Obligatory Credits: This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out Whateley Academy at http://www.crystalhall.org
Pic Credit: Lady Death from Chaos Comics (pic adjusted for the story)

Author's Note: This is fanfiction, obviously. Here is a notice to all the fan-boys and fan-girls out there. I have not read every single Whateley fic and or fanfic out there so I don't know every single little bit of trivia there is to know. If you see a tiny little error that that has absolutely no bearing on the plot, please, restrain yourself from pointing your finger and gasping in abject horror. I think it's fairly close so slowly put your blades away and relax. :)

Part 3

The library, not surprisingly, had virtually no information about Class X entities, other than vague references. The Whateley server also blocked any semi-interesting looking websites that held any details. It was like they wanted everyone to think they were either fiction or simply not to be messed with under any circumstances. Considering the creature from Josette's memory, I kind of didn't blame them. My problem was that I was a creature of information; the more I had the more I could figure out what I wanted to do.

About the only thing I could find, in a last ditch effort search, was a book in the fiction section entitled, Incongruity by Michael Waite. On a whim I presented it to a bored looking boy at the front desk who looked at it with a curious eye.

"This isn't a library book."

Okay, it was in the library and it was a book. What am I missing here? "It was in the Horror section."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Must of got shelved accidentally." As he pulled the book behind the counter, I protested. "Hey, I wanted to read that."

"It's got to go into the lost and found. Someone might come for it."

I pursed my lips in frustration. "How about if I leave you my cell phone number and bring it back to you if anyone comes for it. Once I get done, I'll bring it back."

His eyes took on a very interested look. "Your number?"

Oh brother. I was about to let him have a nice uppercut to his ego for suggesting that I was interested in him in any way, but hey… girls do this all the time for things they want, and I was a girl.

Astute observation, my love.

'Shh. I'm trying to flirt.'

Sliding off my glasses I looked him up and down. Letting the slightest grin lift my lips, I leaned forward on the counter and used my upper arms to push my breasts together. There wasn't any cleavage to see, but they looked pretty impressive anyway. "If someone were to maybe copy down that number and use it himself, I wouldn't mind."

I didn't even see him move. Out of nowhere a stack of post-it notes and a pen appeared.

"Warper?"

He waggled his eyebrow at me. Yeah, just one long hairy eyebrow. "I'm Hung Lo, but you can call me Hung Lo."

While I jotted down the number for a pretty good Chinese restaurant in Pikeville I made a stupid mistake. "Braith Brice."

"NO WAY! Bloodlust Brice?"

The pen I was holding came to a stop, midway through the last four digits. It didn't take much peripheral vision to see that everyone in the general area was staring at me. "Uh…"

"Oh my god, can I have your autograph! I listened to your show all the time!" Hung Lo -- was that his real name or some failed attempt at a codename to make him sound well endowed? Anyway, Hung Lo, scrambled for something nicer than a post-it, while I slid my sunglasses back on. Who was I kidding? Sunglasses weren't going to hide the massive amount of hair I was sporting or the white skin.

The stack of post-it notes was swept to the side and in its place was a sheet of blank white copy paper and a Sharpe. "Can you make it out to… uh, my brother, Brian. He's a big fan too."

I took the Sharpe in hand and was about to start writing so I could grab the book and leave as quick as possible, but it just wasn't meant to be.

"Oh, could you maybe make it out as, Brian, With Blood and Kisses?"

It was a red Sharpe.

I glanced back up at him.

"I'd really appreciate it. Uh… Brian will flip when he sees this."

My eyes ticked to the black name badge hanging from his school shirt pocket. Brian Homsey, Library Assistant.

Superheroes around the world have fan boys, fan girls, and fan clubs. I get Brian Homsey, Library Assistant aka Hung Lo. Oh, what the hell, might as well make his day. I scribbled out his requested message and added a heart pierced with an arrow with a single drop of blood falling from the tip.

"Oh wow. Thanks!" he slid the book over and I was out of there before some other hormonally challenged teenager got any ideas.

