Chapter 13

Sean saw it.
    He saw the creature, and jumped back in horror. His eyes wide. His hands flung behind him. His feet back peddling. Smyth stood and watched the young man stumble backwards. Regain his footing. Stare in grim fascination at the beast inside.
    It was hideous. The most gruesome, disgusting, menacing creature Sean had ever seen. Not even the bamofets looked this terrorizing. The creature inside the four foot by two foot glass case made the bamofets seem like a peacock in comparison. It had four arms, placed at odd distances on its torso in staggered formation. It’s claws were made of fingers, of which four stuck out on each hand. It’s hands were shoved out in front of it, as if yearning to break free of its transparent cage and tear Sean’s guts out in a dogged frenzy. It’s head was small and diminutive in relation to its disgusting body. The abomination’s head looked like a cross in between a horseshoe bat and a star-nosed mole. Its eyes were placed high on top of the beast’s head and they stared out of the case with a lidless expression. It had pupils like the dragon, but they were a dark orange color, giving it a senile gaze.
    It had legs that were long and lanky, the knee joints turned backward like a bird’s. Six claws for toes on each foot. The creature’s skin was like that of a naked mole rat. Wrinkly like a plastic bag. White and pale and repugnant Sean imagined what it would smell like. The creature was skinny and thin. It was the kind of creature that belonged in a horror movie. The kind that would kill every last person if given the chance. The animal inside the display case stared back at Sean.
    Sean looked away, then at Smyth.
    “What the heck is that?”
    “It’s a rogue sprite in its final form.” Smyth said, staring at the sprite’s outstretched arms. Curled lips that revealed two tiny rows of short, needle like teeth. “Once it has degenerated to this form, the sprite cannot go back to its original state. Before we finally captured it in the desert of Nevada, it had killed more than thirty people since the town people had been aware of its actions.”
    Smyth turned his gaze on Sean. The young man blinked, unable to turn his gaze away from the horrid thing in front of him. It stared back. It’s eyes wide and bulging in their sockets.
    “Congratulations, Sean,” Smyth said, grunting. “Welcome to the family. Your father would be proud of you.”
    Sean blinked.
    He slowly turned to face the curator, a slow half circle turn that seemed to take forever in Sean’s mind. He tilted his head.
    “What do you mean by that?”
    Smyth shrugged, his fingers in his pockets. “I mean what I said.”
    “You knew my father?” Sean said, rather than asked. Puzzles pieces clicked, slowly but surely, together in Sean’s mind. He ran a hand, moving a lock of hair out of his eyes.
    “You knew my father, didn’t you?” Sean repeated, staring wide eyed at the old man. Smyth nodded his head, a sad grin on his lips.
    “He was the best and most practical man I have ever known in my long years on this earth.” Smyth put a hand on Sean’s shoulder. “And I’m truly sorry for not telling you sooner. But he wanted it this way. For you to go through the discovery yourself. With, of course, a little help from me and Harold. But. . .”
    Smyth paused, looking into Sean’s eyes. Sean stared back. An unfocused gaze, he stared right through Smyth.
    The old man continued. “The reason why you got this job so easily was because your father made me promise the position of custodian would be only open to you. He knew you would be ready someday, if at all. And it seems like that time is now.”
    “But. . . but he wasn’t. . .he. . .” Sean’s voice was low and quiet. His eyes were, though, were wide and glaring. “He was part of you guys. A Vanguard?”
    “He was one of the best international operators in the force.” Smyth said, patting Sean on the shoulder and letting his fingers slip back to his pockets. The aged man gave Sean a tired smile.
    “He was also the custodian. You have his old job.”
    Sean felt like Smyth had just punched him in the gut. Sean’s heartbeat skipped and slowed and rose and fell. His lungs wouldn’t work, then all of a sudden they would start up again, causing Sean to gasp for air. Sean’s surrounding suddenly became ever increasingly clear. Details stood out. Colors became vibrant. Sweat coated Sean’s temple.
    “Why?” Sean said out loud, his jaw slack.
    Smyth canted his head forward staring over his glasses at Sean. He began, “Because he knew one day, you would take his place as custodian.”
