"Cut it out."

His first sensation was just moments before—no, was it ... hours? ... years? There was a harsh sound of something against his face. Sound? No, smell. That's not right, he managed to form a thought. The feeling. That was it. He felt something against his face. It seemed ... loud.

"No, dumbass," he managed to gurgle out, "... that's not right." He shrugged hard against something.

"Motherfucker," boomed the voice, "cut it out."

Tommy's eyes rolled. He realized he could see but couldn't shake the notion that he was smelling with his eyes. He felt himself pulled down ... or up.

"Motherfucker, get on your feet and walk like a man." It was that voice again. It seemed familiar, rocky and thick.

There was a flash of inspiration and sudden clarity. He realized he was standing on his feet and felt an irrational sense of accomplishment at a deed he'd first done as a child. Someone was beside him.

"Sam," he muttered.

Looking around, Tommy saw a group of women sitting against a nearby building. There were several people stretched out on the road, either motionless or scarcely moving. Men. He felt himself stumbling toward a light truck, guided by the arm. A blonde-haired woman of medium height moved toward him

"Hey, how many fingers?"

"Christy ...," he muttered to her upraised hand.

"We gotta go ... now," came a woman's voice to his left. Philly.

The sound of sirens was nearby.

Lydia came running, an impatient look on her face. Suddenly he was sailing through the air. He landed flat on his back in the bed of the truck. After two more passengers settled in beside him, the truck leapt to a start and rapidly gained speed.

Streetlights flitted by, and somehow his head was in Christy's lap. She cradled it in both arms. Lydia was on his right, a concerned look on her face. There was another flash of inspiration.

"Is everyone okay?" he asked.

"Everyone is fine." Christy caressed his jawline.

"How long was I out?"

"Four or five minutes," replied Lydia.

He tried to sit up, but Christy held him down. He opted not to fight her. His thoughts had cleared, but his head was throbbing with every heartbeat, like someone had a hammer and anvil inside his skull. Tommy Haas seldom experienced real pain or discomfort, and for the first time in how long he could not say, he felt like taking a nap.

"And everyone is okay?" he repeated.

"We're all fine," replied a relieved Lydia. "You look like hell, though."

"But there's not a scratch on you," chimed Christy. "Somebody whacked you with some serious mojo."

It was clear someone with a powerful mental Gift, a godawful powerful Gift, had taken a poke at Tommy and succeeded.

Sam knew every road in the city, so avoiding the police wasn't difficult. By the time they made it back to the seminary in Bronzeville, Tommy was able to get out of the bed of the truck under his own legs. His head still ached, and he still craved that nap, but he otherwise was back near one hundred percent.

Once they were inside, he took a careful look around to ensure all were present and were, in fact, unharmed. He felt guilty but craved rest. With a short hug, he told Sam not to let him sleep longer than an hour.

Nearly 90 minutes later, Tommy dragged himself out of bed. He wasn't resentful Sam hadn't roused him. Still headachy, he was otherwise fine and enormously refreshed. It was the longest he'd slept without Rhonda by his side in ages. He made his way through the sleepy house—even Lydia was abed—and found Sam at the stove.

"I owe you a huge thank you, my friend," he said with another embrace.

"Not me," said Sam proudly. "I only got there just as you woke up."

Astonishment colored Tommy's face. "What happened?"

"The fine details? ... your guess is as good as mine. Big picture, Lydia saw you go down and jumped in and beat the living fuck out of everybody there."

"Oh, thank God I was there to protect her," rejoiced Tommy in an feeble voice. It was some minutes before the two men could control their laughter.

"The whole thing was one hell of a mess," said Sam as he pulled out bacon and eggs from the refrigerator. "Lydia beat that big guy half to death. Ask Philly, if you want the blow-by-blow ... but I guess he hardly got a lick in." Sam shook his head. "She messed up the others pretty good, too. I imagine they'll all survive, but not a one of them was able to get a shot off at her."

Sam seemed remarkably composed at the notion of gunfire around Lydia. The man put on the skillet and began cracking eggs into a bowl. Tommy joined wordlessly but wasn't sure what to say.

"And the guy who did this?" he asked finally, pointing to his head.

