Many weeks later...

The hour is late, not quite 3am, the night dark and moonless. The timing for the ritual has to be perfect for the spell to work. Had they more power to draw from, like perhaps the nexus, the timing might not have been so relevant. Alas, however, Mister Dewey and Mister Howe are forced to use their 'reserves". Since the breaking of the Unholy Triumvirate with the passing of their second most powerful, Mister Cheatham, they pair have been left with a lot less energy to spend. So small, inconsequential magics have been more costly than usual, requiring they use more of their personal energies to effect. But after tonight all that will change; reverting back to what it once was and restoring them to their former "glory' so to speak.

The lower region of the warehouse is lit with candles. The burning wax is thick on the air, a miasma of scent and an oily haze. The door leading into the room where Howe does most of his business since relocating to the warehouse is open wide. The room is bright, awash with a pulsating white light. At the far end of the room a raised platform the length of an average to tall man is draped with a bright red cloth. Candles set in gleaming silver candelabras surround the dais, encapsulating it within the brightest of the light. A podium, the size that would hold an overlarge book sits about ten feet to the north of the platform; the pair are perfectly aligned. The podium is currently empty; the platform however has chains affixed to four sides. They are coiled and resting atop the red altar cloth in an orderly fashion. Mister Dewey stands a few feet away from the platform, his hands resting atop his engraved cane, dressed immaculately in a tailored suit most likely seen in England during the late 1800's. He has a pleasant smile and a charming air, a southern gentleman kindly waiting the night's festivities". Yet behind the fa"ade lurks evil intent, it glistens in his eyes as he wets his lips with anticipation.

"Ahh, the prodigal son, I take it' You must be Alain D"Mourir; the one Howe can't stop raving about." Mister Dewey says as Alain steps into the room.

"Mister Dewey - it's a pleasure to finally meet you," Alain says, setting his cigarette back between his lips and offering his hand, as if facing another evil, possibly more profound than Howe, means not a damn thing to him. But it drops below the surface to grab the growing tumultuous mass within him, one that even as it grows, he has carefully learned how to master.

His work has progressed far in breaking him, and building up a new man in his place - a weapon, cold and precise.

The handsome young entrepreneur is dressed in brown trousers, a white shirt, a black tie and a trench coat. He doffs his fedora and finds a place to put it away, and takes his attention off Dewey mere moments at a time, grabbing more details from the room in each brief instance.

From a door behind Dewey, so cleverly hidden that until this moment Alain may well have missed it, steps two stocky looking men with a very familiar man held between them. Ian Miller is unconscious; he looks rather gaunt and pale, as if he's been barely kept alive during his past few weeks of imprisonment. The two men have glazed expressions; oddly enough they remind Alain of zombies he'd seen in a horror film or two. They drag the unconscious man to the platform and proceed to strap him down using the handy chains. Dewey watches with only a mild interest as he steps forward and takes Alain's offered hand. Dewey gives Alain's hand one firm shake before pulling away and stepping back to the exact spot where he'd been standing only a few moments before. His smile is jovial and wide, as if they were at a cocktail party rather then up to nefarious no good.

"Mister Howe will be along shortly. I must say you chose the new vessel quite nicely." He's complimenting Alain on something Alain hadn't actually done. Howe had given Alain the name of the man to take. Dewey turns his smile towards the captive. "Easy on the eyes, yes indeed, I am sure the women will take far more kindly to him now." His voice suggests that perhaps Cheatham hadn't always been so handsomely 'dressed". "I suppose you know what to do." He states coolly.

In the near distance, from that room where Alain suspects the partners may keep their "contracts" in fact, the sound of a door mechanically whizzing open is heard. A fall of footsteps growing closer echo hollowly down the dimly lit hallway and by the heft and weight of them it has to be Howe.

Alain hasn't the foggiest what to do, so he just nods to Mister Dewey and turns his head to watch Mister Howe. He'll have to go back and review the image orbs later to see his entrance and exit from that room, and what he came in and left with. Maybe he can do it later tonight' No....patience, Alain...

He exhales deeply, blowing out smoke towards the ceiling.

