Rare Kinds

A/n: This is officially the longest story I've ever written and it's not over yet! I hope you're enjoying what's happening so far. I know the love is slow going but there are some things that need to be slow. So feast on the awkward attraction I've hidden in this chapter (if you can find it) and I hope you're still excited about the future (plot wise, ha ha).

Since I'm in a celebratory mood I'd just like to say that I really appreciate all the feedback I've gotten for this story. It was hard in the beginning to continue when so many things were going on in my life that I just couldn't get a handle on. Anyway, I didn't really mean for this to be long-winded, but thanks and know that the fact that you guys are reading this story means a lot to me. If you happen to have time to drop me a review or a pm that's super cool as well, but not required.

Thank you thank you.

---

"Don't say a word," Roger hissed. His arm locked around the man's neck and he took a deep breath, feeling the man's pulse escalate. Sad to say, but this man, whoever he was, smelled like a farm's ass and still smelled a great deal nicer than Nicholas did at the moment. He felt the man struggling but he wasn't reaching for Roger's arm or trying to get away at all. He was pulling at something tucked within his shirt and pointing down at it theatrically. "What are you doing?"

The man tried to say something but sputtered and gasped like an idiot being choked.

"What?" Roger said, and brought his ear closer to the man's face. "I can't understand you. You seem to have my arm around your neck."

Roger indulged himself for a few more seconds before he finally let the man loose.

"Message!" the man coughed out, doubling over to catch his breath. He pulled at something around his neck and held it up.

"Hmm," Roger hummed and went closer to give it a proper look. He grabbed at the necklace and jerked it up to his face, nearly choking the man again. A double-headed golden eagle clawed at the air upon the pendant, its lion paws stretching up. Roger sighed and let go of the thing dismissively. "Who are you?"

The man seemed to find some air of officiality and straightened, giving Roger a stern look but couldn't keep that up for long. He looked as if he was trying to gather nerve to speak, and went red in the face when he couldn't and had to clear his throat.

Then he cleared his throat a few more times.

"Balruit, not that you need it," he said hurriedly and watched Roger warily with beady black eyes. The man pulled a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. Roger controlled his urge to slap it out of the man's hand, noting the red and gold ribbon tied around it. "I need to give you this. Just you."

He snatched it away from the man's fat fingered grip. "Is that all?"

"He told me to tell you that it's all on you and especially not to fuck this up."

"Wonderful, thank you." Roger managed a tight smile that he most whole heartedly did not feel. "Did he mention anything about you?"

"What? No, if you doubt the validity of this message—"

"I just want to know if you expect to speak to him any time soon."

The man squinted his eyes at him inquisitively, but still seemed to misunderstand him. "I am crucial here."

Roger chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest. "Not likely in a place like this."

"Many have passed this place…" Did the idiot actually think he was questioning his post?

"Oh, sure. For the festival, but that's once every five years, mate, you're not important."

"You think you're better than me, is that it?"

"Not at all." Roger pushed himself off the tree and walked leisurely closer. Just three steps and then man took five back. Roger quirked an eyebrow. "I'm the worst kind there is. I just wanted to know how long it would take him to find out I've ripped you to pieces and drank every last bit of you right here."

"I got those bumbling fools off your back so don't you threaten me, you shit!" Balruit jabbed the air in front of him with a rather large, angry finger. Roger took a few steps back to the trees, laughing. "I've delivered my message so you read it and get the fuck on!"

"Wow," Roger breathed, half-laughing. He braced a forearm against the tree as he watched the large man stomp away, the back of his bald head was completely red he was so angry.

Roger frowned down at the parchment in his fingers, wishing he could just rip them up or burn them. Roger closed his fingers around it, crushing it lightly in his grip as he resumed watching Balruit waddle back to the inn.

"Why'd you do that?" Lent's voice chided behind him.

Roger jumped and shoved the orders in his pocket before he turned around. How had Lent snuck up on him like that? "I just can't help myself sometimes. Some people are too easy."

"Well, what did he say?"

"He got the 'bumbling fools' off our back. He's one of his." Roger said, turning to look back at the inn. The Master had spies in the strangest places. "I think we'd better hurry, though. I've probably upset him."

"We'll stay until Nick wakes up. I'll have a look around so you go watch him."

"He smells like a farm rolled in flatulence." He was exaggerating but it was worth it for the look on Lent's face. "I thought the Master had you make something to control him."

"That's what he thinks," Lent said and disappeared in the trees without another word.

Roger waited a few moments before pulling the orders from his pocket and opening them.

//Mohan has officially turned rogue. Do not attempt any contact with him. If he comes to you I want to know immediately. As for your new friend, I hope you are doing as we discussed. Get as close as you can, I want to learn this creature's secrets. Keep Lent in the dark and do not fail me in this or so help me my threats will be realized.//

Roger skimmed over it again, his eyes drawn to the preliminary sentence. He mouthed the words at the paper, Mohan has officially gone rogue. Roger watched as the words faded until the parchment was blank. He balled it up as panic surged within his chest. The Master was definitely sending someone to reel him in now. What would be done with Mohan then?

Roger thought of how miserable he'd be holed up in that cave—that weird mysterious and dark place where time seemed to slow and speed up all at once. Mohan would hate it. He hated it then, Roger thought, remember Mohan's moaning about his arm until Roger had to grab it and set it for him so he'd shut the fuck up.

