#phoebelle

PHOEBUS:

The night had finally come.

And none too soon. Phoebus knew that the sheriff was getting suspicious, his plans derailed by the lunatic woman in the back of his car, who was glaring consistent daggers any time he looked in the rearview mirror. This town was too small to move the way he wanted or needed to. However, he knew they would all be thanking their unsung hero when Phoebus vanished after putting a bullet into Hades’ temple.

It was a good thing too for this town was too haunted. Even now, he could feel Clemens’ ghost closer than ever, breathing down his neck. If he closed his eyes, he could picture the same cold expression on Belle’s face on Clemens’. If he blinked too long, they shifted--one to the other, his victims. His collateral damage, for yes, Phoebus knew that Belle would die by the end of this too. That was his secret, his burden to bare.

Whatever was inside of her was stronger than some succubus. Was stronger than some lower tier demon. She may just be a poor Mundus woman that had been seduced and tricked, but there was no way to keep her alive--and the baby could not be born. It would be too dangerous. Sure, they would try the exorcism, but Phoebus knew that it wouldn’t work. The thing growing inside of Belle was evil in the purest sense, just as a babe was good in the purest sense.

The whole family needed to be extinguished, snuffed out like a candle. Their bodies buried in the Catholic cemetery so that they could not rise again. (This only worked on demons, for the record. Anything else in a Catholic cemetery could very much rise again.)

“Get her inside,” Phoebus instructed Merida, even if he didn’t need to. She was doing a very good job. And of course she was--he would not have included her if he did not trust her implicitly. If he did not think she was up for the job. (He had tried to recruit Phillip but the worthless boy hadn’t answered his phone. No matter, Merida was worth ten of him.)

The old wooden doors creaked, but opened easily. It was not locked, Phoebus knew that it would not be. There were a few votive candles flickering in their containers, but besides that nothing moved. Moonlight spilled through the stained glass, but otherwise it was dark. The shadows did not stir here, however. There would be no ghosts.

“Seat her in the pew,” Phoebus told Merida, gesturing to the last row, right in front of the altar. Phoebus moved towards it, striking a match laying near one of the candelabras and lighting it. The flames jumped to life, casting a golden glow over Belle--though she still looked white as a sheet, sweat beading on her brow. He had not realized quite how sick she was. Perhaps that would work out well for him. She’d never survive the exorcism in this state.

Collateral damage indeed.

“I really am very sorry about all this,” Phoebus cooed at her, taking a few steps closer.

Belle’s eyes flashed. “Stay away from me.” She wiggled her shoulders, even though it was very clearly a feeble attempt to get away.

“Do you have your phone, love?” Phoebus reached forward to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, but Belle jerked her head away. He let his hand drop with a little frown. “I fancy a chat with your demon husband. Merida, check her pockets.”

MERIDA: Merida tasted bile, seeing Phoebus touch Belle like that. The urge to grab his wrist and twist it-- knee him in the groin just to watch him whine like the pig he was-- nearly overwhelmed her. She clenched both fists and bit down hard on a growl that threatened to come outta nowhere--

She imagined her fangs ripping out his throat.

It scared her. Scared her enough that Merida didn’t step forward or mouth off at all, but she stepped back, swallowing the growl roughly as the world tilted around her for a moment.

She’d not felt… for so long, there had been nothing but fog. The fog only lifted in her dreams, and so she had believed the curse was contained there and in a longing she’d never answer. But here it was, a second from ripping through her skin. Merida breathed in. She still had her knife. She could press the tip of it into her wrist, just enough to draw blood and silence the howling.

But she didn’t want to draw Phoebus’s eye or his suspicion. She’d been dead lucky so far that she’d managed to evade his scrutinization and she knew it was only because he was obsessed with this mission instead.

So Merida breathed and let Phoebus get away with his behavior, even if she wanted to bite off his hand too.

She swallowed again, took another second, and then moved forward, keeping her eyes off Phoebus as she dug through Belle’s pockets. She didn’t look Belle in the face either. There’d be no point. She already had Belle’s hatred slashed into her, a different kind of knife.

She got out the phone and handed it to Phoebus. “She won’t call ‘im,” she informed him, knowin’ enough about Belle to know that. He might as well not waste his time.

(And she didn’t want to see him-- touch her. Taunt her. Hit her. Merida had meant what she said when she pledged herself to protect Belle. That loyalty churned through her, nearly as powerful as the urge to maul Phoebus in front of them both.)

PHOEBUS: “She’s right,” Belle threatened, lifting her chin. Her eyes flashed, glinting like a flash of lightning.

It was admirable that she looked so brave. None of her bravery mattered, however. It didn’t stir Phoebus’ heart. He cared for nothing except the fact that Clemens was far from this place. That his ghosts could not enter here. Neither could Hades’. It was blissfully, peacefully quiet. He could pause properly for the first time in days. Everything was falling right into place. The only possible contingency was—Hades not coming. Hades, the ever-practical, heartless demon, not coming for his little Mundus wife. The theory as to why he would? If not for her, for the demonspawn. Whatever he was cooking in Belle’s womb meant something to him. The evil there he had spent all this time tending to.

“Good thing I wasn’t asking you to,” Phoebus told Belle with a saccharine smile.

“Passcode?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because otherwise I’ll have Merida cut off one of your pretty little thumbs to use to open it. And it would really be a shame to rob a mother of one of her thumbs.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Zero five zero six,” Belle finally said.

Phoebus typed in the code and opened her contacts. Hades was right there at the top. He pressed his name, holding the phone up to his ear and rocking back on his heels slightly. It rang and rang and rang and rang.

Voicemail.

Phoebus scowled and hung it up before redialing.

Voicemail.

“What kind of man doesn’t answer his phone when his wife calls three times?” he hissed in annoyance, shooting a glare at Belle as if this was her fault.

“A demon,” Belle said plainly, but as Phoebus turned to look at her, there was a twinkle in her eye.

“Bitch,” Phoebus snarled back. His gaze snapped to Merida. “Let’s get your knife on that pretty neck again. I’m no photographer, but the glint of light off the blade against that pale skin? The contrast will make for a beautiful picture.” He held up the phone to get a better shot, waiting for Merida to do as she was told, his gaze drilling into her until she moved so he could make sure nothing that would identify Merida was in the frame. He smiled again, feeling giddy and light.

So close. A year of work. So close.

“Smile.”

Click. Went the camera shutter.

“Perfect, thank you, ladies,” Phoebus complimented them both as he opened Hades’ contact once again and sent the picture, along with a text: You have twenty minutes.

Then, he ambled towards the pew and sat down next to Belle, heavy enough to shake the bench and make Belle wince. “You want to take bets on if he shows or not?” He tilted his head a little, close enough that his breath stirred strands of Belle’s hair. Close enough to see the sweat in her hairline, the blue veins along her cheek. She really was tragically beautiful, wasn’t she? If only Phoebus had gotten to her before that demon.

She didn’t look at him. This time, she didn’t even flinch at his proximity.

Phoebus turned his head to look up at Merida, giving her a broader, more genuine smile—manic, some might call it, but Phoebus would just say: triumphant.

MERIDA: Merida still clutched the knife in her hand.

She clutched it as though it were a long, black claw extending from her knuckle. Her eyes drank in the sight of Phoebus’s jugular. A voice inside her, animal and wordless but a voice nonetheless, told Merida that if Phoebus touched Belle again, she would slice her claw across that throbbing artery and paint the pews with his blood.

Her gut told her there were things he was not telling her, there were lies her mentor had weaved thinking her a simple woman, not realizing that Merida had become something else-- and she could smell his lies like she could smell the sweat on the back of Belle’s neck.

HADES: Across town, Hades’ phone buzzed again and again. He ignored it with great difficulty--mostly because this meeting had gone on too long and he was bored out of his brain.

On the third ring, though, he began to worry. It was a scratch-scratch-scratch in the back of his brain.

It buzzed again and under the table, Hades slipped it from his pocket and turned it over. Belle’s name lit up the screen. A text.

He opened it quietly there at the table, then calmly turned off the screen, and pocketed the phone again.

“I have to go,” said Hades abruptly. He smiled at the board members and said as his explanation, with a small shrug of his shoulders. “Pregnant wife.”

He gathered his things and walked out the door. As soon as it was shut behind him, Hades broke into a run, and halfway down the hall, vanished into shadow.

MERIDA: “So nice of you to text the address!”

Hades’ voice rang through the cathedral in ominous echo and Merida whirled round to see him there at the end of the long aisle, door open from where he’d stepped in. It had been only six, seven minutes since Phoebus sent the text. A nothing amount of time if you asked Merida, and so the sight of him kicked up her adrenaline and she clenched her knife.

The wolf laid back down to make room for her instead-- warrior, knight-- a girl who knew supernatural when she saw it, let alone sniffed it.

Hades strolled down the aisle. “You’ll move away from her now, the two of you. I’m not your average demon.” He lifted his hand and the flame licked the air. “My powers work just fine here.”

PHOEBUS: It was very hard to get your hands on a gun in England, as it should be—according to Phoebus and the rest of the Order. Guns were messy, new-fangled things. Swords were cleaner, more holy. They had ancient rites written into them. However, sometimes, guns very much came in handy—according to Phoebus and not the rest of the Order.

A bullet could incapacitate a demon far better than a sword, enough that an exorcism could be performed on the prone body before it had time to re-awaken. A bullet could make a demon think twice about attacking.

It was very hard to get your hands on a gun in England, but if you were a police officer, with access to the gun safe—it was very easy.

Phoebus had not expected Hades so quickly. He had thought that he would skid into the cathedral at the last moment, making for a lovely dramatic entrance—if he deigned to show up at all. If he didn’t, well, it would be back to the drawing board. But Hades manipulation (devotion?) to Belle was one of the things that made this case so strange. Phoebus had never seen an incubus or demon act that way towards the object of its manipulation. And he had seen this story play out time and time again.

Which was why he’d decided on the cathedral. Everyone knew that demons’ powers did not work on holy ground.

So, when the little blue flame jumped into being—Phoebus’ eyes went wide, but they narrowed just as quickly. An unforeseen hurdle, but no less. Hades had come for Belle, which meant she or the baby meant something to him. And that was all the assurance that Phoebus needed. Now he knew that Hades was not completely powerless too. If he was a demon, he was a very stupid one. He could’ve hid that fire until the perfect moment.

Phoebus was not going to let him get that chance.

Roughly, he grabbed Belle by the bicep and dragged her up out of the pew. She stumbled, but Phoebus’ grip on her arm was strong enough to keep her upright. He pressed her flush against his own chest. His other hand twisted behind his back to the gun, which he pulled from its hiding place and pushed against Belle’s temple in one swift motion.

“Would you like to test them against my reflexes?” Phoebus snarled. “Now, play nice and perhaps we will consider letting your little pawn go.”

HADES: His eyes flicked, once, to the shadows on the ground. Then up again, his flame still flickering in his hand. Otherwise he was stone still and silent as his brain churned. It ran quickly through all the scenarios--

He could grab Merida. Hostage for hostage.

He could try to shadow-jump and end up behind Phoebus.

He could burn the fucking cathedral to the ground.

None of these options guaranteed Belle’s safety. It took a twitch of the finger and the gun would go off and Hades didn’t know if he could bank on Phoebus not being a complete monster and shooting a pregnant woman-- considering he’d already kidnapped her and had a gun loaded to her head. She’d be dead in a second, their daughter dead several minutes after. He could not enter Limbo; he knew there was no Limbo here.

Surrender was option four, one Hades rarely entertained, but this time it floated so easily to the top of the list.

And Hades got-- calm. The blue flame flickered again, but grew low, its eerie light drawing itself back…

Merida, however, wasn’t so calm.

“Oi! What the fuck are you doing?” she hissed at Phoebus. “He’s here, isn’t he? It worked, he came, let Belle go!”

His fire jumped back to life. Hades raised his eyebrows. “Trouble in the ranks, Officer? Did your lackey not read your memo?”

“You shut it!” Merida snarled.

PHOEBUS: Phoebus could taste the victory on his tongue.

How the Order would praise him. Taking out two demons at once? It was almost unheard of more or less on one’s own. (Merida half-counted, she was but a Knight and a woman besides. Everyone would know that this was Phoebus’ triumph.) Most demons took a group to kill, if there was more than one, and only experienced demon hunters managed without assistance to take down one demon by themselves. Though, of course, one of those demons was enwomb and there would be the death of a Mundus on his hands, but if he could take down whatever the fuck Hades was? (Clearly a level four, at least, perhaps a five—Phoebus had no idea if ‘opening the Gates of the Hell’ was even quantifiable.) The Order would sing his praises.