Howe steps into the room carrying a leather bound book. It's large and wide and he holds it very close to his body like a treasure of sorts. He smiles broadly to the pair waiting. "Mister Dewey, so nice of you to join us." Sarcasm taints his tone of voice as beady eyes rack over his partner rather coldly. That gaze shifts to Alain and an eyebrow arches ironically. "Mister D"Mourir, I am very glad you're here tonight. I think you will find this" "adventure" of ours quite interesting. Don't you partner?" A quizzical glance at Dewey but then Howe busies himself with placing the leather book on the podium. A silken bookmark hangs out the top edge and Howe flips the book open to that very page. A look to Dewey and Howe smirks. "Alain, you see that incense burner?" Howe notches his head in the direction of the ancient looking artifact sitting atop what is commonly seen as "his" desk. "I need to light the incense then step over here right behind my left shoulder and swing it back and forth. Gently now, this isn't some Olympic race, it's a ritual."

Howe turns his attention to Dewey. "You prepared him yet?"

"I thought it best to wait on you partner. Seeing as how suspicious you've been since?" It is Dewey's turn to smirk coldly at Howe. "The "incident"."

It might have been a snarl, that look that passed too quickly over benign looking features, but no, Howe is smiling cordially between Alain and Dewey. "Please, commence." Howe nods Dewey into action.

Dewey steps over to the unconscious man and pulling a vial out of his pocket sprinkles the contents over his body. He tucks the vial away producing a shiny tin about the size of his palm, he opens it and rubs the pad of his thumb over the white creamy substance inside then leaning over Ian he anoints his forehead with the stuff. Ian never moves, not even a flicker of eyelashes. Dewey slips the tin back into his pocket and steps away from the altar, moving to stand just behind Howe on his right. He lifts his hand and rests it on Howe's shoulder all the while smiling as if he's thoroughly enjoying the show.

Howe glances over to check Alain's progress. "Hurry it up, boy! We've got to get things rolling at the strike of three!"

...My God....what has he done" The voice of Kael rings quietly in Alain's head, in the furthest depths of his soul far beneath the surface, and even then, Alain has to struggle not to be unnerved by this contact. He "says" nothing back while Kael goes on. Do you have any idea what this is, DeMuer" This is big! And it doesn't belong here!

As Howe intones the last of the spell, Dewey opens the palm of his hand and in a flash the soul of Ian Miller is trapped in the gem he'd secreted there. The smile of triumph on his face compliments the rosy hue of his cheeks, no doubt a symptom of excitement. He turns to look at Howe sincerely gleeful. Howe on the other hand is livid.

"We need that soul to seal the deal!"

"No. We need that soul to vanish so that no one will know what we've done, fool." Dewey pockets the gem stone as he turns to look at the man still battling the chains. "See to it he's freed when he's clamed down some. I'm in no mood to replace broken furniture." Dewey turns to Alain and gives him a pleasant nod, as if they were passing one another on the Board Walk rather than committing the foul crime of stealing another's body for their own. "Nice meeting you, Mister D"Mourir. Do hope you enjoyed the show as much as I did." But before Alain can respond, Dewey wends his way towards the hallway and vanishes in the dim lighting beyond.

Alain is left with a very unhappy Howe who is scowling at the doorway with a look that screams murder. "That son-of-a-bitch! He'll pay for this!" Howe snarls low and dangerous, oblivious to the struggles of his other partner who is now stridently demanding to be set free or the raging untamed energy that has no where to go and is assailing them even now.

Alain tries his best to keep his expression calm and his eyelids lowered in relaxation, and to keep scanning the room for details....but the ritual wears on him rapidly, never mind his anguish over the suffering of Ian Miller. In spite of the medley of emotions running through him, the guilt tears at what compassion still remains in him, demanding immediate action when no sane course of action is possible....only to sit idly by and commit to memory the gem in which Ian Miller is ultimately sealed.

Kael whispers caution in Alain's ears as the demonic ritual proceeds, explaining much to him about the language Howe speaks in, though not what the words say, for the broken spirit of the Fallen does not speak that tongue. His eyes grow wide at the grotesque shadows on the walls, things out of his nightmares, but the angel speaks firmly, Peace, boy.

Around the time the shadow of Cheatham's true form appears, Alain drops the cigarette to the floor and puts it out, lest he grow any more enthralled, forget about it and burn his lips. But as the spoken words of Howe turn, and the energy in the room changes, Kael grows quite cold and serious...

