Chapter 18

    
   
Sean jolted awake.
His heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wing beat. His eyes focused in and out, his mind losing all perspective of time and space. A kaleidoscope of colors invaded his vision with flashes of piercing white and inky blackness at the edges of his sight. Sean leaned forward in a slouched sitting position. He felt his knees come up to his chest. He was still wearing his tattered clothes; Sean could feel the rips and holes in his jacket and pants. Even though he couldn’t see, Sean could sense he was sitting on some kind of cot. His ears were ringing slightly with the sound of high-pitched bells. Sean swallowed, then coughed, a foul odor floating over his tastebuds. He smacked his lips and blinked rapidly, trying to regain his vision. He quietly sat there with his hands wrapped around his legs, waiting, staring ahead at a dull palette of colors mixing together.
Behind the veil of the ringing in his ears, Sean heard voices muttering far away. It sounded muffled, yet distinct, as if the two speakers were standing in a hallway outside of a room where Sean was.
The first voice lilted into where Sean lay on his cot.
“. . .has a minor concussion, although aside from some minor injuries, he’s fine.”
“It’s a miracle.” Sean recognized that voice. It was Smyth. Smyth was here. Sean breathed in deeply, putting his hands down to steady himself on the cot. It felt thin and a bit unstable as it rocked slightly as Sean shifted his weight. He swung his lungs over and down. He noticed he no longer wore boots. His feet were bare. They touched cold marble, the freezing touch causing Sean to flinch. His left ankle and thigh felt hard pressed even though nothing was on it. It ached really bad. Sean touched his face, his fingers scraping against a large bandage covering his upper left temple. That’s where he had fallen down after punching the Angel of Death. He remembered; he had lost consciousness. Or fainted. Sean wasn’t sure which.
The voices floated into the room again, Smyth’s voice more loud this time.
“What do you mean you’re not sure?”
The first voice responded, worry creeping into his words. “The effects of umbriaticus can’t be so easily spotted as of right now. It takes at least a full year until the subject can be tested, but even then-”
“A full year?” Smyth raising his voice, then repeated in a lower tone. “A full year? Why does it take so long to diagnose?”
Sean cocked his head, blinking rapidly. The combination of colors had gone away now, replaced by only two colors. His sight was becoming more detailed, but it was still fuzzy. All he could see now was a blurry rectangle of light, which he assumed was light spilling from the cracks of a closed door.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Smyth, but that’s just the way things are.” The first voice concluded in an air of finality. “The young man is lucky to be alive, considering he did after all release enough malevolent energy to debase ten men into a puddle of acid.” The first voice and Smyth’s voice faded away as Sean heard the subtle clicking of shoes on marble floor.
    The first voice responded. “We just don’t have the technology as of now to analyze the effects of something as ancient as this.”
    “None of that makes sense,” Smyth replied, his voice being drowned out by the incessant whine in Sean’s ears. Sean took a step closer to the door, his warm bare feet treading across the cool marble floor.
“How is that even possible. . ?”
    The voice of the old curator finally diminished into obscurity, him and the first male voice retreating farther away from where Sean was. Putting a hand firmly against the wall next to the door, his hand searched for a lightswitch. Finding nothing, he decided to open the door. Light from the rectangular crack exploded into shards of light that pierced Sean’s eyes. He covered his face with the back of his hand, wincing as he pulled the door wide open. He cleared his throat, realizing his throat was parched. After he regained his vision, he blinked several times, finding that he could see in detail again. In fact, everything he saw was vivid. Things he saw looked more. . . alive. The hallway was empty. To Sean’s left was a corner that bent out of sight and to his right was a dead end, a vase filled with brightly colored flowers sitting atop a table. The fluorescent lights gave the petals of the flowers underneath its glare a brilliant shine finish. Sean turned around, feeling his mind go numb just looking into the pasty white hallway.
    With the light spilling through the doorway, Sean could see the room he had been put in. The room was small, but not small enough that you couldn’t fit two cars parallel inside the space. From what Sean could see by the light coming from the doorway, inside the room lay four cots. The first cot Sean could see was the one he had walked out of. The second and third he could see shadowy forms of bodies sleeping. When he walked in further, he saw that they were his mother and sister. The fourth cot was closest to the light from the doorway. In the fourth cot lay Elise. Her back was turned to him, and Sean could see a long diagonal slash in her camo-green outfit. It started at the top of her left shoulder coming short at the small of her back. The gash in the clothing was widened, and Sean could spy the white of bandage dressing underneath. He padded over to her side, looking down at his chest. No Medallion.
