The Promises We Made

[lady_yashka]

Title: The Promises We Made
Author: lady_yashka
Beta(s): faradheia
Disclaimer: I do not own Leverage or White Collar.
Characters/Pairings: Gen with canon pairings
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Warnings/spoilers: Violence towards children, OC character death. Spoilers through all seasons of Leverage and vague spoilers for seasons 1-4 of White Collar.
Word Count: 17, 163
Summary: After the fiasco with Michael and his followers, life settled down a bit. Eliot still did jobs for the Order of Thanatos, and now that Nate and Sophie had left the game, he, Hardison, and Parker were all set to take their crusade against corporate greed international. Then one day an old acquaintance of Eliot's shows up, calling in a favor owed. He has a job for Eliot, one which could not only get him kill, but start a war if the wrong people found out about it.
Sequel to: Sinner's Prayer

Artist: susanmarier
Art rating: PG
Art link: AO3 Cover Art, FF.Net Cover Art
Notes:

Author's Note: I want to thank the mod of thebigbangjob for running such an awesome big bang. A huge thank you to shinysylver and geekslave. Without your prompts, this story wouldn't have been written. Thank you to faradheia for betaing this story. Any mistakes left are all mine. And to my artist, susanmarier, your artwork is awesome. I'm thrilled you picked my story. :)







Eliot dropped the icepack onto the table, and stifled a pain filled groan as long slender fingers found another bruise.

“Damn it, Parker,” he snapped and slapped her hand away. He carefully scooted out of reach, not wanting to endure more of her prodding. “That hurts.”

This job should have been simple. Their client had come to them with a story about a dirty judge who had the local LEO’s on his payroll. What they hadn’t found out in all of Hardison’s research was that the judge had a little mob help on the side. The thugs hadn’t been as well trained as Eliot, but there had been a lot of them, and they had been big. Plus, they’d liked guns. Eliot really hated guns.

“Why didn’t you just, you know,” Parker said and flapped her arms as if they were wings.

Eliot rolled his eyes. She’d been after him about his damn wings ever since she’d found out about them.

“It doesn’t work that way,” he said, voice sounding as rough as he felt. “I already told you that.”

Parker scrunched up her nose. “If you can’t fly then what use are they?”

Eliot could feel his headache getting worse. He didn’t have the patience for inane questions on good days. On days when he’d gotten his ass kicked, his patience was nowhere to be found.

Standing, he grabbed his jacket and pulled it on, careful to keep his movements slow and steady, mindful of the bandages on his side. Mystical calling or not, getting shot hurt.

“I’m going home.”

He started towards the door, already daydreaming about sinking into his sinfully large bed, in his very quiet house. There would be no Parker, or Hardison. No poking fingers, or the irritating tap of keys. It would be heaven.

“Nu, uh,” Hardison said as he came back into the room. His arms were full of orange soda and a bowl of popcorn. “Doctor said you needed someone to keep an eye on you.”

Eliot kept walking. “I’m fine. Give me a few days, and it’ll be like it never happened.”

“Dude, I know you’ve got a hard head, but you got smacked around with a led pipe.”

“And shot.” Parker added as she stole the bowl from Hardison.

“Goodbye, Hardison, Parker,” Eliot said.

He didn’t wait for a reply, he just kept walking, thankful the Brewpub was closed. The night air, when it hit him, felt wonderful. He paused just outside the door, listening to the sounds of the city move around him. A misty rain was falling, creating haloes around streetlights. Cars swished by, spraying droplets of water in their wake. He carefully extended his senses, trying to see if there was anything unnatural lurking in the city. He came up with nothing. Portland was safe for the moment.

Eliot’s shoulders relaxed, his wings losing their tense posture against his back. Insubstantial though they were, they were still a weight on his back, a reminder of the path he was forced to walk. Letting go of some of the weight felt good, if only for a short while.

Getting his keys out, Eliot headed towards his truck. He had to bite back a groan as he climbed inside, the movement pulling at his injuries.

It took him about thirty minutes to reach his house, driving while injured was never a good idea, and he’d been extra careful to follow the traffic laws. When he pulled up into his driveway, he stayed in his truck for a few seconds, glad to be away from all the noise. Climbing out, he locked his truck and trudged up the stairs to his front door.

He was so tired and sore that he almost didn’t notice something was wrong. He paused just before his hand landed on the door knob. Stretching his senses he could hear nothing out of the ordinary, but every instinct he had was screaming at him. Going back to his truck, he retrieved the sword he’d taken to keeping there in case of emergencies, before going back to the front door. He opened it, making sure to keep any noise to a minimum.

The house was quiet, and nothing had been disturbed, but Eliot kept a tight grip on the hilt of his sword, edging his way into the living room. He was just reaching to turn the lights on when a lamp clicked on, bringing a soft light to the dark room. A man sat in his recliner, dark hair groomed perfectly. A white shirt and dark slacks set off olive skin, while dark lashes framed near black eyes. A slight smile graced the man’s lips and he tilted his head in greeting.

“Agent Spencer, please, sit,” he said, his voice soft. “Let us talk.”

Eliot sank down onto the couch, but he refused to release his sword.

“Khepri,” Eliot said. “Didn’t think I’d see you for awhile.”

Khepri smiled. “I am glad to see you’re doing well,” he said. “Despite recent troubles, this team seems to be good for you.”

Fear raced through his heart. Images of fire and the phantom impact of a shockwave raced through his mind, causing Eliot’s blood to turn to ice. He gritted his teeth and focused on keeping his breathing even. It was all he could do to keep from striking out.

“Leave my team out of this.”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Khepri said. He leaned forward, hands gripped between his knees. The scarab amulet he wore glinted in the lamp light. “It is your team’s help that I need.”

“No,” Eliot said, shaking his head. “I ain’t involving them in Order business.”

“You have no choice,” Khepri said. “You owe me.” He gave Eliot a stern look, his dark eyes hinting at the power he still held. “And you will keep this from your Order. My business is no business of Thanatos’ followers.”

Eliot bit back a curse and ran a hand through his hair. Words had power. Owing a favor in his world could be deadly, and he owed this being his life.

“What do you want?”

Khepri smiled and leaned back in the chair, relaxed and friendly once more. He nodded towards a file that Eliot knew hadn’t been there earlier.

“Everything you need to know is right there,” he said. “I hope you will keep this discreet. It would be bad for all involved if word of this got out.”

“I know,” Eliot said and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Not only was the job dangerous, but the fallout if he was caught would be catastrophic, if the Order didn’t just execute him to save the Gods of Old the trouble. He looked up, finding the chair empty. He let loose a heavy sigh and stood. Placing the sword in its resting place by the door, Eliot headed towards his bedroom. He was hurting and tired. The file could wait.

The next morning he went through his regular routine, knowing if he opened that file things would grind to a halt. He made breakfast and did some tai chi, careful of his injuries. He hadn’t been lying to Hardison. He healed faster than regular people and the wounds were already looking like they’d happened weeks ago, but that didn’t mean he could just jump back into fighting bad guys. Even he needed to take some time to heal.

Exercises finished, he went back inside and took a shower, letting the hot water sooth sore muscles. It was nearing nine o’clock when he finally sat down, eyes focused on the innocent looking file.

He didn’t want to open it. He wanted to keep his team, his family, as far away from this world as possible. The last time this life had crashed in with his new one, he’d lost several old friends, and he and Parker had been caught in an explosion. It was only due to his enhancements that they were even still here.

Michael and his followers were still scattered to the far corners of the earth, and the Order had heard nothing from them since the botched ritual. Eliot should have known his life wouldn’t remain peaceful for long.

Grumbling to himself, Eliot dragged the file towards him and opened it. He instantly wished he hadn’t.

Chapter Two:

“What do you mean, you’ve got a job?” Hardison said. He was standing before the projection screen, arms crossed, Parker a scowling statue on his right.

“I’ve got something I need to take care of,” Eliot said. He was not bringing them in on this. He’d made a vow to Sophie to keep them safe and that was what he was doing.

“We have a job right here,” Hardison said. He gestured towards the screen. It showed a picture of a vibrant sunny day, an idyllic manor house and garden prominent.

He’d been surprised to find them here when the Brewpub was closed. He’d been hoping to use the backroom to plan his job, knowing the precautions he’d put up kept the Order from spying on him in this space. Instead Eliot had been greeted with Parker on the counter, eating a bowl of cereal, and Hardison tapping away at his laptop, brochures spread out around him.

There was stuff on florist, caterers, venues, and entertainment. There was even a book of bridesmaid dresses peeking out from under a flyer.

Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose. “Any wedding stuff you dig up has to be run by Sophie first.”

“But-”

“You really think Sophie is going to let you plan her wedding?” Eliot asked.

“Well, no but it’s important that she know all of her options,” Hardison said. “Besides, you were supposed to help out.”

He sighed and felt his shoulders slump. “I can’t. This is important.”

“What do we need to do?” Parker asked.

Eliot shook his head. “Nothing. I’ve got this.”

“Yeah,” Hardison said. “Like that’s gonna fly.”

“It’s Order business,” Eliot said.

Silence greeted his words. Parker and Hardison traded glances, and Eliot knew they were both remembering the disaster their introduction to his world had been.

“Okay, so what do we need to do?” Hardison said, refusing to back down.

“We’re a team,” Parker said. “We do this together, or not at all.”

“You learn nothing from DC?”

Eliot swore before raising his hand and pointing to each of his teammates.

“We do this, we do this my way.”

“Of course,” Parker said as Hardison nodded his agreement.

Eliot crossed his arms. “I mean it. You follow my orders, or you’re out.”

“We got it,” Hardison said. He then leaned against the counter. “So, want to tell us what this is really about?”

“I told you—”

“If it was Order business you wouldn’t have come here to plan the job,” Hardison said.

Eliot sighed. He really hated it when Hardison was right. “An acquaintance paid me a visit. He had a job for me, one he couldn’t do for various reasons. It’s something that needs to be kept quiet. Neither his colleagues, or the Order, can find out. If they did, it could cause a war.”

“Who was it?” Parker asked.

Eliot debated for a few seconds before sighing and taking a seat at the counter. “His name is Khepri.”

“The Egyptian God?” Parker asked. Eliot and Hardison shot her identical looks of shock.

“Momma?” Hardison said. “You got something you want to share with the class?”

“Parker, how’d you know that?” Eliot asked, worry filling him.

Parker shrugged. “I stole a statue of him once.” She then grinned. “It is really him, or someone named after him?”

“It’s him,” Eliot said.

