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Description
Night Fall

Black.  Black and White.  Black and white and red.  Black, white, red... Red.  Red blood.  Drip. . .
Black.  Black symbols, bindings, tattoos.  Ties, warps, leashes.  Black within black.  Writhing, crawling, closing.  Faster.  Clawing, tearing, rending.  Black, black...  and white.
White.  Searching, running, fighting.  Losing.  Lost...  Drip, drip, drip...  Red, red blood.  Ptk, ptk, ptk... Rosary beads scatter.  A child weeps.  Claws savage.  Black against black.  Black, white, red.  Black, white, red.  Faster, stronger.  Unseen, trap laid.  Black shade, white dumpster, red brick.  Alley.  Tp, tp, tp.  Run, flee, escape.  Black claws, white grin, red blood.  Drip, drip, drip...  Blood on concrete.  Ptk, ptk, ptk.  Blood on wood and silver and steel.  On pentacle, cross, and hands.  Red on white.  Red, white, black.  Black, white, red.
Red.  Prayer lips stilled.  Gaping wounds weeping.  Still, still body.  Drip, drip, drip...  Cards riding wind.  A fedora falling.  Large brown eyes.  Staring without seeing.  Broken, shattered, lost.
Black, white, red.  Black, white, red.  Black, white, red.  Black...

Oleos' eyes shot wide as his body started awake, gasping.  His greedy lungs sucked the cool night air as he stared at the dirty orange city glow streaked across his ceiling and waited for his body to settle.  All cold sweat and tingling with needles in his brain, nothing seemed real or solid.  It was all he could do to lay still in his cottony swirling world until everything equallized and made sense again.  Eventually, his heartbeat slowed, his muscles relaxed, and the images started to fade as usual.  He could move; he could breath.  Then he blinked.

Images in his mind, blood and bile on his tongue.  He bolted out of bed.

Joshua, who had taken to sleeping on his couch more often than not since their night at Resonate, found him on the bathroom floor, praying to the porcalein goddess.  The man yawned and stretched while he waited for his client to finish, "You alright, kid?"

Shaking and pale, Oleos cleaned himself off, spit and flushed before answering, "No.  I... I just Saw someone die."

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Night at D-Goods was a quiet affair.  Not much in the Business District stayed open for witching hours and those left in the know had recently developed a healthy affinity to privacy.  The only soul, other than the owner himself, was one, Sister Justina Moriah, who was currently perusing some of the store's rarer merchendise.  Though the Nun seemed rather engrossed in the dusty, motheaten tome, Darius Orzen wasn't really expecting a sale.  She'd thumbed through his entire collection with equal interest and he knew she didn't exactly have cash to blow, but she did have good intentions.  Besides, if he was honest, he was more than happy for the company.  With a little hum, the habited woman closed the book and stood frowning vacantly down at the leatherbound, stained, torn, and battered, but otherwise unremarkable back cover.

"Something wrong?" He leaned on the counter, easy and calm, bringing her closer to eyelevel.

Startled out of thought, the young Nun smiled, "Not at all.  Simply fascinating."

"I'd thought you'd know all this already," he chuckled, gesturing to his small collection.

"Hardly.  Magic is like philosophy in many respects, there are always more ways to approach it."

Darius mimicked what he considered her lecturing voice, "And knowledge is power."
Returning the volume, she replied without even a glance, "All I know is I know nothing."

"Really, Sister, Plato?"

"Many of the early Church scholars traded on Plato, Darius," she informed over a scholarly smirk, "You should read Thomas Aquinas."

The shopowner barked a laugh, "More like tread on Plato."

"Oh, very good," the Nun happily ceded, "We should play chess."

"Later, maybe.  I was thinking about heading out," he stood, stretching wide behind his counter.

The Sister checked the clock, "So early?"

Darius shrugged, "Something tells me no one's going to care and I kind of wanted to drop in on Donovan, see how the Crescent is holding up."

"Has something else happened?"  The young woman fiddled with the rosary at her belt, her nervous tell as he'd come to know it.

"No, nothing like that," he assured, waving her down, "Their just taking precautions, laying low, cleansing, warding.  Apparently, you're not the only one that can batten down the magical hatches."

