Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Roland squinted at the morning sunlight, grunted, and flung a forearm across his eyes. Another day. Didn't I just finish one…?

He had. Five hours ago. But when Ease called, there was no stemming the inevitable response. The harp almost literally held him captive on the University grounds from dusk to the beginnings of false dawn.

Ease. I should have named you Insomnia, he thought at the lady in question, now resting comfortably in her new felt-lined case. An F-sharp plucked teasingly, answered by a soft, strumming C-chord chuckle from Patience beside her.

"Great. Even the instruments are against me. Well…there's always the pawn shop, you know. And I'm not making empty threats."

He was, and they knew it. But nevertheless, his tone brooked no argument, musical or otherwise. The harp and the guitar fell silent. Despite himself, he felt a little lonely for their voices in the otherwise quiet apartment. For distraction, he swung his feet to the floor, and yanked his dragging body forcibly out of bed.

Milk for the littles. Right. Blinking blearily at the brilliant and unwelcome glare of the sun, Roland staggered his way to the kitchen for the carton of milk. Even though he couldn't stand milk…never could, really…he kept buying it. And putting out the little bowl on the balcony every morning, after the first saucer had flipped out the window and shattered.

I promised Rebecca. To the eyes of most people, the milk just slowly evaporated over the morning, afternoon, and was gone in the evening. Roland – and occasionally Daru – saw the not-squirrels and the pixies and the tiny little men and women with tiny little opposable thumbs that came to drink.

He'd been wrong. They were much better than cockroaches. Cockroaches didn't clean your apartment. And no maid he'd ever known would consider cleaning an apartment for a bowl of milk in the morning.

Rebecca. Bare feet were already beginning to cook on the concrete patio. He nudged the shallow, yellow china dish under the shading branches of an ornamental orange tree that held court among the other plants – a gift. From Rebecca. She didn't forget me, after all.

Neither did Evan. The heavy, coiled torc that lay on his headboard attested that. Finework…an arc of braided filament-thin silver wires cradling sapphire-blue beads. The finest thing he owned. Nestled lovingly around a fortune cookie and waiting for him on the kitchen counter, one day after the pair of them abandoned him for the Light. No…not abandoned…they didn't have much of a choice, after all.

He wondered if they truly thought that music was all he needed, as a Bard. Seven years had passed. He was well into his thirties now…a full Bard, with all the critical acclaim that went with that. Thankfully, there were no more black-clad elven princesses to lure him to their beds as payment for the beautiful music that Ease and Patience poured into his hands.

But music – unlike the silly tales that Bards sang at themselves and one another in an attempt to assuage long-nursed grievings – was not enough.

There were no women at all, strangely enough, after the tangle with the Dark Adept. And no men – but that was an anomaly, which he didn't consider.

Much.

Evan was different. He would have been worth the fight. Hell, he still is.

The sun's warmth became a benediction, rather than a glaring reminder of his late night with the precocious harp in his lap. Blue-gray eyes closed, turning to let the full effect beat upon his eyelids. His ears caught the furtive rustling of littles coming to take the offering left to them, and he eavesdropped shamelessly. This place is perfect. Thank the willing Daru…maiden-warrior aspect…whatever… for the ease with which she processed the paperwork to settle Rebecca's apartment in his name.

He liked it better than anywhere else he'd stayed, and certainly it was an improvement over Uncle Tony's basement. Though it seemed empty without Rebecca. And without a certain Adept of the Light? The niggling voice at the back of his mind prodded. Sighing, Roland conceded to it, and shoved it away before it could snicker at him like the pixies that perched among the orange shrub's squat and leafy branches. Seven years, and it still felt just on the painful side of empty. Sighing again, he turned and tugged the patio door open again, and hand on the doorknob, he supposed it always would feel that way.

The insistent scratch at the patio door four hours later promised that he was right…and forever wrong.

Was it one of the littles...? What could possibly want into his apartment that truly needed to ask?

He should have known that something was wrong when the visitor did not knock…and that the scritching, scrabbling sound of nails on painted metal was far too low for even a child. The door swung inward, and a pair of amber eyes gazed up knowingly from a lumpy, bony bundle of white fur puddled on the concrete.

"What're you doing here? You're at the wrong apartment, kitty."

She – it was obviously a female's manner – made no fuss of introductions as her lithe, long-limbed form sorted itself out, sauntered between his shocked legs and thudded into the cushions of the couch.

Maiden, Mother, and Crone…not another cat.

"Can I help you…?" The Bard asked slowly, turning to regard the pale elfin face as the cat washed a dainty forepaw and coolly returned his gaze.

"Is there something I can do for you?" he tried again.

On she washed, giving the paw a delicate shake before switching to the other.

Cats. I'm wasting my time. She's just strange…not smart, like Tom was. He approached her stealthily, hands at the ready to scoop up her midsection and relocate the animal to the hall. As though she'd sensed his intentions, the snowy, triangular ears snapped to attention and the yellow-orange gaze turned icy. Shoulders hunched. Tail twitched malevolently.

"Look," he harrumphed, backing off a step or two, "it's nothing personal. I just don't like cats. You're not helping." Coffee was more appealing than negotiating with an uncooperative feline. He turned for the kitchen again. The cat chirruped at him and followed.

He tugged out a box of pizza from the previous afternoon. Canadian bacon and pineapple. Evan's influence again…after encountering the Adept, Roland found himself trying things simply for their own sake. Eating had and now always would have more sensuous joy after watching the Adept savor his meals.

The cat watched him digging into the cheese of his first slice…she licked her lips slowly. Calculating.

For all your species supposedly has independence coming out the ass, you make excellent beggars. "No," he told her firmly, and tugged a slice of meat free to chew. The cat shot him a disgusted look, and leapt from floor to counter in a single fluid bound. Whereupon she was nearly on top of the remaining pizza before he caught her.

"Come on…you're a cat. If you're that hungry, go catch something." Then he realized what he was saying, and mentally winced. Cats were like Adepts and Bards, and some very special 'normal' people. They could See.

He'd rather not have a Seeing cat out hunting his balcony. Not with all the littles. As though she'd caught the drift, the cat glared with disdain, and continued to stalk the pizza.

"Oh, here." Relenting, he picked loose another bit of meat and tossed it to her. And another. A bowl of milk followed that. Filled at last, she returned to her pose of sleek, nonchalant whiteness on the sofa.

Having nothing better to do, Roland joined her. "I'd appreciate an explanation." He made a half-bow in deference, "Such as you can offer, of course."

She said nothing, but her silence was nearly apologetic. In a heartbeat or two, however, a small, snuffling voice spoke from nowhere, startling the Bard nearly out of all wit.

"Excuse me," it tinkled, halfway between a sneeze and a tinny radio, "but Pasha can offer little in the way of explanation. I, on the other hand, can answer any question you might have."

"Who…what…?" Roland's gaze darted across the cat's furry back, at the cushions, at the door, even at the windows, which were fastened closed. "Where are you?"

"I am Sam, and that is Pasha. I am a Greebo, and she is a cat. I am not here yet, and she is sitting on your couch."

It took the Bard a moment to decipher that all of his reflexive questions had been answered at once. He shook his head in bemusement – this looked to be an interesting meeting.

"When are you going to be here?" He asked. Suddenly, there was a muffled pop, and a clatter of tiny finger-cymbals, and a furry ball slipped into a midair existence above the last unoccupied cushion on the couch…and landed with a disgruntled curse.

"Now," The furball answered, and uncoiled itself. Nothing had ever looked so like and yet so unlike an opossum – a long, flexible snout attached to a head the size and roundness of a ping pong ball, with tiny ears that seemed no more than bits of pink tissue paper rolled in at the corners and glued to his head. Red fur covered all three inches of his rotund little body, but for bald, bubble-gum pink lion-pad feet, and white circles scribed about each bilious green pebble-eye. A Greebo.

Hideous and sickeningly cute at once. The bright, opaque little gaze looked him up and down appraisingly, and the snout twitched from side to side as thin filament whiskers flickered to and fro. "You are the Bard Roland, are you not?"

The voice belonged to Sam, unmistakably. It sounded suspiciously as though he were whistling the whole of his question through his enormous, extraordinary snout. Roland's eyes widened. "I am."

"Good then," the ruddy little creature replied brusquely, "that shall save us much trouble. I am an emissary of the unicorns."

"Unicorns?" Roland recoiled at the matter-of-fact way in which Sam mouthed the word of an infamous fantasy creature, and chuckled at himself immediately afterward. Here he sat, faced with an 'emissary' somewhere between a lemur and a lemming, with opossum and speech thrown in for zest. On his left was a pure white cat with uncanny amber eyes and an expectant look upon her face that shouldn't be there, by any stretch of imagination.

And I'm shocked at the word 'unicorn?' I should just consider myself lucky he didn't mention dragons.

"Yes, unicorns," the Greebo snapped impatiently. "Years and years and years ago, they were invited into the world of gray by you humans, and they have flourished here. Until recently."

The cat by his side – Pasha – suddenly looked for all the world as if she were fighting tears. And at last, one single fat saline drop soaked into the fur at the corner of each almond-shaped amber eye. Unfazed, Sam continued on.

"Now, humans turned to the Dark are hunting them, as they did in your Medieval times, when the unicorns dared walk openly among the mortals. We have found four bodies so far…one of them a mare in foal. This must stop, before all of these creatures – and the Balancing force that they bring to your world with their Light – are wiped out completely."

At the mention of 'turned to the Dark,' Roland's eyes and ears were riveted on the snuffling, puffing Greebo. "An Adept…?"

"Hardly," Sam snorted, "An Adept is entirely too limited in his ways and means to pass through the barriers. It would have taken a powerful invitation to the Dark to bring one through. More likely some virtually powerless demon with a little more ambition than most. Easily stopped. But," One lion's paw was held up, the first of the four digits waved in warning, "you will need help."

Good. Because I've never tried to stop a demon, harmless or not. I'm not sure I can.

"You'll need to call an Adept of the Light."

And everything, everywhere ground to a screeching halt at the power of those four words. Adept of the Light…

"An Adept…?" Roland squeaked lamely, in a voice that he didn't remotely recognize as his. Did he dare hope? Then again…did he even want to hope for that…? "Isn't that going a bit overboard?"

"We know your music can win over that which the Dark has claimed, and much more easily than any Adept could ever dream. But Adepts handle the purest forms of Dark – and a demon is something given life and breath by the shadows and unfiltered evil. That is what makes them so pathetically weak. Their motives are always driven by entirely selfish needs. They cannot be turned from the Dark, because they are the Dark. You could never hope to defeat one yourself."

Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. "How do I go about summoning an Adept of the Light?"

"You can communicate with the dead, if you try hard enough, and ask a phantom to carry your message. You have done so before, have you not?" Sam was growing increasingly nervous with each passing moment, and now, his nose and the long, luxuriant tassel of his tail flipped back and forth in exaggerated nervous twitches. "Contact Ivan. He will probably be the most kindly disposed to you. And Pasha will help you."

"Pasha…?" Roland found himself repeating the Greebo's words once again, and winced. He wasn't usually this verbally vibrant. It must be nerves. Added into the concept of perhaps seeing Evan once again. Could he request a particular Adept? Or would Ivan simply go and fetch him the most convenient one? Or…would Ivan be agreeable to cooperate at all?

"Yes, Pasha." Sam affirmed, and skittered across Roland's lap to the white cat perched regally beside the Bard's faded denim-clad thigh. "Pasha, a guardian. A near cousin of your Tom, and just as well-trained."

"But she's just a cat…"

Pasha looked affronted, and Roland immediately felt a wave of shame. "Sorry," he murmured, "I'm still getting used to all of this."

Sam made a tutting noise of displeasure, and after a few moments' muttered council with the cat, he tucked himself into a red, furry ball, and popped his way out of existence.

Roland and the cat observed one another in silence. Eventually, the man felt obligated to break it. "Well…" he began a trifle uncomfortably.

A blur of white flipped from the sofa and solidified upon the lovelorn guitar case.

"Shouldn't we wait until tonight? It's hot out there!"

Pasha watched him expectantly, unmoving.

"I mean…last time I did it was at midnight…"

She sat.

"Really, a few more hours won't hurt, you know…"

She glared.

Roland sighed. "All right, you win." He stalked back to the bedroom alcove to change. On an afterthought, Evan's necklace was snatched from his bedside table and wrapped about his throat. He settled Ease against his shoulder blades, and soon the plastic handle of Patience's guitar case was in his hand. He paused on his way out, one hand on the doorknob, and turned back to look for Pasha. She was poised attentively on the couch once more, forepaws primly together, whipcord tail curled about her feet. Her clean white fur made an impressive splash of Light in the otherwise shadowy room.

"Are you coming?"

She was at his side in a flash.

Chapter Text

Roland carried Pasha against his chest with his free hand for the last six or seven blocks, until they were safely away from the thick of traffic. He released her upon reaching the courtyard of the university, and with a soft whisper of feet dropping into the grass; she was once again a streak of blurring white against the brilliant green.

My god, she's fast. Roland grunted and gave chase as best he could. Patience and Ease laughed gaily to each other behind his back until he thumped their cases together and threatened them with quarter price tags at a garage sale. They ignored him, as he'd known they would. The sweltering heat forced sweat out on his skin in rivulets.

