•••

As much as Rayburn hates staying in one place too long, Crispen hates doing nothing, like he's doing now, pacing outside 1809 Melbourne Way. He can't see inside the house. Much as he tries, Gideon's web of magic stops him from using his magic to spy on what's going on. Instead, he's asked Genesis, to take to the sky, and see if an aerial view can help them attain some new insight on what's happening.

Though Crispen, at this critical moment, is blind to what's going on inside the Auttsley house, he can sense Gideon. He knows the moment his brother sees Peneloper for the first time, as there is an unnatural glee that overtakes Gideon's usual, frigid demeanor. Gideon, feels happiness, true happiness, though he won't let himself feel that way for long. He'll stuff the momentary emotion deep inside himself and try to forget it ever occurred. Much like Gideon had done with all his emotions concerning Crispen. All the happy times they shared prior to the Council's intervention, served Gideon no purpose, and so he pretended they never happened.

If only Crispen could do the same. But, the boy of crows cherished those fond memories of when it was just the two of them, surviving in the voids on the Refracted. The nights were cold and the days were dreary, but they had each other. If he reached out his hand, Gideon's fingers would wrap around it and fill him with a warmth, all the cold, rainy, endless days of despair could never truly dampen.

And now, Crispen waited. For his brother to destroy Peneloper. For Peneloper to destroy his brother. A lose-lose for him no matter how it's viewed.

He crunches gravel underneath his shoes. Beside him, a cross walk blinks that it is safe for pedestrians to cross though the roads are empty and the streets silent. Empty paper bags and abandoned newspapers roll across the streets and parking lots. Lights in the neighboring skyscrapers are all off. Blinds are shut, windows closed and locked tight. The city can feel it's on the precipice of a battle.

Not only can Crispen feel it too, but he hears the exact second Peneloper's magic explodes and the battle commences. And yet, he stands at its fringes, a second stringer that will never be subbed in. Useless in this matter that concerned two of the people he loved most.

Again, and again, he tries to break through Gideon's magic. As Peneloper hurls all she has at Gideon, Crispen thinks the distraction would weaken his wards, but it doesn't, and no matter how much Phil Collins he blasts into his ears, he's unable to cut through all that magic. Where Crispen severs one strand, three more rise up and thicken the bond, making it stronger, impenetrable.

Beside Crispen, Chant shuffles, eyes flitting from the house to the side walk, anxious, and leashed into a role of helplessness. Rayburn plops another chocolate candy in his mouth, fingers extending and retracting at his sides. He's so worried he's unable to control who sees his aura and so Crispen sees it -- the anxious greens, the alighting fear of losing not just one or two people closest to him, but losing them all in one disastrous moment, the insecurity, the annoyance at being sidelined.

Like Crispen and Chant, Rayburn is unable to do anything for the ones he loves.

It's up to Peneloper; it's always been up to her.

Genesis squawks in the distance, reporting his findings though they're nothing of interest. He's as blind in the air as they are on the ground. Crispen frowns. He continues to fight with Gideon's magic, failing again and again, when, finally, a chink in the chain appears. A thin strand of Gideon's magic, not bolstered by other strands, single and alone. Easy prey.

Crispen gets to work, plucking at it, pulling it apart, chiseling away its integrity until--

He looks up. Takes a deep breath. Feels what is to come. The chapter bursts from the front door. It sprints on its footnotes, and huffing, arrives, not one second too soon at Crispen's side.

Its corners are singed, some of its pages burnt, words covered by soot. It flattens against the ground, covers its spine and, telling of the things to come, hunkers for the worst of the worst. 

• Man On The Corner •

Crispen had sensed it before the house erupted and splinters and bits of concrete rained down on them with the fury of a tempest. He felt his brother's malice grow, his magic gaining in size along with it – fueled by rage and a much more muted sadness Crispen had trouble placing a finger on. Though, he knew what caused his brother's pain – Peneloper Auttsley.

