Title: Our Sons and Daughters

Chapter Title: Trail Towards Home

Author: Baby Blues

E-mail: purely_blissful@hotmail.com

Rated: R

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, except for the children and the story.

Summary: Buffy’s drive to LA, and Tristan, Eliza, Liam, and Brooke reminisce and get in trouble at the grocery store. Ariella and Aiden talk.

Dedication: To James Marsters who’s just . . . WAY too sexy. I’m so happy to know he’ll continue on AtS next season because I just couldn’t survive without seeing him on TV for a few more years.

Excerpt:

~Brooke: Mommy! You’re fat!

~Buffy: . . . Oh, God . . .


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


“Hey . . . I brought you your shoes. You don’t know what’s lurking out here. Broken glass, bugs . . . broken glass,” Aiden repeated idiotically, placing Ariella’s pure white Sketcher shoes on the grass next to her.



She barely acknowledged him as she crossed her arms tighter around her bent legs and stared at the grass with glassy eyes.



He sighed and sat down next to her, not knowing what to do or even say, which was particularly strange considering he always had something to share with the whole class whether or not they wanted to hear it. He regularly had some comment to impart on an unfortunate individual, and whether it was cruel or malicious, it didn’t matter to him one bit.



Now it seemed that his tongue was stuck in the roof of his mouth as he racked his brain for something witty to verbalize.



He waited.



Ariella had been the third person they had picked up through their journey through the dimensions. And during the time Aiden had spent with her, he had done nothing but tease and insult her mercilessly. It wasn’t as though he did it on purpose, which is a lame excuse all around, but it was his natural response to anyone and everyone near him.



He was bad and rude. He couldn’t change that. Not even if he wanted to.



“Look, chicklet . . . I’m sorry,” he began hesitantly, not sure how to make an apology since he had never really done it before. He never had to make amends for his actions. He was who he was and he didn’t apologize for being himself . . . and especially with what came out of his mouth.



Ariella remained quiet.



Aiden sighed again.



He watched silently as a lady bug landed on her crossed arms. She did nothing, she didn’t flick it off and start screaming like a little girl, she didn’t jump up to her feet to swat it away, she just gazed at it intensely as it scampered across her forearms, fluttering its small wings.



“I don’t understand you,” she said, finally speaking up.



He frowned. “What’s not to understand? I am who I am, and you should already know that. I’m a bad, evil man,” he replied, trying to keep the ruthlessness from coating his tone. It was the truth, and it angered him.



Ariella shook her head and turned her head to look at him as the lady bug flew towards the broken fountain, frightened away from her sudden movement. “You think your are . . . but you’re not.”



He scoffed. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re starting to sound like Tristan and it’s giving me the creeps.”



Now it was Ariella’s turn to sigh. “You’re not bad. You’re not even evil. You just think you are so you act out on it . . . and it’s disrespectful and it pushes people away,” she added in a huff.



Aiden didn’t know how to retort to that.



Ariella chewed on her lower lip and looked at him questioningly. “I don’t get it. This Spike guy is your father, right? And looking at you, I have a feeling that in my dimension he would be my Uncle William ‘cause you look just like him.” She brushed away a strand of her light brown hair and began twirling it between her fingers in a habitual manner. “I know how Uncle Will is like. He’s crude, bad-mannered, ill-tempered, and likes to hit on Mom a lot . . . but if you hate him so much, your father I mean, why do you act exactly like him?”



“I do not!” Aiden exclaimed in shock.



Ariella rolled her eyes. “You do.”



Aiden snorted at her and ran frustrated fingers through his short, curly blond locks. “I came out here to apologize and you have the guts to compare me to my father when you don’t even know anything about me?” he stood up and glared down at her with blistering cerulean eyes, “And what do you know? You’re just a spoiled, little 13-year-old brat who doesn’t know how to work a freakin’ microwave to save her life,” he bit out vehemently.



Ariella’s lower lip trembled and Aiden wanted to hit himself.



God, he was so bad at this.



“You are such a jerk!” she shouted, getting up on her feet as she stared at him with teary blue and green eyes. “I was just pointing out the obvious! It’s not like I’m the only one who sees it. I may be a spoiled, little 13-year-old brat but I’m not blind or overly dumb. I’ll have you know, I went to the best private schools in Los Angeles County and have the reading proficiency of a college student!”