Instruments and cats and women and Adepts of the Light. You can't control any of them.

He thought of Evan and an unbidden smile came to his face. And usually, you wouldn't want to control them, anyway.

Ease snickered.

But usually isn't right now.

The chapel was deserted, the courtyard surrounding it empty, and no matter how diligently he called, or how sweetly, there was no answer. Ivan either could not or would not come to his summons. Roland nobly refrained from spitting an 'I told you so' at Pasha, for all the good it would do. It would have made him feel better, anyhow. But instead, he knelt in the grass, drew Patience's case into his lap, and thumbed the catches that held her captive. Slipped free of her bonds, she sang joyfully in his hands, and he soothed the grounds with strains of every Russian folk song that came to mind, in offering to the ancient ham-handed stonemason.

Ivan had yet to respond. Pasha coiled herself in the vacant guitar's case and promptly fell asleep. And so afternoon turned to evening.

Had Roland chanced a look at his surroundings as he played, the creaking of the trees on either side of the small sanctuary would have taken on a new significance. For littles from all sides of the city had been drawn by the music; phantoms lured from their places of rest to wait reverently upon all sides of the grove. The unicorns were noticeably absent, but only for the general safety of their remaining numbers did they avoid congregation. And far away, in hidden pockets of trees and mist-laden groves, their delicate heads were turned toward the chapel in unswerving attention. Night fell over every back, and the sky slowly purpled to the dark of midnight.

Roland's head shot up, music dying as the middle of the night at last approached. The subtle draw and focus of powers beyond his comprehension raised the hairs upon the back of his neck to rigid attention.

Ivan wasn't coming. He lowered Patience to her case once more, and sealed her carefully away, before struggling to his feet. Evicted from the guitar's comfortable box, Pasha awoke, and stretched thoroughly before joining him where he stood. Her ears twitched, spun, and Roland followed the jerk of her gaze as it took in the ring of watchers that had assembled while he was absorbed in his music.

They watched him with expectation, the many hues and shades of eyes following him even as he stumbled back a step toward the chapel doors. What the hell…?

The secluded clearing took on an eerie luminosity that no artificial light could ever hope to mimic. Waves of terror and soul-deep content rolled over the Bard in tandem, with a heady weight that sent him to his knees as the world rocked beneath him.

He felt the calls of a hundred thousand creatures focus through him at once…a hundred thousand creatures able to voice their need for aid, and voice a song of Invitation so sweetly innocent that Roland felt his eyes brim with tears.

They had the power…just as Rebecca and Ivan had the power to Invite…the piece of the puzzle he felt he lacked. But they needed a human voice to invoke the Invitation – a creature of the gray. The chapel behind him expelled beams of multi-colored light through its arches of stained glass, and he hauled himself about to face it upon hands and knees. "Please…" he croaked, "please…we need you…"

It wasn't enough. Wasn't nearly sweet enough to draw the attention of the creatures they desired. Had Roland a second more, he would have screamed in frustration.

But suddenly, the power the other creatures offered to the Light rose up and filled him, and he found himself singing the invocation with a tenor that surpassed even his very best. With it flowed the power, and the need, and the Invitation…and beyond them all, the Sanctuary grew brighter…brighter…until it seemed as sunny within and without as a summer's afternoon.

His lungs filled to bursting, and his throat felt as though the Dark poured molten lead across his vocal cords. And still he sang...powerless to halt the gut-wrenchingly beautiful melody, and unwilling to halt it even if he'd been able.

The chapel doors flung themselves open, and the color of the stained glass was lost in the overwhelming whiteness of the light…no…Light…that poured through the panes.

A figure sheathed in pain-bright beauty and wonder stepped forth from the haven of purity. Roland's eyes closed tight against the pain, but still, the light glowed pink and green behind his eyelids. In seconds, against his will, the grip of Light forced him to gaze upon the figure, and it dazzled him, the white-hot beams flashing, shard-sharp, through his aching head. The music…the gorgeous perfection of the song he had only heard a handful of times in his lifetime. Its melody soothed a fevered brain upon the brink of ecstatic madness. The familiar intertwine of point and counterpoint became the touchstone that saved the Bard from losing himself utterly within the draw of the Light.

At last, after what seemed an eternity of gazing without sight into the heart of Heaven, the fires petered out, and blackness filled in the empty corners that Light had left. Roland fell forward onto his hands, momentarily thrown into blindness by the power of the spectacle. Beneath it all, the perfect song gentled to a faint undertone. A beauty he could hear without suffering its burning awe.

Gentle hands closed over his shoulders, followed by the subtle shift of cloth as someone knelt before him. Roland lifted his face to the sound, although he could in no way be sure of who – or what – held him.

There was a soft indrawn breath, and he found himself nestled into the curve of a too-warm shoulder. Powerful arms slipped about his waist, and he nuzzled reflexively into the offered support.

It was too familiar...too safe, despite the reassurance and love that a creature of the Light inspired. Damn his eyes! He couldn't see to be sure! And his voice was lost to him to ask the creature's name…gone with his vision, for the time being. Frustration forced his mouth open and shut, but all he managed was an explosive, irritated sigh.

The figure read his thoughts, or so he surmised, and a soft chuckle filled the empty void. "It's good to see you, Roland."

That voice…it re-kindled a fire deep within that for so long had lain dormant, he wasn't sure if it would ever return. The music just wasn't enough. Not without this.

"And I never again can be free

For you are in my music

And the music's all of me."

"Evan…" He forced the name out, but the raw pain of his throat followed, and already overtaxed by the night's events, the jabbing needles that filled his chest followed him into the blessed darkness of unconsciousness.

bd

"Bards can See, but they can't ever go through."

I don't want to hear this...

"It's one of the things that makes them Bards."

Not now...

"Bards can See, but they can't ever-"

Shut UP!

Roland sat bolt upright, panting and sweating, the ringing nasal voice of a fat old woman in a ragged black dress still echoing through his head.

No...not a fat old woman. A fat old Crone. What had Daru said about her? That among the Trinity, her place was to remember? She knew something…something that she wasn't telling him.

Roland rubbed a knuckle across aching eyes in irritation and decided that she knew a lot that she had no intention of telling him. Women. In the warm light of morning, the last echoes of a familiar approving cackle melted to nothing.

All right. Maybe I can't go through, but I sure as hell can enjoy the Light when it's on my side of the barrier, right? "Right." He rasped, hoarsely.

"What was that?" As if on cue, Evan eased into the bed alcove. He bore a triumphant smile, and the scent of toasted bread from the platter between his hands confirmed that once again, the Adept had conquered the minor skills of cooking.

"Nothing," Roland shook his head and struggled to find a position that didn't look as though he'd just snapped out of a nightmare. "You made toast." Speaking reminded him of his burning throat, and he winced.

The Adept beamed, and everything else was burned away for a moment in the heat of that smile. Roland longed after his previous blindness, and ordered his heart to quit its hare's wild thumping. It's easier to resist what you can't see. He expected, however, that even had he the will to close his eyes against the glory of the Adept's expression, he would still feel it against his skin.

"Yes. I did. Are you all right?" Evan drifted further into the room without waiting for an answer, and balanced the tray on the bedside table. "I brought you tea."

Herbal tea, unfortunately, but it was hot and smooth and the touch of the liquid soothed Roland's throat. The Bard nodded his thanks and held the blessed warmth at the back of his tongue for as long as he possibly could.

Evan's gaze had yet to finish its assessment of seven years of change in the Bard, and the flickers of concern and vague hunger that chased one another across the Adept's face were fascinating to watch. Roland swallowed hard, reflexively, and nearly choked on his drink. The action brought back a ghost of his earlier ache, and he coughed, one hand rising reflexively to his throat.

"I didn't mean to do that…" Evan began apologetically, and the flicker of grief in his eyes wrought the beginnings of fresh tears in Roland's. He blinked at them furiously. Lord. Is this always going to be the way it is? At this rate, I'll never be able to have a proper argument with him…

He wouldn't have wanted to, anyway, but it was the principle of the thing. Or…something like that.

The warm, silken caress of gentle fingertips stroking over his throat quickly derailed the train of thought. His head reared back in surprise, jerking up as the Bard's shocked blue eyes flared a storm of terror and hunger. He'd had seven years to forget the heat of Evan's smile.

Seven years. Apparently not long enough. Even the Adept's form had changed – still far too pretty for a man, but…evened out. Grown into what had once been almost androgynous features. His chin was firmer, though just on the delicate side of square. The same frank, tender blue eyes gazed out from beneath a fringe of rich blonde hair that bleached to ice-white at the tips. Shorter tips, now – the entire length of hair reached only to the velvet nape of Evan's neck.

And with his newborn gifts, Roland could even just make out the hazy outline of wings, stretching from the startling white back of the other man's pullover. The transparent feathers stirred in the air like heat-shimmers on hot pavement. Evan seemed…older…steadier. Though he was certainly far and away older than Roland could imagine, the battle with the Dark had changed him. And Rebecca's presence remained beyond the Barrier, offering her clarity to sharpen and focus the Light within him. At the touch of Evan's hand, he could feel the remarkable signature of Rebecca there as well, and with her, the Mother-aspect. Even his abused throat didn't hurt that much anymore beneath the smoothing caress.

"I'm sorry you were hurt," Evan repeated, though the Bard felt the sudden change in the Adept's demeanor as the other became aware of Roland's own perusal. The music…always a background within the presence of the Light…took on an undeniably sensual tone. Twin pairs of storming blue eyes met. Approval for the obvious growth and change mirrored one another. And invitation – the sweet shock thrummed both as each found his offer twinned and answered.

"I'm fine," Roland replied, firmly, surprised at the unexpected cooperation of his voice. He found himself smiling, and set his empty cup aside on the tray with a hand that only barely trembled. Time to find out if I can handle the having…? I don't know. Hell, it was a long time, Evan. Too long. You picked a hell of a time to come back! Why does it take an emergency to bring you back? Are you so busy up there…or out there…or wherever the hell you live…?

Unknowingly, his expression hardened. Evan caught it, and frowned as well. He looked away, and Roland nearly cried out in pain as the sunny warmth of his regard left his skin untouched. "I couldn't come, Roland."

"It doesn't matter." Roland replied flatly, and turned to face the window, drawing a deep breath. "I think I can get up now." He pushed himself onto his hands.

"You don't understand…"

"I understand. You're an angel. Or something. You've got souls to save, and people to watch over. You don't have time to sleep with some fucked-up Bard. Some idiot who took seven years to figure out that he still can't decide whether he prefers pants or skirts or both." It was a blatant lie, and he could feel the Light within his own body shift and murmur sleepily in protest. He winced. No wonder Bards are so forever cheery. It's damned painful to be anything else when you can bloody well feel your soul blackening with every lie.

Beside him, Evan bore a tortured look, and Roland pressed his eyes closed quickly, before the expression of wretchedness snatched sobs from him once again. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "I didn't mean that. I'm just…"

"I know." The tone expressed that he did, without a doubt. "You…wanted me…all this time?"

Blessed relief, as the Light slowly returned to the places that Roland had driven it from with his cruelty. He blinked at the sudden change of topics, but wasn't about to bait the honesty again. "Yes. All this time."

"Then why didn't you…?"

"Look, it's not a big deal!" Roland cut Evan off bitterly, shocked at the faintly desperate tone in his own voice. "I'm all right. I can see, I can talk. There's a herd of horned horses out there for us to save. You've got more important things to do than this, I'm sure."

The last was almost a sneer. Perhaps not quite, but Evan certainly felt the cold shove of rejection. He sighed, with a depth of pain and understanding that did bring a lump to Roland's throat. This has got to stop. I can't be crying every time he's upset.

Why not? Asked the same little voice that had taunted him earlier.

Because. He snarled. And ignored it, even as the litany began again. Until he had a proper answer for it, he suspected that it was lodged to stay. His eyes opened again.

Evan was gone.

"Evan?"

No answer. He tried again. The apartment was utterly silent. Great. You throw a tantrum and screw everyone over. Next time, why don't you try pounding your fists on the floor? It wouldn't help those unicorns any more than what you're doing now…

"Evan, come on. I'm sorry…" He struggled to his feet and fought the twist of cover away from his legs as they sought to trip him. "Please, Evan. I'm just confused right now…" That sounded sincere.

There was still no answer. Anger replaced where desperation had been. "Why didn't you come back, if you wanted to be here?" If you wanted to be with me…? "What did I do that was so wrong that it kept you away?"

The apartment simply echoed his own words back to him, and he sighed in defeat and tossed himself on the couch. There was Ease; come to his hands almost as though he'd conjured her there. Mindlessly, effortlessly, he stroked music from her taut strings to match the depressed downturn of his mood. This is my fault. I'm forever complicating something that should be easy. He could nearly hear Rebecca's solid voice, laying out the obvious for him to behold.

"You care about him, and you missed him, and it hurt." He imagined she'd say, "Why do you want to make him hurt, too?"

I don't know kiddo. Roland pressed his hands to the strings, silencing them, and laid Ease away once more beside Patience. I just don't know.