He hoped Mohan had thought to bring some books to pass the time as there'd be no one to complain to. If it was Roger he wouldn't be able to stay there long without going insane. Roger knew if Mohan ever got there he wouldn't stay which made him want him here more than anything. In his condition anything could happen; he needed someone to have his back in case the Master sent someone after him. If Roger felt guilty at all for telling him to disappear it was for that reason alone. He couldn't go with him.

As for the other part of the letter, he knew how to do that well enough. Nicholas was afraid of him and that did present a problem but he had made it clear with a dagger that he wasn't afraid of fighting back with all he had should Roger threaten him again. It wouldn't be easy to ingratiate himself, but he could do it if Lent could.

Lent seemed to be well on his way to gaining Nicholas' trust, which made Roger wonder if they were really were going to King's town in order to help Nicholas. He trusted Lent about as much as he trusted Mohan on a good day, but he just couldn't believe that he'd be able to sneak something like that under the Master's nose. How could he have gotten away with an untested potion and talked them all out here without Andreschi having some underlying motive? It was possible that Lent really was just on another one of his ethical sulks. Anytime he didn't agree with what was going on he'd leave for a while… but he'd come back. That was the thing with Tangarians, Roger thought, they'd all rally together in the end even if they hated each other. Lent's only fault was that he couldn't stay away because he didn't want to. It was hard for him to turn completely against his own.

Roger would not find this a problem but was obligated to do as he was told. As much as he wanted to say to hell with the whole thing, Andreschi was the only one that could protect him—the only one that could keep him from going back to the dark. The Master could put him back in the ground where he found him if he were so inclined. It seemed no matter how far he got from him Andreschi's hold never slacked.

If Roger was to get close to Nicholas, as close as he could get, he'd do it in his own way. It didn't feel right doing it in the name of Andreschi but he could see himself doing it anyway as curious as he was. Especially now that Nicholas had demonstrated something so incredible. He had closed the portal. Even if it did leave a mark—permanent or not, the mystery was unraveling! But only more questions arose, he thought miserably. Roger wanted to get close to Nicholas for many reasons but told himself that was the real one. The right one.

He went back to Nicholas' unconscious body and dropped down beside it. Lent was busy keeping watch until he woke, following the path they had taken away from the portal, but hadn't seen any sign of the mob of angry townspeople. Maybe Balruit had indeed gotten them off their back like he said—convinced them that they had gone in a different direction.

Roger looked down at Nicholas' face, noting how peaceful he looked—as if he was simply sleeping rather than knocked out. They needed to get out of here while the mob wasn't paying attention so he reached over and gently shook him by the shoulder. Nick groaned pitifully but didn't wake.

---

Roger was there. But this wasn't Roger recently or any Roger that Nick had ever seen. This was Roger now, and it took Nick a few seconds to realize he was dreaming. Roger was wearing white so crisp and clean he was abhorrent to the idea of getting near it. Roger's hand reached out to him, his fingers slightly curled in invitation. Nick almost stumbled backing away, his shoes catching in the grass.

His back hit something, and when he looked up through the coiling limbs above him he recognized the tree from his hallucinations. The one that wound itself into existence before his eyes, the one he saw twisting in the ceiling and wall of his cell. Beyond the trees thin, spindly branches, the sky was heavy with large clouds in muted-purple, trembling as lightning flashed softly within them.

A breeze was everywhere and seemed to go every direction, whipping Nick's hair in his face, rustling the hem of his jacket against his legs. Roger smiled at him, his eyes flashing green in a place where there wasn't any green, and Nick knew there wasn't any green like that in all of existence. He shivered when he saw Roger's even, human teeth, something stirring within him that he could not explain. This was Roger wasn't it? Yet the teeth were all wrong…

He didn't feel threatened until he noticed what was in the distance behind him. In a blink of an eye it was six steps away, as if it had noticed his presence and moved itself closer. It was the blue ring that stood behind dream-Roger, rising from the ground, and spinning within was a clay cup but then it quickly changed, and became a blur of images flashing faster than Nick could comprehend. It then swirled into black, the same oily black he saw in Lent's eyes, in the Master's eyes. Then back to the images again, swirling and bubbling, spilling over outside the confines of the ring.

Nick's pulse throbbed in his head as he stared with wide frightened eyes, blood hammering in his ears. He couldn't look anymore. He couldn't watch. None of it made any sense. Nick looked back to Roger, wanting him to say something. Explain it for him. Roger's hand was still outstretched.

"Come," he said, his tone gentle, almost pleading. "I have something to show you."

But another voice called from the sky, and a sting of pain flared in his cheek that caused him to jump back from the Roger before him.

"Wake up, gorgeous."

The Roger in front of him shook his head; the words had not come from him… though it sounded like his voice. He backed away as the whole dream faded and Nick jerked awake.

---

"Wake up," Roger said and slapped him a bit harder than was necessary. "Wake up, gorgeous."

"What?" Nicholas came up swinging, the side of his face red from Roger's hand. He looked dazed, his eyes unfocused and blinking. "…did you say?" and then he groaned and fell back again. He rubbed at his eyes.

"You all right?"

Roger peered down at him, wrinkling his nose at the smell coming from him. He hoped that would pass quickly. Maybe Lent would run out of the stuff soon and if he didn't then Roger would make sure to break every bottle he found in Lent's pack. The stuff made him feel like he was going to turn inside out if he took a deep enough breath.