That is Celestial magic, boy - that is the tongue of angels, words you should not be hearing until you've left this mortal coil, words that should NEVER pass the lips of such as these. I know not what the Secret-Keeper has done - yes, Alain, the Great Raziel! This book is not shaped as I remember it, but those are its words - what treachery has befallen Heaven"

Alain tries to shut Kael out, to write his words off as cunning and conniving, but instinct drives the Fallen beyond his usual desires. Demons have their hands upon material from the Secret Book of Raziel, and he finds it intrinsically wrong. Murder and treachery were his only taboos - this is far beyond him....Don't you get it' With these words, the miserable creatures you despise may wreak havoc on the armies of Heaven! The natural balance of the world could be destroyed forever! In spite of his treachery and tricks, Kael knows a terrible problem when he sees it.

The ritual ends, the angel goes silent lest he alert the demons to his presence, and Alain is left alone in the room with Howe. He sets the burner down and, to steady his nerves, fetches another cigarette for himself. "Is there anything we can do about it right now, Mister Howe?" he offers, ever jumping at an opportunity to demonstrate his loyalty to this man.

Howe's scowl deepens and he shakes his head. "Not right now, boy. He's gotten away with his little prank for now" for now." Howe joins Alain in sharing his vices, moving to take out an expensive cigar and lit it up. He puffs on it brutally as he pours himself a stiff drink " four full fingers of his chubby hand of scotch. He downs the drink and grits his teeth. "We'll get him though. Yes indeed, we'll get him." And Howe smiles with such delight that Alain knows in his gut that he's pulled something " a prank of his own perhaps" And maybe, just maybe it has something to do with Ian Miller"

"I look forward to it," Alain says, and is disturbed by his own ability to mirror Howe's smiles. He is silent for a few beats. "Will I be needed for....anything else tonight?" He eyes Cheatham's struggling form dubiously, doubting his fragile mortal body could handle the abuse that the demon could dish out. And the hour is late...

...but a different motive burns quietly deep within him, a secret kept between himself and Kael, one that will see him racing to the ancient library in Old Temple...

Howe notices Alain looking over at Cheatham and shakes his head. "No. Nothing else tonight, son. You did well, a fine job indeed. You leave him for the constructs to free. We'll let him out the chains when he's clamed down." But Howe sounds distracted and he's staring off into the middle distance as if his thoughts are more entertaining than Alain's company. "You go ahead, get yourself some sweet pussy to play with, eh' By the way, what did you do with the trash?" Sudden interest sparks in beady eyes as they fall on Alain. He's speaking, of course, about Lisa.

Alain's already moving for the door, replacing his hat when the lawyer speaks of Lisa, and he looks over his shoulder at the man....and smiles. "...You don't just throw out a nice porcelain doll like her with the rest of the garbage. She sits on my shelf right next to all my other favorite toys." The smile turns crooked, and he tugs the brim of his hat. "You take care, Mister Howe."

"Hmph. Yeah, you too son, you too." Howe mutters around his cigar, but he's distracted once again by his own dark plots and what Alain had to say seems to have registered and been dismissed. It is obvious Howe could care less what Alain does with the girl, or is that too some kind of fa"ade?

Alain bows his head quickly, and exits.

* * *

After carefully checking the various image orbs from his computer terminal in the DCH office (a strange hybrid, a typewriter with a somehow antique-looking plasma screen), Alain steps out of the office and into a downpour. He swears at it and at this strange and twisted turn of events and at the growing pain within that threatens to destroy him. He crosses the street and dodges down several alleyways, the lurking thugs and gangsters having learned by now to give this man a wide berth. He is pushing on towards Old Temple, spurred to a jog and then a run by the terrible weather and Kael's enraged words...

Bel glides gracefully to her feet and moves to his side. Kneeling down beside his chair she rests a hand gently on his leg. A slow even nod, those green eyes lock with his blues. "Yes, my friend, you are" We tried to warn you? as best we could." She doesn't push how stubborn he was into his face at this moment; she doesn't feel there is any need. "Alain, I want to pull you out now. You've done an excellent job, but I'm afraid" I need to take that book, you see?"

Belial would never ask another to do something like this. No, it's not her style. She realizes, albeit a bit too late, that this job is taking a terrible toll on Alain. She wouldn't dare presume he should stay in. That book" that's the ticket' that's exactly what Corwyn asked for. How eerie the Ancient knew beforehand. Belial once again shakes herself out of her personal reverie, focusing back on the Detective.