Clenching his jaws and fists tightly, he closed his eyes and quickly counted to ten. He forced a smile on his face. “You know what, coming out here to talk to you like a mature person was a big mistake. I can see that now.”



“Like you know how to be mature, Aiden,” she shot back.



He wanted to smack her.



Her features suddenly softened as her anger slowly ebbed away, but her eyes were still glassy with tears that threatened to spill. She sniffled and rubbed at her eyes. “Look . . . I’m sorry too,” she sobbed, the tears finally flowing down her cheeks in tiny streams. “Like you, my Mom is Buffy, and I sometimes tend to run off with my tongue and ramble on like her. But . . . ” she stared at him with something akin to tender, “ . . . you’re my brother . . . ”



Aiden stared at her as though she had just struck him a hard punch against his stomach. He shook his head lightly. “You-you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”



Ariella frowned. “You ARE my brother. My half brother, but still my brother,” she assured him, “We all have the same mother in Buffy Summers. That makes us a family . . . all of us.”



Aiden looked away from her and turned to stare at the closed doors of the Hyperion Hotel. A family? What the hell did he know about families? He grew up practically taking care of himself. He had no family, not in his father, not in the Scooby Gang. He didn’t even have any friends . . . no one to call an ally or even an aunt or an uncle. He was a loner with no one significant in his life. HE wasn’t important in anyone’s life.



So how did someone become part of a family when that someone didn’t know how to?



“You should go back inside,” he told her softly, “Looks like a storm.”



“Aiden?” Ariella asked worriedly.



He sighed. “I . . . I can’t talk right now. Tell them I’m out for a walk. I’ll be back after night falls. I need to kill something,” he explained as he backed away from her, quickly getting lost in his private thoughts.



He made his way towards the massive black gates in silent contemplation, his frown masking his face. Unlocking the latch, he slipped through the metal gateway and disappeared behind the hedges.




* * * * * * * * * * * *




“The Slayer is approximately 35 minutes away from Los Angeles at this moment, your grace.”



“Good.”



The minion paused, staring at his superior restlessly.



“What?”



“Your eldest son arrived a few hours ago.”



The man growled and slammed his palm against his desk, causing his underling to jump and step back in fear of his wrath. “I told him to stay home.”



“He says he may be of help,” the follower said nervously.



That caused the larger man to pause. “Send him to me. In the meanwhile, call the warlock. I want the spell done before the Slayer reaches Downtown LA.” His face hardened in the darkness, “And if he fails me again . . . he’s as good as dead.”




* * * * * * * * * * * *




“One Of These Days”
Hotel Paper
Michelle Branch



The 2-hour drive to LA was uneventful as Buffy swerved through the semi-empty highways towards the City of Angels later that afternoon. The most interesting part of the drive was wincing every time an innocent bug splattered against the windshield of her car, leaving green-like mush and gunk over the surface.



Making a sound of revulsion as she turned on the windshield wiper, her thoughts quickly went to Sunnydale, praying to the higher beings to take care of her family until she came back.




~I didn’t notice
I didn’t care
I tried being honest
But that left me nowhere~




Buffy thrummed her fingers against the steering wheel to the slow beat of the song as she zipped through the road, her thoughts returning to the present or future situation, however one looked at it.



“Buffy . . . ”



“Angel . . . ”



“Ho-how are you?”



“I’m good . . . You?”



“I’m fine.”



Buffy closed her eyes. He sounded so nervous, so . . . sexy. She had missed hearing his voice, that deep rumble that traveled its way from deep within his throat and through his thin yet luscious lips.



Her stomach clenched uncomfortably at the remembrance of his rich tone that vibrated through the air in sensual waves. She was still hopelessly in love with him after all this time they had been apart. All it took was the sound of his voice coming from the back of her mind, the perfect shade of brown on a piece of chocolate, and the cold touch of Spike for her to be reminded of him and make her feel like she was 16 all over again.




~I watched the station
Saw the bus pulling through
And I don’t mind saying
A part of me left with you~




“Are you busy? I can call back,” he assured her uncertainly.



“No. Just came out of the shower.”



A long pause in his part. “I have to talk to you.”



“Okay . . . as long as it’s not anything about an apocalypse ‘cause I’m kinda busy with the one here,” she tried to joke through the uneasiness.



“Not really . . . ”



And then came the bomb he dropped on her through the phone, and she felt ill.




