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Visionaries--Part Two--Chapter Nineteen
Author Topic: Visionaries--Part Two--Chapter Nineteen (Read 4075 times)
Eddington Manor
November 4, 1136—late afternoon
Ædwige sobbed over the body of her dead kitten as Helena rose, blinking the last vestiges of sleep away rapidly as her mind assessed the situation. She walked over to comfort the grieving young woman with a pat on the shoulder, her mind tightly shielded so that nothing of her private thoughts might chance to leak through during the brief contact.
"I'm so sorry, dear. Kitten constitutions are so fragile. I'm sure it all happened so quickly, little Boots didn't suffer. Here, let me call someone in to help clear up the mess."
"No!" Ædwige stayed her with a fierce grip on her arm. "I—I'll do that." The young woman blinked away tears.
"But dear, you might cut yourself on those shards! At least let me call for your chambermaid to bring up some rags and a broom."
"Th-that's all right, I know where Mistress Nell keeps them." Ædwige dashed the back of one hand across her cheeks, wiping away her tears. "If you don't mind, magistra, I'd really just rather be alone right now."
Helena nodded. "Of course." She left the widow's chamber, wishing as she returned to her own guest room that she could have found some way to save a small portion of the cordial before it had spilled all over the chamber floor. The opportunity to have it examined at some later date seemed completely lost now, unless perhaps she could save one of the cleaning rags used to mop up the mess. Might she be able to salvage one, or would it be missed? Helena gave a sigh of frustration as she poured some water into her bedside basin and closed the window shutters. Even though the wooden shutters blocked out most of the outside light, the chamber was not as dark as she might hope, but the conditions would have to suffice; she had to see what Ædwige was up to. Possibly that was nothing more than cleaning glass shards off the floor and mourning for her lost kitten, but Helena needed to know.
The kitten. Might Ædwige be persuaded to bring it back to Rhemuth for burial? Perhaps if a cleaning rag could not be saved, something might be learned from poor Boots's body. Helena shook her head at the thought. How morbid she was turning! She could hardly wait to leave Eddington and get back to the comfort and safety of her own chamber in Rhemuth. Not to mention closer to Duncan….
No, she could spare no thought for him now, although she drew upon the tenuous bond between them for strength before sinking into light trance, focusing all of her attention on the basin before her, scrying for answers.
Ædwige carefully chose thick gloves, knowing exactly what was mixed in with the cordial that had spilled onto her floor, then opened a chest containing some of Gilrae's old clothing. She took one of his woolen shirts out, spreading it over the puddle to soak up the poisoned cordial. Hopefully some of the smaller glass splinters would also come up with the damp fabric when she was done, but if not, she needed some safe way to handle the broken glass. It would hardly do for her to slice through the leather covering her hands and risk a cut deep enough for the poison to get into her system that way. No, that was why she couldn't simply have left this task to Mistress Nell or one of the chambermaids, tempting as that was. They'd have handled the glass carefully, but perhaps not carefully enough, and if one of them were to drop dead upon cleaning up the broken bottle, there'd be no way to avoid awkward questions then! It was true that Gilrae's original cordial had been strong enough to sicken anyone who did not suffer from the same heart complaint that he'd had, but even so, it was not so potent as to affect someone immediately in the same way that the mortweed-laced cordial had. If only she'd thought to dilute it first! But if she had, would it have worked?
Her eyes scanned the room, lighting upon the flat-edged fireplace shovel next to the hearth. Yes, that might do! Reaching for the tool, she lifted the sodden fabric gingerly, using the shovel's edge to scrape together the larger pieces of glass into a pile then awkwardly used the wad of wool to sweep it all into the shovel. Where could she dump it all, though? Her gaze swept the room again, this time landing on her kitten's carrier. Of course. He wouldn't need that anymore, so it could all go inside there for now. Later, of course, she'd have to find some place to get rid of all the incriminating evidence, but for now no one would give a second thought to her departing in the morning with Bootsy's travel chest.