"It's over, sweets" You did an excellent job, but' go home and stay away from DCH from now on. Alright?"

"Belial....no." He rests his cigarette in one hand, and the other goes over hers on his leg, and he gives it a squeeze and looks up at her. "After what I did to Ian Miller, and what I saw him go through tonight....after what?s happened to Lisa....having even the smallest sense now of what they're involved in..." He smiles a touch. "...You know I couldn't back out anyway. If I disappear, go into hiding, God knows who of mine they'll kill in retaliation."

He breathes another sigh, a smokeless sigh....he looks down at their hands, and away at the floor, and that very faint smile returns. "Be practical, Bel. I know you've got it in you. I'm the ticket - I know my way around that office, and they let me in without batting an eye. They've made a very poor choice, trusting me....and we can win this by taking advantage of that. I can get that book, light those contracts on fire and burn their offices to the ground....and I'll get that book back to you, and my people will do what they can to keep me and mine alive....and you kill them, Belial. You send all three of them straight back to Hell, so they can never harm a soul again."

He is right of course. He's already in; the sweetest spot for everyone involved would be to leave him there. He has the access, hell; he controls that access these days" There is no way they would let Bel waltz in there and take their personal treasures; the grimoire and their contracts. But nevertheless Alain's suffering and it pains her to see the anguish in his eyes, the pain tearing him apart. Yet are they not just the same, she and he" Him mortal and her not so much' but maybe there really isn't any line, just like Corwyn always likes to say' The thought strikes out of nowhere but the meaning holds far more impact on her than she cares to admit.

She also understands that he feels invested. Lisa, that odd, delicate girl and this Ian Miller; they are Alain's attachments oddly enough, yet he would never have known of them had he not taken this case. Interesting his compassion, Bel isn't so sure she'd behave the same were she in his place.

Of course, reason wins out over guilt and Belial nods. "I will see them destroyed one way or another Alain. I promise we will take their power away from them so they cannot hurt any more of ours! And yes" You stay in" for now. But if things go south Alain, I want you to run away, ok" Get as far away from them as you can' I won't allow you to become another one of their casualties!"

Alain does what he's learned very well over the last two years, and in the previous months especially - he lies, and he does it extremely well. "I will, Belial....When the shit hits the fan, I'll get myself underground." It helps that it's a partial truth....he plans to stay just out of reach, but close enough for Howe to commit his resources until Alain's "army" can wear him down and the Bloods can blindside him. Hell of a plan for a man of only twenty-two years.

He turns her hand over to squeeze it again, and smiles at her, bowing his head a bit. "Thank you, Bel..."

And Bel buys his lies" maybe she could have seen through them had she looked long enough, or maybe there is a part of her that simply wants to believe that everything will work out right in the end" Always the skeptic she's attempting a new leaf so to speak and grasping instead at optimism. It sure as heck feels a lot better" Full lips curve into a sincere smile as her fingers entwine with his. He's so close she can feel the heat of him in waves that match the rhythm of his heartbeat and it distracts her, dragging her thoughts from the situation to far more" dangerous territories. She lifts her free hand and rests it lightly against his cheek, feeling the stubble of his beard under her palm. Staring into his blue eyes she feels that tug of attraction, pulling her closer and closer still until their lips are a hairsbreadth apart.

There are no words; so much to say and yet nothing comes distinctly to mind" only the thought of his nearness and the desperation of his situation. Perhaps she could lay the blame on his humanity' It drew her to him like a flame entices the moth, but Belial knows better" It is much deeper than just his mortality; it is something about his soul that calls out to hers. A lingering darkness or does she sense in him his own need for redemption' It may be as simple as guilt; she is after all putting his life on the line. He is mortal; his odds of survival are low. The choice to involve him rests as heavily on her and Sid as on him and his stubbornness. So many thoughts colliding leave her somewhat breathless and far too close for her own good. Yet she lingers, staring into those haunted blue eyes, as she seeks for something; something deeper inside of him that might give her greater understanding.

Alain watches her move closer and feels her intertwine their fingers, and assumes then what she's been doing lately....providing comfort. Only when she touches his face and he sees the way she's looking at him, does he put two and two together, and it comes as no small surprise to him.

