***LUCA***

I can't believe I'm seeing this. It's my big sister, in the flesh, for the first time in two years. (Since it's now Saturday, the sixth of June, that literally makes it two years to the day, actually.) The last time I saw Mattia, she'd gotten into a fight with Mom and Dad the day before her eighteenth birthday, all because she wanted to take advantage of being a legal adult and move out of the house. I didn't blame her - not with the way they always appeared to look down on her, because she'd had the audacity to lose her virginity to a boy she'd known and loved for quite some time. If I were in her shoes, I would have done the same thing. Run away at the first chance, that is.

Seeing her now, not much has changed. Well, she's no longer dressed like she's ready to go to church at any time - without Mom and Dad to run interference on her preferred fashion choices, it seems she's ditched the plaid schoolgirl dresses (knee-length, not those ridiculously skimpy parody versions strippers seem to like) and plain sweaters in favor of skinny jeans, a vintage Members Only jacket, and a Chili Peppers T-shirt that looks a size or two too big for her. I laugh under my breath as I remember the way she'd once complained about her old wardrobe - "Only Gwen Stacy can get away with wearing this crap," she'd said.

But her default expression - a mischievous smile that edges into smirk territory - is still the same. Not to mention she's still wearing the jade ring Nonna got her in Chinatown for her sixteenth birthday. And she's wearing the same perfume she's had since before she went to Balthazar, a stupid melon-scented thing she found at Hollister or someplace.

"Aren't you gonna-" Mattia begins. Before she can finish her question, though, I answer it for her with a huge hug. "Are you...are you trying to choke me to death or something?" she laughs. I let go of her, and she looks up at me. Well, sort of - we're not that far apart in height, because she's a bit tall for a girl and I'm a bit short for a guy. "Oh my God, when did you beat me?"

"Maybe about a month ago," I say. "I think that's when I finally passed five-seven."

"Well, you must've gotten Mom's genes there too," Mattia says, ruffling my famously curly hair. "'Cause unless you got another growth spurt left in you, I'm thinking this'll be your final height."

"Don't remind me," I laugh, blushing. "God...you know how much I hate you for up and leaving like that?"

Mattia's smirk grows even more dangerous. "Oh no. No, no, no, no, no - you are not gonna give me the cry. No crocodile tears today!"

Kensi snorts into her cup of coffee - I really hope it's decaf at this time of night. "I thought you two would be adorable together, but this?"

"Jesus, you make it sound like they should be together together," Paul says, grimacing at the thought.

"No, I'd rather he be together with me," Kensi says, winking at me over her cup.

Slow your roll, my friend. The thought drifts out of my brain lazily, and she reacts accordingly, frowning and blushing. In the background, I hear Gideon snort into his own coffee cup.

Eager to get off this lovey-dovey subject, I turn to Paul and ask, "So where's Aron? Didn't let him come play with the big boys and girls, huh?"

Paul shakes his head and downs about half a flaky pastry of some kind. Not a sweet one, a savory one - I can see ricotta cheese falling out from inside it. After he swallows his bite, he says, "Yeah, Aron fought hard to get to come with me again - but this time, Dad actually held him back so he wouldn't follow me through the portal."

"The portal? " I ask, confused for a moment. Then I remember Alex (and also Gideon, at some point) telling me about the Terminal and how it could be accessed through the basement at Paul's house.

"It, uh, wasn't pretty," Paul says, rolling up his sleeves and looking at a set of faint pink lines on his skin. "Who knew Aron could kick and scratch like that? I think the kid needs to trim his fingernails."

"You sure?" Russell asks, stretching his arms and then folding his hands behind his head. "You should see the dog we used to have back home. If she scratched you after she'd had her claws clipped, it'd be worse that way."

Mattia cracks her knuckles loudly. "Now that we're all here and reunited, can we do what you brought us all here for?" she asks, knitting her eyebrows at Russell.

"Which is what, exactly?" I ask. "Something wild and crazy and dangerous to minors, I hope."