His body protested that he wasn't so fine after all – the ordeal had asked much of him in exchange for the delivery of the Adept. Evan won't leave. He has too much damned honor to leave. With a yawn, Roland made for the alcove that contained his bed once more, and ignoring the stone-cold toast and the brown-ringed teacup beside it, he slept.

Chapter Text

"What's a Greebo, exactly?" Roland asked, later that evening, hand wrapped around the comforting cool of a soda. No more herbal tea. Please.

Evan had decided to return after all, but he'd also returned to his maddening habit of staying just out of arms' reach in the windowsill. "It's a creature of the gray. They make excellent messengers, because they can travel so fast, and they're so easily hidden. And they speak almost every language from birth."

"That's impressive."

"Yes."

"His name was Sam." The Bard continued, unasked, "He came about the same time as Pasha." Roland had curled defensively into the corner of the sofa on the opposite side of the room. His left hand idly stroked the white cat's spine, as she snuggled into the concave dish between his folded legs. Evan nodded in understanding.

"He's one of the most active. One of the most arcane, but always willing to help."

"Mm." The conversation died. Since the not-argument and Evan's sudden disappearance, the air developed a strained feeling that now could almost be cut with a kitchen knife.

The mission. He could always count on that to wrench a few more words from Evan. Break a few more seconds of the unbearable silence. "How are we supposed to find the unicorn-hunters?"

"We don't need to find them. We need to find who's turned them."

"Oh. Well…how do we do that?"

"I already have."

"Oh."

Strike conversation number two. Roland huffed. "Somehow I feel like a passenger in this whole thing."

"You were sleeping again. I saw no need to wake you for something I could handle myself."

Roland fought off a snarl, and buried his fingers in Pasha's ruff. She purred, curling her nearly prehensile tail about his wrist in comfort. At least the cat didn't find him useless. He could always function as a backscratch. And to think I didn't like cats…good old Tom. Too little, too late, I guess. He drew a long, last sip from his soda and set the empty can on its coaster. "Remind me of why I'm needed, again?" He asked, and quelled the urge to bite his lip as Evan winced at the word 'needed.'

"Your music can turn the hunters from the Dark. Once I've subdued the demon, you can find the Darkened humans, and pull the Light out within them again, without damaging them…" his face fell, "as I would."

Roland could see the flash of disappointment and pain cross the Adept's features, and he relocated Pasha to the cushion beside him before rising to stand at Evan's shoulder. Whatever it was he felt, or didn't feel, or that had gone on before, there was no denying this urge to offer comfort. "We."

"What?" Evan turned slightly from his study of the grimy world beyond the window, the expression reflected in the glass so desolate that Roland's heart twisted within his chest.

"We," He repeated, firmly. "You don't have to do any of this alone, remember? I was upset earlier…but I know that you can't be here all the time, and that you wouldn't want to be." One outstretched hand reached past the fringe of white-blonde hair to gesture at the concrete-and-steel land outside. "But you're here now because you have to be. So…as long as you're here…you've got me, too." Tentatively, he dropped the gesturing palm to brush Evan's shoulder. An overwarm hand fell across it, capturing it in a vise-like, desperate grip, as the strong, too-pretty face tilted back to pin Roland's gaze in the same powerful hold. "Why?"

The Bard had the distinct feeling that Evan knew. But then, he always knew. And so…by denying it, he'd not only be lying to himself once again, but he'd be outright lying to this purveyor of the Light.

"Like I can do anything else?" A corner of his mouth quirked, and his lips thinned in a humorless smile, "I love you. I can't just let you go galloping off alone, silver knight or not."

He felt the void opening beneath his feet, and unable to turn away from the intensity of those blue-gray depths, Roland simply fell. The sudden, blazing heat of Evan's smile flashed with the power of the sun and washed over him.

"Then for Heaven's sake," the Adept purred, "why didn't you Invite me sooner?" The vulnerability vanished from within the storming gaze that held Roland a willing captive, and reflected his own expression of confusion. And…thinly veiled anticipation.

"Invite…?"

"If you wanted me…you could have called out to me."

"But the grove…I don't have the power to do that."

"Maybe not the power to attract an Adept's attention. But you have the power to call to the Light. Everyone does. And…" A slender, powerful hand slipped up and caressed the blunt edge of Roland's jaw, "I would have heard you. I know your call. Sometimes I thought I heard you…but it was over too soon for me to find you."

Roland recounted the times in these seven years that he had begged Evan to return, out of fear, or loneliness, or sorrow. If only he hadn't quashed the feelings before they'd drawn the Adept to his side...

The invitation returned, tenfold. And too powerful to ignore. "Do we have time for this…?" Roland asked, half joking. But even then, freed from Evan's grip, his hands were finally free to explore the lean, golden lines of the other man's chest. He knelt beside the windowsill, tugging the Adept to face him…turn him away from the desolation and hopelessness of the gritty sublet district. Denim whispered on thin cotton as Evan's legs wrapped about his waist where he kneeled. The delicate touch of fingertips against his jaw brought Roland's regard up to meet the other's suddenly clear blue eyes.

"We have all the time in the world," Evan replied. He bent down to brush his lips against the upturned, waiting mouth.

The sweet shock of the touch was nothing in comparison to the almost-pain that followed as Roland at last found himself in these intimate quarters with the Adept. At last, he was holding the one thing that single-handedly turned his so-called normal world wrong side out, and then proceeded to rebuild it from the ground up. Without Evan, and Rebecca, and the quest to save the world, Roland would still be a half-grown amateur with little more than dreams and a comfortable, complacent state of mind. Without Evan, he would never have Seen the real power of the Light, and of the Dark, nor could he comprehend anything that he Saw before. And until now – a full seven years later – the one whom he owed so much had cleverly eluded him.

Until now.

Funny. Seven years ago, he would have freaked out, and thrown another fit of panic; would have had to be coaxed like a skittish colt through each and every obstacle. It wasn't like that now…

The old adage that absence makes the heart grow fonder is true. Well, what do you know? Where's the fanfare? Where's the angelic chorus? Somebody could at least release a freaking flock of doves!

Roland promptly forgot about his aching knees and the numb loss of blood circulation from his sudden deathgrip about Evan's waist. He could happily have let the earth crumble and fall around him without a second thought.

Every Bard who goes on about the glories of unrequited love can stuff it up their rosy –

"Roland,"

The word was a tender admonishment, and only scant breaths away from Evan's face as he was, the Bard didn't need to look up. "Yeah?" He flushed, worried that the Adept had captured his latest thought – he still wasn't entirely sure if his guest could read minds.

"You have to be uncomfortable like that."

"Oh…" And suddenly, he was. How long had they been at it? His watch read a rough thirty minutes or so. Damn. Music and Adepts had the same effect, apparently. "I guess so, yeah."

"Let me help you." With an agonizing slowness to accommodate Roland's screaming knees, Evan drew him to his feet, and turned him, guiding by the elbows to the bed alcove. A million clever things to say passed through Roland's mind, but none seemed appropriate as he meekly allowed the other man to lead. Perhaps he wouldn't need to be coaxed and cajoled as he might have needed years past, but the first steps were always the hardest. What was there to say…what does one say to an Adept of the Light at times like this…?

And then…he knew.

"Evan?"

"Yes?" The lights flickered on, and then dimmed in the alcove as Evan closed the door gently behind them. From this proximity, Roland could feel the Adept's body as a listening entity, the whole of his concentration focused solely upon the Bard. He would know in an instant if Roland's words were untrue. The Bard turned in his arms, and met his gaze with the frank blue-gray honesty that had won over so many people in his past.

"I love you…"

The brilliance of Evan's eyes consumed everything in the flash, and for a few blissful hours, the fate of the world waited in patience.

With a flourish, Roland produced a world map and unfolded it over the kitchen table, smoothing the creases with palms that still seemed to tingle faintly in memory…

Get a grip. Roland ordered himself for the third time this morning. I've never acted like a lovestruck teenager before…twenty years later; it's finally catching up with me.

Still, he strongly doubted that someone recovered from the thrall of an Adept of the Light in a day. Privately, he wondered if someone ever could. Rebecca didn't count. Goddesses probably had that sort of thing all the time.

And that thought conjured several more that followed him stubbornly to the refrigerator for a shot of cold caffeine.

Evan hadn't noticed his reaction.

Thank God.

Subtly, Roland lifted the icy can of soda to rest against the nape of his own neck for a few precious seconds. Unfazed, the Adept pored over the map, eyes squinched as he concentrated his own unusual form of scrying.

One fingertip brushed the map, and the print it left glowed against the paper.

"Heh, who needs a highlighter?" Roland chuckled from his hunch over Evan's shoulder.

"What?" Evan shoved errant strands of blonde hair from his face with an impatient hand and didn't look up.

"Nothing." Apparently the Adept's sense of humor hadn't improved all that much in seven years. Or Roland's had degraded. He savored the closeness of the other, then, and dared to rest a hand in gentle camaraderie against Evan's shoulder. Of course, there was almost no resisting an Adept in little else but an old tee shirt…if he'd been shirtless, there would have been no possible resistance.

Goddess bless the little things in life.

Once again, he found his fingers clasped in a returning grip of affection, though the other still remained almost wholly focused on his task. Roland lowered the can of soda to the tabletop and flicked it open with his free hand. "Any luck?"

"I've got one crossroads with enough traces of Dark power to be noticeable. But it's not enough to be the demon." Silken gold eyebrows drew down in frustration.

"I thought you knew where he was…"

"I did. Last night. It's apparently moved since then."

"Oh." Roland's cheeks pinked with guilt. They should have been chasing down the Dark forces, instead of…

"I wasn't at full power, last night. And because I got a good start, I know where to start looking…Roland," The stormy eyes turned on him, incandescent at a level that efficiently removed the breath from his lungs, "It wasn't your fault." Before the Bard could make a reply, Evan stiffened as if shocked and tore his gaze back to the map. "There." His index finger pressed to the paper, and a flare of brilliance pooled through the streets of downtown Toronto, parallel to the lakeshore. "He's there!"

"Wait a minute…that's…what could possibly…?"

"Are there a lot of people?" Tension shot through the shoulder rolling beneath Roland's thumb.

"Well, yeah. It's summer. Lots of people at the beach. Evan, what are you…?"

"It knows I'm here!" Evan hissed, and dashed into the alcove for his jeans. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"I thought only Adepts could sense other Adepts…" The presence of a fully-clothed entity of the Light made concentration a little easier for the Bard, and at last he deemed it safe to follow the other into the bedroom.

"Oh, Roland," Evan sighed impatiently, as he thumped onto the edge of the bed and rolled up the cuffs of his jeans to jerk his boots on, "isn't it obvious that any part of the Dark can sense the shift of the Balance?"

Oh… Distantly, Roland remembered the would-be saint they'd encountered in their last adventure. He was a purveyor of Light, and had sensed the overwhelming presence of Dark. Roland's fists clenched. "But you're stronger than it is!"

"Not with a horde of people turned to its cause!" Evan leapt up, and reached out to drag Roland close with a crushing grip on either shoulder. "Roland, I'm going. Catch up with me. I need you to stop those people…before…" Despite his golden complexion, Evan's face paled to the bleach-white of his hair tips. Suddenly, both men suffered an inescapable vision of the Adept…torn to pieces by an angry mob of Dark humans…

Roland shook himself free of it with a cry of denial. "I'll be there. Get going!" And heedless of the mental alarms that fired in response, he hauled Evan's smaller mass against his chest and into a fiercely protective, possessive kiss. The Adept whimpered distantly against his lips.

I won't let you down this time. Not now. Not ever again.

With a last squeeze of the other's shoulders, Roland released him and turned him, propelling the other man towards the door with a nudge that brooked no argument. The Adept winked out of existence, startling a blink out of the Bard. He shook his head and sighed. I hate it when you do that.

Shoes, shirt, and Patience in his hand. He was ready to move. A last gulp of soda snatched from the can waiting on the table, before Roland let himself into the hall and plunged for the elevator.

The beaches of Lake Ontario looked like a war zone. Presiding over the chaos was a man who looked more than half god. A tall, broad, shining, and raven-haired demigod.

To anyone with more than a gleaning of the Sight, the creature's shine inspired terror, rather than desire. When Evan winked into being at the top of the beachhead, he Felt the myriad of terrified souls behind him, pressed against buildings and staring after the impossibly attractive beach deity with utter horror. Those without that precious innate sense thronged the beach proper, yearning toward the tall creature of molten gold. Demons were known to take forms hideous to the mundane, and many were willing to waste ludicrous amounts of energy in shapeshifting for the simple purpose of dramatic effect.

He scanned the beach, blue eyes darkened with righteous anger as he sought the demon's betraying signature of power. He found it...the largest massing of bodies gave his opponent away even before the sullen black-purple glow of Dark flared around them.

Charming them. Guiling them. Turning the innocents to its vile purposes.

If the unicorns were exterminated and their influence taken away from the Gray...others would follow. And more demons like this serpent of old would pass through the Barrier in their wake. Slowly, they would rob the world of hope. The Adept's gaze tightened and his aura blazed about him in a wash before he could halt it. Behind him, those with the touch of Sight dropped to their knees with a simultaneous cry of adulation. Evan looked back at the sound, and winced. Damnit! He turned to face the mob once more, only to see their ranks part obediently before a tall, broad-shouldered youth.