Well, no one except for Magistra Helena, that is. Ædwige suppressed a surge of panic as she used another one of Gilrae's old tunics to wash the stained floor with water from her basin. Helena knew poor Bootsy was dead, so she might wonder why Ædwige would bother with bringing back his case. Unless, of course, dear Boots was still in it? Perhaps she could tell the magistra that she simply couldn't bear to bury Bootsy here at Eddington, and that she wished to bring him back to Rhemuth for burial. After all, it was November, and they'd be back at the Schola too soon for him to start smelling bad yet. At least she was fairly sure he would keep until she could bury him properly somewhere, maybe in the parklands under those pretty trees where she and Sivney had once sported. She pondered the thought, then decided it was the best idea she could come up with for the moment. Searching in Gilrae's clothes chest again, she brought out a pair of soft leather trews and folded them neatly, tossing her rinse rag and finally her gloves into the box on top of the poison-soaked wool and glass beneath, before hiding everything under the folded layers of leather that would conceal all and serve as a final resting place for her dead kitten. She carefully set Boots on top of this pile, closing the lid gently over his limp body.
November 4, 1136—nearly midnight
Helena had kept a low profile the rest of the afternoon and evening, joining her hostess and the Eddington household for supper, but otherwise trying to be as unobtrusive a guest as possible. She and Ædwige were scheduled to leave for Rhemuth early the next morning, so after the evening meal Helena bid the small assemblage a good night, saying that she wished to be well rested for their departure the following day.
She had managed, mainly by means of discreet questions and comments to various members of the Eddington staff, to gather a little bit more information about Sir Gilrae in the time between her retreat to her guest chamber earlier that afternoon and Mistress Nell's summons to supper that evening. Helena was unsure how useful any of it might be—for instance, was there any significance in the observation that Sir Gilrae's health had seemed to decline earlier in the year, only to rally briefly before the sudden reversal that had ended with his death? She didn't know, but perhaps Master Janos might. Her role was to simply absorb, spongelike, any information that might possibly be useful and bring it back for others to sift through and assess.
Still, Helena wasn't sure she had quite enough. Oh, she had gossip and rumor and her own psychic impressions, but nothing really in the way of physical proof. What if the coroner for Danoc should require something more tangible before he would consent to reopen the investigation? Would the poison-soaked rags and a dead kitten suffice? And did Ædwige truly mean to bring such incriminating evidence of her deeds back to Rhemuth with her? Helena couldn't figure out why. Surely she'd wish to dispose of anything that could link her to her husband's death sooner, wouldn't she? Or was she afraid to cast off such items here—was that it? The very fact that she had taken the precaution of tossing everything linked to this afternoon's accident into the same cat carrier in which she meant to bring poor Boots back to the Schola seemed to point to her guilt in killing Sir Gilrae. Otherwise, why not allow the chambermaid to clean up the broken glass and spilled potion, and chuck the entire mess into the rubbish pile afterward? No, Ædwige surely meant to dispose of it all somewhere along the way. The question is, where? And could Helena manage to save enough of it to bring as evidence to the coroner instead?
She lay awake, sensing Duncan through the psychic bond between them. For some reason his presence felt a little stronger this night than it had the night before. Oh yes, it would, wouldn't it? He'd told her he'd be heading to the Earl of Danoc's Court, setting forth this morning, so surely he'd be passing fairly close to Eddington along the way. Perhaps their paths might even cross sometime the next morning, although she doubted it. No, she likely wouldn't see him again until his own return to Rhemuth, whenever that might be.
She might not be able to be with him until they were both back at the Schola, but she could share her discoveries of the day with him at least. She closed her eyes, holding his Saint Camber medallion lightly as she concentrated on touching his mind with her own.
It took far less time for the two Deryni to exchange what each had learned during the day than it had taken for either to have gained the information in the first place.
How long has Ædwige been suspected of trying to damage John's character? Helena asked, her mind-voice sounding surprised.
She hasn't been, Duncan told her, at least not officially yet. I only began to wonder once we began to suspect her of having some part in Sir Gilrae's death, but even then I didn't know for certain until Briony confirmed who his accuser was this morning. So, Ædwige's claim to her steward yesterday that she was going to bring you into the crypt this morning to examine Sir Gilrae's body ended up being just a ruse?
Yes. She probably told him that to keep him from calling anyone else in. That's the only logical reason for the ruse that I can imagine.
She sensed his nod. That makes sense. Be very careful, heart. At least now you've shared with me everything you've managed to learn so far, but you could still be in a lot of danger if she comes to suspect what you've observed and put together, especially if she finds out you've been scrying to discover her secrets.
She could feel his worry through their link. I'll be all right, cariad. Tomorrow we'll be on our way home.
Not nearly soon enough to please me, but that will have to do. A mental chuckle. Still, I think I'll be praying for you until I drift off to sleep tonight.
Helena smiled in the darkness. Well, far be it from me to tell a bishop not to spend his nights in prayer!
