Alex stuffed several T-shirts into his large brown suitcase and grabbed a pair of pants slung over a bent wire hanger. Ness, his little sister, twisted a strand of her reddish brown hair around and around her pinkie finger and watched the wire hanger swing back and forth. How forlorn it looked, swerving back and forth in the sparse closet.

"This isn't right and you know it," she said softly. Alex turned, his dark eyes still haunted from the memory of the flitting black shadows pecking at his skin, his eyes, prying open his mouth. Long white scratches ran across his bare skin from where the strange dark creatures had ripped at him. "I can't risk you getting hurt, my dear little sister," Alex said, the angry fire dying in his eyes. Ness tried to stop the quivering in her chin as she let his strong arms encircle her and pull her into a tender embrace. Ness was brave; she could stand against this new devilish opposition that had overtaken Dale like a plague. The very essence of Evil lurked in the shadows of the house, within every alleyway when she turned her face to look out the window. It was so strong...perhaps it was indeed a time for falling back, getting more support. The horrible sudden attack had drained Alex and Ness both of energy and optimism, and it was time they had a break. They needed to sit back and look at the situation rationally.

Ness gave a shuddery sigh and wiped her tears away from her freckled cheek. She got up and walked into her room. Alex had already phoned his parents to make sure they agreed to their going to their grandparents' house by the lake for a few days. He didn't tell them about the living shadows; it was something he couldn't explain, somehow. If his parents could have seen the look in his eyes, they would not have let him remain silent about what was bothering him, but thankfully both his mother and father were out of town.

Half an hour later, the two siblings stood outside in the biting cold wintry air, scarves wrapped around their necks, the fringe trailing out behind them. They stood waiting for the tiny shuttle bus that would take them to their grandparents'. Ness had hastily penned a note to Lucy, explaining their situation and why they wouldn't be there when she and Joy came back from the store. Alex slipped one arm around his little sister and whispered in her ear.

"It is going to be alright, my sister," he said. Ness looked into her brother's face and saw, like she had so many times before, the makings of a knight. He even slipped into their eloquent speech when he was serious about what he was saying.

Ness felt urged to burst into relieved tears. Her brother was strong. They would be fine.

All of the sudden Alex let go of her and drew his heavy medieval sword, always at his side, and faced the tall gray-branched oak growing in the middle of the road. Ness was startled to see a tall dark figure leaning against the tree, looking at them.

"What do you want, R.K.?" Alex asked. He would have sheathed his sword, but for a sudden creeping sensation of darkness that resonated from the man's presence and seeped through his wary soul like honey slipping into a hot cup of tea. Ness clenched her jaw as the villain came nearer, his long black cloak brushing against the cold cement road. A car whizzed by, narrowly missing him, but he did not flinch and the car did not swerve because the driver was not able to see him.

"I want your help," R.K. said, and his teeth gleamed as he smiled. Behind a tree, like a grey shadow, Foulmarke rubbed his hands together as he watched the black cloaked figure and laughed cruelly. "You are now under our power..." he muttered, his stinking breath dancing away on the wind. He turned on his heel and slunk into the alleys of Dale, his putrid essence fading.

Liz walked along the cold asphalt, kicking tiny pebbles out of her way. She grinned as she remembered Pickle, a wild character of hers, dancing on the coffee table at her house. She would have stayed to dance with him to eat cookies...but for some reason, she just wanted to walk. The young girl skipped along the roadside, humming to herself. Perhaps she would go visit her friend, Leah. Or perhaps Jo, Leah's sister. They both lived close by. Liz looked up at the bare stark tree branches above her and thought something poetic. She hated the fact that she hadn't brought along any paper to write down whatever it was she had thought, and muttered about her characters to console herself.