~So one of these days
I won’t be afraid of staying with you
I hope and I pray
Waiting to find a way back to you
‘Cause that’s where I’m home~




“How? Why? How?” she asked him in quiet shock.



Angel sighed. “I don’t know.”



“Great answer.”



“I’m sorry,” he apologized sincerely, “I don’t know much either . . . They’re just here, left in my care . . . OUR care.”



“I think I’m gonna throw up.”




~Did I make you nervous?
Did I ask for too much?
And was I not deserving
One second of your touch~




“How are they? Are they ok?” she demanded in a flurry of questions. “What do they look like?” she asked curiously, “Perfect? Healthy?”



“Beautiful.”



Buffy wanted to cry when she heard him whisper that word . . . as though he was describing her through them. And the way he said had caused her heart to beat a little faster and her breath come in short puffs.



“How many are there?”



“Eight,” he answered and then added, “And they’re all yours.”



“All mine,” she echoed. Just as I wish you were all mine . . .



“You need to come here, Buffy. You need to be in LA,” he said, “They all need you here right now . . . ” He took a deep unsteady breath and then added in a soft whisper, “I . . . I need you.”



And with those words, her tears began to fall.



“I’ll be there . . . ”




~One of these days
I won’t be afraid of stayin’ with you
I hope and I pray
Waiting to find a way back to you
‘Cause that’s where I’m home~




The buildings of Downtown LA came into view, tall and massive. There was a certain comfort in being back to her hometown, to the lights, the madness, the chaos . . . the shoes.



She smiled at that and then sighed wearily.



Eight children, teens to be exact. My God, she could barely handle Dawn and now she had 8 more kids to care for, each going through coming-of-age dilemmas and rampant hormones.



It was during these moments that Buffy wished her mom was still alive, giving her comfort and words of maternal wisdom.



How was she able to be a mother, a mentor, a teacher to these 8 when she, herself, was still a bit of a child herself . . . not fully an adult yet. This was worse than becoming a teen mother. She had skipped through the conceiving process, the pregnancy, the labor, and all the good and bad stuff that a mother experienced with her children. She escaped almost every vital part of parenthood and is now going through the teen phase without even a warning.



She frowned and once again felt ill.




~What would you do if I could have you?
Oh, if I could
I’d let you feel everything I’m thinking
Wouldn’t that be nice?
Wouldn’t that be nice?~




The future looked unclear, and she had her fears, her doubts, her reservations . . . But when was anything ever easy, especially when it came to a Slayer? She’ll fight the demons that lie ahead, she’ll care for those she loved, and she’ll tend to these kids like they were truly and really hers.



With a new sense of peace at that thought, she drove on . . .




~And one of these days
I won’t be afraid of staying with you~




* * * * * * * * * * * *




“Hey there, honey. Looking for a bit of a rough and tumble?” one of the whores lurking in the alley asked huskily.



Aiden smirked cynically. “Maybe next time.”



“Suit yourself. I’ll be here all week if I don’t get shit on by the pigs.”



Aiden laughed cruelly and waved, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he wound his way through the streets of LA, not particularly caring where he ended up and what kind of creature he’ll meet. He was looking for trouble and eager to kick some ass, yet it looked as though it was a dead late afternoon. If he was back in Sunnydale, he would’ve killed at least 2 demons by now.



He scratched the back of his neck and leaned against a redbrick wall of an abandoned building, watching pedestrians walking by, deep in thought and lost in their own world. Probably worrying about money, agonizing over their love life, stressing about their family . . .



He paused mid-thought.



Family.



How strange that sounded . . . in his mind, on his tongue.



“Family,” he tried it out, the word sounding foreign and raspy coming out of his mouth.



He knew nothing about having and being in a family. Spike had barely been a father to him so he never considered the vampire family. The demon was more like an acquaintance who housed him rather than the person who sired him the old fashioned way.



The reality of it all was that he didn’t have any family, had no inkling of what a family was all about. He had no clue what it meant to have a real place to call home, to have parents who genuinely cared for him, and annoying brothers and sisters who wouldn’t leave him alone. How did one interact with a family? And more importantly, how did one get along with them?



He didn’t know.



From the moment Aiden could first remember, he had always taken care of himself. He made his own bed every morning and cleaned up his own room without being told to while Spike drunk himself into an oblivion, he even made his own snacks and sometimes cooked his own meals while his father watched old reruns on TV until he passed out on the couch.



