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9

His chambers were dark when Dante opened his glowing, emerald eyes, blinking away the residual energy dotting his vision and letting out a calm breath.

It was done.

Being a cat, he could see fine through the shadows, Seth's still form laid across the couch a few feet away a warming sight to him even in the dark. But there should have been light. Dante, disturbed, glanced around. His communing candles had gone out, their perfume mingling with that of stale smoke, the wax cylinders melted completely into wrinkled puddles and spilling over onto the floor. Supposedly they were good for twelve hours. He huffed and arched his back for a stretch, spine cracking, buttocks and legs and shoulders protesting his prolonged seat on the stone floor. He'd been out of body for half a day? Maybe more?

He cleared his throat and the non-ceremonial candles about the room burst to life, their happy little flames bobbing from ornate iron stands hanging about. The multitude of them provided suitable light for Dante's archaic study since there was no electricity and he only used the place when he was feeling sentimental.

Here, he'd first tapped into the arcane as a child, exploring the depths of a world not believed in or founded by natural laws. The worn, walnut shelves (stacked to the high ceilings) held hundreds of books he'd procured throughout the years and stowed to memory. Every bobble and instrument (found, bought, and self-made), every scroll, potion, component, and material he'd collected was stored in the drawers of his workspace. Sure, the windowless, stone, dungeon-like walls had been oppressive at times, but they'd also protected him. They'd allowed him to grow. The study was where he felt most at ease, at his most powerful. He'd needed that boost in ability and confidence for what he'd just done.

Communing with spirits, especially those stuck between life and death, was tricky business. Limbo was no place for anyone to go. It was a hell in its own right.

Rising, Dante noted how chilly it had gotten. Even with no clock on the walls and no windows to see outside, he knew night had fallen. He flicked his fingers at his side as if strumming an invisible instrument, and the three fresh logs he'd placed in his fireplace that morning before beginning the communing burst into flames. He strode silently to the fire and held his paws out for warmth, the wood crackling pleasantly and reminding him of past nights when the flames and his books were his only company. He shivered, not only physically cold but cold in spirit as well. It would rekindle in time, readjust to being out of his body for so long, but he never got used to the feeling after a communing no matter how many times he'd done it...which were more times than he cared to think about.

He'd never used it for the wrong reasons, but Dante couldn't forget that speaking with the dead--fading back and forth between life and the afterlife--was a dark art. It was the first baby step into the vile realm of necromancy, and the black cat despised necromancy. He'd had his own fair share of dealings with raisers of the dead (he cringed whenever his victory over the death gate syndicate was mentioned), and was apprehensive of the fine line he was treading. The shadows and demons appearing, like the one that had attacked Montgomery Menessi and Maxwell Brent back in Kansas, were what awaited foolish men who sought to overcome death. Vincent, young Monty's father, had done just that and he became the sickest monster in the known world, possessed by a demon--lost until he was put out of his misery. Devilish spirits like Nemesis were what frightened Dante, especially when he left his body, but this trip into the afterlife he'd been duty bound to make no matter the risks. Seth Reesman, the young leopard slumbering on his couch, an unforeseen youth with abilities--on all accounts--should have died. Yet he hadn't.

When the black cat's hero colleagues, Conway and Raymond, had arrived on the scene the boy was in fact deceased. His body had been charred beyond recognition by the manifesting of his roommate's powers, internal organs fried beyond repair, soul departed from the living world. The wolf, Rhykard Dean, was taken away in a comatose state before any police officials arrived (quick work by Raymond's son, Carson, much to his father's disapproval), and poor Seth's body was left smoldering, crouched down against a wall. Dante had heeded the call of his friends, seeing as the endeavor they all were undertaking left the cat somewhat responsible for what had happened, and his guts had twisted upon seeing the destruction that shouldn't have occurred in the first place.

Someone (and Dante had an idea of who) had meddled. As much as Dante and his friends hated to think it, dark forces had been at play that night, acting a few steps ahead of Doctor Conway's well-thought agenda. Or he _presumed_it had been well-thought. The smoldering remains of the college's dormitory spoke otherwise.

A gas leak: that was the story used to cover up the impromptu explosion--Mugen's idea. The white wolf (Conway's disreputable lackey) had felt responsible for the incident considering it was his responsibility to shield the student's room, so he did his best to help make things right--or as right as it could possibly be given the circumstances.

Dante hadn't had the heart to tell the wolf that greater powers were at play than just simple misfortune.