On the plus side, I never completed that phone number. Too bad for Brian; that Chinese restaurant has Moo Goo Gai Pan to kill for.

"You're giving out autographs now?"

I looked up after marking my place on page thirty-four, to see a playfully disgruntled Portia holding her tray of food. "You know about that?"

She giggled and sat down beside me. "If you were trying to keep a low profile then I think you're screwed. There's some kid in the library that's showing anyone that'll look. And if you're giving out kisses to someone I don't know about, me and you are going to have problems."

I'd explain, but I knew she was just yanking my chain. "It was the only way I could get this book."

"You read?"

I nodded. "And I can chew gum too. Not at the same time, mind you. What do you think I am, an Exemplar?"

Portia leaned over and kissed my cheek before eyeing me. "Any reason you're not wearing your uniform?"

I sighed at the inevitable. "I can't say." At seeing her confusion I made sure to include, "I want to say, but I've been sworn to secrecy by Carson."

"For wearing regular clothes?" she asked doubtfully.

I thought about it for a few seconds before coming to a, hopefully, reasonable reason. "You know the weird feelings I was getting in Dunwich?" She nodded as she took a bite of salad. "They think they know what it is and we left the campus to go make sure."

Portia's interest was peaked. "What was it?"

Frowning, I pursed my lips. "That's what I can't talk about."

"Oookay. That's not ominous at all."

"Sorry."

Seeing I wasn't going to budge, she shrugged it off. "How'd your meeting with your advisor go?"

I almost groaned. Maybe I could play this one off better. "It's Reverend Englund."

From the clueless look on her face I saw I generally wasn't having a good day. "He's a teacher, the local holy roller, and one of the supervisors of the school."

"How'd you manage getting him?"

I shrugged. "I guess I'm in need of holy intervention."

Void and Woodchuck never showed. Crystal and Gordo had been called away to ARC for Crystal's second round of testing and supposedly for them to fit her with some funky voice synthesizer, so she could communicate without having to spout prophecies all the time. I waited until Portia finished her meal before going to get my daily allotment of blood. There was no telling if I was going to be all pornoed up afterward.

Ask for animal blood, my love.

'Why?'

The blood you consumed yesterday was human. It has a slightly different effect on your body than an animal's.

'What? I thought you said blood was blood.'

For me that is true. For you, not so much. Your body reacts to the biological make up of the donor. Animals, for the most part are fed by nature, or with generic feed, grass, grain, and so forth. Human's are constantly poisoning their bodies with the unnatural. If I had to deduce a reason for your sudden amorous reaction to your last feeding then I would say that the donor had been partaking of pharmaceutical substances.

'Are you saying they were stoned when they gave blood?'

From my knowledge I would say no. Donators are normally screened, however this does not take into account the donor's lifestyle. If they choose to lie on the pre-screening questionnaire then there is nothing you can do about it. Donations are tested for the more deadly viruses and allowed through. I would assume the person that donated your pint yesterday has a history of consuming sexual performance drugs. Thus your reaction.

'Wonderful. Not only can I not eat a simple cheeseburger anymore, I have to eat animal blood because of the stoners, and old women that can't get a wet-on.'

You may ingest their blood, my love, and you may eat your cheeseburger, however you must be aware of the side effects of doing so.

I had tried eating normal foods once before. It wasn't pleasant. Chili-cheese fries. I swear, I couldn't stay away from the toilet for an entire day. I couldn't even take something for the intestinal cramps. Medicines are a no-no.

Portia was mildly disgusted watching me partake of the mug-o-bovine. It wasn't nasty, but then again it wasn't anything like the mug-full of love I had the day before.

"When did you start doing this?"

I shrugged. "After the upgrade Sangria gave me. She said I can't produce some sort of enzyme now. The blood helps keep that in check."

Her nose wrinkled up a little, but I could see she was trying her best not to yak at that particular moment. "Just make sure you brush your teeth real well after."