Parker’s grin widened and Hardison paled. He fell back into his seat, hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“A God?” Hardison said. “They’re real?” He turned to Eliot. “What else is out there?”

“A lot of things,” Eliot replied. “Which is why you two are on the background of this job.”

“What if you need to steal something?” Parker asked, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes.

“I know someone,” Eliot said, keeping his words vague. “He’s part of the Order, an acquisitions expert, and he’s not above bending the rules.”

Parker’s expression darkened. “I’m the thief.”

Eliot felt his headache intensify. This job was already becoming more of a pain in the ass than it was worth. And once Parker learned the identity of the person he had in mind, he’d never hear the end of her complaints.

“Not on this you’re not,” Eliot said. He raised a hand to cut off any further protest. “I mean it, Parker. This isn’t like any other job we’ve done.”

“Then tell me what I need to do.”

“I can’t,” Eliot said. “You don’t have the skills to get past everything.”

“What?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Eliot said, trying to stall Parker’s outrage. Even Hardison was giving him the stink eye. Though Eliot still noticed he’d backed away from Parker, the coward. “There’s more to this job than getting by security systems and cracking safes. If that was all, I’d have you do this part, no problem.”

“Is it really that dangerous?” Hardison asked concern evident in his eyes.

Eliot nodded. “Magic’s involved, and that takes years of study.”

“Can’t you do it?”

Eliot shrugged. “Some of it, maybe, but the type needed for this particular job isn’t my specialty.”

“Then who’s doing the job?” Parker asked, looking less like she was going to murder him, and more like someone had just placed a diamond in front of her. He knew he’d regret mentioning magic in front of her.

“I said he was a friend.” Eliot stood, and braced himself for the outrage he knew was heading his way. Parker was not going to like this. “Hardison, I need you to book me a flight out to New York for tomorrow. I’m meeting with him Sunday.”

The widening of Parker’s eyes was the only warning he got. He just missed having the remote hit him in the head.

Chapter Three:

The flight from Portland to New York took nearly twelve hours. It included a three and a half hour layover in Los Angeles which had him running in circles trying to find his gate. LAX was crowded, always, and smog hung heavy in the air. The construction hadn’t helped matters either and familiar landmarks had been lost in a sea of bright orange netting and detour signs.

On top of that, his flight from LA to New York had been crammed full of people, with a small child crying the whole way. Hardison had stuck him in coach too.

When he’d finally landed at JFK airport, Eliot was ready to kill the next person who so much as breathed in his direction. As he collected his bags and made his way through the throngs of people, he composed a nice lovely speech that would convince Sophie and Nate that no he had no idea what had happened to Hardison, he’d just found him that way, honest.

Luck seemed to smile on him though, when he caught a cab almost as soon as he left the airport. He’d already booked his hotel, thank God, or Hardison might have stuck him in some flea infested trap. This was the last time he let Hardison book any of his trips while Parker was mad at him.

The next day found Eliot sitting, hands around his coffee cup. The bustling noise of New York filled his senses, car horns blared, people jogged by, music streaming into their ears. A group of young people walked passed, laughing and carrying several bags of shopping.

This area of Central Park was busy, but there was less chance of eavesdropping. Tourist and locals gathered here, all focused on their own lives. The trees gave off a cool shade and no one was likely to try and engage him in conversation. Here he was just another face in the crowd.

“Long time to no see.”

Neal Caffrey sat down next to him, looking as calm and collected as the last time Eliot had seen him. His suit was immaculate, his hat sitting at a jaunty angle on his head. He’d appeared out of the crowd like a ghost, weaving around people without them noticing.

“So what brings you to my domain?”

“You don’t actually own New York,” Eliot said, amusement clear in his voice.

“Don’t let Mozzie here you say that.”

Neal flashed him a bright grin, and Eliot rolled his eyes. That grin had gotten both of them into so much trouble Order Headquarters ended up stationing them on opposite ends of the country for a few years.

“How’s Portland?”

“Get that anklet off and find out for yourself,” Eliot said with a pointed look.

Neal settled back and placed his hat on his knee. “Can’t. New York is, New York.”

Eliot nodded. The bigger the city, the older the streets, the more weird it attracted.

“So, what do you need me to steal?” Neal asked, bright grin back in place. “Though I have to say I’m honored you called me. You work with Parker after all.”

Eliot scowled. “Would you let Burke in on your jobs?”

“Point.” He took a deep breath, fiddling with his hat. “I heard about Michael.”

“You can say I told you so another time.” Eliot let the words hang between them.

They carried the weight of heated arguments that had almost cost them their friendship. There was also an apology buried under the memories for words that had only been spoken to wound.

“So what’s the Oder want now?” Neal asked, giving Eliot a nod. The look in his eyes told him he’d been forgiven long ago and Eliot felt a weight lift from his heart.

“This ain’t Order business,” Eliot said. “So I need this kept quiet, off the books so to speak.”

“What have you gotten involved with?” Neal gave him a concerned look.

“Khepri paid me a visit.”

Neal paled and his blue eyes widened. He sat back against the bench and his shoulders slumped. “Shit.”

“I need this found,” Eliot said.

He passed a piece of paper to Neal. It was a picture of an ushabti, an Egyptian funerary figurine used by the deceased as servants in the afterlife. It was blue in color with faded inscriptions along the front and back.

“When do you need it?” Neal asked, plans already forming and being discarded. This was why Neal was the Order’s best acquisitions expert.

Eliot smiled. “How soon can you get it?”

Neal was quiet for a bit studying the picture at every angle.

“Hmm,” he said. “Alarms attached to all windows, doors, and outer shell of the museum. Motion detectors in each room, security cameras, guards, lasers…” Neal looked up. “Where is this located? It looks familiar.”

Eliot snorted. “Of course it does.” He pulled out another sheaf of paper and handed it to Neal. “It’s at the Institute of Egyptian Art and Archeology.” He tapped the papers. “These are Parker’s notes. She says you better not screw this up.”

Neal gave him an affronted look. “When have I ever screwed up an acquisition?”

Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Madrid 2003.”

Neal waved a hand. “That doesn’t count. They had me training a newbie.”

“Munich 2004.”

Neal’s glare was filled with distain. “If I remember correctly you were involved in that mess.”

Eliot laughed and stood. “But it still counts.” He held out his hand and Neal shook it. “Get it for me as soon as possible.”

“And keep this quiet,” he said. “No problem. I’ll call Moz. He’ll love to help out with this.”

Eliot shook head and started off. “Tell him if he screws this up, I’ll be paying him a visit.”

“He wouldn’t,” Neal said, laughter filling his words as he tipped his hat onto his head. “He wouldn’t want to disappoint Parker.”

A week later found Eliot in the same location, newspaper in his lap. It was early evening, and there wasn’t much of a crowd. The sun was setting, casting an orange and golden glow over the city.

Neal showed up at six o’clock on the dot, wide smile in place, vintage suit immaculate. He quickly handed over a brown package about the size of a shoe box.

“All done,” he said with a laugh. “You should stop by more often. I haven’t had this much fun in a long while.”

“Maybe when that government accessory is gone we’ll get together and you can meet the rest of my team.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Neal said, shaking Eliot’s hand. He stood and gave Eliot a parting nod. “Good luck with the job, and call me when it’s done.”

Eliot stood, carefully tucking the package under his arm. “Will do. Take care of yourself.”

Neal favored him with a serious look. “You too. We’ve lost enough people already.”

Eliot turned and made his way out of the park. He was just reaching the exit when Parker fell into step next to him, the hood of her grey hoodie pulled up.

“You didn’t have to follow me out here,” Eliot said, though he wasn’t surprised to see her.

“I could have stolen that,” Parker said. “I’m a much better thief than Caffrey.”

“I told you, there was more to stealing this than getting past security,” Eliot said. As suspected, he spotted Hardison leaning against a lamppost just around the corner.

“So, what next?” Hardison asked, a tiny bounce in his step. “We get to steal any ancient scrolls? Magical text?”

“A mummy?” Parker added. “I always wanted to steal a mummy.”

Eliot eyed his two grinning teammates, and for what felt like the millionth time, wondered why he put up with this crap.

“Come, on,” he said.

Taking the keys from Hardison, he climbed into their rental, and drove them further away from the crowds of Manhattan, heading north out of the city. Soon the bright lights disappeared, replaced by sprawling country.

The city they came upon was what Eliot knew people called quaint. Turn of the century brick buildings lined Main Street, and rolling hills overlooked the city. The sun was finally below the horizon, the day still in that twilight phase before true night set in.

He pulled up to a bakery, its window happily proclaiming it Bec’s Bakery, the streetlights reflecting their glow in the glass. He climbed out of the car box in hand, before turning to face Parker and Hardison.

“Stay here,” Eliot said. His tone and expression the one he used when armed bad guys were bearing down on the team. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He entered before they could protest. Three women stood behind the counter. They each had red hair pulled up in a messy bun. One was taking care of the leftovers from the day, while another counted money in the till. The youngest looking one was humming to the radio while she swept. She looked up when he entered and smiled.

“How can I help you?” A soft Irish lilt flowed along her words.

Eliot smiled, stepped up to the counter and shook his wings out. Invisible though they were, he knew the second the women spotted them. The smile on the younger woman’s face fell and her eyes darkened. The other two stopped their work and moved to stand at the younger woman’s side.

“We don’t do business with Thanatos’ followers,” she said.

“Good thing that’s not why I’m here.” He slid a wad of cash towards her. She picked it up and put it in her pocket.

“Back room,” she said. “You have five minutes.”

Eliot nodded his thanks, and went through the door marked for employees only. The kitchen was empty, stainless steel counters and appliances filling up the space. It was spotless at the moment, though Eliot could see some cup cakes cooking in one of the large convection ovens.

An office to the right was dark, with only a slight flickering of light lighting up the window. He made his way over to the door and knocked.

It swung opened under his hand to reveal an older woman with gray hair watching a small television. It was some inane talk show with people yelling at each other and the crowd cheering the chaos on. Eliot remained in his spot, standing at attention. When a commercial came on, she finally looked his way. Her green eyes matched the three women out front.

“Beag.” Eliot bowed slightly.

“It’s not often I see one of you,” she replied, Ireland thick along her words.

“I come asking a favor,” Eliot said. He handed the wrapped box to her.

She held it up to her nose and sniffed, before opening the package. The box and wrapping paper went into the trash. She held up the ushabti, giving it a critical once over, letting her fingers trail along the hieroglyph etched on it. She nodded and placed it on the desk next to her before standing and motioning for Eliot to follow her. She led him to a walk-in refrigeration unit.