A car passed her and she nearly fell over from the chilling spray of slush that threw itself at her red wool skirt. She was about to thumb her nose at the driver but stopped when she saw a tiny shadow creeping in the gutter. When she bent down to observe it, Liz saw that it was a tiny turtle, no bigger than her outstretched palm. She gave a small cry and carefully picked it up. It disappeared into its shell and she tucked it under her arm to keep it warm. "You're coming with me," Liz said, all thoughts of visiting or poetic walks forgotten, and she trotted quickly back to her house, blissfully ignorant as to what she found find when she got there.

Sarah gave a sharp cry as Mariella, her blue eyes glinting with a strange light, leapt out and waved a short metal sword over her head. Gabrielle was right behind her, coming out from the shadows behind Sarah's bookcase. They both moved with jerky motions and their breath came fast and raspy. Laura drew back in shock and grasped for her sword, lying on the floor in its sheath. Laura's sword was named Comfort, given to her y her God-character Adonai several months ago during a difficult time in her life. She kept it always near her, for indeed it was a comfort. Ian gave a snort and bolted up. He took one look at the two wild girls and said "That's it, I'm sure of it now. Girls are WEIRD."

Cherise put a protective arm around Sarah's shoulders as Mari pointed an accusing finger at the girls. "Surrender to your betters or face the consequences!" she snarled, in a voice much unlike her own.

"Mariella, what has happened?" Laura cried. Her face was distraught and her fingers trembled as she held Comfort aloft. "Where is the sweet Empress we all know and love?"

"Sweet?" Mari thundered. Gabrielle gave a bitter laugh as her companion continued. "I have no idea of what you speak, this Empress. I tell you, Goodness is not going to win this battle."

Sarah leapt up and faced the two girls. "Stop this nonsense, now!" she demanded. Gabrielle only laughed again and suddenly lunged for Ian. The young boy shouted in surprise as Gabrielle shoved him up against the wall and drew a small switchblade from her coat pocket. "Say you will leave White's characters alone and the boy lives," she growled. Laura gasped and stared at her brother, wriggling helplessly. "Stupid girl, get your hands off me!" he yelled, but Gabrielle only pressed the switchblade closer to his throat until he could not move for fear of cutting himself.

"We have no idea what you're talking about, leave Ian alone!" Cherise said. Her voice was frightened but she stood tall and faced the two girls. "Professor White wrote to the Inklings and asked for our help!"

"Mr. White is a poor fool," Mariella said with a toss of her brown hair. "He wants you to get his characters under control so he can write good things. But we don't want that, do we Gabrielle?" Switchblade pressed firmly against Ian's throat, Laura's furious silver-blue eyes boring holes into her, the girl nodded.

"Writing can be a tool used by darkness. Come to the darkness, Inklings, the pay is so much better. You will be treated like something instead of always having to be under the authority of Goodness and thrown around at every whim, toys for the haughty light to play with." Mariella's voice was harsh and sharp and Sarah could only stand and stare at her. What had twisted her mind so dramatically? Write for darkness?

The door crashed open and Syd, followed closely by Lucy who was wielding a bow and a quiver full of arrows, and Joy with her long blue cape flung hastily about her shoulders. Sarah gasped in relief. "Mari and Gabby are going mad!" she cried out. Syd's eyes glittered and she moved to stand in front of Laura, protecting her.

"What we speak if far from the babbling of a mad person!" Gabrielle shouted and Ian winced. He hated being pressed up so rudely against the cold wall of Sarah's bedroom, especially by a girl. "We were given the glorious chance to see what it would be like to serve the Renegade side; we have been wasting time so long on the side of the Peacekeepers, and look where it got us. Look at yourselves! Sniveling, stupid cowards whose pathetic attempts at wowing the world with your 'amazing' writing skills flop and die!"

Laura suddenly lunged forward. "That's enough!" she yelled. She pushed Gabrielle away from her little brother and stood between them. "What you speak is treachery! This is not who you were meant to be, this is not the way Inklings were created to be! Please, Gabrielle and Mariella, come back to the light!"

Mari threw back her head and gave a wild shout. "NEVER!" Almost before the shout had faded away, Lucy and Joy raced up and shoved Mari to the ground, pinning her arms to the carpet. Syd jumped at Gabrielle and smacked her upside the head. "Get a grip!" she shouted frantically.

