Disclaimers:  Not mine, no moneys made.  Drat it.  Ed and Al belong to Hiromu Arakawa; Darius and Connor MacLeod belong to Rysher:  Panzer/Davies; Lucien LaCroix belongs to TriStar Alliance; several others are from Hammer films.  A few of them belong to history and aren't my fault at all.  Written for the Spook_Me Halloween horror challenge.  We were to use at least one of the three prompts.  Mine were a reptile, a demon, and/or someone or something is not what he/she/it appears to be.  Also written for Crossovers 100, prompt # 44 -- circle.
Rated:  R for horror and explicit violence.  Note well:  This story is a follow up to, and has spoilers for, the entire movie FullMetal Alchemist:  Conqueror of Shamballa.  You've been warned!

Keeping the Wolves From the Doors

Munich, November 1923

In the grimy shop window, a snake butted its head against the glass corner of its cage.  Its tongue flickered, red-pink and forked, and it swayed upward another few inches.  Muscle flexed and rippled under incongruously tiny scales as it raised itself higher.

The snake was black and maroon above with a thin stripe of white along the belly that shone silver in the moonlight.  It glowed blue now in the gleam from the street.

The light flickered to life in an arc that ran from the lamppost along the sidewalk to the door of the tailor's shop.  Blue-silver, the light glimmered along a curve, tracing a circle from lamppost across the sidewalk, out onto the wide cobblestone street and back onto the next sidewalk.  It shone more brightly as it ran sunwise to the window of the apothecary's shop where the snake hissed something other than defiance.  The light spun across the street, sidewalk, street, sidewalk, and across the last of the crossways to finish, at last, back at the lamppost.

It sealed itself into a circle, perfect and complete -- and the circle ebbed to dimness as the bright, rushing point of light launched into calligraphy just inside the circle's edge.  It scrawled arcs, lines, and whorls, crosses and stars, crescents and triangles, squares and spirals, emblems that looked like words and words that looked like letters tumbled together by a toddler with sticky hands.

The inner circle of symbols finished just in from the lamppost and sealed itself with a second flare and ebbing of light; a second, smaller circle spun under them to leave a wide ribbon of symbols that contained the entire intersection.

Inside the band of runes, the point of light wrote faster now, drawing a triangle oriented due north in the center of the circle.  Curls off the corners formed a trefoil; the lobes of the trefoils gained new symbols within themselves.  Within the triangle was a circle; within the circle, a square whose sides faced the four compass points.

The light raced on, tracing long arcing lines from point to point of the circle, then back along the arcs to spin off into new lines, always painting them sunwise even when it had to go around most of the circle to come back.  Here the symbols created a precise balance, a tension of elements that led the eye to the empty space within the light-shimmering ground.  The small, circular area of blackness pulled the eye to it, and the rising ground fog, and, eventually, the energy of the circle.

The light pulsed, in a trio of double-counts like a heartbeat -- and disappeared between one thought and the next.

The road lay empty again.

The snake hissed and subsided under its log in a sulky coil until the next try.

~*~*~*~*~*~

St. Mary's Church echoed with panic and disorder as altar boys hurtled up to the bell tower or raced through the sanctuary, looking under pews.  The junior priest, Father Gottlieb, should have had them under control; instead he was taking suggestions from the senior altar woman, a lean, older woman who was used to crises.

In the midst of the panic, the Englishman walked in.  He was a cold, sharp-eyed man who nevertheless came to services when he was in the city, and Father Darius had him back for dinner and chess frequently.  In private, his coldness thawed to wry affection and open laughter.

While Father Gottlieb stared at him, reaching for words, the Englishman gave him a fast, appraising glance that made the Father straighten his cassock and wince in memory of some of the seminary lectures he'd received for notable blunders.  "What's gone wrong?"

Frau Lallinger gave the Englishman an equally appraising stare, then nodded.  "Father Darius is gone.  He was here an hour ago, readying for the mass.  He left to fetch his chasuble and never returned."

The Englishman looked around at the running pages and nodded.  "Send three of the boys to check the basement and vestry -- they're to stay with each other, not go running off alone.  Another three to check that crawlspace behind the windows on the first floor.  If you'll show me to Father Darius' rooms, Frau?"

Good.  Someone with sense.  "Of course."  She told Father Gottlieb, "Mass won't wait.  The parish will start trickling in very soon and between the cold and the price of food, we'll have a good attendance.  Can you do a short sermon?"

Father Gottlieb steadied at that and nodded.  "Of course."  He nodded.  "Yes, yes, of course, I'll just go review the reading...."  He hurried off to check the gospel on the lectern, hands twitching nervously at the folds of his cassock.

Frau Lallinger paused to organize the pages, absently running fingers over her hair to be sure it was still securely braided and pinned, then escorted the Englishman through the church to the smaller building behind it.  It did duty as a kitchen for the parish, as storage and rehearsal space for the choir, and housing for the priests.  Father Darius had a small sitting room off the kitchen with its own door to the outside and a bedroom above that.  He shared the bath with Father Gottlieb.

"I have seen you here many times, sir, but I do not know your name.  I am Elsbeth Lallinger.  And you are?"

"Peter Davies."  He met her eyes as he introduced himself, then kissed her hand.  "If Father Darius has been kidnapped, Frau, you'll have to hold Gottlieb together.  A good man, but as I understand it, he's here to be seasoned, not to run a parish full of people with problems he's no experience in handling."

Frau Lallinger nodded.  "I can help Father Gottlieb; I cannot run a search for Father Darius.  I do not think it is quite the same thing as finding out which young demon ran off with the pies for the bake sale."

Davies smiled at that, mischief lighting his eyes.  "You need spies to catch those demons.  I'll search for the demons who stole a priest, Frau."

"I will go make sure Father Gottlieb has quiet to work on his sermon, and then I will come back to answer your questions."  She glanced around impatiently and frowned.  "That chair should be closer to the fireplace."

Davies was already prowling around it.  "It always is when I get here, and Darius always pulls it out for guests.  He let someone in."  He glanced up.  "I'll have questions when you get back, yes."  Something on the mantel had drawn his attention, but Frau Lallinger noticed as she left that Davies wasn't moving anything.  How interesting.

Father Gottlieb needed to be rescued from questions to finish writing his notes; the choir needed a reminder that the service began in twenty-five minutes and they were not yet in their surplices.  In all, it took perhaps ten minutes for Frau Lallinger to set things running smoothly for the service.  The priests' quarters were empty when she got there, but Davies had left the kitchen door open to let her find him.  When she arrived in the narrow alleyway behind the church, he was sitting almost on his heels, examining the brickwork of the bakery next door.

He paid no attention to what the mud was doing to his shoes, only looked back at her and indicated the wall.  "You said he went back for his chasuble.  Black threads, and white, and gold, here, at the height of his shoulder."

There was also a bloodstain on the mortar near the threads; Davies had seen it too, and not mentioned it to her, she realized.  "Kidnapped," she said, flat as the situation deserved -- she was not one for weeping and wailing.  She would be incredulous later.  "A priest, stolen from his church?  Why?"

"Whoever did this doesn't mean him well," Davies said quietly.  "I found a cloth soaked with something that made me dizzy when I sniffed at it."  He looked at her.  "And the police are too interested in politics since the war.  Do you trust them with Father Darius and everything he may have helped?"

"Everyone you mean," she said dryly.  "And no.  I do not.  Perhaps young Maes would help... but I would need Gracia's opinion on whether he has truly left the National Socialists."

"Maes?"  He glanced at her, waiting for her opinion.

"Officer Maes Hughes.  He is very good at putting pieces together, but I would rather be sure who he is handing them to."  When that only drew a nod, she asked, "Do you want his assistance, Herr Davies?"

He smiled; although it was not a pleasant smile, she had nothing to fear from it and so she did not.  "No.  Not yet.  Let me look without worrying about who's muddying my trail."

She nodded.  "Then I have a church to hold together.  I will be here, or you may leave a note on the table in Father Darius' study for me.  I will hope, and pray, to hear from you soon."

He nodded to her and prowled away down the alley like some beast of prey -- a wolf, perhaps.  Frau Lallinger smoothed her skirts and went to close the door into the vestry.  She had Father Gottlieb's dinner to get, and the parlor to straighten, but it was still comforting, from time to time, to think of their own hunter out roaming the city.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"We have to go back!"

Noah's voice woke Ed from a dream of a transmutation circle drawn in blood; it also told him which world he was in.  He rolled over in his bedroll and propped himself up on his elbow.  The dreams of alchemy tempted him to clap a fire into existence, but he already knew that wouldn't work here.

Beside him, Al sat up, ignoring the chill in the air and the chance of more sleep.  His hair was sleep-rumpled, flat on one side and sticking out on the other. "What's wrong, Noah?"

The gypsy girl was up out of her blankets and rolling them up, but she looked too rumpled to have been awake for long.  Ed could see her against the greying sky, which meant they'd be getting up soon anyway.  "They have the priest, Al."

Ed pushed his bangs out of his face with his automail hand and asked, "Who has what priest and why do we have to go back?  Back where?  To Munich?"

Noah shivered and rubbed her arms, then knelt in her skirts to tie the bedroll.  "The Thulists are drawing the circle again, Ed."

"Well, it won't work," Al reminded her, yawning and scrubbing his face with his hands to wake up.  "Not without brother's blood, or mine.  Right, brother?"

"Their circle didn't work until Dad or I shed blood into it, yeah."  Ed glared at Noah.  "I thought you picked up thoughts.  That's what you told me.  Right before you walked in mine that night so you could draw the transmutation circle.  Remember?"

"I do!"  Noah sounded even more frightened and her hands were moving restlessly, smoothing down her skirts, brushing black curls back from her face, gold bracelets jingling softly with every motion.  "But this priest sees the future in his dreams, Ed.  He saw me while I was asleep.  And he's... he's kind.  He blessed me, in Rom, and told me to get back to my own body, that it wasn't safe for me to be anywhere near his with them planning to kill him.  Ed, the circle is going to light up when they kill him.  He saw it in his dreams, and I saw his dreams in his thoughts."