“Stay here.”

Beag entered, leaving him in the near silent kitchen. She came out and handed him a bottle of clear liquid.

“This will help you find what you seek,” Baeg said.

“Thank you,” Eliot replied. He carefully wrapped the bottle in a bandana before placing it in the wooden box she’d handed him.

Her voice stopped him before he could leave.

“Remember Follower of Thanatos,” she said. “There is a price for everything. Are you willing to pay it?”

“I thought I had,” Eliot said, a chill of unease crawling up his spine.

She gave him a humorless grin. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

He gripped the box tighter, weighing the options of just running for it. He knew he wouldn’t make it far. Her daughters would stop him before he reached the front door.

“What do you want?”

“A truth for a truth,” she said coming closer.

Eliot studied her for a few seconds before laying down his own terms.

“One truth, for one truth, with nothing more owed,” Eliot said. “Then I walk out of here and you or your daughters don’t stop me.”

“Agreed.” Beag leaned against the counter. “What do you need my water for?”

Eliot stiffened and cursed. He should have known she’d ask. The Gods of Old were tricky, weaving their words in a way that trapped those foolish enough to deal with them.

“I owe a favor,” Eliot replied, keeping his words vague. By the way her eyes narrowed, he knew she wasn’t happy, but Eliot had told the truth and there was nothing she could do.

“My turn,” Eliot said. “What’d you mean about a price to be paid?”

She smiled then and Eliot knew he’d lost this battle. “Actions have consequences,” she said. “You were naïve to think this could be kept quiet.”

“You don’t know what this is,” Eliot said.

“But your Order doesn’t hold the cards in this exchange,” Beag said. “You’ve kept them in the dark for a reason.” She turned heading back towards her office. “You and your friends are free to leave.”

Chapter Four:

The ride back into Manhattan was filled with a tense silence. Eliot refused to tell them what this stop had been about, knowing that the less they knew, the better. Beag’s words spun around in his mind, refusing to be ignored. This whole job had felt bad from the get go. He couldn’t refuse Khepri, he’d given his word. But he wasn’t sure if he could afford to face the consequences if he got caught.

They reached the hotel around midnight, and with a few terse words, Eliot was able to shoo them off. He was tired and not in the mood to play twenty questions with curious teammates.

He entered the bedroom, placing the box in his bag. He got ready for bed and was climbing under the covers when his phone beeped. Picking it up, he opened the message.

Order Headquarters had a job for him, one he had to do tomorrow. Eliot cursed and tossed his phone onto the nightstand. No matter where he went, they always knew how to find him, and something about this felt wrong. Dropping back against the pillows, Eliot stared at the ceiling. He was trapped, like a bug pinned under glass, and there was nothing he could do to get free.

It was late afternoon the next day before Parker and Hardison barged in, coffee and doughnuts in hand. Eliot was sorely tempted to make them wait, he hadn’t slept much the night before, but he knew better than to leave a curious Parker alone.

“So, what next?” Parker asked, jumping up onto the couch next to Eliot.

Eliot swatted her hand away when she tried to poke the glass bottle. He’d been looking at it when they’d walked in and Parker had honed in on it like she would a stack of money.

“Leave it alone,” Eliot said.

He picked the bottle up and put it back into the plain wooden box, closing the lid. It sealed shut, leaving no way of telling how to open it.

“What is it?” Hardison asked, eyeing the box the same way he eyed new gadgets.

Eliot scowled at him and picked the box up, taking it to his room before coming back. He settled in the arm chair, which placed him between the bedroom and his teammates.

“That is none of your business,” Eliot said.

He ran a tired hand through his hair and sighed, letting his head drop back to rest on the chair. He’d been going nonstop since before he’d taken this job, and wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers and sleep for a week.

Unfortunately, he had another job to do, and he had to find away to ditch Parker and Hardison. He trusted them completely on their regular jobs, and while those were dangerous, this was in a different league. Something had tried to eat a bike messenger in the Garment District.

“I thought we were in this together,” Parker said, giving Eliot a glare of her own.

“We are,” Eliot said. “That doesn’t mean you get to go poking around at things you shouldn’t.”

“Was it magic water?” Parker’s bright eyed expression had a knot of fear filling Eliot’s stomach.

“Parker, would you just stop,” Eliot asked, the exhaustion he was feeling bleeding into his voice. “There are certain things you just don’t need to know.”

“It’s not poison is it?” Hardison said, edging towards the exit. He had a horrified look on his face. “Please tell me I didn’t ride in the car with poison.”

“It’s not poison,” Eliot said, ignoring the searching look Parker was giving him. “It’s something I need for the job.” Grabbing his jacket, he ushered the two out of his hotel room.

“Now get lost,” Eliot said, standing. He disappeared into his room briefly and pulled on his shoulder holster, making sure his knives were securely in place. “And stay out of my room. I’ll know if you’ve been snooping in there.”

He put his jacket on and shooed them from the room. Making sure he had his keycard, he turned towards the elevators, ignoring the looks his teammates were giving him.

“Hey,” Hardison called out. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got some Order work I need to do,” Eliot shot back as the elevator doors opened. “Don’t follow and don’t wait up.”

Stepping onto the elevator the doors closed before either of his teammates could form a response. Leaning back against the wall, Eliot let the quiet help settle his mind so he could focus on the task at hand. The elevator stopped on the eighth floor, doors sliding open to reveal a man holding a large envelop. He didn’t say a word, just stepped on, leaning against the wall next to Eliot.

“Here is everything you’ll need, Agent Spencer.”

Eliot nodded and took the packet. The man got off on the sixth floor, leaving Eliot alone for the rest of the ride down.

The sun was just lowering behind the skyline when he stepped out onto the sidewalk. People rushed past, and cars blared their horns as they rushed to their destinations. Eliot stepped out into the crowd, letting it swallow him up. He went with the flow, keeping his head down. He tore open the package taking out the USB drive and key and putting them in his pocket. The comm went in his ear. The envelope he tossed in the nearest trashcan. No one paid him any mind; they were all too focused on their own concerns.

It took a little over ten minutes to reach his destination. The one way street was packed with cars, vans, cyclist and pedestrians. Eliot dodged delivery people, shoppers, and scaffolding as he trudged his way up 38th street. The tall buildings kept the sun out of his eyes, as Eliot looked for the shop he was supposed to check out. He found it crammed between a specialties food store and a store proudly selling spandex.

Unlocking the door, he entered the shop. It was quiet, the lights off, and the shadows from the bolts of fabric covering most of the ground. He found a staircase in the back, and when he reached the second floor, he found an office to his right and a storage room on his left.

“I’m in. Initiating search of the premise,” Eliot whispered.

The office was small enough to be considered a closet. A desk was shoved at the far wall with a folding chair leaning against one wall. A laptop sat amongst a clutter of paperwork and fabric swatches. A phone completed the looked, mounted to the wall in order to keep it out of the way.

Digging through the paperwork, Eliot didn’t find anything pertaining to his case. The computer yielded the same results, though Eliot made sure to copy the files to the USB drive.

“I’ve got the files,” Eliot said.

When he turned to leave, he spotted the trashcan in the corner. Peeking inside didn’t give him much, but when he removed the top few pieces of paper, he found what he was looking for and cursed. A piece of shed skin rested amongst the garbage.

“Fucking ghouls.” Eliot put the trash back and wiped his hand on his jeans. A soft thud had him tensing.

“Possible hostile on premise,” Eliot said. “I repeat, possible hostile on premise.”

Reaching under his jacket, he pulled out one of his daggers. It was a comfortable weight in his hand. Eliot edged his way out and down the stairs. It was fully dark now, but Eliot could clearly see a dark shadow moving amongst the bins.

He crept forward, letting his senses guide him. He made it to the front of the store, the streetlights creating a soft orange glow over the checkout counter. The ghoul was bent over the cash register, pulling the cash from the drawer.

Eliot wasn’t sure what happened next. He knew he hadn’t made any noise, but the ghoul’s head shot up, yellowed eyes locking onto Eliot.

Before he could react, the ghoul pulled out a gun, aimed and fired. Pain ripped through his shoulder, dropping him to the floor. His dagger slipped from his hand. He rolled behind a bin full of fabric as more shots were fired.

Another bullet crashed through the window above him, raining glass down on his back. Luckily he was wearing his biker jacket, thus keeping the glass from cutting him. Bits of fabric rained down around him as a bullet tore through the flimsy barrier he was hiding behind. Eliot cursed every deity he could think of that he’d had to take this job.

A massive weight slammed into him from overhead. The impact knocked the breath from his body and caused pain to erupt from his shoulder, paralyzing him for a few seconds. Clawed hands wrapped around his throat and bony knees dug into his back.

He could hear cackling coming from above him as the second ghoul tightened its grip. Eliot tried to keep his panic at bay. Backup should be heading his way, his comm was still active, and there was no way Headquarters hadn’t heard the gunshots.

The ghoul dug its nails into Eliot’s skin, just enough to hurt. Dark spots were starting to dance before his eyes, and Eliot knew if he didn’t act, headquarters would be retrieving a body. With one hand he tried to pry the ghoul’s hand from his throat. The other he attempted to reach under his jacket. The ghoul pressed down harder, blocking his access to his weapons.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the dagger he’d dropped. Stretching out, he felt his fingers grace the handle before it was knocked out of reach.

“Nu uh,” the ghoul said. “Can’t have a tasty morsel like you getting away.”

His eyes started to droop, the world going dark around him, when the weight on his back lifted. He could just make out two dark figures battling each other as he rolled against the wall. He took several breaths, each bringing tears to his eyes. His throat hurt, and his lungs still burned, the oxygen burning as he breathed it in.

A hand settled on his shoulder and he spun, another dagger in hand. A strong grip stopped his movement and after a few blinks he sagged back in relief. The ghoul who’d tackled him lay a few feet away, throat slit and black blood pooling around it.

Neal was crouched at his side, wearing lightweight black clothes and an FBI bullet proof vest. The ghoul’s blood was sprayed across his face, giving him a macabre look. He handed Eliot another vest and helped him put it on, his injuries making movement difficult.

“Drop, something?” Neal asked and handed over the dagger he’d lost. The blade was covered with the dead ghoul’s blood.

Eliot laughed, then coughed, his throat not ready for much action.

More shots were fired and they both ducked down lower to the ground. He hated these assignments. These were supposed to be the easy ones, the jobs that were quick in and outs. But Eliot’s luck didn’t hold, and more often than not, he ended up in the most bizarre situation possible, usually with Neal right by his side. Like now.

