Author's Note: No, I haven't abandoned this, it's mostly just been a case of me not being happy with this chapter and trying to bang it into something I am happy with. So not happy, but reasonably satisfied, I suppose. Enjoy.

Strange finished his studying with a yawn and rose to his feet. Exiting the library, he went up the stairs to his living quarters, where Wong was already waiting.

"I have prepared a bath, Master," Wong told him. "Dinner will be ready in an hour."

"Thank you, Wong," Strange said and went to bathe.

When he emerged, belting his robe about his waist, he found that the table had been set with the paper, his customary martini (once a week, straight up, no olives) and a thick file folder. As he'd surmised, Greenberger wanted these monsters almost as bad as he did.

Strange, however, had his own reasons. While bathing, he'd given some thought to the case and something was tickling at his brain. Something he'd learned while under the Ancient One's tutelage, something Mordo . . . he frowned. The Ancient One had stripped Mordo of his powers and sent him away. Mordo was no threat.

He shook his head and sat down, sipping the martini and opened the file folder.

It took him three hours to read everything. Well before that, he'd lost his appetite.

Ellen finally got home just after two in the morning and had barely closed her eyes when her cell went off. Without opening her eyes, she grabbed it from the nightstand and opened it. "Greenberger."

"This is Dispatch. Proceed to Jules Verne park in Brooklyn. Apparent connection to your case."

"Cripes," she muttered and reached for her jeans.

Then she paused and grabbed her shirt, fishing out the piece of paper with Strange's number on it.

The phone rang once.

"Good morning, Detective," came Wong's voice.

"How the hell did you know it was me?"

"Your notes all indicate that there is a roughly eighteen to twenty-four hour time period between a child's disappearance and their return. Few call this number and of those, you are the only one with a phone at this time. Also, we have caller ID." The last sentence was delivered with such deadpan humor that she couldn't help but laugh.

"All right. Tell Strange that the most recent child has shown up at Jules Verne Park. I'll meet him there."

"Of course, Detective. Goodbye." The line went dead.

Darell Jenks was six years old, and traumatized, according to the uniform on scene. He'd refused to talk and any attempt to so much as approach him would cause him to scream and throw himself against a the rock he was curled up against. He'd refused any offers of food or water, even food thrown to him had caused him to freak out.

Strange arrived soon after Ellen did, who cleared him through the barricade. Wong trailed after him, carrying a briefcase.

I see," was all Strange said as he removed his coat. "I am a doctor," he told one of the paramedics. Do you have any sedatives?"

"Sure," one of the paramedics said and took it from his kit. "But it ain't gonna do much good, doc. Kid's like a wild animal."

Strange said nothing, merely filled a syringe. "Move back," he told the small crowd of cops. Then he stepped forward and began to sing in a strange language, it was chanting, rhythmic and she felt herself relaxing just listening to it.

Darell watched him as though hypnotized. Still chanting, Strange reached him and injected the needle. Darell fell asleep almost immediately.

Scooping up Darell in his arms, Strange carried him to the stretcher. "A song mothers in the Navajo tribe would sing to calm frightened children who had been visited by angry spirits," he explained. "Tell the physician to keep him on a light dose of Demerol. Six percent should do it."

"Yes, sir. Um, I'll need your name for the report."

"Oh, of course. It's Strange. Doctor Stephen Strange."

As the paramedics wheeled the stretcher away and Greenberger started examining the scene, Strange stared at the trees, lips pursed.

"This is bad, Wong," Strange said at last.

"Master?"

"The child has been in the grip of dark forces, I could smell it. And worse, he was marked for blood magic. Pen and paper, please." Wong handed them over and Strange began to draw. Lines, shapes and in the middle, a rune. "These were drawn on him in lines of force."

"This is very bad, Master," Wong said. "That rune hasn't been seen on Earth since the Ancient One was an apprentice." Strange didn't ask. Wong had his own secrets and he would share them only if he chose. "They are summoning runes of the High Orders."

"Hosts of Haggoroth!" Strange swore "How did this happen under my nose, Wong? This is exactly the sort of thing I'm supposed to prevent."

"I don't know, Master, but now that you are aware of it, what will you do?"

Strange's expression was grim. "My job."