It could have been a surfer. A very out-of-place surfer. If only. Dark, agile, and self-satisfied just to the edge of tolerance. The smirk it bore upon chiseled features was sculpted to aggravate, and the 'pack leader' posture of shoulders and head intended to intimidate. Evan arched an eyebrow. Demons. No belief in their own limitations.

The creature threw out its arms in a semblance of mocking welcome, and the irritating smile broadened. "They sent me an Adept? I believe a wise man once gave an apt description for such a situation..."

"Using a cannon to kill a mosquito." Evan's jaw pulsed as he cut the other off.

"Touché." The Dark minion inclined its beautiful head graciously, "But not quite what I was searching for."

"Leave these innocents be. Return to your land. This world is not for you." Evan demanded impatiently, tone and posture clearly implying that he had far more important matters to attend than vanquish a demon. The bronze god bristled, and its followers cowered in a nauseating mix of adoration and abject terror. It poured across the dunes with the sinuous alien grace of a stalking cat, hypnotizing, enchanting with otherworldly beauty that promised just as well as it threatened.

"Would you dare do battle with me, Adept?"

Pale hands fisted at his sides as Evan nodded shortly, once. The pleasure radiating out from the demon at the affirmation was nearly palpable. It flung an arm out toward the people beyond.

"Would you have them die?"

Evan stiffened. "What have you done to them?"

"What if I told them all to die, just now?" The demon asked, as pleasantly as if it were asking Evan to tea, "They would do it. They would turn on each other in eyeblinks. And even if you banished me, it would be too late." Suddenly, Evan found himself struggling to throw off a thick miasma of desire. A desire for the demon so powerful that it sickened him even as it beckoned him nearer the monster. He shook his head ferociously, teeth gritted as he realized that a glamourie – a spell of false appearances – glazed his eyes.

I am an Adept of the Light. I am above such things.

Whatever it is that you offer, I do not need it.

I am an Adept of the Light...

Over and over, echoing through his skull was the mantra. I don't need you...

"How far are you willing to go to protect the Accursed Beasts? Hm?" Smoothly masculine features tilted to one side, voice, gaze, and guise hypnotizing the Adept, "Would you be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of innocents? Would you kill humans you knew? People you cared for…?"

Even as it spoke, the demon insinuated itself into Evan's mind with the deadly cool of serpent's coils, just out of the grasp of the Adept's awareness. It rifled his memories indifferently, until it hit upon one in particular. One that spun as an axis for all other thoughts.

Rebecca.

The bronzed features of the demon's incarnation twisted; took on a simple, sweet, be-freckled smile.

Oh, please, Goddess...no...

"Rebecca...?"

The voice sounded from only bodylengths behind Evan's rigid shoulders – a slap of cold water over the burning heat of the demon's glamour-spell. But even as the Adept won free, Roland was lost. The plastic handle of Patience's case slipped from nerveless fingers and the guitar thudded hollowly to the boardwalk.

"Rebecca..." The Bard gasped again, as velvet and long-lashed brown eyes turned upon him. The gaze of false innocence blurred with confusion, and narrowed in anger. They rounded on Evan, who desperately forced air into his throat again at the sight.

"What does this meddling human know? How does he know this girl? No…" The memory so callously ripped from Evan's brain magnified into focus, "this goddess. How does he know? Tell me! Tell me or I'll have them rip you to pieces!" It gestured wildly to the crowd, as the voice shrilled with a petulance that wasn't Rebecca at all.

A thousand brows darkened with rage, and be-sandaled feet stirred a step nearer the trio at the top of the beach.

It's not Rebecca. I am an Adept of the Light. I am above such things…

"I don't know."

All of the demon's focus honed in on Evan. He drew back his shoulders with defiance against its angry gaze.

Behind his shoulder, Roland gasped a third time, harshly, as though he'd just been coughed up by the sea. The heavy scrape and click of plastic registered that he'd collected Patience and was advancing with a hoarse cry of Evan's name. Only a glamourie, Evan realized with a flood of relief, it's only a simple look-at-me spell. We're not affected unless the demon looks at us…

"Roland! Shut your eyes!" The Adept commanded.

"What?" Roland asked automatically, and did as he was told.

Evan's palms came together before the doppelganger of Rebecca, and a flare of blinding Light engulfed his hands.

He thrust the burning ball forward.

The demon howled and writhed away, clutching at the soft brown eyes stolen from Evan's memory. It shrank, still whimpering senselessly, and lost the focus crystallizing Rebecca's appearance. Suddenly, it was no more than a shadow given form and substance, so black was its skin. A vaguely human shadow. An angry shadow.

"Cursed wretch," hot red eyes leveled blearily in Evan's direction. The Adept stood unflinchingly beneath the glare.

"Begone, foul thing! Return to your keepers, if only a blessing of the Light can fell you."

Typical response, Evan, Roland resisted the impulse to roll his eyes as he watched the creature in eerie fascination. "Why don't you just banish…"

"The people!" Two pairs of stormy blue eyes flicked up as Evan cut him off, and froze wide in horror at the onslaught of mobbing humans thundering toward them. Somewhere in the unending black of the demon's face, it smirked.

"Kill me. Try and kill me before they rend you and your mortal lackey. I doubt you can fend off all of us!" As it spoke, it leaped, inhuman claws stretching for Evan's unprotected throat.

The Adept met the challenge with a grim smile, fists closing together as a shaft of white brilliance fired between them. "Roland!" He shouted as he tumbled out of the way of the demon's leap and thrust up and into the shadow.

Roland nodded. He was more than a 'mortal lackey,' and he was about to prove it. If only he could think of a song...

Come on, you're a full Bard now. Surely there's something...

He flashed through a dozen first lines, names, titles, as quickly as though scanning the page of a playsheet. Without even thinking.

They all passed by, indifferently.

The crowd would be on them in a few more seconds...

Oh, come on...

His confidence faltered. The demon screeched.

One song stuck.

If the Beatles can thwart a Dark Adept, Bill Withers can stop a demon!

And he undid the catches holding Patience captive as he sprinted toward the morass of angry bodies hurtling the other way. The guitar's case dropped to the sand unnoticed, and he swung Patience's strap around his neck, fumbling for the chords blindly in haste. A gentle sigh of lyrics echoed free, and a soft rip that grew stronger with each passing measure, and thundered to the chorus, but still unhurried, unchanged.

Day after day, I'm more confused,

But I look for the light through the pouring rain…

There was a falter in the unending march toward the trio at the boardwalk. A few surprised glances. A glimmer of sense in the madness. Roland wrestled his heart out of his throat.

"You brought a Bard with you?" The demon blasted Evan with a bolt of Dark energy as he shouted. The Adept left a smile and a four-foot-long furrow in the sand as he was thrown violently back.

Oh, give me the beat boys and free my soul,

I wanna get lost in your rock and roll and drift away...

The rapid footsteps of the mob began to slow.

The sword of Light petered out.

Roland played on, feeling as though he were standing in the path of a stampeding herd of cattle. The deep joy and comfort of the music reached out with tentative fingers to grasp the listeners, swathing, bandaging red-hot anger in cool blues and peaceful greens. No reason to be angry, it said, it'll be better tomorrow. Listen to the music. That's all you need. The mellow chords skipped slowly behind the lyrics, as Roland threw his best rasp into the throaty words. It hurt, reopening the damage to half-healed tissue only just closed by the Adept. He spared a look back to Evan with a hard swallow. Somehow, blue eyes found blue eyes, and a mutual anchor tossed between.

The world outside looks so unkind,

So I'm countin' on you to carry me through…

Evan blazed to his feet as his saber reappeared, thrust through the middle of the demon's gut. It roared in agony and tore free. A spatter of Dark unleashed power flooded around the Light Adept as a rock in a stream.

The crowd walked on, nearer and nearer; more and more sluggish with every step. They swayed, rocking with the slow seething of the boiling sea at their backs.

When my mind is free, you know a melody can move me,

And when I'm feelin' blue, the guitar's comin' through to soothe me.

They stopped.

Thanks for the joy that you're givin' me,

I want you to know I believe in your song…

One after another, they began to smile. And in another heartbeat, they were laughing and talking; some were singing along. Roland drew an uneasy breath of relief.

The demon dropped to earth, bleeding from a dozen or more wounds. Vanished, as though it were no more than a heat-shimmer on the dunes.

Rhythm and rhyme and harmony,

You help me along; you're makin' me strong…

Evan staggered to Roland's side, and leaned heavily upon his shoulder as the crowd rocked from side to side. They raised their hands to clap in unison to the final chorus. There was nothing left now but the people.

Roland allowed himself a smile as he drew the song to its close. Thank you, Bill, old man.

The people applauded wildly.

"Forget," Evan whispered into their still-open minds.

They forgot.

Pasha came to rub against Roland's leg, and mewed piteously up at him as the crowd parted. The Bard started violently. "Where'd you come from?" Nevertheless, he bent with a grunt to scoop her up. Evan shook his head. "She's right, unfortunately. I didn't destroy it."

"You didn't? But…" Roland's eyes strayed to where the demon had only just been, as he ruffled the cat's cheek. "I thought…"

"It escaped before I could kill it. We won't have the luxury of surprise anymore…it knows what you are."

Roland sighed. He didn't want to think about that right now. And Patience needed to be protected. Pasha slithered from his shoulder as he knelt to collect the discarded plastic case and slip the guitar into it. "At least we saved those people."

"For now." The words had a hopeless ring to them. Evan turned for home. Roland watched him in silence. I hate it when you act like the world's ending just because you didn't win.

He caught the irony in the thought, smiled sadly, and stepped up to loop his free arm around the Adept's slender waist in sympathy. "We'll get it right next time."

Chapter Text

Later, when at last everyone was safely accounted for, Evan insisted on leaving alone to locate the demon once more. Roland protested. You look like shit, my friend. Can't you stop playing the tragic hero for one damn minute?

But one minute was time better spent tracking their enemy. Every moment they dallied could mean the life of another unicorn lost. How many are left, I wonder? I didn't even used to think they existed.

He carried a hot cup of tea to the alcove, on orders from the Adept. The microwave was a much easier way to warm water, which defeated his argument against the stuff. He lay back with the mug balanced on his stomach, and stared across the room at the shelves that contained Rebecca's book collection. A few things he had replaced for convenience, but for the most part, he'd left the place as it was – and the rows of assorted brightly-colored books were one thing that he could never bring himself to get rid of. The Berenstein Bears, Paddington, Charlotte's Web, and The Saggy Baggy Elephant crowded shoulder-to-shoulder with his own Whitman, Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Auel, and college texts on the theory of music that he rarely read.

Presiding over all was the series of Rebecca's picture books on the shelf above...glossy-paged beauties that photographed everything from carousel horses to Ireland and Singapore.

How Pasha managed to get up there, he'd never understand. He was peacefully perusing the spines of the books and nursing a raw throat again when a blur of white signaled the beginning of the feline's march across the tall hardbacked volumes. Roland sat upright and only just avoided splattering his thighs with piping hot liquid. "Pasha! Get down!"

Wince. Brilliant. Yell with a sore throat. Evan shouldn't leave you alone. You'll kill yourself just out of sheer stupidity.

The cat threw him a superior glance, and continued picking a delicate trail across the books. One caught her attention, and a tiny pink nubbin of a nose dropped to sniff it thoroughly. Then nudge. And nudge again. A paw hooked behind it as she stepped back, the better to force it free of its imprisonment.

She's...strong...

Inch by inch, the book came free, and fell with a solid thump to the floor, followed by a well-pleased cat. Pasha squatted on it, squeezing her yellow-orange eyes meaningfully at the Bard. He set his cup aside and rolled to the edge of the bed, resting his chin on one forearm as he assessed cat and her leather-bound prey.

A photo-documentary on New York City. Manhattan, actually—weren't most books on the Big Apple about Manhattan? "Watcha got, kitty?" He asked, in a falsetto intended to be irritating.

She rolled her eyes.

He reached for the book, and a pale velveted paw flashed out to cuff him in admonishment before Pasha shooed off of the cover to land beside him on the mattress. Roland dragged the picture book up onto the covers and flipped it open. "What...do you want me to read captions for you?"

A low, throaty growl issued from her throat.

"I was kidding."

Her tail merely whipped menacingly as she pawed the book once more, and blinked at him with eyes gone huge and vaguely urgent.

"All right, I get it. What page?"

Another growl, as her eyes narrowed dangerously. Get serious, she seemed to threaten. He snickered, but flipped through the pages slowly, allowing the cat a thorough perusal of each photo.

I can't believe this. I'm reading to the cat.

Tom would have a heyday with this one.

The Empire State Building, the stage of Carnegie Hall, the gilded statue at Rockefeller Plaza and its icy winter skating rink...they eased beneath his fingers and her squinting gaze. He wondered just how well she could see. Weren't cats farsighted?

And then, as the massive, vibrant green two-page spread of Central Park flipped open, she pounced, both forepaws smacking the shiny paper, nails out and pricking holes in the book.

"Hey!" He protested, and unhooked her from her prey as she spat in frustration. "Take it easy, little one!" He read the caption for the name, and nodded. "I get it...Central Park. What's with Central Park?"

She sat, paws primly tucked in and whipcord tail curled about her feet, staring at him from a pose so rigid that she might well have been an alabaster rendition of Bast. Roland returned her stare.