Yeah, I can see being grossed out. I couldn't blame her for that. We all have our loads to bear. Portia had to have sex at least once a day, since she's so active training with her magic, and she goes through anti-perspirent three times as fast as normal. Imagine having three sets of armpits and a really sweaty workout at the gym. Gag! It's not all wine and roses being a GSD. That was sarcasm by the way.

"Don't look now; your spiritual advisor is here and headed this way."

Throwing Portia's warning to the wayside, I looked anyway. Heads were turning as teachers weren't known for eating with the masses. The Reverend's features were stony instead of the regular face he put on for the plebes.

Making a few leaps in logic, I leaned into Portia. "Something's up. I gotta go." She grabbed my wrist as I rose. "You're not in trouble are you?"

Knowing me as Portia does, that was actually a valid question. "Uh, no. I don't think so. I'll talk to you about when I get back in tonight."

She pulled me down and pecked my cheek right when Englund arrived.

I dropped my tray off for cleaning and was escorted out of Crystal Hall before he'd said anything.

"Mr. Lodgeman and Mrs. Carson are unavailable at the moment and I'd like for you to accompany me on a trip if you will."

I looked around, seeing that we still weren't quite alone. "Is this about that thing…"

He shot me a meaningful look as we walked. "You don't have to come. In fact it's probably better for you if you just dropped the classes I suggested and became just another student."

Was he playing me? I had no idea. "I said I wanted to help, and you know as well as I do that with Sangria here, I'm not just another student."

He nodded once. "That's the only reason Mrs. Carson suggested you accompany me."

We'd made it around front and I spotted one of the school vans sitting out front. "Where are we going?"

I saw Englund grasping at something in his pocket. If I had to hazard a guess I'd say his cross.

"An associate of Whateley is dying and he requested my presence. He lives in Berlin, a short drive north of here." We reached the van and the Reverend opened my door for me.

That was a strange feeling. Ever since I'd changed into a girl, a little over a month ago, I haven't had anyone do something for me like that. Maybe it was in my nature to do things for myself. I just gave him a nod in thanks and waited until he made his way around to the drivers side.

Once we were under way. I sat there and tried to admire the scenery, but to tell you the truth, I really didn't admire scenery. Living in the mountains all of my life, I tended to admire cities instead. "So, what's the story? Why am I coming along?"

"Because you can detect the presence of evil."

Wasn't that part and parcel to being a holy roller? "That's what this thing is in my head? I'm the only one that can do this?"

"No, there are others." A sour look fell on Englund's face. "However, they are untrained, unpredictable, and due to their nature unreliable."

"I'm trained?" News to me.

"Your patron is trained, and can keep you safe."

"Oh." Okay. "So this person we're going to see is evil?"

I wondered how long Englund had been at this game. He looked very tired. "In the grand scheme of things he would best be defined as neutral. He was an explorer, a scientist. From what he told me, I suspect he found something that he should have left buried."

I took a educated guess. "A Class X something?"

"Perhaps."

"You're leaving me in the dark on purpose, aren't you?"

He glanced at me momentarily before resuming his scanning of the road ahead. "We are trained not to discuss this subject, Miss Brice. While it is generally known to those at Whateley, the government, its various agencies and so forth, the public believes the existence of these entities to be fiction. Forgive me, regarding this subject, I am somewhat closed-mouthed at times."

"No problem. So, what's the deal?"

He took a breath and I could see he was finding a starting point for his explanation. "Know that it is against the law, not to mention highly dangerous, to possess any artifact related to the entities, also known as the Great Old Ones and the Elder Gods."

I smirked somewhat sarcastically. "Like the book the good doctor has stashed somewhere."

He shot me a another look. "It is secure. You have no need to worry of that."

I could feel Sangria listening intently, waiting for the slightest clue as to its whereabouts. "Uh huh. I'm sure the guy we're going to see said the same thing at some point. Right before it ate his head."

