." She'd played snag and drag lots of times as a kid. That is to say, she'd been on the receiving end.
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	Then the tempo began to increase, "... Spy! -Nee! Spy! -Nee! Spy!-Nee! Spy!-Nee! ..." It was starting to drown out her engine. Just thirty meters, she judged, >snag<, then fifteen more meters, and home free. With one arm, Normal held the kid out at shoulder level. His other arm was thrust up into the air. "... Spy-nee! Spy-nee! Spi-ny! Spi-ny! Spiny! Spiny! Spiny! ..." the others droned on. Vixen gunned the Aurora's throttle and flew down the alley. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..." Norman howled, holding his ground. Twenty-five meters and closing. "...aaaaaaaaaa-ooooooooooo..." Norman still wasn't flinching Fifteen meters. Almost there..., she thought, as her spedo climbed past 70 klicks. "...ooooooooooOH DINSDALE!" Spiny Norman hollered and dropped his arms, tossing the street urchin to the ground, directly in the bike's path.
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	From out of the ether, a mana barrier shimmered into existence directly between the Aurora and Norman. In the split second that followed, Vixen was vaguely aware of veering her bike away from the kid. Then she felt it being ripped out from under her, as the world exploded into yellowish-red starbursts, before everything went black. * * *
[22:35:00/10-31-57]	At the Big Knobi Klub, the party raged on. Wolvesblood was in fine form, eager to plug the songs from their new CD. Many of which fell under the cateGORY of "techno-mosh," but that didn't stop about half of the attendees, who felt either young enough or brave enough to warrant dancing to them. Nearly all of the guests had arrived, the only notable exceptions being Vixen and the enigmatic, New Orleans, Alligator shaman, LaRue. His niece Billi, however, had flown in from Detroit to attend. As a private jab at Rita, the Ork had come dressed as Lady Brane Deigh, the Queen of the European Tir's 'Seelie Court.' Her Uncle D'Arcy, Billi supplied, never left the Big Easy during mana spikes, such as tonight's. It had something to do with sustaining his mage-blade's hunger. Rita made a mental note to pester him about it next time they spoke.
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	Billi had also brought along her teammate, Ox. They both had plenty of free time, as the Predators had been knocked out of the play-offs early again this year. It was true: the team really wasn't the same without Ricochet Rita. In the years since her 'departure,' they had fallen into something of a slump. As soon as they arrived, Ox had made a beeline for the bar. Currently, he was engaged in a conversation with Gus, who was the only other troll present. "Ya know," Ox said, over his Foster's, "you're one of the few people bigger than me." The liter-sized can looked tiny in his hands. "An' I kinda like that." "Well actually, I'm just taller. I'd bet we weigh-in about the same." That made sense, the brawler was quite a bit wider. "So, where didja find such a large costume?" "I," Gus smugly replied, "have an excellent tailor." "Mmm, I see." Ox took the last sip of his beer. "Billi didn't decide to come 'till the late minute, so this is all I could manage onna short notice." He was wearing his Ares Predators regulation Brawl suit. He'd cleaned off the stains and smears, but it was still covered with gouges and bullet holes -- a testament to his career of choice. "Set you up again?" Gus prompted.
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	"Sure, lemme try some o' that Spock's Blood." Gus walked around the bar. He wasn't actually tending tonight, but he noticed that Kyle was busily engaged at the other end with those two lady doctors. "You know, I really wish you'd reconsider and come work with me," the first Doc said, pausing to take a drink. The two surgeons had come dressed as twin, leather-clad, biker babes. "First point, Kristine," the second Doc replied, "I'm my own boss; I get to set my own hours. Second point, I'm actually making a difference out there." She swept her hand through the Klub, indicating the direction of the doors. "Third point, I'm very concerned about the people I'd have to associate with." That last was directed at the Smiling Bandit, who was hunched over his glass on the other side of Doctor Kristine Martin. He was dressed in a black & white, striped prisoner's outfit, with the 'machine font' ID: "a55-face" stamped on both sides in large, orange alpha-numes. Doc Martin had personally picked it out for him, owing to his current status. Fine, he'd lamented when she brought it home, it fit his mood. And during the ensuing week, his disposition hadn't made any notable improvements. "One tiny explosion," he brooded to the captive bartender. "Just one, and I'm on probation. It was only a little research lab. She's got lots of labs!"