Amanda had uncovered more data on Strange and it was waiting on Ellen's desk when she arrived at the precinct to write her report. Most of it was cut and dried. Schooling, exams, papers. However, one thing caught her eye; the performance reviews from Strange's Chief of Staff during his employment at the hospital. The chief called Strange a miracle worker, "put on Earth to fix God's mistakes", a prodigy. There were similar accolades from medical journals and hospital management.

But the peer reviews told another story. Arrogance. Interested only in his fee. Would often come in from a night of partying with fast cars and faster women. Strongly disliked, even hated by some, but also respected, almost worshipped for his skills. Even accounting for jealously, the man described was nothing like the one she'd met the previous day.

The last paper in the stack was a status form listing Strange as having taken a leave of absence for personal reasons and was dated eleven years ago, right about when he'd disappeared.

Ellen leaned back in her chair, lips pursed. The man Strange had been was nowhere around now, unless he was a consummate actor. But the question remained. Strange had been at the top of his game and poised to rise even higher, and then disappeared so thoroughly, that there wasn't even a mention in the news archives or a peep about where he'd gone. Then, ten years later, he shows up in the village, living modestly, making a living as a consultant on the occult with no sign of wanting anything to do with his former profession. "What in the hell happened to you, Strange?" she wondered.

Strange spent the morning in his library with Wong, going through the various lexicons in the hope of finding which High Order Alphabet the rune came from.

High Orders were tricky. There were several thousand kinds, each one for summoning one specific entity. Worse still, most resembled each other to the point of some had the same runes.

Trying to guess the ritual was another dead end. There were too many entities who required blood magic for their summoning.

"We simply do not have enough information, Master," Wong said as he served breakfast.

"I know, Wong, but the clock is ticking. Parents are becoming aware of the danger to their children. Protecting them better. Our quarry will have to speed up their time table if they wish to finish their summoning ritual before their Master becomes angry."

"If He's not already," Wong observed dryly, "the High Ones are not noted for Their patience."

They ate breakfast in silence.

The phone rang once before Ellen snatched it off the hook. "Greenberger."

"Good morning, Detective, this is Stephen Strange. I wonder if I might prevail upon you for a favor."

Several hours later, Ellen again felt that urge to eat her badge out of frustration. Strange's favor was to take him and Wong to meet each of the children who had been kidnapped so far. He introduced himself as a doctor, acting as an expert consultant to the police. He spent several minutes with each child, talking to them before taking his leave. Once out at the car, he would take a notepad and proceed to draw lines on it.

Now, he and Wong stood by the car, comparing the pages and talking quietly in some form of chinese as they looked at the pages, faces creased in worry and concern. She considered asking them to let her in on the big mystery when her hand suddenly moved to her gun. A moment later, she became aware of . . . something.

She looked around, but saw nothing save for a man walking casually down the street. Yet, the moment she laid eyes on him, something deep inside her urged her flee, to run. But something even deeper kept her from doing so.

As the man grew closer, she saw nothing alarming. A handsome man, short goatee, well dressed. Yet the alarms in her head were shrieking and it took all her willpower not to draw and shoot the man right then and there.

"Detective?" She heard Strange ask and then he hissed.

"Ah, Strange, old man. It's been years," the man said as he reached them. "How are you?"

"Mordo." Strange's voice was so cold, she could swear the temperature dropped. "I am quite well, thank you."

Mordo turned to Wong. "Wong, same as always, I see." Scorn dripped from his every word.

"I am unchanged," Wong replied. His tone was cold, but not as cold as Strange's. Ellen added it to the mystery. Was Mordo why Strange had left medicine? Did he have something on Strange? Clearly, there was something personal there.

"And who might this lovely creature be?" Mordo asked, turning to her. Again, something deep urged her to deflect his question and something even deeper kept her from doing so.

"Ellen Greenberger, NYPD," she snapped, showing him her badge.

"Charmed." She could almost see him dismiss her as he turned back to Strange. "So, Stephen, what are you up to these days? Keeping busy, I hope."

"I have my studies," Strange said. His tone turned even colder. "I'd love to sit down with you and discuss them, Mordo. In depth."

Mordo flinched backwards from the ice in Strange's tone, eyes glued to his shirt. "Not today, Strange, thank you. I have business in Queens. Perhaps some other time."

Strange handed him a card. "Anytime, Mordo. Feel free to stop by."