The remaining ghoul’s cackling preceded more shots, and Eliot and Neal had to scuttle along the back wall, keeping the work stations between them and the ghoul.

“Oh, what a treat,” the ghoul said, voice sing song in tone. There was a distinctive click, clack of the ghoul’s clawed feet as it walked across the floor. “Two of Thanatos’ followers. I’m sure you’ll both taste sweet.”

Eliot flinched, pulling Neal back against him as something crashed off to his right. The damn ghoul was throwing things at them now. Slowly they crept their way to the stairs Eliot had found earlier. They kept their footsteps silent as they ascended. Reaching the roof was tricky, but with Neal’s talents, they managed.

Once there, Neal grabbed a black bag from behind a roof vent and tossed it to Eliot. He then began to don his own harness, tying the rope off at the edge of the building.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Eliot asked.

Despite his apprehension he still donned the harness and tied off the rope. Neal, bright blue eyes gleaming in the dim light of the city, offered him a cheeky grin and a wave of a glove covered hand.

“I’m your exit strategy,” he said as he tied off the end of the rope. He glanced back over his shoulder as the door to the roof shuddered in its frame once more. “Come on, we’ve got to get moving.”

Eliot knew a lost fight when he saw one. His shoulder ached, the bullet wound still bleeding, but the thought of leaving the remaining ghoul to terrorize the neighborhood didn’t sit well with him. There were times he really hated having a conscience.

“Don’t worry,” Neal said. “The others will be here soon to take care of it.”

“Who?” Eliot asked as he prepared to jump. He just knew the landing was going to hurt.

Another bright smile greeted his words. It was a frightening sight with the blood smeared over his face.

“I believe they said they were the cavalry.”

Eliot laughed and soon followed Neal over the side of the building. It didn’t take them long to land, though Eliot took a minute to breathe through the pain in his shoulder.

“Come on,” Neal said, checking the area they’d landed. Luckily it was deserted. “The police will be here any minute and the Order would be really pissed if we got caught.”

Ropes and harnesses dealt with, he followed the Neal through a series of back allies and side streets. New York was teaming with narrow roads and old buildings. They stayed away from the more populated areas and ended up at a delivery van just off Broadway. There was another person waiting for them, this one a welcomed sight.

“Shelley,” Eliot said, relief filling his tired body.

“Eliot.”

Neal climbed into the back of the van and helped Eliot inside.

Eliot settled down on floor as the motor started and the van pulled away from the sidewalk.

“You ever gonna tell me how you ended up in there?” Eliot asked as Neal pulled over a first aid kit. He received an exasperated look.

“Your team called,” he said as he began to pull out supplies. “They were worried when you ran out on them earlier.”

Eliot groaned and let his head rest against the side of the van. “I told them not to get involved.”

Neal shrugged. “I’m glad they did. It would have taken us longer to get here if they hadn’t. Order Headquarters only sent out the call for backup five minutes ago.”

He quickly used some moist wipes to clean himself up before pulling on some latex gloves and helping Eliot out of the vest. His jacket and dagger holster went next. Eliot could help the hiss that escaped when his shirt was removed. Neal gave him a sympathetic look and got back to work cleaning out the wound.

“You’re lucky you’re different,” he said as he carefully bandaged the wound. “A normal human would have to go to the hospital.”

“Yeah,” Eliot said. “Lucky me.”

He could feel his wings twitching along his back, the pain sending spasms through the muscles. Neal helped him don a loose fitting flannel shirt, before packing away the first aid kit.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet. Shelley gave them a casual wave before pulling out into traffic. They entered his suite a few minutes later. Eliot shot Neal a dark look before shuffling over to the arm chair and sinking down.

He rolled his eyes at Neal’s guilty look as he took the offered bottle of water and pills. His body ached, and there was a ringing in his left ear from the gun fire.

“Neal,” Eliot said, his voice telling the world of his exasperation. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Eliot had known he would regret the day when Neal and his team met, but this was beyond any worst case scenarios he’d thought up. He cast a suspicious look towards the FBI agent sitting on the couch in his hotel room. It didn’t help his mood that Nate and Sophie were also there, looking at him with various levels of concern and anger. Though, he was less surprised to see them. He should have known Parker and Hardison wouldn’t be able to keep their mouths shut.

Neal shrugged and poured a glass of wine. “I told Peter.”

Eliot felt his jaw swing loose. He was pretty sure if he’d been a cartoon, it would have come off and rolled across the floor.

“You what?”

“I just had to pull you out of a firefight. The police tend to ask a lot of questions about those. Besides, I don’t lie to Peter.” Neal’s expression said it all.

“He’s your Nate,” Parker said, and oddly enough, it made perfect sense to Eliot.

“Excuse me?” Peter asked. “What is she talking about?”

“You’re an honest man,” Eliot said. “And Neal trusts you.”

“Nate used to be an honest man,” Parker said. She then smiled. “We broke him.”

Hardison snickered from behind his laptop and Eliot didn’t bother hiding his laughter even though it hurt. Nate’s affronted looked was worth the pain.

“What Parker means,” Sophie said as she placed a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Is that when we first started working together, we trusted Nate because he was our honest man. Now he’s just ours.”

Neal handed Peter a glass full of something very alcoholic. “Just go with it. It’s easier that way.”

“I should be arresting everyone in this room,” Peter said taking a drink. He gave Neal a stern look. “Why am I not arresting anyone again?”

“Because you can’t explain how Neal managed to get outside his radius to steal a magical artifact for a fellow agent of a secret government society that goes around killing things that the normal world claims don’t exist, and also broke into a closed fabric store to help said fellow agent get away from said monsters that don’t exist.” Nate lifted his glass and gave the other man a look of sympathy. “Welcome to my world. I found out about the Order of Thanatos when I still worked for IYS.”

Peter ran a tired hand over his face. “Please tell me you don’t have wings too.”

Eliot laughed so hard he was sure his bruised ribs were cracking in two. Normally the question wouldn’t have been so funny, but he was just a little bit tired and he had just gotten his ass kicked by two gun toting ghouls, so if he was feeling a bit loopy, then who could blame him.

“Don’t worry,” Eliot said as he fought to catch his breath. “Neal hasn’t done anything to warrant being sentenced. He just stole the wrong thing and ended up becoming our acquisitions expert.”

“And on that note, I think it’s time we let Eliot get some rest,” Sophie said.

She stood, and started towards the door, giving everyone in the room a look that said she expected them to follow her.

Neal shook his head. “You guys go. I’ll stay, keep an eye on him.” He matched their glare with one of his own. “I’ve helped him in times like this before. I know what protocols to follow, you guys don’t.”

“We will be discussing this tomorrow,” Peter said. Neal nodded.

Eliot didn’t miss the looks the others shared as Neal ushered them out the door. He was going to pay for not letting Parker and Hardison stay, but he felt better with Neal there. Neal would let him sleep, and not poke his bruises. He wouldn’t ask any questions either. He knew this job, and he knew when Eliot just wanted to be left alone.

As he climbed into bed, Eliot made a mental note to make it up to his team tomorrow.

Chapter Five:

Eliot woke the next morning to a stiff body and pounding on his door. Not surprisingly Neal wasn’t there. He’d stayed long enough to make sure Eliot would be okay before leaving. He had left an origami wolf on the nightstand. It was made out of gray paper and was positioned to look like it was howling at the moon. Next to it had been two pain pills and some water. Eliot downed those before he’d crawled out of bed and headed to the door.
Seeing Hardison’s grinning face made him want to punch something. Instead he cursed in several languages, and turned leaving the door open so Hardison could enter.

“What?”

“Hey, E,” Hardison said as he shoved passed Eliot. He held up two bags, his smile getting bigger. “Look what I brought.”

The first bag held several wires, some game controllers, and a few games and DVD’s. The other had a game console and a DVD player shoved in it. Eliot rolled his eyes. He just knew he wouldn’t be getting any peace today, and led Hardison into the living room. Looking around a scowl settled on Hardison’s face.

“Where’s Caffrey? I thought he was supposed to be looking after you.”

“He left earlier,” Eliot said sinking down onto the couch. “Now what are you doing here?”

“I decided to keep you company since you have to take it easy today.”

“I’ve got work to do, Hardison,” Eliot said. “Now get out.”

“Nu, uh,” Hardison said. “The police are still crawling all over that store you got shot up, and Burke advised us to lay low for a while. Besides, Nate doesn’t want you going anywhere until we come up with a game plan.”

Eliot felt his shoulders tighten and his wings twitch. The movement caused pain to race through his shoulder and sides and he winced.

“This is my job,” he growled out. “I call the shots, not Nate.”

Hardison ignored Eliot and got to work setting up the DVD player and game system. The stack of DVD’s and games went next to the television stand as Hardison hooked up wires to the proper plugs.

“You know,” he said as he sat back and tested his handy work. The screen on the television changed to the symbol of the DVD company, and he grinned. “That Burke guy isn’t half bad.” He pushed another few buttons and the logo for the gaming system lit up the screen. “It’s too bad he’s all truth and justice. He’d make a hell of a mastermind.”

Eliot leaned forward and buried his face into his hands. “I didn’t want ya’ll involved in this.”

Hardison set down the controller and turned to face Eliot. “We’re a team, we’re always involved.”

Eliot shook his head. “Not in this,” he said. “And definitely not in Order business.”

“Why?” Hardison asked. “Because it’s too dangerous? Please. We followed you all over DC, remember?”

“Because this isn’t your fight!” Eliot shouted. He stood and started pacing, running his hands through his hair. His shoulder screamed with the movement, and his breath hitched at the pain in his side. Eliot grimaced. “You don’t have a sentence hanging over your head like I do.”

Hardison stood, and placed his hands on Eliot’s shoulders, mindful of his injuries.

“Eliot,” he said. “You are the best fighter I have ever seen, and you are a better man than you give yourself credit for.” He gave Eliot’s uninjured shoulder a squeeze. “You protect us on every job we go on, and you protect the world even though it doesn’t know it needs protecting. You’ve been fighting this battle on your own for too long. Let us help. That’s what we’re here for. We family, man.”

Eliot lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut. For years he’d felt like this fight, this curse was his to carry. He had enough blood on his hands to warrant an eternity in hell. When he’d been given this chance, he’d taken it with the knowledge that he’d have to walk this path alone.