    “That’s impossible. That doesn’t make any sense.” Sean said, twisting away. His hand instantly went to the back of his head. He gripped the back of his neck. The air around Sean rose several degrees. Sean breathed in. Breathed out.
    He turned back and pointed a finger at Smyth.
    “I needed a job because my father didn’t know the difference between a calculator and a protractor. The taxmen were literally banging on our door. I needed this job out of necessity, not because of something my father set up.”
    Smyth shook his head. “He knew one day you would take his place. Your father was a premonitionist. He had a dream of it.”
    Staring into the eyes of the old man for a long second, Sean closed his eyes, hard. Then he looked away, groaning.
    “He had a dream, huh?” Sean shook his head, letting out a nervous laugh. “I don’t believe that.”
    “He performed his job to a tee. He was the best. You should be proud.”
    Sean shook his head.
    “Sean, listen to me. Look at me! Your father told me one day you would take his position as custodian, and he was right.”
    “No. Nope.” Sean stepped close to Smyth. The young man smiled ruefully. “My father was a salesman. An insurance salesman, too! He wasn’t into this. . . this cult-like mysticism or whatever you’ve got going on here. It’s not possible!” A vignette of tears coated Sean’s eyes. He brushed them away with the heel of his hand.
    “Sean, you have to believe me,” Smyth stated, hands open wide in a gesture of surrender. “You come from a long line of custodians. You said it yourself, your family needs you.”
    Sean shook his head, his gaze on the floor and then snapping up at Smyth.
    “I said it was a necessity.”
    It was Smyth’s turn to shake his head. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then Tryss’s voice rang out, echoing through the hallway and reaching Sean’s ears.
    “Mr. Smyth!” Tryss stood, feet wide apart at the entrance of the hall. She waved what looked to be an arrow in her closed fist. “Sean! It’s the Angel of Death! He has a message about your family!”

Sean and Smyth stood next to Tryss at the entrance of the hallway. Lance and Percy had gotten off the couches. Elise was there too. Sean hadn’t seen her arrive. She was just all of a sudden there, walking behind Percy and Lance. She looked fine, from what Sean could see. Although she did have a tired expression on her face. She made eye contact with Sean. Sean nodded, and she nodded back, a short jerk of her chin up then down. Tryss held up the message arrow. It was three feet long, fletched with black feathers at the nock and on the other end a cruel, broad arrow head glinted. It was as large as Sean’s open palm. Sean noticed there wasn’t any note attached to it. Sean frowned, perplexed.
“Show us the full message,” Smyth said, his wrinkled hand stroking his white beard. He narrowed his eyes. “Let’s see what the Angel has to say.”
Nodding, Trys gulped as she let the arrow fall to the marble floor, sharp head pointed down. Instead of obeying physics, the arrowhead stopped once it hit the floor, its sharp tip just barely touching the elaborate marble. It came to rest, floating down and kissing the elaborate marble design. It froze in position as a vaporous cloud emerged from the black fletching, the ashen gas spilled out onto the floor, roughly the size of a large beach ball.
     Everyone stepped back as something materialized out of the mist. Sean stared as the gray miasma took form. The blob of gas formed into a humanoid shape. The gas that formed it began peeling off certain corners of his body, dissolving before the vapor hit the ground. The mist kept peeling away until Sean could see the outline of a head. And then shoulders. Eventually there was a fully human shaped cloud of mist in the hall. None of the group moved. They simply watched. The human figure stood at least two feet taller than Lance. Sean looked around at Percy, at Smyth, Tryss and Elise. Percy stared on, a hand over his chin, a pensive gaze on his face. It reminded Sean of the giant cloud monster, except this figure was more terrifying. There was more detail to it. To him. Sean could see a skull in between the shoulders of the tall man. It leered down at the semi-circle of people around him, almost as if he were actually there in the depository. Sean stepped back, his head craning up at the looming figure. The figure’s skull sneered down at Sean.
     “The Angel of Death.” Sean whispered, his voice cracking in mild fear. The apparition didn’t move.
     Beside Sean, Smyth said. “Yes. It is him.” then he noticed Sean’s mild agitation. The old curator added quickly, “Don’t worry. He’s not really here. This is merely a pre-recorded message.”