Belial....his ally and friend, but also his mysterious and powerful House Onyx contact, is attracted to him, Alain, a simple mortal human' He wonders if it's his 'curse,' his rider, Kael, and at once dismisses it. No....It makes sense, now...

And the truth of it is, he needs the comfort. He finds it in lovers' arms to silence the world outside, to wipe away any thought of his case, if only for a little while, someone to care about for the night so he does not remember the women he's failed to protect....Alain has only the smallest realization of this, and yet it's enough to break his heart all over again....Belial understands. He can see it in her eyes, the compassion for him in spite of her full knowledge of his actions....and no judgment. He has shared much, and felt judged by this woman very little.

He only allows her to stop for a fraction of a second, that hairsbreadth away. He puts his cigarette out between his fingers, cradles her neck with his now free hand, and presses his lips to her, letting them communicate his need in place of his eyes as they drift shut.

Belial feels the need but it is confusing, is it hers, is it his" It doesn't really matter, he's too close, her attraction too strong. All reason and ration flee as she yields to his lips, intuitively her body melting up against his, raising them both a little higher on his chair. The spicy cinnamon scent of hers surrounds them like a warm comforting blanket, filled with pheromones". It is an instinctive reaction, an indication of her growing desire for him, yet it beckons to greater abandonment. It is the trick of the Succubus she once was, so ingrained in her now that it happens only when she's reached this state of excitement.

Full, red lips part invitingly, willing him inside the warm, hungry depths of her as the hand on his cheek inches its way into his hair, fingers coaxing and gentle and wispy, light touches meant to entice. Without thinking, an action so inherent to her race, she reaches out telepathically as well, brushing along the mental barriers of his mind, requesting his permission rather than invading. Everything seems to fade away leaving only him and the feel of him against her.

Belial can't catch her breath, nor does she want to. She allows herself this moment of utter indulgence. Giving over to him what she senses he needs and she wants. But she hasn't kept any clarity and the being hiding inside has been all but completely forgotten, overlooked in lieu of what could prove a foolhardy move on both their parts. Still" reason has fled and all she has left is the raging need and the driving desire. A taste of him will not do' she wants the feast.

He's cast his spell, unwittingly, playing off of Belial's compassion for him....and now she casts hers. He's had only very limited experience with pheromones this potent before, and effective resistance is simply beyond him. His tongue is coaxed out into her mouth, and she can taste the cool metal of his tongue ring as he is driven by her seduction beyond his doubts, though a gentle surge in his passion. He traces all the delicate little curves of her ears and buries his fingers in her hair, shifting in his seat to welcome her into his lap.

As she goes beyond the barriers and begins to reach deep, to fish, the tired and foggy mind of Alain might not have had the power to respond anyway....but Kael does. He has been judging the situation coolly until he decides to attempt to take control of it. Howe, is the only word that Kael speaks, a simple warning. Alain's eyes open, seeking Belial's.

Belial stiffens against Alain, pulling away from him almost as if she'd been suddenly burnt. Green eyes widen and seek his blues. "We" can't do this."

Belial is staring at Alain with a mighty odd expression. She seems terribly sad. She shakes her head then straightens and nods.

"Yes, we can try it at least?" But she isn't sure and unfortunately it shows in her eyes. Her concern is real, tangible and just on the edge of making all this seems like a horrible tragedy, aimed at marring the pair of them. "It would be best if you held the scent of sex from us on you as well" Marks" that will convince them?" Belial doesn't comment as to why, she simply looks down at the carpet at her feet and slowly turns away from him.

Time spent Below wasn't always a cakewalk for Belial. There was a time, after the third Great War, when she'd been sent as punishment to serve the lust-filled in the Second Circle of Hades. She'd lost that war, and in return had been made a whore to any with a mind to use her. She has never spoken of this time with any save two, Sun and Gabriel. Sun because she's Bel's closest friend and roomy. Gabriel because he had taken advantage of Belial at the time, using her no better than any of the demons had. It was a token granted him by Morningstar as victor of the battles. Belial still carries the bitterness of the event even today. Over centuries and centuries of time there are some things that nothing ever heals and this is one of them for her. But then again, Angels do love to hold their grudges"

Belial moves to lean against her desk, staring down at the rug as if the intricate design is utterly fascinating. "You will forgive me, yes?" But she doesn't meet his eyes. Instead she keeps her gaze down.