At the age of 5, when Aiden realized that there was such a thing as school, he begged his father to put him in kindergarten with all the other kids and even demons. When Spike refused, saying that he could handle teaching his own son how to read and multiply, Aiden quickly turned to Willow for help. At FIVE he was already making his own choices, his own decisions, and begging people who don’t seem to care the least bit about him for help. It was also the first, last, and only time he asked the redhead for anything.



At 11 years old, he got his first job. Spike hadn’t wanted to waste any money for some of his necessities, so Aiden began working at Joe’s Bar, washing dishes for $4.50-an-hour just to earn what he can for some of the things he wanted, such as books and little things that made life more pleasant . . . like chocolate and classic, black and white movies they showed at The Old Matinee theater.



He even began killing vampires when he was just 13 years old. He had taught himself how to fight by watching action films, brawls that occurred often in the streets, spying on the Scooby Gang while they patrolled together, and mostly from his own experiences just so he could guard Sunnydale and take over what his mother had left behind. And he did so for years on his own, killing vampires and demons alike at night while he went to school during the day. Spike barely noticed and was never troubled by the late nights and the bruises. He thought he was just out partying like the rest of the teenagers in Sunnydale and fighting for the fun of it.



Aiden snorted. Right, getting beaten up at 1 in the morning by a Kulivias demon was uber fun.



He once even died at 16 in the hospital from blood loss, only for a few minutes before the doctors revived him . . .



No one had been there to worry over him and keep a vigil outside his hospital room, no one visited him to see how he was doing . . . no one seemed to care.



And Aiden did it all on his own with barely any help from the vampire he lived with or the people who his mother considered family, he did it all by himself with a developed sense of dignity, pride, and mature wisdom that a person his age had yet to learn or go through. To be on your own, to have absolutely nobody in your life was an existence few should suffer.



Aiden sighed.



So . . . what WAS family?



. . .



Can you really blame a guy who has never known such a thing?



Aiden stared at the cars lined up like cattle in front of him. His gaze fell to a gorgeous blonde sitting in a dark green jeep, lost in her own reflections. And the only thought that came to his mind and out of his mouth was, “Mom,” before the car drove away.



“Mom!” he yelled after it.



He stood on the sidewalk, his heart beating rapidly as he stared after it, watching it disappear around the corner. Quickly coming out of his shock, he ran to follow, charging his way through the crowds that stood in his way . . . And not once noticing the demon that lurked in the shadows of an alley.




* * * * * * * * * * * *




“What the hell do you want!?”



The person on the other line sputtered for a few seconds at the rather rude greeting before finally answering indignantly, “The spell . . . for His Grace.”



“What? Now!?”



“Yes . . . ” the voice from the other line paused, “Are you . . . intoxicated, monsieur?”



“Of course not! Are you bloody insane?” an angry voice replied in an offended tone.



“Well, no matter. The spell needs to be performed within 25 minutes, before the Slayer reaches the Hyperion Hotel,” the other man said, his French accent rolling off his tongue in haughty waves, “So I suggest you get it done immediately and correctly . . . otherwise you know what will transpire if His Grace is not satisfied. Good day to you, monsieur.”



Ethan Rayne slammed the phone down in irritation, instantly regretting it when his head began to pound even more. He stared up at his hotel ceiling, his vision spinning as he tasted the bile rising from his throat.



“Shit.”



He was so screwed.




* * * * * * * * * * * *




“Tomato: fruit or vegetable?” Brooke asked as she held up one for the others’ inspection.



Liam frowned and thought about the question intently. “Fruit. It has seeds,” he answered as he pushed the grocery cart along the cool aisles of the grocery store that stood just a few blocks away from the Hyperion Hotel.



“Bananas don’t have seeds, but they’re still fruits,” Eliza reminded him, opening a clear plastic bag as Tristan picked out the freshest tomatoes and gently placed them inside.



“Bananas have seeds, right? The trees have flowers or whatever and the seeds come from there,” Liam told her with an unsure look on his face, not knowing if that statement was only a bald-faced lie on his part.



“Well, we’re not talking about bananas, we’re talking about tomatoes. Fruit or vegetable?” Brooke asked, changing the subject to the first topic at hand.



“Vegetable,” Eliza answered confidently.



“It’s a fruit, Liz,” Liam disagreed.