It was the perfect hunt to round the year off with (even if a few weeks late), just in time for the Tourney to choose the new king. Phoebus the Demon Slayer would not entertain much opposition.

And what was more—if he won King, perhaps Clemens’ ghost would be put to rest, since his death would not have been in vain.

Phoebus could see all of this right in front of him as he watched Hades’ flame diminish. He could see in the demon’s eyes that he was calculating, and he knew that it was hopeless. If he wanted to save his little wife—or his demonspawn—the only way to do so would be surrender.

His eagerness was so tangible, he almost felt trigger happy with it. He just needed Hades to take a few steps forward, right into range—so that he would not miss. Phoebus could already see the finish line, see passed it to the Tourney and his victory there as well. Could see himself being crowned King, Duchess his Queen. (Even if it was really his father would be crowned, Phoebus’ delusions of grandeur did not stop at murdering Belle. No, they ran far deeper. A father was not so different from a cousin, after all.)

Belle trembled against him, her hand squeezing pathetically weak at the wrist wrapped around her shoulders. “Hades,” she whimpered—sounding scared for the first time.

The demon’s name was hidden beneath Merida’s growl. Phoebus snapped his head towards the girl, his lips turned immediately into a scowl as from the corner of his eye, he saw Hades’ flame jump higher, banishing the finish line to the shadows, the demon’s hope restored.

“He hasn’t surrendered yet, you idiot girl,” Phoebus snarled at Merida.

As quickly as he glanced at her, he looked back at Hades—making sure the demon hadn’t taken another step on his watch. “So, surrender, and we’ll let her go.”

“Hades, d-don’t listen. He’s lying,” Belle said, her voice cracking, but it was stronger than he suspected, since he could feel her shaking.

“Shut up,” Phoebus hissed, lowering his head to press his cheek to the top of her head, the muzzle of the gun still flush with her hair. “Not another word.”

HADES: Of course the man was lying. Villains always did-- Hades should know. He was one.

But he didn’t have any bargaining chips of his own. Phoebus had cornered him. Phoebus had outsmarted him. There was no point trying to deny it, though to Hades’ meager credit it was Merida in the end who had outwitted Hades-- Merida who was a plant and a spy, her duality more clever than he would have ever thought of such a girl, who had a rough, loud laugh and the kind of straightforward nature he’d never expect to be a cover for this. Phoebus had failed, in the meantime, to stay hidden.

It was Merida who fooled them. And Merida now who might be the wild card and Hades’ only chance.

His eyes once again darted from Phoebus and Belle to Merida, the girl looking surprised-- unhinged. Something was going on under the surface between Merida and Phoebus, a slip in floorboard, a knot Phoebus, himself, did not see.

“I’ll surrender when you stop putting that gun to my wife’s head. Because if you’re going to murder her anyway I might as well set the both of you on fire now. Belle can take a little heat,” he said.

Merida’s eyes widened at that. Ah yes, she cared about Belle. Or the baby-- either way, she wasn’t entirely heartless.

Hades smirked. “Hand her over to your personal assistant to hold onto and I’ll come to you, hands up, no magic.”

And then you can shoot me, Hades thought, as he eyed that gun.

Or you can try.

PHOEBUS: Now, Phoebus didn’t know if Hades’ threat was real or not, but to him—he’d be willing to take the chance. Hades had come all this way, somehow arrived in record time, for his little wife. Phoebus would not put it past him to light her on fire, but he hadn’t yet. He cared. That was why he was still here. That was why his flame had flickered low and Phoebus had almost had him in his clutches just a moment ago.

It didn’t make any sense, but there was no time to wonder.

If anything, it just worked to his advantage.

His head tilted, lifting up off of the top of Belle’s, as if he was considering.

“And why should I trust you? If you’re so eager to set your wife ablaze, what is to say as soon as she’s out of my grasp, you don’t use your magic on me—uncaring if she gets hurt or not? Maybe I should just do away with her now and shoot you next. Plenty of bullets for that.”

HADES: “Then I definitely will set you on fire. You’ve seen me spontaneously combust an entire river before. Distance isn’t a challenge,” he taunted and glared, and he knew he would. If Belle dropped, the church would go up. It’d take a blink and the sound of his heart breaking. Broken hearts made excellent kindling.

“Enough!” Merida barked. Her wild eyes were darting back and forth between Phoebus and Hades. He noticed how knuckle-white she’d gone, gripping the knife.

Her eyes settled, though, on Phoebus-- not him.

“Stop usin’ a pregnant mundus woman as your hostage and puttin’ her unborn babe in danger! That’s disgraceful and you know it! Face him like a man-- fight him like a Prince!” she declared and pointed Hades’ way. “We never talked about ye puttin’ a damn gun ‘gainst Belle’s head!”

“Yeah Phoebus, c’mon mate. Let’s solve this like men. Which I guess means hitting things with big pointy sticks,” mocked Hades. He snuffed his fire but spread his arms.

He knew it made himself an even larger target. So did the mocking.

But even just as second with that gun on Hades, instead of Belle, earned him a second more than he had now.

And who knows? Fates have pity on him, maybe the shadows would take Hades before the bullet did.

PHOEBUS: At first, Phoebus glared at Hades. Blue to unearthly blue. His threat would not go unheeded. Phoebus knew that demons had no morals or honor and nothing he said could be trusted, but he also knew they had irresistible bloodlust and it would not be above him to set him aflame with a thought.

He had to recalculate. Phoebus has not planned on Hades having his magic. He was supposed to be near-incapacitated by the holy ground. He wasn’t. The bastard still had his pyrokinesis. Perhaps his telekinesis too. Phoebus couldn’t be too sure.

His hand adjusted its grip on the gun as he thought. Recalculated. It would be best to shoot Hades first. Belle could not defend herself. He could give her to Hades and shoot them both as they turned to leave.

And then, Merida snarled.

Phoebus’ gaze snapped towards her, his own face twisted in fury. The dumb bitch was making this ten times more difficult. Phoebus should’ve known that this would be the case. What he got for working with a woman to start. She had played house with Belle, had gotten her here, but he should’ve made her leave. He saw that now. Mistake after mistake. He was supposed to be cleaner than this. Better than thing.

Hades spoke again and Phoebus’ head whipped back towards him, though he was half-paying attention to Merida again.

“Shut up, the both of you. Or I swear on the Lord I’ll shoot her right now.” His head shook like a dog with water in his ears. “This girl is far from innocent, Merida. She carries an unholy, powerful spawn. It goes against God and all that is good. It’s not a baby, it’s a demon. Getting rid of them is what we planned. Now stop your whinging and help me kill the bastard. Or are your weak emotions going to take over? We don’t have time for a woman’s remorse. Princes do not have sympathy for women who lie with demons.” His hand knitted in Belle’s hair, yanking it back so that she cried out.

His attention snapped back to Hades. “Who would you rather go first? You or her?”

MERIDA: She carries an unholy, powerful spawn.

It’s not a baby, it’s a demon.

Getting rid of them is what we planned.

Phoebus had lied to her. With each one of his spitting words, he revealed those lies as a cold crept over Merida, a feeling she’d had before, a feeling, sometimes, she felt she had been born with. It came from looking someone face-to-face and watchin’ them let you down. Her father had let her down before in a manner quite similar. Her uncles, her cousins, her friends. Everywhere Merida looked for someone to believe in her, she only found liars and cowards.

And so it didn’t feel like a surprise. It felt inevitable. Phoebus had lied. He had never intended to try to save Belle at all, she saw it clear-- he’d shoot Belle in the head as soon as he could, then wipe his barrel clean and go have a beer. He thought that made him stronger than her.

It actually just made him stupid.

That wild, savage voice in her quieted then. It did not growl, it did not snarl or ask for Phoebus’s blood. It was Merida who was in complete control then, the same sort of control she had when she laced a bow and locked eyes on her target. It took a crack eye, a steady hand, and an instinct to know when to let the arrow go.

Merida laced her arrow now as she sucked her teeth like the annoyed, wild girl who showed up to Phoebus’s practices and mouthed off. She glared-- rolled her eyes-- scoffed. “I’m not weak,” she retorted and let Phoebus think he’d won her.

“Well then. If I really get a choice--” started Hades, drawing Phoebus’s eye back to him.

And that was the moment Merida released her arrow. She moved with the strength and speed of a wolf. Her hand grabbed the barrel of the gun and shoved it to the ceiling as the other twisted Phoebus’s wrist. It was enough to give Belle a second. 

“RUN!” she hollered at Belle.

BELLE: There was little Belle could hear over the sound of her heart beating, her blood rushing in her ears. Since he had arrived, she’d not taken her eyes off of Hades. He’d barely looked at her—and she knew why—but she’d drank him in, so close, yet so far. She wished he hadn’t come. She was so glad he was there.

For once, she didn’t know what to do—how to save them. Any of them (her, Hades, Opal.) The desperation clawed at her heart, but between the panic and the tourmaline and the adrenaline, she didn’t have thought in her head besides please. She didn’t know who she was asking. Some long-dead god? Some fate? Some destiny? This couldn’t be theirs, she thought. They had suffered too much for this.

And then, she thought, that she hoped Hades died first, if it came to it. She’d rather save him from the pain of losing his wife and daughter. At least she’d only lose him. Opal would survive longer than her, at least she could give her that.

It should make her calm, she supposed, but that was not how she felt. She felt like exactly what she was—trapped, helpless, useless, so stupid.

Belle wanted to live, she wanted to meet their daughter, she wanted Hades to meet their daughter. The idea that any of that wouldn’t come to pass froze her with fear, kept her perfectly still. The muzzle of the gun was cool against her head. She could smell whiskey on Phoebus, beneath the scent of his awful cologne.

And she could hear her heart beating fiercely in her ears. Not yet, not yet—it woosh-wooshed.

Something jerked—and for the sharpest flash of a second, Belle had thought the gun had gone off, she thought that she’d feel the impact and then—nothing.

“RUN!” was what she heard instead, the command like a bolt of lightning striking through her.

It was just enough to propel her forwards as her heart clenched in her chest. Her wild gaze searched for Hades, but the darkness of the Cathedral bled around her, the edges going fuzzy. She stumbled one, two steps, her legs like jelly, barely listening to her brain. She couldn’t breathe. Before she could stop herself, she was pitching forwards, heading right for the stone floor.

Behind her, the gun discharged, and stone rained down over them all like snow.

PHOEBUS: “NO!” bellowed Phoebus, just as Merida slammed into him. His hand clenched instinctively as he braced himself to throw her off. And normally—he would be able to throw her off. He had wrestled with Merida since she was a tot, and more so recently. He knew exactly how much strength she had. He had trained her himself.

This was not her normal amount of strength.

His eyes went wide as his body stumbled from the sudden impact and Merida peeled his arm off of Belle as if she was opening the lid of a can. Belle managed to slip from his grasp and Phoebus’ face twisted in anger.

The gun went off much on accident as Phoebus tried to jerk his hand back and away from Merida.

“What are you doing, you bitch?” he snarled, practically spitting in her face. “I’m not the enemy. You’re going to get us both killed!” His knee came up to her gut, his hand twisting out of her grip as she bent to the pain of the blow. He reached up and snagged the gun from his other hand, waving it wildly about, attempting to find Hades in the chaos.

MERIDA: Her own strength surprised her. Like thunder, it roared through her muscles and then exploded, Phoebus’s hand jerking up farther than she anticipated, his wrist in hers feeling strangely thin and fragile, reminding her more of the horsehair of her bow-- bendable, pliable-- than bone. Though she knew it would snap if she twisted just a touch more. And that surprised her too, knowing she could break his wrist. She could break a man’s wrist before-- but this-- this would be easy as breathing.

It surprised her and so did the gunshot. The echo of it rattled through her eardrums, much too close for her liking. It jolted the beast inside.

The beast didn’t like the sound of guns.

The smell of gunpowder made her face twist and her eyes glint.

She barely felt the blow to her stomach, just bent to it as bodies do. It was all instinct. Action, reaction. The gun tore from her hand. She heard the sound of something falling and knew it was probably Belle, Belle not safe, Belle one second away from a bullet put through the brain.

She got her foot between Phoebus’s and she tripped him. The two of them fell with a thud of their own. An animal snarl rose from her lips as she reached for his hand again, to pin the wrist, to squeeze with sheer force the gun from his hand--

Her other went to his neck. If she couldn’t get the gun, she knew who could.

The necklace’s chain snapped as easily as a wrist could.

HADES: Merida had whirled on the man and with her action, the tension in the cathedral had shattered. Its pieces went everywhere-- Merida onto Phoebus, the gun pointing at the ceiling, the bullet discharged somewhere into the walls, Belle stumbling like a blind woman away, and Hades going straight for her too.

