The mustache itched again.

"This isn't mildly inconvenient whatsoever," Salah said flatly.

Zan's eyes glinted as he spoke. "I know right?"

"Well, I don't see how we have a choice. Not unless the unspoken needs to be said," Balat said, eyes closed and arms folded.

Salah resisted the urge to rip the atrocity from his face. Silk was still as uncomfortable as he remembered. He kept clenching his fist to his sides. He readjusted on the coach seat, again, then pushed the curtains aside to get a look of their position.

He must have been frowning hard because Balat tapped him on the shoulder. "You okay?"

"Hmm? I don't look fine?"

"If you did, would I have asked that?"

He gave an exasperated sigh.

Zan chuckled by his side. "I think it's quite obvious the mustache and gilded kid's outfit isn't the only thing bothering him."

Balat cocked his head at Zan. "Then what is?" Zan's expression fell flat. Salah couldn't tell if Balat was being dense on purpose or if he genuinely had no idea what Zan was driving at.

The coach rolled to a stop. Finally!

The three supposed gentlemen came down the coach. Balat walked to the coachman and pressed some generous amounts of gold on his palm. "Keep the change."

Well, they could afford such extravagances so nobody complained or objected.

The building they had stopped at was mostly old. Faded paintwork, and the window panes looked like they hadn't been washed in years. A clock close to its ceiling was clearly not functional.

"Are you sure this is where he described to you?" Balat asked skeptically.

Zan shrugged and sauntered towards the building. "We'll find out soon enough, won't we?"

The door was opened for them and the place was rowdy. Something Salah had not anticipated. They were dealers to the side. The sound of dice in dice cups filled the air in what he assumed was a common room.

Salah leaned and whispered in Zan's ear. "Where is our guy?"

"A moment." Zan walked over to a dealer and whispered words to the man. He pointed out something to Zan. Who nodded before turning towards them. He waved them over.

Salah followed the man and they passed a doorless hallway, and stopped by the last room by the right. The door was pretty neat and well cut.

Zan did the knocking while Balat went through his pockets. No doubt for his cigar.

No answer came from the other side of the door. Zan knocked again and again.

Salah shoved him aside and kicked the door open. The man on the other side was shocked to see them. He wore dark shades and he had a surgical blade in his hand.

There was a dead body on a chair opposite him. Its eyes and ears were missing. A grotesque sight at best.

"Really man?"

"Ah, if it isn't my favourite trio. Love the disguises by the way. It'll definitely fool some fools." He moved as if to shake them. Balat gave him a weird berth. "Of course. It's no surprise Zan is my favourite among you lot."

Salah stepped close to the body. "I guess this could not have waited, then?"

"I don't remember telling you to come in. Besides, that man was here to kill me but you know." He shrugged. "These kinds of things don't always go as planned."

"I'm sure."

"But yes, I apologize for this mess. I'm sure you and Zan can stomach it and ignore it. Honestly, you've both done worse. Balat, I'm not so sure."

Salah and Zan glanced at their brother. "I can handle it," he said with a frown. "but move it from the centre of the room, will you?"

"Of course, of course. I apologize once more." The Artist dragged his artwork of a corpse from the centre of the room.

Salah perceived smoke and tilted his head to see Balat smoking. Took him long enough. This should be a personal best.

The Artist leaned against his bedpost, a rag on his hand as he picked up his tools from a small table and cleaned them. Salah had always wondered why he bothered to have them- his tools. So far as he knew, the man did not need them to do his ugly work.

"So, what do you have for me?" Zan asked, fingers laced in front of him.

The Artist gave small body movements before speaking. "First of all, the man who tried to kill me was from the crowheads. I c-"

"Wait, they've reformed the gangs?" Salah interrupted, confused.

The Artist gave him a confused look. "How long have you been awake for?"

Salah didn't answer.

"Come on, don't be shy. Barely a week, hasn't it?"

Salah gave a resigned sigh.

The Artist half scoffed, half chuckled. "Not surprising. Zan has been awake a while. We were in contact during the times I came to Valdrell."

"We are deviating." Balat puffed. "What do you have to tell us about Xena?"

The Artist paused mid-wipe. "Other than the unholy amount of gold on your heads, I have heard things. Lots of things about your sister. One thing is certain, however, she's been awake long before any of you, any of us."

"Then why hasn't she tried to make contact?" Zan asked, biting his lips.

"How should I know? You're her brother. That aside she's gotten a new alias from the men in the underground. The crowheads and golden nettles call her 'The Cold Menace'."

"How are you sure it's her?"

"I've seen Xena before, remember Balat? The descriptions of her are too on point to be someone else. Long dark hair that falls over shoulders. Ice powers and she heals from gun wounds! Let's be honest with ourselves here, there's no other sinister on this continent with those qualities."

Salah was silent. He looked at Balat. He was troubled. He still believed Xena was the one responsible for that lord that was killed. He wants to bring it up but doesn't want to believe it either.

At last, Balat cleared his throat, flicking off his half burned out cigar. "What about a lord killed in an escort den? A deep widening cut in the throat?"

The Artist dropped his now cleaned tools on the table, hands on hips. "I think we both know the answer to that question, Balat."

He looked up to meet his eyes. "She's killed three other men. The motive behind them I do not know. But these men are important vainshits in the Greenlands. The others have gone on high alert. No idea where the Cold Menace would hit next."

Zan and Salah shared a look. They both had expected this. Most of all, Salah knew Xena more than any of the others. Still, even he couldn't decide for what reason she would be killing these men for. He was bloody sure it wasn't for some justice or heroic cause. That virtuous kind of thing was exhausting to her.