Looking up, Eliot searched Hardison’s eyes. He saw nothing but love and worry in the hacker’s dark gaze. Sometimes he surprised Eliot. It wasn’t often he showed there was a mature human being underneath all that geeky armor.

Eliot released a deep breath and settled back on the couch. The tension bled from his body and he sunk into the soft cushions, just letting go of the worry for a little while.

“Fine,” Eliot said, pointing a finger at him. “But if you get yourself killed, I’m tracking you down in the afterlife and kicking your ass.”

Hardison laughed as he joined him and handed him one of the game controllers.

“Very funny,” Hardison said as he started up the game.

Eliot stayed silent, just raised an eyebrow and kept his gaze focused on the other man.

“Really?” Hardison asked, brow furrowed. “You can do that? Seriously?”

“I know people,” Eliot said. He could tell the moment Hardison remembered just who and what Eliot was doing this job for.

“Right,” he said turning back to the game.

“Glad we understand each other,” Eliot said as the game’s music began to fill the room.

They spent the morning playing games, Hardison winning most by virtue of having played them all. At around noon Neal slipped in, taking a seat at the table and placing a couple of brown paper bags on the surface. He ignored Hardison’s disgruntled look. He had a smirk gracing his face and Eliot could feel the headache forming already.

“I like your team,” Neal said, taking a sip of his drink. “Mozzie is jealous.”

Eliot snorted and put the controller away. “Has he asked for autographs yet?”

Neal laughed. “I don’t think he’s forgiven me enough yet.”

“Oh?”

Neal shrugged. “Secret government agencies give him hives.”

“Are ya’ll done yet?” Hardison asked.

“Problem?”

“Yeah, there’s a problem,” Hardison said. “Today is not for work. Today is for letting your injured ass recover.”

Eliot rolled his eyes and grabbed one of the bags. Inside were several cartons of food, all smelling suspiciously familiar. The last time he’d been faced with such an offering had been after he’d baled Neal out of a con involving Matthew Keller and a dead body.

It had been messy, and the human authorities had been crawling all over the case. He’d ended up burning several favors to help Neal get out of the country they’d been in. The meal had shown up on his kitchen table with an origami bouquet. One paper flower had been a scarlet geranium, signifying stupidity. Another had been a pink rose for friendship. Eliot gave Neal a look and received a nod in return.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“I put the recipe in the other bag.”

“Thanks.”

Hardison reached around Eliot and snagged a container and a plastic fork. “Well, if you two are finished swapping recipes, I’m gonna eat.”

Eliot laughed at Neal’s affronted looked. “He lives off frozen food and orange soda.”

“You leave my hot pockets out of this.”

“Anyway,” Neal said as he dug out the rest of the containers. Eliot snagged one with a lemon cod and another with asparagus and began eating. “Once we’re done eating, we’re supposed to go meet with the Order representatives.”

“Can’t,” Hardison said. He pointed his fork at Eliot. “Dude got the crap beat out of him yesterday. Oh and he was shot. He’s supposed to be resting.”

The implied You were supposed to be looking after him. hung in the space between them.

Neal gave him a sympathetic smile. “We don’t have a choice,” he said.

Eliot nodded, looking down at the food in his hand. It tasted like ash in his mouth.

“No,” Hardison said. He put the food down and crossed his arms. “I don’t care what super secret club you belong to, he’s supposed to be resting.”

“They don’t care,” Eliot said. “A job went south, and the police got called in. There will be a lot of questions and they want answers.”

“Fine,” Hardison said, grabbing his jacket. “Then let’s go.”

Eliot and Neal shared a look before he turned back to Hardison.

“You can’t,” Eliot said.

“If they found out he’s told you about them he could get into serious trouble,” Neal added.

“What kind of trouble?”

Eliot shrugged. “They could make sure I receive a harsher sentence.”

“They’d send you to hell?” Hardison eyes widened and his voice went up in pitch.

“They could,” Eliot said. “They probably won’t, considering all the people we’ve lost. But they most likely would have me removed from the team and stationed somewhere else.”

“We’d just find you then,” Hardison said.

“They’d make sure you didn’t remember knowing him,” Neal said, voice soft and eyes filled with firsthand knowledge.

“That’s not right,” Hardison said. “They’re supposed to be the good guys.”

Eliot snorted. “They only care about the greater good.”

“Ordinary people seem to get forgotten,” Neal added. He turned and placed a hand on Eliot’s arm. “Come on, we don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Eliot nodded and turned, he gave one last glance at Hardison, noting the scowl marring his face, before closing the door.

The meeting place was held on the fourteenth floor of a building undergoing renovations. Floor to ceiling windows let in the late afternoon light. Drywall dust covered the floor. Eliot could see his boot prints as he walked. Loose wires hung from the ceiling, and stacks of construction equipment were placed off to one side.

A group of three people waited for them in the center of the room. A tall man and woman, both wearing matching suits watched them with somber expressions. The third made Eliot’s heart sink. A woman with dark hair and a flowery dress sat in the only chair. She held a deck of cards which she shuffled before placing them face down on the table.

“Agent Spencer,” the woman in the suit said. “I am Agent Hawthorn; this is my associate Agent Barrett.” She turned and gave Neal a smile. “Thank you, Agent Caffrey. That will be all.”

Neal nodded, and then gave Eliot’s arm a squeeze. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

Eliot let a small smile show as he watched Neal leave. Then he turned to face the other people in the room. He stood, at ease, despite his aching shoulder. Old habits were hard to break after a lifetime of living them.

Agent Hawthorn folded her arms across her chest and gave Eliot a bland look.

“The ghouls in the Garment District,” she said, getting straight to business. “How did that job go south? It was fairly straightforward for someone of your talents.”

“It should have been,” Eliot said. “But the information was incomplete. The ghouls had set up shop in the store. One of them had stolen the previous owner’s identity.”

“And the gunshots?” Agent Barrett asked.

“One of the ghouls showed up armed,” Eliot said. “Before I had a chance to engage, the ghoul opened fire, hitting me in the shoulder.”

“Why would a ghoul carry a gun?”

“They had a stash of illegal weapons in a storage closet in a backroom.” Eliot kept his gaze focused straight ahead. He’d given reports like this dozens of times, and he saw no reason to do anything different. “It’s believed that the ghouls were selling them on the black market.”

“How was this room missed?” Agent Hawthorn asked. “It is protocol to search the area before engaging the enemy.”

Eliot straightened his shoulders, and took a deep breath. “The ghouls showed up halfway through my search.”

“So they didn’t make it to the room before engaging you?”

Eliot nodded his head. “No, Ma’am.”

“So how did you know about the back room?”

“Agent Shelley told me.”

“And you had no way to counter this?” Agent Barrett asked.

A slight touch skated across his thoughts and Eliot paused. He went to answer and it happened again, stronger this time. He looked towards the woman with the cards. She had a serene smile on her face and her dark eyes were locked onto him.

“Leave us,” she said, her voice soft and lilting. “I wish to speak with Agent Spencer.”

Eliot straightened to attention as the other two agents bowed and left. Soon it was just him and the other woman. She smiled and leaned back in her chair, cards on the table, and hands in her lap.

“Hello, Eliot,” she said. “I take it you know who I am.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Eliot said, fighting to keep his voice polite. “Though what Thanatos’ Oracle wants with me, I don’t know.”

She nodded. “You can call me Esdras.” She stood and came to stand before him. “You are the only one to survive the attacks.”

She placed a hand on his injured shoulder, a look of deep sadness crossing her face. Eliot couldn’t help the flinch, and she removed her hand.

“I had help,” Eliot replied, though he didn’t elaborate. Esdras’ look told him she already knew.

“You’re not like the other agents.”

“I’m just trying to do my job, just like everyone else,” he said. Fear started to grip his heart. She knew about his team.

“No,” Esdras said. “You are different. It’s why he chose you.”

“No offence, Ma’am,” Eliot said. “But Michael and his followers were a bunch of crackpots.”

“I wasn’t talking about the traitor.”

Eliot frowned. “Kalen offered me the same deal all the others got.”

She shook her head, a slight smirk on her face. “Thanatos has always had a soft spot for you.”

“I ain’t some chosen one,” Eliot snapped, grief filling him over the loss of friends, and all for some fancy words on ancient parchment.

“Then why has Khepri contacted you?”

Eliot stiffened, his eyes widening at her words.

“And you thought it was due to a favor being owed.”

“What’s going on?”

“Prophecy,” Esdras said. “Destiny. Both.”

She placed a gentle kiss on his forehead before leaning back and handing him a card from the table.

“This will help shed some light.”

Eliot looked at the card in his hand; it had a depiction of Thanatos painted on the back, wings spread and sword in hand. When he looked up, the room was empty, the table and chairs gone too. Taking a deep breath, he put the card in the inner pocket of his jacket and left. He didn’t want to stay in the building any longer than he had too.

Chapter Six:

Neal was waiting for him in the lobby, a concerned look on his face. He stayed silent as they walked out into the early evening crowd. Eliot was thankful for his tact. His mind was filled with questions, the card a damning weight on his heart like chains around his neck, or the wings on his back.

They walked a few blocks, making their way to a secluded area of Central Park. Neal stopped at a vendor and bought two coffees before they sat down. Eliot took his with a nod of thanks, the warm liquid providing him with a way to focus his thoughts. He took a deep drink, letting the hot bitter liquid sooth his nerves before setting his cup aside.

He didn’t say anything, just reached into his jacket pocket and handed Neal the card. The sharp intake of breath at his side, told him all he needed to know.

“The mark of Thanatos’ Heir. Well, this certainly changes things,” Neal said as he handed the card back.

“You can’t tell the others,” Eliot said giving Neal a hard look. “Not even Burke and Mozzie.”

“They’ll know about the hearing,” Neal said giving Eliot a hard look of his own.

Eliot stood up and finished off his coffee, throwing the cup into the trash. “I’ll tell them I got lucky.”

Neal stood, throwing his cup away as well. He then put his hands into his pockets and faced Eliot.

“They’ll find out you know.” Neal let his gaze wonder off to focus on the distant buildings. “It’s better if they hear it from you.”

“Speaking from experience, Caffrey?” Eliot snapped. He regretted his words when Neal flinched. He knew all about having ones past and present colliding in a disaster.

“You’re one to talk.” Neal’s words were sharp, biting, revealing wounds that had yet to heal.

“I’ll tell them after this job is taken care of.” Eliot offered him an apologetic look and Neal nodded.

“Fine,” Neal said as he fell into step with Eliot. “But I won’t keep this from them forever.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Silence fell as they continued back to the hotel. When they reached Eliot’s room, they found the entire group gathered there, an agitated Hardison pacing the floor.