"Yeah," he said but didn't look too sure. He gingerly pushed himself upright. Nicholas' hair was a mousy brown mess and without thinking Roger reached out and smoothed it away from his face. Nicholas stiffened under his touch, furrowing his brow as he turned his dark eyes to Roger. "Do I still smell?"

"Horrible," Roger said, "Can hardly be around you." Then he dropped his hand to his side, kind of embarrassed that he had even done such a thing, and got up before the situation became more uncomfortable. "I'd better tell Lent you're awake. We've got to get to the gate while the mob's distracted."

"Wait," Roger noted his hesitation. "What happened after I passed out?"

"Nothing much. We carried you off. The townspeople are apparently going the opposite direction thanks to some idiot named Balruit and we were waiting to leave until you woke up." Roger narrowed his eyes at him, studying him from head to toe. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Are you? You haven't bitched once since I woke up."

Roger turned around to hide the smile on his face. "Come on, then. Let's get our guy and get out of here."

Roger knew that once they found Lent and got to King's this little town dispute may not be over. It was just big enough to make people talk about it. Rumors would start to fly and then someone would send a representative to King's to formally request an inquiry. As that process could take days he wasn't too concerned what could be done to them under the law, considering how slow the law was around here.

Now, if the town got together and paid someone to exact retribution, that'd be different, and if they came up with a good bounty the process may take considerably less time and bring a great deal more satisfaction. This, Roger and Lent could handle as well. They had just separated from the Master in a dramatic way, although on Roger's part it was more outwardly than inwardly, and were already on their guard. Roger knew Andreschi wouldn't send anyone to capture them yet, as long as Roger fulfilled the Master's request. So at least they had that going for them, yeah?

Gods, the whole thing left him sick, but it was nothing new. He had always been running from something or someone, it didn't really make any difference if everyone joined in. Roger knew he wasn't well liked anyway not that it made any difference to him either.

---

As they approached the city, Nick slowed his steps, taking in the view before him with wide eyes. They stood on a hill, the forest far behind them but was still in view, as was the village though it had been emptied for the hunting party.

If there was any moment since the safe house that hadn't quelled the suspicion that he wasn't in a different world, the view of King's Town certainly turned that on its head.

The stone walls surrounding the massive city were fifty feet high and the buildings within blew his mind. None of them seemed to match. A towering spire stood off center, surrounded by a few buildings that wouldn't have been so out of place in his own city though none of them were as tall as the gray tower that seemed on the verge of toppling over. Many other buildings and houses, shops and centers were in odd styles of architecture, betraying something of a mish mash of different cultures, concentrated in this place. White flags hung all over the place, around the tops of the walls, from the roofs of every building. Horse drawn wagons and carriages, hordes of people filed into the city's towering iron gates which were flanked by two small rows of soldiers, dressed in white tunics with blue ribbons tied around their spears.

"Why all the white?" Nick said, remembering flashes of something dream-like, something he didn't understand just yet.

"Peace time during the Celebration of the Victorious Dead, though there hasn't been any real war for over a century." Lent pointed to the tower off center within the city. "The research center. Behind it, blocks away, is the palace. I've never been inside but I've heard it's annoyingly lavish."

Nick was reminded of the gaudy red and gold décor of the Master's safe house. If he had seen anything that could be described as annoying lavish, it had been that place. Though on the outside the place gave the distinct impression it was right out of a classic horror novel. He guessed the Master had a very dramatic sort of character, and was reminded of Lent's offhanded comment hinting that in this part of the world Andreschi was a politician… well, it certainly made sense. A man like that, he surmised, would have his fingers in everything.

"Are those apartment buildings?" Nick pointed to the tallest ones surrounding the tower, their familiar structure made him think of the building in which he lived… had lived before he was tossed into all this, right down to what he was sure was a fire escape, going up the side of one of the buildings. The whole town seemed to have every architecture style in history. It boggled the mind.

"Hotels and dormitories, some of them are regular living spaces, I'm sure," Lent scanned the skyline, brow furrowed as his eyes passed over what was before them. "It's changed a lot since the last time we were here."

"If there's any time to get lost in a crowd," Roger said, throwing a cautious look behind them.

"Noted," Lent nodded and hoisted his pack back onto his shoulder. He started walking down the hill, toward the giant iron gates. "Come on, then. The research center, if we can get there by dusk, and then maybe we can look up an old friend."

"Oh?" Roger said, trailing behind them as they walked along the road. "Who would that be?"

"I just hope they're normal," Nick muttered, and suddenly had an intense desire for a cup of coffee.

---

Lent was already through the gate and Nick had to duck and weave through a crowd of rushing people. Luckily Lent was a very tall and surprisingly dark elf with shoulders so broad he could probably stop a tank. If they had tanks here. Nick hoped they didn't have tanks. The point was that Lent stood out in the crowd of people Nick struggled to weave through.

The crowd alone was increasingly frustrating. There were so many people he nearly got swept away, but someone had fallen over in front of him and was getting impolitely crunched by his feet. He looked down and realized he had stepped on an old man's genitals.

"Sorry," Nick said and pulled on his arm to help him up. "How are your testicles?"