    He stepped around and looked at Elise’s face. Dark rims of gray pockmarked the spaces beneath her eyes. Her entire face was white as a sheet. Her chest moved up and down in slow increments, as if breathing was a conscious effort for her while asleep. Sean gazed over her numerous cuts and bruises covering the skin that showed, and hoped that she would be fine. But then his worries were comforted when he spied a faint shine of gold glowing from the folds of her hoodie.
    He turned around and visited his mother and sister. They were just as shoddy as he had seen them last. Minor cuts. A bit more obvious bruising this time. But nothing much changed. They both looked completely worn out, like a used hand towel. He decided not to wake them.
    “Sean.”
    Turning around quickly, Sean’s eyes flitted all over the room. Then his eyes landed on Elise. She was looked back at him, her slumped silhouetted against the backdrop of light filtering through the doorway, her head moving up. Elise dropped her head, abandoning the effort. She let out a low groan, her voice rattling in her throat.
    “What time. . . is it?”
    Sean moved over to Elise and sat down in his cot. It was barely ten feet away from the others, all four temporary beds set at four points of a perfect square. Sean drew a breath, then let it all out.
    “Heck if I know. My phone got destroyed. . . what? A hundred years ago?”
    In the darkness, Sean thought he saw the faintest glimmer of a smirk crease her lips. She adjusted her side position and lay flat on her back, grunting, and then staring up at the low ceiling above her. She sniffed and wiped at her nose, snorting.
    “That’s nothing,” she muttered, her eyes half closed. Sean felt around inside of his mouth with his tongue, the distasteful odor still lurking in between the crevices of his teeth. Sean scratched the back of his head.
    He said. “Oh, right. You’re like, three hundred years old, right? I almost forgot.”
    Elise turned her face to look at Sean. She scoffed. “Three hundred years? What do I look like to you? Dead?”
    “Well,” Sean shrugged, his hands out in a vague gesture. “Percy said you were from the seventeen hundreds.”
    “Two hundred and thirty eight.”
    “What?”
    Elise reverted her gaze back at the ceiling. “Two hundred and thirty eight. That’s how old I’ll be tomorrow.”
    Staring at Elise, frowned. “Wow. That’s. . . wow.”
    “Really old, right?”
    “That’s an understatement,” replied Sean, chuckling. “Whatever. Anything seems possible now, with all this magic stuff.” He put his elbows on his knees, his gaze on his mother’s face and then his sister’s. He said. “It’s been a crap weekend.”
    “Yep.” Elise said matter-of-factly, closing her eyes.
    Sean wanted to ask her questions. He still felt left in the dark with just about everything else he had experienced tonight. What had Smyth and the other man been talking about? They had been talking about him, Sean knew that much. Apparently according to their discussion, Sean had a disease of some sort? That sounded about right, by the way they had been conversing. What kind of disease had the man said it was? Sean closed his eyes, trying to remember. His brain felt squandered of power, like a muscle that was straining with too much weight. When he found the word, he accidentally said it out loud.
    “Umbriaticas.”
    Elise’s head came up and she stared at him. “What did you say?”
    Sighing, Sean rubbed his eyes with the palms of his eyes.
    “I overheard Smyth and some dude talking about me in the corridor outside.” Sean stared at Elise. The worried expression painted on her shadowed features didn’t relieve Sean. He said. “They said I got it by smashing the Angel of Death’s mask.”
    Elise raised her head slightly. Sean realized it had begun as a nod, but she had stopped halfway, tilting her head back on the cot. Her lips were drawn in thin, fine line.
    She frowned. “That’s not good.”
    “You mind telling me why?”
    Elise swallowed. Gulped. She closed her eyes and hesitated for a few seconds, considering her reply. Then she answered Sean, her tone grave and solemn as the shadows that covered the room they were in.
    Elise said. “Umbriaticas occurs when the victim-patient, I mean, when the patient is subjected to large amounts of dark energy.”