As the house turned into a veritable fireball, Crispen reached for the stupid dog's collar, while he stood there mouth agape, drool running down his chin, eyes housing a quizzical expression, and yanked him to the ground. Rayburn was not far behind, raising a hand to conjure a magical shield to protect them from the carnage.

Wood sizzled as fire ravished the house's insides. Blood thundered in Crispen's ears as he inhaled gulp after gulp of smoke and debris. He squinted trying to make out any form. Any at all. Peneloper had been inside. His brother and –

He swallowed as guilt bled into his conscience. He wanted Peneloper alive. He wanted Gideon alive. Opposing sides, one everything good, one representing everything foul, but he wanted them both alive. What a greedy, silly thought. He should have been resolved to sacrifice his brother in order to save Peneloper, the choice should have been easy and yet, Crispen still remembered a time when Gideon was just a boy. A boy who sought out his brother's hand in the dark, who couldn't sleep without knowing Crispen was in arm's reach, who had shown him his heart, the likes of which shone brighter than any star Crispen and his brother managed to capture and can while they resided in the void.

No malice was found in Gideon's eyes then, no blazing hatred, or thirst for revenge. He'd had his magic and, unstable as it was, it made him whole. How could Crispen help destroy that boy? Even if he didn't exist now, he resided in Crispen's mind, and memories were much harder to kill off.

Chant coughed beside Crispen, spittle spattering the sidewalk.

Crispen patted his back. "You okay?"

Ash stained the dog's cheeks, rubble rested in his hair. Hands quivering, he reached up to shake out his hair. "Nell—" He swiveled his head, frantic, panic welling in his eyes. On the verge of tears, he balled his fists and slammed them into the concrete. "Where's Nell?" Blood trickled down his knuckles. "Where the hell is Nell?"

He whirled on Crispen, his back hunched. A ripple ran down his side, his muscles tense and growing. He grabbed Crispen's shoulders and spat, "You knew this was coming." His scowl fixed on Crispen, the boy of crows recognized the dog's desire to transform. Slowly, the green of Chant's eyes turned a dangerous amber. His nostrils flared, his nose extending, rounding out. He sprouted a few whiskers as the first hints of fur appeared on his cheeks.

Crispen threw off the boy's hands. "While I'd gladly take on any of your kind," white streamed out of Crispen's fingers, "Now's not the optimal time, wouldn't you agree?"

A growl rumbled from deep in Chant's gut. "Sarcasm again." He hunkered on all fours, fur running down his forearms. "Nell could be—"

Rayburn pulled the boy back. He fell hard on his butt. Chant howled. "Don't underestimate her, Chantham. Nep, my Nep, comes from a long line of cyclops killers. What's one explosion?"

On the lawn, the smoldering remains of a couch sizzled with dying flames. Beside them, in tattered leather, a boot, half-devoured by flames.

Chant got to his feet, dusting off what he could of the debris that greyed his skin and watched the house. "There's no way," he shook his head, tears on stand by at the corners of his eyes, "there's no way, anyone could—"

Deep agitated breaths. Wheezing, coughs. Footsteps down the stone path. They all turned. Peneloper Auttsley, designated heroine, stomped down the lawn, her sister, and mother in each arm. Her eyes were red and watery, her hair looking as though it'd gotten in a row with a tornado and had every last of its strands beaten down. Purple, faint and in the process of disappearing, illuminated her skin. They were covered in dust and debris, but no blood.

Crispen exhaled a breath he hadn't known he'd been withholding, unconsciously falling into a cliché without his realization. Chant sprinted toward them, the first to come to their aid, and took Carmichelle in his arms. Peneloper flashed him a smile.

Crispen remained still, though he pleaded with his legs to work. Why couldn't he be as unencumbered as the dog? Why couldn't he just go freely to her side and take her hand? Express to her how glad he was that she was safe and that, despite how abysmally embarrassing it would be, especially since the Council would be watching and alert all the hallways in his vicinity so they could lord it over him for the remainder of his high school career, he would hug her. Cradle her in her arms, gently, sweetly. She'd think he was holding her like Genesis and she'd be wrong. He'd be holding her the way he wanted to, because she was, always had been, something precious to him, something irreplaceable and remarkable, and—if that was the case, why couldn't he get his damned legs to move?