"Something I should tell Evan about?"

Slowly, deliberately, she nodded.

As though on cue, footsteps in the outer room alerted them both to the Adept's return. The warm smell of fresh bread and hot pastrami indicated that he'd brought lunch with him as well. Roland rose, collecting his tea to at least look the part of the obedient invalid. Evan met him at the bedroom door, mien sober. "Sit," he ordered, and shook the bag. "We'll eat here. You're not moving."

Roland's eyebrows drew down in irritation. "My throat hurts. I didn't break a leg, for Christ's sake!"

"What makes you think," Evan purred, "that I don't have my own motives?"

"Oh..." The temperature of the room rose uncomfortably, and despite himself, he grinned. "Some reason to celebrate."

"Sort of. The demon's heading southeast, along the lake and the Hudson."

"They can't teleport?"

"They're not powerful enough," Evan replied, tugging two paper-wrapped deli sandwiches out of a sack dropped on the mattress. He shoved the first of the pair towards Roland. "Eat."

The Bard picked up his sandwich obediently. His brow furrowed in thought. "Then what did he do this morning?"

"He became intangible." A crust was torn from the upper slice of Evan's sourdough and neatly popped into his mouth. His eyes closed in ecstatic delight, and he peeled the top slice off to run a fingertip through the mustard.

"You make it sound like a parlor trick." Roland snickered between bites, and tried to ignore him when an index fingertip coated with the stone-ground yellow slurry disappeared into Evan's mouth. He'd forgotten just how fascinating it was to watch the Adept with food – he made eating into an incredibly sensual experience. Evan nodded as though the Bard had said something profound.

"It is, essentially." He agreed, "Apparating requires a lot of power. But every creature, Dark or Light, has the ability to become intangible...disappear. How do you think the unicorns have evaded your people so well, so long?"

"Good point," Roland grunted. Evan reached out and patted his shoulder. Roland tried to ignore the fact that it was the same hand, the same fingertip that the Adept had just removed from his mouth. His face flushed. Upon noting it, Evan goaded him to finish his meal, eyes sparkling with mischief. A fortunate thing...chewing gave him several more minutes to dig an unsteady foundation of self-control.

Nobody told me that being a Bard would make me think about sex every time one of these damn Adepts is within eyeshot, Roland accused the Crone, safe and chaste and untempted beneath her lilac bushes. "So, the demon's heading southeast?"

"Yes," Evan answered, distracted by a thick, ridged and crunchy pickle. "I don't know where it's headed. We'll have to—"

He yelped and cut off abruptly, and blinked down in surprise at the disruption attached to his thigh.

Pasha blinked back, yellow-orange eyes wide and urgent, just as they had been earlier. She flattened her ears and sank the claws of both forepaws into his knee.

"You have my attention, furred one..." Nimble fingers popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth, and deftly unhooked the cat's vicious curved daggers from his jeans.

"Pasha thinks she knows where it's headed." Roland explained, and dug behind him for a moment to fish out the book where it lay open. "New York City. Manhattan...Central Park, to be exact."

There was a full-page glossy of Belvedere Castle, and a pair of triangular feline ears pricked over the image as Evan held it up. "That's it! That's where it's going...it makes perfect sense!" He riffled a few more pages in excitement, and Roland ignored Pasha's smugly satisfied expression only with severe restraint.

"Of course it makes perfect sense," a familiar tinny voice said from nowhere.

A sudden chime of fingerbells rang out across the room, and with an audible pop, a familiar, fuzzy red ball of fur slid into existence. It landed with a thin, indignant squawk on the floor after a two-foot fall from midair. A nasal whimper, and it uncoiled, revealing a cherry red opossum face with pebble green eyes, and pink tissue-paper ears.

"Sam?" Roland chanced, on the slim possibility that there was another lion-foot rodent wandering Toronto. Sam glared up at him from his place on the floor, three-foot-long tail curled primly around his feet. Pasha threw the Greebo a look of gentle amusement and trilled.

"Who else?" Sam asked impatiently. "The pair of you should be on your way South by now! The hunters are too many, and have killed too much! The Central Park unicorns are the only ones left!"

"We don't know that for sure," Evan replied calmly, stroking the worried expression out of Pasha's eyes. He buried his hands in her ruff, and she calmed, yellow-orange eyes half-lidding.

"The demon and its hunters are converging on New York. It has many, many followers! If you don't kill that thing soon, you'll never get close enough to it again!"

"How many hunters are with it?" Evan asked, still deadly cool. His palm whispered along Pasha's spine. Roland couldn't fathom his reaction. Only hours earlier, the Adept had been practically frantic over his inability to find their opponent. He reached for the book and cradled it in his lap, as Patience was across the room and his hands twitched to have something filling them.

"Only one," Sam stated, "We have followed it, and there is only one. A woman. It is she who has killed the most. We believe she is its favorite." He reared up on his hind paws, stamping his forepaws against the side of the bed and glaring with wild, angry eyes at the two men and the cat. "But there are others we have sensed, all coming this way! They are too many! We must hurry!"

"We'll be on our way tomorrow, Sam," Evan affirmed. "But Roland's voice is still recovering, and what good is he to us if he cannot sing?"

Hey… Roland protested indignantly, but kept his mouth shut and reminded himself sternly not to be so sensitive. Sam hadn't been quite this agitated the first time the Bard had made his acquaintance. The Greebo turned critical green eyes on Roland, and shifted his gaze back to Evan. "He looks fine to me."

Evan gave a long-suffering sigh. "He'll be ready by Saturday, two days from now. I promise you." The Adept favored Roland with a bracing smile, which Roland returned. "We both will."

"Overconfidence never won anyone anything but sorrow," Sam reminded, tone ominous despite his grating voice. "See that you don't suffer from it. We're counting on the two of you." And with another pop, he was gone.

Roland and Evan stared at the spot where he had been quietly. Finally, as his eyes dropped to the book's glossy pages again, Roland spoke.

"What makes so much sense about Central Park? I don't suppose the demon's interested in a paddle on the lake and a hot dog, is it…?"

Evan shook his head as Roland's voice trailed off. "There are only three unicorns left in existence on this continent. And under such strained times, they cannot take the time to reproduce. Two of them are located in the innermost sanctum of this park." A long, blunt fingertip tapped the glossy photo.

"How do you know there's three? How do you know Sam's wrong? Where's the third one?" Roland asked. "How can we be sure that what Lassie over there's trying to tell us is right?" Pasha flattened her ears and spat at him indignantly. "For all we know, the demon may go after him first!"

"Her." Evan corrected, licking his fingers of the last crumbs from his sandwich and stroking Pasha's ears to mollify her, a bit of pastrami offered on the tips of his fingers to her as well. She eased, hackles lowering, though her amber-yellow eyes still lay on Roland with an eerily human expression of dislike.

"What?"

"Her. All of the unicorns in the world are female. Well…in a manner of speaking."

The last of Roland's meal disappeared with a swallow and a sputter. "What the hell does that have to do with anything? And you didn't answer my question. And they're all female? Then what does it matter if we save them? They can't…y'know…"

Evan shrugged. "It has nothing to do with our cause…and everything. As for where the third unicorn hides," he thumbed Pasha's forehead meditatively, "even the Light cannot be sure where all of its bits and pieces are at all times. It is not like the Dark. It does not jealously horde all of its children."

There was just enough hurt in Evan's voice at what Roland had unknowingly implied with his question that it broke the Bard's concentration. Then again, any show of negative emotion from the Adept would be likely to break his concentration. Roland hastened to comfort him. "Hey…" He reached across the book and the wrappers of their dinners to pull the other man into his arms. Blonde hair settled against his shoulder in perfect harmony as Evan relaxed, forehead just gently pressing against the pulse of his throat.

"I didn't mean it like that…I just don't want to go in the wrong direction, Evan. Central Park…that's a long trip…that's…"

"A day and a half," Evan nodded, "by car."

"But I don't have…"

"We'll get one. All you need to do is be ready to go tomorrow, with her…" Evan gestured to Patience, leaning quietly with Ease, just inside the bedroom alcove, "and her."

Pasha mewed, right on cue.

Roland stared at her. "Look, I know she's not just a cat…but what good…I mean, we're fighting demons, here."

"We may need her after all, Roland. If you remember, a cat saved your life once before." Evan leaned back and pushed the pale hair out of his eyes with an impatient sigh, his bracelets chiming softly together. I thought you'd be a little more open-minded about all of this; the sigh seemed to say, I thought you'd learned something while I was here, and while I was gone.

"Yeah, but Tom was different," Roland protested, squirming a little under the implications of that sigh.

"Of course Tom was different. All cats are different. Just as all people and all pieces of the Light…"

"Damnit!"

Evan frowned, and Roland sighed, wincing as the exclamation brought out the slow ache in his throat. He slipped his arms beneath Evan's, and stole just for a moment under the soft, thin fabric of his pullover to stroke the other's too-warm golden navel. "I'm sorry, Evan," He murmured huskily. "That just means you win."

Evan and Pasha purred in tandem, and that made it all right. He maneuvered them down into the warmth of the mattress, smiling to himself as Evan nestled into the curve of his body and the cat, eventually; found her place coiled against the Adept's stomach. For a few more precious minutes, they simply lay quietly together and enjoyed the relative safety of one another's company.

"To understand unicorns, you have to understand that they're not animals," Evan said quietly after a spell, shifting the soft overlay of silence aside without shattering it completely. Roland simply stroked his stomach again, breathing into the silken flutter of his companion's hair and leaving the silence to encourage Evan to continue. He'd had seven years denied this pleasure. Be damned if he was going to do anything to break the contact now unless he had to. Evan didn't seem hurried at all, and Pasha dozed quietly against his middle, fur tickling the backs of Roland's hands. Odd. They should be hurrying, and yet…they weren't.

"Unicorns don't need males and females to reproduce, the way mortals do. They don't mate."

"Then how do they…?" Roland asked, trailing off as he felt his cheeks heat. Lovemaking unicorns really weren't on the agenda today, but for some reason – most likely the reason being one particular Adept of the Light – he couldn't help but think about it. Evan smiled as though he'd felt the rising flush of Roland's skin.

"They capture a small snatch of the Light – a lovely thought, a kiss, a smile – and incubate it like an egg within their wombs. Within them, it is molded, taking on their aspect as a foal. Unicorns carry their young to term the same way horses do – though the period is far, far shorter – and give birth in the normal way. They cannot inbreed. If there were only one unicorn left in the world, it would be able to re-populate the world, given the time."

Roland took in all of this quietly, wondering if his love for Evan was making unicorn babies right now. Then…he remembered what the Adept mentioned about how the impending danger had forced the unicorns to stop reproducing. "You never told me how you know those two unicorns are in Central Park," He reminded Evan, simply for the sake of changing the subject. The reply he received was a troubled frown, though by the looks of it, it was a long-lived frown.

Evan patted his hands and dislodged Pasha, rolling away to collect their wrappers and get to his feet. "I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Right now, you're going to rest. I'm going to take care of the car, and then I'll be back."

"Will you?" Roland asked, suddenly, reached out and caught the Adept's jingling left wrist just above the bracelets. Evan stared down at him, uncomprehending.

"Of course I will, Roland."

"No, not that. I mean…when this is all over…will you…?" He faltered, as the desperation in his own raw voice rang out with embarrassing clarity. His cheeks reddened a brighter shade than they already were. Begging the Light to stay with him when he knew very well that the Adept could not possibly do such a thing! Honestly! How pathetic am I? "…No, never mind."

Evan touched his wrist with a look that Roland, in his moment of weakness, translated as pity. It irritated him more than any words the Adept could have spoken.

"Roland…"

"I said, never mind," Roland growled.

Evan blinked, and his expression blanked as cleanly as though someone had pressed his 'off' button. Suddenly, Roland was alone in the room. It only took a split second of confusion to understand what had happened, and the Bard covered the warm handprint on his wrist with his other hand. He wanted to say a hundred things. Threaten Evan. Curse him. Damn him for what he'd caused, and awakened, and how he'd turned Roland's relatively ordinary, uneventful world on its head.

In the end, he sighed. "I wish you'd stop doing that," Roland said to the space where the Adept had just stood, and fell back onto the pillows, glaring at the ceiling as the front of his shirt, warmed from the press of Evan's body, slowly cooled.

Evan must have returned later that evening, as the next time Roland awoke, the too-warm golden body lay sprawled over his own, peacefully asleep. Surprise mingled with a little irritation, but moreover…relief. Evan's palm was gently spread over Roland's throat, and as the Bard swallowed, he found the pain had abated again. Soft starlight poured in and mingled with the warm, contented silence of the alcove. Outside the window was dark, but he'd slept enough for two healthy people in the past twelve hours, and with his battery at full charge, Roland found it impossible to sleep anymore. He also had a rather pressing need to pee, but with Evan lodged on top of him, the only way to get the business done without waking his friend was to wait until the Adept chose to move.

That left him a free hour, at least, with nothing to do but think. Roland stroked the relaxed curve of Evan's softly glowing shoulder, and smiled at the other's faint murmur of pleasure in his sleep. He was going to miss this…miss it more than he'd ever thought he could miss anything.