    “Dark energy?” Sean said, skeptical. But with his luck and with how the past night had progressed, anything could be better than this. “What do you mean dark energy?”
    When Elise didn’t answer, Sean whispered. “What the heck is this dark energy, Elise? Tell me!”
    Her eyes dropping from his gaze, Elise turned her face back to the ceiling. She stared at it as if it were a sword hanging above her, its blade pointed at her throat. She spoke in a monotone voice, devoid of emotion.
    “It’s like a curse. But umbriaticas is much worse, since no one knows what the curse is, until a full year has passed since the curse has entered your system.”
    “It sounds more like a disease than a curse,” commented Sean, his eyes feeling like sandpaper rubbing against the inside of eyelids. Elise shook her head.
    “It’s worse than a disease. It’s worse than anything you’ll ever meet or see or experience in your entire life.”
    Sean stared at Elise, then at the ground. He could see his hands were shivering. Shaking, really.
    He said. “Thanks, I definitely needed to hear that. Yes, thank you for those beautiful details.”
    “I’m sorry, Sean,” Elise replied, her gaze on him. “I really am. But I can’t do anything for you.”
    Sean frowned, looking at his mom and sister. Then he stared at Elise.
    “Don’t worry about me,” Sean said, giving her a half grin that turned into a grimace. He stood, wobbling until her regained his balance. He looked down at Elise. “You get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
    “Not. . . really. . .” Elise’s voices wandered off as her eyelids ever so slightly closed. She was clutching tightly at her Medallion underneath her ragged clothing. The light from the doorway lengthened the shadows on her face, making her expression look more haggard. Pretty soon she was asleep.
    “Great,” Sean muttered to himself, his hand scratching the back of his head, neutralizing an inch that had started at the base of his neck and now trickled down the length of his spine.  “Just great.”
    An unknown curse that only revealed itself a year after the infection? What kind of curse was that? Sean didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. The 7-Eleven, Harry in the apartment, the museum, mainstreet, all the events jumbled inside Sean’s mind in a confused heap. The mere thought of just trying to make sense of a curse made him yawn. In fact, he did. His head drooped slowly downwards, his brain was shutting down. He was so tired, he didn’t even feel his head hit the cot.

    A cramp in his neck woke Sean from his slumber.
    His eyes snapped open. He felt more awake this time, more energetic. Yet, somehow Sean felt he had only slept for no more than an hour. His inside clock suspected it was still night time-well, actually, early morning. Maybe six or seven. Sean sat up and looked around. The room was lit up now by four recess lights mounted in the ceiling. Now that he could see, Sean noticed at the end of the room farthest from the door’s entrance were two glass cabinets holding pills, bandages, and bottles labeled with miniscule print. Sean guessed this was the museum’s ‘medical bay’. Sean looked at his family sleeping fitfully on their cots. His mother snoring while Emily tossed and turned. Whatever spell they had been under hours ago was beginning to wear off. Elise’s cot was empty. Sean walked over to it, examining it. There were blood stains covering the space where she had once lay, and Sean could smell a pungent odor of sweat and grime in the air. Wrinkling his nose, Sean got up, surprised that he was feeling more balanced. More aware. He felt like he could do a backflip. This weekend was getting weirder and weirder.
    Sean left behind the sound of slumber of the medical room and shut the door behind him. The hallway was empty. Sean was still in his bare feet, he hadn’t found any article of clothing in the room. So he decided to go find Elise. To find Percy. Even Lance or Tryss. Anybody that could tell him what was going to happen now. Somebody to tell Sean he and his family could go home.
    Sean rounded the corner and came face to face with a door. He opened it and stepped out, his feet chilled to the touch by more freezing marble. Closing the door behind him, Sean saw that he was in the foyer of the museum, near     the entrance. He turned around and looked at the sign on the face of the door.
     It read: NO ADMITTANCE. EMPLOYEES ONLY.
    Sean wondered why it wasn’t labeled as it really was, a medical ward or something like that when he turned around to a noise behind him.
    “Hey! Hey you!”
    Sean located the speaker. He looked down the entrance hallway and at the T intersection of the museum. The person shouting at him stood a few feet away from the gathering of the cream and vanilla colored sofas and couches. Only Sean couldn’t see the sofas or couches. What he did see, however, was a circle of white folding tables. Electronics, computers, screens, cables, and wires sat atop the tables. It was a jungle of metal software. It looked like Percy had emptied out all the electronic equipment from the Vanguard van and set it up at the intersection.