"Because," Rayburn leaned in, "it's not as easy as it looks. Going to the ones you love." Crispen glanced at the Auttsley patriarch, whose gaze had latched onto Mrs. Auttsley and refused to let go. He chewed on his bottom lip as he dragged his dirt-covered fingers down the front of his jumper. "If only we could all be as stupid as Chant, but," he swallowed, "not all of us can muster that bravery, especially when things are complicated."

Crispen clenched his jaw as an overhead squawk broke through the din of falling pillars, crumbling walls, and the crackling fire. Genesis alighted from a nearby tree and flew to his shoulder. Crispen gave the bird a quick pat down his back. "Glad you made it."

The bird grinned. "Took flight at the first sign of danger."

"Good bird."

He strutted the length of Crispen's arm. "I dare say I am."

Then, the bird's eyes narrowed. An enormous caw erupted from his beak. Crispen gathered more of his magic, wrapping the strands, thick as ropes, around his arms. Rayburn oozed blue and took a step forward.

As Chant helped Carma and Miss Auttsley settle safely on a sidewalk across the street, the smoke parted and Gideon appeared.

Peneloper ran to join them, a pen in her hand, slightly transparent and glowing purple. Her dad grabbed her shoulder. "A pen for my Nep." He ruffled her hair. "You did well saving your mother and Carma."

Her shoulders slouched. "But I couldn't get to—" she rasped. "Stormholden. Captain," her breaths were quick, stifled, and hot. "He's still—he's still inside." Her fingers tensed around her pen.

Crispen, bathed in white light, sidled up to her and gritted his teeth. "He won't die. He'll just return to the Retelling and you can write him again."

She whirled on him, anger in her gaze. "What kind of BS is that? There's only one Captain Stormholden. One! I can't write him again and have him be the same. He's—"

"A product of your imagination."

"A very dear person." She trembled. "He means a lot to me."

Crispen snapped his mouth shut, unable to muster up any words of rebuke. He'd never seen her so fired up, the wick of her temperament so severely limited. Not only had her house erupted into an inferno, so had she.

Gideon took the lawn in stride, his blackness spreading out overhead, a mini sky which consumed all light. He marveled at his work, stepping with ease over broken brick and siding. He side-stepped the smoking couch and smirked.

Crispen stepped forward and Gideon's eyes were immediately drawn to his. He no longer looked at his surroundings with glee. "Brother," the word was slow, drawn-out, savored. It left a bad taste in Crispen's mind.

Before him was not the brother he remembered, not the one he loved and mourned as though he'd lost a part of himself the day the Council had stripped him of his magic and confined him to the Rose. An unknown he was now. Eyes black, magic overwhelming.

Crispen braced and let his magic balloon around him. He held his hands out, skin dazzling. Gideon the coal to Crispen's diamond. Opposites, even after so long. They couldn't escape the curse, unable to find the middle ground without leveling it, and everything around it, to ash.

Gideon's magic snaked up his legs as he continued to walk toward them. "You've decided then?" To fight me?

Crispen nodded. To protect her.

Gideon snarled, but despite outward appearances, Crispen caught his true feelings, struggling to breach the darkness. It's what I would do if I'd been in your position.

Crispen projected his balloon around Peneloper and Rayburn. I wish I could have stopped them back then.

"But you didn't!" Gideon shrieked.

His darkness spread out around him and Crispen's magic shivered. He felt the tug of the darkness peck at his resolve. "Join me," Gideon's voice invaded his head. "Join me. Help me pervert them and then you and Nep and I can live together. Can get revenge on the Council and let—"

You seek to destroy the layers and if I allow that, there won't be anywhere for us to live. You'll herald our end, brother. Please, see reason. Reflect on your actions, Refine yourself. And—

Gideon fell to his knees, grabbed his head, and screamed. Peneloper began to take a step forward, but Crispen placed his arm out to stop her.

