California, like most of the United States, used Daylight Savings Time. The last weekend in October was designated for the change back to Pacific Standard Time. Precisely, the change occurs at 2:00 am, when clocks are set back one hour. In 2009, the last day of October, the 31^st, Halloween, was on a Saturday.

At about an hour and a quarter before the changeover, in the San Francisco Bay area of California, on November 1, 2009, the sun reached its nadir. On the opposite side of the planet, the sun was at zenith, local noon. For this place and time, this was the actual point of midnight, the beginning of the Witching Hour. A few knew that. A very few knew this was more than a legend. And a very, very few knew that this was a time that those with the Art could open a very, very special Gate . . .

Benicia noticed that new guests had begun appearing. Some of them were children, but most seemed to be older. None of them seemed to appear at the front door. That was not too surprising; even Alvarson had come in through the back. That was where the parking was. But when Benicia slipped out the back way for a smoke, she didn't find the expected number of new cars. Some of them could have been dropped off, but . . . there were actually fewer cars under the carport and in the area around it. Perhaps they had parked on the street?

Benicia decided to take a walk around the grounds. The weather was chilly, but dry, and for the moment there was no wind. She did not pause to analyze herself first. If she had, she might have realized that her curiosity about the "missing" cars was less about investigating these people for her father than about getting away from them. And from Pleione . . . she was finding it harder and harder to stay near Pleione. She hardly noticed the cold this night as she picked her way around. She'd always been able to see well at night, even without a moon, and the moon was up tonight, waxing in its second quarter. It provided more than enough light beyond the streetlights and the lights at the gates and from the windows of the house . . . odd that there weren't floodlamps in this place with so much security . . . enough even as fog rolled in . . .

"What are you looking at, Pell?" It was Alcyone, "Al."

Pleione turned away from the window. "I was checking on Betty. She's outside."

"Why don't you just go out there with her?" said Al with her typical directness.

"I think she wants to be alone."

"Really?"

Pleione hesitated. Alcyone was pretty good at sensing lies and half-truths. "I think maybe she doesn't want to talk to me now, especially."

"Got any idea why, sis? She after Johnny too?"

"No, she's not after Johnny. I don't think she's after any guy right now."

"Oh? Does she like girls more, like Mitch or Harry?"

Pleione frowned. "Al, you better not call them that!"

"That dumb I'm not. So, sis, do you think your friend wants to be more than your friend, or what? She make a pass at you?"

"No," sighed Pleione. "No, that isn't it."

"Then what?"

"I don't know."

"Try asking her."

"I did."

"And she said?"

Pleione shook her head. "It's not important exactly what she said. But she didn't really tell me what was bothering her so much."

Alcyone shrugged. "So have Sarah read her."

Pleione shook her head. "No. She's my friend. I won't do that to her just because she's out of sorts for a little while." She walked from the window over to the railing; Alcyone followed her. As they leaned over to look down, Pleione asked, "Who's that girl with mom?"

"Her name is Helen Mitchell. She came with the Grey Lady."

"Mom sure seems interested in her."

"Yeah. Anyway, she's actually from Japan. She was adopted by a family over here. Her real name is Himiko . . . lessee . . . Sanjouin Himiko. Maybe she's from some family Mom knows over there?"

Pleione shook her head. "Mom's never told me about anyone named Sanjouin. Anyway, if the Grey Lady brought her, she must be from her world."

"Yeah, I guess so. But there are people who are the same in both worlds. Or almost the same." Alcyone shrugged. "Why else would mom be so interested in . . . " She trailed off.

"Well?" asked Pleione of her sister. "What great thoughts are you thinking now?"

"Look at her, Pell. Helen sort of looks like mom, a little . . . maybe . . ."

It took Pleione a few more seconds to figure out that Alcyone was trying to start up one of her "gaslight" gags again. She whacked Alcyone on her behind, making a noise loud enough that some people looked up from the main floor.

Deep below, no one took notice of the sisters fighting or the fog coming in. The Grey Lady finished her spell, and silver-skulled staff in her hands vanished back into otherspace.

Yaten said nothing; Yaten knew. But Shi--again where others wished she was not--said, "That is all? That is all the great Grey Lady does?"

Without turning away from the remains of Yaten's son, the grey-clad mistress of necromancy said, "He is beyond my Art."

"But when another moon--" Sailor Venus began to say.

"He is forever beyond my art," said Argent, still without turning away.

"And my nephew?" asked Sailor Uranus.

Argent shook her head.

"You fraud!" cried Shi.

Argent at last turned about. "They are both beyond my powers. But there may be another way."

A long object appeared in her hands, wrapped in embroidered silk similar in pattern to her gown, and to the cloth on which all that was left of Yaten's son lay. "There is only one of this world who can wield this safely. You, the Senshi of Metal, the Queen of Swords." She handed it to Sailor Venus.

Shi could sense something about the artifact, something of power. But still it was not enough to keep her from saying as she saw it uncovered, "It looks like a cheap toy! The blade, it doesn't even have a point!"

"It is quite sharp enough for the purpose," said an unfamiliar voice from behind Shi.

Shi was startled. She turned to see a woman dressed in a peculiar way, quite different from anything she had seen on this world so far. Still, fear never stilled her sharp tongue. "And what purpose could that thing possibly have?"

"For parting heads from necks, young fool." The woman held up her left hand to her throat, to her long, slim neck. Shi noticed that the pendent the woman wore was in the form of one of the letters of the alphabet used to write English and some of the other major languages of this world which was supposed to be her home now. A "B." And she noticed other things . . . the hand up to the woman's throat had six fingers. Glancing down, Shi counted only five on the right . . . and glancing further down, she saw that there were no feet under the woman's peculiar gown. And just as she noticed that, the woman faded away. It was only when the woman had gone that Shi realized that she had heard the words of the ghost in Kinmokugon, not in the Japanese everyone else had been using.

"She was a client of my mother's, child," said the Grey Lady. "One of the many shades bound to this blade."

"Grandfather, when is mother coming back?" asked Simone. She asked in a language very familiar to the ancient, the language of his own people.

"Not long, child. Not long."

"She's helping someone, Simone," said Aura in the language of this land and time.

"She doesn't have her feathers now," said Simone. "Can't they wait until they grow back? We haven't seen mama for a long time."

"She must do what she can now," said Alvarson.

"Is this someone that important?"

"Aura, don't say things like that!" scolded Aura.

Alvarson held up his palm. "The person is a senshi. But if she were not, Argent would still do what she can to help now. She has lost her child."

"I hope mama can help," said Simone. "But she can't bring anyone back with no feathers. Can she, grandpa?"

Alvarson shook his head. "No. But there may still be hope."

Ishtar had come, with a concerned look. She had a question . . . but she wasn't going to ask it in front of Simone. Alvarson could see that in the older child's eyes. Instead she knelt down and enclosed Simone in her wings. "Remember me?"

"Yes. Where's Kimi? and Sarah?"

"Kimi's over there flirting with that boy," said Ishtar, pointing. "And Sarah hasn't got back with our last guest, I think."

"Oh."

Alvarson stepped up close to Ishtar, and whispered, "Careful with your wings, kid. They're not supposed to be real. Talk to me later?"

As Benicia walked along the fence, looking at the cars and trying to remember if any were different, the fog grew thicker, and thicker. The fog didn't deliver a chill; in fact, the temperature seemed to be pleasant, perhaps a bit warmer. Benicia did not notice that, but she did finally take note of the mist when she couldn't make out much across the street. In fact, as she reached the corner of the fence, she found she could not really see the house behind her; it was just a vague glow from the windows.

After taking a few steps along the west front of the fence, tipped with more-than-decorative spearpoints, Benicia stopped and began to light up another cigarette. But she noticed ahead of her something moving, and caught a glimpse of fire. Another smoker?

Or maybe someone worse . . . would anyone hear her if she cried for help?

A shape emerged from the fog, silhouetted faintly by light from behind. Then Benicia finally heard muffled footsteps on the long-cut grass.

Benicia tensed, undecided. Run? The fog was so dense now, she would likely stumble on something before she ran too far. And if it was just a guest, she would look damned silly . . . Whoever it was surely would have noticed her by now.

"Who's there?" she called out.

Whoever it was, stopped. The shape was someone, definitely, though still too far off to identify.

"What do you call yourself?" came the delayed reply. It was a man's voice, probably--a tenor's voice, pleasant, sensuous . . .

"I'm Betty. I'm one of the guests. Just out for a smoke, you know. And you? I don't remember meeting you. I'd remember your voice, I think. It's nice."

"Thank you."

"You still haven't told me who you are."

"I am an old friend of the family."

The man had begun walking again. This time the footsteps seemed softer, and yet there was no hint that he was trying to creep up on her. He began to emerge from the fog. Benicia took a few unconscious steps back before catching herself.

"Which family?"

"The Alvarson family."

Benicia couldn't think of anything else to say before the stranger stood before her, less than an arm's length away. Surprisingly, he was not much taller than herself; she had thought he would be larger. His hair was a light color; exactly what she could not tell; there wasn't really enough light to make out true colors. He was wearing a cape, a long one, held in place by a silvery chain that gleamed.

"You came in costume?"

"You might say that," he said. "Not something that is worn here normally."

"You have an accent. You are from overseas?"

"From far away. You would never have heard of it."

"Really . . . " Fear was turning into fascination. This was another phenomenon Benicia did not analyze, then. She was well into losing herself in a magic moment, without a care for her father's machinations. That this was not normal behavior would be apparent to her . . . later. But now, she was here alone with an attractive stranger . . .

"I guess this must be one of your famous fogs," said Argent to Usagi.

"I have never seen it like this," piped in Usagi's eldest, ever-ready to assert. But then the conversation bubbled to another subject, and another.

Alvarson said nothing. He knew the special significance of this fog. Great matters were being dealt with, no doubt. But they would go on without interference from him. He would not spend another moment of the precious hours before dawn on anything other than enjoying his family, reunited. One could never be certain there would be another such time . . .