    Stepping forward, Sean focused on the speaker in the foyer hallway. The person was about Sean’s height, and as he got closer, Sean saw that the stranger looked young. In his early twenties or late teenage years. His brown hair was close cropped at the sides, short at the top, same haircut as Lance. The guy was dressed in regular Vanguard garb, except he wore a black plate carrier on his chest. Sean noticed he wore no firearm at his sides.
    “Yes!” the man said, noticing he had gained Sean attention. “You there! Come here.”
    Sean looked over his shoulder, frowned, and padded over to the man, uncertainty plastered on Sean’s face. The man stopped midway in the hall, and Sean met him there, standing ten feet away.
    “Your name,” the stranger said clearly, his voice carrying a slight Irish brogue. When Sean didn’t reply, the stranger repeated it again, louder this time. “What is your name?”
    “Sean,” replied Sean, scrutinizing the man in front of him. The stranger did so as well, small, calculating brown eyes scanning every inch of Sean. They came up and examined Sean’s face.
    Then the man came forward, extending a hand. “Medraut. Captain Geoffrey Medraut, Alpha team leader.” The captain came alongside, gesturing for Sean to walk with him. Sean accepted the invitation, albeit wary. Something about this guy made Sean. . . uneasy. Something was definitely off with Medraut, but Sean couldn’t put his finger on it. Captain Medraut stared at Sean, his eyes turning into slits, a friendly smile on his face.
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your last name.” Medraut said. “What was it?”
    “I never told you,” Sean replied, looking ahead at the intersection filled with fold out tables. It looked like gathering for twenty gamers and their computers. Sean could even see a few bags of chips behind screen monitors and cans of what looked like beer on top of some of the computer desk modules.
Medraut let out a calm chuckle. “You’re right. You didn’t. It would help if you did, though.”
“Knite.” Sean said plainly, turning to the captain. “My last name is Knite.” He watched the other man’s face. For a split second, Sean thought he saw the captain’s cool and collected expression falter a bit, like a person suddenly tripping over a stone. But then Medraut simply wiped at his face, and blinked rapidly.
“Sorry,” Captain Medraut said, rubbing his eye. “The air conditioning in this place always causes my eyes to dry up.” He let out a chuckle. Sean added a nervous chuckle of his own. Sean and the captain stopped in front of the circle of tables.
There were people inside the circle of electronics, typing, talking in low, hushed whispers on landline phones, and even more others were typing. Sean found it similar to the same vague, unclear, and mundane tasks anyone could find at any cubicle of any office in America, except for one thing. Everybody, whether male or female, was over two hundred pounds and wore bulletproof vests, sidearms, and beside every group of three people was position a shotgun. There were about twenty occupants crammed into this moderately large circle of tables, each one laser focused on their own predetermined task at hand. Each person looking like they could run in a crossfit race and win. Each person having their own black ballistic helmets placed at the backs of their chairs, ready to put on at any moment. Each person wore plate carriers, similar to Captain Medraut’s. All of them were armed.
“What the heck is going on?” Sean turned and faced Medraut, glancing back and forth at the array of battle ready office workers and then at the captain. “Where’s Smyth?”
“Smyth is currently waiting for my presence in his office, actually.” Medraut said, walking around the circle of tables and gesturing for Sean to follow. Sean hesitated, a shadow of confusion clouding his face.
“What is all this for?” Sean gestured at the electronic equipment.
“This is Alpha Team,” Medraut said, coming back to where Sean stood and stared along at the twenty men and women at their respective places in the circle. “We were alerted of a danger level threat unheard of in years, right here in the West Coast. We came as soon as we can. This is our head of operations.”
Looking at the smiling captain, Sean nodded slowly, as if he understood. He didn’t. Sean asked. “Where is Delta team?”
“Like I said,” Medraut said, taking Sean’s elbow and leading away from the circle. “They are with Smyth, of whom they are all waiting for us.”
Sean looked back several times at the people typing, talking, and staring away at the circular set up of tables and equipment. He swore one of them made eye contact with him briefly, a smile on the man’s lips. But Sean lost the sight of the man in the jungle of heads and modules and wires. Sean turned back, looked at Medraut hand leading him forward. He shook it off politely, and tried keeping pace with the man. It was like walking next to a cheetah. Like a predator on the hunt.