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	Poor Kyle sought an escape, then noticing a thirsty customer, he made a hasty retreat to the relative safety of the bar's far side. "But, it'd be fun," Kristine insisted. "So was last week's food riot," retorted Dr. Mary 'Dicer' Dacia, "but you wouldn't catch me out there again." "Besides, you could help me keep 'Sulking' Bandit, here, on his chain." She gave her would-be consort a nudge in the ribs. "I don't know why I bother," he whined on, to his drink, "...even the bartender won't listen to me." "Bandit's lost his chemical privileges for a month," she explained, "or until the rebuilding is completed." "'Scuse me ladies," Fenris broke in, "is the next dance taken?" "You know what?" Dicer aspersed, "I bet somewhere out there, a mattress is running around naked." "Now, don't be such a B," Doc Martin cautioned. "Sorry folks, I don't slam-dance. I spend way too many hours a day looking at x-rays of those who do."
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	"Well, you are certainly dressed for it," Fenris muttered, which earned him a hearty nod from the Bandit and a particularly nasty sneer from Doc Dacia. "Oh come on, Dicer," Bandit joined in, momentarily forgetting to sulk. "That's not a moshing song. It's one of their raucous, slow numbers." "Three against one, hunh?" And the four of them departed for the dance floor. From his perch at the other end of the Klub, Dain sensed that something was wrong. He knew that his very being was (or had been) intertwined with these mortals at some point in the past--in his past. But it was the manner of which, that he was utterly unable to comprehend, now. The air felt, he was certain, as if somebody was missing. He reached out beyond the confines of his home. Yes, one of their number was not here, but not far, either. That one was in danger. He would go there. * * *
[22:40:00/10-31-57]	The Aurora lay burning in a crumpled heap. Riderless, its autopilot had been unable to compensate for the hastily imposed, last-minute maneuvers, resulting in its dragging a foot peg, then flipping over twice before careening to rest at the foot of a dumpster.
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	Conversely, Vixen's body had slammed into the mana barrier, shoulder first at 80 kph, before rebounding to the ground. The secondary impact with the pavement had split her helmet apart--probably saved her life too. From this position she could almost register the heavy approaching footsteps. Once the spell had been dropped, Norman had forgotten about the street kid and trudged up to see if the biker chick really had been geeked or not. He bent over her and grabbed a handful of coppery hair. "What d'you make of this, Dinsdale?" He asked, pulling her up to her knees. "Looks like some dead elf bif," the Rat shaman answered, noting her costume. "Not dead. Not yet," said her captor. That's Norman, she sussed. Sounds like him. Where'd he find magic? Frag she hurt! She tried to isolate the pain and failed. Must be banged up pretty bad, 'cause it's so hard to concentrate, she thought and nearly passed out, again. "Well that's wiz," called another ork, "let's 'do' her now 'for she flatlines!" Concentrate, she thought. She wanted to cry out, but her lungs weren't working. Focus past the pain...out of breath, lung's not working, must be wind's knocked out of me...ribs probably cracked. At least, she realized, she could still feel her legs.
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	"Hey! I know this slitch!" Normal realized, "it's thoze A-hoops' witch-slitch." At the mention of magic, the other gangers, stopped their advance. In their world-view, they understood it. And a wizard, even a damaged one, was something to be feared. "Heard 'bout her, "Dinsdale said, "word on da streets is them Keebs dumped her 'cause she burned-out." She could still feel her fingers...but it was so hard to separate out the pain... Norman stood to his full height, hauling Vixen up off her feet. "Betcha ain't so tuff, wit'out yer mojo." He'd jarred her arm on the way up. Her shoulder felt on fire...probably dislocated or broken. "Ahh," she half-moaned, taking short breaths to stifle it, and then nearly gaging on the ork's fetid, grisly aroma. For one abrupt moment, all noise in the alley ceased, as he got in her face and hissed, "it's payback time, slit." Vixen summoned up what strength she could and took a slow deep breath. She could feel Norman's fowl essence burning down into her lungs. Clearly, her trauma dampener was about to put in some overtime. She then focused on the combative maneuvers, which Rita labored to teach her, and split the silence crying out, "Boot to the Groin!!!"