That won a laugh, "Speaking of which, I suppose you planned on seeing me back to Morgan's since it's co conveniently on your way."

"You don't miss a beat," Darius admitted, busying himself with the register.

"You're not terribly subtle," the Nun informed him as she pitched in to straighten up the nigh untouched store.

"Subtlty takes a backseat to safety in my book, Sister," he cheered, stowing his paper work and locking his small office.

Shaking her head at him, she sighed, "As much as I do appreciate your gallantry, Darius, I'm afraid I must decline.  I had a thought and there's no time like the present."

"A thought?"

She was zoning out again, "Mmhm.  I was considering a little necromancy.  If I remeber my city history correctly, there might be a couple corpses in All Saints Cemetary worth questioning.  And it's past time I checked in with Father Miller, anyway."

"Priests and corpses?  You running out of live people to ask?"

"No, but it seems like time to come at the problem from a different angle," she sucked lightly at her lip, eyes still distant as her mind buzzed, "Chasing shadows at night in a city is like chasing a whisper in a gale."

"Except these whispers are hunting you, too," Darius reminded, tapping her on the nose, "Don't forget that."

She smiled and grasped the hilt of her sword, "I won't.  Tell Morgan I'll be there tomorrow to watch Saeran for her as I promised.  Just keep in mind that you're vulnerable, too, Sir knight."

Darius flex as he held the door open, "Please, what's going to try anything wihle I've got these guns?"

'What, indeed," she laughed, then reach up and traced a cross over the man's heart, "God keep you, Darius Orzen."

He smirked, locking the doors, "You too, Sister."

As he headed off, the little nun crossed herself, muttering quick, rythmic prayers.  The cross glowed gently in the air, then faded and she smiled, heading on her way with a satisfied sighed, hand on hilt.

The Business District at night was near hypnotic, lulling in its ponderous silence.  The few that actually resided there, generally in apartments above shops, and even the occassional bar, seemed suppressed by the overarching slumber of the area after closing.  Like a tomb, holding consumer treasures, most didn't dare trespass for fear of security and phantoms.  The Nun found it infinity intriguing usually, but tonight she fell into the lull easily as her brain worked.  One hand worked the wooden bead at her waist while the other one played absently over the hilt of Saint Joan's sword.  She smiled subconsciously as she passed the small clothing store she'd realized was selling enchanted clothing.  She had meant to ask Darius about it, but that could always wait.

"Help!  Please, you have to help!"  The shout snapped Moira from her musings to see a dark figure flagging her from beside a parked car at the mouth of an alley.  The headlights flooded the light into the small space, bouncing off moist brick and shiny white dumpsters.

She hadn't taken two steps when a door banged open behind her, and she spun, sword halfdrawn.  A young man was sprinting toward her, "Sister, wait!"

"Please!  Someone's being attacked!" And the man streaked through the headlights and into the alley with Moira right behind, sword in hand.  The alley was shallow, meeting the block's true alley at a 'T'.

In the intersection, the man stood watching her, smirking, "Oh wow, battle Nun, huh?"

"Who needs help?" Moira asked, scouring the alley for trouble, before blinking back to the bald and shirtless tattooed man in confusion.

He quirked an eyebrow as the shadows started to writhe and crawl in their places, "Really?"  The tattoos started to writhe sympatico with the shadows, runes taking shape and morphing, ink running through the man's aura.  He grinned at her dawning realization, "You do, Sister."

Then it was black.

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"Oleos!" Joshua was limping after him, but he couldn't stop.  If he stopped, he'd think about this and that...  No, he had to run.  The cool, dark night pricked bare skin under the coat; the cards bit into his hand.  He rounded the car, saw the shadows, the grin, the nun.  No time to stop.  And black.  He hit something warm and soft and solid; something cold and sharp and powerful hit him.

"Fiat lux!"  The world flashed white, dizzying, blinding white.  Everything screamed.  Then it was gone.  Back to plain old, light polluted back alley of NC.  The tattooed man had crumpled in the intersection, covering his eyes and screaming.  It took him a while to realize he was being spoken to and a bit longer to realize he was being held upright.

