Chapter Two

"So, how did it go?"

The man tugged his jacket off and draped it over the worn armrest. He pushed aside the disassembled pieces of an M16 and lowered himself onto the couch that creaked and groaned beneath his weight. With an elongated sigh, he propped his feet atop a coffee table that was covered in piles of manila folders and newspapers that dated months prior. The man ignored his friend's question and eyed the whiteboard that was situated in the middle of the tiny living area of his cluttered apartment.

"Your annual review," persisted the friend. "How did it go?"

"Apparently I'm either a liability or too costly a benefit," said the man after brief consideration, "and they can no longer justify their connection to me."

The friend chuckled. "They're pissed you took Excalibur," he translated. Sitting at the grand piano that was positioned between the living room and the adjoining kitchen, the friend rubbed his sleeve against the shiny black surface and examined his reflection in the piano lid.

The man grinned and fished around on the file-blanketed coffee table for an orange pill bottle.

"So," continued the friend, "I assume you didn't tell them about your doomsday vision."

The man shrugged and popped a pill into his mouth, dry-swallowing with ease. "I may or may not have insinuated something. It's my only leverage. If I tell them outright, I have nothing to hold over them."

"Good to know you have your priorities in check," said the friend, sarcastically. "All the while, the apocalypse is just over the horizon and you've got Excalibur which may just turn you megalomaniacal."

The man rolled his eyes and pulled himself to his feet. "Oh, don't be such a drama queen." He grabbed his jacket off the couch and tugged it on.

"…the hell are you going?" asked the friend, eyeing the man dubiously.

The man flashed a grin. "I've got a meeting with Baal."

The friend threw his hands up in exasperation, leaning against the piano. "Oh, go figure you're friends with the newly risen pinnacle of all things morally ambiguous, borderline evil."

"Who said anything about being friends? For all you know, we could be mortal enemies and I'm off to kill him. I mean, I'm a demon hunter. That's what I do. Hunt," said the man, folding his arms over his chest. He cocked an eyebrow and considered his friend with an expression of pseudo-offence.

"Yeah, somehow I doubt that, knowing your track record." The friend rolled his eyes. "Fine, then. What do I tell the Fascist Authority Figures when they come a-knocking at your door?"

The man stifled a grin, shook his head, and moved towards his front door. Grasping the doorhandle, he paused in consideration and said, "Tell them it's Market Day."

----

Wyatt was seated at the kitchen table, spoon in hand. Positioned between him, Phoebe and Paige was a half-eaten tub of cookie dough ice-cream and a bottle of chocolate sauce. He tapped the back of the utensil against the rim of the tub before scooping up a huge spoonful.

"Okay," said Paige, "names starting with A."

Wyatt shoved the spoon in his mouth and sucked on the melting ice-cream. If there was anything his Aunt Phoebe had taught him that was live-his-life-by worthy, it was that there are few pleasures in life more enjoyable than half-melted ice-cream.

"Abraxas," said Phoebe.

Just outside the kitchen door, Wyatt could hear his mother pacing the hall, muttering into her cell phone, furiously. There was a tiny, hidden smile on his face and he couldn't help but glean a sense of sinister self-satisfaction as his mother muttered metaphorical threats of death.

"Andras," said Paige.

Wyatt offered a garbled, "Armaros."

"Somebody's been studying the Book of Shadows," acknowledged Phoebe with a smile. "Abaddon."

"Apollyon," came Paige's response.

Phoebe turned to her indignantly, her spoon halting halfway to her mouth. "That's the same demon!"

"Ah," said Paige, "but it's a different name."

As the two sisters geared up for an argument, Piper strode into the kitchen and snapped her phone shut, tossing it onto the bench. When she folded her arms and turned to them, Wyatt yanked his spoon out of his mouth and quickly discarded it on the table.

"I can't get a hold of Chris," said Piper. "Have you tried sensing for him?"

Wyatt cleared his throat. "What? Oh, yeah," he said in haste. "Not picking up anything. He snuck out with James. Three guesses where they went."

At this, Piper shook her head and glanced over to the ice-cream tub. "Nutritious," she said. "Well, when he sneaks back in, remind him that I give consecutive sentences." She turned to her youngest sister. "Have you spoken to the Elders?"

Paige nodded and dug her spoon into the tub of ice-cream. "Yeah; apparently they felt the power surge in the underworld and they're looking into it."

Across the table, Phoebe nodded. "Mm. Helpful."