Al got up and started rolling up his bedroll, too.  Across the fire circle, Ed saw Mira and Lorenzo had also given up on sleep.  Lorenzo yawned and stretched before he asked, "Back to Munich, then, Noah?"

"Just outside, at Professor Haushoffer's villa.  We have to.  There's going to be lightning, and blue lights, and we just have to."

Lorenzo seemed to think that was enough of an answer.  He stalked off to the stream, calling, "I'll get water.  Someone stir the fire up."

Mira shrugged.  "He's right.  We should eat breakfast and think about how to hide Ed and Al from the police, and how to find this priest you want us to rescue."

Al yawned.  "Breakfast sounds good."

"Back to Munich?"  Ed groaned and got up anyway, pulling his coat off the bedroll and shrugging back into it.  "Damn it, we've got to find Huskisson and that bomb, too.  I don't see how they can open the gate, Noah."

"Brother, wouldn't he be in Munich?"  Al glanced over at him.  "He had state funding at home.  Why wouldn't he try to get funding here?  I saw those airships.  This world likes bombs."

Ed stared at him, then smacked his fist into his automail hand.  "I should have thought of that."

Lorenzo dropped the water skins next to Mira and asked, "Quit arguing, has he?  Good.  We can pick up some work for a day or two and still pick the rest of the band up on time.  Elric, are you bribing the police not to see you, or are we dyeing your hair?"

"I don't have that much money," Ed protested.  "And we're not coloring my hair!"

"You can't rescue a priest from a jail cell looking like that with police after you," Mira said practically.  "But maybe a hooded cloak...."

"The red one," Noah suggested and managed to smile at Ed's sputtering and Al's grin.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The stone walls echoed his breathing back to him, leeched his heat through his robes, contributed a scent of mold to the stink of old urine from the chamber pot the guards hadn't emptied.  Darius let his nose wrinkle when a shift in the air brought the ammonia reek to him, let himself shiver in the cold, and let his eyes roam over his surroundings.  Looking helpless couldn't hurt and might help; he would far rather these new enemies underestimated him.  He'd also noticed over the years that shivering did, in fact, warm a man.

Darius would live, somehow -- God help him if these amateurs learned how much he could live through -- and he would either escape or be rescued.  Connor MacLeod came for dinner twice a month and sometimes more often; Lucien stopped in to play chess and compare notes on the European status quo.  One or both would come to see who'd managed to confine him for so long, if it came to that.  Given a good chance, however, Darius intended to escape and save his friends the trouble of rescuing him.

Hastily installed chains held him to the walls -- Darius had shoved the debris away with his bare feet -- and he had very little to do with his time except examine the pattern drawn in the sunken circle in the center of the room.  He couldn't decide what worried him more:  the parts he could understand or the parts he didn't.

The outer circle was easily fifty meters across and Darius wasn't certain, but from here it looked as if the floor had been patched and repainted in places.  Some of the stone columns were also scraped and showed signs of smoke and scorching.  The circle on the ceiling far above showed no such signs, and the arches and ribs supporting it looked worn by time, not by fire or man.  Both circles held inner rings of circles; both had astrological symbols and alchemical.

The writings in the lower ring were definitely in Futhark.  The upper ring looked as if the letters were from the Roman alphabet.  Any writing above was too far away to read, no matter how badly Darius wanted to know if the text there matched the bottom ring.  (The designs didn't.)

What he could read on the lower spell circle alternately declaimed the glories of Shamballa in misspelled verse or discussed the process for creating a philosopher's stone.  The poetry was badly reworked from the Nibelungenlied, and the alchemical process read as if it had been translated by someone who didn't have a firm grasp of alchemy or the original language.  In combination, the contents of the lower circle made Darius worry about the artist's sanity and his own hide and secrets.  Attempts to gain paradise or eternal life always seemed to end up involving a great deal of death and blood.  Someone else's, usually.  His captors hadn't seemed inclined to hair shirts and self-flagellation.  They were sleek, well-fed, well-groomed, and expensively-dressed.

Those should have been worries enough, but the upper circle had flared shortly after Darius had been dragged in.  It had flashed white bright enough to leave blue shadows, much like a lightning strike, and then faded to the regular lines.  The guards hadn't expected it; the officious man and woman who'd come in shortly afterwards hadn't known what to make of it.  It hadn't happened again since.

When the woman rubbed a cloth along the outer ring, leaving a stain behind that closed the circle, the lower circle had briefly sparked white and then blue.  Darius had seen the looks the conspirators gave him afterwards.  He strongly suspected that the piece of cloth came from his chasuble, torn and blood-stained during his kidnapping.

Part of him worried at the impossibility of replacing the chasuble and stole before the Christmas masses, given both the timing and his flock's relative poverty.  The rest of him worried more about the spacing left in the outer ring: one of the empty spots was the size and shape of a sarcophagus.

Darius watched the one guard pacing a circuit above him, lighting the torches that illuminated the upper circle. Watched the two guards approaching him with buckets of water and brushes better suited to washing a horse than a man.  Heard, but didn't watch, the movement within the shadowed arch that had disgorged the guards:  a slither of silk, not the rustle of the woolen uniform the guards wore, and a more silent tread than the guards' workboots gave.

No. This was not going to go well at all.  Darius sent up a brief but fervent prayer that he could find the course that would lead to the fewest injured, or dead.

His chains rattled when he crossed himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Connor MacLeod hadn't looked like Peter Davies since late the day before, when the trail first ran down into a shantytown full of war veterans who couldn't find employment.  None of them had helped kidnap a priest, but only some of them would have protested it.  Those few, however, had made quiet, sometimes limping rounds of the others and reported back to Connor in a tavern.

For the price of six very good dinners, Connor learned that Darius had been abducted by four men in two cars.  None of the men had been in uniforms; none of them had distinguishing marks or habits, despite being old enough to have fought in the Great War.  Two of them, however, had been part of the faction that had tried to take Bavaria last month, and were known to drink, and rabble-rouse, in the Five Diamonds Brewery.

The source of this information was a man named Aigner who had been in German intelligence until his superiors didn't like his reports and sent him to the front; a trench collapsing on him had left him crippled mentally and physically, but Aigner had developed a reputation for never speaking until he was sure.  Connor would have preferred to meet the man personally, but the way his informants met his eyes and held themselves in their chairs told Connor they had done their best by him.

He paid them enough for three meals apiece instead of the one he'd promised and left an order and an implicit offer:  Be careful not to get caught; relay any further information through Frau Lallinger at St. Mary's.  They just nodded and smiled, tight, wary smiles that told him both instructions had been superfluous.

It had taken four tankards of beer and most of an afternoon at Five Diamonds, but Connor had finally spotted a pair worth following.  His informants had been able to give him a rough description of the kidnappers, but what caught Connor's attention was the combined sense of purpose and air of accomplishment they gave off:  rare things in post-Versailles Germany.  He followed them when they left; he hadn't forgotten how to steal a car, even if the wiring was slightly different than he'd have run into in New York.

Following them out to the edge of the city was easy enough; following them off the main roads took more care both for their notice and keeping his car intact.  He cursed softly each time he hit a bad rut or nearly went off the road.  They were well ahead of him when their car slowed in front of high stone gates.

Connor watched them enter, nodded, and turned his own car around, leaving it parked just off the road and ready to run.  If he was right, this was where there'd been rumors of biplanes flying formation a week before the attempted putsch; there'd also been rumors of a dragon.  The site bore investigation for those rumors alone.

He'd just knocked out the gate guards when a lightning storm inside the building pulsed flashes of light through the high conservatory windows.  Connor abandoned mercy and slipped through the gate, prowling through the shadows with a knife in his right hand and a cloth he'd soaked with their own chloroform in his left.

The first man on patrol kept glancing around uneasily with each roll of thunder.  He went down when he passed a shadowed doorway he should have checked more closely.

Thunder rumbled again and Connor bit back a curse.  Dear God, how were they dragging out Darius' quickening so slowly?  And what shape was the building going to be in when he got there?

The second man stopped to examine a patch of blood Connor left for him and kept falling when the dagger pommel hammered either side of his skull quick as a blacksmith's skill could deliver a double tap.

The third man jerked to a stop two paces away from Connor's shadows; the sound of breaking glass whipped his head around and Connor lunged for him, one hand going over his mouth with the cloth while the other buried a dagger in his kidney to make him inhale.  Connor left the man unconscious and dying in the shadows and ran for the breaking glass -- a free diversion was nothing to pass up.

The window was four feet off the ground and someone had broken it from the outside.  Not with a rock, either; most of the window was gone and the cries of men trying to regroup -- and losing -- came from inside.

Connor smiled and sped up.  He stuffed the chloroform pad into his pocket and leapt for the window.  He got a boot onto the sill, pushed off and through, then ran through the hallway ahead of him where he could hear pistols firing erratic, single shots.  Whoever they were fighting wasn't giving them good targets.  Perfect.  The defenders wouldn't expect reinforcements if their opponents were dodging so much.

He ran past the inner arches, through walls covered with unpainted plaster and gouged in place, and came out into a reception area designed to impress.  It was probably two hundred feet across, at least fifty feet high, full of domes, columns, light, and magic.  Connor filed the details away and kept going, intent on his target.  Off to his left, two lads barely old enough to enlist in an army were keeping half a dozen soldiers out of uniform very busy.  Good.

Connor left them to each other and headed for Darius.  The man wasn't entirely gone yet, not from the lightning still arcing off the spear in his chest.  His head was still attached, anyway.  Connor sprinted for him, ignoring the shots that blew holes in his clothes and, once, in his flesh.  It got his left arm, not a leg, so he didn't slow down, only threw his knife at the nearest soldier.

He used his own momentum and the grip of a man used to holding steel against flame and iron to pull the spear from Darius' chest, ignoring the grate of steel on bone, the silken sound of torn flesh.  The wood was old, hard as good iron with that age, and smooth from long years of use.  Connor spun, the haft sliding down his palms.  Let the spear earn its pay more honestly.

