She woke up to the most unusual sound, especially for her. Cheering, applause, enthusiasm. The arena was literally trembling under the thunderous audience shouting in acclamation for their endeavor.

The Expendables were on their side of the arena, sitting on their camp beds. River was holding his head, Irissa was still laying down, with a hand pressed on her face. Staccato was leaning against the wooden wall of the bleachers, and it was impossible to decipher his expression under the hood, but his crossed arms were a clear sign he wasn't happy, at all. Justin himself was nowhere to be seen. Algernon had already gone back to his seat.

Chico had awakened before her, and was finding himself drowned in ovations, with people chanting his names at the top of the adrenaline rush that had possessed the audience. Someone had even thrown a bra to him, and Chico was swinging it around with pride.

Banshee shook her head and looked around. Her name was chanted by someone too. She saw a big hand enter her vision, offering her help to get up.

She caught Garaham's hand. His serious expression was ruined by the light of excitement in his hazel eyes.

«You won. Wouldn't you prefer to celebrate standing up?»

«So... we did? We really, really did? We... won?» she asked, lifting herself up with his help. Garaham nodded, probably as incredulous as she was. A complete victory, and in front of the whole Order. That was something new, for the Pollos.

As enthusiasm rose, she caught Vopros in the warmest hug. He didn't push her away, but sort of hug her back, and she shivered when she clearly felt the insane amount of explosive under his uniform's shirt.

They grabbed Chico and they jumped, knitted together, for a whole circle. Banshee raised his hand toward the sky as if he was a wrestling champion. Chico howl with joy even more.

Then, Banshee turned and did something no one would expect she ever could have the courage to do: she hugged Garaham. As tight as she could, her arms around his neck, banging loudly against his armor. And to the amazement of the Irish woman, instead of stiffening and teleporting her away, he hugged her back.

«Order! Order!» called Algernon, banging his gavel with renewed energy. It took some minutes, more gavel-banging and a couple of Silent spells to tame the loudest galleries.

The two Covens lined in front of the judge's chair.

«Let's put an end to this farce.» Algernon growled, apparently in an even worst mood than when the trial started. «The prosecution lost. Which means the absent Justin and his unfortunate champions have to pay for the wrong accusations moved towards the winners. And, as per the so beloved Codex, the winners get to choose the compensation they consider proper for their sufferings.» he said, fast. Then, looked towards the Pollos with the clear intention of passing down the clear message to hurry.

Just in that moment, Justin appeared in front of the Judge's seat, his noble ibis perched on his shoulder. Chico frowned. Of course, he knew that familiars could respawn, but they usually didn't take so short a time to do so.

«Here I am! What'd I miss? We won? Of course we won! Good job everyone! Let's go home then!» he said, smirking towards the Expendables with no pauses whatsoever.

«I was just announcing the complete and utter defeat of your so-well-chosen champions, Justin.» Algernon's voice, suddenly, got back a deep and profoundly satisfied tone, as did his face when he saw Justin's smile crumble and fall.

«...we lost?» he said, taken aback. He looked at the ibis. The ibis looked at him. Justin pouted. «You underwhelming voice of doom, you!» he reproached the beast, and then turned towards the Judge's seat and shrugged. «Well, we lost. Come to think of it, probably Eva simply misplaced the thing. Or the museum. Humans are so messy. Both when they're alive and when they're dead.» he glared towards the Expendables, without stopping his gaze on no-one in particular.

Algernon, kindly, ignored him.

«Enforcer Garaham, your requests. You have my permission to go wild.» the old mage said, with a newly found good spirit.

Garaham inhaled. It was the moment he had been waiting for since that incredible day began. Revenge. Sweet, cold-served, revenge.

«Your Honor, I think that my Coven had behaved itself in the most professional manner possible, accepting to be part of this nonsensical charade. We have been waiting for a shot at a promotion for years, and I think that a good compensation for what we have endured would be exactly this. A promotion to 12th Rank, with all of its perks.» he turned his head towards Justin. «Certainly, Monsieur D'Yves can champion our case in front of the Council?»

«Blair! Promote them!.» Justin yelled, without even looking at the Councilman on the bleachers. The Councilors present jumped up like Jack-In-The-Boxes. Apart from Viceroy, who didn't seem surprised in the least.

«Monsieur D'Yves, promotions are a delicate matter, we need the majority of the Council...» Sean Blair of the Coven Division trembled at the thought of what would have happened if he had granted that promotion in that moment.