Piper sighed and pressed a hand against her brow, shaking her head in exasperation. "Forget about the demon for now," she said. "Have the Elders said anything about Excalibur?"

At this, Wyatt perked up and glanced between his mother and aunts, watching every tiny inflection in their expressions. Paige pulled her spoon from her mouth and swallowed.

"No, sorry, Piper," she said with a wry smile. "Ida says that they haven't heard anything since the last time."

Wyatt frowned and glanced between his mother and aunts. There was a tight coil of possessiveness wedged in his chest and his mind wandered over every conceivable scenario Excalibur could be caught in. "Maybe we shouldn't have kept it in Magic School," he said. "A student could have stolen it."

"No, nobody at Magic School is powerful enough for that," said Paige. "Chances are it was a demon."

"And what?" returned Wyatt. "The demon's just biding his time?"

Piper sighed and shook her head, removing the ice-cream tub from the table. With rough, jerky movements, she shoved the tub into the freezer and closed the door with a dull thud. "You should go to bed now, Wyatt," she said, the accusation of, 'you're too young to hear this,' hidden behind her words.

"Mum, it's only ten o'clock!" protested Wyatt, gesturing exaggeratedly with his spoon.

Piper shot him a pointed look and reiterated, "Bed. Now."

There was a huff and a sigh and Wyatt pushed his chair back with an extended creak. "Oh, sure," he grumbled under his breath, tossing the spoon aside with a petulant glare, "I can tell when I'm not wanted."

As Wyatt traipsed out of the kitchen, Piper called after him, "And don't forget to make sure Chris gets home."

Wyatt rolled his eyes and muttered, "…the hell am I supposed to do if he doesn't? Give up my beauty-sleep to orb around, looking for him?"

He took the stairs two-by-two, gripping the handrail with frustrated tightness. On the floor above, he could hear Casey tossing a ball against his bedroom wall, most likely out of chronic insomnia. His father descended the stairs in front of him and offered him a casual smile.

"Heard from Chris?" asked Leo.

"Nope."

At this, Leo chuckled and shook his head. "Have you looked?"

"You doubt me?

"Every step of the way."

Wyatt cracked a smile and ascended to the second floor, heading for his bedroom. His bedroom was dark and cold from the wrenched-open window where Chris had escaped half-an-hour before hand. One of Chris' thousand books lay open on the boy's bed with a half-eaten block of chocolate and a half-drunk bottle of Red Bull. Wyatt glanced around before slamming the window shut and wondering exactly where Chris kept that endless stash of cash he always seemed to have.

----

"That shit will kill you, you know."

Chris rolled his eyes and bit into the oily kebab he was holding. With James by his side, the two boys wandered through the heart of San Francisco, exchanging petty insults in between trivial conversation. At ten o'clock at night, The Market wouldn't open for another hour or two, and the boys were lost for exactly what to do.

"You bitch when I eat, you bitch when I don't. There's no satisfying you, is there?" snapped Chris, taking another large bite out of his dinner.

"I don't know," said James with a cheeky grin. "I've got t' say that last night was pretty damn satisfying."

"Oh my, is that innuendo? How I blush," deadpanned Chris. "You bad, you."

As the two friends turned the corner, they passed a young man lying, unconscious, on a bench. A bottle in a brown paper bag discarded on the floor next to him. Chris bit onto his kebab and spared not a thought.

"So, you heard of this foreign demonic power on the loose?"

"Oh sure, because I keep up to date with Wicca Daily," said James sarcastically. "When is there not a demon on the loose?" He paused in thought. "God, it better not be Axelle. I warned that loser not to pick on the bigger fish."

"The guy's a lower life, small time criminal. I doubt that constitutes 'foreign power.' I doubt that even constitutes power."

"You never know."

Chris rolled his eyes and threw the rest of his dinner in the closest bin. "The Charmed Ones vanquished the Source of all fucking Evil. A lower-level demon isn't that much of a feat," he said, shooting his friend an annoyed glare.

James just shrugged. "You never know," he reiterated.

Chris clenched a fist and turned the corner. "Do you try to be annoying or does it come naturally for you?"

"Oh, I try. I try very hard," said James, grinning. "I wake up in the morning and think: Now, what new and exciting approach can I use to make Chris throw himself in front of an energy ball, today?"

Chris scowled and stopped by a traffic light. "You've taken too many footballs to the head, I think."

James snickered. "I love you, too. It's okay, little boy, back to your cage, now." He ducked Chris' punch and checked his watch. "One hour left. We could go to the park and get our rocks off," he said with a wicked grin.