"Otherwise it wouldn't be worth it," says Gideon.

Russell nods, then folds his hands on the table. "All right, how many of you guys have been watching the news?"

"Well, other than the bombing in Phoenix, not really," I say. "That's all they've been talking about."

"Today, anyway," Russell says. He reaches down to a messenger bag sitting on the floor next to his seat and pulls out a tablet. Once he turns it on, the screen shows an SFGate news article, with this headline: "SF Bay Tour Boats Not Suspending Service Despite Severe Terror Alert."

"That's stupid of them," Paul says, sneering at the screen as he glances at it over Russell's shoulder.

"Yeah, no kidding," Kensi says. "What, is the tour of Alcatraz too precious a resource to give up?"

"You're originally from Earth?" Mattia asks. When Kensi nods, she adds, "It's not much different around here, I'm afraid. Other than the fact that we can all fly, and the sky's a different color, and there's more devoutly religious types-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Kensi says with a lazy hand-wave.

Russell shrugs and opens up Google Maps, zooming in on Pier 33. It's been a long time since my family went to Alcatraz, but I vaguely remember that being the location of the Alcatraz Ferry landing.

"Our sources say that Holly's planning to start his attack on San Francisco with a boat bombing," he says. "Specifically, the Alcatraz Ferry. We don't know exactly when the bomb's planned to go off, but it's apparently already in place, and our source says it'll very likely happen sometime tomorrow. That is, Saturday. Which is now today, actually."

"Question," I say, holding up a single finger. "Who are your sources?"

"That's for me to know and you to never find out," Russell says with an awkward laugh. "No, seriously - you wouldn't believe me if I told you, and if I did, my source would kill me for breaking their confidentiality."

"I already tried asking him myself," Paul whispers. "Got nothing out of him either."

"He won't even give us so much as the source's gender," Gideon pipes up.

"Yeah, 'cause that would give too much away," Russell says, glaring at Gideon until he actually scoots back, his chair scraping against the tile floor. "I'm sorry, guys, but you're gonna have to live with me not telling you everything. Just the shit you really need to know, you understand?"

I don't really like this darker side of Russell. Yeah, I know darkness is his elemental, but still, when he gets this intensely business-like, it's really scary. I can almost see black sparks forming in his eyes - oh no, wait, that's just me being creeped out. Or is it?

In any case, Russell backs away and clears his throat, trying to get the mood back to something a little more in the neighborhood of normal. As much as you can do that when talking about a plan to defuse an evil interdimensional terrorist's bomb, that is. "So, uh, the mission. We're not gonna have to go all Jack Bauer on some poor hapless mook of Preston Holly's-"

"What if we do wanna go all Jack Bauer, though?" Gideon asks, perking up and looking oddly hopeful.

I make my voice as deep as I can possibly get it while shouting, "Where is the football?"

Mattia snorts at me. "Can anyone tell me why quoting movies is such a guy thing?"

"24's a TV show," Kensi points out, "but I get your point."

Russell cracks his knuckles the way Charlie Sheen does in Ferris Bueller. He doesn't have to actually say "Back on topic, please," for us to get the meaning. "Okay. Well, maybe there'll be at least one mook, but with luck, they'll be pretty easy for me to disorient with my power. A little of this" - his fingertips are covered in darkness, and when he wipes them on the table, they leave behind long black streaks which make me think of pastels or charcoal or something like that - "goes a long way."

Kensi whistles as Russell wipes clean the mess he just made. "You know, there are a few humans who have that same power. I remember I met one not long before I died. He was a real cutie, this dude - Harry Morgan, his name was."

"Like the dad from Dexter?" Russell asks.

"Uh-huh," Kensi says. "That's another TV show, Mattia, in case you didn't know." As Mattia rolls her eyes, Kensi presses on, adding, "But his Dark power - and we capitalize the word Dark here, 'cause that's what we do when talking about warlocks on Earth - anyway, his was a bit different from yours."