Her expression was pained as Gideon screamed again and lurched forward. "He's in pain," she whispered.

Rayburn cocked his head. "But why?" Blue rolled off him like heat waves. It tasted as blue ought to taste, not of chemically doused cotton candy, but of a delightful, natural sweetness akin to a blueberry at peak ripeness.

I couldn't hold him off any longer.

Gideon fell silent, his body limp. The three of them exchanged glances, and then, Crispen heard it, echoing in his head. Gideon's voice, weak and low, on the precipice of disappearing. I couldn't hold him off any longer. Crispen—Brother—I couldn't—

Crispen's eyes went wide as he threw all of his power into his shield. It radiated such a heat that a nuclear blast would feel chilly by comparison.

Gideon rolled his head and slowly got to his feet. His features shaded, his eyes a thirsty blood-red. The bird's skull he wore around his neck had transformed into a strand of skulls, all molded gold. His brother's magic no longer slunk up his leg but had disappeared and yet, Crispen felt unimaginable power in the air. He tasted the magic, felt it pressing down on the shield. Heard the pleading of his magic as it teetered on breaking, felt the first crack. The second. The third. His magic flickered.

Gideon smiled as he stroked each one of the skulls adorning his neck. "All hail the King."

It was the voice of nightmares, low and foreboding, promising of more destruction in the pauses than it what it said in words. Menacing. Upsetting. Old. Older than the layers. Maybe, as old as Finn.

A frigid gale swept through Crispen's bubbled sanctuary, before the last of his magic faltered and shattered. Pieces rained down on them like snow before evaporating into thin air.

Rayburn shot in front of them. "Run," he said flatly. No explanation given, no explanation necessary. Crispen didn't need to have it spelled out plainly to know whatever now stood before him was like nothing he'd ever witnessed.

The same could not be said for Miss Auttsley whose aura struggled to comprehend what was going on; Crispen's disappearing magic, Gideon's shift in attitude and dress; the cold that wouldn't quit icing her veins and causing her teeth to chatter; and the fear. She understood the fear the least.

"We need to leave—" Crispen clasped her wrist. She eyed where their skin touched, trying her best to fend off the electricity that jumped between them. Crispen, too, did his best not to notice, not to go further and stroke her skin with his thumb because he wanted to feel more of her softness, her warmth. Keep the sparks flying until they caught and couldn't be contained. Now was neither the time nor the place. "I don't know what that is," he said instead, addressing her confusion instead of antagonizing her embarrassment like he'd desired, "But it's not Gideon anymore."

She shook her head, planted her feet into the ground. "I am not leaving."

"He's right you know, Miss Auttsley," the creature bellowed. "I'm not just Gideon anymore." His eyes flitted from Crispen to Peneloper, to Rayburn, with the flighty, peckish nature of a bird. It wasn't until he saw the blue still rising off Rayburn that he became grounded. "Ah, son of Mildrea," he growled. "How nice of you, of all people, to welcome me."

Rayburn tucked one hand behind his back and motioned for Crispen and Peneloper to leave. With his hand still latched around Miss Auttsley's wrist, Crispen took a step backward. The monster using Gideon's body seemed not to notice, although Crispen couldn't be certain – he couldn't read its thoughts or see an aura. Empty. The only other person who'd ever been like that was Kelpner Finn. What exactly was this creature?

They took another step back. Another. Rayburn's magic solidified in front of him, taking on the form of a wall which shot into the sky. "Never," he responded.

Crispen blinked. Never. The Fourth. The original Fourth. He picked up his pace, Peneloper fumbling to keep up as they walked backward. Crispen would take her to where Chant was, help with Carmichelle and Mrs. Auttsley, then what? Could they outrun The Fourth? Maybe if they put enough distance between themselves and him, Crispen could use his magic to teleport them. Take them to the Council, while Rayburn held him off. Convince the idiots to quit their PR attempts, drop the apathetic attitudes and take action.