Chris rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Yeah, just shoot me now." He clenched his fist around his silver Zippo lighter and smirked. "Let's burn shit. Better than sex."

James nodded slowly, leaning against a towering signpost. "The father's a retired guardian angel, the mother's a witch…the son's a pyromaniacal delinquent. Makes sense. You're just avoiding me, aren't you?"

Chris rolled his eyes again. "Take it up with your girlfriend." When his phone vibrated in his pocket, he yanked it out. The word 'Mum' flashed at him in capitalised white letters. To his side, James snickered.

"Oh, look. It's Mummy. Does she know her favourite little pill-popping, binge-drinker of a mortal son is going to prowl The Underworld for some action?"

"Does Captain Teague know that his star quarterback of a son is no more than a man-whoring petty thief?" Chris pressed the 'cancel' button on his cell and stuck it back in his pocket.

"Speaking of," said James. "I told The Captain that I'd like to try my hand at being evil. You know; the lack of conscience, the lack of morality, the instant gratifications and what not. He threatened to ship me off to Military School. I think he just likes the ideas of me fighting in the name of Uncle Sam. Semper fi and shit. Destroy the oppressed evil; channel those nasty thoughts into constructive actions. Woe to the half-blood hybrids."

Chris stopped in his tracks and eyed his rambling friend. He folded his arms over his chest and scowled, recalling his mother's constant threats and raging promises. "You get Military School. I get Valhalla. How is that fair?"

James shrugged and grabbed his friend's arm, pulling the younger boy along. "Because my father's a police captain and former marine and your mother is a crazed Wiccan matriarch? And anyway; gorgeous woman and masochism…I really don't know what you're bitching about."

Chris shook his head and sat down on the curb, tugging tufts of grass from the patchy nature strip. He reached up and toyed with the silver amulet hanging around his neck; heard the pop and fizzle as James pulled at the stay-tab on a can of Red Bull. Chris shook his head, checked his watch, and considered the pair of sunglasses he had seen in a shop close by.

"Fuck all to do," said James.

Chris concurred and figured that perhaps there wasn't so much 'nothing' to do as there was nothing to do that wouldn't land them in copious amounts of trouble and thus prevent their venture into the Underworld Marketplace. He had his eye on a pricey item and a stash of fifty dollar bills filled his wallet, and he had decided that his mother couldn't deny him such a monetary transaction as she constantly prattled on about his welfare and ability to protect himself. He was simply doing just that. Chris grinned at his own rationalisation and checked his watch once more.

"Half-an-hour," he said, and took a swig from the canned drink.

James grunted and stole his drink back.

----

Across San Francisco, in the heart of the Halliwell Manor, Wyatt was huddled just outside the dinning room, attempting to eavesdrop of the conversation between his mother and aunts. He hugged his knees closer and hitched his breath.

"Still haven't heard from him?" Phoebe asked, her voice distant from her position in the kitchen. There was a silence, and then she said, "Don't worry about him. I've never had an active power and I've always been able to hold my own. Chris can handle himself; you saw to that."

"That isn't the same," said Piper firmly, "and you can levitate."

"…which doesn't always come in handy in a fight against demons," said Phoebe. "Again, Chris can handle himself."

Wyatt rolled his eyes and silently concurred. He had lost track of the number of times he'd seen Chris go up against powerful, upper-level demons and survive…not to count the times in which Chris had almost died…. Wyatt paused in consideration. Perhaps his mother had actually a valid point, after all.

"…and you can cast spells," continued Piper, "and there's a dangerous nameless, faceless demon on the loose right now that we know absolutely nothing about…."

"Hence the nameless, faceless part," said Paige.

Wyatt smirked and could only imagine the withering expression on his mother's face. There was a cold silence before Phoebe interjected.

"Chris should be okay for now. That demon was just a preliminary attack. Even Chris would have been able to fend him off without too much effort. He's just the messenger, Piper. I somehow doubt that Chris will be the first person this new power goes after."

"You don't know that. You don't know that. We don't know anything about this demon and…its one-thirty in the morning and we haven't heard anything from him and he's out doing…God only knows what it is he does, and…"

A loud explosion and several cries of shock echoed through from the kitchen. Wyatt cringed from his position just outside. He could hear thuds as the kitchen occupants bustled around, voices mumbling in haste and strained attempts at pacification. There was a cry of frustration that he figured most likely came from his mother. He shook his head and wondered why, exactly, Chris continually insisted on playing the Rebel Without A Cause.