The Artist rose. His tools were now neatly arranged in a pack. For a grotesque killer, he was quite particular. Maybe it came with the profession.
"If that is all, I believe it's time for us to depart, for now. When I have more I'll contact Zan."

Zan peeked out the window before putting his head back inside. "Yeah about that, it's gonna be a little hard for you. We'll be moving a lot for a while."

"Oh yes, that is true. You lot pissed off the Dodvrans. Insane stuff!" He grinned and spread out his arms. "But look at the bright side, you vainspawned creatures are the richest lot in the Greenlands, again!"

Zan chuckled. They may not have their estates and farmlands anymore. Those had been acquired by another house after their supposed deaths. Those, however, was never what made them vainly rich. It was their mansion. He had hidden vaults in his walls. Vaults that contained exotic gems, treasures, darkest secrets and invaluable artifacts from all over Ethern.

"I guess this is goodbye." Balat rose from his chair and made for the door.

Zan blinked at his sudden leave. The Artist advanced toward him and made an attempt to brush a finger along his face. Zan went intangible and the hand went through the air where Zan's body was.

The Artist laughed and backed off. "Still playing hard to see."

Zan glared daggers at him. "I wouldn't even shake your hands if you weren't wearing gloves, you bloody goat!"

"I bet not even that is safe." Salah had his hand on the door handle. Zan was behind him in moments.

"Till we meet again, Sinister." Salah and Zan bade him goodbye. He was grinning while they left.

Salah wasn't surprised they didn't meet Balat out in the hallway. They saw him standing outside by the side of the building, patronising one of those paper vendors.

"You look rattled. To think I was the one uncomfortable coming here. Turned it was just my clothing after all."

Balat folded the papers and met his eyes. They were... bleary. Has he been crying? It can't be because of Xena.

Zan noticed it as well, and gave a slight shake of his head. He did not want to mention it as well.

"Any more stops before we head home?"

Balat's eyes stared off like he was in deep thought. "Actually, yes. Helenora."

"For Virtues' sake!" Salah hissed sharply.

"What? I heard she's in Symphony as well. It shouldn't be too far from here, I think."

Zan cocked an eyebrow. "And how exactly did you hear? I don't remember anyone seeing you leave?"

"The bloody idiot has been writing to her that's how."

Balat flinched at Salah's words.

"Oh... you two still got that thing going on?"

"Shut it. I'm getting a coach. You both can stay here and sulk, I don't give a grain."

Salah hissed but followed. Helenora pissed him off for many reasons but her powers were a huge reason why he tolerated her. Just when I thought this bloody day was beginning to go well.

*********

Sinisters had begun to awaken for the better part of a year and to Salah's dismay he was among the last to do so.

He had no idea how Helenora got that knowledge because it was the first thing she used to mock him. Or maybe he did.

"I guess, the weak ones just needed more time to wake up, am I right?"

Balat and Zan had the nerves to grin. Bloody bastards. And they are in fact bastards!

It was because of people like her that always mocked him, that always looked down on him that made him want people to fear him. Fear. The word was too docile for what he had in mind. He wanted people to dread him. He wanted men to see his shadow and cower. He- he exhaled deeply. He was beginning to lose himself there. Something that hadn't happened since he awakened. Salah knew deep down that his monsters won't lie still forever. Sooner or later they would come gnawing at him.

Helenora was healing a gaping wound on a Sinister's head? The wound ran from one end to another on the fellow's scalp. Salah watched her aura closely as she closed the wound. Soft, gentle and flowing. A heartbeat later, his aura was like hers.

Salah felt the gun wound he had close up almost instantly. Helenora's power set had self regeneration included. Useful, almost makes spending just a minute with her bearable.

The fellow nodded and she whispered in his ear before he left without another word. She rose from the carpet and threw herself on her couch. She was almost too comfortable.

"So," she said, "what brings you gentlemen to my humble abode?" She waved her finger from Zan to Balat. Visibly excluding him from the bunch.

"I missed you," Balat said. Simpleton.

Her face went solemn immediately. "I missed you too, Bal." Mega simp!

Balat crossed to her seat and caressed her cheek. "I missed touching and holding you."

She had a hand on his face and another on his hair. "I've missed that as well." Her voice was soft. Too soft.

"Please, don't make me throw up."

Zan laughed but quickly turned it to a cough. They turned their glares towards him. "It's this cough I have. Comes and goes, you see."

"I'm sure, Zan," Helenora said dryly.

Salah rolled his eyes.

"At least you've got powers of your own. Unlike some fodder who needs to copy others to be able to do a semblance of what we can do."

"Trust me, it's more than a semblance."

"Oh? But I wasn't referring to you now, was I?"

"You and I very well know you were."

"No I don't. I think deep down you know that you are fodder. Isn't that why you had always gotten bullied?"

"Nora!" That was Balat but he was too late. The veins on Salah's neck were standing. He could feel them. His breath was coming in sharp low hisses. He closed his eyes and he could see it. Him being bullied.

The boys twice his height dragged him and shoved his head into the green pond. He thrashed and struggled but it was useless against four.

He screamed in the water, his face and nose hurt. "DIE, MONSTER!" "CREATURE OF VANITY'S PISS!" "YOU SHOULD BE DEAD!" "YOU DON'T DESERVE TO BREATHE!" "DIE!!"

In one quick motion, Salah picked up a small table by his chair and slammed it against the nearest wall. The table shattered, spraying splinters across the room.

Everyone shied back from him. He was gritting so hard his teeth hurt. He stormed out of the room without another word.