November 5, 1136—shortly after midnight
She lay awake afterward, unable to sleep, her mind still awhirl with the day's discoveries and refusing to settle into slumber. At last an idea came to mind that refused to go away. The entire household was asleep now, she was sure of it, and would likely remain so until dawn at the very earliest. What if she were to sneak out and visit the Eddington family vault under cover of darkness, while all in the household were abed? She would have to rely on her Deryni powers to lend her extra stealth, of course; there was too much at stake for her to be careless. But if she could bring back something to Master Janos that could prove once and for all that Sir Gilrae had been poisoned—some physical evidence that Ædwige knew nothing about and which she therefore could not know to dispose of before they reached the Schola—maybe that could help tighten their net around the murderous young widow.
What was it that Master Janos had told her about the physical traces of mortweed? She searched her mind for what the Healer and the Schola's infirmarian had shared with her the afternoon before she and Lady Ædwige had set forth for Eddington. There was a rust-colored staining, she'd been told, that would be the most certain sign if Sir Gilrae had ingested mortweed before his death. The stain was usually missed unless one was looking for it, because most people were buried or at least sealed in a coffin as soon as possible after their deaths, but this staining took a week or two to develop. Still, after this many months, if their suspicions were correct, the inside surfaces of Sir Gilrae's well-preserved mouth ought to be a bright rusty color. So would the lining of his esophagus and his stomach lining as well, though Helena would hardly need to do a full autopsy to determine all that. A simple peek into his mouth, or perhaps even his lips, if they were parted enough to show the mucosa within, ought to suffice for the task.
Still, would even witnessing Sir Gilrae's body firsthand be enough? Surely the Earl of Danos would be minded to accept a Deryni's witness of such evidence, if he had sought out Duke Alaric's counsel on the matter, might even be willing to allow one to Mind-Share what she had seen. But would Master Hugh the coroner for Danoc accept her account of things, or would he be more likely to dismiss her statement as hearsay unless given some sort of proof for her words? Though what sort of proof could she present? She could hardly sneak Sir Gilrae's corpse back to Rhemuth singlehandedly and under his widow's nose, after all.
Though perhaps some stained portion of the late knight's body, such as his tongue, might be easier to conceal….
No! Helena suppressed a shudder at the thought. Wouldn't it be considered desecration of a body, to violate a corpse so? Or would the fact that it was meant to redress some greater good, to bring justice to a man who had almost certainly been most vilely wronged, serve to mitigate the sin, perhaps make it not even sin at all, but simply unpleasant necessity? She wished Duncan were here to discuss the matter with; she was no theologian, after all, despite her laywoman's interest in Holy Writ, such as she understood it. She briefly considered trying to contact him again, but she could sense that he had fallen asleep already and she was loath to disturb his slumber after his day of travel.
She found herself matching action to her thoughts, dressing swiftly and summoning up rarely used skills of self-concealment to move stealthily out of her chamber and downstairs, out of the manor house and through the garden to the outbuildings beyond, until at last she stood before the mausoleum doors, still unsure what it was she meant to do if she could gain entry to the tomb, if she could actually see Sir Gilrae's body for herself, but she felt driven to complete the task she'd been sent here to do. The doors remained locked as they had been earlier that morning after the funeral, a heavy chain passing through stout rings in the doors and secured with a dangling padlock, but that would be scant deterrent to a trained Deryni's powers. Helena cupped the padlock in her hands, using her Deryni gifts to sense the workings deep within and how they needed to be manipulated in order to disengage the latch.
Ædwige also lay awake in the early morning hours, afraid she had made the wrong decision. There was no way Magistra Helena could know what she had concealed beneath Bootsy's corpse, nestled in final rest on his bed of folded leather, but still, what if she questioned Ædwige's decision to bring her beloved kitten back to Rhemuth for burial or, worse yet, decided for some reason to open the carrier and wondered at the thickness of padding beneath him? No, perhaps she ought to get rid of the poison-stained shirts and the broken glass after all. She didn't wish to simply toss them out onto the heap where the rest of the manorial garbage was deposited for fear they would somehow come to the notice of prying eyes, but she couldn't risk bringing it all back to the Schola either. After all, where would she get rid of it all there? She'd be faced with the same problem.
