A/N Phew, okay…very long pause between the last chapter and this one. Many apologies for the long wait, and I hope you're all still with me. I'll try to update more often, especially since I now have a better idea of where this fic – and it's sequel – is going. Yes, there's going to be yet another one after this, in a rather different style. That's the plan, anyway! There's still a long way to go on this fic. Please review, and again, many apologies for the long delay, and thanks for your interest in this story!

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"Kumiko…" Carl mused, thoughtfully. He was sitting on the sofa, cradling the red glass in his hand, staring vacantly into space. "It's something to do with this," he brandished the glass, "which is something to do with her. The cut I received from the glass was probably the medium through which the change in my ability to control the telekinesis occurred. But how? And why should it? Surely Kumiko can't possibly have any connection with Tallander."

"Who knows?" Van Helsing was equally puzzled, but inclined not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Does this mean we'll be heading back to Vatican City before the two weeks is up?"

"Certainly not!" Carl looked horrified. "We don't know if this is a fluke, how stable it is, and whether or not I can control the subconscious element – that is, prevent things from happening as well as initiate and direct them. It's the subconscious part that's the most dangerous."

The hunter nodded, detecting an undercurrent of fear in Carl's voice, knowing that the real reason the friar did not wish to return to the Vatican was his fear of the reception he might have there.

"We'll wait, then. But how can we work on the…er…subconscious thing?"

"I have no idea. It's like learning not to breath."

"But you can stop yourself breathing."

"Yes. I'd die."

Van Helsing sighed. "There must be a way."

Carl thought for a while, absently turning the glass over and over. It seemed to have lost some of its odd, mesmerising effect, but he was still fascinated with it. Eventually he set it down and looked up at his friend.

"There is a way…you have to make me want things."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, for example, when I'm hungry, food tends to fly in my direction. We could work with that."

"Are you hungry?"

"No, not really."

"Scratch that, then. I could try making you angry again."

"It won't work if I know you're just pretending."

"I see…well, maybe we could…CARL!"

The friar leapt up, startled. "What? What?"

"Vampire!"

Carl swung around with a yell of terror – and Van Helsing's crossbow leapt across the room and into his hand. It was heavy, and the friar almost dropped it, but managed to point it shakily at the door. "Where? Where?"

"Calm down, Carl. There's no vampire."

"What? Oh…oh, I see." Sheepish, Carl put down the crossbow. "But I can't work on not doing things like this if you don't warn me that I'm supposed to be practising."

"But if I warn you, it doesn't work."

Carl sighed, sat back down. "I don't know what to suggest."

"I think we should keep trying exactly this, at intervals. It'll be a compromise – you'll be half expecting it."

The friar nodded, though he looked anxious.

"I suppose I'll just try to…well…master my emotions."

"You do that. Meanwhile there's no reason for you to stop practising the other side of the coin – controlling things deliberately. I'm going to send a telegram to Cardinal Jinette, informing him that if all goes well…"

"No!" Carl said sharply, surprising the hunter. "I'd prefer to write to him myself," the friar added, looking a little sheepish. "A letter, not just a telegram. There's an awful lot I need to explain, and…well…the cardinal may be something of a crusty old devil," he winced a little at the unfortunate choice of words, and crossed himself quickly, shooting a brief apologetic glance to the heavens, much to Van Helsing's amusement. "but he's been very good to me," Carl continued, with a small smile. "He didn't have to take me in, but he did."

Van Helsing settled himself next to the friar.

"You've never told me much about your life before the Vatican. Until recently I always assumed you grew up there."

"You assume a great deal, based on extremely suspect evidence," Carl smiled, a twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes. "Honestly, Van Helsing, do I sound Italian to you?"

"Well…no. There is a little something off about your pronunciation, now I come to think of it."

Carl snorted with amusement. "I'm English, Van Helsing. I grew up in Sussex."

"Surrey?"

"Yes, it's sort of…oh, never mind. I don't suppose you've been there."

"I've been to London."

"I know, I was there. Wearing a damned uncomfortable corset, I might add," Carl ginned. "Sussex isn't very much like London – certainly not the part I grew up in, anyway. I was quite young when I was brought to Rome, but I remember Sussex quite well…in a way it will always be home to me, I think."

"I thought you grew up in an abbey."

"I did – Sussex does have abbeys, you know. It was called St. Barleigh's. I was sent there after my parents died, when I was three years old."

Sadness crept into Van Helsing's heart. Here was someone else who had lost their family. The hunter found himself wondering again, for the first time since he had met Anna, whether it was not better to remember nothing than to remember loss and pain.

"What happened to them?" he asked, softly. Carl gave him a sad smile.

"They were killed by some sort of demon. I never did find out which."

"A demon?" Surprised, Van Helsing turned in his seat to stare intently at Carl. "I didn't realise that your family had been involved in…that sort of thing."

The friar chuckled. "Didn't I tell you my granny could kill a warlock? My father was in a position similar to yours. My mother was more of a scholar – a demonologist. She did nothing in the practical side. The Order was just as fussy about letting women get involved in the dirty work back then as it is now. It still destroyed her though – that wretched creature. It broke into our house and killed them both – simply tore them apart, along with my older brother, who tried to defend my mother. I'm not sure of the exact details – and although I'm sure someone somewhere is, I didn't want to know."