"Are you okay?"  The woman frowning up at him with the tenderest concern.  Snapping out of it, he checked himself, finding only one of the toggles on his coat broken.  He breathed a quick prayer to the Archangel.

"Amen," the Nun added, smiling at him.  He blinked at her, at her large brown eyes.  Black, white, red.  Drip, drip, drip.  A shadow behind.

He looked away quickly, brushing away her hand, "I'm sorry."

"What for?"  Something seemed to call her attention and she turned away, "Hold that thought a moment."

She walked further into the alley where, he now realized, the tattooed man had stopped screaming.  Their attacker was now struggling to his feet against the grimy back wall, groping wildly and knocking into boxes and trash cans.  She stopped a few feet from the man, though it was still far too close for Oleos' taste.

"Are you alright, sir?"  She asked, just as sweetly as she'd asked him moments before.  The Spaniard couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"What the hell is she doing?" Joshua sputtered from beside him.

He jumped, "How long were you there?"

"Never mind that, what the hell is she up to?"

The Nun had moved closer, sword resting against her shoulder, "I'm asking if you need help."

"I think you fucking blinded me, you bitch," the tattooed mage snarled, tripping over a pile of soiled old newspaper in a vain attempt at a lunge.

"The light hurts when you've been so long in the dark, but it shouldn't be permanent at such a short interval," she offered, genuinely hopeful.

The tattooed man spit in her general direction, "I'm going to kill you, whore."

She didn't seem particularly phased, pressing on, "Please, would you tell me about those markings?"

"That girl's crazy," Joshua grumbled, brushing past Oleos and stalking toward the end of the alley.

"These markings mean your death," the mage called her more bad names, which she weathered with the same disinterest.

Joshua reached her just then, grabbing her sword arm, "We shou--"

"Look out!" Oleos heard himself shout and knew he was too late.  A shadow had slunk from the wall just around the corner and sprang at the pair.  The Nun twirled faster than he thought possible, shuving Joshua out of the way.  Claws sunk into flesh with a snkt, slamming the woman's small frame back against rough bricks, pinned her there.  She screamed, the mage laughed.  And then she slashed the thing clean in two.  It evaporated like so much mist with a howl and the Nun crumpled.  The mage had melted into shadow in the rukus and Joshua was tenderly getting to his feet.  Oleos didn't know what to do, but stared and breath so that he didn't pass out.

"Oleos," Joshua called.  The detective made his way to the Nun's side and managed to get her sitting against the wall, "Oleos, get over here!"

Shaking, he picked his way slowly up the alley.  Joshua was trying to get the woman to come around and she just started to stir when the kid made it to them.  Her eyes fluttered back open, suppressing a groan as each new breath hitched.

"Easy, easy," the detective was crooning, oddly tender.

Hearing his voice seemed to trigger something in her memory as she clutched his hand, "Are you hurt?"

The ex-cop snorted, "Not a scratch.  Now stop it, take it easy."

She sighed, leaning back with only the smallest hiss, "Don't worry, I'm fine."

"Fine," Joshua parroted incredulously.  He surveyed the blood mess that had been her left shouler, then tore some of the bilows of fabric away.  She hissed sharply as the air hit the three jagged holes oozing crimson from her pale skin.  "That doesn't look fine."

She craned her neck to see, checking it with a critical eye, "Nothing major, just flesh.  Use my sleeve to bandage it."

"That's major," joshua protested, "You need a doctor."

She actually laughed, "I'll be fine.  We need to get moving before they regroup.  Underestimating the adversary twice is illadvised."

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They were walking.  Yet another thing Oleos found he couldn't rightly believe.  He had neither spoken to, nor taken his eyes from the woman beside him since they'd exited the alley.  She had refused to head for the hospital, claiming she knew somewhere closer and better. Unfortunately, it was in the East Side.  She'd simply rigged up a sling from her belt, secured her roasary bout her left wrist, and proclaimed once more that they should clear out.  Joshua had refused to let her go alone, and Oleos hadn't wanted to stay behind, alone, in his apartment, across the street from that alley.

The woman was watching the street, but smiling warmly, "You're a Seer."

He blinked and looked at his feet when he realized she'd addressed him, "Yes.  I mean, I see things, Sister Justina Moriah."