No, it would be better by far to just be rid of the whole lot here—well, not Boots, of course, but those hidden articles whose presence was a lot more likely to become problematic if discovered. There was nothing else to be done for it, she would need to dispose of them someplace where no one would ever find them. But where? After a few minutes more thought, she believed she had the answer. It would require her to do a bit of menial labor, but then again, how hard could such labor be, if mere untrained commoners could do it? And she knew where the tools were kept for the job, it was just a matter of doing it now, while the entire household was still asleep and her absence from her bed would not be noted. Not that she didn't intend to use a few Deryni precautions to help ensure no one else noticed what she was about. She couldn't afford to be careless now, not with her life at stake, as it certainly would be if anyone were to suspect what her kitten's carrier actually contained.
She donned dark clothing and gloves, carefully removing Boots from his carrier so she could remove the rest of its contents to something else…what, though?…yes, her old sewing basket would do. Dumping out the basket's contents into a nearby clothes storage chest, she filled it with the incriminating items and covered it again. She paused a moment to stroke Bootsy's soft fur, grateful for the coolness of the season that had evidently kept him from starting to turn foul yet, and replaced him in his carrying chest turned into a makeshift coffin. She hoped her good luck would continue until she could bury him in Rhemuth. Closing his carrier, she took hold of the basket of rubbish and ventured out into the night.
Helena paused briefly once as she thought she heard the shift of pebbles along the garden walk nearby. She froze in place, wondering if someone else might be wandering the manor grounds so early in the morning after all, in these dark hours when all should be asleep. After a moment, though, she saw no movement to go along with what she'd thought she'd heard, and although she attuned her Deryni senses in that direction, she heard no more sounds, so she put the disturbance down to her own anxieties and finished slipping the padlock from the chain.
Ædwige slipped into the small shed at the periphery of the garden, creating a dim sphere of handfire just long enough to locate a shovel in its dark interior. Dousing the light swiftly, she withdrew from the garden shed, carrying shovel and basket further down the garden walk toward the end of the grounds, past the mausoleum on one side and the stables further down on the other. The pebbled path would eventually end, but from that point she would see the smaller, less traveled dirt path leading to the forest's edge. There under the cover of the trees, safe out of sight of prying eyes, she intended to bury what she'd come out here to hide, covering the patch of turned earth afterward with such leaves, humus, and underbrush as she could gather nearby. She need not dig too far down, she figured; there was nothing in the basket that any animal might confuse for food which might inspire some hungry beast to unearth if after she was gone. As long as she didn't attempt to hide it right on the forest path, but a little to one side of it, and if she were to put a concealment ward over the spot that would last long enough for nature to erase any signs that the ground had ever been disturbed, she had every hope of keeping her secret hidden forever.
As she drew closer to the mausoleum, something odd caught her eye. Were the doors of the family tomb ever so slightly ajar? She couldn't be sure from this distance yet, but something seemed amiss about them. She was certain that Martin Steward had locked the tomb securely after the last of the mourning family and clergy had exited the vault; she'd seen him do it. Who could be poking about in the Eddington vault, and more to the point, why?
Ædwige was filled with a sense of sudden foreboding as she left the main path and hastened to investigate what was happening.
As Helena had noted during the funeral that morning, the door leading from the ground level of the vault into the underground crypt was not locked at all, nor was the passageway that led to the lower level particularly steep. She surmised this was to aid in the removal of caskets like Sir Gilrae's to the lower level when more room was required at the top, but whatever the reason, she was grateful enough not to have to negotiate a steep stairway in the dark.
Though there was little need for absolute darkness at the moment, now was there? Helena briefly cast her senses into the near distance, checking to ensure that no one else stirred within or just outside the mausoleum, but she felt no one close by, so after ensuring that the upper passage door was not of the sort that would latch closed behind her if she were to shut it, she pushed it closed and lit a sphere of handfire, sending it floating down the passage before her. The way down ended at a level landing with a turn through an archway wide enough to accommodate a man's length and slightly more, and as Helena rounded that angle, she found herself in a small chamber with arched ceilings, lined with ossuaries, a stone casket set before them. Unlit torches filled holders bracketed to the stone walls, but Helena created a larger luminary of handfire which would be sufficient for her purpose and easier to move into the proper position to see what she needed to. She studied the stone lid of the coffin, wondering if it would be too heavy for her to shift out of place unaided. The foot of the coffin faced to the East, as was customary, so that Sir Gilrae would arise facing Jerusalem at the Lord Jesú's Second Coming. All were customarily buried thus, at least if buried in keeping with Church ritual, except for priests, who slept in death as they'd served in life, facing towards the faithful believers they'd been shepherds to.