He gutted the slick blond man he'd seen in the beer hall and left him screaming as his intestines spilled over his arms onto the floor.  The return blow hamstrung a woman crouching to shoot at one of the lads.  She shrieked, fell, and tried to bring her gun to bear on Connor.  He broke an attacker's knee with his foot, continued the strike up to empty the air from the man's gut with his heel, and came back around to hammer the woman's temple with the spear butt.

That bought him a moment, or the lads did.  The blond boy fought like a maniac; his younger, brown-haired brother had his features but not his temperament and was fighting much more methodically.  They both fought like men who'd studied with Nakano.

Connor used the time to slice through the ropes holding Darius' feet to a post.  That was the easy part and he tugged at the free end of the rope, cursing the wound in his left arm that weakened him when he needed his strength.  As soon as the priest's feet broke out of the circle they'd had him bound into so precisely, silence fell and the too-bright glow of the circle faded, leaving the room illuminated only by torches.

Connor cut the ropes between the upper post and Darius' shoulders, tugged him another yard from the circle, and crouched behind his body, spear to hand on the floor and pistol back in his grip.

An authoritative voice called, "Form up!  Retreat to me!"

The soldiers tried.  Connor bared his teeth and shot twice, carefully, into the darkness between the columns.  The bullets ricocheted off stone with a whine; they didn't thud into flesh.  Pity.  The surviving guards shot at Connor, hit Darius' body once and his shoulder as well, and then they were out of his sight.  A moment later a dull boom announced the barring of that exit.

Connor came up onto one knee to see how badly Darius was hurt and lightning struck through him on its way from the circle back to the priest.  Connor shuddered under the impact as thunder boomed and echoed in the mostly-enclosed room.  The second blow deafened him; the fourth knocked him onto the ground.  When he could see again, his arm and shoulder were healed, his throat hurt from screaming, and Darius was breathing, eyes open and unfocused.

Connor pushed up onto one arm and looked over at the man he'd gutted; the poor bastard was curled around himself, making whimpering sounds with no intelligence left in them.  Connor pushed up to his feet, leaning on the spear for the first step, and gave the only mercy available, even if it was poetic justice:  he buried the spear in the man's chest.

Silence fell.  The woman was motionless:  unconscious, perhaps, but only perhaps.  Connor kicked her pistol towards Darius, saw the priest reach for it, and nodded as he kept moving.

Shreds of black cloth lay by the wall between chains hammered into the stone and a chamber pot with the lid askew.  Connor snorted.  "Careless bastards."  He turned to look at the outsized circle drawn within the central columns; his eyebrows drew down as he frowned.  "Crazy bastards, too.  What were they trying to do, turn lead to gold?"  Then he translated some of the runes and said softly, "Searching for paradise through the gate of a priest's soul?  I may have been too quick with the spear."

"They don't want paradise," the blond boy said sharply.  "They want another world to destroy.  How did they get the circle open?"

Darius pushed up onto one elbow, slowly, carefully.  He didn't release the pistol, and he paid no attention to his state of undress as he tested his balance.  "One of the usual ways, I'm afraid.  I'm Father Darius.  And you are?"

"We're locked in, they're calling in for reinforcements by now, and you want to make introductions?" he said incredulously.

"Brother, they've changed some of the pattern," the brown-haired boy said from where he was kneeling next to the circle.  He'd been careful not to let the folds of his cape cross it, either, Connor noticed.  The dark red was the only bright color on either of them, other than the blond's hair.

"Why not?" Darius asked reasonably.  "'Hey, you,' won't get your attention in the next sortie.  And it sounds as if there will be one."  He looked up at Connor.  "Do you have reinforcements coming?  And if I could have the spear?"

"No reinforcements, just a stolen car waiting for us outside the grounds.  I was in a hurry."  Connor glanced at them as he walked back to Darius.  "What do you know about this circle?"

"How did you manage to read it?" the blond asked impatiently, prowling the outside of the circle before kneeling to examine a smudged section.  "Still using chalk?  They are idiots...."  He looked over his shoulder at Connor, horse's tail of hair dropping over his shoulder to hang too close to the circle for Connor's comfort.  "And why are you asking anyway?  No one here believes alchemy works."

"Alchemy works at eating up gold and rotting men's mind with mercury fumes," Connor said sharply.  "That doesn't stop fools trying to use it.  Why are you here?  It's not for Darius."

The brown-haired one said gravely, "I'm Alphonse Elric.  This is my brother, Edward.  We're here to stop them from using this circle.  You see, alchemy doesn't work here."  He pointed to the circle.  "It does work on the other side of there."

"Ah.  That would make sense of some of those writings."  Darius rubbed the aching spot between his eyes; Connor wondered what he'd seen and heard to convince him this quickly.

"You believe us?  Just like that?"  Edward's eyes narrowed.  "And you were dead."

"No," Darius said gently.  "I was dying.  There is a very distinct difference."  He rubbed his hand up and down the spear shaft absently, accustoming himself to the grip of one again... or soothing it.  Connor eyed the spear more suspiciously, turning over rumors and legends in his mind.

"Yes, there is."  Alphonse cocked his head to the side, studying both Connor and Darius.  "We know both.  You were dead."

Connor shrugged and put aside the problem of that spear for the moment.  "He wasn't dead enough, and we don't have time for this.  You're not from here, are you, lads?  You're from there."

The brothers glanced at each other.  If their features and coloring weren't quite identical, the quick, speculative intelligence behind those faces was.  Alphonse finally nodded and Edward agreed, "We are.  We just can't go home.  We have to stay here and keep these idiots from opening gates into our world.  They're destroying our cities every time they succeed, and the times they got through, they killed our citizens until we killed them."

Connor pulled off his sweater and handed it to Darius.  "Your robes are a loss, old friend."

"Yes, and my chasuble and stole."  He sounded annoyed and regretful both, and Connor raised an eyebrow.  "My parish can't afford to replace those before Advent season starts next week."

"Ah."  Connor paced the circle thoughtfully, then looked up.  "Huh.  Why two circles?  To create a column?"

"No," Edward said irritably.  "Dropping through the bottom one didn't work, so they tried launching rockets and planes through the upper one.  Can we get on with this?  We need to destroy these and run."

"The young gypsy's dream was real then," Darius said quietly.  "Poor woman."  He gave Edward an appraising look.  "I would imagine that was no easier for you, to have her in your mind, and to see your father die so.  Why don't you believe my blood could open your gate?"

"You're from this world," Edward snapped irritably.  "And how do you know about my father?"

"Because your gypsy friend did," Darius said.  Barefoot and barelegged, he roamed the floor with a gun in one hand and a spear in the other, studying the circles.  "Why would the occultists leave these holes in the patterns?  Surely that should distort the flow of the energy?"

"You were in one space," Alphonse said quietly.  "Maybe they had other ideas for power sources and left room to use them instead if they couldn't kidnap you."

"That would explain the post in this one," Connor agreed.  "Although this square is small for a sacrifice to power a gate that strong.  Perhaps they knew how to get Fae blood."

Edward was pacing around the lower circle again, blond horsetail lashing back and forth with his movements as he prowled and crouched and stood again.  He looked like an annoyed cat; if he'd been one, his whiskers would have quivered.  "I can't read this one, Al.  I don't even know what language these letters go with."

Darius said calmly, "It's an old alphabet called Futhark, and that's Middle German.  Do you need a precise translation, or just a summary?"

"A summary for now?" Alphonse suggested.  "Can they get through those doors?"

Connor chuckled wickedly.  "I think they're more worried we'll come through them."  He eyed the circle of columns appraisingly, then considered the bodies on the floor.  Surely there was a stair somewhere from within this room?  How else could a ruling lord make an impressive entrance?  "Darius, see what you can do for them with this circle while I look around."

"Getting out is easy," Edward said dismissively, and Al nodded agreement.  "Can you do anything about the upper transmutation circle?"

Connor chuckled.  "It is, hmm?  I'll hold you to that.  Work on this one, then."  He looked around the room, evaluating the torches and wishing the moon was full instead of waned to a sliver.  Oh, well, if wishes were horses, the Wild Hunt would still ride everyone down.  Connor headed into the darkness on the assumption that idiots who'd try ceremonial magic they didn't understand would also be prone to dramatic entrances from the shadows.

Below him, Darius tried to summarize the story of Siegfrid's hoard of gold and the cloak of invisibility he used to help Gunther defeat and marry Brunhild.  Sure enough, there was another arch in the darkness, and a stair running widdershins up the wall from it -- old enough to be part of the early keep, Connor would bet, and designed to give a right-handed defender the advantage against attackers trying to mount into the keep.

Below and behind him, he could hear Alphonse asking, "What does this have to do with alchemy?"

"Nothing leaps immediately to mind except perhaps the hidden hoard of gold in the Rhine.  What's written in the outer circles discusses the gold's loss and the wreck of Kremhild's plans -- Siegfrid's wife," Darius explained.  "In any case the inner circles discuss the uses of a philosopher's stone in transmuting lead and iron into gold."

"What does it say?  Exactly?" Edward interrupted, managing to sound both preoccupied and abrupt.

"'Take the peacock stone and place it within an oven with that metal which you wish to change to gold, and heat right well to a temperature sufficient to forge a good sword.  Maintain you the heat overnight and in the morning, the stone's glow will be surpassed by that of the gold.'"  Darius added mildly, "Mind, it sounds more like a way to keep your enemies busy.  And short of fuel for the winter."

"No wonder you never got anywhere with alchemy here," Edward snapped, pacing around the circle.  "That's not how you use a philosopher's stone."

"Brother!  They're trying to help."  Alphonse sounded more embarrassed than upset, and Connor laughed softly as he worked his way around the balcony to the scaffolding under the circle.  If he'd done something like this, there'd be traps.  So far, his opponents showed no signs of being half so cautious.  Surely they didn't depend on guards this incompetent to keep enemies out?

Darius chuckled.  "No, alchemists here failed because they focused on making gold instead of paying attention to the rest of the process."  He shrugged.  "It's only recently that we've quit believing in phlogiston, Alphonse."