"Far be it from the Inklings to write for darkness and Evil!" Laura's voice was sharp and commanding, and Gabrielle blinked. "What is this that has poisoned your minds, that you should think such a dreadful thing? The Inklings were created by Sybil to write for God and for Goodness because there is such a lack of God-honoring writing out in the modern world." Her bright eyes flashed with passion. Syd, who was sitting on Gabrielle, slowly got off as she saw the wild look in the girl's eyes fade into a mournful kind of sorrow. Gabby arose and shook her head as if to clear it.

"What is going on...where are the flying monkeys?" she declared.

Laura wrapped her arms around Ian. "To write for Evil is to die," she said. Sarah and Cherise nodded in agreement. Laura carefully sheathed Comfort again with a nervous smile. At that moment, Beth, Cherith and Sam nearly broke the door down and stormed into the room.

"What is going on?" Cherith shouted. Her glance darted from Gabby, who had begun sobbing, to Mariella, who stood with heaving chest in the center of Sarah's room. Beth slowly walked over and put her arms around Gabby. "It's alright, it's going to be fine..." she muttered soothingly.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." Gabby was sobbing again and again. Syd bent down and handed her a Kleenex. Cherith walked to Sarah and hugged her.

"You are all fools!" Mariella's voice came sudden and surprising. "You have no idea how hard the days are going to become, because you would not write for us!"

"Us?" Lucy said, arrow nocked to her bow, green eyes flashing. Syd clenched her strong hands into fists and set her jaw. She could sense the darkness as if it was something tangible, and though it frightened her, she was brave and would not show her fluttered nerves.

Laura gripped Comfort's hilt. "Bring it on," she said, her eyes flashing. Ian, still shaking, for once didn't mind being held onto.

Mariella ran out the door into the cold late afternoon with a mad cackle. "You can be sure that we will!" she yelled.

For a few moments, the girls and Ian all looked at each other, too shocked and relieved to say or do anything. It was Sam who spoke first, and her voice was serious.

"I think the time has come that we should all go to Mr. White's house," she said. Joy nodded her approval and Syd thoughtfully handed around more chocolate from her blue book bag.

The other girls agreed that it was the right thing to do; events were quickly spiraling out of control and the Inklings would all need to band together and fight against it. Donning coats and cloaks, the Inklings set out on foot through the sharp icy winds in the direction of White's manor. Only then did Sam remember the apple pancake in the oven.

"Where is Pip?" Sybil's question interrupted the laughter of the Inklings as they stepped into the brightly lit foyer.

"Pip?" repeated Mr. White, surprised. "I thought I saw her last night when I was locking the house up."

"Where was she?" Meggy's voice betrayed her anxiety. White shrugged.

"Just walking around. Mr. Big was with her, so I don't think there is anything to worry about."

"But she's been gone for a long while," Jules said slowly as he pulled his shirt on. He was still shivering slightly. "I think we ought to look around." He could not help but notice a darkness, like a too-strong perfume, permeating the spirit of the other Inklings; something was wrong, something was going to happen. Hating the feeling, Jules turned on his heel to follow the others through the hallway back into White's sprawling mansion.

"Just a minute," said Mr. White just as everyone was heading up the stairs. The Inklings turned back. Mr. White had opened the front door and was pointing to the sky.

"Look, Inklings, look!" he said excitedly, "This is something you won't want to miss!"

The writers rushed back to the door and looked into the sky, streaked with reddish tints . At first they could see nothing, but after scanning the horizon Rose pointed and shouted. "Goodness! What is it?"

Everyone looked. A small black speck was flying low over the hilltops in their direction. As it came closer, the details became clearer. It was obviously a bird of some sort, and a very big bird at that. A hawkish screech vibrated through the air, and shuddered through the house. The glass walls threatened to shatter and the Inklings stepped further outside. Rose repeated her question. "What is it?"