Sean and Medraut entered Smyth’s office.
Once Sean stepped inside, he felt the animosity before seeing it on the face’s of the people in the room. Team Delta. Lance, Tryss, Percy, and Elise. Smyth stood aloof from the four beside his desk, he leaned on it as if it were his only means of keeping himself upright. Once Medraut entered the doorway, it was as if the captain had just uttered a racial slur. The entire room, which had been already silent, seemed to become even more empty. Not a person moved as Medraut nonchalantly stepped around Smyth, to whom he gave a collegial nod, and stood behind the ornately carved wooden desk. He didn’t waste time.
Captain Medraut slapped both hands on the table. “Report.”
Lance looked at Smyth, his eyes holding an obvious stare of resentment and loathing. He then turned that stare on Medraut. Lance recounted the events of the night, starting with the convenience store, skimming past Harry and the apartment, rolled through the kidnapping of Sean’s mother and sister, and ended with a casualty report. Two total. Harold Deuce and the Angel of Death.
“And where are their bodies now?” asked Captain Medraut, looking down at the desk in front of him. Sean stuck out his neck over Smyth’s shoulder and saw two dossiers stuffed with papers. It was hard to read the titles upside down. The lettering was too small to make out from where Sean stood.
Lance swallowed, paused, and the spoke slowly. “Deuce’s remains are currently being flown to Center Plinth in London. The Angel of Death’s body is being shipped separately on a cargo vessel for further examination and testing.”
Medraut nodded, riffling through papers as if they were a deck of cards, then looked up to face Lance.
“I highly doubt forensics will find anything interesting with the Angel of Death’s body. The only thing that made him special was that mask, and now it’s gone.”
The captain’s eyes snapped over to Sean.
“By you, from what I’ve read.”
Everyone in the room turned and looked at Sean. The young man’s eyes crested over each and every pair of eyes that were pointed at him. He looked down at his hands in front of him. He watched them twitch slightly, shivering as if he were still back on mainstreet freezing to death. He had almost died. But he was here now. In the present. Alive.
“Yes, sir.” Sean nodded, and inhaled sharply.
“I imagine it was difficult for you, and all,” Medraut began, his voice low and steady and his eyes laser focused on Sean. Sean looked down at his feet. At his hands. He couldn’t stop them from quivering so he put them behind his back.
Medraut continued. “With your family being there, I’m sure you were very anxious. And worried.”
“Yes. I was. Sir.” Sean nodded, his eyes vacant and staring forward at the papers on the desk, his eyes not quite focusing properly.
“Then I highly suggest evaluation and conductive healing if necessary,” Medraut gathered the two manila folders together, stacking one atop the other. He straightened the two, tapping them on the desk, and set them down on the far right side of the table. He put his hands down, fingers splayed out on the mahogany desk, and looked every person in the eye as he spoke. The words seemed innocent at first, but as soon as Sean understood what was happening, it chilled him to the core.
“Team Delta, and accompanying third party Custodian Sean Knite,” Medraut’s eyes stared a second longer when he passed his gaze over Sean. “From what has transpired after tonight, Commander Arthur has taken it into his discretion that I be placed under charge of this depository until further notice.”
The room erupted into an explosion of voices. Percy and Lance were speaking loudly, gesticulating wildly at Smyth and at Medraut. Elise was yelling, and Tryss was voicing her opinion in a voice that was drowned out in the clamor. Mordred simply stared at Team Delta, and Sean stared at the old man Smyth. The aged curator simply sat at the edge of his desk, both hands stuffed into the corners of his pockets, his glasses sagging at the end of the bridge of his nose and his eyes solemnly fixed on the carpet.
Smyth craned his neck and looked up at Sean. Sean stared at the old man, and he saw in Smyth’s eyes the look of defeat. Of failure. Frustration. Giving Sean and old, somber grin, Smyth held up his hands. The room slowly died, voice cut off suddenly, everyone’s attention now centered on Smyth.
“I’m sorry, but Captain Medraut’s orders are as he describes.” Smyth sighed, grunting as he stood up off from his desk. “He is taking my place as acting curator and commanding officer here at the depository.”