     “Oh.” Sean replied, his jaw clenched tight as he looked at the ghost like appearance of the Angel of Death. Sean looked up at the face, the rigid bony skull with large teeth. The squarish jawline. The sharp edged temples that jutted out, completing the outline of the Angel’s skull. It looked like it was actually there. Actually staring at Sean. But the head moved, staring three feet behind Sean. Staring nowhere in particular. Then the Angel spoke.
His voice was cold, gravelly, and apathetic, with a slight patronizing slur. Sean noticed the skull’s jaw didn’t move. The Angel of Death had an accent that changed and shifted. Not exactly American, not exactly British. It morphed back in forth from different accents from Europe. The Angel’s disparaging tone made it difficult to know whether he was being sarcastic or aggressive. But it seemed to retain a steely resolve mixed with an undertone of hatred that Sean felt was directed towards him.
“Hello, Smyth.” the Angel of Death said, skull barely moving as he spoke. “You old geezer. I’m sure some of your puny acquaintances are watching this with you. Maybe that Knite boy is there with you.”
Sean slitted his eyes and whispered harshly under his breath, “So what if I am?”
The skull proceeded to drone on. The Angel tilted its head, empty eye sockets staring in the distance.
“He’s there with you, isn’t he?. I want to let him know something. I have the his family with me. I’m sure they want to say hello, but they’re tied up at the moment. And unconscious-”
     “What?” Sean stepped closer to the ghostly figure of the Angel. The image switched from the Angel to blank space, like static on a bad TV. Then Sean saw his mother. She was sitting in a chair. Her head limp and downcast, her hands tied behind her. The image blanked out and crackled with gassy fuzz. Then the scene changed to Emily. Her small frame constricted to several bonds of thick rope that held her fast in another chair.
    Sean nearly jumped to her sister’s side, almost forgetting that she was a manifestation of magic and smoke. Then the image blinked out one more time, returning to the Angel. His mask smiled a gruesome grin at Sean. The young custodian felt warmth rising to his head. A shower of needles cascading down his neck and down the small of his back. His breath quickened, and blood pounded in between his temples. He scowled back at the ghostly image. Sean thought he saw the mask's eye-hole narrow slightly. Like a wink. Percy and Lance cursed out loud to the right of Sean. Sean felt a hand on his left shoulder. He looked to see that it was Tryss. Sean whipped his gaze back to the apparitional message, glaring.
     The Angel continued, his voice deeper than before.
     “Yes. I do believe we have a hostage situation here. I hope you follow my demands properly.” The Angel tilted his head coyly, as if he could feel the anger coming from Sean. “Sean, the ...janitor...will most likely keep you from doing any nasty tricks that I surmise you are most likely thinking of right now.”
The skull moved ever so slightly in Percy’s direction.”I'm looking at you, Percy-"
The Angel of Death paused, allowing everyone in the huddled group to turn and look at Percy, who was typing away at his computer. He looked up at all the eyes on him and frowned at the ghost image.
"This is ...odd."
The Angel continued slowly, his cadence reaching an almost sing-song tone. “I’m sure Sean Knite will prevent any of you from devising any of your scrupulous plans. Won’t you, Sean?”
Sean looked up at the ghostly skull floating on top of the shoulders of the human figure standing in the mist. The Angel canted his head.
“Oh, yes, you will. You will tell your little Vanguard friends that if they so much as try anything smart, well. . .” The image flashed from the Angel’s skull back to Sean’s mother. To Emily. The mist buzzed again. The Angel’s skull grinned, corporeal teeth wide and large and smiling.
The Angel hissed. “I’ll gut your mother and make your sister watch. Then once I have you, I’ll scalp your sister and leave you alive to watch me spit her on a stake. And then I’ll let you go, as an orphan. With no one to love and no family to go to. But you can avoid all of this, of course, if you comply with my demands.”
     The Angel paused, his head looming over the group. Fog rolled down the long limbs of the ghostly figure. He basked in the silence that filled the hall. Sean’s eyes were riveted on the Angel, watching every micro movement his head made. The skull waited, not saying a word. Sean couldn’t stand it anymore. He burst out, “What is it? What are your demands?”
     The Angel paused as if he had been expecting Sean’s outburst. The image rolled its neck. The sound of joints popping echoed throughout the foyer. He continued slowly, his words clipped and concise.