Mordo hurried off and Strange forced his hands to unclench.

"Not a friend, I take it?" Ellen asked.

Strange glared at her and then whirled, almost yanked the car door off its hinges and practically flung himself into the backseat. Wong calmly closed the door.

"I believe it would be best if I dropped you off at the precinct," Wong told her, "The Master needs to meditate at home when he gets like this."

"What was that about?" Ellen asked. It wasn't subtle, but subtle wasn't her strong point.

Wong regarded her for a moment. "Mordo and the Master attended the same school together and Mordo saw a rival where there was none. It ended badly and Mordo was kicked out."

"Which school was this?"

"Not one you'd have heard of," Wong replied blandly and opened the front passenger door. "Few have."

Ellen recognized that Wong would say nothing more and got in, making a mental note to look into Mordo at the precinct.

As soon as they arrived at the house, Strange made straight for the weight room, stripping off his suit jacket, shirt, and tie. Wong followed closely behind, picking up the scattered garments and putting them away.

When he returned to the weight room, Strange was wailing away on the speed bag and swearing in Goblin. Wong left a towel and a bottle of water and went to open the shop.

He would be summoned if he was needed.

Mordo . . .

The name was tied to Strange's darkest nightmares. Confusion and lack of understanding. Helplessness.

Mordo!

Strange's breathing was heavy as he pounded the speed bag while his brain whirled in conflicting arcs of hate, worry, and even fear.

Perhaps worse, he now had to concern himself with protecting Greenberger. Stripped of his powers or no, Mordo was dangerous and he might see her as an avenue of attack.

His breathing increased as his pounding of the bag intensified.

MORDO!

With a crash, the bag broke free of its mountings and flew across the room.

Strange sighed and slumped to the floor. As though it had a mind of its own, his gloved hand reached up and traced a line around his mouth. Truly, he no longer feared Mordo, but the memories still had the power to fuel his nightmares.

Mordo . . .

Hands closed into fists. He was supposed to be above personal grudges, damnit!

There was nothing on Mordo. Even Amanda's research skills had failed.

The best she could do was trace the name Mordo to a minor Transylvanian Barony, supposedly an offshoot from a Romanian one with ties to old Vlad the Impaler himself. They were rumored to be mystics and magicians. The current Baron, Karl Amadeus Mordo, was not currently in residence, being away on business.

Ellen tapped a knuckle on her chair arm and then sighed. What was she doing? There were a bunch of sickos out there terrorizing kids and she was chasing ghosts.

Shaking her head in disgust, she reached for the case file, moving Mordo's out of the way. Somewhere in here was the key to cracking the case and-

Kids kidnapped without a trace, sodomized and then dumped just as mysteriously.

A kid in gangbanger's clothes directs her to Strange, once a famed neurosurgeon, now an occult consultant. The kid also tells her that she would need Strange's help to stop the kidnappings.

Mordo, from a family of mystics, is in New York and Strange's employee had specifically stated that Mordo and Strange were at school together, but there was no record of Strange having ever been educated outside the United States.

If the school was for magic, then there wouldn't be any records, and there were ten years of Strange's life unaccounted for.

What if the crooks were using magic? If Strange was also a magician, or some kind of magician cop, he'd want to stop them as badly as she did.

And if Strange was a magician, then so was Mordo. Perhaps he was even behind it or knew something about it. The theory was so wild, and yet so perfect that she almost reached for the phone and then stopped as reality came crashing down.

"Get a grip, Ellen," she muttered. "Next you'll be asking if Strange will take you to visit Hogwarts and meet Harry Potter." She tossed Mordo's file on top of Strange's and settled down to doing actual police work.

They had been men, once. Not great men, but human, at least. Until their Master came and showed them his God. The God had given them great gifts, and asked so little in return.

In a corner of the rotten, shriveled pieces of offal that had once been their souls, they wondered if the Master had done something when he recruited them. Changed them, somehow. Yet, truthfully, were they willing to face their own natures, they would have admitted that it wouldn't have taken much. The Master and his God - their God now - offered the things they'd always craved. Power, pleasures, wealth.

So the evil the God had asked in return was done willingly and without hesitation, for the God would protect them when the time came for Final Judgement.

Yes, they had everything.

Soon, they would be Gods as well.

And then the universe would lay at their feet.