...Misty stared at Mic. She didn't have time for a visit. Drake would be free of the blessed bamboo soon, and when he was, he would be furious. He would kill her if he caught up to her.

Mic pulled her to him. Their lips met, the heat of the kiss searing its way down her spine, etching itself into her memory, mocking the void's attempts to erase it. She pulled away desperate moments later, wishing she could spend all eternity in Mic's embrace.

"I have to go."

"I know. Get the drives to Mrs. Slate. Don't stop for anything. Help is on the way; Oberon might be able to hold this bastard long enough, if you can just get back to the Great Hall kiosk before Drake."

"I can't run. I'm not sure I can walk."

"There are some painkillers in the kiosk. It will take a few seconds, but you won't feel your knee for a while. I'll talk you through it."

She had to say it. She had to go, and neither of them might live through the night. "I... I love you, Mic."

"I adore it each time you say that. I love you too, Misty."

Misty pushed herself away from Mic's sanctum, and the void engulfed her...

***

...and a fierce fire burned at Tee's core...

Misty

...a fierce fire burned at Misty's core, like nothing she'd ever felt before. It was like what she'd felt for Tama, only not. It defied her fear of Lady Morgan, dwarfed her awe of Micah-sama. She had no idea what it was or why, but it buoyed her up despite her terror when a bestial roar echoed through the museum.

"Miss Tee. Please inject this syringe into your thigh."

Without thinking, Misty followed the kiosk's instructions. It would never lie to her, after all. Ice raced through her leg, searing away the pain. Between the strange fire in her heart and the chemical ice in her veins, she felt like she could leap to the moon.

"Miss Tee, you must take this drive and the others like it in your pocket up to The Lady Morgan. She waits in the Great Hall. Take the maintenance stairs, all other stairs are unsafe at this time."

Misty took the drive, carefully sliding it between the other four in her coverall pocket. A furious roar from the Balcony Gallery shook several children's displays from the walls, and Tee bent down to pick them up.

"Tee! Run to the Great Hall! Run!"

She ran.

***

Listening to the sounds of Drake rampaging through her museum, Phil danced along the razor's edge between terror and insanity. Across the kiosk from her Oberon stood, arms crossed, idly looking from one artwork to another. Without his power, she didn't stand a chance against the dragon. Even with it, she wasn't sure. Oberon wasn't what he once was.

The Muse held Oberon's attention. For Phil he wouldn't have shown up. If he realized he was talking to her rather than her alter ego, he would leave in an instant. Holding herself on the ragged edge to channel the Muse's power tore her apart piece by piece. Without Micah, without Michaela and Matt, Oberon and the Muse were the museum's only hope. She clung to her mental image of Micah, praying that she would still be herself when he returned.

The door to the maintenance stairs creaked open, and Tee stumbled out, clutching at the big pocket on the breast of her coverall. She looked around, eyes scouring the Great Hall for Phil knew not what. When Tee's gaze met Phil's, the custodian went totally still, crouching protectively around whatever she clutched.

The lights went dim for a moment, and another roar of rage and pain shook the museum. Shocked from her fugue, Tee stumbled into motion. As she staggered toward the kiosk in the center of the room, Phil got a better look at her. One leg of her coverall shredded into ribbons; Phil saw white in the depths of one deep cut. Little rips covered Tee's body, each one dark with blood.

Phil wanted to shout. She wanted to bite her lip. Tee was a dozen long strides from winning the race, from earning Oberon's support in dealing with the dragon, but she seemed totally preoccupied with whatever was in her breast pocket.

Despite her injuries, Tee didn't seem to be in pain. She looked lost, more even than she normally did. Her hands scrabbled at her big breast pocket; the way two fingers on her left hand twisted backward explained why she was having so much trouble with it. Finally, when she made it halfway across the floor, the pocket came open, and she pulled out a short handful of flash drives. The moment she looked at them, comprehension spread across her face. A smile followed, and Tee looked up at Phil, Oberon and the kiosk.

Stolen novel; please report.

Phil couldn't help a smile of relief as Tee lurched her way toward the finish line, holding the discs out before her. "Lady Morgan! These are for..."

A scaled, serpentine wall smashed across the space between Phil and Tee. The discs in the janitor's hands went flying. In shock, Phil watched the drives as they scattered to one side of the room, coming to rest in a sloppy row along the wall. She looked back to Tee, only to see a mass of coiled serpent where the janitor had been standing. The Muse danced through her head, tearing at her grip on reality, and the dragon smiled down at her.

His mouth moved, but Phil had no idea what he said. She couldn't hear anything over the rush of blood and Power in her head. A glint of light near the ceiling caught her eye; the security system tracked the serpent across the floor with its stun guns, but for some reason it didn't fire. It didn't do anything as the dragon lifted one wickedly clawed talon and brought it crashing through the kiosk, shattering the decorative case, the liquid crystal display, the computer tower, and Ophilia's hopes, all with a single blow.