She fell. Phoebus and Merida fell. Hades arrived a second too late to catch her but reached down for her anyway, hoisting her roughly to her feet. His hands went straight to her face, his palm smoothly over her tangled hair and pale skin. His eyes conducted a wild, but thorough search of her face for blooms of bruise or blood. But she was untouched, except for the damage of the tourmaline.

“We have to go,” he said to her. As much as he wanted to inspect the rest of her, to sit down and to hold her, there was no time.

And then the gun went off a second time, Hades’ flinch turning quickly into action as he twisted Belle around so she was behind him and shielded.

BELLE: Belle barely felt hitting the ground, her conscious flickering in and out for those few seconds—though instinct had her flinging her arms out to try to catch herself.

What she did feel, however, was a hand on her bicep, jerking her back to her feet with force. For a few moments, she thought it was Phoebus. He’d thrown Merida off and come for her again. And next, he was going to put a bullet through her temple. She lurched, trying to pull away on instinct, even if it meant crashing back down to the ground.

But then—a hand touched her face and she knew that hand. Blinking, she took in Hades’ features as they came into proper focus and she felt some part of her unclench. She wanted to fall into him.

Safe. Safe. She was safe. Opal was safe.

And then, the gun went off again—that semblance of safety ripped away as swiftly as it came. Hades pulled her towards him in a split second, before she could even register what had happened. She stumbled and tensed, her heart jumping right back into her throat.

The echo of the shot petered out and Belle looked up at Hades, her hand reaching for the collar of his shirt, searching his eyes—looking for any trace of pain. “Are you--?” was all she could think to say, the terror had her by the throat.

PHOEBUS: The bullet whizzed right passed the couple, shattering into a column nowhere near them. Only three bullets left. And now—there was no breath in his own lungs, the fall having knocked it out of him. Merida’s fingers brushed his throat and he thought in the confusion, that she was looking to strangle him.

It was much, much worse than that—

He felt the chain of the necklace snap. “No!” he snarled again, his stomach twisting—for the first time that night—in fear. The necklace was his protection. With it, he was immune to the telekinetic tricks of demons. Nothing could touch him. Now, he was exposed—and Merida knew it.

“Traitor!” he snarled at her and thrashed—trying to dislodge her from his hips. His free hand went to her own throat, he’d kill her if he had to. The Order would understand. They did not take kindly to traitors. He should have expected no less from a woman. It was not often that they had loyalty or nobility or common fucking sense.

His fingers wrapped around her neck and they squeezed.

The pain in his wrist would not alleviate, but he refused to drop the gun. It was his only defense against the spectre now. If he could just get Merida off of him—there was a bullet for each of them.

One for the traitorous cunt.

One for the delusional bitch.

And one for the demon responsible for it all.

MERIDA: Merida used to wrestle with her father. They were games of pretend: Merida three times her size and her father the rambunctious pup who showed her his belly, there on the green of Cawdor gardens. She’d climb all over him and shout with the force of her lungs her victory. With her fists raised high in the air, she’d declared herself king-- king of fathers and king of Cawdor Castle.

She knew that he had let her win those games. Now-- this wasn’t a game and Phoebus wouldn’t let her win. But she knew how to fight. If wrestling had taught her anything, it was how to want something so badly, you would fight for it.

So Phoebus thrashed and she steeled her thighs around him. He discharged the gun again. The cathedral echoed with that iron sound. Merida banged his hand back with her own so hard she imagined the itty bitty bird bones of his knuckles crunching into grains of sand.

She raised the necklace away from him with her other hand. He flailed to catch it and when he didn’t get it, his thick fingers found her throat.

Merida choked. Her breath squeezed in her belly, her lungs bursting. And in between her ears it wasn’t the ringing of the gun anymore, but the howling begun, growing louder and louder, closer and closer--

She flailed her hand and threw the necklace behind her. “It’s-- the-- necklace!” she tried to rasp the answer. Her hand now free, she reached for Phoebus’s hand around her neck.

And she fought. She fought to peel every one of those fingers off her, with a strength she knew was not her own, but the beast’s.

She watched how his eyes bulged, reminding Merida of prey.

Her own flashed as her mouth twisted in a snarl.

PHOEBUS: Phoebus watched, his own eyes bulging as Merida pulling his fingers from her neck, one after another. It shouldn’t be possible. Men were stronger than women, just by default. It was the way their bodies were made. Not to mention, Phoebus had been training almost his entire life. Over twenty years—he never missed an exercise. He worked hard every day to keep himself in the best shape possible. He was strong.

Merida was not this strong.

And still, she peeled his fingers back one by one, like snapping the strings a guitar.

It shouldn’t be possible—but it was.

Phoebus’ brain was attempting to recalibrate. If he could not defeat her by brute strength, he could certainly outsmart the dumb broad. This was a lie he told himself, for he knew Merida was sharp as a tack—but he was smarter, older, had been doing this much, much longer. Merida was all brawn. Phoebus was all brains. It was what he had always excelled at. This was why he was glad to fight demons, not dragons.

She peeled his fingers from her throat, but she needed both hands to do it.

Which meant that Phoebus had one shot.

Surprisingly, shooting someone at close range was at times more difficult than at a distance. It could be hard to get the angle correct. But Phoebus knew he needed to get her off of him if he had any chance of taking care of what he needed to. If he could just destabilize her at least, then he could deal with the Acherons—and Merida later.

With a twist of his wrist, Phoebus aimed the gun up and towards Merida, the shot loud and echoing once again.

Blood splattered on his face and he heard Merida give an inhuman growl. The next moment she had sprang off of him.

The moment after that, Phoebus had also jumped to his feet.

He spun on his heel to find the Acherons again. “STOP!” His voice boomed through the nave of the cathedral. “I swear to God I will shoot either of you.”

HADES: The first shot didn’t hit them. He waited for the sharp bite, but it never came. The scuffle behind them continued, Phoebus snarling and Merida gasping. She said something about a necklace, but--

“I’m fine. Let’s go!” Hades hissed. He grabbed Belle’s hand and yanked her into motion.

They stumbled into a clumsy, staggering run, Belle still weak and sick and very, very pregnant. Feet pounded anyway. Down the aisle, halfway to the door, Hades’ eyes scouring the shadows and wondering, wondering if he could take Belle with him--

Another gunshot. Hades flinched and looked over his shoulder. He saw Merida stumble back only to collapse out of view.  

He felt a flicker of something in his chest, but didn’t have time to consider what it was. Because Phoebus scrambled up and pointed the gun at them again.

Hades once again shoved Belle behind him. He obeyed the order, his feet, heavy as concrete as he stared back at a manic Phoebus. He looked more monster than Hades ever had-- hair wild, uniform crumbled, and blood spattered across his front.

But he didn’t have his hostage anymore. And Hades remembered what Merida had gasped. Necklace, she said, and Hades decided to take a chance, based on an inkling in his stomach that felt exactly like his sixth sense.

He waved his hand and ripped the gun from Phoebus’s hand. It flew across the church and got lost in one of the pews. Phoebus looked startled. Then scared. Hades smirked.

He reached forward and grabbed Phoebus by the throat with his magic. With his hand extended out, fist white-knuckled with his grip, he moved forward, back down the aisle and toward the choking Prince. Who was the devil now?

“What do you think of me now?” Hades snarled. He forced Phoebus to his knees as he got closer and closer. The candles on the altar lit a ghostly blue.  “Do I look like the demon yet? Am I the devil?” He wrapped his powers so thickly and tightly around Phoebus that he couldn’t move his arms.

He arrived in front of him and leaned down so he could spit directly in his face.  

“I’m something so much worse,” he told him. And he contemplated Phoebus’s death--Hades’ most familiar friend standing next to them both. He sensed there was a choice here when sometimes there was not. To choke, to burn, to slice Phoebus open--to spare him-- Death waited, silent and patient, for Hades to decide.

Behind him, a different creature rose from the shadows.

PHOEBUS: The gun sprung from his hand as if attached to a string. Phoebus stumbled, more on instinct than anything, as if he had just received a blow. He thought that he might be able to bluff. Hades knew that Phoebus was immune to telekinesis but didn’t know how. Phoebus could hope that Merida had not been able to convey her message. Whether through sheer luck or the sense of some otherworldly creature—Hades called his bluff.

And Phoebus felt the cold trickle of fear. It started as a quiet thing—as silent as a prayer.

Invisible fingers closed around his throat and Phoebus’ hands came up at once, clawing at the nothing of it, desperate and instinctual. He was dizzy even before Hades shoved him to his knees. His brain confused at that point—unable to feel what was choking him, unable to understand why that was. Hades looked just as terrifying as Phoebus knew him to be—that unearthly blue fire bouncing off the stained glass, turning the Cathedral dark instead of warm. Or, perhaps, that was just the blackness creeping into the sides of his vision.

BELLE: Belle had stumbled to a pew as Hades moved off. She got her hand around the side of it and leaned over for a moment, attempting to catch her breath. Realistically, she knew the threat was gone now. Phoebus was unarmed and unprotected from Hades’ powers, which meant there was no way to overtake him.

Still, the fear rushed through Belle. She was dizzy with it. Could feel her hands shaking. So, she pushed back up and gripped at the back of the pew, trying to find the spirit inside of her that had faced off with murderous muses and dragons and shadow creatures galore. She couldn’t find that girl. Instead, she found another as she watched Hades force Phoebus to his knees. She found a vicious, vindictive woman—who wanted to watch Hades snap Phoebus’ neck.

The thought didn’t even startle her. She didn’t look away. Instead, she stood taller. Her gaze was hard and cool. For a few moments, there was no sympathy in her heart, only the thirst for revenge. And not just for this incident, but all the ones that had come before. Belle could see it all now, clicking into place. Phoebus, the officer who had arrested Hades. Phoebus, the officer who had been the first to show up after Shuck’s collar had come loose. All the rumors kicked back up and swirling around Hades. Rumors that had died down considerably when Hades had won his seat on the Board.

Their lives—Hades’ life—potentially ruined by someone who was going to murder him and her and their unborn child in cold blood.

Belle had no sympathy for him.

However, her gaze fell softly on her husband. Even from a distance, even though he kept it contained to the thunderous tilt of his brow—she could see the fury etched into every line of his body. In that same moment, Belle knew that she would not allow her husband to kill Phoebus in cold-blood. (no matter how delicious the sound of Phoebus’ neck snapping would sound in the echo of the cathedral. Later, it would haunt them both.) She knew Hades had killed before--she knew that he had killed just like this, not under threat of attack, but because of his fury. Belle wouldn’t let him this time and she would not have let him if she had been there before.

And this was not because of some higher moral obligation. No, Belle was woman enough to admit that. It was not because there wasn’t some riotous, monstrous part of herself that wanted Phoebus dead. It was not because she thought Phoebus worth saving.

But because she knew that Phoebus’ death would do nothing to clean up their reputation in town. If Hades wanted to salvage any of that, they needed to play the victims. Which meant keeping Phoebus alive, taking the moral high ground. He was just a Mundus anyway. If he was put in jail, there would be little risk of him leaving. He was no longer a threat. It was better to keep him alive. Phoebus was the one who was going to kill them, not the other way around.

“Hades,” she called—her voice soft but ragged--she knew he would hear her regardless.

Don’t. He’s not worth it.

This was what she was going to say, but movement caught her eye.

In the blue of Hades’ candlelight, Merida’s fur shone black—but Belle knew who and what she was at once—and she was stalking right towards Hades.

“Behind you!” she called then, her voice much louder.  

Her gaze turned frantically towards the wolf and she moved from the pew into the aisle again, as if she would be able to run fast enough to do anything at all. She knew she couldn’t. Still, she gathered what little strength she had.

“Merida, no!” The command bounced around the walls of the cathedral, echoing much louder than Belle herself was.

HADES: Hades turned at Belle’s voice and had approximately half a second to react to the werewolf that had fucking materialized out of nowhere.

Okay, realistically, in the next five seconds, he’d put together the werewolf was Merida all along. But at first, all he saw was animal and all he thought was animal. The wolf hulked, massive, its fur a rustic red-tinted penny colour with eyes like molten lava. It dripped blood. Hades barked in shock and he literally collapsed back onto Phoebus as the creature lunged with a terrible cry of its own.

His magic lashed out. It grabbed the wolf like it had grabbed the gun and flung the creature into the altar, knocking the whole damn thing over. The werewolf snarled then screeched with pain. When it got up again, it scrambled on clumsy legs like it didn’t know how to use it.

And then it bolted down, toward Belle.