She beamed at him, "I prefer Moira."

"Little Mary.  But that's not right either, is it, Bice?"  He asked, keeping his voice low.

The Nun stopped and he stopped with her, finally looking into her shocked, large brown eyes, "I knew you were powerful, but..."  She trailed off, then swallowed and stared desperately into his eyes,  "Please, promise to never say that name again."

Black, white, red.  Drip, drip, drip.  He looked away, "I promise."

she started them walking again before the Detective noticed,  "Your name's Oleos?"

He nodded, "Oleos Medina."

"Spanish," she commented, then added, "Beautiful."  He fidgeted against the arguable compliment and didn't reply, so she continued, "Who's your friend?"

"Joshua Kaine," he offered quietly, very aware of Joshua's turned back.

The Nun hummed, "Joshua's a good name.  It's really very fitting.  A good name for a good man."

"You two talking about me?" The detective throw over his shoulder.  Oleos flinched.

The Nun chuckled, "Only in the best possible way."

The man halted, rounding on the wounded Nun.  His leg was obviously starting to wear on his nerves and Oleos took a step back and away from the woman's side, "Now listen, miss.  You saved my life and I'm grateful, but just where are we going?"

Moira nodded resolutely, "To my Order's Convent.  We'll be safe there."

Oleos blinked, "The Convent?  But that's a myth, just stories.  There aren't really Nuns there anymore."

"I stand as proof otherwise," she riposted easily enough.  And he knew she was right, he'd just not really considered the meaning of it.

"Proof to what?  What stories?"  Joshua cut in.

Moira suddenly started watching about them more keenly, "That I'm a Nun that does magic, Mister Kaine.  Now we should keep moving, I think."

"Wait, wait, wait," Joshua started, only to be cut off.

"I really must insist as the shadows have started squirming again," she pointed with her sword as a shade slunk across a far wall.

"I was wondering when you'd figure that out?" the mage's familiar voice sang from somewhere close, but unseen.

"Run," Moira whispered, pushing the men back toward the bridge they'd been heading for.  "Run!"

They broke away together, Oleos hearing Moira roaring a command in some ancient language as a parting shot, "That should by us some time."

"Oleos, you're faster," Joshua finally puffed out, agony plain on his face, "Just go, kid!"

He was shocked, couldn't respond, but a spark of defiance flared in him.

"He's right," Moira concurred, pale faced, but otherwise fine, squashing his intended rebellioin, "Get on the bridge.  Make the river glow."

He nearly stopped dead in his tracks, "I can't."

"Yes you can," she flatly refuted, "Because you have to."

"I can't," he persisted.

She caught Joshua as he stumbled with her bad arm and stared into Oleos' eyes, "Out in the open, we're dead.  We need light, we need a barrier, we need a funnel point, and you're it, Oleos.  Go."

"Go!" Joshua echoed.  With one last look between the two, he sprinted ahead with the hounds on hell on his heels.

Moira watched him run off into the night, then started off with the Detective.  They hobbled along together in pain and silence for some long minutes before they reached the bridge and she stopped.

"What are you doing?" Joshua asked.

"Go on," she instructed without pausing.  She cut the bandage away with her sword, revealing her blood soaked arm, then proceded to take the blood and draw on the road.

The detective panicked, "What the hell are you doing!"

"Laying a trap," she explained.

Joshua couldn't decide whether to be horrified, outraged, or simply wordless, "How?  Your arm--"

"I'm blocking the pain signals," she answered as though on autopilot, scribing furiously in her own blood, "Risky, but now's the time for risks."

"Oleos, will come through," Joshua tried as a means to dissaude her from whatever idiocy she'd devised.

She stopped, surveying her work and pushing Joshua back a few steps with her.  Finally, she nodded and smiled at him, "I know.  I'm counting on him."

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Oleos couldn't breath, but he'd made it.  Blood was pounding in his ears as he collapsed in the middle of the road on the highest arch of the bridge and stared at the deck still miraculously in his hand.  He had to force himself to unclench his fist, but once he'd shuffled, the dexterity returned as only necessity could make it.  Pent, pent pent for water and wands for light.  This would work, this had to work...  God, please let this work.

