The elevator door continued crawling down the Tower. Due to Ichabod's machinations, it was slower than usual, like a snail slowly sliming its way down a post.

It was a time of preparation. Two guards stood flanking the data storage center at all times. They changed shifts every eight hours. Cybernetically enhanced to keep awake in those eight hours, without need of a break or a meal. Like statues, natural decorations below.

Not tonight, however. Ichabod took a deep breath as he pulled out his pistols. The intention for this heist was for it to be as cold as possible, a surgical maneuvering in and out. Very little gunplay needed. If things heated up, it was over. Their advantage was in the shadows, the element of surprise, the fact that Agrippa did not know they had infiltrated the place.

Yet here they were, about to throw caution to the wind.

For there was no way around this part of the plan.

Here, they would need to take out the guards. As quickly as possible. Partly why he had wanted G-Wiz as their heavy. Or anyone, really, with the mind for combat and who was used to doing heavy damage. Even Joseph would have done, even if he would have tripped on his shoelaces on the way here.

Beside him, Contort rolled his shoulders. He was pulling out a pair of knives, flipping one of them in his rubbery hands. But there was little he would be able to do.

No, the one doing the heavy lifting here would be Rorshin. The druid was looking upwards as the elevator shifted downwards. After a moment, as the elevator lights dimmed, he walked over and placed a hand on the cold metal wall.

“Hmm,” he said, “Almost out of the spellcaster's range.”

“It only goes down so much?” Contort asked.

“Indeed,” Rorshin said, “I would suspect that his magic works best above ground, and is weaker in the depths below.”

“And you couldn't... teleport us straight here?” Contort asked, “Could've spared us the heartache.”

“What, are you weak?” Rorshin spat, “The magic I used requires the wind. A pact with the whispering parts of the world. Nothing whispers down here. Not anymore.”

He turned an icy glare to the metal wall, and his hand slid down the wall's side.

“The only sound down here is droning. Metal, soulless droning.”

***

They were making Vicenorn work for his meal, that was for sure.

Never mind that Ichabod and the others were sneaking down floor by floor, instead of being sensible and just taking the elevator.

He had been hard at work splicing images together, tricking the cameras as Ichabod, Rorshin, and Contort ran through the halls of the Tower, making sure each successive one was offline as the team weaved their way through the building.

With a shivering hand, he took out a towel and wiped his sweating brow. All of him stank of sweat. He felt like he had just walked through a storm. He had always found it an odd feeling - his old body had never sweated like this. His artificial heart rang hollow in his chest.

The Spiders weren't designed to be working this intensely for this long. The automatic camera systems were fighting back against them, and Vicenorn found at some points that he was beginning to lose control. Some of the cameras went blank for him, mostly on the top floors. Some of the security system was realizing there was an intruder in the network, and he was working frantically to keep himself concealed.

The only saving grace to this entire debacle was that none of the Spiders had gone offline.

Yet.

Ichabod and the others were starting to head down into the depths of the Tower. Into the information storage room. This next part would be the nastiest. A quick firefight. A deadly one. A flip of the coin, if he was being honest with himself. He remembered the looks of those guards down there. Not Pantheon. Not guild. But with heavy rifles and combat gear, a fully militarized security force.

Vicenorn switched off their cameras. They did not realize it. He wired into the cameras in the room and began running a reel from earlier in the day in their stead. Any security officer in the observation room would simply see the mundane day-to-day of below the Tower. Not what was about to come.

Not Ichabod risking his life.

Vicenorn wasn't sure if he liked that or not. He wished for a strong drink right about now.

***

High above Vicenorn, looking down from the Tower, on the fifth floor, was Charnak. The fox was looking out towards the cityscape, his eyes watching the various vehicles as they crawled on the ground like ants.

His eyes slid down to one in particular, which had an etheric line that linked itself to Shimmer and his companion.