“Belle!” he cried out and was about to toss the wolf against the pews.

But the wolf streaked past Belle, straight for the open door, and out again.

Now it was Hades turned to scramble off Phoebus. He twisted around, grabbed the dazed, gasping corrupt cop by his ruined uniform and then punched him once across the face. It was surprisingly more satisfying than he thought it would be, for someone who had never had to throw a punch before. His knuckles crunched cheekbone. It hurt, but Hades liked it.

He then let Phoebus fall back onto the ground. He got up the rest of the way and jerked Phoebus’s hands above his head in mock surrender.

“You didn’t mention you were working with a fucking werewolf. What the fuck?” Hades panted. He twisted half-round to look at Belle. “Are you okay?”

BELLE: Merida lunged and Hades knocked himself backwards, toppling him and Phoebus both to the ground and out of sight behind the pews. Belle felt her heart jump into her throat the moment Merida’s paws left the ground, her heart sinking—helpless once more—into her stomach.

But Hades managed to toss her into the altar with an awful crash. There was just a moment, just a moment of respite (though, Belle’s heart clenched in her chest at the sound of Merida’s whine—though she wasn’t sure why, she had no pity for the sorrowful, hateful creature.) Then, Merida got up and shook herself off and barreled towards her.

Though this, at least, Belle was not afraid of. She had been stared down, stalked by a werewolf once before. She knew the look in their eye, hungry and focused. As Merida neared, she knew that was not the case—her head was shaking back and forth like she was attempting to fix a ringing in her ears. So, Belle’s heart jumped back into her throat but she did not flinch as the beast blew passed her, fast and powerful enough to ruffle her hair and clothing.

She turned to watch it go, wondering what would become of the girl. If she cared, it was only because there was a rogue wolf on the loose. When all this was over, she should probably call Adam and give him the heads up, (When all this was over, she would forget.)

Her reverie was broken just a moment after it had started (another moment of respite gone), when she heard flesh against flesh and turned—startled—back to Hades and Phoebus. Her breath caught in her throat just before she registered that it was Hades who had thrown the punch, Hades who was still in control of the situation. For a second, she had thought—

Phoebus’ manic laughter filled the cathedral, bouncing off the walls and making Belle shiver and her stomach sicker. She clenched white-knuckled at the pew and wanted to beg for him to stop. But Belle had not begged with a gun to her head and she would not start now.

Instead, she looked to Hades and nodded her head slightly—making her way back towards him slowly, her whole body trembling as the adrenaline began to eek out of her.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him, though it was not wholly the truth. “We need to call the police, Hades,” she told him. “I-I don’t know where my phone is. They—” her voice caught, strangled as her throat closed, “—took it.”

HADES: The wolf-- was gone. Phoebus-- had lost. Was manic and laughing, unhinged as Hades expected he had always been under his uniform. And Belle was okay.

For a brief second, Hades just let out a breath and enjoyed that fact for what it was: Belle was okay. Yes, she was still pregnant with a baby that was sucking all of her health from her. Yes, she had been kidnapped and all his fault again. Yes, she’d been held at gunpoint. Knifepoint. The nightmares would keep them both awake.

But in that second, she was alive. Alive, standing, still pregnant, her hair a tangled mess but otherwise alive. If he could just hold onto that, maybe he’d make it to March and see the other side of this.

But he couldn’t. Hold onto it, that is. There was a list of things to do tonight, from the police to the Board to scheduling an appointment with Hera to check the baby-- couldn’t be too careful. And so the second ended and Hades had to go on. That’s how you made it to the other side anyway. Not by holding your breath and waiting for things-- but by going on.

“I’ll call,” he said. He still had his powers wrapped tightly around Phoebus, a hand out to keep it that way while the other dug into his pocket. “Is Opal kicking? Can you feel her?” he asked Belle as he dialed.

If she was kicking, then, at least… at least it would be one good thing.

BELLE: Hades asked about Opal and Belle blinked a little. It surprised her—though, guilt nipped on her heels the next second. In her mild defense, she had just been kidnapped and held at both knife- and gun point, betrayed by someone she had thought of as a dear friend. (For the second time in a handful of months, though really, Berlioz’s betrayal seemed meager to all of this.) In her mild defense, Hades barely took an interest in the baby these days outside of making sure Belle was as comfortable as possible.

So, yes, she blinked a little, and then—with a jolt, realized she hadn’t felt her at all since—the car? Or, perhaps, when the gun had pressed to her temple. She couldn’t remember when the last time was. And Belle, you know, was very diligent at measuring her kick count every day—and Opal was always delighted to participate, if you caught her at the right time. Which was just about now. If Opal wasn’t tap-dancing on Belle’s liver, something was wrong.

Something might be wrong.

Belle put a hand to her stomach, and for the first time in several minutes, focused on her daughter in more than the abstract “save her life” kind of way. She held her breath for a moment, two—

There she went, kicking right against the bottom of Belle’s stomach. Belle’s hand arched down towards the movement as the relief washed over her.

She heard Hades’ voice speaking to the emergency operator, so she took the moment to edge her way back into a pew and sat down, her hand pressed against her daughter’s foot, like she could hold it already. She wished she could count all of her toes.

Belle watched Hades hang up the phone and turn towards her. “She’s—she’s fine, I-I think. Tap-dancing, a-as usual.” She smiled just a little and wanted to reach out for him, but she was terrified for him to come any closer whilst he still had Phoebus in the grip of his powers. Realistically, she knew Hades could probably hold Phoebus steady from across the cathedral and not simply a few pews away, but she did not want to risk it.

Instead, she just slumped down and tilted her head back, looking towards one of the stained-glass windows. A pietà. Belle looked away.

PHOEBUS: Phoebus gave up fighting rather quickly. It was no use against the invisible binds around him, stronger than any rope. Rope, he could wiggle his way out of. Magical binds that defied the logic of physicality? It was impossible.

So, instead, he was quiet and still. He did not try to fight. He began to plot.

In truth, it was not going well. He knew that Hades was too dangerous a target now. With a hunting party, perhaps they would catch him. There was no one Phoebus trusted enough to be smart and steady, to bide their time and strike when the moment was right. The Order was full of impatient, amateur assholes just looking to make an easy kill. Fine. Let Hades live and destroy this town. The people in it were idiots for living within its borders.

His planning turned towards the future. Getting out of prison. He was confident it would happen. Swynlake was not quipped to handle a trial of this caliber. He would be outsourced to a proper jail, a proper prison. A different court system entirely. One that was not magick-friendly. One that would sympathize with his position. His family could hire a perfectly powerful lawyer. He could get acquitted. He could have a vastly reduced sentence. He could break out. The Order knew enough people in the prison system. It was how they continued to operate the way that they did. He was confident he would not be in jail long.

Which left—Duchess. Would she wait for him? He prayed she would. Phoebus would still give her the big beautiful seaside house. A wedding that he would let her busy herself with planning whilst he was dealing with the red tape. He would take care of her still.

MERIDA: As she trudged to Belle’s cottage, Merida had her mission in hand-- or, slipped under her shirt, hidden, the gleam of her knife for now just another one of Merida’s secrets. They were pilin’ up, weren’t they? An Order girl, an aspiring Knight, a lycanthropy curse, and now this. She felt each secret like a nail in her heel as she walked. But Merida was tougher than nails. Tougher than curses. Tougher than any man.

And so she walked on.

She had a pregnant woman to kidnap, after all. And a deadline to meet. Phoebus would not be late and so neither would she. She told herself as the cottage came into sight and her stomach dropped that it would all be worth it in the end. She blamed that stomach sick feeling on the curse, the tourmaline, though she’d not cut herself in over a week in preparation for something like this...a risk, but worth it, a risk, but one she would shoulder. This mission will prove it, once and for all, Merida thought. I’m a Knight. I belong in the Order. I’m a Knight. They’ll all see.

She wasn’t a werewolf. She wasn’t useless. She wasn’t just a girl.

I’m a Knight, I’m a Knight, I’m a Knight.

Her feet crunched snow, then scuffed against the stone path. She had texted Belle she was coming ‘course, so the door was already open for her. It creaked on its hinges, a proper ghost house. Merida refrained from reaching back for her knife. She entered and cleared her throat.

“Oi!” she called. “‘M here! Comin’ up!”

Just like normal. Just like every other time. Merida’s heart pitched into overdrive, her stomach-sick feeling returning. She pushed through it. Belle was kind, and Belle was good, and this was for Belle, and for her baby too. That’s what Merida told herself too. I’m a knight-- I save people. I’m saving Belle. Even from herself.

Carefully, Merida knocked on Belle’s door, left ajar. When she peaked in, she smiled, seeing Belle on the bed with a book.

“Heya,” she greeted and pushed the door open. “You look cozy, eh?”

BELLE: Hades was at a Board meeting and Belle was bored to tears. Honestly, she’d been crying on and off the last week just out of pure frustration. She hated it. She hated that just walking down the stairs made her dizzy. She hated that people thought they needed to bring food by to her (and how much she really did want and appreciate the food.) She hated that she needed monitoring twenty-four seven and that Hera was by at least a few times a week and the only time she got out of the house was to go to the bloody hospital.

She hated that it was making her resent her baby. It was making her question all of it—her decision to have it, how good of a mother she would be if such an inconvenience made her start to go insane. Babies weren’t convenient. They didn’t work on your time frame. Their schedules were all their own. She resented that she felt stuck, trapped, and exhausted.

Which meant she was glad that Merida had texted her. At least Merida didn’t baby her. Even if she couldn’t hide her pity as well as she thought. It was nice, because at least Belle got to fret over Merida just as much as everyone tried to fret over her. And Merida wouldn’t stop her if she tried to get out of bed.

Of all the people who came to visit her, Merida was her favourite.

When she heard Merida’s call, she looked up from her book. One thing this bedrest had taught Belle was that it was possible to get tired of reading. All she’d been doing was reading. Reading and reading and reading.

The smile that had been on her face dropped into a scowl at Merida’s comment and she rolled her eyes, even as her head fell back against her pillows, not even bothering to attempt to sit up more. She was pathetic. Merida already knew this, she’d been witnessed to it. Belle was cozy where she was, and a little feverish. Also, nauseous. At least she wasn’t anxious.

“More like absolutely, utterly, positively, oppressively, deathly stultified,” she growled. “You better have brought me something to keep me entertained.”

MERIDA: Merida had only brought one thing.

That one thing was in her pocket, staying quiet. For now.

But Merida just put on her best smile and strolled farther into the room. It was a rather depressing place, wasn’t it? It reminded her of her own dorm room, who, since the...attack...had become a kind of tomb in itself. Merida had grown to hate her room when before she had loved it, even if it was small and a bit stuffy-smellin’ considering the age of the ol’ Lyons Castle. Now, she saw none of her home there. She hated her sheets, how they stuck to her at night when her fever made her near drown in sweat. She hated the too-small shower and her too-small window. She hated being stuck in there. She hated spending all that time in bed, when even Merida could not force through the pain and the exhaustion and had to curl up, like she was a baby herself, to sleep.

Merida knew better than anyone else, then, what Belle was going through. She knew about the tourmaline fog, how it weighed heavy on the brow. She knew about how easy it was to get tired. She knew.

It made her even sorrier, if only because it’d be a hard trip, down the stairs and out into the world again.

But after it was all done… after it was all done, they’d find a way to exorcise the spirit, eh? Belle would be freed. They’d save the baby (for maybe there’d be a way, Merida wanted to reason) and then Merida would swear herself to Belle’s side. Her own Knight, who would protect her and help her when the baby came. She wouldn’t be alone. And Belle would see that Merida had been here, by her side, trying to save her all along.

“Unfortunately I only brought meself. Hope that’s enough, eh?” Merida chirped as cheerful as she could manage. Which was rather good; it helped, not cutting herself for the past week or so. She felt more like herself.

She sat with one hip on the bed. “But don’t worry, I’ve been told I’m good for a laugh or two. At the very least you got a new face to look at.” She wrinkled her nose playfully.

BELLE: Belle smiled at Merida, too tired to chuckle really. The smile was a dopey, fond kind of smile that she couldn’t really help. The tourmaline made her brain feel like a fog had settled over it. Especially after so long. Belle was a parody of herself in many ways.

She didn’t think before she spoke as much, her anxiety all but turned all the way down. The only positive side effect of the stone around her neck. She didn’t fight much, simply didn’t have the energy. She was grumpy, of course, and restless, but after a month like this, she had accepted her lot.