Regardless, he felt the explanation to be too cliche. The officials had run with it, though, especially after Bree (the team's computer and technical wizard) had made up some false architectural plans and electrical readouts to further convince authorities.

The fact that heroes were involved, however, alerted those on the scene that something else was going on. When Raymond arrived that idea was driven further home.

The black cat had felt the shift in mood from concerned to skeptical at an instant. Conway had as well, and Dante knew what he'd needed to do. Like communing, he altered memories much more often than he liked. That had been the second time in two days. Of course, after an arcane mind-prod, everyone believed the gas leak without a doubt, and no one remembered that there had been a burnt body huddled in a corner and awaiting the coroner. The boys, to everyone but the heroes, had been out and were nowhere near the campus when the explosion occurred.

Pulling his arms back to himself, Dante turned away from the fire and let his gaze fall upon Seth. He was in a pair of forest green pajamas that Raymond had bought, his head propped on a pillow, as comfortable as Dante could make him. Still, the black cat saw the boy shiver. It was another sign that he was alive and feeling, but Dante padded noiselessly to him and pulled a cotton blanket from the back of the couch, laying it across him and pulling it up to his neck. He then knelt beside the leopard, placing his right hand on his chest and feeling his heart beating away, both a miracle and an astounding act of super powered healing.

Surges of manifest energy, the catalyst of most powers, flowed up Dante's fingers from within Seth. He held his paw on the leopard's chest longer, the energy eventually radiating throughout his own body, and soon the aches from his communing dissipated and stopped. He removed his paw, ears flicking to the boy's soft breaths, and rubbed his fingers together. An arc of green static popped between his digits. He stood and smiled, shaking his head.

Whatever power this boy held...it was something Dante had never witnessed before in his life. He'd seen regeneration, he'd been healed by magic and powers alike, but what Seth had done, what he was doing, trumped those abilities ten-fold.

Seth's body two weeks ago, when Dante had transported it to Sentinel Hall (the newest facility used by the heroes, a high-tech living and training facility hid amongst the Colorado Rockies), showed nothing to denote recovery of any kind. All of the equipment and medical doodads had verified that, but Dante had felt something at work in the boy's body, that strange energy radiating out. It was weak, and at first Dante barely even perceived it, but it continued to grow. The cat asked to observe the body, and he wasn't denied. Good thing, too.

Left in the facility's lab overnight, the leopard's internal workings had regenerated; his organs were as good as new and functioning properly, brain active, heart beating. The next 24 hours, the blackened flesh from the explosion cracked and chipped away to show fresh, glistening muscle and connective tissue stretched and adhered to the boy's frame. The next day his skin grew back, and the day after his fur sprouted plush and new. On the fifth day he was whole as if nothing had happened to him at all, but he didn't awaken. All had returned to the leopard, but he was an empty vessel, hence the communing. The boy was alive, but his spirit had been trapped between existence and nonexistence, awaiting a guide to bring him back.

And he was back, of course. Crouching beside him, Dante could sense the boy's spirit thriving and strong. Everything was going to be alright for the moment.

Well, almost everything.

"Hello, Conway," Dante said, unabashed. He crossed his arms while still looking over Seth, having sensed his new guest when he'd entered a few minutes earlier. "I see you survived your trial."

There was a shuffling of clothing and a dull chuckle from near the door. "It wasn't a trial."

Dante turned. Conway, eyes red-rimmed and drooping, fur and clothes unkempt, sat in an arm chair beside the cracked door with his legs spread and outstretched. The lynx's muscled body sagged, his head lolled back as he stared at the ceiling. Dante didn't need magic bolstered empathy to see that Conway was exhausted.

"You were given a task," he said stepping toward the lynx, "To help repair this mistake. Deny it if you will, but it was a trial of sorts." The cat's face was placid, but concern for his friend weighed heavy on him.

Conway hadn't meant for anything to go wrong, but the consequences were his alone to face. After a chance encounter some time ago with the Rhykard, when the lynx had been sneaking around at League college's orientation in the guise of a student, he'd sensed the wolf's potential and had acted on his instincts. When Totemic's heirloom had reacted to the boy, he'd known for sure. But, by then--even with his precautionary actions--it had been too late.

"Did you succeed?" Dante asked him.

"Yes," the lynx groaned. His head drooped forward into his awaiting paws. He rubbed his eyes hard, tufted ears back. "I'm beginning to see why you hate altering memories." He looked up at Dante, golden eyes dulled somewhat. "That was probably the hardest thing I've ever done, lying to their families like that."