"As I have said before, Darren, possession of a book such as this is not possible in the long term. It is somewhat sentient, in as much as a book can be. Eventually whatever wards our Indian friend and you have erected will fail. Perhaps the book will take possession of the doctor, or even yourself. Perhaps it will simply disappear from your hideaway and reappear in an innocent's bedroom one night. Then that weight of responsibility shall rest on your shoulders. I have seen such arrogance destroy others."

"I'm sure you have Sangria. That's why you are along tonight."

The lights of a fairly good sized town were approaching rather quickly. That must be Berlin. Before we entered the city, proper, Englund made a right turn onto a dirt road and followed its winding path through the woods.

The sun had settled before we had left Whateley. The only light in the sky was the last remnants of the city lights before the trees obliterated them.

What had to be two more miles of bumpy dirt road finally came to a close when we entered a clearing where the house stood. The only thing that let me know that we weren't swallowed up in a black hole was the van's headlights shining on a gothic mansion.

"Okay, cue the gothic lighting and the eerie organ music. Oh, and by the way, it's evil."

Englund killed the engine and the lights along with it. Wonderful. It's pitch black, and I'm alone in the middle of nowhere with a priest. Okay, he's a reverend, but you get my meaning. The church just doesn't hold the sort of respect it used to in regards to adult/minor relationships.

"You sense a presence?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. There's been some funky stuff happening here for a long time. It's like the one at the beginning of Dunwich." As an afterthought I added, "You know, you really should tell me what the heck it is I'm sensing. You know, just in case it goes into overdrive and you're about to get your soul sucked into oblivion or something."

I heard the keys slip into his pocket while my eyes were adjusting. Pretty soon I should be able to see better than him in the darkness.

"We think what you are experiencing is the presence of a Class X entity, artifacts, or portals."

I nodded and reached for the door handle. "Evil, right. Gotcha."

"If we encounter any of those items or beings, we are not taking them back to Whateley, Darren. They will be destroyed here."

He peered at me through the darkness, about to object, but saw the wisdom of remaining silent.

Even in winter there are sounds in the wilderness: wildlife running, a chilling breeze through the trees, squirrels chattering after one another. The only thing I could hear was the engine settling, the rapid ticking winding down after the thirty minute drive to Berlin.

My vision was almost at a hundred percent again, and all I could see were dead trees. Not the dormant woods with their fallen leaves that would soon spring to life in with the coming season, but the lichen covered branches and trunks that foretold the imminent demise of ancient guardians of the forest.

"Oh yeah, evil," I whispered to myself.

Sangria spread herself out like a bloody halo around my body at my nervousness. There was nothing I could do with my hands, so I shoved them in my coat pockets. This is why I wanted my pistol, to give my body something to do in preparation for defense. Standing there, relying solely on Sangria made me feel like a child atop her bed, praying that the covers held enough magic to keep the monster under the bed at bay for the evening.

"Miss Brice?"

I jumped at Englund's attention. "Sorry, this place is giving me the creeps and that crawling feeling at my back is driving me nuts."

His hand moved in his coat pocket. "Would you like to stay with the van."

My feet engaged. "Hell no. I'm not staying out here by myself." I paused for a second. "Sorry, I meant heck no."

Englund almost looked like he was going to crack a smile. "I think under the circumstances that accidental profanity is excusable."

I didn't bother saying anything else until we made it to the front door and the Reverend rang the bell. The siding of the house was dry and cracked, but not from lack of maintenance. The poor light emanating from a single bulb above the door displayed the semi-fresh paint on the exterior. The problem was that the house looked like it was dried up, like all the life had been drained from the walls.

"Why does he live here?"

"He was expelled from his ancestral home in Britain. This is all that's left of his estate. I would assume he would have a difficult time trying to sell the property."

It only took a few more moments until the door was opened and a young man was looking at us with displeasure on his face. "Reverend."

"Michael, it's been a long time. I hope you are well."

Michael stepped back and gestured for us to come in without offering any other pleasantries. "He's upstairs, third door on the left."