This end of the coffin, then, would contain Sir Gilrae's head. All Helena needed now was some means by which she could lift up and temporary shift one end of the heavy stone lid just the little bit she'd need to gain a good view of Sir Gilrae's face and perhaps, if necessary, reach in just enough to peek inside his mouth briefly. All her concentration focused on the task at hand, she failed to take note of another presence now close enough to be felt easily, had she been casting out her senses at that particular moment.
As Ædwige had feared, the doors to the mausoleum were slightly ajar, the chain dangling uselessly from one of its loops. She took a cautious peek inside, summoning handfire when the dim moonlight overhead proved insufficient to the task of lighting the burial vault where Lady Catherine's remains lay, despite the widening of the doors' opening. No one appeared to be within, though as she cautiously cast her senses outward, she sensed a presence down below her. Not some unfamiliar grave robber, as she'd almost hoped for—not that she longed to encounter such outlaws, but at least that would mean their entry into the Eddington tomb was more likely a random act and not, as she now feared, a sign that someone else suspected how her late husband had actually met his death and was now attempting to seek proof for the theory. The tight shields she brushed against were all too familiar, and Ædwige barely managed to suppress a cry of fear and rage at the betrayal. Why was Magistra Helena poking around where she had no business being?
There could only be one answer. And although Ædwige regretted the necessity, for she had been quite fond of the Servant of Saint Camber, she could hardly allow her to return to Rhemuth now, if she might have learned something that would betray her secrets to others in the Schola or, worse yet, the King. No, if Sister Helena were so fond of tombs, she could remain in one, at least for long enough for Ædwige to work out what to do next.
Ædwige quickly made her way out again, drawing the heavy chain back through both door loops. The padlock! Oh good, there it was, lying in the shadows nearby. She drew the latch back through the links of the chain and secured it through the barrel of the lock. It had been sheer happenstance that the Eddington vault had been secured with a lock that was not built directly into the door but which lay completely outside of it, separated from the inside by a thick layer of metal-reinforced wood. Ædwige suspected that it would be much more difficult for any Deryni to open such a lock psychically without being able to make direct contact with it, but just to ensure Sister Helena's inability to escape, she took the precaution of securing the lock itself with a spell of protection. Let her get out of that!
In the meantime, the dark of night would not remain forever, and Ædwige had even more work to do before she could return to the safety of her bed. Grim-faced, she took up shovel and basket again, heading towards the forest to dig a much deeper hole than she'd originally planned.
Helena sensed too late the brief brush of mind against mind and froze. After a moment, the other presence withdrew.
The magistra's mind reeled with near panic. Now that she'd been discovered—and by Ædwige, of all people!—there was little she could think to do but flee, ride under cover of darkness as fast and as far as she could go until she was certain of escape, and then hopefully make her way to the Earl's Court in Danoc—a far closer destination than Rhemuth—with what she'd learned thus far. She rued the impulse now that had brought her to take the risk of trying to break into the Eddington crypt and gather more evidence to seal the case against the young widow; she knew now that she'd taken a far greater risk than she ought to have, and had now managed to fulfill Duncan's greatest fears for her.
Duncan! If she could just get to Danoc's Court, maybe he'd already be there by the time she arrived with her tale, and he could vouch for her and lend credence to her story. If she could get to the stables in time and flee before Ædwige could manage some way to stop her. Unless she left right now, that was hardly likely; Ædwige might be raising a hue and cry even now, calling on her household to stop a grave robbery, and she could think of little she might say in her own defense if the Eddington staff chose to side with their young mistress. If, perhaps, Ædwige had an ally or two among the household servants, they would make certain Helena never got to explain her reasons for breaking into the crypt.
Helena doused the larger handfire, using the other to light her way as she dashed swiftly back upstairs, only to find herself trapped inside the Eddington family tomb.
Duncan McLain awoke with a start, startling his horse into wakefulness as well. His small escort—the four men-at-arms the Archbishop had supplied from the Cathedral Guard to provide his Auxiliary Bishop with protection from the dangers of the road—did not stir, yet his every sense screamed danger, and at first he thought there was some enemy nearby, some brigand perhaps who had skirted to close to the well-warded camp where Duncan and his retainers had ended their journey for a brief rest before continuing on to the Earl's court. But then he caught a flash of Helena's fear through the bond between them, and although her mind was too unfocused for him to establish enough of a link between them to find out from her exactly what had happened, he suddenly knew that he couldn't afford to continue his journey towards Aubrey Gillespie's court as originally planned. No, evidently the very worst had happened—he'd managed to catch that much from Helena's surge of fear at least—and she was in dire peril.