"I've heard it's different, yeah," Russell says. "Mostly in the texture. Dark-powered warlocks have really sticky energy signatures, and we dark scrivs have 'em more like a powder."

That explains why I was thinking about pastel, I think to myself.

"Exactly," Russell says, pointing his finger at me. "Scriv energy does look like pastel powder, I think. But sticky or dusty, they're equally good for climbing walls Spider-Man style." He runs his napkin over his hand once again, then crumples it up and throws it away. "But that's not what I'll be doing today. Instead, I'll be sneaking up on the guards - whatever guards are there, anyway - and getting the drop on them. If I can."

"What do you mean, if?" I ask.

"It could be that they won't be so easily fooled by my usual tricks," Russell says. He reaches down into his bag and pulls out two objects - a glasses case and a squished Warriors ball cap.

"Your usual tricks being that you dress and act like a drunk-off-your-ass college student?" Mattia asks.

Russell cracks a grin as he sticks his glasses into the case. He looks really strange without them - especially because his eyes look smaller. I think that means the glasses must be real, so I ask, "Are you gonna be able to see clearly?"

"Well, I'm not gonna put my contacts on in front of you guys," he says with a shrug as he takes the container for those out of his bag as well. "Unless you wanna be disturbed by the sight of me putting things in my eyes?"

"I can handle it," I say. "I've seen Marco do it enough times."

Mattia blinks in surprise. "Marco wears contacts now? How long have I been away again?"

"He got 'em not long after you left," I say.

Paul nods as he remembers it too. "I was pretty surprised, coming back for junior year and seeing old Spex-Master without his trademark horn-rims."

Mattia pounds the table as she laughs. "You guys really called him 'Spex-Master?'"

"He's not kidding," I say.

Russell uses the camera on his tablet as a mirror so he can put his contacts on properly. Then he pounds the inside of the Warriors cap to unsquish it and jams it onto his head, bill pointing to his left. "This is the straight side, right?" he asks.

"What?" Gideon asks, raising his eyebrows.

"You know," Russell says, waving his hands at his cap. "'Left is right and right is wrong?' That's how it works, right?"

Comprehension dawns on Kensi's face, and she laughs out loud. "Oh wow. No, no, no. I mean, you got it right, the 'left is right' thing, but...but that's for ear piercings!"

Russell hides his face in embarrassment. "Oh God. I'm sorry! I didn't know!"

"You know about Jack Bauer, but not about this sort of thing?" Mattia asks incredulously. "Jesus, whoever taught you about life in our 'verse needs their money back."

"It just doesn't come up very often," Russell groans.

Paul pats Russell's shoulder. "Stop trying to justify it, dude," he says. "We don't expect you to know everything about Prime 'Verse culture. Hell, I bet none of us know everything either."

"Thanks, but..." Russell's voice trails off, and he turns away from everyone else as he sheds his hoodie, revealing a red rugby shirt with white stripes underneath. "Okay. Let's get on with it."

"Get on with what?" Kensi asks.

"Yeah, we still barely know what the hell we're doing," I say. "Are we all gonna sneak on board the boat and look for the bomb?"

"Not all at once," Russell says, getting up and handing the bag to Mattia. "You look like you'd have more use for this."

"Okay," she says, taking the bag and gazing at it with a suspicious eye. "I guess I could carry your man-purse for a while."

"You make it sound like I'm a seahorse and that's what I carry my eggs in," Russell says with a snicker. "But yeah, it wouldn't make sense for me to carry it, not with the character I'm playing."

"A drunk jackass?"

"Yeah," Russell laughs, adjusting his cap. "A drunk jackass...who can still fly at night. Stay closely on my six, guys. Or my five, or my seven. Just follow my lead." He ambles out of the café, walking a bit like a rapper - or like Chappie pretending to be the "Illest Indestructible Gangsta Number One, Son!" Or whatever it was that skeevy South African dude kept calling him. Alex remembers that movie better than I do.