I received the hairy eyeball for a few moments and then followed Englund up the ornate staircase while I was taking in the furnishings. Everything spoke of old money. Gigantic paintings of dead family members, most of which had scowls on their faces, littered the walls. A couple of tapestries with fantasy scenes hung in the adjoining rooms. The hard wood floors looked like they needed stripping and resurfacing, but were covered in large ornate Persian rugs. The smell permeating the air spoke of old incense, candles, and death. You know death's smell; it's at funeral homes, hospices for the elderly, your grandmother's house.

"I really don't like this place."

"Be on guard, Miss Brice."

The feeling of spiders crawling up my spine increased as we neared the room. Englund knocked lightly on the bedroom door and opened it a second after. Tapping him on the shoulder before we entered, I whispered, "It's in here, whatever it is."

He withdrew his cross from his coat pocket. Well, that mystery was solved.

"Darren?" A male voice croaked from across the room. When I entered behind Englund the smell almost knocked me over. "Come in, who have you brought with… " His voice was cut off as he stared at me, aghast. "Josette?"

Have you ever seen someone that has actually seen a ghost from their past. I'm here to tell you what that looks like. Imagine, if you will, eyes bugged-out, jaw dropped, fear like the grim reaper has come for you etched on your face, the panicked agitation of your body as it won't respond fast enough to run away because you are bedridden. That was Titus Crow, and his ego that was responsible for causing the insanity of Sangria's former host Josette.

Englund cut me off before I said anything. "This is Braith Brice, Titus, a student of mine involved in this mess."

Crow's hand shakily rose to his mouth and I heard him whisper to himself. "Brice. Josette, you look so much…"

The only word I could use to describe him was gaunt. Gone was the thick black hair of his youth and in its place were wisps of white. He still sported the full beard, hiding much of his boney face. With the yellowed skin and liver-spotted hands, anyone with any sense could see he had mere days if not hours to live. Thanatos was coming for Titus Crow and he had no qualms about letting everyone know.

"I see your ego has run full circle, Crow. Now it is you who lay victim to your youthful folly. One too many quests through the Clock? Did you finally lose your soul? Did you even have a soul to begin with?"

My patron's words pounded upon the old man with each question.

"Sangria, enough. We are not here so you can have absolution," Englund snapped at me.

I frowned in disgust, or maybe it was Sangria's emotions pushing me to make the face. Instead of an angry retort, Sangria whipped out my hair to the base of the bed and jerked it and the carpet it was standing upon to the side. "It's underneath the bed, Darren, hidden away below Crow like a dragon on its horded jewels."

Englund looked torn between wanting to scold me and the eagerness to see what Crow had secreted under the floorboards.

"Wait, don't touch it," Crow whined.

"He never could stand to get to the heart of the matter. Everything has to be drama and pomp, doesn't it, Crow," Sangria spat. "What is it you have under there that radiates evil in such a way as to destroy all life in the area? Hmm?"

"Miss Brice, perhaps you should wait outside?" Englund was about to the end of the rope he had given me to be present.

I eyed him back. "Very well, if only to be out of this stink of death you have woven around you, Crow. Darren, do not touch whatever it is under there. Wait for me to return."

"Where… where are you going?"

I smiled evilly back at the dying man. "Why, to your private office of course. I must gather all of your notes and make sure that damnable Clock is not in working order." Sparing a glance to the Reverend as I left, Sangria said, "Call out if you need me, Darren."

I left the door open before making my way downstairs. Judging from the echo of my footsteps on the floor above I knew there to be a hollowness between the floor and the ceiling of the room below. My best guess was that's where I would find his office. Crow was always crap at hiding things. Pausing halfway down the stairs I shook off Sangria's memories intruding upon my own again.

The man, Michael sat in an armchair in the adjoining sitting room, keeping a watchful eye on the staircase and me as I pivoted at the bottom and made my way down the hall.

"Wait, where are you going?"