Van Helsing could understand that. He felt a sharp burn of rage at the thought of the innocent child left an orphan, the brave man and woman sacrificing their lives to do God's work, the valiant youth who had died attempting to aid them.

"How did you survive?" he asked Carl, quietly.

"I wasn't there at the time. I'd been left with a nanny. My parents suspected danger, you see. They had already made arrangements for me – I was to be housed and educated at St. Barleigh until I came of age, then it was my choice whether to take orders or go out into the world. I suppose I chose a sort of halfway house in the end," he added, with a faint smile. "I never could bring myself to go all the way, as it were. I think it was partly the horror story one of the more mischievous novices told me about monks being castrated as part of their novitiate."

Van Helsing snorted, and Carl smiled, apparently pleased to have made his friend laugh despite the unhappy story he had told.

"I don't want you to feel sorry for me," the friar said, firmly. "I made my peace with all this long ago. The Abbott and the others were very good to me, taught me well, and recommended me to Cardinal Jinette when I reached a suitable age to be initiated into the Order."

"Fifteen is young," Van Helsing remarked.

"Not when the average life expectancy in the Order is about six months," Carl told him, dryly. "For the field operatives, anyway. Of course, I never wanted to be a field man." He pursed his lips and gave Van Helsing rather a perturbed look. The hunter smirked.

"I won't apologise for getting you to see something of the world, Carl."

"Hm. I didn't think you would. At any rate, it's all academic now, or rather…it isn't…" he broke off, having apparently confused himself. Van Helsing smiled.

"I think a little more practice is in order…let's see…"

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Five hours later, Carl finally announced that he'd had enough – or rather, his body rebelled against the furious determination of his brain. He had been controlling the course and speed of increasingly heavy rocks Van Helsing threw; at first, he had simply shifted their trajectory, eventually being able to reverse it and return the rock to Van Helsing at a slow enough speed for the hunter to catch it. Then, the friar had progressed to halting the rocks in mid-air, making them hover for as long as possible before 'calling' them to him; this was much harder.

What made things even more difficult was than Van Helsing, in the spirit of helping Carl to control his subconscious effect on objects, occasionally threw a rock directly at the friar, whose task was the dodge it physically rather than employing telekinesis. Again and again he had failed, until finally he gave up in despair, physically unable to continue, utterly exhausted.

"This isn't working," he said wearily, dropping heavily into a sitting position on the ground. The sky was darkening, and a rumble of thunder came from the east. Evening and storm were drawing in together.

"One more try?" Van Helsing asked, glancing at the sky. "We won't get another chance today – I wouldn't like to try this inside."

Carl sighed, struggled to his feet. "All right. Once more. But it won't work. I'll just move the rock again. I simply can't stop myself if I think it's going to hit me."

Van Helsing took up a position about twelve feet away from Carl, and picked up a suitably sized rock. "Ready?"

"Yes – go ahead."

Van Helsing threw – and it worked. The rock remained on target, not moving an inch – with the less fortunate side effect that Carl, who had been truly expecting another failure and had therefore not bothered to dodge, received a glancing blow to the head. He fell over more from surprise than injury, and when Van Helsing reached his side, half anxious and half elated, the friar was laughing wildly.

"Oh, that was…I don't believe it!" he gasped, between giggles. "That was wonderful! I didn't think it would work, right up until the last second, but then there was sort of – I don't know – a sensation as though something was being blocked, and the rock just…kept on coming."

"And hit you in the head," Van Helsing added, smiling.

"Well yes, but never mind that. I'm all right," Carl allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He had a small graze on the left side of his forehead, nothing more.

"It did work, didn't it? the rock didn't slow down at all? It didn't hit me very hard…"

"I didn't throw it very hard," Van Helsing explained. "Just in case."

Carl smiled, then swayed slightly. The hunter caught his arm.

"You're exhausted, and it's getting cold out here. Let's get inside and have supper." He led the friar into the house, settled him onto the sofa, and, after handing Carl a clean handkerchief to clean the cut on his head, rummaged through their supplies for food. Van Helsing had ridden to the nearest village earlier, bringing back rations. He took out sausages, bread, and cheese, and set up Carl's little stove, filling the kettle to make tea.

"Hungry?" he asked, and getting no reply, glanced over at the sofa. Carl was fast asleep, curled up on his side, his cheek resting on his hand, his face calm and peaceful. Van Helsing moved closer, crouching beside the sofa, gazing at Carl intently, remembering the last time he had watched the friar sleep and pondered the question - had he changed? The hunter sensed something different in his friend – not bad, necessarily, and certainly not evil, but – different. Perhaps it was just his imagination – it was odd to think of Carl as possessing so much raw strength, such an extraordinary weapon. That kind of power was enough to change anyone – but it was also more than enough to change someone's perception of him.

Carl still seemed to be – well, Carl. The sly humour was still there, the schoolmasterish voice still appeared when Van Helsing said something Carl considered foolish, the friar's sleeping face was still innocent, free of darkness. But it would be idiocy, Van Helsing decided, to conclude that someone could live through experiences such as Carl's and still be the same person on the other side of them. Carl must have changed; how and how much were the questions Van Helsing now had to ponder. Time would tell. For everything that Carl would lose, in virtuousness, in innocence, in freedom from sin – would what he gained in power and strength and experience make up for that?

Gazing thoughtfully down at the peaceful face, Van Helsing wondered – and feared he knew the answer.