Dante smiled sadly. "It's part of our duties. They had to believe their children were safe." He padded over and patted the lynx's shoulder. "You did well, and their children are safe. You afforded them peace of mind."

"But for how long?"

Dante could only shrug and take back his paw. Conway smiled weakly and reclined once again.

The black cat could feel the strain on the lynx's consciousness. Thanks to his shape-shifting powers, he'd had to play the part of Rhykard Dean and Seth Reesman when, inevitably, their parent's had come calling after the incident was aired on the local news. Like any loving family, they knew where their children were being housed, and the explosion in their dorm had them all thinking the worst. So, transformed into either boy, Conway had put the moms and dads (and younger siblings) at ease. He'd even gone home with Rhykard's widowed mother to stay for a few days, the she-wolf's fear of almost losing her son proving to be too much. Seth's father was much the same, the elder leopard and Seth's step-sister never letting Conway/Seth too far out of sight. Seth's step-mother had been more relaxed, but she was just confident that her adopted son could take care of himself. Conway was glad that she was right.

Sighing, Conway sat up and peered toward Seth on the sofa. "How is he?"

Dante smiled. "Fine. He could awaken at any time."

"Good. I was starting to worry," Conway said. He flicked a clawed finger toward the communing candles. "I kept checking in every hour like you asked. You were gone for a really long time."

Dante smiled, his tail swaying around his sock covered feet. "Time is a lost concept when you crossover. A few minutes there could be a few hours here, a few days even."

"I'm glad it didn't take that long."

"As am I," the cat said, walking toward his make-shift kitchen--a small sink and gas stove at the north wall. "Tea, my friend?"

The lynx's ears perked. "That would be nice."

Dante pulled a teapot from a cabinet and set it on the oven. He pulled a large bottle of water from a cupboard and poured it into the pot, setting it aside once it was full then lighting the stove.

"So, how is everyone getting along today?" Dante asked, pulling a stool next to the fire. Conway was still sitting by the door, and the cat ushered him nearer. He obliged, lifting his chair and bringing it along, the wooden feet clapping against the stone floor beside Dante. "Did you happen to stop by the common room on your way here?"

Since their team of young supers was assembled, Dante had been too busy watching over Seth to visit and see how everyone was fairing. Conway had become a mentor, alongside Chloe and Willem (Lady Lilith and Red Corona), watching over the youngsters and training and educating them.

Conway sat and the firelight brightened his features, flames lapping in his tired eyes. "They're fine, most of them. Max and Anthony have struck a chord with one another, and Carson's taken Rhykard under his wing."

Dante nodded. "I'm amazed Raymond agreed to let Carson partake in this."

Conway chuckled, running a paw through his feathery hair. "That boy is his father made over. He wouldn't take no for an answer, and there was no budging his decision...even with super strength."

"Raymond's resolve, moral, and powers in the form of a young-adult," Dante said, a laugh building in his throat. "Oh dear."

"He'll be fine. Mayor Belle has taught and raised him well," Conway said. He tapped his fingers across the chair's armrest. "He's mastered his abilities already."

"As have Max and Anthony," Dante added.

"Yeah," Conway said. "They're helping Rhykard with his. It'll take some time, but he'll get there."

"Totemic's heir," the black cat whimsied, rubbing his chin and staring into the fire. "Who would have thought?"

Conway didn't answer. He grunted and changed the subject. "Mackenzie needs some work, too. She keeps picking fights with the boys, especially Anthony for some reason. He hasn't humored her yet, but it's annoying him. And that hammer she drags around is hell on the flooring."

"What of Montgomery?"

The lynx shrugged, glancing sideways at Dante who didn't meet his eye. "He just...keeps to himself for the most part. He's taken a shine to Max, though." He chuckled at his undue pun, given Max's power over light energy. "The big dog is really protective of him."

"That's good," Dante said. "The fox will come out of his shell. He's just wary of his abilities."

Conway chuffed. "Can you blame him?"

Silence. The teapot whistled, the shrill sound piercing in the quiet. Dante stood, turning toward the oven, water bubbling from the pot's spout and sizzling on the hot grill.

"No. I cannot."

Dante spooned some tealeaves into cups, dousing them in boiling water and allowing them to steep. After five minutes he left his untouched, but he poured cream into the lynx's and plopped in three sugar cubes, remembering how he liked it. He handed Conway the cup and sat, holding his with both paws up near his chin, the aroma soothing and steam warm on his face. Conway swirled his drink absent-mindedly.