«Isn't that the majority of the Council?» Justin asked, waving a hand to point at them all.

«Yes but...»

«Do you agree.»

It wasn't a question. There was no question in Justin's madly shining eyes.

So, no answer was needed, truly.

«are hereby promoted to the 12th Rank, effective immediately.» Sean Blair announced. Strangely enough, there was almost no protesting from the bleachers. Someone tried to manifest some dissent, but everyone was still so high with adrenaline they only started to cheer again, before being silenced by Algernon's Gavel once more.

«Are you done with your compensation?» the Judge asked.

«I would also like to pose a special request. Since Staccato proved himself to be such a talented musician, I suggest that he completes his sentence by offering, to the whole Order, a concert. Something that, we all hope, would be a less sorry performance than his Oneiron one. If Your Honor thinks the punishment fits the crime.» Garaham completed his speech with the traditional formula. The judge remained silent for some instants, but it was all pro forma. He had already decided.

«I do. And I personally commend the idea. Staccato is hereby charged with the obligation to present an evening concert in the Order's Concert Hall, two weeks from now.»

«We will gladly take the job of organizing and decorating, Staccato has just to provide the music.» intervened Garaham, and the whispers on the bleachers became even louder. Algernon nodded, with haste.

«Do whatever you want. I declare this trial over. And I sincerely hope, Justin, that this is the last I have to see of you for a long, long time.»

Justin guffawed.

«Oh, I supposed I deserved this. I have a lot of things to do, anyway.» he shrugged, now, the smile back on his face. «After all, the funniest things always happen when the smoke is going down. N'est pas?»

And with those last words, he disappeared into thin air.

On the other side of the arena, the waves of hate were palpable. Staccato, even if his glare was invisible, was emitting anger and resentment like a tv satellite. He marched out, without a word, River and Irissa with him. Banshee managed to exchange a worried look with the girl, and she clearly noticed her, but before she could talk, she was swept up princess-like by River and had to exit the arena.

«Banshee, in my office, please.» were Garaham's last words before disappearing.

«Woah. Just like a headmaster, ay ay ay, you're in trouble lady.» Chico mocked her, but he was just trying to improve her spirits. Because as adrenaline had started to wear off, Banshee had gone back to the grim thoughts she had before. She patted Chico on a shoulder.

«Ye go home and pack, I hope I won't be long.»

She did really feel like a kid in front of the principal's door. Part of her felt stupid, part of her just wanted to be over with it. She took a deep breath, sighed, and opened the door.

Garaham was sitting behind his desk, a blank form in front of him, and he was fidgeting with his most beloved MontBlanc. He didn't even raised his eyes.

«What's this story about the brother.» he didn't ask.

«I met with Staccato, yesterday afternoon.» she said, standing still and tense.

Gaharam didn't move.

«Please, do go on.»

«He said that... I don't know, ok? He just said things that only Killian could know. About my other brothers, and... our tattoo and... how could he know these things?»

«Banshee, for Christ's sake, he's a Mage he could have asked a Diviner or something...»

«The only reason we sport these fancy and ridiculous warnames is to make scrying more difficult for other mages. Not to mention past scrying, that should be almost impossible if you don't have key details! And how did he get the key details... and how did he get this?»

She moved her hand in the air, and the DVD appeared. Garaham didn't even stop and ask. He took the DVD and put it right into his faithful twelve-years-old laptop, sleeping on his desk. It took ten awkward silent minutes for him to hum to life, and another five before they were able to look at the DVD. Banshee had to suffocate a sob. Garaham didn't show whether he had heard it or not. This time, she didn't stop it.

«We know she's in deep trouble son, but we can't move until you give us the full story.» the policeman said.

«Andrew told us we had to blow up some police barracks. Don't look at me that way! They're bloody oranges!» the boy was half screaming, half panicking. «but when we discovered that our target was a residential neighborhood, we turned the car around. Ossian...»

«That's your sister's husband, right? Ossian McBride.»

«Aye aye, hold the jokes, we've heard them all!» the boy scoffed, talking so fast and with such a bad accent it was increasingly difficult to follow him. «So, Ossian turned the car around. I came here to warn you, to give them time to run away, but if Andrew gets to them before they can run, he'll kill them both! He'll kill us all when he'll know we blew the whistle on him and his operation! You have to save my sister! You have to save...»

The DVD stopped.

Garaham turned towards Banshee. She was suffocating sobs into her hand, silent tears falling from her eyes. He had never seen her cry since he had known her.

