Everything Changes

Much later, Cassie wakes in darkness, in an unfamiliar place. Distantly she can hear coughing and the cries of others, and can smell disinfectant. The hospital, she realizes. How did I get here?

Her last memory was of driving to the airport, on her way to pick up Tony from his Vegas trip. She'd been late, as usual, and had been speeding to SFO. Have I been in an accident? she wonders, bringing a hand up to her face, touching skin that feels rough and cold. Other disturbing images - of writhing demons and blood sacrifices - also fill her head, and Cassie shakes it painfully to dispel them.

A door opens just then, and a perky blond nurse's aide steps up to the bed. "Mrs. Thompson!" she scolds. In the light from the hallway, Cassie can see the skin from her hands - wrinkled, gnarled hands - the hands of an old woman. Her arms looked to her like toothpicks, and as she opens her mouth to scream, she gasps for breath. What is more frightening, however, is that being called 'Mrs. Thompson' - Emily Thompson, she realizes - does not seem unfamiliar, for some reason.

What's going on here, Cassie's mind whirls. This isn't my body. Where the hell am I?! Where's Tony!

Cassie swallows trying to still the rising tide of panic that she can feel welling up inside of her. I'm not Emily Thompson, she yells in her mind. I'm Cassandra Papadopolis Salvatore. I'm married to Tony Salvatore. I have a dog named Lobo. Reigning in her distress, Cassie tries to remember everything, anything that happened on the way to airport. Moira warned me about some people. But how could anyone do this?

I remember chanting, Cassie thinks. And sacrifices, blood everywhere. Oh God what has happened?! I thought we stopped these cultists for a while. Am I dead and is this my penance, to inhabit some other woman's body? I've got to get to a phone and call Tony, Uncle Alex, Dragon Fist, someone.

Glancing up at the nurse, Cassie tries to pull herself up in the bed, but her frail body doesn't seem to want to obey her. "May I have a glass of water," Cassie says. But it's not her voice that asks the question. Gone are her light tones, replaced with the dry sound of an older woman's rasp.

As the nurse pours some water from the pitcher by the bed, Cassie looks around, searching for a phone. Maybe I can call someone. And then a nagging feeling fills her. Slowly one hand reaches up tenatively to where her amulet should be, already suspecting that it must be gone.

"Which hospital is this?" Cassie asks, searching for any clue as to what has happened, her hand coming back without touching the amulet. "Did I have an accident? Is that why I am here?"

The young woman looks at her sympathetically. "Mrs. Thompson," she says, slightly condescendingly. "Don't you remember? You tried…ah, you took a lot of pills," she finishes. Cassie's vision shifts, and she remembers a bottle of pills held in gnarled hands, hands that shook as they tried to open the bottle. And an imperative - the pills must be taken, so that whoever ended up with the ancient body would die, and no one would ever know…

The young woman states, "You're at Alameda Hospital, Mrs. Thompson. You've been here for almost two days."

Anger consumes Cassie. Rage at whomever would do this thing to her. Whatever sick, twisted mind would rip her consciousness, her being from her body and then place it this woman's, and would also force an old woman to kill herself just to destroy her.

Well, whoever it is that engineered this, I'm going to get them, she thinks. Get them both for me an Emily Thompson. But I've got to get out of here first and that's not going to happen if they think I'm suicidal. Whomever did this underestimated me and that is going to cost them.

"I thought I was only taking two, my memory, it's gotten so bad lately," Cassie says, trying to sound convincing. "How did I take more than that. I thought I read the label correctly. How could I take more than two?"

"I'm so glad you dears found me. Was it that nice man next door? I can't thank you enough for helping me. I'd like to thank my doctor too? Is he around? Oh and I should call my friends, they'll be worried sick. Is there a phone I can use honey? Oh dear, I hope all of this is covered under my medicare."

I've got to get help, Cassie thinks. Get somewhere where I can think this out. Is this permanent? Who could do this. Moira could help, but I don't know how to reach her. I could call her mother. That's what I need to do, but I've got to be careful. I can't have her going to talk to whoever it is in 'my' body. That'll only alert these people that I'm alive. Dragon Fist, he might be able to help. But how to contact him. What was that dojo Mark and he always go to? Mark. Would Mark believe me?

Why would they do this? If they wanted the amulet they could have just stolen it. Are they trying to infiltrate the Guardians? Well that's possible. Maybe it's more. Could they need my body for something? Cassie's mind recoils at the thought, remembering that backdrop of images that reeked of black, evil, arcane magic acts.