I didn't bother waiting for him, continuing along the hall, eyeing each door in turn. The creepiness was increasing once more until it maxed out in front of the most obvious choice for an office. The one with multiple locks.

"Stop, this is private property, you just can't…"

Sangria shot several strand of hair into the locks. Clicks followed along with several sounds of deadbolts sliding free before the door was opened. Oh yeah, there was evil in here as well.

Michael's protest trailed off when he found where I was going. "I take it Crow never let you in here?"

He stopped, mere feet away, looking at me and the open door with equal interest. "No, Dad said it was…" He stopped and reevaluated what he was about to say.

"Private, evil, dangerous? Any of those fit the bill?"

He was about to squeeze past me and enter the room, but Sangria had other plans. Barring the way with several locks of hair, she protested. "It seems your father finally grew some small amount of sense in his elder years. Let me go ahead and make sure the way is safe. There is no telling what is creeping around in this room."

Surprisingly enough, nothing jumped out and tried to eat my head. Sangria flipped the light switch illuminating the faux gas sconces along the wall and the row of locked cabinets along the wall to the left.

That is were we will find most of his research and written exploits.

The creepiness factor was drawing me to the right side of the room where stood the gigantic grandfather clock from Hell. It was coffin-shaped and inscribed with hundreds of runes, that to the lay person meant nothing but gibberish. Sangria, on the other hand understood each and every symbol. I noted four arms on the dial.

Still in its unholy working order, I see.

'What is it?'

The Clock of Dreams, my love. With it, Crow and his cohorts traveled the roads of time and space to arrogantly do battle with the unknown. It is inactive. Leave it for now, until Darren and I can properly dispose of it.

I noted Michael standing behind the mahogany desk, eyeing a single envelope that sat in the middle of the lone blotter.

"You might as well go ahead and read it. He doesn't have much longer to live."

I heard the tearing of the envelope as I brought my attention to the locked cabinets. Sangria made quick work of each lock, swinging open one pair of doors after the other. The first two sets were Crow's journals. While I'm sure they would tell amazingly heroic tales of adventures, there probably wasn't much fact to be found. The third through fifth sets were something Englund would be interested in. Potions, talismans, scrolls, the defensive and offensive tools of Titus Crow, that may or may not have worked, depending on what the user faced. I saw a set of fist-sized ruby colored rocks. The Star Stones of Mnar. Useless. Each of them were inscribed with a lopsided star containing an eye in the middle, The Elder Sign. They were about as helpful as a cross in the hands of someone warding off a vampire.

Darien Smith, a fellow traveler of Crow's and Josette's, made up a necklace for each of us. Protection against the foul creatures we fought. Yeah, his neck and chest, directly where the protection lay were just fine. It wasn't until one of the monsters wrapped him in its tentacles and ripped off his legs that he realized that a single stone didn't protect his entire body. This is the way that most of Crows protections worked.

Some of the potions did counteract the effects of terror that the creatures emitted. This did not take into account that fear is encoded into the human mind for a reason. One is not meant to stand in the presence of a thirty foot tall monster from the abyss with a handgun and think that one was going to survive unscathed.

The last cabinet held the most interest for me. It was lined with lead and protected with several runes on the outside. I secured the lock and warned Michael against even approaching it without me there. He was too engrossed with the lengthy letter his father left upon his death.

When I returned to Crow's bedroom, I saw Englund delivering the Last Rites like it was going to do Crow's soul any good. His destination was most assuredly Hell if there was one in existence.

I waited, respectively if not impatiently, at the useless gesture.

Englund noted my presence before nodding at the floorboard. "Go ahead. He's dismantled the protections."

"I know, I can feel it."

This time Sangria didn't bother with the locks and just dug my hair between the creases in the wood and ripped it up revealing the evil treasure underneath.

Englund held his hands outward like he was warming them on a fire. "We need something to wrap these in. Touching them would not be a good idea."

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm getting that impression from the condition Crow is in."