"Al," he said absently.  "This circle really shouldn't work, brother."

"I know that," his brother snapped, never looking up from a gap that hadn't been there before Darius' quickening returned to him.  "And it shouldn't have holes where the lightning left it, either.  It shouldn't have been able to store lightning!  How did they do that?"

Darius looked up and called, "Highlander, any luck?"

Connor called back, "Will painting over it do any good?"

"Yes, of course.  So will taking part of it out, but they'll see either and fix it."  Edward made the one sound as obvious as the other.

Edward shot sparks too easily for it not to be routine; Connor laughed softly and ignored his impatience.  He just grinned at the tool their enemies had left to his hand.  Apparently the leaders here weren't very good at convincing underlings about the importance of both small details and thoroughness.  Someone had painted the upper circle very precisely... and left behind the turpentine they'd used to clean away smudges.  "Worry about your part, lad.  I'll sabotage this one for them.  Where did they get the plan for it?  And do they have copies of it?"

"Quit calling me 'lad.'  What's that mean, anyway?"  Edward muttered something else, but Connor couldn't catch it.

"It's a friendly term for a young man," Darius said mildly.  "And Al, might I suggest you not give your full name here?  Alchemy was never terribly effective in this world, but fools who'd steal this spear or attempt gate travel might also try black magic.  Your true name would give them a chance at power over you."

"You can't do that," Edward said, then, more startled, "Are you people crazy?  You worked on something like controlling souls?"

Connor applied turpentine to shadowed patches of the pattern and broke the outermost circle in places just above the window frames where it would be hard to see.  He read through the alchemical notes as he went, almost absently.  You never knew what might be useful one day.  Below him, Darius sounded rueful as he said, "If you can control a man's soul, Edward, you can control him.  Some of our people have taken that principle too far, I'm afraid, but that seems to be human nature.  Surely there have been those in your world who use alchemy to destroy?"

Frozen silence told Connor that shot had struck home.  Poor lads; they'd probably thought Darius was defenseless just because he was half-naked and had needed rescuing.  They'd learn better soon enough.

Edward finally said slowly, "Yes.  It happens.  But at least alchemy has a law of equivalent exchange.  Everything has a price.  Nothing's free."

Darius said gravely, "If your people truly believe that, it may be even more dangerous than some of our beliefs, Edward.  And Lord knows, our beliefs have killed enough people over the years."

"Ed, or Fullmetal."  Connor did glance down at that.  "It's a... nickname.  And why is equivalent exchange more dangerous than controlling souls?  Here, people don't pay attention to consequences."  The lad had stopped prowling and was giving Darius his full attention.

Darius nodded, pacing steadily around the circle with the spear haft tapping a quiet counterpoint to his words.  "They don't pay as much attention as they should, no, and there are always those who think that they can evade consequences entirely, either through skill or riches.  But does everyone in your world think that the only consequences are the immediate ones?"

Al glanced up from where he was carefully redrawing part of the circle; Connor had no idea where he'd found chalk.  "Of course some people think that way.  Some of us study alchemy, but that doesn't mean everyone understands equivalent exchange, or long-term consequences.  Brother?  Come look at this."  He sounded queasy; worrying from a lad who hadn't blinked at Connor gutting a soldier.

Connor considered firing the support beams under the balcony, then settled for hiding the turpentine in case they had to come back, and worked his way along the balcony looking for an easier way down.  He found it on the far side of the room, a narrow stair spiraling down through another patch of deliberate darkness.

"An Ouroboros pattern?"  Darius sounded contemplative.  When Connor came into the torchlight, he heard Darius add, "Someone is well if oddly educated.  It would only take three lines to finish a labyrinth pattern here and one circle to shape a double-ax beside it.  Was there actually a dragon here, then, Fullmetal?"

"What?"  Ed whipped around to stare at him.  His voice sharpened as he demanded, "Why are you asking me?"

"Because when I dreamed it, I saw you," Darius said gently.  "And a dragon devouring your father.  Was there truly a dragon here?"

"Yes.  They used our father's blood and our brother's body to power the gate to send the last army through."  Al sounded steady enough, but Ed gave him a worried look before he regained control of his expression.  "We thought -- our father thought -- that it took someone who'd traveled through the gate to open the circle."

Darius looked at both of them, then said thoughtfully, "I see.  And you're sure you are the only two from your world over here?"

"No.  We're sure we aren't."  Ed stopped short.  "We're looking for him, though."

Connor snorted, then cocked his head to listen.  "You may not be the only ones.  And they're coming again.  We've sabotaged one circle, but we leave now or they get the power source back for the other one.  You never said -- can they redraw the patterns if we destroy the building?"

"Probably.  And Al changed this one.  It won't work the way they want anymore."  Ed looked around.  "Could you really destroy this building by yourself?"

Connor snorted.  "I'd find a way.  If we have to, I'll come back and blow it to kingdom come."

Ed looked at the doorway they'd left through, then the doorway Connor had come in through.  "We can get out through there; they won't have enough men to guard all the windows off the hall, and they're lousy shots.  We're going to have to go find Huskisson first."

Darius looked around and shook his head.  "That's not all we need to find."

Connor grinned as he tugged two of the bodies to lie in front of their enemies' most likely entrance; if nothing else, it let him retrieve his knife.  The bitch was still breathing, and might have heard their plans.  He slit her throat without remorse, and heard Al's breathing catch as he stood up again.  The lad would need talking to later about women, and soldiers, and people who shot at you.  "It's a little cold out, Darius.  Good for the soul, right?"

"That's mortification of the flesh, Connor, not the soul."

Ed called impatiently for them to get moving and headed off with Al, squabbling already over whose fault it was that they were having to run again.  Darius insisted on bringing the spear and Connor didn't argue.  For a priest, he seemed a bit testy about not having pants on.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Darius sat by the fire and watched the stars overhead.  As ever they were so far away and so much older that he could draw comfort from their very existence.  If stars could go on, so could he.  When he glanced at the people around him, they were nearly as bright as the flames, and ignoring him so carefully that he almost felt apologetic about being there.  Almost.

He was, however, grateful for the loan of a pair of pants and some old boots that fit well enough once Connor'd also loaned him an extra pair of socks.  The spear lay near his hand and hummed along his nerves each time he touched it.  Between his blood and the deaths Connor had fed it, the spear was waking up.  That would be a problem for another day, if necessary.

Connor brought in another armload of split wood for the fire, set it off to one side to dry for the morning, then sat by it.  With his coat over the pile, it made a decent backrest.  "So?" he asked.  "What now?"

Darius saw the Elric brothers turn to listen and carefully ignored the way the gypsy seer, Noah, was inching closer to him each time he looked away.  She'd been waiting on a wall that they would pass in their escape; Darius didn't have to ask how she'd known where to be.

"The Thulists are organized, they have a plan that's been set back by Hitler's arrest, and they are much more interested in getting their magic to work than in aiding the National Socialist party they claim to support."  Darius added mildly, "They have far too many influential people among their ranks not to have been noticed, but I believe they have been able to control how much notice they received.  The beer hall putsch gambled too much; the Thulists may have to pay their share of the debt now."

"Meaning the Bavarian government is interested in the Thulists, too?"  Connor didn't sound surprised.  He pulled out a small flask of oil and a handkerchief and began to clean his knives.  "They weren't wearing uniforms when they kidnapped you."

Noah kept glancing at the spear and then away again, fascinated and appalled.  At Connor's comment, she looked up.  "They wore them everywhere before."

Ed nodded agreement and snagged the oil from Connor to work into the joints of his artificial limbs.  The arm and leg were built to a higher degree of skill that anything Darius had seen here, and he wished he could let an engineer friend see them.  On flat ground, Darius hadn't even been able to tell Ed was missing a leg.  It was only when he was moving up or down a rise that Ed had a slight hitch in his gait.  His false arm wasn't as good, but it had an engine built in, small enough to make Darius think it must have come from still-secret military research.  Odd, though, that he had only two false limbs, but still used a codename such as 'Fullmetal.'

Ed kept working the oil into the pins of the metal toes, methodically working his way up the foot as he pointed out, "Yeah, and they called each other by rank in public.  They've gone underground?  Huh."

"Maybe they're just trying to blend in," Al suggested.  He didn't look at either Connor or Darius as he said it, but the priest had noticed Al's worried, wary glances over the course of the night.  For the moment, the young man was bent over the gloves he was painting; ink smudged one thumb, and paint was accumulating along the forefinger of his other hand.

"They don't intend to hide any longer than necessary," Darius agreed quietly.  "And they have the arrogance of their convictions."

"They think they're the humans and we're not," Noah said softly.  "I know you're a priest, but no court will take your word over theirs that they stole you from your church."

"No," Darius agreed, "they wouldn't.  I'll have to find another way to deal with them.  I'm afraid it would distress my parish if the Thulists tried to make a habit of this."

Connor's mouth crooked in a grim smile at the idea, or his own opinion of Darius' methods.  "That's not the first problem, old friend.  We can deal with them trying to make their gates work after we finish hiding their keys to those gates.  Who's Huskisson?  What are we hunting?"

Ed kept oiling joints.  "He's a physicist from our world.  He created a bomb there, using a metal called uranium.  He says it's more dangerous than any alchemical array we could ever create."

Connor looked from Ed to Al, then back.  "And you believe him," he said flatly.  "Uranium?  Here it's what people use to make pictures of bones while they're still in you.  How bad is a bomb made of that, Fullmetal?  Have you seen it used?"

The name steadied Ed's temper; his hand had paused, but he went back to his methodical job.  "We haven't seen it, but we saw other devices he'd made and we saw his reports.  If it's half as good as Huskisson claimed, it's enough to destroy most of Munich."

"Reports?"  Connor shifted the logs in the fire and twisted to get another small piece so they could see to work.  "Who was he reporting to, and why did you see them?"

"Brother was a state alchemist," Al said quietly; Ed pointed to a line on the glove and Al nodded, but kept drawing the pattern he'd already decided on.  "We worked for the army.  Huskisson was funded by the state, but he wasn't interested in science to help people.  He just used it to make more weapons."

