Smoke. Brimstone. Weightlessness.

A split second rushing of sound in her ears, followed by a distinctive bamf!

And then she, Logan and Gainsborough were standing in the middle of a massive, circular, oak-lined room, torch-light streaming down on them-

Stray only had time to notice that many of the Company of Miracles were watching her before she was violently, spectacularly sick.

She fell to her knees, the impact smashing painfully into bone; In an instant ebony dark hands- Ororo’s- were on her while someone held a glass of water to her mouth and coaxed her to drink. She shook her head, still not sure what had happened- Had Gainsborough tricked them somehow?- but before she could scramble away the cup reappeared, this time held by Logan. Concern but no surprise in his eyes as he offered her the water, one hand easily snaking around to stroke the back of her head, the touch soothing against her hair. He’d put on the clothes Gainsborough had brought with him when he summoned them, and he was protected from her touch. “It’s all right, girl,” he was saying softly, “happens to everyone, first time they travel with Kortus-”

Stray took a sip of the liquid, her fingers trembling.

“Next time,” she muttered, “Warn me.”

For a moment Logan smiled, looking years younger. “If I’d done that, cariad,” he said, “you never would have agreed to come.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help her smile.

Strong hands pulled her to her feet then, Ororo’s elegant fingers resting lightly on the small of her back. Logan’s hand falling to the nape of her neck, the skin protecting by the veil of her hair. She shivered and without a moment’s hesitation Logan pulled Gainsborough’s blue and yellow half-cloak from his shoulders, draping it around hers. Chaffing his hands on her arms, warming her. The blue man seemed to realise that protesting would do him no good; he muttered vindictively under his breath but let her keep the cloak. Stray wiped at her mouth with her hand, looking up, and this time she noticed Mistress Red and Master Summerisle staring at her; When they realised they had been spotted she had the distinct pleasure of seeing the apothecary blush.

A short, sharp beat.

“So you survived one another,” Red said hesitantly.

“That’s one way t’put it,” Logan said.

Scott gestured randomly to Stray’s threadbare clothing. “And now you two are..?”

Logan growled menacingly, putting that line of questioning firmly out of bounds.

Stray would be surprised if anyone ever dared ask her about clothing again.

Had to give the Company of Miracles their due though: they recovered quickly. Despite her dishevelled appearance, they studiedly paid her lack of gown and stockings no heed. “Please forgive us, Logan,” Red began softly, “We have much to atone for.” Both husband and wife winced, the guilt plain on their faces; The other members of the Company followed suit, everyone except Ororo, Gainsborough, and a thin brunette girl in a raggedy yellow and blue gown shifting guiltily from foot to foot. The girl was staring very hard at Stray. “You must understand,” Red was saying, “We thought, what if she had hurt you? What if she was one of Magnuss’ brood? There are so many like us who would harm their own…”

Irritation sparked through Stray. “I told you before,” she said. “I would never hurt Logan.” And as if in sympathy, or perhaps defiance, she threaded her fingers through his, the skin protected by the shirt cuffs he’d left hanging over his wrists.

This time he did not pull away.

The reaction was noted. “We do not doubt it,” Master Scott said, nodding. “We are glad to see you both safe.” And he busied himself with adjusting the red scarf he wore across his eyes, the gesture strangely youthful on such a man.

For a moment he almost like a small boy caught in some grave misdeed.

“So that petty apology’s why we’re here?” Logan barked.

Scott’s mouth thinned, arms crossing irritably over his chest. He looked…watchful. Like he knew Logan was not going to like what he had to ask. “No,” he said eventually. “The apology is not the only reason- Though it did need to be made. It’s just that…” The younger man squared his shoulders, seeming to steel himself. A thrill of apprehension went through Stray. “It’s just that, if something were to have happened between you and Mistress Gold, something… unfortunate… We would like you to tell us.” Again he straightened up, arms tightening across his chest. It made him look no older. “I’m sure you’ve heard that she is missing; If anything happened to her, it’s only right that her family should know.”

It clicked in Stray’s head then: So that’s why Gainsborough had really been sent to fetch them. Suddenly the man’s mission made more sense.