"Mr. Heavensley." Crispen's feet melted into the concrete. He tried, with every ounce of strength, every muscle to wretch himself free to no avail. He looked inward, tried to glimpse his magic, but it had fled. "Miss Auttsley." He turned and found Peneloper in similar dire straits. Her feet sunk into the concrete, her magic pen flickering in her hand, on the verge of going out. "Where," the Fourth apparated before them and stuck his hand out to graze Peneloper's cheek. She scowled, "do you think you're going?"

A torrent of blue icicles whizzed past Crispen's head. They landed, sticking into the Fourth. He stumbled backward and chuckled. The icicles melted into puddles at his feet. "Oh my, really? Do you think you can defeat me like that? Nothing that was can defeat what was never supposed to be."

Rayburn shrugged as he readied another volley of icicles to lob at the Fourth. "At least, I can try." He shot his hand forward and the icicles flew through the air so fast they whistled in his ears. Again, they found their target, and again, the target shook them off as though he'd suffered nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

The Fourth glanced down at Peneloper. Crispen extended his fingers, calmed his mind, and tried to find his magic. Sparks of white came to life under his fingernails but sizzled out a second later. Damn.

After examining Peneloper, the Fourth said, "You have her fire." He disappeared, returned in front of the wreckage of the house, and summoned Gideon's shroud. "It'll be fun snuffing you out."

As he hefted both arms into the air, grabbing onto the shroud and extending its length, a shadow flew out of the smoke. The Fourth dropped the shroud and lurched forward. Eyes bulging, he reached down and placed his hands around the blade of Captain Ire Stormholden's saber that stuck out of his gut.

Crispen pulled Peneloper into him. "Let's get Chant and your family to safety. Regroup and then—"

A giant red-furred wolf slammed its humongous paws into the asphalt which cracked under its weight.

Peneloper cried out. "Chant!"

But the dog only snarled, its teeth dripping saliva. Crispen held her back. "Don't. He's not your friend like this."

She blinked. "Then what is he?"

The wolf ran toward The Fourth while it struggled with the captain's sword. Behind him, Stormholden leveled his pistol at his skull. Chant lunged for The Fourth's neck and tore at it with his teeth. Overhead, Genesis swooped down and squawked his war cry.

"What are they doing?" Peneloper asked frantically.

"Buying us time." He turned. "Let's not let it be in vain."

She dug her heels into the ground. "Let what be in vain?" He tugged on her arm and she shrugged him off. Her eyes began to glow violet, her pen stabilizing, solidifying. "Their sacrifice? Is that what you're implying, Mr. Heavensley?" She whipped around, her eyes completely engulfed by her magic. "Because I didn't come here, I didn't weather everything to have those I care about die while I cowered in some corner. What am I? A secondary character?" She shook her head. "No, I'm a protagonist and I'll see this story to its end, Mr. Heavensley, with our without your approval."

He slouched. What was the point in arguing? She'd made up her mind. And he'd made up his. He would do what he could to help her, whatever her decision was. As he reaffirmed his convictions, his magic reformed, a small pinprick of light, nothing bigger than a speck, but he called to it, and slowly it came to him. He would fight beside Peneloper. He would protect those he loved and helped her protect those she loved.

A gunshot rang out. The Fourth's form went limp. Stormholden moved to put his weapon away, when a mushroom cloud of smoke rose around them.

"What's happening?"

A pained yowl came from Chant. Genesis squawked. Crispen clenched his fists, tightened his jaw. The cloud dispersed, and their eyes landed on Stormholden. He looked pained, though he showed no signs of injury. His lips parted and just as he was about to say something, he burst into all two hundred pages of his story. Peneloper screamed as they fluttered to the ground.

Crispen's magic recoiled from his touch, refused his summons. Afraid, his magic was afraid. But Crispen had more to worry about than his magic because he couldn't see Genesis anymore. His heart sank, and for the second time in his life, he experienced the sorrow and sadness of losing someone important to him.