Daru, Uncle Tony, Mrs. Ruth…they had all been right, damn them. He'd grown up since his run-in with the Dark Adept, and knew what real pain was, and real fear, and real love. Everything else before, he knew with certainty, had been nothing compared to this. Nothing ever could be like it. Or hope to match it. How could a common, everyday marriage and a pretty house in the suburbs compare to making fierce, hungry love with an Adept of the Light then galloping off to save unicorns from a Dark demon?

What kind of girl could he save the world with?

"Love hard, love 'til it hurts. It'll make it all worth it in the end." Roland said to himself in the soft still of the bedroom alcove, stirring a murmuring, incoherent reply from Evan. Did every Bard have an Adept of the Light to lust after? It certainly made the music come easier…after all, he really did have an angel waiting at home.

But for how much longer?

His hands lowered slowly to the sheets.

Evantarin of the Light. He was in love with Evantarin of the fucking Light.

And it was all Evan's fault.

He'd encouraged him…always pushing him just short of violating twenty-some…okay…thirty-some years of social conditioning. Oh, no, maybe Evan hadn't actually pushed the envelope; always standing just on the other side of the barrier separating him from Roland, waiting to be invited, but he'd damn well done some pretty posturing from that side of the fence. With those questions…those smiles…the heat in them was undeniable! If he'd been a little less freaked out, maybe the Adept would have made good on those inviting glances. And instead of sleeping with Rebecca…Evan would have been sleeping with him.

For what purpose?

Roland twisted uncomfortably under Evan's weight.

It wasn't like Evan got to stick around the first time. And maybe…maybe not sleeping with him through all that had made it easier to deal with all the 'bits and pieces' that came from caring about him, as Rebecca called it.

We should never have slept together, Roland sighed, once this is over, you'll go back home to elfland, or heaven, or whatever it is you people call it, and I'll be stuck here. Without you. And Goddamnit, I don't want anyone else! And until the next time some Dark Adept comes sniffing around, looking for a shift in the balance, I'll never even fucking see you! If I hadn't said…if we hadn't done anything…I could always have just thought about what it might've been like. You'd still be out of my reach, and I could have dealt with that.

Suddenly he couldn't bear not touching, and his hands hungrily claimed the other's skin in slow, wide circles along Evan's radiant spine. Now I have you, Evan, and God…Goddess…whatever help me…I do not want to give you back.

Evan whimpered distantly in sleep under his fingertips, and curled closer. Roland's heart broke all over again. But you hate it here. Even though you love us…you hate the thought of living here all the time. That's for the poor mortal slobs of the fucking gray. Living in this hellhole is for everyone else but you and your Light. Even if you could stay with me…you wouldn't. And according to Mrs. Ruth…apparently I'm stuck here. You couldn't even bring me through the barrier. Since I'm a fucking Bard.

"Bards can See, but they can't ever go through…"

ISAIDSHUTUP!

Roland switched poles, unexpectedly, and with a rude disregard for whether he woke up the man on top of him or not, he shoved Evan to the wall's side of the bed and got up to stumble to the bathroom. The blonde Adept mumbled a curse that didn't belong anywhere near his almost-pretty mouth, and rolled over away from Roland's shove.

One shoulder and most of his left side was numb. Great. He took care of his most pressing problem, and watched his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he shook feeling into his muscles. How could he be angry at Evan? After all…whether he'd be going back or not wasn't really his choice. He was a piece of the Light. His staying beyond the barriers would upset the balance between Light and Dark, and make a big gaping hole for another Adept of the Dark or worse to come through (if indeed there was something worse than an Adept of the Dark!). Roland knew with certainty that if it came down to that, he'd never be able to look at his own reflection again if he coerced Evan somehow into staying with him. Not, Roland silently reminded his crestfallen image in the mirror, as though I could twist Evan's arm into doing anything he doesn't want to do.

As he leaned over to turn on the taps and splash cold water to his cheeks and the back of his neck, a question niggled at the back of his mind. It pressed forward when he noticed it at last and called it out. Unicorns.

They went against everything Evan had ever said about the Light. The Light didn't always know where they were. They could reproduce out of hand. There was no limit to their existence, no specification that they had to return past the barrier to set the balance aright again. And yet…the Adept continually referred to them as the Light. How could pure creatures of the Light exist outside of...wherever it was Evan lived…without letting in boggles and wraiths from the other side?

If they could do it…

…Did that mean maybe Evan could, too…?

Roland shook his head fiercely, waves of hair bouncing around his shoulders, and stalked out of the bathroom. I'm grasping at straws. I should just accept things, the way Rebecca did. The way Daru did. Things don't always change because you want them to, they'd say. Some things just are. And there's nothing you can do about them.

"Defeatist attitude," Roland smirked into the darkness. Smirked at the Darkness. Sure. Evan's position in the Light made perfect sense. So did his duty, and the reason why he'd have to go back when his duty was over.

And in the face of all that, Roland smirked. "Fuck it," He said pleasantly; told tradition and defeatist attitudes right where they could get the hell off. He'd broken enough tradition just to end up where he was right now. What was the punishment of screwing with a few more? And in the end, if it didn't work and Evan still had to leave, well…

At least he'd tried, which would be more comforting at night – though not much – than knowing he hadn't lifted a finger.

And until that day came, he was going to let Evan know exactly how much he meant. He had another day and a half before they reached Central Park. A lot could happen in a day and a half, and Roland knew exactly what he'd be asking for if the unicorns rewarded them.

If they managed to save them.

Yellow-orange and stormy blue eyes were watching him curiously as Roland walked back into the bedroom alcove. Pasha's purr filled the room with lulling sound, and Evan smiled a heart-stopping smile.

They'd save them, of course, said that smile.

"Are you all right?" Evan asked, hopefully.

Hoping I'm not still pissed over nothing, Roland thought. And as he probed at himself, he realized that he wasn't. Not anymore. Not right now. "I'm fine," the Bard replied, and shrugged out of his clothes before acquiescing into Evan's arms. The Adept's body left an imprint on his skin with its heat, and he wanted to feel that heat again.

"What was wrong?" Evan traced Roland's lips with a gentle index finger, as though he could sense the angry, twisted snarl that had only just left them.

"It's fine." Which it was. "I was just thinking." Which he had been. "Maybe I'll tell you about it tomorrow." And…maybe he would, given the right circumstances. Evan eyed him closely, studying the blue-gray depths of Roland's gaze for some sign of untruth. He should have known better. After all, wasn't a Bard the best of the best at spinning harmless half-truths?

Chapter Text

"I thought you rented us a car, Evan!"

Evan shrugged and hefted Roland's duffel as the bus pulled up to the corner. "Do you know how to drive, Roland?"

"Well…it's been a while…"

"I can't drive either."

He smiled, and Roland's heart danced. Which did nothing to improve his mood. He nudged Patience's strap a little higher onto his shoulder and carefully readjusted the rigid-walled bag hiding Pasha to avoid looking at Evan again.

They rode the charter to the border, transferred to another bus after an interesting scene when they'd realized that Roland only had his driver's license as identification, and Evan, of course, had none to speak of. But while Evan could slip across the border by becoming 'intangible,' as he called it, Roland was left to fend for himself. Along with an unclaimed animal in a sack and a quietly humming instrument.

The border inspector watched him pass with a wistful smile. You can trust a guy with eyes like that, she sighed. And turned back to inspect the suitcases of a pair of snickering young women in matching duck-print tee shirts.

"I still don't see how it's obvious whether Fuzzy Wuzzy was or wasn't fuzzy." The shorter redhaired woman said matter-of-factly to her taller brunette companion. Another inspector joined the first as they ran the suitcases through the X-ray. The brunette – turning away from making calf-eyes at Roland's retreating back – broke up into helpless giggles. The inspectors exchanged a cautious glance over the luggage. I hope it isn't something catching.

"New York City is one of the largest cities on this continent. It has the potential for great good, but also great evil."

"Hrm?" It was too early for deep thinking. Roland shook out of the groggy hypnosis caused by the passing darkened landscape. "What'd you say?" Everyone else on the bus seemed to be asleep. And talking was preferable to just staring out the window. Quiet encouraged thinking. Thinking wasn't too pleasant just now, what with demons and unicorns and the possible disappearance of Evan in a handful of hours. The sun was poking up over the Appalachians as purple-blue blobs in the distance. They'd survived one day. Now…it was only a few more hours before they reached New York City and hell broke loose. He grimaced at the thought.

Evan smiled in sympathy. "It's all right. You asked about the unicorns, remember? Well…New York City is quite large. With so many people living together, it is easy for Dark and Light to influence many minds in a small amount of time. Central Park is a hub of human life. It is also the pulse of the city, and things that happen there will have aftershocks in the veins threading out. There are always two unicorns there, holding the balance between Light and Dark in check."

"But they're creatures of the Light too, aren't they? Won't they disturb the balance? Don't that have to go back to their place, like you?" Roland asked flatly. It sounded to him like he was getting the raw end of the deal, here. And it was too early to skirt around the question.

"Roland…"

"Well…?" Simple "yes-no" questions. Rebecca always got straight answers out of him, and she asked simple questions.

"Do all rules apply to everyone all the time?" Evan asked cryptically in return.

Then again, Rebecca was a Goddess.

Roland bit down hard on the urge to snap something about how the Light only seemed to follow the rules when it suited them. It wasn't fair to Evan. It wasn't as though he could do anything about what the management set down as rules for him.

Could he?

"I don't know." Roland replied, simply.

Evan's smile broadened. "Have you ever read your people's traditional folktales about unicorns?" He asked, spreading his hands as though he were holding open a book for his companion to read. "They're not all false…just…a bit simplistic. According to them, when God created the world, he created Paradise, and then the animals, and then Adam and Eve. And among the animals that he brought to Adam to be named was also the unicorn."

Roland recalled the one mythology class he'd taken in college, and as that story seemed like the vaguely familiar start of several, he nodded. Most people found some way to stick unicorns into Creation. Shel Silverstein's theory was by far the most popular, and Roland was quite familiar with the Irish Rovers' adaptation of the poem. Having never met a unicorn before, the Bard couldn't be sure if they were quite that silly, but after what he'd been told, he highly doubted it.

"And when Adam and Eve were cast out of Paradise, the unicorn followed them out of love."

Evan, missing all of this inner discussion, continued on. In her case, Pasha began to purr. The Adept dropped his hand down into the open zipper of the bag and stroked her ears. "That story's a bit masochistic, but I've learned that humans seem to enjoy blaming themselves. In any case…in your world, before the barriers were erected, Light and Dark roamed this 'buffer zone,' and fought when they met. It was a nasty time to be alive – humans and creatures of the Gray were just beginning to appear."

"How?"

Evan shrugged. "The simplest theory is that Light and Dark mingled, somehow…became evenly mixed and found a way to grow. Many say it was the Goddesses who created Their own being and formed humans in Their image of neutrality, and peopled the world with them to push out the war. There is enough Light and Dark within humans to attract both sides…and in that attraction is power."

People were beginning to stir. Though the conversation was already being carried out in hushed voices, Roland lowered his a bit further. "And what about the unicorns?"

"I'm getting to them," Evan replied, pushing strands of blonde hair impatiently out of his face. "I promise. Anyway…the Trinity realized that the humans – be they creations or merely chance – were suffering because of the warring sides, and were exploited callously by the Dark…and manipulated shamelessly by the Light." His tone grew rueful, and even in the half-light, the Adept's eyes seemed infinitely sad. In wordless comfort, Roland covered Evan's hand on the armrest they shared. Warm fingers turned up and entwined with his. The look of gratitude he received in reward more than paid for the gesture. Fortified, Evan went on.

"To save the humans and the land before it could be tortured any further, the Trinity erected barriers to keep the Light and the Dark from ever entering into that buffer zone between them."

"The gates around the Garden of Eden."

"…and to pass through those barriers can cause immense pain."

"…the flaming sword…?"

"Not…quite…but it certainly does describe the sensation," Evan affirmed. "And really, Paradise is your Earth. The gates are to keep us out, rather than you." He looked down, expression one of quiet grief. Roland found tears just threatening to prick his eyes. He could understand. It had to be torture to know that he was unwelcome, when all he wanted to do was help. To want to do so much good that it brought harm instead…well…the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Yet another fortune-cookie platitude. I think I'll keep this one to myself.

"We still haven't gotten to the unicorns," Roland reminded gently. While Pasha didn't speak, a white paw poked from the open zipper, and upon seeing it, both men grinned.

"All right, all right," The Adept conceded, holding his palms up in defeat with a soft laugh. "Most of the creatures didn't mind the exile too much, though there were arguments. But the unicorns deeply loved the Earth. And moreover, they genuinely loved the people in it, and took care of both people and Earth without exploiting that power. To be taken from the land was torture, and they pined. Many were lost from sheer apathy, and others…" Evan's expression shadowed, "…others became Dark, and as that cannot be, they destroyed themselves. Finally, the Trinity came to those that were left, and asked them what they wanted. Because, you see…the Light only wants those who truly want to stay."

Had his expression grown wistful? Hard? Sad? Roland missed it, in the cool shadows of morning falling over both of their faces and the sun's already raucous glare. In any case, the Adept's features were schooled when sunlight painted them a warm gold again, all trace of emotion gone.