“What’s going on?” Eliot asked as he and Neal entered. All eyes turned towards them and Eliot soon had a face full of angry Parker.

“Where have you been?”

Eliot backed up, shoving her hand away from his chest. “I told Hardison,” he said. “Now what’s going on?”

“You disappeared off the map!” Hardison said. He waved towards the laptop sitting on the coffee table. “I couldn’t even track his anklet.”

“What?” Neal asked, looking from his leg to Peter. “But I didn’t leave my radius.”

“I know,” Peter said. He showed Neal his phone, the red dot indicating Neal’s location. “On all FBI equipment, you showed up in your radius. On his, however, you’d disappeared.”

Eliot and Neal shared a panicked look.

“I didn’t report it,” Peter said.

Neal relaxed and sat down. “We went to a building a few blocks from here.”

“We weren’t gone that long,” Eliot said, a scowl settling over his face. “There was no reason for you to be tracking me.”

Hardison crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “I ain’t letting them whisk you off to some uncharted territory.”

“What did they want?” Nate asked, taking a drink of his whiskey.

Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew that tone. That tone meant small governments were in danger of being toppled, and crooked CEO’s were to soon be facing jail time and public ruin.

“They wanted to know about the incident from the other day,” Eliot said. “I told Hardison this earlier.”

Nate gave Eliot a look, letting him know he’d already figured most of it out, and he’d be very happy if Eliot just filled in the rest of the blanks. Looking around the room, he noted the concern on Sophie, Parker, and Hardison’s faces, as well as Peter’s own version of Nate’s look, directed at Neal.

An irritated huff beside him was his only warning as Neal drew out the card he’d thought was in his own pocket and placed it on the table.

“Thanatos’ Oracle was there,” Neal said. “She gave him this.”

“Damn it, Caffrey!”

Nate picked it up, and a dark look settled over his face.

“Eliot, start talking.”

“I didn’t know she’d be there.”

“What’s this mean?” Peter asked, his tone of voice eerily similar to Nate’s.

“We’re not sure,” Neal said, holding up a hand to forestall any interruption. “She knows about the job Eliot is here to do, but we don’t think the rest of the Order does.”

“Don’t know why she hasn’t spilled the beans,” Eliot said with a shrug, going along with Neal’s version of events. Neal may not outright lie to Peter, but that didn’t mean he told the whole truth either. “Something like this goes against the treaty they signed millennia ago. The higher ups in the Order made sure we only went after monsters that targeted humans, and left the Gods of Old alone.”

“Nobody wanted an all out war between us,” Neal said. “The Gods of Old couldn’t interfere with humans unless asked, and we didn’t have enough power to challenge them directly.”

“If you were no threat to them, then why’d they call for a treaty?” Peter asked.

Eliot sighed and ran a hand through his hair. There were days when Eliot hated the way Nate’s brain worked, how quickly he picked up the pieces and came away with a complete picture. Now he was faced with another man, just as smart as Nate, and just as deadly, asking questions he wouldn’t let Eliot dance around.

There was no friendship holding them together, no years of trust built up that let Eliot leave out the ugly details. Peter Burke trusted Neal, he did not however, extend that same trust to anyone else in the room. Eliot knew that if he decided they were a threat, he’d do his damndest to take them all down. Eliot could respect that. He’d do the same thing if their roles were reversed. It didn’t mean he had to like it though.

“When the Order started, the Gods of Old got angry. They felt Thanatos was gathering an army to challenge them.”

“The fight left a lot of people dead on both sides,” Neal said.

“How come we’ve never heard of this?” Sophie asked, voice holding a note of panic. “I mean, sure it wouldn’t be told as actual history, but the legends would have said something.”

“You have,” Eliot said. He gave her a soft look. He wished he could spare them this knowledge. “It was talked about in Plato's dialogues Timaeus and Critias.”

“Atlantis? Seriously?” Hardison asked. “Seriously?”

“What is this job you’re doing” Nate asked.

Eliot took a deep breath, knowing his next words would shatter the fragile calm they’d achieved.

“I have to kill a God.”

Glass shattered against the wall as Nate stood. His movements were clipped, and he favored Eliot with a look usually reserved for the people they took down.

Everyone fell silent and Eliot felt his shoulders tense, his wings drawing close to his sides. He and Nate faced each other, a scene remnant of the time he found out about Eliot’s past with Damien Moreau. The tension was just as think, the emotions circling the room nearly tangible.

“I owe Khepri,” Eliot said, voice soft and steady. “And whether you like it or not, that means something in my world.”

Nate didn’t respond, he just stood there, arms crossed, eyes locked onto Eliot. Eliot spared a glance at the others. Peter seemed to be on the same page as Nate while Hardison, Parker, and Sophie were unsure who to stand by.

A hand on his shoulder had him relaxing. Neal stood solid by his side, a challenging look of his own leveled at the people in the room. Seconds later, Hardison and Parker were on side and Sophie was giving Nate a look that meant she was on board as well, and if he knew what was good for him he’d follow along. Nate nodded and Eliot felt the tension leave his body and he exhaled in relief.

Peter sighed and settled back onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. “I never thought I’d miss the days when all I had to do was chase thieves.”

“Hey!” Parker said, scowling at Peter. “Thief here.”

“Not what he meant, Parker,” Eliot said, his relief clear in his words.

“So, what do we have to do?” Peter asked. He then held up a hand before Neal could argue. “I’m not letting you do this by yourself, and no they don’t count.”

Eliot laughed at the other’s affronted looks. He loved his teammates, not that he’d ever tell them that, and the last thing he wanted was his obligations to Khepri tearing his family apart. It eased the burden to know they were stronger than that.

“I need to find out where Neper is,” Eliot said. “Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, but I can’t go through my usual channels.”

“How does one find a god?” Sophie asked as she leaned into Nate.

“Road blocks and wanted posters?” Neal’s voice carried heavy sarcasm, and Eliot shoved him.

“Not helping, Caffrey.”

“Actually, he is,” Peter said. Seeing their skeptical looks, he held up his hands. “Just listen.” He looked to Nate. “How’d you go about tracking these guys when you worked for IYS?”

“You want to conduct a manhunt,” Nate said, voice carrying a thoughtful tone.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“That won’t work,” Hardison said, then paused a frown marring his face. “Will it?”

Neal grinned. “You know we could…”

“No,” Peter said, his voice gruff, but a hint of a smile could be seen.

“But there’s seven of us.” Neal gave his most imploring look.

“I said no,” Peter said. “Besides, I don’t think we’ll need to go quite that far.”

“He’s right,” Nate said. “Though I’ll keep that in mind, just in case.”

Neal sat back on the couch, satisfied.

“This is still my job,” Eliot broke in, beginning to feel overwhelmed, the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes crashing down on him.

“Oh course,” Sophie said, patting him on the arm, before going back to arguing with Nate and Peter. Parker had a speculative gleam in her eyes, and Hardison was busy tapping away on his computer.

Eliot shook his head and sank down next to Neal. He knew them meeting was a bad idea.

Chapter Seven:

Sunlight beat down on his body, dirt stuck to his skin. Eliot could barely move, and breathing was becoming difficult. He could feel the warm sticky blood pouring down his side. Each beat of his heart sent more blood spilling from his body. His wings twitched with each spike of pain, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the hounds of hell came to collect their due.

He wondered where his team was, if they’d gotten out in time. The job had been a set up, the vampire waiting for them behind an army of enthralled kids. Children no older than ten had come running into the room, guns raised. Bullets had ripped through his body before he’d had time to process anything.

The bombs had gone off a few seconds later, spraying fire, brick, and mortar in every direction. His ears still rang from the explosions. Orders had been shouted, and he’d been dragged from the ruined building and out into the sweltering heat.

Tiny pinpricks alighted along his arm, pulling him into the present. It scuttled up his bicep and up onto his chest. Another went up his neck and onto his forehead. Eliot was too weak to bat the insects away. He wondered briefly if they’d come to clean his flesh from his bones.

One blink and the sun was blocked out, and in another blink a hand settled on his forehead, the insect now lifted from his head. A softly accented voice drifted to his ears and Eliot felt his body sagging in relief as the pain left him.

“Not today, my friend,” the voice said, as fingers ran through his matted hair. “Your God is not through with you just yet.”

Eliot jerked awake, moonlight still seeping through the curtains. The card sitting on the nightstand drew his eyes, simple in design, but pressing the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Sitting up, he swung his feet to the floor and stood.

He walked into the living room knowing what he’d find when he got there. Khepri sat in one of the arm chairs, a large dark beetle scuttling over his hand. His eyes were focused on the bug’s movements, a slight smile gracing his face.

“Hello, Eliot,” he said finally looking away from the bug. “I take it everything is going well?”

Eliot sat down on the couch and leaned back, a scowl darkening his face. “You know exactly how things are going.”

Khepri laughed, and with a wave of his hand, the beetle vanished.

“I see you got your God’s message.”

“That prophecy is a load of horse shit,” Eliot said. “I ain’t Thanatos’ Heir.”

“Aren’t you though?” Khepri asked one eyebrow raised. “If not, then why did his Oracle not tell his agents of your deeds?” He leaned forward, arms on his knees. “Why has the knowledge of your work been allowed to spread outside the Order?”

“I work with a bunch of nosy thieves,” Eliot said. “They don’t know the meaning of the word privacy.”

“They’ve seen the dangers of this job,” Khepri said. “And yet they stand by you. More have come to your side since.”

Eliot rolled his eyes, willing to concede the point just to get the conversation over with. “Fine, I’m some chosen one. What do you want?”

“To give you this,” Khepri said. He laid a dagger on the table. It was old, the iron blade worn with time. The petrified wooden handle was polished to a shiny black.

Eliot kept away from the simple blade. He could feel the power coming from it. It made his skin crawl, and his breath hitch.

“In order to kill a God,” Khepri said. “You need a weapon forged by a God.”

Eliot shook his head and refused to pick up the dagger.

“I ain’t touching that.”

“You won’t be able to do the job without it.”

Eliot’s head jerked up, but the seat was now empty. There was no trace that Khepri had even been there except for the dagger.

Standing, Eliot pulled out one of his dagger cases. Opening it, he took out the knife and used it to slide the old dagger into the case. Closing the lid he put his dagger in the bottom of his bag, along with the case. Then he put his bag back in its place and climbed back into bed. Morning was several hours off and it was too late to deal with any of this.