"A gryphon," answered White, grinning, not taking his gaze off of the flying creature. "MY gryphon. He is one of my finest characters."

The gryphon had now grown from a speck till it soared right over their heads, making the hair fly into their mouths and their eyes to water with the rush of wind. Jules was immediately transfixed by this fabled creature, who was both beautiful and terrible at the same time. A new meaning of freedom was opened to his mind, like a gust of fresh, cold wind that rushes into a dark stagnant room when the window is thrown open. To fly; to be free of the troubles of below that wingless creatures must surrender to helplessly. He could only stand and stare in awe at the wonderful beast.

"Oh!"

Jo's exclamation shook Jules back to his senses. The gryphon wheeled about sharply, revealing the figures of two girls lying prone on it's back. It laid the long muscular wings to it's side and kneeled, snapping it's wings open like a parachute right before touching the ground. The girls rolled off of the gryphon onto the ground under an old oak tree and lay there, breathing hard. One of them was crying. It was Justyne.

Jo said "Oh!" again, and this time her voice was filled with horror. Everyone rushed over to the girls. The other girl was Leah, and the Inklings were shocked to find her shoulder flowing blood. It had spattered like so many crimson flowers onto her skirt, and Leah's breath came raspy and fast. Mr. White was talking to the gryphon, his voice harsh and strained.

"What happened, Hruntu?" he asked.

"A renegade bullet, I suspect," Hruntu the gryphon answered. His voice was strong and light at the same time, but it, too, was shrouded with worry. "Where is Sylvanus? Only he can cure such wounds."

"I do not know," said White, shaking his head. "He disappeared a few days ago."
Sybil happened to look up and bit her lip at the shadow that had crossed White's face; his fists clenched and unclenched, and his chest heaved. What could he be thinking behind those piercing eyes that were fixed upon the young girl lying wounded before him.
"Will someone help?" Jules almost shouted. He suddenly had an intense urge to put an arm around his little brother Mark, who was trying to act as if he saw blood on a young girl every day. Leah gave a hacking cough and Jo jumped at the sound.

Behind him the girls were comforting Justyne and making a poor attempt at bandaging Leah's shoulder. There was a soft cry from the house, and the dryad and naiad that the girls had seen earlier that morning ran out from the house to them. The Inklings made room as the two faeries knelt beside Leah. Tearing the torn cloth away, they held their hands over the wound. The dryad started singing softly in what Christina thought was a form of Gaelic. The faeries began to move their hands in complicated winding motions, sometimes linking their fingers, sometimes passing their hands swiftly over the wound and then back into the strange dance-like movements. As they moved their hands, skin began to slowly grow over the wound until it closed. Leah's breath came gentler and she gave a small smile. The strange dance and music stopped when the wound was completely closed over. Leah gave a contented sigh and leaned her head against Justyne, who began sobbing with relief.

"The bullet is still there," said the naiad to White. "She is in no more pain, but we need Sylvanus to extract the bullet and ensure that the wound does not become poisoned." Her beautiful face fell into a graceful sorrow. "You know how a Renegade weapon can be..."

"Excuse me." Everyone looked up to where the sudden voice was coming from. Nevermore the raven was perched on a branch just above Mark's head. "I think I'm well enough to go and find the Satyr." He ruffled the wing bound up in the white cloth and his black eyes were beady.

White looked doubtful. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Nevermore fluffed his feathers so he looked twice as big as he really was. "I am sure."

White did not hesitate longer but nodded, gently untying the cloth from the raven's wing. Nevermore moved it experimentally and gave a curt nod. "Go ahead, then," he said, "and Godspeed."

Nevermore cocked his head to one side. "What did you say?"

White looked puzzled, and then his face twisted in something like fear. "You must make haste!" he said loudly, throwing his arms up. Christina looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

Nevermore chuckled. "Godspeed," he repeated, "GODspeed. That is exactly what we must hold onto, Tobias." He flapped his wings and shot up into the air like a black arrow.