Brooke quirked a brow at the arguing pair before turning to Tristan who was putting all his focus on finding the freshest and ripest tomatoes with his sharp, knowing eyes and gentle grip. “What do you say, Tris?” she asked curiously, knowing he would have the right answer.



Without missing a beat, he grabbed a basket of mushrooms and a bag of orange carrots before answering, “It’s a vegetable, according to the US Supreme Court and the horticultural system.”



Eliza shot Liam a triumphant look.



“But, if we’re talking in terms of the botanical structure, a tomato would be in the fruit category,” Tristan added as he gathered onions and potatoes and placed them in bags, tying the bag openings securely before moving on.



Now it was Liam’s turn to give Eliza his own triumphant smirk.



“For both of your sakes, we’ll just leave it at that and pretend I never even brought up the subject,” Brooke said.



They proceeded down the meat section of the store, Tristan looking over the ground beefs in silence while the others hung out in the background and pushed the cart along in a leisurely pace.



“Remember when Mom used to take us grocery shopping?” Liam asked his sister as they continued down the aisles to the dairy section where Tristan searched for a good chunk of aged parmesan cheese.



Eliza laughed softly. “She always let us ride in the carts, pushing it really fast until one of the managers kicked us out for running over an old lady and knocking over boxes of Triscuits and Hamburger Helpers.”



Liam chuckled lightly with her at the memory before they moved along to the dry goods section where he grabbed a bag of Cheesy Chips, dumping it in the cart along with the other items.



“And she always bought the best junk-food.” Brooke joined in the conversation while adding her own stack of snacks in the cart, “Bags of Doritos, chocolate fudge mint chip ice cream, butterscotch cookies . . . ”



“Oo, and those Tootsie Pops,” Eliza added.



“And half of all the groceries were already prepared meals,” Brooke continued.



“The best Chef Boyardee and frozen meals can offer,” Eliza chortled.



Brooke nodded with a smirk.



“Well, yeah . . . Mom? Cook?” Liam snorted. “Three-fourths of the things she tries to make end up burnt, and too hazardous to eat by anything living. Even the stray dogs kept away from our dumpster.”



Brooke chuckled at that. “She once burned down half of the kitchen while cooking. Of course, Dad went nuts and banned her from there for the rest of eternity,” Brooke shook her head.



“Oh, my God . . . you’re kidding!” Eliza exclaimed with a laugh as the other girl shook her head.



“Yep, that’s Mom,” Liam sighed.



His gaze went to Tristan who remained silent and stoic during their whole conversation. The calmness that always surrounded him lessened and was replaced by something akin to misery. He grabbed bags of uncooked pasta, and Liam shot the other two girls a silencing look. They quickly understood and said nothing further.



Tristan hadn’t been one of the more unfortunate ones like Aiden or Austin who had never really known their mother. While the youngest male had been borne from her, had been with her, had been a part of her life, but he did still lose her at an early age. Six years worth of blurred memories of Buffy was measly compared to Liam and Eliza’s eleven years, and even more to Brooke’s eighteen years.



Tristan smiled ironically as he finished and began heading towards the cash registers. “Everyone suddenly quieted,” he said as the others helped him pile everything on the counter, “You don’t have to tread around the waters when it comes to me,” he told them. “I like hearing your memories with her.”



Silence hung in the air as the other three tried to think of what or how to reply to that.



“What are the things you remember about your mother?” Brooke asked softly.



Tristan stared into space for a few moments, lost in contemplation as he considered her question and thought of the best way to answer it. “Little things,” he replied as the cashier began to ring up the items. “I remember the silkiness of her hair, her scent of vanilla and baby powder.” The others were silent as they listened to him reminisce, “Her mouth . . . her voice when she talked to me. The way she laughed,” he paused, “Her love, her strength . . . her determination.”



“That’ll be $86.37, please,” the impatient cashier interrupted as she rolled her eyes and chewed popped her gum.



Liam paid quickly as Eliza loaded the cart with their bagged groceries. Brooke looked at Tristan for a moment, sympathetic to his pain if not able to completely comprehend it. Her parents may not be together anymore, but she was lucky that she still had both of them . . . well, sometimes anyway.



Liam pushed the cart along when a loud resonating sound echoed through the store as the florescent lights flickered on and off. A loud crash and then the sound of a fight.