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	This was followed by a bone-wrenching, "SKRrunNCH!" Whereupon the hand restraining her hair snapped -- open. The gangers were completely stunned. Most closed their eyes as if they'd been kicked. A few grabbed themselves reflexively. Call it sympathetic male-magic if you like. "Right, chica!" The street urchin cried out. Ground coming up, she thought. Drop...Roll! "..meeep.." was all Norman could manage before he toppled to the pavement clutching his jewels. He nearly landed on her. Ignoring her shoulder's howling protests, she came to her feet quickly and scooped up the kid, amidst the gawks and winces of the Screamers. Now, Run!! Her mind yelled. Run like your she-fox-dogged namesake! Run for Bob's sake! Go! Go! Go! Finally Dinsdale, who was the closest, approached Spiny Norman, who was still doubled over and quivering. "Boss?" he asked, trying to ignore the obvious whimpering sounds emanating from his leader.
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	A thick hand shot out, grabbing him by the throat and Norman's warty face met his. There were tears streaming down it. "...get...her..." he rasped, "...alive!" Norman's grip slackened and Dinsdale stood up, rubbing his neck. "Fssst! Fssst!" He signalled, indicating down the alley and around the block. As they spread out like pack hunters and swarmed out of the alley, the Bloody Screamers began to whoop and, well, scream. * * *
[23:00:00/10-31-57]	At last Dain had found the missing one. He tried to get their attention by moving the small bits of broken glass around, but he was too weak from the journey. It had taken far too long to locate them. By the time he arrived, Dain was unable to do anything but observe the two mortals, while his energies waned. He could feel the smaller one's base emotions: hurt, fear, hunger, need, loneliness. But the one he'd been seeking, the larger one, was experiencing only pain and fatigue. To Dain, she simply felt broken.
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	For a time he thought he was going to drift apart, then his energy returned a small amount. If only he could make his presence known. Again, it was no use. Maybe if he returned home, he'd be strong enough to make the others see him. These two would be well enough here for a while, he decided and departed. Vixen could hear the ork-gangers howling in the distance. She had wedged herself and the kid into a burned-out storefront's display window. It provided marginal concealment plus a clear view of the streets in both directions. "You dona look so good, lady." She was lying on her back and breathing heavily. The costume she'd worked so hard on was torn in a dozen places. She wasn't bleeding, not on the outside, at any rate. Well, at least she hadn't wasted time styling her hair, she thought and smiled. "Just gimme...a sec, 'kay?" Vixen gasped, "lemme catch...my breath." She'd run eight blocks nonstop with the kid clutched to her breast. The gangers were getting closer, by the sound. But they wouldn't risk following her here. "You got a name...kid?" "Unh, Kai. I'm called, Kai."
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	"Well, Kai...we're okay, now." "No we're not. They be here soon." "No way...Norman's crazy...but he won't...cross into Hallo...weener's turf...'specially not tonight." "Did you see any 'Weeners?" Now that ya mentioned it, she realized, the streets should be full of them. Where were they? There outta be block-parties, street-riots--with pillaging, looting, and automotive bon-fires. In fact, they shouldn't have even been able to get this far, tonight. She couldn't think straight and shook her head to clear it. Kai took this as an answer. "They're gone, chica, all of 'em. Charles the Red took 'em up north. Said he's gonna finish his war with the Cutters, once an' for all. His 'jee-hawd,' he called it. The only 'Weener out here tonight is me." Peachy. At least she'd managed to control her breathing. "You gonna call for backup, now?" "I'd love to, but when Norman trashed my bike, my gear went up with it." "He don't like you, much."