"They are in some pain. How forward of you, sir." The skinny old man nodded and looked down, apparently just realizing his nakedness. "Oh!" Then he laughed and gave Nick a resigned drunken smile. "But it is the festival. These nights I used to get so drunk I didn't know what I was saying to people."

Nick narrowed his eyes at this man and pushed him aside. Maybe he needed to practice more conversation. He was pretty sure he had said something horrible to that naked old man, whoever he was, and hoped to never see him again.

Large pieces of colored confetti floated in the air and the crowd parted. Now Nick was really beginning to get nervous. Suddenly he was being pulled to the side of the street as a large procession of giant papier-mâché heads were paraded slowly down the middle of the street. The one in front had a giant gold painted crown and a pointy white beard. His smile was crooked, but it was a smile nevertheless, though it was a squiggly pink line, slightly up-curved.

Nick looked around in confusion. He was getting pushed at all sides. A jab at his right buttock caused him to jump into the air. He yelped and turned around to see an old woman looking sheepish, her knobby cane poking into his backside. He pushed his way away from her, terrified, weaving through dozens of people to escape. Then suddenly he found his back against a lamp post and grasped onto it like a lifeline.

"Hail!" Someone slurred in a shout by his ear. "Hail, Old Man!"

"Victorious Dead!" Another screamed. Someone vomited into a pile of colored paper near his feet.

"Hail our Old Fathers!" some children sang, throwing flowers into the air. "Hail! Hail!"

Deep bass drums drowned them out; Nick covered his ears. More shouts were heard more as noise than words as the procession moved slowly on. Then a hand fastened onto his arm and dragged him into a less populated side street.

"There you are, you stinky son of a bitch!" Roger said, pushing him into a wall. "You want to stick with us," Then he let him go, covering his face. "Wish I could dump water over your head. Godsdammit, that smell is horrible!"

Nick shoved at him and when that wasn't enough to satisfy him he slapped Roger's face as hard as he could.

"Whoa, okay," Roger threw up his hands and backed off, taking deliberate staggering steps. His nose still wrinkled at the apparent smell. "What? I know Lent gave you something. No one else seems to notice the stench." He turned around, hiding a bit of a grin, his back to Nick as he surveyed the crowd. "They all may be drunk now though. It's after noon," Roger turned around again, his hand covering his nose once more. "Seriously, how did he get away with that?"

"Search me?" Nick answered angrily, fixing a glare on him. He assumed Roger was talking about the potion that seemed to work wonders now that it was no longer raining out. Roger had indeed kept a considerable distance.

"Hmm," Roger said, dropping his hand to his side. "I mean he wasn't supposed to be wasting his time working out ways to irritate me."

"It's not for you it's for me. Protecting me from you."

"Lovely," He said and gagged behind his hand. "Really. I don't appreciate it enough."

"He said your Master stopped in, hounded him about some stuff and left some dead guys in charge of watching him. He basically made whatever he wanted."

"And it only works to deter me?"

Nick blinked, and couldn't believe he was going to say this, "Vampires apparently."

"Vampires."

"That's what he said." If he hadn't seen all the things that he had seen since he'd been here, he'd think Lent was the one who was crazy. "I have to say it does seem to work."

Roger took a step closer, a playful smile twisting his lips. "You're afraid of me? Is that what this is about?"

"You're a blood thirsty killer. He didn't need to tell me that. I'll stab you again anytime if you touch me."

It was good that Lent chose that moment to rejoin them because Nick didn't own a knife and felt compelled to shove Roger's face into a wall. The look Roger was giving him, a sort of keen interest paired with a devious flash of his eyes, so green it almost hurt, caused conflicted feelings to rise within Nick so strong he had to force himself to back away before he did something he knew he would regret.

Nick shivered from head to toe and it wasn't from the blistering cold.

"Let's get to the center as fast as we can," Lent paused and looked at the two of them. "No time to stand around and argue. Come on, we have to beat the heads before they block the way."

"Interesting choice of words…" Roger drawled as they followed Lent's lead down the side-streets toward the tower.

---

Ten minutes later they were up the thirty five wide stone steps and in the large minimalistically decorated lobby of the research center. A rounded wooden counter about waist high was in the center of the room, a few young people behind it, along with desks piled with assorted papers and books of varying sizes. Behind all this was a staircase that wound its way up, though the highest step was shrouded in shadow. The ceiling in the place was incredible and seemed to stretch as high as the tower itself, but there must have been other rooms here as there were doors all around the edges of the lobby.

A few boys were bent over a large ledger on the counter facing the entrance, combing through its pages and arguing vehemently.

"Stay out of trouble, you two," Lent said and motioned that Nick and Roger should stay by the door. He gave wary look at the commotion at the counter and then leaned close to Roger. "If you spoil this I'll have us staying in some rat hole in the Shakes. You know where I stay makes no bloody difference to me."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Yet," Lent said and then cocked his head at Nick. "You must know how important it is to get this appointment."

"Sure." Nick nodded, his attention split as he was watching the progressing argument at the counter. "It is for me."

"Yes, and after this maybe we can get a pass to the library before we meet Asesil." Nick had no idea who or what that was and didn't have a chance to ask as Lent was already walking to the counter, clearing his throat loudly to get the boys' attention.

"What or who is Asesil?" Nick asked out of the side of his mouth, eyes on the sobering faces of the young men as they took in Lent's intimidating form.