“What the hell?” Brooke asked, a frown marring her face.



“It’s coming from the entrance.”




* * * * * * * * * * * *




Ethan stared tiredly into space as he chanted the words to his spell, hoping against all odds that he was saying them right through his slurred speech. He then searched through the floor, patting through the many bags and containers that sat beside him and holding them up in front of his face as he scrunched his eyes to read the labels more properly.



Finally finding what he hoped to be the right set of herbs, he tossed a pinch into his little makeshift fire. It gave out a bright spark and an acidic smoke that smelled like rotting flesh and cheese.



He continued chanting the Latin words to the spell, waving his hand in the air to steer the smoke away from his face. He paused and then burped, causing him to laugh giddily before passing out completely onto the floor, vomiting as he did so.



And not once noticing the smoke from the ashes turning red and then black.



He was so done for.




* * * * * * * * * * * *




Buffy struggled against the hold of the demon as he raised her small body in the air. She closed her eyes, knowing what was coming next. With a load roar, the gigantic creature that resembled one of those Beast Wars characters threw her against the wall, right by entrance of the grocery store, the impact leaving a dent on the plaster-finish.



Her body slid precariously to the ground as she groaned in pain.



“Mom!”



She looked up from her rumpled form on the floor and stared at a familiar looking teenager, no older than twenty with platinum blond hair and blue eyes. He gazed back at her as though he was looking at a ghost.



“Spike?” she choked, trying to ignore the twinge on her shoulder.



Before he could say anything in return, the huge monstrosity that had popped out of nowhere from the streets and nearly stepped on her car smacked the poor boy, causing him to fly across the air to land on a few unfortunate individuals running towards the scene.



Buffy got up on her feet and stared at the teens who were gazing at her in disbelief. “Go! Get outta here!”



Grabbing the sword she had dropped, she went after the demon who stood three to four feet taller than her. It stared down at her mockingly, daring her almost through its disfigured face of protruding teeth and beady little eyes. It’s black leathery skin promptly reminding her of Spike’s favored pair of scuffed combat boots.



Ducking away from its punch, she knocked over a barrel filled with toys, causing the demon to trip and land on its stomach with a snarl. Swiftly raising the sword in the air, she sliced his head off with a loud grunt.



The lights once again flickered as the demon remained still.



Breathing raggedly, she dropped the sword to clatter onto the floor as the lights continued to flicker on and off throughout the store. She sighed and took a deep, long breath. Searching for the teenagers she hoped had been smart enough to bolt, she stepped over the large head and looked through the empty store. But instead she found herself staring at 5 young children between the ages of 2 to 6, the youngest one sniffling and rubbing his nose as he stared at her with big blue eyes and the oldest on the brink of tears, himself, as he gazed at her in amazement.



She stepped forward and gawked at them.



A little blonde girl around the age of 5 stepped forward and stared at her in shock. “Mommy! You’re fat!” she exclaimed, pointing her small finger at her.



Buffy frowned and looked down at herself. To her astonishment and incredulity, her belly had grown tremendously over the past few seconds . . . huge and enormous as though she was . . . pregnant. “Oh, God . . . ”




* * * * * * * * * * * *




“My lord? You called for me.”



“The spell? Did it work?” he asked, getting to the point.



“About that, your grace,” the minion stuttered in fear, inching towards the double doors for a quick get away if his master went violent over the news he was about to reveal to him.



The large form of the daunting man slowly turned around, cold eyes staring deeply into the poor Frenchman as though he could kill him with just a stare. “What happened?”



“The warlock succeeded . . . somewhat. The Slayer now carries the child within her. And the demon you sent for arrived . . . ”



“But . . . ” the dark male urged him continue, his anger held on tightly but thinly.



“But the Slayer managed to kill the demon before it could hunt down the others and . . . ” The Frenchman paused, nervously wiping away at the sweat that beaded on his wrinkled forehead, “The warlock then turned the other seven into children between the ages of 2 and 8, I believe. Each 13 years younger than they were before.”



“Then they’re not dead.”



“No, your grace.”



The looming form of the larger man visibly shook with rage. “Find that warlock. I want him killed,” he said through clenched teeth, “We will continue on as planned. If the rest of those kids aren’t dead, they might as well just be out of the way. Get a jet prepared and send Loki to me.”



“Yes, my lord.”




Continued to Chapter 7: **Coming Soon**
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