Where, exactly, was Eddington Manor from his current location, still several miles north and a little west of Concaradine? Duncan was not entirely sure, yet for now the bond between him and his beloved remained, a tenuous lifeline showing him the direction he must travel. He could only pray that his arrival there would not end up being too late.
Chapter Twenty: http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php?topic=853.0
« Last Edit: March 23, 2012, 10:37:33 am by Evie »
Re: Visionaries--Part Two--Chapter Nineteen
Oh, well done! I will now be sitting on the edge of my chair until next week.
If Ædwige had any hope of talking her way around the death of Sir Gilrea, it's gone now.
Favorite Book: The King's Justice
Favorite Character: Denis Arilan
The mausoleum isn't air-tight, so although being stuck in there would hardly be pleasant, it isn't as though Helena's in immanent danger. And that will give her plenty of time to break Aedwige's spell and open the lock even through the wooden door. After all, Helena's a Magistra, and Aedwige's not even an advanced student.
Actually Ædwige is an advanced student, being in her final year of studies, although she missed several fairly crucial lessons during the months when she was away from the Schola, and she's yet to make up for the lost lessons in individual tutorials. (Fortunately for Helena, since at least one of those missed lessons was the one in which she described anti-scrying measures and how to detect if someone is scrying on you!) And of course, no Schola can teach every single potential application for Deryni powers and even ritual magics; there are always new things being discovered, and new approaches to using even more basic skills, not to mention old manuscripts from a more Deryni-friendly time to go through in order to gain more knowledge about how the ancient adepts did things, and what magics might have been lost over the centuries. Just like real world scholars, an "advanced" student doesn't leave school knowing everything there is to know about a subject, just the essential foundations upon which more knowledge can be built if the student desires to continue their scholarship for the next few years, or even over the course of a lifetime.
« Last Edit: March 16, 2012, 03:45:48 pm by Evie »
It will be interesting to see how dear Aedwige 'explains' Helena's sudden absence to her household staff. "Oh she just wandered off during the night" or "Oh, she decided to return to Rhemuth early" isn't going to cut it, I suspect .
LOL! Yeah, Ædwige spends a fair bit of time in the next chapter trying to figure out how to do just that as she's out there in the dark attempting to dig that hole....
And now we have Action Duncan about to ride to the rescue!
Well, hopefully it will be the Full Sized Duncan and not the Action Figure version, because I suspect having a 12" plastic figure show up to lend a hand would be next to useless, unless Helena is meant to bop Ædwige over the head or gouge her eyes out with him!
ETA: Perhaps Aedwige has let loose a gremlin in the system - this post was by made Evie replying to my comment that mysteriously got deleted
« Last Edit: March 16, 2012, 05:17:30 pm by Alkari »
Oh, I'm sure Helena wants the complete, Full Size RL version of 'Action' Duncan
ETA: Though Briony has assured me that she wouldn't mind being very unladylike and attacking Aedwige with the plastic version ...
Quote from: Alkari on March 16, 2012, 04:25:24 pm
Yes...Note to DR or Bynw: if I somehow deleted Alkari's original message in the process of quoting and replying to it, I never got any sort of "Are you sure you want to remove this?" warning popup or text. Should I have? Very strange. Maybe Eddington has some sort of Bermuda Triangle for forum posts?
Uncle Mark Rules!!
Let's hope that the cavalry will arrive in time to save the day! Maybe Boots' ghost will come to haunt Aedwidge and make her confess to killing Gilrae. What we need is that female demon to show up and take care of our evil little widow.
We will never forget the events of 9-11!! USA!! USA!!
Quote from: Evie on March 16, 2012, 05:18:33 pm
There may be a demon loose. Though this may be a little off topic, I tried to register my nickname in chat today, but never got the email to complete the process.
However, I volunteer to be the demon to wreck havoc on our dear Aedwige!
« Last Edit: March 16, 2012, 06:49:44 pm by Jerusha »
I'm not sure what's going on with posts. Let me get with Bynw tomorrow and see if we can sort it out.
Nice chapter, BTW, Evie.
Thank you! Re: the chapter and the sorting out, that is.
Loving the image of Helena producing a tongue from her belt pouch to use as evidence!