It had also been wheeling around close to the Tower for their entire visit. Not out of the ordinary, of course. Perhaps it was just waiting for them to finish, and had nothing better to do.

But Charnak had been burned by happy coincidences before.

He phased through the window, a light paw stepping out into open air.

The air solidified as he descended downwards, as though he were walking down a staircase.

If the taxi was just simply waiting, it would not mind one of the guild snooping around, would it?

But if it was here for illicit reasons...

This would be enjoyable, indeed.

***

There was a moment of quiet as the elevator door dinged. The two guards at their posts looked up. Noted that no one stepped out of the elevator. One exchanged looks with the other, and both of them switched their rifles’ safeties off.

The one on the left put a hand to his helmet, trying to get in contact with the rest of security above. What he did not realize is that his signals were being shorted out by a small charge on Ichabod's arm. A simple pulse, nothing major, to disrupt communications going in and out of the room. It would not last long.

But he didn't need it to last long. He nodded to Rorshin.

Who took a deep breath, held it for a second. His exhale was like a northern gale, strong and cold and bitter, grabbed hold of the two guards, lifting them off their feet and slamming them into the walls. Ichabod pointed up his pistols, and began firing on the one on the left.

It was not pretty. His shots sunk into the guard's armor for the most part. Aiming for the center of mass only did so much when the center of mass was covered up. But Ichabod was no ordinary sharpshooter. He was aided by his mechanical eyes, his mechanical arms. The parts of his brain that were cybernetic took over, guiding his arms upwards using automatic calculations. They guided him to a killshot, a bullet to the throat. The guard fumbled to the ground.

Rorshin was not so clean. Wind whipped around him as he dove forward, propelled by his own indoor tornado, until he was right on the guard. He slammed a hand onto the guard's helmet, whispering a word of power. The world groaned. Ancient things stirred.

The guard began to scream as he shrunk down, his skin becoming slimy and green. Rorshin reached out a hand and grabbed the guard's head, pulling, bit by bit, as the guard turned into a frog. It looked at Rorshin, the druid laying it on the ground.

A moment later, his boot slammed into it, crushing it beneath his heel in a spray of pink and green gore.

“Gross,” Contort said.

“It is nature,” Rorshin said.

“Get the camouflage back up,” Ichabod ordered, “Quickly now.”

Rorshin whispered, and the air shifted, pulling in around them. Ichabod walked over and clicked a button on the elevator.

“Now,” he said, “This elevator can't be used by anyone else.”

“And this is the only one that leads down here?” Contort asked.

“Correct,” Ichabod said.

“...And what if Agrippa decides he wants to use it to come down here?”

“Then we hide,” Ichabod said. He stepped over to the door that led into the records room, the Cutter splitting open. He began applying it to the door, knives and needles splicing into the door's console, peeling it open. He knelt down.

“That means there's a window,” Contort said, “How long for you to cut into the door?”

“About twenty minutes,” Ichabod said, and he grimaced as part of the console sparked.

Contort looked back at the elevator. Twenty minutes of them being stuck here, in this narrow hall. If someone with the right security clearances tried coming down here, they would realize the elevator wouldn't work. That would get security called in. There would be curiosity, at first. And then a deeper realization that they were in the middle of an active infiltration.

Then guards like the ones on the ground would be coming in. Contort knelt down to consider them. It was a very lucky skirmish, if he was honest. Both of his guildmates had been professional and efficient with their work. Anything less, and the guards would have opened fire. A spray of bullets that could have taken out all three of them.

Both of the guards were in heavy combat gear, with cybernetic arms holding state-of-the-line rifles. Kinetic projectiles, by the looks of them.

“Wanzel 83s,” Ichabod said, nodding at the firearms, “Just were rolled out last year.”

“They look nasty,” Contort said. He picked up the rifle of the man who Rorshin had turned into a frog, noting with some stomach-churning that the artificial arms were still there. He jammed his fingers between the grip and the handle of the gun, collapsing his fingers in, prying the weapon loose. He held it in hand for a second.