«Why... you foolish woman, why didn't you asked Vopros to scry your brother to see if Staccato was lying?» he asked, with a strangely soft voice. «You know full well, none in the Order ever managed to scry where Killian is. If you can Scry Staccato...»

«I did! But... Vopros couldn't scry Staccato either.» she sobbed, trying to dry her eyes with her sleeve. «This could mean they are the same person. And the awful truth is... I want him to be Killian. Because even finding out he's a crazed mage I have to fight with is better than to think I will never talk to my twin again.»

Garaham felt a sore pang at the mouth of his stomach.

«I'm... I'm so sorry, Banshee.» he said, under his breath. «I can't imagine what you're going through. But why haven't you come to me with this? If Staccato, and remember this is still a valid theory, is not your brother, for him to find this information could mean a severe breach of protocol. It has to be investigated.»

«Because ye'd think I'm stupid, in even thinking something like that. It's so hard, being far from home. At least Vopros doesn't remember anything from his last years, while I... sometimes, I wish I could forget all that I left behind.»

Garaham looked at her. Her eyes were lowered to the ground, her hands entangled behind her back. They remained in silence for some minutes. Without moving, without talking. Barely coexisting. Then Garaham sighed.

«Go home Banshee. Pack and move to the new house that comes with your promotion. You earned it. It will help you think about something else, while we find a way out from this.» he said, gesturing her to go. «Will I see you tonight, as usual? Same place?»

She nodded, tiredly.

«Ten o' clock. As usual.» she said, and slowly exited the door.

Garaham looked to the form in front of him. The words "Transfer Request" were taunting him, all those blank fields ready to be filled by proper strikes of pen.

He put the form aside, rustled in the second drawer of his desk and pulled out another form, with a very different header, and a very different destination.

***

The van stopped in front of a 15 story-building in a small and quiet street.

Packing had been quite easy and fast. None of them had so many earthly possessions. Chico kept the great part of his personal stuff at the church, Banshee just had to prepare some crates with her weapon collection. Vopros went down to the van with just three suitcases. Chico and Banshee considered asking where the contents of his cellar were but gave up immediately. They thought about leaving the house with its particular door-room problem. But they decided to leave to the next Coven the joy to discover the wonderful adventures of their, ultimately, well-mapped home-labyrinth.

Their new home was in an apartment building surrounded by a nice little garden, with clean cut grass and slings for the children. It was white and regular, with big windows and even balconies. Over the buildings in front of them, you could see the green of the park, and the roads looked actually small from where they stood from their 12th floor apartment.

Their apartment still smelt of fresh paint. It had three bedrooms, two bathrooms and even a spare room that had been designated as living room. It even came with furniture and appliances, all shiny new.

The three stood on the door, looking at the keys in their hands, and then at the place in front of them. It was the most normal apartment in the whole world.

«Jesus merciful wept, we have a room each...»

«No more waking up in the middle of the night coming back from your drunken evenings...» muttered Chico, as if he feared that speaking out loud could make the dream end.

«No more hearing ye snore when ye turn sleeping on yer back...» whispered Banshee, closer to crying again.

«Two bathrooms. So finally you two could have your one.» Vopros, as usual, showed a little less feeling, but he was moved too.

They chose their rooms, or to be precise Vopros chose his and then Chico and Banshee rock-paper-scissored the other two.

She sat on the newly made bed, breathing in deeply the unfamiliar scent of new. Now she had a wooden wardrobe twice the size her old one, a desk with a lamp, and a very nice window, which made her shiver. But it was still in a good shooting position from the bed.

She started to unpack her clothes. Basically, a lot of dark tank tops and camo pants. Two items were particularly different: a short green cocktail dress and a white, vintage and old-fashioned wedding dress. She put them in the furthermost corner of the wardrobe, with the utmost care.

She fell on her bed again, exhausted even just for that little task.

«Banshee! We go fetch dinner to celebrate. Or you cook?» yelled Vopros.

The woman looked at her watch. It was nine o' clock already. It was almost time to go.

«Sorry guys, I can't be with you tonight.»

Chico peeked into her room.

«Eres tu malada? We've had our first win in years and you're not celebrating?» he asked, shocked. Banshee sighed.

«I have... a previous engagement. It's important. I'm sorry.» she said, raising up from her bed and snatching her leather jacket. Then, after the puzzled gazes of her roommates, she left in a hurry.