In complicated rook endings the most important rule is one laid down by the author: the rook's place is behind the passed pawn in order to hold it up, behind one's own in order to support its advance."

It was late on a Thursday evening. She had just finished cleaning the music room as she always did. Top to bottom. Dusting every nook and crevice, the tops of books, the bottoms of shelves this process took longer than necessary as nothing was ever really dusty or dirty. It was all routine. She did not do these things because she afraid of dirt. No, she accepted grime as an every day part of life. The cleaning was her way of expressing some semblance of control over her life. When the cleaning finished she then played the grand piano to an audience of one, Quinnley, the disinterested cat. He usually sat on the window sill staring out the window into the great dark forest that surrounded the house. The trembling of notes echoing through the room out into the hall."

"Fin.?"

She slammed her hands onto the keys the dischordant, bwong, that followed sent Quinnley scurrying into the kitchen. Her shoulders slumped as she turned away from the piano with a glance to the clock on the wall. It read eleven thirty. Time for a shower and then for bed. Leaving the room with one last look before turning off the lights, but when all is white even in darkness everything seems to glow."

A scalding hot shower and skin abrasion later Fury was tucked into bed and staring at the ceiling with her hands clasped across her stomach. The oxiodized silver and gold rings staring along with her. It was quiet nights like this she heard their songs. Normally, they were whispers on the wind. Twigs breaking in the forest. Limbs snapping off trees. Echos in the distance. In silence, though, it was not silent. There was a chorus of heavenly voices. She twisted one ring, then the rest. The curtains fluttered on a winter's breeze. Even in winter she slept with the windows open and the snowfall from the previous weekend muffled the air. Winter had her own song.

Fury rolled over extending her arms from the cozy folds of the comforter into chilly air of the bedroom. The moon's light shining on her hands, her fingers, those rings that never her fingers. Souls wrapped up in song, silver and gold. They rested in her palms. No one knew. She never bothered to tell." Angels who fell. Angels who wanted their souls kept safe. She only had ten fingers. Ten souls and her own. He would not kill her for that reason."

The curtains fluttered again. The shadows shifted. Did she have fear it would have crawled along her spine like a spider across its web. The Fallen watched the shadows move like inky spires across white washed walls. Quinnley hissed. He had dealt with something like this before. But, this was different. This was was from somewhere deeper. that nightmares did not tread. Deep inside she knew she should be afraid, but it was impossible to cry out, or even shiver. Another passing breeze and all was as it had been. She curled her hands into tight fists. The rings were frosted over. Her fingers were like icicles. It was cold, even for her.?

Shoving the blankets off her as she rolled off the bed before walking silently over to the window. She paused and looked out, watching the retreat of the unknown into the night. Then closing the winter out she returned to bed to stare at the ceiling and listen to the songs of souls until she slept a dreamless sleep.

The clothes line ran from the porch to a T post in the side yard. She shook out the bed sheet, leaned up and clipped to the line. Then repeat.

This was the winter of her life,even as the equinox came and went leaving spring to settle in. This was Fury's winter. All was quiet and calm and precise. She had her daily and weekly routines. It was always the same. Minus the minor hiccup here and there. Those were few and far between.

Leaving the clothes and linens out on the line to dry Fury went inside where Quinnley was waiting expectantly by the back door. He sat mewling for food.

"Hush. You're a spoiled brat." Empty words as she pulled the boiled chicken from the fridge. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ " Do not act as if you were unaware that your dealings did not have consequences, Amitiel. This is a consequence. A dire one."

"I'm not a fool, Alexander. "

"You are. A damned fool. Longevity breeds boredom. And boredom breeds idiocy. Your trading of souls created some creature that wants your soul, and the souls of your kind-because it brings power. Because you didn't read between the lines...You were sloppy." She flipped a hand in dismissal to his statment. The gyspy slapped it down.

"What do you intend to do to fix this, my white witch?"

"Hush your mouth. I'll take care of it. I just have to ask for divine intervention."

"That should have been asked for when you started playing with fire. " He reached out,cupping her chin and ran a thumb across the line of stitches that ran from lip to jaw line. Fury jerked her face back.

"I could have killed him."

"Why didn't you?"

"I'm not allowed to harm humans." She flicked the halo around her throat. It sang.

"Ah.But, they can sign away their souls?"

"They're harming themselves. I'm not doing it to them. It is a matter of wording. I do not force them into anything. Besides, I do not do anything. I just get the signatures. Lusiphur does the rest. The Devil himself." She unconsciously made the sign of the cross. Alexander laughed.