"...You made a simple mistake, Belial, one I shared in," he says quietly. And bit by bit, that compassion she had showed for him, he turns back around on her. He sees her suffering the way he does, the reason she understands. He doesn't know her past, what she's been made to do, or that she ever spent time in a literal Hell, but he knows she's in this with him now, and suffering the same way.

"Maybe it's nothing to do with Kael..." He crosses to her slowly, running a hand down her arm to play with her fingers, maybe offer some small degree of comfort. His other hand rises to her face, lifting her chin gently, and he whispers to her, "Maybe....just in this moment....we understand each other."

"I forgive you," he breathes, as he angles his head to begin their kiss anew.

He is like a delicious treat that cannot be denied. As his lips claim hers Belial fights a frantic internal battle. One side screaming how this will complicate things, making them much worse, how much harder. The other side however whispers of decadence and pleasure, there is even an allure of the forbidden fruit she'd made Alain. A mirror really of the inner turmoil she faces on a daily bases. The darkness offers a twisted sense of freedom, of abandonment, while the light struggles to shine through the murky morals of the once powerful demon. Bel equates sex to sustenance as well as pleasure, but mortals have all sorts of ethics and morals attached to their mating.

Belial's path to her personal redemption has been peppered by this conflict. Some choices she made have resulted in tragic circumstance. The loss of her daughter, Rae is a fine example; wanting to do what Bel felt right alienated the very thing she was attempting to protect. Rae saw her mother as the betrayer, not as the protector and Bel lost Rae because of it. Vincent' Belial hadn't turned on him, but she'd done what she felt was right, out of a sense of justice and loyalty to the Family. That had proven an abysmal failure, resulting in Vincent's aggressive attacks against the very people Bel was trying to protect.

The path to redemption hasn't been very successful, and yet' she still attempts to traverse it. Yet, behind it sits the whispering darkness" and the temptation. It would be easy to fall back into the abyss, let it erase the guilt, the fear, the pain that redemption has seen fit to grant her. In fact, when she walked in darkness she was never plagued by all these concerns of compassion and justice. She had the freedom to do as she pleased without worry over consequence or repercussions. But' those days are gone and as loath as she is to admit it, she can't go backwards. It's simply too late, Pandora's Box has already been opened.

Even as she sorts through her thoughts, her body betrays her desire for the Detective. She responds hungrily to his attentions, pulling him in closer as her lips ravage his with a deliberate thoroughness as if intent on stealing his breath away. Small hands seek out hidden spots of pleasure, the caress of fingers gentle, light and teasing; an erotic exploration intent on finding what tempts him to the edge of reason. All the while her body moves with a nearly hypnotic slow rhythm against the length of his. The dichotomy of desire and passion against reason and right can't seem to stop Belial, or quiet the sudden, inexplicable need to know every inch of him.

As much as she wanted to bury herself in Alain, and forget everything, she can't. What they are doing could hurt too many people, Alain included. She's insane allowing this to continue and yet' nothing her mind says stops the demand of her body.

Belial is caught up in a passion greater than she ever expected and it has shaken her to her very core.

Alain, for his part, has justified this decision, this course of his action, in his own mind. It is not a matter of what is right or what is wrong, but instead a matter of what is necessary in order to ultimately do what is right. At first he reached out to her for comfort, and now he reaches out because he feels he must.

He cannot deny an attraction Belial in the compassion they share, and that she is, for reasons his mortal mind cannot figure out, unusually alluring. Her pheromones work at him and find little resistance, few barriers to break down. His tongue explores her again, seeking a warm embrace within her. Already she moves wantonly against him, and he lets his hands wander the same as hers, slipping under her clothes to get at her skin.

It happens in slow dribbles, a pause here, a hesitation there, but at long last reason restores itself and Belial pulls away from Alain. Breathless and flushed she slides along the desk until they are no longer touching. Her clothes in disarray, she busies herself straightening them; however it is obvious her thoughts aren't on the task. Refusing to meet Alain's blue eyes Bel looks everywhere else in the room as an unexpected silence continues to grow. With a shake of her head that sends short ebon curls dancing chaotic Bel finally speaks.