“How’s that possible?” blurted out Percy, his pale features flushed a tomato red. “That’s against the age old tradition! A curator always has complete domain and commanding authority over his depository! Anyone besides the curator assuming otherwise-”
“Is considered treason, yes.” Medraut held up a finger, nodding and meeting Percy’s gaze. “I know the books and the traditions. My family has made a few installations of their own. But Percy, you have to remember the word ‘tradition’. That’s all it is.” The captain held out his hands, as if there was nothing else he could do. “You’ll see in the books that there is no specific set law or ordinance instating any curator over any depository.”
Percy grated his teeth, his fists clenched at his sides. His face was in the fritz, his left eye twitching like crazy. Lance stood aways back, giving the captain behind the desk a suspicious glare. Tryss and Elise whispered amongst themselves while Sean stepped forward, his hands coming out from behind his back. They stayed still as he spoke.
“Captain,” Sean began, Medraut turning his blinkless gaze on the custodian. “Captain,” Sean repeated. “I thought the threat of the Angel is over. He’s gone now. And Smyth has been doing a good job maintaining this museum so far. So why is he being replaced?”
“It’s under Commander Arthur’s orders,” Medraut said, shrugging. “I have it in script if you would like to see it.”
“Yes,” Sean nodded. “I understand that. I got that part. But what is the reason for this? Why replace Smyth now?”
Captain Medraut let out a wisp of a cough and a laugh. He glanced at the files beside him on the table and then whipped his gaze back up to Sean. Medraut cocked his head inquisitively.
“If I’m not mistaken,” the captain said. “You took the oath of Vanguard just several hours ago, correct?”
Sean nodded.
Medraut continued. “Do you know anything about the Vanguard, Sean?”
“I know they’re very secretive and they like to keep it that way.” Sean gave Medraut a dry smile. The captain returned the expression with a short smile that dropped instantly into a frown. Medraut said. “And do you remember the oath, Sean? The oath you just took barely five hours ago?”
Sean stared at Medraut, not eliciting a response.
Medraut said, “The oath goes as I remember it, and pardon me, as I paraphrase: To keep and defend the International Charter of Byzantium and all that it stands for. To follow and obey orders as given by superior officers-” Medraut held up a finger again, giving Sean a knowing look. “Oh, what was that last one? Obeying and following orders as given by superior offices. Right. And the orders I have from Commander Arthur are as legitimate as your birth records. At least,” Medraut reached into his back pocket, extracting a piece of paper folded into thirds. “I hope so.” He tossed it onto the table, the paper opening itself slowly to the team. Percy and Tryss stepped forward to examine it. Percy held it up to the light and stared at it. It was simple words printed in a simple text on a simple piece of regular old white printing paper. Except the watermark background was that of the Vanguard symbols. A shield with two short swords crossed in front of it.
Percy put it back down at read it, but not out loud. His eyes scanned the page as he and Tryss pored over the paper in extreme interest. Lance just stood back now, his ram rod body not so straight and rigid as usual. He looked slightly deflated, as if someone had just punched him in the gut. Smyth was cleaning his glasses. Elise looked at Sean, who looked back at her in bewilderment.
“What the heck is happening?” Sean whispered to Elise. She just inhaled slowly through her nostrils, glanced over her shoulder at the captain, then looked back at Sean, shrugging.
“Orders defy logic. I’ve seen it in my time, just never something so. . .”
“So? So what?”
“So strange,” Elise stated blankly, he brows in a twist. “The order of events here aren’t right, for some reason.”
“It’s because there isn’t any reason behind any of this,” Sean hissed, pulling Elise away farther from where Captain Medraut stood behind the desk. “I may not have lived as long as you have, and I definitely don’t know enough about the Vanguard, but I just don’t see why-”
“Ward Elise. Custodian Knite.”
Medraut’s voice was low, but it carried through the low murmur in the room. Elise and Sean both turned slowly and stood at attention. Elise a bit less sloppy than Sean, who was just standing straight. The captain gave Elise a complimentary grin that was accompanied by a strange humor hidden in Medraut’s eyes. Sean compared it to the stare of a chess champion making a move, even though he had already won. It was a smug look-a conquering stare. A stare that caused Sean’s spine to crackle with lightning pin pricks.