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	"Ha!" She laughed, and immediately regretted it. "He hates my guts!" "Whatcha do to him?" "The worst thing possible: I made him lose face in his gang." She smiled and closed her eyes, "he got pulverized regularly by one, lone, elf chica." And her mind drifted back to a time when she was still running with the Ancients, back to when she was fifteen. This had been scarcely six years ago. "Don't sleep, now." Kai shook her body. "We gotta slot and run!" She resisted the impulse to scream, besides it'd probably hurt even more. "Not sleeping, "she replied, "healing." And this was going to take a lot of it. Vixen envisioned herself on an operating table and once she got past the initial shudder, she imagined a cross-section scanner, sweeping from her head, slowly down to her feet. It felt warm and it tingled. From inside the pumpkin mask, the urchin watched as a pale green halo started at the elf's head, then slowly floated down the entire length of her body, finally disappearing after it passed over her feet. "Dinsdale said, word is you coun't do magic, no more." "He was wrong, " she said, leaning up on one elbow, "dead wrong."
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	And Kai couldn't help noticing, that Vixen's green eyes were glowing. * * *
[23:05:00/10-31-57]	Dain made it back in no time. Returning was easier, he discovered. His energy increased as he neared. Once he'd floated into the main room, he set about trying to get the mortals' attention. He drifted from table to table, doing his best to move things about. But try as he might, the combination of the noise, the lights, and atmosphere's overall gaiety seemed to prevent any of them from noticing his antics. "Forget it, Cuz," he heard a short man at a long table say. He was dressed in a tweed suit and he wore a derby. It took Dain a moment to realize that the man was speaking to him. "You're talking to me," he blurted out. "You can see me." "'Course I see you," the man snapped, drifting up into the air, "but they can't see you, or me, 'less they want to." Dain didn't know what to make of this. "I meant, you're like me. You're stuck here too."
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	"Hardly," the man spat, "You are most likely a fixed, full-torso apparition. Where as, I represent the sum total emotional and empathetic energies, the 'spirit' if you will, of this establishment. But I can come and go as I desire." "Then are you're not dead?" "Life, death, spectres, spirits, they're all relative. I exist, that's what matters." "No!" Dain wailed, "what matters is one of them is in danger and I can't warn the rest." "I've been watching you, Cuz," the spirit said. "Why do you care so much about them, anyway? You should ignore them as I do." "Until tonight," Dain answered, "I had no idea. But now I remember being there, instead of here. And I can't let go. I think it's why I still am here." "Humf, which one is in danger? I don't feel a thing." "Not here!" Dain exploded, which made him tingle. "The little one, she's out there," he continued, flailing towards the distance, "dying." That seemed to get the man's attention. "The events surrounding her previous near-death, are what brought me to this plane. Where is she?" "Wait, they need to know too."
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	"So tell them. Now where?" "Not until you tell me 'how.' " "Fine, be that way," the man said grumpily. "A moment ago, when you lost your temper, you felt something, right? Emotion is the key. That is the way to materialize. Now, for the last time, where is she?" And Dain told him. * * *
[23:15:00/10-31-57]	When they were ready to move, Vixen lead them out through rear of the store. They were about 10 blocks away from the Klub -- ten blocks and at least as many gangers. They had briefly debated using the sewer system, but her destination lay near the waterfront, which would have meant crossing into the Ork Underground. Compared to that, Norman and his bunch were a stroll in the park. They stuck to the shadows, covering three blocks without incident. At times the gangs' whooping seemed to come at them from all sides. She knew from bitter experience, that was the whole idea behind their tactic. Keep the prey panicky, 'cause panic means mistakes. She had to stay focused.
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	They were crouching in the bushes, which lined the wide, well-lit street called, Westlake. She'd spent the past five minutes watching for movement. 'Acclimatizing herself to the linear danger area,' Fenris had called it. No movement. No sounds, other than the Screamers not-so distant howls. Right, they'd waited long enough. As they darted across the four deserted lanes, Vixen became aware of a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. Then another, and another. Drek, she swore to herself, while hauling Kai over the curb and into the next alley. Not that it did any good. The three gangers had beaten them there. "Boss said we hadda bring you back alive," said the first ork. "Yea, but he didn't say in one piece," the second added, producing a huge blade. "Take her," commanded the third. And the first two charged towards them. Vixen held her ground and with her mind, reached out and plucked the knife out of the second one's hand. She brought it up in a wide sweeping arc, then pulled Kai's face away before performing her ugly business. Having witnessed the butchering of his buddies, the third ork, broke and ran. Kai, who'd managed to wrench free in the confusion, asked, "how'd you do that?"