Ed snorted.  "For no good reason.  The state already made weapons of alchemists, and we're good for more than just destroying."

Darius nodded.  "We knew that."  At Ed's surprised stare, Darius said gently, "It's in the way you carry yourself, Edward, and the way you look at problems.  You're used to giving orders that are obeyed, and you look past a problem to the consequences of your proposed solution."

Ed flushed.  "We've screwed up too many times when we didn't look."

Connor chuckled.  "It's a compliment, lad.  Say thank you and quit blushing.  So, Darius?  What do you have in mind that you think I won't like?"

Noah looked from the spear to the fire, then turned a shocked expression towards Darius.  "They're real?  And you're going to just... call one for help?"  She gathered herself to flee, but Ed reached up and caught her with an oily hand.

"Noah, calm down, what's wrong?"

Al smiled at his brother telling someone else to calm down, but the smile faded as he realized Noah was shivering.  "Here."  He stood up and wrapped his cloak around her.  "Come sit down.  He's a nice man, you said it yourself.  Let's hear his plan."

Darius simply said gently, "I will guard my thoughts better, Noah.  And I think we will keep you very far from Lucien, but we must settle this quickly.  The Thulists are in a hurry; they won't wait to steal their next power source.  We must find both Huskisson and this bomb, then we must return Ed and Al -- and Huskisson -- to their world."

"I'm going with them."  The young gypsy wrapped her hands around her arms, securing her bracelets (probably most of her money in the world, Darius suspected).

Darius made no attempt to guard his opinion of her plan; her defiance crumbled even before he spoke.  "No, child.  You are not.  You would only cause this same problem in their world."

"What problem?" Ed asked, leaning forward and glaring.  His bangs slid towards his eyes, but he pushed them back impatiently with his metal hand.  "What are you talking about?"

"They opened a gate with someone from this world," Connor said flatly.  "You don't get much more of this world than Darius, which means your father was wrong about whose blood it takes.  It looks a damn sight more likely to me that you two and Huskisson are the best help the Thulists could have with that gate.  You're from there, lad, so have you ever watched a chemist here with a super-saturated solution?"

"I've watched Gracia make rock candy," Ed said steadily.  "You think that's it?  That the gates are easier to make if someone from the other world is there to help form the key?"

Connor nodded.  "It's always easier to make something the second time, Fullmetal.  You've got the first one there in front of you instead of in your head where others can't see what you mean, or you can't see where it went wrong.  And if you're here, then this reality has something that can give it a bearing for your reality."

"Then how did your father get through the first time?"  Noah stared at Al, who was studying his work intently.  She stared at Ed and said, "What did he do?"

"He had a philosopher's stone," Ed said reluctantly.  "That... would make it easier."

Darius studied him thoughtfully; far under Ed's word, there'd been a note of carefully repressed shame.  "I see.  Then you agree that it's a fair hypothesis?"

Al nodded.  "Yes.  It's a reasonable starting point."  He gave Connor a worried look, then said, "You think if Noah went with us, she'd put a... tuning fork in our world for this one?  And that we're tuning forks for our world?  We only came back over because of Huskisson, and because someone had to destroy the gate on this side--"  He stopped abruptly and gave Ed an appalled look.  "General Mustang will have destroyed the gates by now."

"He was going to?"  Connor frowned, although the slow, steady stroke of knife down whetstone never paused.  "Why?"

"Because opening them was causing earthquakes, and the gates had been drawn in the middle of two of our cities," Ed said impatiently.  "The Thulists sent through some men in armor who came back crushed, although the armor wasn't--"

"The armor fought, brother, although the people inside were already dead.  It destroyed the center of Liore.  Poor Major Armstrong and his family had worked so hard to put the city back together, too."  Al shivered, then started painting the other glove.  "The second time, the earthquake hit Central.  That time they came through the circle there with airships full of men in armor and a woman who could do alchemy, Connor.  She wasn't good enough to beat the Flame Alchemist, but... she was good.  Really good for a beginner who'd never been able to practice properly."

Ed reluctantly agreed.  "She'd have been a state alchemist in our world.  If she passed the test."

Darius said thoughtfully, "But the attacks have to come through a gate?"

"Yes," Ed said.  He looked up from oiling his knee.  "Why?"

"When your father first came here," Darius said mildly, "he had to get through somehow.  Either he made use of someone's attempt at ritual sorcery or he forced a hole through this reality.  Can your state actually be sure it knows about every alchemist?"

"No."  Ed and Al said it simultaneously, then Al went on, "It was... a long time before they found me and brother, and we'd been studying our father's books since we were really young."  Darius restrained a smile and forbore to point out that they weren't old yet.  Connor, however, laughed, and even Noah smiled.

Darius nodded and asked thoughtfully, "If your Flame Alchemist destroyed the gate on your side, would it affect either of the gates on this side?"

Ed nodded.  "Yeah, it would.  Mustang would have been able to destroy the one in Central first; that's where we left him, although he'd have called orders to Liore to destroy the one there, too.  That would take longer; Major Armstrong was in Central.  The ground circle here went to Liore -- that's the one they activated first.  The upper circle went to Central."

"The upper circle was still shining when they brought me in," Darius told him.  "It flared and went out while they were chaining me, and didn't blaze again."

"Then Mustang did destroy the gate in Central."  Ed sounded both relieved and reassured.  "If anyone over there could, it'd be him."

"Lieutenant Hawkeye and Major Armstrong will make sure they get the one in Liore," Al agreed, but he was frowning.  "But if the gates there are closed... we may not be able to go, Darius."

Darius said thoughtfully, "Your General Mustang.  How good a strategist is he?"

"He started planning to take over the government when he was still a lieutenant," Ed said, grinning at some memory.

"The council will vote him in, too," Al agreed.  "But General Mustang makes plans for everything.  Even for you to come back, brother.  He never believed you were dead."

Connor chuckled.  "The kind of man who makes plans that turn even defeats into supplies for later victories?"  He grinned at Darius as he said it, fond and wicked at the same time.  Al had to laugh into his hand and try to make it sound like a cough.

"That's Mustang," Ed agreed, glaring at his brother's helpless laughter.  "Why?"

"In his shoes," Darius said mildly, "I'd destroy the circles.  And I'd move military forces to a mountain meadow, set up firing positions around it, and then draw a new circle there.  If you have enemies who can come after you, it's very helpful to know where they're going to appear."

"No wonder you call a vampire a friend," Noah said, startled.  "You're not a priest."

Connor laughed.  "Oh, he's a priest, Noah."

"The same way you're just a businessman?" she asked in disbelief.  "And you didn't say a word about the vampire."

"I've never met one to have an opinion," Connor said mildly.  "And if he's the tool we need, then we use him.  Do you need to call him tonight, Darius?"

"So much for sleep," Al sighed and started putting away his paint before Darius even answered.  "What's a vampire?"

"They're from stories," Ed answered, but he handed the flask of oil back to Connor and dried his hand.  "They live on human blood, sleep during the day.  Strong and fast as homunculi, very dangerous.  Supposedly."

"Mmm.  The stories aren't entirely true," Darius said quietly.  "Lucien's not safe, no, but he will... object to idiots opening our world to another.  That will put him on our side in this.  We need help, Noah."

"How is he going to find this Huskisson?"  She straightened her spine, hands fisting in the folds of her skirt.  "If he helps, then he'll know about the circles.  How do we let something like that know about other worlds?"

"Because it won't matter to him," Darius said seriously.  "This is his world, Noah, not the other.  Not only will Lucien guard this earth -- and survive long enough to be able to watch for such a thing happening again down the years -- but he won't leave.  Why should he, after all?  This world is his, not the one where alchemy works."

Connor said thoughtfully, "Possessive bastard, is he?"

"Very," Darius said dryly.  "Worse than any Highlander about the lochs and the English."

"Ah, well, in that case, he'll make a fine guard."  Connor's words were lighter than his expression, but he nodded.  "Cutting things needs a sharp knife."

"And a steady grip," Ed said grimly.  "Are vampires really as dangerous as that book made them sound?"

"Possibly worse," Darius said gently.  "They started out human, Ed.  You must remember that in dealing with them.  A vampire is a human who has developed a need to feed from other humans to survive."

"And they want to survive," Al said, swallowing hard.  "You'll teach us how to destroy them?  Just in case?"

Darius nodded.  "If you'll promise not to attack him.  Defend yourselves, yes, or defend your world once you're there, but not attack him simply for existing."

"If he doesn't threaten us, all right."  Al's shoulders straightened and he stood up before he added, "But he'd better not eat anyone around me."

"They drink blood, not eat flesh," Darius said quietly.  "And they don't have to kill to survive.  I'll make sure he doesn't, Al.  Will you trust me on that?"

Al considered that, and the tones under it, and what they had to mean.  Then he said quietly, "Don't let him drink too much of you, either.  We need a general for plans like this."

Connor chuckled knowingly.  Darius only smiled at Al.  "I'll be careful."

~*~*~*~*~*~

For a vampire, he looked like a senior general, Al thought.  One who hadn't been out in the sun for ages, but he listened with that same attention to details and he asked for clarification with the same impatience.  Not as big as Major Armstrong, but he had more muscle than Lieutenant Havoc.  And he could fly.  He'd come down out of the air to land in the alley shortly before dawn and now they were holed up in a warehouse that Connor had opened with a key instead of by force or stealth.

"We're looking for a man, a bomb, and a group of conspirators?" the vampire finally asked.  He had the sharp voice General Mustang got when he wasn't sure he had all the details and time was running out.

"A group of conspirators who use ceremonial magic almost well enough, Lucien," Darius agreed.  "The man is a physicist.  The bomb is his."

"Once I find him, I can find it," the vampire agreed.  He sat at the table with them, propping his chin on his fist like Major Armstrong before he used his strong-arm alchemy.  Unlike Major Armstrong, this Lucien had hair.  Cut really short, like the other soldiers at home, and grey and white.  Maybe he'd been old when he became a vampire?