"They wanted to go back. They told the Goddesses this. And so…in order to stay beyond the barrier, they were stripped of almost all attributes of the Light and became, essentially, creatures of the Gray. In this way, they do not disturb the balance of Light and Dark."

Roland sat back, awash with so many emotions at once that he wished devoutly for Patience in his hands, just to channel some of it. Triumph, pity, relief, hope, fear…others that he had no name for, though by now, in the presence of Evan, the Bard knew the feel of them. If only he could make Evan want to stay…

"Almost all attributes of the Light?"

Evan nodded, the warm gold line of his throat bobbing distractingly. "What abilities left to them have been changed; limited to keep the balance from tilting. Telepathy and Healing, of course,"

"Of course," Roland agreed with the beginnings of an amused smile.

"Shapeshifting remains as well, to give them safety, though now they can only take a relatively few forms. In the place of the Light's glory, they were given the power of suggestion." He frowned at Roland's snort of derision. "Unicorns are so strong that they can convince anything to believe what they want, if they can pass the barriers of the mind." A road sign caught Evan's attention, and that signaled the end of his tale. The silence stretching between them shattered under the weight of waking voices, and soon, a spiky skyline and a growing flux of traffic around their bus indicated that time was running out.

The Bard studied the curve of Evan's cheek while the Adept was turned away from him, and didn't fight the urge to tease the tiny curl at the nape of his companion's neck. Evan turned briefly to smile at him, dodging the glances of several women languishing in his direction across the aisle. Then, his attention was drawn off on another circuit of the scenery, leaving the Bard alone with his thoughts again.

Had he done enough? Roland knew he hadn't been the most pleasant of friends lately, mostly because of Evan, but he wasn't going to point fingers. I know this is love, but do you feel the same way I do? He hoped so. Or is this just a general 'love for mankind' kind of thing?

That brought on a rather uncomfortable grimace. After all, Evan had been teasing and hinting at him while the Adept was still sleeping with Rebecca…and that in itself didn't seem at all odd where he was concerned. Would it keep on happening?

His gaze tore away at last, and he palmed his face with a stifled groan. It doesn't matter. Evan would be going back. Surely Goddesses didn't make a special effort for every poor creature who found that life beyond the barrier wasn't their cup of tea anymore. And as far as Roland knew, Evan liked that place. So…strike two for the home team.

Fingertips brushed the back of his hand as it fell to the armrest, and he dropped the palm across his eyes. Evan was smiling again, though this time it was wistfully sad. "Don't feel too sorry for the unicorns, Roland," he said, lowering his cheek to the Bard's shoulder, "I think it's possible to be happy across the barrier. With the right reasons…"

A hard pothole jarred their teeth and snapped off the end of Evan's words. He made no effort to reclaim them.

He didn't really need to, anyway. The flummoxed expression on the Bard's face was proof enough. Then, unexpectedly, Evan stiffened against Roland's shoulder and sat bolt upright. His face screwed up with pain, and as Roland watched, terrified, two crystal tears welled up at the rims of wide, sightless blue eyes. "Only two unicorns left. Oh, Roland, I have to stop it!"

"Go!" Roland hissed, ignoring the stares of his travelmates. "I'll find you!" Then, before Evan could disappear, pulled the Adept to his feet and shoved him down the aisle toward the bathroom at the back of the bus. Comprehension dawned on Evan, and he slipped into the tiny stall. But Roland didn't release his arm. Blue eyes met blue eyes.

"Don't get yourself killed before I can get there," Roland whispered, pleadingly. I've only got one chance. Don't spoil it. Please. And ignoring the stares of passengers, he snatched Evan against his chest…

…Only to find that Evan was already halfway there. The kiss that followed could have sated a thousand romantic fairytale princes, and with the fire ignited in those brief moments of contact came courage and a fierce desire to win. They were going to beat this demon. Together.

Then, Roland shoved Evan backward with enough force to tear the Adept's hands from his shoulders, and closed the door. When he opened it again, the other man was gone.

The heat of Evan's mouth still searing his mouth, Roland smiled sheepishly at the curious eyes turned on him from every part of the bus. "Must've gotten a bad basket," he explained, and returned to his seat to the sounds of snickering, cheeks flaring.

It was going to be a long few minutes.

Chapter Text

Evan covered the distance between the rolling bus and the center of Manhattan as efficiently as he could. It was a terrible waste of energy, but he could reclaim it in the presence of the last unicorn and more…and if he didn't make it in time to save that one…he knew there was one unicorn more. And that unicorn was, for the time being…safe.

Morning was dawning in full over New York City. Central Park was likely to be teeming with joggers and dog-walkers at this hour; businessmen on park benches with their cups of gourmet coffee and their wireless laptops. Bums wrapped in patched thrift store overcoats and newspapers. Hunters, a demon, and one last cloven-hoofed purveyor of the Light.

Sam only said there was one hunter. The Adept comforted himself as he shot between mirrored glass buildings and at last the avenue funneled him out over Central Park itself. The singular patch of lush, forested green stuck out like an oasis in a desert of metal, glass, and concrete. The city already shimmered with heat as the summer morning light played over a humid jungle of skyscrapers. Overlaying the miasma of too many people, exhaust, and garbage was the even more sickening stench of Dark. It lay over the air on the verges of the park, held at bay by a weakening circle of goodwill. The taste of it left a tang of blood and the dank burn of ancient evil in the back of his throat. Even the Adept's astral form could sense the nastiness that lay in wait, like a coiled panther, and when he took solid form on the center courtyard of Castle Belvedere, he could feel it with ever nerve of his body.

The demon's presence was like the scent of a rotting carcass. It masked any other presence, but to Evan's best guess, there was only one hunter, just as Sam had said. He sent one lingering tendril of thought back Roland's way, and offered a prayer that the Bard would reach them in time.

The castle caught the razor edges of the sunlight as it peeped over the trees and warmed it to a dull glow. Despite himself, Evan smiled. At least the demon hadn't reached here yet. The central courtyard of the park was lush and green and pure, and the trees surrounding it obviously tended by the otherworldly good nature of the unicorns. This was their sacred circle. But he could feel the hems of it fraying; slowly crumbling to the Dark as the numbers dwindled small. Still…the mark of the unicorns was here, and Evan felt his expended power returning, along with the beast's gratitude and love. She knew he was here. She felt him, and she was glad he was here.

And then…she was not. A shock of surprise that buzzed like the sting of a battery, and she faded, taking the safe haven of the castle with her.

Evan cried out sharply at her passing, tears flooding his cheeks in the wake of her despair.

He had only a few precious seconds to register what had happened before movement at the corner of his vision called his attention to the twang of a crossbow loosing, and the thwip of a shaft's flight, and the heavy, wet thud of a bolt plunging into his hip.

Roland charged down the avenue, running at a clip that made every eye follow him, searching for a snatched purse dangling from his person. After the bus had been jammed in traffic in a tunnel for well over fifteen minutes, Roland gathered up Patience, Pasha in the sack, and abandoned his duffel as he stormed to the front of the bus and demanded to be let off.

The door opened, spewing him onto the sidewalk in the near dark. How the hell am I supposed to carry all this? The Bard thought to himself desperately. He shortened the adjustable strap on Patience's case until it was painfully tight, and slung it around his shoulder and chest. She jammed against his back, unmoving. When he tried to throw Pasha's sack over his shoulder, the cat hissed and demanded release. When, in eventuality, he was forced to do just that and abandon her bag as well, she landed on the sidewalk with a soft skitter of paws and waited, mewing at him urgently. The pair of them tore off down the tunnel, leaving the bus behind.

He screamed. And when the barb's poison began to throb and burn, his screams turned to howls. And when a darkening languor overtook him, he could not even manage that. The Adept sank to earth, Light oozing from the wound.

She was beautiful by any common standard, but the Dark that surrounded her made what should have been ravishing into something extremely repulsive. Her garb from head to foot was black, in various thicknesses of soft leathers. Her eyes bore an exotic slant, and with a startling nearness to Daru's, the iris was as dark as the pupil, giving her an almost animal kind of charm. Her skin, ironically, was warm gold, almost that of Evan's, though his was quickly paling and fading in the pallor of oncoming death. Her hair fell in a single, living sheet of stark black to her shoulders. She lowered her crossbow with a curt nod to a job well-done.

A slender hand brushed the warm curve of his hip, slid around the shaft of the bolt, and tore it free with callous disregard. Evan could do no more than shudder, though deep within, he screamed.

The raven-haired woman standing over him straightened, and examined the needle tip of her weapon. The metal was smooth and unmarred by its use, and with a self-satisfied smile, she slipped it into the quiver at her back. Quiver, arrow, and crossbow disappeared as one.

"Would you dare do battle with me, Adept?" Purred a familiar voice. The woman stepped back, and in her place came a figure of the same hideous, twisted beauty. She was lush, and pretty, and the innocent freckles of her nose played havoc with Evan's senses.

Rebecca…

The demon smiled.

He found a subway station, and grabbed the first train that stopped at Central Park. Thank God that the tourists ran this town…there was an express right to that part of the island. The car was mostly deserted at this time of morning, though a few members of the working class joined him in business suits and skirts. He felt very odd and conspicuous in his jeans and tee-shirt, but he supposed it could always have been worse. After all, the last time he'd saved the world, it'd been in black silk and velvet.

For the greater portion of the trip, Pasha ran at his side. But now, the cat made a pale smudge of chalky white in front of him under the slowly defining shadows of the trees. She darted up the stairs to the sidewalk, leaving him no choice but to follow. The trees were old here, lining the sidewalk to either side, great thick branches looming in a tangled arch overhead. Roland could see squirrels scampering along the ground here, and See the not-squirrels…the pixies, the faeries, and the strange people that defied description all hurrying along the branches above him. They seemed to be headed in one direction – the one he and Pasha flew along. That in itself worried him, and the Bard redoubled his speed. There was no way in the world he'd be able to talk when he got there, much less sing…but it didn't seem that terribly important.

The western side of the park seemed oddly deserted. Strange, Roland gave the situation a particle of thought, but was at least grateful for the lack of curious or suspicious glances given to a running man with a guitar strapped to his back. He didn't have much time to ponder the lack of people, however, as soon enough the haven of trees opened up to the sky, spilling him onto a huge round courtyard, adjacent to a small lake and of presided over by the yellow-gold bulk of Belvedere Castle.

And on the lawn was…

Oh, God…Evan…

"Get away from him!" Roland screamed at the two women standing over him, stumbling to a juddering halt as the smaller tossed dark brown hair from her face and appraised him with cold, velvet, calculating eyes.

The second regarded him just as coolly, and a crossbow materialized in the cradle of her arms. He gasped. She? She was the hunter? "Leave him alone!" He cried again, more a reflex from disbelief than actual confidence that they would obey.

The smaller woman touched the raven-haired huntress's hip, and after a startled glance down, the other obeyed, stepping away from Evan's fading, crumpled body. Roland was on him before he knew what he was doing, fallen to his knees beside the Adept's still form.

"It's too late," A heart-wrenchingly familiar voice said pleasantly, "he's almost dead. And my huntress killed the last unicorn." Roland could almost feel the other's smile, and his head shot up, prepared to make some sort of stinging, noble retort. The words died on his suddenly dry tongue as he saw the frank, honest dark eyes of a little girl. A young woman who, for all that her intelligence was that of a precocious ten-year-old, had clarity and kindness and a charm that defined description. He felt the heat of anger rising, bile touching the back of his tongue as he stared. On Evan's shallowly moving chest, his hands curled into fists. In another minute…in another second…

"Stop using Rebecca, you BASTARD!" Roland flung himself at the demon that callously raped his memories of the Goddess-vessel who'd stolen his heart and Evan's so long ago. He pummeled with fists that were tired of playing music simply to dispel the Dark. He struck with feet that were exhausted and sore from running. His lungs burned. His eyes burned. Roland was a force to be reckoned with, and damn anyone who got in his path. And all he wanted was to end it. The deep ache of loss burned far greater than any anger.

The Darkness smiled again, and with an easy backhand, flung him meters away to crash into the wall of Belvedere. Varnished shards of wood crashed and dug into his back.

Oh…God…Patience…

The back of his head hit the stone, and colors painted his eyelids. Darkness fuzzed in and out of the edges of his vision. He staggered, and slid down the wall to land in a boneless heap as vaguely, he heard the shards of Patience grating and splintering behind him. If this was what death was like, he wasn't ready to get used to it…but despite the summer heat, he was so cold…

A soft horse's whicker sounded from nowhere, and a flash of brilliance dazzled his already half-lidded vision. He didn't want to get up…he couldn't…nothing would work, and it felt like life was draining slowly sideways out of him. The side of his head felt warm. The warmth crept down to his jaw, and dripped onto his shirt. Blood.

The demon and the huntress screamed in denial, and then with agony. Roland's eyes drifted closed.

Maybe it was finally over.

Maybe he could go to sleep and wake up in his own bed in Uncle Tony's basement and all seven years of madness would only be a terrifying, wonderful dream.

Maybe…

Hot, moist breath steamed against Roland's cheek, and a warm tongue swiped the blood on his temple. He felt the needle-sharp tip of something hard and hot press against the center of his forehead, and suddenly he was burning too, almost enough to cry out in pain…but…but not quite.