Sam shrugged. "The whole bunch of 'em were down when Christy, Celia, and I got there. We didn't have time to sort through them."

"Her personality has changed."

Both men knew what he meant. People with Gifts like Lydia's and Sam's often showed increased aggression and other character changes when their Gifts began fully to manifest.

"No ... well, maybe a little," replied Sam. The Chicagoan had appeared to weigh his words. "She was always brave ... although I didn't see that when I first met her. She wouldn't have survived in the wilderness, otherwise. She just needed to learn confidence ... and discipline."

"I'm glad she did," said Tommy.

"Well, it's harder for her. My Gift expressed in the 'Naam, where I could run riot. They gave me medals for what I did."

Sam grabbed some more makings from the fridge.

"Things tonight mostly ended well," he went on. "Philly found some more young women locked up in the back and let them go. There were, I don't know, 20 or 25 of them all said. According to the news, which has gone national, they're all at the hospital and going into protective custody. CPD arrested about a half dozen men ... which doesn't seem right. Some must have dragged themselves off after we left and before the police got there."

Sam paused for effect as he dropped the first bowl of eggs in the skillet. "That ain't the worst of it," he said mildly. "Not long after you went to bed, the television news said the building went up in flames. It is one serious conflagration."

"They torched the place ...," whispered Tommy.

"Yep, and three others ... all of the buildings Camille had you looking at. I don't know what they used as an accelerant, but all four are still burning ... at least they were as of 15 minutes ago."

"Oh, jeez," Tommy muttered heavenward, "I'm a dead man." He caught Sam's strange look and continued. "Please tell me the fires didn't spread ...."

"Yep," Sam said, tossing some cheese and onions into the skillet. "The one out by Midway Airport is a four-alarm and has jumped to three other buildings."

"Fuck me ...."

"On the good side," said Sam, "no innocent bystanders have been hurt."

"We should give Camille a heads-up on this."

"I left a message on her voicemail." Sam gave the same smile he always did when talking of the young detective. "I told her we'd give her the full brief as soon as we could sort things out."

"That is a shitload to sort out," Tommy pondered aloud. "I was half convinced this was just plain criminal activity, but we have not one but two people like us ... at least. One of them has a Gift I've never seen the like of ... and, Jesus ... so powerful."

"How come it didn't work on Lydia?"

"Oh, shit, Sam ... I got no idea." He threw up his shoulders in dismay. "It could have been anything ... you know how funny Gifts can be. More than likely, whoever it was just couldn't hoodoo more than one person at a time."

He took the plate Sam offered him. "I'll tell you what," Tommy continued after his first bite, "that shit threw me for a loop, twisted my brain every way to Sunday. It had me not knowing up from down, left from right, color from sound. I was pretty much helpless. If Lydia hadn't been there ...." He shook his head.

"So, where do we go?" asked Sam, helping himself to bacon from a plate on the counter.

Tommy sat and thought. "I know you're not going to like the sound of this, but is this our business, now?"

Sam got an uncomfortable look on his face.

"I made a promise to Camille," Tommy continued, "which I intend to carry through, but unless I'm missing something, this doesn't look like a threat to us anymore ... to you, the girls, Christy, Philly, and the rest."

"Oh, kiss my ass," Sam said dismissively. "Just because people like us are involved? This thing could still blow up on us. Gifted mercenaries? Former Valhalla thugs? Who the hell knows where this might end up? Besides, your recent track record for going it alone ain't exactly inspiring."

"In that case," said Tommy, "we're going to have to find out where the PD is holding the assholes they detained. If anybody is certain to know something, it's Weliver and his blokes. We just need to figure out how to get at them. In the short run, though, it's just before 2:00 and Alhambra is a 4:00 am bar. I'm going back there to find Paloma. Either she or her brother know at least some of what's going on, and I'm going to lay all my cards on the table with them."

Tommy could tell from the rising grin on his friend's face a joke was imminent, but Sam relented.

"Don't take 'no' for an answer," his friend said. "I know you have a soft spot for pretty girls ... it's a failing I got, myself. But whatever it takes, find out the truth. Something big and dangerous is going on here. I can just feel it."

The two ate comfortably in silence for a few minutes.

"And try not to kill this one's pappy," cracked Sam finally.