The old wizard's home was in the last place one would expect a follower of the hidden arts to dwell. He resided in one of the stations that hovered around Yahal. Places of refuge for the technologically inclined tethered to Yahal for one reason or another. Most inhabitants were college professors, scientists or politicians.

The commute to Yahal mainland was under an hour, to and from the sky-train station. Darith tucked himself and Annabelle in an out of the way seat toward the middle. He knew a few kids he'd gone to school with who lived out at the sky-station and as the train filled he watched fearfully for them.

He'd kept his name off the books but if he was recognized that would leave a trail linking him and the old wizard, Parl. That wouldn't do. Could I kill them? A childhood friend, just on the off-chance it would help protect Annabelle?

'Yes,' a voice whispered.

"No," he said, gazing into Annabelle's eyes.

He gave a sigh of relief when a man he didn't know sat down next to him and settled a pair of net glasses over his face. The train jostled into movement, a brief moment without gravity caused Darith's stomach to lurch up to his throat. Then gravity reasserted itself.

Darith tugged at the ratty sweatshirt he'd found in one of the servants rooms. It was too big and the hood did a passable job of obscuring some of his face. He leaned back into the shadow for the remainder of the journey, tugging the web tightly around him. The thrum of energy obscured his face.

The whispering voice of the web wound around him. Its words encouraged him on. Darith would have broken free of the cocoon except that the shadows hid him from passing eyes.

Would Parl even remember him? It had been years since they had any contact. The last time they spoke Parl had accused him of having an attitude worthy of a spoiled noble brat— insinuated that soon he would be just like his father. Looking back, Darith regretted taking offence. He should have taken the words to heart.

Now, Parl was the only one he dared to trust. The only person he knew that could keep a secret and the only possible person who wouldn't try to harm Annabelle if he knew what she was.

The train pulled into the station, and the three vacuum doors opened onto the eclectic metal suburb. Darith stepped out onto the self-propelling ground. For a block he let the walkway carry him along but the ground propelling him reminded him too much of a wheelchair. He strode along the walkway achieving a pace akin to a run with the added movement of the ground.

Above him a screen stretched over the sky, displaying a view of a perpetually sunny sky. It would display that image until the clocks indicated sleeping hours and then it would clear showing the vast expanse of stars, and on occasion Yahal below.

Each segment of the station glowed a different color, illumination seeped from the cracks in the walkway. These colors defined the districts. He followed the walkways until he reached the green section. As he approached the clusters of fantastical houses, the revulsion bred in Darith rose.

The displays of tech were excessive and vulgar. He half expected drug addicts to start tumbling into the street and murder each other. That was what happened in all the 'documentaries' they showed at school. All that actually happened was a continuation of the mechanized bird chirping.

Parl's house, at the very least, didn't float. The small shack stood on long bird legs. He'd mentioned it once, called it an ode to a witch of legend. From all appearances, the house over his head was a wreck of old wooden boards with shutters loose on their hinges but that was a façade.

Darith clutched Annabelle close to him and resisted the urge to simply fly them up to the door. Instead, he searched out the alert panel along the street and buzzed up into the house. Only moments later, the giant bird legs bent and the house lowered so its stoop touched the ground. The door creaked open and Parl's weathered face appeared.

He hadn't changed in the years. On his head scraggly gray hairs grew long and sparse over a shiny scalp. Only the beard that covered two thirds of his face was thick, his long pencil thin nose sticking out over the mass of hair.

"Darith Cortanis?" the old man wheezed.

"Invite us in, Old Man."

"I've heard your name, even up here. Didn't expect you to walk to my doorstep."

Darith shoved past Parl into the temperate interior. The décor inside was diametrically opposed to the outside. Everything shone with factory freshness. Lights flashed and a small hunk of plastic shot out to clean any dirt Darith might have tracked inside. Darith strode over to a sofa and seated himself.

Parl furrowed his brow, this caused a few long hairs to dragg across his eye.