“Feels solid,” he said.

“They are,” Ichabod said, “The Wanzel line hosts some of the most reliable firearms in this region of the multiverse. They come out with a new one every few years, and corporations cast off their old models.”

“And, let me guess,” Contort said, “They go right to the black market?”

“My first rifle was a Wanzel 45,” Ichabod said, smirking, “Worked like a charm for a long time.”

Rorshin, in response, let out a growl and a roll of the eyes.

Ichabod continued working.

***

“Just this way, sir,” the attendant said. She guided Becenti and G-Wiz down the hall from Agrippa's office, turning left. Potted plants lined either side of them like soldiers, bushy things with no branches and thin, white trunks. Pure water poured down in waterfalls between them, pooling into a communal, rectangular outcropping on the floor.

The attendant brought them to one of four elevators that were lined up, side by side. She clicked one, smiling cheerily – and falsely – at them.

The elevator dinged.

***

Far below, the elevator let out a shrill ding. Contort glanced up, pointing a rifle.

“Someone's trying to use it,” he said.

“We have ears, you know,” Ichabod sneered.

“Should we be worried?” Contort asked.

“...If it's someone actually trying to get down here, yes,” Ichabod said. He was quiet as the Cutter continued to work like a mechanical octopus, unbidden and freed from its owner, “But if it's just an employee going home for the night, they'll get bored. Perhaps put it in a report. Go on with their day. It's just a malfunctioning elevator.”

Contort nodded.

“But still keep that rifle up,” Ichabod said, “Hope for the mundane, prepare for the supernatural.”

And Contort nodded again.

They waited for a few minutes. The attendant continued smiling that fake, patronizing smile. But something shifted in her glass eyes, and they kept darting from their faces to the elevator.

“Oh, dear,” she said, “I'm so sorry. It looks like this one is...”

She couldn't well say 'out of order,' could she? This was the Tower of Eden. Nothing could be out of order here. Not even the elevator.

“It's taking a bit longer than expected,” the attendant said, “I'll call another, just in case.”

She walked over and clicked the button again. Becenti and G-Wiz exchanged looks while her back was turned. They both knew why the elevator wasn't working. Becenti scratched at his hand. G-Wiz steadied her breathing, trying not to tap her fingers against her thigh while she waited.

Finally, the second elevator let out a cheery ring. The attendant visibly relaxed as it opened up.

“Come along, now,” she said, “Won't be too long.”

They stepped inside. Waited a thousand years for the elevator to go down the length of the Tower.

At one point, it stopped. Opened up. Their blood froze as a security drone – black, spherical, a deep red light set in its middle like a bloody eye – floated inside.

“Oh, dear,” the attendant said, and Becenti noted that her voice was just a smudge higher than normal, “I'm sorry, it's not every day that our security drones use the elevators like this.”

“Of no concern,” Becenti said. G-Wiz wondered how he could keep his tone so casual, so level, “Any particular reason why it would be traveling?”

“They usually follow a set schedule,” the attendant said, “And only veer off of it when they detect something out of the ordinary. Mostly it's just our employees who take some overtime to finish their projects, but occasionally something goes off in the network, and they take the fastest route.”

The door closed. The elevator continued to descend. The drone simply floated like a planet, bobbing in the air slightly.

After another few floors, the elevator dinged again, to a floor festooned in gray cubicles. There was no light here, and a few other drones were already there, lights below their red eyes flashed on. The elevator's drone exited.

The door shut once more. And they continued to go down.

***

It took Vicenorn a few turns to realize he was being followed.

Not by any cars, as he looked out his rear view mirror. But from above. One of the taxi's cameras flushed upwards, towards the cityscape high above, the neon advertisements, the Tower.

A dot in the Tower's center, gently walking on the air.