***

Misty thrashed against the dragon's gilded coils, but it was like lashing out against steel cables. She was, in the end, just a skinny, amnesiac janitor, and her enemy a living incarnation of Power armored in the genius of the ages. He would kill her. He had already killed... killed...

She had regrets. They weighed on her so heavily even the void within couldn't swallow them all. Inside, she knew that someone dear to her had been killed, destroyed by the dragon that even now slithered about her, savoring her despair, waiting for the taste of her terror. She wished she could see the artwork of the museum, appreciate it just one more time, but the dragon would never allow that.

Instead, she watched the artwork embedded in the dragon's skin as it slithered by. It was beautiful, each work unique and yet alike in the genius of its execution. The dragon’s coils pinned her hands, or she would gladly polish each and every scale until the art contained within could shine through the way it ought to. Under her intent, hypnotic gaze, the artwork gleamed, almost as if preening just for her. It was an illusion, she would die horribly the moment... the moment...

She would die horribly soon, but for the moment she found peace in the artwork that surrounded her, supported her, and would crush her to death like a grape beneath the heel of an elephant. She bore it no ill will; the artwork could not be held accountable for the actions of its bearer.

"Oberon!" The dragon's voice hit her like an auditory avalanche. Blood trickled from Misty's ears; sounds came muffled now; Drake's further words muffled by the damage he'd already done. His voice was so loud that with his chest pressed against her skin, she could not fail to hear him, but perhaps it wouldn't hurt as much.

"Oberon!" It still hurt, just as much as ever. Misty tried to sink into her communion with the art and was only partially successful. Images of women comforting crying children slid past her, and she smiled in her pain. "The champion of this place is mine! Do you yield her up unto me?"

The next voice she heard, the one she assumed was Oberon, bypassed her ears entirely. It burned at her mind, light ringing the void where her memories died. She let the pain wash over her and focused on the artwork.

"You've bested her, Drake. She is yours. I will be going now. I have no need or desire to watch you destroy her." Oberon sniffed, as if at some fetid odor. "I'm sure I don't even recognize who she is. You may have her."

The Dragon's scales tilted as he slid past, the rough edges scraping the tough denim away from her skin. In the places where her coverall had already worn through, it tore at her. She screamed, most of her mind lost in the beauty embedded in the dragon's scales. Her screams pitched higher and higher, and a series of words ripped their way from her heart, echoing from the vaulting ceiling of the great hall.

"X! Ricardo! Mic!"

She had no idea who that last name was, but the thought thrust away from her in the same moment she had it, sucked down the void with her pain and her memories of pain. Lady Morgan's voice, but deeper, darker, infinitely more cunning, and deadly, echoed through the hall.

"Wyrm! Oberon! STOP!"

The void within her shivered and quaked with the force of that voice, slipping outward to gobble up her memories of who spoke. The thing around her froze, scales digging into her cruelly. She tried to remember what to do when she was in pain, but nothing came to mind. She cried out, her wails simple childlike desire for cessation of suffering.

"Morrigan?" the thing coiled around her pierced her ears once more. Curiosity suffused it, and little Tee knew her suffering would be prolonged.

"Dark queen! How dare you order me about!" Another voice, burning the void within, echoed in her mind.

"You have given what is rightfully mine to this snake. I claim," an echo of humor that reeked of blood echoed through the hall, "weregelt."

"This one? Yours? Faugh. She masqueraded as Seeleigh! I acknowledge no debt."

The echoing, evil voice of the void spoke once more, now with cunning edges cutting at her memories, leaving only the first few around the edges.

"Did she say she was Seeleigh? Did she claim protection of your court?"

A haughty voice pushed the void back, "No. It matters not. I acknowledge no debt, and I deny your claim!"

"I challenge you."

"You are a fool, Morrigan." The sound of metal on metal rang through the hall, and in the corner of her eye a figure gleamed, armored from head to toe in glass and gold and shining gems.

"My Champion?"

The armored man tried to draw his sword, but Papa X was there, one hand on his hip, the other holding a sliver of steel through his enemy's visor. The man started to draw but stopped his motion with a jerk and a hiss of pain.

"Yeah, that right, boy. That razor wire you feelin' around that turkey neck and cuddlin' the boys right now. You pull that big pig sticker, you gonna sing soprano all raggedy like. Really, you move all that much, same thing gonna happen."

"You little... cretin!"

"Yeah, that word, I don't think it mean what you think it mean. Now. I got you attention?"

"Evil sprite, free me!"

Papa X smiled, and little Tee shivered with pained glee. She would be free! Papa X would free her!

"Yeah. No. You listen me, boy. Unless you want to join the Vienna Boys Choir and be all shopping for accessories with Odin... Back. The Fuck. Down."

A wordless snarl came from the armored man's visor. A moment later, with a choking whimper, the figure bowed his head.

Papa X turned away. "Did not know who he was fuckin' wit."

The void spoke again, and Tee lost herself. "Begone!" The armored man disappeared.