Description
Night Fall

Black.  Black and White.  Black and white and red.  Black, white, red... Red.  Red blood.  Drip. . .
Black.  Black symbols, bindings, tattoos.  Ties, warps, leashes.  Black within black.  Writhing, crawling, closing.  Faster.  Clawing, tearing, rending.  Black, black...  and white.
White.  Searching, running, fighting.  Losing.  Lost...  Drip, drip, drip...  Red, red blood.  Ptk, ptk, ptk... Rosary beads scatter.  A child weeps.  Claws savage.  Black against black.  Black, white, red.  Black, white, red.  Faster, stronger.  Unseen, trap laid.  Black shade, white dumpster, red brick.  Alley.  Tp, tp, tp.  Run, flee, escape.  Black claws, white grin, red blood.  Drip, drip, drip...  Blood on concrete.  Ptk, ptk, ptk.  Blood on wood and silver and steel.  On pentacle, cross, and hands.  Red on white.  Red, white, black.  Black, white, red.
Red.  Prayer lips stilled.  Gaping wounds weeping.  Still, still body.  Drip, drip, drip...  Cards riding wind.  A fedora falling.  Large brown eyes.  Staring without seeing.  Broken, shattered, lost.
Black, white, red.  Black, white, red.  Black, white, red.  Black...

Oleos' eyes shot wide as his body started awake, gasping.  His greedy lungs sucked the cool night air as he stared at the dirty orange city glow streaked across his ceiling and waited for his body to settle.  All cold sweat and tingling with needles in his brain, nothing seemed real or solid.  It was all he could do to lay still in his cottony swirling world until everything equallized and made sense again.  Eventually, his heartbeat slowed, his muscles relaxed, and the images started to fade as usual.  He could move; he could breath.  Then he blinked.

Images in his mind, blood and bile on his tongue.  He bolted out of bed.

Joshua, who had taken to sleeping on his couch more often than not since their night at Resonate, found him on the bathroom floor, praying to the porcalein goddess.  The man yawned and stretched while he waited for his client to finish, "You alright, kid?"

Shaking and pale, Oleos cleaned himself off, spit and flushed before answering, "No.  I... I just Saw someone die."

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Night at D-Goods was a quiet affair.  Not much in the Business District stayed open for witching hours and those left in the know had recently developed a healthy affinity to privacy.  The only soul, other than the owner himself, was one, Sister Justina Moriah, who was currently perusing some of the store's rarer merchendise.  Though the Nun seemed rather engrossed in the dusty, motheaten tome, Darius Orzen wasn't really expecting a sale.  She'd thumbed through his entire collection with equal interest and he knew she didn't exactly have cash to blow, but she did have good intentions.  Besides, if he was honest, he was more than happy for the company.  With a little hum, the habited woman closed the book and stood frowning vacantly down at the leatherbound, stained, torn, and battered, but otherwise unremarkable back cover.

"Something wrong?" He leaned on the counter, easy and calm, bringing her closer to eyelevel.

Startled out of thought, the young Nun smiled, "Not at all.  Simply fascinating."

"I'd thought you'd know all this already," he chuckled, gesturing to his small collection.

"Hardly.  Magic is like philosophy in many respects, there are always more ways to approach it."

Darius mimicked what he considered her lecturing voice, "And knowledge is power."
Returning the volume, she replied without even a glance, "All I know is I know nothing."

"Really, Sister, Plato?"

"Many of the early Church scholars traded on Plato, Darius," she informed over a scholarly smirk, "You should read Thomas Aquinas."

The shopowner barked a laugh, "More like tread on Plato."

"Oh, very good," the Nun happily ceded, "We should play chess."

"Later, maybe.  I was thinking about heading out," he stood, stretching wide behind his counter.

The Sister checked the clock, "So early?"

Darius shrugged, "Something tells me no one's going to care and I kind of wanted to drop in on Donovan, see how the Crescent is holding up."

"Has something else happened?"  The young woman fiddled with the rosary at her belt, her nervous tell as he'd come to know it.

"No, nothing like that," he assured, waving her down, "Their just taking precautions, laying low, cleansing, warding.  Apparently, you're not the only one that can batten down the magical hatches."