Ed was leaning on the table; Teacher would have swatted his elbows off it.  He said sharply, "How are you going to find Huskisson?"

"That is a very good question," the vampire purred, but he turned to look straight at Al, who made himself hold still rather than back up.  He received an approving nod and only then realized that the vampire had been testing them.  "You need to be considering how to help with the job at hand, Alphonse, not whether I am a threat to you.  I'll swear an oath if that will make you more comfortable, but this is too important for you to be distracted."

Connor just said mildly, "It would make me happier if you swore to this cause, come to that.  And leave the lad be.  He's a fine fighter when it's needed, and a wise head the rest of the time.  Neither of them is as young as they look."

"I just can't...."  Al finally admitted, "It seems rude to call you by your first name, but calling you by what you are seems worse."

"Ah."  That got an interested frown, one that made Al feel like he'd just come up for his alchemist's exam again.  He passed this time, too; the man nodded and said sharply, "I understand you're both used to the military?"

"Yes, sir."  Al added, "You sound and act like a general.  Were you?"

"I was for a while, many years ago.  Very well, call me general if that will help us work together."

Ed snorted and looked up from his examination of the spear.  "I'm not promising to take orders that don't make sense."

"I haven't asked you to," the vampire said coolly.  "I am Lucien LaCroix, once a general in the armies of Rome, and once a consul of the city of Rome.  You have my oath on my own pride and honor, both of which are considerable, that I will assist you in finding the scientist and bomb and returning those, and you, to your home.  I will also assist in hunting down and removing these would-be magicians.  Are they at all competent, Darius?"

"They're dangerous enough," Darius warned.  "And they may believe in you, I'm afraid, Lucien.  They've been collecting psychics and artifacts both.  They had the spear of Longinus."

Connor cursed softly; Al didn't know the words, but he knew that tone of voice.  "I was afraid that was what you were limping around on."

"This can't be the spear of Longinus," Ed said sharply, but the look he gave it told Al, at least, that he wasn't nearly as sure as he sounded.  "They made it into several spears and used them to capture Envy.  I saw them, but I thought they vanished when my-- when he was transmuted."

"Then it is waking up," Darius said, frowning.  "It's back in one piece and its original form, Ed."  He added wryly to the vampire, "Down to the same scratches near the butt."

"You'd know, yes," Lucien said.  Somehow he'd moved back faster than Al could follow.  That must be useful if he had to be a vampire and stay out of the sun.  "Keep it away from me, thank you."

"Then you can't use it to find the conspirators."  Darius nodded, resigned and already changing his plans.  "I was afraid of that."

"I assume you and Connor didn't have time to kill all of your kidnappers?"  Darius' mouth twitched, but he shook his head.  "Good.  I can use you to find them, Darius; some of them will still have your blood on them.  That should not be difficult, given Connor's report of their slovens of underlings.  First, however, we need to find this scientist."

"You could have used the spear to find them if it liked you?  And you can use Darius' blood...."  Ed put those together and asked, "What, sympathetic resonance since they've used it before?"

The general gave him the same approving nod he'd given Al.  "Something very similar, yes.  Do you know where we can find something that will do the same for this scientist?"

Ed considered that.  "I think I know where I can get a picture of him, and maybe his current name.  We may be able to get his address from the phone book to find some of his clothes."

Al looked up.  "Brother, if he still has the array he used to get here... it wasn't in blue or black ink.  It was drawn in brown."

"He never did take alchemy seriously," Ed growled but he nodded.  "Al's right, it might be drawn in his own blood.  It'll be long-dried, general, but would it help?"

"Recently worn clothes or fresh blood would be better, but it might do, yes.  I'll simply have to stretch myself."  The general was staring into the darkness.  "Huskisson.  Hmm."

Connor told Ed, "We'll go fetch it.  I need to make a stop on the way back, Darius."  He looked at Al, then said, "You've lost enough of your brother's time.  Come along."

Al looked at the general and his smile, at Darius already pulling out a map of the city, at the space where Noah should have been standing instead of hiding with Gracia... and followed them out into the sunshine.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was, LaCroix admitted to himself later, a most interesting hunt.  Hunting with a general turned priest who might well be older than imperial Rome, with a Scot pretending to be English, also far older than he looked, and with two young men who fought superbly and claimed to be mages of some skill in another world -- and carried themselves as such....  No.  It was a fascinating night, one to chase away the ennui of years of inadequate opponents.

For all their disparate... quirks, each was highly skilled and competent in their own spheres.  Pure drive and intent from the older Elric, and a flickering intelligence which focused in as sharply as LaCroix's own.  Patience, attention to detail, and an eye for the background truths and lies in the younger Elric.  A ruthless streak in the Highlander, a wickedly practical streak wider still, and eyes that saw what was truly there.  And the calm, razor's edge precision of the old monk's strategies and questions.  They blended shockingly well.

Such a pleasant change to be working with competent associates.

Edward had acquired not only the photograph but a possible address for Huskisson, and made no explanation of how.  From the twist of his mouth, LaCroix suspected it had involved bribery of some kind, or distasteful favors.  He didn't know which would disgust the young man more, but whichever it was, was likely the answer.

Connor had acquired supplies to remove these circles permanently once they had the scientist and his bomb.  He'd also acquired clean, less than memorable clothes for Darius, a pair of superb knives for LaCroix, and a small bottle of very strong alcohol; nothing safe to drink from the scent of it.  LaCroix would wait to see what he intended to do with it.  In the meantime, he appreciated the gift of the blades.

Alphonse, who had far too much in common with LaCroix's wayward child Nicholas, had acquired food and drink for the next morning, and a small stockpile of medical supplies.  He'd also gotten a nap in the car at some point.  His hair looked sleep-rumpled, and his eyes looked far more alert.

For all their skill and sense, LaCroix still preferred to go ahead to find Huskisson.  Let them follow by car.

The steadily shortening days had made it a little better, but he had hated waiting until sunset to acquire this 'scientist,' this 'knowing one,' to remove the threat he posed.  The impatience drove LaCroix to fly ahead of them, drinking in the scents and sounds of Munich.  The smell of cooked cabbage and too-thin soup, of lingering fumes from automobile fuel, of fragrant carnations and marigolds and spices from a sundries shop.  Here children crying, there men cursing softly in despair, here students turning pages, scribbling on paper, arguing philosophy and science and reputations.

LaCroix moved through it all, paying no particular attention but not ignoring it either.  Soon, very soon, he would track his prey back through this and then he would remember what he must.  In the meantime, he soaked up the feeling of this city so that he would know what should not be there.

He slid down through the rapidly cooling night air into a warmer vestibule that smelled of old garlic and new despair and something LaCroix had never smelled before.  He hissed at the taste of it and blurred through the vestibule, leaving a broken door lock behind him and hinges half-ripped from wood.  Up the stairs, through a short hall to a bland door that hid sharp metals and that annoying, acrid spice.

Another door demolished and the mortals only now beginning to sound alarmed, the poultry twittering that there was a fox in the henhouse.  In through the small receiving room cramped with books and old furniture poorly maintained; in through a bedroom full of contrasts of gentile poverty and money spent on odd luxuries (a crushed velvet dressing gown at the foot of the plain iron bed, bedclothes thick with down not properly pulled up or turned down, fleece-lined house shoes on a carpet worn nearly to the wood floor), in to the small dressing alcove with a sink and his prey, just turning with soap on two-thirds of his face and a razor in his hand.

LaCroix caught his wrist, pinning the razor up and away, and smiled at him, fangs bared.  "Dr. Huskisson, I presume?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

Darius sat beside Al in the front seat of Connor's car and listened to the discussion in the back seat.  Lucien had always been persuasive, but Huskisson hadn't realized how serious they were until he'd recognized Edward.  Sitting between the vampire and the alchemist with Lucien's hand firmly on his shoulder and Ed's metal hand resting on his chest, he'd finally stopped trying to threaten his kidnappers.

"We know that you brought your bomb here," Lucien purred.  "I cannot say it is appreciated.  You will tell us where it is."

"Or what?  You can't find it if you kill me," Huskisson pointed out.  He was tall, slim, and somewhere between the bloom of maturity and waking up one morning with creaking knees, Darius thought.  He also overestimated his own will, although he might actually be as brilliant as he thought he was.

"It smells of you," Lucien said calmly.  "Therefore I can find it.  The only question is whether you are still breathing at that point.  Live or dead, you will be thrown back through the gate to your world.  You may have a minute to choose which it is."

"You'd throw a corpse through?" Ed asked, and Darius could almost see the bared teeth behind him.  "Why?  We could transmute him for part of the crossing costs.  That would still get rid of him."

Huskisson snapped, "Weren't you the one lecturing me on human transmutation being the great abomination, Fullmetal?  Who are these new friends you've made?"

"At least they're not in jail like your new friends."

Before Ed could go on, Al pointed out, "And you're running out of time, Doctor Huskisson.  The general will kill you.  And we won't stop him."

"You...."  The shock and terror in his voice made Darius turn in his seat to see the scientist's face; even in the dim light of the alley, he could see the blood draining out.  "You're not real."

Al twisted up onto his knees to lean over the seats.  Deliberately slow, he reached out and pressed his fingers against Huskisson's mouth.  "I'm very real.  So is your choice.  I think you'd better make it."

Ed's eyes were wide and a little frightened, a great deal more angry and protective.  "Al."

"It's all right, brother."  Al continued to watch Huskisson, still and patient and implacable:  a tranquility that would draw motion from others like stones thrown into a pool to watch the ripples.  Darius wanted to see what Al would be like in another fifteen years, and regretted that he never would.

Al went on calmly, "Dr. Huskisson can't testify that I was in the armor because everyone knows I was.  And he can't testify that I was just a soul animating the armor because there's an entire army division that would laugh him off the witness stand.  Everyone knows now that I was just hiding in the armor until I could stand to come out, after Mama's death and your injuries.  And plenty of people have seen me in the last two years.  Everyone knows I'm real.  Right, Dr. Huskisson?"