     “These are my demands: One pair of a thousand-league boots. The stuffed unicorn you hide behind the Animal gallery. And the Sword of Kings.”
Sean could hear Elise's sharp intake of breath next to him as the Angel tilted his head.
"Yes, Elise. Excalibur. Does it surprise you?"
Trys's brows shot up in mild apprehension as she leaned over to Percy and whispered.
"Can he actually see us?"
"No. At least, I don't think so." Percy responded, looking up at the Angel. Percy’s brows scrunched together as he typed on his computer. He set down his laptop and reached into his rucksack, pulling out a handheld scanner. Like the kind supermarkets used to scan barcodes. Except the scanner Percy was holding glowed red as he pointed it at the apparition. Percy said. "Message arrows can only be recorded and sent. There is no live feed function.”
By the tone of his voice, Sean could hear doubt in Percy’s words.
“What is the Angel of Death talking about?” Sean said, gesturing at the fog. “I’ve cleaned this place over at least three times and I’ve never seen the stuff he’s saying that we supposedly have.”
     “Sean.” It was Smyth, his voice low and commanding. He was holding his hand up to silence the younger man. The Angel of Death was talking.
     “Do you hear that, you walking prune?” The Angel croaked out, his voice growing louder and menacing. “I will meet you or whoever you’re sending these days to do your menial tasks on Main Street. In front of the old post office at four O’clock tonight. You’d better have what I want when I get there. Don’t be late.”
     Then the ghost of the Angel tilted its head at an almost complete horizontal angle. Sean looked at Smyth. Then at the fog impression of the Angel. It seemed to be looking right at Smyth.
     “I’ll be there.” the Angel repeated, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Because I always make due on my promises.”
     The image of the Angel burst into a cloud of gray smoke, the message leaving a vapor trail descending to the floor. Sean was breathing heavily, and unclenched his tightened fists. He glanced sideways at Smyth. The old man looked like he had aged another hundred years.

~~~

“What are we going to do?”
Sean sat in the middle of the foyer, the rest of the group seated to his left and right on the white couches. Sean sat in an individual cream leather armrest next to Elise and Smyth, while the trio Vanguard took up the equally as white three-seat couch. In the middle of the semicircle of white vinyl couches was a matching coffee table, the expended black fletched arrow lying on the top. Percy looked the most uncomfortable on the three seater while Lance seemed as relaxed as if he were on his own couch at home. Of course, minus the two other people having to share with him. He tried making room, but he just ended up elbowing Trys in the gut. He gave her an unapologetic stare before she slapped him in the thigh.
    He barely flinched, but Lance got the idea. He scooted over closer to Percy.
    “We’ve all heard the message,” Smyth began, clasping his hands together. “We’ve seen Sean’s family and heard the Angel’s demands.”
    “What are we going to do?” Sean repeated, staring down at the carpet in the circle of couches. He tried looking up, but he didn’t have the energy. “He’s going to kill my family.”
    “We are going to get your family back.” Tryss said, looking carefully at Sean. “Don’t worry, let us handle the Angel.”
    Sean scoffed, rubbing forehead with his fingers. It felt like someone had brushed his eyes with sandpaper.
     Sean said. “His name doesn’t seem to fit him. He should’ve been called the Ultimate Scumbag.”
    Elise turned to face Sean, staring at him. When he looked up to meet her gaze, she avoided his gaze. But Sean had spied something in her eyes a split second before she had turned away. Was it humor? No, that didn’t make sense. It was a smirk. A grim, churlish smirk, but a smirk nonetheless.
    Percy pulled out his laptop from his rucksack and began typing. Typing what exactly, Sean didn’t know. Without looking up, Percy spoke as his fingers clacked on the keyboard.
    “The Angel of Death didn’t name himself, nor did we give him that name.”
    Lance sidled his jaw quietly in silent consternation as Percy continued.
    “In all of history, and from certain sources, the Angel once killed fifteen people. In one night. But he left the fifteenth person alive, but just barely.”
    Lance coughed into his closed fist the same time Trys began to glare hard at Percy. Unfortunately, Percy wasn’t looking.