Perhaps Emily can help me. Her memories may hold the clue as to how this happened. I can remember bits of things that she must have seen through her eyes. Holding the pill bottle and somehow, her body seems familiar to me. But how do I reach her memories? Can I?

Carefully, as if looking through a bookshelf of unfamiliar tomes, Cassie reaches, searches, trying to see, to remember why. She focuses on that image - the image of the pill bottle in her hand and tries to bring back the memory. Was there more? Who commanded you to take the pills?

Thinking of the pills, Cassie experiences a feeling of exultation, acknowledge that ultimate power will be hers, and soon...only this minor detail left to take care of. She's standing in a dirty kitchenette, analogous to what might be found in a weekly motel. In front of her is a hastily scrawled suicide note and the remnants of the last night's sacrifice, Cassie realizes in disgust.

"Just lie back and relax, Mrs. Thompson," the girl says, looking somewhat…scared? "You'll be all right. I'm going to get the doctor," she finishes, leaving the room.

Oh great! Cassie thinks in disgust. Well, either Emily Thompson was in on the whole plan or whoever was controlling her, perhaps inside her, was in pretty deep. The nurse thinks I'm wacko. The paramedics or whoever found me probably have told everyone about the suicide note and that, that sacrifice. Cassie suddenly feels sick to her stomach.

Now no one is going to believe me. I've got to get out of here. But how? Cassie struggles to raise herself, still feeling the effects of the medication and the entire suicide attempt. As her head swoons, Cassie falls back on the bed.

Glancing around the room she searches for a phone. Please say they put me in a normal room. Cassie's first instinct is to call Tony even if it was just to hear his voice. I can't call Tony, he'll never believe me and if he did I'd put him in grave danger. I've got to call Moira. She seemed to know what's up. She was going to be staying at the Four Seasons Clift Hotel. Maybe she can help me.

Struggling for the phone, Cassie manages to get directory assistence, and connect to the hotel. A few moments later, and she's connected to Moira's room.

"Hello?" a tired-sounding man answers the phone. In the background, Cassie hears crying.

This day goes from bad, to really bad, to I can't even get a break from AT & T, Cassie thinks. And Proteus is the one who didn't return the chain letter. Why am I getting all the bad luck?

"Hello, I'm trying to reach Moira Rennie," Cassie rasps out. Great, I sound like an emphyzema patient. Emily probably smoked. "This is very important," Cassie says, trying to convey the urgency in her voice. "I only have a few minutes to speak, before someone comes in. Is she there or could I leave a message?"

"Oh hell I'd better talk now before the nurse comes back. This is Cassie Salvatore. I mean it's me, but, oh hell how do I explain this. I don't even know what's happened. Something's happened to me. I'm not in my body. I'm in someone else's and I know this sounds crazy. Please you got to believe me. Moira came over to my house for dinner. I served Ed Kraft macaroni and cheese. Whoever is masquerading around as me that's not me. That's my body, but it's not me."

"I don't want to sound hysterical or weird here. But I just don't know who else to turn to and she said she'd be at this hotel. The one she stayed at before when we met at Ralph's funeral. Ummm. I'm in Alameda Hospital. In the body of an old woman who tried to commit suicide. Her name is Emily Thompson. I look like 75 years old. But it's really me. Please you've got to believe me. I this sounds totally impossible, crazy, but it's true. Could she come down and see me? I need someone's help. I couldn't call Tony. I'm afraid whomever did this would find out I'm alive and maybe hurt him. Plus I doubt he'd believe this - even if he did believe me when I said we fought those big worms."

There's a second's pause, then the man's gravely voice says, "You're at the hospital in Alameda, OK. We believe you," he emphasizes. "Someone will be there to pick you up. I want you to be careful, and do not let anyone sedate you again. The nurse probably left to get the police," he mutters. "If men arrive in black armor, they're with us, and they will get you out, OK? But it's very important that you don't let anyone sedate you. Here, I'm going to put Moira on the line now, and we'll be there for you soon."

"Thank you, thank you for believing me," a relieved Cassie says.

Cassie can hear whispering, then Moira's voice comes on the line.

"Cassie, thank goodness. We had only just arrived before everything started to go to hell in a handbasket. Luckily my husband brought some of his..friends, and they will be there in just a minute. It is very important at this point that you not contact the police or PRIMUS - the person who is inhabiting your body contacted PRIMUS and told them a wild story that would be almost impossible to disprove and it implicates you, well, your body at any rate."