Logan was unmoved however. “Define “unfortunate,”” he drawled.

“You know damn well what I mean,” Scott retorted. “You have little control when in your animal state, and you have been known to react violently to those you care for being threatened.” Stray felt a tremor of guilt slide through Logan at his words, and resisted the urge to try strangling Scott- With difficulty. “Gold had been quite unkind to your-” Summerisle paused, apparently searching for a word for Stray that wouldn’t get him skewered- “Your favourite, and in your feral state an error of judgement might have been made-”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “I kill that termagant sister-in-law of yours and it won’t be an error of judgement, Scott,” he hissed. “It’ll be an act of public damn service.”

Red’s voice was angry. “Don’t speak of her that way!”

“I’ll speak of her as I please,” Logan snapped. “She insulted one who’s my own, one who did her no harm.” And he gave Stray’s hand a tiny squeeze, the movement more gratifying than a kiss from anyone else. Again she felt the dark-haired girl in the blue and yellow dress’s eyes on her; she pushed a shiver of unease away. “But if you’re wondering whether she met a lamb’s death in the wildwood,” Logan was saying, “then rest assured, she’s had no sight of me.” He shot Stray a sharp, feral grin. “I had more than enough pleasant company last night; I had no need of another’s.”

Stray couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard Ororo give a tiny, elegantly amused snort. When she threw her a glance however she looked sombre as a nun.

Red must have realised her error because instantly she subsided. The fight seemed to go out of her, worry making her shoulders slump. Despite her best intentions, Stray felt a trickle of pity go through her; After all, her sister was likely dead and she had no idea what had happened to her. They would not even be able to bury her…

“If she did not meet you on the road,” Red was saying now, “Then who did she meet? Who could have hurt her, powerful as she is?” She held her hand out to Scott and he squeezed it softly, pulling her to him. He looked as worried as she, though Stray doubted he liked Gold any more than Logan did. But there’s not a true lover born likes to see his sweetheart in pain. “There were tracks in the snow,” Red was muttering. “We found blood, the remains of her travelling great-cloak. But nothing of her body, she might as well have up and flown away for all the trace she left behind.” She looked up at Logan and Stray beseechingly, green-as-Spring’s-turning eyes bright with tears. Despite her best intentions, Stray felt a twinge of sympathy. “I know she wronged you,” the woman was saying, “And I know that in her jealousy she lied, but have pity; We’ve been together since the day that we were born, and if she’s gone…”

The elegant, graciously tranquil Mistress Red broke into tears, her shoulders shaking then. Scott rocking her in his arms and soothing her, comforting her as best he could. Stray didn’t need to have known Red long to understand that this sight was unusual; The Company of Miracles’ uniformly uncomfortable, stuttering-with-apprehension reactions told her as much. The dark haired girl Stray had noticed earlier darted forward, whispering softly to the apothecary. Helping her to her feet and- with a nod from Scott- leading the woman away. Stray turned to see Ororo shaking her head, Gainsborough along with her. They were murmuring together in the huntress’ own language, their faces mirrors of worry, of fear. Because clearly anything that would prove a danger to Mistress Gold must be formidable indeed…

Besides, Stray thought, whatever others may have thought of Mistress Gold, her sister was clearly both popular and loved; Nobody wished to see the woman in pain- Not even Ororo, and it was she who had risked so much to save Stray from the missing woman in the first place. The girl looked at her feet, guilt whispering in her ear: That night in the wildwood, the apothecary had saved her life just as surely as Logan had. The cold and shock might have killed her, had Mistress Red not nursed her back to health. Little as she liked to admit it, she owed the woman: Having a venomous Hell-scut for a sister was not Red’s fault. Logan must have read her expression because he leaned down, his lips a hairsbreadth from her ear. Stray felt the vibration of it down to her toes.

“You do know that plague-bitch will hurt you in any way she can, Stray,” he said softly. “Even if we find her, gratitude will not keep her from baying fer your sweet hide.”

And he tucked a single, loose lock of hair behind her ear, his expression troubled.