Ransacking one of the enroom linen closets I grabbed the thickest blanket and handed it to Englund. "Bless that and it should be enough."

"Should be?" he asked.

~O~

Reverend Englund stood by as Sangria ripped the Clock of Dreams to kindling for a nice bonfire in the back yard. I included some questionable texts that we found in Crow's office. As for the tome that was hidden away under the floorboards, that wasn't so easy. Nothing we did would have any lasting impression. It would not burn, neither would it be torn asunder.

"We cannot take it with us, Darren. You see what effect it has had on the surrounding area."

He nodded reluctantly. "I have resources that may have better luck."

My face was grim as I stared at the purple and green flames issuing forth yellow smoke into the night sky. Apparently demonic devices didn't burn like regular wood. "There's more inside."

Englund showed a little interest.

"Journal's, potions, magical paraphernalia, the works." I sighed at his reaction. "I'd like to burn the lot, since most of it is useless, but his journal's would be a good what-not-to-do-in-the-face-of-evil guide."

I was surprised when he restrained himself. "Show me what you've found."

In the end, I held a little more respect in the Reverend than I did when we started off. We seemed to be of a like mind regarding the trinkets. They were boxed up and I labeled them as to their ineffectiveness. While they wouldn't be destroyed immediately, since we didn't have the means to do so, they would be transported to a facility where it would eventually occur.

That's when the thrills of the day had ended. A heavily armored truck showed up escorted by several well armed military vehicles to cart the foul things away. The book, however remained in our possession. By the time we'd left Crow's home, he was dead.

Good riddance.

From viewing some of Josette's memories, I sadly had to agree with Sangria's sentiments.

That left us with the book, sitting in the rear of the school van.

"Can you tell me what its purpose is?" Englund asked.

I frowned. "Yes." Sangria had showed me the title and given me a general account of its contents. "Reverend, I know that you and Mr. Lodgeman believe that you can contain that thing." Pausing, I tried to come up with a proper analogy. "It's not possible. Sangria, has shown me exactly what happens to those that try. It's horrible."

He closed his eyes and leaned his back against the side of the van. I'm sure he could sense my reluctance. "It like holding onto a World War II atom bomb. It's ancient and radiates evil so profound that it kills everyone that is in its presence for too long. Except you don't die from radiation poisoning. That would be..." I chuckled in horror. "It would be a blessing to die like that, compared to what the book could do to you and your soul."

His lips turned upward with a relieved grin. "It is good to hear that from you, Braith."

I blinked at him, wondering if he heard me correctly.

When he opened his eyes, he explained himself. "I had almost lost faith that others felt as I do regarding these abominations. Some of the others think they can be controlled, or the spawn of the creatures that produce them have redeeming qualities. It's just not possible."

"Spawn?" Now I was confused.

His gaze hardened. "Sara Waite. You've met her, correct?"

My mouth went dry as I connected Sara to the creepy evil detector in my head to what Englund was saying. "She's..."

"Yes."

I felt betrayal from Sangria in regard to Carson allowing such a being to coexist with the students and me in particular.

"Darren, she cannot be allowed to stay at Whateley, much less live on this Earth. What is Elizabeth thinking?"

He didn't answer right away. "We should meet tomorrow to discuss this. Think on what I've told you, Braith, Sangria. Take no action tonight."

I was still stunned into immobility.

"I will take the book and have our best people find a way to dispose of it. Tell, the others nothing of its existence. They would want to ferret out its secrets."

I nodded.

~O~

The ride back to Whateley was quiet as I pondered what I knew of Sara, which, alarmingly, wasn't a whole heck of a lot. Before I acted, I'd have to know more, so that Sangria and I could come up with a sound strategy for her disposal. It was then that I realized why I had been brought to the school... to kill Sara Waite.

TBC...

Ninja Credit: Titus Crow is the lead character in The Burrowers Beneath, and others, Lovecraftian Horror stories written by Brian Lumley of Necroscope fame. I thought it apt considering the theme of Sangria...