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	"With displeasure," Vixen replied. "T-K was the first spell I learned." "And it'll be yer last," said Dinsdale, stepping out of the shadows. "Been tracking you, since did that healing trick. Knew your aura looked funny for a burn-out. So, I brought friend." He gestured. From one corner of the alley, trash began to whirl and spin. At first it drew in small bits of paper. Then as it strengthened, larger, twisted pieces of metal, joined in the dance. At the same time, small blobs of garbage seemed to fly from all sides of the alley at once, coming to rest at the center of the whirlwind in a sticky, bulbous mass. "Get down!" Vixen ordered. The pelting shower of garbage was beginning to slash them as it flew by. "Wha-what's happening?" Kai strained to ask above the torrent. "He's summoning some kind of spirit," Vixen called back, "hang on!" She was trying to use her body as a shield from the flying debris without smothering the kid. And just as the maelstrom seemed to reach its peak, all motion stopped. Vixen looked up, cautiously. Only to see the Rat shaman retreating down the alley. "Attack her," he called over his shoulder, "attack and bring her to me, alive!"
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	The city spirit took an undulating step towards them. Then another. Options, she thought, what are my options? Could they out run it? Probably not. Besides, that'd mean back-tracking, towards the Screamers. Fight it? Not directly. And she was still too weak to even think of summoning an elemental. Either try to banish it or attack its summoner outright. The garbage monster had covered half of the distance to them. But even if she brought Dinsdale down, there it was no guarantee that the spirit would disperse. And at least now, it wasn't out to kill. What'll it be, she asked herself, shaman or spirit? "Chica, if you got a zap for that thing," Kai interjected, "now's the time." No, she decided. This spirit was simply a delay tactic. If she took the time to banish it, the remaining Bloody Screamers would swarm over them from all sides. Vixen stood up and raised her hands high over her head. She had to put all of the alley's distractions out of her mind. "Please, ladeeee..." The muck-spirit shambled closer. It was nearly upon them.
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	In her mind, Vixen reached out towards the gesturing form of the ganger at the far end of the alley. And with a thought, a burst of scintillating jade energy erupted from her hands. In an instant, it raced down the entire length and skipped over the top of Dinsdale's hastily constructed mana barrier, missing him by a full meter. The shaman scarcely had time to exhale a sigh, before the bolt ignited a fuel cell on the side of the building behind him. From whence, the resulting explosion hurled large, jagged shards of containment tank, slicing in all directions. Four of which, found their mark, lifting and pulping Dinsdale against the back of his barrier, on their way through his body. "Holy drek!" Cried Kai, "you kacked him!" But the strain on Vixen wasn't small, she fell to her knees and would have fallen over, if not for Kai. She coughed and tasted blood in her mouth. First time this evening, she thought, looking up to see what effect, if any, she'd had on the spirit. It paused in mid-shamble, not three meters away from them. The thing appeared unsure what to do next. For a moment, it shuddered, nearly loosing cohesion, before finally recovering to resume its attack.
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	Frag, she thought, wiping the blood from her nose, that's it. No more tricks. I can't beat this monster. She could hear the hoot of gangers in the not-so-distance. Suddenly, a small man materialized next to her and tipped his hat at them. Delusions, she thought, I'm loosing it. She watched as the outstretched derby grew larger and fainter, losing its physical substance and becoming somewhat transparent, until it attained the size of a small table. Then the man placed it over them and spoke the single word, "go!" She froze in the face of this mirage, as the garbage mound took its final steps towards them. "Didn't ya hear the dwarf?" Kai asked, tugging on her belt. "Let's move!" Without really paying attention, Vixen allowed Kai to lead them back out of the alley toward Westlake. She didn't even looked back to see the initial volley between the small man and the city spirit. Instead, she marvelled as to how the huge hat seemed to mirror their movements, much as the moon did on those oh-so-rare cloudless nights. From across the four-lane, two Bloody Screamers emerged out of a building and ran straight at them. "Down," she coughed, trying to snap out of her daze. They were out in the open, under a street light, for Bob's sake! But it was so hard to think.