Wyatt shifted into a more comfortable position and pulled his legs back into an embrace. His mother and father had long decided that magic resided at the centre of the internal dispute, and, on several occasions, Chris had too expressed a significant distaste for the phenomenon. However, Wyatt disagreed. Not only had Chris attended weekend classes at Magic School for numerous years, but considering the fact that he was buried far deeper in a (perhaps depraved) version of 'magic' than any other Halliwell, Wyatt had to wonder if it was something else. Chris didn't exactly shun magic and go out of his way to assume a role in a normal, non-mystical version of life.

Either way, Wyatt figured Chris was trying too hard, and had to consistently fight the urge to jump down his younger brother's throat and scream, 'You're different. We get it, already!'

Wyatt shook his head and tuned back into the distant conversation stewing in the kitchen. The brief fray had dispersed and the voices spoke, once more at that concerned medium.

"Chris will be okay. He's with James, if that's any consolation," said Phoebe.

At this, Wyatt snickered under his breath. As he anticipated, his mother returned with a vehement, "No, actually, that makes me feel worse. Those two have an uncanny knack for getting each other in trouble. …When he gets back, he is so vanquished," said Piper. There was a pause, and Wyatt smirked at his mother's next words.

"I'm sending him to Valhalla when he gets back. For a month. …For two."

----

Chris raised the hood of his stone-grey v-neck jumper and surveyed the marketplace with quietly observing eyes. The stalls were organised into three long rows, over-sized tents strategically placed amongst them. Beside him, James examined a long phoenix feather, running a finger across the crimson and golden barbs in awe.

"More than you can 'ford, I'm sure," the stall-keeper grunted, eyeing the teen with suspicious, cat-like eyes.

Chris weighed a velour pouch of ground unicorn horn in one hand. To his left, an aged male demon toyed with fireball and leered at Chris with an expression that made his stomach turn. Across the market place, not too far down from the isle he was stationed in, a table of six human-form subordinates of evil argued animatedly. The young man with whom the demons were bickering offered a lazy smirk and leaned his chair back on two legs.

"How much?" asked Chris distantly, not turning to directly acknowledge the stall-keeper.

"Two 'alf gold pieces," grunted the stall-keeper. "Five 'undred 'merican, five-twenty Canadian, three 'undred pounds…I don' take Yen, but I will barter…p'rhaps for that amulet you're wearin'."

Chris scowled at the stall-keeper and sniped, "This amulet is worth more than five hundred dollars." He tugged four-fifty from his wallet and elbowed James, who was distracted by a ball of glittered, pastel light. When James relinquished an extra fifty dollars, Chris slapped the bills down onto the rickety wooden stall-bench and turned away, paving a path further down the isle.

"I hope he didn't kill any unicorns to get that horn," said James.

Chris stopped dead in his tracks and glared at his friend, tucking the pouch into the pocket of his jumper. "Don't tell me you suddenly have a moral objection to…"

"No, no," said James quickly, a sheepish smile. There was silence as the two friends resumed walking, and James said, throwing a devious smirk towards his friend, "You know, I've always wanted to push you in front of a bus and see what'd happen with that amulet of yours. You're always claiming it's powerful, and whatnot."

"I'd fucking rip your head off, that's what'd happen," snarled Chris.

"God, you're such a nice person," James snickered. "There you go, ladies and gentlemen, Christopher Halliwell, violent sociopath, party of one!"

A demon glanced towards them in surprise, causing Chris to tense and narrow his eyes, threateningly. Under his breath, he hissed, "We're in the middle of the fucking Underworld. Just keep saying my name, why don't you…Fucktard."

James flashed him a grin as they passed a stall selling various foods and beverages of a rather obscure nature. "You love it."

"Blood?" said the stall-keeper. "Mortal, Witch, Elf…"

"Uh, no thanks," said James, eyeing the offering with an expression of clear disdain. "…considering that I may never eat again."

Chris rolled his eyes, moving farther down the isle. At the far end, two isles down, the table of six subordinates of evil continued to argue heatedly. The young man stationed amongst them said something that gained an angry cry from one of the human-form subordinates who slammed a fist down on the table, upheaving a goblet of brownish liquid.

Chris stopped at a stall and lifted a long elephant tusk, saying to James, "Got any moral objections against this?"

"Bite me, Twat," snapped James.