"Did you say we're gonna be flying?" Paul asks. I've got the same question on my mind. I don't know about Russell, or even Kensi, but I'm pretty sure none of the rest of us have miraculously developed enhanced night vision. Of course, now that we're in the city, everything around us should be well-lit enough that we can manage, but still, flying after dark is a seriously bad idea, especially for young and inexperienced angels like me, Gideon, Paul, and Mattia.

"Shouldn't be that hard for you," Russell quips. He holds the door open for all of us as we leave the station, then he unfurls his wings slowly before rising into the air.

It only then occurs to me that because his wings are black, he'll be extremely hard to follow. So I suggest to the others, Let's stay behind Kensi. She'll be easier to spot.

Good point, Mattia thinks back. Out loud, she lets Kensi know about this idea, and she wholeheartedly agrees.

"God knows I'll have a tough enough time following Russell myself," Kensi says.

"I can hear you, you know," Russell says. He flaps over to a streetlight and hangs upside down from it. "So now I'm gonna challenge you. See if you can follow me now!" He detaches himself from the light and flies up - way up, almost out of sight. Just about all I can see of him is a light-blue Warriors-cap blur as he takes off at high speed.

"Dammit," Kensi groans. She spreads her own wings - when they catch the light, the white feathers are so shiny that they nearly blind me. They practically provide their own light, allowing her to serve as a beacon for us to follow. A better beacon than Russell can be, anyway.

We don't fly all the way up to Alcatraz Landing. Instead, Russell has us stop a little short of our destination. We're now at Pier 27, which was redone a few years back when America's Cup was in town. My family, we'd made the mistake of planning a trip to the Exploratorium and Pier 39 that summer. Dad swore never to drive in that kind of traffic again - which meant our next visit to the city was by train. (Not on the wing - considering Mom and Dad's middle age, that's pretty much out of the question.)

"All right," Russell says, sliding his wings back under his shirt and walking backwards for a moment so he can look at us. "Like I said, follow my lead. I'm gonna start laughing like I've just heard the most hilarious joke ever told - which, if you want an idea, involves a Russian who's been told the guillotine is broken, so he asks to be executed by firing squad - and you're gonna go along with that. Then just stand back and let me get to work."

"If you say so," I mutter.

"Yeah," Russell says, turning around so he can see where he's going. "Just so you know, though - my laugh can be pretty obnoxious. You've been warned."

A few minutes later, we reach the sign for Alcatraz Landing. Beyond a locked gate are a number of ferry boats - three, to be exact - and a dark-suited night guard on each one, standing under lampposts for maximum visibility. Russell then proceeds to explode with laughter, exactly like he'd told us to expect - loudly and obnoxiously - and despite myself, I'm the first to follow suit. In between busts of his gut, he jerks his thumb at the gate and says, "H-Hey, do you guys...you think they got a bathroom in there?"

Not sure where this is coming from, I start laughing for real as a stupid, and disgusting, idea comes to mind. "No duh, man," I say. "It's called...it's called San Castiel Bay!"

Russell gets my point, and his eyes glitter in anticipation. "Oh yeah," he says. "Come to daddy!" With that, he launches himself over the gate and sticks the landing on the dock. The sound of his sneakers hitting wood attracts the attention of the guards, who swivel their heads practically in unison like some kind of herd animals.

When they hear him unzip his pants, they spring into action, yelling stuff like "Hey!" and "What the fuck?"

They also severely underestimate his ass-kicking skills. These, he puts to good use by ducking away from them as they approach him, then kicking their ankles and shins until they all tumble into the chilly brackish water below.

Then we hear Russell give an ecstatic sigh, and the already-groaning guards start making noises of disgust.

"Is he really...?" Paul turns to look at the scene again, then sticks out his tongue in revulsion. "Oh my God!"

"He's actually pissing on them!" Gideon cries before he falls over laughing.

The girls groan loudly, with Kensi in particular looking like she wants nothing more than to puke her guts out.

"You're a sicko, man!" I yell through the gate.