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	Vixen was in the process of attempting an attack, when the gangers ran past without even noticing them. She withdrew the spell and took an astral peek. Oh, they were being masked somehow. "Come on," she said with her head still in a fog, "if this spell holds for another five blocks, I think we'll just make it." * They travelled beneath the hat's concealment a block at a time. In between, Vixen rested, while Kai kept a lookout. At last their destination was in sight. She'd been planning to use front door, counting on the bouncers, who packed real hardware, being able to deal with the Screamers. But Kai spotted several gangers lurking around the street-side entrance. Plus their hat-mask was fading. "Come on Kai, one more alley." And together they entered the one behind the Big Knobi Klub. The familiar surroundings, along with the promise of warm drinks, spurred them on. When Vixen could see Rita's Brawl-cycle and the top of the Klub's delivery entrance, she scooped up Kai, even though the urchin was holding up far better than she. "What?" "Stairs," Vixen said. "You've been limping all night."
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	As they reached the top step, a gruff voice called out, "figured you'd slink off ta here." "Damnitalltafragginhell!" Vixen swore, "don't you know when to quit, Norman?" Then she was running; running down the stairs; shouldering through doors. There goes the other one, she scarcely thought, avioding a dessert caddy. She nearly dropped Kai in the process. That hadn't been there the last she'd been in here. They had just reached the kitchen's door, as Norman burst in and plowed full force into the errant service tray, sending silverware, plates, and cakes crashing in all directions. As Vixen stepped through and ran across the wooden dance floor, it occurred to her that it was way too quiet -- and too dark. Where was everybody? What time was it? How long had she been out? Then she relaxed and knew. Norman slammed open the kitchen door. He was covered from nose to knee in frosting. Blobs of pie filling dripped off his body as he moved. At the sight of him, both Kai and Vixen burst out laughing. The ork looked like an immense, orange mime.
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	His face had apparently landed squarely in a pumpkin cake; the icing framed his face in a crooked, jack-o-lantern smile. But Norman was far from happy and he had a knife. "This ends here," he bellowed and thundered out on to the dance floor. "First thing you got right all night, Normy!" Vixen replied, as the lights came up. Norman was momentarily startled as he realized the room was filled with ghouls and monsters, -- and a huge mouse? "HA!" He laughed still advancing, "don't matter, I can gut you with a audience or wit'out. I got the blade!" Then everyone in the room produced hardware simultaneously and leveled them with a mass "Klak-KLATCH" at Spiny Norman, who fell to his knees, whimpering, "..eeep?" He dropped the knife for good measure. * A change of clothes, a steaming beverage, and several rolls of duct tape later, the party was once again back in full swing.
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	Dain and the Klub-spirit drifted unnoticed across the room, coming to rest above Rita. "I still can't fathom your attachment to these mortals," the small man remarked. Dain's spectral form glanced downward and gave what passed for a shrug. He'd said 'farewell' to her, a while ago, before he'd lost all corporealness. But he was certain the effect was only temporary. And that was enough for now. "Some help," Vixen commented dryly from her seat at Rita's perpetually reserved table. She'd ditched the remnants of her costume in favor of one of her hostess' fluffy, oversized sweaters. Kai, on the other hand, had opted for the promise of fun and entertainment at the bar, where even now Gus was embellishing tales of wonderment. "I'll have you know," Julian responded sourly, "that I'd been scanning for well over an hour, before that spectre appeared." "Besides, you weren't in any real danger," supplied Buzz's hologram, "once you got into his range." His voice sounded tinny and a bit out of sync, coming from the overhead speaker -- more bugs to be ironed out. "'Sept we figured you'd come in the front way," Fenris added. "'Till we heard the ruckus in the kitchen, that is."
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	"Speaking of which, what do you want to do about him?" Rita asked, gesturing towards the orange-faced mummy, which was Norman. He had been wrapped head-to-toe with the aforementioned, silvery-grey, sticky tape. They'd propped him at an angle at one end of the bar. Somebody had added a sombrero and a child's bib that bore the legend, "I brake for brownies." "Humm," Vixen thought aloud, "anyone know what time 'UCAS Parcel' opens?" * End *