    “Only one guy survived, and even then, he had to go through his short, remaining life without his arms and legs.” Percy looked up from his screen, entirely engulfed with his storytelling. “Some speculate why the Angel of Death left his fifteenth victim alive, but most of us agree that it was merely for the world to know he existed. Just free publicity. Advertising.”
     Tryss shifted her position on the couch, coughing hard. She stared across from Lance and directly at Percy. Percy didn’t look up. Instead he kept typing away, continuing his monologue. “The victim named the Angel for his extremely adept way of finding and killing people in the most gruesome ways possible. And. . .”
     Percy looked up. Stared back at the five pairs of eyes staring at him. Percy blinked at Sean, whose eyes were wide in implacable interest. Smyth broke the silence with a hoarse cough and a wave of his hand.
    “I’m sure Sean could hear this another time, but now-”
    Sean held up his hand, frowning. “No, no, Mr. Smyth. I think should hear this.”
    Beside him, Elise pinched the bridge of her nose slowly. Trys and Smyth exchanged worried glances.
    Sean made a face. “What? It’s not like I’m ten. If this guy kidnapped my family, I think it would be wise to know everything you guys know about him.”
     “No.” Elise warned, her fingers still clamped on the bridge of her nose. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.” Her eyes were shut.
    Sean leaned back in his seat, ignoring Elise’s words. The curiosity crawling under his skin made his mind settle on other things. Sean gestured with both hands at Percy.
    “Come on. At least answer me this one question.” Sean asked. Percy glanced at Smyth, and then at Lance. Neither one of them gave him a definitive answer, auditorily or otherwise. Percy continued, but this time slowly.
    “Okay, Sean. What do you want to know? Although I’ll warn you, this Angel of Death character leaves quite the gruesome footprint.”
    Sean shook his head. “It’s not like I want to know any gruesome details. Just give me some background on this freak. Who is he? Where did we come from?” Sean leaned forward, staring hard at where the arrow lay on the coffee table in front of him. Sean added, “And how do we stop him?”
    Out of Sean’s field of view, Elise was slowly massaging the bridge of her nose purposefully.
    Percy glanced awkwardly down at his laptop screen, clicked a few times, and then returned his gaze to Sean.
    “Well. That’s just it. We don’t have any background.”
    Sean blinked. “What? What do you mean?”
    “I mean, there’s practically no history of this guy anywhere, at anytime. Hence his name, the Angel of Death. He’s a ghost, and any leads that he might’ve left behind ...they’re dead.”
    Sean gulped and leaned his elbows on his knees.
    “How far does he ...go back?” When Percy gave him a strange look, Sean rephrased his question. “I mean, how long has he been doing what he does?”
    Percy coughed, wiped his clean mouth, and then stared Sean in the face.
    “He’s been doing this ever since 1789.”
    It was Sean’s turn to cough.
    “What? How is that possible?” Sean turned to Elise. She had her face down, her arms were crossed.
    “What is this guy, immortal or something?”
    Tryss rolled her eyes, her arms were crossed.
    “What do you think?” She smirked at him coyly.
    Sean grinned, rubbed at his chest. He held up a finger.
    “He can’t die?”
    Tryss nodded gravely. “Yes.”
    Sean sank back into the leather folds of his seat, staring ahead of him. He shifted his gaze over to Smyth The old man’s eyes were undecipherable, hidden their sunken shallows of Smyth’s face. His pale green eyes came to rest on Sean.
    “Sean. I’m sure that this is all coming to a shock to you at this moment. But for the sake of your family, and please, for us too, I hope that you will understand.”
    Sean’s breath came in deep gasps, his gaze circled the group surrounding him. Then his stare landed on Elise, who matched his glare. Elise leaned in and whispered under her breath.
    “I know you’re a skeptic, but for all that is good and holy, please don’t make yourself look stupid.”
    “I’m not being stupid-” Sean began in the same tone, but Elise cut him off with a slight hand gesture.
    “Okay, then don’t say anything stupid, alright?”
    Sean frowned, making a perplexed expression, then turned away from her.
    “So, anyways...” Sean said, his eyes searching nothing in particular. “How is this guy immortal?” Before Percy raised his finger to talk, Sean held up a palm, stopping him.