"We can't' I can't. This isn't' right. It's?" She doesn't know how to explain it; she just feels it like a tickle in her belly, that unease that eats away at the soul. It's screaming at her loudly and although the passion tugs like a live current, Belial keeps her distance. "We have to' we have to keep our minds on the goal, Alain."

Too many people have already been hurt; Belial refuses to add to the numbers. This would be an impulsive, thoughtless act, it could ruin everything" If she's not careful it could ruin what she and Alain share; a friendship. No, he is not a toy and she wouldn't want to toss him aside" It would complicated everything; from the job to her personal state of mind. No, she can't do this. She has to keep some perspective to ensure he survives. And that DCH is brought down, she can't forget the primary here. The demonic trio must be stopped.

"We need to focus on what we're going to do now, Alain" Not on?" Lustful wanderings of destructive bent, "Our desires?"

He pauses when she speaks, and after, puts a little distance between them, resting his hands on the inside of her elbows. Her pheromones have been....potent, and he breathes a very deep sigh, bowing his head until his brow touches hers, as he struggles to get his desires back under control. After she is finished, he sighs again and lifts his head, and nods at her.

"...We can cover this up....one way or another, we can....The scent will fade with time, and I think I'll be able to avoid the partners....But are you sure" That you want to do this - mislead Howe about ambushing you - some other way, if we're able at all?"

Bel shakes her head vehemently. "No, there is no other way. It is the only way. You will take me to them, Alain" we are going to make them believe." Belial must pay penitence for what she's done. Of course, she daren't say this aloud for certainly he would seek to reassure her otherwise. But Belial doesn't need platitudes, or false reassurance, she needs action. In fact, she's been itching for it for weeks now. This event with Alain cements it; Bel needs a good violent confrontation or three. Who would have ever thought she'd fondly recall the days of the Angelic assassins"

She drags in a deep shuddering breath as she fidgets with her clothing. "I think I have a plan?"

He lets go of her slowly, though it pains him on another level to do so - he's denying himself that basic comfort. He leans up against her desk beside her and runs a hand through his damp hair....He can still taste her lips on his own, and the feeling of her body stays at the forefront of his mind, for the time being.

"I'm listening..."

Belial fights down the urge to turn and rush back into his arms. It's a struggle and one she fears she very may well lose if she's not very careful. She runs a hand through short ebon curls, a gesture that speaks of her inner agitation as she drinks down a steadying breath.

"Alright' We can stage it out of the Red Dragon?" Where every one will jump to conclusions, but even that will feed into their attempt at illusion and deception here. "We can do it kind of late" in the evening." When less people are around to make comment' "And I'll come in acting already angry and out of sorts, I can easily give the impression that I have been drinking too' You can pick me up, so to speak" We'll leave together and" and?" She nips down on her lower lip thoughtfully. "We need to spend enough time alone that they will believe we were occupied" and I should" leave marks" just to be safe."

Belial flushes red with her own thoughts, but she doesn't bother to share them with him.

He's nodding along for a while....but at the word 'marks,' he grins.

"...You mean a hickey, Bel?"

"Along those lines" yes," she says as she turns her back on him to walk around the desk. "A long, long time ago, I ah, um' Suffice it to say I had a trademark so to speak" I'll leave it on you. They'll know what it means?" And she leaves it at that; a mystery.

"So' we should ah, um' When do you think we should do this?" She tosses the ball into his court gratefully, as it means avoiding any further details.

His thoughts begin to stray as to where she could leave this mark....Bad Alain, bad!

"...What's going to happen after the 'ambush'?" He looks at her. He's thinking about 'H-Hour.'

"We can assume all hell will break loose" Once they have me, I am pretty sure they will drag out their arsenal" that book. We will need to get it away from them before they can use it against me" So we need to figure out a way to convince them I am helpless and harmless long enough for us to take that book, burn their contracts and get out of there" In fact' You will get yourself out of there once you give me to them, Alain, I just see no other way"

"Here's what we're going to do?? She says with confidence and then begins to outline her plan. Neither Bel nor Alain could know how soon or quickly things would spiral out of control. For now they work to gain the upper hand and hope DCH buys what they are going to be selling them. Each in their own way is trying to plot how to keep the other out of the thick of things. Too bad the Fates have other ideas.