"Parl, you once schooled me in lost magics, unspoken laws." Darith waved for the old man to sit. "My wife has been taken and I have every reason to believe those who've done this will return for me and my daughter."

With a groan, Parl settled into the chair opposite Darith. "How're your parents?"

Darith shivered as an unbidden image of the blood soaked parlor and high-heeled feet sticking out from behind a typically white lounge chair. Beneath the countess' glazed eyes was a blue lipped smirk, the same smile she wore when anything bad happened. Her 'I told you so' to the world, the perfect knowledge she held at her core that nothing would ever go right. I never proved her wrong.

"Don't waste my time. I'm here because you are the only person who might be able to protect her."

"There's more to this tale. The air around you hums and you walk to my door, though everyone knows you are crippled. If you want my aid, do me the honor of being honest and respectful."

Darith lifted a hand to massage his forehead. If anyone deserved respect it was Parl, he formulated his words before speaking to avoid the harsh edge he otherwise couldn't seem to avoid.

"My life's a mess, Parl. I don't expect you to wade through the sludge with me. I'm stronger now, stronger than I ever was or ever should have been. I found a way to heal myself. The process will take time to perfect and time is something I have little of, so I need help. First, I must find a safe harbor for Annabelle. The things I need to do won't be safe for her. Please, I have no right to ask anything of you but I am asking."

"I'll protect the baby."

"Touch her."

"Why, young Cortanis?"

"Because she isn't what you think she is and you need to understand that. I need to see your face when you learn if I am to trust you with her."

Parl reached out and set his hand on Annabelle's chubby cheek. He recoiled and wiped his hand against his leg. His voice shook when he next spoke, "Do you know what she is?"

"My daughter."

"She is not yours, Darith."

Darith glared. "She is no one else's. Trust me when I say she's more than that thing you feel. I intend to see to it. But she needs her mother. Marim is the one who will teach Annabelle love and kindness... Hell, Marim will teach me."

"Are you spouting love conquers all? You? That thing in the child... like thousands of claws trying to pierce my flesh."

"Not claws and not thousands. Legs and—"

"Eight."

"My love won't change her, but with love, protection and guidance she'll be more than the creature that poisoned my wife. I'll arm myself, find and heal Marim but first I'll figure out why the Brothel wants us and I need Annabelle safe. She cannot come where I'm going or see those I go to see."

"The Brothel? And if they come looking for her here?"

"They won't. I shielded myself coming here. No one saw me and there is no trail. As far as the world knows I spent one month failing to learn magic from you so there is no reason to believe I would come to you."

"How?"

"The people who attacked us left bits behind like an infection. The other day I moved the contamination. I'm certain that given time I could remove it. I'll be the test subject and then I'll find Marim and I'll cure her. But I'm missing pieces and its imperative to find those that infected us to connect the scattered bits."

"You cannot hope to cure the child. If you removed the beast...there is nothing else inside her."

"I know," Darith grinned, Annabelle's excitement made his heart pound. "When I find the black widow, I'll rip the beast from her and see how she fares."

He didn't allow himself to think of Silvia often. Halis was safer, thoughts of Halis brought only hate and anger. Silvia shouldn't be more complex but she was. Along with the anger was the memory of her warm, smooth flesh, as if the memory of slipping between her thighs somehow remained separate from the rest. Kill her, yes. That remained the primary urge but there were others and he didn't appreciate that those desires lingered.

Not when he'd never been able to hold Marim as a husband should. Not when Marim suffered. He shouldn't listen to the words Silvia sent him or pity her for the wrongs she suffered as a child.

"Revenge, Cortanis, is the wrong thing to show that child...I can feel it rolling off of her. If you hold to those thoughts you will lose any chance of making this 'cure' her nature bit work."

"It won't be me that cures her. It'll be Marim."

Parl stood and paced the length of the room several times before meeting Annabelle's eyes. He tapped his finger on his chin through the layers of hair.

"I'll care for the child." He looked up, meeting Darith's eyes. "I'm proud of you."

"Thank you." Darith enunciated the words with care. They were not words he was used to uttering.