Chris rolled his eyes and felt his cell phone vibrate in the pocket of his jeans. "Oh, big mistake, Teague," he drawled without enthusiasm. His cell phone vibrated, again.

"Your face is a big mistake," said James.

Chris tugged his phone out of his pocket. The title 'Mum' flashed at him repeatedly, and could visualise her expression of rage beckoning him from across the globe "My God, so brutal of you. I don't know how I'll ever recover," he said sarcastically, not sparing his friend so much as a glance as several birds twittered and drew a curtain of black across the screen of his cell.

James cocked an eyebrow and asked, dubiously, "That thing works down here? What, do you get Interdimensional, Underworld Roaming or something?" When Chris snapped the phone closed, James continued with, "What, not a Momma's Boy, anymore?"

Chris threw his friend a nasty glare and returned, "Have I ever told you that I keep a vanquishing potion with your name in it in my sock drawer?"

"Oh, Christopher," gasped James in mock-horror. "You wound. I thought you loved me."

"Uh huh," said Chris. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and smirked. "Loved being the key term in this con--"

The boy was quickly cut off by a loud crash that echoed through the marketplace. Chris spun around to see that, two isles down, the table of six human-form subordinates had reached the very violent climax of their argument. The table they had previously surrounded was upheaved and discarded on its side, spilling goblets and liquid onto the dusty floor. Five of the black-clad figures surrounded the sixth figure that was resting calmly in his chair. The sixth figure, a young man with youthful features that carved a tale spanning eons, pulled a gun out of his jacket pocket and offered the tiniest impish quirk of his lips.

Chris hitched his breath and stepped backwards when James grabbed onto his arm and hissed into his ear, "Chris, man, I think it's time to blaze."

Chris tensed and felt his hand move to reach for his switchblade. Two isles down, the man's lips moved to form indiscernible words and several energy balls flickered to life. Two isles down, the scene blurred into a haze of limbs and black and sparking blue energy, and the crack of a gunshot echoed through the disturbed air, ringing through Chris's mind.

Chris' vision shifted in agitation, crackling in a spat of black and white static. The gunshot echoed through the back of his mind like a banshee assaulting his eardrums with crazed vocal cords. His temples pulsated and contracted from the increasingly shrill decibels. A sharp searing pain expanded across his chest, dragging him backwards with the impact of a fist to the gut. Gravity shivered and pulled him closer, and two dark eyes watched him from two isles down. He could hear James saying, "Chris? Chris? Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Chris?" followed by a string of garbled expletives.

Two isles down, demons erupted in whirlwinds of ash and flame and gunshots echoed like the screams of wild, demonic children. The darkness expanded like an all-encompassing cold, white light to reach out to draw him in.

----

The man narrowed his eyes and gripped his two silver revolvers with cold hands. Stepping out from behind the rough stone pillar, he quickly pulled the triggers twice in succession. Before his eyes, four demons exploded in a gush of ash and embers, filling the air with horrified screams. The marketplace was a-flurry with haste as demons and warlocks both fled and stayed to fight. Fire and orbs of crackling energy sped through the air; stalls erupting in flame as the pricey merchandise burned into shrivelled black carcasses of their former selves. Only half of the marketplace occupants joined in the confused fray, and those who did were vanishing before his eyes. The man had fast gained a reputation amongst the residents of the Underworld, and he appreciated that. It saved for time.

A stall burst into a small inferno that engulfed the stall-keeper and the surrounding environment. Two isles down from the man's position, a young adolescent was attempting to fend of a warlock who was crouched over the unconscious figure of what the man assumed to be the adolescent's friend. The adolescent grabbed onto the warlock, hollering loudly.

Before the man, a demon stepped into the open, dressed head-to-toe in black; pullover, jeans, and shoes. The demon scowled, bared his teeth and beckoned his friends, toying with a ball of fire in what the man could only assume was a threatening manner.

"I did say that I wanted to speak only to Baal," said the man. "Is it my fault you took it the wrong way?"

The man smirked lazily and slid aside as fire cascaded past him. He pulled the trigger of his revolver once more, embedding a silver bullet in the demon's chest. A blast of fire erupted across the marketplace, swallowing a herd of demons in its expansive flame.

The man tucked his weapons back into their holsters, surveying the marketplace. The surrounding area was near-void of inhabitants, continually clearing as the last slivers of fire and smoke dispersed. With a sense of satisfaction, the man tucked his thumbs into the belt-tabs of his jeans.

Two isles down, the young adolescent hovered over the body of his friend, hands pressed against a bleeding wound.