Slowly, the warmth drained out of him; spread over his skin and dissipated, leaving him whole.

:I am sorry,: said a voice within his head, as delicately and softly as the tick of rose petals on a marble floor, :but there is nothing that I can do for your instrument.:

Roland opened his eyes, and found himself falling into a liquid, limpid yellow-orange gaze, deep-set like sunstones in a pale white face. The face was thin, small and delicate as a flower, with a crystal-spiraled horn topping its brow. He stared into the face of glory. Of a mythological creature that took his breath away with her beauty.

A…unicorn…?

:Oh, aye, that,: the voice spoke again, disturbing nothing as it did so, :I most certainly am a unicorn. Though you know me better as a cat. My name, dear Bard, is Pasha.:

"Pasha…?" What? How…? Roland repeated the cat's….unicorn's…name unevenly, mind reeling with the sudden, unexpected paradigm shift. But within a breath, everything snapped together – or rather, cobbled together from sheer need – and he got slowly to his feet. And sobbed as realization came rushing back. He started past her. "Evan…oh, damn…Evan…"

:I have already cared for Evan.: The voice…the unicorn?...said comfortingly. :Look.:

And he looked, in the direction her delicate nose gestured. The Adept was on his feet, a saber of light clenched between his palms. The hot, airless summer morning suddenly contained something new.

Hope.

The demon, having panicked, threw itself like a bird against the edges of the courtyard sanctuary. Too late. With Pasha's appearance, the circle of protection rose again, and Evan's opponent found itself trapped within, rebounded off the edges like a rubber ball with a cry of pain.

But nevertheless…it was still Rebecca. Evan knew for a fact that those sweet features were false, but he couldn't bring himself to strike out at her. The demon righted itself, turned, noted Evan's flummoxed expression, Rebecca's full, inviting lips turned up in an out-of-character smirk before she leapt at Evan, shedding the guise and returning to full form split seconds before landing on the Adept.

It never got the chance. Suddenly a wall of white passed between Evan's stunned blue eyes and the lunging form of the demon. Dainty, cloven silver forehooves left the ground as Pasha smote the Dark creature a hard blow, enough to send it rolling backward. But for all its mewlings, it still bore the control and the sense of self-preservation to return to Rebecca's form, pulled out of Evan's memory a few days before during their first confrontation. It was good to see, at least, that in the presence of the unicorn, the demon's glamourie was of no use.

Pasha dove after it, or tried to, but the Adept lay a hand on her shoulder and she halted. "Do not kill it, lady. That would do more damage to you than good. Your purity…"

She snorted, and to Roland's view, gave Evan a disbelieving look. Evan simply smiled and stroked the smooth white of her pelt. "I am here to protect you."

But while they stood, from the corner of Roland's eye, he caught the glimmer of a metal bolt nocking to a taut, glistening black crossbow. The point, shining malevolently in the early morning light, lay trained on Pasha's heart. For she truly was the last unicorn.

It was then that the Bard remembered why he was there in the first place. But…Patience…she lay in splinters at the foot of the castle…

With nothing but himself, Roland leaped at the huntress, leaning hard over as he'd done in college rugby, and bulldozed the woman's waist with his shoulder. She spun, the bolt twanged wildly off into the darkness, and the two of them tumbled to the earth. The huntress struggled beneath him, but he held her fast, as Evan and Pasha's stalemate with the demon continued.

Roland sought frantically for a song, pulse fluttering wildly like a trapped bird in his throat. Could he sing? Even without Patience? His throat…his breath…did it matter? Beneath him, the huntress tried to flip him over, and unthinking, he shoved his hand down onto her throat. She gasped, and he squeezed, and then, realizing what was about to happen to her, the woman began thrashing wildly. Her body was slick leather in his hands, impossible to hold to.

Beyond them, the demon-Rebecca conjured a sword and leaped at the Adept. Evan drove it off, blinding it momentarily with the brilliance of his saber. But they were wasting precious time and energy…something had to be done!

:I can finish this!: Pasha crowed, and everyone in Manhattan looked up, searching for an unseen speaker. Morning was filtering over into late morning, and the heat intensified. Roland felt his palms growing slick, which made his wriggling quarry even harder to hold onto. She slipped from his grasp, rolled to her feet, and had her crossbow out in a matter of seconds. The Bard lunged after her.

The string clicked back.

"Tell me what to do, lady!" Evan howled, fending off another blow.

A song snapped into Roland's head and thrummed with rightness, even while his body arced midair, aimed at the huntress.

:Flare, flare when I tell you!: Pasha demanded shortly, and dropped her entire focus like a weight of lead on the demon. It screamed, and the false image of Rebecca clothing it flickered uncertainly.

A bolt nocked home.

The huntress paid Roland's movements no heed, sighting along her arm at the heart of the unicorn, a quivering white shoulder, just at the meeting of joint and barrel. She had failed her master once before…she would not fail again! Her finger eased onto the trigger…brushed against it…pulled…

A broad hand closed over her wrist, jerking it down.

The bolt thudded into the dirt.

Lyrics flooded Roland's mouth, and with the huntress clasped inescapably against his chest, he paid an ear to America and sang her The Last Unicorn. He showed her what she was doing, sculpted back into shape that which the demon had twisted. She relaxed against him with a guttural moan.

He sang the beauty of the unicorns to her, how such creatures should be loved and protected, and how no matter what she had done, if there was goodness in her, they would always forgive her. Roland showed her the magic of the creatures she had hunted into almost extinction. He returned to her the innocence that the demon stripped away.

He left her the memories of what she had done.

She turned and fell into his arms, sobbing.

:NOW !:

The word rang in Roland's head like a thunderclap. Evan's brilliance was so great that the Bard shielded his eyes from it, and still could see a vaguely man-shaped image with great wings stretching to heaven burned onto his retinas.

There was a scream, bitten off halfway through, and after that, a childish giggle.

The demon disintegrated like so much sugar in the rain, and melted into a puddle of shadow on the grass. And soon, there was nothing left.

It was over.

Roland heard the soft footsteps of man and beast heading his way, and felt a warm hand on his shoulder. A velvet nose rubbed against his cheek, and his vision cleared. Worried blue eyes, placid yellow-orange, and soulful black all looked back at him where he stood.

"I'm all right," he smiled, and felt the triple-warmth of their smiles in return. "Is it over? How did you…?"

"It's over," Evan reassured him, and slipped an arm around his waist, closing the other around the huntress to help Roland support her.

:I opened the demon's mind to the Light. When Evan showed it his glory, it was pulled over into the Light: Pasha explained, :It was a piece of the Dark, and because it became something it could not be…it destroyed itself. Its hunters are no more. We are safe.:

The Adept gazed up at the unicorn with an expression of profound shame. "But I am so sorry, lady. I…we should have moved faster, but I thought that with you in our company, we could take our time…"

Roland blinked. Evan knew? Evan knew that Pasha was a unicorn the entire time? Roland shot a glare at the Adept over the huntress's head. "Why didn't you tell me she was a unicorn?"

:It is all right…both of you,: The unicorn replied, and lowered her muzzle to nose the dark, slick hair of the young woman still attached to Roland. As the huntress turned in Roland's arms, she looked into a pair of beautiful yellow-orange eyes…eyes full of the same forgiveness that Roland sang to her. She transferred her grip to Pasha's neck, clinging like a child. :In days, there will be twins to fill this gap. And many more to come. The Light is still strong here. They will grow quickly.:

The unicorn reached out to tenderly caress Evan's forehead. :You have been among the humans for too long, Adept. You blame yourself for far too much.: Her eyes shone with warm sympathy. :And you blame yourself for things that you think you cannot change.:

Evan lowered his eyes, but his hand brushed Pasha's cheek in understanding. "Some things just are, lady. They cannot be changed."

Pasha's eyes twinkled. :Not…everything…: Then, she drew away from the young woman, and lowered her head to nudge the huntress's shoulder. Something passed between them, and dreamily, the strange, dark-haired woman turned, following the sidewalk which Roland had taken earlier, and would soon lead her to the edge of the park.

:When she reaches the edge of the park, she will remember none of this…but she will remember what you showed her, Bard. With your help, she will never be open to the Dark's influences again.: Pasha said privately to the Bard, and he blushed, murmuring a disclaimer. He understood the power that he held now, but its results still never failed to surprise him. "I did what I could…lady…" He said quietly, using the title the Adept used to address her. "And I swear I will never take a cat for granted again."

:See that you don't,: Pasha replied, and shifted restlessly on her twinkling, chiming silver hooves. :But take heed, the Light must return to its place soon. Already, it sets the world out of balance. Is there not something that you would have for yourself? I remember that you were thinking of a reward for this good deed…:

Evan watched the pair of them curiously, cut off from all but Roland's half of the conversation. His palm stroked the dainty, elegant arch of Pasha's neck. The Bard's gaze flickered from the unicorn to the Adept, and remembered the promise he'd made to himself, if he was offered something in return for his help. A banquet was before him. Purgatory was over. And the unicorn was practically offering him a gold-embossed invitation. He wanted Evan. "Can you…?"

:That I can. But think, Bard. Think carefully. What is it that you want most?:

"I want…" Roland trailed off before he could finish, as he made the fatal mistake of switching his gaze to the Adept once more. Evan. Evan was so heart-breakingly beautiful…and every time he smiled…like he was smiling now, oh God…Roland's heart flopped. He'd give anything to see that smile every morning…don't leave me again, Evan…please…I can keep you with me…all I have to do is say the words…

But what about Evan? The Adept belonged in the Light. He was happy there. Far happier than he could be here. He loved the Earth, and the people, but with a hard swallow, Roland realized that Evan was not like the unicorns. He was the kind of hero that wanted to go home after a hard day's work. He wanted to be separate from all the little shards of pain and Dark that infiltrated this world. He was and always would be an idealist. And nobody should ever take that away from him. Just like Rebecca.

Rebecca. What would Rebecca do without her Adept? She was still alive…Roland just couldn't see her anymore.

If I let him go now…will I ever see him again?

Was a normal life worth losing Evan for good?

His entire being cried NO with everything he had. But…he loved Evan…he couldn't tie the Adept to him, even if Pasha had the power to make it so. He couldn't cause the Adept that kind of pain.

But how could he deny himself? He didn't just lust after Evan, damnit…! He loved him, and loved what he stood for with everything he had! Losing him again…after finally finding him…was going to break his heart…and this time it would probably be for good. Nobody could ever replace him…nobody could even come close.

"Roland…?" Evan asked, resting his hand on the other man's arm with a cautious smile. It startled the Bard out of his thoughts, and Roland looked from Evan to Pasha, who still awaited his answer with an oblique turn of her long, flower-delicate white face.

He knew what he had to do.

It was going to rip his soul out, but…he knew what his answer was.

"I want Evan to be happy."

Pasha's eyes lit to a yellow-orange flame, and she raised her head with something that Roland would have sworn – through the tears distorting his sight – was a smile.

:And so it shall be done.:

Her gaze finally shifted from Roland to Evan, and at the Adept's nod, there was yet another blinding flash of Light, and Roland winced away with an outcry of pain. When it faded, and he looked up, he expected to see the unicorn calling another Gate. At least…at least he could see where Evan was going, then…

He was alone.

Alone…

The sob tore free of his throat before he could stop it.

Warm arms slid around his waist from behind and he jumped. "Shh…" soothed a familiar voice, "I'm here."

"Oh, Jesus Christ…!" Roland moaned, and twisted in those arms to bury his face against an achingly familiar chest.

"Not…quite…" Evan smiled.

"You…you're happy…?"

"Did you ever ask me what I wanted, Roland?" The…the…Roland didn't know what to call him anymore…his love…asked. The Bard assembled his wits into some kind of working order, and straightened to rub his nose on the back of one hand.

"No…"

Evan's smile was a gentle benediction. "When I had to leave the first time…I missed you, Roland. I didn't think I would…but I did. Rebecca…" He sighed. "Rebecca's clarity deserved to be cherished, but when the Goddess left her…she became the child that she should have been. And she became so much more. In the end, it was I who was left behind." His hands caressed the Bard's spine, and moved up to fist between his shoulderblades. "Every time I watched a Bluejays game…I thought…"

"I did, too."

"I missed you." Evan said, "I wanted to stay with you. This…" He gestured to the park around them, encompassing the world in a sweep of his arm, "This is more than anything they think it is, Dark or Light." The palm came back home, tracing Roland's jaw. "It…and you…are more than worth the cost."

"What did you give up…?" Roland asked, suspiciously, though his treacherous body disobeyed him and he leaned into Evan's hand. People were beginning to filter into the park again, and here in New York at least, nobody gave a second thought to the pair of men standing dangerously close on this summer morning.

"My wings," Evan grinned, brushing the bridge of Roland's nose, "and a few other things. I won't miss them that much."

"Evan…" Roland began, a trifle guiltily. A blunt fingertip rested softly over his lips, quelling another word.

"Shh. Pasha granted your wish. I am happy, Roland."

"But how—"

"Because I love you," Evan cut him off. "and I want to see you happy."

Evan's fingertip was replaced by a pair of warm lips, and the world danced. And within the womb of the last unicorn, new life moved for the first time.