That won a laugh, "Speaking of which, I suppose you planned on seeing me back to Morgan's since it's co conveniently on your way."

"You don't miss a beat," Darius admitted, busying himself with the register.

"You're not terribly subtle," the Nun informed him as she pitched in to straighten up the nigh untouched store.

"Subtlty takes a backseat to safety in my book, Sister," he cheered, stowing his paper work and locking his small office.

Shaking her head at him, she sighed, "As much as I do appreciate your gallantry, Darius, I'm afraid I must decline.  I had a thought and there's no time like the present."

"A thought?"

She was zoning out again, "Mmhm.  I was considering a little necromancy.  If I remeber my city history correctly, there might be a couple corpses in All Saints Cemetary worth questioning.  And it's past time I checked in with Father Miller, anyway."

"Priests and corpses?  You running out of live people to ask?"

"No, but it seems like time to come at the problem from a different angle," she sucked lightly at her lip, eyes still distant as her mind buzzed, "Chasing shadows at night in a city is like chasing a whisper in a gale."

"Except these whispers are hunting you, too," Darius reminded, tapping her on the nose, "Don't forget that."

She smiled and grasped the hilt of her sword, "I won't.  Tell Morgan I'll be there tomorrow to watch Saeran for her as I promised.  Just keep in mind that you're vulnerable, too, Sir knight."

Darius flex as he held the door open, "Please, what's going to try anything wihle I've got these guns?"

'What, indeed," she laughed, then reach up and traced a cross over the man's heart, "God keep you, Darius Orzen."

He smirked, locking the doors, "You too, Sister."

As he headed off, the little nun crossed herself, muttering quick, rythmic prayers.  The cross glowed gently in the air, then faded and she smiled, heading on her way with a satisfied sighed, hand on hilt.

The Business District at night was near hypnotic, lulling in its ponderous silence.  The few that actually resided there, generally in apartments above shops, and even the occassional bar, seemed suppressed by the overarching slumber of the area after closing.  Like a tomb, holding consumer treasures, most didn't dare trespass for fear of security and phantoms.  The Nun found it infinity intriguing usually, but tonight she fell into the lull easily as her brain worked.  One hand worked the wooden bead at her waist while the other one played absently over the hilt of Saint Joan's sword.  She smiled subconsciously as she passed the small clothing store she'd realized was selling enchanted clothing.  She had meant to ask Darius about it, but that could always wait.

"Help!  Please, you have to help!"  The shout snapped Moira from her musings to see a dark figure flagging her from beside a parked car at the mouth of an alley.  The headlights flooded the light into the small space, bouncing off moist brick and shiny white dumpsters.

She hadn't taken two steps when a door banged open behind her, and she spun, sword halfdrawn.  A young man was sprinting toward her, "Sister, wait!"

"Please!  Someone's being attacked!" And the man streaked through the headlights and into the alley with Moira right behind, sword in hand.  The alley was shallow, meeting the block's true alley at a 'T'.

In the intersection, the man stood watching her, smirking, "Oh wow, battle Nun, huh?"

"Who needs help?" Moira asked, scouring the alley for trouble, before blinking back to the bald and shirtless tattooed man in confusion.

He quirked an eyebrow as the shadows started to writhe and crawl in their places, "Really?"  The tattoos started to writhe sympatico with the shadows, runes taking shape and morphing, ink running through the man's aura.  He grinned at her dawning realization, "You do, Sister."

Then it was black.

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"Oleos!" Joshua was limping after him, but he couldn't stop.  If he stopped, he'd think about this and that...  No, he had to run.  The cool, dark night pricked bare skin under the coat; the cards bit into his hand.  He rounded the car, saw the shadows, the grin, the nun.  No time to stop.  And black.  He hit something warm and soft and solid; something cold and sharp and powerful hit him.

"Fiat lux!"  The world flashed white, dizzying, blinding white.  Everything screamed.  Then it was gone.  Back to plain old, light polluted back alley of NC.  The tattooed man had crumpled in the intersection, covering his eyes and screaming.  It took him a while to realize he was being spoken to and a bit longer to realize he was being held upright.