His hand hovered over her cheek just a second longer than Stray thought he intended, and suddenly they both looked away.

She shrugged though, rather than draw attention to it. That would lead to another argument, she knew. “I have no doubt of that,” she said softly. “I know what Mistress Gold is, even if her sister insists on being wilfully blind to her.” Some of the worry in Logan’s face seemed to ease, his expression clearing. At least, Stray mused, he seemed to accept that she had some sense. “But if we can help her,” the girl continued, “then we should do. It- it would eat at my conscience, to know we did nothing when there was a chance to help her sister in her grief.” She forced herself to look up at him. “And after all, you might want to stay here, to resume your life amongst these people…”

The thought made her heart stutter a little, because she knew that with Mistress Gold around she would never be able to stay.

As if he’d read her thoughts he reached out and touched her cheek, there where it was protected by the fall of her hair. Tipping her face up to meet his, hazel eyes serious and- for once- soft. “If you left, girl,” he said quietly, “I would go with you. It’s not you I don’t want, it’s the knowledge I’ve ruined you. The knowledge that I have taken something from you that can’t ever be given back.” She opened her mouth to ask whether he thought her innocence- her goodness- so fragile as that but he spoke over her. Apparently he wanted another argument as little as she did, and this was that could not be conducted with an audience present. “I will help them look for the devilrous witch,” he said softly. “If you wish it. I will make sure that she is brought home to her sister and her people. And then I will leave, Stray. With you. For you.” A small smile flitted across his features, his face showing that he was trying to lighten his words. The effort sounded hollow to Stray’s ears. “Besides,” he said, “if nothing else I’ll enjoy the infamy of being believed a lovely maid’s favourite-”

And as if his words had summoned catastrophe, the door behind him crashed open. A shape- looming, ominous, length stretched out like a great bird- darkening the doors. There was a flurry of snowflakes, hard and sharp and metallic as silver; They whirled around the room, cutting, tearing, rounding on the Company like knives- Like slivers- Like they could move with a will of their own. Those that tried to fight back were surrounded by silver snowflakes, hemmed in by them; The only person they seemed incapable of touching was Ororo and even her bow was of now use against so terrible a foe. For a split second it seemed that this inexplicable threat would best everyone and instinctively Logan moved Stray behind him, his form already beginning to shift, to turn lupine-

But then, as suddenly as it had appeared the storm… froze. Literally. The blood-streaked snowflakes stopping, hanging in midair as if gravity had, on them, no claim. For a second silence reigned, the members of the Company trying to understand what had happened. Logan’s massive bulk still pushed in front of Stray’s as she watched the beast within him howl to get out. And then, with the calmness of a wolf-mother on her first spring morning, a woman walked through the hall, pristinely white fur cloak draped over her, a great bristling cowl-hood hiding her face. Strands of platinum gold hair brushing and whispering down to her waist. Pale, snowdrop-white skin peeking from beneath her robes. Beside her there walked a young man, his form massive, his skin entirely silver; He was carrying a contraption Stray had never seen before- it looked like a harpoon thrower- and his eyes were utterly, immeasurably cold. Dead.

A long, subtle, tender-with-fighting breath beat.

“I’ve come to find the Company of Miracles,” the newcomer announced then, her voice soft and silky and terrifying. There was something about it that reminded the girl of Mistress Gold, something of that woman’s mocking tone. But if there was one thing she was certain of, it was that this woman was not Red’s missing twin. This woman was far too cold, far too passionless a creature to burn with jealousy at the thought of losing Logan to a Spring Maid. And as if to confirm that the woman nodded curtly in her direction, acknowledging her thought as though she had spoken aloud: The realisation that she shared the same ability as the apothecary made the girl’s blood run cold. “I’ve been sent by Mistress Gold to find the finest entertainers in the Twelvelands,” the newcomer was saying. “I need only the best performers to make merry at my wedding- Would that be all of you?”

And with a theatrical flourish worthy of any actress, she pulled her hood down.

Stray realised in that moment that-aside from her hair- the woman was made entirely from diamonds and snow.