"OK Moira, I'll try to be careful. The nurse went to get the doctor and she didn't look to happy," Cassie says. "And Moira, thank you. Thank you for being at the hotel and for believing me. I don't know what I would have done without you. Oh my god, who the hell is this?"

The door to Cassie's room opens, and several men enter. Quickly they surround her, and one jabs something into her IV before she can even move. "OK, let's move her," one of them says. The phone slips from Cassie's hand, and another man picks it up. "Hello?" he asks. "Hello?"

"Hit redial," the IV man says as Cassie's vision goes black.

She wakes, briefly, as they begin to load her into the ambulance, but when she fully wakens, it's in a sunlit room. Birds are chirping distantly, and Ed is sitting on the comforter, watching her.

Across the room, Moira is rocking in a chair. "How are you feeling?" she asks. Truth be told, Cassie feels much better, and with none of the drug-hazed fog that was hanging about her before.

"Actually, pretty good for a woman who has been pulled out of her body, thrust into the body of an old woman, nearly died from an overdose, drugged again and now here," Cassie says. "Truth be told, seeing you and Ed is about the only good that has happened to me in the past few days."

"Well that and your husband's friends saving my butt at the hospital," she adds. "I think I failed that command to not get sedated again. Sorry. Oh Moira, I don't mean to be rude, but what," glancing at Ed, Cassie curbs her tongue, "is going on? Do you know? And who's in my body, taking over my life? The last thing I remember was going to pick up Tony at the airport."

"Ed, go and find your daddy," Moira says to her daughter, scooping her up and putting her on the floor. A massive wolfhound rises from the side of the bed and follows the toddler out the bedroom door.

"What's happening is a long story…let's see, where to begin?" she mutters. "My husband's business is to track down people like the sorceress who has taken over your body. He and his 'friends' spend their time tracking these people down and…stopping them. When the amulets were stolen from the British Museum, they started looking into it, and what they've discovered is frightening."

"The amulets that were stolen were part of a larger set, and there are two controlling amulets: yours and one belonging to a paranormal in New York, by the name of Selena. She, incidentally, is also a healer, and that is another component of the story that I'll get to in a bit. Hers is now inert, for reasons we're not sure of - one of Kev's friends thinks that it has something to do with her paranormal abilities. Yours, therefore, is the last that works as a controller, and no one knew that it existed until you arrived on the paranormal scene."

"So Selena isn't in danger?" Cassie says. "That's good. Cause I can tell you I wouldn't wish this experience on anyone."

"Well, not necessarily," Moira says. "Ask me about that in a bit. What these amulets do when they're used together," she continues, "Is open portals. This is a facet of your power - the teleporting. However, when all are used together, they can open a much, much larger portal. And bring things through it."

"Crud, could this woman be planning something like that," Cassie half whispers. "I thought we had problems with the VIPER guy kidnapping people for his summoning spell. But I'm interrupting you. Please continue."

"I'm going to jump around here with the story, but it will hopefully all tie together when I'm finished," she says apologetically. "We knew that you would be targeted next, once we determined what was happening. That's why I put the call into you, obviously. When I arrived, though, and contacted you, I knew something was wrong - your speech patterns had changed. I think I mentioned to you that I am a linguist? Did I?" she wonders aloud.

Cassie nods, "Yes, you did."

"Anyway, I've always been pretty good at picking up languages, and I doctored in linguistics and specialized in cryptography. The gist of my research has always been pinpointing specific patterns in individuals' speech, and interpreting word and grammar choices in order to determine motivation. Kind of a reverse application of the Warfian Hypothesis, if you're familiar with that. At any rate, I've gotten pretty good at it over the years, and I knew right away that it wasn't you on the phone. The question was then, who was I talking to? We weren't sure, but my husband's friends have very good contacts, and when we heard of the case of the bizarre child sacrifice and the supposed 'suicide,' we had a clue. However, it was reported and widely disseminated that the woman involved in that - an Emily Thompson - had succeeded in her suicide attempt, and we thought you were dead. Thank goodness you called when you did."

"Child sacrifice!" Cassie gasps. A wave of disgusts floods through her as she realizes what that image trapped in Emily Thompson brain was of - the remains of an infant.

"Oh my god, Oh my god, what have I let happen," Cassie says, tears streaming down her face. "You told me to be careful, to watch out. How could I have let this happen. What kind of beast is she now. With that amulet she could summon something as terrible as she. She's there in my house, she's with Tony. Uncle Alex. Everyone. They're not going to know. No one's going to know. What if she kills a child again, " Cassie whispers.