Vicenorn grimaced as he clicked a few buttons, feeling trapped with his immense bulk in such a small space. He twisted his entire body as he reached across the desk towards the small keyboard that controlled the taxi's cameras. He pressed a few buttons, trying to control the shaking in his hands, as the image sharpened.

Charnak. The fox magician was taking his time. Vulpine eyes, yellow and primal, watched the taxi as Vicenorn rounded a corner.

The taxi was out of view of the Tower. On another street entirely. Buildings flanked either side of the road, skyscrapers that rose out of the black and into the clouds. Vicenorn let out an exhale. His head pounded as he tried to calm himself down, repeating falsehoods he wished were true.

Charnak was just patrolling.

Just looking around.

He had mere paranoia, and nothing more.

He was not hunting for any one thing.

He was part of Pantheon, and that meant patrolling around the Tower for any signs of trouble.

He did not suspect anything.

He had no clue that another guild was in his Tower now…

Charnak stepped out onto the street, floating in the air, letting the wind carry him as though he were standing on a platform. He continued to follow the taxi, ignoring all of the other cars in the area. Those eyes continued to bore holes into Vicenorn's soul.

Vicenorn cursed to himself.

***

The words that Ichabod did not want to hear blared in his communicator.

“C team to A team, over.”

Vicenorn.

Ichabod pressed a hand against his wrist, talking into it.

“A team to C team. Make it quick.”

“They're onto me,” Vicenorn said. His breath was hurried, and panic was starting to overtake his voice, “Their spellcaster is stalking me.”

“Keep casual,” Ichabod said, “Don't make any rash decisions.”

“I think we've been made,” Vicenorn said.

“This line is secure, but won't be much longer,” Ichabod said, and his voice was cold. Professional. Devoid of the usual charm he tried to slide in when speaking to Oris, “You're jeopardizing everyone by using it.”

“I know,” Vicenorn said, “By my calculations, we have another few minutes before they catch wind of a stray signal.”

“Alright,” Ichabod said, “You've got this. B team should be finished up at any moment. Just drive up to the front, act professional. You're here for legitimate reasons. You're not breaking any law.”

“He's starting to get closer, Icha-”

“It's just his paranoia,” Ichabod hissed, “Remember where we are, C team. Line is secure, but it also is not.”

“...R-Right,” Vicenorn coughed, “God, he's practically over the taxi now.”

“He's looking for a reason,” Ichabod said, “Don't give him one. Drive up to the front of the Tower.”

He could hear Vicenorn's labored breathing. Could hear the clatter of keyboards as he typed commands to the taxi to take him to the Tower's entrance. He could imagine him now, Charnak floating over him, glaring holes into the taxi's roof.

It would be no contest, if things went wrong. Vicenorn was no fighter, not truly. Charnak was a magician in his element.

Ichabod didn't want to think about that.

“I'm not doing well, A team,” Vicenorn wheezed.

“C team,” Ichabod said, “If you didn't want to wind up in dangerous situations, why did you join a guild?”

“For the medical benefits,” Vicenorn hissed.

Ichabod was caught off guard. He let out a snort and hid his smile. He felt himself go red a bit.

“Keep calm, C team,” Ichabod said.

“I will,” Vicenorn said, “I'll try. See you, A team. Good luck.”

“You too,” Ichabod said.

He yearned to add a 'Love you' to the end of that. His heart hammered at the thought of it. But no, not when they were on a job. Not when so much could go wrong. He didn't want those words, more like weights, to carry on Vicenorn's mind.

The line went dead.

Ichabod took a deep breath. His Cutter was still at work.

“...Alright,” he said, “Almost there.”

***

Rain had begun to, once more, trickle outside as Becenti and G-Wiz stepped out into the garden-covered lobby. It spattered, drip by drip, against the vast glass wall that was the Tower's entrance. They each took out their umbrellas as they walked.

“Thank you for your visit,” the attendant said, “When you think of the good work, think of OzTech.”

She gave them that awful smile again. Becenti nodded at her. G-Wiz tried to hide a grimace.