He woke to the smell of coffee and sunlight streaming into his eyes. Sitting up, he noted the cup on the nightstand and the bag from a familiar takeout place.

Standing, he pulled on a shirt, and walked into the living room. Neal sat on the couch, a newspaper in his lap and a coffee cup in hand.

“About time you woke up,” Neal said. He sat the newspaper down on the coffee table. “Peter and Nate want us to get a move on. They’re anxious to get started.”

Eliot tensed, his wings spreading a few inches from his back. “They can wait until I’ve at least had a shower.”

Grabbing some clean clothes, Eliot locked himself into the bathroom. Not that it would stop Neal from getting in, but it gave him the illusion of privacy.

Stripping out of his sleep clothes, and tossing the old bandage into the trash, Eliot climbed into the shower. The water came out at a lovely pressure and hot enough to already start fogging up the room.

Washing his hair, he then checked over his injuries. The wound to his shoulder was an angry pink scar, the muscles still sore, but the bruises looked like they were weeks old.

Giving thanks to the added perk of his condition, Eliot washed away the dirt and sweat from the previous days and climbed out of the shower. Despite his words, he knew he couldn’t soak like he’d wanted too. The others were waiting, and Eliot knew how miserable Nate could be if he thought they weren’t moving fast enough.

Getting dressed, Eliot quickly combed his hair, and brushed his teeth. When he exited, he found his coffee and breakfast on the coffee table and his shoes and socks next to the arm chair.
Sitting, he didn’t bother to comment on Neal’s not so subtle hint, and took a long drink of his coffee before putting on his socks and shoes.

“Were you going to tell me about your visitor last night?” Neal asked, voice innocent, eyes wide.

Eliot jerked back and narrowed his. “You went through my bag.”

“I got your socks out.”

“They’re sittin’ on top of everything else.”

“I found this,” Neal said. He held up a scarab. It looked to be made of green limestone and was the size of Neal’s palm. “It was sitting on your bag.”

Eliot cursed, and tied the laces of his boots with quick sharp movements.

“I thought we had a meeting to get to?”

Neal sat the scarab on the coffee table and stood. The look he gave Eliot let him know the subject had not been dropped, it was just being postponed.

“Fine,” Neal said. “But if I think the others need to know, I’ll tell them.”

“You already proved you’d do that,” Eliot snapped out as he headed to the door, coffee and food forgotten for now. He wasn’t in the mood to eat anyway.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him and he turned a dark look towards Neal.

“I don’t lie to Peter.” Neal slipped passed him and headed down the hallway.

Chapter Eight:

Much to Eliot’s annoyance they ended up at Neal’s apartment, Mozzie hovering around the group. He kept a wide breadth around Eliot and Nate, but was gushing to the point of saccharine around Parker and Sophie. Eliot was pretty sure if Mozzie didn’t stop, Hardison was going to end up breaking his laptop.

Maps and stacks of paper littered Neal’s tiny kitchen table, the edges held down by a few bottles of wine.

“Already?” Neal asked, gesturing towards the wine glasses Sophie and Mozzie held. “It’s not even ten o’clock.”

“A good con requires a good vintage,” Mozzie replied with a wave of his hand.

“See, Nate,” Sophie said, smacking his shoulder. “He knows what he’s talking about.”

Nate gave her an incredulous look. “I thought you wanted me to stop drinking.”

“I wanted you to stop being an ass,” Sophie said. “There is a difference.”

“Guys,” Eliot said, cutting in before a fight could break out. “What’s going on?”

“We’re conducting a manhunt,” Mozzie said, smile in place. “See, this is you.” He held up a plastic green toy soldier. He then pointed to small pieces of candy scattered about. “These other pieces are various places you’ve been, and places we think your target might be hiding.”

“And ya’ll think you’re gonna find a God using Oreos?” Eliot held up the cookie with a disgusted look. Hardison snatched it out of his hand a second later.

“That was mine,” he said, taking a bite out of the cookie while still typing away on his laptop.

“We’re doomed,” Eliot said, sinking down into a vacant chair.

“Not so fast,” Neal said leaning over to look at the map. He adjusted a few pieces and stood back, tapping Eliot on his shoulder. “What do you see?”

Eliot looked closely and then swore in every language he knew. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What is it?” Parker asked, leaning across Eliot’s back to look over his shoulder.

He shrugged trying to dislodge her, but she held on.

“Get off, Parker,” Eliot growled out. “Go hang off Hardison.”

“You have a better vantage point.”

Sophie, Nate, and Peter both leaned over the map, and Eliot could see when they all noticed the pattern.

“The Metropolitan Museum of Art.” Peter ran a hand over his face. “Of course a God would take up residence in a museum. It makes perfect sense.”

“It does actually,” Neal said.

“I was being sarcastic.”

Sighing, Neal pointed to the map. “It holds a large amount of ancient artifacts from all over the world. It’s the perfect place for a God of Old to go for people to remember them.”

“Their power comes from their believers,” Sophie said. “He’s right, it does make sense.”

“But people don’t actually believe in them,” Parker said.

“They talk about them,” Nate said. “They remember their names and debate how they were worshiped. People discuss how those beliefs shaped society.”

“But people are just showing up to see a bunch of old stuff.”

“Old stuff?” Neal asked, an insulted look on his face.

“It’s priceless old stuff,” Parker said. “But it’s still old stuff.”

“It’s priceless artifacts that tell the story of our history,” Neal said. “It’s how we learn how our ancestors lived, what they loved, the type of art they created…”

“And she doesn’t care as long as it gets her money,” Hardison broke in.

Parker smiled and shrugged. “I like money.”

“Okay,” Peter said before Neal could get going again. “So we have a God in the museum. How do we get him out?”

Eliot moved from under Parker and came to stand by Nate. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the map.

“Do ya’ll have blue prints for the museum?”

Silence greeted his words and Eliot looked up to see Neal, Mozzie, Sophie, and Parker all looking at him with similar expressions.

“Right,” Eliot said. “Dumb question.”

“You don’t know the museum’s layout?” Nate asked a hint of surprise in his voice.

Eliot shrugged. “I like to have a visual to work from.”

“I’ve got it right here,” Hardison said, pointing to his laptop screen.

“Not that type of visual,” Eliot said. “I like something I can hold in my hands, maybe even write on.”

“The classics never go out of style,” Mozzie said with a nod.

“It helps to know if they’ve updated any of the areas. The last time I had to retrieve something from there was about eight years ago,” Eliot said.

Peter sighed. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” He turned towards Neal. “Draw up the blue prints.” He held up a hand to stop Neal’s words. “Don’t. I know you can do it.”

Neal grinned and grabbed his sketch book, sitting down on the couch. He began drawing the layout of the museum with quick sure movements. Parker and Mozzie drifted over, Parker holding a pencil, and started adding their own details to the layout. Hardison followed a second later, laptop in hand.

“So now what?” Peter said, tearing his eyes away from the group at the couch.

Nate smiled. “Now we steal a museum.”

Chapter Nine:

“Can ya’ll hear me?” Hardison asked, his voice carrying over the comms. “Eliot?”

Eliot turned his head slightly from where he was studying the two sculptures before the Temple of Dendur.

“I’m in position.”

“Good,” Hardison said. “I don’t have ya’ll on camera yet and I need to know where ya’ll are.”

Eliot stayed silent, continuing his trek around the outer perimeter of the exhibit. Waning sunlight poured through the stippled glass wall, and glinted off the reflecting pool surrounding the temple’s main structure. Through the glass wall, he could see people stretched out, enjoying the warm evening in Central Park.

Sophie and Neal continued to charm the director of the museum, both smooth and utterly in the characters they were playing. A part of Eliot mourned Neal’s deal with the FBI. If they’d had the conman on the team, he and Sophie would have been unbeatable. And maybe they wouldn’t have had to resort to some of Nate’s more outrageous plans.

“Parker,” Hardison said. “How’s it going?”

“The Lady is busy at the moment,” Mozzie said, sounding putout.”Don’t you know better than to interrupt a master at work?”

“Okay, I’m done,” Parker said, sounding cheerful. “I’m headed out now.”

“Mozzie?”

“He’s on clean up. He should be out soon,” Park replied. “I can see Sophie and Neal. They’re almost to Eliot.”

“I’m in,” Hardison said. “The system is ours.”

“Eliot,” Nate said. “They’re about to head your way.”

“Roger that,” Eliot replied. He walked around until his back was to the glass wall, facing the temple. He could see his reflection in the waters before him.

He heard them before he saw them as Neal and Sophie glided in. She looked every inch the duchess she was playing, and Neal, with his vintage suit and perfect smile looked right at home by her side.

“Now, this is more like it,” Neal said, his accent just as soft and sophisticated as Sophie’s. He turned a besotted look her way, and patted her arm. “Isn’t it perfect, my dear?”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Sophie said as she broke away and walked towards Eliot’s spot. “We can set up hors d'oeuvres over here.”

He continued his slow circuit of the temple, coming around the front just as Sophie passed him. She slipped the keycard into his pocket without missing a step, and he ambled over to the front of the temple, pretending to read the antiqued graffiti decorating the walls. Apparently a John Dillard had visited the temple in 1825.

“I‘m going to regret those two meeting aren’t I?” Peter muttered.

Eliot couldn’t hide his snort. “I’d worry more about Mozzie and Parker.”

“Now you’re trying to give me nightmares,” Peter said.

“Not funny, man,” Hardison said. “Now I’m stuck in the van with a grumpy G-Man.”

“Welcome to my world,” Neal said, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“Don’t forget Nate,” Parker said. “He’s always grumpy.”

“Neal,” Peter’s voice was saccharine as it came over the comms, and Eliot winced. “I’m sure I can find plenty of mortgage fraud cases for you to look over if the van’s too much for you.”

“I’m pretty sure that counts as cruel and unusual punishment, Suit.”

“Mozzie.”

“Sorry, Neal, you’re on your own.”

“Traitor.”

“Whoa,” Parker said, her awe clear for everyone to hear. “He’s got Nate like powers.”

Eliot choked off a laugh, making it sound like a cough. Neal’s glare as he passed him let him know he hadn’t been very successful.

“All right, everyone,” Nate broke in. “I think it’s time we wrap this stage of the plan up.”

“On my way,” Eliot said. He followed the crowd as it headed towards the exit, the museum about to close in fifteen minutes. He could hear Sophie and Neal giving their own goodbyes as his feet hit the sidewalk.

“I’m clear,” Eliot said. “I’ll meet ya’ll back at the hotel.”