    “Oh, wait, don’t tell me.” Sean chuckled, his hand on his brow. “It’s magic, right?”
    Sean could hear Elise groan beside him.
    She whispered. “Something like that.”
    Percy ignored Elise and answered Sean’s question.
    “The Angel has in his possession a magical totem of some considerable power. Something so powerfully charged that it could grant the wearer unnatural long life, among other things.”
“Like what?” Sean asked.
“The ability of superhuman strength and other traits. Immunity to damage. We can’t exactly narrow down what kind of immortal status he has, but we suspect that whatever abilities he has, it’s his mask.”
“He has a mask?” Sean said, staring at Percy. Percy nodded, twisting the position of his laptop to show the screen to Sean. Sean leaned in. On the screen was the Angel of Death’s face. No, not his face. A mask. It was white and gleaming and it looked like it was carved out of ivory. Like an african tribal mask. Percy flipped the screen back to himself and continued to type. He looked up at Sean once and awhile as he spoke, Percy’s pale face spasming violently.
    “That mask he wears isn’t just for show.”
    The group became silent. Sean light tapping of his bouncing knee was the only sound heard. Elise placed both hands on her knees, frowning.
    “Are we not gonna talk about how the Angel acted as if he were in the room with us? Because I think that’s pretty important.” She put a hand on her chest, over where her Medallion would be. She looked around at the group’s faces. Lance stared at Elise, his face the usual mask of stone.
    “That was the point.” Lance said in his low timbre. He glanced at Sean as well. “You know the Angel likes to play mind games. He likes to get in your head. You should know that.”
    Elise shook her head, putting a hand to her temple.
    “Yeah, I know that.” She replied. “But the way he recorded his message, if he recorded it all, it was just. . . it didn’t feel recorded. You know what I’m saying?”
    Elise turned to face Sean, her eyebrows knit in a perplexed arch. “What if it wasn’t a message. What if he could actually see us?”
    Sean scratched the back of his head, feeling a cold breeze nip at the edge of his hair. “Is that possible?”
    “I highly doubt that.” interjected Percy, raising a thin and prominent finger. “There were no alarms, Elise. If he were here, really here- even if he were in a gaseous like form-gridlock would initiate and we would have one big mess on our hands.”
    Percy’s eyebrows were the only part of his face that could be seen above his laptop screen. “I swear on my life that he wasn’t here.”
    “You guys have gridlock? What happened to the gridlock when we were being attacked?” Sean chuckled nervously, staring in wonder at Percy. “We closed the door. How come you didn’t lock this place down before the bamofets and that cloud giant could get in?”
    Percy frowned at Sean from over the ridge of his laptop screen.
    “The depository was already in lockdown.” Percy’s fingers stopped typing, his voice the only sound in the foyer. “Once we closed the vault door, gridlock initiated. But they broke through anyway. The loading bay’s now off limits and no longer safe.” Percy looked back down at his screen, his fingers clacking away.
    “This proves just how powerful an adversary the Angel of Death is. It takes a lot of physical and magical strength to break into this place.” Percy waved a hand above his head, gesturing vaguely to all of the depository around him. “This foyer and the adjoining three hallways are our last defense. It is exceedingly more secure than the back entrance at the warehouse, but still. . . we all have more than a reason to worry.”
    Everybody was silent for a few seconds, each one of the group looking at Percy, and then at the three halls next to them.
     “That’s not very helpful, Percy.” Tryss said, looking at Percy over Lance’s bulk.
     “Well, I’m sorry if I’m being frank.” Percy replied, leaning forward and glancing at Tryss over the screen of his laptop. “But if we’re screwed, I’ll be the first to let you guys know.”
     Sean perked up, raising his eyebrows at the three Vanguard members on the couch. “Well?” Sean asked, his voice expectant. “Are we screwed?”
     Percy paused before responding. Glanced up at the blackened sun light dome above him. Shrugged apathetically.
    “Not yet.” he said. “At least, not that I know of.”
    “To your previous question, Elise. . .” began Smyth sitting straight in his seat and giving Percy a hard stare. “. . .is that the Angel is ninety percent intimidation. He loves to play mind games. He wants us to quiver in fear, or at least, cast a shadow of doubt in ourselves and our objectives. I’ve seen many message arrows before, and the one I saw tonight behaved authentically.”