They stepped out into the rain. Out of the Tower entirely. Once more in the city. Both of them felt a wave of relief overtake them.

One that quickly washed away, at the sight of Charnak floating over their taxi out front. G-Wiz froze midstep. Becenti exhaled quickly, before moving forward. He went down the steps, the rain splattering against his umbrella. Charnak was staring at him as he strode forward. The fox had no umbrella. The rain matted down his fur, stray winds picking up his cloak, revealing that galaxy-studded staff of his. He floated like a spectre.

“Good evening, Charnak,” Becenti said.

“Top of the evenin' to ye, Myron Becenti,” Charnak rasped.

“Is there... anything I can help you with?” Becenti asked, feigning ignorance.

The fox let out a huff.

“I am patrolling about, something ill is in the air,” he sniffed, “I was wondering who this taxi was for. Has been going around the Tower several times.”

“That would be our ride, actually,” Becenti said.

“A taxi?”

Charnak nodded, as if accepting that answer. He looked around for a moment, noting the other cars in the area. High above, thunder roiled.

“I find it odd coincidence, Myron Becenti,” Charnak said, “This taxi, this one that is picking you up, it is the same taxi that you arrived in.”

Becenti nodded.

“Indeed,” he said, “I asked the onboard computer to have it stick around.”

“The... system?” Charnak asked, “The system does not take allowances such as that, Myron Becenti. I am surprised.”

G-Wiz bit the inside of her lip. They couldn't out and tell Charnak that Vicenorn was in there, could they? A man, sitting in an automatic taxi, for hours? Perhaps Becenti could have spun it that Vicenorn was waiting in the taxi for them, ready to pick them up. But then, why? They could have easily called another ride. Should have, really. But Becenti had already spoken, already gone down a path. He was caught in a lie.

“Odd, it did for me,” he said, keeping himself casual.

“You're quite sure?”

“I am,” Becenti said, “We asked the computer to stick around, and it gave us an affirmative that it would. Must be a new feature, I suppose.”

“Of course,” Charnak said.

“Really, I'm surprised it took OzTech this long to introduce such a program,” Becenti said.

“One would think they would go for efficiency,” Charnak agreed.

He sniffed the air again. His eyes, mottled yellow and sickly, slid from Becenti to G-Wiz, then back again.

“You Amber Foundation...” he said, “You had one more with you, yes?”

“Ah, yes,” Becenti said, “Vicenorn.”

“He is not with you now?”

“I don't think he is,” Becenti said, “He's on a few other minor errands.”

“And he will meet up with you.”

“Of course,” Becenti said.

“And you are staying... where?”

Becenti narrowed his eyes. G-Wiz had to admit, he was good at this.

“Elsewhere in the city,” he said, feigning suspicion, “Nowhere important, now. A simple lodging, for our time here. Now, Mr. Charnak. I am afraid that my guildmate and I are running a bit low on time, and we must be off.”

“Ah, of course,” Charnak said, “I have kept you for far too long.”

“Quite alright,” Becenti said, “Come, G-Wiz.”

He stepped over to the driver's side. Nodded at G-Wiz, who opened the passenger door. She went inside quickly, closing it up, all too aware that Charnak was staring at her, trying to stare through her, into the inside of the vehicle.

In case he could see Vicenorn.

Becenti closed the door, looking at her for a second. There was a tension in his eyes that had not been there before. He turned back to Vicenorn. The large, cybernetic man was sweating profusely, dabbing a towel against a reddened brow. His hands were shaking, and his glasses were fogged up.

“He's been following me for a few blocks now,” Vicenorn said.

“Keep your cool,” Becenti said, “Make the taxi drive us out, now. Make it slow. Robotic. Like it's an automatic program making sure it doesn't run into anything as it pulls out.”

Vicenorn nodded, clicking a button on one of his computers. The taxi began to reverse, then go forward. Through the rear view mirror, Becenti could see Charnak, still watching them, still standing tall.