“Ward Elise,” Medraut repeated. “You don’t mind assessing Custodian Knite here for standard magical evaluation?”
“But captain-” It was Smyth who talked now, putting back on his glasses and turning around to the face Medraut. “There’s really no need, Sean’s has already been-”
“Ward Elise,” Medraut stared forward, his gaze piercing. “Remember who is in charge now.”
Elise nodded, paused, then turned slowly, her eyes switching to Sean. She managed to whisper through the corner of her mouth as she led him with a hand out office.
“Let’s get out of here, now.”
“Be sure to report back.” Medraut said with a flourish of his hand as he looked at the remaining members of Team Delta.
Sean closed the door behind him, his mouth drawn in broad worry line.

    Sean and Elise stood in the middle of the hallway of the Middle Ages exhibit. They stood equidistance from the entrance of Smyth’s office and the shoddy terminal center of Team Alpha at the end of the three way intersection of halls. They were pretty much stuck between a rock and a hard place. Even though the office and the terminal were over twenty yards away, the two still kept their conversation below audible level. The quiet clatter of phones ringing and keyboards typing occasionally rang out down the hallway from the terminal.
    Sean faced Elise, his hand in his hair, his pulse beating like a kettle drum inside his chest.
    “This is all sorts of wrong here,” Sean whispered.
    “What tipped you off? His smile or the way he spoke?”
    “Both, I guess.”
    Elise scoffed, “You haven’t known of him before today. I’ve known of him every since he became Alpha Team leader. And he’s creepy as a ghoul, no matter how nice he seems.”
    Sean frowned. “You think he’s planning something other than curator duties?”
    Elise nodded emphatically. “Oh, most definitely. It’s just what his plans I’m worried about.”
    “Well, what do you think his plans might be?’
    “I don’t, I can’t read his mind, you know.”
    Sean raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you?”
    “I can’t!” Elise threw up her hands. “That’s the thing! I can’t read his mind. He’s like a wooden stump. He doesn’t emit a single thought. I can’t pick up anything from him!”
    “That’s not good.”
    “Exactly.”
    Sean rubbed at his eyes and yawned, realizing he needed sleep. Desperately. But the rush of excited adrenaline that coursed through his body at the moment told him otherwise. His mind was wide awake while his body protested for rest.
    “So.” Sean folded his arms across his chest, his leg bouncing. “What are we going to do?”
    “We?” Elise shook her head. “You are going to get your family and get out of here while you can.”
    Sean made a face. “I don’t think so. I don’t I can without you around. Just look at how they’re all camped out in the foyer. I’d never make it out. I need you. And in doing so, I might as well help you take out Captain Medraut.”
    “Not possible,” countered Elise. “You don’t know a thing about combat.”
    “Doesn’t matter.”
    “But it does-are you even listening yourself right now? Are you even listening to me?”
    “I am. And I’m saying that if I walk out those doors dragging my mother and sister, nothing good can come from that.”
    Elise sighed, looking away from Sean and over her shoulder at the group of men and woman behind the tables and computers in the foyer. She turned her gaze back on Sean and nodded.
    “I’m going to get some supplies. Food. Blankets. Protective wards and trinkets for you and your family. I know a stash Percy keeps at the end of the opposite hallway.” Elise jerked a thumb behind her. Then she jabbed her index finger into Sean’s chest.
    “And you get to safety. Don’t act suspicious; act as if you’re waiting for me to come back to you, because that’s exactly what I’m going to do. If anyone asks, I’m in the bathroom, and you’re waiting for me to come back and complete a conductive evaluation.”
    “What’s that? A conductive evaluation?”
    “A sanity test,” Elise said, showing her golden Medallion. “Except using magic to look for magic.”
    “Oh,” Sean said, thinking about what Smyth and he had been talking to in the hall outside the medical room.
Umbriaticas.
Effects won’t be noticeable until a whole year after infection.
Unknown curse.
“I think I should take that test now,” Sean said, but Elise had already turned around. She gave a blunt wave behind her at Sean, and then she was already headed down the hallway.
Sean followed after her, hands behind his back. He knew a couple of chairs in the lobby that would accept his company. Perhaps they would give him a warm welcome. Sean expected as much. Why not? It had been a long night. It wouldn’t hurt to rest his aching legs.