    Elise shook her head, looking down at the ground.
    “It was still disconcerting.” She mumbled through her pouting lips. “It’s either that he knew just exactly when to react to what we were going to say, or. . .”
    Sean glanced over at Elise, sighing. His hands were planted on the armrests of his couch firmly.
    “I think Smyth’s right, Elise. Don’t try to blow a brain cell overthinking this.”
    Elise’s cheeks flushed and she stood, glaring at Sean.
    “You know nothing about this. You don’t even believe that magic is real!” Elise said, her bottom lip twitching. “Why are you even here?”
    Everyone’s eyes were on Elise. She stared at Sean, then glanced all around at the group. Everyone stared at back. Elise mumbled something inaudible, took one last look at Sean, and then walked quickly out of the foyer, one hand against the side of her face.
    “What did I say?” Sean frowned, staring behind over his shoulder at Elise and then back at Smyth.
    Lance said. “You’ll have to excuse her for her strange behavior. Considering what just happened fifteen minutes ago in the warehouse, any normal human being would be resting in a hospital hooked up to life support in a coma. But she’s different.”
    Sean nodded slowly, a slow up and down tip with his chin.
    “The Medallion.”
    “Yes. It’s what keeps her alive.” Tryss said vaguely, her full attention on the retreating figure of Elise walking towards the Medieval Hallway. Then she stood up, excused herself, and followed after Elise. Sean looked away from Tryss and turned his gaze back at Percy.
    Percy said. “The first day she got the Medallion, she met the Angel of Death.” He scratched the back of his head, looking at Smyth and Lance. Percy added. “In fact, that was the first day the Angel got his mask.”
    Sean frowned at Percy. “And when was that?”
    Percy responded quickly without hesitation. “Seventeen ninety-eight.”
    “What?” Sean replied, closing his eyes, his brow scrunched in a muddled expression. “But Elise. . . she’s clearly not that old.” Sean looked around at the group. At Lance. He stared back, expressionless. Percy kept typing away, his face somber. Smyth nodded sagely, his wrinkled hands propped on one knee.
    Sean shook his head, leaning forward. “Whatever, man. Whatever. This world of magic is going to take a lot to get used to.”
    Lance said. “You don’t have to get used to it. But don’t for second ignore it.” The big man’s voice dipped low into a growl as he added, “Because once you do, that’s the day you get killed.”
    Sean raised his eyebrows, moving several inches back in his couch cushion. “Okay, then, Mr. Ominous. Thanks for-yeah, thanks of the advice. I’ll keep it right next to my heart.”
    Staring at Lance took Sean all of his effort not to look away. Once he did, the hulking mass of the man moved up and off the couch. Lance said as he walked away, “I see you’re taking all of this very seriously.”
    Sean bit his lip, watching Lance move out of the semicircle of couches and out of the foyer. Lance’s hulking form moved to the entrance of the museum. Sean then looked at Smyth and Percy who were getting up too.
    Sean stared up at them. Percy glanced once or twice down at Sean as he kept his laptop, stuffing it back into his rucksack. Smyth took his hands out of his longheld clasp and stretched.
    Looking up at them, Sean sighed, deflating.
    “I’m just. . . really stressed out right now, guys. About my family.” Sean said, switching his gaze in between Percy and Smyth. “Can you help me get them back?”
    Smyth stared at Percy, who was adjusting both shoulder straps. Percy looked at Smyth, and nodded.
    Smyth looked back down at Sean and said. “Of course we’re going to get your family back.”
    Percy added. “I already have a plan formulated and fleshed out.” Then he squinted off in the distance, canting his head a bit. “Well, sort of. But I’m sure we’ll make it foolproof once we’re in the planning room.”
    Sean frowned, standing. His heart began to rise with his hopes as he managed a smile of gratitude. He asked said. “Planning room?”
    “Yes. Also known as the war room, on occasions such as this.” Smyth replied, picking up the message arrow with thumb and forefinger. He weighed it in one hand and then gave it to Percy. Percy took it, and smiled at Sean.
    “We’re going to get your family back. And make the Angel pay. Two birds with one stone.”