"You can not deny what you are. Anymore than I will ever die or will live anything but a gypsy's life. But, you keep doing whatever you want, Amitiel. One day it will all catch up with you."

Those words would haunt her. Just like a shadow ghosts the light. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ On a different day a messenger delivered a letter to Fury's home, slipped it through the mail slot. She was not home, but had gone into town for Fio's birthday party. It held bad tidings and dark secrets. The quiet of Fury's life, the winter, was melting into a violent spring.

Run on for a long time Run on for a long time Sooner or later God'll cut you down Sooner or later God'll cut you down

Not unlike a reticulated python he shed his skin, but he was lacking the sinewy grace of the serpent. His form was human. Ten fingers. Ten toes. A mouth. Slits for eyes. But, lacking any distinguishing features. A sack of flesh and bone.

Go tell that long tongue liar Go and tell that midnight rider Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down

He'd found them. Souls like lighthouses on shore. The mother was human. She was dim-but still he dined, and left her barely breathing body for his minions to finish. He was after the father, and daughter. The father was a fallen angel. His soul glowed. And it was the celestial power he craved. What he had wished for. This was how he got what he wanted. The daughter was nephilim. She was not a nearly powerful, but still useful, still filling.

Well my goodness gracious let me tell you the news My head's been wet with the midnight dew I've been down on bended knee talkin' to the man from Galilee He spoke to me in the voice so sweet I thought I heard the shuffle of the angel's feet He called my name and my heart stood still When he said, "John go do My will!"

He had dined. And took a gurgling breath. His first breath in decades. Compliments of the family.

Go tell that long tongue liar Go and tell that midnight rider Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down

Now that he had a body. He could move more freely. He was not confined to Rome. But, there was still a debt to settle. A soul to take. Then, there was the Fallen to find.

You can run on for a long time Run on for a long time Run on for a long time Sooner or later God'll cut you down Sooner or later God'll cut you down

Well you may throw your rock and hide your hand Workin' in the dark against your fellow man But as sure as God made black and white What's done in the dark will be brought to the light

Fury was caught in a web of her own guilt of broken promises and misgivings. Fio said to set a trap. It was not that Fury was afraid. But, she didn't know who, or how it had been set loose in the first place. And that bothered her more than anything.

You can run on for a long time Run on for a long time Run on for a long time Sooner or later God'll cut you down Sooner or later God'll cut you down

Go tell that long tongue liar Go and tell that midnight rider Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down

He was gonna cut her down.

*Italicized- Johnny Cash- "God's Gonna Cut You Down."

There is a pocketwatch she wears. On its face there is an cartoonish owl, its body is bronzed. It is not a fancy pocketwatch. And it only works part of the time. Perhaps, once or twice a month.

During these hours when it is ticking away if one were to pass by her home on Old Bonhomme Road it would be dark and empty. There would be no Quinnley sitting in the window, no Hopkins in his hutch on the front porch. "They always came with her. Tucked away all snug their carriers. Quinnley yowling his discontent at being in a less than acceptable space, and Hopkins just sitting there as rabbits often do. All this while time is ticking away.

Her steps through town are not any more hurried than usual, but there is a sense of urgency as she presses through the early morning crowd heading for the docks and marketplace. A misjudge in her step or perhaps it was because she was carrying a cat and rabbit caused her to step in a puddle. She curses. "Shaking the excess water from her pantleg and shoe before she continues on. Her destination: The World's End Tavern."

It's a dive bar tucked away in a far end of "alley, not quite near the West End. The place is not well known. Or maybe it is not known at all. ?" A rickety sign swings on its rusty hinges. The paint is faded. So it read 'The World End' "Fury snorts and shoulders open the door. The place is empty except for the bartender. He looks up from his reading."

"Ahh. I knew you'd be here." "Tapping a gnarled finger to his temple."

"You're as bad as your brother." "She said, not without a bit of affection." The bartenders of the World's End Taverns had held her secrets. They were confidants as bartenders often were.

"Where to this time, Amitiel.?"

She flips open the pocketwatch, checking the time.

"The monastery."

"Ah. Visiting kin. Want a drink before you go"

"Stuart, you do not have glasses clean enough. You never have. " Setting the tithe down on the counter for herself and her animals. ?"Get on with it. You know how I hate the travel."

"You have four hours,Amitiel, then I'll bring you back." "

She nods and the last thing she sees is Stuart pouring out a bottle of black label whiskey. 'What a waste.' she thought.