Eliot shut the comm off, taking it out and putting it in his jacket pocket. The night air had cooled, spring not yet ready to give way to summer. Eliot took a moment to admire the view as he relaxed some. Skyscrapers lit up the city, and people’s voices mingled with the thrum of engines, creating a symphonic harmony that was strictly New York. Standing on the steps of the Met, it was easy to see why this city held such a fascination with the rest of the world.

About a block from the museum, Eliot got into the back of Mozzie’s cab, a frown settling over his face when the meter turned on.

“I ain’t paying you,” he said as Mozzie pulled into traffic.

“I’ll have you know this is a legitimate business,” Mozzie said. “Just ask the Suit.”

“I don’t care,” Eliot said. “And you still owe me for Hamburg.”

“Of course,” Mozzie said, shutting the meter off.

They pulled up to the hotel about twenty minutes later. Eliot climbed out, giving Mozzie a nod goodbye. He watched the cab drive off into traffic before shaking his head and heading inside.

When he reached his hotel room, he found it already occupied. Parker had taken over his couch, while Hardison sat on the floor by the coffee table spreading out cartons of takeout. Nate had claimed one armchair and Peter the other, so Eliot shoved Parker’s legs out of the way and sat down.

“Neal and Sophie should be here soon,” Hardison said.

Eliot leaned forward and snagged a carton of fried rice and a pair of chopsticks.

“They were right behind me as I was leavin’,” Eliot said as he began eating.

A few minutes later they walked in, chatting like old friends. Neal held a bag full of beer, and Sophie carried a bottle of wine.

“Eliot,” Neal said as he set the beer by the coffee table. He handed one to Peter before snagging some food for himself. “You should have introduced me to Sophie years ago.”

“No, he shouldn’t have,” Peter said, pointing his beer bottle at Neal.

Sophie laughed and patted Peter’s shoulder as she went to settle by Nate. “Oh, you’re adorable.”

Eliot grinned at the affronted look on Peter’s face.

“That’s only cute coming from my wife.”

“When are you going in?” Nate asked, eyes focused on his drink.

Eliot took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Tonight, around midnight.”

“Okay.”

They chatted for a bit, sharing bits and pieces of their lives that they could. No one wanted to put Peter in a position where he could not turn a blind eye, and some details of certain cases couldn’t be openly discussed. Food was passed around and regularly stolen when someone wasn’t paying enough attention.

It ended up turning into a competition between Neal and Parker, the latter taking it more seriously than the former. As good a thief as he was, Eliot knew Neal didn’t believe himself to be in Parker’s league. His real talent lay in forgery and grifting.

After an amusing tale about a job they’d pulled, Nate had ended up covered in blue jello, Nate stood, and held out a hand for Sophie. She rose, giving the room a soft smile.

“I believe it’s time we left since we’ve got a long night ahead of us,” Nate said. “We’ll see you later.”

Parker dragged Hardison off soon after, and Peter quickly followed. Eliot didn’t blame the man. He’d spent more time in the company of criminals than he’d been comfortable with. Neal gave him a knowing look and stood.

“I’ll see you later,” he said and Eliot nodded.

“Thanks,” he said as Neal stood in the open doorway. “You didn’t have to get involved, but, thanks.”

Neal nodded. “Anytime.” The look he gave Eliot spoke of their shared past, and grief over friends lost. “You don’t even have to ask.”

The door closing rang with a sort of finale that Eliot was familiar with. He rose and headed towards the bedroom. He had a job to get ready for.

Chapter Ten:

“I’m in,” Eliot said as he carefully let the door close behind him.

The exhibit was dark, only the emergency lights on. Eliot stayed in the shadows, careful of the large glass wall to his right. Even at this hour, people still liked to stroll through Central Park, and the last thing they needed was the police being called.

“All right, man,” Hardison said. “I’ve got the security cameras, and the guards are on the other side of the building.”

“This rooftop is amazing,” Parker said. “Hey, Neal, want to go jumping? Oh, and the perimeter of the museum is clear.”

Laughter drifted over the comms, and Eliot rolled his eyes. Parker had warmed up to Neal after he’d told the story of how he’d base jumped off the side of a building in order to switch out a real painting with a forgery.

“Parker, stop trying to get Neal in trouble.”

He slipped the bottle of water from his jacket pocket as he entered the inner section of the temple. This was the area where offerings were made, and it was off limits to guest.

Kneeling before the back wall, Eliot sat the bottle down and pulled out the paint brush Neal had given him. It had a sleek long black handle and fine kolinsky hair for the bristles. He needed an all natural brush for this, and Neal had given up one of his brushes for the job.

“All right, I’m going silent,” Eliot said. He switched the comm off and put it in his pocket. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and found his center. It was time to start.

Opening his eyes, he set the brush on his thigh before reaching forward and opening the bottle of water. He then picked up the brush, dipped it in, and started painting sigils on the floor of the temple. The wet lines barely showed on the stone floor, but Eliot could feel the call resonating out with each line he drew. The power grew as he began reciting the prayer, his words coinciding with each stroke of the brush.

This was the hard part, he had to keep his concentration up, and trust that his cobbled together team would watch his back. He knew Nate, Sophie, and Peter would be cautious about rushing in, and that for the most part, Parker would follow the plan.

Hardison had the tendency to overdo things, getting too cocky; thinking the stuff he read online somehow made him an expert. The kid was way too smart for his own good, but Eliot was hoping Neal could halt any reckless actions. If not, then Peter could scare Hardison into staying put. Besides Neal and Nate, he was the one who seemed to understand exactly how dangerous this whole job really was.

As he reached the end of his prayer, he painted the last line on the ground. The symbol glowed briefly before disappearing and a doorway opened up before him. A soft, warm light lit up the doorway, beckoning him forward.

Standing, he left the brush and the water bottle where they lay, shook out his wings, and walked through the door.

The power tingled over his nerves, dancing over the feathers in his wings, and lighting up his vision. He knew if he looked over his shoulder, he would see his wings, solid, with grey feathers, stretched out from his back.

The dagger Khepri had given him slipped into his hand as he walked the short hallway. The room he entered looked like the rest of the temple, ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics etched into the wall. The colors were still vibrant, though, as if they had been put up yesterday. Incense burned from braziers, and torches kept the room well it. A large bed covered in plush blankets and pillows dominated the center.

Eliot eyed the three gods on the bed. The dagger felt heavy in his hand, and his heart cried out for him to just stop. The scene before him broke his heart, but he knew what must be done. Things could not continue as they were, things were getting messy enough as it was.

“Thanatos’ Heir,” Isis said, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. She regarded him with fathomless eyes, and Eliot felt small and weak in comparison. “We knew you would come.”

“He does not know what he does,” Osiris said.

He held the small boy, his head resting in his lap. He ran long fingers through sweat dampened hair, his gaze locked on Neper’s sleeping visage.

“I know,” Eliot said, unable to keep his voice from cracking. “Khepri told me.”

Osiris looked up, dark eyes filled with the wisdom only a God could handle.

“The world has changed so much,” he said, his voice filled with grief. “The humans have forgotten most of us.” He looked back down at Neper and sighed. “Some of us handle it better than most.”

“Some of ya’ll still get your dues,” Eliot said, his gaze tracking towards Isis and back.

“That is true,” she said. She gently drew a wet cloth along Neper’s head, washing away the sweat covering his skin.

“Can he be helped?” Eliot asked.

Osiris looked up, an odd expression flittering across his face. “No.”

Eliot gripped the dagger tighter and stepped forward, his heart sinking to his feet.

“I’ll make it quick,” Eliot said. “I promise.”

Osiris nodded. “Thank you.”

Isis scooted back as Eliot walked forward and knelt on the ground. Neper’s skin was pale, speckled with purplish bruises. His eyes were sunken in, and dark circles were prominent.

Eliot reached a hand out and settled it on the child’s shoulder. Locking eyes with Osiris and Isis, Eliot gave a solemn nod and brought the dagger up. He carefully placed the tip where the brainstem meets the spine. Osiris rested a hand on Neper’s head and Eliot took a deep breath.

Using every bit of skill he’d gained over the years, plus the strength that had been given to him when he’d joined the Order of Thanatos and gained his wings, Eliot pushed the dagger in. It was quick, sliding through bone and muscle with very little resistance.

Blood squirted out, spraying him in the face and chest. It was hot, and sticky, coating his skin and leaving a coppery scent in his nose. His stomach rolled and he forced away memories from when he’d done similar acts for less noble reasons.

Neper’s chest stopped moving and Eliot could hear the moment his heart fell silent. He’d never opened his eyes. The dagger came out just as easily as it had gone in, and Eliot turned it over, handle facing Osiris.

“Here,” Eliot said. “I think it’s best if I leave this with you.”

Osiris nodded and took the blade before handing it off to Isis.

“There is a basin in the outer chamber you can use to clean up,” he said. He turned his gaze back to Neper, grief plain to see.

Eliot stood and left, not bothering with anymore words. All that needed to be said had been, and his job was done. The alliance was finished, and it was time he left them to mourn.

The water in the basin was warm and smelled of kapet incense. Eliot took off his flannel shirt, leaving him clad in just his tank top. He used his shirt to wash off the blood from his face, neck, and hands.

He scrubbed the wet shirt over his hair, getting most of the blood out. He’d still need to take a shower when he got back to the hotel. There was only so much he could do with what he’d been given.

When he finished he wrung his shirt out, and laid it over one shoulder, before leaving the temple. He picked up the bottle and the paintbrush on his way out.

Neal was waiting for him a block from the museum. He took the bottle and paintbrush, falling into step beside him without a word. When they reached the street that would lead him to June’s house, Neal gave Eliot a brief pat on his shoulder and headed off, the dark night swallowing him up.

Eliot waited, the noise of the city singing to him as it refused to rest. He started counting in his head, reaching three when Parker skipped up to his side, and Hardison appeared on his left.

“Nate and Sophie took the van,” he said. “They’re dropping Peter off at his place.”

Eliot started walking then, Parker bouncing along beside him, Hardison with his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Can we go home now?” Parker asked as they waited for a light to change. “I miss Portland.” She slipped in between him and Hardison, her arms looping around theirs.

Eliot and Hardison shared a look, before Eliot shook his head. He knew he’d have to face the consequences of his so called destiny soon enough, but for now he felt lighter, free of the obligation of a debt owed. He was still sad that the job had to be done, but he knew it was for the best. Some things just could not be ignored.

“Yeah, Parker,” he said as the light turned green, signaling it was their turn to cross. “We can go home now.”