It filled her with resentment, but there was nothing she could do but stew. Which she did, day in and day out. The only relief coming when people came to visit. Which was not that often. After the first two weeks of bed rest, the visits had dropped off. Everyone moving on with their lives. Forgetting about poor Belle all alone. Except Hades, but he didn’t really have a choice to forget, did he?

Sometimes Belle thought he might like to.

However, just having a guest put her in a much better mood. And if anyone had een more or less consistent stopping by, it was Merida.

“I suppose that’s entertainment enough,” Belle allowed. “It’s a shame you’re not more inclined to chess.” Not that Belle was very good at it these days. Her brain was working at what felt like less than half its power.

“How are you?” she asked, squinting at Merida. She knew the full moon had passed at some point over the last month. How had Merida faired, she wondered. If she was more herself, she would be fretting much more, but she simply didn’t have the capacity. That didn’t mean she wasn’t concerned, however.

MERIDA: Chess reminded her of her Uncle Quinn. He was the one who taught Merida when she was much younger. He was a master chessman; he said it was what made him an excellent Prince. To think ahead, to read your opponents’ mind, to see patterns and memorize strategy...these were the things that chess could teach you and all Princes could learn. 

He’d told her all this, knowing her ambitions, and knowing full well that the Order would not let her be a Prince. Nor train for her chance. To Merida, those few chess games with her Uncle Quinn were its own kind of quiet endorsement then. He might not give her his sword, but he tried to sharpen her mind.

Uncle Quinn was her favourite for a reason.

That bein’ said-- Merida wasn’t the best at chess. She wasn’t half-bad, but no where the level her Uncle Quinn was, or even Belle. She’d spent time out, exploring, hiking, running, practicing her bow and her sword. She had always been too restless to sit still for long. But she appreciated the lessons anyhow-- and for a moment she smiled a little as she thought of him, and an arrow struck her own chest. It bled through her, all that homesickness. The attack had brought so much of it to her.

Merida pushed it all away though. “Well, I’ll play ye alright, but we both know you’re gonna win and where’s the fun in that?” said Merida with a big smile.

“How about a-- walk in the gardens instead, eh? You can walk ‘round a little. I won’t tell your husband if you won’t,” Merida said and she winked.

Though, course, what Merida was really planning was far from an innocent stroll through the green.

BELLE: Belle gave Merida a funny look.

Out in the garden? Belle hadn’t been outside in days. Not only because she was, really, quite weak, but because it was also rather cold outside and Belle needed to keep her body temperature properly regulated, which even without the ghosts was proving difficult. It was the stone again, which made her shiver and her teeth chatter with cold. She was too cold always, her temperature hovering just below normal. The teas Hera made cut some of the shivering down, but the only time it really subsided was if Hades sat on the bed with her and heated it, not even a hot water bottle quite helped, nor the little space heater she kept on in the room. Not even a bath helped, not that that was much of an option these days considering the amount of effort it took on both hers and Hades’ part.

A walk in the gardens was practically inviting in pneumonia. Merida knew this, Belle had complained about it more than once. Merida fret over Belle more than Belle imagined from a girl like her, though she supposed it wasn’t that much of a surprise, considering how protective Merida had been when they’d first met.

Oh.

It must be a joke. Merida had just said she was very funny.

Belle’s brain caught on too slow to this fact, so when the confusion finally melted off her face it had been several moments.

“Hilarious, Merida. It’s not nice to tempt me with something you know I can’t have.”

MERIDA: It had been worth a shot.

To be honest, she’d not been too optimistic it would work-- banking mostly on Belle’s foggy head to give Merida influence. She didn’t want to drag a pregnant lady out of bed forcibly if she absolutely had to-- even getting her down the stairs of her own free will would be best. Much could go wrong, for Belle, for her baby, if she fought her on the way down the stairs.

Her phone hadn’t buzzed quite yet, though. Which meant she had a little more time and her knife could stay hidden. As long as she had that time…

Merida wracked her brain. But as she wracked her brain, she cracked a smile. “Ah, y’know how I am,” she said and she reached forward to poke Belle right in the center of the forehead, which was somethin’ Merida had done several times before on these visits. And true, Merida’s brand of humour was rough at best. Teasing, playful insults-- that’s how the Scottish showed affection.

“Though seriously-- this room is depressin’, eh? Don’t you think? Maybe we can go downstairs. I’ll make a fire in the fireplace for ye, that’ll keep you toasty.” She scrunched her nose affectionately. “Can even take the chess board down there if you like! I’ll give it a go long as you go easy on me.”

BELLE: The room was depressing, Belle was coming to loathe it. She hadn’t left it except to shower and use the restroom for days now. All those days felt piled up on her skin, or sunk down into her. She had never quite felt depressed in her life, but she imagined this is what it might feel like. For even when she had been at her loneliest, her most useless or hopeless, she had always been able to move. She had always been able to fight whatever it was. Even if it just meant walking down to visit Philippe, or taking a walk through the woods, or even making herself a cuppa. Sometimes, just the routine of doing something like that could be so lovely. It always helped.

She had been robbed of that agency, however. She’d become a prisoner in her own body and she hated it. All she could do was drink her teas and use her rubs and wait for Opal to decide she wanted to make her appearance into the world.

It was awful, though she refused to complain--at least in any serious way. Especially not to Hades. She knew that she had done this to herself and that she had to keep her head up and act as confident in this decision as possible. So, if she had to cry tears of frustration, she did it in the shower, where the water could wash the tears quickly away--or she did it when she was alone, kicking her legs until her blankets were in a tangle at her feet, full of rage that she could not expel.

So, yes--the room was depressing. It felt like a cage and Belle was wilting.

The idea of leaving it was very tempting, even if it would cause her to near-faint. Merida would be there, she was strong. And Belle would simply not faint.

She lifted her chin a bit and began to push the blankets off her legs. “Alright.” It took a few grunts and her shaky arms to get her sitting up properly. Already, she shivered from the cold and the effort. Everything spun a bit and she felt nauseous. “You’ll have to bring me back up before Hades comes home or he will be cross,” she told Merida as she swung her legs off the side of the bed.

MERIDA: Relief swept through her, head to toe. This would make everything much easier-- though her brain already jumped ahead, landing somewhere near the bottom of the stairs where she’d need to figure out her next steps. She was not foolish enough to think that she would be able to trick Belle the entire way. At some point, she must reveal why she needed Belle to leave. Why she must leave with Phoebus.

And there was not a lie that Merida could tell to convince Belle to trust her. Always, her misguided love for her demon of a husband would get in the way and obscure her thinking. It had so far, hadn’t it? Merida had had to tread carefully every step of this friendship to ensure she did not target Hades.

But she’d figure it out. Merida must. There was no room for mistakes. This was Merida’s chance.

She sucked her teeth though and made a show of rollin’ her eyes. “Pfft, your husband doesn’t scare me. I’ll go toe to toe with ‘im if he wants to throw a fit,” she said and every word of that was true. Truer than Belle could know.

“But I will, I will. Ah-- here--”

Merida moved to support Belle. “There ye go,” she said, calmly, as Belle stood on two legs. “Ye haven’t forgotten how to walk after all, eh?”

They started down the hall then. It was slow going. And half-way down the stairs, Merida’s phone vibrated in her pocket and she knew it was Phoebus who had arrived, Phoebus who was waitin’. Merida ignored it until they were right down at the bottom of the stairs. And then, Belle’s hand on the last of the stair posts, she pulled away and went to the coat closet to fetch Belle’s coat.

“Here-- to keep ye warm,” she said. “Can’t be too careful, eh?”

She’d caught up with her brain now. Her brain was still churning. Now what? Now what?

Belle put on the coat. Merida didn’t have any more time to stall and no lie to tell.

She swallowed. “Belle.” She hesitated. Her gut felt sicker than ever (just the curse though, Merida told herself, which was why she had-- she needed-- she didn’t have another choice.)

“I’m-- I’m sorry. I need ye to come with me outside.”

BELLE: Belle knew that she shouldn’t be doing this. Hera had warned against it, not just because she could catch something, but because she was weak—her body under a great deal of stress. Too much of that stress could start Braxton Hicks, or worse: actual labor. That was why pregnant women were put on bedrest to start: to prevent pre-term labor.

But it was just a trip downstairs. She had done it once or twice with Hades too in the last month, even though she had been steadily declining in overall health. It would be fine, as long as they took their time and Belle stayed put once they were downstairs. And she wanted it so desperately. It was selfish, she knew that. Not at all the motherly thing to do. She just wanted to do something for herself. Just a trip downstairs, for a change of view, so she stopped feeling so trapped.

The stairs were humiliating, Belle shaky and out of breath by the end of it. She couldn’t catch her breath properly for a few seconds, panting and trying to draw in deeper breaths. It didn’t help that she had significantly less lung capacity these days. She stood there and tried to keep from wanting to be sick, gripping at the bannister with sweaty fingers. All she could think about was how pathetic she looked—how much she wanted to cry.

Merida shoved her overcoat at her. Why would she do that? Belle’s soft, warm golden cardigan was right there on the peg. That was what she always wore around the house when she got chilly. Her brain was too foggy to properly put this into words. She was still trying to catch her breath when Merida said her name.

“I—told you, Merida, I cannot go outside,” Belle said this rather crossly, because she was in no mood to be reminded of her invalidity. She took a little step towards the living room. “Will you grab my cardigan, please? It’s—much softer.”

MERIDA: Merida took in a breath and filled her lungs with it. When she exhaled, there was still no lie on the tip of her tongue. She knew the time for lying was done now. If anything was going to get Belle out willingly...it would be the truth. The truth and nothing less. If that did not work, then Merida would do her duty.

But before that. For the sake of their friendship--

Merida kneeled in front of Belle on one knee, as a proper knight would.

“Belle, I’m not-- my name is not Merida Cawdor and I am not just a magizoology student at Pride U. I am Merida DunBroch. I come from the Order of the Prince, and it is my sworn duty to protect the innocent against the evils of the world. I’ve been watchin’ over you all along. And I fear-- the babe inside you, and your husband-- you’ve been bewitched by a very dark and dangerous force. Outside is my comrade. We’ve come to help you. We’ll take you some place safe, where the Knights of the Order will help you through the rest of your pregnancy-- so you won’t have to wear the awful tourmaline anymore, so ye won’t feel sick, so ye won’t be-- a prisoner to this dark magic.”

She looked up from the ground, lifting her blue eyes to Belle’s own. She felt more like herself than she had in months. She felt like a woman. A warrior. A knight.

“I swear on me sword, Belle, that what I speak is all true.”

BELLE: Belle had not been looking at Merida. In fact, she had already taken another step towards the living room, though she was holding onto the banister still, just in case. Her sights were set on the couch and how nice it would be to curl up there.

She heard something clunk and turned around to find Merida on one knee, her head bowed slightly.

Now, Belle had seen a lot of strange sights in her life: demons and dragons and spells and curses and a very large portion of the Underworld. She had died and come back to life. She’d seen one of her dearest friends dragged from the depths of a black lake by the dead father of his boyfriend. She had heard ghosts. But nothing was as strange as Merida getting down on one knee and rattling off as if she was in the 1500s. Speaking of knights and some order and Belle “bewitched by a very dark and dangerous force.”

For several long seconds, after everything was said and done, Belle was silent. She was silent, because at first—she thought she was hallucinating. But, no, she blinked and Merida was still there, down on one knee—staring up at her earnestly. Then, she thought it was some sort of terrible joke. And she wanted to laugh, really, she did. Instead, however, a very, very bad feeling began to sink into her bones. The cold of that feeling colder than any ghost inside of Belle. It made her throat go a little dry and her heart start beating harder as she realized what this was—

Merida, with a comrade outside. Merida, acting very strange. Merida, trying to get her down the stairs. It was all a trick—and Belle had fallen for it.

“I’m not a prisoner,” was all she could think to say. She lifted her chin. “You need to leave.” Her fingers turned white as they gripped at the wood of the bannister.

MERIDA: The look Belle gave her made shivers go down her spine. She did not believe Merida-- she did not trust Merida. Merida saw all this in that one glance and the unease in her own stomach grew. It had been a risky shot. She’d known the odds of Belle seein’ through her fog, whether it was magical or just…a toxic harmful love, were rare. But she’d wanted to take that chance. Didn’t Belle deserve that chance? Didn’t their friendship?

Because the friendship was not a lie. Merida liked Belle more than she liked just about anyone in this whole damn town. She was a good woman. And Merida wanted to help her.

She would.

Slowly, Merida rose again, unshaken by Belle’s horrid look. In fact, her conviction was stronger, even if she must prepare herself to take Belle by force (somethin’ that really made her wanna be sick, but there was no time for that.)