"I've got to stop her," Cassie, twisting the sheets in her gnarled hands. "I've got to do something. I can't let her do this. She's using me, my body and that damned amulet to accomplish this all. I should have destroyed the thing when I realized what it could do. Is there a way to reverse this or stop her? Maybe if I could talk to Tony he'd realize like you what's going on. I get some sense of her, Emily Thompson's memories. I imagine she can probably use some of mine. But it's hard. She'll make mistakes. Maybe if I could some how contact Tony. Make him realize that it's not me there. "

Moira looks at the floor, and sighs. "I don't know if I should tell you this, but I know that I would want to know in your position," she says. "I don't think Tony would believe you if you tried to talk to him, though. You…ah, Cassie and Tony Salvatore have been painting the town red for the past few days, and have been all over the media. Before you jump to any conclusions about Tony, though," she says quickly, "Bear in mind that we believe this is a powerful sorceress - someone very experienced. It's more than likely that she is manipulating him as well."

"Great, just great. I'm stuck in the body of an old woman and my husband is out partying the night away with an impostor," Cassie exclaims. "This stinks. I mean I know she probably sounds just like me. And she's a sorceress. But I just can't help that my own husband should know the difference. I know I'm probably not being fair, but," she sighs, "I'm not exactly feeling very fair right now."

"I can't sit here. If she did this, there's no telling what she would do next," Cassie says pulling herself out of bed. "I've got to get moving start doing something. There must be a way to reverse this. Stop her."

"Moira, I know that you've done a lot for me already. You and your husband and his friends have saved my life and I don't know how I can thank you," Cassie says, her voice cracking with emotion. "I feel like a toad asking for more help, but you're the only people I know who can help me know. I don't know what to do."

"Cassie, please don't worry about us," she says. "We're here to help you. If my mother and Ralph both liked you, then that's that. We'll do everything we can to find out what is going on. Before you get up, though," she says, helping to ease Cassie back into the bed, "You're going to need to rest more. You're in the body of a ninety-year-old woman," she says. "Selena is due to arrive later tonight, and she will heal you to the best of her abilities. We think that this concerns her as well, but I will let her tell that story when she arrives."

"90 years old huh, I don't suppose I look as great as Lauren Bacall does at 72?" Cassie winces as she settles her old body back into bed. "One day you're partying around town, the next your the 'I've fallen and can't get up' poster child. I feel like I should be doing ads for milk. Remember only you can prevent osteoporosis."

"I suppose I should deal with this now," she adds. "You'd best bring me a mirror so I can face what I look like for the time being."

Moira sighs. "There is one other thing," she says quietly. "Whatever or whoever you might see, of my husband's friends - please do not ever, ever mention anything about them to another soul. They work very secretly, and are not particularly beloved by the international community, though their work is very important. I have heard that you are friends with the Silver Avenger, but if she ever knew that you were friendly with me, it would go very badly for you."

"That bad, huh," Cassie says. "Well, Moira, you always been a friend to me, actually a great friend. I don't think you're the type of person that would do anything to deserve having PRIMUS or law enforcement after them. So we'll just keep this our secret. Maria doesn't tell me everything No reason I can't have few secrets of my own. Besides, they're not going to believe me now even if I wanted to tell them, which I don't. What cover story did this sorceress tell everyone that has PRIMUS and the police after me?"

Moira goes to a dresser drawer, and pulls out a hand mirror. "We've been monitoring PRIMUS since we got to San Francisco," she says, "Not wanting to take any chances. From what we estimate, about two hours after the transformation was complete, Tony put an emergency call into PRIMUS, saying that his wife had disappeared. The Bronco was found, wrecked on the side of the road, and PRIMUS detected traces of magic." She shrugs and hands Cassie the mirror. "How they determined that is beyond me, since none of their equipment is geared to detect it." She shakes her head.

Cassie looks at herself while Moira continues. She is a wrinkly, pruny woman with thinning patches of hair and watery eyes. She also looks somewhat familiar to herself, though it's difficult to pin down from where. She flashes back to the museum, and giving a tour, and suddenly she realizes that she is the old woman that had wanted to talk to her after the tour, when Carl Ponte interrupted. However, she had more hair then - probably a wig.

"I've looked better," Cassie kind of whispers more to her self, patting a few of the stray hairs. "Great, why couldn't I get transferred at least to a middle-aged body. At this rate I'll probably die of a coronary before I can even try and get my own body back." Cassie gives up on the hair. There's nothing really she can do about it. "I never really thought of myself as vain, but I can honestly say, I don't like looking like this. Maybe if I got to live these 90 years I'd be a little more understanding."