White turned on his heel and strode into the house, his face carrying upon it both anger and confusion, as if perhaps his own words troubled him. The dryad and naiad both carried Leah carefully and went in the house, followed by the girls and Mark. They began singing in their own language and the shadows danced with their lithe figures walking along the hall, into the depths of White's house. Jules and Hruntu were left outside, watching the first red streaks of the sunset smear across the sky. Jules was reminded of the blood on Leah's body and felt a chill creep up his spine. Hruntu was looking after the direction Nevermore had taken.

"I hope he will make it, but somehow I doubt it," said the gryphon, half to himself.

"Why?" asked Jules.

"Look west toward Dale." The creature cocked his feathered head.

Jules looked west, and his hand went instinctively to his side where his sword should have been; he realized with a sinking feeling that he'd left it lying in the doorway of his room in White's mansion. A black seething cloud hung in the sky directly above Dale, looking to Jules like a horde of locusts. A part of the cloud branched out from the rest and formed something that looked uncannily like a great sneering skull. It must have just appeared, for such a thing had not blighted the winter twilight sky beforehand.

"What is it?" he asked, surprised that his voice was so hoarse.

"White called it Zalangoth," said Hruntu. And then more softly added, "the Living Shadow."

Looking back at the Living Shadow, Jules wondered with a sickening feeling that once the sun had set, he might never see it again.
Mark came trotting out of White's house. "We gotta find Pip, Jules, 'cause Mr. White wants to talk to all of us about something." Mark's face suddenly got confused. "He said it was of the utmost importance that we all understand...what we're going to face? And then he shut himself up in one of his rooms."

"That is odd..." Hruntu muttered to himself. The gryphon slowly turned and melted into the blackening woods, feathers ruffling in a fresh wind that whispered through the gray bare branches. Jules shrugged off the strange essence of life and shadows that drifted on the winds; he wondered how White was able to live among so much...brilliance. Everything seemed sharper, starker and dangerously real on the grounds and inside the mansion. Everything was amplified, enlarged, wilder. Even time did not have the same feeling of passing that it did in the streets of Dale.

"I'll find Pip," Jules said. He turned to go, but then stopped and asked his little brother, "do you see that black cloud...there..." Jules had been pointing to the morbid bulge of darkness in the sky, but let his hand fall to his side. The cloud and the ghostly form of the grinning skull had vanished. The sunset flamed across the sky unblemished. Mark looked up at him. "You okay?" he asked. Jules passed a hand over his eyes as a dull, thudding pain filled the space behind his eyes. "I...I think so...you go inside, it's cold out here." Mark raised one eyebrow but went inside.

Shivering in the cold wind, Jules walked around the side of the mansion, through the shadows of the forest and underneath a jutting balcony. He tried to calm his rippling nerves, but though he tried whistling and ramming his cold hands into his pocket, nothing would still the chilly fear that had gripped his heart. It was the oddest sensation; he was not often this frightened by something. Pondering his strange emotion, Jules suddenly wondered what exactly he was afraid of. Was it the way the wind was rasping through the trees? Was it the memory of Leah's blood spilling out and he helpless to do anything for her? Or was it the shadows that had passed across White's face when he had spoken just a few minutes ago?

A sharp crack sounded from behind him, in the woods, and Jules whirled around. There was no one there, but he stood for a short moment, trying to peer into the darkening shadows within the forest, the spicy scent of pine needles and the musty haze of old leaves tickling his senses. Finally he turned around to round the corner of the house and was drawing his breath to call for Pip when a rough, muscular hand slapped over his mouth and a corded arm wrapped around his waist. Jules gave an angry cry and struggled madly, but the thing, whatever it was, was almost twice his strength and he was helplessly dragged along. His vision was blurred by fear and rage, so he only heard a heavy door as it closed behind him and his assailant, and he could only feel the blackness that suddenly enveloped them. Water trickled beside his ear and the ground beneath his kicking feet was rough stone. Slowly a reddish light pierced his clouded sight, and Jules instantly grew limp. This must be some kind of basement, he thought, but deep down he knew what it was. It was a dungeon, plain and simple, and he'd been taken to it. Memories of the so-called dungeon in Sybil's attic, the one Pip and Alex had created last summer, filled his mind...but this was the real thing. He could tell by the dank, rotting smell and the drafty air, the blackened stone walls and the spitting torches bracketed to them. The huge creature that had grabbed him from behind lifted him off his feet, swung him around, and threw him to the ground. Jules struggled to regain his composure, his breath coming furious in dancing white clouds.