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that. Not without you. Please, Belle-- I don’t want to force you,” Merida said, speaking slowly, her hand outstretched, almost like she was approaching a spooked horse. “And you don’t want to endanger your baby, do you? If you just come with me, I can help you.”  

BELLE: Merida came towards her and Belle moved back. She was afraid, yes, but fear had never frozen Belle. Fear turned her blood into fire. She could hear it now, rushing in her ears, her heart pumping it faster through her. That outstretched hand was a claw, a sword, a weapon. Her mind searched frantically for a solution--even as part of her knew she was outmatched, no matter which way the situation was sliced.

However, there was one thing she did know. That she wasn’t going without a fight.

“You’re the one endangering her by threatening me,” Belle snarled--glancing around for something, anything to grab.

MERIDA:

Right, Merida’s temper flared at that. Her calm demeanor flickered in and out of focus with a twist of her mouth. She nearly snapped but-- took a deep breath instead. Phoebus, even her mum, would’ve been proud of her.

She just reminded herself that Belle was, y’know, delusional. Under the spell of the cursed magic or that of the misguided love of her husband. Either was tricky.

“No I’m not,” she said. “I’m sayin-- I don’t want to hurt ye. But these are my orders, Belle. I’m sorry, you have to come with m--”

Belle chucked somethin’ at her head.

Merida barely ducked and dodged it. “OI!” She exclaimed. Right, patience lost again. “Belle! C’mon, you’re gonna stress yourself out! Calm down!”

BELLE: Her orders? Since when did Merida listen to orders? Since when did she think that orders to take someone from their home were something worth following? It didn’t matter if she didn’t want to hurt Belle, because she would--she already had. Talking about dark magic and Belle trapped in a spell, like she wasn’t here of her own free will--or if she was, she was insane for doing so. What happened to the girl who’d promised her she’d defend Hades? That asked after the baby at any given opportunity?

Belle saw now that it was all lies and deceit. Every moment of it.

The fury blinded her (or maybe it was tears). She had backed up far enough to reach some of the books on the shelves next to the stairs and she grabbed one and threw it as hard as she could. Merida was close enough it almsot hit her.

Belle grabbed another and threw that too--and then another.

“Get OUT!” she yelled. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” She clutched the side of the bookshelf for a moment, panting at the exertion, but she grabbed another book all the same--ready to throw that one too.

MERIDA: Belle was pelting her with books.

And Merida didn’t have time for it.

She put a hand up just in time for one of the hardcovers to smack against her palm-- but that was the only shot that Belle would get in. Merida’s eyes flashed. The book was but a paperweight; the tick of her clock runnin’ down pierced a great deal more painful. The hand of it was spun up, the seconds spilling out.

The last thing she’d need is Phoebus gettin’ out of his damn cruiser and busting up here to jeer and undermine her. It would be the last thing that Belle needed too. Trust me, she’d tell Belle. But it was clear she wouldn’t. Didn’t.

That stung but Merida didn’t have time for the guilt either.

So she launched into action. She moved forward and grabbed Belle’s wrist which held a book. She was thin as a wisp to Merida, pale as a candle waxxing down to the quick. In one fluid motion, Merida twisted Belle’s arm painfully behind herself. The book clattered to the ground and the tip of Merida’s knife kissed Belle’s throat.

“Now I’m threatening you,” she said calming into Belle’s hair. “Don’t move. One nick of this knife and you’ll feel the poison of its tourmaline for weeks.” I’d know. “I’m really sorry I have to do this, Belle. I am.”

BELLE: It was having to stop that was her downfall. Belle had chucked three, four books—but then, her strength gave out and her head spun. If she’d not been hanging onto the bookshelf, she would’ve fallen over, she was sure of it. There were tears in her eyes and her lips trembled as she gasped for breath—cursing her stupidity and the tourmaline and the weight of her midsection.

Everything happened very quickly then. Especially for Belle, who moved through a fog as if it was water. Merida grabbed her wrist, twisted it, making Belle cry out and drop the book—her only weapon. Always her only weapon.

Still, her shoulders wiggled feebly and she went to try to tug away, her foot sliding against the hardwood floor. But Merida had the knife pressed to her neck much quicker.

If Belle had thought she was afraid before, it was nothing compared to the fear that crawled through her now, snatching her breath. That fear was ice in her veins, freezing her in place. The scar on her chest burned and she remembered. She had been in this position before. A knife pressed to her neck, a command on the wielder’s lips.

Blinking rapidly to dismiss the tears from her eyes, Belle drew in a sharp breath, and then another. With every one, she felt the tip of the knife press against her skin.

“If you were sorry,” she snarled—that fear once again melting into fire, “you wouldn’t be doing it at all.” She held her chin up then, sucking in another breath and the tears with them. At least she wasn’t dead yet. Urania had wasted no time stabbing her. Which meant—wherever she was going, whatever they were planning…she had time to plan herself. Though, as soon as she thought it, the desperation came clawing back.

What was she to do? Pregnant, weak, and a Mundus besides?

MERIDA: Merida took a deep breath, to cool her inner fire. It felt hotter than normal, and somethin’ else was humming in her. She recognized it from her dreams, and it made her-- scared.

Merida shut that down. She didn’t do scared. Merida didn’t do regret either. The adrenaline was good, she told herself, it was just Merida feeling like herself. And the twist in her stomach, she knew it would fade. She wouldn’t wear it for Phoebus either way; he’d think it was weakness. (It was-- compassion. And maybe that was weakness. Right now, Merida didn’t know and decided not to think on it.)

“I told you-- I’m doin’ this for you. Walk,” she said and kicked at the back of Belle’s heel. She had to force Belle the first few steps anyway, then slid out the door.

You could see the police cruiser there, idling on the road. Merida kicked at Belle’s heels again to get her to walk onto the stone steps.

“The Order’s not like this backward town thinks, alright?” she said as they went, feeling-- desperate to have Belle understand. “I’ve a fairy godmother, y’know. We’re not anti-magic, we’re just anti-evil. And sure, it’s not--it’s not perfect, but I’m aimin’ to change the stupid shite, but I can’t do that till I prove myself and-- this is a step to that.  If you met any of my friends, my family, you’d see. We do good. We keep people safe. And if anyone needs us it’s Swynlake.”

They were off the path, Merida struggling Belle through the snow.

“And I am your friend. That’s-- when we met, it wasn’t-- planned. I didn’t know-- anythin’ about your husband then, who you were, what was goin’ to happen. I helped because that’s what I do, because I’m good. And then when we learned what yer husband was...look, I’d rather it be me, doin’ this, than ol Phoebus, wouldn’t you?”

BELLE: Merida kicked at her heel, scraping against the back of it. It stung and caused Belle to stumbled forwards slightly. She fought the whole way to the car, as much as she could. Hoping to stall. However much time she could buy, she needed to try. Hades would be home soon—within the hour. If she made it difficult, perhaps they wouldn’t get far. Though, how he was going to know where she was or where she was going, Belle wasn’t sure. She was hoping the ghosts, not that she trusted their loyalty all that much, but perhaps Arthur, the attic ghost, would take pity and at least tell him that it was a police cruiser that she was forced into.

Hades would put it together as quickly as Belle had—even with her mind in a fog.

Phoebus. Merida was working with Phoebus. The wound of betrayal slashed even deeper inside of Belle’s heart and she wished her brain was working quick enough that she could comb back through every interaction with Merida and try to determine if there had ever been a single hint.

As it were—she was using half her brain to determine whether or not screaming would be worth it. She decided, ultimately, that no—it wouldn’t. Gods, she wanted Shuck. If Shuck were here he would’ve torn Merida to pieces.

The other half of her brain was focused on what Merida was saying. Not that she believed one bit of it, no. She was trying to find some hint of where they were going or what Merida and Phoebus’ plan was. Anything that would help. Nothing she said was helpful—all she was doing was prattling on about the “Order” and attempting to, what it sounded like, assuage her guilt for kidnapping a heavily pregnant, ill woman.

Belle had many things to say: that a friend would never do this, no matter what. They would find another way. They would be absolutely sure about who they were trying to “protect” their friend from. This was Berlioz all over again. And Belle felt her world getting smaller and smaller. Shrinking down to just herself, Hades, and the baby. She could tell Merida that Hades was innocent, that he wasn’t evil. She could explain it all to her. Answer her questions.

But Merida’s words were not the words of someone willing to listen. They were the words of a mad woman. And so, Belle maintained her stony silence as Merida opened the door and shoved her inside the cruiser.

The car wasted no time being thrown into gear and crunching down the gravel.

“Took you long enough,” Phoebus said to Merida before catching Belle’s gaze in the mirror. “Don’t worry, love. You do what we need, and no harm will come to you.”

“And what do you need?” she snarled, her chin still lifted. There were no more tears in her eyes.

“All in due time,” he told her as the car turned back towards the main road.

Belle turned her own gaze towards the window and watched as all the familiar landmarks rolled by. Her vision swam before her, looking out the window making her feel even more nauseous than before. Part of her wondered why they hadn’t blindfolded her. Seemed stupid to her. Then again, maybe she was supposed to know where they were going.

Or, maybe—it didn’t matter.

MERIDA: Merida glared at Phoebus soon as the two of them plopped in the car, Belle in the back and Merida comin’ round the front. You’d think it would kill the banger to give her a decent compliment for once. Like, good job, Merida, you got a heavily pregnant, extremely ill woman down the stairs and to my car in one piece!

But she’d long given up for such a thing as a compliment from Phoebus. (She hadn’t, really. But she told herself the compliments would come when the rest of the Order finally saw her. Wouldn’t be so long now. They’d take down the Ambassador and it’d be drinks round the table and Phoebus endorsing her like he said he would-- he’d be stupid not to, look how much she’d gotten done in a year with little trainin’ compared to the boys who spent over four years before their first hunt.)

(And that’s why she was doin’ this. It felt awful, usin’ Belle, but-- she just wanted people to see her.)

She propped up a foot against the dash, ignoring the glare that Phoebus sent her way. Swallowed her smart comments too. Instead she kept her gaze forward. The clock ticked down under her skin. Wouldn’t be long now.

Wasn’t long at all. Swynlake was cozy, its winding roads short and no traffic besides. And who would stop a cruiser? They traveled in plain sight, a sleekly painted trojan horse.

They pulled up to the cathedral. Merida got out first, movin’ round to the back to grab Belle out. She got her knife out so Belle knew this wasn’t optional. Though she hated the burning look Belle gave her.

If only she’d see Merida too.

“C’mon,” she said brusquely and yanked Belle out-- harder than she’d been when they were alone in the house. Phoebus’s eyes were on them both. “Don’t think about screamin’,” she hissed in her ear, kickin’ her heel again like Belle was some sort of pony.

They stumbled their way to the cathedral. Merida kept her grip on Belle tight.

BELLE: Belle had spent a lot of her childhood and young adult life angry. No one would have guessed this, knowing her in those early years. She hadn’t even realized that was what it was herself, if she was perfectly honest. The feeling had lurked in the darker parts of her, like a shadow. So common it was almost unseen.

It had been the last few years that it had all poured out of her. Swelled like a tidal wave, burst like a fire, tore like the winds of a hurricane, made her shake like fault lines. She had been furious at the Fates, furious over her lack of control, furious at her fear, furious at losing Persephone, furious at her father, furious at injustice and cruelty and all the horrible things in the world.

But this--

It surpassed fury.

She sat calm and collected all the way to the station, feeling the fission taking place inside of her, every atom in her body splitting and getting ready to release their deadly power. It was a good feeling, how it bubbled under her skin. She thanked the driver with a smile so sweet and lovely, that he actually removed his eyes from the burn on her neck for a moment.

Inside the station, she zeroed in on Phoebus at once.

“Where is he?” she snarled at him.

“Ma’am, I need you to calm down. He cannot be seen right now.” Phoebus stood up from his desk, looking surprised to see her. As if Simba and Berlioz would be any use calming her down.

“You’re holding him against the law! This is entirely unjust. I am here. Saying he is innocent. His supposed “victim.” What more do you want?”

“Ma’am, I know abuse is hard--”

“I haven’t bloody been abused you worthless, sorry excuse for an officer!” The shout clawed at her throat and made her draw in a deep breath, resisting the urge to cough.

“I know this is a tra--”

“You don’t know anything,” she said this more quietly, but just as harshly. “Let me see him!” She had the urge to stomp her foot and just barely resisted.

“Ma’am, I can’t do that. It is too dangerous.”

“If you don’t let me, you’ll have to arrest me for assaulting an officer,” she threatened again. “Then I can see him.” She went to take a step around him but the man grabbed her arm. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled, no matter how much her voice rasped or the burn stung. (The burn stung so badly there were tears in her eyes.)