"Brilliant," a voice said from behind the man. "You reputation really does precede you."

The man spun around, his hand flying back to his holster and gun. A shadowed figure was leaning against a thick pillar, arms folded over his chest.

"You can call me Thames," said the shadow. "I have a proposition for you."

The man cocked an eyebrow. "From Baal, I assume?"

Thames nodded smoothly and stepped out of the darkness, revealing a suit-wearing figure with black hair and crystal blue eyes. "Six of my master's subjects and you take them out in one go. Very good…very good."

"Well, that doesn't say very much about your master, does it?" scoffed the man. "And if Baalberith wants to speak to me, he can do so himself instead of sending off a middleman."

Thames narrowed his eyes and reached into the breast-pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills. "As I said, my master has a proposition for you regarding our young friend over there." He nodded two isles down. "Here is five thousand dollars. Call it incentive. If you agree, there's another fifteen thousand in it for you."

Two isles down, the adolescent gathered the boy into his arms and grimaced, glancing around. The adolescent's lips moved and the man could hear the echo of swearing. The man narrowed his eyes when he identified the unconscious boy as Christopher Halliwell. The adolescent gathered Christopher Halliwell into his arms and, with one last embellished cry of panic, vanished in a swirl of grey and black orbs.

"Christopher Halliwell," said the man. "And what does Baal want with a powerless little fifteen-year-old?"

Thames smirked and pressed the wad of hundred dollar bills into the man's hand. "Don't under estimate him. He may not have powers, but he is most certainly not powerless." His eyes gleamed in all their cerulean-blue wonder. "Twenty thousand dollars all together."

The man tipped his head to the side in thought and turned to eye the spot that had previously held a bleeding and unconscious boy. "That depends," he said slowly. "Are you going to take me to Baal, or will I have to keep dealing with you?"

Postscript: Hey. I apologise for the delay. I started this story at a hectic point in my life, but as things have settled down, I now have more time to write. Small chapter, I know, but…yeah. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. Your input is valuable and I greatly appreciate your thoughts on my writing.

Thank you to: Weiliya, Ovoriel, Linda, Trudy, Sarah James, Mark K, FirePony 16, Nikki Shaw, Spinningleaves, Charmed7293, SHuntress, Jacqs, Jane Mays, Meluvian's Muse, Girlwiththatattitude.

Linda: Hey. I'm glad you've enjoyed reading, so far. I beseech you to keep an open mind about Casey (the third sibling). I do enjoy my original characters and he will be only a supporting character in this story. As much as I love creating a dynamic between Chris and Wyatt, I also very much enjoy the dynamic with a third sibling. As the story progresses, he should (I hope) prove to play an interesting role in the way things will span out. (: Anyway, thank you for the feedback and I look forwards to your things on things.

Trudy: Hey. I'm delighted you're enjoying the story thus far. Yes, bad-boy Chris is much fun, isn't he? (: I also rather dislike the stories with Chris as a goody-two-shoes…unless it's done well, of course. Or, I could just be a sucker for the bad-boy characters and writing a rebellious Chris is such a blast. It's probably that. :P Anyway, sorry for the wait. Hectic schedule as I started this story during exam time (meep!). But, no more exams so lots of time to write and the update should be a lot quicker!! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter.

Sarah James: Hey! I'm so happy you've enjoyed reading! …and that you like the friendship between Chris and James. They're a lot of fun to write together. (: There's an interesting dynamic going on between them. (: As I mentioned to Linda, I hope you can keep an open mind about a third brother. He won't feature very often (until, probably, later on) so I'll try to ease his featurings in carefully. Heh. I'm a sucker for a Chris and Wyatt relationship with lots of tension and animosity. I prefer it to those love-y-dove-y brotherly bonding relationships. Chris doesn't have powers for a significant plot reason and this'll come to light later on. (= Sorry for the delay. Hectic schedule, you know. I hope you've enjoyed this new chapter.

Nikki Shaw: Hey! Thanks for reading and I'm so glad you enjoyed doing so! Sorry for the delay. Busy life and what not, but I should update quicker next time!

Jacqs: Hey! Thanks for reading and I'm glad you think I've done well so far! Heh. I'm a sucker for bad-boy Chris, too, I have to say! (:

Jane Mays: Hi! Woo, glad you've enjoyed reading thus far! Sorry for the slow update, but life got in the way. I'm also glad you're enjoying Chris's characterisation. He's a lot of fun to write. (: