They found a phone in the remaining car, and made the call to Mr. Anderson. He told them to wait there, and to keep the phone on so they could be located. Once that was done, Kurt and Mila took the ritual preparations down. They took down the poles, kicked away the black-sand circle and, most importantly, dragged Eric's box away from the circle's center, putting it besides the van.

  Then they took the boy's body out, wrapping it on a cloth they found in the overturned van and letting him rest on the earth, rather than stewing in his own blood in that godforsaken iron casket. This drained them, emotionally speaking, but they did it anyway.

  Then, using the ropes that had tied the poles together, they tied up the three shamans and the sorcerer up, putting a very special emphasis on the sorcerer. Mila even made sure there weren't any plants around him. They were not making that mistake again.

  Then, they waited. They took a couple napping turns each to stay fresh, checked in on the prisoners every fifteen minutes (Kurt had to knock the sorcerer guy, name Ricardo, a couple more times to keep him from resisting. The shamans were more docile) and they talked to pass the time, about just about everything save for the thing before Kurt ran down that hill.

  It wasn't that they were trying to avoid the subject, or act like it did not happen (Kurt, at least, sure as hell didn't see himself stepping back from that), but rather that they knew it wasn't quite the time. They were dealing with a tense, bleak situation. One did not plant roses on that kind of ground.

  So they talked about everything but that, and did so until the morning came. It was then, when the raising sun began cresting the light blue horizon, that they heard the helicopter coming. It was military, one of those long things with two rotors and the body that looked like a Boeing's.

  Before two dumbfounded teens, the thing landed on the conveniently cleared patch of dirt where the ritual had taken place, whipping around dust and dirt with the wind it displaced. Once it had safely landed, and its engines turned off, the door behind the cabin opened, and the two Andersons, Blair and Calum, came out of it.

  Then, they both beelined for Kurt and Mila, their faces ghoulish with worry, and pulled the two in a group hug.

  Mr. Anderson began apologizing profusely, saying that the quest was a mistake, and that he would never put them in danger like that again. Blair just tearily mumbled about how relieved she was they were fine.

  It took them a whole minute to relax and disengage.

  "You kids okay, then?" Blair asked, Worriedly looking them over.

  The two responded affirmatively in a distracted fashion. Their eyes were set on the two pilots that had gotten off the helicopter after the sorcerers. They were both decked in military flight suits with the National Guard's logo, one carrying a large suitcase, and they immediately moved for the tied up criminals. From the suitcase, they procured four large circlets. They shone like steel, but they were flexible enough for one pilot to stretch the and fit them around the shaman's heads, covering their eyes and immediately causing them to slump into unconsciousness.

  While this happened, the other pilot took a flask from the suitcase alongside a syringe, which he filled with the flask's contents. The man then proceeded to inject that substance on the still dizzyed Ricardo, right at the base of the skull. Then he, too, was decked with the knocking circlet.

  "DSP agents?" Kurt asked as they saw the pilots carry the prisoners to the helicopter. They passed near enough the group for Kurt to glimpse their screens, both crowned by the UNVEILED DSP AGENT title.

  "Yeah," Mr. Anderson confirmed. "Now that this cult is over and Conrad is away, Barbara saw it fit to inform the other branches about what happened."

  "I assume that she also put a warrant on Conrad, then," Kurt said.

  "He is working with a criminal, Kurt, " Mr. Anderson reminded him. "And he now has within himself two of the Auras. Even if his reasons were understandable, we simply can't ignore that, my boy."

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  "That much we know, sir," Kurt answered. "But I don't believe we should have the DSP and whoever they can hire dealing with this. Conrad is part of the Order of Myra, sir. He's our responsability. If he has been led astray because some masked psycho is holding a sword of Damocles over his neck, then is up to us to be the ones that help him. Otherwise, what even is the point of our order?"

  "I agree with you, my boy. But even if that's what we should do, the simple reality is that we don't have a way of actually going on about it. We simply don't have anyone we can send on that kind of manhunt."

  "You have us," Kurt said as both he and Mila rose their hands.

  "Absolutely not," Blair cut in. "Kurt, I know you feel for Conrad and all, but please think this through: do you really want to go through this kind of shit ever again? This entire quest has been the perfect example on why we should keep to ourselves as an order!"

  "Is it now?" Mila asked. "Kurt and I think differently."

  "You nearly died," Mr. Anderson said, his tone calm yet solid. "Multiple times."

  "I know that, sir," Kurt replied solemnly. "And believe when I tell you I don't want to repeat the experience, but... you are not telling the whole story."

  He saw where the conversation was going, and felt himself falter. Could he actually make this propossal to the two of them? Commit himself to what it entailed?