Phoebus let her arm go but stepped in front of her again.

Belle’s nostrils flared. Her gaze darted around. The only other two officers working the floor were resolutely ignoring the little scene. They probably thought that Phoebus had it handled. Well, not if Belle had any say. Leaning over she shoved a stack of papers and stapler from the desk that Phoebus had been sitting at.

It was enough to distract him--Belle was not as agile as she used to be, but it still let her side-step around him. Phoebus whirled around the next second and grabbed her by the bicep again. “Let me go!” she snarled and this time--

She stomped down on his foot as hard as she could (thank you, extra baby weight.) Phoebus winced and let her go--more out of shock than anything she was sure, but as long as it worked. Belle darted to the back door, having no idea where she was going. This was either the supply closet or the holding cells. She was taking a chance.

The door flung open and Belle scurried down the hall. Hades was near the end (there were only three stalls, but still.)

“Hades! Oh thank god,” she said. Her fingers gripped at the bars and gave a tug--more on instinct than anything. The door opened and closed behind her.

“Oi! Get away from him,” Phoebus demanded

“Unlock this door, right now,” Belle demanded right back.

HADES: Hades was sat on the piss-poor cot, on the slab of a bench, back to the wall. He’d been sat in roughly the same position for over an hour, staring at the wall opposite his own. He hadn’t slept. Not a couple of blinks-worth, not even less. He hadn’t even bothered to try considering the cold cell, the harsh overhead lights, and, course, the ghosts.

Jails were always so bloody lousy with ghosts.

So he’d sat. And before that, he’d stood, and for a while, he circled the jail cell, his eyes hunting after his own shadow. His magic tingled in his blood. He felt like it’d be easier than it ever had been to slip into his shadow and appear outside the cell again. A couple more jumps like that and he’d be well out of Swynlake and far, far away.

That particular power always seemed to work best when he wanted to be somewhere else.

He wanted to be somewhere else now.

So why didn’t he just leave? Hades couldn’t tell you. He was still weighing all his options, had yet to use that cliche one phone call. Part of him kept circling back not to Belle at all, but a little apartment above a dirty river in Manchester-- to the brother and sister who lived in there, who hadn’t had a father either. He tasted bile, thinking he’d be another one of those men.

The bile bittered, turned into poison that made his hands start to shake with anger-- thinking Belle was the one who who have turned him into one.  

And oh, he grasped onto that anger. It kept him solid, strong, and more awake that he’d ever been. There was another cliche, one about love being a thin sliver from hate. Hades understood that. For most of those hours, he paced and he hated her. He told himself he wouldn’t run away just so Belle would be forced to reckon with him. She played so easy with her love anyway, trading in Hades for their daughter, well, he could do the same. He’d stick around. He’d play the game. He’d find a way to win. And he’d take their daughter away and keep her all to himself.

Revenge really is best served cold-- wht better place to cook up his own in a dank, dirty, freezing jail cell?

Course even Hades and his anger got exhasted. Which was how he’d ended up sitting, sore, tired-- apathetic. Without the anger, all that tired hollowed him out. His eyes were wet with fatigue. He wanted his bed, yearned for the couch, the fireplace, Belle’s feet tucked under his thighs. And all that yearning and pining and wishing was weakness.

So he was back to Plan A now, eying his shadow. Take the coward’s way out? It might be kinder to himself.

And then the door slammed open and the hall filled with shouting and-- Belle’s voice?

His neck twisted and there she was: Belle, gripping the bars of his cell. She looked a wreck, the burn all blistered and red. It plummeted his heart into his stomach at once and brought back the teeth of last night’s panic. It scraped at his skin and he wanted to jump into the shadow more than ever, though this time, to get away from himself.  

His brow furrowed though and he stayed put because what the bloody hell was going on?

“What are you doing here?” he said, not moving from where he sat. The bitterness bled all through his voice, but course it did. Hades didn’t think there was anything else inside him. Just bitterness-- and tired.

BELLE: Belle glared harshly at Phoebus but he glared right back.

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can!” Belle shouted her voice cracked again and she turned to Hades, her eyes full of steel, though her expression softened just a touch, just for him.

“I am getting you out of here, of course.”

“No, you’re not,” Phoebus went to grab at Belle again.

She jerked away and raised her hand on instinct. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to do with it, but she curled it into a fist and her eyes flashed. Phoebus hesitated then, more than likely because he didn’t want to arrest a pregnant woman, more than he didn’t want to get punched by her. She’d take what she could get.

“You can only arrest someone for domestic violence if they are actively endangering someone. I wasn’t even in the house. You had no idea of my injuries and you haven’t suggested I see a medical professional, which by the way is part of your duties. You waited until this morning to speak with me, though it should have been done at once and it is your job to listen to what I am telling you. You clearly have it out for my husband and arrested him under false pretenses.” All of this was said with the utmost calm.

“So. Let. Him. Go. Or I will call the sheriff and see what he has to say about your judgement.”

“Belle—”

“Oh we’re on a first name basis now? I think I preferred Mrs. Acheron.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

HADES: A lot was happening. Hades’ eyes darted from Belle to Phoebus and back again-- then up to a light that had started flickering. The rumblings of a ghost, though he didn’t know which one. Jails-- lousy with ‘em, remember?

He didn’t know what to pay attention to. He didn’t know what to look at.

But when Phoebus made a grab at Belle, Hades was on his feet in a second, like a spring released. Instinct told him to shove Phoebus into the other wall as hard as he could using his powers-- previous experience told him he couldn’t if he tried.

So he just curled his fists, face still impassive, as they traded barbed comments and Hades worked to catch up.

Here was what he gathered:

Belle hadn’t reported him.

Was anything else worth listening to?

He didn’t think so. In fact, the relief filled him head to toe, like perfectly tempered shower water. It washed off last night from his shoulders, and the rest of him too. He surged forward again: taking one, two large strides until he was at the bars, wrapping his fingers around them. Belle was close enough that he could reach out and touch her-- he didn’t, even if he wanted to, and just gripped the bars tighter instead.

And Hades smiled. A twinkle in his eye. Tis the season to get served, Officer de Martin.

“Oi, you heard her,” he said, sounding as gleeful as he felt. “Let me out before you get a lawsuit on your hands, eh?”

BELLE: Belle’s threat hung in the air for a moment, Phoebus’ face full of confusion and fury, but nowhere near the fury that Belle herself felt. She was glad the Fetal Magic Transference hadn’t given her the ability to set people on fire, because Phoebus certainly would’ve gone up in flames. She felt as unstable as nitroglycerin.

Part of that fury was its own kind of fear. How would Hades ever forgive her for getting him into this mess? She was horrified at herself. At Simba. At Berlioz. But she was certainly the most horrified at the conduct of this “officer of the law.” Belle oft thought many of the laws England had were silly and inefficient and they certainly frustrated her--but this wasn’t operating within a loophole. Phoebus was full of hate--and acting on it.

She hadn’t even noticed Hades cross the jail cell until he spoke and both Belle and Phoebus’ eyes snapped towards him.

At the sight of the light in his eye, Belle half-smiled as their gazes connected--

The next second, the fury rolled through her like another wave smashing into her as Phoebus spoke.

“I can’t do that.” He smiled smugly at Hades and turned to Belle. “He’s dangerous, ma’am. I know that’s hard for you to see--”

“He’s not dangerous to me, you utter blockheaded imbecile. How many times do I have to tell you: he saved me! Ask my doctors, they’ll tell you my FMT has been progressing--do you even know what FMT is?” Phoebus opened his mouth but Belle continued over top of him. “Of course you don’t, you just see the magic.”

“Ma’am, if something is happening to your ba--”

“Don’t you dare talk about my baby like you care. Don’t you dare try to say Hades is dangerous to her.” The tears of fury slipped down over Belle’s cheeks. “You are completely out of line, Officer. Are you prepared to take a father away from his child under false pretenses before she is even born? On the off chance I’ve been abused to the point where I am defending my abuser over the safety of my unborn child?”

“Perhaps you’re both insane,” snarled Phoebus then, his voice lower and darker than it had previously been.

Belle raised her chin. “I think we’ll let Sherriff Pride decide that, why don’t you go get him?”

“I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Yes, let the distressed pregnant woman walk into his office and tell him that an officer has been harassing her. That will look excellent for you.”

Phoebus looked at Hades, then Belle. “Fine, but if he hurts you--it will be no fault of mine.”

“Duly noted,” Belle snarled at his retreating form before turning to Hades, crossing the step or two in the hallway.

“Hades, I--” she started, but stopped just as quickly, not knowing what to say. Instead she just stood there, looking up at him, her arms still crossed over her chest, her whole body shaking--though if it was from fury or exhaustion, she wasn’t sure. “I’m sorry.” Her lip trembled, but she didn’t let out the sob that was ricocheting in her chest.  

HADES: Author’s Note: If Hades hadn’t been up for more than 24 hours and hadn’t gone through significant emotional trauma and distress, he would’ve found Belle arguing for his release very, very hot.

Alright-- maybe a small part of him did anyway and it manifested in adrenaline, that soaring feeling that made him wanna shadow jump anyway. It plastered a smile on his face and he used it to leer triumphantly in Phoebus’s direction, and all the way after him too. He wanted to ride on that high for at least another few seconds.

But the door slammed shut. And with it swept out the adrenaline, leaving Hades, Belle, and the jail cell ghosts.

She turned to him and looked pitiful, the burn on her neck as nasty as when he’d first seen it across the cell, in shadow. Worse, actually. Hades’ smile faded slowly. He didn’t know how this was going to go. How should it go?

Belle stepped closer. Hades stayed exactly where he was-- then let his hands slip from the bars and cross against his own chest, mirroring her own stance.

I’m sorry, Belle said.

“What for?” he said, like a dick.

And look-- he knew he was being a dick. He did. There was an apology on his lips too, a sour-tasting thing he wanted to get rid of, or swallow back down. But he couldn’t yet. He had his own ghosts, one of which was Belle, the hatred in her eyes, screaming at him to get out.

And then there was the burn on her neck. His eyes kept sliding to it, his stomach feeling hollow. He couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to.

BELLE: What for? grumbled Hades, like she was apologizing for snapping at him over something stupid that they had been arguing about.

If it wasn’t such a good question, Belle would snort and stop her foot and be a general pill herself.

But, she was too tired and the question genuinely stumped her. It was so--ironic, because it was always Hades telling Belle to quit apologizing for things that weren’t her fault. Objectively, this whole mess wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t uttered a word of abuse, that had been complete assumption on Berlioz and Simba’s part. Still, she could very easily make it into her fault--and she did--and she felt guilty for it.

Was that what she was apologizing for?

Was that what he wanted her to apologize for?

Did she want to apologize for the rest? For leaving him? For their fight? For everything that had happened?

She didn’t know the answer to that question. And, so--she hesitated.

That hesitation morphed into annoyance. How could he put her on the spot like that? Now wasn’t the time for another argument or for antagonism. They didn’t have time to hash out the tangle of the last 10 hours (less?). They just needed to get through this first. Belle was attempting an olive branch. Of course Hades had to make it difficult.

“Ugh,” she huffed at him, raising her hands and let them fall back down to her sides in exasperation, “you are so difficult. Nevermind. Just--” she put a hand to her forehead, pushing back the stray pieces of hair, “--you did tell Phoebus where I was last night, didn’t you? He knew where I was this whole time?”

Hades, thankfully, confirmed without being a brat about it.

“Good--that’s good. I-I mean, it’s not good, because obviously you were here all night and I had no idea but--he wasn’t supp--”

The door opened again and in strolled Sheriff Pride, flanked by Phoebus.

“Just let me do the talking, please,” she murmured at Hades, giving him an imploring look before she turned slightly. This was a delicate situation. Hades was all but discredited, Belle only obtaining a bit more clout on virtue of being the potential “abuse” victim and pregnant besides. Though, what she thought she might have going for her most was her intent to be a lawyer.

She lifted her chin and did her best to smile at the men, a nice, charming--completely normal and not crazy smile. “Sheriff Pride,” Belle greeted, nodding her head a bit and not offering her hand, due to the bandages on them. She didn’t want to draw more attention to them than she had to.

“Thank you so much for listening to this case. I know you are very busy but my husband has been arrested on false pretenses and Officer de Martin refuses to release him. You can imagine how distressing this is. Officer de Martin arrested him last night in the early hours after Simba Lyons mistakenly called in a domestic disturbance. I acknowledge that we did fight last night, which was why I left the house, but it was not at all because I felt endangered in anyway. The mark on my neck is because I was possessed--due to a medical condition concerning my pregnancy. It was the only way to keep me from hurting myself.