Connor had turned to watch Al's face, but his own expression was unreadable; even his eyes were shadowed.  In the back seat, pinned between Ed, Darius, and the unbearably light contact of Al's fingers, the scientist's eyes were huge in that lean face.  His hair was almost black in the dim light and against the pallor of his skin.

Lucien nodded approval to Al -- Darius wondered if the Elrics knew how rare such esteem was from him -- and purred, "I believe Dr. Huskisson understands that we are quite serious.  You do understand, don't you, Doctor?"  Their prisoner nodded shakily against Al's hand, still shocked.

Dear Lord, how did this man find out for sure Al was... what?  Only a soul animating armor?  How did he get there?  Ed's doing?  And this was two years ago?  No wonder Al is so contained, and eats food with such attention, Darius realized.  How long was he in before Huskisson found out the truth?  And how did Ed manage it at such a young age?  No wonder Huskisson's threat needs such careful demolition if human transmutation is as great an abomination as it seems it must be.

Lucien, fortunately, was ever practical:  he assumed that the Elrics could handle the threat once home and went on.  "Good.  I assure you, sir, alchemy may not work here, but there are... other things that do.  Now.  You will tell us where your bomb is.  We will retrieve it.  And you will go back to the land you came from."

"Where we're handing you over for trial," Ed growled, automail hand fisting on Huskisson's chest.

"For what?" Huskisson managed to ask.  "You have no proof that I did anything except fulfill the terms of my state grant."

"No," Al said quietly.  "We don't have proof yet.  But we know you forced those men to dig up ore that killed them.  We know you practiced high alchemy.  And we know who in the army can find the evidence."

"So you're going to kill me with forged evidence?"  Huskisson sneered and leaned back from Al's hand.  "And when I look for evidence that you really were bodiless?"

"Then everyone will think you're crazy," Ed said simply.  "If we could do human transmutation, why would I still have an automail arm and leg?  But if you do try, well...."  He shrugged.  "If you want General Mustang to oversee your trial personally, that's your business.  I didn't think you were a real genius anyway."

Al nodded.  "And of course we won't use forged evidence.  We won't have to.  The army investigators are really very good.  And you did do it all.  We saw the bodies, but because of you their families never saw them again."

"His minute's up," Connor said flatly.  "Kill him."

There wasn't enough room in the back for Huskisson to squirm away from both captors; Al turned and sat down again, but Darius continued to watch as Huskisson shifted back and forth, trying not to touch Ed or Lucien.  "You--  For what?"

"In your case?"  Connor didn't bother to look back over the seat.  "For wasting air and food."

Connor's voice convinced him; Darius hadn't thought he had ears to hear the truth of the threat.  "I'll tell you."

LaCroix only smiled and shifted his grip.  "I recommend you try the truth first, Doctor.  My patience has reached its limit."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Getting back in to Haushoffer's villa was simpler this time, despite the doubled guard on the grounds.  Connor hauled another guard down from behind, forearm locked tight around his throat to keep him from making a sound.  Ed leaned in and sprayed him with a canister of gas he'd found and recognized.  The guard fell and Al tied him up while Connor moved on to the next idiot.

LaCroix ranged ahead of them, killing some of the guards and looking for their superiors as he scouted out the grounds.  Darius came behind them, spear in one hand and Huskisson's neck in the other.  The scientist had recovered some of his arrogance, but when Ed wasn't glaring at him, he stared at Al in disbelief and speculation.  Huskisson might yet turn up dead on his way through this gate if Connor was near enough to lend Fate a hand.

Torchlight flickered and cast reflections through the dome windows, but Connor wasn't about to leave guards behind them when he and Darius would have to fight their way back out.  LaCroix might be able to fly, but he hadn't said he could carry two full grown men, and he didn't want to be that near the spear either.  Wise vampire.  A spear that had been tempered in the blood of the Lamb ought to be more than a match for him.

So they moved methodically through the grounds, eliminating the guards and trusting LaCroix to handle the officers before they noticed no one was reporting in.  Connor hoped they hadn't found another immortal to power their circle, but so far, there'd been no lightning.  That only begged the question of what they had found.

Once they were inside the villa, Huskisson tried to break away in the outer hallway.  Ed spun on his good leg and swept the idiot's feet from under him.  Unable to catch himself with his hands bound behind his back, Huskisson hit hard on the polished floor and lay there trying to catch his breath.

Connor cut the gag free rather than let the damned fool choke, but he kept the blade on Huskisson's throat 'til he was recovered.  "Do that again, and I'll hamstring you," Connor told him flatly.

Darius pulled the scientist upright again and held him still while Connor replaced the gag.  It was tighter now with a second knot in it, but the man had gotten himself into the mess, let him live with it.

"Thank you, Ed."  Darius set the spear point against Huskisson's back.  "I think he'll stay close now.  If not, we'll see if I can still spear a running man at fifty paces."

"Yeah, well, keep him close," Ed grumbled half-heartedly, dusting himself off.  "Fifty paces?  Huh."

They eased through the short hallway into the reception chamber that held the transmutation circles... and the torches, and the Thulists, and probably more guards.  To Connor's surprise, this was a much more private ceremony than Darius' death had been.  Three men in robes -- at least, Connor thought the smallest one was a man -- and six guards around the transmutation circle, each with an axe raised above a writhing canvas bag.

Too small a bag to be infants, at least.  They might not have been able to get their guards to agree to that.  They probably don't want much audience to another disaster, either.  Plays hell with the men's faith in their leaders.

A sudden breeze made the torchlight jump and shudder, and LaCroix's murmur came from just behind him.  "The bomb is by the door; both doors are now barred.  When you step into the light, I will clear the balconies of any guards."

Darius waved Ed to the right and Al to the left.  He gave them a minute to slip into position, then moved forward with Huskisson.  They were three paces into the torchlight before anyone noticed them.  One of the guards turned, then called, "Intrude--"  He broke off, staring at Darius as if the priest were a ghost.

While the guard was still frozen, Connor shot the soldiers on either side of him.  Ed rose up out of the shadows and dragged another guard down; a short French profanity was followed by the sound of metal hitting flesh.  Al kicked the guard on his side of the circle; his knee went out and he fell.  Al landed on top of him with a cloth saturated with the gas from the canister.

Connor shot the frozen guard as he finally lifted his axe.  The sixth guard lost his footing and his weapon to Ed's tackle.  Al dove for him and got the cloth over his mouth while he was still trying to catch his breath.

Connor shifted sideways to cover the three masters of this ceremony and waited.  He had enough bullets left for them, but after that he'd have to reload, find another gun, or go to blades.

The Elrics stood up.  The guards didn't.

Darius stood there, prisoner held in front of him as a living bulwark and spear ready to cast.  His tone was mild enough for a meeting over coffee and pastries as he said, "I believe we need to talk."

"Now that we're outnumbered, you mean?"  The three remaining cultists had turned at the guard's warning, but the man in the middle was the one who spoke.  Rather than respond immediately, Connor studied their faces.  He didn't intend to let them escape this trap, but if they managed it, he'd need to remember what they looked like and find them later.  So he fixed them in his mind, looking from right to left.

The tallest man stood more than six feet tall:  wide-shouldered and full-featured, with thick black hair and quick, intelligent eyes.  He was looking them over, too, and only frowned in surprise when he saw Connor.  The other four, including Huskisson, he clearly recognized, although his gaze returned to Al as if he were a particularly interesting puzzle.

The man in the middle was just under six feet, lean, sharp-featured with a high-forehead; he'd been the one who spoke, and he had a strong, commanding voice.  He watched them with mild curiosity as if Darius weren't a previous sacrifice come back to life and returned with friends and the cultists' own stolen artifact.  His hands hung empty at and motionless his sides. A very controlled man, Connor decided, and no fool; he was looking around for information, not from panic.

The man on the left was also the shortest, probably five foot four.  The hems of his ceremonial robes revealed thick shoe soles that tried to compensate for his lack of height.  Connor made note of the wide, prominent forehead and the badly-cut hair that displayed it.  The man's pallor and wide, twitching eyes made Connor wonder what the other two had been thinking to let a man this nervous in on a ceremony such as this.  He looked like the weakest link, but he was here, which meant his appearances might be deceptive.

The two tallest would be the most problem here; the short man would be the most problem if he got away.

Darius had finished evaluating them.  He said mildly, "I'm afraid I was the one outnumbered last time, gentlemen.  You'll have to pardon my paranoia."

"You returned from the dead for revenge?"  The tallest man's voice was a deep, carrying bass; enough to identify him anywhere.

Darius shook his head.  "Revenge is overrated.  I'm afraid you need to step away from the circle now."

"So that Elric can activate it?"  The first speaker said pleasantly, "Unlike you or young Heiderich, we'll only die once.  It might as well be here, for the glory of our society and its plans."

Connor would worry later about Al apparently having a dead twin here.  "What glory?  No one's ever going to hear about tonight."

At the same time, Ed snapped, "No, because you're not going through that gate if I have to kill you here myself."

"Your father said you weren't good at killing," the smallest man said, wringing his hands.  His speech paused at odd intervals, as if he were calculating how to cause the least offense, and his voice was a nasal whine.  "He said you were an alchemist, not a soldier."

Ed snorted.  "You gave him to Envy as a chew-toy.  Why should he tell you anything useful?"

A blur of motion and wind left the three cultists tumbled between the columns, farther from the transmutation circle.  LaCroix said pleasantly, "You should have listened to the first request, gentlemen."

Al and Ed moved into the circle, chalk coming out of pockets as they went to work redrawing the circle correctly.  Connor pointed his pistol at the two nearest him and said, "We didn't claim to have much patience."

Darius pushed Huskisson down to his knees and told Connor, "I'll guard them.  We need to secure the doors."

Connor saw LaCroix pick up the smallest man by the robes and hold him at eye level.  The vampire's voice lowered and took on a purring cadence as he asked, "Who are you?"

So vampires do have some means of controlling minds.  Worth knowing.  Connor left Darius his gun and went to bar the doors, repaint those small sections of the upper circle... and set his explosives.