As they drove off, he started floating up. Higher and higher.

“Watch him,” Becenti said, “Charnak.”

Vicenorn complied, a camera on the taxi tracking the fox's movements as he levitated upwards. Smaller shapes began crowding around him. Ravens.

As a host, they began to move once more. Towards the taxi. Above it.

“They're following us again,” Becenti said.

“Hell,” Vicenorn said, “Are they...?”

“He's suspicious of something,” Becenti said, “And I'm a fool.”

“You played up quite the cover story,” G-Wiz said.

“I should have just made it simple,” Becenti said, “Played dumb. But Charnak would have seen through that.”

“Looks like he saw through us anyways,” G-Wiz said.

“I don't understand,” Vicenorn said.

Becenti looked back at him.

“He's going to follow us all the way back to the smoke shop, I suspect,” he said, “Once there, he's going to make sure we follow our story. We – I – told him that you were running a few minor errands, Vicenorn. He thinks that you're not in the taxi.”

“And if I get out, then he's going to know you lied,” Vicenorn said.

“He's already suspicious. If things go well inside the Tower, that will be it,” Becenti said, “If they catch Ichabod and the others, however, there's the possibility that Charnak will put two and two together. Not enough for any legal action, of course. But Charnak was never one who carried for the legality of his violence.”

He let that frank admission hang in the air. Vicenorn squeezed his eyes shut.

“Right,” he said, “He'll kill us.”

“Or try to,” Becenti said, “Don't count us out, Oris. Ms. Wiz and I have been in tougher situations before.”

“Hell yeah,” G-Wiz said, “Don't worry about it, Vicenorn. If it comes down to it, we got this.”

Becenti stared at the camera. At Charnak, floating high above.

“Let's hope it doesn't come to that,” he said, “We just have to hope that Ichabod and his team don't alert Agrippa that we're in there. If he does, it means that everyone here could be compromised.”

***

The security team found the fallen drone on the forty-ninth floor.

A technician was called, accompanied by techno-organic security, that melding of steel and flesh, two guards who each carried heavy rifles. Walking armories that looked out of place in the darkly lit office space. They should have been on the front line somewhere, deployed to put down rebellions or break down the feeble unions that sometimes cropped up in Neos's factory cities. But here they were, accompanying the technician as he stepped over to the fallen corpse of the drone. Its brothers floated in the air above it, watching the technician as he knelt down, his left hand's fingers splitting open, revealing thin, proboscis-like needles that uncurled out and searched around for the drone's open ports, wiring into them.

The technician's eyes went green as his brain jacked into the drone's memory banks. It had been quick, the camera's movement had been blurry. Whoever was doing this had been smart. Had known what to turn off, and where to find it. Images showed people in dark clothing taking out this drone.

It was not a mere accident. Not a coincidence.

The technician took out his communicator.

“Tech to security. We've got a few infiltrators in the building tonight.”

***

“And it's been trying to call up here ever since, sir,” the attendant said.

She was a good girl. Had been working for the company for almost a year now. Agrippa knew all of his attendants, by name, by history. He tracked them all, in his spare time.

This one was an especially pretty thing.

There had been whispers and movement about the Tower. A technician was taking a look at the elevator door, having prised free the console's interface and jacking into the system manually. Her eyes glowed green as she worked.

Macabre stood next to them, a raven on her shoulder. Most of them, Agrippa knew, were swarming through the city now. A few of them had joined Charnak on that wild goose chase of his. Her eyes were silver-hued as she watched through her animals' eyes.

“Any luck?” Agrippa asked her.

She shook her head.

Agrippa nodded at that. Perhaps Charnak's suspicions were just that – suspicions. He had been on edge ever since...

Ever since Myron Becenti had shown up for his meeting. At his front door. At first, Agrippa had supposed it was old war paranoia. They had been on opposite sides, after all, hadn't they? In those dream-like years of glory.