"It's been so long since I've seen her," Roger whispered and he rubbed his hands together. "Why is it so cold?"

"I'm guessing it's winter here."

"Well spotted. Asesil used to be a private informant. Andreschi never knew about her. Just some girl we caught thieving from us. She knew the in's and out's of the Shakes and honestly, she was the most interesting thing to happen in a long time."

Nick didn't know what to say to that. He edged away from Roger a bit, wanting to put some distance between them, and watched Lent's back as he talked with the young men at the counter. It was a full minute before he finally got words enough to ask, "How long ago was this?"

"You're asking me? I have no concept of time," Roger said with a laugh. His words were shaky, his body shivering from the cold. "Maybe ten years. I don't know. I've been around a long time most of it's a blur."

---

The students around the ledger all stared at him, looking him up and down with barely concealed shock. The tallest of the group looked to the others and told them to 'get on with whatever it was they were supposed to be getting on with' and in those exact words. Then he turned his eyes back up to Lent's face and swallowed hard.

"Yes?" he squeaked and then cleared his throat. The next time he spoke his voice was considerably deeper, "Can I assist you, Tangarian?"

"I hope so," Lent said and tapped the ledger in the boy's shaking fingers. He spoke evenly as it was clear the boy had never seen a Tangarian in person and was more than a little on edge because of this. "Tell me, is Herold Ichbane still employed here?"

The boy's eyebrows rose and then he went furiously flipping pages in the ledger. "Ichbane teaches Truth in Legend, which is really a bunch of theoretical rubbish." The boy seemed to find the page he was looking for and pressed a finger down on the very name. "Tell me he's not who you're looking for?"

"He's the only one I know that still may be alive."

"Oh, that's … because," the boy stammered… "You live so long…" he then gave Lent his full attention though now his voice was a bit lower as if he didn't want the other boys overhearing. He threw a look over his shoulder before continuing, "Maybe if you tell me what you need I can set you up with someone appropriate to your issue. Although I really shouldn't promise anything. The festival has us all behind and office hours are naturally booked. Unless you want something two months from now, the professors are really busy with full classes and research. Exams are coming up.."

"And you're worried about your grade, I see!" Lent said quickly. He should have expected as much! He went on, progressively getting angrier though he knew it wasn't the poor boy's fault. He just couldn't help himself. The day had started horrible and by the gods was it determined to finish that way! "What about anyone else? Head of a Department, professor's assistant, fucking groundskeeper, I don't care, but I'd prefer Ichbane."

The student slammed the book shut and walked away from the counter, sticking his head into the group of students who had now taken up their former argument quietly around one of the desks behind the counter. They spoke in hushed voices as Lent waited impatiently, tapping his large fingers on the ledger. Through a wooden door closest to the counter a fair bit of shouting could be heard. The student with whom he had been speaking eyed the door warily and then walked back to Lent, his eyes wide, his hands already thumbing the book again.

"How's next Thursday?" He said miserably, and he noticed that the boy picked up a quill and so reluctantly crossed a name off Ichbane's appointment list that Lent assumed it must have been the boy's own name. "We're all put to the test around the festival. You could stick around for that while you wait."

"I would have hoped for better."

"Pencil us in!" Roger interjected, suddenly at Lent's side. He had somehow dragged Nick with him, who really didn't look happy about it at all. Lent tore his black eyes away from them and stared down at the student whose quill was ready to scrawl the name.

"Fine do it," Lent said irritably. Then he added, "Under Mr. Woods."

The student looked up sharply before penciling in the name in the book. "Mister… Woods… Of course."

----

Roger was just about dragging Nicholas down the street; he'd be damned if they lost him again. The crowd was thick and if it wasn't for Lent's head sticking up above all others they would have never have kept up. The cold was so biting he felt as if his fingers were locked into place around Nicholas' shirt, and he walked faster, pulling him along because he couldn't stand hearing his own teeth chattering in his head any longer.

When they finally reached Caster's Street they stopped at a row of houses, all crammed together so tightly it was as if they were one long multi-gabled roofed building. Roger didn't remember Asesil living in such place; the last time he had seen her she had been living on and off with some girls who ran the game in the Shakes. But Asesil wasn't a prostitute, not that she'd ever judge one.

Lent knocked on a brown door that simply said 12, and Roger prepared himself, letting go of Nicholas' collar. The door flew open and a black haired woman poked out her head, her youthful face breaking into a grin that threatened to split her face when she saw them. She swung the door wide and Roger noticed the obvious swell where her stomach was under her dark blue dress. Asesil was no longer fifteen, he had to remind himself, but it was hard to tell that ten years or thereabouts had passed by looking at her. She was still the short, scrappy, pretty faced thief in his memory, only now with one considerably noticeable difference.

They all filed inside, packing themselves into an impossibly narrow hallway. Asesil gave Roger a brief hug, barely able to get her arms around him due to her swollen belly.

"You've definitely grown… bigger," Roger hesitated, "Fatter," he clarified.

He could feel the eyes of his companions burning into him. Lent felt it was necessary to knock him in the side of the head and through the dull pain he heard Asesil say patiently, "Roger, I'm pregnant."

"Yes, well. Obviously." Roger said, gesturing to her swollen abdomen. "How many do you have in there?"

"Roger," Lent warned and pushed him aside to great Asesil. "It's been a long time."