"Are you okay?"  The woman frowning up at him with the tenderest concern.  Snapping out of it, he checked himself, finding only one of the toggles on his coat broken.  He breathed a quick prayer to the Archangel.

"Amen," the Nun added, smiling at him.  He blinked at her, at her large brown eyes.  Black, white, red.  Drip, drip, drip.  A shadow behind.

He looked away quickly, brushing away her hand, "I'm sorry."

"What for?"  Something seemed to call her attention and she turned away, "Hold that thought a moment."

She walked further into the alley where, he now realized, the tattooed man had stopped screaming.  Their attacker was now struggling to his feet against the grimy back wall, groping wildly and knocking into boxes and trash cans.  She stopped a few feet from the man, though it was still far too close for Oleos' taste.

"Are you alright, sir?"  She asked, just as sweetly as she'd asked him moments before.  The Spaniard couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"What the hell is she doing?" Joshua sputtered from beside him.

He jumped, "How long were you there?"

"Never mind that, what the hell is she up to?"

The Nun had moved closer, sword resting against her shoulder, "I'm asking if you need help."

"I think you fucking blinded me, you bitch," the tattooed mage snarled, tripping over a pile of soiled old newspaper in a vain attempt at a lunge.

"The light hurts when you've been so long in the dark, but it shouldn't be permanent at such a short interval," she offered, genuinely hopeful.

The tattooed man spit in her general direction, "I'm going to kill you, whore."

She didn't seem particularly phased, pressing on, "Please, would you tell me about those markings?"

"That girl's crazy," Joshua grumbled, brushing past Oleos and stalking toward the end of the alley.

"These markings mean your death," the mage called her more bad names, which she weathered with the same disinterest.

Joshua reached her just then, grabbing her sword arm, "We shou--"

"Look out!" Oleos heard himself shout and knew he was too late.  A shadow had slunk from the wall just around the corner and sprang at the pair.  The Nun twirled faster than he thought possible, shuving Joshua out of the way.  Claws sunk into flesh with a snkt, slamming the woman's small frame back against rough bricks, pinned her there.  She screamed, the mage laughed.  And then she slashed the thing clean in two.  It evaporated like so much mist with a howl and the Nun crumpled.  The mage had melted into shadow in the rukus and Joshua was tenderly getting to his feet.  Oleos didn't know what to do, but stared and breath so that he didn't pass out.

"Oleos," Joshua called.  The detective made his way to the Nun's side and managed to get her sitting against the wall, "Oleos, get over here!"

Shaking, he picked his way slowly up the alley.  Joshua was trying to get the woman to come around and she just started to stir when the kid made it to them.  Her eyes fluttered back open, suppressing a groan as each new breath hitched.

"Easy, easy," the detective was crooning, oddly tender.

Hearing his voice seemed to trigger something in her memory as she clutched his hand, "Are you hurt?"

The ex-cop snorted, "Not a scratch.  Now stop it, take it easy."

She sighed, leaning back with only the smallest hiss, "Don't worry, I'm fine."

"Fine," Joshua parroted incredulously.  He surveyed the blood mess that had been her left shouler, then tore some of the bilows of fabric away.  She hissed sharply as the air hit the three jagged holes oozing crimson from her pale skin.  "That doesn't look fine."

She craned her neck to see, checking it with a critical eye, "Nothing major, just flesh.  Use my sleeve to bandage it."

"That's major," joshua protested, "You need a doctor."

She actually laughed, "I'll be fine.  We need to get moving before they regroup.  Underestimating the adversary twice is illadvised."

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They were walking.  Yet another thing Oleos found he couldn't rightly believe.  He had neither spoken to, nor taken his eyes from the woman beside him since they'd exited the alley.  She had refused to head for the hospital, claiming she knew somewhere closer and better. Unfortunately, it was in the East Side.  She'd simply rigged up a sling from her belt, secured her roasary bout her left wrist, and proclaimed once more that they should clear out.  Joshua had refused to let her go alone, and Oleos hadn't wanted to stay behind, alone, in his apartment, across the street from that alley.

The woman was watching the street, but smiling warmly, "You're a Seer."

He blinked and looked at his feet when he realized she'd addressed him, "Yes.  I mean, I see things, Sister Justina Moriah."