When he came back, the smallest cultist was lying on the floor near the doorway out, sound asleep.  He had to be asleep.  No corpse could snore like that.  Connor looked for the other two and found them gagged and tied to two of the stone columns.  Darius looked up from the canvas sack he was examining and said simply, "Connor, Herr Ebner agreed to make a full confession to the police -- he's never heard of anyone named Elric, it seems -- as soon as we get back, and is sleeping the sleep of an easy conscience.  Herr Paine and Herr Gore, on the other hand, will not swear off magic and aren't susceptible to persuasion."

Connor glanced at LaCroix.  The vampire was cleaning under his nails with one of the knives Connor had given him.  And Darius had managed to keep a straight face through that statement.  Connor shrugged.  Ebner probably had agreed to confess.  As for the other two... they didn't seem to mind killing a priest.  Let them stand trial for any other charges Ebner could pin on them.  "So be it.  So?  What's in the sacks?"

Darius winced.  "Snakes.  Offspring of the dragon, apparently -- you might not care to know how, old friend.  The Thulists thought they might do to open the gate."

"You're right," Connor said dryly.  "I can come up with nasty enough ideas on my own."  He looked at the wriggling sacks placed around the circle.  "Big damn snakes.  Were they going to kill them simultaneously?"

"Yes," LaCroix said calmly.  "Or so Herr Ebner tells me.  Fools."  He considered the bags.  "We will have to send the snakes through as well, the Elrics say."

Ed was redrawing an arc as smooth as anything Connor would have cut with his katana.  "We're almost done, general.  And if they're Envy's... they can't stay here.  They'd just leave another key to our lock."

Al said quietly, "They may not make it through the Gate, but they can't stay here, either.  Envy's there; he might actually take them in and protect them.  I hope so."  He stood up.  "Done.  Brother?"

"Almost, they didn't understand this part to begin with...."  Ed finished a sigil with a final flourish that tied it to the outermost ring and stood up.  "That does it."  He worked his way out, stepping among the chalk without smudging a single line or curve.

Darius nodded.  "Very well then."  He glanced at the gathered bags and at the cultists bound to the column.  "Feel free to try and figure this out, gentlemen."  He pointed the spear at the circle, speaking quietly in something that sounded something like Yiddish.  Not close enough for Connor to understand it, but the spear began to glow.

Connor looked at the dimness of the spear's light, at the Elrics waiting to see if they could go home, at LaCroix whom he trusted far enough to be sure he'd kill the cultists and likely have them for dinner in the process if nothing else would work... and stepped up to wrap his hand around the spear behind Darius'.

Hard, callused hand against Connor's, belying Darius' claims that he'd never manage a fight these days.

(Flesh on flesh)

Tight-grained wood under his palm, smooth, and cool, and old.

(flesh on wood)

Current surging through him, through Darius, quickenings too close, too fast, pouring down to a conductor.

(wood to steel)

Spear tipping down, steel point brushing the stone floor with a rasp like a butcher knife sharpened on a whetstone.

(steel to stone)

Power pouring through him like blood: trickling, running, sheeting,

(stone to )

and the world was gone in a roar and scream of air making way for electrons, air pounding back into the trough.  Connor stayed upright to balance Darius, who was balancing him, both of them directing this like a pair of helmsmen holding a ship's rudder against a typhoon.  Grounded, the both of them, by stone underfoot and air overhead, water in their memories and fire ahead of them as the circle went from chalk to light to a sheet of flame that didn't burn.

Connor blinked, felt sweat trickling down his face, sticking his shirt to his back.  He raised a hand to wipe his face, but kept the spear where it was.  He could feel the power flowing smoothly through without bouncing back.  Beside him, Darius said, "It's open on both ends.  Edward, Alphonse -- go well.  Tell your general that we'll try to eradicate the knowledge as well as the circles, but he should watch his end point nonetheless."

Ed nodded.  "Knowledge always spreads.  We'll tell him."  He was throwing bags through the gate, and if Connor had had any doubts that it was real, the silence would have told him otherwise:  the bags fell through without impacting against the stone floor.

Al said, "Thank you.  Tell Noah thank you, too."

Ed nodded.  "And that we're sorry."

Al threw the last bag through -- untied, as they'd all been, Connor realized, and grinned.  Leave it to him to want to give a bunch of young dragons a fighting chance....  He could feel the snakes' progress the way he'd have caught a faint shift in the wind with his hands on the ship's rigging.  Al picked up the bomb by the rim, mouth pinched with distaste.  "State's evidence," he sighed and caught Huskisson by his free shoulder when Ed tugged the physicist up.

Ed nodded.  "And a state trial, and things to tell Mustang..."  He grinned at Darius.  "We'll give Mustang your regards and tell him he's not the best strategist in two worlds."

"Brother, do you have to start out by picking another fight with the general?" Al asked, exasperated, as they towed Huskisson into the circle against his will.

"Hey, he's going to get to practice his alchemy again as soon as we get through," Ed argued.  "And we'll want the argument so he can't laugh at us for being naked!"

"Wait, do you mean we have to burn our cl--"

The gate closed over their words and they were gone, almost.  Connor could feel the brothers moving with Huskisson, a sudden current under his hull, a riptide against his flesh... and then it was gone and he and Darius looked at each other, each checking to be sure the other thought they were done.  They nodded, lifted the spear away from the floor, and braced themselves.

This time, the lightning's return left Connor conscious but frozen in place by the electrical currents.

He really hoped it didn't set off the explosives early.

~*~*~*~*~*~

No series of arrests came about... but a great many people were called in to 'consult' with the Bavarian police over the next few weeks.  Some of them then left for retreats, research, or seclusions thereafter.  Or so it was reported.

A long, thin, tightly secured crate traveled by private courier to the Vatican library after the bishop's yearly visit to his parishes in Munich.

The priest of St. Mary's, Father Darius, recovered well from his brain-fever and was advised sternly against working so hard.  Some of the children of his parish hand-painted an Advent stole and chasuble for him and he wore it for the next four years until the paint finally chipped too much.

~*~*~*~*~*~

At the next full moon, ground fog crept off the Isar River, slowly shouldering its way up the banks and into the city.  It rolled up and over the streets, encircled the shops and houses, crept through the alleys, reflected the moon's light home again.

Inside an apothecary's shop, a maroon and black snake writhed against its log as it scratched and tugged its way free of old skin.  On the sidewalk outside, hidden and multiplied by the fog, a small point of blue light sketched a circle barely as wide as a tall man's height.  It moved more slowly than it had before and began sputtering before it completed the interior arcs and lines.  The outer rings pulsed and guttered; the sigil it had been writing faded, unfinished.

The whole thing vanished in a 'pop!' of reasserted air pressure and was gone, leaving only the fog on the street.

In a cage in the shop window, the snake dropped to lie panting next to its log, old skin mostly shed but still itching near the tail, new skin too tender to writhe and complain in body language as it had no speech to complain aloud.

It hissed, finally, tongue flickering, and hid under its log to sleep off the temper of shedding.  When it was bigger, it would have better ways to shed skin, and access to more food -- rats, maybe, instead of insects and small mice -- and it would grow.

The tail flicked as it slept, shedding the last of the dry skin to reveal faintly larger scales.  Its sides lifted and lowered with its breathing.

The bluish glow from its belly was simply the reflections of the moon- and streetlight lacing the fog.

Probably.

1. Lucius Divius/Lucien LaCroix is from Forever Knight.  In mortal life, he was a general of the Roman army and once a consul of Rome.  In 69 AD, his daughter, Divia, turned him into a vampire to save him from the destruction of Pompei.

2. Two of these maniacs are from Highlander.  In the series, Darius was a holy man for fifteen hundred years before he finally lost his head in his own church in Paris at the hands of mortals.  Before that, however, he was a general good enough to capture Paris; he was heading for the Atlantic.  He never made it.  In the original movie, Connor MacLeod was a quarter Darius' age, if that.  He's also strong, cautious, possessed of a sense of humor sharp enough to cut people (including himself) and very difficult to entrap.

3. Ed and Al Elric are from the manga and anime Full Metal Alchemist; their back-story is insanely complicated, but large parts of it are in fact incorporated in this fic.  Several other FMA characters are mentioned here, from both the movie and the series.  As for Noah, the gypsy clairvoyant, she's from the movie Full Metal Alchemist:  Conqueror of Shamballa.  The spelling of her name is from the DVD booklet.  Most other names for FMA characters take their spelling from the Wikipedia entry on the movie.

3.5  The explanation for Al's transformation from 6' 6" suit of armor to 5' 5" teenager comes from stories by Sleeps With Coyotes, who does FMA far better than I do!  (Is it just me, folks, or is there no canon explanation for this in the anime?!?)

4. Spear of Destiny/Spear of Longinus -- supposedly, the spear that pierced Christ's side as he hung dead on the cross.  There's more speculation on where it is, what it does, and what it could do than I have room for here, but here is a link to a site with more information for the curious.

5. Frau Lallinger and the trio of villains at the end all come from the classic Hammer horror films.  Frau Lallinger is based on Frau Blucher, who always scared the horse; the final trio is based on multiple roles played by, respectively, Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, and Peter Lorre.

6. The real German names were provided by Rike-Tikki-Tavi.  The brewery name is based off the sign outside it in the FMA movie -- a green sign with five red diamonds arranged in a cross that simply said Brauerei (Brewery), and Herr Paine and Herr Gore aren't named after the US figures so much as for the puns in their pseudonyms.  If Herr Ebner had kept his real name secret, he'd be known to Darius as Herr Blud.  (Thanks, Devo!)

7. The Thulists were a real cult; they really were reputed to have had the Spear of Destiny; and they really were working with Hitler and the National Socialist party, although I have no details on what they did.

8. The dragon that the Thulists caught was a homunculus from Full Metal Alchemist who called himself Envy.  The snakes were his offspring and no, I have not thought about the mechanics of a giant legless dragon producing such offspring.  I have very determinedly not thought about it, thank you.