X-Oriel-

He sits at his window at the monstary. It is all stained glass. The scene are all different. He picked them out. A woman picking flowers. A shooting star. "He seldom speaks and when he does it is rarely coherent. There is a knock at his door. He shuffles around on his stool to look at the door with dove gray eyes. "He neatly folds his hands in his lap and waits. The monks bring him his food and take him for walks. But, he likes to sit at his window.

Today, when the door opens Fury walks through. Oriel jumps up and runs over to her and nearly knocks her over with his hug. She barely has time to set down Quinnley and Hopkins. She smoothes down his hair, and presses a kiss to the crown of his head."

"Hello, Oriel. You are safe?""

He does not answer her, but he continues to hug her. She holds him and waves the monk away. He bows and leaves the two Fallen angels to their reunion. "Oriel has been here for years. And she visits him when the watch he gave her starts to tick. And only then. That's when the monastery was able to be accessed. "She had to keep him safe somehow.

Oriel moves away from her and goes to see Quinnley and Hopkins. "The cat is his favorite. Fury follows and lets the tabby cat out of the carrier. Quinnley is well traveled and knows Oriel. He is a gentle soul. But, time has broken him.

Fury sits and watches as the keeper of the tenth hour wanders about his room carrying Quinnley. He is humming 'Hallejulah.' "He stops and with a strange moment of lucidity.

"You are keeping me safe." It was not a question. But a statement.Perhaps, an answer to her question. It caught her off guard. He rarely spoke."

"Yes. I am.

Then he resumed his song. While, he alternated carrying around Quinnley and Hopkins. Fury cleaned his room. "And when that was done, she slipped his ring on his finger-letting him hold his soul, to be complete even when his mind was not. " But, it could not last. She had to take it back. Tarrasch could find him.-even with the wards set in place. Oriel leads her to his window. And just with every other visit he sits there and points out "pane to her. "She knows them all by memory.

" Until the light takes us." She kisses him lightly on each cheek "and steers him to sit down at the window. "There is a monk already waiting at the door. Picking up Quinnley and Hopkins' carriers, with a one last glance over her shoulder. But, Oriel is back in his world of stained glass dreams and heaven."

"Take care of him.?" The doors closes behind her. ———————— "How is he?" Stuart asks her.

She blearily looks at him from across the bar.

"He is well. The same. Safe.?" She looks tired. She looks sad.

"I'm going home. Thank you, Stuart." He nods and watches as the Fallen walks out the door.

It had not gone as planned. The Fallen was supposed to have shown up earlier, but by the time she had arrived the wards he had set in place were faltering and the Soulless were restless and hungry. Tarrasch marveled at his power though-at how long he could sustain the ward and the opening.

Again, he noted that she brought a companion. There was nothing he could do about either one of them, except watch through the decaying eyes of the Soulless he was using as a vessel. The fight was evenly matched-even though it was two against a half dozen or so. He would not make that mistake again. Even through the peeling skin of this creature he could feel her presence. He wanted to rip those rings from her fingers and siphon the celestial souls bound in them.

The dark twists and turns of his mind wanted to peel the skin from her skull. She'd turned him into a monster, he wanted to return the favor. And finally he wanted to dine on that inner glow of her's. The insult to the injury.

Tarrasch could do none of that here in the back country of Italy. Not while he watched- it was not this body he wanted to nourish.

Fury, he noted, suffered a crushing blow to her nose. A spray of blood painted the dirt. It sent her reeling. He almost wanted to reach out and grab her to drag her into the portal he'd set up. However, the edges were wavering. His power was not lasting now. He'd spent too much waiting for her to show up. His trap, while carefully laid, had been a waste of energy.

And now her companion was too close. He would have to wait until there was a break between the two. Tarrasch needed Fury alone. He did not have to wait long. He summoned more Soulless from the Void and dispatched them to distract the male. The decaying husks of humanity loped and cut a path between the Benandanti and the Fallen.

It was a flawless plan. Commanding the body to rush Fury and not allow her any time to react. He snatched a boneclaw into her hair, and smashed a palm against her temple. She'd latched onto the sagging flesh of forearms, which meant that the blow to her temple was only glancing.

Tarrasch just needed to drag her fifteen feet. She was being more problematic than anticipated. Breaking the Soulless' arm and fighting more than he thought a woman with a broken nose would.

Seven feet.

Six feet.

Four feet.

Almost there...He just had to throw her in...And it would all be over.

Then his view was cut off. He was left with the coppery tang of blood in his mouth.

And a vision of a pocketwatch that only worked once a month.

He wiped his mouth into a twisted grin, he knew what his next move would be.

*(Interpretation of live play w/ In Nomine Patris. Gracias. Gracias.)