Moira is saying, "At that point, an Agent Kestler called an alert, but Cassie was found, several miles away with a wild story. She teleported out of her car and then attacked by 'cultists.'" Moira says, "These cultists were apparently after the amulet, and were, in fact, recovered from the scene a few miles away in the hills around South San Francisco, and were known to be individuals associated with Thurmond in Haiti. Their interrogation reveals that they were to capture Odyssey. They were able to teleport her away from the car by using one of the lesser amulets and…" Moira turns slightly green, "a child sacrifice. When the story about Emily Thompson broke, it was immediately jumped on. The new Cassie revealed she'd seen her following her around at the de Young, and examination of video surveillance confirmed that."

"I remember her, Emily Thompson, well this body at least," Cassie says, putting the mirror face down. "She was in one of the tours I gave at the museum. She wanted to talk to me afterwards, but Carl Ponte had stopped me to chew me out about the museum. She must have been observing me. She had more hair then. Must have been a wig. "

"Odyssey's part of the story hasn't broken in the press yet," Moira continues, "however, I wouldn't go anywhere looking like Emily Thompson just yet." She stands. "I imagine you're starving. We have a wheelchair, if you'd like to go downstairs - we decided that the hotel was too risky, and with good reason. PRIMUS and San Francisco police searched it soon after we left. We're staying in Marin now."

"I understand. PRIMUS is probably looking for this body at least. Not to mention the police," Cassie says. "Breakfast sounds good. I don't suppose this contraption is motorized," Cassie says easing into it. "Maybe I could chase that evil woman down and run her over with it. Wouldn't accomplish much, but it'd make me feel a lot better."

"So do you think this woman was working with Thurmond? Or Thurmond was working for her? Any ideas what she might do next? I know Thurmond was trying to summon something. We recovered that book the cultists had, the one that was stolen from the British museum. Is it still safe at the museum? I don't know if this helps any, but we found that book at this house up in the San Francisco hills. It looked like they had been trying to summon something there. And while we were there, we were attacked by giant worms."

"I've actually told you all I know," Moira says. "You need to talk to my husband and his friends - they've been busy researching since this first happened." She pulls a scarf from the dresser. "Here, this will help the hair situations," she says, fastening it on. She pushes the wheelchair out of the bedroom, and into a long hallway. The hall opens into a huge living room, decorated in a Southwest style with Spanish accents. There appears to be an impromtu poker game taking place in one corner of the room between three men and a red-haired woman, and, sitting at a table, are two very handsome black-haired men, one of which has Ed in his lap as he types into a laptop.

Moira clears her throat as she approaches the men. "Kev, Ronan, this is Cassie. Cassie, this is my husband, Kevin, and Ronan O'Neill. Ed you know," she smiles slighly.

The men look up, and turn towards them, and Cassie finds herself looking into the blue eyes of Kevin Armstrong, former VIPER commander and first on the list of PRIMUS and the FBI's Most Wanted. "How are you feeling?" he asks. "We just got a call from Selena - she said she'd be here in an hour or two."

Oh boy, thinks a shocked Cassie. Moira has the gift of understatement when she said Maria Chow would be upset if I said anything about her husband. Kevin Armstrong! Maria would explode.

"I'm doing a lot better," Cassie stutters. "Well," she amends, "As good as can be expected for someone who seems to have aged 70 years and switched bodies. Well at least I can get the senior discount now," she quips, trying to ease through her surprise.

"The captured associates have apparently committed suicide while in PRIMUS custody," Armstrong says, looking at his wife. "Good call, Moira."

"Well, that's why you pay me the big bucks," she says. "Cassie, I'll be back in a second - I'm going to talk to the cook."

Great, left alone with a bunch of people I don't know plus Kevin Armstrong - wanted man, Cassie thinks. Goodness, how do I deal with this. I mean, he was working with VIPER. But Moira loves him and they have a great kid, so he can't be all bad. Plus he and his friends just saved my life and they don't even know me. It also sounds like they spend their time fighting evil people like this Emily Thompson. But he betrayed PRIMUS and joined VIPER. It doesn't look like he's working for VIPER now. What is going on? Sighing inwardly Cassie decides the only way she can get through all of this is to judge people based on her own experiences. God knows if I went by what they say about me in the newspapers I'd either be the biggest bimbo, Satan's handmaiden or an angel. Still I think I'd better just reserve judgment in all this for another time. Cultists force us to make strange alliances to stop them.