"Who are you?" he managed to gasp; he could only make out the burly shadow of a man. He heard a long, low chuckle.

"He is my servant, as you are about to become," came a harsh, grating voice from the darkness. Jules looked around and blinked; his eyes were still not adjusted to the semi-light. "Perhaps you were too stupid at the time to think and look at Mr. Small a little closer," said the voice, and a tall man stepped from the shadows into the sporadic flickering torchlight. He took in the black-clad man in one glance and his eyes were drawn to a sharp notched sword, bare at his hip. The longish yellow-blond hair was pushed from his sweat-beaded face, and the man's cat-like green eyes were burning with a feverish passion. The dark feeling Jules had been trying to push away flooded his soul like a deluge, and he involuntarily stepped back a few paces. In his hand, the man help a long twisting whip, and scarlet blood was dripping from it onto the flagstones. Jules swallowed down his horror and turned to look more closely at the man who'd brought him to this evil place. It was indeed Mr. Small, but instead of two eyes like a human, Small had one giant eyeball in the center of his forehead. He must have worn a mask earlier, for now his shadowy essence filled the room with his sheer brutality and hugeness.

"And you are Jules, I suppose," said the tall black-clad man. "I am Scorpious Sands." Jules turned to see him make a mocking bow. Anger seethed in him, and yet the fresh blood spattering the ground and the heavy rank breath of Small on the back of his neck held him from punching Sands in the smirking mouth. He nodded and licked his dry lips. "I am Jules, yes," he said. "You are one of White's Renegades?"

Sands walked thoughtfully back and forth under the blazing torch, the light glittering in his eyes. "To say that I am a mere Renegade, a naughty character, is insulting to my reputation. More like..." he turned around, and Jules was taken aback by the wild look in his eyes, "more like, I am Evil incarnate." Small gave a harsh laugh and spoke, his voice deep and rumbling.

"Shall we show him the extent of the power of Evil?" he asked. Sands stroked his sharp chin and looked at Jules. "I did have different plans for this one...but I suppose we can demonstrate a little..." Jules squared his shoulders and frowned at the man. Either he was crazy...or he was being truthful about his being White's symbol of Evil. He'd heard of such things; R.K. was a representational ego of Evil manifested within one person, but Pip had always hidden his true nature before anyone got hurt. To think that Evil itself stood before him blew Jules away.

Sands gave a curt nod and motioned for Small to grab Jules again. Jules elbowed him in the stomach and was stunned a moment later by a vicious slap across his face. He fell against a table in the middle of the room and looked down to see a long metal rod lying half-cool across it. "Think you are any match for us, boy?" Sands hissed, putting emphasis on the last word and letting his whip trail along the ground. It left a bloody trail on the stones. "Don't be a fool; you will all fall in the end. You will break under our vices, or join us."

"Perhaps we should begin the Convincing now, master," Mr. Small grunted. He spoke the word as if it held great meaning.

Sands leaped forward, his black cloak swishing, and gripped Jules's chin with his long fingers. "Write for Evil, let us guide your pen," he snarled. "Or die." Jules couldn't believe this was happening. These weren't frustrated characters, this was real. Evil was playing itself out in the form of White's characters, and it had the capability to harm them.

"I write for God," he said, jerking away from Sands's sharp fingernails. The man drilled holes through his skull with his green glowing eyes, and then threw his head back and gave a loud laugh. "You little ingrate!" he shrieked. "You wouldn't say that so quickly if you realized what you're risking. Just look what happened to her!" Sands whipped a torch from its bracket on the wall and held it into the shadows.

"Pip!" Jules yelled, although he hardly recognized the limp figure chained with arms pulled wide to the stone dungeon wall. She had been severely flogged and blood seeped through her blue shirt. Her torn shoulders slowly moved with hoarse breathing. Jules winced as he looked at her and again the anger reared up inside of him. Small gave a hearty bellow that was perhaps meant to be a laugh, and wrenched Jules's arms behind him. Jules growled and tried to break free of the iron grasp, but Small gave such a twist that he nearly snapped bone and Jules grew still before the pain overwhelmed him.

"Ah yes, you are beginning to realize Evil's power." Sands wore a smug grin on his face. "But I'm not sure you are ready to recant your ridiculous vows to write for Goodness. You need a little more convincing. The Inklings mean something to you, don't they?"

Jules swallowed several times before answering. "They are my friends, and we all use God's gift of writing to fight against Evil like you and Small." Sands waved his reply away.

"So...there is a chance that you would be upset if I did this?" Sands turned quickly and lashed his sharp whip across Pip's back again; it left a red streak over the others like a paint brush of red paint sweeping across a piece of paper. Pip leaned her forehead against the wall and didn't make a sound.

"No! Please, don't hurt her anymore!" Jules said, trying to keep the rising despair out of his words. If Sands was willing to unleash his power in so violent a way, what would stop him from venting it upon the other Inklings? The faces of the others sped through Jules's mind, each one unique and special, and he knew this Evil must be stopped. "Torture me instead," he demanded, jerking his arms away from Small's suddenly loose grip. "Pip would never write for Evil and if you keep trying to convince her otherwise, you're going to kill her."

Sands chuckled, cold and cruel. "That's the idea, boy," he answered. "And we're going to 'convince' each and every Inkling until you are all servants of the darkness and the shadows...or dead."

"Then to God be the glory," Jules spat through clenched teeth. "We're not afraid."

Sands regarded him for a moment, then a morbid smile split his face. "Small, proceed."

Small grinned and took the long notched blade Sands handed to him. He threw Jules onto the table and shackled his wrists and ankles to the sides.

"This is ridiculous," came Pip's weary voice. "You already have me, let Jules go." Sands gave a deep snarl and brought the whip down across her shoulders again.

"Shut up, little Authoress!" he commanded. "I have plans for each individual Inkling, and either they submit to the power of Evil, or they suffer the consequences."

Small, in a motion too quick to follow with the naked eye, jumped forward and raked the long knife-like sword across Jules's shoulder. Jules twisted against his shackles at the searing pain that bit into his flesh but refused to cry out. He heard Sands begin beating Pip again, who was furiously spouting in her invented vernacular. Small grinned at his victim's pain-contorted face and dragged the knife slowly down his bare arm. Jules gritted his teeth and began praying desperately. Suddenly he heard Mark's voice calling his name from outside on the mansion grounds. Jules was frantic; his younger brother did not need to be prone to Evil. Sands looked at Small and jerked his head towards the door with a wicked grin. He stopped flogging Pip, who hung limp and exhausted against the chains. Jules could no longer hold back a cry as Small walked for the door.

"I beg of you, have mercy on my little brother!" he shouted hoarsely. Small made a choked sound of anger in his voice and knifed Jules on the cheek. Jules's pleadings tapered off into a gasp of pain as warm blood ran down his cheek onto the table.

Suddenly the door crashed open, and there stood Hanz, Jane and Katie. There were dark circles under their eyes and their hair was damp and tangled, but they held swords and brandished guns, all trained at Small and Scorpious Sands. Sands gave a startled cry and dropped his whip, where it twisted and curled like a snake.

"That's enough," Hanz said, and his voice was strong. Sands shrank back against the wall in terror, not only because of Hanz and his companions, but because from the deepening shades of the winter night stepped a satyr.

"S-s-s-Sylvanus," Sands stammered.

"Yes," answered Sylvanus. "We have come to stop you."