  Mila held his hand and smiled at him. Go on, she seemed to say ,just like we talked about. The two agents walked past them, going for Eric's body.

  Steeling himself with a deep breath, Kurt continued his pitch. "Sir. Blair. In this quest we've averted a demon-wrought ecological disaster, taken out a serial killer warlock, saved four college students and four innocent direwolves from near-certain death and captured four dangerous warlocks. Hadn't we embarqued on this journey, none of that would have happened. It has not been a disaster by any stretch of the imagination. We don't regret going on this quest, not in the least."

  "You might regret the next one," Mr. Anderson pointed out. "Or you might not even live to do so."

  "That's a risk we're willing to take," Mila said, still holding Kurt's hand. "Plus, sir, it is not like staying passive and low on the radar is fully possible right now. There is at least one very dangerous, very evil man with an interest on our order. He sent Conrad our way years before you were sent the Red Horn Cult's way. We need a way to defend ourselves beyond not making ourselves a target, because we're already a target."

  "Blair," Kurt called to his sister. "You told me the morning of my birthday about how we lack the necessary traits to make ourselves into the kind of order that can actually protect those outside it, and how we could acquire them if only I helped." A frown drew on his brow, and guilt colored his face. "But because it involded sharing the one thing I thought made me special, I ignored you, and insulted your cooking as a way to hurt you. There's no excuse for that kind of selfish behavior. I am sorry."

  "Kurt..." she said. She dithered on what to say for a long moment, then smiled softly. "It wasn't your fault. I should not have forced you to. It's just natural you snapped." She snickered. "Plus, my cooking does suck, so no foul there."

  "That may be so-the me snapping thing, not the cooking- but my reaction wasn't the correct one either. Truth is, I was afraid of giving Pneuma away because, if everyone else had their own talents on top of it, then what would I have? How would I possibly keep up? That idea terrified me, led me to act like I did."

  Nobody said anything to this. Mila squeezed his hand in support.

  "But," Kurt continued. "The thing is, I'm not scared anymore. Maybe it has something to do with how I now have a talent of my own. Maybe that's even the main reason , though I hope otherwise. What I do now is that getting to fight alongside others, and using my strength to lift others up instead of just protect myself...it feels amazing. Like this last few days have been the only time I've ever used my strength properly. This is what I was meant to use Pneuma for all along, I know that now. So I'm asking you for the chance to do so."

  He looked at Mr. Anderson's eyes.

  "Sir, if you give me the chance, I would like your help in doing just that. Share Pneuma with those in the order who want to learn it. Teach it to them. Help them. So that they can be strong enough to protect, not just themselves, but others too. So what Mila and Conrad and I accomplished here wont be an isolated incident. So I can finally start using all my strength and knowledge for something beyond self-indulging violence. Sir, I'm pleading with you for the chance to actually help others besides myself."

  The man remained silent, his face flashing between emotions. Finally, he settled, slumping as though defeated, and said. "The group will be reduced, to avoid knowledge about Pneuma from filtering outside the order. For that same reason, we will have to carefully choose those eligible to it, to make sure their skillsets can make the most out of the ability, in a way that also will make their use of it seem like part of said skillset. If we can form a group like that...then I guess it can be arranged."

  The smile threatened to split Kurt's face in half. He nodded deeply, thanking Mr. Anderson for the opportunity, then turned to Mila.

  "I'm sure we can manage that, sir," Kurt said, looking at Mila's eyes, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. "After all, me and my co-captain make a terrific team. Isn't that right?"

  "You betcha," she said, smiling and chuckling. He laughed too, still holding her soft hand, and when they both stopped, they realized.

  This was a ground worth planting roses on.

  Someone pulled Mila in through their hand-hold. Whether it was Kurt or Mila herself, the boy did not know. And neither did he care, because it was then that his and Mila's lips met. As far as kisses went, it wasn't anything special: the merely pressed their lips together, and a bit too tight at that, all but smushing their teeth together.

  It was a clumsy, goofy-looking kind of kiss. And it was absolutely perfect.

  "Holy hell," Blair murmured, then laughed. "Well, fucking finally!"

  "Finally indeed," Mr. Anderson agreed, chuckling. "Another positive to this quest, I guess."

  "Oh, leave us alone," Kurt said candidly, holding Mila, his best friend, his girlfriend, softly to his chest.

  "Ah, let them gawk," the girl-his girlfriend- said. "Handsome guy like you kissing a cute girl like me? We were just asking for it."

  The four laughed at that, and it wasn't long until they made their way to the helicopter, the march led by the two Andersons.

  Kurt and Mila trailed behind the father-daughter duo, still holding hands.