A communication request clicked in his ear. Agrippa pressed his communicator.

“Yes?” he said.

“Sir,” it was the head of security, “Begging your pardon on this late night. But we've got a situation.”

“Oh?”

“Infiltrators, sir. They've taken out one of the drones on floor forty-nine.”

Agrippa's heart began to race. He could sense what felt like electricity surge through his bloodstream, cold and beautiful, running up his spine and into his brain. For a moment, his dull eyes cleared.

“I see,” he said, and he felt himself begin to smile, “It appears they've disabled Elevator Alpha, as well.”

“...Understood,” the head of security said, “I'm deploying a security team now to deal with them. I would recommend implementing the usual protocols sir, and get yourself into your saferoom.”

“There's no need,” Agrippa said, “They're below. I can feel it.”

“Below, sir?”

“If they wanted me dead, and have gotten in this deep, we would have seen something,” Agrippa said, his breath felt warm and hot and heavy, “But we haven't, and Elevator Alpha is down. Send the team to the underground levels. They'll find the infiltrators there.”

“Sir, I understand, but I must insist-”

“I will be joining you there.”

“Sir!”

“Do not worry about me,” Agrippa said. Above him, the G'Rash Haro let out a deep, rumbling purr. There was something layered underneath it, something darker still, and he was appreciative of the shivers that ran through his attendant, “I am well protected.”

He pointed a finger at the technician.

“You. Get the elevator working again. Make it quick, now.”

***

The elevator gave out another ring. Someone else was trying to use it. Contort grimaced as he pointed the rifle at the lift's front, kneeling down. His breathing was steady as he took aim.

“Any day now, Ichabod,” he said.

“Almost have it,” Ichabod's voice was strained. Exhausted. The security system had been wilier than he had anticipated. New walls had been put in place. There had been a physical lock that wrapped around one of the drives, and his Cutter had been forced to wrench it free, tossing it aside and ripping through a few errant wires. Nothing that he couldn't fix. But it had been more brute force than elegant sidestepping.

Something that Ichabod had always hated.

“Alright,” he said, “I think I'm in.”

The elevator rang again.

“They're going to call a technician soon, if they haven't already,” Ichabod said, “If they haven't already. Rorshin, is the spell ready?”

The druid nodded, stepping forward to the console.

“What should I do?” he asked.

“I've modified the system so it will take the password from last week,” Ichabod said, “Et in Arcadia Ego.”

Rorshin produced the small, wooden cube that held the parrot's power. He knelt down to Ichabod's modified console. He breathed in deep, and when he exhaled, his breath smelled of humid mud and the rot of dead trees.

When he spoke, his voice was Agrippa's.

“Et in Arcadia Ego,” he said, and Ichabod suppressed a shiver.

The door, forced into movement by the voice and by Ichabod's machinations, rang green, and opened. The records room beckoned them in, swathed in darkness, the dim ringings of primitive, blocky machines making up the chorus of the room.

They stepped inside. Ichabod took a shaky breath.

He had never gotten this far.

Not before.

Images in his head, of that very hall, played out. Elijah roaring as he opened fire on the elevator, as Charnak's spells deflected each bullet as the fox rushed in, flames swirling around him.

But that hadn't happened. It would not happen.

He turned to Contort and Rorshin. Contort was looking around the room, brow furrowed. He still held the rifle in hand, and had prised free the other and put it into his back. Looked like a real Rambo, now. Rorshin stood a bit behind him, whispering words that took to the wind, the camouflage spell taking hold once more.

“Let's get to it,” Ichabod said, “We don't have much time now.”

***

The door to the records room closed. The hall was quiet, now. The bodies of the two security guards rested, blood beginning to pool on the beautiful, water-rippled floor. The elevator let out a third ding. Then a fourth.

Then, Ichabod's defenses overridden, the elevator began to head back up. All the way to the top floor of the Tower.

From earth to sky.