They sat in silence for a while just gazing into the fire and drinking their tea. This was an old ritual of theirs from years ago, from years of companionship and things in common. Admittedly, it had been far too long. Dante accepted years ago that he was a recluse, but wayward souls like his and Conway's couldn't help but mesh. They enjoyed each other's company even in silence. They understood each other's workings, and respected boundaries. Dante had never had such a good friend, and neither had Conway.

The lynx was the first to break the silence. His voice was almost a whisper. "I've been dreaming again."

Dante surveyed his friend calmly, placing his teacup on the floor beside his chair before folding his paws in his lap. "Is it of him?"

"Yes," Conway sighed. "Always."

The black cat simply nodded and crossed his legs, looking more like a therapist than an archmage. "I take it that this is why you appear so tired, and not because of our recent debacle?"

The lynx nodded. "I thought you'd helped rid me of this, but..."

"When did the dreams start again?"

Conway's ears slowly drooped, muzzle turning down. He stuck a finger into his tea and stirred, the pain from the heat blistering but oddly calming. He wiped the soggy furred digit on his pants leg and shrugged. "Earlier this year, I guess. Just snippets. I'd moved to Bellemont after taking Raymond's teaching offer, and they started when I got settled in."

"They grew worse over time?"

"Yes," the lynx said. He sagged and let out a breath, eyes all but clenching as he looked to Dante. "Do you think it's the town? The memories it sparks?"

Dante didn't have to think too long. "It's possible. We've all come to terms with the war in different ways, the consequences. You pushed the memories away--with my help--to forget them, but the scars are too deep. Like us, the land recalls what happened. Those battles, all of those deaths, are cut into the very bedrock of Bellemont. The city is a scar in itself, healed but blemished. We lost much." He looked at Conway whose eyes were beginning to glisten with tears. "_You_lost much, my friend."

"I just miss him, Dante," Conway said, his voice cracking. His teacup trembled in his hand. The fire shone bright on the lynx's sorrowed face, highlighting his vulnerable state and causing Dante's heart to ache.

"Then why do you wish to forget?" the cat asked, leaning forward. "I've said this before, but your memory of him should be cherished not admonished!"

"Too much pain," Conway sobbed. He took a tentative sip of tea, lips quivering as he drank. "He's gone, and I've never forgiven myself for what happened."

Dante's tail slapped the floor. He reached out and lifted Conway's face, emerald eyes hard as he gazed at his friend. "Garth died honorably."

"He died because of_me."_

"No," Dante said, voice strong. "He gave his life for you." The black cat patted his friend's face warmly. "The love you felt for him? Embrace it, Conway; embrace his memory, and embrace his legacy."

Conway sniffed and held his teacup in his left paw, wiping his eyes with the right. "Rhykard?"

"Rh...Rhy...Wh...What..."

The two men looked over toward the couch then back at each other. Dante rose, pushing Conway back down as he tried to do the same. Seth had opened his eyes by the time Dante neared, and the leopard gasped as he peered at the dapper cat from his dreams, mouth hanging ajar.

"You," the boy said.

"Me," Dante acknowledged, smiling as he crouched beside the sofa. "How do you feel, Seth?"

Seth gazed around the room at the hundreds of books and baubles, scrolls and shelves and stone walls. His eyes found Conway sitting by the fire, and he gasped yet again, straining to sit up.

"It's alright, my boy," Dante said as he placed a paw on the leopard's back for support, compassion shifting to concern. "You're in no danger here."

"Dr. Conway," Seth said. "Magus..."

Conway had risen, wiping away any tear streaks from his fur, and he lingered over Dante's back. "Calm down, Seth. You're fine."

"But Rhykard..."

"Rhykard is perfectly fine, too," chimed Dante. "You've both been through much--you especially."

Seth's brow beetled and he wiped some crust from his eyes. "What do you mean? Where am I?"

"My private study," Dante said.

Seth's eyes widened and he took short, exasperated breaths. He looked all around the room much more observantly. Conway was afraid the boy was having an attack of some sort, and he was right.

Freak out? No--geek out.

"Oh my God, I'm in Magus' private study with Magus himself and Skinwalker I don't know why but this is the coolest thing ever can I have your autographs..."

"Seth!" Dante barked, snapping his lithe fingers. The leopard immediately stopped yammering and focused on the cat.

Conway was covering his mouth, trying to hide his laughter, but his broad shoulders bouncing were giving him away. "Oh yeah, he's back."

"What happened to me," the leopard asked. "Why am I here?"

"My dear boy..."

So Dante told the story.