What is more: your officer did not follow proper protocol and, may I just say, his conduct was abysmal. I was not aware my husband was even in jail until an hour ago. I have not been interviewed. I wasn’t even at the house when the arrest was made. The whole thing is borderline illegal, not to mention has heavy anti-Magick undertones, and I simply won’t stand for it.”

She let the words hang in the air. “Any questions? We are an open book.”

WOODY: As one could imagine, this was not how Woody had thought his day was going to go.

He had been a bit oblivious to everything until he got to work that morning, after Mr. Acheron had been brought in, and was still waiting on the full story from de Martin that would come from the paperwork that would be in after he was done with it. When Woody came in he only got the broad details of the story. That being that there was someone in holding, that that person was Mr. Acheron, and that he was here under domestic abuse charges.  At that he had winced and nodded, thinking on Belle, or Mrs. Acheron he supposed, who he hadn’t spoken to but once, but she had been more than pleasant to him. Basically held his hand and walked him out of the forest when he had been lost in there like a child.

Woody had retreated into his office while thinking about how messy that trial was going to be, considering. He knew it wasn’t going to end after he had sat down, that’s not how the law worked, but he didn’t think on it anymore because he had other work to get done and progress wouldn’t be made on the case until the proper paperwork had been filled out.  He hadn’t heard the commotion as he had shut his door, which he did for the most part like to keep opened, in order to take a phone call.

That all changed when de Martin came knocking on his door because apparently Mrs. Acheron had come to get her husband. He had told the person on the other line he would have to call them back, and quickly followed de Martin to the holding cells where the couple stood on opposite sides of the bars. The first thing he could see, as anyone would in a situation like this, was the wounds Mrs. Acheron was sporting. It almost made him reach up and touch his own neck in sympathy.

He didn’t even get a word in before she launched into a play by play of the situation. Woody listened, nodding when necessary, and waiting for her to finish. The question at the end felt a little condescending and he would be lying if he didn’t feel a tad bruised by it. He understood where it came from, as from what she had just said it seemed like one big misunderstanding that had been blown way way out of proportion but, still.

“Okay. Well,” he said in a quick dead pan. Woody looked to de Martin, eyebrows raised in a disapproving manner as he learned that she hadn’t even been interviewed yet, meaning he hadn’t even seen her until now. He regarded the other man for a minute, wondering why he would arrest someone off of word alone without even having seen any signs of abuse. Unless the house had them.  He then returned to Mrs. Acheron and nodded slowly as he thought on how to start.

“I will say, that other than informing you, as a victim, we were letting him off on bail or charging him, the only way to inform you of him being arrested would be your husband using his rights to tell you where he is,” he said, wondering if that’s how she got here or if Lyons had told her. “But, yes, I do agree, that as the supposed victim Officer de Martin should have paid you a visit after the arrest in order to confirm these allegation. But, as I’m sure you know, we do need to take charges like these very seriously, and…”

Woody glanced up at Mr. Acheron shooting him a sympathetic smile before returning to Mrs. Acheron, “Considering the evidence, Mr. Lyons’ phone call and your injuries, you can understand that from my point of view I want to be sure that everything you’re saying is the real story. So, uh…as for a question, I guess I would have to ask about this whole possession by pregnancy medical condition? May I ask why it was necessary to inflict burns on you in order to save you from yourself?”

BELLE: Belle had the sheriff’s ear, she could tell. Her heart was pounding in her own, and she worried that whatever she said wouldn’t be enough--

Wasn’t that what she always worried about?

Now, that worry felt all the more real. One wrong phrasing, one wrong word, one wrong pause and Hades would be stuck. Charged. Possibly incarcerated, if Phoebus had his way. They were already dealing with one lawsuit. They didn’t need a criminal trial. They didn’t need a criminal trial and to be falling apart. They didn’t need a criminal trial, a lawsuit, Hades’ reputation in tatters, a cop out for their blood, to be falling apart, and have a baby on the way.

And Belle felt the weight of it all on her shoulders.

However, she just pushed them back and lifted her chin.

“I have Fetal Magic Transference,” she explained, keeping her voice even. “FMT, for short. You can view my medical records, if you want. It is a recognized medical condition, though rarely documented. When a male Magick reproduces--regardless of a magical or Mundus mother--there is a risk of the mother developing the powers of the unborn fetus. In this case, mediumship. That is why my hair is white. And it has been progressing slowly over the course of my pregnancy. Around Halloween, I started hearing ghosts.

I don’t know how much you know about mediumship, Sheriff, but there are specific ghosts--usually the angriest, or those who died most violently, who are much stronger than others. And, sometimes, on certain nights or celestial events, when the veil is lower--there is a threat of possession, as there was last night with the new moon. When someone is possessed, they tend to relive the ghost’s final moments, which as I stated are rather violent.” She held out her hands for him to inspect, covered in bandages.

“This is from the possession. If it is not corrected quickly, there is a possibility of the ghost taking over completely and shoving the other soul out. A bit of a cuckoo bird situation. Hades’ powers allow him to eject a spirit from a body or an object by...burning it. It is otherwise very rare to survive a possession without being a very powerful medium yourself, which I am not.”

Her eyes began to water, just slightly--but she managed to draw in a breath.

“If you leave him in jail, there is a chance it may happen again. And this time, I would have no one to come to my rescue. I understand that these allegations are more than serious, but I was not spoken with until this morning, even though my husband not only informed Officer de Martin where I was when he was arrested, but was refused his rights to a phone call. You may check my phone records, and the records of Mr. Lyons and Mr. Bonfamille--and if you would like to be very thorough, Toulouse Bonfamille as well, as I am sure he is whom Hades would call, if not myself or those who were looking after me. This violation speaks volumes, I think, of Officer de Martin’s prejudice and unwillingness to allow my husband proper due diligence.”

WOODY: No, Woody had no idea what FMT was. Woody hadn’t known there was a rift between sorcerers and fairies until just three months ago. He hadn’t even known that there were such things as ‘Vaaghs’ before Khan had explained that whole thing for him. Woody didn’t know a lot of things about magic, but after two years of living here he really had no excuses left to give, did he.  He tried to retain that information as best he could, shrinking it down into something more manageable for his brain to wrap around. He’d learned in his time in Swynlake that if he was ever going to make sense of anything he wasn’t going to be able to come at it from the perspective he had lived his whole life looking through. It would have to be seen through a more objective standpoint where he threw all his own logic and reasoning out the door.

So, for today, for this case, he was going to have to understand that an unborn child with the powers of Mediumship could pass these on to their mother. And he was going to have to understand that burning a ghost from someone’s body was the only way to get them to leave. Why not, you know? If a demon could be summoned, if zombies could pop up like daisies on Halloween, why couldn’t a baby be the reason a mundus retain Mediumship powers and get possessed?

His eyes flicked down to Mrs. Acheron’s hands as she offered them up to him, a small wince pinching his eyebrows together. This woman really had been through the ringer last night and now, here she was, fighting a battle that wasn’t hers to fight. He admired the loyalty there, and would be doing the exact same thing had someone he loved had been wrongfully arrested.

What really pulled him to her side of things was the withholding Mr. Acheron’s right to call someone to tell them where he was. She was right it did speak volumes, loud obnoxious volumes. It was a red flag, a warning bell, and a siren all in one. Again, he looked at de Martin, bemused as to just what in the hell he had been thinking with all this and hoping that he could see it on his person if he looked hard enough at him.

“I see,” he said slowly, turning his eyes down to the concrete flooring before looking back up to Mrs. Acheron. “Mrs. Acheron, would you mind stepping outside with me for just a moment? Just the two of us?”

BELLE: It was infuriating that Phoebus didn’t look at all guilty of his own crimes. Crimes that could be proven. Crimes that were certainly there. It made Belle’s blood boil that he stood there--looking stoic. If anything, he looked pissed that he wasn’t getting away with it.

He wasn’t getting away with it. That is what Belle told herself. There was no possible way that Phoebus would get away with this. She would do absolutely everything to make sure of it.

Belle had defeated the Muses and the Fates and the Thebian Sphinx. She’d taken on a dragon and demons and werewolves.

She could fight the law just as well.

I see, said the sheriff, and his voice was contemplative. That was good. She could see the pendulum swinging, the gears turning.

When he asked to speak with her, Belle glanced at Hades--a question in her eyes, but she knew that it was probably a good thing. If he wanted to speak with her alone...it meant she hadn’t lost him yet. There was a chance. And Belle was clinging to it with her bloody fingers.

“Of course,” she said after turning back to look at Woody. “My only request is that Officer de Martin goes somewhere else for the moment. I don’t want him near my husband.” Her gaze flicked to Phoebus’ and grew much harder, icing over immediately. Though, really the request was as much for Hades as it was for Phoebus. She knew if Phoebus incited Hades, he’d criminalize himself faster than he could think. She couldn’t have Hades burning him or even raising his voice. It was best to separate them for the moment.

WOODY: “That will be no problem, Mrs. Acheron,” Woody said, his tone coated with that sheen of fake politeness people in retail usually wore. He didn’t look at de Martin as he spoke, only expecting him to do as he was told without protest as that was really his only option here if he knew what was good for him. “Officer de Martin has plenty of paper work to be filling out, I’m sure he’ll want to be getting back to it as soon as possible.”

There was a pause before the sounds of boots started. Woody smiled at Mrs. Acheron and waved her forwards to follow de Martin’s path to the door back out into the main office of the station. To their credit the rest of the officers in the room looked like they hadn’t just been straining to hear what was going on inside the holding cell block. Though a few followed de Martin’s movements until their eyes snapped back to pretend they were busy with something when Woody and Mrs. Acheron emerged shortly after.

He sighed when the door shut behind them, crossing his arms over his middle as he turned back towards her. Woody wasn’t going to take her too far away from where her husband was for now. Just far enough away to where he wasn’t present to the conversation. He softened immediately, no longer standing as tall with his shoulders pulled back to give off that professional stature.

“Please, be honest with me here,” Woody started, looking her in the eye as he wanted to catch anything she might have been wanting to hide from the other two men, “because the last thing I want to do is put you back in a dangerous situation. Believe me when I say I’m on your side, so, if there is anything else you want to tell me, you can, alright?”  

BELLE: Belle felt unsure what this would be about, though she had an idea. People in situations of abuse often protected their abuser, especially in their presence. That was why it was imperative that they be interviewed separately, so that the abused person could air any grievances without the fear of repercussion. It was still a flawed system, of course, but at least this was not a bad protocol.

She had given Hades another look over her shoulder before she walked away. Wanted to say that it was alright, that it was going to be just fine. Hopefully, she communicated it well enough with her eyes. Hopefully, a few ghosts followed her out so they could relay the information. If they decided to be helpful. They usually never were.

If just this once, they owed him that. He was their king, after all.

Belle owed him too. She owed him for so much. If this was how she could begin to repay him, she’d do it a hundred times.

She met the sheriff’s gaze, steadily and openly, the ring of gold around her iris gleaming brightly.

“Nothing, except that my husband is a good man and a good father. He never would’ve hurt me unless he absolutely had no other choice. I have been with him when his powers have overwhelmed him and still--this is the very first time he has ever burned me. The safest place for me is with him, I promise you. I love him and he loves me, and he loves our child. I was pissed at him for something else and left to cool down. I could have never imagined--I wasn’t thinking about what Ber and Simba might think. If I had known before, I would have been down here earlier. Please, if the town gets wind of this it could end his career on the Board and he doesn’t deserve that. He is innocent. I swear it on my daughter’s life.”

WOODY: He waited to see the tell, to find the catch, for any sort of something that might have given away that she was playing a part to please someone else. Be it her husband or de Martin or even Woody himself.  In a way he hoped to find it as wanted de Martin to not be totally in the wrong here since that was someone he needed to have confidence in for these kinds of situations.

But there was nothing to be found but conviction and strong dedication to the person she had come here for.  Nothing about her words seemed off, her explanation made sense, and it pulled at all the right strings attached to his heart. The only thing off about this whole situation was his own officer. It was surprising to Woody that an officer with that amount of experience could have done something like this. The work was sloppy, and if what she had said about de Martin rejecting Mr. Acheron’s rights to phone calls then he’d also left them susceptible to a very easily avoided lawsuit.

“Okay,” he said softly, nodding, “Okay. I’ll see that he gets released shortly with no charges. I’m sorry about all this.”

Woody turned, ready to go get that ball rolling as fast as possible but stopped short and turned back to her, “You can go back in, someone’ll be in to unlock his cell in a minute. And again, I’m so sorry. If you ever need anything again, don’t hesitate to come get me first.”