"Thank you for saving me or well, what's left of me," Cassie says glancing down at the frail body that is not hers. "I'm afraid I don't have the words to express this well enough. I was an archaeology major in college, not a journalist or writer. Thank you from the very bottom of my soul is the best phrase I can come up with."

"I don't suppose you know what this woman is planning to do next after stealing my body, my life and that amulet?" Cassie asks. "By the way, it's nice to met you all."

"That would be the question of the hour," he says, his voice the same, low, gravely voice Cassie had heard on the phone the night before. "Right now we're thinking she wants to open some major dimensional gate -" he looks at the Ronan, who nods. "What happens after that is anyone's guess. We think that this is tied to the origin of the amulets, though. We're waiting to talk to Selena again to figure out what she knows. We think that she might also be targeted, which is why we thought we'd have strength in numbers." Ed slides off his lap and onto the floor. The other man speaks, and his voice is so melodic it's stunning. "It would also be helpful," he says with an Irish brogue, "If you could tell us very specifically where the amulet came from."

"Well unfortunately, I don't have a lot of information on that," Cassie says with a sigh. "My husband bought it as a wedding gift at an art auction. That was roughly 10 months ago."

"It was at the Charter House auctioneers," Cassie adds. "The auction house said it had been part of an anonymous private collection that was being sold after the owner had passed away. They estimated it to have been crafted in the 5th century, but offered little more on its origin."

"Ralph told me it was pre-Mohammedan, and how did he term it 'from the forges of Damascus.' The jewelry experts I took it to, said that it was Arabic and wasn't very expensive. Only its age - they estimated that it was made sometime before the crusades - and it's good condition made it worthy of being auctioned off. One jeweler told me that the necklace was probably some trinket a man gave to his wife."

Ronan clears his throat, and interjects, "Actually, I was hoping for something more specific. Do you know anything else about it?"

"Well, the bill of ownership was a little more specific," Cassie says, lapsing into museum talk. "It didn't give too many clues as to who made the amulet, but it does kind of trace its ownership. See, all reputable auction houses are required to have a bill of ownership for any item that is sold. It is a legal document and it's a criminal action to change or forge a name of the bill of ownership. The bill helps buyers be assured that the item has never been stolen or illegally traded or acquired."

Taking a deep breath Cassie continues, "Anyway, we got the bill of sale from the Charter House. The amulet apparently took a very circuitous route between owners in Africa before ending up in San Francisco."

"There had been five owners since 1890, when bills of ownership had started being kept. The first was named Ibn al-Haytham. The only thing I know about him was that he listed his home as Medina. He sold the amulet to one Abu l-Baqa from Zanzibar off the East Coast of Africa. That put him very close to the trading routes along Madagascar."

"From there, somehow it ended up in the hands of a Moroccan named Ibu Kadashan. He held on to the amulet for quite some time, but sold it shortly before World War II broke out on the African continent. An Egyptian artifact trader, who is pretty well known by art historians for plundering Middle East archaeology treasures, named Alfarbi Rasan, bought the amulet."

"Then it gets interesting. There's nothing on the bill of ownership for nearly 20 years until a Heinrich Gertzmann is shown as the owner. Now Rasan was dead by this time. It's possible that someone in his family sold the artifact to Gertzmann, but more than likely the German army seized the amulet - like they seized many other artifacts - when they took Cairo."

"Most of that stuff was shipped back to Germany and then flooded through several hand-picked art and antiquities dealers, who would look the other way and lend their names to authenticate bills of sale. I believe that Gertzmann was the final owner of the amulet and that when he died, it somehow made its way through the channels of antiquities dealers until it was auctioned off by the Charter House where Tony bought it."

Ronan nods, and Armstrong stands up suddenly, though not in time to prevent Ed from smacking into a coffee table. She starts, and falls down. The coffee table, Cassie sees, even with her dim vision, is now cracked.

"And I thought I was hard-headed," she quips in her whispery voice. Ed must have inherited her father's abilities, Cassie thinks. But I thought Avengers couldn't have kids. Well at least until very recently. Cassie leaves the puzzle for now, returning her attention to what Kevin is talking about.

"That would make sense," Kevin says, bringing his daughter back. "The key seems to be the Middle East, and…."

He continues to drone, but Cassie is suddenly exhausted. Distantly, she can hear his voice, but the lure of sleep is more attractive. I've never taken so any naps in my life,is Cassie's last thought before she dozes off in her chair.

PBEM Turns