"Oh yes, but don't let it stop you." They embraced and Lent kissed the top of her head.

"Can I?" He asked and when she nodded his hand came to rest on her stomach. "Strong legs."

"Tell me about it! Well, all, do come inside. I can make some tea, if you like."

"Does anyone have coffee?"

"Nicholas, no one has any idea what you're talking about. Move your ass inside."

"It's Nick, Roger."

"Hmm, yes," Roger replied and shooed him in the door so they could close the cold and the shouting of the festival patrons outside.

"I don't think I've met you," Asesil said, her hazel eyes falling on Nicholas. Roger watched him shift his eyes anxiously to her from Roger as he stood awkwardly in the small hallway.

"No, he said. "You wouldn't have."

"He's Nick," Lent said and for some reason, while all still shoved in the ridiculously narrow hall, they exchanged introductions.

Asesil politely took Nicholas' larger hand in hers. "What's coffee?" she asked.

"Could we be back for tea?" Lent said suddenly, already backing to the front door. He grabbed at Nicholas' shoulder briefly, jerking his head to the exit.

Roger sighed. "Couldn't we stay for a minute? Asesil hasn't had a moment to tell us how she became this way."

"I'm sure it was in the usual manner," Lent quipped. "And you're staying here so I don't have to hear your teeth chattering the whole time."

Asesil looked confused and rightly should have been. "Where are you going?"

Her guests had just arrived, not that Roger minded being alone with her. At least not for long.

"We've got to make a quick run, Nick and I. Can I trust you not to kill him while we're gone?"

Asesil gave a short nod and turned Roger around as soon as the other two were back into the cold and the crowd of people all pushing and shouting for their "old man."

"There's nothing here to offer you but you could sit in the kitchen," Asesil said brightly. She patted his arm. "Keep me company."

With a final look over his shoulder at the door, Roger couldn't help but think he was being babysat.

"Sure, sure," he said dismissively, then turned to admire her as they squeezed through the hall side by side. She was glowing and seemed nauseatingly happy, though he told himself it was because he had arrived at her doorstep and not the impending arrival of her child which made him feel better in general.

When they got to the kitchen she pushed him in a chair and then went to poke more wood into her stove.

There was just about a minute of silence before Roger admitted, "You're not fat, really."

"Oh?" Asesil chuckled. "I'm as big as a house."

"I didn't mean it."

"Don't go and act guilty just because you're stuck with me for another hour or so. You did mean it," she looked up this time, but didn't seem upset. Really it was just that she was just so pregnant. Roger found the idea unsettling. "But I wouldn't have expected anything else. You're you."

She walked over and grabbed the tea kettle from the table and he grasped her wrist. "You're you." He hadn't meant that to sound so scathing, it was hardly an insult, but when she grinned over at him he had to kiss her. It was just a tender press of lips, innocent really, and not at all like the first one he had ever given her. After all, now she was pregnant.

"Tell me why you did this."

"Honestly, Roger. You make it sound like a death sentence."

"Hmm," he agreed and rested his elbows on the table while she poured water into the kettle and set it on the stove.

"I'm in love with this baby and so is my husband."

"Oh," Roger said. And married, he thought. Then, "Oh…"

"Yes."

"How long has this been going on?"

"Long enough to know it's right. You ask some strange questions."

"I remember you fifteen and not wanting a thing to do with marriage."

"To be like you," she said with a laugh. "Before I knew what that was."

"You were so innocent."

Asesil rubbed her belly, "Not anymore."

"Yes. Things do change."

"You haven't."

Roger thought about that for a minute, not really sure why this should disturb him. He didn't really want to explore it right now, not with Asesil in front of him. That was dangerous. Instead he got up and gently pressed her down in his chair.

"Sit. You're full of child, or children… maybe six. Anyway, I can't stand to see you waddling around."

"I was making tea."

"Right," he nodded at her and then turned around and stared at the tea kettle on the stove. "How do I make this thing work?"

"You wait. After it shouts I put the leaves in and let it steep."

"After it shouts…" Roger repeated blankly, staring at the kettle.

"Get the tea leaves out."

He fumbled through the drawers after a moment, still glancing at the kettle in case it said anything.

"No, not there. Higher," she said, voice muffled from trying to hold back her childish laughter. "Cabinet."

"Hmm…" Roger opened a few doors and finally found a large glass jar with black tea leaves in and pulled it out. "Is this, uh…" He wrinkled his nose at it. "Smells interesting I suppose."

Roger nearly dropped the glass jar on the floor with the kettle began to whistle, a high pitched sound that seemed to last forever. Without using a cloth, he reached out at grabbed it, lifting it off the stove. Asesil jumped out of her seat and rushed over, "Are you crazy?"

"Can't think with this thing shouting like that!"

"It's hot, aren't you burning?"

"Probably," he said and set the thing down on the table now that it had found the decency to settle down. "So I just shove the leaves in?"

Asesil grabbed at his hand and turned it over, watching the burned and blistered skin heal before her eyes. It was amazing that she still held this kind of wonder when it came to things like this. She dropped his hand and took the jar from him. "You don't have to take care of me. I have a husband for that."

"Where is he? While you've a vampire in your kitchen?"

"I made him join the festival. His father was a war hero."

"Hero by what definition?"

"Are you jealous?"

Roger snorted as he watched her measure the tea leaves and gently pour them in the kettle. "Would he be?"

"I don't know. Maybe. But all you got was a kiss. He got everything."

"And seven children."

"It's just one."

"A giant one, then," Roger amended. "When will it emerge?"

"It's not a sea monster. It's a baby. He or she will emerge any time now, I hope," she sat back in her chair and cocked her head up at him, a sly smile on her pretty face. "What's the new guy like?"

Shocked, it was a moment before Roger could collect himself enough to answer. "Strange. Randomly violent though I suppose he has his reasons."

"He's kind of handsome."

"He could use a shave."

It wasn't that he hated the patchy, gray/brown beard exactly. It was more like he missed Nicholas the way he was before. Ignorant of all this and still safe, as much as could be said of his apartment and doctor and seemingly endless supply of pills—whatever use they were supposed to serve. Also he just looked so much better without the scruffy, mildly vagrant patchy beard marring his face.

Asesil tutted and shook her head. "Get me a teacup, would you? There's an old one in the cabinet where you found the tea."

"It's cracked," Roger said, staring curiously at the fragile cup. Its delicate blue flower pattern was all but faded on its side. He turned it over in his hands.

"It's my favorite."

He really hoped that Lent and Nicholas would be back soon, for he feared Asesil was gearing up to something he wasn't prepared to discuss. He set the cup in front of her and watched anxiously as she poured herself some tea and took a sip. His fingers drummed on the counter behind him.

"Randomly violent," she said, her eyes studying Roger's face.

"With me," he clarified. He had been stabbed after all and threatened to be stabbed again soon after. "Though he's not as cracked as that cup."

"Doesn't leak," she said and took another sip.

"Aren't you getting leaves in your teeth?"

"How am I supposed to know how my day's to go without the tea leaves at the bottom to tell me?" Asesil smiled and set the cup down. She was joking, surely. "Everyone seems to be randomly violent with you."

"Not you."

"I don't think I was around you enough and I couldn't be very good at it now in my condition," she placed the cup in front of her on the table, staring in at the leaves spinning and settling in it. "Where's he from? I've never heard anyone talk like that."

"What do you mean?"

"His accent. I haven't been many places, but I've never heard anyone like that."

"It's not unpleasant," Roger said softly, hearing it in his head. He ducked his head and found himself examining the floor rather than meet her eyes. "Kind of deep and haunted. I quite like it."

"That's not what I was saying but I think you've answered any other questions I might have had."

"I'm not sure I have, but if you're pacified then fine." He almost turned his back on her but didn't want to give her any cues to continue this line of questioning. He wouldn't allow her to wear him down like this, especially for something he didn't even understand. "I can't discuss it."

"Work stuff."

"Work stuff," he echoed, looking past her into the narrow hallway, able to see the door from where he stood. He willed it to open and Lent and Nicholas to file through, to save him from his conversation. "Aren't you going to ask what we're doing here?"

"I suppose that's also work stuff, unless you also need a place to stay. The festival has every inn booked I'd assume, and Lent knows I have the space."

"Yes, there's that."

"Where have Lent and your Nicholas got to?"

Your Nicholas? Roger's lips formed a thin line, fighting something acidic to say to that. Instead he waited, noting the teasing smile on her face as she casually brought her cup back to her lips. Just innocently sipping tea, Roger, not mocking your obvious obsession with a violent stranger.

"The library at the research center, I presume," he said in a low voice. "He needs a pass to get in but I was so intent on getting here that I suppose we forgot, or they decided to ditch me."

"They'll be back," she said, tossing her long black braid behind her back. "Lent keeps his word."

Roger stared at her, not knowing what to say. He would have said the same thing days ago before all this, but couldn't be sure. How could he not know that just as he had been set a secret task, the Master could have put something to Lent as well? In case Roger should fail, no doubt, or at least to get some outcome of all this. To think of it, he didn't even know which side he was on; who was he to judge? He couldn't very well break away and disappear somewhere, not with Nicholas at stake. If he weren't here Roger would be in Arrow's Bend with Mohan where he belonged. Nicholas, without doing anything at all but existing, had somehow fucked his priorities. Was it weird that he felt conflicted? Normally he wouldn't have cared; he had never minded distraction before.

"How's Mohan?"

Roger blinked, slightly suspicious that she had read his mind, but Asesil didn't have any power like that. She didn't need anything else. Asesil was pregnant. Maybe it somehow gifted her with unusually heightened intuition—he had heard enough wives' tales to that effect—but she had that before had she not? She always seemed to know what he was thinking.

"Roger?"

"Job. Far off."

"On his own."

"I suppose," Roger ground out, suddenly very tired. He stood next to the wood stove, absorbing its heat and brooding. "Do you think there's a place I can be alone for a bit?"

Asesil frowned but stood nonetheless, draining the last of her tea. "I can show you where you three can stay. It's not much. Fred's still helping me fix up the place."

"Fred?"

"My husband."

She eyed him incredulously and bade him to follow her as she slowly walked down the narrow hall again, but turned left halfway down to hobble up an even narrower staircase that lead sharply up. With each step the boards underneath them creaked and groaned their protest and Roger felt sorry for them, suspecting Asesil had eight or nine young all piled within her.

"You three will be staying in my mother's old rooms. I'm afraid there's not really any other choice."

"It doesn't matter."

"It may when you see the wallpaper."

----

"Ah, girl, there you are," Lent said when Asesil opened the door to them again. He was balancing a tower of books in his arms and Nick stood behind him, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, just as many books piled against his chest. Nick glanced at her warily, unwilling to take his attention permanently away from the precarious stack he was holding.

"Went overboard, did you?" She raised an eyebrow and stepped aside as they filed in. "Let me help you."

"No, no, but we'll have that tea now, if you're still on," Lent eased his way past her to the kitchen and Nick followed, eager to put down the heavy pile of books in his arms. "Where's Roger?"

"Upstairs. View of the street from there," she said, pouring them both a cup of tea. "Sit, I'm sure I have some bread and cheese too."

"I suppose he had enough of you grilling him."

"I don't grill him." She set a loaf of some seriously stiff looking bread down in front of him and a hunk of moldy cheese down beside it.

Nick sipped his tea and watched her. The tea wasn't half bad but he still wanted some coffee. He hadn't cared for it too much at home but he just wanted something normal. Something from his world. He picked at some tea leaves stuck in his teeth.

"What were you looking for?" Asesil asked, her eyes running over the book titles, none of which Nick could read. "Seems to be a little of everything."

"Folklore, mythology, religion, that sort of thing." Lent passed over his pile then. "History…" he said, his hand patting Nick's pile, frustrating him further.

He almost growled into his tea when a few more leaves snuck into his mouth and nearly caused him to choke. Nick told himself he was angry because of the withdrawal. If he could only have his pills again he wouldn't be so irritable, but he just couldn't imagine a worse day in his life.

"What's wrong with him?" Asesil asked, noting Nick was too busy coughing and being angry to comment.

"Apparently his language is a bit different from ours."

Once Nick gained control of himself he locked Asesil in a glare that would scare the dead.

"It's the same but so dramatically different that I can't read anything," Nick snapped and set his tea cup down, spitting leaves into his hand. He wiped them on his trousers and pointed to the cover of one of the books. "I don't know what this is, but it's certainly does not say Recent Histories of—" he looked over at Lent. "What did you call it?"

"Culture Histories: Tannika and Counties Therein."

"Fucking mouthful," Nick said and hit the table with the palm of his left hand. Asesil covered her nervous laughter with one of her hands.

He'd never been so angry. Certainly it was something trivial to anyone else. Maybe there were more people here that didn't bother with reading, as there were pictures on every shop sign they had passed on their way through to Asesil's. However, not being able to read the information at his disposal on his own made him feel all the more dependent on those he couldn't… well, shouldn't trust. Of course it was just fitting that something like being able to read was taken away from him. He'd never seen English so twisted. They weren't even words but characters, strange runic pictures or something. They didn't make sense. How could they speak the same language and write it completely different?

"Sounds really dry anyway," Asesil said sympathetically and poured him more tea though he didn't want any. The loose leaves annoyed him, hadn't she heard of tea bags? Didn't they have things like that here? "Where are you from?"

Lent coughed into his tea and quickly asked for more to delay her.

"I'm guessing it's far, as I've never heard your accent before. You say you're speaking a different language?"

"English," Nick said slowly, as if he were talking to a child.

"English?" Asesil shrugged and looked to Lent for explanation. "Sounds like King's to me."

"Yes," Lent said in a noncommittal tone. There was something about it, Nick thought, which made it seem that Lent knew much more than he'd be willing to say. "Quite an anomaly."

"It was fair luck until the library…" Nick trailed off, staring into his tea, angry that he could see the books in his peripheral vision and not be to do a thing with them.

"What's all the research for?"

"It's for Nick but that's all that can be said." Lent threw Nick a warning look just to be sure he knew that was all they could say. Nick pointedly looked away. "Shame he can't help."

"Why don't you ask Roger to help?"

"You know as well as I that asking Roger to read a book is rather risky. Asking him to do anything at all is risky, really."

Nick laughed humorlessly at that and they both shot him a curious look that made him wish his mouth was sewn shut. He slumped in his chair and stared at his tea, glaring at the loose tea leaves floating around at the top. He was suddenly reminded of something but couldn't quite grasp what it was. The rest of their conversation was white noise as he searched his mind for the answer. Roger came to mind, dressed in white. He shook his head and gulped the tea, not caring this time if he swallowed some of the leaves. He needed something to distract him—not being able to face that he had had a dream about Roger even if he couldn't remember what it had been about. His throat burned as he swallowed the hot tea.

"Did you manage to check out the entire library?" Roger's voice called from the hallway and Nick resisted the urge to look at him.

Nick stared intently at his cup as Roger entered the kitchen and rifled through the piles of books on the table. Did he have to stand so close?

"Load of rubbish," he said. "Suppose they wouldn't let you at the good stuff, pass or not."

With a heavy sigh Lent launched into the same lame explanation he had given Nick when they were in the library. "Sometimes the answer is the simplest one. We're starting at obvious and working our way to obscure."

"Hmm…" Roger said and plucked Nick's empty teacup from the table. Nick flushed, biting down the urge to grab it back. "Asesil how do you read tea leaves?"

"Let me see that cup," Asesil grabbed for it but Roger held it away, peering inside at the leaves.

"What does a skull mean?" Nick's head snapped up, his dark eyes narrowed at Roger's teasing grin, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything at all. "Oh, lighten up!"