She beamed at him, "I prefer Moira."

"Little Mary.  But that's not right either, is it, Bice?"  He asked, keeping his voice low.

The Nun stopped and he stopped with her, finally looking into her shocked, large brown eyes, "I knew you were powerful, but..."  She trailed off, then swallowed and stared desperately into his eyes,  "Please, promise to never say that name again."

Black, white, red.  Drip, drip, drip.  He looked away, "I promise."

she started them walking again before the Detective noticed,  "Your name's Oleos?"

He nodded, "Oleos Medina."

"Spanish," she commented, then added, "Beautiful."  He fidgeted against the arguable compliment and didn't reply, so she continued, "Who's your friend?"

"Joshua Kaine," he offered quietly, very aware of Joshua's turned back.

The Nun hummed, "Joshua's a good name.  It's really very fitting.  A good name for a good man."

"You two talking about me?" The detective throw over his shoulder.  Oleos flinched.

The Nun chuckled, "Only in the best possible way."

The man halted, rounding on the wounded Nun.  His leg was obviously starting to wear on his nerves and Oleos took a step back and away from the woman's side, "Now listen, miss.  You saved my life and I'm grateful, but just where are we going?"

Moira nodded resolutely, "To my Order's Convent.  We'll be safe there."

Oleos blinked, "The Convent?  But that's a myth, just stories.  There aren't really Nuns there anymore."

"I stand as proof otherwise," she riposted easily enough.  And he knew she was right, he'd just not really considered the meaning of it.

"Proof to what?  What stories?"  Joshua cut in.

Moira suddenly started watching about them more keenly, "That I'm a Nun that does magic, Mister Kaine.  Now we should keep moving, I think."

"Wait, wait, wait," Joshua started, only to be cut off.

"I really must insist as the shadows have started squirming again," she pointed with her sword as a shade slunk across a far wall.

"I was wondering when you'd figure that out?" the mage's familiar voice sang from somewhere close, but unseen.

"Run," Moira whispered, pushing the men back toward the bridge they'd been heading for.  "Run!"

They broke away together, Oleos hearing Moira roaring a command in some ancient language as a parting shot, "That should by us some time."

"Oleos, you're faster," Joshua finally puffed out, agony plain on his face, "Just go, kid!"

He was shocked, couldn't respond, but a spark of defiance flared in him.

"He's right," Moira concurred, pale faced, but otherwise fine, squashing his intended rebellioin, "Get on the bridge.  Make the river glow."

He nearly stopped dead in his tracks, "I can't."

"Yes you can," she flatly refuted, "Because you have to."

"I can't," he persisted.

She caught Joshua as he stumbled with her bad arm and stared into Oleos' eyes, "Out in the open, we're dead.  We need light, we need a barrier, we need a funnel point, and you're it, Oleos.  Go."

"Go!" Joshua echoed.  With one last look between the two, he sprinted ahead with the hounds on hell on his heels.

Moira watched him run off into the night, then started off with the Detective.  They hobbled along together in pain and silence for some long minutes before they reached the bridge and she stopped.

"What are you doing?" Joshua asked.

"Go on," she instructed without pausing.  She cut the bandage away with her sword, revealing her blood soaked arm, then proceded to take the blood and draw on the road.

The detective panicked, "What the hell are you doing!"

"Laying a trap," she explained.

Joshua couldn't decide whether to be horrified, outraged, or simply wordless, "How?  Your arm--"

"I'm blocking the pain signals," she answered as though on autopilot, scribing furiously in her own blood, "Risky, but now's the time for risks."

"Oleos, will come through," Joshua tried as a means to dissaude her from whatever idiocy she'd devised.

She stopped, surveying her work and pushing Joshua back a few steps with her.  Finally, she nodded and smiled at him, "I know.  I'm counting on him."

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Oleos couldn't breath, but he'd made it.  Blood was pounding in his ears as he collapsed in the middle of the road on the highest arch of the bridge and stared at the deck still miraculously in his hand.  He had to force himself to unclench his fist, but once he'd shuffled, the dexterity returned as only necessity could make it.  Pent, pent pent for water and wands for light.  This would work, this had to work...  God, please let this work.