"I know!" Russell calls back. Once he's done relieving himself - I still can't believe he actually had to go number one - he walks over to us and holds out his hand. "Mattia, there's some Purell in my bag. Toss it over to me, please?"

"I think I speak for everyone," Mattia grumbles as she roots around in Russell's bag, "when I say that you ought to be drowned in this shit."

"That's a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy," Russell says, taking the Purell after Mattia eventually finds it. "Well, maybe Preston Holly."

After he cleans his hands, he waves us all through the gate. Because it's still locked and chained shut, we're forced to fly over it like he did earlier. Kensi actually has a bit of trouble doing so - which doesn't surprise me. Being a human originally, she undoubtedly hasn't learned how to control her wings as well for short hops like this. Long flights are the first things we learn to do with our wings, then hovering, then more aerial gymnastic-type shit. Mattia's the best one at it out of the four of us, not counting Russell. Paul, Gideon, and I aren't as graceful as either of those two, but being athletic helps.

Russell looks at all three boats, then says in an undertone, "Okay. Paul, Kensi, take the last boat. Luca and Mattia, you'll look on the second. Gideon, join me on the first. We'll all meet on the first boat when we're done with the others. We gotta search all three - it's possible more than one may have a bomb."

"Good idea, us splitting up," Paul says. "But maybe if one of us covered the first boat alone?"

"Not you, if that's what you're suggesting," Russell says, shaking his head. "'Cause you're a land elemental, which puts you at a serious disadvantage on a boat. Same with you, right, Gideon?"

Neither guy responds. Instead, they follow their assigned defusing partners.

Mattia and I climb onto the second boat. The doors leading into the interior are all locked for the night, but we're able to burn our way through them with our elementals. I've always wondered exactly how elemental powers work - Marco took an Elemental Studies class at Balthazar last year, but it's college-level stuff, hella advanced. He strongly advised me against taking it myself, because he was barely able to handle the course load himself and still maintain his usual straight A's. And since I'm more of a straight-B student myself, I was only too happy to take his suggestion.

The only way I can think to describe it is that if there's an external source of fire, I can move it with my mind, like it's a solid object and I'm telekinetic. Alex has a different way of describing his own water elemental - to him, all water is an infinity of buzzing wires waiting for him to make them into a sort of framework. Me, I never got the wire sensation, but I've noticed something pretty similar - to me, fire feels like clay that needs a shape. But there's also internal fire, which is really cool because it's the only angelic-slash-demonic elemental that doesn't require an external source to use. Internal fire is also called "bloodfire," because it's created when we raise our blood pressure - and by extension, our body temperature - enough for a certain oil in our hands to combust. That's what Marco tells me, anyway. As a result, we fire elementals tend to develop high blood pressure in our old age. Dad's a prime example, but he likes to joke that it's just the downside of enjoying a lifetime of delicious Italian cooking.

"So," Mattia says, interrupting my thoughts. "Where do we start looking?"

I cross my arms as I survey the room around us - we've found ourselves in the bar. "If I were a block of plastique, where would I hide?"

"Who says it's plastique?" she asks, crouching and peering underneath the tables one by one. "Maybe it's just a big metal box with a giant LED timer on it."

"Sure it is." I cross over to the bar itself. "I would...probably hide with the most flammable items on board." I reach behind the bar and grab a bottle of wine - Merlot with some Napa Valley label. "Is 2014 an excellent year, I wonder?"

"You still watch all the crime shows?" Mattia asks, moving on to her fourth or fifth table - I've already managed to lose count. "Blue Bloods and shit?"

"And Grimm," I chime in. "Among others."

"Well," Mattia drawls, "all that crime show knowledge should have taught you to not leave your fingerprints anywhere."

"Oh shit, you're right!" I nearly drop the bottle in my haste to wipe it clean with the hem of my shirt, then return it to its rightful place.

Click. "Hello, kids," says the voice of one of theguards. I know it's one of them because there's a sudden sharp stench ofmingled bay water and scriv piss filling the room. "Turn around slowly, and maybe we'll let you go with a warning."